There are definitely stellar moments during the disc’s overarching theme of personal memory, its reevaluation over time, and evaporation upon death. Unfortunately, I don’t think it will satisfy me in the long run. It’s a ray of sunshine on a slightly overcast day, continually fading behind clouds, leaving me wanting for its occasional warmth.

But first, the good: Paul McCartney doesn’t give a damn what anybody thinks about his music, and his confidence is stamped on every note. While Chaos and Creation at times sounded distant and reserved, the songs on Memory Almost Full are compressed and in your face (which I may cynically suggest is so they play well over Starbucks loudspeakers). But when McCartney hits the sweet spot of expectation and delivery, there’s nothing like it. I’d say the first six songs all pass the audition.

• The mind-achingly simplistic opener Dance Tonight benefits from its directness and the addition of new instruments at just the right times.
• Ever Present Past is instantly memorable, classic McCartney, with a steady groove and some nice swooping melodies. When it opens up into “the things I think I did…” there’s a keyboard twiddle reminiscent of With A Little Luck.
• Next comes the warmth of See Your Sunshine, a trip back to 1979 with syncopated piano chords, a killer vocal hook built around nothing but “doo doo doos,” perfectly placed dew drop chimes, and stellar bass playing to boot.
• The rocker Only Mama Knows is a catchy combination of Jet, Madness’ Our House, Crowded House’s Tall Trees, and Susanna Hoffs’ It’s Lonely Out Here. Paul is an abandoned child contemplating the motivations of his absent mother. Given the setting of an airport lounge, is Mama the chanteuse of Jet? The song is framed by contemplative string sections, the latter of which echoes the song’s guitar licks.
• I can’t help but read into the possible intent of You Tell Me is an acidic alternate track from Chaos and Creation. A lover wonders if the singer was really there during several romantic memories of the past, to which the the answer is a cold “you tell me.” Is it directed to the former Mrs. McCartney?
• Mr. Bellamy is a multi-part song like Uncle Albert or Band On The Run. I initially thought this character was an anti-social elder locked in an upstairs bedroom, but according to Paul, he’s a suicidal everyman on a window ledge, threatening to jump. Paul voices the different characters of the story, recalling Queen but more surely, early Wings.

Wow, could Memory Almost Full get any better?

But after these first six, things get sloppy, and soon the Walrus is wallowing in excessive wastefulness. Lyrics become painfully obvious, chord progressions non-existent, and vocal inflections revert to the familiar McCartney standbys of high falsettos, baritone bellows, and whoops to a non-existent audience. Gratitude features increasingly tiresome vocal noodling, That Was Me is essentially boastful egomania, and the death song The End Of The End won’t make an appearance at many funerals (I think Let It Be will still be more appropriate in that regard). Especially weak is the album closer Nod Your Head, a tired descendant of Helter Skelter combined with the hokey pokey.

I’ve read a few reviews claiming the latter half of Memory Almost Full is akin to the second side of Abbey Road. I politely disagree. There is a string of several songs with nary a break between, but the songs themselves are nowhere on par with the material on that hallowed Fab Four album. If Memory Almost Full were advertised as such, I’d have to ask for a refund, and not for the latte.

I was ultimately frustrated by the glimmers of perfection on that beg for a little more effort or a road not taken. Personally, I prefer the calculation of Chaos and Creation. But I’m satisfied with the first half of Memory Almost Full, and look forward to the next sunny excursion of the cute Beatle.

Note: Via iTunes, I downloaded the “extended” version containing three extra tracks. Most notable is the mysterious, out of character jazz exploration 222, where McCartney’s pure voice minimally blurts out “look at her walking” in the manner of a muted trumpet. That experiment is stunning stuff — could I have an extra shot of that, please?

iTunes Store Link: Memory Almost Full (Deluxe Limited Edition) — Paul McCartney

Oasis was criticized for aping the Beatles almost too similarly, so the Scissor Sisters sound like a mash-up of The Bee Gees, Elton John, ABBA, and Beck on Midnite Vultures. She’s My Man has nearly the same melody of Elton John’s I’m Still Standing, while the infectious, ear-worm I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’ is a Saturday Night Fever outtake — more specifically a mash-up of the Bee Gees, ABBA, and Elton John. Is this for laughs? Well, the result is usually entertaining, even if at times it comes down to a game of spot-the-influence.

So my favorite tracks are the obvious I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’, and the the Duran Duran Rio–esque The Other Side (it even has a saxophone solo). Also amusing to me is the Blondie sounding Kiss You Off featuring the group’s female vocalist (who in my world would be featured on more songs).

There’s some merit here, but I keep thinking it’s better to go to the source. I’d pick a few songs for sure, but hold off on buying the whole CD.

iTunes Store Link: Ta-Dah — Scissor Sisters

Each April March album is worth savoring, but I’ll start with Chick Habit. April’s voice is tweety-high, and definitely grates after a while. But there are thankfully few songs to keep this journey into loony tunes bearable. My faves: Deux Garcons Pour Une Fille — a 60s blast with a neat Disneyland type center melody, Cet Air-La is perfection. I have a strange feeling the lyrics are about chopping a hamster into bits.

The stand out track is the truly daffy Chick Habit. I guess this surf-guitar, Bond theme tune with some horsey-horns was featured in the film But I’m A Cheerleader. In it, April scolds some Casanova to hang up the chick habit, or he’ll be cut in two and meet a nurse in a hearse. What a hoot.

The album art is straight up this cat’s alley, featuring a seductive yet dog-eared creepy — thrift store LP vibe. Imagine finding one of those topless girl ink pens among your uncle’s swizzle sticks. The cover is girls and guitars, while within is a photograph of April toying with a troll doll, and another where she’s in an Avengers pose. I think after she surprises 009 with flowers, she’s planning to shoot him in the knees.

A bit more research is always a good thing. Turns out April’s “Chick Habit” is an English version of an old France Gall song from the 60s.

iTunes Store Link: Chick Habit — April March

Wikipedia: April March

One of my Christmas presents (to myself, in a sense) was the album Under The Covers, Volume 1 from Sid and Susie, better known as Matthew Sweet and Susanna Hoffs (The Bangles). The disc is a collection of fifteen sixties-era covers, which if I stop to think about it, was over forty years ago. Damn, I’m getting old.

My favorite songs on this disc are the most familiar, namely And Your Bird Can Sing, Sunday Morning, Monday, Monday (the conceptual ancestor to Manic Monday), and the best track in my opinion, Different Drum. It’s magical to hear Susanna belting out a song showing a confidence and range I didn’t know she had, backed by I’ve Been Waiting style Sweet harmonies. To hear Susanna coyly deal out the line “everytime you make eyes at me”… well, I do remember the video for Walk Like An Egyptian.

The Beatles song And Your Bird Can Sing is initially as a revelation with Susanna on lead and Matthew’s contrasting voice taking a turn on the middle (We Can Work It Out style). But the song’s latter half is less enjoyable as the vocals spin off into crisp but non-Beatley harmonies. This is one case when they should have played it straight as the high vocal parts on the last verse are sadly absent.

Some of the less familiar tunes are still pretty neat. I’d recommend I See The Rain, probably because the guitar bouncing reminds me of Matthew Sweet’s album 100% Fun. Also take a spin with Care Of Cell #44, a ruddy version of a Bangles song mashed with the Beach Boys and a car commercial. There’s also a shiny version of She May Call You Up Tonight that recalls XTC in my mind.

Less successful are the ill-advised The Kids Are Alright and the difficult Beach Boys tune The Warmth Of The Sun. If the musical pair wanted to cover Brian Wilson tune, I’d rather hear Susanna sing-speak “You’re under arrest!” from Heroes and Villains (or what about Surf’s Up?). And to cover Dylan is a really dicey prospect — It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue is more than slightly odd for this duo.

I consider this album rather hit and miss. For every neat number, there’s another that falls short. Layered over everything is a compressed, tight feeling that doesn’t really provide any space within these songs. The drums sit far back and are often overwhelmed by guitar-play and vocals. So if this album sounds even vaguely interesting to you, I’d recommend listening to some previews first and cherry-picking the choice tracks. Which is exactly what iTunes is for, right?

iTunes Store Link: Under the Covers, Vol. 1 — Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs

I’m most familiar with Weezer’s “Blue” first album sporting The Sweater Song, Buddy Holly and Say It Ain’t So, little perfect diamonds of mid-nineties indie rock. I’ve vaguely heard other Weezer songs since, like Hash Pipe and Islands in the Sun. After a hiatus when it seems the band pretty much broke up, this album Make Believe arrived in 2005. Has it really been over ten years?

The album tumbles open with the funny Beverly Hills, a Smash Mouth (s)mash-up of Joan Jett, with some well-timed quips resulting in a perfect song for teenagers with no sarcasm detector. The second tune Perfect Situation I admire as it has the same chords in the verse and chorus, but due to an arching Rivers Cuomo melody, it doesn’t sound that way. The descending scales are a nice trick. Third, we get This is Such a Pity, a totally awesome 80s rip off. The plodding guitar and droopy singing, keyboards, sound kind of like Rick Springfield jamming with Erasure, or New Order. I’d like to hear it combined with AFI’s Love Like Winter and sung by The Cardigans.

There’s a lull at this point until We Are All On Drugs: completely stupid but likeable, because the catchy, goofy chorus fullfills the Ramones-y promise of the title. Whenever someone does something stupid, one assumption is that they’re on drugs, and this song points this out as a tired explanation.

I’ll give the band credit that on the better songs, there is an unmistakably pleasing energy, that of heartfelt lyrics sung by a sincere singer, backed by a band that knows what they’re good at and amicably supporting the song. There are some neat melodies here. But Make Believe sags terribly in the middle, and some songs like The Other Way are practically unlistenable.

Overall, Rivers Cuomo sounds tired, as if it’s all too easy. Weezer could come up with some crazier guitar licks, at least. Meanwhile, chunky chord thing, rap singing thing, and self-effacing lyrics thing are in ready supply these days.

I think Weezer had more creative energy when they had something to lose (or something to prove). Maybe it’s time for a long vacation on some island in the sun (sorry, I couldn’t resist).

iTunes Store Link: Make Believe — Weezer

M.I.A is Maya Arulpragasam, from Sri Lanka and London. I can’t claim to fully understand this album or love this style of music but it’s compelling nonetheless. On first listen, it’s a nearly uncomfortable blast of stripped down electronic beats, CASIO keyboard-style bleeps, and scarily clean vocals. However, the album soon displays a true originality because it gets down to the essence of pop music: rhythm. My only frame of reference (which shows my age) is Neneh Cherry’s Buffalo Stance.

There’s a refreshing low-brow sort of vibe here, with old drum machines and samples. Even the occasional effects are the standard ones you’d get on an old guitar pedal (reverb, chorus, and delay). Luckily, there is really no reason to encumber the music any more than necessary. As a vocalist, M.I.A. is direct, confident, and has enough musical tricks in the form of shrieks, well-timed slurs, or double tracked hooks to make any dreaded Antares Auto-tune or even polite compression superfluous.

But more about the dizzying multiculturalism: the track Bingo in some strange way reminds me of the Clash, with a dog-scratch snare and steel drums relentlessly marching along. Listen to how 10 Dollar beings as an old Atari game, moves into the rawest of music conventions: chant, and evolves into an English-accented lyrics and a verse, almost like a song running backwards. Lyrically, there’s a mish-mash of sexuality, politics, cultural confusion, and terrorism.

Arular is fun, sassy, sweaty, and compact. I think is the album Nelly Furtado was trying to make.

iTunes Store Link: Arular — M.I.A.

I first heard Beck’s “Mellow Gold” lying on the floor of a friend’s Manhattan apartment, saying to him, well, Loser is okay, but if I lent you my four-track for six months I bet you could could come up with something just as good. Then when Odelay arrived, I felt like a moron for underestimating Beck’s talent.

Since then he’s been doing something difficult for many artists, altering his style on each subsequent album. He adapted 60s and 70s classic rock, from the funk-disco of Midnite Vultures to early 70s singer-songwriters on Sea Change, lending it a modern production edge and a bit of an “Is this guy really as talented as he sounds, or is it all a cheeky put-on?” feeling that I found enjoyable.

So comes Guero, and I have to admit, there are only three or four songs here I can really get behind, and only one I really like: Hell Yes has a pretty goofy talk-back between a Japanese girl and a computer that made me chuckle a bit and smile at the surreal stupidity of it all. Earthquake Weather has a killer chorus right out of some Bee-Gees / Brian Wilson implosion. And Girl is a reluctant nod, mostly for its Nintendo intro.

The rest is not exactly boring, just missing that wacky, fruity, unpredictable Beck quality I always liked, screaming “I met you at JC Penny” like the Jackson 5, the aggressive space-cadet Beatles in Pressure Zone or the dippy video-game-show intro to The New Pollution. After the drastic acoustic sedation nose-dive into Sea Change, I guess I was hoping Beck would spin off into some other looney musical direction. But he decided to take a step back and recollect, and the results aren’t exactly bad, just kind of dull. And somehow I don’t think that’s what he was going for.

iTunes Store Link: Guero — Beck