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Thursday, December 10, 1998

Music

Disclaimer: A few of the standard, die-hard music reviewers here at The Bruin have decided to share our picks for the best album of the year. As our tastes vary, we hope that this collection of musical works will represent a splattering of genres, reflecting the vast auditory appetite of our dappled student population. Of course, many fields have been left out in the name of space, but here are our picks for 1998 all the same:

The Eels, "Electro-shock Blues"

This year has seen the emergence of many albums which have rocked me, moved me, made me yearn, churn and burn but nothing has come close to the vortex of despair swirling in The Eels' "Electro-shock Blues."

Being the most emotionally repressed person I know, anything that jars me or examines an inability to relate to all other seeming androids abounding in this heartless world satisfies me in the most unhealthy ways. Such is the sad, brutal-sweet music lingering in every chord of this fragile work. Written by band head, E, who lost his sister to suicide, his mother to cancer and his father to heart disease all in the course of this past year, the work puts no limits on how low one can feel.

Also, Remy Zero's new work, "Villa Elaine," Air's astral-sounding "Moon Safari" and the Practical Magic soundtrack, which makes you feel like a woman, cannot be left out of any end-of-the-year wrap up in a look at this year's music. Sure, the faves are a bit eclectic, but it works. When an album is done well, it could be Carmen Miranda howling gospel classics and I'd dig it.

Vanessa VanderZanden

Fatboy Slim, "You've Come a Long Way, Baby"

It came out late and without much appreciation, but that's OK.

Fatboy Slim's "You've Come a Long Way, Baby," rewarded all who bought the disc with the finest dance album of 1998. A master of bare bone grooves and beats, Slim takes the simplest sample and turns it inside out into a beautiful song. Rockefellar Skank's one-line wonder, "Right about now the funk so brother" took the simple lyric and gave it '70s funk and soul.

His penchant for cheeky tunes without the excess filler of "real feelings," flies in the face of everybody who says good music needs a message.

Slim turns out good music without pretense.

"Gangster Tripping," for all intent and purposes simply is the biggest party tune. The incorporation of high flying, free-spirited horns and big beat breaks coupled with Fatboy's unique sense of gaudy style makes the song extra funky.

Having come a long way indeed, Fatboy has taken the big beat to a level of cerebral fun which is worth giving some attention.

Trinh Bui

Cake, "Prolonging the Magic"

This is not an alternative album. It's not a rock album. It's not a country album. It's just a good album. In a year of forgettable projects by major artists, Sacramento upstarts Cake have turned in an eclectic collection that deserves attention.

The genius of the band's melodies lies in their offbeat nature. They sample scores of different genres, ranging from '70s funk to classic jazz for an enjoyable blend of sounds. John McCrea's indecipherable lyrics are a work of art, lending a strange depth as they grind along with the band's support. The cryptic words, covering everything from satanic cars to supermarkets, conveyed in McCrea's unmistakable monotone, convey emotions without revealing the motivation behind them. You'll find yourself agreeing with him and never knowing why.

And the instruments, oh mother, the instruments. In Vincent Di Fiore, Cake possesses one of the most under-appreciated trumpet players in the business. His wide-open, flowing horn lines add an incredible richness that compliments McCrea's guitar perfectly. Whether it's the punchy accompaniment to "Satan is My Motor" or the melancholy soaring of "Mexico," Di Fiore is an essential ingredient in Cake's mix. With him anchoring the songs, "Prolonging the Magic" rises above the rest of the field.

Brent Hopkins

Hole, "Celebrity Skin"

Although 1998 mostly offered the music audience more spectacle than substance, a few bands managed to combine the two traits to blast away the biz. Bands such as Garbage and Marilyn Manson sparkled all over again with some of the most impressive releases of the year but lacked the complete unity of consistent hits within one album that only one other band managed to hit dead-on.

This year the sound, the attitude and the style all rested in Hole's newest release, "Celebrity Skin." 1998 marked the year when Courtney Love would prove that, besides screaming, she could pull off some impressive songwriting and decent vocals.

Whether or not Billy Corgan should take credit for the album's production bears no relevance when the listener realizes that the serious talent lying beneath the songs belongs to Hole and no one else. "Celebrity Skin" rocked airwaves with its feisty nature and true melody, just as their second single, "Malibu," continues to do now. Luckily for the loyal fans, the band has matured and amounted to more than a riot grrrl/punk mess and, in the process, found a new fanbase in those lovers of simply great rock music. The impressive melodic qualities of songs such as "Dying" and "Awful" maintain that the band learned a lot about creating driving tunes instead of bitter chaos.

Although amusing as Love's continuous antics might be, the real test of talent rested on this album and Hole does not disappoint. The punch packed in "Celebrity Skin" will definitely outlast any other spectacle Love tries to offer the public.

Michelle Zubiate

Aceyalone, "A Book of Human Language"

Best album of '98? The easy answer would be Outkast's "Aquemeni." With the addicting rhythms that flow through the album, it's a winner with both critics and commercial audiences. Maybe that Blackstar album (while it was good, there are a few tracks that get the FF button) or Gangstarr's "Moment of Truth." As for that final Tribe Called Quest album, Jay-Z might even get a vote over that one.

The title goes to dark horse candidate Aceyalone for his comprehensive "A Book of Human Language." We've all heard of difficult reading before. Well, this album is what you might call difficult listening. "ABoHL" is not something you can dance to. It is not something you can play in the background while having conversation. You simply cannot cheat your way through this album. That destructive little habit of knowing songs by their track numbers and not their names will be a killer on this one. Oh, and you can't just go to Penny Lane, listen to the first thirty seconds of each track and think you're even coming close to what this album represents.

Getting into this album is a difficult, lonely chore but well worth it if given a chance.

While some have bashed "A Book of Human Language" as being too artsy and abstract (this is Aceyalone after all), the fact is, it takes a few good listens and then a few more to see the art in this album. The simplest way to describe this project would be one person's thesis on life. Every song represents a different aspect of Acey's journey through this thing we call life and his attempts to understand it as best he can. Skipping through this album would be an atrocious deed as the songs are not arbitrarily scattered about but rather strategically placed to enhance the listening experience.

Then again, that Outkast album is a beautiful example of artistic progression, hmmm. Nah, I'm sticking to my guns on this one. There are some who will not be able to sit through this album, claiming that it is too weird or that "you have to have beats that bump" blah, blah, blah. To them I say: go buy a Master P album.

Tenoch Flores

Lauryn Hill, "Miseducation of Lauryn Hill"

R&B is somewhere down there. It's hard to salvage much from the cesspool of one-hit wonders and sexed-up, stripped-down vocal groups.

In the wake of Boyz II Men, TLC and even Puff Daddy, 1998 saw pale, recycled versions of once-innovative music. The tiresome focus on image seems to draw strength from the waning quality of R&B and hip-hop.

Few rose from the murky waters to make any memory out of 1998. Lauryn Hill was never there. Still riding the wave that was The Fugees (and later The Refugee Allstars), Hill's music and message shines brighter than any diva soundtrack duet.

The much-anticipated "The Miseducation of Lauryn Hill" failed no expectations. The rapper, singer and poet returned to the spotlight with a lyrically mature and rhythmically strong solo debut.

The urban songstress avoids falling victim to played-out formulas, but she's no stranger to the mainstream.

The difference is that Hill samples with a purpose; she incorporates "Supastar's" cut of "Light My Fire" into her song, not vice versa. Her five-minute songs feature more than 10 lines of lyrics.

And she doesn't just collaborate with the hottest ticket (no power ballads with Celine Dion are in the works).

"Miseducation," like hip-hop guru and fellow Allstar Wyclef Jean's 1997 "Carnival," offers a glimpse at the intention of real music: experimentation and evolution.

Louise Chu

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