Before getting onto the business of opining on some of the music accumulating in my domicle in the months since your last dose of said opininging, a couple of matters concerning just as many commercial radio presences have been festering on my thorax, and, per the compulsions that led Our Patsy to solicit me to author this column four years ago, I'm sharing those matters with you, now.

SEAN KINGSTON's recycling of Ben E. King's "Stand By Me" into downtempo pop-dancehall reggae was a stroke of brilliance. And that he looked like the missing brother shared by Frankie Lymon and Biz Markie in the song's video cinched Kingston's appeal for me.

That might have been all I'd have said about the kid, but the he copped Led Zepplin's more listenable stab at reggae, "D'yer Maker" ("All Of My Love" being another of Zep's less listenable attempt at the genre) into the silly poppy reggae of "Me Love." Cute work that continued Kingston's theme of romantic desperation.

But with his current single, "Take You There," he revisits the kind of post-disco experimentation that reggae acts such as Third World, Bob Marley and, perhaps especially, Denroy Morgan tried in the early '80s. It's a move made all the cooler and bizarre by Kingston singing about how he wants to take the object of his affection to Jamaican slums rife with crime and squalor. On a date. And in a major key!

That Kingston apparently doesn't consider himself a reggae artist, nor is being marketed as one, makes all the above just a touch subversive. And that's one kind of fun worth having, eh?

FLO RIDA earns my props on two accounts.

Splitting the difference between crunk hip-hop and the booty bass style of the '80s promulgated in his home state, the name of which he uses for his vaguely androgynous stage name.

And that he's a black guy who, to my ears, sounds like his biggest rhyming influence may be a multi-platinum-selling white rapper (Eminem) deserves a kudo for unashamed commeciality. And taking up the slack where the aforementioned influence has been deficient in new music lately.

But here's the "but" you probably thought was coming. It's not that Rida's breakthrough his, "Low" is another tired paean to lust for and carnal congress with a pole&lap dancer. If he wants to blow a few hundred bucks on "making it rain" and forcincating with an ecdysiast, I'm not the one to stop him. Neither am I of being able to hear it in high rotation on terrestrial radio where kids could be listenning, but I'm not a top 40 music director responsible for putting it there, either.

Could it be that difficult, however, to find a word that rhymes with "centerfold" that would still have fit his lusty narriative? Here's guessing that's the word he meant in the couplet "I'm sorry but I had to fold her/like a pornography poster."

I've been in more than my share of smut huts. If any of them sold posters, they were rolled or framed, not folded. And if, Flo, you're going to hang a prurient poster somewhere where it can be, ahem, appreciated, do you want to risk there being a fold in a particularly appreciable spot lest it were already taken from the middle of a magazine? I'd you're the horndog you portray yourself to be with this aural contribution to the degradation of the popular culture, you'd care a bit more about your porn.

Screwiness with my eMail account has caused me, after having written kilobytes galore after the above musings that have since ben lost to the vagaries of the interweb, to do something different:BE REALLY BRIEF!

So, here are a slew o' reviews in the shortest order maybe ever for your trusty columnist of the world's most eclectic music column...

LOVE—The Blue Thumb Recordings (Hip-O Select)

Scaling Da Capo and Forever Changes heights and lows not quite imaginable of their Elektra Records tenure, pre-Hendrix black hippie Arthur Lee and his Love-ly cohorts still make tuneful psychedelia with conscience and oddity on three-CD set compiling two studio albums and a gob of live tracks taken from circa 1970 English gigs. Limited edition close to sell-out at the time I got it, so best to you on nabbing one. And of course, Love should be all prevalent on classic rock radio as those they inspired, like The Doors.

BO DIDLEY—I'm A Man: The Chess Masters, 1955-1958 (Hip-O Select [Hey, the label was good to me during the TBA/ROM hiatus!])

Arguably the first black punk rock geek-what with his homemade guitars, glasses, pechant for plaid sportcoats, surreal-arse lyrics and guitar tonalities that pointed the way to '60s freakouts and metal-has his frst four years' worth of singles, outtakes, etc. compiled onto double-disc set essetial as it is stunningly prescient of music that followed in its wake. (learn more)

THE GREAT LUKE SKI—unCONVENTIONal, BACONspiracy CD's, The Ego Has Landed DVD

Funnymusic rapper-singer with sci-fi/cartoon/TV/popcult obsessions about whom I've previously spoken fondly in this space finally gave me his last two longplayer before a performance of his last fall. Genius collision of older school hip-hop and other pop to his fandom, going so far as his throwaway impersonations of Christopher Walken, Dave Chapelle and Gilbert Gottfried. He sounds to be getting a touch more risque the further he gets into his 30s (or he lets co-conspirators from other novelty acts border on blueness). Then he'll give loving tribute to comedy recording pioneer STAN FREBERG, and you can give him slack for being a fanboy not afraid to express at least the possiblility of getting some girlie action.

DVD collects imaginative low budget music vid, complete fan (of those things of which he's a fan) covention performance and other nuttiness. Easy to forgive him of swiping a Robbie Williams
album title. (learn more)

SNMNMNM—Crawling Inside Your Head (Unschooled)

North Carolinian power pop with tuba instead of bass guitar (you might be hard pressed to notice) and lyrical concerns somehwere between collegiate, full adulthood and band life. Oh, and occasional accordian and brass. But still playable 'tween The Raspberries and Fountains of Wayne. Not too and more'n catchy enough.

CARRIE DAHLBY—Happy Ranch

Great Luke Ski protege' follows her muse toward singing about her cat, being naked among strangers and explaining how she got diabetes, among other topics, a couple times remaking Steely Dan in the process. Cuter and more poignant than outright funny as her mentor can be, am hoping her blood sugar levels remain steady enough to make more music I can get behind more enthusiastically. (learn more)

ADMIRAL TWIN—The Center of the Universe (The Pop Collective)

More power popiness, from former major label trio with some post-punk danceability about them as much as impressionistic, inspirational/motivational lyrics. Like their sartorial cues from OK Go, too, even if I had to double-take on their name, seeming like that of a dancehall reggae guy. (learn more); (learn even more)

KEVIN MAX—The Blood (Blind Thief)

Have covered music by DC TALK's other two former (and future?) members;the third, artiest DCT'er mostly brilliantly assays soul and Southern gospel and r&b message music chestnuts and similarly vibed originals with guests includsing Mary Mary's Erica Campbell, Amy Grant, her hubby Vince Gill, Joanne Cash, American Idol finalist Chris Sligh and his former/future (or so stands the rumor) bandmates. Strips away layers of pretense and sounds assuredly sincere. (learn more)

MATINEE CLUB—The Modern LP (Ninth Wave)

English rock-infused electro-pop with co-ed vocals kicks sufficient digital booty, not doing David Bowie justice notwithstanding. So, if you jones for Berlin, Depeche Mode at their medium-darkest and Republica in one sitting with enough to get your probably black-clad caracas on the dancefloor, you could do plenty worse. Bonus remixes mostly delish, and yes, it comes on CD. (learn more); (learn even more)

SHANTI—Fade To Red EP (Spoiled Entertainment)

Former Milwaukean and New York City denizen now in Los Angeles and making sometimes-alluring rhythmic/dance pop. It's tough rebuking friends (and I consider Shanti something of one of mine) sometimes, but no way can I glom onto how she does Salt-n-Pepa (and by extension, The Kinks) wrongly. And the sexual sass only goes so far, like she she's especially thrilled to be competing on the next Pussycat Dolls reality series (no, you dear readers needn't remind me that I once thought I had greater use for the PcD's than I ought to have). I know she's capable of nuance-and more becoming warbrobe choices-so may it be so her next time on the market with another disc. (learn more)

JAMES BROWN—The Singles, Volume 3:1964-1965, The Singles, Volume 4:1966-1967 (Hip-O Select)

What d'ya want me to say about these? Not only are there a good many of the funkiest pop and r&b hits laid to wax herein, but plenty of instrumentals, Christmas songs and whatever else His Royal Badness wanted to issue on two sides of seven inches every few weeks throughout a few volitile years in African-Ameircan history (the volitility of which comes into play now and again). Yeah, am mighty grateful for Hip-O Select's commitment to Brown 's legacy, but remebmer to grab them while they're still available.

That's enough for now, gang. And it might be in a wholly different format next time out. Meanwhile, compliment me or kvetch HERE. And send music CD's, cassettes, vinyl—thanks but no to any downloads—to:

Mr. Jamie Lee Rake
P.O. Box 29
Waupun, Wisconsin 53963-0029
USA