Edição original em CD EMI 724359339122
(PORTUGAL, 2004)
Andrew Lloyd Webber's musical adaptation of Gaston Leroux's 1911 gothic mystery novel "The Phantom of the Opera" proved to be at least the composer's second most successful project, behind only "Cats", and with the potential to outdo even that blockbuster. The musical opened in London in October 1986 and in New York in January 1988, and both productions were still running (along with many others around the world) when the film version finally premiered in December 2004. Because the same starring performers, Michael Crawford and Sarah Brightman, moved from the West End to Broadway, there was no original Broadway cast recording, the original London cast album serving to represent both stagings. In line with the success of the show, that album, a double-disc set, was also a hit, selling four million copies in the U.S. alone by 1996, with another four million copies of a single-disc highlights version as well. Although there was also an original Canadian cast album (not to mention foreign language versions from such countries as Japan and Austria), the movie soundtrack represents the first major re-recording of the score since 1986. Again, Lloyd Webber has opted to issue it in two versions, but this time, the 63-minute single CD is considered the standard release, with the double-disc set billed as the Special Edition version. Even fans of the show and the film may want to stick with the shorter one, however. The two-hour special edition is that rarity, a soundtrack album that actually contains the complete, unedited film soundtrack, including dialogue, incidental background music, and sound effects. This, of course, makes it something of an odd listening experience, especially because there doesn't seem to be any reason why some dialogue is spoken and some is rendered in singsong recitative. Lloyd Webber has written some extra background music here and there, as well as one new song, and that's an oddity, too. Minnie Driver, who plays the prima donna Carlotta, had her singing dubbed by Margaret Preece, but she turns up at the end and, over the closing credits, sings "Learn to Be Lonely," an irrelevant and musically out-of-place song clearly composed just to have a new tune that would be Academy Award eligible. (William Ruhlmann in AllMusic)
In its first teaser trailers, when it was still going to be released as a single film, "Kill Bill" was sold with the immortal teaser "In the year 2003 Uma Thurman is going to Kill Bill." Of course, Uma didn't come close to the messy business of killing Bill until early 2004, when the second part of Quentin Tarantino's grindhouse epic "Kill Bill" was released, but she sure started to kill in "Kill Bill, Vol. 1", where the Bride, the character she created with Tarantino, began her arduous revenge upon the five former colleagues who killed her fiancée at her wedding rehearsal, then left her for dead at the altar. As Tarantino plot lines go, this is the simplest yet, but revenge movies shouldn't be encumbered by deep subtext. Instead, he divided the film into chapters, giving him an opportunity to play with both time and location, and then shoot each chapter as an homage to a different kind of exploitation film - something that's reflected in the soundtrack. After Nancy Sinatra's torchy "Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down)" and Charlie Feathers' tough, swaggering rockabilly chestnut "That Certain Female" set the story and the mood, the record is devoted primarily to instrumental pieces that range from surging epics to the calm kitsch of Zamfir's "The Lonely Shepherd" to the intense funk pastiche of Tomoyasu Hotei's "Battle Without Honor or Humanity" (the song that kicks off nearly every trailer and ad for "Kill Bill"). The reduced presence of dialogue from the film - a hallmark of Tarantino soundtracks - is a reflection of the film, which places emphasis on action and visuals. Hell, even the tracks on the soundtrack have minimal lyrics, consisting largely of instrumentals. This gives it more of a meandering feeling, and the soundtrack kind of peters out, ending in two quick excerpts of futuristic electro music by Quincy Jones and Neu!, then a gaggle of sound effects and Kung Fu hits. Nevertheless, its cavalcade of contradictory moods has its own coherence, and it's more musical than most pop music soundtracks. Plus, this has no familiar material, nor does it have anything that would be a single on digital radio, which is why it works as an album on its own - it doesn't just reflect the movie; it follows its own logic, and displays fearless imagination. It makes you hungry for Vol. 2, both the movie and soundtrack. (Stephen Erlewine in AllMusic)
One of the great pleasures of a Quentin Tarantino soundtrack is knowing that it won't be a standard modern-day soundtrack, filled with filler and acts that the label is trying to break. Instead, it will consist of music that even hardcore record collectors will find unusual or at least ripe for revival. The soundtrack to the first volume of his revenge epic "Kill Bill" blended those two inclinations, but the soundtrack to the second film is almost nothing but unusual music. Some names are familiar, but the music isn't - there are three selections from Ennio Morricone, rockabilly cult hero Charlie Feathers makes his second "Kill Bill" appearance, Johnny Cash's latter-day "A Satisfied Man" is here, and Malcolm McLaren's "About Her" is a clever trip-hop spin on the Zombies' "She's Not There." The rest is devoted to music that sounds like the soundtrack to a Mexican spaghetti Western, which really isn't all that far off from what large parts of "Kill Bill, Vol. 2" actually is. This makes for a unified soundtrack album, but one that lacks the immediate impact of "Kill Bill, Vol. 1", since nothing is as gripping upon the first listen as the haunting "Twisted Nerve," the mesmerizing funk of "Battle Without Honor or Humility," or the crazed intensity of the 5.6.7.8's' version of "Woo Hoo." That said, it is cinematic, unpredictable, and absorbing, gaining resonance after a viewing of the film, as all good soundtracks do; it only pales in comparison to its predecessor, which was good not just as a soundtrack, but as an album of its own account. (Stephen Erlewine in AllMusic)
It may be far too obvious to even mention that Norah Jones' follow-up to her 18-million-unit-selling, eight-Grammy-winning, genre-bending, super-smash album "Come Away with Me" has perhaps a bit too much to live up to. But that's probably the biggest conundrum for Jones: having to follow up the phenomenal success of an album that was never designed to be so hugely popular in the first place. "Come Away with Me" was a little album by an unknown pianist/vocalist who attempted to mix jazz, country, and folk in an acoustic setting - who knew? "Feels Like Home" could be seen as "Come Away with Me Again" if not for that fact that it's actually better. Smartly following the template forged by Jones and producer Arif Mardin, there is the intimate single "Sunrise," some reworked cover tunes, some interesting originals, and one ostensible jazz standard. These are all good things, for also like its predecessor, "Feels Like Home" is a soft and amiable album that frames Jones' soft-focus Aretha Franklin voice with a group of songs that are as classy as they are quiet. Granted, not unlike the dippy albeit catchy hit "Don't Know Why," they often portend deep thoughts but come off in the end more like heartfelt daydreams. Of course, Jones could sing the phone book and make it sound deep, and that's what's going to keep listeners coming back.
There is an air of finality on Leonard Cohen's "Dear Heather". Cohen, who turned 70 in September of 2004, offers no air of personal mortality - thank God; may this elegant Canadian bard of the holy and profane live forever. It nonetheless looks back - to teachers, lovers, and friends - and celebrates life spent in the process of actually living it. The album's bookend tracks provide some evidence: Lord Byron's bittersweet "Go No More A-Roving," set to music and sung by Cohen and Sharon Robinson (and dedicated to Cohen's ailing mentor, Irving Layton), and a beautifully crafted reading of country music's greatest lost love song, "Tennessee Waltz." Cohen's voice is even quieter, almost whispering, nearly sepulchral. The tone of the album is mellow, hushed, nocturnal. Its instrumentation is drenched in the beat nightclub atmospherics of "Ten New Songs": trippy, skeletal R&B and pop and Casio keyboard and beatbox-propelled rhythm tracks are graced by brushed drums, spectral saxophones, and vibes, along with an all but imperceptible acoustic guitar lilting sleepily through it all. But this doesn't get it, because there's so much more than this, too. That said, "Dear Heather" is Cohen's most upbeat offering. Rather than focus on loss as an end, it looks upon experience as something to be accepted as a portal to wisdom and gratitude. Women permeate these songs both literally and metaphorically. Robinson, who collaborated with Cohen last time, is here, but so is Anjani Thomas. Leanne Ungar also lends production help.
"Beat Cafe" is Donovan's first record in nine years. His last, the Rick Rubin-produced "Sutras" was issued in 1993 and was hopelessly misunderstood — especially coming as it did on the heels of Rubin's first collaboration with Johnny Cash. This side, produced by the rootsy yet eclectic John Chelew who has worked with everyone from Richard Thompson to the Blind Boys of Alabama and John Hiatt goes right to the heart of Donovan's particular musical esthetic. The title on this set is significant. The instrumentation is spare, with drums by Jim Keltner, acoustic, upright bass by the legendary Danny Thompson, and keyboards by Chelew. Donovan handled the guitar chores. In other words, small combo, cafe style. . . Atmosphere is everything in these songs; they are intimate, rhythm-conscious, tuneful, and lyrically savvy. In addition, they're inspired by that eternally present, romantically eulogized generation of poets, dope fiends, midnight travelers, and coffeehouse sages, the Beats. The set features 12 new songs; ten of them are Donovan Leitch originals. The covers include a compelling read of the mysterious and traditional "The Cuckoo," and a jazzy spoken word take on Dylan Thomas' "Do Not Go Gentle." There are some flashes of the hippy mystic of old here, but mostly, this is a fingerpopping set by Donovan the enigma as well as Donovan the songwriter.
Vocalist/pianist
Peter Cincotti burst onto the jazz scene in 2003 as an 18-year-old wunderkind
much in the same way that Harry Connick, Jr. positioned himself as an updated
crooner with a debut album of enjoyable if predictable standards from various
decades. Interestingly, Cincotti's follow-up, this "On the Moon", finds him exploring
funk and soft rock balladry. Similar to his British contemporary Jamie Cullum,
Cincotti seems intent here on mixing a radio-friendly melodic pop aesthetic
with his jazz chops. In fact, the title track sounds a lot like Cullum's single
"All at Sea," which is not to say that Cincotti is ripping anybody
off. On the contrary, while there are touches of David Gates, Barry Manilow,
and even Coldplay, it is hard to pinpoint any concrete influences for
Cincotti's singer/songwriter style. While original songs are the focus this
time around, there is also a bevy of inspired standard tunes. To these ends, he
opens the album with a funky, hip-hop-influenced take on "St. Louis
Blues," gives "Bali Ha'i" a bluesy Sting-influenced vibe, and
turns "Up on the Roof" into a cinematic ballad. Adding to the lush
atmosphere are full string arrangements and guest spots by such sought-after
Why it took
vocalist Madeleine Peyroux eight years to follow up her acclaimed "Dreamland" album is anybody's guess. The explanation from her website bio claims, «I
could have kept running with it, but I took a breather.» Really it hardly
matters, since there have been plenty of capable singers to fill that void. Produced
by Larry Klein, "Careless Love" is essentially "Dreamland" part deux. She lost Yves
Beauvais and Atlantic Records, as well as a stellar cast of edgy jazz and rock
session players, but she did gain Larry Klein. There are some fine players on
this album, including Larry Goldings, Scott Amendola, David Piltch, and Dean
Parks, and it's a much more focused set than "Dreamland". That she's on Rounder
is just an "oh well." Since Klein is not reined in by having to be a
"jazz" producer, his sense of restrained and subtle adventure is a
perfect foil for Peyroux's voice and phrasing, which is still too close to the
Billie Holiday model for comfort. The material is a curious collection of
modern pop songs, country tunes, and old nuggets. There's an original as well
in "Don't Wait Too Long," co-written with Jesse Harris and Klein. Peyroux's
reading of Leonard Cohen's "Dance Me to the End of Love" that opens
the disc is radical, sung like a German cabaret song, and lacks the drama of
the original, which is on purpose but it's questionable as to whether it works.
Set in