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As its title might indicate, The Facts of Life is a concept
album about sex. But unlike Let’s Get It On or, well, pretty much any
Prince record, celebrating carnal pleasure isn’t its primary point. Instead,
this British band has crafted a complicated, caring song cycle that addresses
sex among the young and inexperienced (and demystifies sex for the
young and inexperienced) from several angles, including the physical
difficulty of the act itself.

In terms of music and attitude, Black Box Recorder splits the
difference between archetypal, femme-fronted, trip-hop bands such as
Everything But the Girl and Portishead and the more lyrically pointed Brit-
rock of Pulp. The musical masterminds behind the group are Luke Haines of the
Auteurs and John Moore of the Jesus and Mary Chain, who craft minimalist
keyboard-based pop with subtle dub undercurrents — it’s sturdy, catchy stuff
that sounds as good on listen one as it does on listen 15, but it never draws
attention to itself. Instead singer Sarah Nixey’s voice is left up top,
putting across one whip-smart song after another. Nixey’s vocals are formal,
elegant, and considered but also convey compassion. She turns The Facts of
Life from an ethnography on the travails of teen sex to a compendium of
sisterly (or even motherly) advice.

This second Black Box Recorder album has the audacity to begin
with three straight driving/sex metaphors — each at least in the same
aesthetic ballpark as “Little Red Corvette” and a whole lot more
honest and responsible. These songs are sweet, sly, and vivid. On “The
Art of Driving,” Nixey plays a sexual beginner cooly counseling an
overeager lover: “I wish you’d learn to slow down/You might get there in
the end/Don’t think the accelerator pedal is a man’s best friend/You don’t
have to break the speed limit/You don’t have to break your neck/Another speed-
boy racer/cut out from the wreck.” “Weekend” uses a weekend
road trip as a metaphor for sexual uncertainty, Nixey swooning to her driving
companion, “Maybe this weekend [pregnant pause] maybe never.”
And “The English Motorway System” contemplates the patience and
attention that go into the journey itself.

The lovely, hushed “May Queen” dramatically yet lightly
presents the first fumbling steps of school-age romance as private pact — its
first-kiss hesitancy rhyming with the carnal finale “Goodnight Kiss”
(“Use your imagination/We can go anywhere Tonight we’ll draw
blood”). But the centerpiece is the title track, an actual hit in
England. Most of the songs, understandably, are pitched from a female
perspective, but here Nixey turns a kind eye to the plight of an adolescent
boy phoning a girl for a date: “Now’s the time to deal with the fear of
being rejected/No one gets through life without being hurt/At this point the
boy who’s listening to this song is probably saying/that it’s easier said than
done/and it’s true.”

Not every song on The Facts of Life tackles Topic A.
“Straight Life” is a sardonic take on class and domesticity
(“home improvements/in our dream home,” Nixey croons) that recalls
Roxy Music and latter-day Gang of Four. But Black Box Recorder’s measured look
at the messy reality of physical intimacy among adolescents is what makes the
album special. With kids today subjected to a constant bombardment of teen-
diva sexpots and booty videos, it’s almost a public service announcement. —
Chris Herrington

Grade: A-

Catch-all, SWAG (Yep Roc Records)

SWAG is a Nashville “supergroup” composed of Robert
Reynolds and Jerry Dale McFadden, both of the now-defunct Mavericks, as well
as former Wilco drummer Ken Coomer, Cheap Trick bass player Tom Petersson, and
solo artist Doug Powell. As its title suggests, their debut album is a catch-
all of such pop influences as the Beach Boys, Big Star, and the Kinks — to
name just a few — and the band relies on them very heavily for direction and
inspiration.

Songs like “I’ll Get By” and “Ride” sound
like vintage Cheap Trick, and “When She Awoke” contains some very
Beach Boyish ba-ba-bas and lush orchestration. Both Reynolds and guest singer
Scotty Huff sound eerily like White Album-era Paul McCartney on
“Near Perfect Smile” and “Different Girl,”
respectively.

But the band plays with such energy and obvious affection for
these self-penned tunes that Catch-all becomes more than just the sum
of its influences. There’s a playful inventiveness here, evident in the
harpsichord groove on “Please Don’t Tell,” the smooth harmonica that
graces “Near Perfect Smile,” and the call-and-response solo between
baritone guitar and piano on “Eight.” Such unexpected flourishes add
life to the album. This project could easily have been derivative and stiff,
but Catch-all sounds spontaneous, endearing, and heartfelt. —
Stephen Deusner

Grade: B

Do What You Want, Garageland (Foodchain Records)

On Garageland’s second album, Do What You Want, singer
Jeremy Eades sounds like a forlorn, lovesick teen, inflating everyday romantic
confusion to dramatic life-or-death proportions. In the process, he and his
three fellow New Zealanders create catchy indie pop with occasional flashes of
eloquence and wit.

Eades is a master of portraying pain through small gestures. For
example, on the deceptively laid-back “Good Morning” he invests the
simple question “How are you?” with bittersweet yearning,
concluding, “It’s a small town/I’ll probably see you around.”

But Eades isn’t the only star on Do What You Want. Andrew
Claridge’s surprisingly versatile guitar scorches and burns through songs like
“Burning Bridges” and “Love Song” and shimmers
reassuringly on quieter numbers like “Good Luck” and “Good
Morning.” His playfully funky groove gives “Kiss It All
Goodbye” its sunny mood, while “Middle of the Evening” hinges
on his aching, echoing solo. There are a few moments, as on “What You
Gonna Do?,” when Claridge overpowers Eades’ vocals, upsetting the
otherwise appealing balance.

On the whole, the peaks on Do What You Want are higher
than the lows are low. It’s a fine album, uneven and a little misguided at
times, but it succeeds with frequent bursts of charm and insight. —
SD

Grade: B

Taj Mahal, Taj Mahal (Columbia/Legacy)

The second half of the 20th century saw numerous blues revivals.
The one that happened in the late ’60s is particularly memorable for much of
the execrable music made live and on record. White middle-class American and
English musicians who quickly made the transition from garage bands to yowling
hippie bluesmen should probably never be forgiven for the sheer tonnage of
crap they made from 1967 to 1972. Anyone who ever suffered through a boogie-
band night at the Overton Park Shell during that period will be quite familiar
with this phenomenon.

But there were exceptions, like the Massachusetts guitarist,
singer, blues historian and popularizer Taj Mahal, who was one of the first
out of the blues-revival chute with this recently re-released 1967 debut for
Columbia. What the screechy hippies strained for he simply delivered with only
a minimum of patchouli reek. The songs recorded here were all blues
clichés even by 1967 — three by Brownsville’s Sleepy John Estes,
Willie McTell’s “Statesboro Blues,” Sonny Boy Williamson’s
“Checkin’ Up On My Baby,” and even the inevitable cover of Robert
Johnson’s cover of “Dust My Broom.” But what’s interesting is the
alternating playfulness and reverence Mahal brings to the performance of these
predictable old chestnuts. No, the record is not a classic by any means, but
it sure beats the hell out of Keb Mo and the entire Alligator Records catalog.
— Ross Johnson

Grade: B+

You can e-mail Chris Herrington at herrington@memphisflyer.com.