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Placebo

"Black Market Music"

A backward sounding keyboard loop enters, and then a bludgeoning drumbeat sets the pace. It's well over a minute before the bass guitar kicks in with the rumbling buzz of a Harley-Davidson convention. This leadoff track and first single "Taste in Men" practically bellows "This is not a basement recording." Placebo is simply one of the biggest sounding bands on the planet, and its latest effort "Black Market Music" drills that point home. Unlike the implication of the album's title, this ain't no bootleg. Placebo's previous outing "Without You I'm Nothing" featured a similarly dominating opening cut, the pulsating "Pure Morning." However, that record followed the radio hit with 11 other strong compositions. "Black Market Music" does a gradual fade, so that by the end of the disc, the only thing that sticks in one's memory is the tremendous opener. It's clear that the trio (composed of a Swede, a Brit and a Yankee), doesn't maintain much consistency on its third full-length. Some of the ambiance created is effective (particularly on the delicate "Passive Aggressive"), but the majority of the tunes seem scattered and hastily assembled. Singer Brian Molko attracts vocal comparisons to Pet Shop Boys' Neil Tennant and Rush's Geddy Lee. With his thin delivery and nasal range, Molko, the lone American in this London-based act, is distinctive amid this popular type of production-heavy rock. His melodies and phrasing are admittedly repetitious, but his standoffish conviction is so sharp that it often makes up for the unpleasant qualities of his voice. Lyrically, Molko cops the attitude of a more hedonistic Morrissey ("I wrote this novel just for you/It sounds pretentious but it's true ... That's why it's vulgar/That's why it's blue"). Vocally, he crafts few choruses in the traditional sense. His songs mainly exploit the vast sonic studio tricks of producer Paul Corkett (Bj�rk) while the frontman repeats simple but catchy idioms. It's kind of a Catch(y) 22 for the band: Molko's shortcomings as a vocalist are the very qualities that make him, and ultimately Placebo, identifiable. But when one comes to expect excellence from all the songs and instead receives mediocrity, his presence grows to be more of a nuisance.

Burning Airlines

"Identikit"

Most rock bands have forgotten all about rhythm. Not Burning Airlines. Picking up where singer/guitarist J. Robbins' previous band Jawbox left off, Burning Airlines makes the most out of the fundamental rock battery of guitar, bass and drums. The D.C.-bred band, named after a Brian Eno song, constructs 15 tracks where the three instruments intertwine and spar and launch and stop with admirable precision. Like many current fellow emo artists who found splotches of success in the early-mid '90s, Robbins' and cohorts' style has progressively evolved to include more melody. Luckily, he is one of the most comfortable singers in this indie domain, often facing the difficult task of constructing hummable vocal lines above a backdrop of distorted riffs and ambiguous time signatures. "Morricone Dancehall" (with its truly twisted bass line) and the Cream-colored "The Deluxe War Baby" are the most successful at this. "The Surgeon's House" proves the band comfortable at slowing things down with a genuinely haunting tune that lingers more than some of its faster counterparts. Other songs, such as the guitar effect-heavy title track and the jittery "Blind Trial," are often overbearing in their attempt at so much variety in a three-minute framework. "Identikit" works better on initial impact because the material fits together in such a fresh and unexpected way � a trait dulled after frequent listenings. Though Burning Airlines struggles valiantly to provide hooks to its m�lange of meters, the trio is ultimately navigating through a disjointed landscape. The result is indeed cool but will never stand accused of being accessible.