Old songs get new life on McGuinn’s ‘Folk Den Project’

Roger McGuinn

“The Folk Den Project 1995-2005” (April First Productions) ““““

There’s hardly a better example of a happy marriage between old and new than Roger McGuinn’s Folk Den.

Over the past decade, this former Byrd and technology geek has been archiving traditional folk songs on his Web site (mcguinn.com). At the interactive Folk Den, musicians and historians could find a captivating time capsule of storytelling and music, complete with free downloads, lyrics, chords and a note from McGuinn.

To mark the project’s first 10 years, McGuinn has compiled 100 of his favorite songs into a four-disc package available for purchase at his Web site, amazon.com and cdbaby.com.

For folk purists, McGuinn’s loving treatment of such songs as “Mighty Day” and “Dink’s Song” is a treasure indeed.

The former is a topical song about the Galveston Flood of 1900 that rings truer than ever more than 100 years later in the wake of Katrina. The latter is a duet with Pete Seeger on a traditional song recently covered in rougher fashion by a young Bob Dylan on the “No Direction Home” documentary soundtrack; the harmonies are far sweeter here, especially when augmented by McGuinn’s ringing 12-string guitar.

The folk tradition is about adaptation, and it’s not surprising that these old songs find new life in the shadow of current events. So it is that “Down by the Riverside,” with its admonition that “I ain’t gonna study war no more,” becomes a gentle anti-war anthem.

Whether it’s wrapped around topical songs, spirituals or tall tales, McGuinn’s voice on the “Folk Den Project” is a significant and engaging one in the preservation of this important music.

Jim Abbott, Orlando Sentinel

Sia

“Colour the Small One” (Astralwerks) “““

Australian singer-songwriter Sia’s half-awake vocals feel like sweet breath on your neck, almost lulling you into overlooking the musical and emotional complexities simmering below the surface on her sophomore album.

She uses smartly appointed arrangements like plot twists. So serene is the fragile electro-clatter of “Rewrite” that its 5/4 beat feels completely natural – until you try dancing to it. Her woozy harmonies cling tightly around the 3/4 feel of “Sweet Potato,” helping the love-struck tale gain steamy momentum.

The lightheaded melodies sometimes hold disquieting tales. In “The Bully,” a lazily plucked folk-pop song she co-wrote with Beck, Sia seeks atonement for emotional abuse she inflicted on a schoolmate years ago, while in “Breathe Me” (featured in the closing sequence of HBO’s “Six Feet Under”) she’s wracked with the guilt of self-absorption.

Patrick Berkery, Philadelphia Inquirer

We Are Scientists

“With Love and Squalor” (Virgin) ““ 1/2

They talk too much, cramming more words than imaginable into short, hard verses. They play too many fast, twisting drums and brightly brusque guitars. They have more sharp hooks than a meat locker.

Welcome to We Are Scientists – three sugar-rushing nerds who bring some Devo to the speedy, shiny pop of Franz Ferdinand with spastic, even exhausting, results.

No one will accuse the riff-heavy “Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt” and the cutesy “This Scene Is Dead” of having unmemorable melodies. And “It’s a Hit”? Yes, it is.

But you wish W.A.S. would switch up from clean careening occasionally. Get mussed. Slow down to catch up with singer Keith Murray’s cool, collected croon, as they do on “Can’t Lose.”

Less speed. More squalor.

A.D. Amorosi, Philadelphia Inquirer

Collin Raye

“20 Years and Change” (Aspirion) “ 1/2

Collin Raye was one of the most vanilla of country hitmakers in the ‘90s. His new album suggests the condition is terminal.

When he’s delivering mewling ballads like “Forgotten” and “The Search Is Over,” Raye’s blandness is wretched enough. When he injects some rock or tries to put over a barroom honky-tonker (“You’re Not Drinkin’ Enough”), it’s almost laughable.

And the finale, “It’s Only Make Believe,” doesn’t come close to matching the grandeur of Conway Twitty’s definitive version.

Nick Cristiano, Philadelphia Inquirer