A Few That Missed the Mark

These artists have known the glory of past top album lists, but didn’t make it this year. Here’s why.

Lucinda Williams, World Without Tears

When they collect Lucinda’s best work, there will be a few songs from this album. “Righteously,” “Those Three Days,” and “Real Live Bleeding Fingers and Broken Guitar Strings” all belong on a compilation. But Williams overreaches, and it can be painful at times. “Atonement” can be kindly called ill-advised, and many other tracks aren’t up to her very high Car Wheels on a Gravel Road standards. Maybe she really does need six years to make an album.

Everclear, Slow Motion Daydream

By all rights, this continuation of the sound from the transcendent Songs From An American Movie albums should be great. It ain’t. It’s just OK—there’s no glue holding it together, no real emotion behind the faceless songs. That’s a real shame—this could have been a tighter album than the sprawling double disc last time out, and that might have shot to number three or so on the list.

John Mayer, Heavier Things

There’s obvious craft here, but someone either rushed Mayer or turned him sappy on a few of these tracks. You can’t blame him for striking while the iron is hot, but there’s room for quality control on an album with only ten songs from an artist who hasn’t been prolific. Deleting “Daughters” and playing around with a heavier sound to go with the album title could have propelled Mayer from also-ran to the big time.

Robbie Williams, Escapology (US)

For one thing, this is too long at 61 minutes. For another, it’s essentially the same as last year’s UK version, which was widely available here through the wonders of the internet. While it isn’t Robbie’s best album—Sing When You’re Winning and the crooner follow-up, Swing When You’re Winning, have that distinction—there’s a lot to like here, including the new and updated songs. I just wish the US version still had “Hot Fudge.”

Pete Yorn, Day I Forgot

How can an album shorter than its strong predecessor feel looser and weaker as well? (See Everclear.) Yorn’s sophomore effort isn’t bad, but it’s not nearly as catchy or consistent as the much better 2001 album musicforthemorningafter.

Zwan, Mary, Star of the Sea

And people say Ryan Adams has quality control issues. Billy Corgan, formerly of Smashing Pumpkins, lets it all hang out here—for over an hour—and the result, at times wonderful, it just too much. The bloated title track is an emblem of an album that’s sometimes killer and often filler.

Sting, Sacred Love

He’s anything but prolific—he releases an album every three or four years with only ten new songs. So why can’t Sting make all ten count? The single, “Send Your Love,” is a decent song, and his duet with Mary J. Blige on “Whenever I Say Your Name” is a stirring listening experience. It’s telling, though, that Blige is the one whose voice stands out and makes the song interesting—she’s the one bringing the fireworks. The remaining collection of Sting solos isn’t bad, but it’s bland enough that most of it will drop from memory as soon as you put this CD back on the shelf to gather dust next to Brand New Day.

Liz Phair, Liz Phair

Like everything else with the words “The Matrix” attached to it this year, Liz Phair’s attempt to transform herself into Avril Lavigne is disappointing for several reasons. The songs aren’t that good or even that catchy—which is, after all, why you have The Matrix write your songs in the first place. They sound trite, something Phair should be ashamed of after her auspicious debut. Worst of all, she’s trying so hard to sell out—and failing. Attempted humor and poignance fall equally flat. I’d have bought Britney to keep this off the top ten list if that were what it took.

The Strokes, Room on Fire

Victims of their own critical prestige, the Strokes had no chance of pleasing as many people with their second and overexposed album as they did with Is This It. My displeasure lies with the problem that Room on Fire is pretty boring. It doesn’t sound human—in fact, for a record made by five unruly New Yorkers, it sounds like a committee of computer programs created it. The results are musically competent but not very revealing or interesting.

Travis, 12 Memories

I never thought I’d say this, but the latest from Travis is too British. Nevertheless, you’ve got to give Fran Healy credit for trying. His lyrics here are all over the map—literally. Some of the album is about love, some is about politics, and Healy wedges in both references to the United Nations and a crowd of soccer hooligans chanting “Peace the fuck out.” There’s nothing wrong with that, and there’s nothing particularly wrong with this mostly charming little album, either. But it doesn’t soar, and that means it suffers in comparison to The Man Who. Every time it approaches the cusp of brilliance, it backs away, right where Man Who would have taken flight. Still, this is an enjoyable record, certainly worth its release week price tag of eight dollars. It just doesn’t grab and hold you the way we know Travis can.

The Thorns, The Thorns

There’s a prophetic line at the start of the second track, “I Can’t Remember”: “I’m not gonna lie to you, something is missing.” Despite the fact that it boasts the work of three moderately successful solo artists, including Pete Droge, Shawn Mullins, and previous top ten entrant Matthew Sweet, The Thorns comes up short. Instead of any driving rhythms or compelling lyrics, the thirteen songs here consist mostly of three-part harmony and lyrics that sound like they were sanitized during the process of three songwriters tweaking them. The results are bland and inoffensive, certainly not as good as fans had every right to expect from these three.