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Christina Aguilera

Christina Aguilera

(RCA)

 Amazon

 Lala

Some albums don’t date well, sounding less like art than artifacts, and some are timeless, continuing to sound fresh years after they were released. Christina Aguilera’s self-titled debut lands somewhere in between. On the one hand, the record is a time capsule from a long forgotten era when lumbering record companies ruled the Earth and pretty-faced alumni of the G-rated genre ruled the record companies. On the other hand, the 12 pieces of bubblegum on Aguilera’s first release mirror the current over-sexed landscape of popular music so well that it wouldn’t be surprising to see a bizarro Aguilera fabricated by hit-makers this autumn.

Aguilera was the third in a Disney dynasty whose late ‘90s releases reaped profits that lined the pockets of executives, and whose products filled minds with the sonic equivalent of soft taffy: sugar-sweet, sexy, slick, and not too good for you. Although the last of the late ‘90s Big Three (co-Mouseketeers Britney and Justin topped the charts first), Aguilera came to the table armed with the biggest voice, the fewest hang-ups, and the most malleable image. Christina Aguilera is chock full of strong singles: “Genie in a Bottle”, “What a Girl Wants”, and “Come on Over (All I Want is You)”—all of which sound appropriately bouncy, and the last one was even co-written by Aguilera herself (even if she shared songwriting credit with five other people and one hit-making trio). Further, two of the tracks (the chart-topping “I Turn to You” and the retro “Somebody’s Somebody”) were penned by legendary pop scribe Diane Warren.

Though she would later complain about the tribulations of celebrity, following her debut with a few missteps and attempts at alleged authenticity and creative control, Christina Aguilera rubbed audiences the right way, and made its maker a pop star in the process. Luke Fenchel

Meshell Ndegeocello

Bitter

(Maverick)

 Amazon

 Lala

Bitter was the taste in Meshell Ndegeocello’s mouth after a failed relationship, the feeling in her soul as its twists and turns gave way to months of emptiness and even more questions. Always somewhat challenging anyhow, the German-born R&B siren and bass prodigy quietly shut the door on her pop self and recorded what was to become her darkest and most pained release.

Bitter allowed Ndegeocello a vast space to explore a range of difficult emotions, from confusion to resignation to loneliness, which she verbalized with startling candor—there’s no real poeticism in a line like “You have no interest in anything that I have to say”, yet it devastates all the same. Her funk-laden bass—an instrument for the best of times—took a well-advised back seat to Lisa Coleman’s piano, which shed tears with each stark note, and strings that recalled 4hero’s Two Pages stunned and slowed to a sad crawl. It straight up hurt to hear her in this state, which may have been the reason the album won critical adoration but flopped commercially (it peaked at only #105 on the Billboard Top 200). The great irony of Bitter is that “bitte” means “please” in German, highlighting the pathos in Ndegeocello’s struggle to separate that wrenches the heart so. Mike Newmark

P.O.D.

The Fundamental Elements of Southtown

(Atlantic)

 Amazon

 Lala

1999 was a bad year to be a metal fan. Though the genre provided many true metal bands an opportunity to deliver good albums—like those of Opeth, Children of Bodom, and Dimmu Borgir—mainstream radio was overwhelmed by a strange new music hybrid known as nu-metal. The nu-metal sound was basically hard rock with dashes of turntablism, funk, hip-hop, and grunge, but definitely not as strong as any of its parts. And no band represented this weak attempt at heavy metal as visibly as Southern California’s P.O.D..

Payable on Death (P.O.D.) was a Christian nu-metal band who grew up in the poorer sections of San Diego (pejoratively known as Southtown), yielding experiences that formed the basis for much of their lyrics. Listening to their third album, The Fundamental Elements of Southtown, it’s easy to see why this record became their first mainstream success. The group was part of a scene that thrived on the rap-rock fusion, and you can tell that the music would have fit in along with other popular bands at that time—Limp Bizkit, Korn, Deftones, etc.

Retrospectively, though, I am ashamed to say how much I liked most of that music, because listening to The Fundamental Elements now, I am alarmed at how badly this record has aged. Don’t get me wrong, P.O.D. was a good band and could produce some angry, socially-relevant lyrics. But as a whole, this album is a weak effort from a band where each member is trying to replicate other musicians’ sounds. Lead singer Sonny Sandoval tries to rhyme like pro-Jesus rockers DC Talk, but sounds like a contestant on VH1’s White Rapper Show. And guitarist Marcos Curiel and drummer Wuv Bernardo try and emulate Tom Morello and Brad Wilk, respectively, of Rage Against the Machine, but with little success. The notable exceptions are bassist Traa Daniels, who fairly succeeds at channeling a funky, thick bass sound a la Faith No More, and guest performer DJ Circa, who lays down exquisite scratching.

In the end, what are The Fundamental Elements of Southtown? Two radio-friendly singles, “Southtown” and “Rock the Party (Off the Hook)”, an atrocious nu-metallic emo cover of U2’s “Bullet the Blue Sky”, more references to “Jah” than in a Peter Tosh record, and a band that tries to make Christianity ROCK, but with little effect. Shyam Sriram