What do you get when you mix some Rice Krispies with a glass soda bottle and a grief-stricken squirrel? Nothing, of course. There’s no possible situation in which those odd elements could be brought together, let alone made into some beautiful contraption. However, if you were to tell Danny Michel to write a whole album about them, I can guarantee that he would. Not only that, it would probably be one of the best–and most touching–records you’ve ever heard.

The Ontario singer/songwriter is back again with his latest, Valhalla, a wildly splattered canvas of juxtaposed images and palpable instrumentals. Michel, a pro when it comes to painting listeners a picture of indescribable emotion, has reaffirmed his genius when it comes to making each and every song coalesce into a seamless patchwork of limb-melting harmonies. Valhalla plays with the fast and slow of music, as well as the dark and happy. Every song (from the gentle "It’s Not The End Of The World" to the country-esque "Tennessee Tobacco") snaps together like a simple IKEA bed, making for an album that you can hop right into without a struggle.

Les Claypool
Of Whales and Woe
(Prawn Song)
**1/2

Primus frontman and master bassist (or is that master-basser?) Claypool returns with yet another inventory of eccentric characters with strange names, muttered vocals and slap’n slide bass grooves, nailed down with oddball instrumental affectations and junk-shop percussion à la Tom Waits.

There’s no slighting Claypool’s hyper-dexterous command of his main axe, and arguably he acquits himself well on guitar and drums on the few tracks that aren’t filled out by musical friends and family. But, on the other hand, just about every project Claypool has turned his hand to since Primus’ solid 1990 debut Frizzle Fry has been of slightly less consequence than the one that preceded it.

Self-indulgence is the culprit, methinks–Claypool hasn’t tired of passing off practice-space experiments and in-jokes as songs, some of which could use substantial rewriting with an X-Acto knife.

More than anything, Of Whales and Woe creates the inescapable sense that Claypool is immensely cozy in the cartoony rut he’s carved for himself. For some portion of the population–the ones who like hearing "Tommy the Cat" recycled ad nauseum–that’s probably good news.

Scott Lanaway
Answering Machine Diaries
(Aeon)
***

This is a curious blend of acoustic folk-rock and triptych electronica, one that operates at varying levels of accessibility and success.

The album seems to represent a sort of perceived future version of itself, replete with all the Jetsons-like clichés that inevitably never materialize–the irony being that its stripped-down, acoustic core ("Red Dress," "If You Were Here"), along with the consistently solid songwriting, could stand as a fine album of its own.

Instead, the quasi-futuristic theme is forced and reinforced with "Rival Universe" and "When You Call My Name," replete with metaphysical musings such as "Gonna go to the corner store/Gonna buy some hydrogen/You know they sell it at a mark-up/To the airship in the sky."

Long, minimalist instrumental movements ("Flying," "City on the Edge of Forever") evoke art-rockers like Sufjan Stevens, while the poppier mixes that permeate the first half of the album recall Radiohead and Beck.

However, unlike these plugged-in performers, the juxtaposition of Lanaway’s sounds can be as harsh and dissonant as they are sexy and cool.

BLACK TURTLENECK
Musical Chairs
(Nrmls Wlcm)
***1/2

Anyone with an itchy Pro Tools finger and some scrappy beat-juggling skills must be gagging to sink their switches and knobs into this one.

The aptly named Black Turtleneck (think "Sprokets," Mike Myers’ German-electro-android-stereotype-based, monkey-frottage comedy sketch) consists of Toronto duo Thomas Sinclair and Jason Amm, the latter of intelli-tronic touchstone Solvent.

Musical Chairs bleeps, blips, twitters, skitters and New Orderizes its way through an ’80s pop-touched soundscape, with a Gary Numan-esque, neurotic, party-at-the-apocalypse feel. Chilly at times, an aural sea of little touches and layers demonstrate the pair’s command over the paraphernalia of dance music, as well as its syntax. Wry, paranoid lyrics evoke the wearying, petty everydayness in the face of looming existential concerns.

Now let’s get to what’s really interesting about electronic culture–the deconstruction and reconstruction of the artist’s vision, note by note, beat by beat, element by element. The Edmonton-based label that midwifed this baby has simultaneously released a vinyl sampler with a couple exclusive mixes, and you can almost hear the sound of thousands of excitedly twiddling knobs in basements throughout the dance world.

Don Caballero
World Class Listening Problem
(Relapse)
****1/2

Don Caballero drummer and group mastermind Damon Che has a reputation, however much deserved, of being a world-class prick. Erratic behaviour like leaving tours abruptly and throwing tantrums wind through the rumor mill, but who knows how much truth there is to it all? It all becomes moot anyway when compared to his other reputable aspect–that of his phenomenal ability to play the drums.

So this is the new Don Caballero. Che’s creative and precision drumming has often been identified as the core of the band, and now with World Class Listening Problem’s entirely new line-up we see the reality of his importance.

The album starts out with a sound appropriate to their newfound label home with underground metal giant Relapse Records. But the metal-tinged riffs give way to familiar grooves, stop/start guitar loops, and driving bass tones. Songs ricochet between dirge-y metal riffs and 2000’s American Don-styled Caballero of yore.

A damn fine mix, indeed.