When Richard Shindell moved to Buenos Aires in 2000, it seemed logical that his next set of songs would reflect the sights, sounds, and culture of his new home. With each new experience or discovery, it must have been tempting for Shindell to incorporate all those Latin flavors and influences into his songs and, basically, let the surroundings write the music. But with Vuelta he wisely avoids that mistake, and despite a few lyrical flourishes -- seashores, an immigrant, a Spanish lyric -- the music remains grounded in the land of American contemporary folk. Mostly recording in Buenos Aires with the fascinating Argentinean group Puente Celeste, Shindell smartly utilized the talent of the multi-instrumentalists by having them adapt to his style of music. Their enhancements give songs like "Fenario" a deep and complex sound that refrains from overwhelming this old English-styled ballad that recalls the work of traditional British folk interpreter June Tabor. Much like his previous recordings, Shindell has populated Vuelta with fascinating characters. The wistful "The Island" is a classic piano-based Shindell tune about a vacationer who visits a resort and decides to remain in the newfound but ever changing paradise. Revisiting the plight of illegal immigrants he first wrote about in 1994's "Fishing," Shindell tells the tale of a man who hopes to reach America by stowing away aboard a ship leaving Buenos Aires in "Che Guevara T-Shirt." As one of the few song to incorporate a little international flair, the meditative "There Goes Mavis" uses a quiet bossa nova groove to relay the story of a child who blissfully releases her captive pet bird at the beach. Songs like these showcase Shindell's unique storytelling ability. His songs are not simply observations, but intricately drawn characterizations of people and places that play like soundtracks to mini-movies that flicker in a listener's head. While some of the stories may include scenes from his new home, for the most part Shindell's musical visions continue to reflect the expatriate's American roots. Even a carefully selected remake of Pete Seeger's Vietnam-era "Waist Deep in the Big Muddy" seems to be a comment on the war in Iraq. Although he is living thousands of miles way, Richard Shindell's music continues to be ensconced in his homeland, and with Vuelta he adds another brilliant volume to his rich musical library of American folk.

Each time Marianne Faithfull issues a recording, fans and pundits hold their breaths waiting for another outing as iconoclastic as Broken English. Before the Poison isn't it for a number of reasons, quality not being one of them. Simply put, Before the Poison is an album that concerns itself with both sides of love, friendship, and redemption, not desolation or desperation. That said, there is plenty of human shadow in these ten songs. Polly Harvey wrote three songs here, co-wrote a pair with Faithfull, and is present on all of them. Nick Cave co-wrote three with the singer and his Bad Seeds back her on these tracks. She also co-wrote one apiece with Blur's Damon Albarn and composer Jon Brion. Along with Harvey and Cave, Rob Ellis and Hal Willner aided in production. Therefore, Before the Poison, like its predecessor, Kissin' Time, is an album of collaborations. But unlike that offering, this one is seamless; its songs are sequenced impeccably and all feel of a piece linked by emotional thematics. Harvey's songs are all moving and beautiful. Faithfull's reading of "No Child of Mine," a track that appeared on PJ's own last album, Uh Huh Her, has more depth and texture than the original. Harvey is pushing it on, underneath, her signature guitar sound ushering in each line as Faithfull — in fantastic voice throughout — does a call and response with herself until the refrain, when Harvey harmonizes and adds dimension to the stark loss and resignation uttered with great empathy and even tenderness. On "The Mystery of Love," which opens the set, Faithfull brings the weight of her life experience to Harvey's poetic lyric and opens its fathomless heart. On Cave's "Crazy Love," the lyric could have accompanied the footage in Wim Wenders' Wings of Desire. As Faithfull paints the skeletal portraits of the song's protagonists who move around the chessboard of life, she gets to the refrain where the tune splits wide and, as Warren Ellis' raggedly elegant violin sweeps above the rest, the singers offers a poetic truth from her own life: "Crazy love is all around me/Love is crazy, love is kind/But I know somehow you'll find me/Love is crazy, love is blind." On Albarn's "Last Song," possibility has passed into memory amid the swell of strings, tambourines, and acoustic pianos. It's a devastating track, and Faithfull sings with an authority that can only be borne by a witness. The disc closes with "City of Quartz," written with Brion. It's a fractured, slightly off-kilter waltz that could have easily appeared on Blazing Away or even as an outtake from 20th Century Blues. The notion of time's passage is in the present tense here, as strings enter amid the chimes underscoring longing, and the acceptance of human need. Before the Poison is poetic and unnerving; it stands alone in her catalog in the same way that Broken English did — but this time, on the other side of the mirror.

Of all the records produced in Chicago in the late 90s, the Sea and Cake's were the comfiest. As for singer Sam Prekop's solo album, well: His was just the best. The people involved were the same guys as always-- O'Rourke, McEntire, Taylor, Abrams, Mazurek-- but something about Prekop made all the difference. Part of it was his hushed, husky "soul" singing, still the perfect accompaniment to that Chicago-style fake bossa nova. But the bulk of it was just the quiet lull of the thing-- the way half of its tracks laid back into spare, comfy sounds and let them drift along. Which made it a little strange to anticipate this album: How do you follow up something that seemed so much like a happy accident, or a gorgeous, quiet side-note?

Because with this set, Prekop's putting a lot more into it: There are more "proper" songs and less airy instrumental pieces, and in spots those laid-back soul inclinations bloom into something you could stretch toward calling funky. What stays true, though, is that sound-- soft, simple, and natural, the surprisingly un-slick tones of raw instruments in a big room. It has a little do with Jim O'Rourke's "pop" records (Eureka, Halfway to a Threeway), and a little to do with the Sea and Cake, but neither reference quite gets the particulars: What Prekop's playing is some form of half-jazzy bossa nova soul, some elegant laid-back concoction that's part beach and part dinner party. The rhythm section skips along in a loose shuffle, Prekop touches softly at his guitar in that electric bossa style, and his breathy croon winds the melody in and out of the occasional low swell of horns. The results can range from blissfully cushy to outright grand, thanks to their impeccable composition.

Forget the details: The sheer comfort of this stuff can charm just about anyone, from the rock bar to the office to your grandma's house. The timing couldn't be better, either, because it's difficult to separate the sound from the city. In L.A., you can get this kind of sunset white-guy soul any time; in Chicago, spring really means something, and there's no better use for this music than getting massively chilled-out in your big, suddenly-sunny apartment. Better still, this is anything but mood music: Prekop is a songwriter to be reckoned with, and the dynamics and arrangements on this disc have a depth that keeps luring you further in. Just like bossa nova-- its hot-bath laziness and lively, complex instrumental interplay, both somehow occupying the exact same space.

So I keep listening, and sorting through all that graceful composition, and dreaming of biking up Ashland in June. Up until now, Prekop's solo work has been the side-note in the Sea and Cake diaspora, that one album flying well below the radar of Archer Prewitt's singer-songwriter career. Hopefully this set will change that: Prewitt may be cuter, but Prekop's sound is the real marvel.

Archer Prewitt has been putting out intelligent, sophisticated pop music for some time now, and Wilderness is another absolute gem. There's a certain sense of melancholy running throughout, but this is often belied by the upbeat music, which often takes unexpected yet totally natural twists and turns. Tempos change in mid-tune, and sparse accompaniment will suddenly blossom into a lush cinematic sound with horns and strings, as on the majestic coda to "Cheap Rhyme." The band is spot-on, and the album has an inviting, relaxed sound. The songs are utterly engaging, and the detailed arrangements reveal more with each listen. Choosing highlights would be arbitrary at best; Prewitt has written a great batch of tunes, and the production and arrangements show him to be a supreme pop craftsman.

Great work from one of our favorite Brazilian DJs -- and one of the few who's able to mix together older and folkier elements without burying them too much in the beats and bass! Dolores' work is a nice change from some of the heavier styles of the recent Brazilian scene -- as he allows for a bit more space in the mix to let things emerge at a more organic level -- often working with a core set of elements that are still kept nicely intact, and not just thrown into the record at a haphazard level. There's a sense of gentle appreciation on the best tracks on the set -- and we really appreciate the way that acoustic elements sit comfortably next to electronics on the record. Titles include "Rouen", "A Espuma Dos Dias", "Matilha", "Sanidade", "De Dar Do", "Salvo", "Trancelim De Marfim", "Azougue", and "Prece".

The sophomore record by the Gun Club bore the curse of having to follow a monolith of their own making. Fire of Love sold extremely well for an independent; it was a favorite of virtually every critic who heard it in 1981. Miami showcased a different lineup as well. Ward Dotson replaced Congo Powers (temporarily, at least) on guitar, and there were a ton of guest performances, including Debbie Harry and Chris Stein. Stein produced the album. Off the bat the disc suffers from a thin mix. Going for a rougher sound, Stein left the instruments at one level and boosted Pierce's vocal. There is plenty of guitar here, screaming and moping like a drunken orphan from the Texas flatlands, but next to its predecessor it sounds drier and reedier. Ultimately it hardly matters. Going for a higher, more desolate sound, frontman and slide player Jeffrey Lee Pierce and his band were literally on fire. The songs here, from "Carry Me," "Like Calling Up Thunder," "Devil in the Woods," "Watermelon Man," "Bad Indian," and "Texas Serenade," among others, centered themselves on a mutant form of country music that met the post-punk ethos in the desert, fought and bloodied each other, and decided to stay together. This is hardcore snake-charming music (as in water moccasins not cobras), evil, smoky, brash, and libidinally uttered. Their spooky version of an already creepy tune by Creedence Clearwater Revival, "Run Through the Jungle" runs the gamut from sexual nightmare to voodoo ritual gone awry. Finally, Pierce and company pull out all the roots and reveal them for what they are: "John Hardy," is a squalling punk-blues, with the heart of the country in cardiac arrest. Dotson proved to be a fine replacement for Congo Powers, in that his style was pure Telecaster country (à la James Burton) revved by the Rolling Stones and Johnny Thunders. Miami was given a rough go when it was issued for its production. But in the bird's-eye view of history its songs stack up, track for track, with Fire of Love and continue to echo well into this long good night.

Archer Prewitt fans are apparently very secretive.

I had dinner with Marianne Faithful. (and Oliver Tobias who played the lead role in "The Stud" with Joan Collins.)