A Colombian’s rediscovery

Carlos Vives

“El Rock de Mi Pueblo” (EMI U.S. Latin)

****

The title of the vibrant new album by Colombia’s popular singer-songwriter can be misleading. “The Rock of My People” isn’t rock in the literal sense. It’s 100% Colombian, despite the electric guitars that buzz across the taut, 12-song set. But the work is certainly infused with the spirit of rock -- rootsy, rhythmic and rousing.

Vives, one of Latin America’s most compelling performers, draws once again on his inexhaustible creative wellspring, the folksy vallenato and other styles of his beloved coastal countryside. After 2001’s pleasant but disposable “Dejame Entrar,” which won both a Grammy and a Latin Grammy, Vives makes an exuberant return to his native roots. His renewed passion is reflected even in the cover art, depicting a reinvigorated Vives reveling in his country’s awesome natural surroundings.

Vives’ uplifting vision is expressed in songs of love, faith, promise and optimism. The love of simple, unspoiled virtues in “La Maravilla” (“The Marvel”). The faith of the lonely but loyal immigrant in “Maleta de Suenos” (“Suitcase of Dreams”). The promise of a better future for a wounded nation in “La Fuerza del Amor” (“The Power of Love”).

In the bewitching “Que Tiene la Noche,” Vives probes the magical appeal of Colombian nights -- a seductive look, an enchanting cadence, a melody that turns catchy. It’s through this joyful exploration of his country’s mysterious magnetism that Vives reclaims his stature as one of Latin America’s most important songwriters.

That should be a lesson to his superstar compatriots Juanes and Shakira, whose relevance seems to diminish the more detached they get from their troubled but inspiring homeland.

Agustin Gurza

The potential is there, just not borne out here

The Thrills

“Let’s Bottle Bohemia” (Virgin)

** 1/2

The Prodigy

“Always Outnumbered, Never Outgunned” (Maverick)

**

Though both these albums misfire, the Thrills continue to show the raw talent to suggest they can be one of rock’s most important bands, and the Prodigy still reminds you of the force that made it one of the most explosive outfits of the ‘90s.

The Thrills’ debut album last year, “So Much for the City,” was a near-perfect work that wrapped one of pop’s most elusive traits -- innocence -- with a wistful ‘60s California vibe. In the follow-up, the Irish band again showcases the tuneful craft that made the debut so winning.

But the record label should have advised them to work on the songs some more (and think of a new title). Despite interesting themes about, not surprisingly, the loss of innocence, too many of the songs seem undernourished.

Liam Howlett, the Prodigy’s leader, found it so hard to live up to the techno-rock brilliance of 1997’s “The Fat of the Land” that he threw out the follow-up in 2002. He should have done the same with this one.

In hoping for new inspiration, Hewlett reshuffled his musical lineup, sending singer Keith Flint to the sidelines. He generates sparks with some of his trademark dance-rock collisions, yet there’s nothing that conveys urgency or irresistible sonic force. It’s like a series of beats in search of a firestarter.

Robert Hilburn

Twins take a giant step toward more dramatic pop

Tegan and Sara

“So Jealous” (Vapor/Sanctuary)

***

WITH eccentric pop bands such as Modest Mouse now in the spotlight, the timing couldn’t be better for this fourth studio album by 23-year-old Canadian identical twins Tegan and Sara Quin. Retaining their blend of spare folk and jagged post-punk, they take a giant step with a more dramatic pop sensibility that enhances their artfully oblique ruminations on romantic disorder and obsession.

Keyboardist Matt Sharp (Weezer, the Rentals) gives the tunes a new wave, toy-music tickle that counters their minor-key darkness while somehow not clashing with the more organic elements. “You Wouldn’t Like Me” grabs you with its warbled insecurities, exuberant buzz-pop and the duo’s counterpoint vocals. Other songs are sneakier: The chiming, pulsing lament “Where Does the Good Go” begins starkly but builds into a complex swirl of vocals, instruments and styles.

The push and pull of love remains their chief topic, but the lyrics create feelings more than spelling out stories. Still, it’s clear enough what a track such as “Wake Up Exhausted” is about, with its confession of a tormented-by-dreams-of-you insomniac. The subject matter eventually becomes a bit emotionally monochromatic, despite the broader sonic palette and the duo’s fresh approach to mining such ancient territory. But “So Jealous” is still a gem.

-- Natalie Nichols

Could be B.I.G. in his own right

Guerilla Black

“Guerilla City” (Virgin)

***

Compton is the home of some of the West Coast’s most significant hip-hop artists, including King Tee, Eazy-E, Dr. Dre and MC Eiht. With this strong debut album, Guerilla Black makes a compelling case that he could eventually be added to that prestigious list.

But there’s a twist: As Black raps on the eerie “Hearts of Fire,” “He look like Big. He sound like Big” -- a reference to the uncanny similarity between Black and Brooklyn’s Notorious B.I.G., one of the most respected rappers of all time.

Black goes a long way toward solidifying his own legitimacy throughout “Guerilla City.” Like the late B.I.G., Black includes a deft mix of hard-core, narrative-driven pieces that showcase his imaginative, detailed storytelling (“Hearts of Fire” and the title track), as well as songs that cater to radio but are still edgy (“You’re the One,” “Guerilla Nasty”).

Black also details his city’s street culture on the reggae-based “Compton” and the struggle of the lower class on the delightfully slinky “Say What.” B.I.G. collaborators Carlos Broady and Mario Winans are among those who produced tracks on the album, giving a nod to Black’s skill and his B.I.G. potential.

-- Soren Baker

Poignant words, passable music

R.E.M.

“Around the Sun” (Warner Bros.)

** 1/2

Remember when a new R.E.M. album seemed to matter? That’s not exactly the same as saying, “Remember when R.E.M. used to matter?” but it’s perilously close. And the Georgia band has no one to blame but itself, making it too easy not to care with a string of recent albums marked by midtempo ballads following familiar patterns. Compare that to the constant sense of commitment from U2, with whom R.E.M. used to stand in terms of artistic reach and cultural stature. It’s not even close.

And that’s a shame, since on this album a noncommittal aura undermines Michael Stipe’s most personal, poetic and moving set of lyrics in years. It’s part post-Sept. 11 meditation, part midlife crisis, part continuation of an ongoing thread present in such landmark R.E.M. songs as “Everybody Hurts” and “Losing My Religion.”

“It’s quiet now, and what it brings is everything” is how he starts the album-opening “Leaving New York,” internalizing the impact of the 2001 terrorist attacks. From there, Stipe sorts through that everything -- a troubled relationship, a band in turmoil, a nation and world in turmoil, all jumbled together. “I want to float a quote from Martin Luther King,” he sings in “The Outsiders,” a song ostensibly about a personal relationship, as if questioning whether his own instincts as an artist cause him to confuse personal travails for larger cultural ones.

The music, though, generally fails to enhance Stipe’s words. There is an attractively breezy, almost ‘60s-ish bounce to “Wanderlust,” and the album ends on high notes, with “The Ascent of Man” coming close to the yearning of “Everybody Hurts” and the closing title song conveying uplifting optimism. But overall, where the words bespeak deep caring, the music sounds like indifference.

-- Steve Hochman