A talent shines in the darkness

Mary Gauthier

“Mercy Now” (Lost Highway)

*** 1/2

This fortysomething’s resume doesn’t prepare you for the intensity and depth of her stark, weather-beaten songs -- at least not the part that speaks about her attending a culinary school in Massachusetts and opening a Cajun restaurant there called the Dixie Chicken.

If you look deeper into her background, however, you’ll find some of the pain and low self-esteem that fuels many writers. Gauthier (pronounced go-shay) grew up in an alcoholic family in Louisiana, hit the road at 15, battled alcohol and drugs, spent time in jail and detox. She didn’t start writing songs until she was well into her 30s.

After some well-regarded indie releases, Gauthier signed with Lost Highway, where she is right at home among such gifted and demanding folk-country artists as Lucinda Williams and Ryan Adams. But she would have been equally comfortable on the road in the ‘70s with such stark, compelling writers as Townes Van Zandt and Guy Clark.

With a voice as raw and confessional as Kris Kristofferson’s, Gauthier is at her most commanding on a song such as “I Drink,” which is so barren it would have been ideal for the darkest binge scenes in “Leaving Las Vegas.” Co-written by Crit Harmon, it includes the lines:

At night he’d sit alone and smoke

I’d see his frown behind his lighter’s flame

Now that same frown is in my mirror

I’ve got my daddy’s blood inside my veins.

Gauthier brings such authority to the song that you feel she could deliver similar exercises for years, but she is able to reflect on life around her with equal passion.

In the spiritually tinged “Mercy Now,” Gauthier starts by asking for relief for people around her, but she gradually says a prayer, in essence, for mankind -- including institutions (the church and the government) that need to take inventory.

Besides her own songs, Gauthier has a good ear for outside material, especially Harlan Howard’s “Just Say She’s a Rhymer.” It’s an ode to the restless, independent spirit that sometimes causes songwriters to sacrifice everything, including relationships, for the sake of the next song.

It’s easy to see why Gauthier responded to “Rhymer.” She seems to have spent most of her life searching for the truths in her songs, and “Mercy Now” is a warm, if sometimes unsettling, testimony to the fact that the search hasn’t been in vain.

-- Robert Hilburn

New Moby is all hooks, no heart

Moby

“Hotel” (V2)

** 1/2

“Hotel” is billed as the first Moby album that doesn’t contain any vocal samples.

Well, back to the drawing board.

Moby is many things: a true pop-music eclectic, a sonic wizard, a distinctive songwriter, a politically engaged activist, a bridge between the worlds of rock and electronic music.

But he’s not much of a singer, and by making his detached, deadpan delivery the dominant voice on his new album (due in stores Tuesday), he leaves most of the songs as surface decorations, unexcavated by the kind of emotional soul singing (sampled or not) that he applied to much of his earlier music. The four tracks fronted by R&B-rooted; Laura Dawn illustrate the difference.

But maybe these songs aren’t built for that treatment, and maybe they really are just surface decorations. Returning to the mainstream after last year’s back-to-techno diversion “Baby Monkey,” the New Yorker has plowed all his resources into a collection of relentlessly catchy, hook-festooned rock songs. (Also in the package is a second disc of pure ambient music.)

The heavy influence of his neighbor and kindred spirit David Bowie pervades “Hotel,” particularly in the densely layered arrangements and swooning, soaring choruses. “Spiders,” a hymn-like plea for the world’s salvation, erupts into an anthem-like refrain straight out of “Heroes.”

The irony is that even though the sound itself is more “natural” than on most of Moby’s previous work, the essence feels less organic and more calculated. For all the sensual stimulation it provides, “Hotel” is too insistent on being liked, and it’s sacrificed its heart to make that happen.

-- R.H.

Rap pair play to their strengths

The Likwit Junkies

“The L.J.’s” (ABB)

***

A member of the supremely talented Likwit Crew rap family that includes King T, tha Alkaholiks and Xzibit, rapper Defari earned a coveted spot on Dr. Dre’s “2001” album and has released two stellar solo albums. DJ Babu, part of the DJ collective the World Famous Beat Junkies as well as rap group Dilated Peoples, has tremendous turntable skill and in the last few years has emerged as a promising rap beat-maker.

On their first album as the Likwit Junkies (due Tuesday), the Los Angeles-based duo delivers a stellar collection of songs that highlight Defari’s evolution as a rapper and showcase Babu’s wide-ranging production prowess.

Defari raps in a bouncy fashion on the hopeful “One Day Away,” happily describes his ultimate woman on the soulful “Dreamgirl” and joyfully pays homage to the splendor of West Coast living on the celebratory “Salute.” Defari is joined by like-minded rappers Phil Da Agony and Dilated Peoples’ Evidence on the brutal boast-fest “Strength in Numbers,” and by Planet Asia and Krondon on the law enforcement meditation “One Time,” and the results are equally powerful.

-- Soren Baker

It’s a compelling cabaret, old chum

Antony and the Johnsons

“I Am a Bird Now” (Secretly Canadian)

*** 1/2

In all of pop music, only jazz singer Jimmy Scott has a voice remotely like this -- ethereal and otherworldly, clenched and tremulous, a supple warble that can capture both profound emotional pain and the powerful longing to escape its hold.

Antony, a Southern Californian who moved to New York in 1990, has been lurking on the pop fringes for a while, getting some notice as a member of Lou Reed’s live band and as a performer at some of producer Hal Willner’s staged music events, such as a tribute to Leonard Cohen.

But with this second full album, the singer and songwriter stakes a claim on a unique and fascinating turf, a sort of avant-cabaret musical theater that embraces a David Lynch-like moodiness and experimental-folk mystery, intimate confession and theatrical grandeur. Reed himself makes a guest appearance on the showstopper, the soul ballad “Fistful of Love,” in which Antony is buffeted by an awful confusion of love and violence.

That’s the only time Antony allows his singing into the realm of impulsive expression and cathartic release. For the rest of this short (35 minutes), concentrated album, he sustains a remarkable elegance and meticulous precision in tone and dynamics as he flutters from the confusion of sexual ambiguity to the epiphany that closes the record on a note of sweet, hard-earned triumph.

-- Richard Cromelin

Albums are rated on a scale of one star (poor), two stars (fair), three stars (good) and four stars (excellent). The albums are already released unless otherwise noted.