With a title that would make even the most hardened emo band cringe and a year full of faux pas for West, audiences are naturally skeptical that Fantasy is anything more than a self-indulgent mess. However, anyone who misses out on this album out of hatred for Kanye, loyalty to Taylor Swift or any other reason are missing out on something special. This is an album showcasing an already-trailblazing artist at the pinnacle of his talents. In fewer words, it is simply transcendent.

Fantasy will likely be remembered as a watershed moment in West’s career. Where he goes from here is unknown, but this latest album represents the zenith of all his past works, with influences showing from all four previous albums. “Devil in a New Dress” has the soul-influenced sampling of The College Dropout. The orchestral grandiosity of Late Registration is found on tracks like “All of the Lights” and “So Appalled,” while “Gorgeous” features the space-funk electronica of Graduation. Not to be forgotten, the AutoTuned rap-singing of 808s and Heartbreak reappears on “Runaway” and “Lost in the World.”

However, rather than merely retread that familiar ground, Kanye has learned a trick or two in the past five years — and he shows that Fantasy is his method of perfecting his art. By and large, he succeeds.

“All of the Lights” has the potential to be his biggest hit so far, featuring eleven (eleven!) other artists, including Rihanna, Fergie, John Legend, Alicia Keys, Kid Cudi and Elton John. It’s almost a Where’s Waldo? search in trying to find every one of Kanye’s collaborators, but the horn section that opens the song sweeps the listener into its heartbreaking story of a man losing sight of his family and life.

Kanye proves once again that he is a master of assembling an album, and each song flows into the next seamlessly. It’s hard to not consider Fantasy a concept album of sorts, as West does such a marvelous job weaving a pseudo-story of fame and delusion.

The one disappointment is “So Appalled”— not because of a lack of quality, as it’s a gorgeous production featuring Jay-Z and Pusha T. Rather, “Appalled” is overshadowed by its precursor, “Monster,” a biting song that closes on a scorching verse by Nicki Minaj that would make any follow-up look inferior.

In addition to his perennially excellent production skills, Kanye still has the wit and sharp tongue that made him famous. His rhyming on “Dark Fantasy” and “Power” show that he’s still a formidable foe on the mic, but to list any of these brilliant lyrics would be spoiling some of the album’s funniest and most impressive moments.

If there is anything to complain about on Fantasy, it’s that West lets a good thing overstay its welcome. Six minutes into “Runaway,” Kanye transitions into a three-minute AutoTuned breakdown of the chorus. As spooky and beautiful as the garbled voice becomes, it removes the listener temporarily from the otherwise-flawless album.

An album as prolific as Fantasy needs an ending as awe-inspiring as the rest of its contents, and Kanye finds his ultimate closer in “Lost in the World.” Opening on a sample of Bon Iver’s “Woods,” the song bursts into a cacophony of tribal percussion and AutoTuned harmonizing. Easily one of the most beautiful and haunting songs West has ever recorded, “Lost” ties the entire album up with a bow when it seamlessly flows into a lyrical breakdown from Gil Scott Heron’s “Comment #1.” The song ends on the poignant question, “Who will survive in America?” followed by a meek round of applause.

If Fantasy is any indication, Kanye is here to survive and last — and that meek applause should be replaced a standing ovation. This is an artist in his prime, unbridled by the need to play it safe or the desire to be radio-friendly. Kanye West is the only fearless hip-hop artist in America who could accomplish something like Fantasy. He set out to prove his opponents and critics wrong — and he wound up creating a true masterpiece of hip-hop.

Suburban Ocean

The disc opens with “Moon Love,” an amorously oriented song whose primary conceit links geography to psyche. It includes some charming metaphors — the mind as a sea and thoughts as plankton in that sea, for example — that milk some creative mileage out of a topic that would feel more worn in other hands. Like subsequent tracks, “Moon Love” also shows off the band’s tendency to pair quirky lyrics, warbling vocals, and instrumental sincerity in a way reminiscent, at its best moments, of Devendra Banhart.

The second track, “Chameleon,” shares this approach, beginning with a harmonized vocal intro and blusey, classic-rock-esque guitars. It’s a somewhat heavier tune than “Moon Love,” but refreshingly never becomes dark or dismal.

By staying upbeat, “Chameleon” exemplifies what puts The Archer’s Apple a head above its competition: the band takes an ultimately happy — even peppy — approach to folk longing and nostalgia. That’s also what makes the album sound so modern. Between the punchy percussion and the amalgam of influences the band draws from, Suburban Ocean sounds sort of like a folk-ish version of Vampire Weekend performing songs co-written by Quentin Tarantino and Robert Rodriguez — and I can’t think of another band out there, local or otherwise, that fits that description.

“Standing in Deserts,” the EP’s third track, shows off the band’s Americana influences with some sparkling finger picking, organ, and more strong vocals. It also has contemporary-sounding guitar parts, including some almost-indie riffs and what sounds to me like an Ebow near the end (though I can’t be sure about that).

It’s followed by “Once,” which, maybe because it loosely tells the story from which the band derives its name, most poignantly evoked a The Archer’s Apple live show for me. The song also included a relatively long instrumental build-up that — unlike those attempted by other bands — isn’t pointless, self-indulgent jamming. On the contrary, it actually felt like an appropriate effort to extend and complete the emotional arc of the song.

The final track, “Bang Bang,” is a beating, quasi-epic epitaph that feels, at times, like an embryonic version of Simon and Garfunkle. It includes some of the most yearning moments of the EP and I probably listened to it the most (though picking out a “favorite” from the collection is difficult because all the songs are pretty strong). Ultimately, then, “Bang Bang” is a satisfying conclusion to an album that draws on folk, Americana, greaser vintage, and a host of other influences to produce something that should leave listeners bobbing in the high tides of a surprisingly pleasant Suburban Ocean.

Now hailing from Las Vegas, the group draws stylistically from its new location with catchy hooks and melodies, danceable grooves and showy anthems with mainstream appeal. On one of their tracks, lead singer Dan Reynolds repeats the title of the group’s latest venture — in a quasi-chanting fashion — singing “Hell and silence/I can fight it/I can fight it,” encapsulating the record’s positive, upbeat sound.

They definitely avoid silence.

It’s hard to pinpoint one genre Imagine Dragons comfortably fits into since they borrow from such an eclectic array of musical inspiration — moving from synthesizer-dominated tunes to driving beats to arena rock anthems. The band’s grandiose and sometimes quirky sound makes it seem like they mixed musical elements picked from groups like The Killers, Blue October and Good Charlotte.

Some highlights of Hell and Silence include “Selene,” a funky, playful number with a disco-infused beat, and “I Don’t Mind,” a more contemplative tune but one that will still get your toe tapping. Chock full of synthesizer licks, “Emma” is reminiscent of a 1980s new wave ballad with a seemingly misplaced guitar solo that sounds like it’s straight off an Eagles’ album, which oddly works.

“Hear Me,” easily the catchiest song on the EP, begins with a driving beat that builds as an infectious guitar riff paves the way for Reynolds’ growling verse. However, soon the song transitions into a glossy chorus that will stay in your head for hours, akin to something you’d expect from The Killers.

Although some will say Hell and Silence is somewhat inconsistent at times and lacks a true identity, many will enjoy the band’s diverse, eccentric nature. One thing is for sure — Imagine Dragons has talent, an infectious second record, and a promising future.

I’ve always respected his work, I’ve been to his shows before, and I may even have been in a band that opened for his band, The Danburries, a long time ago (or maybe I was just at the show, I can’t completely recall.) I don’t know how these experiences might have colored the album for me, but they seem like the kind of thing that I ought to get out of the way first.

That said, however, Danburry hasn’t managed to become a respected local artist simply by hanging out for a long time. Rather, he works hard to make relevant music, which is amply evident on Goodnight Dannii. The album begins with “Nirvana, by Kurt Cobain,” a track that, while I’m not entirely sure what it has to do with Nirvana or Cobain, is a charming folk song with homespun appeal.

The song sets the tone for an album that should please folkies throughout, but is also increasingly diverse, perhaps a la Sufjan Stevens, as it progresses. Acoustic guitar and wispy vocals provide the foundation for most of the songs, but on tracks like “Artex Died In Truth of Consequences” — my personal favorite — and “Hero Kensan,” Danburry steps slightly back from the mic and hollers. The result is a series of raw moments that epitomize Danburry’s ability to milk a remarkable amount of emotion from a relatively low-fi aesthetic.

“Goodnight Dannii” thusly evokes groups like The Mountain Goats by channeling the chalky whirlpools running just off the mainstream into something left beautifully rough. It isn’t the kind of record you’d find on a Billboard chart, and it’s at best a second-cousin to many other fantastic folk-core albums that have come out of Provo’s music scene recently.

But that’s also what makes it a good listen. When Danburry yells, for example, the recording captures the ambient room tone of the studio, which grounds the songs in a physical space, the experiences in the real world. It doesn’t sound cheap or rushed, but instead opts to capture an uncanny branch of the folk zeitgeist.

Goodnight Dannii also serves as a kind of philosophical and pop cultural coda to Danburry’s remarkably prolific career to this point. Topics range from 90s music to love to the bucolic past, which means they’ll serve as an appropriate compliment to Danburry’s recent video project, Reliving the 90s — though, in fairness, there were also times when I felt the song titles were misleading.

I’m not sure, for example, how a title like “Kevin Costner is The Barry Manilow of Actors” can be anything but funny, yet the song was fairly somber and felt like a distant relative of Leonard Cohen’s darker material. That isn’t a bad thing on it’s own, but coupled with the titles I expected many of the fairly straight-faced songs to be more apparently ironic or satirical.

On the other hand, maybe I’m just not getting it. The good thing was that I really didn’t have to understand everything to enjoy the record. The lyrics are expansive and the instrumentation varied enough to embody a range of moods — and, in the end, they left me hoping that Goodnight Dannii isn’t actually goodbye from Drew Danburry.

The band successfully creates a contemporary take on an antique sound with a salt-of-the-earth vibe — but that’s not to say there’s anything ordinary about this music. The evenly-paced drum beats and clean harmonies are both intimate and personal in their everyman quality. The sound produced is at times melancholy but more often contemplative — simultaneously nostalgic and forward-looking. Utilizing instruments such as a pump organ and slide guitar, Parlor Hawk generates a vintage sound. The music and lyrics are unpretentious and fervent; simple yet rich and layered. Stylistic comparisons can be easily drawn to artists like Damien Rice, Ryan Adams or early Wilco.

“Home,” the album’s opener (embedded below), has a catchy chorus and sparse percussion with the duo of a bass drum and tambourine that eventually break into handclaps at the peak of the action. Capener careens in and out of the guitar riffs, channeling an old-timey, saloon feel as you envision an antique piano being played in the corner. Parlor Hawk’s country roots show through in “Every Bone,” a track laden with the twang of a steel guitar as the reluctant rhythm trudges forward with a message of love lost.

“Julian” the album’s most melancholy tune, utilizes Capener’s wounded voice well as he croons about faded love: “I’ll give you my canvas/Paint cracked and dry/Might lead you to question/But reason can’t ask reason why.” The album’s dream-like “Lark” is a swaying melody that plays like a bittersweet lullaby, with the ethereal chorus floating in the night sky as Capener’s voice intertwines with the female harmony. The more upbeat “Flowers” contains a bluesy guitar hook and a steady, toe-tapping beat, while “Saddest Song” is a melancholy campfire sing-a-long, featuring only vocals and an acoustic guitar.

All in all, “Hoarse and Roaring” is an album that you’ll want to pick up and sing along with, no matter what mood you’re in.

Listen to: Parlor Hawk, “Home”

Check out Parlor Hawk’s MySpace page to hear more tracks and learn about the band. Also, check out their recent interview with 21st and Ivy here.

Largely the brainchild of frontman and producer Spencer Russell, A is one of the most inspired and unique discs to drop from a Utah band in quite some time. While the Utah Valley scene has produced some great artists in recent years who’ve found widespread success, it seems fairly safe to say that we always know what they’re going to give us. Joshua James creates brilliantly soulful folk music that transports you to a different time. Neon Trees make you want to dance your face off while singing along at the top of your lungs to their synth-driven dance-rock jams. We love these excellent homegrown artists for what they do — but they are known entities. They just are who they are.

Mudbison is a whole different breed. When the band officially formed in early 2009, their early tunes were generally acoustic guitar-driven folk ditties penned by Russell and then sparsely augmented with keys, bass and drums. More than a year later, the sounds of A could not be more different. Now gleaming with a studio-quality sheen proffered by Russell’s burgeoning production genius, each song brings its own unique flavor while still fitting into a larger, cohesive, and distinctly “Mudbison” feel.

Some tracks, including the simple acoustic opener “The Mailman Song” and the tender piano ballad “Wait for Me,” wouldn’t have felt out of place in the band’s early catalog, while pulsing synths and sampled beats provide a glimpse into a completely different creative vision on album standouts like “Color T.V.” and “Mama Nix.” Similarly, old Russell standbys like “Little Indian” and the ever-popular “Suburbia” get electronica-tinged upgrades that retain the soul of the original recordings while taking the songs to new, more expansive heights. Indeed, to listen to A‘s “Suburbia” (included below) in comparison to the original version off Russell’s self-released 2009 solo disc is to glimpse the possibilities of a band truly reinventing themselves and their sound, while pushing the sonic limits of their creativity.

That’s not to say A is all fun and games. The somber yet expansive “Joy!” shows Russell confronting the untimely passing of his mother through song more directly and powerfully than ever before. By layering his delicate piano melody and guitar picking with profoundly affecting backing harmonies provided by Caitlin Duncan and field recordings of his mother discussing her difficult struggle with cancer, Russell simultaneously creates one of the most devastating and most uplifting pieces of music I’ve ever heard. I challenge any individual with a heart to closely listen to “Joy!” alone in a room and try not to cry your eyes out. (I’m almost certain it can’t be done.)

But, in short, that’s what A and, by extension, the new Mudbison is — a brilliant amalgamation of musical styles and thematic tones that create an even greater whole. Russell and Duncan’s voices blend together effortlessly in any scenario, whether it be an up-tempo dance number or a sparse acoustic ballad, giving the album a shape-shifting versatility that’s sure to please listeners of all kinds. If you like music and have yet to hop on the Mudbison train, now is as good a time as any to walk — no, run — toward the light and receive your tuneful reward.

Listen to: Mudbison, “Suburbia”

Hear more Mudbison and learn about the band at their MySpace page here.

The Welsh group Los Campesinos! released their first two pop-tastic albums about eight months apart, both back in 2008, and now, after a year and a half of much anticipation (at least for me), their third record Romance is Boring has finally arrived. But as its first track indicates, if you haven’t heard much from Los Campesinos! you’ll definitely be jumping in “In Medias Res” with Romance is Boring. This album is not as user-friendly or upbeat as their previous two — things are heavier for these campesinos now.

On their debut album Hold on Now, Youngster, you’ll find a track called “You! Me! Dancing!,” which is just as ecstatic as you’d expect a track with three exclamation points to be. In contrast, on Romance is Boring, lead singer and lyricist Gareth tells us just how much it hurts to share your lover with God, to watch a friend waste away from an eating disorder, and to wake up next to your partner even more bored with your love life than you were the day before. Not to mention lamenting over some intense sexual frustration, screaming about self-mutilation, and dedicating an entire verse to the colors of some girl’s bruise. This album is not LC! for beginners, but it is probably their most solid work to date.

I tend to judge an album on the number of lines I wish I had written, and with Romance is Boring I lost count after the fourth track or so. This band’s lyrics are about as intimate as lyrics can get. Gareth recently said in a post on the LC! website: “I put so much personal and biographical stuff into songs that it as good as breaks me.” Nowhere is that more apparent than on this album. He bares it all, whether he’s telling you what went through his head while locking lips with every girl he’s ever kissed or desperately begging, “Please just let me be the one to keep track of the freckles and the moles on your back.” His vulnerability is what makes these lyrics so effective and this collection of songs so ridiculously relatable. Just try listening to one without thinking, “Hey, me too.”

Gareth is also prone to some rather stark imagery, which certainly gets his point across. One particularly disturbing theme on this album is a fascination with what happens to the body after death. Corpses show up in quite a few songs — some are scarred, some are burned, and some are dropped limp from the left wing of an airplane. And these songs are just as emotionally packed as the others, which can make it hard to decide whether you want to cringe or cry.

Yes, it’s packed with some pretty heavy stuff, but Romance is Boring is a beautiful album that gets better with each and every listen. I think I’ve played it a good 20 times in the past week, and I’m nowhere near sick of it yet. Los Campesinos! have one of the most original sounds I’ve ever heard — and it has only gotten better.

There are seven members in the band, each with an instrument in their hands and a very strong set of vocal chords. Thus, things can seem a bit musically crowded at times, but the album has some carefully orchestrated chaos. There are also plenty of quiet moments, which somehow make the chaotic ones seem all the more comfortable — like when Gareth is whispering about feeling more alone than he ever has before, and then suddenly, the violin, the glockenspiel, the drums, the guitar, the bass, the piccolo, and the keyboard are back. And when they’re all screaming obscenities again, we’re reminded just how much we miss Los Campesinos! when they’re away.

Trent Gurney is a music correspondent for Rhombus.

It seems nearly every review I’ve read of local band Shark Speed compares them to the Seattle-based indie group Minus the Bear. And for the most part, it’s a comparison I get. I hear the strong similarities, for example, between Shark Speed vocalist Thayne Fagg and Jake Snider of Minus the Bear. Both bands also dabble in halting song structures and occasionally climb the precipice of cacophony.

That said, however, it’s not necessarily a comparison I like — primarily because I dig Shark Speed, but don’t love Minus the Bear. And while I’ve always had some trouble explaining why I like the one and not the other, Shark Speed’s latest EP “Education” — which will be released this Saturday at Velour — goes a long way in making the case that the band is a unique group that ought to be evaluated outside the shadows of its influences.

“Education” includes only four songs and is relatively short, even for an EP. It starts out strong with what’s probably my personal favorite of the collection, “King of the World.” The song is distinctly Shark Speed-esque, but startled me in the growth it displays over the band’s full-length album Sea Sick Music from last year. Fagg’s vocals are still grainy, for example, but suddenly they have more dance-hall bluster than they used to. Though he didn’t sound bad before, now he comes off as a seasoned pro at the helm of a versatile group. Similarly, the song’s instrumentation feels more palatable than both many Minus the Bear songs, and earlier Shark Speed. It doesn’t strictly unfold in a conventional verse-chorus-verse structure, but the instrumentation lends the song some much appreciated cohesion.

“King of the World” is followed by “Killing Kind” and “Ill-Fate Incarnate.” Though these songs didn’t envelop me the way the opener did, they continue to show off the band’s evolution and maintain the record’s momentum. I especially appreciated the electronic flourishes added by drummer Jared Christensen and, on “Ill-Fate Incarnate,” the quasi four-on-the-floor disco flavor that occasionally wafted up through the cracks.

The EP’s final track, “Like A Dead Dog,” offers a strong finish and surprisingly reminded me of the happy, proto-indie music that was popular in the late ’90s. (A good thing, in my opinion.) It synthesizes the different elements found in the previous songs — things like melancholic but ultimately cheerful lyrics and slightly asymmetrical song structure — but manages to convey a genuine exuberance rare for its genre. It finishes off with several measures of blisteringly distorted guitar that, combined with a simple trumpet riff, manage to not sound too “hard” or incongruous.

Overall, “Education” works as a pretty cohesive cluster of songs and reminds me faintly of how Kings of Leon have developed over the years. Though they’ll probably continue to be compared to Minus the Bear (as UVU did on Monday), I rather enjoyed the fact that Shark Speed doesn’t come off as weepingly pathetic or panderingly indie in the way other groups sometimes do. Instead, the band seems to have plumbed a deeper and more emotionally raw space and consequently progressed without abandoning their roots.

This isn’t to say that “Education” is perfect, or that everyone will immediately fall in love with it. The style has niche appeal (even if that niche can be pretty inclusive) and, though Shark Speed plays it well, I don’t think it’s unfair to say it polarizes some listeners. Still, “Education” is a strong and pleasurable release from one of the area’s hardest working bands. In the end, then, whether or not you’ve found your heart racing for them in the past, you might suddenly feel the need for Shark Speed.

For more information on “Education,” visit Shark Speed’s website here. The band will play Velour Live Music Gallery in Provo on Saturday at 8:00 p.m.

Jim Dalrymple is a regular correspondent for Rhombus.

Vampire Weekend’s second album Contra was released on January 12th, almost two years (to the date) after the release of their self-titled debut.

Contra starts off with exactly what we’d expect from a Vampire Weekend trip to the beach. And it’s true, “Horchata” basically treads the same cracked pavement and sand that swept so many off their feet two years ago — lyrics rich with detailed imagery and full of Ivy League vocabulary (i.e. balaclava), calypso Afro-pop beats, some decorative bells and chimes. In short: it’s peppy, it’s poppy, it’s peculiar, it’s Vampire Weekend. However, deeper into the album, it becomes apparent that while Vampire Weekend are still playing to their strengths, they are indeed branching out lyrically and musically. The result is an impressive record full of pleasant surprises.

A few tracks on Contra offer us a glimpse at a softer, more serious side of Vampire Weekend, and the lyrical content on this record is more sentimental than those found on their first release. On Vampire Weekend, there were a lot of songs about New York landmarks and one about odd-shaped roofs. On Contra, things seem — as they always have with lead singer Ezra Koenig’s lyrics — very upper class, but here sentimental replaces superficial. Things are less “Oh, your collegiate grief has left you dowdy in sweatshirts / 
Absolute horror!” and more “You wanted good schools and friends with pools / but I just wanted you. I just wanted you.”

As far as softer goes, “Taxi Cab” and “I Think Ur a Contra” are essentially ballads. Vampire Weekend ballads? Yes, and strong ones. In them, Koenig sings “You were standing there so close to me like the future was supposed to be” and “I had a feeling once that you and I could tell each other everything for two months.” He’s not exactly trying to break your heart, but he is trying to appeal to your emotions a bit more than he has in the past. And somehow, with the simplicity of those lines and that piano in the background, he succeeds.

It’s not just the lyrics though — musically, this album has Vampire Weekend heading in a different direction too. Clearly they are expanding (or at least experimenting) with some different genres here, and throughout the album you’ll find remnants of ska, reggae, and synthesized pop. The album is actually quite electronic. At least one or two of these songs could have easily found a home on last year’s LP from Vampire Weekend keyboardist and Contra producer Rostam Batmanglij’s electronic R&B side-project, Discovery.

“Cousins,” by contrast, brings to the table spectacular, raw guitar riffs and probably the closest thing to punk rock we’ll ever get from these kids. “Diplomat’s Son” offers a sample of a track by British rapper M.I.A. While “California English” gives us a dose of Koenig on Autotune, don’t worry — it’s not like Kanye or T-Pain (not even a little bit) and it’s only the one track. Everywhere else we get that same crisp, clear Koenig delivery (except when his voice cracks ever so beautifully at the climax of “Run”).

Now, with all those ingredients you may be thinking Contra sounds like a sonic cluster-cuss, but Vampire Weekend successfully harmonize the numerous contrasting genres into something rich, catchy and extremely enjoyable. At the very worst, it might come across as eccentric, which is a perfect fit for Vampire Weekend — and something they’ve definitely pulled off before.

Trent Gurney is Rhombus’ newest music correspondent. This is his first article for the magazine.

John Mayer is seriously studying his numerous battles, including a particularly nasty one with his hairdo.

Poison gas clouds, a profusion of explosions, people getting assassinated — such is the imagery John Mayer invokes on his latest release, Battle Studies. What could cause these scenes of terror and confusion? The answer appears to be love.

At age 32, Mayer has apparently amassed enough experiences in courting women to corroborate Pat Benatar’s assertion that love is, indeed, a battlefield. And now he has graciously decided to pass the wealth of knowledge he’s gained from studying this battle on to us, his listeners. And so springs forth John Mayer’s first themed album — every track but one (a cover of Cream’s 1968 hit “Crossroads”) is exclusively a love song. Or more appropriately, each is a song about love.

I don’t pretend to be a professional music critic, but I am a colossal fan of John Mayer. This acquaintance with his music leads me to these observations of his latest work:

Battle Studies is not Continuum. Fresh off the John Mayer Trio blues binge, Continuum was principally a guitar rock album, with lyrical content providing the garnish. At first glance, Battle Studies appears to be just the opposite. What remains unclear is exactly which direction away from Continuum Mayer seems to be going musically. At times, Studies feels like the late ’80s, and at others it could easily be featured on Country Music Television. For now, he seems content to displace his label as guitar virtuoso, putting emphasis almost exclusively on lyrical content. Even on “Crossroads,” a blues classic, Mayer resists the urge to flex his guitar muscle, laying down an extremely tame solo partway through. (Instead, he opts to record the song through a bizarre effect pedal, making it sound like the title music to “Contra” for the NES).

Mayer appears to still be concerned with commercial success. Don’t let the extended title to “Half of My Heart” fool you — the song most definitely does not feature Taylor Swift. Unless singing four words over again for a total of ten seconds constitutes “featuring” an artist. What is more likely is that Mayer agreed to “collaborate” because Swift is surging in the music scene with a fan base that actually purchases music. Simply having Swift’s name on the track automatically means a greater volume of record sales. It may be just as well though, since the song sounds like the music video should be set in a high school hallway during class change.

Devoting an entire album to one subject is extremely limiting for Mayer. Especially when that one subject happens to be something he doesn’t have the ability to portray particularly well. His place in the tabloids the past couple years, moving from one superficial relationship to the next, serves to underscore my lack of confidence in his lyrical portrayal of such an “intense battle.” Throw in the fact that he refuses to upstage his lyrics with any sort of innovative guitar work, and the result is an album lacking real depth.

During its best songs, Battle Studies is listenable and above average; during its worst it is repetitive and extremely forgettable. “Waiting room music,” “light FM radio,” “the soundtrack to Disney’s Tarzan featuring Phil Collins,” and “songs that play while pictures of waterfalls shuffle on a computer screen saver” are all solid candidates to finish the phrase “this sounds like…” for much of Studies. Again, this could be deliberate on Mayer’s part to draw the listener into the message of each song. Unfortunately, it can also push people away.

The album finishes with the refreshing slow build of “Friends, Lovers, or Nothing,” which rounds out the small group of tracks that actually sound like John Mayer. The piano ballad serves as an ironic closer for Studies, stressing the impossibilities of being “in between.” The advice is just as applicable in music. With his new album, Mayer sends the message that he wants to be just as renowned for his lyrical ability as his musical ability, and takes a step away from the sure footing of his previous work to do so. But what Mayer wants to do, he doesn’t (at this point) appear to be capable of doing, leaving him short of his desired destination. And against his own advice, “in between” is exactly where Battle Studies has landed him.

Daniel Anderson is Rhombus’ resident armchair economist and an occasional music correspondent.