The Crap Stack: Kuroma, Dorinda Clark Cole, The Roys

Here at Spinner, we receive more CDs than we can possibly listen to. Sadly, many of them, whether good or bad, get consigned to The Crap Stack, where they languish until they're eventually carted off to become shiny silver landfill somewhere. However, in our version of Musical Lotto, we've decided to rescue -- completely at random -- three discs from the pile and give them a proper and fair reviewing. Will the chosen CD be crap-tastic -- or just plain crap? Let's find out, shall we?

Kuroma: 'Paris' (EP): There's nothing quite as wretched as the sight of a sealed CD atop the 'Stack, but when that bad boy gets selected for review ... man, do we get excited about its unsullied contents! Cellophane breached, the first thing that stands out from the 'Paris' liner notes is Hank Sullivant's name. Sullivant is a veteran bassman from Athens, Ga. garage rockers the Whigs, and he guest-toured on guitar recently with MGMT, so he's no slouch.

The opener, 'Searching for a Sheep,' is a pleasingly clod-hopping psychedelic romp that makes it way from solitary, percussive piano chops via pared-down crunching guitar and some triumphantly beefy drum fills, before closing with some haltingly sweet vocals and piano that would please Freddie Mercury. It's hard to place Sullivant's retro-distorted vocals on this cut, but they seem to veer between a drugged John Lennon and a slightly agitated Jeff Lynne. Kuroma's other influences show through on acoustic strummer 'Alexander Martin' that sounds like it belongs somewhere in the vicinity of Led Zep's 'IV,' while the prevalent psychedelia of the following tracks tips its proverbial hat to the likes of Devendra Banhart.

The EP's final track, 'Beneath the Winds That Lash Neptune's Blue Skies Falls a Hard Rain of Diamonds,' deserves mention, not only because it has a 14-word title, or because it's nearly nine minutes long, but because it's an absolute barnstormer that manages to combine a calypso intro, some aforementioned trippiness, a wicked little Meters bass line and some uplifting tube-warming guitar solos that would make any Clapton fan weak at the knees. Truly great stuff.

It's hard to say whether Sullivant has entirely left his garage rock roots behind: Some of the guitar effects he uses would suggest not, but he certainly seems comfortable drifting off into wild, dreamy soundscapes -- and we're quite happy to go with him.

Dorinda Clark Cole: 'Make Me Real' (single): As we all know, keeping it real is challenging enough; but making it real is something else altogether, and, probably, requires a little divine assistance. Dorinda Clark Cole certainly seems to think so with this gigantic gospel belter. Her petition starts out with some smooth and luxurious production, tinkling keyboard and plentiful guitar-wah, followed by Dorinda explaining the what, the why, and the wherefore, 'Lord, I wanna be real, really real for you/I don't wanna be unstable in my mind ... in my ways.' Then, wham-o! A choir, or at least a whole mess of folks with supersized voices kicks in, adding their ten cents and then some to Dorinda's ask; and it's only just over a minute into the song. Phew.

The choir is not going anywhere, and each line that Dorinda utters thereafter is punctuated by them chiming in with 'Make Me Real' and, it has to be said, this much vocal might makes for a convincing argument. We certainly plan to have Dorinda and friends represent us when it comes to making a request of the Big Guy. Her musician pals could help. too, if this cut is anything to go by, with some snappy drum fills and big bass noodling that could only come from a six- or-eight string instrument with an airport runway for a neck. Surely this kind of musicianship is worthy of a divine audience?

The Roys: 'Grandpa's Barn' (single): This is a touching country tribute to, well, the recently deceased Grandpa, who was a nice old coot and had some pretty cool stuff in his barn. It's a decent, if maybe slightly cheesy piece with solid two-part harmonies and all the usual trimmings you'd expect. We do find ourselves wondering a little about Grandpa's past, though, and it feels like there a few clues in the song about just that. The first one is in Verse 3: "I rolled back the cover/On his long white Cadillac/At 10 years old he'd let me steer." Now, everyone knows the types of people who drive long white Caddies, so it's fair to assume that in his day, Grandpa was a consummate pimp, and an irresponsible one at that -- what's he thinking letting a 10-year-old kid drive that whip?!

If further evidence were needed about G-Pa, it can be found in the shape of his music tastes -- sitting in the dash of his pimpmobile is an 8-track of that king of the bad boys, Johnny Cash. You can picture Grampy hurtling around the gravel drive, sending chickens flying, 10-year-old apprentice at his side, rocking out to 'Ring of Fire.' Not convinced? The final piece in the jigsaw slots into place in Verse 4: "In a corner of his tack room/Underneath his cross/There's a worn out Holy Bible/The one that saved him when he was lost." See? Not "lost" as in requiring a map and compass, "lost" as in raising hell and tearing up creation in his white metal steed!

Rest in peace, Grandpa, you old rogue, you.