#or maybe people’s perception of the lamb outside of the cult

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My personal take on the lamb <3

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Scouting the Cult p.2

"Are you Briar?"

The vixen flinched, standing up abruptly and turning around. She looked moved her sun hat up to see who is speaking to her.

Behind her, at the edge of the pumpkin patch where the tree roots and shrubs denoted the border between the tamed ground and the wilderness, stood a blackbird in a cloak the colours of autumn leaves.

"Who are you?" Briar asked, holding a basket of seeds in front of her for protection. The sword on the stranger's back gleamed; its polished iron edge made her back tingle with unpleasant familiarity.

Perceptive of people's fears, Camio took a few steps back, removing the sword to lay at his feet. After that, his orange eyes met hers as he greeted her with a polite bows of the head. "My name is Camio. I apologise for frightening you, I mean no one harm. Harming those who have not harmed you is spilling pointless blood." A blade galvanised in such material is a vicious thing.

"I'm glad to hear that, but why are you here?" he was not wearing the garb of Narinder's follower, which means he must have been an outsider. And of those, she was quite wary.

"I used to frequent these grounds to train the previous leader of this cult. The older followers, such as Barbatos or Junati, know me, if you worry. I have not visited in some time."

Seeing, however, that she still visibly didn't believe him, Camio reached under his cloak and pulled out a skull shaped pendant on a thin black chain. A Skull Necklace, an artefact of longevity rather unique to the cult of Death.

Lamb had given it to him rather early into their training. A gift.

Briar's eyes gleamed in recognition, and she relaxed, putting down her improvised basket shield.

"What brings you to me then?"

"I heard your tale, back in the cathedral. You spoke about how, when you were slain, you saw a lamb before you were revived."

"Yes, Dola, the shepherd. It's thanks to them I'm here." Briar ran her paw up and down her forearm. The memory was still not comfortable to recount.

"If I may ask... What did they look like?"

"Oh, well... I'm sorry, my memory's a little fuzzy. I remember they wore a veil and a white and gold robe. And they bore a staff with a bell, I remember it ringing as I woke up to see them... They were radiant, though. Serene, like a divinity." She paused. "I think they were also missing a horn. I can't tell why that detail stuck in my mind, but I think that's the case."

Recognition shone in his orange eyes. Lamb lost their horn during one of their many battles with Shamura's monstrosities. This only confirmed that Narinder did not get rid of them - they were still serving under him.

(It was reassuring. He's spent several days trying and failing to see if their body was anywhere in the mortal plane, so that they could at least be buried with dignity.)

This meant they were not gone... maybe he could even met them. It was relieving, even if the circumstances were not any less oppressive.

"Priest Baal spoke of who Dola was, back when they were mortal. How they served to free Lord Narinder. If you desire knowledge, I'd seek his help. I only met them briefly, but he knows much more than what I could tell you."

"I shall keep it in mind." He, however, did not trust whoever the god of death appointed to spread his teachings to tell him what he needs to know. Or to not try to stop him for that matter.

Camio looked over to Briar as he picked his sword and hung it on his back again. If I inquire where she met them, she will know where I'm headed... I can't risk having someone follow me. It would put her in danger as well.

"Did you want to ask something?" the vixen tilted her head, noticing his pause.

"...Stay safe, Briar. I worry that the future might be more turbulent than we expect. And thank you for your knowledge."

And before she could respond, he disappeared into the brush, blending in with the shadows and branches.

She wondered who he really was, and what he was searching for...

And what exactly did he meant by turbulent times being on the horizon.

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five times caught

MEME.  MEME TAG.  INBOX.  ALWAYS ACCEPTING! @sanctemony

one.  it’s day three when they make their way to the unassuming church outside falls end. while the white siding and flowers lining the path seem idyllic, there’s nothing quaint about the ARs wielded by unshaved, blown-pupil enforcers or the hollow looks of the people corralled by them into the pews. james and wrench— reginald— are directed near the back, settling partially in the shadow of a support beam.

james linger on each of the seeds in turn, stripping away layers of defense mechanisms and self-portraits in facades like paint remover on inherited living room walls. beige to white to blue to beige to gray.

their eyes lock. john’s brow peaks like the crescendo of those cheesy propaganda songs over the radio and james knows in an instant that there’s nothing but pure lunacy behind that gaze. john looks at the newcomer tucked in the shadow of a back pew not as a human being, but as a toy, pupils pinpricks in a sea of mad ice. he doesn’t budge. can’t. the icy blue carves right down into his stomach and suddenly he feels like a bug in a web— it sees through him exactly as james sees through everyone else, and pulls a creeping unease up his spine like james hasn’t felt in years.

that’s the moment james realizes their two month estimate was naively optimistic. because the people staring at them from the church altar aren’t people, but tools, machined down and rebuilt for a very specific purpose: control.

joseph gestures in the way a dog owner might signal for his pet’s attention. in an instant john’s attention snaps back over, jovial, obedient, and bright; and wherever john’s gaze falls across the room, he brings that brightness with him. but the eyes that meet james’ are cold. always cold, like the true nature of the sadist is hidden in lenticular print and only perceptible from the correct angle.

wrench is livid when they leave. james tells him that they’ll give the seeds what’s coming to them, they’ve survived militaries and mafias, a backwater cult is small time work. but for all his reassurance, his mind remains stubbornly stuck on that distorted period of time when he was trapped under john’s gaze, caught in the swirling, mad blue.

two.  they’re in falls end when it happens.

the thing about being shot is, unless you’re looking at the gun, it’s hard to understand you’ve been shot. it’s all white-hot tightness like a body cramp isolated to the tip of a pin inside his shoulder, and a force that makes him stumble backwards until his back hits the brick wall of the spread eagle.

his first thought is, shit.

his second thought is, help.

but somewhere between the gut-punch of panic and fast-acting bliss and the pain blooming across his shoulder the noise is mangled to little more than a tight gasp, not audible to dedsec sitting less than a foot away from him through bricks and wood and the low thrum of bar music.

james hits the concrete and the last thing he remembers is how the bliss makes the headlights that roll up to him dance like fireworks.

he thinks, that’s nice.

three.  once, after far too many bottles of sake, he had drunkenly made a bet with wo fat about dying in a concrete hole just like the one he’s in now. and it’s that bet, not his desire to live, or even the images of revenge james plays in his mind on repeat to stave off the pain that drives him to escape. he can get shot as soon as he hits daylight inside the compound and keel over dead and that would be fine. but his ego won't— can't— permit him to lose a bet.

a thought enters his mind about when his ego started permitting him to talk like his death was an inevitability, but john takes those pliers to his hand again and yanks off nail six of ten, and the pain obliterates everything that isn’t the reverberation of his shout against the walls.

the next time he’s awake, john is gone. there’s a hole in his memory and a pounding in his skull that feels like dehydration and blood loss and a migraine all at once, and he wonders for a moment if this is what a segfault feels like. cracking both eyes open leads to the realization that he can only crack one eye open, the other sealed shut by the accumulation of dried blood from the cut on his scalp. he must have gotten that on the way in, when he hit the concrete outside the spread eagle. john hasn’t touched his face beyond the condescending, sugar-sweet crowing like a fawning relative, and one snap of his teeth in the flesh of john’s hand had assured he’s careful about that in the future.

james pretends the taste of blood in his mouth is from the crescent moons he bit into john’s fingers. it’s easier to stomach that way.

his escape is convoluted, painful, and takes far too long for james’ liking. his body is align with the buzz of fear under his skin, jumping at every noise and shift of the light like a feral cat backed into a corner. his hands and arms prickle with painful tv static as he regains their use, making quick work of the door and slipping quietly, not bursting, not throwing the door open, out into the sunlight. he takes a moment to gawk at the sun, like he’s forgotten what it looks and feels like.

james makes it ten steps out of the compound before the butt of a rifle makes fireworks explode behind his eyes.

caught.

four.  “I’m disappointed in you, james.”

james imagines twenty-seven inches of wooden bat crack across john’s skull.  

“I’m just trying to get you to atone,” he implores, hands clutched close to his chest like he’s trying to keep all that overwhelming love and affection inside, and not the insane ramblings of a madman too addled by drugs and his brother’s goddamn ego to keep all that bullshit locked up in his head. it holds exactly zero weight considering one of those hands clutches a knife dyed deep red with james’ blood. “you come into our home— our home! outsiders! and you bring your weapons, and your fancy toys, and you mock!”

the next words are punctuated with the knife slicing deep, crooked lines into james’ ribs. he can already see two Ps, and john draws a line down to turn the second to an R.

“our! mission! you slaughter our lambs, our family, and you brag about it. but I will tell you something, james. not even you are beyond redemption. even you, you sinful, obstinate monster of a man can be—”

“eat shit.”

not his most original, but he’s running on indignation and rage and the fact that he can summon his voice at all is nothing short of miraculous.

john sighs. james is mentally preparing himself for the rest of his banal speech when john takes the knife and buries it deep in his arm. the wound forms the I of PRIDE.

he wonders how much longer he can scream until his voice fizzles out for good.

“is this what you want?”  john’s shouting now, holy hellfire, twisting the knife deep until it brushes bone and james jerks helpless against the restraints. his traitorous brain screams at him along every nerve along his arm, demanding to pull away until his wrists are raw and bloodied against the ropes that bind him. and john digs and twists, sneering threats like a dog foaming at the mouth, until some part of james caves and pleads,

“wait!”

he hears a voice inside him sneer, weak.

john stops with a grin. finally. progress.

“ready to say yes, brother?”

james visualizes plucking all thirty-two teeth of john’s sharklike smile out of his jaw, but doesn’t speak a word. doesn’t trust what might come out of his mouth if he tried.

john tuts.

“then the atonement shall continue!”

five.  they don’t catch john. deacon does, chases him in nick’s plane and forces him to the ground and throws him in a cell. there to wait out the war in hope county, james supposes, rotting in a concrete box until he can get before a real judge. given who john seed is, james severely doubts the justice system will be particularly harsh with his punishment.

and what does dedsec do, if not mete out punishment to those that the system will not?

nobody’s sure who kills john. nobody buys the line about suicide, that’s for sure; but not even james is in any position to do it, body broken in so many places he can’t even stand without assistance. it hardly matters— deacon looks at him like he’s caught james with the rope used to strangle john himself, disappointment and defeat and an acute helplessness all rolled up into one.

maybe it’s better that way.

[aion-rsa]

Clarice: How Does The Show Compare to Hannibal?

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Can a series be considered part of the Hannibal Lecter franchise if Hannibal Lecter never appears? 

Picking up in 1993, shortly after the events of The Silence of the Lambs, CBS’s new drama Clarice follows the continued trials and tribulations of Lecter’s most famous foil, originally brought to iconic, Oscar winning life by Jodie Foster thirty years ago. For long-time fans of Thomas Harris’ creation, Clarice is a contentious proposition. The idea of a TV series about Clarice Starling is neither a creatively bankrupt nor unappealing one, however it comes with a faint veneer of controversy due to a perception that its very existence potentially puts an end to revival chances for Bryan Fuller’s gone-too-soon cult classic Hannibal, which ran on NBC between 2013 and 2015. 

Due to complicated rights issues dating back to the 1980s, Thomas Harris’s stable of characters has been divided between different studios, with the DeLaurentiis company (who produced Fuller’s Hannibal) owning the novels Red Dragon, Hannibal and Hannibal Rising, while MGM have exclusive rights to The Silence of the Lambs. It’s for this reason that the TV iteration of Hannibal could never use Clarice Starling or Buffalo Bill, while conversely Clarice can’t directly mention Hannibal Lecter, Jack Crawford, Will Graham or anyone else who didn’t originate in Silence.  

Both shows find creative ways around this. Hannibal zeroed in on Lecter’s relationship with Red Dragon protagonist Will Graham, while winking to Clarice in the form of tenacious FBI trainee Miriam Lass. Clarice, for its part, refers to Starling’s interactions with a certain inmate at the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane and features several repurposed Lecter quotes from the movie, but never names Lecter directly. This is less of a problem than you’d think; after all, in the canon of both the movies and the books Clarice and Hannibal didn’t meet again until either seven or ten years after the events of Silence (depending on whether you go with the books or the film adaptations). 

But watching the new series it soon becomes clear that Clarice has little interest in the Lecter canon outside of the 1991 film.  

Read more

TV

Hannibal Lecter: History of the Character

By Gerri Mahn

From the first episode Clarice directly contradicts the plot of original Silence sequel Hannibal, scuppering any sense that it could be viewed as a bridging chapter. The inclusion of Ruth Martin, the senator whose daughter Clarice saved in Silence, is a savvy choice but it is quickly established that Martin is now the US Attorney General, whereas in the novels she remained a Senator (but left office prior to the events of Hannibal). The inciting incident of the show is Martin sending Clarice to work for VICAP in Washington, a department headed up by another familiar character for fans of the books; Paul Krendler, played here by The Walking Dead’s Michael Cudlitz. 

Krendler is a minor character in the film version of Silence, but is much more significant in the broader oeuvre of Harris’ writing. In the novels he is established as a misogynist who, smarting over Starling both beating him to the capture of Buffalo Bill and rejecting his sexual advances, actively works to impede her career. 

The Krendler of Clarice is decidedly not the same character as the books. Quite apart from the novel Hannibal including no reference to any significant prior working relationship, here he is a tough but mostly fair veteran of law enforcement, initially dismissive of Starling yet developing a grudging respect over the course of the three episodes provided to reviewers. If anything it feels like the series has opted to merge the broader trait of his dislike for Starling with the original mentor role filled by the now off-limits Jack Crawford. 

In isolation this is a fair choice. Once you accept that this Krendler is not the pre-established character, the tense yet warming relationship he shares with Starling works. However it does beg the question of why the show didn’t just create a new character to fulfil the role; it’s not as though Krendler is such a well-known name that not including him would be considered an unforgivable mistake by fans. If it were, he would certainly be written more in line with his textual counterpart or Ray Liotta’s slimy performance from the Hannibal film. 

It comes off as though the writers of the series chose to work exclusively from the film version of Silence, in which Krendler’s bit-part provides only the sense of him being a bit gruff. This, largely, summarises Clarice’s relationship with the source material; the 1991 film is its bible. The rest of the canon, not so much. 

Now contrast this with Fuller’s Hannibal. What started out as a slightly dreamlike procedural developed into a Grand Guignol opera about the yearning for human connection between damaged souls. It is a singularly beautiful TV show, but arguably its savviest choice is a fidelity to the ideas, spirit and characters, if not the specific plot, of its source material. Supporting players from the books are treated with the kind of fanfare that only an obsessive fan of Harris would either bother with or appreciate.

 Plot elements from the novels are remixed, allowing characters who never met on the page to interact, sometimes to spectacular effect. At times the show came across as giddy Thomas Harris fanfiction, a description Fuller himself actively encouraged. Hannibal was the perfect marriage of a unique creative vision with a classic text; it single handedly managed to revitalise the Lecter property after the film franchise’s ignominious farewell in the form of the limp prequel Hannibal Rising. 

I want to clarify here that I’m in no way trying to suggest that Clarice falls short due to not engaging with the source texts in the same way as Fuller did. For one, Clarice only has access to one of said texts, and does work to include every logical Silence of the Lambs character in a way that both serves its story and furthers that of the film (the film more than the book, as Krendler’s depiction can attest). But the approach is worth discussing as it does underscore a key difference between the two shows. 

Clarice largely adopts the look of The Silence of the Lambs, but to its credit the show uses the film predominantly as a springboard to tell new stories. While the first episode somewhat clumsily tries to pack in multiple Silence references, the second and third quickly find a more successful rhythm. A rhythm, interestingly, punctuated with unsettling dream imagery that would have been right at home in Fuller’s show. Vivid red blood squeezed from a hat in an almost greyscale kitchen. A human hand bursting from the back of a death’s head moth. Blood from the dying Buffalo Bill’s mouth racing back in, the nightmare suggestion of a monster coming back to life. Whether influenced by the earlier show or not, these moments clearly set out that this is a different vision to the film, which outside of a couple of pretty conventional flashbacks, eschewed fantasy. 

Read more

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Hannibal Season 4 Would Gender Flip Some Characters According to Mads Mikkelsen

By Kirsten Howard

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Why David Tennant Lost Hannibal Role According to Bryan Fuller

By Kirsten Howard

But that’s not the only way that the three episodes made available to reviewers parallel the Hannibal series. It’s no secret that the earlier show was initially constrained by a frustrating case-of-the-week structure. From out of the gates, Clarice has a similarly episodic approach but wears it slightly better. Based on the first two episodes you would be forgiven for writing this off as CSI: Silence, but the third episode unites the threads in a satisfying way, indicating that going forward Clarice could be predominantly a serialized conspiracy thriller with an occasional dip into isolated cases. And while aspects of the unfurling mystery are faintly ridiculous and don’t provoke flattering comparisons to Silence, it’s engaging and confident enough to indicate that this series is interested in more than just reminding you of a thirty-year-old classic. Which, given the current trend in reboots, is refreshing. 

There is however a sense that Clarice’s take on the procedural is a safer one than Hannibal’s. For example, the respective second episodes of both shows feature standalone cases. In Clarice the team are sent to deal with a cult-like militia who have injured a policeman. In Hannibal, somebody is turning drugged people into living mushroom farms. 

The seeds of that show’s evolution into a surreal, heightened melodrama in which murder became a kind of art form were in place from the start. Clarice is far more rooted in the real world, but given that the central character is a driven young FBI agent as opposed to a high-art loving cannibal genius who is also maybe the devil, the discrepancy isn’t exactly surprising. Of course Clarice should chart its own path, although when comparing the two it’s hard not to miss Hannibal’s delighted embrace of sheer weirdness. 

All of that said, there is a distinct pleasure here in seeing Clarice Starling back in action. Given that the novel and film Hannibal immediately got to work destroying her career, getting to see her achieve genuine success is nicely refreshing. Despite Starling’s status as an iconic part of a larger franchise, until now only The Silence of the Lambs ever really did her justice. The ending of the novel Hannibal was famously controversial, with Clarice’s final fate as Lecter’s brainwashed lover seen by many as a betrayal of everything she stood for. And while I will argue that it was misunderstood, that the conclusion was the inevitable result of the Faustian bargain Starling made by allowing Lecter inside her head in the first place, it’s undeniable that she was relegated to a reactive supporting role with very little agency, a sin that the film adaptation was also guilty of. 

No such problem here. As portrayed by Rebecca Breeds, this is the Clarice Starling you loved in Silence. Courteous, tough and direct when she needs to be, singularly skilled at negotiating with killers yet grappling with all-too-human demons and vulnerabilities. She’s an immediately interesting, likeable presence. And there is no danger of her being overshadowed; while Clarice sets up an appealing enough supporting cast, it never loses sight of whose story this is. 

Jodie Foster will always cast a long shadow, but Breeds captures the essence of the character without ever falling into a hollow impersonation. It’s a fantastic performance that holds the show together even when the writing falters. 

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It’s too early in Clarice’s run to fairly say whether it will be as good as Hannibal was. The other show overcame a shaky start to become an all-time great with a fervent cult following still hoping for a belated revival. Whether Clarice can stoke the same passion from viewers remains to be seen, but while its tenuous relationship to the literary source material may be frustrating to Harris fanatics, particularly those enamoured by how Fuller’s show engaged with the books, it’s only fair to judge Clarice on its own terms. And who knows? If it’s successful, maybe it will be the spark Netflix needs to revive that other Harris TV adaptation. For now though, plan to call on it; the world is more interesting with Clarice in it. 

The post Clarice: How Does The Show Compare to Hannibal? appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[davedimartino]

NEW THIS WEEK 02.24.09

With the excitement of the Grammys now long since gone, it's time for the music business to stand or fall purely on the quality of its new product!

In short? If all of this week's new releases are top-notch, quality stuff, then I think we can count on years and years of a healthful, thriving music business! But if, on the other hand, most of this week's are dreary and stale reruns of an earlier, better time, it might be appropriate for everyone in the industry to just throw in the towel, admit defeat, and perhaps individually focus on improving their own personal lots in life--and business be damned!

Well, you can take a look for yourself--but as far as I can see, any week that features a lot of great reissues, good albums by really old artists, and a new album by the Jonas Brothers is conclusive proof that music's on an upswing like never before!

Speaking purely as a rock critic, I don't think I'm alone in comparing this year's music riches to those released in the golden year of 1969--except now everything's even better produced! I predict a long and healthy life for the music industry and indeed each and every one of us!

Guess I’m just an optimist! You too?

 Jonas Brothers: Music From The 3d Concert Experience (Hollywood)  I think a lot of people would be genuinely shocked to find that this new live Jonas Brothers album--the soundtrack from the movie of sort of the same name--contains some frighteningly accurate covers of Metallica, the Pretty Things, early '60s pop hit "Please Don't Talk To The Lifeguard," and a by-rote recitation of all 18 minutes and 42 seconds of Isaac Hayes's "By The Time I Get To Phoenix" amid all the marvelous contemporary pop hits! Luckily, that's not the case here, and I'd be willing to bet no one will care either way! Heck, these guys are kind of cute and they can really play their instruments!

 Van Morrison: Astral Weeks Live At The Hollywood Bowl (Listen To The Lion/EMI) A few years back I noted the irony that I managed to see Brian Wilson play Pet Sounds, Arthur Lee play Forever Changes, and the Zombies play Odessey And Oracle all within a few scattered months. If I'd only seen this great concert--which in fact I did manage to see--back then, and maybe seen the Velvet Underground reuniting to play their third album live, I could simply stop listening to music entirely, give serious consideration to getting that doctorate in psychology, and stop spending so much time thinking about myself instead of other people! Anyway, this is great live recording by a great artist covering one of the greatest albums of all time, and the cover's deliberate artistic nod to the notion of "Neil Diamond dressed as Zorro" only adds to its greatness! Buy it today!

 Lamb Of God: Wrath (Epic) This album reminds me of three things! First, the phrase Lord God, Lamb of God, Son Of The Father, You who take away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us! Secondly, the fact that Rath was a Waterloo, Indiana-based company that made great bacon before ultimately closing up shop a few years back! Finally, a band with name Lamb Of God features a lead singer who actually has a strange patch of hair growing on his back! Between you and me, I think that second point may carry the most weight!

 K'naan: Troubadour (Octone/A&M)  While the cultural impact of contemporary rap and hip-hop can't be overstated, I've often felt that something was missing--and I think that may have been the heretofore unheard rappers of Somalia and the Arctic Circle! Providing one-half of the answer is Somalian rapper K'naan, who's heard here with guests like Damien Marley, Mos Def, Chubb Rock, and hip-hop legend Adam Levine of Maroon 5, in a fabulous collection largely recorded in Kingston, Jamaica and packed to the gills with potent political points, primary positive perceptions, and other cool stuff! Some say this may be one of the year's biggest albums, while others say you should brake first before turning right at a red light! Hey, another store just closed!

 Chris Isaak: Mr Lucky (Wicked Game/Reprise)  It's hard to say that Chris Isaak's unique, '50s-inspired ultra-cool persona was long missed in the seven years it's taken him to produce a brand new album. Mainly because that sentence has too many modifiers! But the man himself can do no wrong, and in 2009, with guests Trisha Yearwood and Michelle Branch joining him, it's as if he never left! Evocative, moody, sexy, and, as always, strangely distant, Isaak sings in his timeless way, and when he does, an invisible hand enters your chest cavity, clutches your heart, squeezes it a little, says, "Good as new, boss," and then slams the hood down watching you as you drive off into the distance! Then it call up your English teacher and--together--they laugh at you!

Steven Wilson: Insurgentes (K-Scope)  It's a peculiar quirk of fate when a musician with a built-in cult audience--who'll buy nearly anything with his name on it--actually happens to be remarkably good, adventurous and compelling, and that's certainly the case with Mr. Wilson, who otherwise plays with his excellent, arty Brit band Porcupine Tree. This set--officially his debut solo album--comes in multiple configurations, including a gorgeous 2CD/DVD and accompanying book limited edition, and is glorious listening throughout. In the same manner that, say, Radiohead no longer need be concerned with recording a "hit single," Wilson has the leeway to make any sort of recording he wants--without any major-label commercial pressures--and as heard here, does so with startling success and energy. Plus, wearing a gas mask on your album cover is always cool! Buy it today!

 Isaac Hayes: Black Moses (Stax) When you get right down to it, there were fewer cooler people in the world of popular music than Mr. Isaac Hayes, and this double-album--originally released in 1971--features the man at the peak of his powers! The best possible example of how the man could take outside material and make it his own, this set features his "Never Can Say Goodbye" and "(They Long To Be) Close To You" and glides along soulfully in deep, deep groove. The completely fab new CD reissue features the original fold-out cover art, miniaturized, and is the sort of thing nearly everybody should have hanging in their house to prove their worth as humans! He'd probably think so, too!

 J.J. Cale: Roll On (Rounder) Speaking of impeccably cool musicians, look no further than Tulsa legend J.J. Cale, who's back with his first album since winning a Grammy with his Eric Clapton collaboration of 2006, The Road To Escondido. A little more upbeat in places than you might come to expect with Cale's previous work, Roll On is precisely played, economically arranged, and sounds like it might've been recorded any time within the past 50 years. It probably was! All told, it's no Lamb Of God, but what the hey!

 Company Of Thieves: Ordinary Riches (Wind-up) Company Of Thieves is an interesting Chicago trio featuring a powerful lead vocalist in Genevieve Schatz--who'll either end up being loved by millions or being perceived as the contemporary equivalent as that hat-wearing chick in the 4 Non Blondes' video "What's Up," it's her call! They play melodic songs with a lot of emotional oomph and I suspect if you see them in live performance you will either like them a lot or perhaps be distracted by your date's unexpected urge to drink excessively! That stuff does happen! It's an either/or world for Company Of Thieves!

 Green River Ordinance: Out Of My Hands (Virgin)  Few expected President Obama to be such a vocal fan of John Fogerty, but his recent insistence that all new bands sound like Creedence Clearwater Revival is taking some heat from unexpected quarters! Dudes, cut him some slack!