"Da REAList" by Plies

If there’s one department Plies ain’t lacking in, it’s bravado. The Southern rapper has just issued his third platter, Da REAList, which comes a mere six months after the summer release of his second effort,
Definition of Real. Clearly, Plies has a “thing” for keepin’ it real. Did the world really need another Plies album so soon? Plies apparently thinks so and chances are, he isn’t wasting any time giving a fuck what anyone thinks about his decision to release two records in the span of a year, so the point is effectively moot. While many artists pay lip service to that axiom about “keepin’ it real,” Plies is living it, satisfying the appetites of his fans by continuing to release music. And isn’t that all that really matters nowadays?

Surprisingly enough, Da REAList doesn’t come off as a collection of throwaways or leftovers from its predecessor.
Ashanti shows up on “Want It, Need It” and she’s an excellent choice to duet with Plies, since she softens up some of his

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"The Wrestler" by Mickey Rourke

The buzz that’s been building since The Wrestler won the Venice Film Festival’s top prize earlier this year was that it marks Mickey Rourke’s undisputed comeback as a serious actor, thanks to an Oscar-worthy performance. Possibly for the first time when it comes to anything involving professional wrestling; you can believe the hype.

Rourke is heartbreakingly believable as over-the-hill but still-in-the-game Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a former champion reduced to appearing in cheap local matches and hawking videos of his past glories in school gyms. He lives in a trailer he can’t afford, works part-time unloading trucks, and wears a parka held together with duct tape. He describes himself as “an old, broken-down piece of meat,” his career hasn’t been kind to his kisser, and he wears a hearing aid—but at least his stringy, shoulder-length mane is still real.

It would have been easy for Rourke to play the role as mere declining-years desperation, but he gives us much, much more than

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"And Winter Came" by Enya

Many modern music fans may cringe at the mention of the name Enya. That’s because the New Age chanteuse drudges up images of babbling brooks, chakras, stones, self-help books about getting in touch with your “chi” and other assorted “hippie” topics. But 13 million Enya fans can’t be wrong. Can they?

And Winter Came is the latest entry in the Enya sweepstakes. It’s a soothing collection of airy, ethereal and festive Christmas-themed compositions that are totally and completely Enya-fied. They have both a folksy and classical bend. These tracks are also sung in an angelic, delicate and refined vocal style that can make grown men weep. Enya is able to captivate and command attention in a low-key way, which is difficult to do. She is popular music’s equivalent of those pesky Sirens in Homer’s Odyssey. She can lure men to their deaths thanks to the way she uses her seductive, genteel larynx.

And Winter Came makes effective use of a chorus at times, but it’s always the Enya show,

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"Safe Trip Home" by Dido

While many an artist would have rushed immediately back into the studio to capitalize on the kind of success that Dido achieved with her first two albums, this London-born songwriter saw things very differently. More concerned with her desire to play music than the public’s appetite for the almighty hit single, Dido disappeared from the limelight to get back to the heart of her passion. This period of personal and musical development may not have ended in a collection of instant attention-getters, but it did lay the groundwork for one continually soulful, intense (in a deep and minimalist sort of way) and emotional affair.

Though Dido’s soft and smooth voice, which walks the line between somber and sensual, remains the focal point of Safe Trip Home, the songstress also provides much of the album’s instrumentation as well; including guitar, piano, bells, recorder (which gives the Brian Eno/Mick Fleetwood collaboration, “Grafton Street” a very neo-Celtic, Enya-style feel) and even a

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"Matador Singles ‘08" by Jay Reatard

While you’re reading this review, Jay Reatard has probably just written a handful of songs. The twenty-seven year old scrappy punk rocker known for being incredibly prolific (really, that feels like an understatement) has spent the last few years releasing dozens and dozens of brilliantly catchy rock nuggets. This compilation—his first release for the indie label Matador Records—is thirteen songs short clocking in at a touch over thirty-minutes, and once again, it showcases Reatard’s brilliant and consistent ability to be sugary sweet-accessible while maintaining a frenetic, off-the-cuff spirit.

Incorporating shades of Husker Du, The Pixies, New Zealand indie rock, and classic garage rock bands of the ’60s, the Memphis-based wunderkind boasts a policy of zero filler on this record, every song serving the sole purpose of kicking the door down and inspiring an instant mosh pit. “You Mean Nothing To Me” with its disarming background hiss is clap-a-long Buddy Holly armed with a

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