3/8 new arrivals

Dark dub, Iggy, Dr. John and very public nudity.

Keith Hudson: From Pressure Sounds’ website: “Nuh Skin Up is the final installment in the triumvirate of Keith Hudson’s innovative dub outings that began with Pick A Dub, moved on through ‘Brand’ and culminated in this long overlooked album. A deep, dark and brooding slab of dub that showcases the rhythms of The Soul Syndicate at their most imaginative it was built from mixes taken from Keith’s vocal album From One Extreme To Another.” I still like Flesh of My Skin of My Blood best (not on eMusic), but Joe just pointed out that this record has the lyric, “Woke up this morning. First thing I saw was the devil…”

Iggy and the Stooges: Well timed arrival considering the big Stooges reunion record, Metallic KO is a very good Stooges live record. Of course the sound quality won’t win any awards, but it could blow out some speakers — endorsement enough.

Dr. John: Not sure when this was recorded, but the sound quality is great (a bit of graininess that enhances rather than detracts) and the performances, naturally, are fantastic.

UK Subs: Three titles from the newly arrived (and formidable) Jungle record label, including a fairly comprehensive best-of.

Bee and Flower: Berlin-via-New York indie adult contemporary/jazzy troupe; on their website they liberally compare themselves to Black Heart Procession, PJ Harvey and Nick Cave. I’d say that’s fair.

The Members: I think this is a compilation of a British new wave band, but I’m having a hard time finding out any hard info about it. Some of it verges into ska territory, and the Kraftwerk cover (“The Model”) sounds like dub. A smarter person than me will hopefully chime in with more info.

Dean Wareham: A three-track single released between Galaxie 500 and Luna, Anesthesia sounds much more like Luna (indeed, the title cut appears on Luna’s debut) than G500.

The Naked Cowboy: What a sellout. As Times Square’s unofficial ambassador to the middle aged women of America, and indeed the world, the Naked Cowboy has quite a load of responsibilities: pose for pictures, pretend to strum his guitar, represent the spirit of freedom and liberty by not wearing clothes every day. (Also, presumably, finding time to go to the gym.) This is a man for whom the Congressional Medal of Awesome should be invented, and yet here he comes with “Nothin’ to Do With Love,” a sacrosanct collection of his thoughts and ruminations on the nature of love, and it ends up he wants “nothin’ to do with” it. A nation weeps.