Bob Marley & the Wailers
Exodus
Natural Mystic. Exodus. Jamming. Waiting in Vain. Turn Your Lights Down Low. Three Little Birds. One Love. These titles alone easily make the case that 1977's Exodus should be on the short list of great albums from the rock era. It's the best disc in a uniformly splendid Bob Marley catalog. This two-CD Deluxe Edition begins with a crisp remaster of the original LP; disc one is fleshed out with some B-sides, 12-inch and alternate versions (the real find being a peppier take of Waiting in Vain).
Side two begins with a five-song sequence from the Exodus tour: The Heathen, Crazy Baldhead/Running Away, War/No More Trouble, Jamming and Exodus. The newly unearthed songs, well-recorded at the Rainbow Theatre in London, have more rhythmic urgency than their studio counterparts, and are stretched to near double the original length. The collection closes out with four songs produced by Lee Perry, Punky Reggae Party and Curtis Mayfield's Keep on Moving, each with an extended mix and a dub version. (Note: These dubs use echo and effects sparingly when compared to other reggae of the period.)
All of the Marley virtues are on display throughout: the unerring melodic sense that ranges from Afro-chant (Natural Mystic, the title track) to pure pop (Waiting in Vain, Three Little Birds); the heartfelt vocals; the immaculate ensemble playing; the lyrics that range from spiritual to political to romantic.
Exodus is a can't miss. (Tuff Gong/Island)
—Eric Snider 
Bad Religion
The Process of Belief
If every Bad Religion album sounds the same, then why are some of them transcendent and some abhorrent? Certainly, the L.A. punk pioneers long ago settled into a discernible pattern — several streamlined, airtight melodicore blasts augmented by varying degrees of experimentation — but BR full-lengths have always stood or fallen on energy; some of 'em have it, and some of 'em don't. On Process, the return of co-founding guitarist/songwriter Brett Gurewitz seems to have cranked things back up a bit. There are a couple of clunkers here, but when the now-sextet turns to doing what they do best, a tangible enthusiasm raises the material far above the Bad Religion formula. Supersonic, Prove It, Can't Stop It, Materialist, The Lie, You Don't Belong, and Bored & Extremely Dangerous all showcase the band at its supercharged, intelligent best, blasting compelling riffage and intelligent lyrics as if Gurewitz's departure and the Atlantic Records years (Stranger Than Fiction gratefully excepted) never happened. Broken successfully revisits the now-familiar moody mid-tempo stomp; Sorrow mimics The Police before tumbling into catchy speed-pop. Only the dancey, doomy Epiphany, Eastern-influenced The Defense, and somewhat generic Destined For Nothing fall short — and considering some of BR's output over the years, they don't fall far. The Process of Belief finds an American punk-rock institution back at the top of their game. (Epitaph, www.epitaph.com)
—Scott Harrell 
Dashboard Confessional
So Impossible EP
On paper, Dashboard Confessional never should've worked. A tattoo-sleeved hardcore-scene Cyrano spewing overwrought Sixteen Candles sentiments over plaintive acoustic guitar? Are you fucking kidding me? Against all odds, Miami's Chris Carrabba possessed both the skill and demeanor to pull it off; following some buzz-building releases on Dade County's Fiddler Records, his Vagrant debut The Places You Have Come To Fear The Most captured Young Emo America's heart. So Impossible, an obvious stop-gap, possesses less of the full-length's masterful compulsion. While still worth a listen, only the title track and live staple Hands Down pack the emotional wallop of Carrabba's most wrenching material. Only another full-length will reveal Carrabba as either a consistently superior songwriter or a one-trick pony. (Vagrant, www.vagrant.com)
—Scott Harrell 
Pete Townshend & Raphael Rudd
The Oceanic Concerts
The Oceanic Concerts provides an unusual sampling of Pete Townshend's pop songs performed beautifully with acoustic guitar and piano, as well as interesting neoclassical piano and harp pieces. The previously unreleased album, recorded around Christmas time in 1979, and in'80, arrives when most popular music utterly blows. It begins with the lovely Raga, a short solo harp intro by Raphael Rudd, a then-19-year-old Manhattan School of Music student with a classical background. Over 18 tracks, the album bounces back and forth between Rudd's solo compositions and duet versions of Towshend tunes. Rudd's accompanying piano and harp sound absolutely amazing. A Little is Enough, with majestic piano and Townshend's urgent vocal, is truly touching, infinitely better than the overproduced version from Empty Glass. Other highlights are Tattoo, Bargain, Let My Love Open the Door and the seven-and-a-half minute closer O'Parvardigar, a prayer Townshend turned into a dreamy Nick Drake-like folk song. Throughout, Pete drives his acoustic guitar with the same over-the-edge enthusiasm he brought to a Who gig. Rudd's compositions could easily stand on their own, but coupled with Townshend's sensitive performances they form something new. Indeed, one and one do make one. (Rhino)
—Chris Lunceford
Soundtrack
I Am Sam
This is an oddly enjoyable disc, given all it's up against. Covers of Beatles tunes? Why bother? You either attempt to reconfigure a song (with a high chance of failure) or adhere to the original (and probably pale by comparison). Most artists here opted for the latter, and some even succeeded to varying degrees: Eddie Vedder's typically tortured You've Got to Hide Your Love Away, The Wallflowers' reverent I'm Looking Through You, Sheryl Crow's spunky Mother Nature's Son (with charming traces of banjo), Ben Folds' fragile Golden Slumbers and Paul Westerberg's bitter Nowhere Man. Of the reinventions, Chocolate Genius' dirgey take on Julia tastes OK, Howie Day's acoustic-ballad overhaul of Help scrapes by, while Grandaddy's flatly-intoned, indie-rock take on Revolution is quite simply abhorrent. Another clunker is Heather Nova's sophomoric turn at We Can Work Out. Still, the question lingers: Why is I am Sam relatively rewarding? It seems as simple as this: It's another reason to listen to these great tunes.
—Eric Snider 
This article appears in Jan 17-23, 2001.