Rock: Bittersweet blessing

CATATONIA

Equally Cursed and Blessed

(Blanco Y Negro/WEA)

When Catatonia toured here a month or two back, live, the new songs from this, the Welsh pop band's third album, didn't leave much of an initial impression.

But then again they were played in the company of the band's rousing earlier singles - like Mulder & Scully and the fab Road Rage - from last year's second long-player International Velvet.

However, the 11 tracks of the 45 minutes of Equally Cursed and Blessed do leave a collective impression - a very good one that is an off-kilter quite lovely pop album. Funny too, but then you'd tend to expect that from the boisterous presence of frontwoman Cerys Matthews.

She also tempers that with some beguiling delivery which, with some extras which shift the sound away from the band's basic indie guitar approach, helps gives this one colour, depth and a little more heart. And that's whether it's the opening Dead From the Waist Down (all sunkissed slow sway and string-lushness), or the equally delicate ballads Bulimic Beats (a harp-accompanied tale of domestic despair) and Nothing Hurts (a lullaby-like string swirl).

Elsewhere there's rousing, funny stuff like Londinium (the lyrical equivalent of Andrew Mehrtens' fave gesture to life in the Brit capital), Storm the Palace (goofy punk with the likes of "You can stick your OBE/I'll sort out your bad Feng Shui...") and Karaoke Queen (a singalong ode to the singalong with a bouncy backing).

Elsewhere there's some odds and sods like Shoot the Messenger (chanson-gone-Cardiff), Valerian (Cranberries/Sundays styled jangle-pop but with a pulse) and the closing Dazed, Bruised and Confused (Catatonia go Radiohead-anthemic but can't quite keep straight face).

Yes, Matthews' warm warble may, like Bjork's, still remain an acquired taste. And for all its arrangement extras, this still seems a little underdone on the production front (though better that than the other extreme).

But the songs add up to a bittersweet treat. The Welsh jokes, it seems, stop here.

****

Cwmaman, feel the noise

STEREOPHONICS

Performance and Cocktail

(V2)

Now keeping things Valleys-centric, here's the second album by Stereophonics, the threesome out of the village of Cwmaman whose debut album, Word Gets Round, turned them into a Very Big Deal - in Britain at least - indeed.

It sounds like their exposure to a bigger picture has had an effect. Word Gets Round impressed with the storytelling power of Kelly Jones songs - many a grim village vignette - against which their plain but rugged rock trio approach made good sense.

On this, however, they've upped the swagger factor, as has Jones his increasingly raspy-throated singing.

Instead of finding lyrical inspiration in his local geography, Jones seems more interested in making sense of life on the road, especially in America.

All of which is fine, if a little forgettable by the time you reach the end of its overstretched 13 tracks which offer up hearty riffage on the likes of openers Roll Up And Shine, The Bartender and the Thief, hearty ballads Hurry Up and Wait, Is Yesterday Tomorrow Today? and hearty mid-tempo anthems like Just Looking (though Buffalo Tom's lawyers may be in touch soon on that one).

But all that heartiness can make this emerge as a mite pedestrian and colourless overall, despite the punchy performances on the big numbers. Here Stereophonics are a band that, with their sense of own old-fashioned rock grit offer much that is admirable. But little that is really involving.

***

Anger Mismanagement

SKUNK ANANSIE

Post Orgasmic Chill

(Virgin)

The third album from these one-of-a-kind Brit practitioners of heavy metal/soul sees them getting even more intriguingly schizophrenic.

They've long been a belligerent bunch, mostly care of vocalist Skin (Deborah Dyer to her Mum), who either delivers her particular views on (mostly) sexual and race politics in her anger-spitting cathartic caterwaul, or comes on like a worse-for-wear Joan Armatrading on the occasional brooding ballad.

Whatever her dangerous mood here, it makes for quite an album, especially with the band blending in bits of electronica into their particularly volcanic brand of hard rock.

So we get Charlie Big Potato, which swings from its Asian-flavoured drum and bass into something towering and Metallica-like; the likes of On My Hotel T.V and The Skank Heads on which Debs goes ballistic over a runaway locomotive of riffery; We Don't Need Who You Think You Are comes with a chorus that's a hard hat area; and the likes of Tracy's Flaw, Good Things Don't Always Come To You and the acoustic You'll Follow Me Down offer caustic, slow-scorching ballads.

It's true that Skin can get a bit bellicose and overwrought. But she means well. And up against the playing of what sounds like Quite A Band, it's just plain neighbour-annoyingly thrilling. If you buy one hard rock album this year ...

****