Eminem's follow-up find to 50 Cent is Detroit's own Obie Trice. Right off the bat, it seems like a bad idea for an unknown MC to have cameos by hip-hop's most recognizable rappers all over a damn debut album. This poor bastard takes a back seat to Eminem, Dr. Dre, 50 Cent, D-12, Busta Rhymes, Nate Dogg, and a couple others on more than half the songs on Cheers.

The album was executive produced by Eminem with several songs produced by Dr. Dre, one by Timbaland, and a few by other mortals. Eminem's influence is heard throughout the album, most notably on "Hands on You," where the chorus starts, "Together there ain't nothin' we can't do," and ends, "... baby if you promise to be true / I will never put my hands on you." What a romantic threat. So that song is about the importance of a woman's fidelity, and the very next track, "Hoodrats," warns ghetto hos to stay away if they see him with a Halle Berry look-alike. The pairing of these songs is a taunt to Eminem critics who love to hate him, but it's boring and obvious and makes Em and Obie sound like nerds.

The highlight comes during the last verse of the last song, which features D-12 and Eminem. One of the members of D-12 says he doesn't know whose song he's on, that he'll wear a pink tank top and Reeboks to his release party, and that he'll pee on R. Kelly. Now that's gangsta. Go buy MF Doom's latest record, which is under the alias Viktor Vaughn and is called Vaudeville Villain (Sound-Ink) – it's way better. Obie Trice performs Nov. 9, Fillmore, S.F. (415) 421-TIXS. (Nate Denver)

Strokes
Room on Fire (RCA)

Different Strokes for different folks. I wish I had a reason to get behind that phrase – catchy and derivative, isn't it, kind of like guess who – because that would mean the Strokes were living up to some kind of crazy Platonic artistic standard and moving forth with a few new ideas, a smidge of forward-thinking cultural interest, or hell, at least an eyedropperful of vision, and all that slaughtered plant matter and recycled newsprint would be worth the hype. I was even ready to chow down on my own words – as one hating on the Strokes from way back when, all of two or three years ago when they forgettably opened for Doves at Bimbo's 365 Club – because I'd be insane enough to enjoy watching demon rock 'n' roll resurrected, restyled, and served back up to the masses. At least as much as the next School of Rock fan.

But guess what? It's business as usual for the Strokes. You slide their carefully hand-numbered, security code-laden CD into your player, and it passes like a dream – or a nightmare, depending on your level of resistance to peppy, poppy Spoon-like bounce. I'll go with the fact that I actually like Spoon, so make that a dream – though I find it somewhat sad the older, industry-upsetter Britt Daniel can't get the same breaks as the fresh, pouty pretty boys of the Strokes. It's a recurring dream that's been on auto-repeat since their well-titled first album, Is This It?, came out. Returning producer Gordon Raphael does capture a certain friskiness on Room on Fire. But for the most part, the Strokes have got their story (read: formula), and they're sticking to it. And so then will I. They're entitled idea-snatching types who barely exude the sense of joy or graciousness other pop-cult plunder bunnies like Quentin Tarantino or midperiod Guided by Voices might. They're crafty not artsy. They're as infectious as SARS at a badger convention. They dress well. All hail the stylists. (Kimberly Chun)

Gerry Hemingway
Devils Paradise (Clean Feed)

Drummer Gerry Hemingway, along with his bassist here, Mark Dresser, formed the rhythm section for the late 1980s-early 1990s installment of the Anthony Braxton Quartet, one of the most celebrated avant-garde jazz bands of the last 25 years – meaning their albums have actually sold in the quadruple digits. Their Willisau (Quartet) 1991 box set is one of the most amazing things I've ever heard, though it's dense, brainy, and hard to penetrate at first, which is also true of some of Hemingway's earlier albums.

But while Braxton's music keeps going farther and farther out in space, Hemingway has gotten more down-to-earth. It's not watered down, but Devils Paradise has a folksy appeal that will surprise those who associate Hemingway's band, which includes trombonist Ray Anderson and tenor saxophonist Ellery Eskelin, strictly with the avant-garde and who fear them because of it. For proof, listen to the sunny South African folk dances "Toombow" and "Tom Skwella," or the beautiful lump-in-the-throat ballad "Gentle Ben," or anything else here. It's a sign of the jazz world's conservatism that such lively, accessible music still gets relegated to a single Jazz in Flight night at Yoshi's. But rather than being bitter, we should just be thankful it exists at all in such culturally barren times. Support these musicians and go see 'em live. You'll be glad you did. Gerry Hemingway Quartet play Mon/27, Yoshi's, Oakl. (510) 238-9200. (Will York)

Broadcast
Haha Sound (Warp)

I had the day off, time to kill, money from a freshly deposited paycheck to spare, and CDs to sell, and I went into the record store and heard something playing in the background that I absolutely had to have. Blessed are the fine folks at Noe Valley's Streetlight for introducing me to the angelic transmissions of Broadcast's Haha Sound. Because I seriously dawdled, waiting for the enchanting songs I was hearing to turn bad – contemplating the Antheil double CD, looking through the Gs for old Grifters, laughing at the Hall and Oates releases in the bargain bins – and not once did Haha Sound disappoint.

Broadcast's sounds come to us by way of Birmingham, England. They have two previous albums – The Noise Made by People (Tommy Boy) and Work and Non Work (Drag City) – that you may have already heard. I haven't, but apparently their latest has been "long anticipated," which leaves me a lot to anticipate backward. So without further ado or unnecessary context: Haha Sound is a wonder of orchestration that manages to marry lush vocals; drums that shimmer, gallop, pop, and hauntingly underscore; cushy vintage keyboards; and brilliantly sculpted electronics that channel classic sci-fi soundtracks. What's most striking is the "prettiness" of the vocals and how they're constantly complemented and tweaked by the other layers. Witness: "The little bell lies on the ground, although it tries it cannot sound...." Which in lesser hands could lie there as simplistic and useless as a cheap broken watch, but in Broadcast's, each tick, each tock is turned into a reverberation of excellent timing and ruminations on time and missed opportunities, punctuated at the end by the resounding bells of a clock tower. It almost makes one want to be on a cobblestone street in Birmingham, breaking up with a chronically tardy lover. Broadcast play Nov. 4, Bimbo's 365 Club, S.F. (415) 474-0365. (M.P. Klier)

Javier
Javier (Capitol)

Singer-songwriter Javier Colon makes an impressive entry into the Stevie Wonder retro-soul sweepstakes. The former Derek Trucks Band vocalist sounds more like Wonder than MIA cohort Eric Benet does, right down to the warbled melismata, though Javier works in a higher register than either of those singers.

The 13 original songs on Javier's self-titled debut CD are rich in hook-filled melodies and are stylistically diverse, from sweet soul ballads laced with Philly strings (such as "Crazy") to the flamenco flavors of "She Spoke to Me " (including Gypsy guitar and syncopated hand claps) to the late-night jazz of "October Sky" (to which trumpeter Roy Hargrove and pianist Mulgrew Miller contribute). Best of all is "A Song for Your Tears," a bluesy ballad on which Javier switches to a Donny Hathaway vocal bag; it also features some searing blues guitar by Michael Thompson – a rather bold move even in the neo-soul business. If only Javier's producers had had the nerve to drop the stiff drum programs that mar many of the tracks in favor of the living, breathing drummer heard on a few. Javier opens for Mya, Nov. 9, Bimbo's 365 Club, S.F. (415) 474-0365. (Lee Hildebrand)

Randy Newman
The Randy Newman Songbook, Vol. 1 (Nonesuch)

In recent years Randy Newman's reputation as one of America's greatest living songwriters has been overshadowed by his continuing success as an Oscar-winning composer for film. Hopefully, The Randy Newman Songbook, Vol. 1 will change that. What might seem to be a mere retrospective of his 35-year career as a singer-songwriter can best be heard as a reaffirmation of a singular, uncompromising voice, one that is as funny and caustic as it is dark and unflinching.

In this first of a three-part series, Newman and producer Mitchell Froom present some of the artist's best songs unadorned – a brave, smart move. The naked elegance of solo piano and voice give even Newman's most sarcastic tunes new emotional resonance.

Unlike baby boomer rockers of his time, Newman has drawn on Tin Pan Alley, New Orleans boogie-woogie, gospel, and other great American song traditions for his highly personalized tunes. In this way he has as much in common with Cole Porter as he does with Fats Domino. Adding to these musical gifts, Newman brings to his lyrics a literary precision that recalls writer Raymond Carver, allowing for songs that are so well drawn that their emotional core can be absorbed completely on first listen, as on "I Think It's Going to Rain Today." ("Tin can at my feet / Think I'll kick it down the street / That's the way to treat a friend.")