Robbie Woliver

Sharps & flats

On "Goodbye, So What," New York trio Cake Like play power pop with sweet and sour kiss-offs.

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Cake Like delivers sarcasm and vinegar with sneering riffs, taunting choruses and deadpan humor. On “Goodbye, So What,” the New York punkish power pop trio’s third album, guitarist Nina Hellman, bassist Kerri Kenney and drummer Jodi Seifert soften their good-natured vitriol and decide that even if their caustic message remains the same, the messenger could be sweeter.

“Goodbye, So What” is an undeviating, toned-down version of the harsher side of the Breeders. The amateurish noise-rock of Cake Like’s earliest work is gone, but “Goodbye, So What” still retains the some of the artsy dissonance of “Brusier Queen” (1997). Nevertheless, it’s pretty sunny. The fuzzy-toned opener, “Lucky One” sounds like an early Hole outtake until the trio’s musicality advances the hum-along chorus. “My Guy” owes more to the bouncy L.A. melodies of the Go-Go’s than to abrasive art rock. And the breathy “Don’t Tell,” is as much a soulful duet between vocal and creeping bass as it is a punky psychedelic throwback.

The group’s dead-voice harmonies are especially effective on songs like “Getaway” and the dark, nihilistic “Blacked Out and Blue.” Taken as a whole, “Goodbye, So What” is a frugal and unhurried record, with sensual rhythms and rough-hewn textures converging into a slurry, savory and sexy whole. Like the band itself, it’s ragged and airy, ominous and righteous — and loaded with minor contradictions. “Don’t be like me,” sings the protagonist in “Ashely” to her little sister, which is always a loaded message. And in the deeply grooved rhythm of “Swell,” there’s a zombie-like chorus singing, “It was a hell of a time, so swell, so swell,” but the sentiment is almost the same as “God’s Alright,” a trippy pop, ’60s-inspired, free-for-all.

Five years ago, Cake Like were writing enjoyable, mean-spirited songs like “Bum Leg” with great kiss-offs like “Your dad works for my dad.” Without going completely soft, “Goodbye, So What” switches up and presents some of the group’s most beautiful work, songs full of atmosphere and memorable melodies. Cake Like still thrash, but they do it unconventionally, with a broader smile and sweet-over-sour send-off.

Sharps & flats

Greenwich Village folk tribute covers Bob Dylan, Simon & Garfunkel and Tim Buckley. But how can Chrissie Hynde and Marshall Crenshaw, among others, forget that some art belongs to its creator?

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There was a time in the ’60s when the heart of musical expression throbbed in downtown New York coffeehouses. Drawing on diverse influences — from Appalachian ballads and Mississippi blues to Memphis rockabilly — those folk musicians who centered themselves in Greenwich Village on Bleecker Street produced highly personal, original work that reinvented traditional folk and forever changed rock ‘n’ roll.

“Bleecker Street: Greenwich Village in the ’60s” is a tribute to those times and those musicians, with contemporary ’60s-styled singers performing songs written in that period. As a valuable roots-to-rock history lesson, “Bleecker Street” is more well-meaning than successful. It’s a tribute attempting to duplicate art works so singular that the comparisons will almost inherently pale.

Boston folkie Jonatha Brooke kicks off the hootenanny with Simon & Garfunkel’s crunchy travelogue “Bleecker Street.” While she captures the original’s sweet innocence, she’s unable to convey S&G’s youthful urgency — the part that came from jittery rock ‘n’ roll. Later, restless rocker Marshall Crenshaw sheds his edge and focuses on the melodic qualities of Dylan’s “My Back Pages,” an archetypal folk song ultimately identified with the pinched, electrifying vocals of its creator.

Coming closest to realizing the original artists’ feel are AAA radio hero Ron Sexsmith mimicking a fluttery, fragile Tim Hardin; song-crafter Jules Shear singing a beautifully whiny version of the Lovin’ Spoonful’s “Darling Be Home Soon”; and country star
Beth Nielsen Chapman precisely recreating Judy Collins’ ethereal lullaby “Since You’ve Asked.” John Cale and Suzanne Vega give Leonard Cohen’s dark yet buoyant “So Long, Marianne” a wonderfully grating, spooky and faithful rendition.

Some artists take the deconstructionist route: Patty Larkin’s indolent “Everybody’s Talkin’,” for instance, might actually be better than Harry Nilsson’s hit version. And Larry Kirwan and fellow Irish rockers Black 47 fervently perform Phil Ochs’ “I Ain’t Marchin’ Anymore,” illuminating the three-decade-old anti-war song with an urgent, modern light.

The harmonically complex Suzzy and Maggie Roche take a hypnotic approach to Buzzy Linhart’s dreamy “The Love’s Still Growing,” and Lucy Kaplansky of Cry Cry Cry immediately seizes the listener with the crackling opening verse of Tom Paxton’s “The Last Thing on My Mind.” The song loses cohesion, however, when CCC partners Richard Shindell (who sounds like Paxton) and Dar Williams (who is a true ’60s vocal throwback) take over succeeding verses, breaking up the flow of what might be one of the era’s best-crafted melodies.

One major disappointment is Chrissie Hynde’s rendition of Tim (father of Jeff) Buckley’s “Morning Glory.” Anyone who has heard the original has been tattooed by the keening, delirious passion in Buckley’s voice. His soaring tenor was so full of pain that his vocals added as much emotion to the song as the lyrics did. Of everyone on this tribute, the original, inventive Hynde should understand that certain songs are almost uncoverable, structured and imprinted by the voices that created them.

With some pretenders pushed to the limit, there’s no doubt that the songs on “Bleecker Street” are marked with the deep brand of their originators. But these reinterpretations confirm one basic concept: Good music transcends time and place. A solid country song can soar out of Nashville and alight in Bakersfield, Calif.; a stirring R&B riff can fly out of Motown and settle in London. These enduring folk songs, then, can rocket into the canon of American classics from the street where coffeehouses have since been taken over by shops selling Beanie Babies and Korn T-shirts.

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