Robert Cray
"Take Your Shoes Off"
(Rykodisc)

Quick, what does R&B stand for? OK, so you know it's rhythm and blues, but you had to think for a second, didn't you? Given the compartmentalized climate of today's recording industry, it's easy to forget that R&B is not so much a genre for black artists who are neither hip hop nor rap, as a recipe for music that touches the soul and shakes the hips.

Robert Cray knows full well what R&B is, and on his new album, "Take Your Shoes Off," he kicks it old-school style—a la Otis Redding and Albert King—and delivers plenty of soulful licks and funky beats. Naturally, the subject at hand is love gone bad, and Cray jumps right in with "Love Gone to Waste," a slinky minor-key jam, with a bevy of horns rounding out the sound of the record's central quartet of guitarist and vocalist Cray, bassist Karl Sevareid, keyboardist Jim Pugh, and drummer Kevin Hayes. "Could I have done something wrong?" Cray sings incredulously on "That Wasn't Me," as if men and women haven't been running afoul of one another since time began and one more set of promises is going to make a difference. The romantic outlook improves considerably on "All the Way," a silky-smooth groove about commitment and the benefits of diving head-first into the deep end of the pool. Because, as Cray reminds us on album highlights "Pardon," "Won't You Give Him (One More Chance)," and "Living Proof," love has the potential for redemption as well as heartbreak.

"Take Your Shoes Off" is Cray's first record for his new label, Rykodisc, and already he seems right at home—good choice of material, first-rate playing and singing, and a nice, chilled-out ambience. Cray's signature Stratocaster sound is very much in evidence, but his solos feel more relaxed, expressive, and spontaneous, and less like he's reciting chapter and verse from the blues handbook. Perhaps while recording in Memphis, Cray channeled some of the great Stax sessions from the '60s and '70s. But, more likely, he just wanted to stretch out a little bit, and take a break from being the heir apparent in a long line of great bluesmen. But diehard blues devotees need not worry—there's still plenty of blues in Cray's brand of R&B.—Andrew Clevenger

Various Artists
"Short Music for Short People"
(Fat Wreck Chords)

Over 100 songs by over 100 bands, all in under 50 minutes—if you want the most bang for the least bucks, "Short Music for Short People" could be just the ticket. It's one of those ideas you wonder why no one came up with sooner—recruit 100 bands to do songs that are half a minute or less in length. Since it's Fat Wreck, most of the songs are of the punk persuasion, though I'm sure that's also because it's the easiest genre to do in 30 seconds—it's not like you can do half-minute art rock; and most R&B divas can use up that much time holding a single note. Representing are such heroes of the moment as the Offspring, Rancid, the Living End, and Less Than Jake; lesser-known comers like the Lunachicks, Pennywise, Anti-Flag, and Bouncing Souls kick in their 20 seconds; and the vaults have thrown up quick classics from the Circle Jerks, Black Flag, and the Misfits.

Any record with 101 tunes will have its highs and lows—fortunately, anything that's a real stiff is over before you can hit the skip button on your CD changer. The Fizzy Bangers kick it off with the appropriately named "Short Attention Span," which is all of eight seconds long and so fast you can't even categorize it. Chixdiggit's "Quit Yer Job" is a funny piece of sunny, cymbal-rattling, start 'n' stop. The Groovie Ghoulies' upbeat, antisocial "I'm Doin' Fine" is sure to wind up on answering machines across the nation. Caustic Soda's "Welcome to Dumpsville, Population: You" is a thrash dis with unexpectedly adept vocal interplay. Among the less (obviously) punk offerings are the Damned's goth spoof (then again, you could say that everything the Damned does is a gothic spoof); the Dance Hall Crashers' harmonic girly ska; the Swingin' Utters' Celtic rockabilly tune; the Vandals' mock-Beach Boys paean to geeks everywhere; the Muffs' wistful, German-language acoustic ditty; and Gwar's, well, Gwarness.

And I must close by giving props to the Ataris, whose contribution contains a sentiment I, you, and anyone can take to heart: "Every now and then/I turn it on again/But it's plain to see the radio still sucks!" Still, it might be less painful if all those Bush and Marilyn Manson tunes were over in 30 seconds.—Lissa Townsend Rodgers

Alejandro Escovedo's remarkable live sets are like a history lesson in the form of a story told at a rock concert. There are the punk days starting out with the Nuns. Then, the beginnings of cowpunk (not even a word when they started and one I still can't find in my dictionary) with Rank and File, and later, the True Believers. After that, the multi-faceted solo career—the glam-punk of Buick McKane, the lush sounds of the Alejandro Escovedo Orchestra, and, of course, the songwriter himself, alone with his guitar.

The disc opens with the Escovedo-penned "I Was Drunk," obviously a testament to his past days as a famous drinker, as he sings "I was drunk/I was down/I was wandering around my bed/I called out your name." He opens his shows with this song, and you can see why. Ian Hunter's "Irene Wilde" sounds like Escovedo doing his best Billy Bragg—or Ian Hunter for that matter. Other covers include Jimmie Rodger's "California Blues," J.L. Pierce's "Sex Beat," and from the common link of the Velvet Underground, John Cale's "Amsterdam" and Lou Reed's "Pale Blue Eyes."

For all those fans (including myself) who like Escovedo best when he is playing the part of rock star are two originals, "Everybody Loves Me" and "Sacramento and Polk." In "Everybody Loves Me," the guitars are distorted but the edge is there as Escovedo easily pulls off the chorus, "Everybody says they love me/But I don't know why." He told me this song had more to do with the crowd's relationship to his band, Buick McKane, than to himself. "It's [the chorus'] kind of insecure, unconfident kind of bravado almost," he said. "It fits so well with Buick because we always felt like we were the underdog…. The verses are very cocky, almost—'I walk, I crawl, but I never run. Sometimes I fall like the setting sun' or 'I believe in truth but sometimes I lie.'" And "Sacramento and Polk" lets Escovedo look back on his seedy San Francisco days with violinist David Perales and cellist Brian Standefer at their punk-inspired best.

For longtime Escovedo fans, this is the CD to pull out when your place is full with out-of-town visitors. And for those who have never heard of him, "Bourbonitis Blues" is the perfect introduction.—Jeremy Reed