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Recent Articles By Christian Schaeffer

National Features

  • Phoenix New Times
    Canine Crusaders

    That drug-sniffing dog up ahead? He may not be your best friend.

    By Ray Stern
  • Broward-Palm Beach New Times
    The Muscle Men

    Thanks to a string of Florida "anti-aging clinics," baseball's steroid scandal isn't limited to superstars.

    By Michael J. Mooney
  • Miami New Times
    Picked On

    Farm workers earn nada in America's green-bean capital.

    By Janine Zeitlin
  • Village Voice
    "Why I'm No Longer a Brain-Dead Liberal"

    An election-season essay from one of America's greatest playwrights.

    By David Mamet

With Hysterical Stars, Head of Femur finally has the budget to make the record that fits the scope and imagination hinted at on its debut album, 2003's Ringodom or Proctor. The band's sound has always been intricate, with brass sections hiding in every corner and tempo changes popping up throughout. Occasionally, though, the weight of ambition crushes the limitations of the songs; the plaintive "Oh You're Blue" doesn't warrant the opulent string flourishes, and it often feels that all twenty-something guest musicians are vying for the same microphone in the studio.

The kitchen-sink treatment works best on Head of Femur's manic, vaguely psychedelic songs, like "Easy Streets." While the well-orchestrated zaniness is still well intact, Hysterical Stars has a strong streak of melancholy, one that fits nicely with Matt Focht's earnest, fluctuating tenor. "Song for Richard Manuel" is a touching paean to the late The Band singer, and the saxophone soloist beautifully channels Garth Hudson's sweet, elastic tone. It's a fitting tribute to one band of genre-bending misfits from another.

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