Metro Pulse/Platters/The Donnas, OutKast, Funk Spectrum III

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This Week: The Donnas grow up, BBE recycles its grooves, and "Ms. Jackson" hits the top

The Donnas
The Donnas Turn 21 (Lookout!)

There's something definitive about the chronological milestone the Donnas celebrate on their new CD, The Donnas Turn 21. Now they face the delicate prospect of growing out of the underage-sex-kitten schtick that played so well on three previous albums without surrendering the sexually-charged abandon of those tender teenage recordings.

On Turn 21, they're still straddling (in skintight leather pants, of course) the gap between the Ramones and Mötley Crüe with bracing two-and-a-half minute outbursts of chugging four-chord metal-punk. They're still singing about boys and booze and rock 'n' roll. The lyrics are still an underground comix version of Archie and Veronica's Riverdale High—"Baby you've got the right attitude/ You know that junk food gets me in the mood," on "Midnite Snack," or "Killin' time just watchin' cable TV/ You know I just wanna get busy," from "Nothing to Do."

It's the same thing they've done since they were 13. They've improved instrumentally—Donna R. on guitar, particularly, is as accomplished as most of the early-'80s metal axe-slingers she emulates/parodies—but there's not much real development anywhere else. Turn 21 proves they can still do what they've been doing for the last eight years convincingly, but it doesn't indicate that there's anything more to expect from them. That's not so bad, especially at this point; there's nothing wrong with girls taking the sex politics of Judas Priest's "Living After Midnight" and making them their own. But at some point their comic-book manifesto of sexual empowerment is going to lose its charm. By the time they release The Donnas Turn 30, I hope there's a little more to it.

—Matthew T. Everett

Various Artists
Funk Spectrum III (BBE import)

For every scratchy old groove dropped into a hot track or a DJ set, someone dug through hundreds of dusty records looking for a little-known cut to cannibalize. There are already binloads of comps that collect funky rarities, but British label BBE's Funk Spectrum series towers over the rest, thanks to a string of expert celebrity co-curators: The first Funk Spectrum boasted tracks selected by Josh "DJ Shadow" Davis alongside nuggets from series mainstay Keb Darge, while Funk Spectrum II sported guest picks from Masters at Work's Kenny "Dope" Gonzalez. III offers a peek into the collection of hip-hop guru Pete Rock, and as long as Rock's the selector, it's the funkiest Spectrum yet.

Most crate-diggers are just looking for that catchy string lick, that perfect beat, but most of Rock's picks are worth hearing from first note to last. Starting out with a soul-drenched and desperate B.B. King cut ("Chains and Things"), he shines light on a dozen funky minor masterpieces, both unknown (Cresa Watson's fatalistic rap "Dead," Lee Dorsey's swaggering, funny "A Lover Was Born") and unlikely (Grand Funk Railroad's "Nothing Is the Same"). Darge programs 11 rather anonymous groovers for the second half of the set; they can't help but pale in comparison, and III starts to sound more like an above-average "breaks" collection than the party album of the young new year. Still, trackspotters and funk fans are gonna wanna dig this up.

—Lee Gardner

OutKast
"Ms. Jackson" (from Stankonia) (Arista)

The number one song in America this week is by two freaks from Atlanta who dress like pimps and had to, um, trim their CD's cover image to protect us all from the sight of dangling pubic hair. It's also probably the most thoughtful and complex song about relationships and parenthood ever to top the charts.

"Ms. Jackson" is the second single from OutKast's perfectly funky hip-hop opus Stankonia. I'm not gonna pretend its success is all about the message; it has a seriously catchy hook (I especially like the modulated "oo-oo"), and the transposition of the "Here Comes the Bride" piano run is close to genius. Still, it seems significant that in a pop landscape littered with anger and misogyny on the one hand and soft-porn teen-pop on the other, we also have André and Big Boi playing out the yin-and-yang of the post-relationship male.

The song is ostensibly an apology to a girlfriend's mother, a promise that "my intentions were good" and a guarantee that no matter what, the kids will have a father. But it gets complicated. Big Boi, the designated hard-ass of the duo, is pissed off that the mama's mama doesn't give him enough credit: "Private school, daycare shit, medical bills, I pay that/...She wanna rib you up to start a custody war, my lawyers stay down/...She had fish fries and cookouts for my child's birthday, I wasn't invited." But then there's starchild André, noting sadly that "Forever never seems that long until you're grown." Of the break-up, he decides, "It happened for a reason, one can't be mad," and he closes by promising, "...everything's cool/ And yes I will be present on the first day of school, and graduation."

Then Big Boi spits some more venom about "jealousy, infidelity, envy, cheating, beating," but the whole song goes out on the elegiac chorus: "I'm sorry, Ms. Jackson/ I am, for real/ Never meant to make your daughter cry/ I apologize a trillion times." It's complicated, honest and insanely inventive. Art, in other words.

—Jesse Fox Mayshark