“We’re happy to be here. I don’t know…” The Gossip’s Beth Ditto trails off in search of the right words: “I’m feeling it,” she decides, backing up her proclamation with orgasmic huffs before hurtling into “Yr Mangled Heart,” a song Ditto cries—preparing the Liverpool audience for the big voice to come—is for “the faggots, the G-A-Y-S, the D-Y-K-E-S.”

Hardly could anyone have predicted The Gossip—a grimy soul-punk band of misfits started in Searcy, Ark. nine years ago—would find such success in England. And then again, why not? Could that voice—that great big Earth-shaking voice—really have remained restrained to a homegrown underground? Not likely.

While The Gossip have spent the majority of their existence as a feminism-preaching, queer-friendly underground punk band, the trio—who recently released the 13-track recording Live In Liverpool—became hugely popular in the UK following the 2006 full-length release Standing in the Way of Control, named after the hit single Ditto wrote decrying the U.S. government’s decision to deny gay couples the right to marry. The thrusting, crowd-pleasing single took an impressive No. 7 spot on the UK charts and claimed No. 1 on the UK’s indie chart. Never would have called it.

And it's hard to say just why. Maybe it’s the infectious disco-punk guitar riff driving the single (which vaguely recalls the one that made Franz Ferdinand’s “Take Me Out” such a hit). Maybe it’s Ditto’s massive, shattering pipes. Or maybe it’s an English affinity for the unexpected: Who knew an entire nation could fall so hard for a hefty gay gal from the South? Then again, they did give us the British blues.

Whatever the case, The Gossip deserve the limelight. I suppose I should be surprised it took this long, surprised they didn’t receive their dues from their homeland, but, rather, from across the pond, surprised to see Ditto treated like such a twinkling queen (posing nude on the cover of NME, authoring her own advice column for The Guardian, etc.). But I’m not, really. Ditto’s stupefying voice, which could hearken the spirits from heaven if need be, were bound for praise eventually—a soul like hers’ can’t be ignored.

Prior to their overseas success, The Gossip were regarded as little more than another K Records/Kill Rock Stars weirdo band banging around Olympia, Wash. Ditto’s straight-from-the-pulpit cries and sweaty, jaw dropping live performances prompted much word-of-mouth, building for The Gossip a solid following, but one that rarely, if ever, peaked above ground. And while the musicianship is undeniably strong, The Gossip’s brand of gritty blues-punk—which has more recently morphed into something more aptly called disco-punk—isn’t particularly original. It’s Ditto’s larger-than-life presence that is. It’s Ditto the Brits (and myself) so adore.

“I can’t believe you knew the words to that song—so weird,” Ditto gasps after closing “Coals to Diamonds” then, not wanting to offend the crowd, quickly adds: “But amazing.”

Live In Liverpool captures The Gossip in a strange and unexpected place: Performing in front of thousands of screaming British fans, most of whom one would imagine at a Lily Allen concert, not a steamy, preachy Gossip set. Still, while perhaps a bit dazed by their success, The Gossip seem to be having loads of fun as they power through 13 grinding songs, including unexpected—yea, that word again—renditions of Wham!’s “Careless Whisper” and Aaliyah’s “Are You That Somebody?” The record documents an exhilarating time for The Gossip—but, to really feel the light, you gotta’ catch 'em live.

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Six out of ten stars

You can’t go back. No one can take you there. Not Black Francis. Not Jeff Magnum. Not Dave Grohl. Not Stephen Malkmus. No, the past is never twice experienced. We’ll never be back in our bedrooms with our heads pressed to the speakers swearing to god the Pixies or Pavement or Nirvana or some other weird rock band is speaking directly to us, saving us, capturing perfectly all of teenage life’s atrocities in lines like: “Lies and betrayals, fruit-covered nails, electricity and lust, won’t break the door, I’ve got a heavy coat, it’s filled with rock and sand, and if I lose it all, I’ll be coming back today.”

We can’t go back. They’ll never be the same. We’ll never be the same. So how could we expect more of the same? Which is not to say that we do necessarily, but maybe just ever so slightly (the subconscious can't be beat). Our notions of artists like Malkmus were founded on moments of life-changing awe—how could such penetrating experiences not stay with us, not carry with us into a new century and into the emotional response to new albums made by old heroes?

It’s tough to listen to Malkmus without thinking about the past. One wonders how an album like Real Emotional Trash would be received were Malkmus a new musician without legend. I’d say the reception would be fair. It’s not an exceptional album. But, the result of an exceptional person, it’s certainly a noteworthy one. No doubt, Malkmus is a talented fellow joined by an undoubtedly talented bunch: The Jicks, now—in case you’ve been cut off from the modern world—with Sleater-Kinney’s Janet Weiss on drums.

The musicianship on Trash is (ironically, ha) impressive, solid, cohesive, heavy, powerful, rocking—all those things. Malkmus’ songwriting is creative, quirky and inviting, demonstrating a knack for original lyricism that has longevity. “There’s no common goal / There’s no moral action / There’s no modern age / On which to run away / There’s no grace in love / Without no projection / There’s no sky above / For you to cry into,” Malkmus sings wistfully on "We Can't Help You", as if he’s patting you on the knee, telling you to let go and move on.

Aesthetically, the album is warm and appealing and nods often to ‘70s jam rock styling; Malkmus departs frequently on guitar tangents, wigging into oblivion (the title track is ten-plus minutes long). Such noodle-fueled departures tend to rub me the wrong way but hey, at least he’s having fun. And, after a decade and a half of making music, he’s arrived, deservedly so, to a place where little more seems to matter. Hardly is it anymore about being awkward and self-conscious and out of sorts. Malkmus, like many of us, is half grown up, half settled in and almost entirely removed from the person he was when he wrote the songs for Slanted & Enchanted.

I don’t mean to say that I, or we, expect Malkmus to reenact, or of course one up, what he and his bandmates achieved on the brilliant, generation-defining 1992 album. Though it is timeless, musical greatness cannot be repeated. Instead, it is a remnant that lingers in the familiarity of Malkmus’ voice and words, in his love for the endless destinies of the guitar and in the infinite possibilities of rock and roll, be it 1998 or 2008.

The fourth of Malkmus’ solo releases, Real Emotional Trash is polished and refined and heavily anchored—thanks largely to Weiss’ mastery on drums—and, at the same time, it is loose and carefree, wandering blissfully, pushing the realms of sonic exploration and play. Malkmus and The Jicks are not breaking any new ground here. This is good old-fashioned rock and roll made of traditional melodic structures and foundation-building rhythms, accompanied occasionally by a flirtatious piano and lilting backup croons. It grooves around the bend and comes back again, all the while pulsating with a life that once ripped open a new dimension and is now content to simply roam, basking in a past that forever remains like reverie and a present that holds dear a passion for the eternal offerings of rock music.

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