"We Can All Get Along With Dinosaurs," the third track on If You Ever See an Owl . . . , has my eighteen-month-old enthusiastically, if not gracefully, bopping his diaper-clad buns off. "Wow," I think, "Nathan's really diggin' the music." Then I realize my dancing toddler is possibly just copying his dad, whose moves are, sadly, no more coordinated than his son's. Fancy dance moves aside, the whole household genuinely loves this bright, poppy album from former Get Up Kids frontman Matt Pryor and his bandmates in the New Amsterdams, with its jangly guitars and Pryor's earnestly nasal vocals. "Math Stomp" (my favorite math primer since "Three is a Magic Number"), the jaunty "Heather in the Heather," and the title track blend so seamlessly into our Death Cab for Cutie and Neko Case-laden music collection that they barely make a blip when iTunes sends them up on shuffle. And the sleepy closer, "Grumpy Bug," has given me a new lullaby to sing at bedtime: "The hour grows old / and I love you so / But I wish you'd sleep." — Jessica Bennett
In my battle to keep a DVD player out of our car, I have a new ally: Juanita the Spanish Lobster. Juanita comes to us from Magic Maestro Music's "Stories in Music" series (also available in Spanish as Juanita la Longosta Española). A modern-day spin on books-on-tape, this series was put together by a husband-and-wife team with an extensive symphonic background. The CD tells the musical story of cranky crustacean Juanita, her dreams of going to The Land and her hair-raising escape from a lobster pot. When the story ends, the album moves on to an audio tour of the creative minds behind Juanita — perfect for road trips and/or music appreciation class. One track is devoted to how composer David Haslam uses a wonderful combination of flamenco and bel canto opera to set the stage down in Juanita's ocean grotto ("What's a grotto?" asked my children); hearing the castanets, one can just see Juanita's claws clacking. Another boasts an alternate doo-wop take of the story's love song, O, Juanita. The London Symphony orchestra is featured throughout. Juanita's story has inspired much artwork in my house, and the behind-the-scenes tracks left my girls feeling that they, too, could grow up to be storytellers or composers. — Melissa Eva Miller
In the liner notes for Welcome to Ralph's World, Ralph Covert writes, "I don't think of what I do as 'kid's music;' that seems too limiting. I think of it as 'fun music for everybody.'" He's right. Maybe it's not what you would put on your iPod for a trip to the gym, but Covert is clearly aiming to entertain the whole family. "The Coffee Song" is a hilarious ditty about your favorite addiction, "Fee Fi Fo Fum" rocks harder than it probably deserves to, and minus the lyrics about bicycles and rainbows, tracks like "Dance Around" and "Riding With No Hands" could fit right in next to Natalie Merchant and the BoDeans during the slideshow for your fifteen-year sorority reunion. The rest of it is sweet, innocuous fun. My son liked the novelty songs like "Peggy's Pie Parlor Polka" and "Surfin' In My Imagination" the best, along with the bonus DVD featuring six "concert" videos of Ralph's best songs. — Matt Wood
At first, the idea of setting classical masterpieces to silly lyrics made me cringe skeptically. But when I played Beethoven's Wig 3 on the ride to preschool, both faces in the backseat of my van froze with interest, two heads started to bob, and two "What is this? We love it!" grins appeared in my rearview mirror. More than simply goofy, the lyrics written for these symphonies and suites help kids envision what these normally word-free songs evoke in one's imagination: butterflies fluttering by, maidens playing mandolin, aliens asking to be taken to your leader in Washington, D.C. At the end of the album, all of the songs repeat; this time, they're performed without the words and in a kid-friendly (but not overly simplified) fashion. Which brings me to the reason I love this album: I can now sing along with my favorite classical pieces, as I've always dreamed of doing. There is such satisfaction in belting out, "Hello! Is anybody in there?" to Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor. And it brought me great pleasure to see five-year-old Charlotte march out of her bedroom, singing, to the tune of Toreador from the opera Carmen, "Please, keep your bull outside the china shop! No bulls allowed! That's where they stop!" — Melissa Eva Miller
It's great that there are so many rockers performing kids' music, but sometimes you need to throw off the chains of cool and embrace the joys of Tin Pan Alley songcraft. The big band sounds of the delightfully goofy Lithgow's first children's album, Singin' in the Bathtub, won me over years before I had offspring of my own. The Sunny Side of the Street is even more charming, boasting a duet with the transcendent Madeleine Peyroux (punctuated by a miraculously un-annoying kid-chorus) on the title track; Marx Brothers mad-cappery on the raucous "I Love You"; and a foot-stomping anthem to the workers of the New York City sewer system. My son's favorite is "I'm a Manatee," a rollicking ditty about "the least appealing creature on the planet-ee." My choice is a rewrite of a risqué Dorothy Fields classic turned into an imagined dialogue between a pre-verbal baby and his mother. Sung in a duet with cabaret star Maude Maggart, the song's exchange of poignant musings and infantile non-sequitors is simply sublime. — Jessica Bennett
"I like it," five-year-old Charlotte piped up immediately upon hearing the acoustic guitar of Different. I took a little bit longer to decide whether I liked the subtle sounds of the album, which was written by Elizabeth Street's singer, Susan Kolbenheyer. Setting out to provide a new type of album for the kids' genre, one that would speak as much to the older kids and tweens as to the littler ones, Kolbenheyer takes on a variety of issues that children of all ages face today. The song "Shoes," for example, is about friends who are best buddies one day and ambivalent about each other the next; "Fair" is about making the best of life's unfairness. Kolbenheyer's quiet "grown-up song" voice is unusual for kids' music and at times lacks enunciation and levity — even while singing about subjects like picking your nose, eyeball people, and deciding to eat a dragon for dinner (only to make friends with it and have broccoli instead). "She has a sweet voice," Charlotte answered, when I prodded her about why she liked the album, and this is true, she has a beautiful voice. Different is a fine "quiet time" album, but after repeated listens it didn't stick with me — and while the kids seemed to like it, it never made it onto their most-requested list. — Melissa Eva Miller
With its Adult Swim aesthetic, fully orchestrated score and endearing classroom-pet protagonists, Wonder Pets is an easy show to love. But it also incorporates my favorite new trend in children's television: borrowing songwriters from Broadway. Helmed by Spamalot's Larry Hochman, the musical team behind Wonder Pets crafts each episode as two ambitious mini-operas (a far cry from those public-domain sing-alongs that dominated children's television a decade ago). And as this new album demonstrates, the Wonder Pets soundtrack is plenty entertaining, even without the accompanying animation. The CD features the best of the show's animal-rescue sequences, like Ming-Ming's rousing solo number "Poor Baby Squirrel" and "The Caterpillar's Song," a heartbreaking duet in which a caterpillar struggles to find common ground with a friend who recently became a butterfly. Adults may be surprised by the complexity of the music; there's a serious orchestra behind these silly songs. Of course, if you're already sick of your child belting, "The phone! The phone is ringing!" whenever you get a call, this CD is not going to help matters. - Gwynne Watkins
True to its title, All Together Singing in the Kitchen is a compilation of songs that indie folk-rock sisters Nerissa and Katryna Nields grew up singing together in the kitchen (and lots of other rooms) of their musically gifted household. The album does a wonderful job of passing on the rich history of children's music with classics like "Aikendrum", Shel Silverstein's "The Unicorn," "Red, Red Robin" and "The Rattlin' Bog," while intermingling tenderly crafted original compositions inspired by the children in the lives of the singers. The distinguishing characteristic of the Nields' music is their harmonies: Nerissa's powerful alto and Katryna's vibrato-filled soprano blend so perfectly that they seem to create a third voice. And they're obviously having such a good time that it's hard not to sing along, even if it's the fortieth time you've heard the album in a week. The inclusion of more "adult" folk songs ("Oh, Mary Don't You Weep" and "Night Rider's Lament") seemed a little out of place to me at first, but they provide a nice break for the parents and, unexpectedly, became two of my kids' favorites. Five-year-old Charlotte and three-year-old Iris request this album on every trip in the car, with Charlotte acting as emcee, hollering, "Okay, Iris, here's your song — sing real loud!"— Melissa Eva Miller
This is the rockingest party record I've owned since I bought a two-disc Go-Gos compilation in the late '90s. From the first crunchy guitar notes of the tot-empowerment theme "I Can Do It By Myself!" to the reassuring samba of "Don't Wake the Baby" and the Avril Lavigne-style chorus of "Sugar High," AudraRox's mastery of kid themes is as impressive as it is fun. This all-parent band clearly kicks out the jams live. The sole sonic misstep here is the nearly eight-minute noodling jam "Pro-cras-tin-a-ting" (Get it? It takes forever to end, because they're procrastinating! Har. Not.). It's forgivable, though, because of the considerable goodwill AudraRox has built up over the rest of the album — which my nineteen-month-old affirmed by rocking out with her baby air guitar. — Sophie Brookover
Trust me on this: Fox & Branch will please the entire family with folksy, rootsy tunes and sing-along activities. By the middle of the first song, my kids were mesmerized. Better yet, they stopped fighting and began laughing at all the unfamiliar sounds. The second track, "Instrument Intro," demonstrates all the instruments you'll hear on the album, including fiddle, guitar, harmonica and washboard — but the one that brought them to their knees giggling was the jug, because that tried-and-true old bluegrass fixture sounds just like farting if you're five. (Yes, I'm proud.) Our three kids are still young enough that it's miraculous to find music we can all enjoy, but this one had all five of us dancing around the kitchen island. — Rachael Brownell
We Wanna Rock is the latest offering from Thaddeus Rex, reading evangelist and former PBS Kids regular. His Violent Femmes-influenced acoustic rock is both sweet and silly, ranging from a cover of John Denver's "Country Roads" and "I Don't Want to Go," a song about his family moving when he was young, to kid-pleasers like "You Can Tell a Boy by the Smell" and "I Stepped in Dog Doo." Every song seems like it could break into "Blister in the Sun" at the next bridge. A few of them, like "Dinosaurumpus," are based on popular children's books, and "Slimy Green and Kind of Funny" is adapted from a poem sent to T. Rex by a fifth-grader (kids can now enter a contest on his website to write a song on his next album). My son perhaps isn't the best judge of funkiness — he gets down the same way to Sly and the Family Stone as he does to the Caillou theme song — but the more upbeat numbers from We Wanna Rock made him shake it more than usual. — Matt Wood
I love lullabies sung in languages I don't understand. English lyrics make me inappropriately maudlin, fixated on the fleetingness of childhood and how someday we'll all be dead. No such worries with any of the ten tracks on Asian Dreamland, a gentle compilation of bedtime tunes from our neighboring hemisphere. Here, my complete ignorance of Japanese, Chinese and Tatar seems like a blessing, allowing me to identify not with the singer or parent, but the sweet little cherished baby. Oh, hell yeah — I can close my eyes and picture myself tucked into a reed basket floating down some lovely, unpolluted river! How's that for a mini-vacation? Before drifting off, I asked six-year-old Milo what he thought of this pretty music.
"It's sad," he scowled.
Nice to know the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree. "Yes, but does it make you want to go to sleep?" I asked hopefully.
"Maybe if I was sleepy already." — Ayun Halliday
The Deedle Deedle Dees appeared on the scene 30 years too late to save me from a C- in American history, but it's some consolation that their obsessive interest in that subject has got my kids' wheels turning — especially nine-year-old Inky, who's fast developing a crush on Teddy Roosevelt. ("He was a narrow-chested, asthmatic child / but then he charged up San Juan Hill ...") Aaron Burr, Harriet Tubman and General George Meade's horse, Baldy, all get their banjo pickin', foot-stompin' due, as the lead Deedle, Ulysses S. Dee (Lloyd Miller), gleefully shoehorns a chapter's worth of biographical tidbits into every track. Toddler fans' needs will be met with a couple of tunes about doggies and dinosaurs, but anyone older than five can tell from the rousing shout chorus of Nellie Bly that, according to The Deedle Deedle Dees, history's where it's really at. Given that guitarist Innocent Dee moonlights as an English teacher, perhaps the next album can clean up Mama's dangling participles. — Ayun Halliday
On their debut album, The Quiet Two present a host of eclectic, danceable tunes perfect for kids who've graduated from the Wiggles but aren't quite ready for the Kinks. My eight-year-old compatriot found "Invisible Trousers," a twist on "The Emperor's New Clothes," hilarious and begged to put it on his iPod. He was also a fan of the so-serious-it's-funny ballad "I Remember Purple." I loved the organ-soaked rave-up "You Can't Hide Your Bike" and "Magic Banana," which catalogues the many amazing features of a particular piece of fruit. Sounding like the Edward Lear-influenced love child of They Might Be Giants and Sandra Boynton, bandmates Andy Ure and Chris Anderson throw out hilarious couplets like "My magic banana speaks fluent Portuguese / My magic banana can cure any known disease!" — Sophie Brookover
Striking the right tone in kids' music is tricky: tunes and lyrics alike must be childlike but not childish, full of wonder but not stupid, funny but never dumb. The soaring title track of My Green Kite nails this balance, as does the inspired song "Have You Ever Really Looked at an Egg?" and the amusing spoken-word interlude "Baseball Tips With Professor Buckley." But much of this is an album sounds like it was made less for kids than for affectionate, nostalgic adults. The clearest example of this problem is the mawkish "My Father's An Accountant," which sounds like a distant cousin of "The Living Years" by Mike and The Mechanics. I realize that the line between the music kids like and the music adults like is a blurry one — I still love Sharon, Lois, and Bram, and my 17-month-old daughter loves to get down to Madonna and T. Rex — but my 3 listeners (an eight-year-old, a five-year-old and a three-year-old) all agreed that Peter Himmelman's album did not speak to them. — Sophie Brookover
Astrograss generated a deserved buzz amongst Brooklyn parents a few years back, with kid-centric daytime bluegrass gigs in venues where alcohol was available for purchase. You can sense the jacked-up enjoyment of the unbridled child chorus freaking their way through the call and response of "Hurk," one of six Shel Silverstein poems set to original music by the quartet's winsome lead vocalist/guitarist, Jordan Shapiro. Although the poems are gorgeously arranged with traditional instruments, they seem to lose much of their humor in translation, coming off as just so much more garden-variety pandering to the silly-loving hokey-pokey demographic. Unlike the child chorus, my six-year-old associate stayed on the couch for this one, strangely unmoved by a lyric in which a compulsive eater devours his parents. One suspects that Astrograss is a dish best enjoyed live. — Ayun Halliday
Jon Langford is a Mekon, a solo artist, a contributor to This American Life — and now, apparently, Cyril the Karaoke Squirrel, front man for Wee Hairy Beasties, an animal-fixated Western swing outfit thumping their tubs for the young of the species. Vintage-voiced songbird Kellie Hogan and Langford's fellow Mekon Sally Timms (performing here as Monkey Double Dippey) lend further pedigree to the group's irresistible debut, Animal Crackers. Parents weary of the usual barnyard suspects will appreciate the emphasis on cuttlefish, flies, newts and other under-sung inhabitants of the wild kingdom. There's some concern that kiddies might grow up thinking Muddy Waters' "Mannish Boy" is a rip-off of the Beasties' "I'm an A.N.T.," but this risk is more than balanced by the pleasant knowledge that they'll recognize Langford's unmistakable Welsh growl. A certain 6-year-old of my acquaintance found that the title track gave him "crazy running-around sugar energy, like from a triple-decker ice cream cone." I could use some of that myself. — Ayun Halliday
Ben Rudnick and his friends need an editor. After repeated listenings, that's the only diagnosis that explains why this promising album doesn't hold together. The musicianship is unimpeachable, from the rollicking New Orleans stomp of "Mama Don't 'Low" and "When the Saints Go Marching In" to the lively country swing of "Route 66" and the Amelie-tinged oompah of "Merry Go Round." On the traditional songs, the group is nearly irresistible, swinging and soaring like the veterans they clearly are. The problem is the clunky lyrics of Rudnick's original compositions. Every verse — prime offenders include "Cowgirl Song" and "Chet's Fabulous Diner" — is overstuffed, and his modest vocal gifts can't quite overcome the tongue twisters he's written for himself. The result is that half the words on these songs are unintelligible, which is just not kid-friendly. There's one truly pointless inclusion, too, in the form of an inexcusably flat and slavish retread of Israel "IZ" Kamakawiwo'ole's masterful knitting together of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow/What a Wonderful World." Grace's Bell has a truly infectious and charming sense of fun, but it's not quite enough to carry the weaker original material to the heights of the traditional songs. — Sophie Brookover
Oh Brother! Where Art Thou? was the soundtrack of his infancy, and yet my six-year-old son refuses to share my enthusiasm for Bullfrog Jumped. This vintage collection probably struck folks as old-timey back in 1947, when musicologist Byron Arnold spent his summer vacation persuading the mothers, grandmothers and babysitters of Alabama to sing into his microphone the way they sang to the children in their care. His subjects came from varied backgrounds, but other than Vera Hall, whose posthumous distinction is having been sampled by Moby, their existences remained virtually unsung outside the family realm.
Perhaps one day, my little twerp will have the context to appreciate such an extraordinary act of cultural preservation. You just don't hear voices like that anymore, nor such an abundance of death references delivered with the sort of high spirits that used to be called gay. The recent remastering includes a fat booklet of lyrics, photos and biographical tidbits, plus directions for those wishing to revive the wholesome musical games that were once a staple of children's play. Just because my boy's too sophisticated to skip around with a potato on a spoon, singing about hogs in the tater patch, doesn't mean I have to be, too. – Ayun Halliday
While it's the nature of folk musicians to cover the same songs over and over, Elizabeth Mitchell (of the band Ida) should be applauded for bringing overlooked songs to the repertoire. In fact, You Are My Little Bird may have the most interesting selection of songs on any children's folk album, ever. There's nothing played-out here (with the possible exception of "Peace Like a River"), and there are some daring choices — The Velvet Underground's "What Goes On," for example, and Neil Young's "Little Wing," which is probably the best song here. Mitchell's pretty, subdued voice seems made for lullabies, and her cozy arrangements — guitar and banjo enriched with harmonium, flute and Hammond organ — are deceptively complex. Mitchell is joined on several songs by her Ida bandmate and husband Daniel Littleton and their daughter Storey, and in these moments the album becomes something more simple but still charming: the sounds of a family singing together.— Gabriel Mckee
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
A few years back, there was a distinct spike in children's music catering to parents who shared the conviction that a baby's CD collection should run away from Raffi and toward The White Stripes. But once the thrill of rejecting the Wiggles wore off, the new breed of kids' rock started to seem less like the music of revolution and more like the cutesy regime it once sought to replace.
No such worries with The Big Bang! For their first release, the hard-grinding head bangers of Rockosaurus Rex wisely stick to covers of public-domain nursery classics, welcome news for anyone weary of tongue-in-cheek lyrics concerning strollers, teddies and naptime. It's kind of amazing how perfectly "This Old Man" translates to arena rock, complete with screeching guitar solo and lead vocals worthy of Beelzebub. Van Halen couldn't hold a candle to the whispery bombast of "All the Pretty Little Horses," but you might seize upon it as the perfect opportunity to school your toddler in how to hold a childproof lighter aloft. — Ayun Halliday
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
Listening to Songs for Kids Like Us, one would imagine that Robbie Schaefer is a five-year-old with a very deep voice. In actuality, he's the bald dude from indie folk band Eddie From Ohio. But his album is teeming with bugs, icky foods, and silly accents — just the kinds of things that make the under-six set erupt into disproportionate giggles. Schaefer writes amusing characters, like backwards-talking Cowboy Bob and German Professor Schnoodle (Germans are funny!), who appear in short original songs that don't wear out their welcome. His cover songs are longer and more generic. Songs for Kids Like Us also uses that tired device, the over-rehearsed kid chorus, which is clearly supposed to replicate a sing-along but never quite works. However, if you can tune out the chorus, Schaeffer's performance has the energy of a dozen kids. — Gwynne Watkins
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
"Smile! No One Cares How You Feel" may be the best children's song title of 2006. It's one of many macabre delights found in The Tragic Treasury, a musical companion to Lemony Snicket's Series of Unfortunate Events. Stephin Merritt, recording under the name The Gothic Archies, perfectly embodies Snicket's sinister narrator. He has three major qualifications for the job: a cartoonishly deep singing voice, an ear for blending goth dirges with bouncy pop, and a gift for clever rhymes ("And you might be thinking, what a romp this is/ But wait til you meet his accomplices!"). Even if you're unfamiliar (or unimpressed) with the books that inspired it, The Tragic Treasury's Edward-Gorey-meets-Shel-Silverstein sensibility is hard to resist. —Gwynne Watkins
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
Making a children's CD out of covered Beatles tunes might beg the question: the original material is kid-inappropriate how? But it's pretty hard to screw up "Magical Mystery Tour" and "Love Me Do." The Bangles and Steve Conte (of the New York Dolls) versions are especially chipper. And the hard-page picture book that comes with the CD is colorful and appealing, if a little misguided. In addition to the pictures and short poems, handy "Beatle facts" accompany each song; it's hard to imagine that a little kid would care that "Ringo Starr replaced original drummer Pete Best in 1962." Still, it's a dance-worthy birthday party soundtrack. — Sarah Sundberg
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
What to get the cool kid who already has a Ramones shirt? Why, a Ramones CD, of course. It sounds bizarre — who said the Ramones needed to be kiddified anyway? — but it's hard to top the talent lineup for sheer jawdropping power: Queens of the Stone Age bassist/singer Nick Olivieri, The Donnas frontwoman Brett Anderson (aka Donna A.), Pennywise singer Jack Lindberg, and Jack Grisham, singer for L.A. hardcore legends TSOL, among other surprises. Either these folks really needed the money, or they needed something to play at their kids' birthday parties. I'm guessing both. — Sarah Hepola
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
Playing lullaby renditions of Nirvana for your pre-verbal children may not make them Cobain fans for life — but chances are they'll feel inexplicably nurtured and comforted whenever they hear "All Apologies." If that sounds like a desirable end, read on. The Nirvana album is one of several dozen titles in the Rockabye Baby! collection, all of which contain soothing, glockenspiel-heavy renditions of beloved rock songs. Anyone with a healthy sense of irony is bound to appreciate the concept, but is the music itself any good? The answer is, duh, of course it's good; it was written by rock's greatest songwriters. The transformation of Led Zeppelin songs into lullabyes highlights the lilting, arpeggiated melodies of Page and Plant, while bands like The Cure and Radiohead transition naturally into dreamy instrumentals. One word of caution to metalhead parents: Metallica songs played on glockenspiel sound downright sinister. — Gwynne Watkins
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
...read more
A while back, drunk and feeling maudlin, I wandered into another room at a party, and began to download Raffi songs. Raffi, the Hawaiian-shirted, preternaturally gentle singer of songs for children, was a towering figure in my early history, and as the first, bouncy strains of "Baby Beluga" and "All I Really Need" began to trickle from the tiny speakers of my iBook, I began to weep. All I really need/ Is a song in my heart/ Food in my belly/ Love in my family . . .
Raffi, at fifty-eight, is still going strong, recording, writing, and devoting himself to a principle he has termed Child Honouring, a movement that, according to his website, seeks to create a humane and sustainable world by addressing the needs of the very young. And while his latest album may have songs with a more specifically delineated message than in years past ("Salaam, Shalom, Side by Side" and "Song for the Dalai Lama"), that message has remained unchanged ever since his 1976 album Singable Songs for the Very Young. Raffi wishes nothing but love, peace, and happiness for your family and for all the families in the world.
While I have many favorites from the Raffi catalogue (with a special focus on the years 1982-1986, when I was very young), from the silly world play of "Apples and Bananas" ("I like to eet, eet, eet, eeples and beneenees") to the unabashed multiculturalism of the Caribbean flavored "Tingalayo" and the French "Y a un rat/Sur le pont d'Avignon" best of all is the heartbreakingly simple "Like Me and You" from the 1985 album One Light, One Sun. Raffi sings the names of children from all over the world ("Ahmed lives in Egypt/Moshe lives in Israel/Bruce lives in Australia") before concluding, softly, "each one is just like the other . . . a very special son or daughter, a lot like you and me." For any parent questioning the wisdom of bringing a child into the world at a time when the divisions between people seem so great, there's your answer, in language so simple only a child can understand it. — Rachel Shukert click to close
It's easy to dismiss the mega-selling Kidz Bop — which adds children's voices to mainstream radio hits — as a mere marketing ploy. That would discount how much fun this series can be for young ones and, sometimes, adults. No less an indie authority than Pitchfork Media praised the Kidz Bop "Since U Been Gone" video in their "100 Awesome Music Videos" with this rave: "At the 2:37 mark is the greatest moment in the history of music videos." (Spoiler alert: It involves a standing split, an under-10 mosh pit, and a guitarist in a tiger costume.) A Very Merry Kidz Bop includes such unlikely barn-burners as "All I Want for Christmas Is You" and "Little Drummer Boy," but you may be surprised how feverishly your kids will sing along. — Sarah Hepola
The world of kids' music is populated with earnest, soothing singers. So it's a pleasant jolt when New Orleans Playground opens with Clifton Chenier's weathered bass voice growling about a chicken shack. The latest from Putomayo Kids (whose cover art practically screams "inoffensive multicultural fun!"), this album is a surprisingly tight set of eleven tracks by prominent New Orleans musicians. Shortened versions of Fats Domino's "Whole Lotta Lovin'" and Lee Dorsey's "Ya Ya" will get kids dancing, while "Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner" — in which a children's chorus tries to convince Kermit Ruffins that they can subsist on candy alone — may inspire some kid-parent singalong duets. The album's most distinct track (and its longest, at a none-too-whopping four minutes) is "They All Ask'd For You" by seminal jazz-funk band The Meters. It's a simple nursery rhyme energized by a live, improv-heavy performance, during which the band shouts out the names of their favorite Cajun foods ("Ribs and fish drippings!") for no apparent reason. The whole song comes off like a giddy late-night jam session. And that corresponds with the album's overall take on New Orleans music: it's as fun to make as it is to listen to. — Gwynne Watkins