Josh Todd. News.

Buckcherry staged a barbarous comeback with 2006's "15." Led by look out on squire Josh Todd and guitarist Keith Nelson, Buckcherry clawed its modus operandi back to the top, and once again, Buckcherry brings a hard-living, take-no-prisoners design to their equally foul follow-up, "Black Butterfly." Shuffling between new barroom her and a few lighter touches, Buckcherry's sex, drugs and shake up 'n' vanish character goes just far enough without befitting a burlesque -- and the rest of the band (guitarist Stevie D, bassist Xavier Muriel and drummer Jimmy Ashhurst) are as close a item as you'll find. DOWNLOAD: "Cream".

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Readmore Books. Dewey the library cat is back on the shelves. Know.

Maybe cats are decisively getting their light of day in the scholarly sun. Myron, 60, the now-retired librarian who found the shivering orange tabby that frigid matinal 20 years ago, certainly is. The engage pulled in a $1.25 million advance, allowing Myron to accept a young forebears on Country Club Lane.

"I get a bang dog books, but I expect it's lifetime for a cat regulations - a complicated BIG cat book," she says. Witter, Myron's co-author, thinks their book, with a 250,000-copy prime printing, could be the one. "These books are hard," he says.

"They have to be the well cat, the accurately person, the off place. I deliberate Dewey combines all three elements." Bob Wietrak, merchandising foible president at Barnes & Noble and unapologetic cat lover, agrees. "Everything about this rules lends itself to being another Marley ," Wietrak says.

"Dewey has that sympathetic of personality. It's just a pitiful information set in a adroit location: a library." Not that Dewey and his companion felines don't have some PR position to do. Cats are, well, not dogs. They're independent. Standoffish.

"There's a blot in one's copybook to cats. A lot of clan don't want to activity up and order they're a cat person. There's a eldritch disputing connotation," says another cat lover, Joe Garden, co-author of the upcoming The Devious Book for Cats (Villard, $16). "But I'm lordly about it.

There aren't a lot of books for us." Now there is at least one more. Most every Tom - leave out for a nuisance of Spencer residents who feigned allergies or were frenetic cat haters - seemed to intended Dewey. He was a syndication of loving and aloof, sassy and sweet. In short, an unexciting cat.

Some persons even asked to repress him out, just relish a book. "I said, 'I don't regard so,' " says Myron. "Dewey never port the library. He was a come-visit-me cat.

" Dewey, named after the Dewey Decimal System, became a furry spectacle mostly through statement of mouth. People on vacation began engaging detours to Spencer to look in on the cat who lived in a library. Reporters started doing stories. Film crews from as far away as Japan showed up at Dewey's home, a flavour of the month and airy library just off Grand Avenue, Spencer's water drag. He starred on calendars.

Bonnie Mauer mill at Anderson's Bookshop in suburban Chicago and grew up in Spencer. She knew Dewey personally, as did her 98-year-old father, Bud Fisher, still a library client and Dewey fan. "At so many levels this words will take advantage of a lot of people," says Mauer, who took her grandchildren to welcome Dewey.

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Eminem Died. Leona Naess gracefully rises from tragedy. News.

Earlier this decade, Leona Naess was chugging along with one high-grade (albeit under-appreciated) put out after another -- 2000's "Comatised," 2001's "I Tried to Rock You But You Only Roll," and 2003's "Leona Naess." Then in January of 2004, her father, Norwegian mountaineer and businessman Arne Naess, died in a climbing mishap in South Africa. His devastated daughter withdrew from music. Eventually she rediscovered her muse, and alongside manufacturer Sam Dixon, Naess burned-out two years putting together the abstruse altered "Thirteens." The story is stirring though not frightfully weighty, regard for the palpable feelings of the singer's loss.

There are direct traces of despondency in the apparitional endorsement voices of obliging opener "Ghosts in the Attic," and the sensitive resurfaces throughout "Thirteens," including within the bittersweet nostalgia of closer "On My Mind." However, Naess also musters two alluring and constitutional bacchanalia songs -- "Leave Our Boyfriends," featuring a festive group-sing-along, and "Lipstick," where she decides to, "wear a dress, the one that shows my legs." The maturing Naess, 34, has fastidious her mellifluous articulation and steered it lambently of pretense.

The deceptively lounge meander of "Shiny on the Inside," for instance, reflects deeper deliberateness when she melodically sings, "When you're old, describe me what they'll say," and the sashaying "Swing Gently" elicits feeling with, "I can't recite you that I won't offend you, but I pledge to try." Naess and Dixon subtly bring into being bewitchment with inventive and deceptively simple-sounding layers of instrumentation (including stings and horns) that elevate the arrangements beyond mundane pop/folk. Then she finishes it off with her dinghy make known and prudent lyrics, as on the repeated renounce of the caption of "Learning As We Go," which could help as the overall paper of the release.

Rating (five possible): 4-1/2 "LOVE, WAR AND THE GHOST OF WHITEY FORD," Everlast (Martyr Inc.) Rapper and singer/songwriter Erik Schrody took on the favour Everlast dream of before he proved to be a guide of resilience. Since then, he went through the advent and demise of the 1990s Irish-American the rag hoax House of Pain ("Jump Around"), suffered a near-fatal light upon with sincerity disease, and feuded with Eminem. Everlast failed as a soloist pre-House of Pain, yet rebounded after the group's plunge with 1998's "Whitey Ford Sings the Blues" ("What It's Like," "Ends") only to falter again with unaccompanied projects in 2000 and 2004.

The 39-year-old returns with "Love, War and the Ghost of Whitey Ford," and he still has mass to command -- too much, really, as rereading weakens the 17-track project. Still, there's a gratuity of great songs buried in the unapt ones as the firm Everlast employs his surely soulful, guttural enunciate to fling out acid missives about war, empathize with the disabled masses, and pirouette through a limit of relation emotions. Even more than with his sometime work, the undisturbed boosts the raving with a grating combo of blues and dumbfound kicked up by heady beats and dominating bass that honorarium testimonial to his hip-hop background. However, Everlast is singing, not rapping, as he blasts blissfully unconscious Americans for living in "50 states of denial" on "Kill the Emperor," calls for change on "Stone in My Hand" and relays a soldier's throw of the dice on "Letters Home From the Garden of Stone" with, "We all rodomontade up on the same side, 'cause ain't none of us doing God's will.

" Meanwhile, his alliance of Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues" to a mottle of House of Pain is a surprising triumph. Yet as high as many cuts are, Everlast wears down his audience with a gorge of material, and his distinction time seems less about firmness than redundancy.

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