By Seth Mnookin

January 6, 2002 | 7:00 p.m

Stan

Ridgway: Murky Holiday For the generation that came of age with MTV, the name Stan Ridgway is sure to remind people of one image: Mr. Ridgway's face pushing its way out of a giant vat of baked beans in the video for Wall of Voodoo's "Mexican Radio." I know people who can't help but shiver when they hear the words, "I feel a hot wind on my shoulder …. " It's apt that Mr. Ridgway's music is so closely associated with such a memorable visual. He's always paid heavy homage to the movies, especially the silents and film noir; many critics have compared Mr. Ridgway's sad-sack sketches to Raymond Chandler stories, and the singer's first solo effort was titled The Big Heat . His latest album, Holiday in Dirt (New West Records), continues to mine this vein, although it's more reminiscent of the twisted, paranoid fantasies of Jim Thompson than the sleek, hard-boiled work of Mr. Chandler. Mr. Ridgway's voice has mellowed a bit, but retains its ranting, metallic edge. "Operator, Help Me," set to a minimalist mellotron and ominously persistent piano chords, feels as if it could be the soundtrack to a serial killer's internal monologue: "Operator, help me / There's a sound out in the street and it just keeps getting louder as we speak …. Operator, help me / I can hear them by the door / And they're laughing at me, stuck in here / I can't hold out anymore." Not all of Holiday in Dirt is as evocative as this. The album is a collection of B-sides and previously unreleased songs, and when the singer strays from the knife-edged pop he's best at, he tends to flounder. But there are enough small morsels here to make the whole meal worth trying. "Garage Band '69" sounds like They Might Be Giants, and both versions of "Silent Movie Star"-there are Billy Wilder and C.B. DeMille mixes-display a genuine affection for the type of actress portrayed in Sunset Boulevard . Holiday in Dirt is not a great album; Mr. Ridgway probably doesn't have one of those in him at this point. But it is the latest worthwhile chapter in a consistently eccentric, engaging career. Norah Jones: Baby Billie There's a small number of singers whose voices evoke a certain delicious weariness-an ever-gnawing realization that life is hard and painful. Billie Holiday had such a voice.SodidJohnny Hartman. NorahJones may someday be countedamongthisgroup. Thoughshe doesn't have the vocal authorityofHoliday, she'sagorgeous singer, and it's easy togetlostinher performances. Twenty-two years old and too infusedwith aching to be precious, Ms. Jones has been one of the mosthypedjazz artists to come along in the last decade. Blue Note Records has been pushing her for months, even though her debut album, Come Away with Me , won't be out until late February. Last month, Ms. Jones' label unveiled her at two press showcases at the Bottom Line. And at the Nov. 26 concert, it was clear that the singer has a ways to go before she fulfills the expectations that have been placed in her. Although her voice was as languorous and beautiful as it is on her upcoming disc, she did not always seem in charge of her performance, and there were moments when she seemed downright listless. The same is sometimes true on Come Away with Me . The CD is being positioned as a pop album, but it's rather subtle-too Joan Armatrading, not enough J. Lo-for that playing field. It should, however, succeed as a remarkably sophisticated album by a gifted cabaret singer. "Don't Know Why," the album's opener, sets the tone perfectly, as Ms. Jones wades into the song with a disarming innocence while purring through lines like "I don't know why I didn't come." "Shoot the Moon," with its unrushed accompaniment and behind-the-beat phrasing, is just waiting to be reborn as a tearjerker of a car commercial. And though Ms. Jones' reach exceeds her grasp on "The Nearness of You," she leaves no doubt that we'll be paying attention to her in the near future. Royal Tenenbaums : Mothersbaugh, humbug! Great soundtracks are a lot harder to pull off than great films; they must remind the listener of the film towhich they're attached as well as stand on their own. There needs to be both a narrativearcand a musical payoff. TheBig Chill wasa greatsoundtrack.Sowas Pulp Fiction . Many people think that the soundtrack to Wes Anderson's last film, Rushmore , was a great soundtrack. They're wrong. Though I'd love to bestow plaudits on anything that highlights the Kinks and the Faces, the Rushmore soundtrack, like the movie itself, was too precious. There were too many Mark Mothersbaugh interludes and one too many Cat Stevens songs. But Mr. Anderson, who compiled the soundtrack in addition to directing the film, left the distinct impression that he had a great soundtrack in him, not to mention a great film. Now I'm beginning to wonder. The soundtrack to The Royal Tenenbaums has its moments, prime among them being Nico's ice-cold cover of Jackson Browne's heart-stopping "These Days." "I don't do that much talking these days," Nico sings in that singular voice that makes you wonder if she has any idea what she's talking about. "Don't confront me with my failures / I had not forgotten them." It's the type of song that makes you want to get in an old car with a shitty heater and cue it up again and again as you drive home through the icy December night to your dysfunctional family. It's beautiful. But that song, the first on the disc, is the high point. A little of Nico goes a long way, but Mr. Anderson includes another of her  tunes, the far inferior "The Fairest of the Seasons." He also goes way overboard with Mr. Mothersbaugh's work again, including nine of the former Devo member's compositions. (Separated from the movie, these tracks sound like nothing so much as the music to over-caffeinated toy commercials.) At the same time, the Rolling Stones' woefully obscure "She Smiles Brightly," which functions as a real showstopper in the film, isn't included. The Velvet Underground's "Stephanie Says" and Nick Drake's "Fly" are, which makes for a noxiously wistful and winsome affair.  Enough already. Borah Bergman: Rolling on The River It's fashionable to wonder where avant-garde jazz has to go these days. And indeed, the didactic, tendentious "experiments" that are often passed off for music leaves the non-academic listener wondering if he needs an advanced degree to enjoy what's being made to the left of the Lincoln Center Jazz Orchestra. Then there are discs like Borah Bergman's new trio recording, The River of Sounds (Boxholder Records). Here, Mr. Bergman-the John Coltrane of the piano, according to Down Beat magazine-teams up with the phenomenal German trombonist Conny Bauer and Brooklyn-based violinist Mat Maneri. I know, I know: A bass-less, drum-less trio recording sounds dicey. But Mr. Bergman is a visceral musician, and Mr. Bauer can produce such ribald delights that fans of the trombone would be well served by buying everything he plays on. "Jim," the album's first track, opens with lots of room, with single piano notes spaced out over a dirge-like cry from the trombone while Mr. Maneri's violin evokes shtetl weepers rather than Grappelli arpeggios. When the trio does pick up the pace, Mr. Bergman's outpouring of notes-with pounded declamations and frenetic chordings-lead what sounds like a marching band from an insane asylum. Some of the songs on The River of Sounds do sound like soundtracks to experimental art-house movies, but for the most part, Mr. Bergman and his band infuse their songs with an emotionality and tenderness that's still too rare in the avant garde.