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Magnetic Fields – Realism (Nonesuch)
***NEW REVIEW***
By my count, “Realism” is the ninth record from the Magnetic Fields, an ensemble that’s essentially a vehicle for the songwriter Stephin Merritt. Merritt is a busy guy, sitting around in gay bars writing songs all day. Hey, that’s what he says. He sure is prolific. Between Magnetic Fields, The Gothic Archies, the 6ths, and Future Bible Heroes, heck, he barely has time to eat, although he is fond of Scandinavian dairy products. But I digress.

Glad to be unhappy (Rodgers-Hart reference – Merritt would like that), Mr. Merritt lives in a world of melody and wit. And by golly if you relish such qualities Magnetic Fields is for you. Having made his masterpiece, the sprawling “69 Love Songs” in 1999, Merritt amuses himself with varying the sonic textures of his work — he's completely abandoned the synth-pop that established his work. The Magnetic Fields' last record, “Distortion,” lived up to its name, avowedly something of a tribute to the Jesus and Mary Chain (although Merritt is capable of the glibly facetious), the song craft was still pure Merritt. “Realism” dials back the decibels, eschewing electric instrumentation almost entirely and employing diverse instrumentation (how about flugelhorn, Cajon, accordion, banjo, etc.) well beyond the usual folkie palette. Both, the volume dial-back and the acoustic instrumentation are perfect for these hurt, bitter, but oddly blithe songs.

One could spend the day quoting from Merritt’s dour, witty songs. I shan’t. Vaguely comparable: Stuart Murdoch’s writing for Belle & Sebastian and God Help the Girl, although Murdoch is a sad humanist and Merritt is a borderline misanthrope — albeit a lovable one. Neil Hannon’s work with the Divine Comedy has a kinship with Merritt’s, but Hannon is a morally ambivalent European flatterer while Merritt is something of a New England scold for all his love of personal liberty. What else can you call the author of a jolly, but scathing putdown like “You Must Be Out of Your Mind?” It’s hard to imagine any other contemporary songwriter producing a Rudy Valli-like, Twenties homage/parody with the nod and a wink ambivalence of “Seduced and Abandoned” — Randy Newman, maybe?

Finally, Stephin Merritt is a post-rock Stephen Sondheim in search of a new Broadway, perhaps a Broadway for smarter people, indeed smarter people than those who typically support Broadway. Such is his dilemma. He’s too blisteringly direct for polite set. And he’s too literate for ninety-percent of, well, college rockers. The gentleman sure has a way with words and tunes, though, and a lovely, refined recital like “Realism” makes a fine case for his art.

Soft Pack – s/t
***NEW REVIEW***
There was a band known as the Muslims. That name invited controversy. Imagine that. They knew how to attract attention with album packaging, too. The Muslims debut album was packaged in a plain white sleeve riddled with bullet holes. Oh, kids! Merchandising aside, it was a rocking little record. The band filtered their cool, beached hipster cynicism through surf, garageand punk sounds. Back for album two they’ve changed their name to Soft Pack — a swell name for a cigarette package, a sex toy, or a band.

Soft Pack inspires me to this digression. Bear with me. I have a theory. Many of the great moments and movements in honky rock n’ roll history are the result of white kids failure to master African-American musical moves and idioms. The Velvet Underground tried to groove and “Sister Ray” was the result. Public Image Ltd., and to a lesser extent the Clash, were obsessed with dub reggae. Couldn’t play it, really, but their game efforts resulted in something cool and new. The Gang of Four? Loved them some funk. They couldn’t really play it. But their brittle, abstract version of funk was thrilling and influential. The Soft Pack isn’t trying to emulate any particular style of Black pop music, but they are descendants of those who did. And their emphatically stupid (in a good way) “groove” is infectious.

Soft Pack also bear resemblance to Boston’s Big Dipper in their ability to produce hooky songs with tossed-off, conversational lyrics — songs resulting from the internal combustion of a working band — not a “songwriter” suffering in his whitewashed room. The communal thing works well for Soft Pack. It produces songs like the contagious “C’mon” and “Down on Loving.” Both share an easy garage-pop groove that sounds like the Lemonheads until the J. Mascis guitar break blows up.

“Pull Out,” a call for some kind of withdrawal, has tight interlocking guitar parts and sounds like the Ventures after Dramarama. Matt Lamkin’s vocals, as they do throughout the album, maintaining a withdrawn cool that somehow sounds alternately manic and laconic, especially the latter on “Mexico,” a bass groove driven ballad of sorts (a ballad with a shrieking slide guitar solo). Here Lamkin resembles a beach bum version of Julian Casablancas as Elvis imitator, but the nonchalance works.

The album closes with “Parasites” — an exemplification of the white boy groove gone mad that cooks like a beast. “Parasites” rocks insistently, the band working up a distorted brew that’s eventually broken by a mass of “ah’s” sung out into the setting Pacific sun. Soft Pack sounds like fun, but the songs address the glum that undercoats the fun.

Chesterfield Kings – live onstage … if you want it (Wicked Cool)
At the start of ‘live onstage … if you want it,” an announcer introduces the Chesterfield Kings as “the second greatest rock and roll band in the world.” For those who don’t know, he’s riffing on the oft-repeated intro to Rolling Stones concerts — “the greatest rock and roll band in the world.”

Guess the Kings know their place, huh? Then again, it’s pretty cocky of them to assume the second spot, when you come to think about it. Progenitors of the garage-rock revival, the Kings have been playing the post-punk generation’s version of gutbucket blues since the late Seventies. “live onstage … if you want it,” - a paraphrase of, you guessed it, a live Stones record, “Got Live If You Want It” - is by most counts their thirteenth record. As an introduction to the Chesterfield Kings you probably won’t do better.

These sons of Rochester, New York (singer Greg Prevost and bassist Andy Babiuk are the perennials) have made a career out of imitating the Rolling Stones, especially the various sub-genres of Stones between approximately 1964 and 1973. There are almost inevitable shards of New York Dolls-speak and “Nuggets”} moments (their first single was a cover of the Brogues “I Ain’t No Miracle Worker”),but even the stuff they rip off that ain’t the Stones is Stones derived.

You might wonder – what’s the point? True, the Chesterfield Kings are supremely and almost absurdly derivative. On the other hand, their own material is just good enough to cut the Mick-mustard, and without horns and sixteen backup singers the Kings at this point do a better job of evoking vintage Rolling Stones than the Stones themselves. Guitarist Paul Morabito is Keith and Ronnie minus the addled, errant guitar spew (not that their spew isn’t without charm). Morabito plays a concise, stinging version of rock lead guitar that gets straight to the point.

You get rhythm n’blues Stones (“I’m So Confused, Baby”), psychedelic Stones (“Transparent Life,” a “Paint it Black” surrogate), Graham Parsons-lovin’ Stones (the Gram inspired Merle Haggard cover, “Sing Me Back Home”), and even Rolling Stones, well, Rolling Stones (“Flashback,” a “Jumpin' Jack Flash” cop - right down to the tongue in cheek title). When it comes to the Stones (again, 64-73) the Kings have studied hard. And turned their apprenticeship into a kind of mastery.

The second greatest rock n’roll band in the world? I’m afraid that would require a bit more in the way of individuality then the Chesterfield Kings proffer. Damned entertaining rock n’ roll? Indeed it is

Christmas Island – Blackout Summer (In the Red)
We’re now sufficiently accustomed to two-piece rock bands that the somewhat obvious “minimalist” tag is slowly being retired. Compared to what, right? I mean Elvis, Scotty and Bill was minimalist compared to the pop standards (Patti Page, Doris Day, Dean Martin) of 1954. Christmas Island is only a two-piece, but I prefer to consider them economical, not minimal.

Christmas Island features guitarist/vocalist Brian Carmen and drummer Lucy Wehrly. On “Blackout Summers” their sound is spare, but full of stylistic range. Carmen’s vocals occasionally effect that tired, flat nerd-boy affect that drives me to despair, but his modest vocal equipment rises to the occasion on the jangle-punk of the nakedly nihilist “I Don’t Care” (not the Ramones song, but similar in sentiment), evoking the Buzzcocks and Undertones, and on “Black Cloud.” The latter echoes the agitated strum of the Feelies, and yeah – The Velvet Underground (always lurking those Velvets).

Christmas Island is no two-chord indie pop cliché. “It’s True” is a Beau Brummels flavored number, moody and minor keyed, even if the lyrics (“I’m not good at being human”) are a little dark for the Brummels. “Weird You Out” arrives on an early Who chord progression, and like “My Baby” has a late Flamin’ Groovies (the version that was all Beatles-Byrds, as opposed to the earlier Stones-stuck outfit), by way of Outrageous Cherry vibe, with its downcast, monastic vocal. These songs largely concern teenage identity stuff, rejection, and depression, but Christmas Island has a light, deft touch that keeps this set from turning into a mope fest. Only on the ultra-goofy “Dinosaurs” (a daft ditty that’s a reductio ad absurdum of Jonathan Richman), do they really lose the plot.

What distinguishes Christmas Island from some of their shaggy, one-dimensional peers is the stylistic breadth they bring to their simple, supple instrumentation. The occasional keyboards, especially Farfisa-ish organ fills, are part of the flavor, but mostly it’s the ear Brian Carmen has for incorporating everything from surf guitar to Wire to Captain Beefheart licks. He’s no virtuoso, but he’s a smart guitarist, tasteful and eclectic. And with Wehrly keeping it simple and direct on drums he’s fashioned a rock duo sound that isn’t just one more White Stripes or Black Keys rip-off.

Hotrats – Turn Ons (Fat Possum) 8.5
Radiohead and Supergrass both hail from the hallowed English college burg Oxford. Radiohead is the voice of a generation to millions of adoring fans. Supergrass are an inventive pop-rock band; less intent on representing generational angst, they are nonetheless responsible for some of the best records of the past fifteen years, including the “Life on Other Planets” album.

Nigel Godrich has served Radiohead as producer throughout their career. While capturing Thom Yorke’s howl into the abyss has its undoubted artistic rewards, it surely can’t be a day at the beach. Hotrats, a duo comprised of Supergrass’s Gaz Coombes on guitar and vocals and Danny Goffey on drums (vocals, too), give Mr. Godrich an opportunity to lighten up a bit.

Godrich has captured the natural rapport between Coombes and Goffey, who have in turn delivered a smashing repertoire of smart guy Rock (mostly British) classics. “Turn Ons” is a cousin, a generation or so removed, to David Bowie’s “Pinups” record, both albums being collections of some of the artist’s favorite tunes. While both offer interesting interpretive angles, these albums are best appreciated for their sheer entertainment value; the basic premise being that good songs - well loved and distinctively presented – accomplish the mission of homage.

Hotrats don’t slavishly copy the original versions of these tunes, but their affinity for the material keeps things relatively straightforward. For Roxy Music’s ‘Love is the Drug” they play it especially close to Ferry’s vest. To Elvis Costello’s “Pump it Up” and the Kinks “Big Sky” they add an extra dash of edge and energy. The Doors’ “Crystal Ship” becomes a big production number with echoes of Queen; it sounds over the top, but the melodrama succeeds. The Beastie Boys’ “Fight for Your Right to Party” is the most amusing re-working on “Turn Ons.” The Hotrats rendition resemblins something off Pink Floyd’s “Piper at the Gates of Dawn.”

Even on the songs played straight there are little variations that perk up
your ears. Coombes trades Mick Ronson’s Gibson/Humbucker snarl for a
big slashing Fender sound that gives David Bowie’s “Queen Bitch” extra bite. Where Squeeze’s “Up the Junction” was as much defined by Jools Holland’s beautiful keyboard lines as Chris Difford’s tale of a sorry sot, Hotrats strip the song of its ornamental qualities (save some Eno/Lanois atmospherics), calling even more attention to the wonderfully grim lyrics. The Sex Pistol’s gnarly, punk original of “E.M.I.” is given a busker treatment that borders on skiffle. “E.M.I.” is also a bit tongue in cheek, given that both Supergrass and the Pistols parted with the major label on less than endeared terms.

“Turn Ons” is exactly that, a collection of songs that turned on the Hotrats. Their spirited renditions return the favor to the listener. This album won’t make musical history, but it’s something I suspect I’ll get a kick out of for a long time.

Boston Spaceships – Zero to 99/Guided by Voices
Robert Pollard never sleeps. Not if his wildly prolific output is any indication. According to BMI he has written over 1,000 songs. All right, a number of them are just snippets. But others are freaking pop masterpieces. Between 1987 and 2004 Pollard and Guided By Voices released sixteen albums and countless stray tracks, quietly leaving a mark as one of the greatest bands of their time.

Now fifty-two, Pollard is showing no signs of slowing down. Among other recordings, Pollard has released two solo records and two with his new band The Boston Spaceships in 2009. “Zero to 99” is the third Spaceships release overall and their best yet. It has the song craft and energy to stack up with some of GBV’s best work. Pollard’s collaboration with guitarist, bassist, and keyboard player Chris Slusarenko and drummer John Moen has acquired the flashpoint muscularity that defines a great rock and roll band.

Slusarenko, who replaced Tim Tobias on bass in the final version of GBV, tidies up the parts from Pollard’s demos, caressing and embellishing his power-pop. He also throws in the right dashes of post-rock guitar noise (the fills on “Exploding Anthills”) where required. Moen, who plays with the Decemberists, gets a chance to rock out beyond the lovely, but (c’mon) prissy parameters of his day job.

Seventeen songs. Not a stinker in the bunch. “How Wrong You Are” has the kind of playful, soaring melody characteristic of Pollard. “Radical Amazement” flashes the sinewy toughness of GBV’s “Hot Freaks.” For all his originality Pollard is a great rock fan, unafraid to channel favorites (the Who, on “Let it Rest for a Little While,” featuring guest turns from fellow Keene Brother, Tommy Keene and Peter Buck). He’s a true believer, persisting with an encyclopedic dream of rock, deriving from the day when it was our common language.

I was on a Jersey transit train recently and saw an ad for some Bon Jovi  DVD, heralding them as “America’s most beloved band.” That contestable blurb aside, compared to Bon Jovi Bob Pollard labors in relative obscurity, but a century from now it’s his work that pop music scholars will be parsing over like J.S. Bach not Jon Bon.

Bleach Bloodz – Pure Rock N Roll (local release)

The midtown hipsters who dominate the local music scene probably don’t know what to make of the Bleach Bloodz. They rock out. They don’t sound like they are obsessed with college radio playlists. Or Pitchfork. They hail from Smithville — the Northland, not exactly Bohemian Central. But like the Rich Boys before them (two of the Bleach Bloodz are alumni), the Bleach Bloodz are putting the Northland on the KC rock 'n’ roll map in a big way. As for attitude from hipsters… the Bleach Bloodz could give two shits.

I confess: I read the local press on Bleach Bloodz before writing this review. You know, for perspective. To summarize: Local scribes seem to like the band, as well they should. But while getting high marks for energy and soul, the band seems to consistently suffer the writer’s digs concerning a lack of originality. When a band is committed to a 40-year-old template for rock n’ roll, this critical caveat sounds justified. At first. Upon further consideration it’s — how shall I say it — a bunch of reflexive, tired, elitist crap.

Allow me a rhetorical question: Is a band necessarily more “original” if they reflect the influence of the Arcade Fire or Will Oldham rather than the Rolling Stones? The answer? Let me help you — it’s NO. All artists base their sound on a set of aesthetic principles, stated or implicit. Everyone is influenced. Besides, one can be original and stink out loud. The more significant issues for the critic and the listener are two-fold: Do you like the influences that inform an artist’s work? And does the artist bring something vital and personal to those inspirations?

I think Bleach Bloodz, and their debut album “Pure Rock N Roll,” are pretty tremendous based on my answers (yes … and plenty) to those two questions. Bleach Bloodz’s music recalls the Rolling Stones before they labored under the yoke of being “the greatest rock'n’roll band in the world.” Bleach Bloodz’s sound also echoes the entire “Nuggets” garage-rock idiom (the “cool” stuff like Chocolate Watch Band, as well as the pop tip represented by Paul Revere & the Raiders), and the bedrock stylings of Fifties Sun Records artists (especially the Killer, Jerry Lee Lewis). And as prevalent as the Stones/Dolls/Nuggets template is, there are songs on “Pure Rock N Roll” that divert a little from the playbook. “Average Guy,” for instance, delivers a distinctly Midwestern take on the Lou Reed songbook, sounding like a cool out-take from “Loaded.”

When you check out their MySpace page you’ll see a laundry list of the band’s inspirations. Most of them are razor-sharp and audible in the group’s music. The band have described themselves as “six not very cool guys making music inspired by cooler guys.” But no doubt John Lennon and Brian Jones felt the same way in 1962.

Singer Troy Geoghegan (previously bassist with the Rich Boys), for all the Mick Jagger references he gets and will continue to get, more resembles the less-known, but influential Roy Loney. Loney was the vocalist for the Flamin’ Groovies on their classic albums “Flamingo” and “Teenage Head.” Keith Richards is reputed to have said that “Teenage Head” was better than “Sticky Fingers.” Keith was probably right. The Groovies learned many lessons from the Stones, but they had, as the Bleach Bloodz have, a distinctly American sound, incorporating the hillbilly wail of Billy Lee Riley and the adrenalized punk snarl of the Stooges.

Geoghegan’s presence helps distinguish Bleach Bloodz from darker Stones clones like the Chesterfield Kings. He gives identity to a band that already has plenty of personality, humor being a saving grace for the Bleach Bloodz. It’s humor with a snotty, sexy edge that never turns to caricature, although the bitch slapping tone of “Quit Talkin” actually subverts the Iggy tinged (“Hard to Beat (Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell)” comes to mind) edge of the performance.

Guitarists Kyle Kampman (Carl Redcorn in the Rich Boys) and Steven Mack have studied well at the hands of master Richards (as well as the MC5, I suspect), and on “Til It’s Gone” Kampman sprays Johnny Thunders licks (noisier, more severely bent strings then the Stones/Sixties garage rock sound), while Micah Boise pounds out the “Personality Crisis” piano. Boise on keyboards brings the serious roll (not just rock) to songs like “Gotta Feelin.” His swinging feel marks him as a descendant of Jerry Lee Lewis, Ian Stuart and Alan Price. Boise brings an important instrumental voice to the band, especially in an idiom so guitar-saturated.

Bassist Vincent Lawhon and drummer Jerad Meadows do more than hold down the groove, they drive it home. Meadows is more Jerry Nolan (Dolls) than Charlie Watts and his powerful playing is a big part of what keeps Bleach Bloodz from sounding like some fawning Sixties idol worshipers. I’ve heard bands with similar influences play it too conservatively. They wind up sounding like the rock n’roll version of the Dixieland bands that played in pizza parlors when I was a kid (Shakey’s anybody?). Bleach Bloodz avoid such peril by flat kicking out the jams!

“Pure Rock N Roll” lives up to its name. This record, like the band’s live show, is terrifically entertaining. This is slinky, swinging rock music — the kind that Trustafarian bands in college towns don’t deliver. The Bleach Bloodz are already recording new tracks, including some they describe as “psychedelic.” I think their intent is to retain the directness and simplicity of their music while expanding its’ stylistic range.
Hey, that worked pretty well for the Rolling Stones.

Lissy Trullie – Self-Taught Learner (Downtown)
Johnny Marr (Smiths, Modest Mouse, Cribs) is already a fan. Bernard Butler (Suede, and Duffy producer) is wrapping up production on her next full-length album. Nick Valensi from the Strokes plays on three tracks on “Self-Taught Learner,” Lissy Trullie’s almost-album on Downtown Records (Santogold, among others).

Yeah, she’s pretty. And she’s fighting the rap that she’s a model turned musician. Her defense, if she needs one, is that she’s been a dj, graphic design student (Parsons), and a dishwasher too, and nobody talks about that. Point taken. She further asserts that she’s always been writing songs. What’s more, she’s never wanted to be a “singer-songwriter;” in other words, the sultry, aloof and ambi-sexual rock gal persona she presents on “STL” isn’t something some Svengali attached to her – she’s been working on it. And she works it well.

“STL” is a ten-track album, of sorts, which represents an expansion on her original six-song ep of the same title. On those first six songs Eben D’Amico, who plays lead guitar, bass and keys, crafts a sultry, propulsive New York sound that reflects the influence of Television, Lou Reed, and the Pretenders. Trullie plays rhythm guitar and sings with a chameleon charm, shifting from a dusky Nico to sassy Chrissie Hynde, even evoking Lucinda Williams on “You Bleed You.” It’s to D’Amico and Trullie’s credit that you come away from “STL” with a sense of her identity. She’s influenced, sure, but not overwhelmed, like many debut artists.

Nick Valensi’s presence on three tracks lends a distinctly Stroke-y flavor. Recorded later than the other cuts, they also show Trullie’s songsmith skills sharpening on terse, slinky rockers like “Don’t To Do” and “Hold Your Head.”

Trullie also stamps her own personality on a pair of odd, but right covers. She rocks up Hot Chip’s electro-dance hit “Ready for the Floor,” giving it an unexpected emotional depth. Her take on Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend” takes the hip-hop standard into Lou Reed’s “Coney Island Baby” territory and features a playful sparring with Moldy Peaches' Adam Green.

Okay, so she’s a dish. She knows all the right people. She still had to produce the goods. And with “Self-Taught Learner” she has. There was a Pantene commercial back in the 1980’s that featured a pouting ingénue pleading “Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” Not a chance, Lissie.

Pants Yell! – Received Pronunciation (Slumberland)
It’s hard to imagine a band more representatively indie rock than Boston’s Pants Yell! Heck, they even thank their employers in the liner notes for “Received Pronunciation.” What’s more indie rock than the stark profession of amateur status? PY plow a fairly narrow field productively. Their neo-jangle rock sound is based on Eighties archetypes, from the sort of obvious (The Smiths and Orange Juice) to the sort of obscure (The Lucksmiths and Felt). Not that they are sheer Anglophiles – there’s a certain American slacker charm, reflective of the Feelies and even Pavement, that animates the understated, but snarky loser lyrics that dominate “Pronunciation.” Andrew Churchman’s vocals court both the tuneful and ungainly sides of the idiom. And for all their charm there’s a sting to lines like “glad I have more gin than candy” from “Frank and Sandy,” and the resigned tone of a character who’s “still selling shoes” in “Got to Stop.” Churchman’s sharp eye for post-grad detail (carp/kvetch, but with humor) and surpassingly (for the genre) sharp, fluid guitar lines definitely separate Pants Yell! from the twee-pop pack.

Turbo Fruits – Echo Kid (In the Red)
Turbo Fruits started life as Jonas Stein’s side project during time away from the Nashville punk rockers Be Your Own Pet. It’s a full time job now, though, since BYOP folded this past August. The Fruits have a generational take on the punk-rock canon that omits the “do this, omit that” strictures that strangled the hardcore scene. Not unlike the Black Lips, these kids throw everything they dig into the blender to make their own Turbo Fruits smoothies. Not averse to soul bearing, the Fruits are more intent on fun, even silliness. Theirs is the sound of stray Seventies FM signals. You might pick up AC/DC or T. Rex, or the Who or the Move. Turbo Fruits sound isn’t about overwrought aesthetic choices, just about what’s cool, what rocks. The fact that they can really play is no hindrance, either. When you're working the rock semiotics for kicks groove it helps to be able to evoke the signifiers. Turbo Fruits are the band that started a riot at the prom. You know, that’s more fun than most of what passes for kicks in Hipsterville.

Atlas Sound – Logos (Kranky)
A poster boy for suburban alienation, Cox has had his crosses to bear: Marfan syndrome (a genetic disorder with figure distorting and health damaging manifestations), sexual abuse, parental divorce, and drug issues. He has certainly made lemonade from these experiences as a musician. While he is the arguable leader of Deerhunter, the band operates as a cooperative. Atlas Sound gives Cox the opportunity to work out ideas that don’t take with his band. And where Deerhunter’s sound is a Noughties extension of the Echo and the Bunnymen/My Bloody Valentine palette, Atlas Sound’s music is closer to Brian Eno and Stereolab’s layered, electronic creations. These songs are sedated tales of alienation and longing, more about generational archetypes than personal ravages. Cox’s skillful, if somnambulist, management of sound lends gravitas to lyrics that frankly are a little sophomoric on the page. “Attic Lights” romanticizes “the end.”“Quick Canal,” an eight-minute plus collaboration with one of his inspirations, Stereolab’s Laetitia Sadier is all hardscrabble spiritual journey. As moving as it is morbid, Cox sounding like the Geezer Butler of narco-pop.

Chuck Prophet – Let Freedom Ring/Yep Roc
Chuck Prophet began his musical journey as Dan Stuart’s foil in Green on Red, an often tremendous band that mixed scabrous garage, Dylan-Velvets poesy, and American roots in cool ways. ‘Let Freedom Ring” finds him deep into a sometimes illustrious solo career. Prophet is a sharp, never pretentious, lyricist. The songs on his new record ‘Let Freedom Ring” illuminate the current American predicament, wryly capturing the woes of the workaday and the marginalized. Prophet uses his modest baritone effectively. He sounds like Tom Petty after too many drinks and too much sun. A first-rate guitar player, he has much in common with Mike Campbell, Keith Richards, even Richard Thompson. Some of Prophet’s records court Americana’s banal reserve, but “Let Freedom Ring,’ recorded in a funky analogue studio in Mexico City, rocks loose and profits from it. Chuck Prophet isn’t reinventing the wheel. He rarely strays from a sound that would engage a savvy Dylan, Petty or Stones fan. When he makes a really good record like this on, he makes worthy company for them.

Beaten Awake – Thunder $troke/Fat Possum
If the name hadn’t already been taken, R.E.M. would have made a great name for Beaten Awake. “Thunder Stroke” sounds like a dream. Parts of the dream are pleasant, others disturbing, and as you awaken from this album your bearings are hazy. Beaten Awake arose from the ashes of several Kent, Ohio super groups that no one’s heard of outside of Ohio. Their first album was recorded for the Black Key’s Audio Eagle label. “Thunder Stroke” is issued by Fat Possum and represents a deepening and darkening of the Beaten Awake sound. One minute they sound like Interpol, the next Echo and the Bunnymen, the Church, even Television or the Grateful Dead - certainly Sebadoh in places. . The dream-like quality of their sound is reinforced by the vague, evanescent lyrics, most of which contain images of negation (“I Don’t Believe in Anything” from “Mr. Thompson”) or denial (“I don’t want you to recognize; I don’t want you to realize” from “Gyro Quake”).But Beaten Awake’s nihilism has its dreamy, narcotic comforts. Evoking the disturbing as well as the calming

Kings of Convenience – Declaration of Dependence
What Norwegian duo makes Simon & Garfunkel sound like Black Flag? Why, it’s The Kings of Convenience! In the five years between “Declaration of Dependence” and their last record “Riot on an Empty Street” this pair has bet the farm on sotto voce and gently plucked strings. And they won. At first listen “DOD” is simply slight, but its deceptive depth and seductive pleasure sneak up on repeated listening. While they lack the dervish undercurrent of Jose Gonzalez’s insistent acoustic workouts, Kings of Convenience have, underneath the gossamer cover, a energy all their own on tracks like “Peacetime Resistance.” They also tackle tough subjects - from the varieties of heartbreak (“Boat Behind”) to religious zealotry (“Rule My World”). Lovers of Nick Drake, Brazilian folk-pop, and Anglo-Celtic guitar heroes like Davey Graham and Bert Jansch will find much to enjoy, even adore here. The title of their 2001 debut declared that “Quiet is the New Loud.” I’m not sure that KOC stormed the noise Bastille, but they’ve set up a gentlemanly new republic of melody, smart sentiments and acoustic guitar.

Yo La Tengo – More Popular Songs
The typical Yo La Tengo show drifts from noise-pop to Kinks(y) rock to neo-hot rod anthems to psychedelic dirge and back. YLT love all sorts of rock genres and have mastered them all in their modest and distinctive way. “More Popular Songs, “unlike a Yo La Tengo concert, is rigidly bifurcated between an initial potpourri of pop delights and experiments and a subsequent adventure in rhythm and noise (a ‘genre’ they’ve perfected, if not invented). If Sonic Youth are the dark avatars of ironic, explosive, jagged noise, then Yo La Tengo is the Tangerine Dream of noise with their subtly shifting, grinding, building avalanches of guitar-bass-drum. Such is the gist of the last three tracks (almost thirty-seven minutes worth) of “MPS.” In concentration they are oddly more compelling, comprising a suite of ambience and shriek that jars then lulls, lulls then jars. No one negotiates this turf quite like Yo La Tengo. The first nine songs on “MPS” move from distorto-pop that The Pains of Being Pure at Heart (“Nothing to Hide”) could learn some lessons in melody from to the Lou Reed goes funk of ‘Periodically Double or Triple.” The two halves, or rather the beautiful multitudes, of Yo La Tengo are as brilliantly represented on this, the band’s 12th album, as any in their twenty-plus years together.

Julian Casablancas – Phrazes for the Young
It was a perfectly realized debut record. And it arrived just in time for a rock scene starved for it. The year was 2001. The album was “Is This It” by the Strokes, written in its entirety by the singer Julian Casablancas. The band’s second release “Room on Fire” expanded subtly on the group’s debut. It didn’t tread water, but it didn’t swim far from shore. “First Impressions of Earth” was an intermittently brilliant mess that revealed the muso tensions afflicting the band. A three year plus hiatus ensued and a spate of solo Strokes releases and side projects, but little from Casablancas. By 2009 one could wonder if Julian Casablancas had peaked at the tender age of twenty-two.

“Phrazes for the Young” (loosely inspired by Oscar Wilde’s “Phrases and Philosophies for the Use of the Young”) bodes to the contrary. It’s an assertive, eccentric record, likely to divide popular and critical opinion. To my ears it’s the sound of a still maturing artist taking chances. “Phrazes" isn’t without missteps, but they only add to the overall sense that Casablancas has delivered a solo debut that’s bigger and bolder than anticipated.

It would have been way easy for Casablancas to assemble a Strokes-lite outfit and thrill casual fans with a return to 2001. Instead, he made this every-tool-in-the-box extravaganza that at first sounds like the work of a guy with too many ideas and some self-editing issues. Casablancas has retained much of the Strokes guitar based sound, but he’s added layers of electronic keyboards and percussion. The synth sounds Casablancas gets (and they range from the beautiful to the cheesy) affect homage to the age of the analogue synthesizer (also known as the Nineteen-Eighties). Put simply, some of the computer age counter-rhythms work, some of them don’t. Occasionally, I find myself wishing that the electronic gerbil would get off the wheel. Still, for the most part “Phrazes” profits from the risk of excess.

I hear bits from Blondie, Cars, Prince, and hell – Flock of Seagulls, Aha (who knew they’d sound better with Jim Morrison singing?) and OMD. I’m even reminded, especially on “Left and Right in the Dark,” of an obscure outfit called Sammy, an underrated Strokes precursor. “Phrazes” is sure to lay waste to the inevitable Velvet Underground and Television comparisons, although there’s a hint of Lou Reed’s “Street Hassle” in the album’s sonic mix.

Casablancas’s perennial strengths, a gift for melody and a distinct vocal persona, are undiminished, and on “Phrazes” he’s stretched himself as a lyricist. These songs are full of very adult examination of both self and intimate relationships. Casablancas isn’t oblivious to social and cultural transformation either, notably on “Ludlow Street,” a history lesson – his and New York’s.

Casablancas and Jason Lader, who as engineer and studio musician has a laundry list of credits including everyone from Neil Diamond to Jay-Z, play practically every note on this album. As baroque and Byzantine as some of these arrangements seem, Casablancas, Lader, and Mike Mogis (the Bright Eyes sidekick who co-produces here) have done a remarkable job of giving these performances coherence. “Phrazes” eccentric, sometimes bizarre, mash-up of genre tools is often stunning and usually winning.

Riding in on a loping country-punk arrangement, the opening cut “Out of the Blue” finds Casablancas lamenting his bad boy behaviors and regrets (“I know I’m going to hell in a leather jacket; at least I’ll be in another world while you’re pissing on my casket”) in a Johnny Cash hits the Nyquil baritone. By the song’s coda he shifts to tenor and more universal and empathetic laments (“Take all your fears, pretend they come true; take all your plans, pretend they fell through – That’s what it’s like for most people in this world!”). He still seems to be asking: is this it? “11th Dimension,” a keyboard heavy stomper that’s a distant cousin to Todd Rundgren’s “Bang the Drum All Day,” sounds like the heavenly pop hit (a cross between the Strokes and Daft Punk), it might yet become. Right before an instrumental break Casablancas declares that he has “music – coming out of my hands, and feet, and kisses- Whoa!” Releasing his inner dork, Casablancas defies the expectations of L.E.S. cool by, to paraphrase the bard Dylan, dancing “with one hand waving free.” Here the constraints of the Strokes sound lifted.

Some of these songs are variations on classic idiomatic models: “4 Chords of the Apocalypse” is built around the kind of rhythm n’ blues arpeggio perfected by the likes of Solomon Burke, it’s also a re-casting of the Rolling Stones’ “Time is on My Side;” “Ludlow Street “ is a Cowboy ballad. Well, a Cowboy ballad with tricky hip-hop beats, electronic atmospherics, and a vaguely Chinese banjo solo.

After the upbeat pleasures of the three songs that open the record, Casablancas’s vision gets darker. Tempos slow, and the mood evokes Iggy Pop’s “The Idiot,” an album recorded in Berlin and capturing the electro-drone of that era’s Teutonic sounds. “Glass” is a churning, dramatic ballad that gives Casablancas a chance to stretch his pipes. “Tourist,” nails an almost Zeppelin-like groove, concluding the album with a soulful declaration of love as salvation in an indifferent world. After a catalog of alienations (places where he “feels like a tourist”), Casablancas finally sings “If you stay with me I’ll always be at home,” sounding like a man who’s found a little contentment in love.

On the cover of “Phrazes for the Young” Julian Casablancas sits surrounded by all the accoutrements of the recording studio, a young rock God, like Turner the Mick Jagger character in the film “Performance,” Inside, the observant, introspective, even pained songs on “Phrazes” mock the superficiality of the image Casablancas presents. Part joker, part pop star - Casablancas nods, winks and has it both ways.

Sea Wolf – White Water, White Bloom / (Dangerbird)
Sea Wolf makes what Mike Scott of the Waterboys called “big music.” In addition to your standard guitar-bass-drums rock instrumentation, chief Wolf Alex Brown Church and his ensemble also employ all manner of keyboards, strings, winds and percussion in pursuit of Church’s lovely, elemental visions. The shallow clowns in the music press keep comparing Sea Wolf to the likes of Arcade Fire and Wilco. Whatever. Cloth ears these fools have. And no sense of history. Vocally, Church is a clear descendant of the great Gene Clark, especially Clark’s compelling 1974 release ‘No Other.” Like Clark, Church’s musical vision is expansive, but somber – enormous, yet intimate. “Wicked Blood” views love as an invitation, as dark as it is inevitable, from a mysterious vixen. In “Dew in the Grass,” Church sings of a couple clinging to something dear in a transgressive world. Throughout “White Water, White Bloom” Church uses language and images of the natural world, but hunters and the sounds of gunfire are never far behind. “WW, WB” is no “Blood on the Tracks,” but Church shares Dylan’s vision of love as sanctuary and the world as a beautiful, but treacherous place to navigate. The closest contemporary company that Sea Wolf keeps would be Portastatic. Like Mac McCaughan, Alex Brown Church makes lush, orchestral pop – sweeping, engrossing stuff. Oh yeah, they both write better tunes than Arcade Fire.

Mason Jennings – Blood of Man/ (Brushfire)
Mason Jennings has recorded several albums. Truth is, I hadn’t paid that much attention. Working in this business, sometimes if an artist doesn’t grab you initially, you move on to the next record. So much music, so little time. Thanks to “Blood of Man” I’ll be paying attention from now on. Jennings, who sings and plays every note on this record, has made a rough hewn song suite that honors and in some instances equals its iconic inspirations – records like Bruce Springsteen’s “Nebraska,” Neil Young’s “On the Beach,” and John Lennon’s “Plastic Ono Band.” The characters in these songs are dogged: by death (“The Field’ – as affecting an anti-war song as you’ve heard in ages), madness (“Pittsburgh”), and a host of modern complaints. Jennings plaintive vocals, brittle guitar and amateur, energetic drumming drive these tunes home with conviction. Even the sickly sweet release of the title song, a hymn to an “ocean mother, ocean child,” with it’s patented three note Lennonesque vocal trill, suggests something apocalyptic and creepy, sort of like Dylan’s ‘Desolation Row” meets Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road.” This is perfect late night, highway driving music – just keep your eyes on the road and your hands upon the wheel

Raveonettes – In and Out of Control/ (Vice)
The Raveonettes know what they like. They like early rockers like Roy Orbison and Buddy Holly, Phil Spector, the Velvet Underground and their various antecedents (you know, e.g. The Jesus & Mary Chain). Swell, lots of bands have cool taste and still make crappy music. Fortunately, The Raveonettes make the most of their tools. Their fourth album (plus and early ep), called “In and Out of Control,” knocks the distortion prevalent on their previous record “Lust, Lust, Lust” back a few notches; rather like the contrast between Jesus & Mary’s “Psychocandy” (distorted) and “Darklands” (less so). Sune Rose Wagner, guitarist/songwriter, knows how to extend the dark romantic ethos of his inspirations. He also knows how to subvert them, sometimes matching the sweetest melodies to the darkest subjects (sexual assault/”Boys Who Rape” and junkie death/”Last Dance”). Bassist/vocalist Sharin Foo conveys a cool passion, like Ronnie Spector tempered by a dose of Nico’s doomy detachment. This far into their career, these Danes are pros, doing what they love, making us love it.

Big Pink – A Brief History of Love/ (4AD)
Big Pink make a big sound. Robbie Furze and Milo Cordell combine the Gothic fog of their label’s (4AD) legacy, the narco-ecstasy of early Jane’s Addiction, along with touches of Psychedelic Furs and Stone Roses. It’s made loud (engineered by the same dude who did the Glasvegas record, you know … loud) to be played at club volumes. Still, for all of “A Brief History of Love’s” massive qualities there’s plenty of detail here – critically placed percussion touches, enormous guitars that swing from sonic wash to intense burn. Lyrically, if this is a ‘history of love’ it’s not exactly comprehensive. Nope, the glorious rush of “Dominos” (‘these girls fall like dominos’) is more about boys bragging than, uh, love. But, hey, when you rule the clubs the girls are just part of the landscape. And these boys can sound pretty cocksure, if you will, without going all  Buckcherry cliché on our ass. Enjoy it while you’re young fellers.

Monsters of Folk/s/t/ (Artist First)
The indie generation that’s passing into or past its thirties has a super-group, sort of, in Monsters of Folk. At least the name reflects a sense of humor. I approached this with trepidation. M. Ward is a rewarding artist, in his low-key way. I’ve never been that much of a My Morning Jacket fan, always finding Jim James overwrought vocals more taxing than moving. Conor Oberst? Sometimes he’s almost as brilliant as his fans would have you believe. Just as often he’s a derivative, excessive writer with limited vocal range.

But darn it, this is a good record. The Traveling Wilburys? Not! But there’s something in the chemistry between these musicians that brings out their assets and marginalizes their liabilities. Exactly what a GROUP is supposed to do. The basic sound is college town-Americana, yet Mike Mogis and Ward set a tasteful, sometimes surprisingly adventurous tone (even some Lou Reed “ostrich” guitar)to the MOF sound. They are the glue guys. Oberst’s logorrhea is a kick in small doses and James vocals, stripped a little of the excess reverb that defines MMJ, show what a beautiful singer he can be, especially on the curiously moving historical/Biblical epic “His Master’s Voice” which concludes this mostly appealing fifteen track program.

Girls – Album/ (True Panther)
The biography of Christopher Owens makes a helluva set up for any discussion of “Album,” the first record from Owens and his collaborator Chet White  under the name Girls. Like Joaquin and River Phoenix, Owens was born into the weirdo Christian sect the Children of God, the group Fleetwood Mac guitarist Jeremy Spencer also disappeared into. Oh, and that’s just the beginning. It gets creepier. And sadder.

But this is about Owens’s music. And it’s beautiful stuff. Every day of hardship and heartache is present, but it’s finally about love and resilience. His lyrics concern everyday stuff – feeling good, feeling hopeless and yearning for one thing or another. They are also plainly, expressively poetic. The music of the Girls reflects endless days on street corners and at the beach listening to the radio. Some musicians, even if they don’t have access to all of the resources that the average, spoiled college kid does, have a way of absorbing the best of what’s around and putting it to their artistic advantage. Owens and White are resourceful. Less sophisticated harmonically, but almost as inventive as a melodist, Owens is clearly a Brian Wilson devotee. There’s even an instrumental here, “Curls,” that occupies the same position (track 11 of 12) as does the instrumental title track of the Beach Boys “Pet Sounds.” With a voice full of character, something like a less pitchy Jonathan Richman, Owens sings convincingly of his pain, joy and aspirations. Sonic overload, ala the Velvet Underground and Jesus and Mary Chain, is deftly employed for musical and thematic effect. Ropey Duane Eddy guitar lines adorn and connect the melodies. The Girls also make unfashionably good use of the kinds of finger percussion more typical of the age of Phil Spector, the Beatles and the Rolling Stones than the present era. Yet this is timeless, not throwback, music.

Striking songs aplenty here, but let’s take special note of “Hellhole Ratrace,” a nearly seven minute chant that, like the Beatles “Hey Jude,” descends into a repeated refrain for over half of the length of the performance. It’s anything but boring. It’s direct, positive lyric and exhortative Beach Boys/Ramones melody slowly building from statement to catharsis.

The Low Anthem – Oh My God, Charlie Darwin!/Nonesuch
The American genre (okay, you define it!) is home to much wonderful music.It’s also the last refuge of the tuneless. Children of the Ivy League (Brown University to be exact), The Low Anthem make nu-folk that succeeds as both evocation and extension of the tradition. Ben Knox Miller’s wordy-but-worth-it lyrics speak to universal emotions; these are songs of woe as well as survival. His vocals range from the Rick Danko falsetto moves of the title song to the guttural (Tom) Waits-ian growl of “The Horizon is a Beltway.” The Low Anthem is still a little too James Taylor to get all the way into the chicken coop with the Felice Brothers, but they mix the austere and devotional moments (think the astringent beauty of Gillian Welch and David Rawlings music) with those that rock out, at least in a string band sort of way – very astutely. Overall, a very satisfying, quietly moving record.

Brendan Benson – My Old, Familiar Friend
In certain parts of their range Benson and his Raconteurs pal Jack White sound enough similar that they turn the deeper than average listener into a train spotter. Hearing his solo work makes the job easier, as in – “hey, that Benson guy really is pretty important in the Raconteurs.” He is. And crap record deals and media apathy aside, he’s made several very good records. “Familiar” is another one, perhaps his best. Benson is an unabashed skinny tie guy. Power-pop is definitely his métier. For him, the pop question is the big question, as in it’s all about the rush moment, the groovy fill, the acceleration to the hooky chorus. So, saying something lyrically is more about doing so cleverly than profoundly. But that can be a relief given how many people strive for the latter and belly flop. No, Brendan Benson won’t change your life, but he can darn sure decorate it splendidly – with great guitar parts, cool harmonies, and the big beat, baby – the stuff that should be on the radio. But isn’t. Gil Norton brings the guitar up a little in the mix, too, making “Familiar” more powerful than your typical power-pop record. A good thing.

Mayer Hawthorne – Strange Arrangement/Stone’s Throw
Where in the hell did Mayer Hawthorne come from? This 29 year old Ann Arbor native grew up on the sounds of nearby Detroit. He plays almost all the instruments on ‘Strange Arrangement’ and sings most of the vocal parts, like some soul music version of Seventies Todd Rundgren. He gets the Motown vibe you’d anticipate given his roots, but he’s all over Curtis Mayfield, Philly sounds, the whole soul gamut - and it’s all tastefully transmuted through the filter of contemporary hip-hop production techniques. And damn it, the songs are fine, too. Stone’s Throw label head Peanut Butter Wolf signed Hawthorne after hearing just two demo tracks, or so the developing legend has it. He says he just knew it was “the right thing to do.” PBW went with his instincts, which is canny since that’s exactly what Mr. Hawthorne does, and those instincts are dead on. Anyone who digs classic soul grooves and good songwriting won’t be able to resist this record. Now, if we could get him to collaborate with Cody Chesnutt – that would be fine!

Reigning Sound - Love and Curses
The Reigning Sound is retro provincial. And in their case it’s a good thing. For their sixth album Greg Cartwright continues to mine treasures from garage rock and Memphis soul stew quarries. Reigning Sound hit their stride on their second release, “Time Bomb High School,” as perfect a combination of sock hop grunge and rhythm and blues love as you could imagine. The follow-up, “Too Much Guitar” lived up to its name, but rocked with a fury. A less successful successor “Orphans…” and a live record from Goner, a retro-rocker retail store in Memphis, followed. In the interim Cartwright and crew made a wonderful record with Mary Weiss, she of Shangri-Las fame. Some of the songs written for Weiss reappear here. While Cartwright lacks Weiss’s instrument he sings with sheer rib shack conviction. His current recruits finesse the Reigning Sound roué a bit without losing their trademark drive. The material has a pre-alterna-rock balance between styles, tempos and moods. The rockers still stick to your palate first, but “Banker & a Liar,’ a Parisian ballad gone down home South, displays Cartwright’s fury at the powers that be with a barely contained rage that sounds to me like soul.

Jay Reatard – Watch Me Fall
Jay Reatard? Mr. Reatard’s politically incorrect moniker probably seemed like a good idea one drunken evening on a hot August night in Memphis. And his doggedly lo to mid-fi recordings lived up the name, despite an obvious talent for pop melody. Now, it’s clear that under the braying attitude lurked a pop classicist. Reatard’s (okay, it is fun to say) faux British accent, regionally indeterminate, absurd, and ridiculous as it is (think Peter Perrett ponce meets Pete Shelley shrill), somehow suits the pan-generational rock pastiches he has concocted here. Actually, some of these songs are the constructions of an enthusiast with little guiding him aesthetically, but when he doesn’t let the snot get in the way,  on “I’m Watching You” and especially “There is no Sun,’ he establishes something almost beautiful, suggesting that the goofball behind the beer bong just might be an artist.

Arctic Monkeys - Humbug
Alex Turner’s observant eye and gift for a phrase are undiminished, even if his gaze is a little more inward these days. The Monkey’s sound, once wound so tight it seemed like it might fly off (thrillingly for the most part) into deep space has found exactly that – space. No longer in such a hurry, their textures are more complex, their sound warmer and their world enlarged. Adorable as those first two albums were, this was essential to their survival. “Favourite Worst Nightmare” was a sharp attack that said ‘screw this’ to the docility of the shards of Brit-pop, but it was not a pace a band could maintain forever. Josh Homme (Queens of the Stone Age/Eagles of Death Metal) took them to the desert and got them to relax. Fret not, this is still taut, dramatic music, but this time with a broader range of guitar tones (hints of Television’s light and shade) that only enhance Turner’s songs. And Turner? Well, he’s still the boy from Sheffield with a heap of anxiety and a dash of bitters, but here he’s found (how shall I say it?) his inner Morrisssey. In fact, sharp angles and Eighties punk turnarounds aside, “Humbug” sounds like a spiritual successor to “The Queen is Dead.”

Dead Weather - Horehound
Say this for Jack White, his bands each has their own distinct sound. Raconteurs flash early FM rock chops and post-Beatles songwriting skills, compared to the White Stripes trash and thrift Led Zeppelin play “Desire” moves. Dead Weather is stoner rock made by people too smart for stoner rock. Oh, but there’s more to it than that. At the foundation of all this music is the blues, something Jack White understands, whether he’s at the stem or the stern, as he is here behind the drums. DW is dirtier than the Raconteurs, and while they are less about pop songcraft than the White Stripes they are more sophisticated when it comes to modern blues alchemy. Alison Mosshart sounds swell in the Kills, but she goes deeper into the voodoo with DW. Like the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, and sometimes PJ Harvey and Nick Cave, DW is re-contextualizing the blues for a new generation. Dumb arguments are bout authenticity aside; they are for sure keeping it real – i.e, down, dirty, sexy and mysterious.

Julian Plenti – Is … Skyscraper
Julian Plenti. Why? Paul Banks is a fine name. The unfortunate, faux first name, evoking Julian Casablancas? The dorky mis-spelling? So, you sing for Interpol and you want to release a solo record. Tremendous, call it Paul Banks. Oh, but Julian Plenti is … (and I quote) “Skyscraper.” Sheesh, I’m confused. But I come to praise Paul, not to bury him. This is a good record. The tracks that sound like Interpol would be right at home on their first two albums (the good ones). The cuts that feature stuff like acoustic guitar, strings, keyboards – stuff Interpol doesn’t use – they’re pretty fine, too. Closer to pop, but still full of the gloomy, urban atmosphere you know and love. Among those the, arguable, title track “Skyscraper” finds Banks exploiting dynamics and textures decidedly un-Interpol. It also features a less incanted vocal style that shows Banks has aesthetic range beyond the inviting doom of Ian Curtis.

George Harrison – Let it Roll (Songs of George Harrison)
“Let it Roll’ succeeds in just about every way a ‘best of’ collection can. The songs present a vision of the artist that’s both diverse and unified. The sequencing, not intent on any strict chronology, demonstrates how seamless Harrison’s art was. Sometimes characterized, or perhaps caricatured, as the dour fellow in the Fab Four, Harrison’s music, for all its emphasis on the spiritual, is embracing and sprinkled with wry humor. George was a complex man and his music reflected that. Not that there’s anything difficult about it for the listener. These are fine songs, many of them absolutely indelible – beautifully played, arranged and produced. Front and center, but never out front, is the beautiful guitar work of the man who more than once redefined rock guitar. From the uplifting “My Sweet Lord” to the rollicking “Any Road,” from the abiding expression of love to a fallen brother in ‘All Those Years Ago” to the gorgeous gravitas of “Isn’t It a Pity,” this disc is a joy. Not only is it Harrison’s best ‘best of,’ it’s the first to unite his various periods and record labels. Unfortunately, there are no Wilbury tunes, no “Crackerbox Palace,” no ‘Devil’s Radio,” no “Apple Scruffs” … but that just makes you realize that no single disc could capture Harrison’s career. But “Let it Roll” does an amazingly fine job nonetheless.

Hatcham Social  – s/t/
Londoners.. Produced by the Charlatans’ Tim Burgess, the HS provide demonstration that the 80’s are the new 50’s, at least for a new generation of indie rockers who use the sounds of the Thatcher era as a template. The Hatcham sound is a child of the Pastels, Wedding Present, and Orange Juice, especially Toby Kidd’s vocal resemblance to Edwyn Collins. But HS also has a tougher edge, picked up from Echo & the Bunnymen (they even have a similarly named tune – Crocodiles), The Stranglers, and Talking Heads. None of the songs bowl you over wholly at first, but they’re built to grow on you  and with each playing insinuate themselves. Anyone generally moved by the good parts of post-punk British rock should find this quite the pleasure.      

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart
History Lesson (appreciating that you have to start somewhere, but never can go back to the ‘beginning’): George Harrison played a Rickenbacker on “A Hard Day’s Night.”  Jim (Roger) McGuinn dumped his folkie acoustic twelve-string for the electric Rick. On the East Coast Lou Reed and Sterling Morrison sought a similar jangle, but added layers of distortion on top. Since then variants of distorto-pop-punk played by The Jesus and Mary Chain and Ride, for instance, have been a staple of alterna-rock. Enter The Pains of Being Pure at Heart. What separates them from a dozen other noise & jangle monkeys is, you guessed it – songs. The tunes, in addition to being just plain attractive, betray a childhood of John Hughes movies, these melodies are as much New Order/House of Love (uh, even OMD) as they are whatever shoegaze band Pitchfork is busy comparing them to. They play to the Byrds-Teenage Fanclub side of things, especially vocally. Add a dash of Shop Assistants, minus the girl group reverence, and a bit of hardcore drumming (it’s the insistence … and the boxy turnarounds) and you have it – Voila! A pure pop experience that even the trendiest indie snob can groove to!

Powell St. John – On My Way to Houston
Powell St John is an old Texas bohemian, known and beloved by a handful of fellow musicians, but certainly an obscurity to the general public. His songs have been covered by Janis Joplin (w/whom he formed a band in Austin in 1962), Boz Scaggs and Doug Sahm. Migrating to California in the late Sixties, like about half of the musicians in Texas, St. John was a founding member of the band Mother Earth with Tracy Nelson. He’s also crossed paths many times with the legendary Roky Erickson. In fact, Tompkins Square Records main man Josh Rosenthal caught St. John playing harmonica in Roky’s band at SXSW two years ago, which led to this record. “On My Way to Houston” is not the work of an epochal talent. It’s the work of a journeyman who knows his merde from his shinola, and who can tackle everything from a stone rocker like Roky’s “Hardest Working Man” (a Kinks derived corker that’s previously unrecorded), to keenly reflective folk-blues ditties like St. John’s own “I Love the Way You Played the Piccolo.”His warm baritone and beautiful chromatic harmonica playing center the keen support of the Aliens, St. John’s backing band, also known for their work with Erickson. This music is lovely, approachable work, made for the pure enjoyment of the artist himself and the audience that finds it, not for a demographic, a radio format, or any such abstract confinements. Like a red wine, mellow yet full of character, “On My Way to Houston” is ready to be enjoyed.

Wilco – ((The Album))
Before I lament and digress … buy this really, really fine album … Now!Damn. It’s to the point in Wilco’s illustrious career where a capsule review can neither do justice to their very fine music nor illuminate what keeps them from a more abiding greatness. And make no mistake, Wilco are sooooo good that they court greatness, and they know it. Their musicianship is stellar. Nels Cline on guitar? Forget about it – he’s tremendous. Hell, they all are. Jeff Tweedy writes really fine songs. You should buy “Wilco (the album)” because when the year winds down this will be one of the records worth owning. Simple, ain’t it? What keeps Wilco from sheer greatness? The zeitgeist, I suppose. Curse those damn Beatles. A pox on those stinkin’ Stones. The bar was set too high. And that Dylan guy? Stone him! For while Tweedy and company are alchemists with their materials, and while theirs’ is a broad and exquisite palette by contemporary standards, they carry the burden of dreams. So, they come up short. Enjoy watching them arc beautifully toward, if not over, the bar. Better than attaching yourself to some crappy little indie band who can’t even enter the arena to battle the Titans.

God Help the Girl
God Help the Girl is musical narrative by Stuart Murdoch, the architect behind the Belle & Sebastian catalog. I quite enjoy Belle & Sebastian. On the other hand, this record is something of a revelation. Having women sing these tunes, many of them – especially the oft featured Catherine Ireton – with more “chops” than Murdoch, lends a refreshing and musical twist to his songs. These arrangements also feature piano and strings to a greater extent than B & S’s augmented indie-rock standard. While rooted in Sixties girl group and pop verities, Murdoch’s characters (sung here in first person) are thoroughly modern Millies – charming, boho kooks on the border of mental instability – saying one thing and meaning another. You know, the girl next door. The tunes are lovely, melodic things. The lyrics are bittersweet and thoughtful;they bespeak a civility uncharacteristic of our age. And that’s no bad thing at all. This is altogether fetching music. You’d have to be an awful cynic not to find something to enjoy here.

Matthew Sweet & Susanna Hoffs – Under the Covers, Vol. 2
Still a fair sight to behold, Susanna Hoffs is fifty. Matthew Sweet is five years her junior. They grew up with the songs on this record. They became acquainted with the songs on their previous collection, ‘Under the Covers, Vol. 1,” as crate diggers, which is to say they sought them out, probably based on recommendations from friends and trusted critics. That selection was impeccable, and their renditions were affectionate, sometimes inspired. This follow up, devoted to songs of the Seventies, sounds more like it was comprised of songs they actually grew up with and heard on the radio (impossibly the case with some of the tunes on their first). Too many of these tunes are overly familiar and some of the selections less risky than on their Sixties set. Another minus is the absence of Richard Lloyd and Ivan Julian on guitar; their gonzo licks added a whiff of danger to Matt and Susie’s tidy versions. Bitch, bitch, bitch. What  remains here is mostly damn fine … still. Their love for this music is palpable. Sweet is a masterful, if cautious, arranger. And, again, the real revelation is Susanna Hoffs. There’s nary a song here that she fails to do justice to, and there are more than a few she illuminates. In the end, it’s a lovely program, beautifully played, exquisitely sung versions of fine songs (okay, I coulda lived without the Yes number). Much, much to enjoy.

Deerhunter – Rainwater Cassette Exchange
Deerhunter may be today’s ultimate post-mod ensemble. Driven to produce (to leave a legacy before something catches up with them/us), they sing “Time never meant that much to me” on “Game of Diamonds,” as if telling themselves (and their audience) something they don’t quite believe. “RCE,”on the heels of last years “Microscastle/Weird Era” two-fer, makes sense as a follow up. Less pop hooky than “Microcastle” and less expansive than “Weird Era,” this set yields five tunes in fifteen minutes. Just when you think it’s opaque enough to border shoegaze (you can hear their My Bloody Valentine luv throughout), the melodies drift by, evanescent at first, then stick with you. Not too many bands have performances this enchanting to “waste” on an in-between(er) ep release. Deerhunter’s fever burns low and slow, but it’s burning fast. Enjoy them while you can.

Dirty Projectors – Bitte Orca
Do you remember (or do you ever wonder) what it felt like hearing the Beach Boys “Good Vibrations” for the first time? Maybe if you were experienced and resourceful you could spot an influence or two. Still, the prevailing sense among listeners was that this was something new. It’s too early in the game to decree “Bitte Orca” the equivalent of “GV” (or “Heroes and Villains), but in June 2009 it sure sounds like a remarkable piece of music. David Longstreth’s melodic and elliptical compositions connect the dots between pop, guitar music from Mali, and modern academic music in ways that sound new, fresh. It’s the kind of fusion that as often as not sounds pretentious and tortured. In Longstreth’s hands it’s just lovely stuff. He and female singers Amber Coffman and Angel Deradoorian alternate and harmonize to beautiful effect. Snippets of lyrics emerge, some opaque, others grounded in everyday life. Where Vampire Weekend (no insult intended) graft African pop sounds onto their indie rock, the DP’s sinewy incorporation of Ali Farke Toure influenced guitar melodies blends seamlessly with Longstreth’s compelling, leftfield song structures. If you open yourself to this music it will sweep you up. Of all the indie darlings from Williamsburg, Brooklyn (are you listening Grizzly Bear?), the Dirty Projectors are something else entirely. Something special, probably.

Patterson Hood – Murdering Oscar
One of the constants in the Drive-by Truckers and an architect of their sound, Hood is also the offspring of famed Muscle Shoals studio bass stalwart, David Hood. The sound here is not terrifically removed from what DBT do so well, but Hood’s songs for this set go even deeper into his post-mod take on Southern Gothic. A lot of these songs are sung from the point of view of or about people on the margins and the edge. The slow burning guitar grooves, equal parts Neil Young, Replacements, and Richard Thompson are the perfect overdriven background for these tales. Recorded with several fellow Truckers and the help of Athens perennial David Barbee, these tracks are full of simmering to molten guitar licks; you have to listen for them – they don’t call a lot of attention to themselves, but they are as much a part of the sad stories here as the witty, downcast lyrics by P. Hood. Like a true Southern gentleman, by the time you realize Hood’s yelling at you its come so gradually you barely recognize what’s happening.

Among The Oak & Ash – s/t
ATOAA is actually a duo comprised of singer-songwriters Josh Joplin and Garrison Starr. The individual records of these two never left too firm an impression on me. I heard good voices, pretty good songwriting, unobtrusive production values, and nothing much to grab me by the scruff of the neck and PAY ATTENTION. This record, though, couldn’t be lovelier. The material, save for an impassioned take on the Smith’s “Bigmouth Strikes Again,” is all from the traditional folk trove, and most of it pretty standard stuff like “Pretty Saro” and “Shady Grove.” What puts this record ahead of the crowd is the uncanny knack they have for respecting, but not revering the material. Like Sandy Denny and Fairport Convention in their prime they understand the depths of these songs and know exactly how much power lies in restraint. The folk-rock arrangements, based on Byrds and Fairport models, are potent and poised. These are songs that have nourished everyone from the Incredible String Band to Bob Dylan. They never really grow old, but they are always looking for good caretakers. Among the Oak & Ash pass the test.

Phoenix – Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix
They always leaned a little more on traditional rock guitar-craft than their Parisian peers like Air and Daft Punk. On this their third album, Phoenix is a quintessential modern rock band. They incorporate Velvet drone, Eighties synth flourishes, and absolutely contemporary concoctions of guitar sound and programmed, tres moderne keyboard touches. Thomas Mars sings of romantic collapse, of forevers gone sour like some latter day Bryan Ferry. In fact, Phoneix recalls Roxy Music at their best. Repeated listening leaves you more absorbed and admiring of the band’s finely honed songs and panoramic, widescreen pop perfection – leaves you thinking, here’s a very good band that are so accessible and bright they might just build 2009’s version of a huge audience.

Sonic Youth - Eternal
Eternal? Yes, they are. And this record finds them contemplating existence, death … the like. Their virtues and influence are iconic by now. Their limitations, if you’re inclined to note them – well, they’re pretty fixed, too: noise-guitar explosions on automatic, melodies that parallel the guitar lines, reflexive hipster lyric moves. But let’s forget that – because they’ve been too good and too much fun for so long. “Sacred Trickster,” with its nod and wink to Iggy’s “Five Foot One,” blasts the set off. She may be fifty-plus but Kim Gordon will always sound like the smart, self-possesed chick standing along the back wall of the punk club thinking – “I’m better than these a-holes.” After sixteen albums the empathy between guitarists Lee Ranaldo and Thurston Moore (his poetic, pining love song “Antenna” is a highlight) is not only undiminished but more emotionally precise than ever. Did I mention that Steve Shelley is as good as any drummer in rock and roll? And after so many records each new one will remind more or less of certain previous records. “Eternal” evokes (for me, at least) “Rather Ripped” and “Dirty,” and is more compact, less on the ethereal/experimental side than albums like “A Thousand Leaves.”  By now the ultimate downtown New York band, incorporating everything from Ayler-Zorn jazz moves to the twin guitar snarl of the New York Dolls, Sonic Youth is a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame caliber band, if only the RRHOF was RRHOF caliber.

Jarvis Cocker – Further Complications
On Jarvis’s first solo outing, after innumerable releases with Pulp, he offered a mature set. Well, for Jarvis. Glimpses of his adorably outrageous personality aside, it could almost have been mistaken for a slightly rocked up Divine Comedy record. Not a bad thing mind (he’d earned the reflective tone), just a bit subdued. “Further Complications” nudges closer to a bon vivant’s take on punk-rock, Steve Albini’s typically spare, direct production and all. Not only is this forty-something inclined to rock out, he does so with uncharacteristic brutality on tracks like “Angela.” For “I Never Said I Was Deep” the music mellows but the break-up, f-you sentiment couldn’t be more, uhm, direct. At several points lyrically he goes for the bluntly vulgar. He gets by with it because he’s Jarvis – the cleverest guy in the room. Even when his words fail him, his delivery carries the day.

Those Darlins – s/t
Those Darlins hail from Murfreesboro, Tennessee. That’s close to Nashville. But these gals are about as far from contemporary country as they can be. Sure, you can hear the Carter Family legacy in their slurred, dulcet harmonies. And Appalachia ain’t too far away in, or from, many of these songs. But that’s not to say Those Darlins will necessarily thrill the more conservative among the Americana set. The vocals may linger behind the beat, but the music is driving. They use traditional materials the same way X and the Knitters did, or like the Stones circa “Exile on Main Street,” as beloved point of departure for their own vision. And they are, when all is said and done, a rock and roll band – imagine a distaff Jason & the Nashville Scorchers. You won’t hear anything like the distorted, nasty intro to “Who’s That Knockin’ at my Window?” (a Carter’s “cover”) at some sugary singer-songwriter symposium. Their homespun, autobiographical tales reveal that these are modern girls and they’ve (as Iggy would say) had it in the ear before. From the defiant “Red Light Love,” to the forwardly sexy “Keep My Skillet Good and Greasy” Those Darlins are full of life, themselves and empowerment, if you will, taking their country grrrrrl power places that Loretta Lynn never went and Martina McBride will never go.

Leonard Cohen – Live in London
There is but one Leonard Cohen. A product of the salon and streets, the blues and the boudoir, his lyrics can be direct at times, wildly, poetically expansive at others. With the possible of exception of Dylan (and perhaps more recently Nick Cave) it’s hard to think of another artist with so personal and profound an artistic vision. His work demands an engaged intelligence, but is never obscure. These arrangements are not confined by the polite limits of the pop song, yet there’s nothing confrontational about Cohen’s work. Indulgent with his supporting cast, there is ample time given here to his accompanists, yet the focus remains on his material. His voice is as cracked a bell as ever, but no less effecting for it. This generous two-disc show from London covers Cohen’s forty year career. To listen to these committed performances is to be transported to Leonard’s poetic world – circumspect, doom lurking around the corner, but always redeemed by our attempts to love. It isn’t a comfortable place, but it’s always an oasis, a shelter from the crass, commercial clatter of the mundane – a place where earthly pleasures and modest refinements live in harmony.

Strange Boys – The Strange Boys and
Girls Club/In the Red
Minor caveat: Intentionally distorted vocals. It was kinda cool when Casablancas did it. On this record, much like the new Black Lips, it sounds like insecurity masked in aggression. Sure, that’s the essence of garage. But so is standing naked. Give it a shot. Otherwise, this is the vibe of the very early Stones updated for a snarkier, darker age. The tunes alternate between 13th Floor Elevators drive and a dirty, sexy white boy Slim Harpo groove. They sound like they don’t give a shit. But don’t be fooled. Those vintage amp sounds and guitar tones are aesthetic choices – and astute ones. These Austinites may be striking a pose, but it suits them. This is the perfect soundtrack to an idle, humid summer of economic decline. You’re soaking in it. Best accompanied with a cold one.

Eddy Current Suppression Ring – Primary Colours
Australia’s next generation of punk. And that’s a good thing. ECSR are not punk ideologues, though, they just reflect their varied influences and rock out. Those influences? Well, there’s definitely a primal Stooges and Modern Lovers aspect to their sound. They also recall the Fall, Wire, and bands like the Clean and the Feelies. Guitarist Mikey Young has the chops to pull all those influences together, playing spare, melodic lines capable of soaring and jarring -sometimes even sounding like Television (if TV had but one guitar player). Singer Brad Suppression (?) embraces the deadpan intonation of the Gang of Four’s Jon King to good effect. ECSR hail from Melbourne and have no immediate plans to hit the States, despite this American release on Memphis’s Goner Records. Careerists, they ain’t.
Excellent, driving examples of where punk-rock can go from
here … they are.

Ida Maria – Fortress Around My Heart
Soon you will be sick of her MTV hit (yes, there are still such things), but that shouldn’t put you off of this talented Norwegian rocker. So, while the obvious conceit behind “I Like You So Much Better When You’re Naked” may fatigue, there’s no denying that it’s a catchy number. Ida Maria’s songs combine shrieking rock elements with tender balladry (“In the End”), sometimes in the same song. The break in her voice is a metaphor for her bruised, but courageous music. Somewhere between honey and sandpaper,it’s a voice that alternately soothes and savages. Ida’s songwriting chops are  good, too. Her band gives these songs just the right combination of directness and embellishment. The songs reflect the legacy of Joan Jett, Chrissie Hynde, and Suzi Quatro. “Stella” charmingly combines all her best elements into a statement of pure yearning that’s too rough to be a hit and too winning not to be.

Bob Dylan – Together Through Life
This album went straight to number one in Britain this week, proving beyond all doubt that it ain’t kids what’s buying albums. No, music isn’t really central to the lives of many young people. Music is just another easily accessed, easily dismissed distraction. The very concept of the “album” is sooooooo old school. Working in the pan-Americana idiom(s) that he’s inhabited (forever), but with particular resolve over the last decade, Dylan energizes these Texas two-steps, Chicago blues workouts, and roadhouse shuffles with his own queer vision (and that expressively noir-ish croak of a voice he has left). It’s a vision increasingly road worn, circumspect, and wary. But it’s always been about the time of the end, in one way or another, in Bob’s world, with the occasional stop for romantic professions. Or as he put it “It’s not dark, but it’s getting there.” The depth of his scorn for the breezy, superficial quality of late American existence is exemplified by “It’s All Good;” the implication being … it isn’t. Or (again), as Bob sings here“Some say I got the blood of the lamb in my voice,” Some are right. When it all hits the fan Bob will be ‘headin’ for another joint.’ And he’ll just say that he told you so.

Tinted Windows – s/t
What’s not to like? Well, sometimes the machine-tooled, Eighties super-rock production. You remember it, here it still is. Highly effective, a little fatiguing (mostly it’s fine, okay?). What’s to like? Everything else, pretty much. Tinted Windows is what, in more naïve times, was calleda super-group: Adam from Fountains of Wayne, James from the Smashing Pumpkins, Bun E. from Cheap Trick, and on vocals, Tyler Hanson (yes, Mr. Mmm Bop himself). Those other guys can play, and it’s nice to hear James out of Billy Corgan’s shadow – rocking out. Good tunes. Lyrics a tad simplistic by Fountains standards, but well crafted to the band’s purposes. The revelation is Hanson. He not only carries the Robin Zander (Cheap Trick) weight, but he conveys a wounded fragility that’s Alex Chilton-like, giving an emotional depth to these deceptively simple songs that sneaks up on you.

New York Dolls – ‘Cause I Sez So
In 1973 the New York Dolls debut album set the pop music world on its ear. So polarizing a force were they that at one point the readers of Creem magazine put them at the top of two lists – best band, and worst band. In 2009 David Johansen and Sylvain Sylvain (along with some sharp new fellers) are no longer about the shock of the new. The trails they blazed thirty-some years ago makes that impossible now. So, they play music. Rock & roll music. They were always great at that. And they still are. “’Cause I Sez So” is the sound of a great rock band both flexing its considerable muscle and relaxing into a well deserved career. As ever, their work is defined by energy, personality, heart, and wit. It wasn’t really ever about the clothes, you know - even if the thumb they stuck in the eye of conservatism was a kick. “Sez” kicks off with snarling rockers, eases into compelling, soulful balladry, Sixties adventurism, and a rocksteady take on their classic “Trash” before exiting (MC5 style) with a blast on “Exorcism of Despair.” Check out my backtorockville review (K.C. Star’s music blog) http://backtorockville.typepad.com/back_to_rockville/2009/04/review-dolls-sez-so-says-we-still-rock.html for the rest of the story.

Felice Brothers – Yonder is the Clock
It’s tempting to say that the new Felice Brothers isn’t as immediately seductive as the previous, self-titled, release. Then I realized that it actually took a while for “The Felice Brothers” to insinuate itself. Enjoyable, from the outset, its charms just got stronger and deeper with repeated listening. And sure enough, it’s happening again with“Yonder is the Clock” (Mark Twain, folks). From the tunefully mournful “Boy From Lincoln County” to the rollicking “Run Chicken Run,” this songbook delights. They still remind of Dylan and the Band. Tom Waits a little. They still have a wizened, homespun sound, a sound that seems to have risen straight up from the true vine roots of Harry Smith’s old, weird America. After lots of touring, it’s also a little tougher, a little rockier without forsaking its rural funk. We hope we made you a fan with their last release. Nothing here to discourage you at all.

1990s – Kicks
These smart arse Glaswegians debut record (“Cookies”) was a fave around here. “Kicks” basically represents an extension and refinement of that record’s appeal. Brent Butler’s production (Suede, Duffy, etc.) being a major reason for that refinement, providing a layer of gloss that works for most of the material, but sinks a song or two (compared to the spare production of “Cookies”). 1990s is a band prone to mixing snarky lead vocals, harmony sweetening, and post-punk, riff-driven tunes to as good effect as any of their neo-Brit pop (and punk) contemporaries. Jackie McKeown is the dominant personality in the band and here he’s a little more (too) generous with his band mates, but when he takes over, as he does on “Everybody Just Relax” and “Kickstrasse” the party is on.

Peter Doherty – Grace/Wastelands
The first solo album from rock’s most wasted boy. And while there’s a tune or two here that might have profited from the full use of Pete’s faculties, most of “Grace” succeeds with, well – grace. Distinct from the full band, rock sound favored by both the Libertines and Babyshambles, “G/W” is a wistful song cycle. There are the usual references to Albion and things British generally. There are sweet sentiments, as well as brutal ones. Doherty’s a fortunate sod insofar as his naturally melodious tendencies serve him well even when his work ethic deserts him. Unfocused in places, there are enough moments of poetry and beauty here to reinforce the idea that Doherty is a major talent. Keeping him on task here is producer Stephen Street, who,  as he did with “Shotter’s Nation,” demonstrates perfect sense and sensibility for Pete’s music. Graham Coxon (once and future Blur) adds lovely guitar work to all but one track; for all his distracting behaviors Doherty attracts talented producers and collaborators. Something to do with his art, I suppose.

Mike Farris and the Roseland
Rhythm Revue – Shout! Live
The back story: Mike Farris played in a number of Southern rock ensembles, notably The Screamin’ Cheetah Wheelies, in the Nineties. Drugs and other demons dogged him. He found Jesus and cleaned up. I know, oldest story in the world. And God knows that religion can be the last refuge of the scoundrel (Swaggart, Haggard, Baker, anyone?). But whatever lifted Mike Farris’s spirit is so remarkably powerful that it’s just undeniable, whatever your methaphysics. And if the Holy Spirit animates his remarkable voice and his totally fired up band, sign us up. Contemporary gospel singers, especially try-too-hard Caucasians, are too often melisma-crazed excessives, paid by the note freaks. Georgia Thomas Dorsey wouldn’t let them in the front church door. Reverend Dorsey would open the door wide for Mike Farris.

Farris is expressive. And while you can’t call him restrained, he’s emotionally and spiritually self-possessed enough that he give these songs (mostly gospel standards) everything they need and a little bit more – but never too much. Most critics reach for the Stax/Memphis soul vocabulary describing his Roseland Rhythm Revue. They have a point, but they miss the Dixieland tail-gate horn arrangements, the blues-rock guitar soloing (think Mick Taylor more than Pops Staples), and the universal pan-African American sound that this ensemble harnesses. Vocal accompaniment by the phenomenal McCrary Sisters only raises the temperature of any room these folks play; their call and response rapport with Farris is a joyful noise indeed. Farris and his soul saving crew play Lawrence in June.

Camera Obscura – My Maudlin Career
It’s hard not to compare Tracyanne Campbell and Stuart Murdoch (Belle & Sebastian). Both Glaswegians. Both started as untutored, indie bedsit types. Both were also devoted students of great, melodic pop music who have matured into professionals, albeit professionals with their alterna-charms intact. Campbell’s tap dance between the poles of sweet romance and jaundiced sarcasm fuel these
relationship tales. Torn indeed, but it’s precisely her literate negotiation of such territory that keep you interested. The arrangements swing from orchestral pop to “Blonde on Blonde” homage, from country to beach music. A consistently engaging melodic sense, and an increasingly sophisticated one, ensures that the tunes stick. “French Navy,” the opening number, is as good a pop song as I have heard all year. And the rest of the record doesn’t let you down from there.

M.Ward – Hold Time
Mr. Ward does just that – hold time. Temporally, his work is neither here nor there. It exists in some timeless American maw. He covers Don Gibson and Buddy Holly (with whom he seems to have a natural affinity) here. Ward’s naturalistic delivery is a little bit country, a little bit rock and roll, if you will. He’s a fine guitar player, too – good enough to have dedicated one record to John Fahey, and have played up to the standard. After his affable duet with Zooey Deschanel (She & Him), Ward is playing to an expanded audience. He does so comfortably, with an inerrant comfort and grace, singing about God and girls. A fine American. “Hold Time” is the sort of record that qualifies as easy listening – in the best sense of that term.

Army Navy - s/t
It's hard to imagine a more perfect example of power pop circa 2009 than Army Navy. Consistently engaging melodies, sharp lyrics and an ensemble sound that represents a perfect synthesis of Teenage Fanclub, Tommy Keene and early R.E.M ( maybe a dash of Soft Boys/Robyn Hitchcock too - it's that sort of jangle) make Army Navy a pop fan's dream. Singer Justin Kennedy once traded vocals with Ben Gibbard (Death Cab ...) in a band called Pinwheel, but his charmingly reedy signing carries the load here.  Like their peers Locksley (more Beatlesque, less Eighties) they rock out in an understated, but convincing manner that gives a little oomph to the slightly fey vocals. If you dig jangle-pop look no further than Army Navy. They're quite the discovery.

Night Marchers – See You in Magic
John Reis has formed a few bands. Rocket from the Crypt, Drive like Jehu, the Sultans, and the Hot Snakes -  to name a few. He’s laid them all to rest to concentrate on the Night Marchers. Named after Hawaiian apparitions who dance to primitive drums, Reis’s latest San Diego juggernaut is the most diverse and exciting band he’s put together. Out for a good time like the Hot Snakes, capable of hammering So-Cal punk like Rocket from the Crypt, this new band also incorporates r n’b, rockabilly and pop sounds in a varied, but unified program. Too brutal to be too sexy, too sexy to be dude rock, the Night Marchers tough guitar rock makes a perfect complement to the new Eagles of Death Metal record, “Heart On.”

Deerhunter – Microcastle/Weird Era
Wow. I woulda thought from their album (cd, whatever) covers and all the Pitchfork hosannas that these guys would be curiously opaque, obscure, un-listenable even (I know people who consider the latter high praise). Not at all. Deerhunter are the apotheosis of post-college rock. In a good way. Their darkly attractive songs about suicide, crucifixion and such are rooted in the alt-rock fakebook of 4 A.D. bands, the Cure, Sonic Youth (this record sounds like a chill-out version of “Daydream Nation,” sorta), and the Smashing Pumpkins. They also hint at exposure to iconic sounds like David Bowie and mutant British blues. Brandon Cox is a visual and lyrical embodiment of youthful anomie in/for the new depression (in every sense of the word). His sweetly tortured vocals suggest worlds – of hurt and resilience, surrender and struggle. Toned down a bit from the “Cryptograms” record, “Microcastle” features gorgeous guitar sounds, shimmering with third Velvets album jangle and My Bloody Valentine sonics. The second disc, entitled “Weird Era,” is no throw-away either; it’s supplements and expands the vision of “Microcastle.”

Titus Andronicus – An Airing of Grievances
I’ve done a lot of time in North Bergen, New Jersey. The missus is from there. Lovely woods, roads built over old Indian trails, great Italian markets and German butchers. Ah. Oh, and clotted freeways, endless frontage roads and every crap chain store known to modern man. I suspect it’s that second aspect that Titus Andronicus (from Glen Rock) are railing against. So be it. Patrick Stickles apparently finds Jersey stifling. He cloaks his standard post-adolescent rage and frustration in an avalanche of high-falutin’ aesthetic and literary references (the band is named after one of Shakespeare’s less famous dramatic works). He howls and shrieks. It’s painful. And funny. The band careens around him like an E Street Band thrown under Bad Religion’s bus. Stops. Starts. Stops. Starts. Like hardcore played by SRC or Sir Lord Baltimore, or somebody enigmatic from 1971. Strange stuff – moving, hilarious … profound, silly. Catchy refrain: “Your life is over.”
Oh yeah.

Glasvegas – s/t
I gave this sucker six-hundred words in the Kansas City Star. I like it a lot. It will have hipster detractors; bet on it. They don’t know what they’re talking about. James Allan is a poet of the pubs. His heartfelt songs about estranged fathers, the guilt of sons, the premature deaths of children, and social workers are powerful and expressive. He sings from male viewpoints, women’s view points, maybe even his own personal point of view. The point is that he’s credible from all these perspectives and he sells his songs with a voice that’s a cross between Joe Strummer and a Glaswegian Joey Ramone. Brother Rab Allan frames his songs with an all enveloping guitar palette built on strum, drone, pedal tones and distortion. Drummer Caroline McKay’s primitive Spector goes Mo Tucker whomp drives the songs home. Rooted in the Jesus and Mary Chain, the urgency of punk, the majesty of Roy Orbison – it’s a strange amalgam, but it’s brilliant.

The War on Drugs – Wagonwheel Blues
The band is augmented on various tracks, but basically it’s two guys: Adam Granduciel and Kurt Vile (as in Weill, get it?). For two guys they make an awesome noise. On “Arms like Boulders” they sound like Dylan (okay, with Willie Nile’s voice) through a My Bloody Valentine haze. Others tracks are reminiscent of Alex Chilton at his “Sister Lover” depths. Throughout TWOD they concoct an appealing sludge that’s part Big Star, part Sonic Youth meets the Byrds (with Brian Eno producing, no less). The tone of the somewhat surreal lyrics matches the oddly buoyant despair of the band’s sound.
“Wagonwheel Blues” is indeed blues of a sort. A blues for the
alterna-fallout of diminished American expectation.

Lou Reed – Berlin: Live at St. Ann’s Warehouse
More than once described as one of the most brutal and depressing records in rock history, the original “Berlin” was Lou’s buzz killer follow up tothe commercial breakthrough of “Transformer.” Produced by Bob Ezrin it was laden with the same sound effects, child cries and other audio verite that he contributed to records by Alice Cooper and Pink Floyd. It was an odd little not-so-sweet suite of songs for Reed, but one which he’s obviously stuck by. Produced for the stage by Julian Schnabel, this live performance finds him reunited with monster guitarist Steve Hunter from the original recording, as well as accompanied by stalwart stand-bys like Fernando Saunders. In this new performance “Berlin” is oddly celebratory; the enduring spirit of the work itself transcending the harrowing nature of the material. When Lou and Hunter get into on guitar you can hear that Lou’s having a real good time. He never was one to let a downer get him down.

Fireman – Electric Arguments
I don’t know who he’s arguing with, but he has me convinced. He being Paul McCartney. Maybe you’ve heard of him? Had a band called Wings. Before that he was in some band called the Beatles. Oh, convinced of what you’re asking? Well, that working in this context with Youth as a collaborator was a terrific idea. This is McCartney at his most relaxed and creative. An incomparable multi-instrumentalist and one of rock’s greatest singers, it’s all about context for Paul. Too many of his recent releases while not without their wonders have sounded either lazy or contrived. This music is composed where it needs to be, free and improvised sounding where that’s required. “Electric” is full of melody, graceful, natural melody that makes McCartney sound liberated. At one moment he’s in full Capt. Beefheart meets Led Zep growl, the next he’s
encapsulating U2’s whole career in four minutes, and he can do it
before breakfast. “Electric Arguments” is the sound of one of rocks
greats showing off, without making a show of it.

Doors – Live at the Matrix ‘67
So far, the Doors have doled out their live history in small, considered doses. Unlike the Grateful Dead who have made literally everything available, good shows and bad, the boys from L.A. seem legacy conscious. “Matrix” makes a revealing and marvelous addition to that limited canon. Playing in front of a miniscule crowd, this is the sound of the band before they blew up commercially, before the Jimbo/Lizard King mythology; a band just grooving on a developing sound, a sound they had to know was unique and compelling. Guitarist Robbie Krieger is a little under served by this mix, but the sound quality is otherwise remarkably good. Hearing works like “The End” and “Light My Fire” before they acquired canonical status is to hear them anew. Despite a surprisingly consistent, considering Morrison’s epic consumption(s), four year career, in some ways it was all downhill from here. The band never sounded this fresh, young and joyous again.

Jay Reatard – The Matador Singles
A sides. And B sides, too. The material is uniformly re(a)tard(ed) enough here to make such distinctions less than cost efficient. Oh, except that some of these songs are ballads. Almost. Not that the slower ditties are any less abrasive. Let’s face it, ever since Elvis the Caucasian rock and roll products of Memphis are all a little nuts. Something about having to follow the king, I guess. These songs may be stupid, but they sure are catchy. And anyone who loves the Ramones (or Misfits) will understand the attraction. Doubletime tempos, snotty lyrics, a voice that lurks between a shout and a squeal, this is pop-punk Southern style. Jay Reatard is the inheritor of the garage-punk mantle of the Oblivians and Reigning Sound. He’s as gritty as the former, less sophisticated than the latter, and clearly the greasy voice of Memphis pop-punk for his generation.

Helena Espvall and Masaki Batoh – s/t
Batoh is from the acid-psych band Ghost. Espvall is the cellist with neo-folkies Esper. Like Esper this duo play an eclectic mix of folk styles rooted in string music from around the globe. It’s a free range approachthat welcomes improvisation and a psychedelic intensity that soars above the traditional folk crowd’s boundaries. Recorded in a week’s time in Tokyo the album features everything from Swedish folk tunes to an affecting if curious version of Son House’s “Death Letter” (curious? Well – you know, Son House with a Japanese accent is curious). Espvall and Batoh have a kinship with artists like Damon and Naomi and Oakley Hall - artists who take folk music to new places, both introverted and expansive. Eschewing Ghost’s sometimes atonal, abrasive music this set is adventurous and melodic – it challenges without punishing. A great listen from start to finish.

Joseph Arthur – Temporary People
Arthur records a lot. I’ve enjoyed his work before, but none of his records had connected with me completely. “Temporary People” changes things.
Arthur has assembled a close knit, rocking band, a band that lives and plays together - something akin to a less dysfunctional Brian Jonestown Massacre. And in the same spirit Arthur’s music here owes plenty to the Stones circa 68-73. Throw in a dash of Dylan and the Band (Garth Hudson contributes keyboard work) and you have the style and sonic template for this record. It would all be sound and style, though, were it not for Arthur’s poetic vision, one that’s modest, but resonant and grounded in a street smart spiritual striving. He sells it all with his raspy voice and a delivery that’s as precise as it is slurring. “Temporary” isn’t a concept album necessarily, but its themes emerge gradually, organically and movingly.

TV On the Radio – Dear Science
Trying to describe a record as densely brilliant as “Dear Science” in a capsule review is a losing proposition. You could start by spotting influences (Peter Gabriel, David Bowie, Prince, Bob Dylan – specifically; hip-hop, post-punk, doo-wop – generically), but TV’s sonic palette is so richly organic and synthetic (David Sitek’s production is full of dirt and digital dust) that I’m not sure where all that leads. I hope this brilliant multi-racial Williamsburg crew was at least a little heartened by the Obama victory because otherwise theirs is a pretty bleak vision. But it’s the outrage, righteous and sardonic, that gives “Science” its dark heart. Songs like “Family Tree” also reveal the compassion that underlies the wounded quality of TV’s lyrics. Oh, and they have songs about girls. And sex. It’s not all apocalypse Brooklyn by any stretch of the imagination. Vocalists Tunde Adebimpe and Kyp Malone (guitarist, too) have grown enormously over the course of the bands’ three albums, comfortable with rage, with tenderness and within their own skins. It’s a breakthrough record for TV on the Radio and a benchmark in modern popular music.

The Verve – Forth
And forth they carry. Neither revelation nor rehash, after a decade apart, “Forth” is quintessential Verve. Less constructed for commercial impact than their most popular record “Urban Hymns,” “Forth” harkens some to their debut “Storm in Heaven.” The new record mixes orthodox song craft (“Love is Noise,” in which Richard Ashcroft out-Bonos Bono) with  sprawling, trance-y meditations that emphasize the still tight interplay between bassist Simon Jones, drummer Peter Salisbury and guitarist Nick McCabe, whose manipulations of tremolo, distortion and riffage remain masterful. Over it all rides Ashcroft, fresh from his solo years as a soul man for a new age, one of the most compelling voices from the last twenty years of British rock. If you ever dug this band you should be thrilled with “Forth.”

Jolie Holland – The Living and the Dead
Holland is a clear descendant of Beat ethos. On her second album, “Escondida,” she romanced morphine in song, declaring it “good enough for Billy Burroughs … it’s good enough for me.” The opening cut on this, her fourth record, finds her addressing Jack Kerouac and Edie Parker directly, empathetically. Holland’s folk-blues-jazz synthesis gets a little rockier on this record. Her expressing singing is still all over the beat, like Billie Holiday, but her songs benefit from a little rock backbone. M. Ward and Marc Ribot contribute guitar work that’s scruffy when necessary, hooky and precise when required. For all her despair over a world gone mad, Holland carves out a good time from life’s simple joys. For us, one of them is her singing.

Blitzen Trapper - Furr
Talk about the kitchen sink. What doesn’t Blitzen Trapper throw at you? They throw off Beatlesque flourishes like some latter day Squeeze. Their Dylan fixation is serious, but they sing so damn purty (like label mates Fleet Foxes) that their Dylan comes off more Byrds meet Stealer’s Wheel (or vintage Nitty Gritty Dirt Band). And, no, I don’t think it’s just pastiche. Their offbeat, metaphysical poetics are no less sincere for their whimsy. If Pavement put post-Velvets alterna-rock in a slacker dude Cali-blender, the Blitzen boys do the same for a musical universe (mostly Americana) descended from “Rubber Soul,” “The Notorious Byrd Brothers” and “Holland.” What amazes, thrills even, is their sheer confidence and facility. Alterna-dom is populated with scroungy auto-didacts, characters that do it their way because they can’t do it any other way … and rightly so, but Blitzen Trapper sound so talented they could do anything. Once in a while they go a bridge (hook, line, embellishment) too far, but for the most part these are fetching songs, played and sung with enormous charm.

Belle and Sebastian – The BBC Sessions
Belle and Sebastian charmed the pants off … well, they charmed the pants off of kids who had trouble charming pants off. That would be most of us some of the time, some of us all of the time. Ah, adolescence. No one understood it’s furtive and fumbling qualities better than Belle’s Stuart
Murdoch. He put together Belle and Sebastian to play his endearingly damaged bed-sit tunes of youthful infatuation and frustration. They never really ‘gigged’ in the traditional sense. So, when they made it to the BBC they felt right at home in those sober, sedate confines. These are sweet performances of Murdoch’s mostly third person narratives and ruminations. The growing range and confidence of the band’s (especially Isobel Campbell) performances is clear when you contrast the 1996 and 2001 performances, but the early takes are no less sweet for their innocence. For a Belle and Sebastian convert, what’s not to like?

Eagles of Death Metal – Heart On
I’ve always appreciated Josh Homme’s talent without being terribly moved or entertained by his work. Queens of the Stone Age have their moments, but there’s ultimately something contrived about them that disappoints me. When I saw his pal Jesse Hughes (Homme wasn’t along for the ride) as the warm up act for the Strokes a year or two ago I thought that EODM was one of the loudest and worst bands I’d ever heard. Imagine my shock when I listened to “Heart On.” Who knew that the answer for Homme was not less contrivance, but more. EODM are virtually a comedy outfit. Their combination of garage, glam and boogie scuzz is hilarious, but they are so good at it that it’s also terrifically entertaining. Every Stones, ZZ Top, and Prince cliché in the book is present here, and affectingly so. What’s more, the more you listen the more the lyrical conceit (a parody/critique of Hollywood rock life) has sly, sinister teeth.

New York Dolls – Live at the Fillmore East
“One Day It Will Please Us to Remember Even This” was a rare thing indeed – a “comeback” album that wasn’t just a curio tie-in to cash-in reunion tour. It was at once utterly fresh and a valid extension of the band’s legacy (all two albums of it). By the time the reconstituted Dolls hit the Irving Plaza last December they’d been together almost as long as the original (Johnny Thunders, Jerry Nolan, Arthur Kane … all departed) band. The “new” Dolls have more refined and orthodox chops than the Dolls Mach I, but they retain much of the same manic energy and spirit. Steve Conte does a marvelous job of sounding a lot like Johnny Thunders without trying to sound like Johnny Thunders. The tune stack here is awesome and the performances are full of celebratory, holiday joy. From David Jo’s solicitous “Come on, boys” that heralds the opening track “Babylon” to the last strains of “Lonely Planet Boy,” this is the sound of one of the great rock and roll bands playing for a devoted audience in their old stomping grounds. It rocks.

Tiny Masters of Today - Bang Bang Boom Cake
***NEW REVIEW***
Beat on the brat time. Remember Big Stick? Here's today's real sonic youths, siblings Ida and Ada, along with some overgrown kids to join in the fun. Sandbox mates include B52's Fred Schneider, Butthole Surfer Gibby Haynes, NYC hipsters Kimya Dawson, Karen O, Nick Zimmer, and Blues Explosionist Russell Simins producing and banging some drums. A shake and bake mix of punk, hip-hop, and art skronk smothered in a '77 flavored CBGB's mothergoose gravy. Danceable, wacky, witty, and stickin' it to the man in the "Bushy." Joey Ramone would be proud.

Heavy Trash - Goin' Way Out
***NEW REVIEW***
"I dig that goddamned rock 'n' roll, the kinda stuff that don't save souls - ain't nothing good about it that I know - I dig that goddamned rock 'n' roll." - Lux Interior

Beware, non believers, Mr.s Jon Spencer and Matt Verta-Ray have eaten the flesh and drank the blood of Elvis, Johnny Cash, Gene Vincent, Eddie Cochran, and the Burnette Brothers to dump forth another heavy load. Not for L-7s, this music will get you stinky, gooey, and wiggly. It will crash your party and make-out with your mom. This music will make you wanna "suck your brain out your eyeball." Charlie Feathers would piss all over this. You don't get it? Too bad, Jim. Armed with this record and the year's other favorite release, King Khan & The Shrines "What Is," I am fully prepared to launch into the Astral Plane.

"The Doctor said, "I may get better, but I'll never get well. I got the Boogie Disease." - Dr. Isaiah Ross

"Disconnect from today...the octabeast flies tonight...you can't win..." - Heavy Trash

Jerry Lee Lewis - Last Man Standing
Upon hitting the play button on my cd player to hear this record for the first time, I admit to a tinge of anticipatory dread. I immediately noticed what sounded like a pilled-up, slightly drunk Sam Phillips behind the sound board, definitely a good sign. When The Killer is on, he is officially the standing king of Caucasian rock 'n' roll (hats off to Richard, Chuck, and Bo)! This record over all does old Jerry Lee proud. It manages to keep the superstar cast and their accompanying material mostly in a support role mode, leaving The Killer to "Killerize" as he does best. Best cut "Rock & Roll" with Jimmy Page (Go away Robert, you lose this one.) Especially touching, "Don't Be Ashamed of Your Age" with George Jones and "Travelin' Band" with John Fogerty. Forgive Jerry Lee for exploiting the big money, but in the "eat awhile & gag awhile" category are the Toby Keith, Rod Stewart, and Don Henley numbers. Even Eric Clapton & B.B. King sound like they still remember how to rock on their respective cuts. You can actually forgive Kid Rock for at least "trying to get it" in his own Detroit-blitzed brain way. And speaking of Detroit, my only complaint is somebody forgot to pair The Killer with Iggy on "I Wanna Be Your Dog." Turn it up loud, kids of all ages!

Spencer Dickinson - The Man Who Lives For Love
I paid $30.00 a few years back to acquire the original version of this record from a Japanese website (with the help of our beloved Meat Flower). Here it is, fifteen bucks cheaper with 8 extra tracks. Expert rock 'n' roll production by Papa Jim Dickinson. "That's A Drag" should be a hit single, but it won't. Akin to Los Lobos' side project, The Latin Playboys, this is Jon & The Dickinson boys trying to get outside their respective boxes. Sounds best with a bottle of Mad Dog 20-20 at midnight in a barn in Mississippi.

The Editors - An End Has a Start
Let's just get it out of the way - Editors have obviously been influenced by the darker side of '80's British music. And? They used those influences to make a terrific first record and then honed their skills to made this (their 2nd) record with a sound that is more recognizable as their own. The Brits know how to make legitimate goth music - not cheesy darkwave. Here's a band with a distinctive guitar sound and hook-y songs that explore the darker side of love and life. Ignore the "labels" and listen with an open mind 'cause it's great!

Adam Franklin: Bouts of Melody
Near the top of my list of great yet underappreciated bands of the 90’s would be Swervedriver- the former band of Adam Franklin. This solo debut sounds a lot like his old stuff- lots of guitar, complicated melodies, and lengthy tunes. This may be a bit mellow in comparison, but Franklin still rocks a fair amount. In my opinion, he has a great husky voice that can pull off the rock ‘ballads’ as well as the scorchers. Better luck this time ‘round, Adam!

Interpol: Our Love to Admire
Darkly gorgeous…that’s how I would characterize the sound of this record. But since it’s Interpol’s sound that is so often discussed, I’ll focus instead on my favorite aspect of the band- Paul Banks’ voice and lyrics. First, I love that nasally baritone- and he sounds very strong and as if he has worked on his range. Second, these lyrics are so image-filled with references to the darker side of life…Paul could easily sip absinthe in a late 19th century French café! My favorite of the year…

Maps: We Can Create
What do you get if you cross the poppier side of electronica with the breathy, layered songs of the shoegazers? Most likely this. Longer songs, tiers of vocals, lots of “la la’s” and “yeahs”  … very pretty and tons of atmosphere. Reminds me a bit of slowdive (one of my fave shoegazer bands.) One of those records you just know sounds better with the headphones on.

The Lodger: Grown-Ups
The Lodger remind me of a lot of great 80’s pop bands: The Wedding Present, the La’s, The Lightning Seeds. Catch songs that are fun to sing/hum/whistle along to.  The songs feature really tight precise drumming and clever lyrics too. Let’s hope they don’t get lost in the shuffle of all the other detritus out there, ‘cause they’re too good for that.

The National - Boxer
If you are looking for the moodiest of mood music, look no further. The National's lead singer, Matt Berninger, could easily hang out with old school singer/songwriters such as Tom Waits and Leonard Cohen and be right at home. They could trade darkly witty barbs about disappointing loves, the solace of drink, and time spend on mindless pursuits. Berninger's deep voice and the lyrics are what blow me away...Sad? -Sure, but beautiful as well. I just wish there were one song with a little more maniacal genius showing through the gloom. One of my faves of the year so far.

Bjork - Volta
This record is really a hip hop record which features some mad beats and percussion...and then there's little ol' Bjork. As usual, she sports one of the greatest voices of her generation in all of its yelping, shouting, trilling glory. This record sounds tuff...so for those who want a sweet little pop bird to lull them onto the dance floor, give it up! Bjork is all about risks and change - and you've gotta admire that. It won't be popular with all - but who cares?

Clientele - God Save the Clientele
It's hard to write about the Clientele without using the word "lovely." They have a certain sweet, pop flavor like the '60's band the Left Banke. Here, the Clientele are a little more upbeat than on their previous records. They are still very British in lyrics and themes, and they have added a little more orchestration. Oh, and I do dearly adore that liquid bass magic!

Holly Golightly & The Brokeoffs - You Can't Buy A Gun When You're Crying
You'd be hard pressed to find a harder working woman in the music biz...between touring and recordings, when does Ms. Golightly have time to sleep? This is a country-tinged rocker with mostly slow tempo tunes. As usual, Holly writes most of 'em, harmonizes like a champ, and manages to do her own thing (which sounds like no one else). If you love tough songs with attitude and wit, this is right up yer alley. As usual, I highly recommend anything she's ever done - a terrific chick rocker!

Blonde Redhead - 23
If all you remember about Blonde Redhead is their early Sonic Youth-inspired noisier fare, then you're in for a surprise here. This is another step forward from their last fabulous records, Misery is a Butterfly. The vocals are still shared and sound better than ever, the songs are fuller sounding, and there is an overall sense of cohesiveness as one tune flows into the other. Yes, this might be more accessible than earlier work - but you still won't find this played on the radio. As usual - 4AD knows how to pick 'em - and the cover is awesome, too!

Cyann & Ben - Sweet Beliefs
Here's a band that knows how to build a song from quiet to layers of loudness. Primarily a two-person band, Cyann & Ben trade male/female vocals, use twisting/turning keyboards, and rock out with tribal percussino. Songs tend to go on a bit - with a style reminiscent of Spacemen 3 or even Yo La Tengo. If you like atmosphere, they've got it in spades. Lovely!

LCD Soundsystem - Sound of Silver
It's no easy feat for a record to be danceable without being annoying. LCD Soundsystem does it by keeping things just catchy enough, just dark enough. This record draws loads of influence from '80's bands such as New Order and OMD - but even more of the beats seem to be influenced by the darker dance gods like Cabaret Voltaire and Cock Dva. Really good stuff!

Arab Strap - Ten Years of Tears
Is there a Scottish band I don't like? I dare say not. This duo is one of my favorites because they just do their own thing - some quiet, slow songs; some rockin' out; and some orchestration - always with the unique singing/talking stylings of Aidan Moffatt. Most common themes - drinking and shagging...but the accent is often so thick you won't be ablet o decipher much. Buy yourself a stout, crank this compilation (their last), and get drunk with Arab Strap!

Peter Bjorn & John - Writer's Block
This is the 3rd release from this Swedish trio - and as much as I love this, I'm now off to hunt down the first two. If you love pure, unadulterated pop music, this is the most perfect example you'll find all year! The whole record is all about love and its many stages - so be prepared to catch yourself smiling at the lyrical creativity here. There are lovely harmonies, inventive combinations of unusual musical instruments, and an overall sense of fun! Lately, the Swedes have got it goin' on - keep up the good work!

Mos Def - True Magic
One of my all-time favorite hip hop records is "Black On Both Sides," Mos Def's 1999 masterpiece. He may never top that release, but this is a nice return to form. There are the same reggae influences and the combo of singing/rapping that he does so well. There is a fair amount of cursing and overall dissatisfaction with America, but this is overall a good time. As good a hip hop record as I've heard in a while.

Cocteau Twins - Lullabies to Violaine (Vol. 2)
This is the second half of a compilation (4 discs total) of Cocteau Twins singles and alternate versions. Some of the band's best songs were only released on hard-to-find import ep's, so this gives you a chance to hear some of that. This mid-to-late period music is a bit more ethereal, multi-layered, and full of guitars as walls of sound. One of the most astonishing live bands I've ever seen - just sheer gorgeous sound! No one sounded like them then and no one has since. If you need an introduction, this is a great start.

The Long Blondes - Someone to Drive You Home
This fashionable British band is made of (mostly) sassy and cute chicks. And their songs reflect that sassy cuteness - with a little darkness and lurid sexuality thrown in. There is a great deal of '80's influence here - but it's hard to pinpoint one particular band or singer. They've had some catchy singles that have put them on the map in Britain - we'll see how they do here. Great drumming that's heavy on the top and jangly guitar. Woo hoo!

Josef K - Entomology
How much do I love Domino Records - the whole bunch! First, they give us the fabulous Orange Juice retrospective and now we get this Josef K package! This compiles the only two records this topnotch Scottish band put out plus some rarities/John Peel Session stuff. The sound has much in common with Orange Juice - great bass lines, fast jangly guitars, and warbly vocals. You'll think you've heard it before - because you've heard everyone that has absorbed their influence. Fantastic compilation!

The Gothic Archies - The Tragic Treasury
Conceived as a musical accompaniment to the Lemony Snicket series of books, this is yet another side project of Stephen Merritt (of Magnetic Fields - and others - fame!) The books are witty and dark - and this is well-suited to that. Merritt is quite the wordsmith and plays the part of the books' characters as well. My recommendation: read a couple of the books (there are 13 in all), rent the movie (which is better to look at than anything else), and give this a listen. It's sinister fun!

Love is All - 9 Times That Same Song
This Swedish band is a little slice of heaven - they rock, they pop, and they garage with some of the best out there! Being a lover of '80's pop/rock from the British isles, I can't stop thinking of the energetic Scottish band, Altered Images, when I hear this. Same sassy lead vocals and propulsive backing musical talent. Now I just wanna know - anybody care to pogo?

House of Love - The Complete John Peel Sessions
Two glorious Cds and 32 glorious songs - this covers the history of House of Love (before they recently reunited). All of these songs were recorded for John Peel from '88-'92 and they sound just terrific. The lyrics of Guy Chadwick and the guitar work of Terry Bickers are the perfect pop/rock pairing. A band that never made much of a stir in the U.S., House of Love have always been revered amongst musicians - simple, catchy, clever songs to sing along with. Look for all of the other recent John Peel releases...greatness, all round!

Under Byen - Samme Stof Som Stof
Perhaps I missed my calling and should have had a life as a stage actress - all I know is I surely do love music with dramatics! This little gem from Denmark combines the early percussive moments of Dead Can Dance, the flair for drama of Sigur Ros, and the vocal stylings of Bjork (not quite as operatic). There is plenty of darkness here for anyone fond of goth rock too (which includes me again)! I can see this as a fitting soundtrack to a creepy black and white movie - Nosferatu perhaps?

Robin Guthrie - Everlasting
If you are a fan of the Cocteau Twins, then you'll want to pick this up. Robin Guthrie was one of the three chief members of the band throughout their glorious career. This instrumental gem is full of beautiful guitar that's heavy on the delay pedal. Similar to the mid-period of the Cocteaus - "Victorialand" and the like. Now, when's that Liz Fraser solo record coming out?

The Dears - Gang of Losers
This Canadian band has endured years of being compared to British bands, and their lead singer has often been accused of aping Morrissey. Yes, they have absorbed some Brit pop influences. But this record has a lot more R&B vibe goin' on...Murray Lighthouse certainly could hold his own with the soulful shouters. There are some really pretty tunes here - and almost always with a touch of melancholy.

Grinderman - S/T
This album contains all of my favorite things. It's noisy, dark, sleazy, rockin', and has a sense of humor...and, of course, it has Nick Cave! It's like true love...in a weird, perverse kind of way.

The Time Flys - Rebels of Babylon
The Time Flys are four fun-loving dudes from Oakland, CA who play energetic garage rock n roll. This album is perfect for partying or just rockin' out in the car. Songs about serial killers, getting wasted, and living sin sin. Guaranteed to make you wanna dance. Hedonism is the rule with The Time Flys!

Dan Melchior - Fire Breathing Clones on Cellular Phones
This album predominately combines blues & garage, with a couple of folksy songs added to the mix. Melchior's distinct voice is full of bitterness & desperation as he explores poverty, nature, and living in an emotionless society. On the whole, the songs are rather bleak and occasionally fatalistic, but there are a few where he expresses some hope. Sort of. There's also a wide array of instruments, including keyboards, bongos, violin, and sax. But not to worry, the sax is rockin' - no slow jams here!

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