Even the most conceptual of writers often struggle with straddling the fence between giving away too much of a story and dropping the reader, or listener in this case, into a scene and allowing them to make of it what they will. Literate without being overly dramatic, indie hero John Vanderslice’s latest solo release Emerald City (a reference to an area of Baghdad) successfully does both by creating a fictitious atmosphere of what’s seemingly a terrorist attack followed by its aftermath. Recorded extremely lo-fi, Emerald City’s crackle-y bounces from introspective Bright Eyes/Decemberists folk to Flaming Lips eclecticism to ragged Spoon-like rock don’t always lead to a comforting sound, but if the story is what it seems, discordance is necessary. [www.barsuk.com]

Fifteen years after the release of her debut album, Miss Polly Jean Harvey has come out of nowhere and crafted her Kid A, her very own Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Shedding the Pixies-esque chainsaw sound that made her prominent in favor of a minimalist piano base, Harvey has lowered the volume but by no means pushed away the storm. These songs are dark and haunting, her voice raised to angelic heights while singing about topics as snowy-white as the devil. Like experimentalists Radiohead and Wilco before her, she’s likely to turn off the more traditional of her fan base, but White Chalk is a record that shouldn’t be missed. These songs command that you listen to them, preferably alone and in the evening hour. [www.pjharvey.com]

The Kim Fahy-led coterie of international pop wizards, The Mabuses have returned after an absence of more than a dozen years, having been thrust into '90s cult obscurity a long, long time ago. Mabused is pop in the vein of '60s and '70s weirdness—it's not cut from the same cake as the bands under the Elephant 6 umbrella—that is to say, it's not all sunshine and bubbly-goodness. Surreal imagery, capricious styles of songcraft, melodies and vocal lines that evaporate into nothingness mid-verse, an antipathy towards convention; these are the foundations of Mabused and rarely are such traits expressed so vividly and ornately in modern music. [www.themabuses.com]

As one/third of the songwriting muscle in indie pop quintet Irving, Alex Church doesn't have a lot of room to let his talents shine, hence the creation of Sea Wolf. Leaves In the River surpasses any of Church's contributions to his other project, as his songwriting here is able to flourish in a way that isn't possible when the duties are shared. He isn't breaking ground so much as he's reshaping well-traveled paths and making them his own--Church has the singer/songwriter thing down exquisitely, but does it his own way, garnishing the songs with keys, strings and foreboding, occasionally creepy lyrics with quaint little melodies that won't go away. Nature and autumn make numerous appearances, sometimes literally (the album title, the lyrics, the release date), but many of the songs themselves have share the season's bipolarity, ceaselessly shifting from warmth to coldness and back again. [www.dangerbirdrecords.com]

Newspapers' Lakeview EP is the young Portland quartet's debut, and even though I'm losing my credibility by doling out all these good album reviews I have to say that this one's really fucking good, surprisingly good. The title track is soulful, poppy stuff along the lines of The Boy Least Likely To without the bounce with the requisite guest strings. "Devil's Dance Blues" abandons the sensitive image formed by its predecessor, fuzz-rocking with a snaky guitar line and garage revivalism. That's the blueprint for the band--there is no blueprint--it's just a ragtag bunch of good songs from a ragtag group of guys who are off to a damn good start. [myspace.com]

Pennsylvania quartet Okay Paddy has once again crafted some adroit power pop with the Where You Went? EP. Last year's The Cactus Has a Point didn't seem to draw the attention it deserved, but the band has forged on—and improved—since that album's release. The quartet doesn't do anything vastly different here, but the maturity is obvious—the songwriting is better, the melodies more natural and inviting. "Trounce Him" brings in a fiddle and mandolin to add some depth to the dynamic, but the rest rely on the traditional set-up. "Open It Up" adds a new dimension, sounding like a long-lost version of Richard Hell covering The Modern Lovers' "Pablo Picasso." A good set from the band, but not quite a killer—we'll wait for the next LP. [www.okaypaddy.com]

Brooklyn's premier funk collective The Budos Band displays its chops yet again on its sophomore record, aptly titled The Budos Band II. The 13-piece instrumental powerhouse blazes through ten ocean-deep grooves, melding tight musicianship to an sonically-ominous urbanity in relatively short bursts (tracks are rarely more than four minutes long). II is the soundtrack to countless unmade Blaxploitation films, and will prove to be as good as gold for some hip hop producer in 20 years' time. For now, instrumental record of the year? [www.daptonerecords.com]

At My Age isn't much different than what Nick Lowe has been doing for the past decade and a half—slick country spiked with blue-eyed soul—but in his 58th year, the silver-haired, wrinkly Lowe sounds younger than he has in a long, long time. The august wit that peppered his early solo career as precursor to the angry young men of the new wave era (where would Elvis Costello be without Nick Lowe?) has subsided almost completely, and Lowe has settled comfortably into more classic songwriting, building walls of light, wispy soul and country on his deeply-rooted pop foundations. No boundary-pushing here, but all of the dozen tracks (three are covers, including the Charlie Feathers classic "Man In Love") show Lowe's songwriting in top form, proving that he's fared better than a lot of the musical old fogeys of his generation. [www.nicklowe.co.uk]

David Dondero is often considered an unsung hero of modern singer/songwriters; he's mastered the art of the minstrel, traveling far and wide and sending his songs off with a delivery that's as rootsy as it is literary, but for some reason he's only made big splashes in select circles. Simple Love is a worthy successor to 2005's masterful South of the South, but finds Dondero straying more from his folky/country leanings in favor of straight-forward alt-pop. "Rothko Chapel"could have been penned by Ben Folds and sung by a more mature Conor Oberst, but the title track weaves back into Dondero's strength—weary, honest Americana relying on harmonies, slide guitar and narrative that flashes its images through your head in black-and-white instead of color. [www.daviddondero.net]

Atlanta's Parade avoid stylistic definition on the Answer Me EP, and though the cover of the release begs to be pegged as a folksy pop record, the band has something else in mind. The quartet's sparkling keyboards and Carrie Hodge's soft vocals belie the often heavy guitar accompaniment, but at other moments things coalesce into superbly tight and minimalistic power pop, eliciting warm, gushing melodies. Within a certain framework, Answer Me is very erratic and unpredictable, not drawing from any particular influence enough to be pigeonholed, and leaving room for the band to follow its own path. [www.weareparade.com]

Angel & The Love Mongers sound British, but they’re not; they’re from Knoxville, TN. The Humanist Queen is a very consistent if not terribly exciting collection of pop-rockers in which The Cure influence is worn on the proverbial sleeve. One might get the impression these are a couple of guys playing “band,” but that doesn’t mean there isn’t fun to be had. And really, The Humanist Queen is a downbeat yet fun album. This oxymoron may be possible because it’s difficult to take some of the posturing too seriously. [www.myspace.com]

The retrospective nature of Everyday Life is exactly the type of motif one would expect from a former alt-pop hero who is now married and has developed a career as an entertainment lawyer. What’s unexpected, however, is how consistently solid former Blake Babies’ guitarist John P. Strohm’s third solo release and first in eight years sounds, adding an irresistible country-rock tinge to his already college-radio-ready repertoire. Strohm doesn’t blaze any new trails with Everyday Life and it’s not the best work of his career, but not a single song sounds forced, making it the perfect soundtrack to kick up your dusty boots and simply enjoy listening to a rock and roll record. [myspace.com]

There’s bourbon on the breath of folkster A.A. Bondy and you can smell it through your speakers. On his debut solo release, American Hearts, the former Verbena frontman (then rocking much harder and known as Scott Bondy) crafts hauntingly dark, rural-sounding songs of retrospection while channeling Freewheelin’-era Dylan with Ryan Adams/Jeff Tweedy sonic-folk modernism, only this is the record Adams dreams of making. Bondy’s authenticity radiates through his Alabama-troubadour growl, sorrowful harmonica and blues-tinged fingerpicking, easily making American Hearts one of the folk records of the year. [www.myspace.com]

Over the last decade Bad Brains has become something of a typical Hollywood romance: on-and-off and divided over power and the direction. With the release of Build a Nation, it appears the seminal hardcore/reggae band has come to a compromise: split time between their patented razor-sharp punk and Burning Spear-ish reggae. The tighter-than-a-helix reggae is clearly where Bad Brains now shines, as H.R.’s vocals have undergone years of abuse and get buried beneath Dr. Know’s mind-bending fretwork on the harder tracks, but rest comfortably chanting Rastafarian-induced dub. They literally sound like two different bands; one with an energetic cause and the other holding on a bit too long. [www.badbrains.com]

A 19 year-old with a privileged musical past, Robert Francis makes good on the promise of his adolescence. One By One is folky Americana from the perspective of a 21st century teenager. Occasionally Francis shows his age in his lyrics ("I want to kill myself just to kill the pain" is honest, sure, but doesn't show much imagination), but his songwriting and crooning more than redeem the album's lesser qualities. This is surely only a stepping stone into what should be a long and notable career. [www.myspace.com]

The messages of political apocalypse and technological destruction from Big Science, the album that launched avant-garde performance artist Laurie Anderson into the music realm and spawned perhaps the century’s most unlikely Top 10 Hit (“O Superman (For Massenet)”) remain surprisingly relevant, despite having been released in 1982. Her robotic minimalism and on-a-slow-spaceship-to-the-moon sound won’t sit well with most, but Big Science represents the optimal entry point into Anderson’s catalog. Those who had the record the first time around be warned that the reissue isn’t for you, as the only additions are the already accessible video for “O Superman” and a forgettable bonus track. [www.laurieanderson.com]

Well, having been a huge fan of Doppelganger, The Fall of Troy's near-perfect second album, I was greatly looking forward to this latest offering. Disappointment set in rather quickly however, listening to just the first few tracks. Somehow they kept their signature sound, but distilled out all of the aspects that glued it together. By adding keyboards and trying for a catchier sound, they somehow lost what made it unique and basically white-hot creatively. Now that the fire's gone out a bit, it sounds like they are just stretching out for the next album. [www.thefalloftroy.com]

There's nothing particularly wrong with Not Accepted Anywhere, the technically now one year old album from Welsh pop/punkers The Automatic Automatic (drop one Automatic in the UK). It's a fun, dancey, upbeat album in the vein of Arctic Monkeys. The Monkeys, however, do it just a bit better. Not Accepted Anywhere is still worth a listen, but don't expect it to change the world. [www.myspace.com]

Like Patrick Wolf's previous two releases, Lycanthropy and Wind in the Wires, The Magic Position is a mixture of strings and beats, a haunting explosion of sound that is one part Björk, and one part something else altogether. Wolf's voice, which here does not break off into guttural growls as it did on songs like Lyncanthropy's "A Boy Like Me," is confident and distinct, a star capable of selling its emotional content. Happy, sad, or bouncing between both extremes, Wolf is always working to put his listener in that magic position. [www.patrickwolf.com]

Bigger and bolder than their two previous releases, Singularity finds Norfolk, VA's Mae not exactly treading new territory on their major label debut, but expanding their sound just a bit. The 90s rock influences are clear throughout (check the synths on tunes like "Brink of Disaster" and "Rocket"), but Mae never wholly breaks away from what they do best--writing solid pop hooks. Singularity is a surefire pop hit and should leave you singing along and enjoying every minute. [www.whatismae.com]