Somehow the fame thrust upon Be Your Own Pet last year has eluded Alabama’s The Ackleys. Though mostly dissimilar from those advantaged children of the industry in style, The Ackleys are also a very young (sub-21), female-fronted quartet. Katie Crutchfield musters up elegant vocals and lyrics that belie her age; twin sister Allison counters with the now-requisite keyboard. With the band’s youthfulness comes an unabashed predilection for basic songwriting—the tracks are generally predictable (it’s basically pop-punk with keys)—but the fuzzy warmness and familiarity makes Forget Forget, Derive Derive an EP worth coming back to more than a few times. [www.houseofloverecords.net]

Big Business is more than just one more band in a long line of two-piece bands trying to make their mark. Their compositions aren’t much like the transcribed messages of outer-space tweakers or however you’d describe Lightning Bolt’s music, these compositions are more in the spirit of the stoner-rock bands of the '90s. (i.e. Kyuss, early Fu Manchu, and Coady’s former alma mater, Murder City Devils.) Here Comes the Waterworks is a well-developed album that truly showcases where Big Business excel, bottom-heavy jams with melodic yelling over the top. But the lack of variety after the first few songs will quickly bore all but the most stoned listener. This album is highly recommended if you’re currently a fan of stoner rock; if you aren't, Kyuss might serve as a better introduction to the genre. [www.bigbigbusiness.com]

Conrad Ford is an apt moniker for a band with such a weather-beaten, country feel. Aside from other imagery it might conjure, the name is actually inspired by cinematographer Conrad Hall and director John Ford. Get it? Winsome and lonesome, Don’t You Miss Yourself features an eclectic composite of folksy instruments. Call me a sucker for the ukulele and pedal steel, but it hits the western part of the brain reserved for yearning. Of course, too much lonesome yearning can leave one’s eyelids a little heavy. Luckily, the songs you hear before finally nodding off are of excellent quality and untarnished character. [www.conradford.com]

Multi-instrumentalist and Pinback co-leader Rob Crow delivers another batch of varied, quirky pop songs on Living Well, his fourth solo work. Here he channels Sebadoh and Elliott Smith, among others, typically in a lo-fi fashion. Recorded mostly in Crow’s bedroom, Living Well carries a feeling of intimacy and simplicity throughout its 14 tracks, though its most poignant moments are fleeting. Some really good songs, but more that can be passed over after a few listens. [www.temporaryresidence.com]

"It's all kunst, all cream and all kick," the press kit says. Actually, it's all the Westfalls, four blonde siblings: Charles Arthur Westfall IV, guitars and vocals; Andrew Westfall, drums; Jillian Westfall, vocals and guitar; and Robin Westfall, bass. All are from Lynyrd Skynyrd and Tom Petty Country, Gainesville, FL. They're into "emotional impact," perhaps too much so, on cuts such as "Momento Mori," "Malgongregos (Bad Crayfish)," "Behold The Man" and personal favorite "Donner Party." The Donner Party was the Anna Nicole Smith, shaved and re-tatooed Britney Spears and diapered astronaut of the mid-19th Century. But much more interesting. On "Behold..." the band breaks into "When The Saints Go Marching In" mid song. Yet "I Do Not Think We Are Beyond The Old Mistakes" holds promise for the future. To paraphrase what an editor in an old Frank And Earnest cartoon said to Count Tolstoy: "What's it gonna be, Westfalls, War or Peace?" [www.newgranada.com]

"I'm the G." An anonymous early morning street dancer on Market Street in San Francisco would get in the groove with a tape of something called, I think, "I'm the G." Maybe he was? In any case, this ran through my head, until it was ousted somehow. Now, thanks to G. Love and Special Sauce--though they're no longer called that--and the former's latest solo outing, Lemonade, it's back. There are guests galore, some labelmates such as Jack Johnson; others that are just hot players such as Donavon Frankenreiter and David Hidalgo of Los Lobos. Not to forget the wonderfully named Lateef The Truth Speaker, Blackalicious, Ben Harper and Tristan Prettyman. Thing is, none of the guests is an intrusion and each has something to give to the mix. On "Can't Go Back To Jersey" Mark Boyce plays B3 organ then adds wurlitzer piano to several other cuts. There's rap on "Jersey," and the "Lemonade" ending chorus on "Banger," from Blackalicious and Lateef The Truth Speaker, dare I say it, is almost scat. In fact, when I first heard G. Love a few years ago, I probably dismissed him in a wave of ignorance on my part. It's enough to wean me of my very long mourning for the Human Boombox, late of the Fat Boys, one of whom wasn't even Fat. I should know by now that something I don't like at first will come back to haunt me, obsessively, in the future. Works for me. Love's 12-string, on "Still Hangin'," a solo outing, puts him in that rare pantheon of such players as Roger McGuinn and Mike Wilhelm. And his harmonica work, singing, songwriting and, even the video of "Love," herein, are very big plus points too. I just adore people who can do a lot of different things and seem to know they did NOT invent the wheel. But the song, "Love," is on his last album, The Hustle. Who does he think he is--Elvis Costello? Some people, given lemons, make lemonade. Others make a record as Black-Rappi-StringBassi-HandClappi-Licious as this one. So, if I'm not the G and that Market Street breaker is not the G, now we all know who is. It's G., Love! [www.brushfirerecords.com]

There is only one thing I am sure or and that's all that lives is gonna die; and there'll always be someone here to wonder why? --Arthur Lee, 1945-2006 It plays constantly now, in my head, on my computer, when I'm listening to something else. Here's why: I first saw the New York Dolls in 1972 at Teddy's in Milwaukee. Everyone got to Milwaukee, eventually, you know. And what did I remember, other than the "outrageous" costumes, still shocking someone has said? I remember the bass player, Arthur "Killer" Kane. "the original rock 'n' roll statue," other than Roy Orbison, anyway. Arthur just stood there and stared. He didn't play that night; his arm was in a cast. And he's the one I always remember. He isn't even on the new record. He died from leukemia 22 weeks and two days after the Dolls' historic re-emergence at Morrisey's Meltdown Festival in London in 2004. See the stunning film New York Doll for more on that. But that isn't why I remember Arthur. He just had that presence and your eyes went to him. Rest in peace you sweet Mormon Punk. So, now we have the latest New New York Dolls, even different than the New New York Dolls of 2004. And, arguably, even better. Not just because Bo Diddley and Iggy Pop --Mr. Pop in New York Times style on the second reference--or Michael Stipe--Mr. Stipe--of REM are each on one cut. Their presence is brief, effective, wonderful, even. But they aren't necessary to the success of this band. The Dolls do that their way. Very anthemically, like all the girl groups, and great hooks; all those years of Johansen/Sylvain songs are really paying off these days. Even in a "Punishing World." Name a band that has been through as much as this group and all you will likely come up with is Lynyrd Skynyrd. Lynyrd Skynyrd still has two original members--Gary Rossington and Billy Powell--and Skynrd still delivers great shows. The last Skynyrd concert I attended was the only one at which I, a mere rock scribe, was actually assaulted by not one, but two, groupies. This never happened when I was on the Violent Femmes tour bus. Sometimes these guys even sound like the E Street Band. Maybe it's all those appearences on Little Steven's Rolling Rock 'N' Roll Show--20 headlining gigs since last November alone. Maybe it's the influence of David Johansen and The Harry Smiths. Check out this guy's harp playing. They sway, they rock, they roll, they "swoop swoop" like Lou Reed doing "Andy's Chest." And, they're still camp and cutting edge and just plain damned almighty good!" Whether on "Dance Like A Monkey," "Gotta Get Away From Tommy" or "Dancing On The Lip Of A Volcano," they deliver in spades and fishnets. There's plenty of music here and it won't stop being the soundtrack of your life until you let it. And there is one other thing, or shall I say, things. Johnny Thunders, Jerry Nolan, Billy Mercia and "Killer" Kane are all on this record, somewhere. You can feel them. Sylvain Sylvain dedicates this recording to them, "the New York Dolls who are no longer around," and rightly so. "Sleep Baby Dolls." [www.nydolls.com]

Maybe The Prize Fighter Inferno, the pet project of Coheed and Cambria’s Claudio Sanchez, would be a little cooler if Ben Gibbard and The Postal Service hadn’t beaten it to the punch. On My Brother’s Blood Machine, Sanchez's work comes off as nothing more than knock off of the electronically infectious masterpiece-duo orchestrated by Gibbard, who is still better known for the wildly popular Deathcab For Cutie. My Brother’s Blood Machine is a boring mix of techno beats, acoustic riffs and thematic gibberish. A few tracks, like the bizzaro Prince tribute “The Margetville Dance,” actually work fairly well. But on the whole, this is a pretty average attempt by an otherwise promising artist at a lame conceptual side project. [www.theprizefighterinferno.com]

The Old Ceremony is an arsenal of Chapel Hill, NC-based musicians who muster ferociously tight early-world melodies on their second album, Our One Mistake. In what can best be described as Ben Fold Five-meets-Decemberists dramatic pop, they’re showmen of the truest kind. With influences that can be traced to Motown, Leonard Cohen, and Randy Newman, as well as the grandeur of Sinatra and the cabaret of Tom Waits, The Old Ceremony’s sound is difficult to nail down. The record is propelled by a romantic combination of keys, marimba, vibes, and strings, while the attack is lead by guitarist/vocalist Django Haskins, a Yale grad whose literate lyrics tell gloomy sagas taking the listener to an exotic time and place. From the rollicking piano ballad, “Papers in Order,” to the funky soul of “Radio Religion,” to the Mandarin Chinese of “Bao Qian,” this is one worthwhile excursion. [www.theoldceremony.com]

Subtlety and simplicity seem to be two words that Jade Tree indie band Panda & Angel understand quite well. On their self-titled debut, the quintet doesn't try to do much more than create lovely, almost dreamy pop/rock music that doesn't expand any further than each members instruments will allow. Its moody, too, which gives the sound an almost instant appeal as it jumps between the furious (check the short break down section of "Dangerous") and the sweet (lead track "Mexico" or the understated "China"). That everything they do is successful only says more about the quality of the band and the musicians in it. Vocalist Carrie Murphy proves herself more than capable as she digs deep into her low registers, but also shows on "China" that her voice can shine with the best of them. Overall, this is a very successful debut EP that should not be missed. [www.pandaandangel.com]

Using the term "roller coaster" would be a completely, shamefully, unimaginative way to describe the up's an down's that these songs carry the listener through but it would be an appropriate one. Maybe a better way to describe it would be "driving on the interstate with extremely low visibility but a serious penchant for putting the pedal to the metal." But that's not really a term--although the anticipation of that next turn helps capture the feeling of the band's energy. Describing the Hotpipes self-titled album is a difficult task given how they manage to capture a myriad of sounds from indie pop to psychedelic freak-outss to soulful wails to a pure cacophony of rock force...often within the span of the same song. The majority of the disc is an upbeat rampage of pop/rock goodness filled with songs that are as infectious and fun to listen to as they are interesting. [www.hotpipesmusic.com]

Matt Wertz is a bit of an anomaly for me. Everything In Between, his third independently released album, is actually a very catchy pop/rock record in the vein of early John Mayer and oh-crap-what-ever-happened-to-him phenom Teddy Geiger. It's safe and it doesn't hurt anybody to listen to it. The problem is that it feels all too familiar to be anything significant, which isn't, in and of itself, a major problem. But this could go around and around in circles forever. In all honesty, if you are a fan of smooth vocals and simple pop/rock songs, then you'll probably like this. And don't worry--it's really okay. [www.mattwertz.com]

Entering the competition for one of the most original band names of the year is Phoenix's own Dear and the Headlights. They also happen to play very strong indie rock music and have released their quite excellent debut record, Small Steps and Heavy Hooves (gotta love a band that's that committed to their name) via Equal Vision Records. The album is as quirky as you'd expect from a band called Dear and the Headlights; full of sweet vocals and pop hooks galore. The lead track "Oh No!" is especially telling of the band's style and dynamic control, a device they use throughout the record. Other standout tracks include "Paper Bag" and "I Just Do," which is a sweet little number about loving someone just because you do. There's definitely a lot to like about DATH and they are a welcome addition to the always eclectic EVR catalog. [www.dearandtheheadlights.com]

What do you do with an English electro-rock band that expresses a wish to play in Nashville after two of its songs - "Piano Song" and "How Many Times?" are dubbed "pure Nashville Noir?" Putting them, their band and a crack crew of Nashville Cats in the Ryman Auditorium, the original home of the Grand Old Opry, before the Opry moved to the plastic Opryland, is a good start. This is where Hank Williams played. This is where Jonathan Demme made his Neil Young film, "Heart Of Gold." This is where Neil Young played Hank Williams' original guitar and where a Katrina refugee I recently met in downtown San Mateo used to hang out as a kid with Minnie Pearl, Stringbean, Uncle Dave Macon and all those folks. She said Minnie Pearl did indeed hold her in her lap. But, more importantly, Elvis held her in his lap. She had toddled over to Graceland to give Gladys' boy and his entourage their paper. She also helped deliver that baby born on the Woodstock soundtrack, having been trained as a midwife from the age of three. But, that's another story. Vince Clarke, once of Depeche Mode and Yazoo, and his longtime singing partner, Andy Bell, essay over 20 years of hits, misses and their trademark vocal perfection here. These include the aforementioned "Nashville Noir" pieces, "Blue Savannah," "Chains Of Love," "Ship Of Fools" and many more. There's also a short film, "The Road To Union Street" on the first CD and a DVD of the complete Nashville concert. Steve Curry's pedal steel guitar and banjo and Richard Hammond's acoustic bass must be mentioned, as would all the others be if there were more room. That includes Steve Walsh on guitar and mandolin, because a Ryman concert sans a mandolin player wouldn't be a Ryman concert. A great concert, if out of left field. Maybe more English rock bands should take a stab at this "pure Nashville Noir." [www.erasureinfo.com]

Albert Hammond, Jr. isn't leaving The Strokes, but with the strength of his solo debut, Yours to Keep, that door is now officially open for him. This album is crisp and clean, a one-man army that bounces from the Beach Boys ("Cartoon Music For Superheroes") to Interpol ("Everyone Gets a Star"), from acoustic age ("Blue Skies") to plucky youth ("Call an Ambulance"). He can whistle to the banjo in pure delight or slow down the Beatles on "Well...All Right"; he can also ooze out a pulpy syrup of a song ("Scared"). With a wide range of powerful hooks and clear lyrics to sustain the music. Hammond is all over the place, rising from the deep to the falsetto of "Hard to Live in the City" and flipping playfully on the electric guitar of "Holiday." This is an excellent album that varies in music, but never in quality. [www.myspace.com]

With their second full-length, Coarsegold, Santa Cruz-based The Dying Californian has created a modern sort of dust bowl record that relies far more on simple arrangements and emotion than sonic atmosphere. Those interested in the countrified folk-rock of Wilco and more specifically Son Volt and Jay Farrar will enjoy the delicate sonance of Coarsegold, which maintains a serene and intimate ambience throughout. Nathan Dalton’s sleepy, things-are-bleak vocal style suggests that the good times are behind him, but selfishly, it makes for prime listening. [www.thedyingcalifornian.com]

The post-hardcore movement has never been defined by its use of intricate melody. On Assisted Living, however, Minneapolis quintet Clair De Lune (French for moonlight) manage very controlled elements of punk, emo and hardcore to travel well beyond simple thrash. The riffs are challenging yet explosive, and the band possesses an uncanny ability to stop on a dime and mix up the tempos while still paying attention to the vocals. They’re not even afraid to get downright symphonic, as evidenced through the string arrangements during the title track and “Winning Over Grief and Sorrow,” as well as the stunningly layered bonus tune. Don’t be fooled, though, the aggression is still there. With songs about being annoyed over the shallowness of society and how to cope with it, this is punk for those with an opinion. [www.myspace.com]

The self-proclaimed mission of San Francisco-area quarter Plot Against Rachel is to be “an anti-jam band.” Not sure exactly what that means but on their self-titled 5-song EP, they display excellent restraint to create some truly beautiful music. Songs are constructed around cascading guitars, lush harmonies and relaxed tempos that either erupt into intense interludes (“Terminal A,” “Casual Carpool,” “Onset”) or keep the listener floating along in a mellow trance (“Accord Memory”). The record’s standout, however, is “Drawbridge,” a gorgeously layered track of electric guitar, acoustic guitar and piano reminiscent of older Death Cab. The group’s namesake, Rachel Boller, plays keys and sings, but Plot Against Rachel’s strength is that it has a truly unified sound that doesn’t emphasize a particular player or voice. [www.plotagainstrachel.com]

I’ll be the first to admit that I’m not a rabid fan of modern punk. To me, there are bands that are overtly minimalist and others that create such a big sound it actually waters down the music. The debut full-length from Weatherbox, however, explores the middle ground. With multi-layered guitar arrangements creating a sonic blitz of So-Cal hardcore, American Art is brimming with fiery aggression. Singer Brian Warren displays an impressive vocal range including everything from furious screams to complex intonation that conveys deep-seated emotion, but there are a few rare moments when his style borders San Diego pop-punk. However, Weatherbox always manage to bail themselves out with big crunchy riffs, sophisticated tempos and thunderous thrash that make the listener wonder why there aren’t more punk bands this good. [www.theamericanartalbum.com]

Andreas Söderlund has been done wrong. And by wrong, I mean seriously wrong. On With Blood On My Hands, the debut LP from his band Sounds Like Violence, Söderlund’s gritty vocals convey agony, revulsion and remorse so passionate you’ll be convinced he’s literally teetering on the brink of something destructive. Whether murdering a lover, being left by her or having been killed by her, most of the tracks reference parting ways and death and blood are prevalent themes. Lyrics such as “You were fucking with my friends so I shot you in the head” pretty much encapsulate the fervor of the record. Motifs aside, slashing guitars and throbbing bass give SLV an emo-core sound that’s very modern and melodic. Picture a more dangerous and disturbed My Chemical Romance, only you don’t get the sense this small-town Swedish quartet is acting. [www.soundslikeviolence.com]