Why would I want to hear “It’s a cliché, everything I say/and all the games that we play, every single day” when I can hear “I’m a jet setter/I fuck her and forget her” instead? Is it clever to write a vapid song full of boring lyrics and call it “Cliché”? Not when you’ve got a song called “Get Steady” that shames that forced sincerity in every way. Jonny Lives! envisions mainstream success by getting a song on the Van Wilder: The Rise of Taj soundtrack, a potential indication that they’re not aiming any further than to be pleasantly forgotten among a bunch of other bands that aren’t quite as good. But then lead singer Jonny Dubowsky goes off and says “There's a copious amount of debauchery going on, and it's all inspiration for our music” and Taj seems like it might be a forgettable misstep. As of right now, Jonny Lives! is way too safe to do any of the things they’re capable of, but if they shake some shit up, like if one of them deliberately crashes his car into a school bus, this band could kick ass. [www.jonnylives.com]

So many hip artists are parlaying the folk genre these days—so much that it’s become a tedious job having to wade through to find the worthwhile ones, and it’s increasing difficult to discern any actual “folk” roots other than a penchant for stringed instruments and rusty vocals. The Memory Band quells any preconceived notions of its folk tag with Apron Strings, a collaboration of too many British folk musicians to mention here. Former Badly Drawn Boy bassist Stephen Cracknell is the foundation of the machine, as his songwriting credits are at the heart of nearly every song, and he rotates his instrumental input throughout. The record really isn’t "hip" at all; the warm, whimpering strings and ingratiating melodies sound as though coming from earnest farmers and country-folk who retire to the stables after dinner to exercise their suppressed creativity--farmers who happen to tinker with electronic instruments from time to time, but hell, it's 2007. The lyrics are down-to-earth, not dodgy metaphors or inside monologues considered enigmatic by outsiders. It’s these factors that make Apron Strings the desperately pretty listen that it is. [www.thememoryband.com]

These boys from Louisville, Kentucky are kind of frightening. Their album cover is frightening and the music within is equally unsettling. “Settle Down City” is a noisey thing – thrashing, crashing, droning – before it quiets down so the singer can say some unsettling things before the crazy cacophony starts up again. “The Charmers” isn’t charming. It’s guitars, heavy drums, yelling, creeping thrashings, like the music to a gritty David Fincher film. It’s not, shall we say, good music to woo your lady to this weekend. [www.youngwidows.net]

The Asheville, NC band By Morning has a new five song EP out through A-Rock Records. By Morning is Brandon Lowery (vocals/guitar), Tim McGill (guitar), Lee White (bass), and Brad Gaddy (drums). The first song “Fig. 1 – October” reads under the title of said song, “We forged this love on beach sand and the tide will take everything with it.” That says to me that condom wrappers are now floating in the ocean ready to choke an innocent sea creature and that’s sad. What’s not sad is the fact that these guys know how to rock. “October” has rocking guitars and thrashing drums, as does “Run,” as do all the songs on the EP. It’s similar to a Creed meets Live vibe but with less pretension and, sadly, more floating condom wrappers. [www.myspace.com]

Do you like early Primal Scream? Ever wish that Primal Scream would be reincarnated as young Norwegians? Do you like analogue synthesizers in the vein of Kraftwerk? If you answered "Yes!" to two or more of those questions, then you'll love 120 Days. If their self-titled debut suffers from anything it’s that a few of the songs are too long. This is completely subjective but if they were so inspired to “trim the fat” a little, the songs would serve as the perfect party soundtrack as opposed to the perfect driving soundtrack. [www.120days.no]

Let’s take the quotes off “objective review” for a moment; Evaline’s fan base isn’t going to read anything I write about them. Sometimes it's easy to forget that some bands don't give a shit about indie cred. See, you’re young, you’re hot, and your favorite band is AFI, so just try to have some fun. Cry derivative emo drivel if you will, but the kids need something to fall in love with. All I really have to say about the record is this; if you’re a fan of The Used and Senses Fail you’re going to love it. Otherwise forget you ever heard of Evaline; it’s as simple as that. [www.myspace.com]

A Day To Remember tries to be two bands. One is a New Found Glory-like pop/punk band that's ready to catapult itself into the mainstream and blow up Fall Out Boy style (yes, a dual pop/punk band reference sentence). The other is quasi hardcore/screamo band that doesn't sound like anything the radio would ever dream of playing. The main problem is that the screamo part isn't very good at all and the pop/punk part is mildly decent at best. Overall, the songs on For Those Who Have Heart come across as indecisive and spastic as the band itself, aside from the fact that it covers pretty much every cookie-cutter pop/punk cliche in the book (including the obligatory acoustic/piano ballad, which, with "The Price We Pay," may be the best song on the album). The band could be pretty good with a little maturity and direction; however, only time will really tell if the band has the heart for it. [www.myspace.com]

Dan Keyes, the former frontman for punk outfit Recover, has taken quite a turn. Gone are the roaring guitars and other staples of the grunge/punk scene he left behind. In their place are club dance beats and smooth vocals. It's an interesting change, but one that actually works better than you'd think. Sadly, I don't know enough about Keyes' old band to make a real comparison, but I can tell you for sure, Too Young to Fight is no punk rock album. It's upbeat and peppy (most noticably on lead track "Discotech"), but still manages to hold onto a certain edge befitting of the artist's musical background. But fear not, it's neither too dancy for the rockers nor is it too rocking for the clubbers; somehow, Keyes manages to find suitable middle ground that will make both parties happy and keep them dancing (or rocking) into the night. [www.thisisyounglove.com]

Beneath the Sky is a self-proclaimed metalcore band with very little to offer the genre. Working out of the mass that is the Victory Records' artist roster, it's hard to listen to this record and think that they could actually have something new to say or do. Sure, all the pieces are there: massive, crunching, breakneck speed guitars; vocals that are screamed 90% of the time with the occassional singing break; band photos that show the members are really dark or deep, along with an equally dark album cover to match the recording's sinister title. In spite of all this, it still seems tired (and sneaking a peek at the lyrics in the jacket don't help, as they only continue the stereotype) and this band will no doubt have a hard time finding their place amongst all the other bands that sound just like they do. [www.beneaththesky.net]

"Wow!", I thought when I put Epode on. The drummer is pretty tight. After that, it was all downhill from there. The vocals on this are almost unlistenable. Which sometimes can work, but here it doesn't at all. The guy sounds like he's trying to impersonate Michael Stipe with the flu. Which is bad on both counts. The guitars are somwhat complex and entertaining, but nothing you can't hear on some random up and coming band's web page. These songs are totally non-cohesive. In fact, this sounds like a collection of demos with a mellow bass solo thrown in at the end. Did I say how bad the vocals were? Yeah, I had to reiterate that. [www.myspace.com]

Peter Bjorn and John possess one of the worst monikers in music. What they also have to their name, however, is a near-perfect pop record with their third release, Writer’s Block. Thanks to an irresistible first single, “Young Folks,” the worldwide hype surrounding this Stockholm trio has been excruciating, but for a change, it’s lived up to. With a unique hybrid of influences ranging from classical to '60s pop to new wave and far beyond, their sound is hard to classify. The songs seem like 11 different canvases yet somehow it all pieces together perfectly. Layered with arrangements of endless instrumentation (maracas, dulcimers, Spanish guitar, and steel pan are just some), they make every sound purposeful and each song cohesive. They’re unlikely to stay media darlings forever, but they’ve definitely earned their acclaim. [www.peterbjornandjohn.com]

My brother just got back from living in Canberra, Australia for six months. There are many things he liked about being Down Under but he couldn’t stop raving about The Cat Empire. “They’re just so fun. They love making good ol’ party music.” Right you are, dear brother. “The Car Song” is a zippy little tune. “Sol y Sombra” starts off with simple piano before blossoming into the kind of tune you’d dance to with your wife while on vacation in Honduras somewhere, perhaps at a street plaza café where stars are twinkling above and, far off in the hills, you hear cows lowing. Two Shoes, recorded in Cuba at the Egrem Studio (the studio used by the Buena Vista Social Club), is a wonderfully warm amalgam of musical stylings--funk, jazz, ska--and their unbridled enthusiasm for their tunes (whether you like that type of music or not) will make you tap your fingers along the steering wheel as you listen to it, driving to your brother’s house for a charged game of Pictionary. [www.thecatempire.com]

Driving dance beats, wailing vocals atop it. That’s The Photo Atlas. It’s sort of like The Cure had they not been so freakin’ depressed all the time. The Denver band has toured with the likes of Alkaline Trio, The Thermals, and These Arms Are Snakes. No, Not Me, Never is filled with energetic, pulsating tunes that’ll make the kids want to throw their arms up in the air just like they don’t care. “Light and Noise,” is just that, a light plucky tune with punchy noises. “She Was a Matador” has a fast boogie beat (and a great song title). Every song, however, sounds like the one before it and soon it becomes a muddle of drums beats, samples, guitar riffs, and screaming vocalists. Perhaps it’ll make the kids want to throw their arms down after awhile. I mean, it’s tiring listening to all this dance music. [www.myspace.com]

When I heard Van Morrison would be releasing an album called Van Morrison At the Movies, I wondered if it would consist of him covering movie songs, which sounds like a bad idea. In reality, the album is a compilation of his songs that have appeared on various soundtracks through the years, so if you already have an extensive Van Morrison collection, you will probably want to skip this. However, if you’re looking for a good entry point into Morrison’s work, this album is a wonderful place to start. [www.vanmorrison.com]

Wintersleep’s untitled sophomore album (well, it's technically called Untitled) doesn’t hold up to the fact the group has been deemed the “best band in [its native] Halifax” for the past three years. Nor do the comparisons to Radiohead or Mogwai hold much water. Those two bands are known for being miners of sound, explorers of new territory on the musical landscape. Wintersleep may owe a minimal amount of influence to those bands, but these Canadians aren’t rehashing either’s experimental bent. But in its own right, the album at hand is haunting and pretty, a tribute to abysmally cold atmospheres and slight-but-pretty guitar melodies. It takes until about the fourth track before Wintersleep really hits its stride, but from that point on, they’re undertaking an engaging endeavor of an album. [www.wintersleep.com]

While ex-bandmate Damon Albarn gets fuzzier and fuzzier in the wacky eccentricities of his side projects (Gorillaz, The Good, the Bad and the Queen), guitarist Graham Coxon proves he was more than Blur’s second banana. This new collection of songs shows that Coxon was more often than not the musical meat and potatoes of that band. Compare “I Can’t Look at Your Skin” with “Trouble in the Message Center,” or “Just a State of Mind” with “This is a Low.” For Blur fans, this is not the holy grail, but it is as close to revisiting the glory days of Britpop as we are liable to get. At least until the next generation of popsters come of age. [www.grahamcoxon.co.uk]

Despite her irritating voice (the baby girl vowels and clipped consonants), precious lyrical references (quoting Anaïs Nin and making who-knows-what from the “Shenandoah” chorus), and a single melody approach divided by one recurring interval, I was won over by The Brightness, the singer/songwriter's debut for Ani DiFranco's Righteous label. There is something about this voice trying to cut through the blandness of her rural Vermont that seems necessary, although it is still too amorphous to bear definition. [www.anaismitchell.com]

Eclectic is the best word to describe Orgeon prog-rockers Kaddisfly. Within the first three tracks, the band covers everything from stadium rock to a hint of jazz, and that's only just the beginning. Far be it from the band to lock themselves into a box, Set Sail the Prairie, is an incredible musical journey through each month of the year full of lush instrumentals, smooth vocals and poetic lyrics. The band also manages to do an excellent job of mixing pop sensibilities into their art rock sound while never falling into the traps of most pop music. All in all, Set Sail the Prairie is a stirring art album that is worthy of praise and enjoyment. [www.kaddisfly.com]

It turns out that getting a record deal now is pretty easy. Myspace has drastically altered the qualifications for studio contracts, and now every blog-pouring, drama-hating, My Chemical Romance obsessive with a computer is a talent scout. Turns out, they’re all whores for the same shit; screaming is necessary, power chords churn like gigantic hydroelectric dams, melodies must be huge--and constant. Fall Out Boy wins, The All American Rejects settle for closing credits on Laguna Beach, and record companies pretend that all their bands don’t sound exactly the same. It isn’t the end of the world; girls will always need something to listen to after their boyfriends sleep with their BFFs, but as cute kids with shaggy hair start recycling bands that have made careers out of recycling other bands that weren’t even good to begin with, it gets sort of nauseating. And with that I introduce The Rails, a label-less band from Cleveland that dreams of writing songs for a wiser-than-emo crowd that still needs something to heal the pain. It’s emo that wants with excruciating conviction to be more than emo, and after drifting through a number of agonizingly incompatible genres ('90s alt-rock, '80s college rock, aimless chamber pop), begrudgingly settles for power pop. See, Life’s a Lonely Ride would do well as Jimmy Eat World incarnate, it could probably even garner the band a record deal, but its ambitions run too high, and instead it finds itself straining to do something innovative and then sounding sort of like Jimmy Eat World. The problem is that all the record’s potential uniqueness comes in the form of drawing from too many influences and then ripping off all of them, song by song. The only sense of continuity is an artistic ambivalence and a depressing lack of energy that keeps the songs from being even forgettable good times driving music. The most depressing thing about Life’s a Lonely Ride is that its best song, “Tonight,” is the only one that fits perfectly into the category that the band struggles so ardently to avoid. It’s the reluctant thesis statement in an album that proves that sometimes home is in the high school cafeteria. Maybe next time The Rails will have figured that out, and will release an album full of the stuff that could quite possibly make them famous. Otherwise they’ll have a circle jaded critics used to better music giving them points for effort as they pan the new album. It’s a tough decision, good luck guys. [www.railsrailsrails.com]

Often overlooked as a precursor of the punk/new wave scene that broke into the public consciousness a decade later (or more aptly, precursors of post-punk), Houston’s The Red Crayola (or Krayola) laid the foundation for the most manic, artsy and experimental offshoots of the punk movement. Led by Mayo Thompson’s psychedelic eccentricities and bizarre wordplay, the band rivaled Captain Beefheart’s visionary scope, but instead of a blues freak-out, Thompson freely explored the outer boundaries of his artist’s imagination, boasting stylistic tendencies unrivaled at the time. Soldier-Talk is the band’s third album, released in 1979 after an 11-year respite. Thompson enlisted the duties of like-minded oddballs to push the record to the limits of musical absurdity; the guest list boasts the entirety of Pere Ubu’s ’79 lineup, as well as X-Ray Spex saxophonist Lora Logic. Though it’s not considered to be the band’s classic (1968’s God Bless the Red Krayola… is associated with that title), Soldier-Talk is one twisted document of its era, and when juxtaposed with all its post-punk offspring, it makes those kids look like, well, kids. [www.dragcity.com]