The multi-talented harpist, pianist and songwriter from California who is Joanna Newsom delivers the already much-acclaimed Ys., a sophomore release lingering on her unique style and sensitivity from the previous album, 2004's The Milk-Eyed Mender, but goes further with her utilization of daring rhythms, ranging from African to classical to a folkier side. And then there’s Newsom's voice. That distinct voice, so akin to that of Björk mating with a cat. Background music this is not. Newsom is so different, so weird that her music takes true patience and persistence to enjoy. After a few listens, the surprising turns of melody almost become…enjoyable. A highlight of the album is the nearly ten minute long fable, “Monkey and the Bear.” The vaudeville style music tells the playful story of the journey of its title's two mammalian characters. Newsom significantly shifts the style of her vocals in this track, from unpredictable shrieks and squeals, to a smoky, more subdued sound. Ys definitely has some pitfalls, though. Towards the end of the album, Newsom's voice gradually become grating and tedious. But, the sheer individuality of it all, from the trippy lyrics to the throbbing harp is enough to snare at least temporary interest. [www.dragcity.com]

“If you get a great vocal and drum sound, you’ve got a great record. Everything in between is just racket.” The truth of this bit of engineering wisdom is born out through the Cardigans' latest, Super Extra Gravity. From the opening track, Bengt Lagerberg’s drums and Nina Persson’s vocals grab you and shake you. The melody that emerges late in the first verse of “Losing A Friend,” turns an innocuous country rock ballad into a blazing farewell dirge from a person setting out on a road to nowhere. “Godspell” is a pretty standard rock tune saved by the innuendo of its hook line: “It’s not murder, it’s an act of faith,” and an offhanded reference to the guitar break of The Rolling Stone’s “Bitch.” This Swedish band has been putting out solid records for ten years now and, like their Dutch neighbors, Bettie Serveert, continue to be overlooked and dismissed in the States. “Don’t Blame Your Daughters” is reminiscent of another unappreciated pop chanteuse: Natalie Imbruglia, whose “White Lilies Island” remains one of this decade’s lasting pleasures. While alternative singers grab most of the attention, catchy pop music from literate girls who can rock often gets marginalized. This said, Super Extra Gravity is a little light in the middle. Composer/guitarist Peter Svensson needs to come up with better hooks. The opening is strong and the ending even better, but much of the material just misses being memorable. It is a nice listen, with Persson’s sexy and persuasive vocals always on this side of heaven, but is unlikely to be counted among the band’s best releases. [www.cardigans.com]

Barenaked Ladies are certainly not me, even if their latest record, Barenaked Lades Are Me, claims to be. But from their universal (yet personal) lovesick struggles, I wouldn't mind if they were. Besides, the Canadians can actually write music, and they can play it too. Though one line says "I'm a tired old metaphor," their lines are slick: their "villainous imagination" leads to rhymes like "I need to love you like a secret list/I need to love you until you don't exist." A bunch of songs are about vanishing within (or because of) love, but Barenaked Ladies hasn't faded at all over the years. They've just shifted their emphasis, mellowed out, and decided to take things easier. To the fans looking for comic gems, those lines are few and far between ("I can't believe that you'd believe that I would fake it/wait--unless you count the things I said when we were naked"), and the few jokey songs like "Bank Job" (about a heist gone badly) don't have the punchy rhythms of previous hits. The only issue is that while the group seems to have deepened their sound with tracks like "Maybe You're Right," they've also produced a bunch of humdrum material, like "Vanishing," which lives up to its name but not the promising metaphor of magic ("With a wave of a wand/he'll pull your heartstrings"). The same thing happens to a bunch of songs with good lyrics, too. "Rule the World with Love" gets caught in the leaden beat, and even a medley of strings can't save it. The same doesn't go for "Sound of Your Voice," which avoids a similar fate by riffing on voice and guitar: this is a rock group that can sing really well. And their words are really entertaining: from the simple sweetness of the sleeper hit, "Adrift" ("The onion rings, the phone makes me cry/something isn't right/like the Deep Blue without the Great White") to the quick-stepping strength of the best song, "Wind It Up," which sums up the modern classicism of the group: "Throw your sticks and stones/throw your mobile phone." Also, somewhere in there, perhaps with the trick combinations of instruments (like mandolin and double bass), they've managed to evoke the warm feelings of home, as on "Home." The banjo has influenced this newest album a lot, from actual tracks to acoustic rhythms in others (like "Easy"). The mellow sound of Coldplay shows up in the background of tracks like "Maybe You're Right" and "Take It Back," but BNL are less about crooning and more about a direct playfulness. The album's subtle and the music's effusive: this slow, easy-to-listen-to rock is suddenly under your skin. And you know what? If a group still does that after fifteen years, they are me (or at least for me). [www.bnlmusic.com]

California's The Bellrays haven't changed much over their career. While the band's contemporaries (Detroit Cobras, Dirtbombs, The Husbands) seem to be far more concentrated on sounding like clones of the American garage movement of the early '60s, Lisa Kekaula and company seem to be more interested in straying from the mold. Their musical repertoire has expanded to include more nuance than ever before here on their sixth album, Have A Little Faith. Front-woman Kekaula still roars over portions of the song and then dials back to a sultry whisper whenever necessary but now there are horn ensembles and pizzicato strings weaving in and out of the ruckus. Have A Little Faith opens by channeling Curtis Mayfield's wah-wah pedal with the song "Tell the Lie." The track's nearest relative on the record is the title number--they both share a similar aesthetic with wah-wah guitar parts that seem that they would be just as comfortable on a Bill Withers record. The punk/garage-influenced song "Detroit Breakdown" is the standout song as far as I'm concerned. It seems to be aimed directly at their contemporaries and begs the question "Do you live here every day of your life?" Bassist/producer Robert Vennum's lyrics lament the fact that the primary forces behind Detroit's proto-punk/garage movement are long gone: "No more Iggy or the MC5 / Wayne's [Kramer] been doin' it in LA now / So you're just livin' a lie." I found the record growing a little tedious by the time the last two songs came on, there just wasn't enough variance to carry the record through. Ultimately though, the album is good. It would make a welcome addition to the collection of fans of Motown, garage, and soul. The Bellrays have more than proven themselves as being at the forefront of the garage revival and are certain to produce quite a few more albums in the future. While their Maximum Rock 'n' Soul mantra may not be reinventing the wheel, I doubt anyone has asked them to. [www.thebellrays.com]

Finally, colossal rock has returned to planet Earth. It allegedly comes by way of Venus, the second rock from the sun, and the place Valient Thorr calls home. According to rock legend, the members of the band crashed their spaceship in North Carolina some 50 years ago. Wise men say Walt Disney soon stole their time machine, stranding them on the blue planet and blocking their return to the river city of Burlatia. Rock fans the world over owe Mickey Mouse an enormous debt of gratitude. Armed only by ammunition of the six-string variety, Valient Thorr has embarked on a quest to bring true rock back to the masses. Under the leadership of Valient Himself, Vailent Thorr rocked hundreds of American cities and sold thousands of albums. Their latest album, The Legend of the World, sends a clear message to all the armies that have stood in their way: Valient Thorr cannot be stopped. The Legend of the World summons the awesome powers of rock's most powerful gods -- Iron Maiden, Motorhead, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, AC/DC and The Who, to name a few. It's a relentless assault of guitar fury and drum mastery. And earthly creatures might not be able to experience the full effect of such craftsman ship if they don't to listen to the record as loud as humanly possible. Face-melting solos, gut-busting drum beats and earth-shaking vocals are all that matter to these Venusians. Anchoring The Legend of the World is the seven-minute epic, "Fall of Pangea," which was inspired by the cruel fate of the great dinosaur race. Videogame fans might recognize the track from Guitar Hero II. "Heatseeker" and "Goveruptcy" also relay the all-important message, loud and clear, that rock will not be denied on this planet, not by the American government or any other. Let us all bow down to the monsters of rock! Resistance is futile. Long live Thorr! [www.vailentthorr.com]

Things were just so much easier in the summer of 1997. Nobody knew or cared that most of baseball's greatest sluggers were chemically-enhanced or that President Clinton was enjoying a few "cigars" with one of his interns on the taxpayers' dime. Michael Jackson still had a nose. Tom Cruise was still considered mentally stable. And ska music was still the bomb. Our Live Album Is Better Than Your Live Album, the latest effort from the pop-punk staples Reel Big Fish, is like a postcard from this easier life. All the RBF classics are on this one, as well as a few snazzy covers that will bring back all kinds of good memories from the summer Mike Tyson snacked on Evander Holyfield's ear. Amazingly, all the cuts from the 1997 smash record Turn The Radio Off still sound fresh -- even "Sell Out," a track that has found a second life because of college basketball pep bands. The band's enthusiasm on "She Has A Girlfriend Now" also should bring smiles to anyone who was immature enough to laugh it back in the day just because thought it was straight out of Jerry Springer. Of course, no ska show would be complete without a few silly cover tunes. RBF whips out its now-classic tribute to A-Ha's "Take On Me." But they also bust out some new tricks with a hilariously well-played version of Tracy Chapman's "Talkin' Bout A Revolution." (On a side note, she might have been more successful freeing Tibet and solving the rest of the world's problems in the '90s if she had a horn section behind her. Seriously, think about it.) It's also worth noting that RBF sandwiched the live album with an in-concert DVD. Aging hipsters are probably better off sticking to the audio section -- a good hard look at the current state of RBF is guaranteed to make any old-school fan of the band feel OLD. [www.reelbigfish.com]

Locksley aren't engineering anything new with Don't Make Me Wait, but that doesn't mean the youthful New York City quartet isn't careening around the decades between the '60s and the present to deliver one of the catchiest records of the modern garage rock revival. Hell, the record almost subverts the intentions of like-minded artists (Maximo Park and The Strokes both come to mind) through its impeccable songcraft and insouciant melodies, and it's too fun and sing-songy to really strike as something too serious or pretentious. Despite the band's fashionista schtick of matching suits and skinny ties, Locksley's debut long-player isn't ultra-polished or primed for Top 40 airplay. Don't be surprised if they're this year's Killers though, as they've already made a round of the United States with the Brightside crew and The Rapture, and are getting regular play on MTV. "She Does" would today be a staple of '60s rock had it sprung up alongside The Rolling Stones; vocalist Jess Laz yelps and yowls with the natural gumption of Roger Daltrey. Other tracks lean more towards the pop side, full of candeyed harmonies and abundant vigor. Some new series on that shitebag of a network called MTV requested that Locksley pen something to be its theme song--I'll be kicking myself for the support of blatant capitalism on the part of a band, but "Why Not Me" is indelibly catchy. I'm aiming to not burn myself out on it just yet, as it'll surely be co-opted by Myspace pages galore in the coming months. So it goes, I guess. This really is a damn excellent debut. And yeah, everyone who gets into it now will probably despise it by year's end from excessive play in all the "wrong" places, but for now Don't Make Me Wait is poised to make this band--let's not hope they're soon broken by the brunt of the indie elite's heavily-spiked club. [www.bandoflocksley.com]

After a breakout hit with 2004’s Mmhmm, Relient K is back with what may their most complete work to date. Five Score and Seven Years Ago (a play on the space between the band’s first album and this, their fifth) is pop/punk gold that successfully toes the overtly cheesy line while at times hitting a level of honesty the band hasn’t reached before. Five Score begins with “Take the Fifth,” a peppy intro track which hints at an homage to Honest Abe Lincoln and his untimely death, but the album really kicks off with “Come Right Out And Say It,” an upbeat tune that has ‘single’ written all over it. The next track, “I Need You,” is one of the album’s best and allows the band to show a little heavier side but not without the including their own personal touch. “Forgiven” is another standout track and the haunting piano intro is a stirring contrast to the song’s uplifting message. This is followed by “Must Have Done Something Right,” the first single off the album, which, for anyone who might have been worried, is in no way indicative of the rest of the album, though its sugary goodness is impossible to resist. “Give” and “Devastation and Reform” follow; the former is a moving song about giving everything to God “until there’s nothing else,” and the latter contains possibly the best lead riff the band has ever produced. “Faking My Own Suicide” is a slightly morbid yet sweet song that is also one of the most unique on the album, with its steel guitar and bluegrass roots giving the album a nice break. “Bite My Tongue” and “Up and Up” bridge the gap nicely between the previous song and the album’s stellar and epic closing track, “Deathbed.” This final song tells the story of a man who, while lying on his deathbed, looks back on his life and how, in spite of how far he fell, Jesus still gave him a chance to spend eternity with Him. Clocking in at just over 11 minutes and featuring guest vocals from Switchfoot’s Jon Foreman, the track is a wonderful close to the album, as it plays with different styles and time signatures to craft a song that is beautiful and honest at the same time. Overall, the album is a very strong effort from the band. It’s not perfect by any stretch, but it certainly does what it sets out to do. The most impressive thing about the album is just how much it shows how far Relient K has come. The progression that this band has taken, from uber-goofy unaffecting pop/punk to a mature, sometimes thought provoking (yet still) pop/punk band is tremendous. I don't know of many bands that have progressed as well as they have. I've been very impressed with how far they've come and think Five Score will be a lasting album that will be remembered at year's end. [www.relientk.com]

Lo, to be a post-millenial post-rocker; the spectre of Slint as pervasively haunting as that ghost in Bowser’s castle, the genre’s grand day out at the turn of the century as bygone an era as the swing revival. Monolithic tempos and doomsday atmospherics soldier on into the pictures (see the ease with which Mogwai fit Miami Vice), but wordless chunks of overlong tension with occasional release seem largely devoid of whatever weight they might’ve once carried. So it’s a very heavy trip indeed that Ohio-based after-rockers The Six Parts Seven’s Casually Smashed to Pieces takes one on, glistening its way, as it does, into the upper echelon of early 2007 releases. Taking cues from Shrimp Boat and their resulting wake, the band finds favor in its supple melodic sweep, supergluing tumbling guitars and twinkling banjos to their directional churn. If Godspeed You! Black Emperor was a glorybound victory lap and Sigur Ros a submersion in neonatal fluid, Casually Smashed feels more like a dip in a lazy river, and indeed, the emphasis on the pastoral both fuels and distinguishes the record. Shades of Spiritualized’s heavy sedation and even a bit of Lambchop’s highfalutin’ hillbilly histrionics rear their pretty heads, but Casually Smashed amalgamates familiar sounds rather than overtly borrowing them. There are times when I’d kill for a lyric or two—and not simply because it’s no easy task to put words to the voiceless—but Casually Smashed to Pieces’ thirty-one minutes refuse to drag and repeatedly compel. [www.suicidesqueeze.net]

Only half of the new Outkast title Idlewild is correct -- the group's ever-developing sound is certainly wild, but it's far from idle. This particular album, designed as an stand-alone accompaniment to Outkast's musical film of the same name, isn't content to stand in one place and be labeled as mere hip-hop. Aside from the tracks attached to the movie (which is set in the '30s and fused to samples and styles from that era accordingly), the songs jump all over the place, from Big Boi's domestic dispute on "Peaches" to Andre 3000's catchy blues on "Idlewild Blues" and jazz of "When I Look In Your Eyes." No sooner have you settled into the straight-laced raps of "Mighty O" or "N2U," than the album splits to the marching-band rhythm of "Morris Brown." This is akin to the members of Outkast themselves, who have taken to recording separate tracks even as they claim to remain together. Whatever they want to call it, group album or solo effort, movie soundtrack or companion piece, Idlewild is, simply put, an excellent album. There's an abundance of creativity and daring: for instance, when was the last time you heard two hip-hop artists ride the undercurrent of an electric-guitar for six minutes before coming in for some distorted rapping at the end ("A Bad Note")? Big Boi winds up dominating the album, with solid and largely orchestrated hits like "The Train," "Buggface," and "Call The Law" holding down the fort as Dre splits off in a dozen different eccentric directions, from the powerful "Life is like a Musical" to the hit-or-miss "Chronomentrophobia" and the enjoyable but silly "Makes No Sense At All." The few contributions to the album by both personalities are rich, especially "Hollywood Divorce" (which also features Snoop Dogg and Lil' Wayne), but the overall production is so fine that the album works just as well as an anthology of different artists, from featured performers (like Sleepy Brown & Scar and Janelle Monae) to Outkast itself. When you throw this much talent into a room, at worst you get an unfocused collection of songs. At best, as is the case with Idlewild, you get a rich tapestry of sound and an addictive album. [www.outkast.com]

Comets on Fire's follow-up to the acclaimed Blue Cathedral, Avatar, shows their continuing desire to tweak their progressive sound. The irony in their sound is that I couldn't shake the feeling I was in the '60s. The greater, while still understated, emphasis on vocals--while not necessarily impressive--adds a slightly new, intriguing twist. This is evident when they're at their best, most notably when they're more sedate and blues-like on the third track of the album, "Lucifer's Memory". For the most part, the rest of the album seems to base itself off the prominent, simple basslines of Ben Flashman, setting the stage for their countless jams. When looking back, those jams are probably the make-or-break points of the album. While these psychedelic, meandering tangents are ear-catching at first, they're instantly forgettable. All of this isn't to say Avatar should be disregarded by anyone and everyone. In fact, those classic, jam, and psych-rock lovers out there that just can't seem to let go of the good ol' days would probably enjoy this vintage sound with a modern day energetic, progressive kick to it. However, this album never really does take a hold of my consciousness. But hey, I'm sure this would be absolutely hypnotizing if I was high. [www.subpop.com]

There are instances in life when circumstances or the actions of other people prove why certain phrases, often designated as clichés, have survived the passing of time. Langhorne Slim’s Engine not only gives credibility to the person who originally exhorted a performer to “leave them wanting more” but takes that idea to a whole new level. This four-song EP tops out at just over 11 minutes yet the quality of each track makes the promise of Slim’s next full-length (to be released sometime this year) a wonderfully exciting proposition. “English Tea” opens the record with a style just as quaint and pleasing as its namesake beverage. Set against a backdrop of acoustic guitar and violin, Slim sings praise for a woman, telling her “you take on mythical forms and you never seem to get bored.” Next is “Restless” which employs finger-picked guitars and shuffling snares to a create a pastoral vibe as Slim ironically and descriptively relates a sense of yearning: “I felt restless and I felt soft/I didn’t know anymore who I was ripping off/I packed a picnic lacking seriously on food/I had more wine than I knew what with to do….I just don’t know what it is to be free.” “Honey Pie” ratchets up both tempo and volume taking the folk textures of the previous songs to a chaotic, bluesy place where juicy organs and gritty vocals reign supreme. The album closes with “Sweet Olive Tree” which marries gentle guitars with stark lyrics that detail the many sides of love. Engine will definitely appeal to those who enjoy the rustic folk of Iron and Wine or the spirited angst of Bright Eyes. This brief yet powerful clinic on songwriting should even catch the attention of those without organic roots music on their radar. While I’m sure Langhorne Slim will deliver on the promise of an exciting new album, don’t wait that long. Check out Engine and give your anticipation time to grow. [www.langhorneslim.com]

The premise is fairly simple; the latest in Fearless Records' Punk Goes... series (in previous installments Punk has gone 80’s, Pop, Acoustic and Metal) features a collection of both established and rising punk/alternative bands covering significant songs from the rock canon of last decade. As one whose musically formative years came in the mid/late 90’s, I was curious to see how the songs of my youth (I think I aged just typing that sentence) would be re-interpreted on this record. The results are definitely mixed as each rendition seems to fall into one of several distinct groups. The first is made up of covers that stay relatively faithful to the original yet display enough originality to be noticeable. Hit the Lights’ pop/punk treatment of Gin Blossoms “Hey Jealousy” and Anberlin’s reworking of Depeche Mode’s “Enjoy the Silence” fall into this category and are two of the record’s definite highlights. The second grouping features recordings that breathe a fresh life into the original track. Emery’s ambient, balladic arrangement of “All I Want” (Toad the Wet Sprocket) and Mae’s uncharacteristically aggressive version of NIN’s “March of the Pigs” rank among the most inspired of the album’s contributions. Soundgarden’s “Black Hole Sun”, as done by Copeland doesn’t quite compare to the aforementioned tracks but is a worthy effort along the same creative path. The final category, consisting of the attempts that fall flat, unfortunately includes far too many of the album’s tracks. Some suffer for lack of a spark while others try far too hard: Gym Class Heroes’ rap/rock take on “Under the Bridge” and The Killing Moon’s electronic/ska/I’m not sure what pass at Alanis Morrisette’s “You Oughta Know” are among the worst offenders. Fans of these and similar bands (other notable participants include The Starting Line and Cartel) will likely enjoy the “new” material from these artists. Those wistful for a bit of their rock and roll childhood may find several tracks to hang old memories on but would do better to dig out their back catalog of CDs. [www.myspace.com]

Every time I wrote a positive review of Leonard Cohen back in Madison, WI I used to get hate mail or phone calls from feminists about what a sexist male pig he is. Well, excuse me! No death threats though. Those were reserved for 13 year-old Billy Gilman fans. All I asked was why Billy's band, Nashville Veterans, had to call him "Sir" and pretend to look up to him on that there riser. Looking up to Leonard Cohen, however, is a totally different matter. The kids, as my friend AJ Franks, a 75 year-old jazz pianist, used to call Ian & Sylvia, seem to have no difficulty with that. And Cohen is so benevolent, self-effacing and, as always, hilarious, there's no pain involved. These 16 performances by Cohen acolytes (and who isn't one of those?) such as Rufus Wainwright, Teddy Thompson, Jarvis Cocker, Martha Wainwright, Beth Orton, Nick Cave and U2 (with Cohen), are, as Uncle Lou (Reed) once put it, "the dawning of a new age." There have been other Cohen tribute recordings, and Cohen on others' tributes. Hal Willner's take on Mingus has a Cohen cut. But none even come close. Cut your losses and cash in your cookies for this one instead. Recorded at Willner's "Came So Far For Beauty" at the Sydney Opera House, etc. in 2005 it also includes a cut from Antony, Reed's back-up singer, "discovered" by Laurie Anderson. Suffice it to say: "If Mozart is the voice of God, then Antony is his/her/Krishna's et al's, messenger." Have you heard this man sing "If It Be Your Will" yet? Are you experienced? Then there is Martha Wainwright, a budding Bonnie Raitt who can play guitar and sing maybe even better, though Raitt remains sui generis. That's the thing about this recording. It remains a tribute to a great poet and ordained Buddhist monk, who was "born with a golden voice" and it also takes, in tandem, Cohen to new levels. To have this much love thrown back at you while still around to hear it is divinely to be wished. Perla Batalla and Julie Christensen, two of Cohen's back-up singers, are abslolutely transcendent on "Anthem." Jarvis Cocker nails "I Can't Foget" from the Phil Spector produced "Death Of A Lady's Man." Cohen says the punks took it up and "[his] daughter likes it." All your children like it Leonard. "And I can't forget what I don't remember what." Eat your heart out, Johnny Rotten. Nick Cave was born to sing "I'm Your Man" and "Suzanne," with Christensen and Batalla. And then, there is U2 on "I'm Your Man," redux. Can I be in your tribute if you can be in mine? "There is a hole, a hole in everything. That's where the light gets in." [www.leonardcohenimyourman.com]

Dawnbringer, to those who are familiar with it, is a labor of love from the mind of Chris Black, a Chicago-based musician and writer who has lent his bass, drum and vocal skills to a diverse selection of metal projects such as Pharaoh, Nachmystium and Superchrist. With the release of In Sickness and In Dreams, Dawnbringer has pulled off what has tragically become the rarest of feats in extreme metal music today: a distinctive and exciting album that is memorable and (dare I say it?) fun to listen to. Breaking new ground in metal is not an easy task and, in truth, it’s usually not worth the trouble anyway. With Pharoah and Superchrist, Mr. Black has helped to create some immensely enjoyable (albeit derivative) music. Each of those bands wears their metal heroes on their collective gauntlet, but at least they throw the damn thing down! In Sickness And In Dreams, however, is more cunning and clever in the way that it draws blood from an array of metal influences, seamlessly amalgamating sub-genres with remarkable focus and consistency. Black’s vocals jump from demonic Quarthonian snarls to witching Halfordesque falsettos and back. The lyrics are refreshingly vivid, cagey and opaque, but he seems to be simultaneously painting and addressing silhouettes of complex and imperfect characters and the imbalance left by their absence (...or something like that). The guitars find a way to straddle this confluence of metal styles and themes as Scott Hoffman thrashes along relentlessly while Matt Johnsen’s solos flare and flicker with the dramatic iridescence of prime-era Maiden and Priest, harmonies layered with bountiful gratuity. You will be amazed to find how many fresh ideas can still be found on an album that pretty much plays one beat the entire time (if you do not love that classic galloping hardcore/rockabilly/polka beat, this album is not for you). It is that paradoxical blend of naked simplicity and turbid convolution that makes this album so interesting. In an age when one-trick-pony bands pile on copious wankery and filler just to pass the time, Dawnbringer has managed to borrow elements from 25+ years of metal and smash it into one 24-and-a-half-minute eruption of power, glory, and thrash @#%$*ing metal! [www.battlekommand.com]

When I agreed to review Richard Buckner’s Meadow, I headed to his MySpace page to get a feel for his sound, as I have never listened to him prior to this. I was instantly intrigued by what I heard, and waited with bated breath for the album to arrive. When I got it, I was pleased to hear the record delivered on the promises made by his MySpace page. As I listened to Meadow, I couldn’t help but to think of a more stripped-down version of Pete Yorn. Both employ surrealistic lyrics to express what’s on their mind, and there is a similar quality to the vocal work; but where Yorn uses alt-country staples as a starting point for his music, Buckner makes himself right at home in the genre, serving up a great dosage of rootsy melancholy. I was particularly impressed by the opening track, “Town,” which reminded me of a good,well-aged 80's college rock anthem. Other key tracks include the gorgeous “Before” and the penultimate track “Spell.” After giving Meadow several spins, I can conclusively say it was a wise choice, and that Buckner has gained a new fan. [www.mergerecords.com]

The more I listen to this riff-based guitar and drum duo, the less annoyed I am with their derivativeness, and the more I enjoy their exuberance at simply rocking out. This is nothing more or less than what it is. A guitarist and drummer in a basement running through a batch of songs that are as unoriginal as they are unpretentious. The first three songs are actually pretty good, with “You’re the One” a standout. Unlike The White Stripes, who can get obnoxious in their forced attempts at reinventing the blues, The Black Keys play close to the belt. This is their fourth studio album, and their first on the prestigious Nonesuch label. It starts out with a nod to Jimi Hendrix feedback. On “Just a Little Heat,” they have the audacity to begin with three very famous Led Zeppelin notes. Fans of '70s era heavy rock can find dozens of albums superior in every way to Magic Potion, but none of them have been released in the last ten years. [www.theblackkeys.com]

"Ah ha," the title of the first track, on these Los Angeles boys' self-titled debut gives a significant clue as to the nature of exactly what giants have held an influence over them. Not just A-ha, but The Bee Gees, Madonna, and The Pet Shop Boys are among the inspirations here. Listeners who agree that these are truly the giants of popular music will undoubtedly thrill to this retro outfit. Under the Influence of Giants would make an ideal house band for an '80s themed dance club, but the band's debut is simply an out-of-sync, obnoxious reminder of the coke-addled nights and sleepwalking days of the Reagan era. The band is more than credible in emulating this music, which is either a good or bad thing, depending upon personal tastes. There are sure to be many who have been waiting 20 years for a band like this to come along. And others, like myself, won’t be able to stand it. [www.utiog.com]

The buzz around Simon Dawes quietly continues to grow. The Californa quartet has already toured with artists like Maroon 5, The Walkmen, Band of Horses and Eisley and the critical reaction to Carnivore, their first full-length, has only added to the excitement enveloping the group. So often, the work of a young band simply isn’t strong enough to justify their own press but thankfully, with Simon Dawes, this is not the case. Carnivore is a first-rate album characterized by tuneful melodies, alternately raucous and plaintive guitars, and an abundance of spirit. The band plays a brand of rock and roll inspired both by British invasion bands and late 1960’s American garage rock. To draw a modern comparison, their sound falls somewhere between that of The Strokes (though with catchier melodies and less hipster cool attitude) and Jet (though with catchier melodies and without all the obvious imitation of their influences). Frontman Taylor Goldsmith’s vocals, at times rebellious and at others melancholic, are complemented well by the instrumental performances of Blake Mills (guitar), Wylie Gelber (bass), and Stuart Johnson (drums). The band’s instrumental work is tight without sounding overly polished. While there are several excellent tracks (like “The Awful Things,” “Salute the Institution” and “All Her Crooked Ways”) sprinkled throughout the first half of the album, its concluding counterpart is where Carnivore really becomes something special. Carnivore’s second half includes the sweetly solemn “Every Single Time” which highlights the group’s versatility and ability to layer vocal harmonies to stunning effect. “Behind the Bleachers” features retro-flavored guitars and a boisterous energy while album closer “Execution Song” evolves slowly and beautifully over the course of its seven minutes. The members of Simon Dawes display a sonic maturity surprising for a band of their stature. Their work on Carnivore not only gives credence to the buzz they have received but also serves as an excellent foundation for a bright future. [www.simondawes.com]

With Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?, Kevin Barnes strides glowingly and gallantly into the annals of indie rock’s elite—a broken-hearted harlequin pandering to the dance-crazed masses as well as the bookish, dictionary-toting geeks, all while establishing himself as one of the most musically progressive and inventive songwriters of our era. Over the course of Polyvinyl Records output, Barnes has traded the bedroom Brian Wilson-aping sugar pop in favor of glammy theatrics and escapist fantasies, and this time the result is Of Montreal’s most consistently evocative and interesting record to date. Of Montreal’s eighth record overall finds Barnes winging it solo again, deploying all the effects and ballistic vocals himself. Delving into the emotional mechanics of the record’s existence would be tedious, so I’ll brief you as best I can: 2004’s The Sunlandic Twins was recorded in Barnes’ wife’s native Sweden; parts of Hissing Fauna were birthed there as well. At some point in 2005, the transition between Europe and Athens, GA led to a brief split between the couple, pitting family against art and saw Barnes spiraling into depression. Hence, the latest record is conceptual and divided, using the near-12 minute opus “The Past Is a Grotesque Animal” as its pivotal point. "Labrinthian Pomp" does Prince as well as The Artist ever has; "Faberge Falls For Shuggie" wouldn't be misplaced in the namesake's catalog--or maybe it has nothing to do with Shuggie Otis--but the song's funk borders on his psychedelic funk and Sly Stone, too. Glitzy electronics and sputtering drum machines become as natural a force as Barnes’ high-pitched croak on Hissing…, and he once again quests for a degree in obscure literary references and high-brow lexicon. Whether taking swipes at self-indulgent, here-to-be-seen indie snobs (on “Bunny Ain’t No Kind of Rider”) or exploring vices-turned-muses (in “Gronlandic Edit”), Barnes has emoted and emitted an album of epic proportions, baring as much of his soul as of his musical integrity and aptitude. While on the peak of popularity in a decade-long career, here comes a brazen move where the central artist makes a cerebral shift inwards, becoming more lyrically obscure while simultaneously embarking on new sonic routes. It may be lacking the romp and perceived innocence of past Of Montreal records, true, but it’s proof that Barnes’ wit and imagination only become closer companions when he’s sunk to his lowest depths. [www.polyvinylrecords.com]