Pop 'stache

Following up their 2009 debut album “Up From Below,” Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes are continuing their reign in the hippie folk sphere that they created for themselves. Sailing under the indie radar for months, the Zeroes finally achieved fame with their catchy ballad “Home.” With sophomore album Here, the ten-piece shows that they were no one-hit wonder. While staying true to their 70s folk roots, the album sounds fresh and innovative. So how does a band break out of a genre that they created for themselves? Redefine it.

The album, barely forty minutes in length, kicks off with “Man on Fire.” The song is a huge departure from the band’s previous singles. The song begins melancholy vocals, with a reminiscent of a thoughtful Johnny Cash. Haunting harmonies between lead singers Jade and Alexander loom over the listener creating an almost eerie ambience. The lengthy song remains fresh by alternating between sparse orchestration and intricate arrangements. The song channels the endearing call-and-response between Jade and Alexander that was featured in “Home.” The singers’ voices eventually build into a cheery hippie groove, signaling the return of the whimsical Magnetic Zeroes that we all know and love.

“I Don’t Wanna Pray” is a hokey track with heavy Americana overtones that almost become satirical, but lyrics like “I don’t wanna pray to my maker/ I just wanna be what I see” lend seriousness to an otherwise comically contrived song. But the overblown twangs add to the charm that makes Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes so appealing. Like carefree Woodstock nymphs that enchanting listeners and dancing in the pale moonlight of their commune.  From the sit-around-the-campfire melody to its insightful lyrics, the Zeroes show their musical versatility, however misguided, with “I Don’t Wanna Pray.”

The album develops with full-bodied Beatles-esque tracks. Soaring harmonies and heavy use of brass instruments harken back to arrangements of the early 70s. “Here” marks a transition into a more industrial sound, heavy in electric guitar and modern influences while still maintaining the airy qualities that make the band so unique.

“Child” is the most grounded and mellow track of the album and is sure to be a fan favorite. Bob Dylan-inspired acoustic finger picking combined classic folk music techniques keep the song grounded. Bass drum resonates in the background and adds a necessary weight in order to ground the song. Simple composition showcases the mass of talent present in this monstrously large hippie folk machine. Emotionally tender vocals are soft yet still demand attention and leave the listener begging for more than the three minutes of thoughtful musical reflection.

“Here” wraps with the longest song on the album “All Wash Out,” and ends the brief album on an introspective note. Continuing with spare arrangements and clean vocals, lead singer Alexander allows his falsetto and casual whistling entrance the listener. The soft patter of falling rain interjects throughout the song and offers a sense of tranquility as the song builds with melancholy horns (not unlike The National) and dark lyrics.

The flower power ten-piece’s debut album title “Up From Below” was indicative of their rise to fame. And it is the same case with “Here.” Edward Sharpe and his nine hippie comrades have indeed arrived, they are here.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes – Here tracklist:

1. “Man on Fire”
2. “That’s What’s Up”
3. “I Don’t Wanna Pray”
4. “Mayla”
5. “Dear Believer”
6. “Child”
7. “One Love To Another”
8. “Fiya Wata”
9. “All Wash Out”

Coyote Clean Up, also known as Ice Cold Chrissy, is a mysterious trance producer from Detroit. The DJ is consistently releasing music under both monikers, all with a heavy dose of glaze. Coyote Clean Up’s most recent effort, Frozen Solid is a water-themed collection of translucent techno beats. The album has a track titled “I’d Rather B Surfing” and “Bedtime Blizzard” that range from warm tones to icey loops.

Compared to his work under Ice Cold Chrissy, Coyote Clean Up plays with experimental, funk and ambient blends. The concoction is far more versatile, but doesn’t stray from his core theme. Influenced by Detroit, Frozen Solid references the dark side of the city with touches of fuzz and waves of chilly vocals.

Opening track, “Seventeen” is most likely heard in a modern European clothing store. Synthesizer echoes in circles, while samples weave in and out of a dreamy haze. This track is bedroom dance with a funky afterthought. Mid-way through the song, Coyote Clean Up throws in avant-garde beats to create a truly eclectic soundscape.

The album as a whole, though, renders into a vast soundscape. Each track gently glides into one another and quietly picks up speed steadily until multiple samples collide into a collaged pattern. This is repeated between each song.

“At Home (Dub)” is a hip hop-tinged tune. The shortest track on the album, running only a few seconds over 4-minutes, is a less exciting one as well. The looped beats are seamless and predictable, unlike the rusted tones of other tracks like “I’d Rather B Surfing.” But then, “Bedtime Blizzard (dub)” chimes in with just enough of everything. A funky bass line enters shortly after the 2-minute mark and high-end vocal arrangement is introduced.

The most seemingly complex track, “Importing Mosquitoes (Coyote Clean Up Dub)” samples a bit of everything the album touched on, and some it hadn’t. The most organically sounding vocals lay over a steady guitar beat that progressively turns into a lovely guitar solo. “Importing Mosquitoes (Coyote Clean Up Dub)” has the most surprises of the album. Frozen Solid exited on a guitar outro and a high note.

Frozen Solid is heavy and flowing. It’s not an album that can be enjoyed in multiple settings. Coyote Clean Up’s style is reliant on mellow house beats, gaining little to no traction throughout. The pace stays fairly consistent during the 42-minute album. It serves its purpose at a club or chic party, but it’s difficult to translate into real life.

Coyote Clean Up Frozen Solid tracklist:

1. “Seventeen”
2. “I’d Rather B Surfing”
3. “Pity 4 The Ppl”
4. “At Home (Dub)”
5. “Bedtime Blizzard”
6. “Head Shoulders Knees and Toes”
7. “Importing Mosquitoes (Coyote Clean Up Dub)”

If I were to tell you that you should listen to the new band that Chicago’s Victory Records was promoting this summer, you’d probably spit it in my face or tell me that you’re too old to go to Warped Tour and, for the most part, you’d be right. When emo bands like Taking Back Sunday were blowing up all over MySpace and every kid who felt a little bit angsty in high school was blasting them through their headphones and writing their lyrics down in their notebooks and on the rubber of their converse, Victory was the outlet for those bands.

However, Victory Records has stumbled upon a great indie-rock band that is so far from what their old brand used to be that there might actually be a light at the end of the emo-tunnel. That’s right, the label that broke bands like Taking Back Sunday and Hawthorne Heights (among dozens of cookie-cutter spin-off bands) has signed a band that doesn’t squeal and bleed, well, scream-o.

The Royalty are a five piece indie-rock band that hail from San Antonio, Texas. They have the standard set up your parents would be proud of: guitar, bass, drums, keyboard, and a female singer. Lovers is dripping with do-woppy, dreamy, distortion heavy 1960s love songs that are relevant to not just teenagers, but twenty somethings as well. At times The Royalty sound like a less depressing and slightly psychedelic Amy Winehouse that don’t sound retro as a gimmick, but because it’s who they are.

Lovers tells stories so personal that they feel as real as your best friend telling you about the night before like in the song “Bartender” where lead vocalist Nicole Bourdeau sings, “I’m in love with the bartender/Whenever I see him he plays the old rhythm and blues/I’m in love I don’t know what to do/When I see him we talk about all his tattoos.”

Teenagers are angsty and emotional and a lot of the time decide what’s cool and what’s going to sell because they’re the ones with the disposable income who will go to a concert and pay $40 for a t-shirt. The problem with emo was that it only spoke to a certain demographic (mostly suburban white teenagers) for a certain time in their life and the songs weren’t relevant a few years later. People seemed to want to “forget those days” when they outgrew emo. However, The Royalty have kept that intimate and highly emotional subject matter but are singing to listeners both old and young, albeit more targeted towards girls like line “Other boys they tell me that I’m worth it,” in song “Other Boys,” which is something that many young girls could relate to. But the instrumentals and other songs are solid enough that a few “girly” songs won’t alienate a young male.

There need to be bands like The Royalty singing to younger kids and it’s great that there’s a band with real substance playing the songs. The Royalty create music that you could sing twenty years prior to now and twenty years after and people could still relate to them. Each song on Lovers goes through a certain emotional state that every single person who ever has or will have a relationship on earth will experience and there’s truth in that. That’s where emo (and bands like Best Coast) fail and The Royalty wins. You don’t have to try to tell the difference between songs on Lovers because each of the songs are unique. Songs like “Witchcraft” boast spacious and airy guitars that put you into a dreamy mood, while “Mr. Hyde” is a power-pop surf inspired jam with bite that if taken further could be a Vivian Girls song.

Besides the lyrical content to Lovers, the album is an instrumental treat. The Royalty don’t break any boundaries or really experiment with anything new, but they play around in an old style so well and bring fresh breath to it with a few modern techniques. Their sound draws on aspects of the washed out, heavy distorted lo-fi, but not because they don’t have the means or equipment to do so, but because it actually adds to their aesthetic. The Royalty could have produced their album crisp and clean, but there is a certain feel that the fuzz.

While The Royalty are not for everyone, they are certainly not a band to ignore. They don’t ride on their female lead singer to make up for a lack of substance. Songs like “I Want You” have more kick because of Nicole and a certain kind of sexy that wouldn’t work if were sung by a male. The Royalty picks up in the path that acts like La Sera have left for bands that have awesome energy to show that girls can rock just as hard as the boys ,or possibly that boys and girls can work together to create music in a very male dominated industry.

The Royalty – Lovers tracklist:

1. “Bartender”
2. “How I Like ‘Em”
3. “Please Lie”
4. “Bottle Breaker”
5. “Mr. Hyde”
6. “Other Boys”
7. “Say the Word”
8. “Every Little Bit”
9. “Witchcraft”
10. “Saint Bowie”
11. “Won’t Be Long”

Inasmuch as anyone can blame him for at least a quarter of the entirety of pop music, the dubious honor of the progentiro of the straw man musical term ‘lo-fi’ has to be given to Paul McCartney. His inherent uncoolness when to compared to John Lennon or George Harrison, saying nothing of the Rolling Stones or Bob Dylan, made his late ‘60s quest for the highest fidelity Beatles and post-Beatles recording possible a sort of catchy, if not idiotic, narrative about why his late period Beatles work were the worst, even though they weren’t. If Lennon was cool and McCartney wasn’t, then hi-fi can’t be either. Thus, lo-fi, in all its semantic glory.

Questions of fidelity should follow Kristian Matsson, aka Tallest Man On Earth, around since, up until this point, his output has been conscientiously unfidelitied, ragged and pitchy enough in places to impose a theme upon his music. His last record, The Wild Hunt, was confirmation that working within such a framework can yield illustrious results, especially when dealing primarily with two tracks (vox, guitar). But if that’s true then There’s No Leaving Now, Matsson’s third record, defines that great cliff at which lo-fi falls from the peaks stylistic accompaniment to the depths of brand-ish crutch.

The man Matsson has most often been referred to in the young history of his artistic moniker is Bob Dylan. This seems strange, since Dylan never purposefully subscribed to a specific recording method in order to achieve a particular sound. But on There’s No Leaving Now, Matsson makes the differences between he and Robert Zimmerman readily apparent: Matsson may have the gift of understated, poignant wordplay, but his sonic territory is much less assured and confident. Instead of the riotous “King of Spain” there’s the inviting but slightly faux “Revelation Blues.” The obfuscating of Matsson’s mix would be less annoying if the songs were less inviting and well-layered. But if songs like “Little Brother” cloud what could be a perfectly clear guitar plucking melody with the distracting soft-focus, it makes Leaving Now seem less the work of an artist and more the work of someone seeking to follow in footsteps.

But if the aesthetic surroundings are what keep the album from achieving the highs of Matsson’s previous fare, more comforting is that the songwriting spring that brought forth “Burden of Tomorrow” has not run dry. While he may be surrounding his spare melodies with more off-putting flavors, there’s little denying the key-changing troubadour earnestness of “Wind and Walls.” There are some half welcome country twangs, as on lead single, and best song about time traveling in a while, “1904.” The slide is much less welcome on the next song, “Bright Lanterns,” which seems uninspired and slightly off-kilter for the normally hurtling artist. Of course Matsson’s paradigm of “faster is better” paradoxically completely falls flat when he takes a seat at the ivory, as the title track on this record, just as “Kids on the Run” was to The Wild Hunt, is such a stupifyingly sweet and well put together ballad it makes one wonder why on Earth Matsson ever picked up a guitar. But perhaps the used of piano once every Tallest Man album is some ingenious design; unable to craft a whole album of ballads, Matsson is contented with teasing out the beauty he can bring when unencumbered by any effects at all, save a baby grand.

It’s that completely stripped honesty that plays best to Tallest Man on Earth’s strongest stories and songs. “Wind and Walls” and the title track do their best to tear down the soft-focus Nico-style aesthetic that muddies a good portion of the album, and they’re a thankful reminder of all that Matsson can do. The desire to go lo-fi for Matsson may serve a few different purposes, but most reasonable is the vague insecurity that the songs don’t necessarily work without an added element. In this case Matsson could learn from the people he tries to hard to emulate. Those artists, Nico and Dylan most specifically here, didn’t worry about owning up to an artistic history. Kristian Matsson doesn’t necessarily have their specific pedigree, but the Swede does have a certain poignancy to his verse that many others don’t. His quest is to quit gilding his songwriting lily with tried lo-fi signifiers.

The Tallest Man on Earth – There’s No Leaving Now tracklist:

1. “To Just Grow Away”
2. “Revelation Blues”
3. “Leading Me Now”
4. “1904”
5. “Bright Lanterns”
6. “There’s No Leaving Now”
7. “Wind and Walls”
8. “Little Brother”
9. “Criminals”
10. “On Every Page”

When Steve Zissou looks out of his brilliantly yellow submersible at the end of Wes Anderson’s The Life Aquatic With Steve Zissou, he sees something remarkable staring back at him: a technicolor, jaguar patterned shark whose existence he had basically fabricated up until that very moment. Among his friends/enemies/attorneys, Steve has a private, tragic moment of wondering whether the shark remembers him from a previous encounter taking the life of Steve’s best friend. The scene is full bloom cinema… and it’s soundtracked by Sigur Rós.

It’s been nearly thirteen years since (one of) the seminal Icelandic band recorded and released “Starálfur,” the song Wes Anderson used in the climax of his fourth movie. Today, the alien mystique of the post-rock glaciers has faded, somewhat due to the last two Sigur-involved records (2008s Meō Suō í Eyrum Viō Spilum Endalaust and lead singer Jónsi’s solo album, Go) being more worldly and accessible. Those two records brought the band far more popularity than anything Agaetis Byrjun would’ve hinted at in their early career, yet the core of Sigur Rós’ paradoxical aesthetic remained. Sigur Rós, for good or ill, are one of the easier bands of the past decade to identify, but possibly the most difficult band to categorize, contextualize or compare.

Valtari, strikingly, is a marked turn back toward the mysterious atmospheric frailty of  former Sigur Rós records like Von, Agaetis Byrjun or, most accurately, the inanely titled (). Checking in at a slender eight tracks and a relatively anemic fifty-four minutes, one might on its face mistake this for a tossed together album of Sigur Rós tropes, the kind of thing that satiates casual listeners but leaves artistic foraging alone for a little while. Perhaps there would even be a traditional single somewhere in there, akin to “Gobbledigook.” Not so. While Valtari certainly treads familiar ground, it’s a thoughtful update on the band’s post-rock trademarks, while continuing to expand into more floral and overtly cinematic territory.

The most tangible holdover from the immediate previous Sigur Rós records is the sometimes grating presence of a choir. Long a tool of the overly dramatic, the children’s choir was a part of one of the weaker songs on Meō Suō, and once again contributes to the limpest track here, “Varúō.” There’s a slightly better return on investment on “Dauōalogn,” but there still a cognitive dissonance between the band’s recent ideals about what makes a beautiful, world-spanning Sigur Rós song and something that devolves into a cavernous echo. The band’s more recent work has trended toward telling it’s scope instead of showing it – Valtari, at least for most of its movements, seems possessed to do differently.

You can tell a lot about who a person is by their favorite Sigur Rós record. () are the introspective headphone-y types, Takk are the indie-rockers and Meō Suō are the latecomers to the party. What’s so striking about Valtari is that it hits almost all of the necessary bases to satiate each version of the listener. “Rembhinútur” has the dramatic, percussive chorus of a Takk all-timer, while “Varōeldur” has the beautiful, stunted cooing that made the first half of () so midnight gorgeous. The choral elements are really the only tangible relation back to Meō Suō, which is a shame, since Valtari could’ve probably used a bit more songcraft in its weaker moments.

But in the end, the great Sigur Rós records are a reflection. Songs like “Ekki Múkk” or the rainfall-like “Fjōgur Píanó” aren’t so much stories or dispatches from the minds of talented songwriters – they are portals inward, shining a reflection on those aspects of your life that such ambient transcendency bears out. Steve Zissou saw exactly what he wanted to see, and right then the Sigur Rós song that brings to mind most the wish fulfillment fantasy begins to play. Theirs is a formula that no one else has been able to accurately borrow, steal or copy, since it seems that they operate with little regard for pretension or controlling the artistic interpretation of their music. Valtari is not the best Sigur Rós record of all time – far from it. But even with its demerits, it still finds the band walking back towards what made them great in the first place – that mysterious clairvoyance that begins an interior monologue. Perhaps the reason Sigur Rós are so impossible to contextualize is because they take on the personality of their listener and become whatever the listener wants them to be. Valtari is not completely successful at this, but after the misstep that was Go, it’s a step back in the right direction.

Sigur Rós – Valtari tracklist:

1. “Ég Anda”
2. “Ekki Múkk”
3. “Varúō”
4. “Rembihnútur”
5. “Dauōalogn”
6. “Varōeldur”
7. “Valtari”
8. “Fjōgur Píanó”

On Cancer for Cure, El-P returns from his solo hiatus to launch his music into the stratosphere, a metaphor that almost borders on reality. The Brooklynite whose name is synonymous with 90s underground hip-hop trades in his backpack for a jet pack on his latest release. El-P’s production and rhymes complement each other in a way NASA would be envious of as the dual-threat carefully crafts each track to be a bridge to one another, creating a seamless intergalactic (R.I.P. MCA) landscape for 90s hip-hop heads and newcomers alike.

The record blasts off with the intro, “Request Denied,” that locks the listener in as if they were listening to the automated voice at the beginning of Space Mountain telling everyone to keep their hands and arms inside the shuttle at all times. It’s the perfect mood setter for the rest of the album as El-P lets his production do most of the talking until he finds the perfect time to burst onto the scene with an aggressive flow and Garbage Pail Kids references. He follows that up with the album’s stand-out track, “The Full Retard.” It’s everything that was right about 90s hip-hop handcrafted to bump in ‘floating whips’ in the year 2030 while giving off a very 1984 vibe with lyrics referencing “…the chip under your wrist’s skin.” Paranoia and hip-hop never worked so well together.

El-P brings a few guests along for the ride. Paul Banks blesses “Works Every Time”, a track that starts a trend, for better or worse, of El-P going more spoken word than b-boy flow, but still bestows upon everyone killer lines like “…pay no attention to the man behind the glassy smirk.” Everyone’s favorite rapper with early-aught emo hair drenched in jerry-curl juice, Danny Brown, is his extremely bizarre and unique self on “Oh Hail No” where he regales with tales of everything from pocket protectors to Ric Flair. There are many artists more perfect for an album that seems to be shooting for a place on another planet. One of hip-hop’s artists right now, Killer Mike of Dungeon Family fame, pays his respects back to El-P for his production on Mike’s R.A.P. Music with a verse on the aggressive “Tougher Colder Killer” where he catches “…the beat running like Randy Moss.”

It’s not a perfect album. The aforementioned trend of El-P going more spoken word gets to be a bit of a bummer on tracks like “The Jig Is Up” and “Sign Here”. Not that the writing and production take a hit, it’s just more fun when he’s acquainting the beats with a heart-of-a-killer type flow, like on “For My Upstairs Neighbor (Mums the Word)” where he plays the part of the anti-“Tell-Tale Heart.” Samples also blend perfectly track by track and none better than the intoxicating, head-nod inducing “Drones Over Bklyn”.

Cancer for Cure was worth the five year wait. It’s hip-hop that shows progression without losing the foundation of what came before it.

El-P – Cancer for Cure tracklist:

1. “Request Denied”
2. “The Full Retard”
3. “Works Every Time”
4. “Drones Over Bklyn”
5. “Oh Hail No”
6. “Tougher Colder Killer”
7. “True Story”
8. “The Jig Is Up”
9. “Sign Here”
10. “For My Upstairs Neighbor (Mum’s the Word)”
11. “Stay Down”
12. “$4 Vic/Nothing But You+Me (FTL)”

Somehow it’s possible to trace the Brisbane and greater Australian energy in the sound of any artist.  The Cairos are no exception. The band brings something more to the table, something more flavorful and exceptional yet oddly familiar-sounding. Each track has resemblance of another band, sometimes newcomers Grouplove in their faster tracks, the Strokes in its medium level and even Death Cab when slower tunes lay low.

The Cairos orchestrate an indie-alternative’ sound that is part vintage, part trendy and part homage. It’s possible to hear references in their guitar riffs to the greats, perhaps the Smiths or the Rolling Stones, but it’s honorable to hear them tactfully place a spin on their reminiscent tunes. This is the edge that makes the Cairos so special.

The opening measure might catch your attention first, and if that doesn’t do it for you, maybe the lyric work in “Seasons of Snow” will. Early on, they sing: “Corridors of thought that change direction/things aren’t as they seem/ but all will soon be forgotten.” Later, the chorus sings “It’s amazing how the places we go/buried under seasons of snow/ boundless in the faces that go away/flow away.”

A range of emotions are captured in the first few songs alone. While “Self Control” starts melancholy and evolves into electric, “We All Buy Stars” starts chipper and ends spiteful. This song, in fact, stands as the collection’s most shining example of well-produced music.

It may be the hook that makes “We All Buy Stars” so solid (“We all buy stars/try to reach them somehow”) but it could also be a number of other things. Something about the way the song propels it forward–is it the bassline? the drums? The standard-yet-noticeable vocals?–attracts the listener’s attention fully.  The song’s breakdown at the bridge is really great, where the vocals rest and a high-powered guitar solo takes the reins and leads the song out.

“Yeah No” might be what ties Colours Like Feathers together ultimately. Or, at least, makes the greatest attempt to. It’s still spiteful but just as cheerful-sounding as the rest. Before the album’s premature finish, “Lena” and “Shame” stay on a more remedial track with an emphasis on the narrative.

With a short set, it’s hard to tie in a larger message. One can imagine that the Cairos wished to show all sides of their craft in Colours Like Feathers, but in doing so, they left out the whole crucial bit of cohesiveness. Each song stands alone and not as a part of the whole picture. Though there’s not one song any worse than the last, it seems the band either over- or under-thought this album. Regardless, it’s a nice piece of work.

The taste is trendy and the spirit is welcoming, so there’s not much not to like. With such a bright and lovely six-song set, the biggest disappointment is simply that there isn’t more to love.

The Cair0s – Colours Like Feathers tracklist:

1. “Seasons of Snow”
2. “Self Control”
3. “We All Buy Stars”
4. “Yeah No”
5. “Lena”
6. “Shame”

More albums need to start with fireworks. More albums need to be fun, summery and explosive. Luckily, Japandroids are here to help with this problem with their newest release: Celebration Rock. It’s a wild ride.

Formed in 2006, Japandroids are a two person outfit from Vancouver, but don’t let their status as a ‘duo’ to mean ‘minimalist’ or ‘understated’: their music is violent, emotional, and contains enough noise for a full five piece. And it is great: their first album, Post-Nothing, is an 8 song collection of frantic, explosive, straight-up fun rock and roll that most everyone can enjoy.

Now, 3 years after their concussive debut, Japandroids have dropped their second album, Celebration Rock, and while it doesn’t change the duo’s sound drastically, it’s a fantastic way to start the summer season with a bang.

Celebration Rock is an apt a title for this record as you’ll ever find: bookended by samples of fireworks and partying, the album is an instant festival, fun and frantic and messy as that sounds. Instrumentation is simple, with crashing drums, heavily distorted and pounding guitar riffs, and vocals that are more “gruffly screamed in harmony” than really ever sung. It’s a pretty standard lo-fi rock sound, but it’s done really well, with memorable hooks, and enough dynamic changes the keep songs interesting throughout the 35 minute record.

Celebration Rock is initially both thematically and lyrically simple: a cursory listen through will leave the impression that the album is about partying and partying hard, and while that’s true, there’s more going on at these parties than you might believe: despite the catchy hooks and frantic vocal growls, Celebration Rock contains a fair amount of longing and heartbreak. While none of the songs are exactly Shakespearean (which is good, they shouldn’t be), they’re a lot deeper than one might readily assume, touching on topics of existential meltdown, escape and forgotten desire. It’s all buried pretty deep beneath the blazing guitars and drums, but it is there and it’s surprisingly touching and appropriate.

For most, Celebration Rock just needs to be an upbeat, fun party album, and while it is all of those things, it’s nice to know that there is some depth here for those looking for it. After all, it isn’t a really good party without a few tears.

The only fair complaint to be levied against Celebration Rock is that it doesn’t every get quite as high as their previous record: the fantastic album opener “The Nights of Wine and Roses” and the album’s first single “The House that Heaven Built” are both great songs, but they aren’t quite as memorable as some of the more emotionally charged songs on Post-Nothing. To make up for this though, Celebration Rock is perhaps the better balanced record: a more consistent sound and higher overall quality of the songs within make Celebration Rock an equally fulfilling experience.

Though all the songs on the record hold up under pressure, the melodramatic burn “Evil’s Sway” nostalgic closer “Continuous Thunder,” and especially the aforementioned “The Nights of Wine and Roses” are all fantastic tracks, and are worth a listen if you are unsure about grabbing the whole record.

Celebration Rock came out at just the right time. Where Post-Nothing was heavier, darker, and perhaps a more winter-y album, Celebration Rock is a fantastic summer one: The perfect party mix of bittersweet and catchy, immediate and nostalgic, rough and clean, it’s a soundtrack to a great time, and a great listen for those in the mood for something fun.

Japandroids – Celebration Rock tracklist:

1. “The Nights of Wins and Roses”
2. “Fire’s Highway”
3. “Evil’s Sway”
4. “For the Love of Ivy”
5. “Adrenaline Nightshift”
6. “Younger Us”
7. “The House That Heaven Built”
8. “Continuous Thunder”

When you consider just how much caché The Walkmen had gained following the breakout success of their second record, Bows + Arrows, their fourth album, the bizarre full cover of Harry Nilsson and John Lennon’s Pussy Cats, becomes ever more the career-hampering slip up. Bands are entitled their occasional misstep, just ask Billy Corgan, a man who has made a career of them. But no, Pussy Cats Starring The Walkmen seems special not just for its awkward awfulness, but for the simple fact that, were it to miraculously disappear from the Walkmen’s discography, we’re probably having the conversation about Hamilton Leithauser and company being the best band in America.

Heaven, crazily, is The Walkmen’s seventh album. To spoil the next few hundred words, it’s also their best. A button-up affair unafraid to strip itself down to near nakedness for emotional impact, Heaven is yet another maturation of the dogged New York indie rock most of their compatriots have long since abandoned, yet from which The Walkmen still seem to be finding new paths to wander down.

Most magical about Heaven is how much it leaves behind of The Walkmen’s bread and butter. No, you will find no songs that update classics like “The Rat” or “Angela Surf City” or their manic, uncontrollable genius. In it’s place are songs like “We Can’t Be Beat” and “Southern Heart,” plaintive, decidedly in control numbers highlighting Leithauser’s well-worn rock croon, which itself seems even keeled and adult. When he’s given three seconds of unaccompanied belting before falling into Fleet Foxes-esque folk, Hamilton’s voice doesn’t scratch or wail. It just beautifully cries out in a tradition that includes such men as Buddy Holly. “Beat” is a stunning opener for all its first times for The Walkmen – carefully curated folk, with nary a shred of the jangle that made them so famous.

Although don’t worry, the jangle is in top form as well. For the next three tracks the band fire back jab after jab of pristine indie rock, from the You & Me style island-isms of “Love is Luck” to the squelching hookiness “Heartbreaker” and on to the blues-flecked love-shod cooing of “The Witch.” There aren’t great sonic differences from their previous albums when The Walkmen go back to their strong suits, but if that sounds boring it shouldn’t. Talking about the greatness of The Walkmen’s version of indie rock almost feels like talking about the way the San Antonio Spurs play basketball. Yep, to somebody who doesn’t appreciate the craft, it is boring. But for anybody looking even moderately hard enough, the only semi-manic brilliance of the title track is just another  exciting affirmation of The Walkmen’s prowess.

For devotees and attuned fans, however, the middle three tracks of Heaven are a triumph of genre-bending indie-rock touching as many conceivable sonic bases at once while maintaining a firm grasp on the Harlem beginnings that sprung forth this band. “Southern Heart” has a not at all trite western dust about it, punctuated by Leithauser’s not at all dusty voice singing “It’s your southern heart I’m after.” Such a line should probably come with some foreboding, but it’s such a pretty, odd duck that it feels completely natural. “Song for Leigh” turns a remarkably alt-country jaunt around a quintessential Walkmen line – “I sing myself sick about ya.” But the centerpiece is “Line by Line,” a mystical number that creeps along with its dark, preacher like hymns about justice until finally blossoming into a beautiful outro for mere seconds, then disappearing. It’s a perfect amalgamation of the ennui and songcraft of a Walkmen song – the sun is out, but you’re wearing black.

Perhaps the reason The Walkmen haven’t been a world beating force is by pedigree. They’ve successively trimmed more of their youthful rage with each album, rage which is what make Arcade Fire and, to a lesser extent, The Strokes so endearing. They don’t have the international intrigue of bands like Arctic Monkeys or M83. They certainly don’t have the backstory of Bon Iver or the raw joy of takeover band in waiting Japandroids. The Walkmen, by their very own precise, surgical nature, were never going to be the consensus favorite. But just like the Spurs, The Walkmen have consistently put together a stretch that could rival anybody else’s, all the while flying under the radar. One presumes Heaven, its excellence notwithstanding, will do nothing to change this. Nevertheless, it would behoove you to snatch Heaven and witness a band, seven albums in, at the height of their powers. And while you’re at it, catch a Spurs game for me.

The Walkmen – Heaven Tracklist:

1. “We Can’t Be Beat”
2. “Love Is Luck”
3. “Heartbreaker”
4. “The Witch”
5. “Southern Heart”
6. “Line By Line”
7. “Song for Leigh”
8. “Nightingales”
9. “Jerry Jr.’s Tune”
10.  “The Love You Love”
11.  “Heaven”
12.  “No One Ever Sleeps”
13.  “Dreamboat”

Mark Kozelek made his name during the early 90’s as the leading man and singer/songwriter behind Red House Painters.  Since the Red House Painters’ disbanding in the late 1990’s, Kozelek has continued to release acclaimed albums under the guise Sun Kil Moon.  Kozelek’s latest installment as Sun Kil Moon, Among the Leaves, comes 20 years after the RHP’s epic debut Down Colorful Hill.  With the possible exception of the confused Modest Mouse cover album Tiny Cities, he has a critically untarnished record.  Sun Kil Moon isfittingly named after South Korean bantamweight boxer Sung-kil Moon as Kozelek’s music is both light and graceful, but it can also sting you with emotional jabs or rock you with musical hooks.

Among the Leaves continues the simple, pared down approach of 2010’s Admiral Fell Promises. Most songs are just Kozelek and his guitar, though some simple drumming and warm strings do strengthen songs like “The Winery” and the title track.  Like his earlier releases, the album has its fair share of pretty, sentimental narratives.  “That Was the Greatest Night of My Life” tells the story of an apologetic note received from a female fan months after declining his offer to spend the night.  On “The Moderately Talented Yet Not So Attractive Middle Aged Man” Kozelek, or rather ‘the narrator,’ fondly recalls a charming, young opening act who may not have had a gift for songwriting, but was an accomplished kisser.  The mournful “Peter Collopy” is an elegy for the greatest guitar repairman out west who could make a worn out Gibson sound better than it ever had before.

Among the Leaves also contains a handful of acerbic notes.  The narrator of “That Bird Has a Broken Wing” explores the male id and fidelity’s submission to lechery.  The bipolar “Elaine” transitions back and forth between warm finger-picking and a churning, angry blues riff like a series of make-ups and break-ups.  “Red Poison” affirms the fact that one can buy anything in Chinatown, including poisonous chinaware for the disposal of unwanted lovers.

The strongest tracks on the record, however, showcase Kozelek’s humor in the face of sadness.  “Sunshine in Chicago” misleads the listener with a gloomy reminiscence of his father’s youth followed by: “My band played here a lot in the 90’s when we had / lots of female fans and fuck they all were cute. / Now I sign posters for guys in tennis shoes.” Apparently his gloom is weighted just as heavily in the demographical transition into musical adulthood.  “Track Number 8” has a humorous meta-folk aspect to it.  A somber but gorgeous harmony backs a list of the woes of songwriting which is apparently both a chore and a burden.  Kozelek then goes off on a silly tangent about naming his four cats and lamenting the fact that the lyrics he wrote the night before are totally useless.  He admits: “Well, I wrote this one and I know it ain’t great. / We’ll probably sequence it track number 8.”

“UK Blues” is the pinnacle of humor on Among the Leaves.  The entire album feels like a tour with Kozelek name-dropping a city or cross-street at every turn, but it’s the myriad take-offs and landings in “UK Blues” that make one feel like a sad stranger in a sad, strange land.  The song is a homesick yet hysterical travelogue through Europe: plane to hotel to show and repeat.  Kozelek sorrowfully groans, “London, London. / It’s all the rage if your favorite color’s beige… / Look right, look left / makes me think of death.”  Bristol’s apparently made up of “Cobblestone streets, [and] people missing teeth.”  Each show he plays is a comedy of errors, be it a heckling crowd member at a small venue or playing new songs to an audience that only wants to hear Red House Painters’ early singles.  The album goes on for two more tracks, but “UK Blues” would have been a more appropriate coda.

For those of you who have been Red House Painters and/or Sun Kil Moon fans to date, you won’t be blown away, but you definitely won’t be disappointed.  To return to the boxing analogy, the album may not win by knockout, but it carries with it all the drama of a good, long bout.  Among the Leaves is rather a unanimous win-by-decision in an impressive 17-round fight.

Sun Kil Moon – Among the Leaves tracklist:

1.  “I Know It’s Pathetic but that Was the Greatest Night of My Life”
2.  “Sunshine in Chicago”
3.  “The Moderately Talented Yet Not So Attractive Middle Aged Man”
4.  “That Bird Has a Broken Wing”
5.  “Elaine”
6.  “The Winery”
7.  “Young Love”
8.  “Song For Richard Collopy”
9.  “Among the Leaves”
10.  “Red Poison”
11.  “Track Number 8″
12.  “Not Much Rhymes with Everything’s Awesome at All Times”
13.  “King Fish”
14.  “Lonely Mountain”
15.  “UK Blues”
16.  “UK Blues 2″
17.  “Black Kite”

Niki & The Dove is a contender for the alternative/indie break-out summer band of 2012. I wouldn’t doubt that Niki & The Dove might get a weekly post on some of the most respected and popular music blogs like Hipster Runoff. I wouldn’t doubt if the band ended up getting some last minute slots at festivals after which blogs will post pictures of their performance with their lead-member Malin Dahlström wearing a fun outfit, but that won’t stop the most important thing behind Niki & the Dove: their powerful music.

The electronic synth-pop trio from Stockholm takes influence from all types of genres and eras of electronic music. Instinct is a solid collection of songs that range from being accessible and flashy like Madonna’s to as experimental and intimate as something off Visions by Grimes. The things that Niki & The Dove share with Grimes don’t sound like a rip-off or gimmick in any way, shape or form. In fact, Niki & The Dove show more versatility, confidence and fun with their sound.

From the opening moment Instinct sounds like it’s going to be Visions with its slightly arpeggiated synthesizers in a macabre tone complimented by  the vocals  that carry the song until  the verse, but then the like the light at the end of the tunnel the chorus comes through with crashing waves of giant walls of sound that are only heightened by Malin’s voice belting out the chorus: “I’m ready to learn/What it takes to burn/I wanna let you show me/What it means to breathe fire.” That blends into a little bridge that consists of helium-sounding vocals sung by Mickey Mouse after heavy dose of Ketamine…and that’s just the first track.

The rest of Instinct takes you in crazy directions as well as extremely poppy ones. For instance, the next track on the album, “The Drummer,” is a straight-up club-style dance song. It’s got a constant beat and a catchy synth hook that are more reminiscent of a song in the background of intense moments during “Miami Vice” or “Top Gun” than the present day electronic scene.

These less creative songs on the album that are more dance inspired are entertaining in their own way, but just as loud dance songs. Niki & The Dove can rock these songs with confidence and some originality of their own, but they simply cannot hold a candle to the truly artistic songs on this album.

“Winterheart” will put a lump in your throat because at its core it is a truly emotional love song that uses electronic music as a vehicle to bring the subject to a new light and see it in a new way. If you were to transfer a song like “Winterheart” into a rock or acoustic version it wouldn’t be able to take off in the same way that its electronic wings let it soar to.

The dark effect that the strumming of the muted bass and guitars on “The Fox” go back to a day when The Cure was making Goth songs like “A Forest,” but “The Fox” is able to exfoliate into an entirely new creature with powerful synths that move you in your seat.

Because of this, Instinct is an album that works like a fireworks show that keeps re-inventing the way they approach their craft mixing and matching all the different colors and explosions you wouldn’t think to put together.

Each time you think that Niki & The Dove won’t be able to do something new, the group will work like a chameleon and change the way they use their sound to create something new.

The influence of ‘80s music and sounds on Instinct is done in a tasteful way that doesn’t feel like a band going for retro just because they want to. Combining these old influences while throwing it on top of cutting edge electronic pop and actually finding something in the mix that works is impressive. It wouldn’t be too surprising to see a wave of copycat bands that harness Niki & The Dove’s sound similar to all the distortion heavy, reverb reliant, indie-rock groups that formed after the rise of Wavves and Best Coast. There are many songs that can stand alone on this album as great tracks, but Instinct closes on an almost epic note that will make you feel like you’ve actually had an experience after listening all the way through.

Niki & The Dove – Instinct Tracklist:

1. “Tomorrow”
2. “The Drummer”
3. “In Your Eyes”
4. “The Gentle Roar”
5. “Mother Protect”
6. “Last Night”
7. “Somebody”
8. “Love to the Test”
9. “DJ, Ease My Mind”
10. “Winterheart”
11. “The Fox”
12. “Under the Bridges (Extended Version)”

Ineffable is the one word that springs to mind when listening to the lucky 13^th album from The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Indescribable is another good one. But, it’s certainly worthy of an attempt.

For the uninitiated, much has been made (too much, according to a number of parties, most vociferously the bands themselves) of the rivalry between this group and fellow 60’s inspired punsters, The Dandy Warhols. Such was this “rivalry” that it was either documented or blown out of proportion in a film documentary entitled “Dig.” The fact that both acts have new records released rapidly on the heels of each other will no doubt reinvigorate the notion of such a rivalry and will beg for the “side by side” treatment in major music periodicals, doing justice to neither, as is so often the case. To be fair, there is a certain sonic similarity to their musical aesthetics, but, aside from using the music of the 60’s as a launching pad and inspiration, their new records could not be more disparate.

The Brian Jonestown Massacre are embracing the drone and the somnambulant psychedelia of their predecessors The Pink Floyd, whereas The Dandy Warhols have assumed a much more organic and “stripped down” sound on their new album This Machine.

Aufheben begs a complete titular analysis, especially given that the title of the record is based on a German word that means both to abolish and preserve, and the philosopher Hegel used this verb as a term to define what happened when a thesis and an anti-thesis came together. In Hegel’s philosophy, these two seemingly contradictory positions would come together in something that was neither entirely new, nor were the positions exactly the same as they had been before. In other words, or in one word, Aufheben is a contradiction within itself and a new evolution of thought that develops when two contradictory concepts collide.

Aufheben well lives up to its name, and was unsurprisingly recorded in Germany at a radio station and at bandleader Anton Newcombe’s home studio. It begins with the instrumental (although almost all of the tracks might as well be instrumental unless you know French and Finnish and can make out the rare English buried deep in the layers of effects) “Panic In Babylon,” which imagines a psychedelic snake charmer’s nightmare– perhaps this casbah is not being rocked, but being invaded by a serious of snake-eating mongooses (or as Newcombe would probably call them, Herpestidae). It ends with a journey into jungle sounds, as if the Babylonic gardens were opened up to a descent into a heart of darkness.

“Viholliseni Maalla” may or may not be sung in Finnish, but instrumentally it sounds more like Echo & The Bunnymen meet REM than what the introductory cut leads one to expect, and surely that is the point. “I Want To Hold Your Other Hand” sounds like an overly medicated Jason Pierce of Spiritualized (whose Will Carruthers is in this line-up of the Massacre) doing a cover of The Band, whereas “Stairway To The Best Party In The Universe” borrows significantly not from Led Zeppelin but from The Rolling Stones’ “Paint It, Black” a tired trope if ever there was one.

With its repetitive Mercury Rev-like flute-loop, “Waking Up To Hand Grenades” had the effect of actually inducing nausea and somehow sounded like Guided By Voices performing with Black Moth Super Rainbow. Conversely, “Face Down On The Moon” uses a sitar-bed and floats a lovely jazzy flute solo over the top of it that fades into the distance amidst so many tubular bell windchimes. They assume their most Pink Floyd-like morph on The Cloulds Are Lies” [sic] but the message of the sweetly lilting lyrics is more menacing than would seem on their surface: “Someday we can pretend, that dreams will help us be friends, and where dreams go, real friends still know, somehow, there are still friends.” A Cure-like guitar part meditates on the inherent sadness of this sentiment, despite the instrumental beauty with which the message is conveyed.

If you introduced a synthesizer playing strings and a hive of drunken bees, you would have something sounding like “Blue Order/New Monday,” which disappointingly only vaguely resembles its titular inspiration in beat and with a vague echo of notes. It’s as if Dali were painting a picture of what he saw when listening to “Blue Monday,” as opposed to the violent realistic modernism of the New Order music video directed by canine auteur William Wegman and animator Robert Breer.

In short then, Aufheben is what it says it will be– a contradiction in one term. This is music that first defies expectations, then confounds whatever preconceptions are developed throughout. It’s a roller coaster ride at turns pleasant and nightmarish, or an exhilarating ride across tumultuous waves, or perhaps like dating someone with multiple personalities; the listener never knows what to expect from track to track, even after repeated spins it’s easy to find that Aufheben keeps spitting out secrets both horrifying and sublime.