Pop 'stache

Evagelia Maravelias and Brian Wenckebach are Elika. The Brooklyn-based duo drenches computerized beats in lyrics filled with emotional depth and constant opposition. Vocalist Maravelias has an elegant Madonna-like baritone to offset the synthetic atmosphere surrounding her. That atmosphere is created mostly by Wenckebach through a stream of glitchy drums and vibrating synthesizer. In their third full-length studio effort, Always the Light has ditched the catchy-riffs of songs such as “Summer” off Snuggle Bunnies. Instead, the duo opted for a “slow and steady wins the race” approach.

This album doesn’t have much to offer in the realm of diversity. The downtempo, spacious sounds are stagnant, while the short songs blend together a little too easily. As Always the Light progresses, it never seems to hit a really high point or even a low point for that matter. It’s difficult to differentiate the songs from one another, but that could be intentional. As a constant loop rotates, Maravelias’ poetic lyrics drone and a simple drumline rolls in. But unlike their previous releases, Elika sticks to a strict electronica-shoegaze formula.

Straying away from poppier tendencies and more organically produced sound, Always the Light is much heavier and condensed. Starting off in “Stay Beside Me,” layers of downtempo beats loop in a constant circle that seems to last the length of the album. After a while, the vocals begin to turn stale and the hazy beats grow tiresome. Maxing out at mere 33 minutes, it’s hard to tell when the album ends and when it begins.

Beyond sound, the duo seems to have themes figured out. Based around the death of Maravelias’ father, “No One Gets Lost” unfolds into a dreampop ballad of love, finding yourself and hope. Her lyricism and vocals are bound with emotion, and in this track, they both shine. The song has peaks and crests. It opens and closes in a dreamlike state.

The second half of the album has a slightly more uplifting tone, as if “No One Gets Lost” is a turning point. Maravelias’ vocals open up a little bit, while Wenckebach uses lighter samples. The beats resonate through an ethereal world.

From start to finish, Always the Light stays on the same path and doesn’t stray too much. The emotion that went into this album is powerful, but the lack of character leaves a mundane aftertaste. Where the album lacks in texture, it makes up for in depth. Elika creates a solid rendition of space, and this album seems like it would translate much better in a live performance.

Elika – Always the Light tracklist:

1. “Stay Beside Me”
2. “We Had It All”
3. “Waiting Room”
4. “Count Your Steps”
5. “All My Wishes”
6. “Never Touch the Sky”
7. “No One Gets Lost”
8. “You and Me”
9. “Trials”
10. “A Year Alone”

As much as it might have faded to the background in the face of more transcendent folk releases of last year, PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake seems to be affecting, or foretelling, a certain change in the female-driven folk model with its incorporation of indie-rock influences. Laura Gibson almost rocks out on her new album, Kathleen Edwards certainly turned the volume up (albeit with a far more pop knob than Harvey’s darkness), and now Sharon Van Etten. The folk belter rides the wave of amp cords and reveals Tramp, a propulsive indie-rock inflected record that alters her staid but satiating formula to more of a half-charge forward into Brooklynite rock.

Just like Gibson or Edwards, however, Van Etten hasn’t abdicated to the Iron & Wine school of reinventing your artistic wheel. A good half of the songs here are more well-rounded folk songs—“Kevin’s,” “Give Out” and “Ask” tread the same consistent territory, only with a few more instruments. Were they indicative of the songwriting style Van Etten intended with Tramp, that development would have been wholly enough to make it a passable, if occasionally beautiful, third album. “Give Out” works especially well, building off a minor key structure that feels natural to Van Etten’s haunting voice: “I am biting my lip/as confidence is speaking to me/I loosen my grip on my palm/put it on your knee.” Her almost uncomfortable level of proximity to her listener is striking: Tramp is frequently a lament of the mistakes made in younger days, and the listener can’t help but take the blame for some of these misgivings. True to herself as ever, Van Etten’s power in the folk spectrum is her ability to drawn the listener into the narrative and elicit a separate feeling from the one she’s expressing herself.

The forays into indie rock somewhat break this intimacy, although not without their distinct pleasures. Opener “Warsaw” distinctly recalls Radiohead’s “Airbag” and doesn’t make a mockery of itself in the process. For those left wondering exactly where this tidal shift in Van Etten’s process came from, “Serpents” gives away at least the facilitator of the idea: The National’s Aaron Dessner, who served as producer on the record. The National’s brooding self-deprecation is swathed over “Serpents,” and again, it’s a testament to Van Etten that she doesn’t get too far down the rabbit hole of aping another band’s formula. Her forays into anthem are nonetheless still surprising, evoking The Bends-era Radiohead with “All I Can,” probably the least successful indie-rock test pattern Van Etten attempts.

But for all the vacillating around other people’s sounds, “I’m Wrong” affirms the belief that Van Etten knows exactly what she’s doing reinventing herself. A graceful, powerful exit song if ever there were one (even if there’s another powerful closer right after it), “I’m Wrong” buzzes with anticipation, reverb and tympani drums lifting the narrative, an imagination of Van Etten’s intense close-up mined for the most dramatic of purposes. Her voice appears from the ether behind and around the music, and the tinge of regret from the story (a tinge present in almost all of Tramp’s 12 songs) holding the rope so the balloon of grandiosity doesn’t get too far away.

In “I’m Wrong,” Van Etten manages to coerce her two somewhat similar genres together, creating something neither indie rock nor folk. Tramp veers a bit in both ways, to varying degrees of success, but “I’m Wrong” is a reminder of how eye-openingly gorgeous Van Etten could be in fully colliding her two worlds. Tramp isn’t quite there, but the journey Van Etten takes to get to such a redeeming moment is well worth it.

Sharon Van Etten – Tramp tracklist:

1. “Warsaw”
2. “Give Out”
3. “Serpents”
4. “Kevin’s”
5. “Leonard”
6. “In Line”
7. “All I Can”
8. “We Are Fine”
9. “Magic Chords”
10. “Ask”
11. “I’m Wrong”
12. “Joke or a Lie”

Nada Surf employs a musical frequency about it that is engaging. As soon as the drums pick up the beat in the intro to each song, the verses lift off into a wonderful anthem of possibilities. It seems that every song is a different variation of the same concept in the band’s new The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy, where the sound blossoms out of its root of alternative rock along both intimate and collections of words.

“Clear Eye Clouded Mind,” for example, begins the album softly and easily, with the guitar strumming in tandem with a tambourine and a light vocal. It’s gentle and sweet. Wait until the middle of the album, though, where “The Moon Is Calling” does the same but with more harsh vocals and rough guitar work.

It’s been two years since we last heard from them and four since we heard something original. Previous to 2010’s If I Had a Hi-Fi (an entire compilation of covers), Lucky was released in 2008. Its harder rock melodies were received very well, with the sounds still resonating today—enough to have fans itching for more.

Essentially, The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy came at a good time.

“Waiting for Something” brings together the whole Nada Surf experience at song No. 2. It explores a charging guitar rhythm while its harmonies take control of the song. The song is conducted by its own themes, and it’s exciting to hear such an audible story played out for the audience to hear. Nothing has to be pieced together; it’s all in plain sight.

While one listener may label Nada Surf’s latest record as boring, it’s better described as conceptually simplistic. There might not be a common goal that Nada Surf intended to project upon its listeners, and that’s OK. Not one solitary track stands alone because each contributes to a common sound that stands for the message as a whole. That’s all there is to it when it comes to The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy.

What’s nice is that the band works well with clear lyrics and bright tones in its words. Band members are direct and upfront about what they are talking about, easily drawing in the listener to relate as the tracks move from one to the next. Nada Surf stays strictly alternative rock from front to back of their album. Although they don’t color outside the lines at all by mixing it up a bit, there’s no reason to complain.

The only problem is that the sound doesn’t translate to 2012 as well as the band might have hoped. Although this record’s work is well-executed, the concept might be less developed than fans had anticipated.

When musicians have been making music for 20 years, they might find themselves lost with a cause. The cause is music; the direction is hindered by a large body of work and a whole lot of ideas. One would imagine that it would get easier after all that time, but still there is a sense of struggle. The album isn’t perfect, mainly because the band works an angle of their genre that may have passed its time.

“Teenage Dreams” stresses the importance of youth closer to the end of the album, repeating the line, “It’s never too late for teenage dreams.” But they might be posing the wrong question: is it ever too late for middle-aged dreams?

Nada Surf – The Stars Are Indifferent to Astronomy tracklist:

1. “Clear Eye Clouded Mind”
2. “Waiting for Something”
3. “When I Was Young”
4. “Jules and Jim”
5. “The Moon Is Calling”
6. “Teenage Dreams”
7. “Looking Through”
8. “Let the Fight Do the Fighting”
9. “No Snow on the Mountain”
10. “The Future”

Let’s remember, Robert Zimmerman is not the man’s name.

This may be spoiling the review a bit, but asking questions about Lana Del Rey’s realness is wrong. None of the lead-up matters: the god-awful SNL performance, the elevator pitch as “the gangster Nancy Sinatra.” That is, unless your implicitly buying into the treatise that Born to Die clearly lays out. Our reality, the presupposed struggle for a lack of artifice in pop music, the clawing for close-knit, striking points of reference is wrong. Just as the blogosphere seems uniquely obsessed with debating Rey’s authenticity, so Born to Die fires back with a bevy of masks, as if the question was an answer in itself.

Disregarding the sad exclusion of Del Rey’s most excellent Riot Grrl-goes-to-Miami impression (“Kinda Outta Luck”), Born to Die is nevertheless as blandly pro-hedonism as anything Kanye West has produced lately. The songs don’t necessarily bang—“National Anthem” is all bland pandering to the drunk-girl sect (The crowd-sourced chorus didn’t tip you off?), wasting its redeeming moment when Rey coos, “Heaven’s in your eyes,” for that infuriating pout, “Money is the anthem.” Some successfully rip off b-side Toro Y Moi material (“Radio”), while nonsingle standout “Off to Races” at least fully embraces the notion that all Del Rey is supposed to be is a blow-up doll with a studded choker. But the majority of the melodies are base tracks for more interesting remixes.

It’s not as if Del Rey’s merely decent music is the conversation here—the real story is that Born to Die was created essentially as the Anti-Adele: saccharine, hedonistic, gleefully vapid, full of zeitgeist constructed pop-tart music. From the lyrics, which make explicit references to Del Rey being “the Queen of Coney Island,” destined for “Riker’s Island,” and a Los Angeles girl at heart, it’s clear that who Del Rey really is doesn’t matter—she’ll say whatever you want to hear. Personality disappears; Born to Die is a grand masquerade, an oasis of supposed fantasies. If Robyn represents the feminist front in pop music, Del Rey is a giant step backward: Born to Die is music for men, despite the cloying, pat finale “This Is What Makes Us Girls,” which summarily insists that women are seduced by older, powerful men and yet are still independent. Women are weak honey, you’ll know when you’re older and fall in love.

It’s worth asking whether Lizzy Grant would have been as deft at assuming such a Betty Boop-like persona, even if the question answers itself. When Del Rey tries to inhabit another character (“Carmen”), she just ends up sounding like a third person narrator in this one-act. Born to Die consciously breaks from reality: what you’re listening to isn’t real. If Rebecca Black’s “Friday” spoke to the infectious, honest stupidity of pop music, Del Rey is the opposite damning evidence: unremarkable, fully constructed on-demand sexuality.

But what of love? The second half of Born to Die obsesses itself with diamond commercial-worthy slings and arrows of affection (“Million Dollar Man” especially, but you probably guessed that). None take on the debatable high-concept quality that “Video Games” has—if anything, tracks like “Dark Paradise” confirm that the thought of “Games” commenting on and debasing sexist pig versions of love was a bit of a subtextual reach. It’s all part of Born to Die’s reality; pop should be whatever you want it to be.

That malleability renders Born to Die interesting, but shallow. Del Rey expresses little perspective that couldn’t be spun as another come-on. Her nihilism on the title track, even if she blunts it for younger ears (replacing “fuck” with “kiss”), more accurately comments on the state of pop Del Rey would leave in her wake if Born to Die were to succeed. We live in a post-Kanye world, where even bland singer-songwriters can turn into inventively named pop stars (looking at you, Gaga). But unlike West (or Gaga), Del Rey’s circle of confusion get far less interesting after the excellent first single.

Lana Del Rey – Born to Die tracklist:

1. “Born to Die”
2. “Off to the Races”
3. “Blue Jeans”
4. “Video Games”
5. “Diet Mountain Dew”
6. “National Anthem”
7. “Dark Paradise”
8. “Radio”
9. “Carmen”
10. “Million Dollar Man”
11. “Summertime Sadness”
12. “This Is What Makes Us Girls”

Leader of The Weakerthans – and former Propagandhi bassist – John K. Samson isn’t the most prolific musician in the world. Perhaps it’s a quality over quantity thing, but he’s never been one to adhere to the industry ideology of album cycles.  This allows Samson’s releases to never seem half-cocked, instead they are each deliberate, flowing pieces of deep introspection.

On his debut solo album, Provincial, Samson uses his home Canadian providence of Manitoba for inspiration. Based upon four distinct routes found in Manitoba Samson creates an album that, shockingly, wouldn’t feel out of place in The Weakerthans’ canon. Sadly, half of the album’s tracklist is rehashed from his previous 7-inch EPs, City Route 85 and Provincial Road 222. Although the tracks are structurally the same they appear fully realized here, leaving the EP versions to seemingly serve as demos for Provincial.

Provincial is touted as Samson’s debut solo album, but this greatly understates the work of the numerous musicians that contributed to the record in one capacity or another. Samson’s distinctive voice and his knack for songwriting are certainly on display, but it is far cry from a mere singer-songwriter project as it sees 15 other musicians take part in one capacity or another. Samson returns to his full band root on “When I Write My Master’s Thesis,” a melodic indie-rocker that could have found its home on The Weakerthans’s 2003 album Reconstruction Site. It simultaneously highlights Samson’s witty lyricism, striking a balance between “Grand Theft Auto” references and grad school.

Provincial has few “rock” songs, as Samson puts his softer side on full display. This is by no means a bad thing, as some of his best work has come from him quietly emoting. With The Weakerthans Samson has proven he can deliver persona\l lyrics that resonate with a listener, but here he finds ways to take songs that are ostensibly about pavement and personify them to the point of beauty.

Left to his own devices Samson does occasionally falter. Opening “Cruise Night” with a drum intro that recalls the worst of ‘80s cock-rock is an incredibly poor decision. This embarrassing start saddles the track’s infectious chorus with the chore of making up for this early transgression – something it is barely capable of doing.

At certain points during Provincial Samson seems to be repeating himself. “Heart of the Continent” and “Letters in Icelandic from the Ninette San” display his default approach to an acoustic guitar is to fingerpick, leaving both tracks feeling incredibly similar. Even with similar stylistic approaches Samson finds a way to make each song engaging and avoid becoming stagnation.

Although Provincial is by no means the strongest release of Samson’s career, it shows that even alone he is still capable of engrossing a listener. While the inclusion of energetic, punk-tinged numbers would have been welcomed, those days seem to be behind Samson. Instead of power chords and distortion, Samson channels isolation with an acoustic guitar and strings. If only all punk rockers could age this gracefully.

John K. Samson – Provincial Tracklist:

1. “Highway 1 East”
2. “Heart of the Continent”
3. “Cruise Night”
4. “Grace General”
5. “When I Write My Master’s Thesis”
6. “Letter in Icelandic from the Ninette San”
7. “Longitudinal Centre”
8. “www.ipetitions.com/petition/rivertonrifle”
9. “The Last And”
10. “Stop Error”
11. “Highway 1 West”
12. “Taps Reversed”

Every year Aaron Funk celebrates his birthday. Every year new material emerges from Venetian Snare’s woodshop. Both of these astronomical phenomena has proved true since 1997, only this year, in a rare sighting, the two collided to form  Affectionate, an EP of epic strangeness. He’s seen a lot of change in the weathervane but Funk has outlasted the storm. No matter how passé IDM may seem in 2012, some shade of the Snares’ or another has been “mode,” right now it’s probably the DnB or Glitchcore– anyone’s best guess– but that’s the captivating talent he possesses that keeps listeners coming back (and reviewers reviewing).

Not that this artist is ever static but on Affectionate there’s a strong departure from Classical, Reggae, and Noise. Affectionate is a furious, brooding and exacting collection of break. Each of the four songs warp and meld into one another, creating a kind of parallel glitch universe to our own. The outrageously odd time signatures keeps dancers moving, never comfortable. There aren’t as many sounds as there are notes and it seems like that should be a welcome change from the Manitoban.

The time and effort invested in this release shine brilliantly. The balance in production and meticulous attention to score are perhaps greater than they’ve ever been in a Snares release and that’s saying a lot.  it’s a heavier sound than customary, especially in the basslines (see: “Seqsy”) but always studied and always deliberate. “Chordate” is a bitcrushed surge that could serve as an alternate soundtrack to Ninja Gaiden. “Lesbians1” has a creepily familiar melody, that let’s you chase it all through it’s mad dance before fading into shards.  In the end, Funk works against himself by trying to make his lovable chaos sensible.

Career-long fans may be pleased by the release but it fails bite quite as hard as the Filth era and after the relative rave mediocrity of My So Called Life, one can only wonder what’s next– Venetian Snares thrives on anticipation, is it still there?

Venetian Snares – Affectionate tracklist:

1. “Seqsy”
2. “Lesbians2”
3. “Chordate”
4. “Lesbians1”

Director Cameron Crowe partnered up with Sigur Rós frontman Jónsi to score his newest big-screen movie We Bought a Zoo. Other Sigur Rós tracks have earned a warm welcome on the big-screen (some say the songs they composed for his 2001 thriller Vanilla Sky gave the film the outer-spacey feel that was lacking from the directorial side), so it’s no surprise that Crowe asked them to compose a whole soundtrack. Jónsi’s tracks for the score are everything a Sigur Rós fan would expect: cheerful, bubbly, and filled with childish, multi-dimensional-magic—perfect for a movie about a zoo.

Some songs off the We Bought a Zoo album are recycled from Jónsi’s latest solo album Go, but given the enthusiasm with which that album was received, it seems no one’s complaining.  Most of Sigur Rós’s tracks are a composition of playful and out-of-this-world material, but Jónsi takes his tracks to a whole new dimension of liveliness. His music is so cinematic, which is what makes his partnership with Crowe so spectacular.

The first song on the album, “Why Not,” begins calmly and serenely. The touch of piano keys is simple and pure, and creates a comfortable atmosphere. It is a perfect example of what Jonsi has tried to achieve with his solo career—relaxation amongst chaos.  The soft vocals and guitar that arrive later in the song captivate the listener and set the mood for the rest of the score.

“Gathering Stories” is a track off the album that varies immensely from the rest. It was co-written by Crowe and shows a new side to Jonsi that differs much from all of Sigur Rós usual tracks.. The song marks the shift on the album, introducing songs that are more upbeat and poppy. The tones of “Gathering Stories” blend in well with older pieces like “Go Do” and “Boy Lilikoi,” which are both adapted from Go. They are also the only tracks on the album that include full lyrics, which evoke a lot of emotion from the otherwise lyric-less soundtrack.

“Hoppopilla” is another vintage track, this time from Sigur Rós’s album Takk, included on the soundtrack.  The song is possibly the best representation of Sigur Rós on the soundtrack, and also utilizes their elfish, indecipherable language they use in a lot of their work. “Hoppopilla” is full of piano twinkles and floaty vocals. The strings and the vocals create a sense of euphoria that works its way into the movie in just the right way.

Sure, We Bought A Zoo recycles many of Sigur Rós’s songs as well as Jónsi’s solo tracks, but the brand new tracks make this whole album worth the while.  The thing that’s so special about many of these songs is that although they are utilized and make a presence alongside the movie, they can also stand alone and not lose one ounce of magic.

Jónsi – We Bought a Zoo tracklist:

1. “Why Not”
2. “AEvin Endar”
3. “Boy Lilikoi”
4. “Sun”
5. “Brambles”
6. “Sinking Friendships”
7. “We Bought a Zoo”
8. “Hoppipolla”
9. “Snaerisendar”
10. “Sink”
11. “Go Do”
12. “Whole Made of Pieces”
13. 13. “Humming”
14. 14. “First Day”
15. 15. “Gathering Stories” (co-written by Cameron Crowe)

In the densely populated soundscape of European indie rock, The Maccabees have registered minor yet promising blips on the radar. Over the past several years, this London-based quintet has skated by on comparisons to The Kooks (2007’s Colour It In, a debut of unremarkable Brit-pop nouveau) and Arcade Fire (2009’s Wall of Arms, produced by Markus “Neon Bible” Dravs) while struggling to define themselves as a musical entity outside the rotating realm of “been there, heard that.”

Fortunately, their third studio album is a giant leap forward for the band in terms of sonic exploration and artistic maturity. Given to the Wild is The Maccabees’ most adventurous work to date, spanning 13 tracks and mixing distorted psychedelia with soulful, complex layers of brass, percussion, and guitar. This record finds the group embracing a new sound that is richer, deeper, and infinitely more exciting than its predecessors—an expansive, beguiling opus that draws inspiration from musical peers such as Coldplay and Kate Bush, yet refuses to lose its own unique autonomy in the process.

Given to the Wild is a welcome departure for these young lads, (too cliché) as they abandon their generic roots for a more intense and cerebral aesthetic. A two-minute intro perfectly sets the tone: one long, continuous drone carried in waves by lead singer Orlando Weeks’ ghostly falsetto. With each song, Weeks ponders such complicated themes as stolen childhood, animalistic urges, and the transient nature of time—wailing against a backdrop of heady rhythms and hypnotizing melodies.

His lyrics are an intriguing mix of cynicism and nostalgia, as evidenced by the punchy single “Pelican” —“One thing’s for sure, we’re all getting older/so we take a lover waiting in the corner/before you know it, pushing up the daisies.”From the gentle roll of “Child,” to the heavy synth beats of “Feel to Follow,” to the arpeggiated pianos and fluttering keys of “Ayla,” the band showcases both a wide range of musical arrangements and a meticulous ear for lyrical structure and intricacy. Despite a murky and mostly forgettable middle section, the record ends on a high note with “Grew Up At Midnight,” an anthemic finale of soaring vocals and beautifully echoing guitars.

Produced by hipster mogul Tim Goldsworthy, this album is meant to be listened to as a dreamy, meandering whole. None of the songs are particularly memorable on their own—instead, each lyric and melody blends into the next like a sprawling canvas of human emotion. However, this ambitious approach does not always achieve its desired effect. Clocking in at just under 53 minutes, the record is too long and suffers from a creative slump halfway through. Attempts at sweeping grandeur often fall short—not because of the band’s lack of talent, but as a direct result of poor studio editing. Still, the few murky areas are just small, barely noticeable missteps on an otherwise sublimely constructed LP.

Although The Maccabees have yet to reach their highest potential as artists, Given to the Wild is an impressive and invigorating step in the right direction. While their previous efforts have been mediocre at best, this new album is a breath of fresh air—standing on its own as a courageously impassioned musical breakthrough.

The Maccabees- Given to the Wild tracklist:

1. “Given to the Wild Intro”
2. “Child”
3. “Feel to Follow”
4. “Ayla”
5. “Glimmer”
6. “Forever I’ve Known”
7. “Heave”
8. “Pelican”
9. “Went Away”
10. “Go”
11. “Unknown”
12. “Slowly One”
13. “Grew Up at Midnight”

Hip-hop seems to be in a really good place right now and one of the main reasons for that may be the diversity of what’s coming out of the speakers these days. The New York duo of Matter Ov Fact and EP, collectively known as The Ghastly Duo, are the ones behind the rawness of the collaborative soundscape and rhymes that make up Lone Sharks. Also known as the Doppelgangaz, these two bring a smooth, sample-heavy and lyric-soaked 15-track effort that screams part soul, part R & B, with a little bit of reggae thrown in to form a Voltron effect. This results in a laid-back, easy listening hip-hop album.

Claiming to prefer a level of anonymity, the Doppelgangaz preach everything from the “Doppel Gospel,” where they channel their inner Marley while reminiscing on childhood terrors and prepare the listener for the upcoming takeover they plan to achieve, to the art of “Dumpster Diving,” where they choose to deviate from the norm and hold nothing back using the metaphor of digging around in primitive filth, and even manage to give a shout out to an old-school NBA all-star in Mahmoud Abdul-Rauf, which is not an easy task. The production team rolls out some menacing, sinister mood music to bridge the gap between tracks, with smooth instrumentals like the opening “Happy Face,” the middle connection of “The Gods” and the voice-over heavy, downright creepy “Lush,” which lets the listener know their affinity for being inebriated on a regular basis.

They proclaim to be modern-day nomads and brag about sneaking in a little alcohol when they’re not supposed to. They lust after loose women and cloak themselves in mystery. But, they’re definitely not afraid to flex their lyrical muscle. Tracks like “NY Bushmen” are blessed with beautiful bars where they trade rhymes about being prone to dropping idioms and “eating titty bar chicken wings,” showing some realness and versatility. “Wench Rench” gives the team a backdrop that brings back visions of Craig Mack and finds them talking about everything from barely being able to outfit their living spaces to paying for love.

From tales of being down on their luck, money-wise, on “Rap $ Unemployment,” to eerie, Hitchcockian songs like “Dead Already,” the diversity shown on Lone Sharks lets the album play out like a movie of which you can’t quite put your finger on the plot, but it’s an enjoyable ride to try along the way. It’s not revolutionary, but it’s definitely a solid effort from a couple of guys from NYC with a lot of stories to tell.

The Doppelgangaz – Lone Sharks tracklist:

1. “Happy Face”
2. “Nexium”
3. “Get Em”
4. “Doppel Gospel”
5. “Dumpster Diving”
6. “The Gods”
7. “Pack Kevorkian”
8. “Wench Rench”
9. “Rap $ Unemployment”
10. “Like What Like Me”
11. “Lush”
12. “NY Bushmen”
13. “At Night”
14. “Dead Already”
15. “Suppository”

It’s been a long but, seemingly, fruitful road for Chuck New (lead vocals/talkbox/synth) and Jimmy Con (production/synth/vocals) – the duo that are Ghosthouse. From modest, hope-filled beginnings as dorm mates at Columbia College Chicago, the two have trudged and schlepped a long time to get to where they are today.

Seven years, to be exact.

And in those seven years of collaboration, seven years of working alongside each other as best friends, seven years of energetic live shows; those seven years of rumination and commitment have finally birthed the self-titled debut album of the Chicago-based electrofunk duo (an added drummer—Dylan Hyde Castle—makes the group a trio when playing live).

The group has done well making a name for itself—the benefit of working so tirelessly for the better part of a decade. Their big break came in August of last year when their track “Rx Music” made it on The Jersey Shore in season four, episode two, exposing Ghosthouse to roughly 9 million viewers. And they have reinforced their debut effort with a Twitter-fed grassroots campaign to get on Last Call with Carson Daly.

The album is purely dance music, so much so that it might as well come sticky with sweat and covered in body glitter. But both New and Con seem to truly love their music and accept their limited market.

New’s preference for soul music and R&B from the late ’60s and early ’70s blend with Con’s proclivity for ’80s synth-pop to create a bubbly, morphed version of nostalgic dance-pop—the soundtrack to an alternate universe where flashes of life are only revealed in the short glimpses a strobe light provides, where pupils remain dilated for hours on-end and where personal space and genitals are being encroached upon to the point of near-claustrophobic climax; all of which, depending on your tastes, could either sound great or like a blurry flashback of your last trip to the optometrist.

Religion is tricky. It’s something a vast majority of people believe in, one form or another, yet it’s very mention in the culture of pop is perplexing if not doused in irony. We can sing about masturbating, or killing people, or committing other felonies (or in Tyler, the Creator’s case, all three at the same time), but earnestly expressing ones convictions toward Jesus Christ renders a genuinely awkward moment.

Craig Finn wants to, or perhaps more accurately, has begun to, change that. His greatest album, Separation Sunday, bandied about notions of baptism and genuflection, all revolving around a girl named Hallelujah. Winking nods to Christianity, but earnest ones. So when the zippy track “New Friend Jesus” pumps its White Stripes-like childhood earnestness and positivity about a man who can’t play sports because of crucifixion holes in his hands, it’s almost awkward how natural Jesus’ presence feels on Finn’s first solo full-length, Clear Heart Full Eyes.

To allay fears – Clear Heart isn’t that old straw man Christian Rock. It’s not selling a message, and Finn doesn’t particularly bare his soul (with the obvious exception of the painful, bluesy opener “Apollo Bay”). What Finn’s faith does instead is inform the illustrious, brutal and vivid story-telling that one has come to rightly expect from Finn. Right before professing Jesus as a righteous judge on “Western Pier,” Finn drops the line “the just judge said I’m sorry love’s been such a letdown / let’s proceed with the shakedown.” Clear Heart is a fantastic meditation on faith, the trials by which our lives are assessed. And the line right after the profession? “I don’t even know what’s east of here / I came up the western pier.”

All-encompassing darkness surrounds and becomes the record, despite the music being some of Finn’s cheeriest and most Americana-infused work to date. The glorious riffage of “Honolulu Blues” belies the narrative – the insatiable need for proof, the resignation that we all now have to “roll the rock away and check the tomb.” The album plays both sides of this coin with a certain cunning – some of the hardest concepts to deal with are here, yet they’re infused inside immediately accessible sonics.

On sonics, the album attains a distinctly homespun feel, sprouting from the way various tracks jam on enjoyably for a few extra seconds than they would in a normal rock song or the incessant count-offs Finn spouts all over the beginnings and ends of songs. The texture, the roughshod and spartan production all compliment Finn’s strained talk-song. Somewhere, Conor Oberst is listening to Outer South and suddenly feels less certain about it’s “brilliance.”

If Clear Heart is more than the sum of its parts (and it certainly is), its parts, taken separately, are fairly brilliant as well. The end of hero worship in the mystical “When No One’s Watching,” the tragedy of anxiety (a feeling Finn has admitted to having) finally taking its toll to the titular “Jackson,” or the frustrating, violent and often brutal struggle against addiction in “Terrified Eyes” all have the clear-headed vision of professional songwriter and the wisdom of an old soul. Viewing Finn’s career through a prism of growing up, from Lifter Puller’s post-teen frustration to early Hold Steady twenty-something ennui to later Hold Steady declarations of lesson, Clear Hearts is the reckoning of age, the terrors of being past it all.

Finn never expects hope to arrive. Good Old Johnny Rotten chronicled the death of the inside in “No Future,” and lest the listener begin to believe there is a happy ending to this tangled story of defeated people, “Balcony” and “Not Much Left of Us” excellently erase such belief. For all the talk of Jesus’ forgiveness at the altar, Finn rightly points out that there’s still that troubling bit about living out this rotten passion fruit of a life. The last line may be slightly pat, but that’s the point. As mournful, gorgeous fiddle and slide guitar whine below, Craig Finn reaches a comfort that comes from being on the losing side of a zero sum game. Just like the lament in “Rented Room,” Finn lets out “there are nights when I’m still in love with you.” He never loses his religion – Clear Heart isn’t designed to confirm or deny such things. Mostly, this sometimes rollicking, sometimes plaintive, persistently affecting album reminds Finn’s audience (most younger than he) that there’s light on the horizon, but you wouldn’t be wrong in noticing that the current landscape is desolate. No hope, but no fear, just experience – resoundingly told by a transcendent storyteller.

Craig Finn – Clear Heart Full Eyes tracklist:

1. “Apollo Bay”
2. “When No One’s Watching”
3. “No Future”
4. “New Friend Jesus”
5. “Jackson”
6. “Terrified Eyes”
7. “Western Pier”
8. “Honolulu Blues”
9. “Rented Room”
10. “Balcony”
11. “Not Much Left of Us

Theatrical glam-rock is a phrase that can only explain a handful of musicians. But when it’s done well, the outcome is fascinatingly charming. Kevin Barnes and his rotating slew of musicians in of Montreal have been creating music of the sorts since the late 1990s, with only a few hiccups.

Since 2007’s release, Hissing Fauna, Are you the Destroyer?, the Athens-based group hasn’t sparked quite the same frenzy. Of course, every group reaches the peak in their career where nothing else can surpass the brilliance of one single album. But with that aside, Paralytic Stalks has just the right amount of psychedelic funk, witty lyricism and catchy hooks. And for those fans engulfed in the ’07 sound waves, Paralytic Stalks may just be the right remedy.

The three full length albums, various EPs and remixes released in the past four years came with a lighter undertone and bubbly persona. Of Montreal received a string of “OK” receptions, gaining continual accusations of mimicking Prince and Freddy Mercury. While those same tendencies appear on this album, the heavier blends and bulkier sounds are pleasantly reminiscent of Hissing Fauna.

Recorded in Barnes home studio, of Montreal’s eleventh studio album is produced, co-engineered, written and performed by the front man himself. He did have some help from various session musicians, though. Among those featured is woodwind/brass musician Zac Cowell, who ended up landing a spot in the band’s lineup. But no matter the number of musicians on Paralytic Stalks, Barnes doesn’t shy away from personal exposure.

Album opener, “Gelid Ascent,” sounds like a basement keyboardist from the 1980s. Echoed vocals and distant, sparse instrumentation could come from one of two types of people: an electronic genius of our time or Ross Gellar. Luckily after a little over a minute, of Montreal bursts into a full orchestration of psychedelic wonder that extends for nearly an hour.

“We Will Commit Wolf Murder” is one of those up-beat tunes with devilish lyrics. Barnes sings, “There’s blood in my hair,” on rotation as the breezy melodies fade and mysterious dance beats pound with strobe-light enthusiasm. It only lasts a couple minutes though. Before the fog machine is set up in delight, Barnes takes a quick pivot back into a colorful world of wind instruments and delicate piano. He glides straight into “Malefic Dowery,” a dreamy lullaby where one can only imagine unicorns and candy forests.

Feed off one another in a continual pattern, each song comes with a varying depth of personal aesthetic. Songs such as “Wintered Debts” and thirteen minute closer “Authentic Pyrrhic Remission” are formed like a dense theatrical soundtrack. Crashes and clatters are spun around spurts of minimal composition for dramatic scenery to end this on-going story.

There are some things that haven’t changed – and hopefully never will – about of Montreal: spiraling falsetto, mural-like album art and bizarre song titles. And that’s just the shell of it. As every emotion breaks out and all the colors of the rainbow shine through, of Montreal aims to create something as intricately woven as Hissing Fauna. Well, it’s pretty darn close.

Of Montreal – Paralytic Stalks tracklist:

1. “Gelid Ascent”
2. “Spiteful Intervention”
3. “Dour Percentage”
4. “We Will Commit Wolf Murder”
5. “Malefic Dowery”
6. “Ya, Renew the Plaintiff”
7. “Wintered Debts”
8. “Exorcismic Breeding Knife”
9. “Authentic Pyrrhic Remission”