Pop 'stache

Every once in a blue moon comes a band that changes everything, one that challenges both the conventions of music industry and the ears of frustrated followers. Son of the Sun is not that band—at least not yet. What Son of the Sun does, and does well, is make pleasant, accessible music for the masses, and on the band’s latest EP Almost Not There, they do just that. “Grower” albums be damned.

The first four tracks (including head-boppin’ single “10,000”) make for breezy entertainment. By the time the record spins ’round to “Henry’s England,” foot-tapping will surely ensue. With lines such as, “I’ve seen your Henry’s England/I’ve seen him wear his shiny crown/parading on the streets in the lovely shops of London town,” lead singer Zak Ward’s England seems to be more interested in checking out Fergie’s “London Bridge” than saving the Queen, but that’s OK.

Ironically titled “My Best Mistake” continues the upbeat mood with a guitar riff that is at once 21^st century surf rock/mumbling shoegaze (surf-gaze?) and late 20^th century grunge. It’s the perfect summer beach jam—essentially, “My Best Mistake” is more Blue Crush than anything on the actual Blue Crush soundtrack. (Somewhere, Kate Bosworth agrees.)

Ward takes things down about 16 notches on melancholy “Fruit Jar.” A syrup-soaked, country-flavored ballad about love lost, the song offers up some of the most interesting lyricism on the record. Even though he’s the one doing the dumping (so we don’t feel entirely sorry for him), it’s difficult not to empathize. After all, the Blue Crush beaches of “My Best Mistake” are miles away.

On closer “Don’t Worry,” the charming antics of earlier tracks begin to unravel. Despite the title, we worry. Ward’s embarrassing assault of “la-la-la”s and all-too-forceful attempts to wrangle in the apple of his eye make for an unsatisfying conclusion to a record that started out with such promise.

Despite its strengths, Almost Not There isn’t quite there in terms of polish. If these guys want to break out of their CMJ radio bubble, they’ve got a long way to go.

Son of the Sun – Almost Not There EP tracklist:

1. “As Far As Lucy”
2. “10,000”
3. “Henry’s England”
4. “My Best Mistake”
5. “Fruit Jar”
6. “Don’t Worry”

To be faced with the task of reviewing a band whose sound is very blatantly similar to that of Animal Collective is, for a critic, a bit of a pickle. To be faced with that task and also really, really like said band is an even bigger pickle. More like a pickle and a half, even.

Chicago-based experimental rock band YAWN is the band at hand. Utilizing the same warped vowels, animalistic hooting, simple harmonies and sparse yodeling of Animal Collective’s Avey Tare, the sound of YAWN’s lead singer may leave listeners with the slightest wonder as to whether or not the band is some sort of side project of Avey’s—a more danceable side project, perhaps. If Avey Tare’s music is the sonic equivalent of an acid trip, YAWN’s is like being on speed. Or sugar. Or it’s like taking half of an Adderall, eating twelve doughnuts, smoking a joint, and going for a joyful ride on the freeway in a convertible.

Open Season begins with the drama of Yeasayer, but keeps their vibe a happier one. The entire album is a bit like a happy, stoned dance, playing with animal-like noises, childish vocals, and lots of crash cymbals. And if it sounds familiar, that’s because it is. But it’s familiar in a good way.

YAWN is putting out catchy, dramatic sounds that make for a happy escape.

So much of what makes this album a solid one is that each song has its own progression. Each tells its own story and has its own version of an ebb and flow. This is music that explores itself, sees what kind of territory each song can enter into, becoming music that is very much worth our while. The swell of the first chorus on “Acid,” for example, is undoubtedly the song’s peak. The crash cymbal hits on the downbeat of each 6/8 measure, creating a foggy waltz of sorts, much like the trip to which it refers.

This peak hits, however, only about a minute in, despite the fact that it’s a five-and-a-half minute song. The rest of the song explores low moments of owl-like hooting, highs of more cymbal crashes, and the calm exit of an acoustic guitar. It’s worth noting that explorations of this kind make Animal Collective such a dramatically riveting band, as well.

Similarly pleasant waltzing is present on the lovely “Sing Low,” whereas tracks like “Gasoline” and “Magician” experiment with much more dance-heavy sounds, allowing YAWN to express their individuality a bit more. While the hectic beat feels a little out of place on “Gasoline,” they’ve pretty much nailed it on “Magician,” a song that is just happy as hell. The dance elements are integrated into the avant-garde aura almost seamlessly.

The question of originality cannot be ignored, which, again, given the fact that this is still a happy and interesting album, makes for that big old critic’s pickle. But shame has no place here. YAWN is putting out good experimental music in what often feels like a huge sea of mess. And the ending to Open Season, “Rainy Days,” leaves us with a bit of beauty, fun, and momentous closure. Perhaps the band is still finding the voice that is entirely their own, but what they have here is certainly worthy of facing as many pickles as is necessary to listen.

YAWN – Open Season tracklist:

1. “Keep Up”
2. “YumYum”
3. “Acid”
4. “Gasoline”
5. “Sing Low”
6. “Magician”
7. “Never Knew”
8. “Astral Observatory”
9. “Candle”
10. “Indigo”
11. “Rainy Days”

Cass McCombs’ sixth full-length Humor Risk and second of this year (Wit’s End being the first) adds to the artist’s decline since reaching his pinnacle with Catacombs in 2009. Northern Californian and all-out rambler, McCombs’ albums tend to conceptually form around a mosaic of stories, each one dirtied by the grit of America. But with the lack of growth since his debut EP in 2002, the music is becoming noticeably weathered.

McCombs claimed there was a comedic thread sewn into his April release Wit’s End and is apparently still slapping his knee about Humor Risk. Admittedly, the joke is lost.

Heavily emotional yet simple songs, not uncommonly held together by only a of couple chord changes, that, in the end, prove to be largely ineffective summarizes nearly all of McCombs’ work. At times, the slow, unchanging melodies can be (deliberately) outright painful. Match this with McCombs’ droning and uninspired lyrics (the quality of which have taken a precipitous drop since Catacombs) like these: “Mystery mail/ I hope this finds you well/ To no avail/ You tip the scale/ Now I’ll see you in Hell.” What?

When McCombs implements a little more distortion and strains his voice, as he does in “Mystery Mail,” he can sound like Jerry Garcia playing alongside The Thermals or Band of Horses, which, if it weren’t for the track’s 8-minutes running-time, would make for a welcome departure from his sleepy, drawn-out Americana. But instead he drives this song into the ground with a lyrical saga.

With McCombs’ vocals bouncing through reverb and chiming guitar in “The Same Thing” (Humor’s strongest track), the song takes the form of indie-pop or, as John Peel would call it, shambling ( Peel also dubbed McCombs “unobtrusively brilliant”). The track periodically shifts into a diverging “Hotel California”-esque bridge that doesn’t follow the predictability or stillness heard on the rest of the album.

McCombs’ wordsmith-ing seems to only do him harm. His lyrics and personal biography take on an affectation that portray McCombs as self-indulgent and, frankly, dumb . On his website, presumably it’s McCombs that describes the album as “an attempt at laughter instead of confusion, chaos instead of morality, or as fellow northern Californian Jack London put it: ‘I would rather be ashes than dust!’”

Laughter and confusion aren’t opposites, and chaos and confusion are often used in the same breath to describe a single event. Generally people have to reach an iconic class built on drug or manic-infused prophesying before they can start combining words in senseless ways that make people introspective (e.g. Charles Manson, Jim Morrison, or cult-leader and another fellow northern Californian, Jim Jones). A person can’t just thrust themselves into this status, it must be earned. And McCombs has a long way to go both musically and in self-imagery before his work can be confused for inspiring or humorous.

Cass McCombs – Humor Risk tracklist:

1. “Love Thine Enemy”
2. “The Living Word”
3. “The Same Thing”
4. “To Every Man His Chimera”
5. “Robin Egg Blue”
6. “Mystery Mail”
7. “Meet Me at the Mannequin Gallery”
8. “Mariah”

For Circuit Des Yeux, the Dead no longer Can Dance, and Bela Lugosi is still Dead with a capital D.  Not only that, but St. Vincent is on a “Highway To Hell,” but she’ll be meeting Robert Johnson at the crossroads first, if one is to engage in historical musical metaphors to describe the sound of Portrait.

On Portrait, the artist redefines modern blues through a youthful but world-weary lens, in a much more successful manner than David Lynch’s recent “post-music” attempt and more so than the Cowboy Junkies retro meets hip-hop 21^st Century Blues record.

Loosely translated as “circuit of the eyes,” Circuit Des Yeux is the moniker of Haley Fohr, a native of Lafayette, Ind., and a student at Indiana University in Bloomington, studying ethnomusicology and recording arts.  From the beginning introduction, which features what sounds like a veteran bluesman providing his definition of the blues, there’s no question that she is providing a reframing of the blues.

It’s telling that the title of the record does not refer to what this is a portrait “of,” like Portrait of Dorian Gray, The Artist As A Young Man, etc.  Rather it’s just a portrait, and the listener can interpret what they hear in this picture. At the same time, it seems clear that this album is a snapshot of where Fohr is musically and personally at this point in time.

With such anguish in her wailing alto vocals and a pace so unhurried, it’s amazing that Fohr is only 21, and this is her third full-length record since assuming the Circuit Des Yeux nom de plume when she was just 17. “3311” is the centerpiece of the first half of the record: “In 21 years, nothing has changed, the yelling still sounds the same,” Fohr sings, and it’s hard not to read an autobiographical element into her art, especially when viewing the video for the song she’s posted on YouTube, which is composed of scenes from a family’s home movies.

Even when she uses the persona of Buddy in “101 Ways To Kill A Man,” it doesn’t take much imagination to infer that the character of Buddy represents her own point of view: “Buddy never knew what it was to act her own age/playing grown up on a fucked-up family stage.”  Indeed, that early prematurity is a running theme throughout Portrait; she is wise beyond her years and has the blues to show for it.

Portrait is the perfect soundtrack to the end of fall and the beginning of winter, when there’s a chill in the wind and the air bites the lungs. Hopefully there’s a fire in the fireplace, and the firewood simmers, flames and burn down to embers.

As if to underscore that fire that’s burning within, the record concludes with a live track (a typically ballsy move for Fohr) titled “I’m On Fire” that sounds like Joan of Arc being burned at the stake and bears only a passing resemblance to the Bruce Springsteen song of the same name.

Not all of the songs are as strong and compelling, but all of the tracks serve to create an ambiance that is both claustrophobic and orchestrally liberating. It’s hard to imagine that Circuit Des Yeux’s first two albums were any better than this, and given the breath-taking level of artistic ability Fohr exhibits on Portait, it’s easy to believe that she’s got more great music yet to come.

Circuit Des Yeux – Portrait tracklist:

1. “Intro”
2. “Falling Out”
3. “3311”
4. “Crying Chair”
5. “20 and Dry”
6. “Weighed Down”
7. “101 Ways to Kill a Man”
8. “I’m on Fire” (Live)

As a genre, pop-punk is often associated with youthful exuberance and sophomoric lyricism. At least that’s what the genre’s breakthrough artists would lead people to believe. However, Berkeley, Calif.’s Samiam has been creating energetic and informed punk anthems for more than 20 years.

Formed in 1988, Samiam has faced numerous line-up changes—as well as label changes—during its lengthy existence. After releasing five full-length records in seven years, the group slowed its pace significantly after the release of Astray in 2000. Astray was not only the band’s best album to date, it was a swan song as the group planned to break up after finishing touring in support of the album. That break-up didn’t stick as the group returned in 2006 with Whatever’s Got You Down, an album that boasted strong songwriting but rather troublesome production. Five years later, and with only two original members left—vocalist Jason Beebout and guitarist Sergie Loobkoff—Samiam has released its eighth full-length, Trips.

Trips opens with the sub-two-minute “80 West,” a track that proves Samiam hasn’t lost an iota of energy, even though its members have crossed the threshold into middle age. The guitars of Loobkoff and Sean Kennerly bounce off one another with riffs that are as powerful as anything in Samiam’s discography. In its short duration, “80 West” sets the tone for Trips, and succinctly sums up Samiam’s strengths.

From there Trips displays how diverse and mature Samiam is at this point in its career. While no one would mistake Samiam for anything other than a punk band with a penchant for huge hooks, when the group slows down and allows songs to breathe it is often more successful than when it is going full speed ahead. “El Dorado” builds slowly at its onset, and it is deliberate with each movement over the course of its five minutes. The guitars wrap around one another as the rhythm section propels the song forward; all the while, Beebout constructs melodies that would make Blink-182 envious.

The album’s end only further showcases Samiam’s depth with tracks such as “Magellan” and album closer “Happy For You.” The former is a bouncy, hardly punk number that makes Beebout’s constant repetition of, “I’m always stumblin’, stumblin’,” infectious instead of annoying, while the latter is a slow burning piece of introspection. In the hands of a lesser act, “Happy For You” could seem trite and heartless, but Samiam takes what could be an overwrought ballad and turns it into a truly heartfelt album closer.

Trips doesn’t try to reinvent the wheel, but it doesn’t need to do so: it merely showcases why Samiam has been around for so long. The band puts a focus on quality songwriting that, in itself, finds maturity. It didn’t need to add synthesizers a la Blink-182 to try and prove it had grown up. Samiam just wrote good songs instead.

Samiam – Trips tracklist:

1. “80 West”
2. “Clean up the Mess”
3. “September Holiday”
4. “Demon”
5. “Crew of One”
6. “Over Now”
7. “How Would You Know”
8. “Nightly”
9. “Free Time”
10. “El Dorado”
11. “Magellan”
12. “Did You Change”
13. “Happy for You”

Wale is a conundrum wrapped up in an enigma, and it’s a beautiful thing. The DMV (D.C./Maryland/Virginia) representative has bounced around the different levels of the hip-hop world. From mixtape king to commercial flop, from head of the XXL freshman class to one of GQ’s Men of the Year, Wale Falorin has come full circle back to legendary lyricist with a uniqueness that puts him in a class of his own. Ambition is the antithesis of that. At a time when hip-hop may be at a peak not seen since the early days of Jay-Z and Nas and the end of Biggie and Pac’s all-too-short lives, Wale has reinvented himself by staying the same person. If that doesn’t make sense, look at it this way: armed with a laid-back, yet aggressive, flow that is as harmonious and melodic as it is fierce and potent, Wale has attacked every beat since the mixtapes days, yet he has adapted what he does for whatever the situation calls.

Early on in his career, it was feverishly ripping beats from local DMV acts, then it gradually progressed to artistically specific collaborations with underground legends such as 9^th Wonder, followed by radio-friendly, yet not radio-received, music on his freshman release, Attention Deficit, to the sound that currently exists with Rick Ross’ Maybach Music imprint. The last one is the one that, by all accounts, shouldn’t work. A lyricist like Wale shouldn’t work seamlessly on tracks with cop-turned-cocaine-rap aficionado Ross and the ever angry and shirtless Meek Mill, but it does. With every “MMMMMMMMMMM Maybach Music” drop, the anticipation is that Wale’s voice isn’t going to translate on this, but he’s delivered works of art on almost every bar since signing with the Miami-based label. What started on MMG’s summer posse LP, Self Made, Vol. 1, is, not only continued, but antied-up on Ambition. Where Wale was just stealing the spotlight from his boss and hood-favorite, Mill, Wale relishes under the spotlight that’s given to him almost exclusively (the exception being the obligatory posse cut that shares the album’s name, a perfect party cut with Big Sean and some hook-help from professional captains—get it?—Kid Cudi, Lloyd and Jeremiah). 

Ambition is, without a doubt, Wale’s best work to date, finally finding that balance of commercial appeal and hip-hop credibility.

Wale opens the LP with a fury, putting his pen-pushing talent on full display on “Don’t Hold Your Applause,” a call for his fans to know it’s cool to acknowledge this is pretty dope, “Double M Genius,” where he waxes poetic on basketball and his kick game with lines such as, “N***** is Kemba Walker, tryin’ to see my Pitt-fall,” and, “Foamposites, if you ain’t got ‘em, then you Penny-loafin.” Hoop and shoe fans will take great pride in those two lines, and heads will still be nodding for those who aren’t. “Legendary” is five minutes of unapologetic attacking on a helpless beat. “Slight Work” with the aforementioned Big Sean, is an alarm-sounding anthem for the rest of the hip-hop world. “Focused” is simply that: grabbing the goal of success, and the posse-cut title track is a three-part showcase of the best of the set’s talents. The ladies aren’t forgotten either with “Lotus Flower Bomb” and “Illest Bitch.”

Ambition is sick. It’s on point. Wale fans will love it. Fans of people who aren’t Wale should be joining that sect shortly after one listen.

Wale – Ambition tracklist:

1. “Don’t Hold Your Applause”
2. “Double M Genius”
3. “Miami Nights”
4. “Legendary”
5. “Lotus Flower Bomb” (featuring Miguel)
6. “Chain Music”
7. “Focused” (featuring Kid Cudi)
8. “Sabotage” (featuring Lloyd)
9. “White Linen (Coolin)” (featuring Ne-Yo)
10. “Slight Work” (featuring Big Sean)
11. “Ambition” (featuring Meek Mill and Rick Ross)
12. “Illest Bitch”
13. “No Days Off”
14. “DC or Nothing” (featuring Sam Dew)
15. “That Way” (featuring Jeremih and Rick Ross)

Montreal multi-instrumentalist Colin Stetson has released a third effort, an EP called Those Who Didn’t Run:. It’s a two-track sojourn to nowhere with noise providing the sights. Stetson is no stranger to this type of music. His previous releases, both full-lengths, New History Warfare, Vol. 1 and New History Warfare, Vol. 2: Judges are nothing but incongruent abstractions mostly belted out of a powerful bass saxophone, and this latest EP is falling right in line behind them.

Despite Stetson’s oddities musically, his work has garnished widespread recognition, which has manifested itself into playing sax for groups such as Arcade Fire, Bon Iver and The National, being among the top 10 nominated for the Polaris Music Award (an award given to the best full-length Canadian album independent of earnings or genre and based solely on artistic merit. Arcade Fire won it this year for The Suburbs.) in 2011 for his album Judges, and recently being chosen by Jeff Mangum of Neutral Milk Hotel to perform at All Tomorrow’s Parties in England.

As usual, Those Who Didn’t Run is built on Stetson sending sounds orbiting around a central saxophone riff. And although totally unfamiliar, the noise is alluring, entrancing.

Title track “Those Who Didn’t Run” is characterized by a voluminous ocean of sound. A muddled bassline bounces rhythmically and cyclically builds up to an unnatural, spooky electrified sax, thrashing out of control, only to recede again, like the tide. Contrasting this abrasive assault is the smooth, haunted drone of a woman, crooning softly over the cries of the sax like a woman trying to sooth some enraged beast among the endless cosmos.

“The End of Your Suffering” is carried solely by an unrelenting, chaotic, jazz saxophone, howling in a hypnotizing spiral which occasionally climaxes into the strained sax screaming out in a sound similar to the roar of an elephant. As the song progresses, the breaks in between the repeated jazz riffs grow shorter until the track becomes one incessant tumbling of sax. And, as in “Those Who Didn’t Run,” late into the track, an emotionless hum plays intermittently over the swarming cluster of jumbling saxophone notes. In the final seconds of the track, the saxophone drops out and the album finishes with one final, monotone hum, and then the audio cuts out completely.

At times, the album can sound like an amplification of a flock of geese squawking on their way to Florida. And with both tracks spilling over into a 10th minute, the looping, rapid sax can become dizzying. But these are minor detractions. Stetson, without much variation or song structure creates engaging noise music that, artistically, is very satisfying.

Colin Stetson – Those Who Didn’t Run tracklist:

1. “Those Who Didn’t Run”
2. “The End of Your Suffering”

It’s always been the general consensus that jam-band lovers are a different breed of music lover. The jam band-loving gene is one you either do or don’t have; it is exactly as uncomplicated as that. You either follow Phish around the country, or you do not. You either frequent My Morning Jacket concerts, or you refrain. Lunar Dunes’ latest album follows the same semilogical vein: it’s a simple “dig it or don’t” kind of situation. So it goes with the psychedelic jam band.

Lunar Dunes originally hail from London, sharing their 1960s-throwback instrumental experience with the masses. Decorating their largely improvised, psychedelic sound with ever-present pedal effects, multiple guitars, sporadic harp, and bluesy vocals that sound like something straight out of the opening to a good old James Bond film (take the opening track, “Moon Bathing,” which features airy female vocals exploring sharp accidentals with an ever-rising pitch), the band certainly has the concept of its sound locked down. And while this review could very quickly turn into an argument over whether or not the world particularly needs yet another psychedelic jam band in its various Spotify playlists—whether this type of musical endeavor is really worthy the world’s time at this point—that is not the issue at hand. That is another conversation entirely. The question at hand is whether or not this band is doing a good job in executing this type of music in its latest release, Galaxsea.

The answer to that is: undoubtedly, yes. Lunar Dunes have found their niche in psychedelic long-form improvisation for the 2010s. The album is paced extremely well, their production is well thought-out, and their trippy ambience is securely established, without question. If Portishead were happier (and a bit less original), their sound might approach something like Lunar Dunes’. They are certainly accomplishing that daze-inducing indie-psych sound they seem to be striving for. One listen to the Asian-inspired vamp in the opening to “Ayaz” is undoubtedly enough to ensure that. Or, at 10 minutes and 45 seconds, take “Svalbard,” which reaches across an entire spectrum of sounds—from held-out saxophone notes beneath echo-y vocals to full-out Middle Eastern dance percussion.

While ignored earlier, it is important to come back to that previous question of the place in the world for this kind of music. Whatever doubt exists about the worthwhile nature of this type of jam-band music is somewhat important in reviewing any band’s output of it. While they may be doing a fine job in execution, the lack of essential innovation does leave something substantial to be desired as a listener. Yes, the sounds are entirely cohesive, and yes, the vocals are on-key and integrated smoothly into the pulse of each tune, but to what degree does this album force us to challenge what we know of or expect from new music? What does Lunar Dunes offer in particular that we will eventually crave specifically and return to in order to experience again?

Unfortunately, the answer to that question is nowhere to be found in Galaxsea. It is a very fine psychedelic-jam record. But the degree of originality that makes an album worthy of heartfelt praise and replay after replay is not present. It’s quite fine, but it is what it is. Until that originality is present, Lunar Dunes will remain an odd but fitting cog in a big old jam-band machine.

 Lunar Dunes – Galaxsea tracklist:

1. “Moon Bathing”
2. “Oriental Pacific”
3. “Oh You Strange Tune”
4. “Pharaoh’s Dream”
5. “Ayaz”
6. “Svalbard”
7. “Free to Do”
8. “Eastern Promise”
9. “Off World Beacon”

Oneohtrix Point Never: the name of this project by Daniel Lopatin is just as disorienting and intriguing as it sounds. The newest release, Replica, is a journey from start to finish. The album is a mix of glitched-out music samples and loops that go beyond what you think a song is. They are mind-altering; brain waves seem to change, align to a new frequency, and suddenly, you’re in another universe.

Some songs, such as “Power of Persuasion,” are built off a garbled loop, like a skipping CD similar to something one might hear from The Field. Layered in and over are trickles of pianos. It sounds like a whole melody was chopped up note by note, then rearranged into a stuttered and fluttering sequence. This sequence is brought back out in many forms and at times throughout the track when the contrast between the other samples causes it to sound gripping. There are horn samples that are almost angelic in their tone throughout the track, as well.

This song and this album is church music for certain people. At parts the album even sounds like it is a new-age album for guided meditation or yoga. There are keys and droning synth pads that are present on an entire song such as on “Remember,” where cut-up clips of people talking are faded in a loop, reminiscent of cLOUDDEAD, only more structured and minimalistic. Replica defines “less is more” not by having less, but by holding back the bullshit and only putting the best foot forward.

Replica could be labeled as noise, it could be labeled as ambient, or it could be labeled as cinematic. “Sleep Dealer” uses a sample from a video game, like Mario getting a coin, but it’s all cut off and you can’t tell what you’re hearing or from where. It also uses a sample from a TV show theme that was mixed to sound like it had withered and decayed.

If the three things you remembered in the flash before your eyes right before death were video games, daytime TV, and your favorite piano melodies, Replica would be the music to accompany it all. In essence, it is a noise record built on subtleties instead of abrasive “pull the ear-buds out” sort of samples.

Oneohtrix Point Never – Replica tracklist:

1. “Andro”
2. “Power of Persuasion”
3. “Sleep Dealer”
4. “Remember”
5. “Replica”
6. “Nassau”
7. “Submersible”
8. “Up”
9. “Child Solider”
10. “Explain”

Boy and Bear is an indie-folk quintet from Sydney. They’ve been working together since 2009, but the band has seen very little hype, which is too bad because recently released debut album, Moonfire, is pretty great.

Despite this being the first album, the band sounds like it’s been together forever. No song better demonstrates this than Moonfire’s stellar intro track, “Lordy May.” “Lordy May” starts off simple, with just some drum skins, then light acoustic guitar, and eventually pieces together a number of elements until the song is transformed from its minimalistic beginning into something large and grand. By the end of the song, the five-piece melds together perfectly.

The pounding, tribal drums accentuate driving bass riffs and lead singer Dave Hosking’s rich, full vocals power the song to its somber conclusion. “When I come to my end some day/Will I find myself sitting at some golden gate?/Or will it all just float away?/My end some day,” Hosking sings. Although the subject matter is grave, the song remains high-energy and is worth a number of repeat listens.

As the album continues, the band begins to develop a very solid style: standard indie folk augmented by fuzzy but unobtrusive alt-rock guitars, and prominent, bouncing bass riffs. Songs are usually catchy, but the hooks don’t feel cheap, and the band manages to take a few played-out elements and make them work without being cheesy (check for the way the band uses looped whistling to intro and outro the song “Part Time Believer”; it’s actually good). Vocal harmonizing is common, but it isn’t abused and is consistently well done. All in all, it’s a sound that most will have heard before, but it’s both endearing and dependable and it works out excellently for the album and the band.

Highlights other than “Lordy May” include “Golden Jalibee,” whose buzzing electric guitars drive an upbeat jam, and “House and Farm,” which starts with little more than a plodding acoustic guitar but piles on layers (including some mandolin) until it becomes grandiose, almost epic. The album also has two very short intermission tracks, “Percy Warner Park,” where Hosking wails and banjos twang, and “The Village,” which sounds like it’s ripped from an Iron and Wine album. Overall, the album flows remarkably well, is thematically and stylistic congruent, and manages to have fun within the sometimes suffocatingly rigid genre of folk.

The only major complaint to be made about the album is that the end drags a little compared with the higher energy beginning and middle.

The last few songs, namely “Beach” and “Big Man,” slow down a little too much and don’t really do justice to the driven early half of the record.

Still, that one complaint doesn’t really amount to much, and Moonfire ends up being a very well-constructed indie-folk rock album that revels in a big, full sound and manages to deliver it well.

Boy and Bear – Moonfire tracklist:

1. “Lordy May”
2. “Feeding Line”
3. “Milk and Sticks”
4. “Part Time Believer”
5. “My Only One”
6. “Percy Warner Park”
7. “Golden Jubilee”
8. “House and Farm”
9. “The Village”
10. “Beach”
11. “Big Man”

In the current musical landscape it’s hard to separate genres at time. So-called rock groups are just as easily identified as pop and carry none of the musicianship. Simplicity becomes a heavily sought-after commodity. The Young Rapscallions are that commodity. On their debut LP, Everything Vibrates, they bring forth a sound all too uncommon in this day and age: pure rock ‘n’ roll. The stripped-down sound is very relatable to Foo Fighters’ latest effort to vacate the plush recording studios of Hollywood and record their most recent album in Dave Grohl’s garage. The purest elements come together to create music driven by naked riffs and hypnotizing basslines.

The group consists of the basics: Taylor Messermith on bass, Nick Chamian on guitar, Jonathan Sanders on the mic and Chris Mintz-Plasse (Yes, that’s him. Push past it and listen to the music.) on drums.

The rawness of the pieces lends to letting the listener get straight to the music and Everything Vibrates is the reward for those ears.

The opening track, “Sounds of Acorn,” slowly creeps in before Sanders’ voice introduces the ears to their first taste of heavy guitar and crashing symbols. It’s an inebriated trip down a memory lane no one wants to take, but everyone eventually does. It’s a track that would fit in each of the past few decades, to some degree. “Walking Phoenix” follows it with a bluesy bassline and screeching guitar that continues on the theme of girls controlling the thoughts of men everywhere, with varied pros and cons.

“Running” finds Sanders in an honest cry of loneliness. Alone with his thoughts, he reconciles with himself with a smooth musical setting. This leads into the fast-paced instrumental “Newberry Park Riot” where the guys just get to let loose and go nuts for a minute and a half.

The next chunk of Everything Vibrates brings in the two standout tracks of the album. On “Frankenstein’s Daughter,” the growling vocals backed by a pushing kick drum and the best elements of punk rock and country all come together to tell an all to unflattering metaphorical tale of a hideous monster that must have done something terrible to someone. The growling chorus is aided by the harmonic collective chants of the rest of the guys. After that is “Crumbum,” which opens with a sick bass solo and finds Sanders’ honesty even shining through the bravado he boasts.

“Made By Monks” slows it back down in an ode to wasting the days of summertime. It brings in all the best elements of Red Hot Chili Peppers and introduces saxophone to the record for the first time. The album rounds out with “Yes/No,” a song full of pining for answers and powerful background vocals, and “Midnight Pumpkin,” a positive search for just a glimmer of hope that incorporates a hint of Coldplay.

It’s an honest, stripped-down record that should hit home with the purist of rock fans. This four-piece has put together an excellent introduction into the music world, and it is a record that will be enhanced with every show they play as they start to venture out of L.A. and around the country.

The Young Rapscallions – Everything Vibrates tracklist:

1. “Sounds of Acorn”
2. “Walking Phoenix”
3. “Chain Reaction”
4. “Tread This Water”
5. “Running”
6. “Newbury Park Riot”
7. “Frankenstein’s Daughter”
8. “Crumbum”
9. “Made By Monks”
10. “Yes/No”
11. “Midnight Pumpkin”

Atlas Sound is the solo project of Bradford Cox, perhaps best known as the lead singer and frontman of ambient-punk group Deerhunter. As far as solo projects go, Atlas Sound has a pretty good track record: both of his earlier albums, Let the Blind Lead Those Who Can See but Cannot Feel and Logos, have been met with warm critical reception, praised for their stunning ambience and nuance. And while there is a lot of nuance and talent behind his third record under this moniker, Parallax, it does falter just a little.

Cox’s solo albums distance themselves from his work with Deerhunter by being slightly more stripped back; where Deerhunter is a full band, with a full band’s dynamic and frequent bandwide jam sessions, Atlas Sound is more relaxed, more empty, even more ambient. The main thing that really ties the two projects together is Cox’s distinctive watery vocals.

Normally, Atlas Sound recordings manage to use this spacey, experimental style with grace, but Parallax goes just a little bit overboard with it. Although there are a number of offenders, the last two songs, “Quark 1” and “Quark 2,” alone amount to 10 minutes of wasted time. They essentially are just slowly changing, looping sounds that might fit in on an album of entirely ambient music or a soundtrack but seem really jarring in the context of an album that, for the most part, contains structured songs with beginnings, middles and ends.

It’s great that Cox is willing to push musical boundaries, but the result still needs to be compelling enough to merit multiple listens, and these sound experiments do not. Instead, they just sort of drone on until they end unceremoniously.

This ambient exploration happens more than it should, and every time feels like it’s just interrupting the album with an unwanted intermission. It’s really off-putting and weighs down what is otherwise a really solid record.

The rest of the record does have some really good parts, however. Highlights include “Te Amo,” whose rolling spectral sounds and clunky piano steps perfectly complement Cox’s crooning, and the bubbly and fun “Mona Lisa.”

Fans of earlier Atlas Sound recordings will find a lot to like on this album, even if most of it sounds pretty familiar. And that just might be this album’s biggest problem. With the exception of the looping ambience (which, to be fair, Cox has experimented with before, just not to this extreme an extent) there isn’t really anything new that Parallax has to offer. If you’ve heard another Atlas Sound record (or imaged what Deerhunter would sound like with less guitar), you’ve basically heard everything that Parallax has to offer.

In the end, though, fans of Atlas Sound, Deerhunter, or psychedelic and ambient music will find a lot to love in Parallax, and while the record does drag, especially near the end, its good moments still easily outweigh the bad.

Atlas Sound – Parallax tracklist:

1. “The Shakes”
2. “Amplifiers”
3. “Te Amo”
4. “Parallax”
5. “Modern Aquatic Nightsongs”
6. “Mona Lisa”
7. “Praying Man”
8. “Doldrums”
9. “Angel Is Broken”
10. “Terra Incognita”
11. “Flagstaff”
12. “Lightworks”
13. “Quark 1”
14. “Quark 2”