Pop 'stache

The method of analysis known as titular criticism, the idea that objets d’art can be analyzed and interpreted via the titles the artists have given to their works, has always been a hit or miss concept, but certainly the Scottish “post-rock” ensemble Mogwai beg for such an approach.

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah puts up a good fight. On Hysterical, the band has a clear evolution of the style they’re in right now. We, as listeners, can watch them become stronger within the energy they’ve conquered at this stage in their careers. It’s mostly light and flowing as opposed to their usual. What’s exciting about their change of pace can quickly be compromised for a single-toned sort of safe complexion throughout.

A lot of hype has gone into the release of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s new album. Unfortunately, many of the people who hoped for great music on this album might be let down. Hysterical has no surprises, no astonishments and no incredibility. Only once or twice does it have the listener really going. Aside from that, much of the same work is repeated musically. The record is a little more pop-rock than indie-experimental, and that’s its greatest mistake. The work of the band since their beginning has followed more of an individual indie-rock style, but it seems that they’ve settled for a more mainstream tone that we’ve heard before. It’s a shame that CYHSY couldn’t take a bigger risk or even go along with what they’ve produced in the past. This is an obvious downgrade from what fans are used to hearing from them.

Hysterical has decent craftsmanship and execution of thoughts and ideas. Their greatest moment is at the beginning of the album in “Same Mistake.” It’s unclear whether the song sounds good because it is a legitimately good song or just because it’s new to the listener and fresh because it’s the first song. Either way, it’s fun.

The sound is much like Two Door Cinema Club mixed with the New Pornographers and a drowsy vocalist. It’s not the most appealing combination, but it’s also its own tone. For that, they deserve a bit of credit.

After the leading track introduces the album, we hear the meaning of the album in the title track, “Hysterical.” You’d think that Clap Your Hands Say Yeah would put their all into this kind of title. However, their motives lack explanation. “Hysterical” isn’t actually hysterical. It’s more like “slightly laughable.”

CYHSY’s songwriting gets its best attention early on during “Misspent Youth,” an ode to the shamelessly shameful moments of childhood and adolescence. It’s neat how they use the lyrics, “The engine was not built to last,” as the perfect metaphor for their past.

“In a Motel” is where the album tries vehemently to get creative, impelementing some synth and interesting guitar riffs as it slows down a bit. It isn’t terrible, especially because it finally goes for a newer sound halfway through the album. Yet still, it’s obvious the band tried a bit too hard to sound edgy and avant garde on the track. It’s just weird.

What’s also weird is the way the band chose to sign off. The song before the instrumental could’ve amounted to something, but instead, the piano/vocal track sounded like it had taken a sleeping pill. From there, the pace picked up into a racing track where every instrument fought for attention, including the vocals. It’s difficult to listen to, and it’s not a good way to dismiss the listener.

All in all, Hysterical isn’t what it promises. It might be a play on words, but soon, it becomes a play on the listener, and eventually, a play on the band. Sorry, folks.

Clap Your Hands Say Yeah – Hysterical Tracklist:

1. “Same Mistake”
2. “Hysterical”
3. “Misspent Youth”
4. “Maniac”
5. “Into Your Alien Arms”
6. “In a Motel”
7. “Yesterday, Never”
8. “Idiot”
9. “Siesta (For Snake)”
10. “Ketamine and Ecstasy”
11. “The Witness’ Dull Surprise”
12. “Adam’s Plane”

Coming off a steam-rolling last couple of years, Denton, Texas, native Alan Palomo, aka Neon Indian, released his second full-length record, Era Extraña on Sept. 13. This latest installment is swimming through the chillwave genre, boasting tons of synthesized beats, fuzzy guitar and a multitude of in-and-out vocals, all of which create a mesmerizing soundscape for the world to enjoy.

Neon Indian’s debut, Psychic Chasms (2009), was hailed by many music fans and critics alike. With all the accolades and an excellent showing on the festival circuit, it was only a matter of time before the band would continue to live up to the hype they’ve produced and make an excellent follow-up album.

The taste and feel of Era Extraña is nothing short of a late 1980s and early 1990s appeal. “Fallout” and “The Blindside Kiss” are two tracks that have an interesting combination of futuristic application and throwback quality that give Era Extraña a fresh, yet retrospective atmosphere. “Fallout” specifically could be played in concert with a good Bret Easton Ellis book and no one would be the wiser to its newer roots.

“Heart: Attack” and “Heart: Decay” and short, tasteful musical interludes on the record giving a brief look into slight intermission between longer hits and dreamy tunes. “Heart: Release” is an outro that collects the entire thought of the album and puts a subtle Pet Shop Boys zing to it as it travels off out into the ozone. The entire record voyages down the same road that Depeche Mode, Erasure and Joy Division traveled in their heyday.

Palomo is Mexican-born, but he set up shop in the States, garnering a substantial following through other exploits in bands such as Ghosthustler and VEGA. Other members of Neon Indian include: Lars Larsen, Jason Faries, and Leanne Macomber, all of whom have contributed greatly to landing round two on Neon Indian’s record list. Palomo took the reins by writing and recording the entire album during the winter season in Finland. Neon Indian then collaborated with Flaming Lips and MGMT producer Dave Fridmann, who did the mixing and post-production.

With Palomo at the wheel, Fridmann mixing, and a solid crew playing back-up, Era Extraña has the makings of an album significant of the time and place for which it is launched.

With the throngs of kids reaching back to the fluorescent-colored tanks, Wayfarer shades and feathered hairdos, it’s only fitting they have a soundtrack to go with the style.

Nothing stops Palomo from dipping his toes into tastier, newer realms as well with tracks “Suns Irrupt” and “Future Sick.” They trade a traditional new-wave sound for the ever-prevalent glo-fi or chillwave music heard these days. The beauty of these two tracks is cognoscente of a sound that even the cats in Daft Punk would be willing to collaborate with. Pulled together, each song on this record complements the next with its changes in vocal delivery and musical roots.

Spanning decades isn’t an unreachable goal for some musicians. Songs that have stood the test of time have gone on to inspire newer generations to create, add to or just outright copy such tunes. What Era Extraña has done for portions of the music world and its captivated listeners is create a time machine for the consumer. Those who weren’t lucky enough to experience this sound at its onset 20-plus years ago can now pop in their ear buds and take a guided listening tour of a practice that combines technology and creativity in the form of glowing, low-range electronic music.

Neon Indian – Era Extraña Tracklist:

1. “Heart : Attack”
2. “Polish Girl”
3. “The Blindside Kiss”
4. “Hex Girlfriend”
5. “Heart : Decay”
6. “Fallout”
7. “Era Extraña”
8. “Halogen (I Could Be a Shadow)”
9. “Future Sick”
10. “Suns Irrupt”
11. “Heart : Release”

Andy Bothwell, better known as Astronautalis, has been making hip-hop dynamic for the better part of a decade. Over the course of three full-length albums, Bothwell has paired hip-hop with indie rock’s best elements to create a wholly unique sound. On This Is Our Science, these disparate genres function as one in the hands of Astronautalis.

“The River, the Woods” opens the album, highlighting Bothwell’s Tom Waits-ian rasp and surefire delivery before bleeding into a gigantic pop hook. Avoiding the pitfalls of commercial hip-hop is key to Astronautalis’ success. While many rappers are content to have one beat run through a track, Bothwell is crafting diverse songs. His ability to shift beats, tempos and tones in the middle of tracks and make it feel natural is testament to his skill.

Past records saw Astronautalis embracing his inner nerd. Instead of crafting verses about how much wealth or charisma he possessed, he’d write songs about the Battle of Trenton or splitting a dozen donuts with Tupac Shakur. This Is Our Science still uses history as a lyrical touchstone, but with deeply personal perspective injected alongside it.

The aptly titled “Thomas Jefferson” features a guest spot from Doomtree’s Sims, in which he references a musket, but it also features a chorus where Bothwell croons, “Every song I sing cuts a little bit more.” “Measure the Globe” opens with a unique anecdote: “Sitting on a futon mat/In a squat in Darmstadt/Kevin Seconds said to me in passing/‘Age never meant shit to me/It’s all about heart and stupidity.’” The track is driven by an acoustic guitar, showing that Bothwell’s eloquence transcends genres.

As the albums bobs and weaves through styles and techniques, Astronautalis crafts some of his strongest songs to date.

“Dimitri Mendeleev,” one of the only tracks that could be considered straightforward hip-hop, boasts a pre-chorus that serves as a mission statement for the entire album, “Won’t be held back/Won’t be tied up/Won’t be pinned down.”

Proving that he won’t be pinned down, Bothwell delves into R&B on “Midday Moon,” sings a duet with Tegan Quin from Tegan And Sara on “Contrails,” and crafts what is surely his most personal song to date, “Secret On Our Lips.” As much of the album does, “Secret On Our Lips” injects heart into genres that are often full of posturing. “I kissed your skin behind the vending machine/You ask me right now why I never did tell/Anyone about your evening with me/I don’t know/Hell, some secrets are just things that you keep.”

This Is Our Science proves to be another powerful entry in an already impressive discography, but it is certainly the album fans have been waiting for. It mixes Astronautalis’ classic nerdy references, but this time it adds Bothwell’s personal experiences to the mix. With his defenses lowered and some of himself on display, Bothwell has created the most impactful record of his career.

Astronautalis – This Is Our Science Tracklist:

1. “The River, the Woods”
2. “This Is Our Science”
3. “Thomas Jefferson”
4. “Measure the Globe”
5. “Dimitri Mendeleev”
6. “Midday Moon”
7. “Contrails”
8. “Holy Water”
9. “Secrets On Our Lips”
10. “Life the Curse”
11. “One for the Money”

If you own a guitar and casually like to play it with the distortion turned way up, giving your ears that nice bit of music bleed, then it would be wise to pack up the Orange Tiny Terror and move to San Francisco. It might seem there’s a happenin’ scene in St. Paul or Cleveland or even Savannah, but with guys such as Ty Segall, The Fresh & Onlys, or even the overhyped Girls, San Francisco is outpacing everyone in the fuzz department. On the crest of this burgeoning wave ride is Wooden Shjips, a practically ancient psych-rock outfit whose third album, West, comes about at just the right time to break them a bit bigger than their previous efforts have afforded, all based on the massive expansion of their scene. And while West easily is the group’s best effort to date, it has the distinct air of jammy overstuffing, like an EP stretched out over too many songs.

But at seven songs and 37 minutes, it’s hard to call West anything but an EP. The tracks might be groovy, dynamic-less numbers, but they’re exactly what would come out of a scene so steeped in retro it can’t get out of its own garage. Less attuned ears would put Shjips closer to The Doors than not, but the real travesty would be missing the influence of Roky Erickson and his seminal psychedelia outfit The 13th Floor Elevators. Grizzly opener “Black Smoke Rise” does have that Jim Morrison organ work, but the constant rolling drum/bass/guitar chug is as early psych as it gets.

Wooden Shjips also don’t subscribe to Morrison’s faux-poetry; the goings on here are purely dreamscape impressions, great images signifying nothing.

Mid-tempo “Crossing” wisely incorporates the tambourine, and by the end of the second track, it feels as though Wooden Shjips have settled into a hazy rhythm in the brain. It’s a shame, then, that the rest of the album never really lives up to the openers. “Lazy Bones,” with its ting-ting hi-hats sounds like a psych-punk riffer, but it never gets the melody quite right. “Home” mirrors the opening track in almost every way, so much so that by the end of the fourth track, you’re wondering whether Wooden Shjips are anything more than a flash in the pan. Luckily, confident solo show “Flight” saves the affair with an impression of perhaps Wooden Shjips’ best contemporary cousin: Spiritualized, circa Ladies and Gentlemen We Are Floating in Space. The space-rock lightness abounds enough in “Flight” to lift West’s heaviness a morsel. Pop song stand-in “Looking Out” maintains the lightness, only to have closer “Rising” muck up the ascendance. By the end of even the first few repeat listens, Wooden Shjips’ appeal is encased in stone, another good byproduct of an exploding scene, even one that can claim old-guy cred. But with the mass of better records out this year from the same area, and in much the same genre, West might be doomed to be another niche cut in San Francisco’s newest big break.

Wooden Shjips – West Tracklist:

1. “Black Smoke Rise”
2. “Crossing”
3. “Lazy Bones”
4. “Home”
5. “Flight”
6. “Looking Out”
7. “Rising”

Humanity stands a mere seven years away from 2019, when Los Angeles will be a city of 104 million people, rife with flying cars, staggering steel pyramids and illuminated umbrellas—it’s only right that we adjust our soundtracks accordingly. At least that’s what Nero attempts to illustrate with their debut album Welcome Reality, a long, electronic tale of love, guilt and doomsday all set in a retro vision of the future.

On the whole, the album is by parts dubstep, house and Vangelis, an auspicious concept almost totally butchered.

Poor taste is to blame as much as anything. Highly derivative, the album manages to do both four-on-the-floor and wobble-bass injustice. There are moments when the London duo harnesses a decent groove, but it’s never long before it devolves into histrionics. Some of the best moments come when the stakes are low. Opener “2808” is percussion-free in what seems like a mere prelude to the album with an airy, synth-laden illustration of the lonely future. Its spacey ending becomes the intro of the next song, a pattern that continues throughout the album. Although it’s a nice touch, it doesn’t add much to an album with little to no continuity.

Then there is ignorance in general, either that or cheeky irony. Most of the tracks are mere sing-a-longs with dance-floor sentiment. Case in point: “Crush on You.” The album is made even more for the clubs than for the pop charts.  If Welcome Reality were going to be an authentic period piece, employing the prickly analog runs of the 1980s, it shouldn’t have blended them with trite, modern techno hits. Maybe the band should have tried something more from the era-accurate playbook of French artist College.

“Doomsday,” with its buzzsaw siren riff (a la Bloody Beetroots) is one of the most muscular pieces on the album, probably because there’s no one singing on it. But just as that buzzsaw riff is given the listener in all its hard (albeit hackneyed) glory, it’s dropped and taken away, replaced with a roaring dubstep variation. It’s nothing special.

The album suffers from its hopelessly formulaic composition: Preheat the track with a little trancy synthesizer, sprinkle corny dance vocal hook over lightly, then bring it to a rolling boil with the dubstep finale. Welcome to Reality is wedged uncomfortably between dance-pop and conceptual vision. Rather than bridge the two gaps, Nero leaves the listener on vague ground, and that’s fine if there’s not too much thought put into it.  Just don’t think too hard about it—ride the rave. Nero is a hype band—now nominated for the BBC’s “Sounds of 2011” poll. But if this is the music of “2808,” how can it be?

 Nero – Welcome Reality Tracklist:

1. “2808”
2. “Doomsday”
3. “My Eyes”
4. “Guilt”
5. “Fugue State”
6. “Me and You”
7. “Innocence”
8. “In the Way”
9. “Scorpions”
10. “Crush on You”
11. “Must Be the Feeling”
12. “Reaching Out”
13. “Promises”
14. “Departure”

Great art often lies within paradox, and in St. Vincent’s latest and undoubtedly most ambitious effort, Strange Mercy, she has mastered it. Like the very best kind of lover, she pairs the gentle with the terrifying. St. Vincent (aka Annie Clark) presents us with the grandiosity of someone like Prince, while still maintaining the airy, tender vocal restraint that is distinctly St. Vincent. Her trademark choir-girl voice soars lightly above increasingly dangerous and distorted sounds throughout, creating one monstrously gorgeous album that keeps listeners surprised yet soothed; coddled yet unsettled. If St. Vincent is our lover, she stays sweet by kissing us on the forehead, while her hands squeeze ever more tightly around our throat. This precarious balance she manages to uphold is divine.

St. Vincent’s third album is a very impressive musical representation of the powers of paradox and tension.

St. Vincent has taken on a much bigger sound—her physical vocals may remain gentle and demure, but her metaphorical musical voice seems to have been doing nothing but growing since 2009’s Actor. Actor was a great album that really showcased her songwriting ability, but what makes Strange Mercy a giant step ahead is its ambition. St. Vincent has kept her solid, sophisticated songwriting intact, but she has explored far different territory in terms of instrumentation, highlighting her shredding guitars with an electronica slant. Her use of distortion has never been more prevalent, and it works supremely well here, contributing to the album’s ambitious undertaking in cultivating stark contrasts.

Strange Mercy opens with the perfect and mind-blowing “Chloe in the Afternoon.” Clark’s voice whispers coy, mostly indiscernible phrases between aggressive guitar shredding. The two elements essentially trade fours, while big, highly syncopated and flat drums keep a heavy, driving pace in the background. When she starts singing the title words, the surprise of these new directions in production may knock the wind right out of you.

Like the most tempting but frustrating lover, St. Vincent teases us, song after song after song, with largely infrequent release. In other words, for all of our antsy anticipation, there is little tension released throughout the whole of this tension-heavy album. Every song features long, drawn-out melodic buildups, and only a couple resolve satisfactorily—sometimes only at the very end. One of these few is the second track, “Cruel,” which might be enough to explain its relentless catchiness. It is the album’s one example of regular satisfaction, cadencewise. The lack of melodic resolution is either an attempt to pioneer some new form of song structure that challenges the very idea of satisfying melodic resolution itself, or Clark simply digs herself into holes of rising tension so mammoth in size that she just doesn’t know how to get herself out of them in ways that aren’t slightly disappointing.

“Dilettante” and “Northern Lights,” for example, simply end. They finish abruptly on slightly satisfactory chords, and that’s the “end” to their respective ascensions in tension. And there isn’t anything particularly wrong with this method of release; it just begins to be noticeably frequent, disrupting the otherwise glorious, acid-triplike listening experience of Strange Mercy.

A seamless element of St. Vincent’s music, however, always has been her lyrics.

They always are unique and interesting, and they feature her mix of endearing feminine yearning and vengeful power. Strange Mercy seems to hint at what might have been a rough time for Clark regarding romance. She is chasing a lover (“Dilettante”), meditating on being on the receiving end of a lack of kindness (“Cruel”), and going far further than that by exploring what could be interpreted as a Freudian fusion of the maternal with the romantic (“Strange Mercy”).

All in all, St. Vincent’s third effort is one big, scary success. It features one of the strongest openings of the year so far, and, despite some melodic dissatisfaction and one slightly affected song (“Champagne Year”’s attempt at communion feels oddly false), it is a reminder of St. Vincent’s gifts as a songwriter, singer and guitarist. If this is the kind of ruthless innovation we can count on seeing in her future album releases, we have a ton of pure joy in store for us.

St. Vincent – Strange Mercy Tracklist:

1. “Chloe In the Afternoon”
2. “Cruel”
3. “Cheerleader”
4. “Surgeon”
5. “Northern Lights”
6. “Strange Mercy”
7. “Neutered Fruit”
8. “Champagne Year”
9. “Dilettante”
10. “Hysterical Strength”
11. “Year of the Tiger”

Guilty Rainbow, the third LP from pop outfit Roommate, is an understated but ambitious album that centers around themes of personal breakthroughs and examination.

What began as something of a bedroom project for Chicago-based artist Kent Lambert has become more than just a minor venture. After almost a decade of different iterations, Roommate has settled into a nice quartet composed of Lambert, bassist/vocalist Gillian Lisée, drummer Seth Vanek and multi-instrumentalist Luther Rochester.

This added musical muscle does wonders for Guilty Rainbow, an album that boasts an eclectic mix of sounds. There’s the sleepy yet Carribean-flavored “August Song,” the jazzy “Soft Eyes” and the art-poppy “After the Boom.”

From a structural standpoint, “After The Boom” is the album’s most inventive track. Starting slow, the song builds to a kind of quiet crescendo for the final third. It’s one of the most playful moments in Roommate’s catalog.

Lambert deserves credit for finding a formula that works. But as in-command as he is, his presence on the album can be somewhat overbearing. His vocal qualities, which range from flighty to brooding, can make or break a song. On “LDS,” for example, his rangy cadence doesn’t quite suit the industrial sounds provided by the band. The end result sounds something like Ben Gibbard singing an old Nine Inch Nails song.

Lyrically, however, Lambert paints a far more engaging picture as he asks such maudlin—but no less intriguing—questions as, “Did your God imprison you/When he envisioned you?” (“LDS”) and, “And if you’re someone who wants to be alone/What do you do when you’re not at home?/Where do you go when there are people everywhere you go?” (“Ghost Pigeon”).

Lambert’s good at asking questions. That he doesn’t really come up with any answers is sort of the point. Guilty Rainbow is an album rich with introspection, which is Lambert’s best asset as an artist.

Sometimes he’s uncomfortably honest. On the album’s best track, “Ghost Pigeon,” he proclaims, “I am stubborn and petty,” and, “I am not ready/For whatever it is you are trying to teach me.”

Still, these moments rarely take away from the wry pop sensibility that permeates the album. Guilty Rainbow is effortlessly listenable, despite its weighty subject matter.

The album culminates with the penultimate “Soft Eyes,” a six-minute track that provides the biggest insight into Lambert’s quest for self-discovery. Lyrically, he seems to spin in circles, but what could be construed as meandrous is a freeform approach to the typical verse-chorus-verse composition.

Not that Lambert is trying to be reinvent the wheel—in fact, he remains dedicated to a number of standard pop techniques throughout Guilty Rainbow. There are no aces up his sleeves, no gimmicks or portentous parlor tricks. Lambert is interested in pure expression.

As he calls out, “Make me someone good,” to a nameless entity toward the end of “Soft Eyes,” it’s evident that self-discovery is the biggest part of his expression.

Roommate – Guilty Rainbow Tracklist:

1. “My Bad”
2. “August Song”
3. “Flicker Flame”
4. “The Country with a Smile”
5. “LDS”
6. “Ghost Pigeon”
7. “Snow Globe”
8. “After the Boom”
9. “Soft Eyes”
10. “Smothered in Hugs”

Anyone who has spent time in the American Southwest has likely developed an inadvertent penchant for Western things—prickly pear jelly, for example, or whiskey, air conditioning and country music.

There’s a good chance that penchant became an obsession for Blitzen Trapper. The Portland band’s sixth album, American Goldwing, takes a cowboy-sized leap from the psychedelic folk of Destroyer of the Void and the woodsy folk of Furr to the rock ‘n’ rollin’ Wild West.

“Might Find It Cheap” jump-starts the album, its first 10 seconds exploding with electric guitar, strings and heavy drums. It introduces a badass, neo-bluegrass sound. Blitzen Trapper have always been an Americana band, but it’s hard to believe this is the same group behind “Furr,” the beautiful, mellow, story-centric title track off the 2008 album. That track featured woodland-creature noises in its background. This track is indie-rock honky-tonk. If “Furr” was sweet, “Might Find It Cheap” is tangy—barbecue words lathered on a band from Oregon. (Oregon!)

Slide guitar, harmonica, banjo and piano rule the album, along with heartbreak lyrics and nostalgic melodies—well, ain’t that America?

On “Your Crying Eyes,” the band does all the right things with a harmonica, using the instrument for a jukebox-playin’ bar-fightin’ song, rather than a sappy, Bob Dylan-inspired track. Songwriting always has been a strong suit for Blitzen Trapper, and “Taking It Easy Too Long” finds lead singer Eric Earley connecting with disconnected 20-somethings, even while referencing whiskey and train tracks and other Hank Williams-esque things.

One wouldn’t think there would be many surprises with such a thematic album, but Blitzen Trapper jumps wildly from horse to horse, driving one song with harmonica heartbreak as it drives another with piano punching. With American Goldwing, the band begs to be seen live, tempting listeners with “Street Fighting Sun,” a rock jam with electric-guitar solos and falsetto. It’s enough to provoke ferocious head-bobbing and hair-flipping on pool tables. The album ends on “Stranger in a Strange Land,” a Dylan-inspired bummer ballad because every night has its dawn. Just like every cowboy sings a sad, sad song.

Does it get tired? Sure. Anyone who’s really been to the desert knows those desert things—the jelly and the whiskey—eventually become novelty. American Goldwing is a damn good romp and the perfect Arizona road-trip soundtrack, but it’s also the cowboy boots one wears once a year, only when the mood strikes.

Blitzen Trapper — American Goldwing Tracklist:

1. “Might Find It Cheap”
2. “Fletcher”
3. “Love the Way You Walk Away”
4. “Your Crying Eyes”
5. “My Home Town”
6. “Girl in a Coat”
7. “American Goldwing”
8. “Astronaut”
9. “Taking it Easy Too Long”
10. “Street Fighting Sun”
11. “Stranger in a Strange Land”

The freaky-folkies, those of the Devendra Banhart, Vetiver and Joanna Newsom ilk, have done a great deal for the expansion of folk as a genre outside of its traditionally older-skewing fan base. They have expanded upon traditional guitar/fiddle arrangements and created a genre within a genre, capable of keeping the idea of folk fresh instead of perpetually old and out-of-touch. But what innovators give, they also somewhat take away. While the Pitchfork-endorsed freaks are plowing new land, the stigma of folk’s staid codgery manifests itself in the album’s of acts such as Laura Marling. Marling, 21 and already touring her third LP, A Creature I Don’t Know, has grown to appreciate the updates of folk that the festival circuit can bring, as well as incorporating certain freaky elements to the mix. A Creature I Don’t Know feels fresh in this way, stripping away what tired genre-isms Marling may have traded on in the past.

Although there is a certain Newsom-ness to Marling, especially in the way her newfound slippery musicianship interplays with her perpetually knotty wordplay. Opener “The Muse” recalls the manic pixie dream girl of folkdom with its stop-start string work. Marling is not as brave as Newsom, or as endlessly and fruitfully complex, but the seeds are there for her to develop into a satisfying touring partner. An interesting part of Marling’s young age has been watching her develop her sound and outpace those older than her. “All My Rage,” the cataclysmic closer, outstrips generic Mumford & Sons build-up of its triteness, making something finally emotionally affecting (something M&S never do). “Salinas” resembles a beefed-up cut from Gilian Welch’s excellent new LP The Harrow and the Harvest, completely with a not-altogether-tried choir in the background. Her best song yet, “The Beast” is a vicious PJ Harvey-covering-Neil Young rager, with Marling deep-breathing and confidently saying, “Tonight he lies with me/ here comes The Beast.” If there has been a consistently excellent element to a Marling LP, it’s her ability to twist around her verses with uncanny slips of the tongue and beautiful melodies. Old-time conventions and mechanics percolate Marling’s voice; she has a richness modeled on Judy Garland and a deeper timbre, a folky shake that mentions Joan Baez and Bonnie Raitt.

Marling slips up in between her beautiful and welcome developments, but the trips are more mistakes of retreading than ill-advised experiments. Every experiment Marling delves into works to great effect; it’s just a shame there aren’t more of them. “Sophia,” for example, builds off her traditional guitar troubadour persona into something resembling a beautiful folk-pop song. Stuff such as “Rest in the Bed” or “My Friends” are memories of Marling’s former work, and as good as that was, her inventiveness betrays her ability to go back on former sounds.

But again, her missteps are ones of repetition, which is forgivable, especially when considering the live context in which these songs could be played. Marling is crafting a fascinating personality, both live and on record, despite her age and her nature as a pure, nonretro, nonhip folkie. A Creature I Don’t Know is another step in the right direction, one that earns her another point on the road to festival stardom.

Laura Marling – A Creature I Don’t Know Tracklist:

1. “The Muse”
2. “I Was Just a Card”
3. “Don’t Ask Me Why”
4. “Salinas”
5. “The Beast”
6. “Night After Night”
7. “My Friends”
8. “Rest in the Bed”
9. “Sophia”
10. “All My Rage”

Yourself and the Air has created a small trip down memory lane for fans of the early blend of post-rock infused indie/emo music. However many times you might think you’ve heard these songs before from others from that era, you can’t just dismiss Yourself and the Air. Although you could argue their songs are not groundbreaking, that doesn’t mean they won’t pack a punch. Who’s Who in the Zoo doesn’t seem to reek of trying to impress anyone. The album is true to itself.

Any decent audiophile will be able to instantly tell that this album wasn’t recorded in a studio with soundfoam and the most expensive equipment. That’s because it was recorded in the band’s own home while they played the same guitars and drums they first picked up as children. There are parts of the EP that sound a bit unpolished, but you could also look at it as just being “worn in,” homemade, or one-of-a-kind.

There are minimal studio effects used, and one can tell Yourself and the Air was playing around with the tools they had at their disposal to take listeners out of the song for a moment. This honest, personal relationship with the recording process shows on the album.

The rawness and gritty truth of these songs is what makes them strong. The singer’s high-pitched, slightly whined, slightly screamed, but fully realized vocals will remind you of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!’s better days.

Songs such as “Bicycles Plus” capture the bittersweet nostalgic emotion that goes hand in hand with the 1990s emo sound and is also able to take a picture of the band’s passion and fire behind their instruments. It sounds like a few friends from Chicago who have been writing songs about growing up while they were growing up.

This honesty in their music is where Yourself and the Air gets their charm. Songs such as “Colors Alive” would sound a bit childish with some of its lyrics. “We all like to compare ourselves to colors alive/I like to think that I’m blue and not just white,” doesn’t sound very poetic, but the bouncing and bubbly way the band carries through the song makes you think about what color you might be.

The honesty also makes a person question things while listening to Who’s Who in the Zoo. The instrumentals that occupy most of the album’s time are definitely thinking music. It’s the kind of stuff to listen to through headphones while alone in the bedroom late at night, just letting the mind unravel. That might sound a little melodramatic, but Yourself and the Air are true to themselves, and that goes a long way with young musicians these days.

This point is evident in their lyrics as well. The repeated lyric of, “Here comes the ice age,” in the song “Ice Age” gives the ominous feeling of the long winter that Chicagoans feel every year. Whether a businessman or a bum on the street, you can relate to this song if you’re from Chicago, or anywhere with bad winters for that matter.

On songs such as “Bon Voyage,” you actually can feel like you’re in the van with the band leaving home to go on tour, not knowing whether you’ll be able to make enough money to get back. You’re brought into a moment or a memory, real or imagined.

Even though they’re a small band, Yourself and the Air’s album feels as though Sigur Rós had some little indie cousins who lived in Chicago and wrote songs about their bleak, freezing, terrible weather surroundings.

Yourself and the Air – Who’s Who in the Zoo Tracklist:

1. “Trampolines”
2. “Sick Days”
3. “Bon Voyage”
4. “Bicycles Plus”
5. “Colors Alive”
6. “Ice Age”
7. “The Oracle”

To say that Chuck Ragan is prolific would be an understatement. Since the formation of Hot Water Music in the early 1990s, Ragan has spent much of his time traversing the globe and playing in a whole lot of music.

His first release as a solo artist came by way of a series of 7-inch singles released throughout 2006 and 2007. This series, titled The Blueprint Sessions, was a callback to the long-dormant Rumbleseat, a folk band that was formed during Hot Water Music’s first breakup in 1998 with fellow HWM guitarist/vocalist Chris Wollard and bassist Samantha Jones.

Ragan quickly took to releasing live albums, all the while prepping for his first studio full-length, 2007’s Feast Or Famine. This debut boasted songs from The Blueprint Sessions, as well as a reworking of Rumbleseat’s classic “California Burritos,” alongside a bevy of new material. It was a strong debut that pushed Ragan to the forefront of the increasingly popular punk-gone-acoustic movement.

Shortly thereafter, Ragan took to putting out releases almost nonstop for the next five years. Whether it was live albums—six have been released since 2006—split 7-inches, or collaborative albums, Ragan never stopped writing and recording. By the time he released his second solo record, 2009’s Gold Country, Ragan had become steeped in the traditions of bluegrass. Unfortunately, Gold Country failed to live up to Ragan’s earlier solo work. It can be posited that this was because Ragan was constantly on tour, and he also was using up great material for split 7-inches that only reached smaller demographics.

Now, Ragan returns with his third solo offering, Covering Ground. To say it is a return to the stripped-down approach seen on The Blueprint Sessions is partially true—opener “Nothing Left To Prove” puts the focus on Ragan’s impassioned vocals and cunning songwriting—but tracks such as “Nomad By Fate” still emphasize Ragan’s penchant for bluegrass.

Covering Ground sees Ragan turn in some of his best solo work to date, due in part to realizing not every song needs an intrusive fiddle line courtesy of Jon Gaunt. Instead, the backing band, consisting of Gaunt and upright bassist Joe Ginsberg, knows both when to lay back and also when to make its presence felt.

The songs that make up Covering Ground prove to be vastly better than that of Gold Country. One song from The Blueprint Sessions (“Valentine”) finds its way onto the record, but with an altered structure and powerful backing vocals from Audra Mae. Other guests make strong contributions, most notably The Gaslight Anthem’s Brian Fallon on “Meet You In The Middle.”

Lyrically, Ragan is retreading well-worn paths, but it never seems overwrought. Sure, he’s written many a love song to his wife, but it’s this genuine emotion that allows Ragan to saunter where many others would stumble. Covering Ground showcases Ragan at his best, with a world-weary voice belting out words as though they were his last and bashing away at an acoustic guitar. Not all folk music needs to wallow in sadness.

Chuck Ragan – Covering Ground Tracklist:

1. “Nothing Left to Prove”
2. “Nomad by Fate”
3. “You Get What You Give”
4. “Wish on the Moon”
5. “Come Around”
6. “Seems We’re OK”
7. “Valentine”
8. “Right as Rain”
9. “Meet You in the Middle”
10. “Lost and Found”