Pop 'stache

My Morning Jacket’s evolution took a bizarre turn with 2008’s Evil Urges. The group’s sound was simplified and diversified, which rendered either bland tunes or awfully weird ones in which Jim James does his best Prince impression singing about a “peanut butter pudding surprise.” The band did not sprawl out and jam as they were wont to do before, except on the decent “Touch Me I’m Going to Scream (Part 2)” and instead wrote simple songs with simple lyrics. Had Jim James’ voice not been present, this would sound like a completely different band.

After that disaster, many fans are waiting for reviews to tell them whether or not to bother with Circuital. They will be pleased to know the band is getting back on the right track. From the get-go we hear the band reestablishing their cavernous reverb and classic rock roots. “Victory Dance” will make for one killer set opener with its deep bass and dynamic progression.

While the term fans are hoping to see is “return to form,” Circuital sounds more like a suit tailored to their new form. It sounds like the band that made Evil Urges honing in on their strengths and not trying any funny business. The songs rely on simple chords and melodies but do benefit from stronger arrangements and production. Strings swooping in and out, piano flourishes and tastefully treated guitars keep the title track and “The Day Is Coming” afloat over their longer durations while “You Wanna Freak Out” is a nice poppy rock tune, short and sweet with some excellent slide guitar.

At their core, these songs aren’t anything special, but the band put the pieces together well enough to make them enjoyable and when Jim James gets to cooing at the end of “Circuital” it can even be serene, a sonic strength of some of the group’s best songs from years past. Similarly peaceful is “Wonderful (The Way I Feel),” an acoustic piece that comes dangerously close to sounding like a Fleet Foxes song, albeit with cheesier lyrics (if the title didn’t indicate that already).

On that note, as the album progresses the plainness of the lyrics becomes more and more apparent until they become silly.

“Outta My System” is absolutely ruined by the lyrics. Jim James opens with “They told me not to smoke drugs, but I wouldn’t listen/Never thought I’d get caught and wind up in prison” without a hint of sarcasm or irony. The rest of the song follows in the same fashion and would have been an alright track had it not been for these lyrics, which read like they were taken straight from a DARE campaign.

Sonically, they have really improved. Lyrically, not so much. A far cry from the near spiritual experience of Z and an even further cry from the exceptional country rock of It Still Moves or At Dawn, Circuital is a work all its own and this time it’s not an complete embarrassment. Most of these tracks will translate well on stage, but at the same time they fail to reassert My Morning Jacket as a particularly important band.

My Morning Jacket – Circuital Tracklist:

1. “Victory Dance”
2. “Circuital”
3. “The Day Is Coming”
4. “Wonderful (The Way I Feel)”
5. “Outta My System”
6. “Holdin on to Black Metal”
7. “First Light”
8. “You Wanna Freak Out”
9. “Slow Slow Tune”
10. “Movin Away”

It’s still early to call it, but 2011 looks like the year indie rock picks up a razor.

Times New Viking was always the brightest of the bands lumped (fairly or otherwise) into a harsh, semi-confrontational non-genre labeled for situational fidelity rather than songwriting. More willing to buckle down than Psychedelic Horseshit and less loopy than Eat Skull, Times New Viking evidently had songs lurking somewhere under the home tape grime.

And these Ohioans clean up nice. Sandwiched between Wavves’ more presentable King of the Beach and a Black Lips album helmed by Mark Ronson, Dancer Equired comes just as the iTunes generation is getting jobs that want you to look like Bryan Ferry. From the first strums of the jaunty three-chord opener “It’s A Culture,” it’s clear this isn’t the EQ unfriendly collection expected in a Times New Viking album. In “California Roll,” keyboardist Beth Murphy sings about “some things we just shouldn’t question.” It’s a good thing the trio didn’t include its music in that category—the band slid into a rut with 2008’s lackluster Rip It Off.

The rough edges have been sanded down—there’s nothing like that album’s muscle-twee distortion party “Off the Wall”—and singers Murphy and Adam Elliott no longer sound like they’re hollering with laryngitis through a fan. Only the closing track “No Good” features vocals that are anything but cleanly produced (and even that one rides a calm ukulele into the sun), but a full-on compromise it’s not. Most of Dancer Equired‘s songs start with a riff as simple as a barn door and twice as creaky. Murphy and Elliott don’t always hit the notes, and even when they do, it can sound like a toss-up (the low utterance of the word “guess” in “Don’t Go to Liverpool” could go either way).

“We made it through the winter” are the first words on Dancer Equired (notes intact) and this album’s sound feels as much like a renewal as springtime. Nodding to indie OGs who had their own renewal last year, “It’s a Culture” has a bold guitar line straight out of Superchunk’s playbook (the band made a similar move from Matador to Merge for this album). Music fans could previously be forgiven for taking this trio for amateurs, but only professionals can make a new start sound like a refreshing return to form.

Five albums in, Times New Viking isn’t aching to pay tribute to heroes, although the staircase jangle in “No Room to Live” suggests a more pensive take on Guided By Voices’ “Echoes Myron” (if the tour with those fellow swing staters didn’t have an influence, Robert Pollard’s decade and a half of prolific music probably did).

“Ever Falling in Love” is built on a dizzy-sick riff, with barely decipherable lyrics that have that cloudy, amorphous quality with which indie rock has fallen back in love. Any of Dancer Equired‘s 14 songs could be about friends, lovers or slack motherfuckers—but it doesn’t matter when the music is this woozily gorgeous. No problem if you don’t dig inscrutable lyrics, but be forewarned: When words do come into focus, they aren’t any more revealing, and stoned musings like “I’m awake and you are tired/We were smoke and we were fire” sound like demo placeholders waiting for real lyrics to arrive.

Make no mistake, lyrics were never this band’s bag, but there’s still a little bit of Kerouac in lines like “I want to know everything about you/Some people have better lives than this/Nothing seems real until you start talkin’.” Dancer Equired is short on profound lyrics, but Times New Viking isn’t concerned with being Ghandi; they just want to make sense out of the mundane and grab someone to share it with (“My heart it beats, yes/To your silhouette,” goes the chorus to the evocatively titled “Fuck Her Tears,” a statement about “being in love with novelties” built on three-chord bliss.

There are musical duds—the altogether unmemorable “Try Harder,” for one—but Times New Viking has a strangely likeable habit of jumping between listless exercises and vintage power crunch. The celebratory “Ways to Go” is a gem, with alternating power chords lurching alongside Murphy’s roller rink keyboards. The following track “New Vertical Dwelling” sounds inarticulate and rushed by comparison, hitting the ground running with a mess of spewed lyrics and hissy-fit cymbals but no strong melody to anchor the thing.

It goes to show when Times New Viking clean up the shit in their shitgaze, the results are still varied and unpredictable.

In that sense, the melodies on Dancer Equired aren’t far removed from the sweet subject of Forrest Gump’s oft-quoted simile: temporary but still tempting, and while you won’t like all of them, you won’t know until you bite right in.

Times New Viking – Dancer Equired Tracklist:

1. “It’s a Culture”
2. “Ever Falling in Love”
3. “No Room to Live”
4. “Try Harder”
5. “California Roll”
6. “Ways to Go”
7. “New Vertical Dwellings”
8. “Downtown Eastern Bloc”
9. “More Rumours”
10. “Don’t Go To Liverpool”
11. “Fuck Her Tears”
12. “Want to Exist”
13. “Somebody’s Slave”
14. “No Good”

It’s tough to say who is to blame. Some culpability must fall on absolutepunk.net and its writers, for their amateur reinforcement of a George W. Bush-type band—one that was only good as a least of all evils. Perhaps Pitchfork should bow a little in shame for their nonsensical comparisons of the band to Kings Of Leon, simply because the two bands share a casual religious affiliation. And maybe, just maybe, we should take some of the blame for ignoring the ludicrous, hallucina-emo images conjured by a man too obsessed with being obtuse to derive coherent narratives in his hooky rock songs.

Maybe it’s none of the above; maybe all three in some fashion. One thing, though, is for certain—someone must face the axe for the failure that is Manchester Orchestra’s fourth album, Simple Math.

Maybe we should’ve seen this coming. Manchester Orchestra have always been a brooding, emotive and over-dramatic band—arguably their most popular song from their second album, I’m Like a Virgin Losing A Child, contained a synthesized choir and plodding drums, along with frontman Andy Hull wailing “Oh my God/Where have you been?” The difference here is that all Hull and Co.’s indulgences are entertained to their fullest productive extent, whether they’re strings, trumpets or a fucking children’s choir.

But there’s a problem in that indulgence—in what seems like classic music parable, Manchester Orchestra’s bloated studio budget has turned Simple Math saccharine, fake and unlivable, robbing Hull of his most humanizing (and compelling) feature, the “us against the world” mentality of a potentially great rock band.

Whereas all MO records have roared out of the gate, Simple Math opens on a soft, innocuous note. “Deer” feels uninspired, as it breaks the fourth wall lyrically to let Hull thank his fans for sticking around. Sadder still is that “Deer” actually feels like a stronger Simple Math cut—even at their most Kings of Leon-y, Manchester Orchestra still knew how to craft hard, hooky country rock. But in place of their rootsy backstory, Hull has embraced Muse, the majestic stadium anthem-ready rock that sounds more ready for a tour with AFI than anything else. But Manchester Orchestra’s members have always been bangers—even at their most Muse (“Pale Black Eye”) they still can’t force themselves to break into prog.

Simple Math seems unrelentingly dark, a testament to Hull’s psyche. Not surprisingly, he claims that the record’s lyrical content is a sort of autobiographical concept record, whatever that means. The gloom and heavy doom of songs like “Virgin” or “Mighty” is not without its hooks, but those hooks always translated better when they seemed doable in the live setting. Not so here.

So many unnatural sounds are layered on top of the basic guitar chugging that whatever live histrionics Hull plans to play on tour could not hope to achieve the gravitas displayed here.

All this would be well and good if Simple Math was a great headphone record—again, not so. There is so much power chord strumming, so much heart-stringingly simplistic chord progressions that there never seems anything below the surface. Manchester Orchestra have never been subtle—get the biggest feeling out, scream it, repeat to great effect. Their formula blends well for abusive relationships (Nobody Sings Anymore’s “She Found a Love”), Woody Allen movies (“Sleeper, 1972”) and songs not really about breakfast cereal (“Tony The Tiger”).

But when Hull drops all pretense and stops pretending that most every song he’s ever written is about himself, the results trend dangerously toward over-expression.

Simple Math manages to show a glimmer of promise through the gloom. 2009’s excellent Mean Everything To Nothing holds over two of the best tracks, “April Fool” and “Pensacola,” and the moments of Modest Mouse-like guitar work (“Apprehension”) belie that most of the songs here are mid-tempo plodders with less-than-inventive guitar work past dark hooks. Hull drives himself deeper into obscure, ultimately meaningless verse, but he occasionally hits on emo stapled platitudes that stick with his delivery (his closing statement on the title track). But in the end, the meager positivity that can be gleaned from Simple Math makes its disappointments more apparent. Manchester Orchestra was choked on making an everything record, something they’ve never been really good at doing.

Manchester Orchestra – Simple Math Tracklist:

1. “Deer”
2. “Mighty”
3. “Pensacola”
4. “April Fool”
5. “Pale Black Eye”
6. “Virgin”
7. “Simple Math”
8. “Leave It Alone”
9. “Apprehension”
10. “Leaky Breaks”

Thank God for modern technology. Without it, bedroom recording projects might never have achieved the level of sophistication they have in recent years, and without the corresponding expansion of distribution channels, music like the eponymously titled debut EP from Two Suns would be collecting dust in Jake Davidson’s bedroom closet in Norman, Oklahoma. Instead, via bandcamp, one can discover (and purchase, for the bargain level price of $2.50) these ambitious five songs, recorded entirely using something called Reason/Record.

Despite being a self-described bassist by trade, Davidson’s compositions are surprisingly not at all bass-heavy, instead emphasizing acoustic guitars, electronic synth sounds and drums, along with the bleeps and beeps that make it part of the glitch-pop mis en scene. However, there’s a lot more going on in here than typical eight-bit playfulness; in fact there seems to be a real vein of seriousness that courses through the lyrics here, although admittedly they don’t stand on their own that well.

“Wait The Same” is the should-be single, with its acoustic oompah oompah, industrial clangery and simple toy xylophonic descant in the breakbeat break. Lovely alto vocals glide across the  bubbling and blipping electronic rhythm parts and synth parts, punctuated by fingers squealing on acoustic guitar fretboards, and it’s got the most compelling, anthemic hook on the release. Toward the end of the track Richardson stacks on layers of shiny distortion and feedback until it dissolves into a post-Sonic Youth wash and cuts out abruptly.

The other cuts aren’t as immediately engaging, but the musical depth and inventiveness reveals itself throughout the tracks with repeated listens. The kick-off cut, “Chasing Life, Catching Dreams” begins as smooth as placid waters, and the orchestral fluorishes and tenor vocals that glide on top are reminiscent of the male counterpart in Asobi Seksu or Brad Laner’s (Medicine) recent solo release outing. In some ways the composition is two songs in one—there’s not the dichotomy of the Beatles’ “A Day In The Life” (nor is there the grandiosity, for that matter), but at about four and a half minutes in it features a lovely orchestral break and gradually dies down like a sonic sunset.

“Things Left Unsaid” provides the best example of the autobiographical nature of the songs of Two Suns, so named because the EP was recorded while Richardson’s two sons, ages two years and six months, were sleeping. Although it’s unclear exactly what the circumstances were, the lyrics “it almost killed me when I thought you were dead,” are pretty scary regardless, but they take on added resonance when considered from a parent’s perspective. This track provides a good example of lyrics that maybe can’t stand alone as poetry, but when coupled with the depth and intricacy of the music, the composition succeeds overall, as does Saved For My Girl, which sounds like a sedate William Orbit remix.

In terms of sonic antecedents and contemporaries, the first EP from Two Suns should find itself amongst rocktronica acts like School of Seven Bells, Broken Bells (no relation).

Also on that list should be fellow Oklahoman (and Flaming Lip) Steven Drozd’s recent solo work, especially on “Chances (failing charity),” which sounds like a chronicle of Hansel and Gretel’s trip to the witch-house, accompanied by the slow-mo dropped pick-up stick rhythm reminiscent of The Fixx’s “Deeper and Deeper.”

Despite the multiplicity of distribution channels nowadays, it would still be easy for this homemade outing—self-released and only available on their website and via bandcamp—to get lost in the shuffle. And that would be a shame, because this EP could (and should) find itself on many critics’ best short-form recordings of 2011.

Two Suns – Two Suns EP Tracklist:

1. “Chasing Life, Catching Dreams”
2. “Wait the Same”
3. “Saved for My Girl”
4. “Things Left Unsaid”
5. “Chances (Failing Charity)”

Wild Beasts wield an unequaled and paramount authority on zen moods in that theymeld a dynamic electric sound with unwavering vocals. It’s no surprise that their third album in three years, Smother, floats in the clouds and boasts a solid collection of dreamy pop tunes. Hayden Thorpe and Tom Fleming team up vocally on the album and glue the entire assemblage together behind a cavalcade of flowing guitars and beat-driven percussion.

The album opens with “Lion’s Share” which begins as a punchy piano piece, saving space and waiting for the rest of the troupe to chime in. Thorpe’s lyrical moments on the track are interesting enough, touting that he took the lion’s share, not because he could, but simply because it was there. The song builds subtly as though the lion (in this case, Thorpe) stands over his pride as the day begins. The rolling drumbeat in the background is synonymous to the sun coming up over the Serengeti. At just over four minutes, the track fades out almost as quickly as it came in.

“Burning” is one of many eccentric piano and drum tunes on the album that has a meditative quality to it. The subtle guitar and bass in the background sprinkle around the song like rain. As each note falls, the mind wanders off to the deep, blanketed woods where moss covered tree trunks and rain soaked branches are the majority and human life is simple and alone. “Deeper” is succinct, putting Fleming and drummer, Chris Talbot front and center. Both songs manage a qualitative rhythm that is standard throughout the record.

Fleming and Thorpe trade off lyrical duties across the different tracks, but one thing is systematic from start to finish: this is an album whirled into methodical and ceaseless motion from one song to the next.

“Loop the Loop” is playful and caring where Thorpe is reflexive about regret, remembering and forgetting. In the same breath, “Plaything” shows Thorpe singing in front of tom drums and a simple bass line. His vocals are reminiscent of post-Ziggy Stardust Bowie: Chanting and melodic all in one. With this record being slow in many respects, “Plaything” stands out as a slight change of pace and the best song on the record.

The album closes with “End Come Too Soon” and just as the name suggests, it all falls off and one is left to wonder, “What next?” Smother uncovers a work of musical art so tenuous and unassuming that it may be brushed away by those listeners without a sense of understanding the message herein. Though most tracks aren’t jump-out-of-your-seat exciting, Thorpe and crew manage a recording made for rainy days or periods of reflection. With a wide range of dreamy material and pop beats, Smother is compiled as a solid collection worthy of any playlist and it works well in morning yoga sessions, too.

Ulver’s Wars of the Roses is just as melodramatic as the title implies but for some reason, it grows on you. The instrumentals are all nondescript ambience that don’t seem to have any significance to one another. Despite having more than 10 musicians contribute to the album and its seven tracks, they all seem extremely bare. However, if I wasn’t required to thoroughly review this album, I would have passed it up in a heartbeat as I assume other listeners might, as they should trust their musical attention spans.

Wars of the Roses starts with what sounds like a promising gritty, electro-bass line and uptempo drum beat instigating the listener with the idea that they are in for an album that tells an epic story. However, what the listener really gets is an album that unsuccessfully attempts to blend unrelated genres of music.

This unfortunate trend of blending too many genres into one abominable monster shows up in every instrumental addition to the album. Ulver’s use of electronic synthesizers churning out sequenced arpeggiotors at blazing speeds and mixed at inaudible levels cause you to check if your headphones are busted and periodically pause the album to see if it’s the song you’re hearing or a siren outside.

This also occurs with what seems to be Ulver’s trademark on Wars of the Roses with the album’s frequent use of impromptu screeches from the orchestral section like sneezes. The percussion is also not spared and stumbles its way around the album in awkward and irregular beats/tempos even for how light the album uses a drum kit or electronic beat.

This description of Ulver’s sound might force one to believe what they create on Wars of the Roses hardly resembles music, which is precisely correct.

The vocals on this album are sparse and repetitive. The “technique” of using short one or two line statements of monotone melodramatic poetry instead of singing is used on every song.

Certain songs do pick up momentum toward the end, with all the instruments fighting over sonic space instead of working together, and when this happens, the vocalist does not capture the “epic” or “orchestral” energy and aesthetic the band is shooting for.

The result is something that sadly sounds like something that would be appreciated by overly dramatic teenagers obsessed with 30 Seconds to Mars, who still think Cradle of Filth is the most brutal and impressive metal band on Earth.

The mix might not taste or look good, but it is indeed very interesting. Simply taking a listen and thinking “what kind of person creates this sort of music?” is intriguing, because I can’t say an album has actually made me think about anything besides “what instruments are they using, are they trying anything new, what studio effects…” in a while. I’m wondering why this was scheduled for a summer release as it would serve much better as a winter album.

That doesn’t change the fact that if you thought The XX was beautiful for their simplistic perfection, you’ll find Wars of the Roses on the opposite side of the minimalist spectrum, being so over the top with its bleakness, over production, and lacking in real substance at parts. “Providence” is a prime example that is almost identical to the other songs on the album. The first three minutes are a trade-off between a male and female singer exchanging unrealistic and un-relatable dark and scary lyrics that fall flat in their efforts, whatever they were.

Upon a Google search of these lyrics, I discovered that Ulver is a fan of using poetry from various sources for lyrical inspiration, like such greats as William Blake. If they did something like this on Wars of the Roses, their intentions failed because the “poetry” didn’t come through at all. This might just be a trend with more modern music, but minimalism shouldn’t have to make up for the lack of songwriting. If you actually listen to the lyrics of this album, you have to wonder who the target audience is.

This whole idea climaxes with the last track, “Stone Angels,” which is 15 minutes of ambient, new age keyboard sounds that you might hear in a yoga studio with, yet again, another spoken word poem over it. It could be said that the singer is not even singing and just talking throughout, not just this song, but the entire album. Sometimes he’s talking with a little more “oomph” than he would in normal conversation; however, this effect does not set the mood; it bores the listener with its repetition and is overused throughout the album.

You can’t judge books by their covers, but if Wars of the Roses sounds like something you normally wouldn’t be into, you’re 100 percent correct. Why was this album made? Was it absolutely necessary to produce another ambient album with marginal differences in each track? What does this add to the music scene?

In Ulver’s defense, they were going for a minimalist approach, and under the minimalist lens, they did “okay,” but that’s like saying Ulver won the bronze medal in a 50-meter dash for snails. Even if they were a good minimalist band, they’re still hardly scratching the surface. With a different vocalist and a little more direction, Ulver would be a much better band.

Ulver Wars of the Roses Tracklisting:

1. “February MMX”
2. “Norwegian Gothic”
3. “Providence”
4. “September IV”
5. “England”
6. “Island”
7. “Stone Angels”

CunninLynguists, the crew with the most unfortunate name in hip-hop, has been making progress with each new record in an attempt to prove it isn’t just a joke band. It’s latest—Oneirology—is somewhat of a concept record, exploring dreams and the subconscious in various ways throughout the album. To call the result a nightmare would be incredibly be easy, but also far too accurate.

Kno, CunninLynguists’ producer and occasional vocalist, does a great job of making Oneirology’s tracks work well both individually as well as in the context of the album. Kno’s work has much in common with his recent solo debut Death is Silent. Oneirology’s atmospheric feel allows CunninLyguists a vast ocean of space in which to maneuver. Natti and Deacon the Villian, CunninLyguists’ emcees, attempt to fill in gaps Kno had left them throughout the course of the album. Sadly, Natti and Deacon fail to accomplish this task consistently.

Various guest spots help make Oneirology a partially enjoyable listen in spite of the CunninLynguists’ weakness. Instead of displaying the group’s talent, it merely shows that the trio knows a handful of people who can help make a track listenable. “Stars Shine Brightest (In the Darkest of Night)” saving grace is Rick Warren’s infectious hook. Natti and Deacon verses sound smooth, but the content is shaky at best. By trying to merge astronomy with the dreamlike concept of Oneirology Natti offers, “You can only see the stars when it’s Don Cheadle black,” and Deacon’s “No astronomer has seen your incredible gleam/And you don’t need a telescope to detect dream.” This only a small sampling of the horrendous lines that abound on Oneirology.

“Enemies with Benefits,” featuring Tonedeff, suffers a similar fate. While Kno’s hook is strong, it is Tonedeff’s final verse that makes the track worthwhile. His speed and lyrical prowess puts the group to shame, making CunninLyguists come off as unprepared in the face of the various guest spots.

Oneirology proves to be an ambitious step for CunninLyguists, but overall the group fails to turn that into something engaging.

Kno, Natti and Deacon have proven in the past they can be a powerful force in the rap world, there is little here that backs up such claims. Instead, the group’s strongest moments are when they break from the album’s awkward conceptual base and allow for something a bit more varied as seen on “My Habit (I Haven’t Changed).” Instead of working to make vibrant verses and memorable hooks, CunninLynguists appear to put the entirety of its effort into completing some half-cooked concept.

While Oneirology has its moments, they are few and far between. Kno’s production is top notch, and Natti and Deacon have proven that they have the skill to create captivating albums. Unfortunately, CunninLyguists attempt at a concept album leaves nothing resonating other than the fact that Oneirology is one giant mishap disguised as artistic advancement.

CunninLynguists – Oneirology Tracklist:

1. “Predormitum (Prologue)”
2. “Darkness (Dream On)”
3. “Phantasmata”
4. “Hard As They Come (Act One)”
5. “Murder (Act Two)”
6. “My Habit (I Haven’t Changed)”
7. “Get Ignorant”
8. “Shattered Dreams”
9. Stars Shine Brightest (In the Darkest of Night)”
10. “So As Not To Wake You (Interlude)”
11. “Enemies With Benefits”
12. “Looking Back”
13. “Dreams”
14. “Hypnopomp (Epilogue)”
15. “Embers”

Strange Negotiations is led by a slow song titled “Wolves At The Door” with a contemplative beat across the lines “you’re a goddamn fool” repeated over and over. It’s a low tune that never quite picks up any steam as it lulls toward a finish. For this to start a record is not the greatest start. From there it finds a more steady place in “Level With Yourself.” The melody here is more definitive and easier to follow, but still not entirely pleasant to the ears. Sadly, these first few tracks warn listeners that what they’re about to experience is not only, indeed, strange, but also terribly sultry. If that’s what they’re into, then maybe it’ll be a feast for their ears. But at this point, nothing positive is present.

When Strange Negotiations chugs to the third song, it becomes clear each song will begin very slow and try to evolve into something more lively. But the track again starts ever so slowly before it turns into a bit of a mess. Not only is it difficult to decipher between the verse and chorus, but it eventually shows us a bridge filled with experimental beats and haphazard sounding noise that diffuses the track into sort of nothingness. But, believe it or not, it gets better.

“Virginia” trails with a bit of legitimate personality. Though it is slow, the brightness carrying the back of the tune is consistently uplifting. From there, songs become lost in the midst of the record. “Eating Paper” is almost childish as its riffs emulate beginning guitar sounds that are repeated. It’s not fun to listen to.

“Messes” brings listeners into the latter part of the record with a taste of mystery its composition and mood, with a well-constructed finish through a fun bridge and an abrupt ending.

The album reaches its lyrical peak in “Don’t Change” when it centers around the words “I tell myself today I’ll make a change/But falling into my bed at night/I think, man, it was a beautiful day/To stay the same.” This is profound in its simplicity and melancholy energy accompanied by a neat tune. The bottom half of the record is where things really start happening.

Inevitably we see the record’s peak in the title track. “Strange Negotiations” is slow and bluesy with light guitar and delicate drumming. David Bazan is normally seen as an indie-rock  artist but in these songs, he could almost be taken as a folk musician.

The record comes to a close with “Won’t Let Go,” channeling the same energy as the previous song but with a bit more of a hopeless emotion. It’s fascinating and wholesome. If only the whole record could follow.

The odd thing about this record is its progression between styles. It starts as a low, hollow rock compilation that turns into a steady indie folk marathon. It’s hard to tell what David Bazan was going for. The result is indeed strange.

David Bazan – Strange Negotiations Tracklist:

1. “Wolves At The Door”
2. “Level With Yourself”
3. “Future Past”
4. “People”
5. “Viriginia”
6. “Hearing Paper”
7. “Messes”
8. “Don’t Change”
9. “Strange Negotiations”
10. “Won’t Let Go”

The bill: Modest Mouse with Man Man at Chicago’s Congress Theater. The time: several years back, when Man Man was known to most in the crowd as “the guys opening for Modest Mouse.”

Outfitting both themselves and their instruments with loud colors and kitschy knick-knacks, the openers appeared hell-bent on attention getting. But did their potentially gimmicky stage presence support a compelling sound? Indeed it did. So much so, in fact, that they upstaged the headliner, as Mouse frontman Isaac Brock was unable to channel his drunken exuberance into the focus-driven intensity Man Man brought with its seemingly unlimited reserves of energy.

A few years later, Man Man has a deservedly larger fan base, but the game hasn’t changed much in terms of the freewheeling jester-rock style. Fortunately, this serves the band well on its latest LP, Life Fantastic, which finds the rambunctious crew molding their zany song craft into something darker, with a bit more heft.

Never ones for subtlety, Man Man kick off Life Fantastic with the pummeling stomp of “Knuckle Down.” Soon lead vocalist Honus Honus crashes the scene with his throaty yowl.

His voice bears the carnival barker’s theatricality perfected by a showman like Tom Waits (“Haute Tropique” would fit next to anything on Rain Dogs), and it’s always added a raw yet consciously playful edge to Man Man’s music. Here, it’s well suited for the sinister lyrics, as Honus Honus rips into a line like, “I’m racing through the dark/a headless Saint Bernard/to cauterize the scars/that line your dirty heart.”

The band follows “Knuckle Down” with “Piranhas Club,” a deceptively cheery song that sustains the lyrical griminess of the first track (“You feel like you can’t deal/ Your heart’s doing cartwheels/The world is a shitshow/as bad as the sequel”). By paring these songs, Man Man achieves early on a sonic polarity that carries throughout Life Fantastic: this is the kind of music you might cry to if you weren’t so busy laughing.

And yet Man Man finally becomes disarmingly tender in the album’s last moments on closer “Oh, La Brea.” The song’s latter half is one of the most gorgeous passages they have ever produced. As it ends, the gentle melody points towards an exciting future for the band. Who knows what we’ll hear next from Man Man’s cartoon-colored world?

Man Man – Life Fantastic Tracklisting:

1. “Knuckle Down”
2. “Piranhas Club”
3. “Steak Knives”
4. “Dark Arts”
5. “Haute Tropique”
6. “Shameless”
7. “Spooky Jookie”
8. “Eel Bros”
9. “Bangkok Necktie”
10. “Life Fantastic”
11. “Oh, La Brea”

Mississippi native Big K.R.I.T. is one of hip-hop’s burgeoning acts. After releasing his first mixtape K.R.I.T. Wuz Here in 2010, he’s found himself has been featured on a number of tracks with the likes of Wiz Khalifa and Curren$y. He soon landed on XXL Magazine’s “Freshmen List,” which honors the best up-and-coming rappers.

K.R.I.T. adds to the hype with his stellar new mixtape, Return of 4Eva, a collection of songs that range from somber to energetic. By proving to have an eclectic ear for tones and textures, he asserts himself as a serious performer who’s taken his recent praise with the utmost seriousness.

K.R.I.T.’s most intriguing quality—aside from his affable persona as a Southern everyman and his gift for turning phrases with a dexterous ease—is his willingness to occasionally appear vulnerable. On the somber “Dreamin,” he says, “I ain’t rapping about dope, nor did I sell it/I guess the story of a country boy just ain’t compelling.”

Where his peers are prone to boastfulness and shameless self-promotion, K.R.I.T. is often introspective and shies away from prototypical hip-hip vainglory.

In listening to Return of 4Eva, you get the sense that he’s actually expressing himself as opposed to merely regurgitating tired metaphors and clichéd premises. Good hip-hop needs self-analysis. The garish self-aggrandizing that plagues most radio rap leaves little room for those willing to put themselves under a microscope, which is what makes emcees like K.R.I.T. and OFWGKTA’s polemic mastermind Tyler, The Creator so intriguing.

Despite the magnifying glass put on Tyler’s admittedly disturbing lyrics, little examination is given to the instances in which he drops the shock-and-awe in favor of describing the struggles he faced growing up without a father and the depression and he feels because of it. Though his anger is certainly misguided, any depiction of violence or hate in his music is the result of this vitriol—not a glorification of the subject matter.

K.R.I.T., meanwhile, shares a similar sense of authorship. Though he may not work as prevalently in abstraction, he’s nevertheless willing to wear his heart on his sleeve. His passion is palpable.

That being said, the man isn’t afraid to stunt. “My Sub” is an anthem dedicated to the fast cars and deep bass, fitted with minimalist yet infectious country-fried beat. As a producer, K.R.I.T. proves himself to be something of a revivalist. Not unlike Band of Horses’ unabashed borrowing from the likes of Neil Young and Crazy Horse, tracks like “Sookie Now” and “High and Low” make tasteful nods towards the likes of UGK, OutKast and Scarface. K.R.I.T. is well aware of the roots of Southern hip-hop, equipping his album with the kind of beats the fit nicely into the style.

Considering that summer is right around the corner, Return of 4Eva will likely be a staple at barbeques all around the country. Even when K.R.I.T. delves into heavy subject matter, such as the denigration of the music business (“American Rapstar”) or race relations (“Another Native Individual Glorifying Greed and Encouraging Racism”), the album is easily digestible in terms of its listenability.

Even with its 77-minute run time and 21 songs (no skits, either), Return of 4Eva breezes by with its textured instrumentation and heavy, sweeping beats. It’s tailor-made for your car’s stereo system. Put it to use.

Big K.R.I.T. – Return of 4Eva Tracklist:

1. “R4 Intro”
2. “Rise and Shine”
3. “R4 Theme Song”
4. “Dreamin'”
5. “Rotation”
6. “My Sub”
7. “Sookie Now”
8. “American Rapstar”
9. “Highs & Lows”
10. “Shake It”
11. “Made Alot”
12. “Lions and Lambs”
13. “King’s Blues”
14. “Time Machine”
15. “Get Right”
16. “Amtrak”
17. “Players Ballad”
18. “Another Naive Individual Glorifying Greed and Encouraging Racism”
19. “Free My Soul”
20. “The Vent”
21. “Country Shit” (Remix)

Those expecting The Antlers’ newest album to be a sequel to their heart-wrenching breakout album, Hospice, will be sorely mistaken. Those willing to overlook a dramatic change in mood will find that Burst Apart, while perhaps not as emotionally engaging as Hospice, takes The Antlers’ sound in a direction that is surprising and surprisingly natural.

Hospice was a rather noisy album; its tragic tale of loves lost was perfectly complemented by bouts of fuzz, fevered scratches, the sounds of emotional collapse. With Burst Apart, listeners will find most of that noise stripped (though not removed entirely), leaving an album with a little more breathing room and, surprisingly, a little more funk.

The album opener, “I Don’t Want Love” starts the album off pretty similar to the band’s earlier work (with the exception of a slightly greater emphasis on drums and the aforementioned noise reduction). But that soon changes with the second song. With “French Exit,” the band starts to show off some of their new tricks: an increased focus on swinging baselines, some jazzier, brush-reliant drumming and syncopated vocals. It’s a definite change from the noisy post-rock of Hospice.

While this change may sound like blasphemy to hardcore fans of The Antlers’ breakout hit, it works well. Frontman Peter Silberman’s haunting upper-register vocals mesh perfectly with rolling basslines and upbeat percussion to form a unique genre mash up of indie rock and jazz/funk.

“Parentheses” quickly establishes a groovy bassline before building into something that sounds like it could be used for the intro to a James Bond movie. Other highlights on the album include “Rolled Together,” in which Silberman’s airy vocals whisper an anthem over beat-poetry drum brushes and a danceable rhythm. “Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out” proves that the band hasn’t forgotten their roots by ending on an explosion of searing static, fantastically combining their new sound with their old. The songs that emphasize the band’s new style end up being the best on the album.

Oddly enough, the album’s most forgettable songs are the sad ones. The slow track “No Widows” is technically sound, but sort of just floats on by, like an intermission between “Parentheses” and “Rolled Together.” That said, “No Windows” does a good job fitting in with the rest of the album: its laid back melancholia matches the flow that the first half of the album worked to establish.

And the album’s flow is one of its greatest strengths. Though some songs are happy and others sad, each melts nicely into the next and each maintains a mood, tone and style that unifies the album. Every song on Burst Apart is unmistakably a part of the whole.

This isn’t to say the album is static; there is a definite progression as the album continues. The latter half of the album turns down the funk a little and slowly becomes more haunting, more ethereal and more emotionally intense. Tracks like “Tiptoe” and “Hounds” slow things down, add a somber trumpet into the mix, and make for a poignant build-up to the excellent finisher that is “Putting the Dog to Sleep.” It’s a natural evolution over the course of the album and never feels forced.

Burst Apart may not be the album fans were expecting, but it must be celebrated for taking chances with a new sound and for being so successful in its overhaul of the band’s dynamic.

The Antlers – Burst Apart Tracklisting:

1. “I Don’t Want Love”
2. “French Exit”
3. “Parentheses”
4. “No Widows”
5. “Rolled Together”
6. “Every Night My Teeth Are Falling Out”
7. “Tiptoe”
8. “Hounds”
9. “Corsicana”
10. “Putting the Dog to Sleep”

Balance and Composure is obsessed with the ’90s, and that’s the biggest compliment and criticism of the band’s debut full-length, Separation.

The group, led by vocalist/guitarist Jonathan Simmons, is not one to shy away from paying homage to its influences. Often times, Simmons’ vocal work displays an off-kilter pattern that would make Neutral Milk Hotel’s Jeff Mangum blush. On the musical end, the guitar work—courtesy of Simmons, Andrew Slaymaker and Erik Peterson—often references some of the band’s influences. “Galena” opens with a subtle wink at Jawbreaker’s “Chemistry,” before blasting into a riff that would feel right at home on a Nirvana record.

Yet, this is not to say Balance and Composure are merely aping some of the ’90s premier acts from a few different genres. The group brings in Small Brown Bike influence that was apparent on its earlier EPs, and in doing so creates an album that is closely akin to Brand New’s moodier work. It is the post-hardcore and emo influences the group integrates that allow for it carve out a sound uniquely its own.

Tracks such as “I Tore You Apart in My Head” and “Quake” prove how hard of a punch the band can pack, and it’s where the Small Brown Bike comparisons are most apt. The band’s rhythm section, comprising bassist Matthew Warner and drummer Bailey Van Ellis, never overstep their bounds. Warner and Van Ellis find a way to mix crushing aggression with delicate nuance throughout each of Separation’s 12 tracks.

While Simmons vocals lead the band into interesting directions because of his aforementioned Magnum-worship, it is the lyrics themselves that bring in a much darker element to the band’s work. “Can’t see past the bright light up in the sky/Never got it quite right/Never know, never try,” from “I Tore You Apart in My Head” is only a small sample of the intense scrutiny to which Simmons subjects himself, and others, throughout Separation.

Proving that Balance and Composure can create a full-length album that delivers on the promises of its earlier EPs, Separation avoids the missteps of those earlier works—general lack of focus—and helps the band create an identity all its own.

While the quintet is not afraid to display its influences, it could easily become a mess if performed by a less competent group. Instead, Balance and Composure utilizes the strengths of each in order to present a whole that is uniquely its own.

Separation does have its weak spots, but they are few and far between. When the band does falter, it is never for long, as even weaker tracks such as “Progress, Progress” have incredibly bright spots that make it impossible to skip over.

Balance and Composure have been creating deeply textured and cathartic songs for some time, but Separation shows they can maintain that power and progression over a 48-minute runtime. It’s a stunning debut that leaves only one question: Can Balance and Composure top it?

Balance and Composure – Separation Tracklist:

1. “Void”
2. “Separation”
3. “Quake”
4. “Stonehands”
5. “I Tore You Apart In My Head”
6. “Galena”
7. “Fade”
8. “Progress, Progress”
9. “More To Me”
10. “Echo”
11. “Patience”
12. “Defeat The Low”