Pop 'stache

Wiz Khalifa is nothing new to Hip-Hop: sipping Rosé, flossing his muscle car, smoking out and then sleeping with your girlfriend. But if he does bring something to the table it’s his ability to quickly create a persona for himself. Thanks largely to the ubiquitous single “Black and Yellow,” the 23-year-old is immediately recognizable by the quiff that looks like it got struck by lightning, his square-frame shades, his near-full-body ink job and the swirled graphic that bears his name.

But the artist that Source named Rookie of the Year 2010 still has a lot to prove.

Let’s just say Rolling Papers is Khalifa doing what he loves, best enjoyed while, hm, rolling papers. If his lyrics don’t convince you he was high when he made this, his raspy-ass giggle will. The album is a slow, smooth and mellow cruise; sometimes with wide-open production (“The Race”), gangster rap (“On My Level”) and even bubblegum guitar (“Fly Solo”). The Wiz kid is part of that school in rap, practiced by Drake and Cudi, where even his verse is almost sung. Lucky for him this school happens to be the mode of Billboard.

Khalifa’s social media success is the first sign he might be an information age hero, but he’s also helped a lot by the fact that his production style is free of region. We’re just coming out of an era in Hip Hop where “where” is everything.

Khalifa, who was born in North Dakota, raised in Germany, England, Japan and some place called Pittsburgh, just wants to make music, merging styles as it pleases him.

He alternately smears and enunciates words, stretching and chopping them to his liking. On “Roll Up,” he intones something like, “You wannaridewitme cos you say that he boring/Wakeup, you rollin’ weed, cookin’ eggs in the morning.” So, while his actual voice is dynamic, his flow is tired. Accuse him of pandering to the pop charts—don’t think he doesn’t know it. “They say all I rap about bitches and champagne/You would too if e’ry night you seen the same thing” are the first words of the album. Clearly Wiz’s got something to prove about his street cred.

It’s likely that fans will expect more of where his last mixtape Kush and Orange Juice left off. Regrettably, that’s not what happened. While Kush and Orange Juice was available free and quickly top-trended on Twitter, Rolling Papers is on Atlantic Records and isn’t nearly the same end product—formulaic, catchy and melodious. If he truly is amazed by how quickly he blew up, “I always knew I’d be this good/ But never knew I’d be this good,” (“Cameras”) he doesn’t let us hear the end of it. The skit at the end of “The Race” is neither funny, nor an introduction to “Star of the Show,” it sounds like an impromptu one-take, he did on the phone with his friend.

Rolling Papers goes around in circles, it’s that classic pitfall where at some point you’re like, “Didn’t I just hear that song?” but his biggest talent is mobilizing people behind him, which, if you’re creating a brand, is crucial. “Black and Yellow” we’ve heard, now “No Sleep” is on the charts and it probably won’t stop there.

Wiz Khalifa – Rolling Papers Tracklist:

1. “When I’m Gone”
2. “On My Level”
3. “Black and Yellow”
4. “Roll Up”
5. “Hope & Dreams”
6. “Wake Up”
7. “The Race”
8. “Star of the Show”
9. “No Sleep”
10. “Get Your Shit”
11. “Top Floor”
12. “Fly Solo”
13. “Rooftops”
14. “Cameras”

So often listeners are forced to deconstruct complicated situations with overbearing lyrics and difficult metaphors. It’s a relief to know that The Crookes don’t ask much of their audience. 

This first record highlights stories of “dancing under the streetlights” and “a breeze during lonely nights” accompanied by simple riffs and continuous rhythms. These smooth sounds help listeners understand certain elements of simple scenarios that make the album unique and limitless. Although this could be perceived as boring or lifeless, there is plenty of substance in Chasing After Ghosts, which carries the record in the right direction.

Listeners are entertained, but not congested. They are inspired, but not burdened.

The style of Chasing After Ghosts is inevitably British, which promises a hint of classic and European with every scent of contemporary. The flowing electric guitar is usually a constant strum or an echoey hum. The bass drum slams heavily throughout the record, and in lighter songs, things become more diverse, as newer sounds (tambourine) make things more interesting. It’s easy to find hints of The Smiths throughout the record, and many of the tones attributed to it are comparable to those of Kings of Leon mixed with Explosions in the Sky and even Wavves. But maybe that’s a stretch. Either way, the accent makes it that much sexier.

The Crookes deserve applause because they identify with both vintage and vogue and don’t get caught in the middle like so many artists do.

One brilliant element to Chasing After Ghosts is the constant theme of light. It’s not only present in the titles of two songs but in the lyrical work of many others. It serves as a storyteller and a hypnotic paintbrush for all things audio and visual. When listeners hear about light in the street, the mood is dark. When they sing about city lights, the beat is fast-paced. It’s straightforward, but it still has depth.

There are some solid and striking examples in the middle of the album, such as the mysterious and experimental “Crookes Laundry Murder, 1922” and the end of the slower jam “Youth,” where there is an audible pickup in speed and emotion. However, The Crookes’ immaturity is evident in the latter part of the record. Perhaps the band suffered from a lack of inspiration or a variety of moods for each of their tunes. The last three songs are not any less exciting to listen to, but they don’t manage to set themselves apart as individuals, which creates a quiet exit in album closer “City of Lights.”

Though the energy gradually declines, there is legitimacy in the work of the Crookes. Chasing After Ghosts is a testament to the simplicity and lightness in a body of complicated work.

The Crookes – Chasing After Ghosts Tracklist:

1. “Godless Girl”
2. “Chorus of Fools”
3. “Just Like Dreamers”
4. “Bright Young Things”
5. “The Crookes Laundry Murder, 1922”
6. “Youth”
7. “I Remember Moonlight”
8. “Bloodshot Days”
9. “Carnabetian Charms”
10. “By the Seine”
11. “City of Lights”

Banjo or Freakout’s self-titled debut is like being stuck in a haze. It’s not really a nightmare or a daydream, just a place separate of our own world; trance-distilled vocals float over quavering guitars, little piano trills drip from digital blips and all the while listeners are wondering where it’s heading.

Like a hallucinogen, the listening experience is OK if one goes into it with a relaxed and open mindset. Sometimes it’s blissful waves washing over the listener, but other times the listener has to beat through boughs and branches, in an attempt to escape.

The glimmering, lethargic “105” immediately transports listeners into the dream kingdom of Banjo or Freakout, where the lyric sheet reads portentously, “I was thinking of going to sleep/Seriously thinking of going to sleep.” It’s a voyage into emptiness, under the guidance of Italian producer Allesio Natalizia.

Sometimes he stands up, makes up his mind to go somewhere, but almost never does. While some will appreciate the innovation in production, others may be lost in an attention deficit miasma.

Natalizia is in his third decade of life, and Banjo or Freakout has been a studied buildup itself with years in the making.

The artist has been refining his palette, remixing his contemporaries and jamming with the likes of MGMT live. The record is fastened with original touches abound, but it’s still a heavily derived sound with the ambience of Radiohead’s The Bends, the punkish groove of Can and misty vocal styling reminiscent of many lo-fi rockers. Think Bradford Cox circa Atlas Sound then forget him because there is something here that is entirely unique.

It feels like something in a museum; It’s very beautiful and very cold, and you’re not allowed to touch anything. Stranger still is that Banjo or Freakout manages to stay accessible at times, with noise-pop melodies. “Idiot Rain” is so masterfully produced, so tactile in the ears that it’s almost a shame it’s drowned out on all sides by gushes of mind-numbing noise.

Banjo or Freakout meanders wherever its mercurial sonic waves guide it. Take the shift from “Idiot Rain” to “Fully Enjoy,” a swirling phantom of abrasive fuzz madness. Some may appreciate the album’s whimsy. There are some works that lay down ground rules and teach you listeners how to hear them; this one couldn’t be less helpful.

The vague ground makes it difficult to classify. It’s anything but consciously felt.

“Move Out” likewise, though far from poignant, is a haunting ballad propelled alternately by strummed and oscillating guitars, while “Dear Me” passes without having any memory of it having happened.

When the fog of the album retreats, there is a blurry residue, and maybe that’s a testament to what Banjo or Freakout achieves. Judging by the amount of time Natalizia spent creating it, one gets the impression that he’s doing exactly what he wants to, the way he wants to. In “Can’t Be Mad For Nothing,” he says, “I knew I was doing things right/I saw that it could take me the rest of my life.” Thank goodness it didn’t.

Banjo or Freakout – Banjo or Freakout Tracklist:

1. “105”
2. “Go Ahead”
3. “Can’t Be Mad for Nothing”
4. “Move Out”
5. “Idiot Rain”
6. “Fully Enjoy”
7. “From Everyone Above”
8. “Black Scratches”
9. “Dear Me”
10. “I Don’t Want to Start All Over Again”

Don’t bother. That Ghost doesn’t have a Wikipedia page. That Ghost’s Facebook presence is also slim. In today’s hyper-informative world, it’s as if he doesn’t exist.

The ghost in question is one-man-band Ryan Schmale, a Midwestern shut-in with perfectly unkempt hair who specializes in a strain of indie folk so delicate listeners may not want to breathe while listening for fear of blowing it all down. His stage name and the equally removed title of his debut, Songs Out Here, appropriately represent a collection of detached, shuddering folk songs. That last word has a certain exclusive context. “Here” is where he is, not where his listeners sit.

Schmale’s voice reconciles the breezy, throwback cool of M. Ward with the naked agitation stewing inside a hung-over Patrick Stickles (Fuck it, just call him Brighter Eyes).

He sings every song in that post-Mascis croak that makes Michael Cera sound like Jason Statham, weighing down even the album’s lighter moments. There’s nary a fleck of originality here, from the production (bedroom-bred) to the lyrics (mildly clever, usually moping about death or failed communication—two things a ghost knows well). Even if his distinctive singing voice sounds familiar 10 times over, Schmale’s source material is a solo bandero.

Of course, singer-songwriters can do worse than Conor Oberst comparisons. But where the Omaha native’s lyrics can be altogether enigmatic, vivid and off-kilter, Schmale’s sound as vague and indecisive as his voice. It’s as if the ink was fading on his printed lyric sheets and he had to make it up as he went along.

Songs Out Here relates to a ghostly existence from the start. “Don’t choke me/Don’t bury me/Under those wilting leaves” he sings from the metallic chain-gang opener “After Passing.” Here’s another example: “Put me to bed/With sheets on my head/One glass of water and a blanket of pills.”

Being sad and disconnected seems to be his thing.

From the tone of Schmale’s melodies to the touch of his words, Songs Out Here is a near-constant drag, which is an accomplishment for an album comprised of sub-three-minute mope fests.

Most of Songs Out Here‘s tracks get along on a steady, militant drum pattern. It’s fitting since That Ghost appears to be marching in lock step with the boy-interrupted indie crowd. However, the most grabbing moments come when Schmale dares to walk outside the left-right-left motion (“To Like You,” with its reverbed brripp-brripp guitar syncopation, is the best of the bunch). If Schmale steps out of line more in the future, no matter what he calls himself, he’ll start sounding less like a memory and more like one of the living.

That Ghost – Songs Out Here Tracklist:

1. “After Passing”
2. “In House”
3. “To Like You”
4. “The Older”
5. “Pale Child”
6. “Calls”
7. “An Only Son”
8. “Remain”
9. “Won’t I Sleep””
10. Here Is the Hour”
11. “Back”

Gypsyblood does a great job mixing numerous genres and influences into a nicely distorted, full-assault on lo-fi bands on the Sargent House debut Cold in the Guestway.

The opener “Take Your Picture” is an all-in-one idea of what Gypsyblood explores on the rest of the album. Driving bass lines, strong almost surf-rock guitar riffs, distorted vocals that function more as an instrument themselves than as a vehicle to deliver the songs lyrics and a loud chorus that barrages listeners with a wall of sound culminate into a shoegaze explosion.

The first half of the album is dance and post-punk inspired.

The second track “In Our Blood” employs a heavy guitar riff to guide and carry the song and showcases the group’s diversity not only in playing style, but in vocals as well, which sound like a hardened punk rock singer’s. This quality is consistent throughout the album, especially on “2-4-6 In the Dark,” where listeners are introduced to the deep and low tone of the singer’s voice on this Joy Division-inspired track.

On top of all of shoegaze and dark punk, Gypsyblood brightens up the sound on “Song Called Take 2,” which slows down the album. The guitars are a few simple chords strummed slowly throughout, with small leads and bass lines sprinkled on top. The vocals on this track are whispered in a way that so effectively creates a new sound, listener’s might think they’re hearing an unreleased Brian Jonestown Massacre song.

The brighter mood continues on “Superstition,” creating the pinnacle of dance punk on the album.

With its combination of Artic Monkey-style energy (with less tongue-in-cheek lyrics) and the occasional surf-rock riff, “Superstition” is a great example of Gypsyblood’s ability to take qualities from different genres and create unique music. The first half of this album literally ends on a good note.

The interlude that separates the two-part album is composed of simple acoustic guitar loops, maracas and beat keeping claps. The second half of the album is where the drums and energy increase.

My R.K.O. Is M.I.A.” is the first song to pick up after the interlude. It starts with what sounds like a lifted riff from rock songs that are played gutted and inside out for listener’s rocking pleasure. This energy is most prominent in the faster songs like “When I Was a Boy” and “Manofstates,” which both have an aggressive feel reminiscent of No Age.

The last three songs on this album combine a heavy Pavement influence, but still pack Gypsyblood’s talent into a nice album-closing punch. “Hey Gloria” is where Gypsyblood uses single note guitar riffs over distorted melodies that repeat throughout the song, keeping listeners interested. Then, on the last song of the album “Brighter Futures,” Gypsyblood takes that Pavement sound further and pairs it with a Joy Division playing style.

By dabbling in surf-rock riffs and keeping the lo-fi warm and soft instead of crunchy and abrasive, Gypsyblood creates an amazing mix. The group also explores dynamic volume, vocal and genre shifts on each song, and surprisingly none fall flat.

Gypsyblood Cold In The Guestway tracklist

1. “Take Your Picture”
2. “In Our Blood”
3. “2-4-6 InTheDark”
4. “A Song Called Take”
5. “Superstition”
6. “Dirty Thieves”
7. “Man Of States”
8. “When I Was A Boy”
9. “My R.K.O. Is M.I.A.”
10. “Endless Summer”
11. “Hey Gloria”
12. “Bright Futures”

Now that music blogs are more common than McDonald’s and Subway combined (at 38 million search engine results, that’s 500 blogs for every lunch break), rock critics are a penny a pound. Still, for all the Christgaus, Frickes and Perpetuas pounding their keys day after day, you’d be hard pressed to name a jazz critic.

Jazz seems untouchable by mere mortal rock writers, even ones who can hyperbolize with the best of ’em. Whether dealing with the cerulean cool of Miles Davis, the Saudi-via-Seattle dynamics of alt-rock nighthawks Tuatara, or the futurismo lo-funk of The Flashbulb, it can all seem so adult. Rock music, meanwhile, has an eternally adolescent appeal (tellingly, when it got too self-important and bloated in the 1970s, punk knocked it down to size in just three chords). With no lyrics and as wide a palate of colors as the human mind, jazz feels like it should be critiquing us.

The Flashbulb is one Benn Jordan, a prolific jazz-influenced guitar noodler who never found a pseudonym he didn’t like and plays his axe upside down because he’s a lefty. As good a stereotype as any, left-handed people get automatic credit for being creative and different, and Jordan certainly makes an effort to temper jazz’s notorious opacity with more linear grooves and a hog’s portion of dance and rock influences. Still, he keeps things offbeat, twitchy and wordless.

His 10th album, Love as a Dark Hallway, sounds like you’ve got Radiohead’s King of Limbs playing in one browser with a smooth jazz K-Tel compilation streaming in another.

The results are somehow even more mixed than the influences. It gets downright soupy, especially on album bookends “Wake Up Gladiator,” where a slop synth line ruins the kinetic hybrid of Charlie Brown and Charlie Parker, and “We Are Alone in a City,” which must have propelled forward in time from some horrible ’80s movie soundtrack (the stadium rawk heroics bursting through schmaltzy keyboards are the likely catalyst). Even when evoking more current media, these busy arrangements make it hard to resist spitting some five-day forecast game before throwing it back to Bob and Diane for the “Clip of the Day.”

It’s not all a wash. The rare successful moments are the ones that exercise restraint, simplifying the ingredients list instead of overreaching for maximum flavor.

The yazz-free “Let Me Walk You to Your Honda” already wins with a knowingly down-to-earth title (compared to the more highfalutin “Tres Ebow”) and a humming house beat – even if it’s hard not to associate with a car commercial. “Virtuous Cassette,” the album’s centerpiece, stops time with a gorgeous three-note melody before a skittery drum machine pulses to life. It mentions a medium seemingly as antiquated as jazz itself and feels as real and tangible as analog – the fake tape fuckup near the end being the best part.

The title track gets points for like-minded pacing, but it’s a perfect example of Love as a Dark Hallway‘s secondary flaw: the disparity between Jordan’s virtuoso abilities and his end product. The guy named himself The fucking Flashbulb, so maybe “anything goes” is his M.O. anyway, but the song titles rarely jive with the emotion or scenario conveyed in the music (“Love In A Sunroom” would be a better fit), and most of what isn’t dull is absolutely unlistenable. The lefty stereotype holds true: what other album balances wince-inducing wankfests with arresting beauty?

When he achieves balance in a single piece, Jordan’s music betrays his experience level. Dude’s been at this for more than a decade and he is long removed from his college days where hoards of music performance majors probably lapped this stuff up. Too often, though, Love as a Dark Hallway still sounds like kids’ stuff.

The Flashbulb – Love as a Dark Hallway Tracklist

1. “Wake Up, Gladiator”
2. “Pastorial Whiskers”
3. “The Basement Guitarist”
4. “The Basement Community”
5. “Heroes on Your Lawn at Night”
6. “A Baptist Church in Georgia”
7. “Virtuous Cassette”
8. “Tres Ebow”
9. “Let Me Walk You to Your Honda”
10. “Teeming Disconnected”
11. “Love as a Dark Hallway”
12. “An Imperfect Song at a Gig That Never Existed”
13. “We Are Alone in a City”

Protest the Hero has been one of the few modern metal bands to employ musical pyrotechnics with meaning. Their philosophical, conceptual lyrics and dynamic music influenced by emo and punk helped them stick out above the pack. Unfortunately, Scurrilous, the band’s third album, establishes a trend toward a streamlined sound. The purpose is to make their music more “accessible,” but in doing so they have removed all of their appeal.

Contrary to what the band apparently believes, their appeal was not in the guitarists’ abilities to sweep pick: It was in their abilities to riff around wailing vocals, hooks, surprising shifts and thoughtful acoustic transitions. Scurrilous strips the music of even the basic piano interludes from albums past and focuses on fast and confusingly scattershot songs with no respite. There must not have been a respite in even the writing/production process, because the first four tracks start exactly the same.

While lead singer Rody Walker’s sort of whiny overtones worked perfectly on the emo-punk-metal of debut Kezia, on Scurrilous, where the metal encompasses most of the sound, his vocals sound ill-fitting. Coheed and Cambria’s Claudio Sanchez was able to make the transition from emo to metal by donning a sinister and stern tone, but Walker’s attempt at being a metal vocalist sounds bloated and laughably pubescent. And while Coheed was always going back and forth between pop and metal, Protest the Hero’s songs on Scurrilous lack diversity. Kezia utilized pop hooks from time to time and they worked because the band wasn’t preoccupied with constantly jumping from riff to riff.

The band must be honing in on the younger audience. Their previous efforts may have been over a lot of those heads, but a bit too geeky for mature ones. Kids don’t need to be bothered with anything resembling art, so it’s easier to write heavy songs with simple lyrics and forget about the craft. Why else would Walker think singing “take a piss” in falsetto works? The lyrics, being more personal this time around, indicate a lack of maturity within the group. Seeing Protest the Hero’s—to borrow a phrase—scurrilous live show only confirms this.

Lead single and lead track “C’est la Vie” is all one needs to hear to understand what is going on. Speedy dual guitars open things up and Walker attempts to sing a metal opera. Shortly thereafter, there’s a bit that resembles a breakdown: more shredding, more abrupt changes, a calm bridge with a falsetto nearly as weak as Jay-Z’s on “My 1st Song” and finally some more shredding.

Some would call the music on Scurrilous “musical masturbation,” which is appropriate given that masturbation is something their core audience is just discovering.

The writing process is so clearly myopic that any good idea is merely a fleeting one. Though it’s clear that the band put thought into the compositions and it’s easy to be entertained by the musicianship, there really isn’t anything to latch onto or remember. Their bag of tricks worked before because they were supporting a greater purpose. It’s hard to discern what the purpose of Scurrilous is.

A lot of the material on this album sounds quite similar to their previous album, Fortress, but none of it is as exciting. On “Hair-Trigger,” the girl who guest-sung on Kezia returns briefly, but her faint voice isn’t supported by the endless barrage of distortion and double bass. It sounds like an attempt to spruce up a song that didn’t have much going for it.

When a band claims that their album will have a more “progressive” sound, one can assume it will be anything but.

Three albums in and Protest the Hero’s formula is already a tired one. The start-stop shifts, the breakdowns and sweep picking, the odd time signatures–it all sounds so predictable. The performances are certainly good, but without discernable melodies or structure, it’s hard to be sure what exactly is being performed.

Protest the Hero – Scurrilous Tracklist:

1. “C’est La Vie”
2. “Hair-Trigger”
3. “Tandem”
4. “Moonlight”
5. “Tapestry”
6. “Dunsel”
7. “The Reign of Unending Terror”
8. “Termites”
9. “Tongue-Splitter”
10. “Sex Tapes”

While participants in the popular music scene have becoming increasingly enamored with a more electronic sound palette, the Kills’ Jamie Hince, aka “Hotel,” has kept his muscular guitar and drum attack in fighting shape since the duo, comprised of Hince and singer Alison Mosshart, aka “VV,” released their last album, 2008’s No Wow.

Mosshart has been busy singing in blues-rock supergroup The Dead Weather, but now the Kills have returned with Blood Pressures. This offering features a bigger sound than the pared-down No Wow, as Hince supports his partner’s alluring voice with a snarling, bristle-backed beast of a guitar sound and broad-shouldered drumming.

Critics as well as the average listener will likely compare her hard-edged style to that of indie-rock iconoclast Karen O. But this rather uninspired connection arises often in too many discussions involving female rock vocalists, and it would only undermine Mosshart’s talents. Unlike the Yeah Yeah Yeahs singer, Mosshart can truly, consistently sing, instead of simply relying on a rousing performance to excite her listeners.

Whether she approaches a line with restraint or digs into it with an emotive croon, Mosshart sounds acutely mindful of her voice on each track.

Her singing seems more refined than ever on Blood Pressures, but it hasn’t lost a bit of its seductive glimmer. In fact, her voice sounds richer, fuller. She’s even allowed a chance to display a softer quality on the gorgeous “The Last Goodbye.” As on past Kills albums, many of the songs on Blood Pressures incorporate an engaging vocal interplay between Mosshart and Hince. Here, Hince’s voice mostly lies under Mosshart’s, as the focus shifts largely to Mosshart’s strengthened singing.

The album is smartly structured. Blood Pressures comes in roaring like the proverbial lion and saunters out at the close like the same lion just stuffed itself with a gazelle.

In between is a collection of relentlessly catchy, tightly crafted rock tunes that are often disarmingly affecting. One could easily pair Mosshart’s hair-raising chant at the end of “DNA” with her simmering performance on “Damned If She Do,” or the more direct poignancy heard on the previously mentioned “Last Goodbye.” Even though the uncharacteristically brief “Wild Charms,” which features a solo vocal turn from Hince, could be seen as filler, it instead acts as a fine bridge between the upbeat “Nail in My Coffin” and the slow burning “DNA.”

Simply put, the pair has a mind for the waning concept of the “album” as a whole, a cohesive listening experience from beginning to end. All of the songs integrate repetition, but at less than five minutes long each, none of them outlast their effectiveness.

The Kills – Blood Pressures Tracklist:

1. “Future Starts Slow”
2. “Satellite”
3. “Heart Is a Beating Drum”
4. “Nail in My Coffin”
5. “Wild Charms”
6. “DNA”
7. “Baby Says”
8. “The Last Goodbye”
9. “Damned If She Do”
10. “Pots and Pans”

After hitting the highest earning marks in the UK from their previous two albums, Elbow have reached that point of what comes next: To follow up with radio hits or doing something else and give the long time fans an album to sink teeth their into that’s more about the band than the status? The band has worked hard at being melodramatic and thus produced a fantastically creative back catalogue of UK pop-rock. Now on LP number five, Build a Rocket Boys!, Elbow gives us their sharpest tracks to date.

Making dramatic imaginative pop-rock is something they do well in the UK and Elbow is part of the reason. They’ve been able to tweak themselves over the years, working around Guy Garvey’s ability to carry a note, and Mark Potters’ knack for laying down a riff. But Elbow has always been so much more than that, never once restricting them to a formula. This has lead to the whole product being rather cinematic in its essence.

On Build A Rocket Boys!, they take that feel and run with it, creating music that could be in a rock opera without sticking an underlying theme or story to it lyrically.

The eight-minute opener “The Birds” uses a modern blues guitar for a rocking riff. Garvey’s vocals keep it subdued giving his signature post Morrissey lament. Robotic synths turn on the bands Prog side, and by the half way point the strings kick in and Elbow is off doing what made them famous in the first place. “Lippy Kids” takes some cues from The Who in its storytelling and picking up a Daltrey inspired melody straight from of “It’s a Boy.”

The album flows hooks quickly, again alluding to that rock opera feel. Certain tracks become extended interludes like “Neat Little Rows” with its continually escalating guitars bridging the tidy pop from the previous track and the acoustic presence of the one after, “Jesus is a Rochdale Girl.” The piano tapping “With Love” brings out a big chorus to help with the tag line as crisp guitars and harps create an uplifting vibe on track.

New additions to the repertoire are the bass heavy inclusions on “High Ideals.” The track blends the electronic hums with orchestrations and pianos making it as versatile as it gets for Elbow.

This is a band that loves little changes, and sounds like this is just more of it.

The back portion of the album settles down some, relying more on ballads as if to wrap up the long story that’s not really there. Piano ballad “The River” is the most dramatic while staying relatively minimal in structure. One more go at the big sing along, “Open Arms” delivers the albums anthem with keys and driving percussion.

Hazy harmonies take the album out on “Dear Friends” for a gentler moment. Nothing more is left but an overwhelmed set of headphones. And with that, the band completes a decade of success with a smile, a wink and further credibility that Elbow can play beyond the UK top 40. Build A Rocket Boys! is an album the fans and the band should be more than happy to have.

Elbow – Build a Rocket Boys! Tracklist:

1. “The Birds”
2. “Lippy Kids”
3. “With Love”
4. “Neat Little Rows”
5. “Jesus Is a Rochdale”
6. “The Night Will Always Win”
7. “High Ideals”
8. “The River”
9. “Open Arms”
10. “The Birds (Reprise)”
11. “Dear Friends”

Led by perennial singer-songwriter/guitarist John Darnielle, The Mountain Goats have returned with All Eternals Deck. Boasting their traditionally minimal soundscape and alt-folk sensibilities, the album is another  effort in a long line of quality records from the band, whose work in the past decade was nothing short of prolific.

For their newest record, Darnielle sticks to his guns. By and large, All Eternals Deck sounds exactly like a Mountain Goats record should. Fitted with the requisite lo-fi production techniques and bleating vocal qualities of previous works, Darnielle’s “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” ethos is either comforting or boring, depending on who you ask.

This go-around, however, seems to lie in the latter. On one hand, it’s nice to see Darnielle commit himself so earnestly to an aesthetic. The plague of reinvention has marred the career of so many artists in the past.

The Mountain Goats, however, have been one of the steadiest acts in pop, both in quantity and quality—eight albums in ten years, some better than others, but each at least mildly listenable.

As All Eternals Deck progresses from track to track, there are minimal surprises. Cuts like “The Autopsy Garland” and “Beautiful Gas Mask” are very much in the vein of Darnielle’s earlier songs but remain entirely enjoyable. Other songs, such as the ballad “Outer Scorpion Squadron,” have ridiculous titles but possess a stirring emotionalism that Darnielle rarely showcases.

Truly, his energy is what drives the band as a whole. His hurried playing style and anti-twang vocal presence are just kooky enough to avoid being overtly annoying. And having been in the game for more than 20 years, making music with The Mountain Goats and a myriad other side projects, Darnielle knows how to craft a tune to that bolsters his strengths as an artist.

But as prolific as Darnielle and The Mountain Goats have been, there are undeniable stretches of stagnation. There are moments on All Eternals Deck are strikingly ineffective. For instance, “Estate Sale Sign,” is a speedy but deceiving little tune—most likely revved up to hide the fact that there’s not a whole lot to it—while the closer “Liza Minelli Forever” is largely forgettable track that fails to wrap up an album that is already faltering well before it reaches its conclusion.

To put it bluntly: All Eternals Deck is just another Mountain Goats album.

A few hits, the occasional throwaway track, all-around enjoyable if not slightly forgettable. That may sound reductive and even unfair to so say, Darnielle’s veritable saturation has warranted nothing less. The Mountain Goats released more albums in the ’00s than most bands do in a career, and while none of them were outwardly bad, it reaches a point when “enough is enough” becomes a justifiable decry.

All Eternals Deck doesn’t quite reach that point, but it pushes the envelope. It’s hard to imagine how much longer Darnielle will ride this train. Will there be another eight Mountain Goats releases this decade? At this rate, most likely. Time will tell whether that’s a good thing.

The Mountain Goats – All Eternals Deck Tracklist:

1. “Damn These Vampires”
2. “Birth of Serpents”
3. “Estate Sale Sign”
4. “Age of Kings”
5. “The Autopsy Garland”
6. “Beautiful Gas Mask”
7. “High Hawk Season”
8. “Prowl Great Cain”
9. “Sourdoire Valley Song”
10. “Outer Scorpion Squadron”
11. “For Charles Bronson”
12. “Never Quite Free”
13. “Liza Forever Minnelli”

Morning Teleportation’s Expanding Anyway is a hippie’s retreat, a surreal transformation to a time when ironic detachment wasn’t the new cool. The five-piece Portland, Ore., band has a retro identity with a flair for the psychedelic. Their debut is sincere to the bone and the product of musicians playing however they damn well please. Fortunately for the listener these musicians really know how to play.

Expanding Anyway, released under Glacial Pace Recordings, benefits from the production chops of Modest Mouse front-man Isaac Brock. Within individual songs the music evolves in fascinating ways. “Just a Figment” starts with an easy guitar melody, a pinch of synth, and breezy vocals, then speeds up with some expert guitar picking and frenetic vocals only to go out in a haze of feedback and horns. There’s no real chorus in the entire thing. The band runs with a melody, tweaks it with a new instrument, slows it down, speeds it up and explores it.

The music has a razor sharp fidelity despite its complexity. Listening to it one can see what attracted Brock to Morning Teleportation.

The band uses too many instruments and effects to count with aplomb. Banjo, synth, talk box, trumpet, drums, bass and various other tools of the sonic trade form the band’s ever-changing sound. Such experimentation could easily lead to disaster, but the band manages to keep their music interesting and cogent. Listening to the album is kind of like eating jelly beans, only all the licorice ones have been taken out.

The band still manages to maintain a good flow between songs. The track following “Just a Figment” picks up with the trumpet playing what sounds the theme of the late ’60s TV show The Green Hornet and a groovy bass run underneath. Book ending “Just a Figment” and then beginning “Snow Frog vs. Motor Cobra” with the horn makes the jump in tempo less jarring. This allows the track to go off into brand new territory.  In the middle of the song comes a break down that features a talk box repeating the phrase, “Snow Frog vs. Motor Cobra,” over and over again.

Expanding Anyway is a throwback in the best way possible. Morning Teleportation picks up a hodgepodge of instruments and experiments to create a unique psychedelic sound without falling apart.

Albums are becoming more and more outdated in the digital age, but Expanding Anyway is a prime example of why they still matter. Their debut goes whichever way it pleases and plays with themes, instrumentation, and melodies to create a fascinating whole music lovers will want to listen to over and over again.

Morning Transportation – Expanding Anyway Tracklist:

1. “Boom Puma”
2. “Eyes the Same”
3. “Snow Fog vs. Motor Cobra”
4. “Expanding Anyway”
5. “Crystalline”
6. “Daydream Electric Storm”
7. “Whole Hearted Drifting Sense of Inertia”
8. “Just a Figment”
9. “Drifting Planes”
10. “Cold Weather Sunshine”
11. “Banjo Disco”
12. “Treble Chair”

The goal of any artist is to express themselves or to elicit a response from an audience. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart did both with their latest album, Belong. The means by which they got the response, though, are very questionable.

Mopey, sweeping generalizations in lyrics and musicianship flooded with distortion are very common ways of gaining a following, e.g. the emo craze of the early- to mid-2000s.

However, those means are a far cry from being pure at heart (pun intended). If Kip Berman, the lead singer and guitarist of the group, truly believes what he sings to be pure, some serious self-reflection is needed.

Belong is a shallow, two-dimensional effort to be an emo band.

Disguised in mildly catchy hooks and guitar riffs that sound like they were borrowed from an 1980’s greatest hits album, The Pains of Being Pure at Heart constantly preach about hopelessness and the unmitigated sadness, but the songs are laced with major chord progressions, so the listener is almost tricked into thinking these feelings are OK. Subliminal advertising is never a good thing.

“Tell me again what the body’s for/I can’t feel it anymore/I want it to hurt like it did before.” Go to a therapist. Stop further alienating your already misguided audience into believing depression is fun and will make you a rock star. Music fans put on their headphones to escape from their own problems, not to take on someone else’s vague and superficial ones.

The weak-sauce guitars and drums do the wholly irresponsible lyrics only one favor. Oftentimes they drown out the airy-voiced singer entirely, but it comes at a cost.

The instruments are so heavily distorted it sounds like one giant emo wall of sound is cascading through the speakers.

It’d be a very different story if the guitars were actually playing something creative and not the same three power chords over and over again with different effects. The Cure and The Ramones don’t meld. The Pains of Being Pure at Heart didn’t realize this when recording the album.

“No matter what you pray/It’s never gonna take the pain away/And even if she’d stay/You know it’s wrong” Berman sings on the veiled downer “Heart in Your Heartbreak.” The lyrics would make more sense if “she’d” was replaced with “The Pains of Being Pure at Heart,” but that probably wouldn’t sound as catchy.

At its nucleus, Belong is bad high school poetry set to a bad high school “rock” band. This is a step back for indie rock. Many great contributions and advances in recent years have given the genre credibility and respect, and it’s a genuine shame to see this group of late-to-the-game emo misfits try to tear down all the work that’s been done.

The Pains of Being Pure at Heart – Belong Tracklist:

1. Belong
2. Heaven’s Gonna Happen Now
3. Heart In Your Heartbreak
4. The Body
5. Anne With an E
6. Even In Dreams
7. My Terrible Friend
8. Girl of 1,000 Dreams
9. Too Tough
10. Strange