Barry Adamson came to prominence aside the venerable Nick Cave in the Bad Seeds and also spent time playing bass in seminal post-punk outfit Magazine; however, his solo recordings, which have dominated his musical life since the late '80s, have drawn more from soundtracks than pop music. Although most of his releases were not specifically written with movies in mind, his entire solo cannon of work draws from the same emotive stylings that Ennio Morricone mines so fluently. Whereas The Negro Inside Me channeled blaxploitation funk and his Moss Side Story was an imaginary film noir, Stranger on the Sofa seems more song-oriented in comparison. Although the album does flow nicely from the lush spoken words of Anna Chancellor on "Here in the Hole" to the chugging melodrama of "You Sold Your Dreams," and there seems to be a loose theme narrated by Adamson's stately vocals and his group of disparate collaborators, the emphasis this time out seems to be about penning songs with a more pop appeal. This slight change is not a concession to mainstream success; Adamson just seems to have taken it upon himself to see what his cinematic soundscapes would sound like if care was taken to make them more accessible. The result is just as breathtaking as his other work, only more memorable.
-Brian O'Neill

ERIC BACHMANN
To the Races [Saddle Creek]
[Fans of Nick Drake, Jose Gonzalez, and solo Bruce Springsteen take note.]

Eric Bachmann (Archers of Loaf, Crooked Fingers) has been moving toward this album, providing a progressive striptease until now, when he's mostly alone with an acoustic guitar in full singer-songwriter mode. Don't let that sort of nakedness be a turn-off; Bachmann's too skillful a lyricist to be hurt by the isolation of his vocals, letting his characters be the ones dismayed by loneliness. He also crafts these songs masterfully, using only his guitar and occasional accompaniment in performances that are consistent across To the Races, yet unique enough to stay interesting over the course of 10 songs. In an odd move, he loads the disc's three longest songs at the front of the album, which might suggest lengthy storytelling to come. That idea would be misleading (he settles into the pop-song length), but it doesn't matter; the long songs move by and the shorter ones maintain their own weight. The substantiality comes largely through desire (anxiously so in "Genie, Genie"), but it never pulls down a simple appreciation for beauty, as in the "Little Bird," making the record sound fresh without betraying effort.
-Justin Cober-Lake

ENVY
Insomniac Doze [Temporary Residence]
[Fans of Neurosis, Pelican, and Isis take note.]

Although Envy has moved onto the Temporary Residence label, the fact that the band came to prominence in the United States on the Level Plane label seemed to do the group a disservice to a degree. People pigeonholing the label as latter-day Amphetamine Reptile made it easy to stereotype the Japanese group as likeminded noisemakers; however, the band's A Dead Sinking Story had a lot more going on beneath the surface tension that many might have overlooked. That mistake will not be repeated with Insomniac Doze. The band puts even more of an emphasis on creating dynamic emotional outbursts, relegating static racket to punctuate a point instead of embodying it completely. This is evident as soon as the disc starts; the very first cut, "Further Ahead of the Warp," has a lot more in common with shoegazing slowcore groups than anything else, while the rest of the album rides the same cathartic chaos that fuels the more organic side of Mogwai and all the metal bands that prefer My Bloody Valentine to actual metal. Some of the musicianship will even draw in some progressive rock fans, but make no mistake: While Envy is a talented group, the power of emotiveness is what drives Insomniac Doze, and the band's ability to express it is what makes this such a compelling release.
-Brian O'Neill

THE FINALS
Plan Your Getaway [Immortal Records]
[Fans of quirky synth-rock with mid-'90s influences take note.]

With its spacey artwork of rockets and moon paraphernalia, you may think the Finals full-length debut, Plan Your Getaway, would be a funky pop-odyssey. While you won't get a trippy lunar excursion, you will discover this Garden State foursome has soaked up elder rock of the mid '90s such as the Cars and Tom Petty, a rarity given New Jersey's reputation for breeding emo and alt-rock acts. Combining up-tempo drumbeats, chipper guitars, and some synth parts ("Right Here, Not Now," "Life as a Car," and "An Illusion Called Circumstance"), vocals hold the dominant stance, followed by the album's straightforward parallel guitar chords complimenting essential rock aesthetics. Dual harmonies and a slight touch of, dare I say, metal-esque guitars on "Extended Autumn" don't last as long as they should and could. However, a mostly upbeat tone and running "getaway" theme can be found throughout, creating a clear-cut rock sound. Produced by one of New Jersey's biggest rock heavyweights, Heath Saraceno of Midtown, rock essentials were beckoned to conjure up a mature, 12-track debut without premeditated guitar extremities and overly blatant vocal stylings.
-Jennifer Sica

MATTHEW FRIEDBERGER
Winter Women/Holy Ghost Language School [859 Recordings]
[Fans of the Fiery Furnaces, Ween, and Leonard Cohen take note.]

If you don't love the Fiery Furnaces already, you're gonna have a tough time with this one. But if you dig what Matthew Friedberger does at his day job, you'll relish the chance to hear what he's been up to on nights and weekends. Yes, this record is every bit as thick and challenging as a Furnaces disc, and no, notwithstanding the absence of sister Eleanor's sweet voice, there's little that's un-Fiery about this side project. Friedberger's pop gifts are like a colorless, grim version of Ween, say, full of whirligig beauty but always a little bit oppressive. You invariably get the impression that he's burdened by some sort of relentless muse driving him to stick that maddening keyboard line in one more time, or to skew the production effect on that gorgeous guitar part just a tad more, or to take what could have been a sleek and trim solo record and puff it out into a twenty-nine-track double-disc set. To be honest, it's a bit premature to review this at all Ð like all Friedberger efforts, this thing's gonna take a while to sink in properly Ð but its greatness is evident in interior-facing masterstrokes like the voices-in-your-head choruses on "Her Chinese Typewriter." And though Friedberger seems as intent as ever on not cracking a smile, he's still managed to make something very beautiful and very difficult, the indie-pop equivalent of a vigorous regimen of ab-punishing sit-ups.
-Steven Hanna

ADAM GREEN
Jacket Full of Danger [Rough Trade]
[Fans of anti-James Blunt types take note.]

What is Adam Green thinking? Where are his thoughts? What is his daily routine? Where does he come up with this stuff? Simply put, he's an enigma. What is known: He always sports that blank stare, that odd sense of humor, and those trendy but silly clothes. Other than that É he's impossible to figure out. But maybe that's part of the charm. Green's dry delivery and seemingly fucked-up lyrics make him totally irresistible and, not surprisingly, they are both back on this, the fourth album of his super-duperly successful solo career (the dude is frickin' HUGE in Germany!). What's he talking about? Who cares. Why does he sound so indifferent? Doesn't matter. Green is infinitely more exciting than any of the "singer/songwriter" types his age, and it's his most redeeming quality. If we knew what he was about, it'd spoil part of what makes him so great. Green's a crooning lounge singer for the younger crowds. You dig? Chances are he doesn't really care either way. But then again, it's tough to tell. -Ashley Graham

HEARTLESS BASTARDS
All This Time [Fat Possum]
[Fans of Fairport Convention, Led Zeppelin, and the Soledad Brothers take note.]

Erika Wennerstrom began singing at a very early age, and it shows. As frontwoman, guitarist, and principal songwriter of Cincinnati outfit Heartless Bastards, her pipes are astonishing Ð so much so that it's very nearly difficult to focus on the other elements inherent in the band's music. Unfair though it may be to bassist Mike Lamping and drummer Kevin Vaughn, this is Wennerstrom's band. For their sophomore record, these three leave some of the bluesier leanings behind in lieu of a more expansive, classic pop outlook, one that fits the Bastards nicely. On songs such as "Into the Open" and the title track, it's the hook that sticks, whether it be in the form of a repeated line like "I love you so much baby" or a simple, staccato guitar part. Don't be surprised if Heartless Bastards find themselves with a sleeper radio hit on their hands, because this record is chock-full of sweetly grizzled accessibility.
-Austin L. Ray

HELMET
Monochrome [Warcon]
[Fans of really, really bad Helmet take note.]

Devoted Helmet fans were able to forgive the unevenness of the group's return effort, 2004's Size Matters. But Monochrome? Simply unforgivable. The promise of a true return to form for Page Hamilton and Co. (featuring a new rhythm section since the last album) was certainly present this time out, considering Hamilton teamed up again with Wharton Tiers, who produced the band's seminal album Strap It On. But other than the first two tracks here, which are tolerable, this is definitely the weakest Helmet ever put to tape. Hamilton sounds like a confused animal on Monochrome, throwing in those normally shredding, ad-libbed guitar solos into spots they just don't fit and pummeling tired riffs into the ground. And Hamilton's vocals sure haven't held up over the years; usually crooned and growled with gusto, on this they just end up miserable and whiny. Especially disappointing are the tracks that sound as if Hamilton is trying to appeal to the Warped crowd, a tour they spent the past few months probably dumfounding 15-year-old punks. Monochrome salvages two stars, only because it's unbearable to give one of my all-time favorite bands a worse rating. But they deserve it. -Jason Schreurs

JUDAH JOHNSON
Be Where I Be [Flameshovel]
[Fans of overly emotional boys take note.]

Judah Johnson is the name Daniel Johnson (not to be confused with Daniel Johnston) hides behind when performing as a group. Be Where I Be is the band's second album Ð a shift from debut Kisses and Interrogation, which was one of those infamous "relationship" records. The sentiments and the sounds of Be are on a grand scale. Johnson's emotional insides have no problem showing their depth, even when they cross the boundary into boy-band beseeching, like on "Niagara Walls." Elsewhere, on "Star Struck," the extravagant arrangement exists just this side of being ostentatious, but its impacting effect is intact. Then, on the title track, Brian Eno could be present with all the ambient washes and drowning vocals. Layering is the key to Be, to such a degree that if Johnson's expressive statements aren't delivering their messages all the way, the gradations upon gradations of sound will. Be is almost a guilty pleasure; it taps into the dramatic side of you that's kept hidden most of the time.
-Lily Moayeri

THE LONG WINTERS
Putting the Days to Bed [Barsuk]
[Fans of John Vanderslice, Nada Surf, and the Posies take note.]

It's this simple: The Long Winters write catchy pop hooks matched with literate lyrics. But then again, it isn't: "Catchy hooks" doesn't mean comfortable retreads, and "literate" doesn't mean too clever by half. Songwriter John Roderick is less a poet than a conversational rocker, but he manages to slip in precise, memorable images ("Two can just bleed into one / Where only one does the bleeding") without making it sound as artful as it is. Even those moments are offset by the fully developed guitar pop aesthetic that usually keeps the album's atmosphere from becoming solemn. Of course there's a romantic side to the Long Winters, but there's a bitter side ("Rich Wife") and a wry side ("(It's a) Departure") and some other sides, too. The bigger music coupled with the tight lyrics gels perfectly with "Ultimatum." On this more expansive re-working of last year's track, desire, resistance, and fear weave in and out of a coherent emotion. The performance is emblematic of the album: With the guitars turned loose, the Long Winters become more formidable and more resonant, without insisting on either quality.
-Justin Cober-Lake

LOVE IS ALL
Nine Times That Same Song [What's Your Rupture?]
[Fans of Yeah Yeah Yeahs, ESG, and the Slits take note.]

The members of Love Is All claim Ð albeit, tongues planted firmly in cheeks Ð that they're just churning out the same track over and over again on this, their debut album. But much like the uber-fun energy that pervades Nine Times That Same Song, these Swedes are just taking a piss with people's minds. Rather than wallowing in redundancy, these songs careen about like the best kind of party (i.e. one with ample sax squall and hyper hypo Josephine Olausson yapping and screaming like she just burst forth from the womb). And really, what more do you want from a rock 'n' roll record? It mentions making out, tells you to turn the television off, and talks, talks, talks your ear off. But for whatever reason, at the end of the night, you just want to hear those same nine songs again.
-Austin L. Ray

MIDLAKE
The Trials of Van Occupanther [Bella Union]
[Fans of Ron Sexsmith, Coldplay, and Snow Patrol take note.]

This "odditorium" of new music will likely sound odd to you if you're not already familiar with rock music from the late '60s and early '70s. But for those who fondly recall a time when psychedelic, soul and rock all played nicely together, this latest Dandy Warhols release will come off a little bit like an old friend. The track "Easy" is driven by soulful horns, bringing to mind The Rolling Stones of that period. On the other hand, the sprawling "Love Is the New Feel Awful" has the kind of jazzy trumpet work associated with Miles Davis' jazz-rock fusions. "The New Country" is the most out of place of all; it's as close as this hip urban rock band will likely ever get to a true country hoedown. Odditorium or Warlords of Mars may be a futuristic title, but this music still draws heavily from the past.
-Dan MacIntosh

AMY MILLAN
Honey From the Tombs [Arts & Crafts]
[[Fans of Stars, Broken Social Scene, and Cat Power take note.]

Amy Millan is not the first Broken Social Scene lady to put out a solo album. But while Leslie Feist's album is the perfect background for drinking martinis on velvet sofas, Millan takes her cues from whiskey-soaked, shit-kicking bluegrass. Yet, as excited as BSS and Stars fans may be to get their hands on Honey From the Tombs, the album is sadly not as awesome as hoped for Ð but not a throwaway, either. If Stars' 2005 album Set Yourself on Fire captures dialogue of a breakup, then Amy Millan's solo debut is the girl's lamentation. Millan includes a couple of great rock-infused pop tracks like "Skinny Boy," "Wayward and Parliament," and "All the Miles," all of which could easily appear on a Stars EP. But on "Hardhearted (Ode to Thoreau)" and "Pour Me Up Another," Millan sounds so much like Cat Power that you might forget whose new album you've put on Ð until you focus on the lyrics. Unlike Chan Marshall, Millan reflects without angst. But despite the bluegrass vibe and the potential for accusations of vocal mimicry, Tombs shouldn't be written off as another instance of "indie rock girl gone Emmylou Harris." It's just disappointing.
-Jess Hemerly

MOUSE ON MARS
Varcharz [Ipecac]
[Fans of Kraftwerk, Boards of Canada, and Mouse on Mars take note.]

Thirteen years after Andi Toma and Jan St. Werner formed Mouse on Mars, people hearing it for the first time still ask the same question: "Is this noise really music?" The mix of bleeps, blips, samples, and industrial grunts may not sound like music to everyone, but for those who do get this brand of electronica, Mouse on Mars is an institution. Their latest release, Varcharz, is further proof of that. Everything Ð from fugue-like organ breakdowns to what it might sound like if you dropped an empty beer can in a blender to chirping birds Ð can be heard in the album's nine tracks, where noise becomes very good music. Varcharz is closer to something you could dance to than any of Mouse's other work, and newcomers to the genre should even be able to get into some of these tracks, particularly "Skik" (Ode to Nintendo?) and "igoegowhygowego," which is, oddly, kind of a rock song. But fans need not worry Ð the German duo hasn't compromised anything for accessibility, and the album is a reminder that experimental electronic music doesn't have to be pretentious. It can be fun instead.
-Jess Hemerly

JENNIFER O'CONNOR
Over the Mountain, Across the Valley and Back to the Stars [Matador]
[Fans of Aimee Mann and Amy Rigby take note.]

Given that it's now home to Americana artists such as Laura Cantrell, it's not nearly as surprising as it would have been a few years ago to hear someone like Jennifer O'Connor on definitively indie rock label Matador. That said, the fourth release from O'Connor is a sturdily tuneful exercise in singer-songwriting that will serve as the introduction to a creatively astute, if not entirely original, artist. Refreshingly free of the eccentric pretensions of freak-folkies and the ironic distance of most acoustic guitar-toting hipsters, O'Connor writes songs constructed from the usual assortment of simply arranged guitars, drums, and keyboards, with her clear, plaintive voice perfectly suited for her simple chord progressions and straightforward sentiments. That's not to say that her songs lack imagination or wit; the country-tinged jangle pop "Century Estates" and the spirited campfire sing-along in "I'll Bring You Home" are both melodically infectious and thematically engaging. Even so, Over the Mountain is mostly a straight-up set of heart-on-sleeve songs Ð from the buzzy synths of "Turn it Down" to the uneasy, chamber-pop-tinged "Complicated Rhyme" Ð that sound as good on first listen as they do on fourteenth.
-Matt Fink

BRIAN POSEHN
Live In: Nerd Rage [Relapse]
[Ludicrously obscene stand-up comedy by a nerd metalhead. Fans of cuss words, heavy metal, and feeling alienated from society take note.]

Stand-up comics usually have me running for the hills, but considering the very consistent metal label Relapse released this comedy disc from Brian Posehn (best known from Mr. Show), I figured it was worth a spin. And it is Ð Posehn is hilarious, proud of his identity as an overgrown nerd and adult heavy metal worshiper. There's something endearing about listening to his dorky laugh and riotous stories, but maybe that's just because I'm an overgrown nerd and adult heavy metal worshiper as well. Posehn has no worries about offending anyone, and when he admits he wishes his wife would be his little "cum pirate," it's too absurd to not be gut-wrenchingly hilarious. The two "funny" metal songs on here will probably just annoy most, although getting a backup band featuring dudes from Anthrax, Armored Saint, and Testament is impressive. Repeat listens? Doubtful. But one incredibly enjoyable hour? You bet.
-Greg Pratt

RED SPAROWES
Every Red Heart Shines Toward The Red Sun [Neurot]
[Fans of Isis, Mouth of the Architect, and Sigur R—s take note.]

Although the band takes great pains to categorize itself as more than just a mere side-project, the fact that Red Sparowes includes an Isis guitarist, the man responsible for Neurosis' videography, and flanking members of Halifax Pier, Angel Hair, and Pleasure Forever makes it difficult to separate this collaborative effort from the members' better-known and longer-tenured projects. Even more difficult is trying to describe Every Red Heart Shines Toward the Red Sun as anything other than the sum of its parts. Add in the fact that the group records for Neurot and it almost becomes clichŽ Ð and not in the bad sense, per se, as much as, well, "what else did you expect?" Red Sparowes churn out down-tuned, post-metallic drone not at all atypical from what their pedigree would suggest. As redundant as that is, there's still a place for this disc in your collection, because the group's approach seems less mechanical and more emotive than those of their peers Ð including their own other groups, oddly enough. The peaks and valleys convey the contrast of human emotions rather than dwelling on one or two intensely depressive ones.
-Brian O'Neill

THE REPLACEMENTS
Don't You Know Who I Think I Was? [Rhino]
[First disc to collect all eras of this pioneering rock band. Fans of early Goo Goo Dolls and early Soul Asylum take note.]

While All for Nothing/Nothing for All, the Replacements' 1997 double-disc anthology/rarities collection, is unbeatable in terms of liner notes, pictures, and great rare songs, it ignored the band's four releases on indie Twin/Tone. This single-disc collection fixes that. Sure, the first couple records are adolescent punk rock not really worth investing much time in, and Hootenanny only has a couple great songs ("Color Me Impressed," included here, being the biggie). But then there's Let It Be, an album that still sounds like it's a collection of the last songs these guys will ever play; it's that ragged and desperate, as the songs included here prove. The big news is the inclusion of two new songs from the three original Replacements that are still alive; well, drummer Chris Mars is replaced by Josh Freese, but Mars shows up for background vocals. "Pool & Dive" is standard, golden Westerberg fare (right down to that title), while "Message to the Boys" is classic Replacements Ð wild and rockin', with a chorus that gets progressively more melancholic as the song goes on. This band's legacy is huge, and they embodied everything that good rock music should be. Get this collection and get the albums Ð it's all important.
-Greg Pratt

SNOWDEN
Anti-Anti [Jade Tree]
[Hipsters into danceable rock and extreme indie take note.]

Enter a trance and no, it's not the dance-heavy flashing lights, drug-induced type. Rather, Snowden's Jade Tree debut, Anti-Anti, is what its title presumes: very anti by many of today's musical prerequisites. Anti-evasive vocals, anti-metal chords, and anti-, well, anything you'd expect. The disc's 12 tracks ooze with a continual beat, hook, or melodic reverie, as each song resonates with a repetitive nature. A slight pop sensibility can be found in contemporary drumbeats and "random noises," as attributed in the album's liner notes. Monotonous vocals match the songs' infectious, forthright approach on "Black Eyes," "Innocent Heathen," and "Like Bullets," where the chorus ("We can walk like bullets and talk like bullets") is repeated umpteen times. Snowden has created a stoic release that's one part rock, one part indie, and 12 parts vocal consistency. How very anti of them.
-Jennifer Sica

THIS HEAT
Out of Cold Storage box set [ReR]
[Fans of Wire's 154 and Public Image Ltd.'s The Metal Box take note.]

Bands like Neu! and Faust gave it influence. Bands like Liars and Shellac made it harder. Fellow art school Brits like Wire and Essential Logic made it more historic. But no one captured the cool abandon and dire ire of post-punk, minimalist prog rock, and ardent metal machine music as did This Heat. No one. Shards of angularly haranguing guitar, a mix of Kraut-metronomic rhythms and pre-drum and bass thwack, and a mind-meld of improvisational, lustrous noise and crinkled tape loops set the stage for an unusually blissful voice: the Robert Wyatt-like sound of singer Charles Hayward. But even that multi-everything description can't explain away the spaciousness, click, blip, and avant wah of 1978's This Heat and its weightier, more brazen follow-up, the freak musique concrete of Deceit. Like a semaphore signal without a recognizable code, this flag and all its dada-ist waves after it merely confounded critics and fans. That they were banging improv punks on an ambient lark probably led most ears to put them in the Henry Cow school. That songs like "Centotaph" and "Sleep" are driven by societal mishaps, psychic narcolepsy, and physical destruction must have pricked Gang of Four-like ears. That they continued along for another 20 years, issuing similarly deconstructional records lost and labeled smaller than small makes this box set of remasters, rarities, live cuts, full albums, and John Peel's radio sessions more than essential.
-A.D. Amorosi

TORTOISE
A Lazarus Taxon [Thrill Jockey]
[Fans of Tortoise's Standards take note.]

Named for a disappearing paleontological marvel that resurfaces only in fossil form, A Lazarus Taxon is a box of rarities from Tortoise's decade-plus time together, an attempt not to seem like the science-class nerds most critics have made them out to be. With each passing project, their un-merry mix of calculated, charred minimalism, chilled Californian jazz, dripping dub, and Morricone-like cinema-scapes seems as silly as their predecessors in Krautrock: Can with no drugs and better production; Kraftwerk in baggy t-shirts. Yet, the results have remained as stain-free, cleanly precise, and mathematically symmetrical as a NASA time sheet before the retro-rockets fired. Now, is that so bad? No. Like watching that documentary about kids pissed off at their own spelling bee's mistakes, it's Tortoise's consistent linearity Ð the planned accidental nature Ð that makes them an adventure. You listen to their hermetic harmonies and graphically lined grooves, vibraphones, "Peaches en Regalia" guitar tones, twittering drums. You know them. You love them. And from the murky mix of Rhythms, Resolutions & Clusters to their tour-only EPs, Tortoise's mellow but frantically fractal ("Gamera") songs haunt you. And crease your speakers with space-jazz ("Blackbird") and Hendrix-like guitar explosions ("Waihopai"). And skronk. And then some.
-A.D. Amorosi

THE TYDE
Three's Co. [Rough Trade]
[Fans of sunshine, sand, and the Beach Boys take note.]

So I've already betrayed this band, in brackets no less, by playing the Beach Boys card even before my review had officially begun. Honestly, I don't feel terrible about this: The Tyde embrace their hippie-dippy California roots with a big bear hug, after all, and opening track "Do It Again Again" unabashedly shouts out to Brian Wilson in both sonics and title. They're obviously OK with it, despite the fact that it pigeonholes them a bit. But if the band's ever to seem like more than a mere novelty Ð and the quality of the Tyde's songwriting at its best, as on the lilting L.A. love story "Separate Cars," suggests that Brent Rademaker and his bandmates are better than that Ð then we critics need to talk about more than long hair and surfboards. For all the pretty SoCal harmonies on the Tyde's latest, there's also a heavy dollop of early-'90s jerry-builtness in its pleasantly rickety arrangements. And though there are a few misfires Ð "Too Many Kims" is too cute by half Ð these onetime members of the much-missed Beachwood Sparks are clearly walking the fine line between the good and bad senses of "poppy" with considerable skill. Call them a summertime band who make a great case for you to listen even once the days grow shorter.
-Steven Hanna

UMBRELLAS
Illuminare [Militia Group]
[Fans of Coldplay and Starflyer 59 take note.]

A collection of glistening, atmospheric indie pop songs, the second album from Umbrellas improves on the sometimes monolithic shoegazer textures of their debut and adds a good dose of overt pop acumen to the mix. Recorded in a grimy abandoned comedy club in Tulsa, Illuminare still sparkles as if it was recorded in a hermetically sealed space capsule orbiting through space, with lead vocalist and songwriter Scott Windsor perfectly mixing reverby guitars and twittering synths for his crisply gleaming arrangements. From the swirling symphonic touches of "Thinking of You" to the deft piano balladry of "Ships," the album is stacked with over-the-top power ballads. With Ester Drang's James McAlister adding drums, Windsor's sometimes overly precious arrangements are enlivened with disco beats ("Again & Again") and the bubbly dance groove of "Angel or Demon," provided a needed check on his tendency to allow the pace to grow too ponderous. Though his voice is sometimes a bit too overwrought, Windsor can sound positively Elliott Smith-like when cooing over finger-picked acoustic guitar and the prancing piano lines of "Tests on My Heart," the album's best lullaby. All in all, despite its sometimes overbearingly precious tone, it's an adventurous and ultimately satisfying release.
-Matt Fink

THE VILLAGE GREEN
Feeling the Fall [spinART]
[Fans of Supergrass and the Kinks take note.]

This Portland, Ore.-based duo has no problem acknowledging its blatant love of all things British circa late '60s/early '70s Ð including modern interpretations of those sounds. Named after the abbreviated version of a Kinks album, Village Green also adopts the most happy-go-lucky side of that group. But more so than any other band, Village Green sounds like a not-so-American version of madcap fuzzy and fizzy Brits Supergrass. This is a great thing when listening to the sincere strains of "Chomping at the Bit" or the swinging swagger of "Om: The Meaning of Life." But why would you assume the personality of a group that has had no significant stateside success whatsoever? Still, the cues Village Green takes are done so very well, resulting in a sunshine-filled, melody-driven collection of bubbly, bouncy tunes. When the band develops a sound more its own, such as on "Rosa Glynn," it's on a slightly melancholic tip. Maybe the tables will turn for the millennium and the Americans'll be able to sell British sounds to their own kind better than the imports.
-Lily Moayeri

WHITE WHALE
WWI [Merge]
[Fans of the Arcade Fire, Constantines, and other dramatic indie rock bands take note.]

Much like Herman Melville's Moby Dick, a literary touchstone these Kansan lads apparently take influence from, White Whale is out to create something truly epic. It's there in the title of the band's debut album, WWI, and it's certainly there in the music. Kicking off with the grandiose, shout-along power of opener "Nine Good Fingers," this drama is put to fine use Ð all fresh exuberance laid over guitars and pianos. Unfortunately, much of WWI doesn't keep pace with these raucous beginnings. White Whale gets lost within its own compositions, sometimes indulging a certain part too long, other times just plain dragging a song out about two minutes longer than it should. When the band is on, it's really on, evoking the scatterbrained genius of the Fiery Furnaces on a triumphant rant. But the rest of the time, it's boredom city.
-Austin L. Ray

YOUNG WIDOWS
Settle Down City [Jade Tree]
[Fans of Breather Resist, the Jesus Lizard, and later Black Flag take note.]

Settle Down City is the harsh result of Kentucky's Breather Resist losing its singer and changing its name to Young Widows. The cacophony that got shat out the other side is a glorious one; the album is an ear assault on the same plane as the now-trio's former band, but shows the group's experimental side as well. Rumbling drones and galloping rhythmatics are less metal than the band's previous incarnation, and sometimes sound like a stop-start worship of the much-missed Jesus Lizard (one track here is called "Glad He Ate Her," a nod to the Liz's "Gladiator"). Vocalist/guitarist Evan Patterson is no David Yow, and we don't expect him to be; instead, Patterson drawls out a tortured yelp here and a powerful shout there (with help from bassist Nick Thieneman). Some of the wallowing in the mud will also please those who enjoy later-era Black Flag or the Rollins solo stuff. Mostly though, Young Widows concentrates on delivering what is one of the best groove-laden noise rock records in quite some time. One highlight is the floored ass-shaker "Small Talk."
-Jason Schreurs

THE ZUTONS
Tired of Hanging Around [Deltasonic]
[Fans of Madness, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, and Squeeze take note.]

The Zutons' unique sound mixes a little jazz here and a touch of ska there, right along with other, more standard rock elements. It all adds up to a musical party cocktail, for the most part, although Tired of Hanging Around starts to reveal a few of the dark corners in the Zutons' party house. During "It's the Little Things We Do," for instance, vocalist David McCabe worries: "Because last night it felt like the best night of my life / Now there's something that is wrong rotting my insides." Then, during "Hello Conscience," he admits to himself, "You've been causing chaos for much too long." McCabe is a party animal, it's true, but he's seemingly not all too proud of that reputation. Nothing is more gripping than the story of the death of a party girl's dad, detailed via "Oh Stacy (Look What You've Done!)." "She made her father worry 'til he was sick / Found him on the couch one night all cold and stiff." Yikes! Even good-time Charlies get the blues, and Tired of Hanging Around is the sort of loitering little CD that may well make a person stop and examine one's self Ð perhaps during a rare moment of sobriety. But in Stacy's case, that moment of reflection came too late.
-Dan MacIntosh

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