What if Beach House rocked? What if instead of inspiring fits of narcolepsy their music made you nod your head along to it and comment, “Fuck yeah?” The answer to that question is that they would then be Wye Oak. With their third full-length release, Civilian, the duo of Jenn Wasner and Andy Stack have created the most epic-sounding music of any two-person band this side of Japandroids.

I don’t know how they translate all this stuff to a live performance. I’m really looking forward to finding out when I see them open for The Decemberists next month. Until then, I’m listening to this album and I’m hearing at least a four-piece band. Yes, there’s some obvious studio trickery, such as Wasner’s vocals being backed by more of Wasner’s vocals. Much of the big sound can be attributed to the band’s versatility, though, such as Stack’s ability to rock out the drums with one hand and the keyboards with another.

Another key element of Wye Oak’s sound is Wasner’s fuzzy, almost ‘90s-sounding guitar. They sound a little less grunge here than on the band’s previous album, The Knot, but no less big. When combined with her ethereal vocals, they have a startling emotional resonance. Nowhere is this used to better effect than on Civilian’s title track. “I still keep my baby teeth by the bedside table with the jewelry” she sings as her guitar-playing is split into distinct left and right channel halves of one dizzying whole. She is accompanied by Stack’s mournful organ-playing and simplistic, almost Meg White-esque drumming and the result is a song that wastes little time building to a swell and staying there.

Other tracks, like the album-closing “Doubt,” take a more subtle, subdued approach, and that’s where the similarity to Beach House is really apparent. They offer a nice break from the noisier tracks without lulling the listener into a coma, and that’s the sort of balance that is missing from a lot of recent indie rock albums, especially ones tagged with the label of “dream pop.” Wye Oak know how to walk the line between tension and catharsis and when to leave that line far behind, and the result is an album that is never not compelling.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=i2VNG8yMI8w

Whenever a new Radiohead album is announced, the question is never whether or not the album is going to be any good. The question is whether the album will be good or great. Radiohead didn’t give us much time to ask ourselves that question this time around, announcing The King of Limbs only a few days before its downloadable release. What’s the answer to the question, though? Is the album good or great? Unfortunately, the verdict on this one is that it is merely very good. For most bands that would be a high compliment; for Radiohead it is faint praise.

For starters, the album’s brevity somewhat dulls its impact. At eight tracks and roughly 37 minutes long, it seems more like a generously-sized EP than a full-length album. That wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing if the songs themselves had a little more impact, but this also is arguably the most sedate album Radiohead has put out as a band. It’s not quite as minimalistic as Thom Yorke’s solo effort, The Eraser, but it is does seem like a close cousin of that album. It’s a very enjoyable listen, of course, but it lacks any real standout tracks like its predecessor In Rainbows had with “15 Steps.”

That’s not to say that any of the tracks are weak. There’s not a bad song in the bunch. The album  starts off strong with a shimmering, echo-laden piano loop that is soon accompanied by jabs of synthesizer and an off-kilter drum loop. By the time Yorke’s lyrics kick in, the mood has been set. “Open your mouth wide,” he joins in. “The universe will sigh.” In a way, the song sounds like the universe sighing, and we’re right there along with it catching our collective breath. Once Yorke and company put us into that relaxed state, though, they do precious little to take us back out of it. The whole album has a patina of sleepiness to it, and although it’s certainly likable enough it’s hard to ever get too excited about it.

Lyrically, the album follows in the footsteps of In Rainbows. The lyrics are at once both abstract and personal-sounding. “There’s an empty space inside my heart,” Yorke sings on “Lotus Flower,” “where the weeds take root, so now I set you free.” Clearly success and fame have not dulled his sense of melancholy, although the video for “Lotus Flower” shows that at least he’s gotten a bit more funky over the years. The doleful sentiments are comfortingly familiar, including a reference to “a job that’s killing you” in “Little by Little,” but they’re twisted and refracted back through the lens of experience and make Yorke sound a bit more world-weary than before. The fire of youth has burned out, and what remains in the smoldering ashes is The King of Limbs.

So should you pay the $9 to download The King of Limbs? The answer, unequivocally, is yes. If you have any appreciation of Radiohead, you will enjoy this album. It may not knock your socks off, but it’s a solid effort from arguably the best band of the last few decades. It’s a little on the short side and more mellow than you might have expected, but it is also unmistakably the album of a seasoned band who knows what they’re doing and is more than comfortable doing it.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=cfOa1a8hYP8

There’s not a lot of info to be found on Secret Knives on the Internet. There’s a MySpace page, a Band Camp page, and the band’s website, but they all focus on one thing: the music. On one hand, that’s kind of refreshing in a post-Twitter environment where everyone feels the need to overshare everything. On the other hand, it makes it kind of hard for an amateur music journalist such as myself to get some background on the band. Luckily, my intrepid editor Oswald Hobbes used his New Zealand connections to dig up some info.

The “band,” at least in recorded form, is actually just one guy: Wellington-based Ash Smith. Affection is entirely a labor of his love, from the Conor Oberst-esque vocals to the echo-laden guitars, piercing synths and jarring loops. The sum of all these parts is tremendously moving music that takes elements of shoegaze, post-rock, and bedroom electronica and forms them into something unique and exciting. Smith has a tremendous amount of talent, and it’s a joy to hear all the different ways it manifests itself on just a single track. Album stand-outs “Black Hole” and “The Garden” have such a full sound, brimming with all the aforementioned elements, that it’s difficult to believe that it’s just one guy making all of them. It might all be overwhelming if it weren’t for the occasional palate cleanser, like the “Treefingers”-esque “Future Wave.”

Some of the tracks cut out a little early, almost as if Smith went so big that he wasn’t quite sure how to close the deal. That can make the album seem at times as if it didn’t quite come out fully-formed. As a whole, though, it’s such an enjoyable album to listen to that it’s easy to overlook that one flaw. Smith occasionally performs his material live with a backing band, although apparently that’s not a frequent occurrence. It would be interesting to see what he could do with that band for future recordings if he goes that route, but in the meantime his current material is available for free at any of the three sites mentioned above. If you find yourself liking it as much as I did, you can donate some money and get some swag in return.

Rihanna’s Loud has the unenviable task of following up her previous album Rated R. Emotionally complex and informed by tabloid interest (and still thrilling musically on its own), Rated R was a fascinating album that responded to physical, emotional, public and private traumas. Before that, Rihanna had Good Girl Gone Bad, which spawned her biggest hits to date (and many of her best songs besides). It certainly seemed like she was on a roll, but Loud finds her adrift instead.

It opens with “S&M,” an ode to its titular rough sex that nevertheless feels stilted. She’s used her sometimes emotionally flat vocal delivery well in the past, but here it just sounds bored and obligated, like the carnality of her previous efforts has to be rolled out for show. It’s the equivalent of a teen getting a bellybutton piercing to get a reaction from her parents, which sets the album off to an unsteady start. Things get better elsewhere, though, as the lead single “Only Girl (In the World)” is a light-hearted dance track that’s sexier and more palatable without being desperate for attention. Second single “What’s My Name” similarly mines a more light-hearted, less shock-oriented approach successfully. Also, that Drake dude works well in small doses. These triumphs are minor, though, as Loud can be likable at times but lacks a show-stopping track like “Umbrella” or “Rude Boy.”

Elsewhere, she samples the early Avril Lavigne hit “I’m With You” (yeah, I’d forgotten that one, too) on “Cheers (Drink to That),” a bombastic yet unmemorable ballad, and her collaboration with Nicki Minaj (“Raining Men,” not a cover) similarly fizzles without a strong hook. These songs aren’t quite duds, but like Loud itself, they feel minor and rushed. Compare these to “Love the Way You Lie Pt. 2,” the Eminem feature sequel/other half to the Eminem hit, which has probably been in in the can awhile. It’s the best song this album has to offer, more moving than the original while giving Em less time to embarrass himself with awkward lyrics (though he still gets a “let’s not make mountains out of mole hills” in).

“It’s a transitional album” is the kind of bullshit critics and fans might say of a mediocre album (I’m not innocent of this, either), and Loud is transitional: moving away from the lurid tabloid-bait of Rated R and sneaking back into the more stable, less harrowing, less invasive, sunnier pop that got the artist her start. But that doesn’t change that it’s an uneven album. At only 11 tracks, it even looks minor just looking at the back of its jewel case.

It is a stroke of luck (or massive talent and commitment) that Pimp C’s The Naked Soul of Sweet Jones is not a shitty posthumous cash-in. When he died in 2007, he was working on this and the previously-released final UGK album (the excellent UGK 4 Life)It’s a fitting tribute to a guy who was a talented emcee with a scatological, lustful sense of authorship. Similarly, it was a good choice that his partner in UGK, Bun B, mostly stays out of the spotlight, delivering verses on only three of the twelve tracks on this album. A lot of space is taken by guest spots, but if Pimp C had lived to see its completion, that still might have been true.

Still, sometimes the songs do sound like they’re padded in their choruses. Certainly, “Down 4 Mine” and “Love 2 Ball” (no, not every song has a number in the title) start to feel like they’re stretching a bit lot. Drake droning “What up…” over and over was a terrible decision for a chorus on the uninspiredly-titled “What Up,” which otherwise features great contributions from Lil Wayne and Bun B. If having uninspired parts of songs is the trade for keeping the album at a reasonable length with consistently good music, though, it’s a worthy choice.

Really, the production throughout is a highlight. Who knows how this would have sounded if Pimp C had finished it in his prime. As released, it sounds like a UGK album, with southern bounce and plenty of bass. These beats swing like massive balls while the rappers boast. Hooks like those on the powerful “Monster” are par for the course for UGK, and it’s a great addition to their collective discography that this album can be counted. If Bun B wanted to hop on these songs, this could’ve been a damned good followup to the final UGK album. Wisely, he chose to let his protege get the spotlight.

Speaking of which, Pimp C was dependably capable of some of the best confidently dirty raps around (see: “Harry Asshole” on UGK 4 Life), and doesn’t hold back here. “Made 4 Me” features several tips for “what your pussy’s made for” (including: “you can buy a house if you know what you’re doing”). That’s not the say that’s the only thing he was good at; it does jump out on first listen and stays funny on repeat listens. Similarly, the closing track “Massacre” carries weight, as though he is lobbing grenades from beyond the grave. It’s a formidable song and a great way to close the book: don’t fuck with Pimp C’s legacy.

As for the guests, which include the aforementioned Drake, Weezy and Bun B, bus also Lil Boosie, Rick Ross, Young Jeezy… They all fit, Nd they all do service to their respective songs. Maybe there are too many gravel-throated southern rappers; they start to feel interchangeable after awhile. But, to their credit, they don’t feel like they’re padding the track list too much. Unlike with posthumous albums by Tupac or Biggie, the inclusion of modern rappers doesn’t derail the experience. The rappers chosen here fit well with Pimp C’s style.

While The Naked Soul of Sweet Jones is an above-average hip-hop album, it is phenomenal by the standards of posthumous releases, especially considering there has already been one album credited to Pimp C from the afterlife. It would have been tighter had it been completed as planned, probably, and that’s a drawback against its favor. The choruses could be trimmed (or made less repetitive), and maybe the guest list could have been more exclusive by one or two guests. Turns out that those aren’t major drawbacks, though. What we have here is the most fitting final tribute possible to one of the great underrated emcees.

Radiohead made a smart move with Kid A.  After the near-universal critical acclaim and adoration they received for OK Computer, it may very well have been career suicide to try to duplicate it with their follow-up.  Instead, they went in a very different direction, adopting the glitchy electronic style of acts like Aphex Twin and Autechre and making it work in a new and interesting context.  Sufjan Stevens takes a page out of the Radiohead playbook with The Age of Adz, his first full album since 2005’s Illinois, but with decidedly more mixed results.

The thing is, when you have an album as critically successful as Illinois, the pressure to duplicate it is immense.  With Stevens waiting a full five years between albums, the pressure only intensified over time.  This was further complicated by the fact that he had established the “states” gimmick that quickly became an albatross around his neck.  If he created another state-themed album, some critics would dismiss him as a one-note act.  If he didn’t, he would inevitably disappoint some of his fans.

Clearly, though, moving in a new direction was the best way for him to go.  The brand of twee indie rock that he helped establish has become so watered down with second-tier acts like Freelance Whales that Stevens would only seem like a parody of himself if he stuck with the same formula.  Changing up the formula only gets him so far, though.  He still has to deliver some really quality material to prove that the success of Illinois wasn’t a fluke.

So does he accomplish that task with The Age of Adz?  Well, yes and no.  Whereas Kid A knocked critics on their asses and cemented Radiohead as one of the most beloved rock bands of our time, The Age of Adz is likely to leave many listeners underwhelmed.  Despite the new electronic bells and whistles, it is actually a more subdued, personal affair than the albums he has become known for.  It is not an instant gratification sort of album, instead rewarding more patient listeners with its subtlety and craftsmanship.  Unfortunately, we live in an age if instant gratification and without any “Chicago”-style standout tracks, The Age of Adz is likely to leave many people cold.

There are some genuine missteps here, too.  The album’s sprawling finale, “Impossible Soul,” is an ambitious number that includes a dizzying amount of different effects and styles.  Unfortunately, one of those effects is auto-tune, which gives it a whiff of desperation.  Auto-tune has far outlived its novelty by this point, and its inclusion is frankly kind of a head-scratcher, even given the kitchen sink approach to this particular track.  After the subtlety of the previous ten tracks on the album, “Impossible Soul” seems like Stevens included it solely for the purpose of proving he is still ambitious.

It’s not stylistic ambition that makes this album worthwhile, though, it’s his signature combination of intimacy and grandeur.  Lyrics like “Sufjan, follow your heart.  Follow the flame or fall on the floor,” give us a window into an artist who is trying really hard to reconcile his artistic ambitions with the pressures of the music industry.  It’s arguable whether or not he succeeded in doing so.  The Age of Adz is an overall success for Stevens despite its occasional flaws.  It has proven that Stevens can succeed artistically while branching out into new territory, but the inclusion of gimmicks like auto-tune and frenetic genre-hopping indicate that maybe Stevens isn’t quite comfortable with letting his songwriting speak for itself.  That’s a shame, because his songwriting is still a cut above most of his peers.

Katy Perry works wonderfully in theory, but not on Teenage Dream. There is a place in the pop landscape for someone like her: a party girl who is not trashy as Ke$ha; a character of massive set pieces without Lady Gaga’s pretensions (and I mean that as a compliment to Gaga); a pop star with singles as catchy as Rihanna’s without the dark undercurrents and in their way as sweet as Taylor Swift without any of the innocence. Katy Perry takes pride in being a campy, mega-sized cartoon of a woman, neon colored and direct come-ons disguised as not even double entendres. More like half entendres.

She can do this successfully; her summer jam “California Gurls” is a blast largely on sheer catchiness and simplicity. Who can’t get behind feeling sexy in the summertime? Who can’t get behind Snoop Dogg, now fully consumed by his kind stoner entertainer phase? And don’t get me started on the video. The song’s a hit because it has no other place than the pop charts.

But then we get to the album, and the campy fun time aesthetic simply cannot hold for a 45-minute album. By the second track, “Last Friday Night (TGIF),” everything feels awfully thin. The “partied too hard, woke up in big trouble, can’t remember a thing” thing feels like such a cliche, and indeed, the song is filled with cliches: table dancing, waking up with a stranger, “breaking the law” (but doesn’t specify which), streaking. It feels less like a celebration of debauchery than a list of things someone imagined a wild night might be.

This is probably the biggest problem with Perry’s conceit: her songs reach for such cartoonish strokes, like one of those DTV American Pie movies, that human emotion – even a real feeling of having fun – feels emulated. This is never clearer than on the ballads, of which there are way more than I would expect from someone who does videos featuring Snoop Dogg, Candyland, and whipped cream-shooting bras. But then we get “Firework,” the second auto-tuned to hell, fireworks-as-a-metaphor song this summer (the other was Drake’s). It’s meant to be inspirational, with a chorus that goes “make ‘em go OH OH OH as you shoot from the sky-y-y” (note: somehow “OH OH OH” rhymes with “sky-y-y” and “down-own-own” in the context of this song), but it feels so trite and lightweight. Perry puts what she can into it vocally, but she’s not a great singer and there’s not much to be done with lyrics about plastic bags blowing in the wind, feeling “paper-thin like a house of cards,” and other hits from an inexhaustible cliche bag.

On the other end of the tonal spectrum, a song called “Peacock” (Yes. Oh yes! This should be good!) is bookended by “Firework” and “Circle the Drain,” a ballad about not putting up with a lover’s drug addiction. It’s the kind of tonal shift that occurs all over the album, undercutting the seriousness of its less campy moments and grating up against the fluffy stuff that should be the heart of this thing. “Peacock” is emblematic of a lot of the problems with Katy Perry’s music. It tries to be sexy and provocative, but its shock value comes from how dumb and obvious it gets. The end result is a novelty that is successfully “so bad it’s good,” but unsuccessful at being as sexy as (I think) Katy Perry wants to be. It sounds desperate for attention, which is a reaction she’s gotten ever since “I Kissed a Girl.” Removing all subtlety is not necessarily a bad idea, but it needs stronger hooks than “I wanna see your peacock, cock/your peacock, cock” behind it.

On the bright side, individual moments work well out of context. The second single, and titular track, is sweet if plasticine – it’s at least a lazily convincing pop song. Later in the tracklist, “Hummingbird Heartbeat” makes for another pop gem. It’s a great way to close the album, or it would be, if it wasn’t followed by another stupid fucking “uplifting” ballad.

PS Apparently Russell Brand’s lovin’ is “extra terrestrial.” Let that mental sensation sink in and download the songs I had good things to say about.

That’s right – everybody’s favorite scuzzy brother/sister garage combo are preparing to lay it down all across the nation! (“It” being some of the most ridiculously awesome noise put to tape this year.) I have no problem recommending this band to you, but meet me halfway and exercise some caution when you actually check ‘em out: their songs have been known to spark riots when introduced to otherwise tranquil environments. Take two Ambiens before you press play.

White Mystery tour dates:

Jul 27 2010 9:00P The Turf Club Minneapolis, MN
Jul 29 2010 9:00P Gallery Show Missoula, MT
Jul 31 2010 8:30P KEXP Seattle Radio Seattle, WA
Jul 31 2010 10:00P The Funhouse Seattle, Wa
Aug 1 2010 9:00P Slabtown Portland, OR
Aug 2 2010 9:00P East End Portland, OR
Aug 3 2010 9:00P Johnny B’s Medford, OR
Aug 5 2010 9:00P The Hemlock San Francisco, CA
Aug 6 2010 11:00P Ghost Town Oakland, CA
Aug 7 2010 9:00P El Rio San Francisco, CA
Aug 8 2010 9:00P Redwoods Los Angeles, CA
Aug 9 2010 8:00P The Soda Bar San Diego, CA
Aug 10 2010 2:00P Cheap Tricks El Centro, CA
Aug 12 2010 8:00P Beerland Austin, TX
Aug 13 2010 9:00P Saturn Bar New Orleans, LA
Aug 14 2010 9:00P Glenn Danzig’s House Nashville, TN

Read our review of White Mystery’s excellent record HERE.
Sign up for the band’s mailing list HERE.
Peruse the band’s recently re-designed website HERE.

With this being popular “gypsy punk” band Gogol Bordello’s major label debut (and follow-up to the critically acclaimed Super Taranta!), massively talented frontman/troubadour Eugene Hutz has a lot to prove. Drawing on his personal experiences from living in Brazil, he and his collective of musicians create one of the most poetic records of recent times, an album encompassing and engrossing all matters of love and growing up.

I’d put this album up there with The Hold Steady’s Heaven Is Whenever and Titus Andronicus’ The Monitor on the short list for best album this year when it comes to matters of the heart. Songs such as “Pala Tute” and “Rebellious Love” show that even when the band loses some of its “folk rock meets Minor Threat” trappings they are capable of creating passionate (and fun) music.

The heavy Latin flair found on this album edges out the Eastern European-influenced music on their previous records, making this feel like the bands first truly “serious” record. This is somewhat to its detriment, losing some of the humor and fun that has made the band such a big hit. Overall this is a great album from a band that might finally get the attention it deserves, but much like Against Me!’s New Wave and White Crosses, the departure to form might push away some diehard fans.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rq9nCjYTC2U

Gogol Bordello:

• Official Site
• MySpace
• Last.fm
• Twitter

Bionic, the fourth album by Christina Aguilera, has been at least two years in the making, and that’s just bad timing. Any other time, two years would be nothing, despite the four years between this and her last album, the two-CD Back to Basics. Any other time, a double album would tide over the masses long enough to make this gap excusable. Unfortunately, this album’s been released at a time when it will be compared to the hottest artist in pop music today, whose outfits and aesthetic share similar ideas. Thankfully, some of the music is high enough quality to make any trends and comparisons irrelevant.

Comparisons are nothing new for Aguilera, who started in Britney Spears’s chart-busting shadow, but those comparisons were never artistic. Next to Spears, Aguilera always came out ahead, critically, for having a great voice. It was a bad sign though, when her new video for “Not Myself Tonight” was compared to similarly audacious fare by reigning pop queen Lady Gaga. Bionic has been in the works since 2008, before Gaga really broke out, a time when Aguilera could honestly tell the LA Times, “I’m not quite sure who [Lady Gaga] is.”

In 2008, the future/robot imagery employed by Bionic might have been slightly ahead of the curve. In 2010, though, it comes off as a catch-up record, even if it isn’t. With Janelle Monae touting Metropolis as an influence and Gaga’s “Bad Romance” video, with its angular fashions, having taken over the world, Bionic comes off as late to the party. It doesn’t help that, individually, songs bear too much of a mark from their collaborators, making Aguilera, her haymaker of a voice as fantastic as ever, a bit faceless in the proceedings. So “Elastic Love” comes off like Aguilera covering an MIA song. It doesn’t help that some of the songs emphasize some of the worst tendencies Aguilera has always had.

With the electronic dance beats all over these album, there’s a distinct lack of swing to the proceedings. Aguilera succeeds in being the half-robot on the album cover, right down to her sexuality having all the subtlety of a vibrator stuck on its highest setting. “Sex for Breakfast” is exactly what its title implies to an uncomfortably literal degree, while a line like “They’re only good for fruit/I need bananas” in “I Hate Boys” aches with obviousness. It’s true that, since her “Dirrty” days, there hasn’t been much sensuality to her music. Her sex songs and club bangers give R. Kelly a run for their money in raunch, but usually the music can match it in either fun (“Candyman”) or grimy (“Dirrty”). Here, the electro arrangements make the bangers feel sterile.

Thankfully, Bionic picks up significantly in its final third. Linda Perry continues to be Aguilera’s best collaborator, providing the effective “Lift Me Up.” A trio of songs co-written by Sia (“All I Need,” “I Am,” and “You Lost Me”) tie for the album’s second best. They bear the mark of Sia still on their shoulder, but they effectively show off Aguilera’s vocal skills in a gorgeous setting. Things rap up with “My Girls” and “Vanity,” two songs that strike with such confident power that they come off as sexier than any of her songs about seducing people who aren’t Christina Aguilera.

There’s a deluxe version with a few songs on a bonus disc. The mini-set is notable for being more consistent than the album proper, but for the most part it re-uses ideas that were performed better on the main disc. “Bobblehead” is some maddeningly catchy lightweight MIA, for example, but “Birds of Prey” is a chilly, Matrix-referencing track that utilizes the futuristic aesthetic better than anything on the entire album.

Much of Bionic sinks on the push and pull between the chosen future-pop aesthetic and Aguilera’s powerful voice and club-like sexuality. These elements fight throughout, not quite comfortable, so that the songs that ignore these things stick out for the better. It’s lost when trying to be ultra-modern while showcasing a voice best heard unadorned. So, when it strips aways its ideas and gets to the point, when it feels the most human, it compels. It’s no coincidence that the three Sia ballads are in a row; they flow together to make a core that ends on a more graceful note.

Here’s the thing, folks: I don’t even know how to describe The Melvins’ individual albums. Their work is all pretty much sludgy, dark, and weird, but individual albums each are their own entities. And I don’t mean that to be dismissive. I like their brand of sludgy, dark, and weird, but each of their albums is sometimes only different in subtle ways. This is all a roundabout way of saying they are their own band. Whenever the subject of where to start with the Melvins comes up, invariably a few hardcore fans crop up to tell you to go through all their albums, as though this superhumanly prolific band can be digested (let alone appreciated!) all at once.

So I can tell you The Bride Screamed Murder is as good an opening as exists. They’ve gotten a bit more accessible compared to their early days. Or maybe time has gotten softer to their heavy, slow brand of metal thanks to their progeny. I don’t know. The vocals on “I’ll Finish You” are more haunting than anything found on records from their “prime” like Houdini or Stoner Witch. There’s some great fret work on “Electric Flower” as the guitars duel with each other on a cat-and-mouse riff and Buzz Osborne’s multi-tracked vocals shout over them. They’re not ones for pop hooks, thank God, so mileage varies by how much gravitas and power one enjoys in their metal.

I’d say that their riffs are a little less Black Sabbath (the album) and a little more Paranoid nowadays, but that sounds like progress. And this band doesn’t necessarily progress; they just do different spins on their sound that are different but equally awesome. It’s why seemingly every corner of the band’s formidable discography has proponents. Yet, on this album, they do a cover of “My Generation” that’s unlike anything The Who or Sabbath could have ever done, all slow and moody – almost a parody, but somehow not quite getting to that level of sarcasm. It’s a bit overlong, but it’s at least different.

Then there are the odd detours that make the band so endearing. Like the chant and response on the opening track, “The Water Glass,” or the weird not-quite-jazz noodling at the end of “Hospital Up.” Then again, they speed up considerably, to an almost punkish degree, on “Inhumanity and Death” before switching over to a slower, high-tension tempo. Yet at the same time, it’s not as convincing as past forays into that sound (such as those on A Senile Animal).

Maybe I’ve done too much praising. The Melvins are not a band of grand statements, which is probably why they’ve stayed more or less a cult phenomenon. Their greatness lies in the fact that album-to-album, they’re remarkably consistent. Song-by-song, though, each album has some dry spots or dirges that don’t quite work out. Yet they hit so many right moments out of the park every single time that it’s hard not to recommend everything they do. I guess what I’m saying is: have you heard of this great band called The Melvins? If so, you’ll probably like this. You haven’t? Where’s the best place to start? Here or wherever, man.

It’s hard to find solid rock ‘n’ roll these days. Everybody’s got a gimmick, everybody’s dressed in some weird clothes, everybody’s trying to be funny. It makes me feel like Bob Lefsetz some days. But, damn it, Welcome To Ashley play solid rock ‘n’ roll. No bullshit, no filler – just straight-up powersauce injected directly into your brain’s rawk-core. Originally from Nashville, the band calls Chicago home now, and the windy city is all over this record. Frontman Coley Kennedy sounds resolutely conflicted about his adopted hometown, spinning the everyday sights and sounds into snarled poetry – Beyond The Pale is a great record for anybody who’s ever walked around the city late at night feeling happily creeped out. It almost seems like it was designed specifically for that purpose, actually.

But it’s also the kind of disc that sends you hurtling down the highway at increasingly unsafe speeds. Listen to it once and you’ll be hooked – not just replaying it endlessly, but humming the melodies as you go about your daily, non-music-related tasks. The sound is warm and inviting; right from the start, huge guitars surround you, chiming and swirling like REM infused with alt-punk’s irreverent speed. Key to the record’s charm is its crisp immediacy – it doesn’t sound like it was recorded with a computer. And these analog sonic confines are a perfect match for Coley’s voice – his rich baritone betrays hints of Joey Ramone and Rhett Miller, but he’s got plenty of singular swagger. Nowhere is this in greater evidence than on the album’s final two tracks – “Thursday Afternoon” is a Petty-ish rocker that finds an emotional goldmine in the way Kennedy repeats the phrase “I fell in love with you” over and over on the song’s climax, and “End Of The Line” closes the record on a spare, lonesome note, delivered with so much honest feeling that it actually hurts. It’s probably the best song I’ve heard all year, in terms of raw craftsmanship; fucking Daughtry could sing it and I’d probably jam along. It’s just that awesome.

I’ve known Welcome To Ashley were good for a little while – I listened to their Absent Man EP last year and found a lot to like. And they made a convert out of noted nu-metal enthusiast Third World Timmy when he caught them at the Empty Bottle. But Beyond The Pale confirms the band’s actual greatness. Tracks like “The Catbird Seat” and “I Love Monday Mornings” sound equally fresh and timeless, like new standards in the great rock songbook. Using the simplest possible ingredients – brisk electric guitar, big melodies, Sherrlia Bailey’s precise old-school drumming – Welcome To Ashley have created something completely unique and absorbing. Beyond The Pale is the best straight-up rock record I’ve heard this year.

(Welcome to Ashley are playing a KEXP/Equalizer sponsored show at darkroom this Friday. The show starts at 9pm, and Ladies & Gentlemen are opening. The Assault Party Death Squad will be representing in full force at this event, so please come out and say hello. And pick up a copy of Beyond The Pale. It’s completely worth it.)

Welcome To Ashley:

• MySpace
• ReverbNation
• Bandcamp

Ahh, to be young and lovelorn. It’s the genesis of a seemingly infinite number of songs and yet it never quite gets old. There will always be young people who are angst-ridden about love and there will always be songs written for them. As far as those songs go, you could definitely do worse than listening to Sarah Jaffe’s. At 23, she’s still young enough to feel the sting of love’s tumult and not feel numb to it. That will come later in life. For now, she is writing some downright lovely songs on the subject.

Suburban Nature is Jaffe’s first album after putting out a prior EP, getting some positive nods from critics, and making her presence known at the 2009 Austin City Limits Festival. At age 23, that’s a pretty good start. This is a remarkable freshman album, too. Jaffe’s voice is remarkable for a singer of any vintage, let alone one just putting out her first album. She’s had a head start, though; some of the songs that appear in Suburban Nature were first penned back when she was still in high school. This calls to mind a few other recent young prodigies such as Bright Eyes’ Conor Oberst or Manchester Orchestra’s Andy Hull.

Although she has the voice of a seasoned veteran, her lyrics are unmistakably those of a rookie. That’s not to say that they’re poorly written, because that’s not the case. Rather, they deal with the thematic issue that dogs many a songwriter in her early career: relationships. They are the suitably bittersweet songs of someone still in the throes of young love, and they make for some pretty good songs. Jaffe has a whole career ahead of her, though, and it will be even more interesting to hear what themes she tackles once she emerges from the chrysalis of her youth.

As far as the instrumentation of her songs, there is a lot to like there as well. Not every track is particularly memorable and sometimes they lapse into paint-by-numbers singer-songwriter fare, but more often than not they hit their mark. The album opens with its strongest track, “Before You Go.” It is a swelling, vibrant song with emotive vocals and prominent strings. The second track, “Stay With Me,” is quieter and more sparse. From there, the remaining tracks mostly split the difference between the two styles.

Suburban Nature is a very strong start for an obviously talented singer, and it will be interesting to watch Jaffe evolve as a musician and a lyricist. Hopefully she will get the recognition she deserves for this album and manage to put out even better ones in the future. Maybe along the way she’ll have some better luck in love, too.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=MPOnh6R1cOA

Sarah Jaffe:

• Official Site
• MySpace
• Last.fm
• Facebook

So the Rolling Stones have finally gotten around to remastering Exile on Main Street. Maybe it’s not their best album (you could probably start a melee around which of their 1968-1972 albums is their best; I’m partial to Let It Bleed), but it’s certainly their most celebrated and storied. There’s something inherently Rolling Stones-like in their idea of being accused of tax evasion, holing up in a French chateau, fueling up in drugs, and recording an album at first seen as a disappointment whose stature grew over time. It makes sense, then, that while their post-ABCKO catalog would get pretty much spilled into stores after a remaster, Exile would be special. Exile would be hyped. It’d get a music video on the internet. Exile would get Mick Jagger onto Larry King. Its outtakes would not only get a release (a big deal in itself), but the band would overdub the songs, do their best to make the leftovers live up. For Exile on Main Street, they’ll bring in Mick Taylor to touch up the outtakes.

First, the original album: it sounds great. These songs are classics. Maybe not individually, but as a whole they make up one of the great double albums, period. The remastered sound is cleaner than the previous CD, which already sounded fine to my ears (it was my first Stones CD though, so, I might just be used to it). One could argue that it’s too clean; that improving the fidelity strips some of the bottomed-out worldliness of the music. But, for me, it sounds like a matter of opinion. The new mix don’t decimate the charms of the original (see: The Book of Stooges, Chapter Raw Power). It’s different, but different doesn’t mean better or worse in this case. Everything is clearer, a little louder, and if some of the grit suffers because of it, at least it’s easier to appreciate individual instruments on this version. The best summary I can come up with: maybe I’ll stick with the vinyl, but I’ll be proud to have this version on my iPod, where I listen to my music most often.

Of course, the big news here is the disc of rarities. Surprisingly, they stand up with the proper album. They don’t match it, but they fit, overdubs and all. Most notably of all, they split the balance between being just plain great songs and being insightful into the band’s process. It opens with “Pass the Wine” and “Plundered My Soul” – a fantastic one-two punch that blows most of their work immediately after Exile out of the water. Mick Jagger’s voice has changed over the years, become more disciplined, a little deeper, but miraculously, it blends in pretty well with the old material. You can tell when a song is overdubbed if you try, but it’s not obvious. So, the disc as a whole sounds fine in terms of time and place, and all the unearthed songs sound like they were thought out rather than tacked on. Then again,  most new Rolling Stones music is still good music (give A Bigger Bang a listen if you disagree).

True to any time that unearthed material gets a proper release, the alternates are never going to supplant the versions that got released. They’re more of interest for collectors than anything. Keith Richards’s turn on lead on an alternate version of “Soul Survivor” might be the most notable of the bunch: his weariness reeks of the same honesty that characterizes all of his turns at the mic. It stands in stark contrast with the determination of the familiar Mick-sung version.  Similarly, “Loving Cup” isn’t better when brought down to a slow haphazard thump, but it’s still charming if not powerfully romantic. So, that “Following the River” is one of the better Stones ballads since the early 80s is welcome, even if its strings are a bit out of place following Exile‘s gritty blues workouts, the new songs make this set worth having.

In short, get this album. Get the one disc version if you haven’t got it already. Get the one with rarities if you already love it. Maybe the remaster job doesn’t completely justify putting it all out again (and it most certainly doesn’t justify the $140 version with a DVD, vinyl, what the fuck ever else is in that thing, says the guy who spent like $120 for an extra CD of Bob Dylan outtakes two years ago), but the album itself is a classic with a legend at its back, and that means its rerelease is deserving of celebration. On those grounds, The Rolling Stones did this one right.

I feel a little bit sorry for Janelle Monae. She released her debut EP -- Metropolis Suite I: The Chase -- in 2007 and won attention and praise for her unique blend of pop, R&B funk, and conceptual tomfoolery. Raves followed her live sets at major festivals. Yet, for nearly three years, no new music. She seemed perpetually a buzz-worthy artist as her album suffered delays. Outside that bubble, all of pop music -- led by Lady Gaga’s videos (if not her music) and MIA -- got weirder. The initial inventiveness of Metropolis seemed to dull with every far-out fashion statement or world-mixing song.

Now it’s 2010, and Monae has finally released her first full-length, The Archandroid. Covering the next two suites in her four suite plan, the album fully realizes her ambitions and never seems to have been compromised for sales. As far as debut LPs go, this is one of the denser, most ambitious of recent years, especially from an artist on a major label (shout-out to Aftermath and Interscope). It covers a huge range of styles and influences while rarely sacrificing melody and frequently surprising over a probably too-long duration. If it’s too long, it’s worth it if she takes another 3 years to deliver part 4.

Now the part where I feel bad: this album will likely not be a major smash, despite being more forward-thinking, risk-taking and plain better than anything Lady Gaga has done to date. Whether she’s blending African rhythms with Prince-like sped-up vocals, as she does on “Faster,” following that with straight-up disco on “Locked Inside,” or announcing each suite with an “Overture,” she’s arresting and assured. All the elements feel new in this combination as she effortlessly hops and skips from style to style. It’s a blessing and a curse; this music is arresting, but not as immediately memorable as, say, something the Black Eyed Peas might come up with. At the same time, its breadth and virtuosity is immediately admirable. It’s the rare thing nowadays, to have an album as fully stuck in the album format as this.

There’s a story here, but it’s not necessary to enjoy the disc. In fact, maybe if she ditched the story some of the more meandering tracks could be lopped off. Or, maybe having the story lends such a far-flung range of material some semblance of cohesion. I don’t know; I’m not the artist. Everything grooves so effortlessly that it’s intoxicating on first listen. It’s commendable that Bad Boy let Monae indulge like this -- 20 tracks, maybe none would be a great single, some lasting less than two minutes, the closing two taking up over 14 minutes total. For its range alone, it should be heard by everybody, if only to give any future rookie label signees something to think about.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=LHgbzNHVg0c

Janelle Monae:

• Official Site
• MySpace
• Last.fm
• Twitter

I didn’t listen! I should’ve known!

Okay, maybe that’s a little over-dramatic. But with The Dead Weather’s second outing, Sea of Cowards (opens in iTunes), a pattern is forming with bands involving Jack White. For the Raconteurs, for example, their first album was a somewhat pedestrian take on their songwriter-driven sound. The second album blew that open and unleashed a mighty, towering beheamoth of blues riffs, story songs and unapologetic muscle. Even the leap from the White Stripes eponymous album (itself not to be sneezed at) to De Stijl was impossible to foresee. So it should be no surprise that The Dead Weather have evolved so quickly and so well compared to their debut, but it struck me by surprise all the same.

The first Dead Weather album was a bit formless and unmemorable. Even the Bob Dylan cover kind of just melded into their swampy blues sound. Sea of Cowards is also pretty formless, but the difference is that it uses this to a definite advantage. No, I still can’t really pick out one song as a true highlight compared to others, but everything is amped up a bit, and the band’s dynamics are a bit tighter. They were always a pretty unique band -- combing a dirty, electric sound with a staggering brand of sexuality. Now their former weaknesses work as strengths.

The band just plays so well off each other; any other band could or would be satisfied with these results. The guitars are jagged and abrasive in the right places. White as drummer is still not a notable element, but he fits into their chemistry and never feels unlike the source of their direction. To their credit, things never sound derivative of the bands that Voltron’d on this one (White Stripes/Raconteurs/Queens of the Stone Age/The Kills members make up the band). At the same time, this album feels less like a side project than the one before it.

Most surprisingly, it’s almost tempting to say that Alison Mossheart came into her own here. Truth is, she came into her own on The Kills’ work. But compared to Horehound, she’s electric,the center of attention. The kind of rough blues they did on their debut is now made a sexy kind of dangerous thanks to her voice, which is bent and filtered through effects and her own efforts to become a kind of ghastly siren song, whether on the cackling laughs of “i’m Mad” or the dangerous, seductive swagger of “The Difference Between Us.”

As far as side projects go, The Dead Weather are something else on Sea Of Cowards. They’ve beaten their respective bands’ worst moments -- and their DNA consists of some damned talented bands. Maybe they wouldn’t be as notable if not for their frontwoman and drummer, but for now it’s safe to be thankful something happened to give them some shine.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=K0YI0UUazkU

The Dead Weather

• Official Site
• YouTube
• Third Man Records

What a wonderful time period to live in, when a rapper can be labeled a sellout by the very blogs that made him a signable entity, sell under 90,000 copies of his debut, and still turn up at the top of the charts. Those facts say a lot about the state of the music industry in the spring of 2010. B.o.B.’s The Adventures of Bobby Ray is the album in question, and in many ways it deserves its chart-topping fate by sheer virtue of having the balls to be a rap album openly courting a non-hip-hop audience.

The aim is apparent just by looking at the guest list: heavy hitters include Lupe Fiasco, T.I. and Eminem, names recognizable to anybody who has paid any attention to mainstream rap in the last ten years. More curious, though, is the inclusion of Paramore singer (and Assault’s consensus choice for “Best Frontwoman Ever!!!!”) Hayley Williams on the chorus on two versions of lead single “Aeroplanes.” Tucked in among the album tracks is “Magic,” with Rivers Cuomo of Weezer. Topping off this power pop cocktail: “Kids,” heavily featuring a Vampire Weekend sample.

Fellow rap blog hero Wale had a similar reliance on guest stars, but with the exception of a pre-”Bad Romance” Lady Gaga, they weren’t such heavy-hitters in crossover areas. B.o.B. is lucky his voice – a flexible, elastic flow and some better-than-autotune singing – doesn’t get drowned out. (He should spend every day until he starts on his follow-up thanking God that Eminem doesn’t “Renegade” him.) Even if he sometimes gets lost in the shuffle, you’ll remember who he is.

The beats stray towards melodic – perfect for a pop-leaning album like this one. In its own terms, it’s pretty successful, but it’s never transcendant. The choruses are memorable, but not necessarily much more than that. I remember B.o.B. more for the sound of his flow rather than the things he says with it,
but I will say that it’s refreshing that his attitude is positive and uplifting. This is a damned good album for summer afternoon car rides to the next party.

But these are all such generic details. What of the specific songs, you ask? Well, they certainly play it safe. That’s not to say they’re boring, but they don’t add many points to the “ambition” column. On their own terms, though, they’re especially engaging pump-up songs. They’re hopeful and human, especially on the two “Airplanes” tracks. “Don’t Let Me Fall” opens the album on a a similarly unsure note (emotionally; musically, it knows what’s up). Rap, a genre as indebted to its performers’ self-cultivawted mythology as country, has been moving for years into a more nakedky emotional realm (see the book of Kanye, chapter 808s & Heartbreak). It’s still refreshomg to see someone bridging that gap, though, bragging and pumping himself up without being completely sure that this will go as well as hoped.

There are moments of self-assuredness, though, as on the T.I. and Playboy Tre-featuring “Bet I.” but the default emotion is determination mixed with doubt. The triumph of this album is that B.o.B. finds so many different shades of it. Its failure is that it never overcomes thr suspicion that it might have been constructed by a committee and called-in favors.

B.o.B.:

• Official Site
• MySpace

Popular bar-rock troubadours The Hold Steady begin their latest album, Heaven Is Whenever, on a decidedly different note than usual. Rather than opening with a guitar-heavy rocker, we hear the soft, ballad-esque “Sweet Part Of The City,” a track that hearkens back to the opener of the band’s debut, Almost Killed Me. It sets the tone for the rest of the record, a cyclical (and at times cynical) take on the themes and characters lead singer Craig Finn has written about for the past six years, spanning four discs.

The sound for this new album is something new for the band as well, informed more by film scores than the blatant cribbing from Bruce Springsteen and Bob Dylan heard on previous albums. The increased focus on instrumentals (and loss of keyboardist Franz Nicolay) creates a more intimate and focused sound, as opposed to the largely sprawling sonic experience of Boys & Girls In America and Almost Killed Me. The intimate sound and lyrics hearken back to Separation Sunday, although thematically (and chronologically) the album is a follow-up to 2008’s Stay Positive.

The softer sound and introspection allows for the more rocking numbers, like “Hurricane J” and “Rock Problems,” to stand out against tracks like “We Can Get Together” and debut single “The Weekenders.” The sound as a whole meshes well, creating a cohesive record that has to be listened to all the way through, without skipping around, to fully appreciate.

All in all, this is a fantastic record from a band that seemingly does not know how to release a bad one. It seems like the beginning of something new from one of the best rock bands of the decade, and I’m eager to see where this new trip leads.

The Hold Steady:

• Official Site
• MySpace
• Last.fm

Merle Haggard. The man is a country legend, a 72 year-old singer with a still-wonderful voice, a clear baritone with gravitas to spare. So he’s released a new album this week, I Am What I Am. The title basically says it all; Haggard’s not one to update his sound, so the collection’s a standard set of stodgy old man music. The key is that it’s good stodgy old man music, if you’re into the classic country scene. It’s established on the outset, when Haggard brags about how he saw Bob Wills and Elvis (not the glasses-wearing one!) “when they played a show.”

Haggard, a recent cancer survivor, chooses to use the record to celebrate life. So, there are a lot of relaxed songs about love here. He loves his wife, love itself… and Mexican bands. He pays tribute to the latter in the song “Mexican Bands,” a funny song punctuated with horns and lyrics about sombreros and not understanding Spanish. He is what he is: a Bob Wills superfan. “Live and Love Always” approximates the Wills’ sound:  a rowdy looseness, audible instructions to the players, swingin’ fiddle playing. It’s fitting that on an album celebrating life, one of the stand-out tracks would celebrate one of his heroes.

On the other end of the spectrum is “Bad Actor.” Showing a level of self-reflectiveness and security, knowing his reputation and knowing what he is now, it’s a great, moving track. If it feels heavier than the rest of the album, it’s to good effect. It’s a reflective song, looking at his persona as a performer and facing how it clashes with his “real” self. It’s the most resonant song here and elevates the set as a whole by being seemingly a more naked confessional moment, sounding deeply personal from a man whose sung from an outlaw’s perspective for most of his recording career.

The rest of the album is the kind of country he’s long-perfected. There’s something pleasant, if inessential, about this album. There’s a sense that most of this is just fun for him at this point -- and who can blame him? Let him sing the things he loves, not quite repeating himself but not quite showing an artistic trajectory. He’s Merle fucking Haggard, he am what he am.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=ffHcGlF0xDw

Merle Haggard:

• Official Site
• Last.fm
• Wikipedia

When I saw on Metacritic‘s upcoming release calendar that Ratt had a new album coming out, I knew that I had to check it out. The braindead fun of hair metal is appealing -- a vehicle for riffage and killer solos without pretension. Looking at their Wikipedia page, though, I can’t even be sure who makes up this band anymore. It’s got a lot of the original members, but the list of people involved since 1992 is endless. It’s a situation worthy of Spinal Tap, if legal issues, overdoses and a seeming free-for-all of bands trading members like sports teams figured into that movie at all. So really, it’s a miracle and a high compliment that the new album is not a disaster.

Infestation is its name, and it does feel almost like a new beginning for this band. Right off the bat, though, things feel a bit strange. Somewhere along the way -- and I make no claim to be a Ratt expert, so I wouldn’t know exactly when -- Stephen Pearcy started sounding a bit like an older, more gnarled Axl Rose. Infestation‘s production on vocals is reminiscent of Chinese Democracy: a lot of the time there’s a high yelp, which sounds natural to these songs, backed with a threatening growl, which is off-putting and strange. The pop-metal riffs, despite the passing of lead guitarist Robbin Crosby, are still there, though. They’re muscular, and the fills play like the band has something to prove. Let’s face it: they do, and for several songs on this album, it sounds like the magic you hear in “Round and Round” could be there.

The opener, “Eat Me Up Alive,” suffers from that weird vocal inflection (I think Pearcy is trying to sound seductive with that growl, but it sounds more threatening), but “Best of Me” and “A Little Too Much” provide the heavy guitar heroics a new Ratt album promises. The hooks are there, too: up through “As Good as It Gets,” this collection is a strong set of songs. If they’d chosen to pad a greatest hits set with any of these songs, they’d hang perfectly with their best moments. Ratt were never an important band, but they were generally pretty fun, and for a little under half that album, they do accomplish that much.

Unfortunately, it’s not all rainbows and bonercorns in Rattland. The second half of the album is pretty dismal, filled with predictable filler and a ballad, “Take Me Home,” that feels obligatory. That there is only one ballad is a compliment, though -- they manage to thrive on that hard party sound for almost the whole album. It’s the weakness of the material the brings them down, rather than a lack of diversity.

There isn’t much forward momentum in hair metal, artistically, though, so bands like Ratt have always worked better in song-sized doses. Ultimately, Ratt’s Infestation is probably best for the hardcore only. However, try this: download “The Best of Me” and “A Little Too Much.” Tack ‘em onto the end of the greatest hits collection Ratt & Roll 81-91 and see that they feel home there. Ratt’s still got it, warts and all.

www.youtube.com/watch?v=CjcZ5MTOh3g

Ratt:

• Official Site
• MySpace
• Last.fm
• The Ratt Gang