Main Attrakionz, Bossalinis & Fooliyones

Characterized by ghostly vocal samples, clattering drums and a low-fidelity sound, the style a handful of bloggers and scene wonks have dubbed “cloud rap” has become a refreshingly new production language in hip-hop. Borne out of the woozy, codeine-infused style of DJ Screw, its fans include some of rap’s biggest young MCs (A$AP Rocky, Mac Miller) as well as underground labels such as Type, who put out a vinyl release from cloud rap linchpins Main Attrakionz last year. Now Attrakionz — the duo of Squadda B and Mondre M.A.N. — are heading into mainstream consciousness with this impressive debut album.

The stylistic touchstone could be the chorus of Nas’s “Life’s A Bitch,” with its singsong delivery and lyrics about a hand-to-mouth existence on the street. There is a lot of talk of small-time hustling, making cash, spending it, getting high, getting laid on Bossalinis. “On Tour” sees Mondre “fucking up a lot of money” and finally crooning “I’m poor.” It’s about as far from Rick Ross as it’s possible to get, compounded by the fact the track’s producer has the decidedly low-rent moniker of Uptown Greg.

Their psychedelic, out-of-tune flow is similar to that of fellow Oakland native Lil B, and when they multi-track their detuned vocals into chorus lines, as on album highlight “Bury Me A Millionaire,” the effect is jarring and eerily beautiful. The production is just as colorful, with rave pianos and old-school snares threaded through more echoing moments. The overall result is a kind of 21st-century G-funk: Grey Goose may have replaced Tanqueray of the liquor of choice, but this evokes the California of pre-fame Snoop, full of casual sex, cheap thrills and, yes, clouds of weed smoke.

Main Attrakionz, Bossalinis & Fooliyones

Characterized by ghostly vocal samples, clattering drums and a low-fidelity sound, the style a handful of bloggers and scene wonks have dubbed “cloud rap” has become a refreshingly new production language in hip-hop. Borne out of the woozy, codeine-infused style of DJ Screw, its fans include some of rap’s biggest young MCs (A$AP Rocky, Mac Miller) as well as underground labels such as Type, who put out a vinyl release from cloud rap linchpins Main Attrakionz last year. Now Attrakionz — the duo of Squadda B and Mondre M.A.N. — are heading into mainstream consciousness with this impressive debut album.

The stylistic touchstone could be the chorus of Nas’s “Life’s A Bitch,” with its singsong delivery and lyrics about a hand-to-mouth existence on the street. There is a lot of talk of small-time hustling, making cash, spending it, getting high, getting laid on Bossalinis. “On Tour” sees Mondre “fucking up a lot of money” and finally crooning “I’m poor.” It’s about as far from Rick Ross as it’s possible to get, compounded by the fact the track’s producer has the decidedly low-rent moniker of Uptown Greg.

Their psychedelic, out-of-tune flow is similar to that of fellow Oakland native Lil B, and when they multi-track their detuned vocals into chorus lines, as on album highlight “Bury Me A Millionaire,” the effect is jarring and eerily beautiful. The production is just as colorful, with rave pianos and old-school snares threaded through more echoing moments. The overall result is a kind of 21st-century G-funk: Grey Goose may have replaced Tanqueray of the liquor of choice, but this evokes the California of pre-fame Snoop, full of casual sex, cheap thrills and, yes, clouds of weed smoke.

The D.O.T., And That

The D.O.T. seem unlikely collaborators. The Streets’ Mike Skinner is best known for rapping tales of British estate life in the tones of a delinquent claiming that a pitbull has eaten his homework, while Rob Harvey made his name as the keening singer with risibly over-hyped indie-rockers The Music. The two have a history, however: Harvey featured on The Streets’ 2011 album Computers & Blues, and the pair released a not-uncharming Christmas single the year before that.

The best of And That makes a virtue of Skinner and Harvey’s incongruity, while the rest rather struggles to accommodate it. Opening track “And A Hero” is a promising start, a frail ’80s keyboard riff intermittently jarred by immense ’90s techno surges, over which the combination of Harvey’s parched croon and Skinner’s bovver-boy chorus establish The D.O.T. as a sort of Bash Street Phil Collins and Philip Bailey. The sweet-but-barbed “Like You Used To” and the appropriately claustrophobic and paranoid “Right Side Of Madness” also bring out the best in both.

When The D.O.T. force the issue, And That is disconcertingly hard work. “You Never Asked,” featuring vocal turns by Clare Maguire and Danny Brown, is a piled-up mess, the sonic equivalent of watching someone opening an over-filled crockery cabinet. “Goes Off” is rather too redolent of the sort of thing inexplicably played at deafening volume in London shoe shops. There’s enough that’s good here to prompt hope that there’s more where And That came from, however.

Who Are…Tamaryn

The contrast between the cover art for Tamaryn’s Tender New Signs and their 2010 debut The Waves is telling: A lush array of fuschia petals signifying new life, growth and resilience have replaced the barren, vast red-rock landscape, and singer Tamaryn’s distant figure is gone altogether. That may be because Tamaryn retreated from public life while writing the follow-up, so much so that she and guitarist Rex John Shelverton worked mostly long-distance, exchanging ideas and notes via email and phone. “The title of the record is an impressionistic idea of little glimpses of hope and little openings of life when you feel shut off and hopeless,” she explains during a rehearsal for the group’s upcoming tour. Even though Tamaryn closed herself off from the world while writing the album, Tender New Signs is lyrically their brightest collection of songs to date, lined with slivers of optimism like “Found a way to feel again/ We don’t have to see half blind.”

eMusic’s Marissa G. Muller talked with her about their fresh approach, bending gender roles in rock and creating her own universe through music.

On her move to L.A.:

L.A. is pretty magical. [Like NYC], it feels like anything could happen at any moment. You can also have a lot of privacy. I sort of went into retreat and hid in my apartment and didn’t really talk to people this year. I spent a lot of time writing lyrics, holed up in Silver Lake and not seeing people at all. It’s not like New York, where you have to be surrounded by thousands of people at all times.

On the artwork for the album:

Only two [other] people had any influence on the record: Rex and Shaun Durkan (of the Weekend), who did the artwork and individual covers for every song on the album. I want to be subtle about it, but the artwork is flower petals and [Durkan's] cum. I was thinking, “Nothing says more about life than that.” It’s romantic and emotional. I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell anyone, but it’s beautiful. I wanted something surreal yet hyperreal. Those petals are real — vivid and detailed — and the paint and other stuff make it fluid, ethereal.

On working long-distance with Rex John Shelverton:

My writing process was different this time around — we wrote long-distance. Rex came up with little ditties on guitar and then I would come up with arrangements, melodies and lyrics. We’d pass songs back and forth and then fully flesh it out, and [ultimately] recorded the album in San Francisco. The distance works well, because if we’re in the same space we distract each other. It’s better to be alone.

How the distance informed their sound:

The album is all about duality — feeling isolated, but at the same time, connected. A lot of my lyrics are about feeling alone and disconnected. But at the same time, there’s this optimism throughout the record, a really romantic view. After a lifetime of disappointment, never extinguishing hope. It’s not “We Are the World”; it’s a subtle, personal outlook.

On maintaining optimism through her art:

The only thing I really believe in is creativity, and I feel like being alive can be tragic without it. There’s a lot of pain and suffering, but all human beings are connected — whether or not you sit on your computer all day. You can access all of these emotions and can’t totally desensitize yourself to them. My connection to spirituality is through art.

On the romanticism in “Afterlight”:

Lyrically, it ties everything together; simple, romantic lyrics with dissent. There are a lot of lyrics on the album about love — real, universal love versus romantic love, and the personal wisdom you gain between the two. I’m interested in taking classic themes and connecting to them so that they feel important to me — and hopefully to others.

On hoping listeners will project their own experiences onto the songs:

Great art, which I would hope to one day make, leaves things open-ended enough where the artist is connected to it, but it feels spacious enough for anybody to step in and connect to it. That’s why great films have these endings that leave you talking about them for days.

Music is so emotional, and we approach it emotionally. Everyone wants to say our guitar sound is “huge,” and I’m fine with that, but the reason we do it is because it has this vast sonic thing happening where you can hear the melody but the reverb gives it this magical quality that you can hear your own things inside. It’s interactive. On the other hand, it’s so simple and has bass tracks, drums and vocals — not much there, but all of this space between these huge modulating sounds creates a confounding symphony.

On challenging notions of gender in rock:

There are some songs I’m writing through a male perspective — in “The Garden” I switch between [genders] in the verses. When I think of shoegaze — a label we often get — like early Verve, Stone Roses, Ride, I see these boys’ club bands getting sweaty and making epic pop songs. I thought it would be interesting to do that but have [a] feminine perspective as the voice. I took influences from Kate Bush and singer-songwriter stuff I grew up listening to and applied it to [shoegaze].

I’m interested in the archetype and ideas of androgyny. My mother and godmother were Jungian and that stuff had been in my brain forever. That’s what most rock songs are about, anyway: relationships. In so many songs, guys are talking about women and you don’t hear them talking about themselves all that much. It’s all about the muse. I like coming from the perspective of a muse, the feminine energy on the other end of it — being desired, but also feeling alienated. As a woman, you want this other fulfillment that often times a masculine persona isn’t able to give. All of these different ideas are cool to use in a song, but it’s not an essay. It’s just a line in the song.

On making music her career:

Being in a band is strange, because you’re creating a universe to escape the one you live in, but then you have to invite other people. You’re trying to create a space for yourself but then you open it up to everyone. It’s a total ego trip for everyone in a band.

Music is not rewarding in the physical sense. You don’t get a lot of money — or any most of the time. But it fuses with your emotions. It can be transcendent. We’re not the biggest band in the world and we’re not rich, but we have affected people in the way that some of my favorite music has affected me.

Leila Josefowicz, Salonen: “Out Of Nowhere”– Violin Concerto; Nyx

When Finnish conductor Esa-Pekka Salonen demoted himself to the lowlier role of composer and left his post at the Los Angeles Philharmonic (where he successfully transformed a good orchestra into a major presence), he did music a favor by carving out more time to devote to composition — which is not to malign his tenure or recorded legacy. This cultural boon comes in the form of pieces like this Violin Concerto, written for his ideal ally and co-star Leila Josefowicz. While history boasts a long legacy of conductor-composers unable to distance themselves from their podium repertoire, there are a few — Leonard Bernstein chief among them, who was witty enough to infuse his Broadway offering West Side Story with Stravinsky, Schoenberg and Blitzstein in his own original way — able to turn the liability of their overstuffed musical heads into an asset. In Salonen’s music, we hear the work of his titans — from Ligeti to John Adams, Berg to Lutoslawski, Berio to Debussy — whipped into a frenzied, deliciously manic musical stew of his own singular devising. And with the powerhouse technique of Ms. Josefowicz aside the composer himself lending his famous way with the orchestra to the no-doubt familiar faces of the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, this is a potent document of an important new contribution to the repertoire.

Who Are…Tamaryn

The contrast between the cover art for Tamaryn’s Tender New Signs and their 2010 debut The Waves is telling: A lush array of fuschia petals signifying new life, growth and resilience have replaced the barren, vast red-rock landscape, and singer Tamaryn’s distant figure is gone altogether. That may be because Tamaryn retreated from public life while writing the follow-up, so much so that she and guitarist Rex John Shelverton worked mostly long-distance, exchanging ideas and notes via email and phone. “The title of the record is an impressionistic idea of little glimpses of hope and little openings of life when you feel shut off and hopeless,” she explains during a rehearsal for the group’s upcoming tour. Even though Tamaryn closed herself off from the world while writing the album, Tender New Signs is lyrically their brightest collection of songs to date, lined with slivers of optimism like “Found a way to feel again/ We don’t have to see half blind.”

eMusic’s Marissa G. Muller talked with her about their fresh approach, bending gender roles in rock and creating her own universe through music.

On her move to L.A.:

L.A. is pretty magical. [Like NYC], it feels like anything could happen at any moment. You can also have a lot of privacy. I sort of went into retreat and hid in my apartment and didn’t really talk to people this year. I spent a lot of time writing lyrics, holed up in Silver Lake and not seeing people at all. It’s not like New York, where you have to be surrounded by thousands of people at all times.

On the artwork for the album:

Only two [other] people had any influence on the record: Rex and Shaun Durkan (of the Weeknd), who did the artwork and individual covers for every song on the album. I want to be subtle about it, but the artwork is flower petals and [Durkan's] cum. I was thinking, “Nothing says more about life than that.” It’s romantic and emotional. I wasn’t sure if I was going to tell anyone, but it’s beautiful. I wanted something surreal yet hyperreal. Those petals are real — vivid and detailed — and the paint and other stuff make it fluid, ethereal.

On working long-distance with Rex John Shelverton:

My writing process was different this time around — we wrote long-distance. Rex came up with little ditties on guitar and then I would come up with arrangements, melodies and lyrics. We’d pass songs back and forth and then fully flesh it out, and [ultimately] recorded the album in San Francisco. The distance works well, because if we’re in the same space we distract each other. It’s better to be alone.

How the distance informed their sound:

The album is all about duality — feeling isolated, but at the same time, connected. A lot of my lyrics are about feeling alone and disconnected. But at the same time, there’s this optimism throughout the record, a really romantic view. After a lifetime of disappointment, never extinguishing hope. It’s not “We Are the World”; it’s a subtle, personal outlook.

On maintaining optimism through her art:

The only thing I really believe in is creativity, and I feel like being alive can be tragic without it. There’s a lot of pain and suffering, but all human beings are connected — whether or not you sit on your computer all day. You can access all of these emotions and can’t totally desensitize yourself to them. My connection to spirituality is through art.

On the romanticism in “Afterlight”:

Lyrically, it ties everything together; simple, romantic lyrics with dissent. There are a lot of lyrics on the album about love — real, universal love versus romantic love, and the personal wisdom you gain between the two. I’m interested in taking classic themes and connecting to them so that they feel important to me — and hopefully to others.

On hoping listeners will project their own experiences onto the songs:

Great art, which I would hope to one day make, leaves things open-ended enough where the artist is connected to it, but it feels spacious enough for anybody to step in and connect to it. That’s why great films have these endings that leave you talking about them for days.

Music is so emotional, and we approach it emotionally. Everyone wants to say our guitar sound is “huge,” and I’m fine with that, but the reason we do it is because it has this vast sonic thing happening where you can hear the melody but the reverb gives it this magical quality that you can hear your own things inside. It’s interactive. On the other hand, it’s so simple and has bass tracks, drums and vocals — not much there, but all of this space between these huge modulating sounds creates a confounding symphony.

On challenging notions of gender in rock:

There are some songs I’m writing through a male perspective — in “The Garden” I switch between [genders] in the verses. When I think of shoegaze — a label we often get — like early Verve, My Bloody Valentine, Stone Roses, Ride, I see these boys’ club bands getting sweaty and making epic pop songs. I thought it would be interesting to do that but have [a] feminine perspective as the voice. I took influences from Kate Bush and singer-songwriter stuff I grew up listening to and applied it to [shoegaze].

I’m interested in the archetype and ideas of androgyny. My mother and godmother were Jungian and that stuff had been in my brain forever. That’s what most rock songs are about, anyway: relationships. In so many songs, guys are talking about women and you don’t hear them talking about themselves all that much. It’s all about the muse. I like coming from the perspective of a muse, the feminine energy on the other end of it — being desired, but also feeling alienated. As a woman, you want this other fulfillment that often times a masculine persona isn’t able to give. All of these different ideas are cool to use in a song, but it’s not an essay. It’s just a line in the song.

On making music her career:

Being in a band is strange, because you’re creating a universe to escape the one you live in, but then you have to invite other people. You’re trying to create a space for yourself but then you open it up to everyone. It’s a total ego trip for everyone in the band.

Music is not rewarding in the physical sense. You don’t get a lot of money — or any most of the time. But it fuses with your emotions. It can be transcendent. We’re not the biggest band in the world and we’re not rich, but we have affected people in the way that some of my favorite music has affected me.

Joe Fiedler, Joe Fiedler’s Big Sackbut

On Joe Fiedler’s Big Sackbut, the titular trombonist-composer manages the too-rare feat of creating art while having a blast, whipping up song arrangements for his quartet of three trombonists and a tuba that are variously punchy, poignant and peculiar. Although the all-horn ensemble can’t help but conjure comparisons to the World Saxophone Quartet, the brass-heavy groups led by Lester Bowie and Dave Douglas, and the entire New Orleans brass-band tradition, Fiedler has his own idiosyncratic agenda: Like Bowie, he believes in humor that alternately tweaks and embraces convention. Hence his use of the word “sackbut” (a forerunner of the modern trombone), and his dipping into the catalogs of iconoclasts like Sun Ra (“A Call For All Demons”) and Captain Beefheart (“Blabber and Smoke”) for songs that were actually among their more conservative offerings. Fiedler’s third cover choice, a scintillating take on Willie Colon’s “Calle Luna, Calle Sol,” references and reflects his Latin chops during his stints with Celia Cruz and Eddie Palmieri. These are sifted in among seven Fiedler originals to comprise a remarkably diverse stylistic palette. Fielder accurately concludes that the inherent limitations of the group’s instrumentation will give coherence to the collection.

Those looking for dovetailed bleats and roars will be immediately satiated by the opener, “Mixed Bag,” a four-ply brass weave with nappy metallic edges. But the surprise is how effectively Big Sackbut moves at slower tempos. “Don Pullen” is a creamy swoon capped by a gorgeous solo from Ryan Keberle. Trombonist Josh Roseman and the group tap into Beefheart’s skewed blues roots on “Blabber.” And Marcus Rojas is a revelation with an opening tuba solo on “Ging Gong” that gurgles with the resonance of a didgeridoo. In fact Rojas, who has likewise been vital to Douglas’s Brass Ecstasy and Henry Threadgill’s Very Very Circus, is the clear MVP of the Sackbut crew, providing a near-ubiquitous creative bottom and offering compelling counterpoint on most every trombone solo. Here’s hoping that he and the three ‘bones huff, puff and slide their way to another Fiedler-guided outing in the not-too-distant future.

Pinback, Information Retrieved

Rob Crow and Zack Smith, as Pinback, are dedicated followers of a certain Pacific Northwestern strain of urgent, philosophical indie rock, one that started with Sunny Day Real Estate and coalesced around Modest Mouse and Heatmiser. But the duo doesn’t hail from Olympia or Portland or even Seattle: Crow and Smith are California boys through and through, recreating their favorite sounds on their own terms using their own tools, which means that the climactic choruses and spirit quests of their heroes get artfully mussed up through the filter of Sunshine State shaggy-dog guides Pavement.

They haven’t changed their basic game on their fifth album Information Retrieved, but they’re playing it better than ever. By coming at their often ruminative or ecstatic songs from unexpected angles, Pinback give the finished product a beautifully lopsided feel. The knotty guitars in “Glide” feel imported in from a math-rock tune, but they provide firm ballast for the mass of harmonies to bounce off of, while a mechanical, slightly-too fast drum pattern in “Sherman” pushes the oceans of vocal overdubs forward, giving lyrics about seeking relief through drowning an undercurrent of menace.

But just because Pinback doesn’t give you what you expect doesn’t mean they don’t give you the goods; opener “Proceed To Memory” rides a rubbery bass line to anthemic chorus, which sees Crow yelling “come out of bed,” his every strained plea underlined with a shouted counterpoint and jagged guitar riffs. It a rousing song in a style they’ve made their own: All the smart smart-asses know when to play it straight.

New This Week: Godspeed, Ben Gibbard and More

A whole bunch of new records worth investigating today. Let’s get started:

Godspeed! You Black Emperor, Alleujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend!: The revered post-rock collective returns from a many-year slumber to resurrect their mighty sound. To hear Stephen Deusner tell it, time away has allowed them to rediscover and bear down on their strengths:

Allelujah!, like their best material, conveys an unnameable dread that lies well outside the purview of lyrics (they don’t have any) and standard song structures (which they explode). The expected elements remain — heraldic guitars, jarring sound collages, disquieting drones, roiling crescendos — yet they combine in new and unexpected ways. In fact, it shows the band rediscovering and reclaiming its primary mission, which is to make music that is heavy in both sound and concept.

Ben Gibbard, Former Lives: The Death Cab front man opens up his song vaults, cobbling together his first “proper” solo album ever from a wealth of songs dating back years. Annie Zaleski writes:
Recorded partly with Earlimart’s Aaron Espinoza, Former Lives is a collection of songs Gibbard stockpiled over eight years, a time period that encapsulated “three relationships, living in two different places, drinking then not drinking,” as he writes in the album’s bio. The album is wildly varied as a result; the music touches on everything from silly a cappella (the fanciful, nursery-rhyme-like “Shepherd’s Bush Lullaby”) and mariachi-flavored folk-rock (“Something’s Rattling (Cowpoke),” which features the Trio Ellas) to a ’70s AM Gold homage (“Duncan, Where Have You Gone?”)

Martha Wainwright, Come Home To Mama: The celebrated singer-songwriter’s first album since losing her mother, folk-singer icon Kate McGarrigle, and having a kid. She’s got a lot on her mind, and Rachael Maddux tells us more:

. Come Home to Mama is Wainwright’s first record since she gave birth to her first child and lost her mother, the folk singer Kate McGarrigle, within the span of a few months in 2009 and 2010, and the ironies of those concurrent milestones figure heavily into her lyrics here, alternately searching and celebratory, casting wide nets of existential despair and fixating on domestic minutia.

Tamaryn, Tender New Signs: An uncommonly lush and beautiful shoegaze pop album. Laura Studarus writes:

Tamaryn’s Tender New Signs is a middle-of-the-night meditation on love and its constant companion, heartbreak. Titular frontwoman Tamaryn curates her band’s after-hours malaise with a breathy murmur, guitarist Rex John Shelverton supporting her efforts through a fuzzed-out wall of guitars. Playing like the nebulous thought patterns that occur between the time the head hits the pillow and the brain finally calls it a day, their desolate shoegaze is a place where fantasies and nightmares lay side-by-side.

Regal Degal, Veritable Who’s Who: Guitar-driven indie from this Brooklyn group recalles the post-Joy Division, pre-New Order sound of Factory Records, when groups like The Wake were making doomy, morose, atmospheric music for sad Manchester lads. That is, of course, meant as the highest possible compliment.

Chelsea Wolfe, Unknown Rooms: A subdued and beautiful acoustic record from Wolfe, whose chilling Apokalypsis we loved so much last year. Andy Beta writes:

Subtitled A Collection of Acoustic Songs, her latest album suits Wolfe’s strengths, allowing nuance, rather than more shadows. Lyrically, Wolfe remains bleak (see the a cappella “I Died With You”) — which makes her liner notes’ nod to Townes Van Zandt all the more telling — but now the songs come first. Stripped back to acoustic guitar, church organ, a tom drum and upheavals of strings, Wolfe moves towards the austerity of folk in a way that feels natural.

Jamey Johnson, Living For A Song: A Tribute To Hank Cochran: The gruff country singer’s country singer assays a tribute to Hank Cochran, the legend who wrote Patsy Cline’s “I Fall To Pieces.” Dan McIntosh writes:

Jamey Johnson’s Living for a Song: A Tribute to Hank Cochran directly follows the country singer/songwriter’s expansive 2010 two-disc set, The Guitar Song with a tribute to one of the masters of the heartsick love ballad. Cochran is most famous for penning Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces,” and Johnson’s reverent tribute album is evidence that Cochran’s pained honky-tonk ruminations continue to resonate with broken hearts everywhere. Stylistically, these duet interpretations opt for respect over reinvention. The arrangements resemble the kind of old ’60s country record you might find at a yard sale, full of weepy pedal steel, honky-tonk piano and understated drums.

Donald Fagen, Sunken Condos: Steely Dan frontman and perennial dirty old man at the cocktail bar dreams up a vivid new cast of unsavories and idiosyncrats for his latest solo record. Ken Micallef has the lowdown:

Recorded at tiny home studios throughout New York City, Donald Fagen’s Sunken Condos is his most intimate and quirkily entertaining album since 1982′s The Nightfly. At times recalling Steely Dan’s classic Gaucho and The Royal Scam albums, Sunken Condos glows with comfy R&B grooves, lovely, ear-wrapping melodies and Fagen’s sharply droll lyrics. Sunken Condos is so colorful and quirky, with its eccentric characters and catchy songs, it could make for a fantastic series of one-act plays.

Mac Demarco, Mac Demarco 2: Mac Demarco’s first record, Rock and Roll Nightclub, posited him as a druggy, smeared-lipstick gender-bender crooner of lo-fi rock ditties. His follow up, just titled 2, sees him stretching out and relaxing. Evan Minsker writes:

DeMarco embarks on a yacht-rock voyage, offering pop songs that are easy, carefree and romantic. Strumming a vaguely tropical-sounding twangy guitar and crooning gently, he focuses on the simple things — his favorite brand of cigarette, for example — and treats them simply. (From “My Kind of Woman”: “Oh baby, oh man/ You’re making me crazy, you’re really drivin’ me mad.”) But shot through with his infectious melodies and sense of goodwill, DeMarco delivers an album of satisfyingly consistent mellow gold.

Sky Ferreira, Ghost EP: We posted Sky’s song “Everything is Embarrassing” here a few weeks ago. This is the EP from which its taken. Ferreira exists between two worlds — some of the songs here are pulsing with electronics, others are full of weepy lap steel and put a greater focus on Ferreira’s breathy vocals.

Dead Prez, Information Age: The firebrand stalwart duo return, brandishing catchier hooks than you’d expect and the same blunt-edged force as ever. Jonah Bromwich writes:

Though their radical politics are still present, they’ve shifted slightly: stic.man and M1 appear to have taken up Buddhism. As a result, they’ve stopped trying to spark anarchy and seem content to espouse knowing eschatology. When you’re waiting on the apocalypse, after all, all you can really do is dance and pray. The dancing starts early, with the startlingly pretty “A New Beginning,” which fuses a late-’80s dance-hop beat with relatively calm verses from the duo. Addressing his constituents, M1 gently prods, “You thought the finish line was 1999, didn’t ya?” before the song launches into the best chorus we’ve heard from dead prez in years.

The Luyas, Animator: Montreal-based indie-rock collective(that is NOT Godspeed) release Broadcast-flavored, lush indie rock in the vein of late-period Radiohead or fellow Canadians The Dears. Matthew Fritch writes:

Animator is a wide-ranging, huge-sounding album with a tiny, insistent voice at its center. That would be lead singer Jessie Stein, whose voice is similar to that Broadcast’s late chanteuse, Trish Keenan, but elevated to a more pinched and pixie-ish register. The Luyas, a Montreal-based band with connections to a host of aughts-wave Canadian indie artists (Arcade Fire, Owen Pallett, Bell Orchestre) don’t seem to suffer in the slightest from the relative smallness of Stein’s vocals; in fact, they work with her short, sharp expressions to create drama.

The Legs, AAAA The New Memphis Legs: Nasty, sweaty, leering Memphis rock on the ever-great Goner records. Austin L. Ray says:

These “blood and beer-encrusted recordings from the epochal year 2000,” as the band has dubbed them, come via Eric Friedl of the Oblivians. Rounding out the incendiary, now-apparently-defunct trio is “Texas guitar noisemaker” James Arthur, and drummer Forrest Hewes, of Neckbones fame. A truly unholy racket, AAAA New Memphis Legs begins with Friedl yelling about how he’s drunk, imploring the listener to “do the legs,” and demanding little-girl lovin’ through a nasty wall of feedback as the music more or less falls all over itself.

Majeure, Solar Maximum: Sci-Fi electronic music from this Zombi member has a fantastic, throwbacky feel — lots of blinking synths and late-night future-city atmospherics. Like the soundtrack to an ’80s computer movie that never happened. RECOMMENDED

Yakuza, Beyul: Frenzied, unpredictable pedal-to-metal hardcore from long-running band. Jon Wiederhorn has this to say:

Yakuza’s sixth album, Beyul, is a hectic, hallucinogenic drag race through freeway traffic, filled with sudden lurches, rapid acceleration, dangerous spin outs, brake screeches and frustrated noisy idling. It’s a dizzying exercise in queasy chaos, consistent for about a minute at a time before peeling off in another direction. Like 2010′s Of Seismic Consequence, Beyul eschews Yakuza’s early death-metal vocals and rhythms, veering in ever-more unpredictable directions.

Pinback, Information Retrieved: The duo’s fifth album and first for post-rock specialists Temporary Reisdence finds Rob Crow and Zack Smith offering the same doses of heart-rending scream-spiked melodic indie that have made them a fervently beloved cult band. Michael Tedder writes:

Rob Crow and Zack Smith, as Pinback, are dedicated followers of a certain Pacific Northwestern strain of urgent, philosophical indie rock, one that started with Sunny Day Real Estate and coalesced around Modest Mouse and Heatmiser. But the duo doesn’t hail from Olympia or Portland or even Seattle: Crow and Smith are California boys through and through, recreating their favorite sounds on their own terms using their own tools, which means that the climactic choruses and spirit quests of their heroes get artfully mussed up through the filter of Sunshine State shaggy-dog guides Pavement.

Matmos, The Ganzfeld EP: Matmos, crazy as ever, have apparently been ‘conducting experiments’ using a heightened version of the Ganzfeld Technique. You can find more info on the goings-on here. Pretty fascinating! The resulting EP is as woozy and inventive as we’ve come to expect.

A Fine Frenzy, PINES: The third record by one of the more ambitious young bands around comes accompanied by both a short film and a book. The album itself is full of lovely, fluttering ballads that fans of people like Tori Amos and Regina Spektor and even indier artists like Mirah should enjoy.

Ken Stringfellow, Danzig in the Moonlight: Excellent title for this collection of gentle, rustling pop music. Stringfellow’s tender voice is front and center, and the songs, as you might guess from the title, favor a kind if quiet late-night pop feel; piano, tasteful electronic flourishes. Fans of R.E.M.’s Up (on which Stringfellow played) will enjoy.

Daniel Hope/Max Richter, Recomposed by Max Richter: Vivaldi, The Four Seasons: The electronic musician and contemporary does a revelatory “remix” job on the Four Seasons, recomposing the works to play with your sense memory of them and to open hidden melodic corners in a national monument. Here’s Steve Holtje with more:

Richter’s solo work combines ambient electronica with melodic minimalism, and in his recasting of The Four Seasons, everything is up for reconsideration except the classical instrumentation. Sometimes the melody is retained while elements of the accompaniment are reconstituted into a droning or minimalist style: Sometimes the rhythm is chopped up into uneven time signatures. It would have been very easy for Richter’s Four Seasons end up a cheap gimmick. Instead it aligns the Baroque and the modern in thoroughly enjoyable and memorable ways.

Mika, The Origin of Love: The title track, regrettably, is not a Hedwig & the Angry Inch cover. Mika edges away from the Queen-y, bombastic pop that defined his first full-length to something that kind of reminds me of a brighter version of Stars. Maybe it’s just because his voice kind of sounds like Torquil’s here? Lots of super-hooky electropop to brighten your spirits.

K’Naan, Country, God or the Girl: Latest from celebrated Senegalese rapper finds him leaning more heavily on melody, incorporating gentle sung choruses to counterbalance his bright, skipping verses.

Finnish RSO/Leila Josefowicz, Out of Nowhere: Esa-Pekka Salonen is the former music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic and the man credited with the orchestra’s rise from its position as an excellent orchestra navigating the Big Five East Coast ensembles (Philadelphia, New York, Boston, Cleveland, Chicago) into the single-most vital orchestra in America. He is also a revered composer, and his latest violin concerto, here assayed by the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, fuses his coruscating intellect with his love of dizzying flights of melody. Leila Josefowicz tackles it with Everest-climber gusto.

Jazz Picks, by Dave Sumner
Strong drop this week, and it was difficult to encapsulate all of the solid albums available in Freshly Ripped.Albums went to either extreme:straight-ahead or out on the fringes, with the latter probably consisting of the stronger efforts.Worth mentioning that the Criss Cross label dropped several albums; I mention one of them in this column.Cello gets a word in on several of this week’s Jazz Picks, and if you read this column regularly, I’m pretty much a sucker for the inclusion of that instrument in a jazz album.Let’s begin…

Ferenc Nemeth, Triumph:Featuring a core of drummer Nemeth, the guitar of Lionel Loueke, Joshua Redman on sax, and Kenny Werner on keys, it’s a hell of a strong line-up.However, the impressive part of this album is the way Nemeth stretches out on compositions, making this anything but a straight-ahead album, while also not sacrificing some of the elemental ingredients of jazz in the pursuit of experimentalism.An album with expansive themes.It loses its cohesion at times, but that’s nitpicking a recording that is impressive both as a creative endeavor and a pure listening experience.Pick of the Week.

Matthew Halsall, Fletcher Moss Park:Trumpeter Matthew Halsall has been putting out one solid album after the other.While not straying far from his modal/Miles Davis sound, his compositions on the current album bloom outward a bit wider.Rachael Gladwin’s harp brings a fullness to the album not entirely present on previous releases, and the addition of a couple tracks with strings adds some nifty flavor.Nat Birchall, Adam Fairhall, and Gavin Barras return on sax, piano, and bass respectively, and worth mentioning that all three have released album regarded highly recommended Jazz Picks over the last year.This is an album that will be great to own, but also one to use for further music discovery.Highly Recommended.

Chambr, Freewheel:A guitar trio augmented with a string section.Mixes jazz, chamber, classical, and folk with a startlingly beautiful result.Not unlike recent Jazz Pick Threads Orchestra, it’s an unconventional blending of instruments and genres that results in a seemingly simple, easy-to-enjoy set of tunes.Addicted on first listen, no end in sight. co-Find of the Week.

Seval, 2:Okay, this is something different.A quintet of vocals, cello, trumpet, bass, and guitar.Songs that have a pop-music sensibility to them even as theystretch out to more experimental territory.Beautiful, and moody as hell.co-Find of the Week.

Jeb Bishop & Jorrit Dijkstra, 1000 Words:Duo of trombonist Bishop and alto saxophonist Dijkstra.Free improvisation, but as this album proves, this need not automatically lead to dissonance and chaotic patterns.Often gentle and sublime, thought not afraid to dish out some unmitigated ferocity, this is two pros having a quality conversation with their instruments.

Clarence Penn, Dali In Cobble Hill:Terrific modern jazz set by drummer Penn, and including Ben Street on bass, Chris Potter on sax (and bass clarinet), and Adam Rogers on guitar.The up-tempo tracks really emit a buoyant charm, and contain all kinds of Autumn vivacity.Recommended.

Jeff Davis, Leaf House:Frenetic trio date with Davis on drums, Eivind Opsvik on bass, and Russ Lossing on piano.Not a member of this trio is ever going to be accused of taking the easy way out on a recording.Not afraid to challenge the listener, but also not willing to concede the element of fun.Not a typical piano trio album… a quality that is refreshing to discover from time to time.

Peter Protschka, Kindred Spirits:Strong trumpet-led quartet session.Nice mix of post- and hard-bop, so it should appeal to both old schoolers and modern jazz fans alike.The compositions are certainly enjoyable, though it’s the quality musicianship and interplay that makes this a winning album.

Gian Tornatore, The Heights:Solid modern jazz from this sextet.Led by saxophonist Tornatore, it has that quixotic mix of moody introspection and latent ferocity that is so enjoyable (and symbolic) of a large segment of the modern jazz landscape.Some terrific moments on the album, especially tunes like “Meadowlands” and “Soaring.”

Animation, Transparent Heart:This is Bob Belden’s outfit, a quintet of sax/flute, trumpet, piano, drums, bass, and plenty of effects.Belden, who has done some extraordinary work with the music of Miles Davis, as well as leaving his stamp all around the jazz world, brings some of the modern fusion that often proves to be inescapably infectious, via both serenity and groove.Good stuff.

Jacob Anderskov, Granular Alchemy:Pianist Anderskov rounds out a quartet with a crazy-good line-up of Chris Speed on sax & clarinet, Gerald Cleaver on drums, and Michael Formanek on bass.Cerebral music with a smoldering intensity.

Tom Gibbs, Fear of Flying:Pleasant modern jazz session.Quartet date with Gibbs on piano, Euan Burton on bass, Will Vinson on soprano and alto saxes, and James Maddren at the drum set.A few tunes have a wonderful lightness to them, and most others have a decent post-bop swing.

Danny Green, A Thousand Ways Home:Nice straight-ahead session for pianist green, who rounds out his quartet with bass, drums, and sax, plus has a variety of guitarists sit in on the session.Nothing groundbreaking, but likable in its way.

Ben Gibbard’s 5 Favorite Solo Albums

Since Death Cab For Cutie frontman Ben Gibbard is finally releasing his first proper solo album, Former Lives, it seemed appropriate to ask about the most meaningful solo albums in his record collection. As eMusic’s Annie Zaleski spoke with Gibbard, however, it became clear that these cherished albums influenced Former Lives — whether intentionally or otherwise. Below, you’ll find Gibbard’s assessment of his favorite solo records — and eMusic’s armchair analysis of those inspirations.

Emitt Rhodes, Emitt Rhodes

Emitt Rhodes was the singer of this band called the Merry-Go-Round. They had a couple of songs on Nuggets compilations — they were a Southern California, kind of Beatles-y, proto-Beatles garage band. He plays everything on [this] record. He basically took all the advance money from the album, bought all this recording equipment and made this record all by himself.

It’s a perfect record. From top to bottom, it’s one of my top 10 records of all time. People called him the one-man Paul McCartney: That was one of the labels on him when the record came out. This record’s been one of my favorites for years, and it’s been certainly a source of inspiration when it comes to wanting to make a record where you play virtually everything yourself.

The songwriting is just phenomenal. [The songs] deal with rather broad topics, but it’s a seamless record. It doesn’t feel like somebody trying to pull one over on the listener. It sounds like a band — and the arrangements are so perfect, the production is fantastic. It’s really understated. If people want me to play something they may have not had heard, and they’re not crazy record collectors, this would be the first record I’d pull out.

Armchair Quarterback: While there are several guest musicians on Former Lives — including the mariachi group Trio Ellas and jack-of-all-trades drummer Jon Wurster — Gibbard indeed plays most of the music himself. You wouldn’t know it unless you read the liner notes, though; the album’s arrangements are rich and resonant. A duet with Aimee Mann, “Bigger Than Love,” boasts trembling organ and sturdy guitar jangle, while the mournful “Duncan, Where Have You Gone?” layers stacks of harmonies over gloomy piano and percussion.

Alan Hull, Pipedream

He was in this seminal folk-rock band in England called Lindisfarne. You can find Lindisfarne records in dollar bins all over the U.S.; they never really were popular here. I bought this record because there was a [Rene] Magritte [painting] on the front [cover]. And I didn’t know it was Magritte when I bought it, but it was a funny-looking record and it was, like, $2. It was one of those rare moments where you buy a record based on the cover, and it becomes one of your favorite records. You just got really lucky.

It’s funky, David Bowie kind of stuff, but there’s a song on it called “I Hate to See You Cry.” I covered it years ago at solo shows, because I think it’s so wonderful. This record almost feels like an accidental record: This guy had all these great songs, and somehow they never made it on to Lindisfarne records. My friend Scott McCaughey was just tweeting about this record, and I feel like I saw somewhere that Eleanor Friedberger from Fiery Furnaces had mentioned it somewhere, too. Maybe people will start giving it a proper second listen.

Armchair Quarterback: Gibbard accumulated the songs which appear on Former Lives over an eight-year period — and yes, many of these could just as easily have appeared on a Death Cab record. The folk-pop character sketches “Lady Adelaide” and “Lily” fit with the pensive, stripped-down parts of 2005′s Plans; the acoustic “I’m Building A Fire” recalls the vulnerability and sparseness of 2000′s We Have The Facts And We’re Voting Yes.

Tom Verlaine, Words From The Front

Television’s Marquee Moon is an undisputed classic; it’s one of the greatest records ever. And the record after it was pretty good as well. [But] we got so little of such a great band. I started buying [Television guitarist] Richard Lloyd and [Television vocalist/guitarist] Tom Verlaine records after I got obsessed with Television. I love this [Verlaine] record because the lyrics are really fantastic, and the arrangements are all really interesting. There’s enough there that if somebody is into Television, they would certainly find something to love. But it’s also starting to push into ’80s production a bit. Some of the stuff probably sounds good to people now, after [that style has] kind of come back around.

Armchair Quarterback: Death Cab fans should be pleased by Former Lives‘ familiar signifiers, from deeply romantic lyrics to Gibbard’s lilting croon. But the record lets him explore some very different genres — including sepia-toned country (“Broken Yolk In Western Sky”), gooey ’70s pop (“Duncan, Where Have You Gone?”) and funky, crunchy classic rock (“Oh, Woe”) — which makes it distinct within his catalog. In addition, “A Hard One To Know” features a rather new wave keyboard line and some very Television-like, brisk guitar strums.

John Cale, Paris 1919

This record would be in my top five, I think. It’s the only Cale record that’s kind of orchestral. The arrangements are very beautiful, and the song structures and lyricism is really on point. This may seem sacrilege to some people, but I believe that John Cale’s solo career, that’s the best stuff to come out of the Velvet Underground after the Velvet Underground [split up]. There are Lou Reed records that I love, but I feel like John Cale is a lot more consistent. You can play [Paris 1919] for somebody and not to have to give a context for it, and it’ll just be great.

A couple of years ago, he was playing Paris 1919 at Royce Hall at UCLA. I had, through my management, just tried to get tickets: “If there is a way to get good seats for this, can you find out for me? I’ll buy ‘em — I just want to see it.” That request went from me seeing the show to, like, “Oh, I’m playing with John Cale at this thing.” [Laughs.] It was crazy — I ended up playing a song from [1970's] Vintage Violence called “Gideon’s Bible,” which is one of my favorite songs. It was one of those shows you never thought you’d see — and I was a ball of goo the whole show. It was so powerful.

Armchair Quarterback: In the album’s official bio, Gibbard makes it clear the release of Former Lives doesn’t signal turmoil for his main band: “I’m doubtful I’ll have another solo album for another 10 years because the health of Death Cab for Cutie has never been better.” But you don’t need to be a Death Cab fan to enjoy Former Lives, because the quality of the songs lets the record stand on its own, separate from Gibbard’s musical history.

Gene Clark, No Other

I suppose it’s a little unfair to include Gene Clark, because he was in the Byrds for, like, a year. But he did go on to a solo career. He signed a record deal with Asylum Records, which was David Geffen’s label. Joni Mitchell was on [the label], and Southern California singer-songwriters — Jackson Browne’s on Asylum.

[Clark] took this huge advance on this record and made this. He went to Mendocino and wrote all the songs on the beach, in a house overlooking the water; [it was a] very romantic songwriting process. There were really big subjects written about on the record; it’s a really heavy record. The production’s a little over the top — big choruses and the songs are really long and epic.

Apparently, David Geffen was furious when he turned this record in, because there wasn’t really a single on it. It wasn’t in keeping with any of the other Asylum records at that point. They were a songwriter’s label, but they also were very commercially successful. This record was not destined for that at all. It was one of those records that torpedoed his career. He finally was able to make a record he really wanted to make, and had the resources to do it — and to receive so little support from everybody, including the press, was a bummer for him.

I’ve always been in awe of the songwriting. Even though Gene is dealing with some really large topics, he deals with them in a way that doesn’t seem overwrought and doesn’t seem precious. This period of singer-songwriter stuff I tend to really like. It’s an introspective period, but a period in which it was acceptable to be this way. It was encouraged — there are a lot of great records that came from that period.

Armchair Quarterback: Gibbard’s songwriting is generally introspective, whether he’s drawing from personal experience or exploring the inner lives of other people. But while Former Lives can be serious — “Dream Song” vividly captures the insomnia produced by racing thoughts and anxiety — it’s also delightfully whimsical. “Teardrop Windows” imagines that Seattle’s Smith Tower, a building which opened in 1914, is lonely now that it’s no longer one of the tallest structures in the city. “Oh, Woe,” meanwhile, imagines that “woe” is a nagging, impish human pest that’s determined to destroy someone’s life. Like Clark, Gibbard approaches well-worn themes from a fresh, creative angle.

Neil Young, Waging Heavy Peace

Have you ever wished your grandfather told cooler stories? Like, say, about driving his band across the Canadian prairies in an ancient hearse named Mortimer, or the time David Crosby fell asleep on his recording studio’s floor during a bout with sobriety? Never fear, Neil Young is here.

One of a recent string of aggressively unghostwritten celebrity memoirs, Young’s book, endearingly subtitled A Hippie Dream, is heavily populated with model trains, audiophile rants and lots of good old-fashioned “back in my days.” Luckily, that reminiscing is about one of the greatest musical careers of the 20th century, and the tone is so earnest and open that you quickly come to forgive any digressions that may occasionally take you off the narrative path. Besides, when he gets to the point, it’s always a fascinating one; just picture Young in 1969, during the recording of CSNY’s Déjà Vu, returning to a motel room torn apart by the bush babies he was keeping in the bathroom “for company.”

Keith Carradine’s pitch-perfect narration is warm, bemused and occasionally acidic, California cool and just as engaging as a fireside chat with your grandpa ought to be. In print, the text tends a little heavily toward ellipses and short, stilted paragraphs — aloud it flows freely and naturally. You’ll soon forget you’re not listening to Young himself — and that you’re not actually related to him.

New This Week: Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Vessel & More

Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Allelujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend! The Canadian collective’s comeback album, their first in a decade, recaptures their majestic heaviosity in a way that should erase all memory of the silence that followed 2002’s Yanqui U.X.O. All hail, writes Stephen Deusner:

“Along with their penchant for cryptic, seemingly coded titles, the group’s facility with sprawling, apocalyptic suites remains intact. ‘Allelujah!, like their best material, conveys an unnamable dread that lies well outside the purview of lyrics (they don’t have any) and standard song structures (which they explode).”

Vessel, Order of Noise Acclaimed by Mute boss Daniel Miller as “one of the best albums of the year” — and it’s not even on his label — Order of Noise by the Bristol-based Seb Gainsborough is an exploration of dub and bass that is as adventurous as anything we’ve heard in 2012.

The Jim Jones Revue, The Savage Heart Produced by towering Bad Seed Jim Scavlunos, the Jim Jones Revue’s second album takes their primeval rock ‘n’ roll into uncharted waters, inspired by Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness. Andrew Perry interviews the band here. Ian Gittins writes:

“In And Out Of Harm’s Way” deviates from the Revue’s normal wham-bam formula and unfolds into an expansive six-minute epic, while the drum-driven, Grinderman-like “7 Times Around The Sun” boasts — sacrilege! — no guitars at all.”

Patrick Wolf, Sundark and Riverlight Wolf wipes the glitter off songs from his back catalogue in this inspired “make-under”. Victoria Segal reviews:

“Divided into two halves — Sundark is melancholia, bitterness and introspection, Riverlight is love and euphoria — the collection polishes Wolf’s romanticism to a burnished glow, exposing the rich grain of cabaret and folk beneath the glittery pop opulence.”

Martha Wainwright, Come Home To Mama This is Wainwright’s first record since she lost her mother, the folk singer Kate McGarrigle, and had a baby, and the experiences are etched into every groove. Rachael Maddux writes:

“The high point of the record, and perhaps Wainwright’s whole career, is “Proserpina,” the last song McGarrigle wrote, unrecorded until now; it spills over with beautiful, fruitless longing, Wainwright’s aching voice floating above a cascade of strings but pulled back to the hard, real earth by a mournful, pacing piano line.”

Benjamin Gibbard, Former Lives The Death Cab For Cutie frontman channels the angst from three failed relationships (including Zooey Deschanel!) in this collection of songs stockpiled over the past eight years. Annie Zaleski writes:

“Thanks to the sentimental (but not overly nostalgic) atmosphere of the record, and the quality of the songwriting, Former Lives transcends “tossed-off solo project” status.”

Tamaryn, Tender New Signs The San Francisco duo of singer Tamaryn and guitarist Rex John Shelverton deliver a ’90s-looking, middle-of-the-night meditation on love and heartbreak, heavy on fuzz and reverb. Laura Studarus writes:

“Playing like the nebulous thought patterns that occur between the time the head hits the pillow and the brain finally calls it a day, their desolate shoegaze is a place where fantasies and nightmares lay side-by-side.”

Chelsea Wolfe, Unknown Rooms: A Collection of Acoustic Songs In contrast to the none-more-black stylings of last year’s Apokalypsis album, this collection of heavenly, haunting folk songs shows Wolfe has lightened up — relatively. Andy Beta says:

“On the elegiac harmonies of “Spinning Centers,” Wolfe’s voice now feels gentle as a breeze, even as it still sends a shiver.”

New This Week: Godspeed, Ben Gibbard and More

A whole bunch of new records worth investigating today. Let’s get started:

Godspeed! You Black Emperor, Alleujah! Don’t Bend! Ascend!: The revered post-rock collective returns from a many-year slumber to resurrect their mighty sound. To hear Stephen Deusner tell it, time away has allowed them to rediscover and bear down on their strengths:

Allelujah!, like their best material, conveys an unnameable dread that lies well outside the purview of lyrics (they don’t have any) and standard song structures (which they explode). The expected elements remain — heraldic guitars, jarring sound collages, disquieting drones, roiling crescendos — yet they combine in new and unexpected ways. In fact, it shows the band rediscovering and reclaiming its primary mission, which is to make music that is heavy in both sound and concept.

Ben Gibbard, Former Lives: The Death Cab front man opens up his song vaults, cobbling together his first “proper” solo album ever from a wealth of songs dating back years. Annie Zaleski writes:
Recorded partly with Earlimart’s Aaron Espinoza, Former Lives is a collection of songs Gibbard stockpiled over eight years, a time period that encapsulated “three relationships, living in two different places, drinking then not drinking,” as he writes in the album’s bio. The album is wildly varied as a result; the music touches on everything from silly a cappella (the fanciful, nursery-rhyme-like “Shepherd’s Bush Lullaby”) and mariachi-flavored folk-rock (“Something’s Rattling (Cowpoke),” which features the Trio Ellas) to a ’70s AM Gold homage (“Duncan, Where Have You Gone?”)

Martha Wainwright, Come Home To Mama: The celebrated singer-songwriter’s first album since losing her mother, folk-singer icon Kate McGarrigle, and having a kid. She’s got a lot on her mind, and Rachael Maddux tells us more:

. Come Home to Mama is Wainwright’s first record since she gave birth to her first child and lost her mother, the folk singer Kate McGarrigle, within the span of a few months in 2009 and 2010, and the ironies of those concurrent milestones figure heavily into her lyrics here, alternately searching and celebratory, casting wide nets of existential despair and fixating on domestic minutia.

Tamaryn, Tender New Signs: An uncommonly lush and beautiful shoegaze pop album. Laura Studarus writes:

Tamaryn’s Tender New Signs is a middle-of-the-night meditation on love and its constant companion, heartbreak. Titular frontwoman Tamaryn curates her band’s after-hours malaise with a breathy murmur, guitarist Rex John Shelverton supporting her efforts through a fuzzed-out wall of guitars. Playing like the nebulous thought patterns that occur between the time the head hits the pillow and the brain finally calls it a day, their desolate shoegaze is a place where fantasies and nightmares lay side-by-side.

Regal Degal, Veritable Who’s Who: Guitar-driven indie from this Brooklyn group recalles the post-Joy Division, pre-New Order sound of Factory Records, when groups like The Wake were making doomy, morose, atmospheric music for sad Manchester lads. That is, of course, meant as the highest possible compliment.

Chelsea Wolfe, Unknown Rooms: A subdued and beautiful acoustic record from Wolfe, whose chilling Apokalypsis we loved so much last year. Andy Beta writes:

Subtitled A Collection of Acoustic Songs, her latest album suits Wolfe’s strengths, allowing nuance, rather than more shadows. Lyrically, Wolfe remains bleak (see the a cappella “I Died With You”) — which makes her liner notes’ nod to Townes Van Zandt all the more telling — but now the songs come first. Stripped back to acoustic guitar, church organ, a tom drum and upheavals of strings, Wolfe moves towards the austerity of folk in a way that feels natural.

Jamey Johnson, Living For A Song: A Tribute To Hank Cochran: The gruff country singer’s country singer assays a tribute to Hank Cochran, the legend who wrote Patsy Cline’s “I Fall To Pieces.” Dan McIntosh writes:

Jamey Johnson’s Living for a Song: A Tribute to Hank Cochran directly follows the country singer/songwriter’s expansive 2010 two-disc set, The Guitar Song with a tribute to one of the masters of the heartsick love ballad. Cochran is most famous for penning Patsy Cline’s “I Fall to Pieces,” and Johnson’s reverent tribute album is evidence that Cochran’s pained honky-tonk ruminations continue to resonate with broken hearts everywhere. Stylistically, these duet interpretations opt for respect over reinvention. The arrangements resemble the kind of old ’60s country record you might find at a yard sale, full of weepy pedal steel, honky-tonk piano and understated drums.

Donald Fagen, Sunken Condos: Steely Dan frontman and perennial dirty old man at the cocktail bar dreams up a vivid new cast of unsavories and idiosyncrats for his latest solo record. Ken Micallef has the lowdown:

Recorded at tiny home studios throughout New York City, Donald Fagen’s Sunken Condos is his most intimate and quirkily entertaining album since 1982′s The Nightfly. At times recalling Steely Dan’s classic Gaucho and The Royal Scam albums, Sunken Condos glows with comfy R&B grooves, lovely, ear-wrapping melodies and Fagen’s sharply droll lyrics. Sunken Condos is so colorful and quirky, with its eccentric characters and catchy songs, it could make for a fantastic series of one-act plays.

Mac Demarco, Mac Demarco 2: Mac Demarco’s first record, Rock and Roll Nightclub, posited him as a druggy, smeared-lipstick gender-bender crooner of lo-fi rock ditties. His follow up, just titled 2, sees him stretching out and relaxing. Evan Minsker writes:

DeMarco embarks on a yacht-rock voyage, offering pop songs that are easy, carefree and romantic. Strumming a vaguely tropical-sounding twangy guitar and crooning gently, he focuses on the simple things — his favorite brand of cigarette, for example — and treats them simply. (From “My Kind of Woman”: “Oh baby, oh man/ You’re making me crazy, you’re really drivin’ me mad.”) But shot through with his infectious melodies and sense of goodwill, DeMarco delivers an album of satisfyingly consistent mellow gold.

Sky Ferreira, Ghost EP: We posted Sky’s song “Everything is Embarrassing” here a few weeks ago. This is the EP from which its taken. Ferreira exists between two worlds — some of the songs here are pulsing with electronics, others are full of weepy lap steel and put a greater focus on Ferreira’s breathy vocals.

Dead Prez, Information Age: The firebrand stalwart duo return, brandishing catchier hooks than you’d expect and the same blunt-edged force as ever. Jonah Bromwich writes:

Though their radical politics are still present, they’ve shifted slightly: stic.man and M1 appear to have taken up Buddhism. As a result, they’ve stopped trying to spark anarchy and seem content to espouse knowing eschatology. When you’re waiting on the apocalypse, after all, all you can really do is dance and pray. The dancing starts early, with the startlingly pretty “A New Beginning,” which fuses a late-’80s dance-hop beat with relatively calm verses from the duo. Addressing his constituents, M1 gently prods, “You thought the finish line was 1999, didn’t ya?” before the song launches into the best chorus we’ve heard from dead prez in years.

The Luyas, Animator: Montreal-based indie-rock collective(that is NOT Godspeed) release Broadcast-flavored, lush indie rock in the vein of late-period Radiohead or fellow Canadians The Dears. Matthew Fritch writes:

Animator is a wide-ranging, huge-sounding album with a tiny, insistent voice at its center. That would be lead singer Jessie Stein, whose voice is similar to that Broadcast’s late chanteuse, Trish Keenan, but elevated to a more pinched and pixie-ish register. The Luyas, a Montreal-based band with connections to a host of aughts-wave Canadian indie artists (Arcade Fire, Owen Pallett, Bell Orchestre) don’t seem to suffer in the slightest from the relative smallness of Stein’s vocals; in fact, they work with her short, sharp expressions to create drama.

The Legs, AAAA The New Memphis Legs: Nasty, sweaty, leering Memphis rock on the ever-great Goner records. Austin L. Ray says:

These “blood and beer-encrusted recordings from the epochal year 2000,” as the band has dubbed them, come via Eric Friedl of the Oblivians. Rounding out the incendiary, now-apparently-defunct trio is “Texas guitar noisemaker” James Arthur, and drummer Forrest Hewes, of Neckbones fame. A truly unholy racket, AAAA New Memphis Legs begins with Friedl yelling about how he’s drunk, imploring the listener to “do the legs,” and demanding little-girl lovin’ through a nasty wall of feedback as the music more or less falls all over itself.

Majeure, Solar Maximum: Sci-Fi electronic music from this Zombi member has a fantastic, throwbacky feel — lots of blinking synths and late-night future-city atmospherics. Like the soundtrack to an ’80s computer movie that never happened. RECOMMENDED

Yakuza, Beyul: Frenzied, unpredictable pedal-to-metal hardcore from long-running band. Jon Wiederhorn has this to say:

Yakuza’s sixth album, Beyul, is a hectic, hallucinogenic drag race through freeway traffic, filled with sudden lurches, rapid acceleration, dangerous spin outs, brake screeches and frustrated noisy idling. It’s a dizzying exercise in queasy chaos, consistent for about a minute at a time before peeling off in another direction. Like 2010′s Of Seismic Consequence, Beyul eschews Yakuza’s early death-metal vocals and rhythms, veering in ever-more unpredictable directions.

Pinback, Information Retrieved: The duo’s fifth album and first for post-rock specialists Temporary Reisdence finds Rob Crow and Zack Smith offering the same doses of heart-rending scream-spiked melodic indie that have made them a fervently beloved cult band. Michael Tedder writes:

Rob Crow and Zack Smith, as Pinback, are dedicated followers of a certain Pacific Northwestern strain of urgent, philosophical indie rock, one that started with Sunny Day Real Estate and coalesced around Modest Mouse and Heatmiser. But the duo doesn’t hail from Olympia or Portland or even Seattle: Crow and Smith are California boys through and through, recreating their favorite sounds on their own terms using their own tools, which means that the climactic choruses and spirit quests of their heroes get artfully mussed up through the filter of Sunshine State shaggy-dog guides Pavement.

Matmos, The Ganzfeld EP: Matmos, crazy as ever, have apparently been ‘conducting experiments’ using a heightened version of the Ganzfeld Technique. You can find more info on the goings-on here. Pretty fascinating! The resulting EP is as woozy and inventive as we’ve come to expect.

A Fine Frenzy, PINES: The third record by one of the more ambitious young bands around comes accompanied by both a short film and a book. The album itself is full of lovely, fluttering ballads that fans of people like Tori Amos and Regina Spektor and even indier artists like Mirah should enjoy.

Ken Stringfellow, Danzig in the Moonlight: Excellent title for this collection of gentle, rustling pop music. Stringfellow’s tender voice is front and center, and the songs, as you might guess from the title, favor a kind if quiet late-night pop feel; piano, tasteful electronic flourishes. Fans of R.E.M.’s Up (on which Stringfellow played) will enjoy.

Daniel Hope/Max Richter, Recomposed by Max Richter: Vivaldi, The Four Seasons: The electronic musician and contemporary does a revelatory “remix” job on the Four Seasons, recomposing the works to play with your sense memory of them and to open hidden melodic corners in a national monument. Here’s Steve Holtje with more:

Richter’s solo work combines ambient electronica with melodic minimalism, and in his recasting of The Four Seasons, everything is up for reconsideration except the classical instrumentation. Sometimes the melody is retained while elements of the accompaniment are reconstituted into a droning or minimalist style: Sometimes the rhythm is chopped up into uneven time signatures. It would have been very easy for Richter’s Four Seasons end up a cheap gimmick. Instead it aligns the Baroque and the modern in thoroughly enjoyable and memorable ways.

Mika, The Origin of Love: The title track, regrettably, is not a Hedwig & the Angry Inch cover. Mika edges away from the Queen-y, bombastic pop that defined his first full-length to something that kind of reminds me of a brighter version of Stars. Maybe it’s just because his voice kind of sounds like Torquil’s here? Lots of super-hooky electropop to brighten your spirits.

K’Naan, Country, God or the Girl: Latest from celebrated Senegalese rapper finds him leaning more heavily on melody, incorporating gentle sung choruses to counterbalance his bright, skipping verses.

Finnish RSO/Leila Josefowicz, Out of Nowhere: Esa-Pekka Salonen is the former music director of the Los Angeles Philharmonic and the man credited with the orchestra’s rise from its position as an excellent orchestra navigating the Big Five East Coast ensembles (Philadelphia, New York, Boston, Cleveland, Chicago) into the single-most vital orchestra in America. He is also a revered composer, and his latest violin concerto, here assayed by the Finnish Radio Symphony Orchestra, fuses his coruscating intellect with his love of dizzying flights of melody. Leila Josefowicz tackles it with Everest-climber gusto.

In Defense of Rush

[In both his work with Zombi as well as his solo projects under the name Majeure, A.E. Paterra has concentrated on making music that combines the pulse and precision of minimal techno with a grand, cinematic sweep. So it's little wonder that Paterra's chief influence is one of the most grandiose and cinematic bands of all time: Rush. Knowing that Rush has attracted their share of both supporters and detractors, we asked Paterra to rep for his five favorite Rush albums. He did us one better: he went to bad for five Rush albums that even Rush fans disown. We'll let him do the convincing — Ed.]

I’ve been a Rush fan since I was 15.

I remember quite clearly the morning my radio alarm went off, and my virgin prog-leaning brain was permeated with the sound of Canadian-crafted badassness. I didn’t know it then, but I was listening to the guitar solo section of “Freewill,” a section so expertly designed that anyone who was into rock music would have to take notice.

But what I remember most were those drums. At the time, I was just getting into music. I remember air drumming a lot, tapping on things. I had seen John Bonham’s “Moby Dick” solo and been into it. But this was different. When I heard this brief snippet of music in my post-dream haze, it was clear to me what I had to do. First, I needed to find out who the hell this band was. Then, I needed to buy a drum kit.

That morning started a love affair with a band that I have followed for 20 years. (You can’t really be a casual fan.) As a drummer, I became fascinated with Neil Peart. I know every damn fill in every damn song by heart. I can tell you what year a photo was taken based on what type of kit he was using. I bought heavy cymbal cleaner to strip the logos off my cymbals, just like Neil. For years, I flipped my sticks over and played with the butt ends.

Then there was something else: Those synthesizers! They used all of the cool stuff! Moog Taurus Pedals, Mini-Moogs, the Oberheim OB8, Roland Guitar Synths and double-necked Rickenbackers. Over time, I became just as big a Lee and Lifeson fan as I was of Peart — as evidenced by my modest synthesizer collection. For a tech head, this band is dangerous. I wonder if Guitar Center could exist without them. (My apologies for mentioning Guitar Center.)

But Rush’s biggest influence on me, even more than their songwriting, was their relentless touring. For a solid 15 years they were on the schedule of — record an album, followed by a tour; sometimes there was a tour in the interim, followed by another album, another tour, and so on. Non-stop. I took this inspiration, and was able to make it happen for myself — albeit only for a few years, and no way near as many dates as they would do. But it happened, and I am grateful to them for inspiring me to hit the road.

Needless to say, I was excited when I was asked to write about five of my favorite albums. Instead, though, what I decided to do was focus on five albums most people would rank at the bottom of the barrel. True fans love these albums (then again, we love them all). Among less fanatic fans, most will talk about Moving Pictures, Hemisphere or 2112, but you won’t get too many people saying, “Dude, man, ‘Open Secrets’ off Hold Your Fire is sooo tight!” But I will say that. In fact, I think I may have said that exact thing at some point. Hell, I love that song.

And now, in sequential order, the Five Rush Albums You’ve Always Wanted to Know About But Were Afraid to Ask.

Power Windows

Probably the biggest knock on this album is the production. But it was the mid ’80s, and digital production and mixing techniques had just started coming into play. Everyone was using the technology, and I, for one, don’t mind the high-end sheen. Digital and analog were still in bed together, so it wasn’t that bad. There are some expertly crafted songs on this album, as well as some long-standing live numbers like “The Big Money” and “Mystic Rhythms.” My favorite tracks are “Grand Designs” — highly sequenced synth parts and some great instrumental passages — and “Middletown Dreams.” Overall, a brilliant effort in both songwriting and production. Great artwork to boot.

Video for “The Big Money”:

Yakuza, Beyul

Yakuza’s sixth album, Beyul, is a hectic, hallucinogenic drag race through freeway traffic, filled with sudden lurches, rapid acceleration, dangerous spin outs, brake screeches and frustrated noisy idling. It’s a dizzying exercise in queasy chaos, consistent for about a minute at a time before peeling off in another direction. Like 2010′s Of Seismic Consequence, Beyul eschews Yakuza’s early death-metal vocals and rhythms, veering in ever-more unpredictable directions. Much of the album is rooted in prog, post-metal and psychedelic doom, bringing to mind bands like Neurosis, Mastodon and Dillinger Escape Plan. Roiling turmoil aside, there are some structured songs: “Mouth of the Lion” locks into an angular but consistent groove, and “Lotus Array” opens onto a vista of tribal beats, layered, melodic saxophones and sedated vocals before spiraling into spikier paths. As entrancing as their droning, mystical moments can be, Yakuza are at their best when they freefall, defying and destroying sonic conventions on their way to paths unknown.

Donald Fagen, Sunken Condos

Recorded at tiny home studios throughout New York City, Donald Fagen’s Sunken Condos is his most intimate and quirkily entertaining album since 1982′s The Nightfly.At times recalling Steely Dan’s classic Gaucho and The Royal Scam albums, Sunken Condos glows with comfy R&B grooves, lovely, ear-wrapping melodies and Fagen’s sharply droll lyrics. Populated with an amusing cast of characters, including a bowling alley “queen” (“Miss Marlene”), Runyonesque gangsters (“Good Stuff”), an interloping IT repairman (“The New Breed”), and Fagen’s usual entourage of young women (“Slinky Thing”) and ghost lovers (“I’m Not The Same Without You”), Sunken Condos also features what Fagen dubs “an Ashkenazi recasting” of Isaac Hayes’s “Out of the Ghetto,” the original’s blaxploitation strut transplanted, via wailing folk horns, to Warsaw, not Harlem.

Lacking the corporate budget of such mid-’00s Steely Dan albums as Two Against Nature and Everything Must Go, Fagen instead focused on getting the most bang for his studio buck on Sunken Condos. Produced by longtime SD multi-instrumentalist Michael Leonhart, Sunken Condos radiates warmth through relaxed vocals and an overall softer production style, built on lush Rhodes piano, organ and synthesizers; glowing vibraphone; female background vocals, and Leonhart’s delicate, Herbie Lovelle-styled drumming. As always, popping brass arrangements and wry guitar solos frame Fagen’s songs like twin Borscht Belt comedians trading barbs on a Catskills weekend.

Opener “Slinky Thing” puts Fagen’s aging mojo to the test, the 64-year-old fielding harangues from homeless men and hipsters alike admonishing him to “hold on to that slinky thing,” an updated “Hey Nineteen”-styled girlfriend he describes as “a lithe young beauty.” “I’m Not The Same Without You” blasts Fagen out of his funk, a disco-driven burner promoting the joys of being single, but coming from this grizzled curmudgeon you don’t believe the feel-good sentiments for a second. Sunken Condos is so colorful and quirky, with its eccentric characters and catchy songs, it could make for a fantastic series of one-act plays. Donald Fagen continues to work below the radar, an exceptional observer/craftsman in true Brill Building style.

The Legs, AAAA The New Memphis Legs

These “blood and beer-encrusted recordings from the epochal year 2000,” as the band has dubbed them, come via Eric Friedl of the Oblivians. Rounding out the incendiary, now-apparently-defunct trio is “Texas guitar noisemaker” James Arthur, and drummer Forrest Hewes, of Neckbones fame. A truly unholy racket, AAAA New Memphis Legs begins with Friedl yelling about how he’s drunk, imploring the listener to “do the legs,” and demanding little-girl lovin’ through a nasty wall of feedback as the music more or less falls all over itself. Along its scant 27-minutes-and-change, there’s nary a slow spot (save perhaps drudgy midpoint, “Been Kinda Lost”), and it’s very clearly no surprise these dudes were contemporaries of The Reatards. In fact, other than these nine tracks, the only other recording that exists of The Legs is a song called “I’ve Been Raped (By the Pinball Machine),” which features King Louie and Jay Retard on organ.

The Luyas, Animator

Animator is a wide-ranging, huge-sounding album with a tiny, insistent voice at its center. That would be lead singer Jessie Stein, whose voice is similar to that Broadcast’s late chanteuse, Trish Keenan, but elevated to a more pinched and pixie-ish register. The Luyas, a Montreal-based band with connections to a host of aughts-wave Canadian indie artists (Arcade Fire, Owen Pallett, Bell Orchestre) don’t seem to suffer in the slightest from the relative smallness of Stein’s vocals; in fact, they work with her short, sharp expressions to create drama: At times set against a plush curtain of strings, horns, electronics and a 12-string electric zither dubbed the Moodswinger, Stein is always still the first thing you notice in the floodlights.

Just as the Luyas commenced writing Animator, the band received word that a close friend had died, and certain lyrics, repeated like depressive mantras, seem to reflect the grieving process: “Dreams die, dreams die”; “I get bad, bad feelings/ I get by for days.” But Animator is open-ended enough not to be read solely as epitaph, and album is far from a funeral march. (For one, sci-fi laser-gun sounds populate “Earth Turner” to awesome and geeky effect.) The album is, however, swollen with baroque emotional pop that shades toward fellow Montreal band the Dears, as well as deft electronic washes that confirm the Luyas’ appreciation of Radiohead, In Rainbows in particular. Nowhere does the band flex its compositional muscles with more confidence than on the nearly nine-minute opener “Montuno,” which hopscotches around classical motifs and electronic beats until winding up in the neighborhood of a ’60s French pop ballad. For almost any other band, it would be an epic; for the Luyas, it’s just another carefully crafted mood swing.

Bill Laswell, Means of Deliverance

It’s hard to imagine any musician holding a listener’s attention with an album comprised exclusively of acoustic bass solos, but veteran producer, remixologist and bassist Bill Laswell pulls off the trick nicely on Means of Deliverance.Laswell’s career has been a journey of bold steps, from his innovative ’80s dub/noise band Material to left-stream production duties with Iggy Pop, Laurie Anderson, Brian Eno, Bootsy Collins and Motorhead, to collaborations with William S. Burroughs and remixes of Miles Davis (Panthalassa), and Bob Marley (Dreams of Freedom). Laswell has followed a singular approach to fulfillment, his own music often cerebral and solemn, yet oddly invigorating.

Such is the nature of Means of Deliverance, with Laswell filling the album’s 10 bass solos with rhythmic, rolling melodies that recall Chinese folk songs, Native American chants, North African spirituals, the rambling rhythms of the Deep South, and all manner of blues, jazz, and even a touch of Jaco Pastorious. But at the center of Laswell’s music — from the harmonics bellowing “In Failing Light,” to the Sun Records pulse of “Lightning in the South” (which recalls Canned Heat’s “On The Road Again”) to the voodoo-calling closer, “Low Country” — is an undeniable sense of stillness that is both calming and eerily sad.

dead prez, Information Age

If, in the past, you’ve taken dead prez’s bristling political invective like so many spoonfuls of vinegar, the duo’s new album might serve as a remedying dose of synth-funk honey. Though their radical politics are still present, they’ve shifted slightly: stic.man and M1 appear to have taken up Buddhism. As a result, they’ve stopped trying to spark anarchy and seem content to espouse knowing eschatology. When you’re waiting on the apocalypse, after all, all you can really do is dance and pray. The dancing starts early, with the startlingly pretty “A New Beginning,” which fuses a late-’80s dance-hop beat with relatively calm verses from the duo. Addressing his constituents, M1 gently prods, “You thought the finish line was 1999, didn’t ya?” before the song launches into the best chorus we’ve heard from dead prez in years.

But even the catchiest songs, like “Dirty White Girl,” can hold the kind of sentiments that have made the duo notorious. On that song, white women are a metaphor for everything from cocaine to LSD to Virginia Slims. The comparison will be offensive to many; dead prez are prone to blunt prejudice. That the song is compulsively listenable can makes lines like “Just the kush, not the yayo, cuz that Barbara Bush is fatal” and “I need a Sista Soulja not a Dixie Chick” cringeworthy or gutbusting depending on the listener’s sensibilities. The best thing dead prez’s pupils can do is to use the advice their mentors have lent them (“the best education is observation and participation”) and parse for truth, because there’s plenty to be found here. No one should take issue with a legitimate Africanist take on the European financial crisis or the crushing indictment of the government made on the frank “What if the Lights Go Out:” “What did we learn from Katrina? Better learn to swim if you’re waiting on FEMA.”