Bettye Lavette, Thankful N’ Thoughtful

After enduring 40 years of bad luck in the record industry, the persistent blues/soul singer Bettye Lavette finally gained some career traction in the 21st century, with a series of smartly-conceived albums on the Anti- label. Thankful N’ Thoughtful may be the best of this bunch, matching Lavette’s interpretive skills with unexpected or unconventional song choices. On Bob Dylan’s “Everything is Broken,” Lavette sounds on the eve of spiritual destruction. “Dirty Old Town,” via composer Ewan McColl (and famously performed by the Pogues), could be a tribute to every troubled post-industrial city, and Lavette sings like she’s lived on the wrong side of all of them. The Black Keys’ “I’m Not the One” is defiant funk; Gnarls Barkley’s “Crazy” gets its hair mussed up; and Neil Young’s “Everybody Knows This is Nowhere” is just crazy thumping good. Lavette has made “a pretty memory of my disgrace,” as she sings on Patty Griffin’s “Time Will Do the Talking,” proving that sometimes just surviving to do good work is the best revenge.

Dum Dum Girls, End of Daze

Sporting black leather jackets, bright red lipstick and hangdog poses, Dum Dum Girls resemble high-school dropouts from another time — the ’50s, maybe; or maybe it’s the ’60s; or maybe it’s the ’80s. Whenever it is, it’s not now. But no assembly of retro references, however clever, will get you to sing with a voice as bold, outsized and sad as Kristin Gundred, nor will they get you to write melodies as instantly indelible as she can either. Over the course of two albums, and now two EPs, her band has gone from playing misfit little garage songs punctuated by “bang-bang”s and “la-la”s to dark, glittering music exploring resignation, regret, and other big subjects that sound surprising coming from a band calling themselves “Dum Dum Girls.”

End of Daze, their latest, follows in the footsteps of convincingly sad bands from the Shangri-Las to the Smiths: They treat raw emotional vulnerability with musical confidence. Guitars buzz, drums boom and everything cocoons comfortably in reverb. At 18 minutes, End of Daze has no standouts and no weak spots: It’s beautiful all the way through. The spiritual heart of the EP comes from the lone cover, of 1980s Scottish pop-rock group Strawberry Switchblade’s “Trees and Flowers.” “I hate the trees and I hate the flowers,” Gundred sings over shimmering, reverberant guitars — “I hate the buildings and the way they tower over me.” With just the slightest push, the simplicity that once made them playthings gets elevated to metaphor. As a title, End of Daze might be a little joke about their own maturity: The fog lifts and leaves nothing but clarity, naked and bittersweet.

Melody’s Echo Chamber, Melody’s Echo Chamber

Melody’s Echo Chamber has delivered the most literal dream-pop album of the year on face value alone: The band’s name came to Paris-based singer and songwriter Melody Prochet in a dream, and the album itself reverberates with psychedelic-pop influences. Furthermore, Prochet wrote these songs at her grandmother’s home in the south of France — an actual Beach House on the real Best Coast. Produced by Prochet’s boyfriend/Tame Impala leader Kevin Parker and featuring backing instrumentation from members of his Australian psych-rock outfit, Melody’s Echo Chamber initially seems to live up to its sounding-board imperative. It’s easy to ferret out the Spacemen 3 simplicity and static bursts on “Crystallized,” the bright, girl-group chorus and Bandwagonesque outro guitar shredding of opener “I’ll Follow You,” or the Stereolab-quality vintage-organ loops of “Quand Vas Tu Rentrer?” (Prochet sings in both English and French). But the album gets denser and weirder as it progresses, Prochet’s high-pitched vocals sounding ever more little-girl-lost among the tone-bending synths of “Mount Hopeless” and backwards-tracked “IsThatWhatYouSaid.” Final track “Be Proud Of Your Kids” is a bridge too far, however, as it violates the unspoken agreement between rock musician and listener that the sound of children babbling should not be put to tape. Listening through the rabbit hole to consider the album in its kaleidoscopic entirety, a strong signal bounces back: The style of music Blonde Redhead began experimenting with on 2004′s Misery Is A Butterfly — arty synth pop that is delicate but not too femme, airy and romantic but not overglossed — is effortlessly realized here. Call it a cocoon, an echo chamber or an education, but Melody Prochet has emerged fully formed on this debut.

New This Week: Mumford & Sons, Dum Dum Girls & More

Mumford & Sons, Babel : This breakout folk act returns with their follow-up to 2011′s stratospherically successful Sigh No More. To hear Kevin O’Donnell it, they’re reaching even higher this time around:

It’s fitting that the Mumford & Sons have titled their new album Babel, a Biblical reference to man’s attempt to build a structure to reach the heavens. In just three short years, Mumford and Sons have gone from a quaint roots-rock group from London to one of the biggest new bands on the planet with 2011′s Sigh No More, and their follow-up attempts to match that ambition by outdoing that album’s already sprawling, epic roots-rock tunes. The disc is loaded with more big, important, grab-you-by-the-collar anthems.

Dum Dum Girls, End of Daze EP: Dee Dee of the Dum Dum Girls has been steadily amping up her charisma and pop-song craft over the course of the band’s two albums and EP, and with End of Daze, she hits a new plateau. “Lord Knows,” “Season In Hell,” and the Strawberry Switchblade cover “Trees and Flowers” – all are last-call-at-the-New-Wave-prom slow-dance perfect. This one is Highly Recommended. Mike Powell has more:

Sporting black leather jackets, bright red lipstick and hangdog poses, Dum Dum Girls resemble high-school dropouts from another time — the ’50s, maybe; or maybe it’s the ’60s; or maybe it’s the ’80s. Whenever it is, it’s not now. But no assembly of retro references, however clever, will get you to sing with a voice as bold, outsized and sad as Kristin Gundred, nor will they get you to write melodies as instantly indelible as she can either. Over the course of two albums, and now two EPs, her band has gone from playing misfit little garage songs punctuated by “bang-bang”s and “la-la”s to dark, glittering music exploring resignation, regret, and other big subjects that sound surprising coming from a band calling themselves “Dum Dum Girls.”

Melody’s Echo Chamber, Melody’s Echo Chamber Kevin Parker, of psych-rock A-listers Tame Impala, lends the dusty, overdriven psych-rock; Melody Prochet provides the air-dusted French-pop vocals. It’s a perfect citrus twist on the Tame Impala sound, and a record that will remind you of Broadcast and Elephant 6 in all the right ways. It’s Highly Recommended. Matthew Fritch writes:

Produced by Prochet’s boyfriend/Tame Impala leader Kevin Parker and featuring backing instrumentation from members of his Australian psych-rock outfit, Melody’s Echo Chamber initially seems to live up to its sounding-board imperative. It’s easy to ferret out the Spacemen 3 simplicity and static bursts on “Crystallized,” the bright, girl-group chorus and Bandwagonesque outro guitar shredding of opener “I’ll Follow You,” or the Stereolab-quality vintage-organ loops of “Quand Vas Tu Rentrer?” (Prochet sings in both English and French). But the album gets denser and weirder as it progresses.

The Soft Pack, Strapped: Super-solid garage-rock band makes super-solid second record after an extended break. Austin L. Ray writes:

The Artists Formerly Known As Muslims fall into the thankless category of white dudes making consistently solid indie rock — the kind of guys who can sing, “If it’s time you’re looking for, I got that time and so much more,” and sound effortlessly cool. Indeed, privileged though they may be in certain respects, in a world of next big things and exotic young esoterics, it’s easy to gloss over what is, at the end of the day, just another damn good rock band.

Glenn Campbell and Jimmy Webb, In Session: A classic appearance from two veterans who hit their highest peaks working together. Peter Blackstock writes:

Though Glen Campbell and Jimmy Webb each had huge successes outside each other’s company — Campbell’s biggest hits included Allen Toussaint’s “Southern Nights” and John Hartford’s “Gentle on My Mind,” while Webb songs became pop smashes in the hands of Donna Summer and the Fifth Dimension — their most lasting legacy remains the work they did together. In Session…, compiled from a TV appearance in Hamilton, Ontario, in 1988, finds the two revisiting some of the highest points of their partnership (“Wichita Lineman,” “Galveston,” “The Moon Is A Harsh Mistress”) while also taking turns down less-familiar avenues.

Lupe Fiasco, Food & Liquor II: The Great American Rap Album, Pt. I: Lupe takes it back to basics for his latest studio effort. Per the title, it’s the most grounded and effortless he’s sounded since the first F&L, although only Lupe would have the audacity to release a record that’s both a “Part II” and a “Part One” at the same damn time.

No Doubt, Push and Shove: The first new No Doubt record in years! Somehow, they haven’t lost a step with the sound of radio, proving the hypothesis that I just arrived at this morning that No Doubt were way more forward-thinking than anybody realized. Bill Murphy writes:

It’s been more than 10 years since No Doubt’s last studio album (2001′s Rock Steady), but the band has always insisted the hiatus was never a breakup—even after Gwen Stefani’s solo turn, spurred by the viral success of “Hollaback Girl,” elevated her to Madonna-like status. Push and Shove finds the crew jostling for a renewed sense of solidarity, and as the title track makes clear, the chemistry is still strong. Stefani can still tap at will into her sassy rebel persona, which leaps out of the dance-pop fog machine of “Looking Hot” and the bouncy “Settle Down,” but she also tones it down for the reggae-spiced confection “Sparkle” (a throwback to the mellow vibes of UB40) and the Madge-worthy ballad “Undone.”

Witchcraft, Legend: Swedish stoner/doom metal mainstays keep refining the potency of their formula. Jon Wiederhorn writes:

That Swedish band Witchcraft formed 12 years ago just to record a tribute song for their heroes in Washington, D.C. — Black Sabbath worshippers Pentagram — is interesting enough. That they’ve since evolved into one of the most heralded bands on the psychedelic doom circuit is even more intriguing. But the fact that Witchcraft have survived the departures of three members and returned with their strongest and heaviest album to date is reason to believe in a higher (or lower) power. Five years have passed since the band released its third record, The Alchemist, and while Witchcraft still summons the darkened atmospheres of Pentagram, the mystical rural feel of Jethro Tull and the bluesy swagger of Led Zeppelin, they’ve expanded their sonic horizons even further on Legend, and improved their songwriting in the process.

Murs & Fashawn, This Generation: West Coast indie-rap scene vets team up for a collaborative record that feels like love at first sight. Nate Patrin writes:

There’s 10 years, a couple hundred miles and not much else that separates L.A. underground vet Murs and Fresno phenom Fashawn. Both MCs specialize in a West Coast indie-rap classicism that prizes personality first and scene-setting lyricism a close second. And that makes This Generation one of those super-duo team-ups that winds up feeling like less of a crossover blockbuster and more like an inevitable pairing of like-minded compatriots. It’s strongest when they’re swapping verses directly — the candid point-of-pride sessions “Yellow Tape” and “Slash Gordon” make their back-and-forth mid-line mic trades sound like they’re finishing each others’ thoughts.

Chris Cohen, Overgrown Path: On Captured Tracks: Wide-eyed, wobbly psychedelic pop shot through with California sun rays and a sense of gentle wonder.RIYL: early Cass McCombs, Robert Wyatt, pastoral Neil Young. Highly Recommended

Alan Gilbert, Nielsen: Symphonies 2 & 3: The conductor of the NY Philharmonic makes his bid to reclaim the Danish composer Nielsen from obscurity with this impassioned recording of the man’s second and third symphonies. Daniel Felsenfeld writes:

Alan Gilbert, the conductor of the New York Philharmonic, is on a mission. He wants to be The Voice on behalf of a neglected composer, as Leonard Bernstein was for Mahler, and he’s chosen one Carl Nielsen (1865-1931) from Denmark. Nielsen is ripe for rediscovery: an unfortunately marginalized artist who writes big, sprawling, quirky symphonies that speak to the Scandinavian condition, but are cast in a high Germanic mold, much like his contemporaries Mahler and Sibelius. In such capable and expressive hands the Carl Nielsen revival is well — and thankfully — underway; future generations will have other neglected fish to fry.

Levek, Look a Little Closer: I first got wise to Levek via their great single “Look on the Bright Side” for the Father/Daughter label a few years back. It was smoky and soulful, a kind of indie update on Curtis Mayfield. On their full-length, they evolve yet again, this time into something like billowing AM Gold, but cooler and sleeker and more focused. It’s Recommended for sure. Also, if you guys haven’t already, this would be a good time to start keeping an eye on Father/Daughter in general. Between this and Pure Bathing Culture, they seem to be the label that Gets There before anyone else gets there.

R.E.M., Document: 25th Anniversary Edition: BIRTHDAY PARTY CHEESECAKE JELLY BEAMS BOOM. R.E.M.’s commercial breakthrough spawned one of the world’s meanest love songs and proved that it was possible to smuggle talk about the proletariat, McCarthyism and old blues singers into the mainstream. A formidable rock record that’s Highly Recommended

Rosco Bandana, Time to Begin: Rollicking roots music sure to appeal to fans of Steve Earle an Ryan Adams. Their take on Blur’s “Tender” is a revelation. Recommended

Unnatural Helpers, Land Grab: On the outstanding Hardly Art label, this is a batch of tightly-wound minimalist punk — kind of Wire-y, if Wire were bigger boozers. The lines are clean, but the attitude is reckless. Recommended

deadmau5, >album title goes here: I’m sort of convinced that if I type the phrase “EDM,” I’ll be invoking a hex on members of my family. So let’s just call this bright-n-shiny techno with a Gerard Way cameo and call it even.

Frightened Rabbit, State Hospital EP: Our beloved Scots swing the heartache on their major label debut EP. Lots of slow-builds and tear-rimmed eyeballs, lots of yearning and lots of loss. Oh, Frabbits. I love you so.

Black September, Into the Darkness, Into the Void: Heaving, pitch-black, 400-ton heavy metal from this brutal Chicago band. Kind of in the blackened thrash variety, with some seriously demonic lead vocals.

Caspian, Waking Season: Slow, twinkling instrumental post-rock that starts small and gradually builds to those roiling crescendos we all love so much. Caspian are more deliberate and calculated than most — there’s an eeriness beneath even the tranquil parts of their songs that makes for a genuinely unsettling feel over all.

7even Thirty, Heaven’s Computer: New one from our buddies at Mello Music, this one has a Kool Keith/Lost in Space vibe to it — spacey, glittery productions and driving delivery.

Jay Caspian Kang, The Dead Do Not Improve

In The Dead Do Not Improve, author Jay Caspian Kang describes the travails of four Bay Area residents who try to uncover the story behind a murder. Phillip Kim, a dour MFA graduate, and Ellen, his blue-blooded neighbor, live on the block where aging hippie Dolores Stone was killed. While Phillip and Ellen wander uneasily around the city, detectives Sid Finch and Jim Kim work on the case.  The two approach their work with completely different attitudes: Finch is detached, while Kim is sarcastic and aggressive. As the story moves along, the four main characters find themselves in increasing amounts of danger.

Kang infuses his novel with acerbic humor, which makes his prose all the more engaging. His characters often have agitated, hilarious conversations about sex and race, particularly as it applies to Korean-Americans. Kang also derives comedy from the Bay Area itself; he writes detailed, unflattering portraits of Bay Area residents that cumulatively seem affectionate, somehow. After people-watching at a music festival, Phillip remarks that he “spent the rest of the night feeling superior to the entire state of California.”

The novel’s fast pace can sometimes work against it. It can be hard to keep the minor characters’ names straight, particularly in the audiobook format. Still, the book leaves a lasting, positive impression with its unpretentious wit and incisiveness.

The Soft Pack, Strapped

You’d be forgiven for having forgotten about The Soft Pack in the two years since the band’s last platter of innocuous, enjoyable rock ‘n’ roll. But as the bouncy bass and plane-on-a-runway guitar lines of “Saratoga” kick off Strapped, things should start coming into focus. The Artists Formerly Known As Muslims fall into the thankless category of White Dudes Making Consistently Solid Indie Rock — the kind of guys who can sing, “If it’s time you’re looking for, I got that time and so much more,” and sound effortlessly cool. Indeed, privileged though they may be in certain respects, in a world of Next Big Things and Exotic Young Esoterics, it’s easy to gloss over what is, at the end of the day, just another damn good rock band. A rock band with swagger like The Strokes (“Bobby Brown”); horns like Morphine (“Oxford Ave.”), and the occasional psych-addled, fadeout jam like so many great, modern-day garage punks (“Captain Ace”)? It’s all coming back now, right? Almost like they never left.

Murs and Fashawn, This Generation

There’s 10 years, a couple hundred miles and not much else that separates L.A. underground vet Murs and Fresno phenom Fashawn. Both MCs specialize in a West Coast indie-rap classicism that prizes personality first and scene-setting lyricism a close second. And that makes This Generation one of those super-duo team-ups that winds up feeling like less of a crossover blockbuster and more like an inevitable pairing of like-minded compatriots. It’s strongest when they’re swapping verses directly — the candid point-of-pride sessions “Yellow Tape” and “Slash Gordon” make their back-and-forth mid-line mic trades sound like they’re finishing each others’ thoughts. But it also benefits from getting two distinct angles on the same scenarios — drawing lines back to crack-era Reagan youth from the teenagers of the Bush years on the title cut, or making the titular vehicle of “64 Impala” an aspiration for Fashawn’s third-person restless, doomed criminal and a prize possession of Murs’s first-person success story. Back it all up with a slow-rolling live band funk engineered by Beatnick & K-Salaam, and you’ve got an album that sounds like underground Cali rap destiny falling into place.

Witchcraft, Legend

That Swedish band Witchcraft formed 12 years ago just to record a tribute song for their heroes in Washington, D.C. — Black Sabbath worshippers Pentagram — is interesting enough. That they’ve since evolved into one of the most heralded bands on the psychedelic doom circuit is even more intriguing. But the fact that Witchcraft have survived the departures of three members and returned with their strongest and heaviest album to date is reason to believe in a higher (or lower) power.

Five years have passed since the band released its third record, The Alchemist, and while Witchcraft still summons the darkened atmospheres of Pentagram, the mystical rural feel of Jethro Tull and the bluesy swagger of Led Zeppelin, they’ve expanded their sonic horizons even further on Legend, and improved their songwriting in the process. New guitaristsSimon Solomon and Tom Jondelius provide extra dimension by combining the band’s ’70s-sounding, semi-distorted riffs with crunchier, more contemporary playing, which allows the band to drift back and forth between heavy-lidded jams and wide-eyed metallic romps.

“Deconstruction” begins with spacious, lava-lamp-hued rocking before shifting into a chugging Sabbath workout. Then the tempo drops to snail’s pace while shimmering waves of guitar wash across the sonic landscape. “An Alternative to Freedom” is redolent of Zep’s “When The Levee Breaks” crossed with Deep Purple’s “Pictures of Home.” And the 12-minute album closer “Dead End” is dizzying progressive stoner rock driven by surging instrumentation, asymmetrical tempos and expansive, droning bass lines. Credit producer Jens Bogren (Opeth, Amon Amarth), for complimenting Witchcraft’s increased ebb and flow without allowing them to sound disjointed. Band founder and vocalist Magnus Pelander also gets major props for his delivery, which ranges from the soulful melodic style of Vanilla Fudge’s Mark Stein to the baritone howls of Glenn Danzig. While a growing legion of young doom bands are suddenly turning heads, Legend proves that Witchcraft are survivors and illustrates why they’ve long had the open ear of those in the know.

No Doubt, Push and Shove

It’s been more than 10 years since No Doubt’s last studio album (2001′s Rock Steady), but the band has always insisted the hiatus was never a breakup — even after Gwen Stefani’s solo turn, spurred by the viral success of “Hollaback Girl,” elevated her to Madonna-like status. Push and Shove finds the crew jostling for a renewed sense of solidarity, and as the title track makes clear, the chemistry is still strong. “Respect nobody, Bonnie and Clyde it/ Not gonna testify, got me under oath big time,” Stefani raps in a dancehall scattershot (with a guest toast from Jamaican rapper Busy Signal), and though she’s describing an outlaw couple on the run, the theme of do-or-die loyalty is what lingers — a band is like a gang, after all.

Stefani can still tap at will into her sassy rebel persona, which leaps out of the dance-pop fog machine of “Looking Hot” and the bouncy “Settle Down,” but she also tones it down for the reggae-spiced confection “Sparkle” (a throwback to the mellow vibes of UB40) and the Madge-worthy ballad “Undone.” Meanwhile, producer Mark “Spike” Stent, who had a solid hand in Stefani’s The Sweet Escape, takes full advantage of the space the band gives him, washing Tom Dumont’s guitar in trippy waves of delay (“One More Summer”) and pushing the rhythm section of Tony Kanal and Adrian Young to the front of the mix when the power-pop mood calls for it (“Dreaming the Same Dream”). Call it a coming-of-age or a coming-to-grips; No Doubt has settled into a groove and sound that’s a bit safer, a bit warmer, but no less rambunctious when the moment heats up.

Green Day, ¡Uno!

Nearly everything about Green Day — their Berkeley-to-Broadway trajectory, their cross-generational worldwide popularity, and their enduring status as mainstream radio mainstays — breaks all the punk rules, and their ninth album is no exception. Following up two hugely ambitious and successful conceptual works with a three-album trilogy that’s scheduled to be released over a scant four-month period is unprecedented and potentially foolhardy. This, the first installment, should logically suggest that the Bay Area trio’s punk-pop well has finally dried up. Instead it’s one of their front-to-back catchiest and brattiest discs, which is no mean feat. Celebrating each of their 40th birthdays this year, ¡Uno! blows raspberries in the face of maturity.

Billy Joe Armstrong can be a thoughtful lyricist, as much of the band’s output since “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life),” particularly American Idiot, has proven. But here his incendiary imagery is sometimes at odds with the music: “Kill the DJ” undermines an otherwise lighthearted disco-rock romp with a jumbled metaphorical commentary on clubbing and mind-control. It’s likely that this record packs more F-bombs than all of the threesome’s previous releases combined, yet most of its tunes — particularly the love songs “Fell Into You” and “Sweet 16″ — rank among the band’s sweetest. Freedom from the bombast of big statements means that the production, melodies, and performances are all more affable than anything since 2000′s folk-inspired Warning. It’s likely that ¡Dos! and ¡Tré! will be wilder and rawer; musically, at least, ¡Uno! is Green Day at their poppiest.

Hijos de Aguëybaná, Agua del Sol

Creating a familial ruckus since the early 2000s, the eight-piece Hijos de Aguëybaná (or Sons of the Great Sun) are among Puerto Rico’s foremost preservationists of the Afro-Latin percussion-based folk music known as bomba. On their debut album, the Hijos bookend several examples of traditional bomba with “Saludo al Sol” (“Sun Salute”), whose yogic title reflects the track’s dreamy, flute-laced, and psychedelic-lounge phasing, and “Te Invito” (“I Invite You”), a jazz take on a bomba tune heavily reminiscent of the New Orleans classic “Iko Iko.”

Traditionally an intimate conversation between a spirited dancer and the ensemble’s lower-pitched “buleadeor,” bomba is performed on large and small drums fashioned from rum barrels and accompanied by other sticks and scrapers. “Agua del Sol” (“Sun Water”) celebrates the liquor’s dancefloor-lubricating properties, with the chorus chanting “Oye si lo quieres ver” — “listen if you want to see it” — between director Otoqui Reyes’s verses. The rhythms may vary but the call-and-response bomba form — which triangulates influences from Spain, Nigeria and the island’s indigenous Taino culture — doesn’t vary much from track to track. Like so many dance albums of yore, it’s a self-reflective advertisement for bomba and the community of which it’s an integral part. “The pride I feel for my bomba is brutal,” Otoqui sings in “Orgulloso,” a sentiment that resonates loud and clear.

The Whigs, Enjoy the Company

The Whigs have always been a straightforward lot. “Staying Alive,” the first cut on the Athens, Georgia, rockers’ fourth album, is eight minutes long, giving Parker Gispert, Tim Deaux and Julian Dorio time for a few verses of easy-boogie riffage, some old soul horns, a dissonant buzzsaw guitar showpiece, and a breathily intimate coda. And yet, rather than waxing grandiose, the song merely seems to be just putting its cards on the table, as though to say: “Here’s what we’ve got to offer. If you would like to be entertained by nine shorter versions of this forthright rock and roll persistence, please stick around.”

That is exactly what The Whigs’ humbly named Enjoy the Company does. Just around that point in the album where you start to suspect that rocking out might not be enough, the Whigs drop a corny but not cloying double-shot of domestic sweetness: “Couple of Kids” (about having, not being them) and “Thank You” (“Thanks for being the love of my life”). And follow that with “Rock and Roll Forever,” which, rather than raging against AutoTune or some other aspect of modernity the way a dumber band of traditional meat-and-potatoes rockers might, expresses a simple affection for the music the Whigs make. The feeling’s mutual.

Harris Eisenstadt, Canada Day III

This third installment of Harris Eisenstadt’s Canada Day recordings is the most delicate and subtly complex collection thus far. Some of that is probably due to the more elaborate orchestral work Eisenstadt composed just before embarking upon these pieces — indeed, a couple of the tracks are “trimmings” from that endeavor — and some of it stems from the greater familiarity and maturity that allows the Canada Day ensemble to execute such challenging, interwoven compositions so thoroughly. The only change in the Canada Day quintet since 2007 has been the recent switch from Eivind Opsvik to Garth Stevenson on bass. Also, in keeping with recent practice, the group work-shopped these tunes out on tour and then immediately headed for the studio to record them.

What results is a disc that gets better with repeated listening. The fun in, say, figuring out the rhythmic variations of “Slow and Steady,” or how “Shuttle Off This Mortal Coil” evolves from a slightly foreboding waltz into a driving toe-tapper, is more about the process than the eventual answer. And it is a renewing marvel to hear the massive, seasonally slow-and-seamless textural changes in the ironically-titled “Settled.”

There are also more immediate rewards, such as the ongoing artistry of trumpeter Nate Wooley, who is at his best working with Eisenstadt (they are regular members of each other’s ensemble) and especially amiable and accessible here. Although not quite as bawdy or “outside” as on many other records, Wooley continually stands out, be it his antic complementary interaction with drummer Eisenstadt down the stretch of “A Whole New Amount of Interactivity,” his mute solo on “the Magician of Lublin,” or his potent trilling on “Nosey Parker.”

Last but not least, mention must be made of “Song for Sara,” dedicated to Eisentstadt’s wife, Sara Schoenbeck, and set off by a gorgeous melody and keen horn interplay between Wooley and saxophonist Matt Bauder, with vibest Chris Dingman adding his deft and gentle touch. It ranks with Eisenstadt’s ode to his son (“Song For Owen”) on Canada Day II as enduring sonic family keepsakes.

Joe Morris/William Parker/Gerald Cleaver, Altitude

Connoisseurs of bold, long-form jazz improvisation are gifted this first-ever trio performance by three titans of the form. Guitarist Joe Morris is first among equals, his mostly brittle-toned, single-note effusions adding to the relentless intensity of the rhythm section with the vigorous poise and beauty of a hummingbird. Not bothering with squawks, squeaks and other undue resonance, his rapid-fire notes nearly cluster as they dart and dip with both great exertion but also an unhurried efficiency that carries its own special grace. Gerald Cleaver seethes at low-level heat from the drum kit, maintaining a steady fusillade of snare and tom-tom beats that sometimes roll like ocean waves, and sometimes erupt like sparks, all without ever really abating.

Cleaver’s solo connects the 26:22 “Exophere” with the 25:22 “Thermosphere,” which together comprise the nearly 52-minutes of non-stop innovation that was the opening set of the trio’s performance at The Stone in New York on June 17, 2011. According to the liner notes, the room was hot and the musicians’ clothing was soaked in sweat at set’s end. You can feel every drop of it in the ensemble interplay, which is reliably torrid and devoid of histrionics.

The final two tracks, “Troposphere” and “Mesosphere,” are excerpted from the second set. Their power is hindered by their relative brevity, yet they’re intriguing for William Parker’s switch from contra bass to zintir, which is a Moroccan bass lute. In such a protean trio, Parker’s voice turned out to be the one compelled to slide in edgewise — he still rumbles magnificently, does some context-shifting arco work during the marathon first set, and presents an especially nice contrast with the zintir. If you are coming here primarily for Parker, however, his double-disc solo opus from 2011 is a better bet. On the other hand, if you’re coming here because it promises three masters communally engaged in filling up a big, broad empty canvas on the fly, step right up.

Dafnis Prieto, Kokayi & Jason Lindner, Dafnis Prieto Proverb Trio

This first record made by Cuban-born drummer Dafnis Prieto since he received his MacArthur Fellowship “genius grant” in 2011 lives up to the honor by occupying a unique musical space that challenges the listener with its melange of jazz, funk and rock born of spontaneous improvisation. Many of the dozen songs on Proverb Trio (fashioned via live improvisational performances together over the past two years) can initially sound a tad too conventional until the various textures and tones start emerging from the sonic weave. But open-minded listeners who don’t succumb to faux-sophisticated jazz purity will be rewarded by the blossoming of these tunes over time.

Prieto, who has been an international prodigy since touring Europe as a teen in the early ’90s, roams the kit like a blend of Cobham and Jack DeJohnette, with an added dash of Cuban panache. Vocalist Kokayi (a former Steve Coleman cohort) mixes it up between R&B crooning, and vocalese influenced by both ancient Africa and contemporary hip-hop. Keyboardist Jason Lindner, a jazz titan equally comfortable in big bands, electric funk outfits and intimate acoustic ensembles, unleashes a rainbow of mood-enhancers that range from throb-heavy bass notes to sparse electronic effects to spectral harmonies. By one dictionary definition, a proverb is something that “condenses common experience into a memorable form.” The Dafnis Prieto Proverb Trio is well named.

Posse Rap Albums: By The Numbers

The posse-rap album has become a rite of passage for rap superstars. Either just before or right after you’ve snagged your shoe line and/or headphone endorsement, the crew album is up next: the time to display just how many different rappers, R&B singers, and whoever else you can crowd under your banner. Jay-Z called his entourage the “Dynasty”; Puff Daddy went with the slightly more modest “Family.” Rick Ross referred to his, with his typical Bond-villain flair, as “the Untouchable Maybach Music Empire.” And now, it’s Kanye’s turn, with this week’s G.O.O.D. compilation Cruel Summer.

Posse albums aren’t to be confused with, say, group records: these aren’t “groups” anymore than the Harlem Globetrotters are a “team” or a home-run derby is a “game.” These records are gloriously overstuffed by design, a parade of excess. They are the big summer blockbusters of rap music: So many stars, so many features, so much money. We thought we’d help you sort through the albums the only way we know how: by the numbers. Below, a Harpers Index-style breakdown to answer the question: Whose crew is the biggest? As a wise man once put it: Men lie; women lie. Numbers don’t. –JAYSON GREENE

Posse Rap Albums: By The Numbers

The posse-rap album has become a rite of passage for rap superstars. Either just before or right after you’ve snagged your shoe line and/or headphone endorsement, the crew album is up next: the time to display just how many different rappers, R&B singers, and whoever else you can crowd under your banner. Jay-Z called his entourage the “Dynasty”; Puff Daddy went with the slightly more modest “Family.” Rick Ross referred to his, with his typical Bond-villain flair, as “the Untouchable Maybach Music Empire.” And now, it’s Kanye’s turn, with this week’s G.O.O.D. compilation Cruel Summer.

Posse albums aren’t to be confused with, say, group records: these aren’t “groups” anymore than the Harlem Globetrotters are a “team” or a home-run derby is a “game.” These records are gloriously overstuffed by design, a parade of excess. They are the big summer blockbusters of rap music: So many stars, so many features, so much money. We thought we’d help you sort through the albums the only way we know how: by the numbers. Below, a Harpers Index-style breakdown to answer the question: Whose crew is the biggest? As a wise man once put it: Men lie; women lie. Numbers don’t. –JAYSON GREENE

EULA, Maurice Narcisse

In their eMusic Selects video, EULA lead singer and guitarist Alyse Lamb recalls her “What the fuck is THIS!?” reaction, as a young girl, watching PJ Harvey going inspiringly berserk on MTV: Who was this woman “raving at the screen” with her “crazy, crazy dissonant music,” Lamb wondered? The shock, it turns outwas a salutary one: Polly Jean, in her gloriously unhinged mid-’90s “50 Ft. Queenie” phase, is as good a place to start with the life-affirming racket of EULA, our latest eMusic Selects act, as any. With a feral whoop pitched somewhere between Harvey, Poly Styrene, and a baby Valkyrie with a blood-stained grin, Lamb plays the demonic cheerleader for Maurice Narcisse, one of the most infectious post-punk parties we’ve been invited to in awhile.

“Dirty Hands,” the opening track, tells you almost everything you need to know in one shot. The song is all about the various metaphorical joys of being dirty, and the bass, which squirts out of the song sounding greased with something you wouldn’t touch without gloves on, communicates that same joy. “I have dirty hands, dirty teeth, you don’t care!” Lamb exults, and you can hear the internalized Polly Jean, both in the body shame/body pride strut of the sentiment and in the batshit warcry ululations she lets fly in between verses.

The band is a small unit — just Lamb on vocals and chicken-scratchy wire-barbed guitar, Jeff Maleri on bass, and Nate Rose on drums, but they kick up a massive racket, one that feels like chewing gum rubbed in glass. Loose and rubbery in the bass, jerky and over caffeinated in the drums, topped with Lamb’s squealing sour fight-song chants, EULA’s groove mingles low-rent sleaze with righteous punk rally cries. There is a lot of implied fucking on Maurice Narcisse — “You had me crawling on the ceiling/you had me pinned up on the wall/oh lord, oh lord” Lamb chants on “Oh Lord!” over a tiny blip of drummachine that resembles a pair of rolling hips transmuted into an animated .gif.

They can downshift well, too, into far sinister territory: “Bone Density” is a bump and grind beset with fever chills, body joy slipping into body horror. The percussion sounds on the song come from sources as far-flung as a smashed bag of potato chips and a box of tacks. And then there’s the breath-catching single-take acoustic number “Hollow Cave,” Lamb’s voice shrinking to asphyxiated church-mouse size over tentative strums. “Knowing it’s the final time I really wake up by your side,” she coos, her voice breaking. It’s a startling moment of vulnerability that hints at the range of things EULA can do. For now, they’ve recorded this knockout, joyful high-kick of an album. We couldn’t be prouder of it.

The Killers, Battle Born

Listening to the Killers is like slipping on a pair of kaleidoscopic glasses: majestic colors — while understandably fantastical — await. Frontman Brandon Flowers has sold this grand daydream for nearly a decade; why stop now? Following a brief hiatus, the Las Vegas band returns with Battle Born, their fourth album and most super-sized effort yet: It’s another fairy-tale world soundtracked by sweeping ’80s-slathered synths, where women work 268 hours a week “to get their foot in the door” and young lovers “take chances in the hot night.”

Telling Flowers to dial it back is like asking Gaga to shop at Filene’s Basement. Not as self-serious as 2006 cheese-dream Sam’s Town, the foursome still goes for the gusto here. The singer brings an ill-fated Springsteen-esque romance novel to life on album highlight “Runaways”; opener “Flesh and Bone,” as good a Road House soundtrack b-side candidate as you’ll hear this year, finds dude sky-high, “penetrating the forcefield.” Producer Daniel Lanois (who joins a big-wig team including Brendan O’Brien and Steve Lilywhite) puts a pin in Flowers’s parachute on the quasi-subtle ballad “Heart of a Girl.” But this battle-born Nevadan is safer when soaring or, for that matter, free falling at warp speed.

Jerry Douglas, Traveler

Jerry Douglas, the world’s most renowned and in-demand dobro player, has a shelf of awards (including 13 Grammys), more than 2000 recording credits, and peer testimonials like John Fogerty proclaiming Douglas to be his favorite all-time musician. Calling in a fraction of the boatload of favors he’s owed, Douglas abets his standard rhythm section (bassist Viktor Krauss and drummer Omer Hakim) with a raft of luminaries on this bucket-list collection. If you’re going to cover Huey Smith’s classic New Orleans tune, “High Blood Pressure,” why not put Dr. John on piano and have Keb’ Mo’ do the vocals? Precious few artists could not only bring in Paul Simon to reprise Simon’s “The Boxer,” but the boys from Mumford & Sons besides. There are mega-stars like Simon and Eric Clapton, niche stars like Dr. John, Alison Krauss and Keb’ Mo’, and ace session-men like pianist Jon Cleary and Sam Bush on mandolin.

And yet the best stuff here occurs when Douglas is the one in the spotlight. He galvanizes the mix on slide, lap steel and resonator guitar as well as dobro, fueling originals like “Gone To Fortingall” (an English-folk tune that will resonate with Richard Thompson and Fairport Convention fans) and “Duke and Cookie” (a profound mating of funk and bluegrass via a duet with Bush). He cuts loose on a tour-de-force interpolation of Simon’s “American Tune” and Chick Corea’s “Spain,” delivers a better-than-credible vocal on the opening Leadbelly cover, “On A Monday,” and sets up vocalist Marc Cohn with a gorgeous, lazy-river groove on “Right On Time.” The main flaw on Traveler is that it occasionally sacrifices unpredictability for high-level proficiency—none of the guests want to risk the type of spontaneity that might fall below the high bar Douglas sets musically. On the other hand, from start to finish, they sweat the details—and those details are exquisite.