This collection of the Clientele's initial singles and EP cuts is so cohesive that it plays like a well thought out debut LP. Suburban Light offers gauzy, '60s-etched, rain-strewn guitar pop, full of polite English lyrics flush with dreamy imagery. There's no denying the pastoral pull of such tracks as "Monday's Rain" and "Reflections After Jane."
The brains behind Telekinesis is Michael Benjamin Lerner, and he's out to rock -- well, at least compared to his debut. His hushed acoustic and breezy power pop remains, but for his sophomore effort there's a kick to it, a passion that blazes a little brighter. It might have something to do with a lost love; we can only assume from the woeful lyrics because the music itself absolutely bubbles with confidence: "Please Ask for Help" has a hint of The Cure, while "50 Ways" has the bold guitar of Built to Spill, and closer "Gotta Get It Right Now" is Matthew Sweet at his most upbeat.
Obscurities gathers just that: a hodgepodge of previously unreleased cuts from Magnetic Fields mastermind Stephin Merritt. The collection may lack a cohesive flow, but it does showcase how versatile the man is, from minimalist love songs to avant-garde pop to quirky synth work. Selections include tracks from The Song From Venus (a science-fiction musical with Lemony Snicket that unfortunately never came to fruition), along with rare Magnetic Fields seven-inch singles, Merritt's work with the 6ths, and "The Sun and the Sea and the Sky," an outtake from the 69 Love Songs sessions.
Five years after their last release, Teenage Fanclub offer up more bittersweet power guitar pop from three distinct songwriting talents. The band is still refining its sound -- many of the songs on Shadows take woozy, orchestral detours that will please anyone with an affection for Love or forgotten acts like The Blades of Grass or modern indie bands like The Clientele. There is a consistency of vision, yet every tune is distinct. Highlights? This is Teenage Fanclub -- every number sounds like it belongs on the radio.
"Wake Up" sounds like it was written for a revolution. Arcade Fire didn't start one -- their songs ape the best bits of Springsteen, U2 and the Talking Heads -- they merely sound like it, and in so doing have gotten several folks believing in collectives, Canadians and the power of jams to inspire joy and conviction. This album evokes familial connections, love affairs and the bonds of friendship; if it were a Rorschach drawing you'd say it looked like passion itself. What the band is so exuberant about is simply being a band. Their songs have purpose but could be about whatever you wanted.
The only unconvincing part of this album is when Britt Daniel coyly claims, "We rarely practice discern." It's a little hard to believe him when it's the self-control, subtlety and simplicity that make Kill the Moonlight prickle and pop. Spoon take elements that are often just sprinkled in for effect and make them key ingredients. Flittering synths, staccato piano chords, tambourine jingles, hand claps, drumstick taps and a human beatbox make standouts like "The Way We Get By," "Stay Don't Go" and "Paper Tiger" both sticky and sweet -- ear candy you don't feel guilty asking for more of.
On Andorra, Dan Snaith works like a scientist, dissecting the emotions and notions of his created characters and turning them into a frolicsome jumble of beats and bleeps, flutes and strings, claps and taps. "Sandy" has a playful electropop spirit, while "Eli" floats on psychedelia. "Desiree" basks in Beach Boys-like sanguinity, and "Irene" and "Niobe" repose in a fairy-tale fusion of shoegazer and folktronica. Delving into an array of genres, Snaith has a distinct ability to create order and beauty out of chaos -- maybe it has something to do with that PhD he earned in mathematics.
The seventh solo album from the longtime key figure on the New Zealand rock landscape, Left By Soft, as may be expected, is a flawlessly constructed collection of songs that echo the past even as they are steeped in utter distinction. Kicking things off with a Byrds-meets-Sebadoh instrumental title cut, Kilgour, backed by his third post-Clean set of musicians, effortlessly blends country, indie rock and drums that always sound amazing into 11 songs that are just slightly sad and have that New Zealand pop "sound." Basically, you want headphones.
Crave an even sweeter option to Belle & Sebastian? These Glaswegians spin similar pillowy pop magic with the shy vocals of Traceyanne Campbell ramping up the twee quotient and, on this third CD, highlighted with a subtle '50s girl group touch. Includes plenty of orchestrated charmers on kiss-offs and low self-esteem, plus a winking response to 80's alt pop expatriate Lloyd Cole on the answer song "Lloyd, I'm Ready To Be Heartbroken."
Dan Bejar is something of a musical nomad, and his ninth album is the consummate diary of his travels. From soft rock, acid jazz and vintage funk to ambient electro, space rock and new wave, he explores areas well-wandered, but rarely linked within the same journey. It comes quite effortlessly, too: Sultry synths share kisses with breathy flutes and smooth-operating sax. Bejar remains cool and calm; he doesn't so much sing as he intones with the lulling touch of a therapist, even when his words add unexpected spark: "Wasting your days, chasing some girls, alright, chasing cocaine."
For his fifth solo album, Portland troubadour Matt Ward enlists the help of a full band, including guest appearances by Neko Case and My Morning Jacket's Jim James. The added Rhodes, percussion, backing vocals and other bells and whistles only sweeten the already rich pairing of Ward's nimbly plucked guitar and his electric blanket of a voice. "Post War" is a warm bath of electric keys and hushed vocals, while "Chinese Translation" tells a jaunty tale of man's never-ending quest for love and redemption. This thing shimmers like a full moon on a crystal lake.
The chills of Oakley Hall's first two LPs happened when everything came together: singer Pat Sullivan reaching for a reedy harmony with Rachel Cox's sweet alto over a saturation of '60s psyche dusted with just enough wiry twang to evoke '70s C 'n' W. On the band's third LP, these signature combinations are everywhere, making it their most consistent effort to date and yielding keenly-tooled singles like "Rue The Blues" and "Marine Life." Knees get weak when Cox takes over for a rare lead vocal, as on "All The Way Down."
Though fans of Him will flock to this debut, it is She who earns the spotlight: Zooey Deschanel wrote most of the songs and sings them all. Her girl-next-door vibrato and Ward's country inclination lend the album the lilt of a Crystal Gayle demo, with highlights in "This Is Not a Test" and "Change Is Hard." The covers toward the end -- chestnuts like Smokey's "You Really Got a Hold on Me" and a Hawaiian rendering of the Beatles' "I Should Have Known Better" -- offer campy rewards.
If anyone ever questions a female's ability to rock, crank Wild Flag and watch them weep. The quartet comprises vets of the grrrl-power '90s: Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney), Mary Timony (Helium), Janet Weiss (Quasi) and Rebecca Cole (The Minders). Opening with "Romance," a flirty pop-punk hand-clapper, their debut quickly shifts into proggy acid-punk (see "Glass Tambourine"). Brownstein's and Timony's vocals and guitars slither around one another with self-assured defiance, as Weiss pounds and Cole's keyboards hypnotize. And they do it all with just the right touch of Go-Gos girliness.
Even without Guided by Voices, pop savant Robert Pollard doesn't show any
signs of slowing. Normal Happiness (his second solo record of the
year) starts strongly with "Accidental Texas Who," a jumble of hopped-up
psyche pop that has Pollard's scrappy charm in spades. And so what if there
are a few half-baked songs best left on the cutting room floor? Songs like
"Supernatural Car Lover" and "Pegasus Glue Factory" make up for it.
Brilliantly unpolished, they're tossed-off classics bearing Pollard's
distinctive fingerprints.
Civilian is a grower. Its subtleties slowly unravel -- Andy Stack's beats bounce at a staccato pace as acoustic and electric guitars gradually pile on top of one another before bleeding into wisps of dreamy distortion. Sometimes the hooks reach classic-rock stature; sometimes they dissolve into a shoegaze haze. Jenn Wasner's vocals seal it all together, her pipes slightly rusted with a lethargic despondence: "I am nothing without a man/ I know my thoughts/ But I can't hide them," she wearily reveals on the fantastic title track. The result is both grand and intimate.
The main man behind The Love Language is Stuart McLamb, a clearly lovesick fella who has one helluva taste for the golden era of rock 'n' roll. After releasing a critically applauded lo-fi debut (recorded in his parents' basement), McLamb fleshes out his sound on Libraries, where he sings about "star-crossed lovers" and how there's "no more crimson and clover." Swinging ballads are rooted in '50s and '60s rock and R&B, while anthemic rockers, like intro track "Pedals," have touches of Arcade Fire bombast and Morrissey melodrama.
On Neutral Milk Hotel's second album, Jeff Mangum crosses the line between abstract folk singer and something more akin to cryptic genius. The song arrangements and musical backdrops are perfectly fuzzy and off-kilter, but it's Mangum -- obviously enraptured by some intangible muse -- who delivers most on this album.
With Oberst dropping his Bright Eyes handle and heading to a studio in a Mexican city famed for UFO sightings to record this album, things seemed poised for the deep end. But aside from the 49-second conch solo of "Valle Mistico," he stays with a relatively unadorned set of songwriter-driven rock in the mode of Cassadaga. Sturdy Americana rockers like "Danny Callahan" and "Souled Out!!!" owe stylistic debts to Wilco, though the crystalline simplicity of the ballads -- especially the elegant closer "Milk Thistle" -- bear the heartrending confessions he's best known for.
