Local Natives' sounds may be gentle, but with every timid intro there's a slow, swelling crescendo to follow. It's a listening experience akin to a relaxing massage -- the aim being to gradually release tension with an end result of complete satisfaction. In that sense, Hummingbird may be less playful than debut Gorilla Manor, but the focus is on its multifaceted subtleties: the skittering beats on "You and I," the dreamy melancholia of the Fleet Foxes and the Antlers on "Ceilings" and "Bowery," the jittery piano on "Black Spot," the jangle of "Breakers," the ghostly twang of "Mt. Washington."
Like retro psych-pop bands Tame Impala, Ariel Pink and MGMT, the music of Foxygen feels as cozily familiar as a pen pal from an exotic land you'll never visit. The duo's second album opens like Sgt. Pepper in a pub and ends like Abbey Road in a windstorm; "No Destruction" hints of The Velvet Underground; "Shuggie" emulates Bowie; and, generally, singer Sam France has Mick Jagger's snarl down. To fit the vintage palette, there's talk of pot, doors of consciousness and San Francisco, but perhaps the best, most timeless line is, "There's no need to be an *sshole/ You're not in Brooklyn anymore."
Ex Cops' core duo of Brian Harding and Amalie Bruun stirs a rich pot of classic indie sounds on their promising debut album. True Hallucinations goes from a menacing post-punk strut on opener "S&HSXX" to the sort of jangly, upbeat, harmonized indie pop bands like Pains of Being Pure At Heart have helped revive (see "Ken," "James" and "Separator"). From there, they hang ten with breezy surf-pop nuggets "Spring Break (Birthday Song)" and "Billy Pressly"; saunter into Spiritualized territory with the half-dazed, sax-inflected "Jazz & Information"; and get predictably Velvet-y on "Nico Beast."
Fear not: Yo La Tengo have not gone brostep, or witch house, or Mexican New Wave, or anything else on Fade. Yo La Tengo they proudly remain, which means more warm, sweet, gorgeously somnolent, perpetually fuzz-addled guitar-pop lullabies that beloved indie power couple Ira Kaplan and Georgia Hubley softly sing directly into each other's ears, and yours. This is a record for sleepy dusks and sleepier dawns, with the Krautrock pulse of "Stupid Things" the quiet highlight: "I always know that when we wake up/ You're mine." Their hearts still beat as one, and you'll never be more grateful.
Wanna piss off the 'rents? Crank this debut from L.A. hedonists FIDLAR. Their music -- a tight mix of surf-rock, garage rock, skate punk and lo-fi fuzz -- seems to belie their slacker-saluting message, which is imparted immediately on "Cheap Beer" ("I drink cheap beer! So what! F*ck you!"), and best summed up on "Wake Bake Skate" (the Wavves dude so wishes he came up with that one). But with music this good and catchy -- nodding to such greats as The Stooges ("Whore"), The Hives ("Blackout Stout") and The Stones ("Gimmie Something") -- we think FIDLAR have it more together than they claim.
This NYC-via-Texas band only breaks the four-minute mark once on their scrappy debut, and that punk sensibility drives their music. Add tight beats and post-punk bass, and quickly their rock flies out of the garage and into darker, more adventurous terrain. Co-leaders Austin Brown and Andrew Savage write with a stream-of-consciousness laxity (just hear the journey of "N Dakota"), along the way name-dropping Socrates (in the boisterous "Master of My Craft") and spilling out their thoughts in stoner vision ("I went to a shrink/ And he found my brain/ And I had no ideas is what he found").
Oh, yeah, this is what alternative rock sounds like! The Joy Formidable roar through their sophomore album with the grand and epic intensity of vintage Smashing Pumpkins. And since 20 years have passed since the release of Siamese Dream, it's about time that cinematic dream-pop plumped up with thundering layers of guitar, rumbling beats and orchestral strings made its return. But this time it's a searing songstress steering it all: Ritzy Bryan is part prog-metal queen ("Maw Maw Song"), part sweet balladeer ("Silent Treatment"), all effortlessly cool rock chick ("Little Blimp").
"So let's make things physical," commands our favorite Canadian lesbian identical-twin-sister act, and that's "physical" in both the erotic and Olivia Newton-John senses. Yes, after six albums of terse, austere indie rock, Tegan and Sara have gone full-blown synth pop, fabulously. Mixing Katy Perry fizz with vintage, melancholy, Cars-style video-arcade bleepery and the duo's well-loved bleeding-diary lyrical forthrightness, Heartthrob flits from lust to rage to adoration to lovelorn depression and back with dizzyingly tuneful (and danceable!) ease. Best makeover since Tai in Clueless.
As sludgy, steely, swampy yet hook-abled rockers from Amherst, Mass., these poor dudes may never get out of the shadows of hometown heroes Dinosaur Jr. But for a new generation of restless rogues, California X do rattling noise-rock pretty damn well. Opener "Sucker" is an expansive dirge where apathy meets aggression, metal meets power pop -- for a more timely comparison, Wavves meets Japandroids. This is a balance they strike well throughout (maybe best on "Mummy"), even as frontman Lemmy Gurtowsky's muffled howls steadily wilt amid the squall of guitars.
Philly rockers Free Energy sing a lot about dancing -- preferably all night long -- and that kind of fun-loving spirit radiates throughout their second album. The vibe may be slightly akin to Japandroids' Celebration Rock, as Love Sign revels in feel-good, hand-clapping, shout-along rock, if in more of the '70 power-pop persuasion with its lavish guitar solos and plunky cowbell ("Electric Fever," "Backscratcher"). But they also sprinkle in synths on balladic tracks like "Dance All Night" and "True Love," which prove they can do subtle romance just as well as they can rock a party.
The former Girls frontman has gone solo, and gone is much of that band's rambunctious lo-fi pop. Instead, Lysandre belongs more in an understated lounge than an underground rock club. Running on a loose musical theme, it opens with a Renaissance twist -- a fluttering flute dancing around classical guitar -- that pops up throughout the album. "New York City" and "Riviera Rock" get crashed by a wild sax, and soft female harmonies add some sugar, but mostly the album centers around Owens' constantly breaking heart (Lysandre is a former flame) and self-doubt ("What if I'm just a bad songwriter?").
