Punk’s premier all-covers supergroup takes on American country on its sixth full-length record, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes Love Their Country. The now-infamous assemblage of musicians (Spike from the Swingin’ Utters, NOFX’s Fat Mike, Joey Cape and Dave Raun of Lagwagon, and Foo Fighter Chris Shiflett) has tackled pop and/or R&B hits of the past three decades for other releases, and this the group shifts its attention to traditional and popular country—Hank Williams, John Denver, Garth Brooks, Willie Nelson, Dolly Parton, Dixie Chicks, etc. Like the majority of the work from the band’s members’ other groups, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes is a group whose work is typically of the pop/punk strain, and the transformation of most any musical work into pop/punk is, well, not something that demands much effort, or talent, for that matter. And despite being a product of some of the modern punk rock’s most notorious jokesters (namely, Fat Mike), Love Their Country straddles an almost invisible line between mockery and adoration for the originals. Popularized by Johnny Cash and Gene Autry among others, “(Ghost) Riders in the Sky” sounds like it was pulled straight out of the Bad Religion songbook after Me First has its way; The Eagles’ “Desperado”, a sidestep from the record’s theme, and Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” are probably the most well-known works covered, and while these versions won’t be revered by fans of the originals (or probably by anyone at all), they’re not destroying the classics. And the remakes are almost all as listenable as when in their traditional formats. Hank Williams’ “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” finds itself introduced with Scottish bagpipes, while “Goodbye Earl” (Dixie Chicks) sounds like it could be a Me First original, if those existed. At its core, Love Their Country sounds exactly like what it is—a bunch of Fat Wreck punk rockers doing country songs—and Me First are one of the only groups audacious enough to try and succeed. There’s no underlying statement on the record; the songs seem to have been chosen for purely musical reasons as opposed to messages, and the selection runs the gamut of the genre. So, it finds itself as a record that’s as notable for its covers as for being a solid pop/punk record in general. [www.fatwreck.com]

There are occasions when the brilliance of an album is immediately apparent and easy to quantify. In other instances, however, the beauty of a record is more subtle, sneaking up and catching the listener off guard. These pieces of music have a certain quality about them that is more difficult to describe yet carries as much artistic significance as those albums falling into the first category. Damaged, the latest offering from Lambchop, is just such a record, possessing a delicate grace and subtle charm that is magnetic while never becoming overwhelming. Songsmith Kurt Wagner is the central, constant figure in this fluid, Nashville-based ensemble (the band’s Merge Records bio lists the group as containing “anywhere from 5 to 17 players”) and he maintains an oddly charismatic presence that infuses each of the album’s ten tracks. Initially, Wagner’s detached, ironic vocal delivery seems incongruent with the rich harmonic color contained in the instrumental arrangements. Yet, as Damaged progresses, Wagner’s manner becomes more familiar and adds weight to the material. The genius of Damaged lies in the diversity of its compositions and vibrancy of its orchestration. “Paperback Bible” opens the album with a gently melodic ostinato played on acoustic guitar and the harmonic support of a warm string section. “Prepared [2]” follows with the jazz chords of a single piano soon joined by another opulent chorus of strings. “Beers Before the Barbican” ebbs and flows nicely, guided by faint steel guitars and fleeting horn swells which allow the song to fluctuate between elements of jazz and country. Trying to pigeonhole the album into a certain style or dynamic is futile as the tracks seem to slightly appropriate ingredients from a number of genres and craft a distinctly understated and unique style. Beautiful in an off kilter sort of way, Damaged is an album full of sparkling pop gems and deserves an audience that will appreciate the effort and ability displayed by Wagner and company. [www.lambchop.net]

Guster’s latest album, Ganging Up on the Sun is an amalgam of standard rock, clean-cut alternative beats, and up-tempo full-band medleys. It’s also an escape from the deadly “pop” moniker—these songs have bounce, particularly the delightful banjo-driven “The Captain,” and they’re slick, as with the perfectly produced and synthesized “Satellite,” but the whole album is far more alternative or straight-up rock than past releases. Part of this is due to the new member, Joe Pisapia, who adds that country-modern flair. For all that, this is still the same group that started as Gus back at Tufts: just listen to a song like “Hang On” and it’s 2003 all over again. Brian’s still playing the drums with his hands, tracks like “Ruby Falls” keep the same delightful falsetto, and the songs are still cozy, natural, and playful. They have, however, picked up some new tricks. “The Beginning of the End” is full of distorted guitar, and “The New Underground” matches the energy of We Are Scientists with the creative dissonance of Gorillaz, punching out a calypso-like beat. “One Man Wrecking Machine,” an electric long-form song that traces the ruination of our childhoods, has traces of Coldplay, and the addition of trumpets to a song like “Dear Valentine” bolsters their underlying strength. The classic sound of a tambourine on “Manifest Destiny” plays right alongside a running brook of piano notes. That makes the track forceful yet lightly paced when it sings: “You and I could quit this scene/build a town and then secede/like an Adam and an Eve.” Inevitably, the tracks slow down to a point on “Empire State,” but even then, Guster is maintaining their solid yet amorphous sound. Odd as it may be at first to hear their indie rock lyrics blending with a more melodious, almost Decemberist sound, Ganging Up on the Sun is a quickly catchy album, and a must-listen for 2006. [www.guster.com]

“The world is a very scary place.” The Gothic Archies are the part time project of the prolific baritone bard of New York, Stephin Merritt. Better known for his work with The Magnetic Fields, Stephin has resurfaced his other band, after a ten-year hiatus, and released a 13-track compilation album of sorrowful tunes. The Gothic Archies first appeared back in 1997, releasing an EP entitled The New Despair with the sole intention of parodying goth music. The EP included songs with titles such as "Your Long White Fingers" and "The Abandoned Castle of My Soul" Shortly after the release, the Gothic Archies promptly disappeared. Stephin Merritt’s most critically acclaimed work was 69 Love Songs created under the guise of his main band The Magnetic Fields. The three-disc odyssey contained precisely what the title suggested and quickly became an indie classic. The Tragic Treasury, the latest installment in The Gothic Archies' catalogue, however, contains no songs about love. Instead, it is a treasure trove of bleak Victorian unpleasantness, darkly comical and morose, much like witnessing the Adams family singing campfire ditties with a ukulele. The songs found on the album were originally written to accompany the A Series of Unfortunate Events children’s books written by Lemony Snicket (also a part-time member of The Gothic Archies and an accomplished accordion player.) The new album coincides with the release of the final book in the series, which hit the shops with a resounding death knoll on Friday the 13th. Merritt’s evocative and yet beautifully trivial wordplay is evident through the album, whether it’s about having your face removed, walking your gargoyle or praying for death whilst listening to a violin, there is something utterly miserable here for everyone. [www.nonesuch.com]

When an album is titled The Melody and the Energetic Nature of Volume, it probably doesn’t come as a surprise that it’s chock full of lyrical bombast. Taking the dose of pretentiousness wouldn’t be so bitter if the music was more interesting. Hip deep in the modern rock slush pile, Evans Blue has a tendency to drone on and on with their carbon-copied melodramatic flair. The usual suspects are present: pensive insecurity, righteous rage, and plenty of vocal quavering to wrap it up in a nice, predictable package. Packaging is key; everything here is slick and stock. The more serious the music becomes the harder it is to take it seriously. The summation of this phenomenon has to be the song “Quote.” Lead singer ‘Matisyn’ opens singing “Quote, you are my soul, unquote.” This smirk-worthy quote/unquote business is carried on throughout the song. If you’re not smirking over lyrics about wind blowing over great divides, guided in solitude with night for a companion and the whole lot, you’re probably just busy stifling the inevitable yawn. Don’t worry, the album isn’t much longer and you can nod off to sleep soon. [www.evansblue.com]

Like The Dead Science, another post-Radiohead band from Seattle, Sneaky Thieves manage to lace their minimalist compositions with a maximum of sonic invention. The mood parameters of accident(s) are so strict that the listener has little choice but to dig in with singer Freddy Bale and his friends as they carve out their little trenches of despair. The arrangements are airy but never thin, with all manner of odd instrumentation supporting the frail escalation of Bale’s vocals. There is something vaguely psychedelic about Sneaky Thieves. Coming from a different part of Rain City than the gruff alleyways of Screaming Trees, they seem to have sprouted from a field of magic mushrooms. The lyrics cling to the repetition of obscurely meaningful images with the music crawling around them like ivy on a wall. The band has an original sound that might be described as chamber pop. It is pretty, but withdrawn. Adventurous, but familiar. And when the mournfulness of it all threatens to become a bit oppressive, a lovely harmonic touch adds just enough of a breeze to fill the sail and lighten, as Bale puts it “the weight of the sin that is pressing through my bones.” [www.myspace.com]

An unofficial teaser for an album due to hit early 2007, The Notbirds EP features collabs with Mercury Rev and The Silent League, plus a cover of Gene Clark's "With Tomorrow", and sees NYC's Hopewell ante up their pop potential without losing any of the psychedelic edge that's made them one of the Big Apple's most endearing bands as of late. Coming off the strong sophomore release The Birds of Appetite, former Mercury Rev roadie-turned-Hopewell brainchild Jason Russo leads his band down a path that the Flaming Lips should have taken this year, and while highly indebted to Coyne & Co., Hopewell are of a newer breed. The magnificence of the band may be lost on those who can't get beyond subtle similarities, but for those willing to listen a little harder and look a little deeper, they'll find that under the surface, these guys are a modern psychedelic rock wonder, putting the old fogies to shame and laying down blueprints for those to come. The EP's title track rocks the hardest of the bunch, with dazzling, spacy guitars crunching up against Russo's semi-coherent yelping, while the country-fied "Beautiful Targets" (feat. Mercury Rev) begins life with harmonized vocals and twangy acoustic guitars, then evolves into one of the greatest anthems of the year. The band's take on the Gene Clark track ends up sounding like an early Neil Young placed in modern times, as Russo's frail voice is incessantly on the verge of cracking into a million little pieces. Though only six tracks, The Notbirds EP sets up Hopewell's third record to be one of the most anticipated of the coming year, as well as increases the value of the band's back catalog. Now that Grandaddy is gone and the Lips are over the hill, it only makes sense for Hopewell to arrive in those bands' stead. [www.hopewell.tv]

What started out as an unambitious side project for four members of Chicago's pop-punk triumvirate has mutated into a semi-serious band, wittled down to a trio, and released its debut LP, Unicornography. The Falcon comprises members of The Lawrence Arms and Alkaline Trio (Todd Mohney, formerly of Rise Against and who appeared on The Falcon's EP, left the band prior to this record's release), two groups who are arguably the leaders of today's pop-punk, or are at least a couple of the wittier and more mature of the pack. The Falcon, as history will have it, was initiated by Brendan Kelly. A veteran of Chicago's punk scene, Kelly spent his later teenage years fronting the legendary ska band Slapstick, which also featured Alkaline Trio/Tuesday/Falcon member Dan Andriano on bass. Post-Slapstick, Kelly teamed up with some members of his old band and former Tricky Dick guitarist Chris McCaughan to form The Broadways, a politically and socially-conscious pop-punk quartet who broke up after a couple albums to split into two bands--The Honor System and The Lawrence Arms. Kelly and McCaughan went the way of the Arms, together with ex-Baxter drummer Neil Hennessy. Sometime in 2004, Kelly decided that he needed an outlet for his songs other than the Lawrence Arms (in which he splits songwriting/singing duties with McCaughan), and recruited Hennessy, Andriano, and Mohney to partake on the recording of the God Don't Make No Trash EP. The songs met with success, helping to kickstart the Red Scare label and Falcon fans clamoring for a full-length and more. Unicornography is that full-length, and while it's not as serious or deep as Kelly's half of The Lawrence Arms, it's certainly not a novelty act or a release worth relegating to the excesses and failures of the "supergroup." While the band's EP met some criticisms saying that The Falcon sounded too similar to The Lawrence Arms, the LP's songwriting says something entirely different. Yeah, Brendan Kelly sounds the same in each band, because his vocals are unbelievably gritty and high, grating, and irritating, but you try singing like that without coughing your ass off. On these songs, he's taken some liberties with his songwriting that might not suit his other group; I don't want to say that The Falcon is less serious, but Kelly's lyrics aren't as intellectual as he's known to write. Even he admits himself that he doesn't "want to overthink" The Falcon. Case proven. But Unicornography is probably his catchiest work, and he doesn't hesitate to take swipes at whatever crosses his mind. And his preoccupations with the Devil, death, and morality have carried over. "Blackout" hints at psycho-ska, a la The Mad Caddies sans brass, then flips the coin to flex the anthem of the chorus, as Kelly bemoans "the garbage on the radio," of which the songs are "nothing more than fat fuck lullabies." If the record was to have a single, "The La-Z-Boy 500" would be it. The simplistic stop-start chord progressions of the verses segue wonderfully into the chorus, "when the bell tolls I'll be fine/they say that living is a lot like dying." "The Celebutard Chronicles" attacks our society's obsession with celebrity culture, from the trashy magazines in the supermarket line to Ashlee Simpson. Much of the material is standard fare for the writer, alcohol-induced recounting of nights in Chicago, friends, etc. True, it's not a huge departure from The Lawrence Arms but it's no digression. Kelly's opinions on our culture are cerebral, acerbic, and most of all, necessary. He takes the less annoying, more poetic road to espousing views and ideas instead of the loud-mouthed one, and it works. It's unfortunate that most progressives lack the ability to write a catchy song, but maybe when Kelly is done with music, he'll find something else to pursue... [www.thefalconisbiggerthanjesus.com]

Being prolific. Look at Stephen King who busts out a bestseller every fortnight. Look at CBS who creates a new Neilson-rated CSI (CSI: Raleigh? CSI: Sacramento?) program every season. Look at Vince Vaughn who is in every other theater at your local multiplex. Look at They Might Be Giants who have done it again with a CD/DVD combo Venue Songs. Venue Songs proves just how prolific award-winning They Might Be Giants can be. The CD has 46 tracks (FORTY SIX), each track a song about each venue they played at on their nationwide tour. Each song was written on the tour bus between shows (BETWEEN SHOWS), played live, and recorded to make said CD. The songs are varied, as are most all songs TMBG creates. However, at about track 32 you’re wondering, “Wow, how long can they keep this up?” and “This song sort of sounded like track 17,” and “Didn’t they already sing a song about Pittsburgh?” They’re good short songs, sure, and, yes, impressive simply by how they were created, but those new to TMBG music might be put off by the sheer musical girth of it all and would be better served listening to more classic TMBG albums, most notably Flood, Apollo 18, and No!. As for the DVD of the CD/DVD combo it’s as eclectic, odd, and entertaining as one might expect. The DVD is a collection of venue songs, what John Flansburgh and John Linnell (the TMBG duo) deemed the best of the lot, rerecorded, and made into videos, each distinctive. The videos are cool but what makes the DVD cooler are the introductions of said videos by The Daily Show’s John Hodgman. That guy is geeky cool, as is TMBG, and adds great color and humor to the package as a whole. Side note: Read Hodgman’s chortle-fest of a book, The Areas of My Expertise, a book worthy of a They Might Be Giants blurb. So, we got oodles of They Might Be Giants tunes, we got the goofy hipster John Hodgman on board, what else could make the DVD cool? Homestarrunner characters! Yeah, sweet, bring in Strong Bad and the gang for a well-appreciated appearance on “Experimental Film.” They Might Be Giants certainly have thrown everything and the kitchen sink into their new CD/DVD combo. Some of it, however, needs a little more scrubbing. [www.tmbg.com]

Chicago’s Thick Records has a tight grip on the Windy City’s punk rock scene, and though the label might not be home to any household names, its roster is as varied as it is muscular. Thick compilations are reaching a point where they’ll surpass the beloved, reasonably-priced Hopelessly Devoted to You series that Hopeless Records/Sub City have been releasing for the past decade as the best bargain for your buck The 14 tracks on Hair:Chicago Punk Cuts are advertised as being newly recorded and exclusive to the compilation, and all were recorded by Lance Reynolds over two weeks at Chicago’s Argyle Room studios. Though often compilations are bought to fill-in a collector’s need for the exclusive tracks from a band, they’re also sought out for variety and price. On all three levels, this is one that pulls its weight. The players here are all veterans of Chicago punk rock, though in a slew of different aspects. “Walking the Plank” from Allister opens the disc, wielding a weightier edge to the pop-punk that got the band inked to Drive-Thru Records in the post-Dude Ranch signing frenzy of a few years back. Much the Same and The Killing Tree deliver “The Greatest Betrayal” and “Dressed to Fuck”, respectively. Both are of melodic hardcore’s roughest strain, with the latter being the lesser-known, long-running project of Rise Against vocalist Tim McIlrath. Cougars’ “We Blog the Hardest” is a blast of brass, indiscernible screams and robotic vocals, brazening a post-punk shake while pissing away any necessity for formula and melody. The Methadones once again yield a pop-punk wonder in “Waiting”, aping the big choruses of ‘70s power-pop. Colossal are probably one of the most underrated bands in indie rock; though the band has been on the circuit for around three years, they’ve yet to make an obvious impact. Surmising that the band’s line-up makes for a difficult touring itinerary (members do time in The Lawrence Arms, Smoking Popes, Duvall, The Heavens, etc.), it becomes apparent that they’re not a full-time band; that’s a shame. “Give Me a Tropical Cancer High” has the band’s signature jazzy flourishes and complex guitar work, though humble and unrefined. Few of the songs on Hair are throwaways, though some shine much brighter than others. Still, it’s an overlook of this section of this one city’s veterans and newcomers. Horace Pinker and The Methadones are tried-and-true codgers, banging it out successfully for years in some form or another. Ryan’s Hope and The Felix Culpa have yet to reach a climax, though steadily rising. This compilation does an excellent job of surveying the scene and gathering a diverse enough roster to keep things interesting to the very end. [www.thickrecords.com]

I had high hopes for the latest album (albeit one year later) from The Saints initially. Hailing from Amsterdam, and with song names like "Porno Movies," "Nylon Pirates," and "Where is My Monkey?", a schizophrenic and exciting album was expected. It was such a disappointment when it was actually a repetitive and dull production. Lead singer Chris Bailey's voice is unfinished and raw a la John McCrea of Cake. But The Saints fail to perform at the same level. A more powerful voice would inject energy into songs like "A Madman Wrecked My Happy Home" instead of allowing it to dwindle into redundancy. "Nylon Pirates" evokes Nirvana in its grunge-inspired style, but The Saints fail to make the genre their own. While I appreciate certain blues influences in their music, "Bang On" completely destroys their credibility as musicians. Simple and predictable, it is the nadir of the album. It makes me want to bang MY HEAD on something- preferably something hard and/or sharp. Marty Wilson-Piper on guitar lacks style and creativity on the few solos he performs, and bassist Caspar Wijnberg only supplements the rhythm laid down by Peter Wilkinson. It should be noted that it's no wonder Wilkinson performs so superbly on the drums when the same rhythm is used for at least two songs in a row. The Saints are currently on tour in Europe. With the album release a year ago, I wonder why no one has told them to stop making music. Perhaps all the legalized weed in Amsterdam has skewed their perception of "good music." [www.saintsmusic.com]

Carina Round may be a talented singer, but when she acts like a petulant girl who wants to scream and show off her range in the same breath, she’s not a very pleasant one. For the majority of her album Slow Motion Addict, she’s stuck in a blend of dance, rock, and pop¬—a rather large niche these days—and none of them work for her. Her voice, even at its fleshiest and raspiest, can’t compete with the drums and guitar at full strength, and her beautiful falsetto is fragile enough that it could drown in an inch or two of water. When she gets to her titular roots and slows the action down, the mellow tracks are mellifluous, and it turns out that for all her catchy production techniques, she actually has stuff to say. I’m all in favor of the hip energy of songs like “How Many Times” when they’re used properly, but the peppy pop presentation should do more than propel things along—it’s quickly forgettable, a cute throwback that can’t stand on its own. As for the title track, which jumps forward with its electronic ambiance, it goes too far with instruments alone: the name on the album is Carina Round, and without her, it’s just loosely associated sound. She pulls together a disparate song like “Gravity Lies,” a rock song that warps and riffs on the melody, and allows our hero to stop trying to be hypnotically perfect. Instead, her words roll as rasps and slide up and down with a screechy guitar—her scream fits into the oeuvre, so does the toy ray gun firing in the background. This track is far from perfect¬—so disparate it’s hard to listen to—but it pulls her out of slickness and towards reality. What Carina Round needs to establish is a voice: on some tracks she plunges below the sound, on tracks like “Take the Money” she’s post-punk aggression ala Pink, and then on basic rock like “Want More” she sounds like We Are Scientists. Where’s she seems most solid and most profound is with a soft quartet of songs near the end of the album. Beginning with “Downslow” (which does just that), and going into “January Heart,” the band starts to ease back so that the tender plucking matches her reedy singing. When the band does come in at full strength, it’s like ballast to send Carina soaring over the bass chanters. “The City” also keeps the instruments to a minimum; the occasional rip into the melody is what cuts her voice free. By her best track, “The Disconnection,” Carina is using her full range, coupled with classical instruments, and the swelling symphonic sound (modulated to match her own warbling) seems like the right fit. Maybe by her next album, she’ll have pieced it all together. (NOTE: I recommend that you listen to the versions of her tracks that she has placed on her website, www.carinaround.com. They're fantastic, but not the overly produced, overly pop versions on the CD.) [www.carinaround.com]

If the resurrection of indie girl rock depends on how well young teenagers are at assimilating and reproducing the efforts of Juliana Hatfield and her ilk, then Seattle sisters Asya and Chloe are indie’s last great hope--Smoosh, with fourteen year-old Asya on keyboard/ vocals and Chloe on drums, released their first album two years ago. It was sweetly obnoxious and halfway unlistenable, but their second effort, Free to Stay, is a marginal classic.

This is the band that Quasi is too old to be. A lot of indie musicians try to hide their age behind bad musicianship, but sounding like you have only been playing your instrument for six months doesn’t freeze you in teenage time. It just makes you suck. Chloe is not much of a drummer, but Asya is a fiend on the keyboard, with well-trained fingers spazzing out just as uncontrollably as the pelvis of Elvis. And her melodies take some genuinely odd twists and turns, without straying from the joyful pastures of a sha-la-la Shangri-La.

The lyrical concerns are well expressed for a fourteen year-old whom one may assume is too young to have had the experiences about which she writes and sings. In “Waiting for Something,” she sings “I don’t know why I do these things / I always regret them in the end.” Although not heavy philosophy, it’s more college dorm than middle school playground. “Clap On” and “Glider” are vitriolic attacks people who lie to themselves as well as to others. The title track shows a heavy Vanessa Carlton influence, and is as good as anything the older girl has written.

People who hate pop music might complain that this production destroys the sisters’ diamond-in-the-rough quality, but less snobby indie fans will appreciate the polishing of the diamond. The first album sounded like something two sisters might have concocted in their bedroom. Free to Stay, produced by Death Cab for Cutie’s Jason McGeer (who taught Chloe how to play the drums), is a fully-realized product. [www.smoosh.com]

VCR follow up their self-titled EP with the full length Power Destiny, employing the same basic style of sarcastic synth pop/rock. At least it sounds sarcastic to me, largely due to the grating vocals of Chad Middleton. They play synth powered rock, with an emphasis on the implied anthem, and drawing much of their influence from the punk and new-wave sections of the world. Unfortunately for them, they rarely exhibit enough energy to grab your attention for five seconds, and even if they could, the unchanging song formats would lose you just as quickly. That's not to say VCR doesn't have potential, though. The sound is very danceable and at times just energetic enough to be fun. With more of a focus on keeping songs fresh and less focus on the vocals (or a different singer) you could be seeing them as the next band your sister plays at her college parties... or in a heart-warming dance soliloquy from a lonely, frustrated drunk in his dorm room. Putting aside the negative aspects, the album is at times enjoyable, and may be woth a listen for fans of HORSE the Band, the Epoxies, and the Whirlwind Heat. [www.sideonedummy.com]

These days it's hard to stay relevant in the music industry for very long. The cultivation of the "band" has all but evaporated, leaving us with disposable music for an even less loyal listener. So imagine my surprise when The Church manage to do exactly that 25 years after first forming. From their debut album Of Skin & Hearts released in 1981 to their current offering Uninvited, Like The Clouds, these four Aussie musicians have navigated through fairly fickle waters only to re-emerge album after album sounding fresh and truly inspired. Uninvited, Like the Clouds posseses a more subdued, slightly less shimmering sound than their last masterpiece, 2002's After Everything Now This. That album managed to create a graceful blanket of sound, while this tends to rely more on straight-forward production to get its point across. From the plaintive, opening strains of "Block," to the swooning choruses of 'Space Needle" and "Easy," The Church work hard to transform simple songs about love and religion into startling minuettes of revelation. While the mainstream landscape has changed significantly since their breakthrough hit; 1986's "Under The Milky Way" off the album Starfish, one thing remains unchanged: The Church have their collective pulse firmly planted on something very special: talent. [www.thechurchband.com]

Words like gorgeous, hypnotic, sultry and dulcet describe but do little justice to the distinct vocal presence exhibited by Silvia Ryder, one half of the Viennese duo Sugarplum Fairies. Ryder’s exquisite voice, the aural equivalent of plush velvet, drives the ten songs that make up Country International Records, an album that is one of this year’s hidden gems. Ryder’s ability is matched only by the skill her creative partner Ben Bohm (guitar, backing vocals) displays in providing the ideal setting for her vocals to stand out. Augmented by the inspired contributions of guests including percussionist/co-producer Ken Coomer (formerly of Wilco) and keyboardist Jerry Dale McFadden (Sixpence None the Richer), Ryder and Bohm create a sound that manages to be both undemanding and lush. Fuzzy electric guitars, clean acoustic tones, strings, keys and horns unite to aid Sugarplum Fairies in effortlessly blending a wealth of influences including European guitar pop, American folk and the shoe gazer sound perfected by bands like Mazzy Star. The set of songs on Country International Records range from plucky kiss-offs (see “Velcro Girl” on which Ryder sings “I remember you sold me the world and you promised the tables would turn/But now you’re stuck with velcro girl) to lilting ballads (“First Love, Last Rites”, “Polyester Poetry”). “I’m Just Fine” highlights Coomer’s excellent percussion work while “When You’re Mean” benefits greatly from its arrangement, featuring accordion and horn. The album closes with a breathy, ambient cover of U2’s “All I Want Is You” that fits nicely with the group’s original work. With only 32 minutes worth of material, Ryder, Bohm and friends do a marvelous job of fashioning such a rich atmosphere while never giving in to the temptation to overdo things. Sweet, succinct and sparkling, Country International Records is a work that is truly engaging on many levels. [www.sugarplumfairies.com]

Integrating the dreamy vocal harmonies, illustrious arrangements and rhythmic guitars that marked the best rock and roll of the late 60’s and early 70’s, Australian group The Sleepy Jackson have shaped an album that nods knowingly to the retro while often managing to sound fresh and inspired. A song cycle of grand design, Personality, is long on ambition, intending to stand adjacent to the great albums of those eras gone by. While The Sleepy Jackson display an abundance of invention, their failure to show restraint in some instances keeps the album from realizing the fullness of its potential. “You Needed More” opens the project in epic fashion, with frontman Luke Steele’s gritty vocals cutting through swirling, ambient textures as the song slowly evolves, then explodes into full-blown rock. Several excellent tracks follow (hence one of the album’s greater flaws: the best tracks occur early, making Personality feel a bit frontloaded) including “God Lead Your Soul” with its Beach Boys-esque harmonies and brilliant backing horns and the immediate, steel-guitar driven “God Knows.” The second half of Personality does not exhibit the strength of the first as a couple of songs deviate from the retro-inspired sounds of earlier tracks and head into imitative territory. “Play a Little Bit for Love” borrows far too heavily from 70’s dance pop sounds while “You Won’t Bring People Down in My Town” and “Dream On” are a bit too lush for their own good. These tracks could have benefited from less production and more emphasis on their basic elements. Fortunately, the acoustic-driven “How Was I Supposed to Know” and the ironically blissful “Higher than Hell” are around to salvage the album’s final half. While meant to work as a whole, the album’s parts tend to be worth more than their sum. However, this should not deter listeners from experiencing this record. Several of the tracks Steele and Co. present reach sublime heights making Personality more than worth the effort the lesser songs take to absorb. With a bit more filtering and pacing the next time around, The Sleepy Jackson may able to achieve the greatness they so definitely appreciate. [www.thesleepyjackson.com]

Former members of Bigwig, Max Bechard and Jeremy Hernandez make up this pop-punk/punk-revival band. Influenced by Minor Threat, No Use For a Name, and NOFX, this band has a Warped Tour under their belt and is still going strong. The follow up to their debut, The Gentle Art of Making Enemies, is their 2006 release Testing the Ends of What They’ll Put Up With which hits with punchy guitars, and dueling vocals. The yelled, vocals, a-la NOFX, work well for this band, hitting an aggressive note with the track “Now Rectify.” Other tracks feature chorus backup vocals and whining guitar solos, as well as rhythmic rock-drum beats. Near Miss edges into the emotional on “Falling Out” as Jeremy Hernandez sings: “So sick of being lost/ the secret’s in the heart/ you’ll never understand/ how it feels to miss everything we once shared.” The album mellows on “Take It Back,” and “Last Goodnight” – but returns to full-force punk on “Feel When You Find” and “We All Bleed.” In typical punk-rock fashion most songs clock in at under three-minutes, and offer the sing-a-long, head shaking music of punk-ballads, and an emo-esq penchant for coherent, tender sentiment. Although the album is strong on its own, I’m afraid Near Miss may narrowly miss distinguishing themselves from the pack. [www.takeoverrock.com]

Maybe to a fault, I feel that Flogging Molly needs no introduction. This L.A.-based Irish-Punk band has been rocking bars, clubs, and pubs since 2000. Now with their fifth official release, a CD and DVD combination, the band is storming back into the world of live recordings (the band’s previous live album Alive Behind the Green Door), but also into the world of video documentary. For those unfamiliar with Flogging Molly, think of The Dubliners or The Pogues. The band combines traditional Irish music with concepts ranging from the IRA to piracy, with the traditional “fuck-it” attitude that makes Dublin one of my favorite cities. The record features new versions of songs like “Drunken Lullabies,” “Another Bag of Bricks” and “Tomorrow Comes a Day Too Soon,” along with live versions of “Swagger,” “Black Friday Rule,” “Within a Mile of Home,” and “What’s Left of the Flag.” The band’s energy can be felt in each recording, which includes the occasional on-stage musings of lead singer Dave King. Although the live recordings are non-too-perfect, they are charming all the same. The CD is only part of the package. The DVD documentary, Whiskey on a Sunday, directed by Jim Dziura, was shot over two years in seven different countries. This is more than just concert footage, this is a full-on behind the scenes, intimate video cataloging the life and times of one of the most infamous Irish punk bands of our generation. Features include live concert footage, studio footage, candid interviews with all seven members of the band, Dave King’s explanations of various song origins, their return to Molly Malone’s pub (where the band got their start), and more than a little whiskey. There ain’t nothing better than listening to a band you wouldn’t mind getting drunk with, and Flogging Molly is definitely one of those bands. Down-to-earth, fun-loving, and damned hard-working, this is one band you can still respect in the morning. [www.floggingmolly.com]

First off, do not fear. You ravenous fans of Seattle's Blood Brothers needn't worry about the band having a severe shift in style. I felt the need to state this up front, lest I become the target of more wrath than a union strike at the factory that makes the white belts. I use the word ravenous because fans of the Blood Brothers are typically intense fans of the Blood Brothers. This release, Love Rhymes with Hideous Car Wreck, is a collection of b-sides and rarities. These songs are certain to do anything but disappoint the fans, but, all in all, this release is better suited for completists than new fans or those who just flirt with fandom. Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck, while not their strongest release, can be granted some concessions. Think of it as a means to whet the fan's appetite in preparation for the main course, the upcoming full-length Young Machetes. Altogether, the album lacks a bit of the luster of the previous releases, most notably: Burn Piano Island, Burn. The interplay between dual-vocalists Johnny Whitney and Jordan Blilie, as always, is the most important facet of the Blood Brothers' music. Jordan's voice tends to lean towards the subdued calm one would expect from a man on the verge of screaming, meanwhile, Johnny Whitney's voice elevates further and further skyward. It leaves Whitney sounding, at most times, like Joanna Newsom in the throes of a crack-fueled freak-out. This EP, a glorified single, launches with the title track which was featured on their last full-length, Crimes. The bass lines and guitar melodies on the title track seem to be distanced from Johnny and Jordan and the end-effect is an atmospheric song that leaves the listener open to the distorted stop-start blitzkrieg of the song's bridge. The stand-out tracks as I see them are: "Love Rhymes With Dangerous Car Wreck", the third song, "Metronomes" (Although I must mention I am a bit put off by how far out of tune Whitney and Blilie are on the chorus), and the Brothers' remix of Gang of Four's "Anthrax." For the remix, the drums are hyped, pounding like a steamroller in a music store. At first the feedback and drum intro seems a little daunting, until you remember that Gang of Four introduced the song that way originally, albeit with much less vitriol. The included live version of "Love Rhymes With Hideous Car Wreck" serves to highlight the venue where the Blood Brothers really shine... in front of a mass of sweaty, writhing, young adults. In summation, this EP is a mid-day snack to tide you over until Young Machetes is released. This is not for everyone, I would recommend it only to the biggest fans of Blood Brothers. [www.thebloodbrothers.com]