The background information on Stockton, CA's Wavering Saints is nearly non-existent, as far as fruitless net searches have shown. No homepage for the band, other than the Central District Records site, is to be found. Though, indie e-store Amp Camp does give a brief biography of the band, telling that they're staunch believers in the DIY ethic and have recently re-emerged from an extended hiatus (they officially formed in 1997, but apparently didn't get too far from the local scene) to release the 12" Strike Date EP in 2004. Collusion is a hodgepodge of indie rockery; the half dozen tracks strike out with lo-fi production, oozing with early '90s influence. It's tempting to tag Wavering Saints as slacker rock, and had they blossomed immediately after the grunge era started to disentrigrate, you'd have found them opening for Sebadoh, Pavement, and Yo La Tengo. Opener "Subtle Believers" is a wonderfully lackadaisical, fuzzed-out throwback to a decade ago. "Strike Date" takes an entirely different approach, rejecting all instruments save for a muddied acoustic guitar and vocal warmth that is undeniable, though the track itself exudes a one-take approach to the recording. "Homeless Teeth Transportation" seems hopelessly out of place, a drum machine-backed number soaked in incoherent vocals and really little to offer even the most complacent listener. The whole of "I'll Take Care of You" is misleading, for its 59 seconds builds an anticipation for a climax that never happens. Likewise, "Tour the Shit Out of This Motherfucker," at least in title, calls for something more than effects pedal-tinkering and high-hat tampering, but that's about all it offers. Yet, despite the past three tracks' weaknesses, Wavering Saints seemed resolute on ending the EP with as much strength as its beginning. "Magentic" is serene, making amends for the mid-album meddling with somber vocals and the most effective and emotive use of brass on an indie rock album this side of In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Three solid tracks and another three that are puzzling as to their inclusion is a fair summation of this short-player, and the less-desirable half really only plays a minimal role. When Wavering Saints take the task of creating a song, they prove it's a task tackled and conquered. [www.myspace.com]

The Black Spoons surfaced on the independent scene with their stellar 2004 debut My Dear Radium. Cerebral yet unpretentious, modest without being meek, the album highlighted the New York group’s ability to mix the musings of vocalist Tom Sean, uncharacteristically transparent for a rock singer, with tightly-wound grooves and decidedly rock and roll backbeats. Influenced by such diverse artists as David Bowie, Leonard Cohen and Cat Power, The Black Spoons are able to deal in such contrasts without ever appearing untrue. Aided by producer Paul Mahajan (Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The National, The Liars), the band’s second effort is initially more visceral and direct than My Dear Radium but proves every bit as complex and challenging. The album opens with the vigorous, guitar-driven “Mmwmm,” employing dynamic contrast and eerie female backing vocals to ominous effect. “Always Almost” and “Julia Heartache” follow, as Sean’s vocals go from being quietly intense to passionately pointed without missing a beat. The latter is especially intense as Sean sings, “Blue prince to hold your breath against until silence dislocates your jaw/Minds go places good girls cannot follow/Tongues preferring flavors we can’t swallow.” On such up-tempo rockers, drummer Ruben Mercado’s precise playing propels the group’s every motion. The album features several intimate ballads that more fully explore the dual nature of The Black Spoons’ sound. Accented by violin and cello, “I ♥ Failure” and “Other People” sound resonant and warm even as Sean sings such emotionally detached lines as “I want to sleep with other people, Baby gave her blessing/I want to go with other people, Baby start undressing”. After unequivocally endorsing My Dear Radium, I was unsure if The Black Spoons could equal their previous work. While not possessing as many immediately compelling songs as its predecessor, The History of Modern Silence is consistent in both quality and merit. With half of 2006 gone, the album is to date one of the year’s best and should appeal to those who like their rock literate and provocative. [www.theblackspoons.com]

Ahh, the conundrum of a Bouncing Souls review. As one of the most fun punk rock bands of all time, as well as one of the longest running groups of the genre (been 'round since '87, in some fashion or another), the Bouncing Souls have a consistency that makes new records almost futile to critique. I'm not saying they don't tend to show maturity as each record comes and goes. But the growth between albums is so miniscule that the only easy way to notice how they've expanded their sound would be a juxtaposition of records that are quite a few years apart. But to put it bluntly, the Bouncing Souls don't put out bad music, and The Gold Record is as much of a depiction of their greatness as anything they've done in the past. It's rare to find a punk rock band today that truly stands out above the rest, but the Bouncing Souls are one of the few. A continuous output of self-aware, poetic anthems that can often be silly but are more likely to be soul-searching and smart are at the Bouncing Souls' core. Plus, they rival the Dropkick Murphys as the punk band that you can put on when you're sitting around with your pals, getting wasted. They walk the line between melodic hardcore and punk rock, melding gang vocals and huge choruses with melodies that border on unforgettable. "The Pizza Song" sees the band extending their sound to include keyboards, accordions, and trumpet, and winds up as a future classic. "Better Things" is a Kinks cover that the Souls appropriately appropriated--Ray Davies may have penned the lyrics, but Greg Attonito suits them just as well. "Letter From Iraq" has words written by a veteran of the war, and fits nicely into the Bouncing Souls' repertoire, though it's a more somber and serious affair. The Gold Record is by far the band's best effort since saddling up with Epitaph Records and is a contender for the band's strongest record of all. [www.epitaphrecords.com]

I Was Born at Night, unfortunately, is not a new Meneguar record—it’s a reissue, which is nevertheless a cause celebre, at least in this case. The initial release (and debut) from the Brooklyn quartet was originally released via Magic Bullet Records; this time it’s out on Troubleman Unlimited. But oh, these boring facts have no bearing on the what the record has in store… I’ll honestly say that I Was Born at Night is a rare album in that it doesn’t wear out its welcome. To me, it sounds like the result of listening to a plethora of Canada’s current hip crop as much as old Dischord albums and ‘90s emo records—and in only seven tracks, Meneguar have crafted a document for all future DIYers to note when embarking on their own adventures. It’s brief but powerful. You can sing along to the entire record. It’s smartly written, but isn’t self-indulgently technical. And, it’s one of those records that’s difficult to transcribe into words without screwing it up. The record shuns arty pretensions for a melodic execution that steps over rough edges for pop leanings immersed in emotion, energy, and sincerity. The songs form a cohesive record, and while its versatility isn’t unlimited, the connection between performer and listener (which doesn’t easily translate into words) is the most notable aspect. It’s impassioned, honest rock suited for basement shows but destined for something much larger. [www.troublemanunlimited.com]

You expect that Deb Talan and Steve Tannen, otherwise known as The Weepies, would be lyrically inclined to write about what’s depressing and melodramatic. And yes, sometimes they do (“Woke up and wished that I was dead/with an aching in my head/I lay motionless in bed”). But people with great voices and a folksy sheen to their acoustic deftness aren’t very good at melodrama. So at worst, a couple of the tracks on their album Say I Am You come across as old and familiar anthems but not saddening -- unless, of course, you're depressed by getting a song instantly stuck in your head. This duo doesn’t use a wide range of instruments: The tracks are tethered together by a plain guitar (and occasionally, the faintest hint of strings) and plainer voices, often in compelling duets (or in chorus, if you count the instruments as “singing”). The Weepies are winners on the strength of their harmony; the rest is a sweetener. The psychedelic throb of “Riga Girls,” where the words echo so gaily that they trip over one another: “Just a little bit of snake oil, tinfoil/it takes so little charm to keep you hanging on.” The electric starlight of “Not Your Year,” which blinks like the night sky: “Every day it starts again. You cannot say if you’re happy. You keep trying to be. Try harder: maybe, maybe, this is not your year.” Or just settle with the pretty, sweet, pretty sweet melodies of a song on its own, like “Take it From Me,” which showcases uncomplicated poetry: “I lose my breath despite the air . . . My heart won’t stay entirely in this rib caging.” Tannen, slick and earthy in his presentation, is the perfect foil, so to speak, for Talan, who (on songs like “A Painting by Chagall”) seems to be hovering just out of reach in her upper register, even though her voice remains utterly natural, filled with seductive cracks and buoyant scales. Mathematically, these two are 180 degrees: Complementary angles (or angels, if you’ve been waiting for heaven to send down some good music). Thoroughly charming in presentation, The Weepies never get bogged down by the depressing thought that “Nobody Knows Me At All” – they skip around, buoyed by the guitars, the hearts, and their poetry. It’s a beautiful thing. [www.theweepies.com]

Mandolins and banjoes are sorry replacements for Les Pauls and Stratocasters – it’s that simple. Sure. Bluegrass tributes to hard rock masterpieces can be amusing. But so can Steve Irwin, crocodile hunter extraordinaire. Or productions of Disney films on ice, for that matter. Hayseed Dixie, a self-proclaimed crew of hillbillies that got its start playing mountain-style covers of AC/DC songs, is nothing more than a novelty act. The band’s latest release -- A Hot Piece of Grass – is further proof that it should have quit while it was ahead. A Hot Piece of Grass boasts cover versions of Black Sabbath’s "War Pigs," AC/DC’s "Whole Lotta Rosie," Van Halen’s "Runnin’ With The Devil" and a few other hard rock classics. Some are better than others. The band’s hillbilly take on Motorhead’s “Ace of Spades” is actually pretty damn hilarious – but that’s mostly because the song was unbelievably funny to begin with. Not surprisingly, the best cuts on the record are the songs that were actually meant to be played in the bluegrass style. “Blind Beggar Breakdown” and “Marijuana” are flat-out foot-stomping jams. But the band’s trademark bluegrass-metal mash-ups on this album are disappointingly dull. A whiskey-chugging version of Green Day’s 2005 hit “Holiday” is particularly offensive. So is a finger-picking take on “Whole Lotta Love.” It’s worth a listen and a few laughs – but not much more. Unless you’re a 19-year old fraterinty all-star trying to be hip at a southern school. You'll probably get a few semesters out of it. [www.hayseed-dixie.com]

Go find your Doc Marten boots. Dig that leather jacket out of your closet. And recruit somebody to take a razor to your scalp and fashion the mohawk you haven’t worn since you were a senior in high school. There’s some serious rockin’ to do. And NOFX is back and better than ever to lead the way. You know times have gotten bleak for the rebellion when people are turning to the Dixie Chicks for inspiration (They put Bush on blast and then took it back after they realized speaking the truth was bad for their record sales. Now they’ve decided it’s cool to trash the White House again – big effin’ deal!). Well, if you’re in dire need of unapologetic music that flies in the face of authority, look no further – NOFX is here to give you your fix, and then some. Wolves In Wolves’ Clothing, the perennial punk outfit’s latest release, is an absolute haymaker. It takes aim at the Christian right, the political universe and pop culture – and they prove to be consummate critics. “Would you rather be fed bullshit from some 20-something, makeup wearing, pop star?” lead singer Mike Burkett asks on the opening track “60%.” The most devastating song on the record, “Leaving Jesusland,” is an unrelenting rant on the bible belt, or as they call it, the “cerebral black hole.” Almost as scathing is “USA-Holes,” a bazooka blast of a tune that rips apart the fabric of American society. But Wolves In Wolves' Clothing isn’t just about its incendiary lyrics. The band shows off some serious chops on its instruments, and pays worthy tribute to some of the biggest legends in punk (The groove they lay down on “The Marxist Brothers” would have made Joe Strummer awfully proud). And as usual, they let lead-guitarist Eric Melvin rip a few dynamite solos. This is punk in its purest and most potent form – angry, sarcastic, offensive and glorious. [www.nofxofficialwebsite.com]

Championed by blogs and already creating quite the buzz in the realm of unsigned indie bands, Nashville-by-way-of-Austin post-popsters Oh No! Oh My! are rapidly becoming one of 2006's most revered new acts. Their self-titled, self-released debut is a testament to the aftermath of Clap Your Hands Say Yeah's record label-free extravaganza last year. There are countless bands to lump together with Oh No! Oh My!: The Shins, Modest Mouse, the aforementioned Clap...Yeah, Architecture in Helsinki, The Microphones, Magnetic Fields...the list is nearly endless. They're a part of the bedroom pop phenomenon, and despite the tracks' simplicity, the melodies are brilliant and unforgettable. "Walk In the Park" seems nearly mindless at some points, a breezy recounting of spring days, and the band humorously drops in the sadistic line "nice day for a drive-by shooting" amongst the warm sentiments the rest of the track delivers. "I Have No Sister" brings all the good times resulting from handclaps, keyboards, and acoustic guitars, and once again it's difficult to decipher whether the trio take themselves seriously or if their charming exterior is a cover for something more sinister (or plain silly) toiling underneath the surface. There's something very Morrissey-esque about the chorus, a "There Is a Light That Never Goes Out" feeling in the lyrics. "Reeks and Seeks" is an acoustic guitar duel, with barking vocals that immediately recall Isaac Brock; "On the Town" has a bassline that sounds straight out of the Small Faces' "Itchycoo Park," though the track is more along the lines of The Boy Least Likely To without the coloring book innocence. For much of the record, you can piece together influences or point out similarities...but who cares when it's this damn good? Yeah, it's not the most original record of all time. But that's not the point, or at least not the album's strongest--there's a spirit here that transcends criticism, a gesture at play in the songs that just makes you happy to be alive and listening to it. Rarely does a band deserve all the hype it receives, and the blogosphere is functioning more and more as a band's launching pad as the days go by. Oh No! Oh My! are in a saturated (yet thriving) genre but contain all the elements you'd want from a band of their stock--and they've already created an endearing album with a few future classics. For once, believe the hype. [www.ohnoohmy.com]

I only took one year of Spanish in high school, so Josh Rouse’s Subtitulo is just about right for me. Softly infused Spanish influences provide a delicate, understated flavor to Rouse’s standard Tennessee-bred concoctions. It’s a great piece for someone like myself who isn’t into Latin music that much but still appreciates the unique quality it offers. Spain, meet Nashville. Rouse pulled up his Nashville roots and moved to Spain shortly before recording Subtitulo, and the effect of the move is evident but not overwhelming. Visions of small European villages and timeless countrysides are quietly conjured. The album (especially its opening track) documents the transition from a hectic urban lifestyle to a slower moving way of life. It’s more of a rebirth than a fleeting vacation; and although Rouse fondly recalls his friends and life, you can tell he has been irrevocably touched by the culture change. Change is often good, and the balance of Subtitulo sways toward its benefits. At the same time Rouse is subtly embracing change, he outwardly contradicts it with the song “Wonderful,” in which he entreats his subject “Don’t change your way at all.” The desire to capture newfound love in a timeless landscape creates a meaningful contrast to the change that is inherent in the rest of the work. I am almost forced to like Josh Rouse as a songwriter, releasing Subtitulo on his own label (Bedroom Classics) and showing a true dedication to his music. The choice to do it himself seems to be worth it. The result is a pleasing collection of songs that play together nicely. “Jersey Clowns” was bit of a hair-puller for me, as it seemed to drag on, and sometimes the waters seemed a bit shallow underneath the pleasantness of it all, but the mood Subtitulo creates is undeniably good. [www.joshrouse.com]

What would the ambient-excelling Parisians of Air sound like if the duo had found themselves more attracted to hooks instead of breezy, electronic-laden landscapes? Or, if The Postal Service had hopped the fence on Ben Gibbard's sappy lyrics in favor of something less serious and more pleasantly boisterous? If Grandaddy'd ventured into space and headed straight for the sun instead of mindlessly floating amongst the stars? No one can say for certain, but Oppenheimer's exquisite synth-savvy pop wouldn't be far removed from those guesses. The Irish duo (Rocky O'Reilly, Shaun Robinson) owes a lot to their admitted influences--Kraftwerk, Brian Eno, Stereolab, My Bloody Valentine; basically, the heaviest hitters and pioneers of electronic and ambient music...but Oppenheimer meticulously rework those elements and channel them through a Brian Wilson blender, a formula that leaves little to be desired. They're another pop phenomenon, serving up fuzzy, saccharine-loaded dishes, and oh God, is it ever sweet. Gleaming gossamer keys flourish across the debut's fourteen tracks; endearing, sleepy vocals intertwine and connect with the abundance of dreamy verses. But, Oppenheimer aren't afraid to shake it up a bit, and on "This Is a Test," the band exudes a fondness for robotic, new wave pop (that could have been left off the record without any quarrels, I'd say), whereas "M.O." would suit Bar-None labelmates The Spinto Band quite well, but I'm not complaining. Fellow Northern Ireland indie rocker Tim Wheeler (of Ash fame) lends his pipes to "Orchid," while "Saturday Looks Bad to Me" reveals the pair's hankering for vocoders, not a far cry from a rendezvous between Saint Etienne and Giorgio Moroder. Bedroom pop seems to incessantly be pervading everything nowadays, and duos seem to be the ideal perpertrators--Oppenheimer may fit the bill, and if they're not in a league of their own, they're no doubt at the head of the pack. [www.bar-none.com]

If you get high on Ben Harper's retro blend of funk, soul, folk and rock, his latest cut, Both Sides of the Gun, should be a pretty damn satisfying smoke. Harper rolls up his entire bag of tricks into this double disc joint, his seventh album in the past 12 years. And it's everything we've come to expect from one of the most versatile and polished artists on the scene. The first disc is vintage Harper -- tender acoustic melodies topped off with rich, intelligent lyrics. "Sweet Nothing Serenade," an instrumental track, reintroduces us to his patented brand of Weisenborn wizardry. "Reason to Mourn," a sensuous Beatleque ballad, is the most powerful track on this side of the album. But the real meat of this record is on the second disc, even though it might not have as much to offer lyrically as the first. The harder collection of songs gives us a good glimpse into Harper's own record collection -- his shout-outs to funk greats like Curtis Mayfield are fairly blatant. The title track could easily pass for something Stevie Wonder recorded in his hey day. And "Black Rain" is simply the most potent Katrina-inspired piece of music recorded since the storm ripped through the Gulf Coast last summer. Yankee fans might object to "Get It Like You Like It" -- the most infectious tune on the harder disc -- because it invokes scenes from the 2004 American League Championship Series. But if they write off the song just because it alludes to Johnny Damon's grand slam in game seven, they'll be denying themselves the joy of a totally legit jam. It might not be his best work to date, but at this point of his career, Harper has proven that he's far better on his worst days than pretty much anyone is else on their best. [www.benharper.com]

Almost two years have passed since The Futureheads staked their claim as one of Britain's most thrilling young bands; in that time, the four lads have deserted the famed Sire Records in favor of the post-emo lovin'-gone-indie Vagrant Records, holed up on a farm for six weeks to record this album, and (as far as I'm concerned) have fared significantly better than their counterparts (Bloc Party, The Rakes, Maximo Park, and the rest of that fun but worn-out ilk). For News and Tributes, the band opted to take on producer Ben Hillier (Doves, Blur, etc.) as opposed to the debut's knob-turning, Gang of Four-riffing Andy Gill. And, coincidentally, the sophomore record will shirk most of the comparisons The Futureheads garnered before--The Jam, XTC, Buzzcocks, Gang of Four, and so on. No more revivalism for these kids; no, they've come entirely into their own, and though the pep is lightly scattered about, the substance is bubbling all over. "Yes/No" functions as the intro to News and Tributes; it's a weak one. I prematurely thought the record would be a letdown upon hearing the track--it builds up to a brief, sputtering climax and fades into angular riffing without soaring to any of the harmonic heights or sticky hooks I expected. But then, "Cope" showcases a Rocket From the Crypt-esque riff, a barrage of percussion and robotic vocal interjections that harks back to The Futureheads of 2004. On Track 3, "Fallout," vocalist Barry Hyde pines over his exhaustion with the world, mingling his woes with punchy guitars. The vocal interplay and structure makes the song come across as an old one with a lackadaisical twist; it's subdued instead of hasty. "Skip to the End" is an obvious single (and it is the single), and it's pretty much classic Futureheads--overtly Northern British harmonies, catchy, clean guitars, an unforgettable chorus. Having relegated their brashness to their previous selves or to the abundance of copy-cats coming through the woodwork in favor of musical breadth, The Futureheads haven't succumbed to the sophomore slump. True, if you found their energy to be their most charming asset you may be disappointed. On the other hand, it's easier to jump around than to pave a stable career in the music industry, and these Englanders seem poised to venture down that path. Will it be held in the same regard in ten years as the debut? I don't think so; it doesn't have the same immediacy or charming characterstics, and it sure as hell isn't as catchy. But, it has its moments, more than a few of them, and is head and shoulders above its peers. [www.thefutureheads.com]

*Let me preface this review by saying that I, David Barker, am not the drummer of Drag the River. That's Dave Barker. (I'm also not other music journalist David Barker; he's much better.)* An unlikely gang, Drag the River is comprised of ALL vocalist Chad Price, Armchair Martian vet Jon Snodgrass, J.J. Nobody (formerly of, who'd have guessed, The Nobodys), Spacey Casey (from Hot Rod Circuit, I think?) and the aforementioned Barker, exercising their country demons. In fact, if I were to describe Drag the River to a neophyte, I'd say they were what Lucero would be if those Memphis boys had embraced traditional country instead of just copping the Southern drawls and a few twangs here and there. Not to put Lucero down, they're one of my favorite bands, but Drag the River follow them and Uncle Tupelo as "cow-punks," bringing a DIY ethic and punk attitude to a genre that's lacking it--at least on the commercial surface. Then again, the roots of the two genres aren't that dissimilar. Snodgrass and Price have successfully adapted their voices to suit their rootsy alt-country; so much, in fact, that it's impossible to discern the musicians' former engagements. If I didn't know better, I wouldn't connect Drag the River to anything "punk rock" at all, as they've done quite the job on masking it. They're closer to Whiskeytown or Son Volt than Lucero (sans their first record) and Uncle Tupelo. Requisite steel guitars and booze-inspired tunes dot the album, as does backporch introspection and heartache. I won't claim to be any kind of expert on country music, but I can't see Drag the River breathing any new life into anything. They're content to rely on soul and solid songwriting, both elements they've managed to keep intact for the record's full duration. For whatever my opinion's worth, It's Crazy is all the alt-country you'll need this summer, and for a bunch of redneck punks, Drag the River ain't doin' so bad. [www.dragtheriver.com]

On the surface, Be Your Own Pet seem to be the result of four kids with ultra-hip parents. While some of you may remember '87 and '88 as your pre-grunge days, this quartet views that time as learning to walk and filling up diapers. Yet somehow Nathan, Jamin, Jonas and Jemina avoided the downers of puberty by listening to records from The Stooges, Television, T. Rex, The Ramones, the Sex Pistols...you get the idea. You also might get the idea of "novelty act," but Be Your Own Pet is genuine, if not a little rough around the edges and inexperienced. But dates with Sonic Youth (as well as being on Thurston Moore's Ecstatic Peace label) and inclusions on Rough Trade compilations aren't indicative of a cash-in for novelty's sake, and Be Your Own Pet isn't to be overlooked due to its members' ages. Consider Summer Sensation a precursor to Be Your Own Pet's full-length due out next month; "Bicycle, Bicycle" and "Girls on TV" pull double-duty between the two releases. The EP clocks in at 13 minutes, but that's long enough for the band to make a statement, maybe two. I'd venture to guess that those statements would be somewhere along the lines of "we like to fuck shit up" and "we don't give a fuck what you think," but I could be missing the mark. For a band that hasn't yet honed its skills entirely, Be Your Own Pet do an excellent job of covering themselves musically--guitarist Jonas Stein's riffs are the band's most outstanding resource, though Jemina Pearl's yelping vocals come in at a close second. For what the band may lack in lyrical substance or versatality they make up for in attitude and energy, and though Summer Sensation is difficult to critique without letting the members' ages play a factor, it's still impressive. It's scary to think about what Be Your Own Pet will accomplish in a decade's time, if they stick with it. Right now, at their ages, it's hard to take them entirely seriously because they don't seem to have a lot of living experience, which is, to me, what makes great art. I have no doubt their hearts are in the right places, and there's no questioning their ability to rock. Either way, Summer Sensation isn't here to be art, it's here to kick your ass. That it does, for the most part. [www.beyourownpet.net]

Is there anything bad I can say about Sonya Kitchell, really? She's seventeen. She's a musical prodigy. She understands rhythm; she has passion; and she's quickly expanded beyond the folk of Joni Mitchell to R&B and sultry jazz. And, hey, guess what? She writes the stuff herself. There are plenty of talented young singers out there, especially of the feminine persuasion, but they're talented at regurgitating (in occasionally unflattering kareoke tones, as on American Idol). Sonya Kitchell is talented at music, too. So no, there's nothing bad I can say about Sonya Kitchell. And I have nothing but praise for her debut album, Words Came Back To Me. Well, almost nothing. I mean, could I really critique her seriousness? Is it a bad thing that she seems so old? I may wish that she were more eclectic, like Regina Spektor, or sexy and playful, like Fiona Apple, but that's not meant as any sort of criticism. This review may scan like sarcasm: It's not. Sonya Kitchell is an incredible storyteller, and you need only listen to her dig into the notes in a song like "Can't Get You Out of My Mind" to know that she's serious about it, too. Her narrative voice throbs; it resonates; it seeps around the little pockets of sound on her guitar, and she keeps the whole production so minimized (a real coffee shop artist) that you can hear every nuance on a song like "Tinted Glass." And believe me, you want to hear those nuances, the way she teases out the breath and then hits a note slightly higher than the one before that, and then again. But then, okay, yes. Words Came Back To Me is like modern vintage; it's been fashioned to appear much older than it is, even in the occasionally scratchy ambiance of "I'd Love You," a straight-up throwback to the classic and ethereal singers of yore. Is this imitation flattery or indulgence of an incredible vocal gift? I don't know, but thankfully, Kitchell restrains herself from the trappings of a diva, and stays true to the music, making it, despite all the copycat behavior, most essentially HER music. Still, the best track on this album is hidden at the end of "Jerry" (a great story/song in itself) and features a quirky rhythm and moment of youthfulness otherwise absent. The simplicity of the track, an ode to her younger brother, has the magical potency of something that's filled with honesty. Not that she's trying too hard on the rest of the CD -- she never falls flat on her face, at least -- but she strikes the perfect chord with this one. Words is light, relaxing music, and I worry that some may just let it play in the background at a fancy dinner party, using it as a musical masseuse. I worry that some of the tracks are so utterly soothing that they won't be catchy enough for today's angsty listener. But that's not fair to Ms. Kitchell. Take this album as a showcase of ability, and let her take this cohesive blend of folk jazz to the modern era with her next release. We've seen the influences: Next time, just give us more Kitchell. [www.sonyakitchell.com]

As a vocalist, Peter Walker utilizes a laid-back, restrained style, allowing his work to sound almost effortless. Characterizing any of the eleven songs on Young Gravity as flippant or careless, however, would be a mistake. With the help of Grandaddy’s Jim Fairchild and Earlimart’s Aaron Espinoza, Walker has released a well-crafted record sure to resonate with those who appreciate the thought quality singer-songwriters put in their craft. Walker’s sound falls somewhere between the tuneful pop of Brendan Benson and the cerebral, melancholy Americana of Wilco, often moving without distraction from one approach to another. Album opener “What Do I Know” blends an energetic guitar riff with Walker’s aforementioned vocals to create a track that manages to be both subtle and catchy. “39 Stars,” one of my favorite songs of the year, follows in mid-tempo country rock fashion and features one of the most endearing melodies on the album. Gems like the earnest, ambling “Flagship” and the aptly named title track (in which Walker sings “I want you there by my side/Sit and stare at machines plugged to me, keeping score on the screen”) dominate the record’s first half. “Talk to You,” like “What Do I Know,” masterfully melds an upbeat feel with a laid-back Walker vocal. While the second half of the album drags a bit, it features several strong cuts like the ballad “By a Thread,” which compellingly and gradually gains momentum. Without effort on the part of avid consumers, it would be easy for Walker’s music to fly under the radar. However, because his work is highly effective at combining both substance and style, it would be shameful for Young Gravity to be overlooked. [www.peterwalkermusic.com]

Two Gallants are a rough and tumble, free-spirited duo who combine elements of traditional folk music with a punk rock approach. A gritty guitar/drums combo, Adam Stephens and Justin Vogel should appeal to those who find The White Stripes a bit too user-friendly. Much of the duo’s music retains a spiritual kinship with folk groups of decades past. Many songs on What the Toll Tells are hard luck tales of people on the fringe of society. “Las Cruces Jail” opens the record with a bang, harkening back to the days when outlaws ruled country music. For all the group’s energy, their best work comes on the album’s tender moments. “Some Slender Rest,” “Threnody in Minor B” and closing track “Waves of Grain” hit the intended emotional notes, reverberating with soul and sadness. The beauty of those tracks makes other songs on the album all the more astonishing and baffling. The inclusion of “Long Summer Day,” a modernized work song, has been skewered by other reviewers who question the right a pair of white musicians has to attempt a portrayal of racism, using contextually appropriate epithets. The problem with the song comes not in intent, but execution. The upbeat, carefree musical language used to frame this subject is a poor match. Additionally, tracks like “16th St. Dozens” and “Age of Assassins” seem too eager to put a modern spin on the folk song, delving into ill-advised periods of punk, reggae and something on “16th St. Dozens” that approximates ska. These songs illustrate the greatest flaw of What the Toll Tells, a tendency by Stephens/Vogel to come on too strong. Four of the album’s nine tracks exceed eight minutes in length, causing some of the group’s more valiant efforts to appear overdramatic and wearisome. While possessing some very notable faults, there is enough quality material here to warrant investigation by those who appreciate songs with a story. If Stephens and Vogel can control the urge to overly emote, the promise of their future work is great. [www.twogallants.com]

Ambulance has the honor of being one of the best albums I have come across since I got this job reviewing albums. Their debut, LP, was an outstanding blend of mellow and melodic rock from a New York band whose hype was actually justified. So I was quick to be skeptical of this EP, as I felt surely it was a rushed product to keep them in the spotlight amidst pre-production of their sophomore album, but this is hardly a group of outcasts and bottom dwelling tracks. An equal mix of new songs, new versions, and new American releases, this is quite a tasty appetizer of what the band has in store. The EP’s title track opens the disc as an upbeat and soulful piece worthy of a full album slot. Next up, the band throws quite a curve ball with the Motown lounge song “Arbuckle’s Swan Song,” which is very different from the bands usual sound, but it’s also a track that grows on you very quickly. The album's most remarkable cut comes in the form of an amazingly live cover of Pink Floyd’s “Fearless,” which sounds like it was recorded in a studio with premiere production. The song has skyrocketed Ambulance up my chart of bands I have to see live because if their sound on this song is any indication, they are astonishing live. “Heavy Lifting” (my favorite track of LP) makes an appearance in a lovely stripped down demo version. The catchiest song of their catalogue is accompanied by a new contender in “Country Gentleman.” Both songs serve to remind us that the band could, at any minute, lose the mellowness and just turn the amps up a little to make some blistering up tempo rockers. A techno/electronic oriented version of “Sugar Pill” actually made me appreciate the LP version more, as the new take really helps to emphasize the beauty of the track. Rounding out the release is the inclusion of “Straight A’s,” the hidden track from the British LP release, which I wish had made the American version. Balanced with a mix of new and old, this disc is a nice sampling of where the band has been, where it is, and where it is going. If their sophomore release meets the bar set so far, then I think we will all be in for one of the best records of the year. [www.ambulancenyc.com]

This disc is like a shot of adrenaline. Not just another New York band trying to be a pop rock outfit that plays songs you can dance to, We Are Scientists have come blazing out of the gates with a quick and potent debut album that will have you tapping your toes until the snow starts falling again. With 13 tracks and weighing in at just over 36 minutes, With Love And Squalor is a concise and tight album focused on up-tempo rock tracks where melody is the mission and beat is the soul. Each track is a hit upon itself, from “Can’t Lose” to “The Great Escape,” but a handful truly stand out even further. “It’s A Hit” is filled with addictive guitar work and melody, with the potential to be a huge radio hit if a DJ would wake up and play it. “Textbook” is notable because it is slower paced than the other tracks, and its placement in the track list helps to break the disc up just enough to make it feel balanced. And like all great artists, the band leaves you wanting more, here accomplished in the form of “What’s The Word,” an album-ender with bite. Not to be short with words, but this album is one that needs little explanation. Simply put, this is one of the catchiest and most impressive records you will hear all year. Tight, quick, and addictive as hell, the boys in We Are Scientists have made a pop rock record that actually steps out of the mold and hits one out of the park. If you can’t get your adrenaline pumping and your body moving after listening to this disc, I don’t think I want to know you. [www.wearescientists.com]

Boom Boom Satellites didn't want to wait to remix other groups...so they made up their own songs and remixed as they went along to get that up-tempo dance hall feel. They may have just been fooling around, dabbling out from their roots to see what sort of electronic music they could grow, but the effect of their CD, Full of Elevating Pleasures, is one of throwing down the gauntlet. "Hey," they shout, "tell me everything's not a little bit better in techno." A techno-color dream coat? Sure, I'll buy that. Masayuki Nakano and Michiyuki Kawashima are far more serious than that -- which is why they can't be dismissed as a harder-edged form of the ever-playful synth-pop -- and it gives their album a solid, smooth feel. Yes, some of their songs are repetative and perhaps better for use in movies (or anime, which they've worked with before). But the majority of the pieces on this CD seem very polished and very much like synthesized versions of other musical acts. For instance, "Spine," which has a frenetic technobabbling going on, has the energy (and nonsense) of the Beastie Boys (though more musically inclined). "Propeller" spins the spoken word like a real raving rapper, and "Anthem -reprise" might as well be one of Bjork's vocal experiments (one of the good ones). When they're not busy fusing sounds into killer, compact hybrids, Boom Boom Satellites still makes a solid entry into the synth-rock genre, with songs like "Ride On" (which has the feel of British grunge beneath all the flair) and "Moment I Count" (punk, but better). To be fair though, some of their songs, like the spoken-word "Stride," illustrate how badly an artist can fail at hybridization (we call that bastardization). But even my least favorite, "Sonic Tail," a work of sonic experimentation, is at least trying new stuff, even if its "found sound" form of art (reproducing everyday sounds as music) isn't very good. A couple of the middle tracks ("Route for Exile" and "Back in the Night") are also lackluster, blending together from a lack of creativity, but those are just slight potholes on an otherwise unblemished road. [www.bbs-net.com]