It’s always hard to judge an album numerically and so far I have yet to come up with a scientific formula other than my gut, but this time I thought I would simply count how many songs I loved, how many I liked, and how many I could leave, and see where I stood after that. The first victim of this twisted experiment? Leaders Of The Free World, the junior release from British boys Elbow. The songs I liked? 1. “Station Approach” is a great soft/loud song that builds up to a huge beat and immediately lets you know the boys aren’t as gloomy and down as their first albums were, which was their Achilles’ heel in my opinion. 2. “Forget Myself” is an up tempo track that sticks to the ears. 3. “Mexican Standoff” is probably my second favorite cut on the entire disc. The speedy clap along and front and center guitar make the track stand out. 4. “My Very Best” is good, but not particularly noteworthy of further explanation 5. “Great Expectations” is the same as above. The songs I could do without? 1. “Picky Bastard” is mellow and actually good but a bit too forgettable. 2. “The Stops” is laid back to the point it’s boring. 3. “An Imagined Affair” reminds me of Coldplay’s first record at times but just doesn’t bring it as hard as it should to be fully a rounded and complete track. 4. “The Everthere” is a take it or leave it affair. 5. “Puncture Repair” to short and slim to stand up tall. So that leaves us at a dead tie, probably somewhere in the 2.5 range I would say, but the boys have an ace up their sleeve. The song I loved? 1. “Leaders Of The Free World” is not only the best song on the disc but one of the best tracks I have heard all year. It’s a questioning of the current authorities state of affairs that manages to artistically make great points without sounding too preachy. Lots, and I mean LOTS, of bands have tried to make a statement about the world with their songs lately, and most have failed, but this track is both musically and lyrically outstanding. The song is so good in fact that it makes every song around it better, as if by simply being on the same disc as this song, the others sound a notch or two better. So in the end we are left with an album that is above average, if just barely, but helped immensely by my current nominee for track of the year. “Leader Of The Free World” (the song) is an A+, homerun, outstanding achievement. Leaders Of The Free World (the album) is good but ultimately could be better. [www.elbow.co.uk]

Unless you’re T.S. Eliot, it’s customary to imagine the soundtrack to the end of the world in Wagnerian terms. Mention the apocalypse, and immediately people begin thinking of crashing percussion, roaring horns, weeping woodwinds, fat women in blonde wigs and Viking helmets performing glass-shattering coloratura solos… okay, okay, maybe not that last part, but you get the picture. Some of the last instruments you would associate with the end are the banjo, mandolin, and acoustic guitar. But hey, if musicians did nothing but follow convention, they’d still be making melodies with sheep's guts and turtle shells. And with their peculiar blend of biblical reference, absurdist fantasy, and folksy sound, The Vision of a Dying World are anything but conventional. Feelin' Alive sweeps its listener through twilit seascapes and chimerical dream vistas into goofy romps and touching introspections, from crowded cities to lonely rooms, from abstract prophecy to confidential confessions. Equal parts revelry and revelation, it manages the riotous energy of the kaleidoscopic and the carnivalesque while avoiding the gawdy pitfalls of either in a wicked binge of mostly acoustic sound. Its closing piece, the aptly named “Have a Nice Day,” even ends with a waggishly whispered address to the audience after an extended silence. It maybe not be the whimper that Eliot envisioned, but it sure sounds a lot better. [www.thevisionofadyingworld.com]

There’s one forgettable track on Push to Talk’s self-titled debut album, and unfortunately, it happens to be their first, “Haunting 56th Street.” GET PAST THAT! Push to Talk, a rock band proudly alternative in their crooning and scale-sweeping melodies, is fantastic. These songs feature uncomplicated yet incredibly catchy beats, with a melodramatic flair for a more classic '80s rock, and they’re a pure pleasure. James Leste doesn’t go for Coldplay’s falsetto; he just sinks his natural high baritone into the words, soaring through with a succinct vibrato and elegant use of emotion. On the more playful songs, like “Talk is Cheap,” the group becomes completely disarming, following a rising chorus of “do-do-do-do” with sublimely bouncy words: “Your songs are cheap so talky talky/but when you dream just walky walky.” It’s a verbal addiction. Other tracks are equally unpredictable, like the upbeat “Yes Takes a No,” which is essentially a song about advantage rape—“It was easy to say yeah when you can’t see straight ahead.” For all its seriousness, the verbal play is so strong that it’s easy to get lost in the straight jauntiness of the track: “A yes takes a no to make a maybe may be misconstrued/I didn’t say no but I may have implied a thing or two.” Of course, Push to Talk doesn’t need to surprise. Even their predictably progressing and straightforward songs, like “Problems,” are masterworks of rock. Peter Sullivan may not go for crazy licks on his lead guitar, but he’s the best kind of driver - patient, confident, and well-versed on the rules of the road. And you couldn’t ask for a better wingman than Brett Wittman, whose keyboarding, though minimal and kept in the background, has that instant affectation of a guardian angel, keeping everything balanced and right. (This is nothing bad against Nate Higley on bass, or Tom Petyon, a drum contributor, but there are only so many metaphors to go around. I’ll just call the two of them damn fine.) The one qualm with Push to Talk is that they really ought to be called Push to Play, since that’s what you’ll be doing: Pushing play, over and over and over again. [www.pushtotalkrock.com]

Pencil in Lesson #1 among the list of guilty pleasures. It doesn’t bring anything new to the musical table, its song lyrics aren’t particularly well-written, and the insights it offers are far from profound. But its brash, catchy melodies, led by chomping guitars and spunky, albeit pedestrian, vocals, also make it damned hard to dislike. If nothing else, it proves that there’s still something to be said for cheap thrills. With this loud, puckish musical attitude and sophomoric worldview (punctuated by a mom dig and a preoccupation with bongs), Lesson #1 plays much like the crown jewel of guilty pleasures, the screwball teen comedy. Its songs brim with a youthful energy and sarcastic humor that all but overshadow its adolescent attempts to tackle weightier issues like isolation and insecurity. The end results are far from poignant, but then, the hooks are infectious enough that you might just find yourself tempted to sing ”Everything is awesome!” along with eponymous vocalist Stoley on album opener “t.y.s.” Even if you’re not willing to admit it. [www.stoley.com]

This is not the greatest song in the world, no- This is just a tribute. -Tenacious D, “Tribute” The blustering approach of Breakup Breakdown characterizes the consummate classic rock tribute band who has finally decided to leave popular covers in a distant pyrotechnic haze to unleash the original material that has been burning at their heels for so very long. She Went Black is a trio of songs that unabashedly revels in borrowed glory, from guitar riffs pulled straight from the rocker’s handbook to the dirt-sexy lyrics and rule-the-world swagger of the lead singer. You’d probably sell your soul to Breakup Breakdown given the proper circumstances - stumbling into a dingy, dimly lit hole-in-the-wall bar and swilling a few drinks. Yeah, you’d be dancing when the keyboards and three kings kicked in. And you’d wake up with that cheap liquor headache, thinking you shouldn’t have swilled quite so much, but still unwilling to change a thing. She Went Black is high on pomp and low on substance, full of bravado and mostly devoid of sincerity. But if Breakup Breakdown can keep pumping out songs in the same brass balls manner, it might not matter. [www.breakupbreakdown.com]

After the demise of their band Carissa’s Wierd [sic], Ben Bridwell and Mat Brooke regrouped to form Band of Horses. Their debut LP, Everything All the Time has been welcomed with a wealth of buzz from critics and fans alike. Much of the band’s early press has included comparisons to My Morning Jacket. Like My Morning Jacket, Band of Horses deftly mix elements of roots rock with reverb-drenched vocals and swirling, psychedelic guitar riffs. However, these talented veterans display far too much originality and energy to simply be mentioned in the same breath as another act. The record starts with the aptly titled “The First Song,” a composition which ultimately proves mediocre alongside the album’s remaining tracks. The proceedings immediately pick up steam with the guitar-driven “Wicked Gil,” featuring an uninhibited vocal turn from Bridwell. By tracks 4 and 5, “The Funeral” and “Part One,” Band of Horses seem to have hit their stride; these are arguably the strongest cuts on the record. The former track gradually crescendos to emotional climax as Bridwell sings, “At every occasion, I’m ready for a funeral.” The latter, a quiet folk number with brilliant vocal harmonies, adds contrast as the album’s first true ballad. The album’s second half is uneven as relates to carrying a consistent level of quality from track to track. However, there are some immensely rewarding moments. “Weed Party” is a tuneful, straight-ahead rock song that adds levity to the record. “I Go to the Barn Because I Like The” features vocal interplay between Bridwell and Brooke to great effect, as does closing ballad “St. Augustine.” The harmonies Brooke adds in the lower register mix strikingly well with Bridwell’s higher warble, adding a richness and maturity to the band’s sound. When participants with the track record of Bridwell and Brooke are involved, the stakes for a new act can be unreasonably high. Everything All the Time more than lives up to the challenge and ranks at or near the top of debut albums released this year. [www.bandofhorses.com]

As the promotional sticker on his newest record states, Bitter Honey finds Clem Snide frontman Eef Barzelay armed only with “his voice, words and an acoustic guitar.” Bitter Honey is not only a testament to Barzelay’s talent but to his resourcefulness as well. The earnest singer-songwriter is able to produce far more depth and diversity of sound than such sparse instrumentation might suggest. The album is divided into two parts consisting of five tracks each. The first stanza begins with “Ballad of Bitter Honey,” in which Barzelay narrates the plight of a young woman reduced to making ends meet by dancing suggestively in rap videos. Barzelay makes an intriguing artistic choice by relating this tale in a first-person account from the woman’s point of view. While strange to hear lyrics such as “If I press my breasts together and arch my back just so/I can ask for pretty things” sung by an acoustic guitar-wielding songwriter, Barzelay manages to make the song work quite well. Also featured on the album’s first half are the outstanding cuts “Thanksgiving Waves” and “Well.” Subtitled “Let Us Be Naked,” Bitter Honey’s second half provide a wealth of dissimilar yet remarkable tracks. “Let Us Be Naked” has a timeless feel and describes love as “the most tender illusion.” Harkening back to the glory days of country music, “I Wasn’t Really Drunk” is a humorous vignette in which Barzelay’s narrator attempts to sympathize with another’s drinking habits. “Escape Artist Blues” and “Joy the World” close the album with a great degree of solemnity, especially present in Barzelay’s all-too-brief rendering of the Christmas classic. Reminiscent in some ways of Simon and Garfunkel’s rendition of “Silent Night,” Barzelay replaces the titular joy with gravity. Stripped down to their barest elements, Barzelay’s songs ring with both irony and truth, eschewing the need for frills or gimmicks. Bitter Honey is an important reminder to listeners that sometimes all a songwriter needs to be great are great songs. [www.clemsnide.com]

Bears have it all--the requisite indie pop animal reference, a Shins-esque demeanor filtered through a Boy Least Likely To-ish glossy innocence, and the musical simplicity to create a record that's as charming as it can get without being a colorful, bubblegummed soiree. Craig Ramsey and Charlie McArthur are the duo behind the Ohio-based Bears, and though they have yet to play even one live show, their eponymous first record should set them up as openers on a slew of tours with like-minded popsters. Comparisons to The Boy Least Likely To are bound to be afloat in Bears reviews; there are similarities, but they pretty much reach a dead-end after the whole "two guys making bedroom pop" scenario. Bears' music comes across as laid back, but not sunny; it's not even that bouncy or hook-laden, but it sure is damn good. And on a side note, I'll nominate Bears as yet another band making quality, professional-sounding music without the help of a label--not such a feat anymore after Clap Your Hands Say Yeah soared to indie stardom as an unsigned act last year, but DIY is always commendable when it's pulled off correctly. Recalling the sounds of The Beatles or The Zombies without the production budget, or a happy-go-lucky Elliott Smith, the Bears' debut incorporates everything you'd expect--musicianship that isn't over the top or awe-inspiring, but lends itself to the songwriting enough to get the job done, handclaps, bells, keys, tambourines, sprightly sung choruses, and an aesthetic that seems to favor realism and romanticism over absurd LSD-induced daydreams. And, besides their name and logo, Bears aren't bubbling over with cuteness, just provocative good times that don't seem to get old. "Never Have to Guess" pits a rollicking bassline against bells and keyboards, opening the album with probably its catchiest number, even though it clocks in at under two minutes. "Walk Away" seems to harbor some infatuation with a blustery ghost town in its guitar line, ominously building up to progressions that defy any warm feelings you'd expect, and "Everywhere" is the first time a ray of sunshine seems to find the Bears out of their cave, seemingly a telling nod to The Shins, with airy vocals and a xylophoned-out chorus. Bears, don't go into hibernation quite yet. Summer's coming, and the bees will be making all kinds of honey for you as soon as you get on the road and let us all see your shining fur. Get to it. [www.bearspop.com]

This disc has two things going for it in my book. First it is actually a fine disc of country and alternative hits from an entertaining band. Secondly, it is the bands “Fuck You!” to their record label. You see Virgin Records dumped the band, then promptly released a greatest hits disc to make some cash. But the band didn’t appreciate that, so they decided to go in and re-record every song on the tracklist, so that they now owned the new recordings, and then put out their own greatest hits on the exact same day, thus giving their fans a chance to buy the greatest hits and stick it to Virgin in the process. Unfortunately though, this disc has one thing going against it for me…it’s unnecessary. The disc itself is varied to say the least. The bands more famous and popular songs lie in the alternative group of songs. “Teen Angst (What The World Needs Now)” threw me back to high school and borrowing the old Cracker disc from my friend. “Low” and “Get Off This” are still both great alternative rock tracks that hold up remarkably well all these years later. “Euro-Trash Girl” is the epic of the disc at 9 minutes long but somehow doesn’t get tiresome and even will have you hitting repeat on occasion. The second grouping on the disc are the songs that are more country-oriented. “Mr. Wrong” and “Lonesome Johnny Blues” are both the kind of quirky and drunk sing-a-long type songs that you might find in a country dancehall. The lone new track on the disc “It Ain’t Gonna Suck Itself” is a direct, albeit crude, middle finger to Virgin Records, and while it’s good for a giggle, it isn’t anything you will be singing along to. Trapped in no mans land between the two groupings are the albums highest and lowest point. “Big Dipper” is a great slowed down track that provides a nice change from the rest of the disc, and “Something You Ain’t Got” is an up-tempo foot-taper that closes out the album beautifully. On the other hand “Sweet Thistle Pie” and “Duty Free” are both horrible songs that should have been left on the cutting room floor. Overall, this is actually a very nice disc that provides a staggering variety of quality songs for anyone interested in an overview of the band. And while I admire the band flipping the bird to the powers that be, the fact remains that if you want a greatest hits collection, I would stick with the previously released, “Garage d’Or,” a two disc collection that provides almost all the same tracks and more and gives a better glimpse into the bands career than this single disc release. [www.crackersoul.com]

With its gamut of samples and guest stars running from Zeppelin, Hendrix, and Ghostface on down to Bloc Party, Queens of the Stone Age, and Juelz Santana, DJ Green Lantern’s Fort Minor: We Major, a mixtape of Mike Shinoda’s side project Fort Minor, almost can truly boast to have something for everybody. By the same token, the salvo of samples it unloads might be a little offputting, since only seven out of its nineteen tracks can be conceivably considered totally original. The title itself alludes to Kanye West’s “We Major,” a sample of which can be found in the closing track. At least music fans can make a game out of it, play “Guess that sample,” with the winner receiving some arbitrary music nerd honorific of their choice. Whatever your take, one thing’s for sure: FM:WM is a far better listen than Fort Minor’s Rising Tied, the album it was originally intended to promote. The mixtape excises most of the clunky rhythms and dour petulance of the original, replacing it with a surprisingly cohesive hybrid of borrowed beats and bouncier rhymes. Grade school lyrics like Shinoda’s “My name is Mike/I’m fooling with the new shit/I’m doing it all night/I like what I do, I do what I like” still crop up here and there, but virtuoso verse from the likes of underground rappers Apathy, Styles from Beyond, and Celph Titled more than carries the brunt of the lyrical burden. Just don’t expect to find much in the way of social conscience here. Most of the raps are your standard hip-hop fare of self-aggrandizing rants or the contemptuous diss, but they’re executed well enough that the general lack of commentary doesn’t really matter. Nor does it really belong, as evidenced by the sour note struck by the us-against-them piece “Be Somebody,” arguably its worst track, and “Spraypaint and Ink Pens,” which seems out of place even with Ghostface and Lupe Fiasco turning in some slick performances. The album is, in many ways, a patchwork party, with its flip attitude toward its musical heritage and its ensemble’s outspoken camaraderie, and it’s best enjoyed as such. And, come the end, if you’re still curious about Rising Tied, FM:WM includes the album versions of “Remember the Name” and “Petrified.” [www.fortminor.com]

As a college radio DJ, I received Eagle*Seagull’s eponymous debut a couple months ago much to my pleasure—the sticker on the packaging noted that the Nebraska natives espouse a sound akin to that of the beloved Wolf Parade, Frog Eyes, and The Shout Out Louds. To tout a newcomer as such is ballsy, but Eagle*Seagull shrug off the comparisons enough to make this record worthy of familiarization. In the radio booth, it’s difficult (at least for me) to stray from songs that go beyond the 4-minute mark; hour-long shifts tend to force me to play the best brief songs I can find in order to give all the bands worth playing some airtime. Eagle*Seagull flies in the face of brevity (and shits on its car) by injecting their best work into more than one lengthy opus. Musically, Eagle*Seagull migrate all across the board—opener “Lock and Key” is a hushed introduction, making its hub Eli Mardock’s tense keys and guitar until the rest of the band noisily kicks in four minutes later. Its follower, “Photograph,” sounds like an unrelated band—a buoyant melody flittering above piano and unrelenting percussion. If Eagle*Seagull garners a Shout Out Louds comparison, you can bet it’s because of this song. By “Hello, Never,” another unexpected turn is taken, as the band flexes some alt-countryish muscle over an indie-pop veneer. “Your Beauty Is a Knife I Turn On My Throat” is another piano-led bouncer and serves as one of the record’s finer moments. Guitars trade off and intertwine creating a mess of hysteria and splendor as Mardock yowls his anguish, forever on the verge of cracking his voice. Personally, I thought bands like this were only coming from Canada anymore, but Nebraska may prove to be a hotbed outside of the Saddle Creek scene. Put Eagle*Seagull on bills with Wolf Parade, Destroyer, and Arcade Fire, and they’ll automatically win over the approval of hipsters across the nation. For now, they’ll have to settle on their skills alone, and those skills are capable of taking them to many, many high places. [www.papergardenrecords.com]

Irving’s strength lies in its ability to pummel a listener with a distinct sense of indie poppery that often comes across as a façade. There’s a sunny side to all these songs, but on the surface, darker elements are looming. Don’t let the vibrant artwork and goofy song titles throw you off; the record’s name is much more telling of what lies within. Death in the Garden, Blood on the Flowers is the third release from Los Angeles’ Irving, and the quintet sought out producers who’ve worked with some of indie rock’s biggest names of late to helm the sound board. Phil Ek, Jim Fairchild, and Aaron Espinoza all see some time on the production end here, and if you don’t recognize those names, a quick scan of your record collection might yield some answers. The dichotomy between the songs’ moods on Death in the Garden… range from the brooding, sinister “The Gentle Preservation of Children’s Minds” (which seems to segue from a verse detailing some gruesomely fictitious scene of child labor to a view of romanticism) to the sillier, self-deprecating “Jen, Nothing Matters to Me,” in which the narrator rises above his selfishness to tell his love that she can do better. The title track’s synth-driven core permeates the low, thudding basslines and perfectly backs the idea that the writer is “the worst boy that you’ve ever had.” What lends some weight to Irving’s style is that all five members get a microphone, and a live show sees the limelight jumping around the stage instead of creating an obvious leader for the band. Paired with the blaring, distinct keys and the array of moods it covers, Death in the Garden, Blood on the Flowers makes for a highly pleasing and appealing sophomore record. [www.eeniemeenie.com]

Do they say something negative about idle hands? The Subway’s first CD, Young for Eternity is a strong argument for spending time just tooling around, finding a feel for the rhythms and working out the chords, i.e., learning exactly what you can do if you want to rock. Thankfully, Billy Lunn has already fretted about the frets, and he’s put his finger on the right fingering, and along with Charlotte Cooper on the bass and Josh Morgan on drums, The Subways have produced a solid rock album. British in execution, replete with the melodic crooning that seems native to the UK, this album ranges from shades of Green Day’s punk (“Vacation”) to laxer alternative streams (“She Sun”) and back to strict rock caterwauling (“Oh Yeah”), which is just the way we like it. With a series of twelve short, succinct songs, The Subways wraps some catchy beats around some energetic lyrics, and while there are a few misses (the sonic “City of Pavement”), the majority of the album, when true to the fundamentals, really does rock. Songs like “Rock and Roll Queen” may be nonsense, but they're fun, and when coupled with a stronger message, like on “With You,” this debut is right up there with that of We Are Scientists. The one soft spot for The Subways is that either their intensity seems a bit restrained in this recording, or they have too much love for the softer schisms of alternative rock: Either way, it’s not always coordinated. It’s nice to get a light release that doesn’t strain our ears or smash our minds, and if for that it has to forgo touching our hearts, Young for Eternity is at least a fun and varied ride. [www.thesubways.net]

On Having’s opening track, “Safe, Sound,” ambient guitars and obscured vocals gradually come into focus creating a vibrant, atmospheric sound that is both inviting and otherworldly. The song perfectly sets the stage for a beautifully crafted album that never succumbs to any need to provide immediate gratification. Instead, the songs on Having expand and evolve slowly, constructing an unhurried experience that proves to be meaningful and evocative. Vocalist Anna-Lynne Williams is an absolute revelation, hypnotically narrating each tune and expressing a wide breadth of emotion through a focused, constant tone. At times Williams is foreboding, as on “What of Me” when she asks, “Should you be scared when I say sometimes I’d want you dead so no one else can have you when it ends?” At others, the uncertainty and vulnerability she communicates is moving: “Return the words, the looks I give you like they’re falling out of me….could I put my hands up and ask that you stop?,” she questions on “My Hands Up.” Williams’ bandmates provide a dazzling environment for her to thrive within. Their playing is immaculate and stirring. Having received comparisons to acts like Sigur Ros, Mazzy Star and Red House Painters, Trespassers William certainly maintains an intimate, melancholy tone. This constraint makes the group’s potency all the more remarkable as the level of playing rarely eclipses a murmur, yet expresses so much. The closest approximation of a rock song on Having is the ambling “I Don’t Mind,” which employs U2-influenced guitars and a more pronounced emphasis on bass and drums, while Williams sings “More of that, less of this….shine your light, I don’t mind.” Having is an album which should be experienced in totality to allow the radiant array of sounds and imagery to wash over the listener. The members of Trespassers William have not only submitted a record that is substantive but have created an atmosphere that rewards the listener for their trust and patience. [www.trespasserswilliam.com]

The Slacks have a lot say a lot in under twenty-seven minutes, and much of it is said without a mouth being opened. In Terrestrial, it is the guitar that speaks. The guitar tells stories that are earthy and sometimes gritty, proving Terrestrial to be an apt title for an album that isn’t afraid to get its hands dirty with the basics. Each song is a miniature, fully-contained trip within the context of the over-arching work. The first song, “Shoot ‘em up,” is perhaps the most sublime. In less than three minutes, it eases you in, builds you up and sets you on your way. Track two, “Marrs,” is a close second - a song that is born to be a road trip theme song classic. In its entirety, the album is reminiscent of a soundtrack to a classic, Kerouac-esque adventure. If I had my way, vocals would be even more of a rarity for the album. While the singing is effective and unobtrusive in “On the Kennebee,” the other song that utilizes singing carries a campy and somewhat goofy storytelling taint. In Terrestrial, the story is best left told by the guitar. [www.slacksmusic.com]

If you're the happy-go-lucky type, it's a little tough to buy into this entire "emo" phenomenon -- especially the bands that champion the tougher, edgier "emo-core" sound. Their lives can't be that terrible if they're making records, cashing checks and scoring groupies, right? And can you really be that hardcore when all your songs are hyper-sensitive rants about women who are out of your league and how the world doesn't appreciate you? But Hawthorne Heights should not be dismissed on account of its association with Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance and the rest of the too-cute-to-be-this-depressed crowd whose music is regularly featured on Laguna Beach. Yes, they share a fan base with Hillary Duff and Lindsay Lohan. And sure, it's disingenuous to advertise yourself as tortured, lonely and miserable when you've clearly got the world by the balls. But on its sophomore release, If Only You Were Lonely, Hawthorne Heights proves that it's a cut above its peers in the "whiny-but-aggressive" market. If Only You Were Lonely is as hypnotically melodic as it is annoyingly overdramatic, and that's cool because it still rocks really hard. The songs are tightly constructed and the record holds together from front to back. "Saying Sorry" -- the album's strongest track -- is destined for pop radio greatness. And "We Are So Last Year" is another song that's so irresistible you won't care that the pack of teenage girls driving in the SUV next to you is rocking out to the same thing. The band's fascination with the whole 'screamo' thing is a bit distracting because their primal yells bring absolutely nothing of musical value to the songs (unless you actually enjoy the sound of men screaming as if they've just been castrated). What makes this worse is that lead singer J.T. Woodruff is blessed with some seriously impressive pipes. Even still, all the stupid hollering isn't enough to derail record, or damage Woodruff's vocal performance. Life is clearly on the up and up for Hawthorne Heights. Let's hope their music doesn't start to suck now that they've made some friends and are all out of excuses to bitch about how lonely they are. [www.hawthorneheights.com]

Tony Duggins’ first solo effort finds him collaborating with none other than——his own band, The Tossers. If that strikes you as a little strange, here’s another zinger for you: The album’s germ wasn’t a child of his own brain. Credit for that goes to Zak Einstein of Thick Records, The Tossers previous label before their recent switch to Victory. Beginning to suspect that Undone might be another Tossers album in disguise? Think again. Even though he’s backed by his own band, and even though the album title and the idea behind it aren’t his, Undone ultimately is. Its bare bones approach to Irish tunes, a Dylan cover, and a few originals flows or flounders largely on the strength of Duggins’ voice, which perhaps explains why he seems so eager for his audience’s approval in the liner notes. It’s a damn good thing he didn’t do the album a capella. Out of all the tracks, those done truly solo fare the worst. Duggins has never seemed entirely at ease with the sound of his naked voice, and here he consistently misses the mark. He overreaches in “I Wish I Was Back in Liverpool,” comes out flat in “(The City of) Chicago,” and plain destroys “Children’s Potential,” where he loses meter, rhyme, and just about everything else while pontificating about the current state of inner city education. He makes up for these misfires with “Goodnight Irene,” “Shoals of Herring,” and “Late;” the last, a stripped-down carryover from the Tossers’ Valley of the Shadow of Death, is especially charming, gaining in intimacy what it loses in instrumentation. But even with these upsides, there is a rushed quality to most of the album, like it was slapped together over a few sessions, and it is that hurried aspect that does the album in. While I can’t criticize Duggins for wanting to toss off a few tunes on Thick’s dime, I can’t help but feel frustrated at what Undone could be, but isn’t. If The Tossers last two albums are any indication, Duggins is better than this. Maybe next time he’ll prove it. [www.thickrecords.com]

The sixth installment from the shining beacon of Tucson is an affair deserving of nothing less than congratulatory applause. The men of Calexico have proven themselves time and time again to be more than adequate masters of Americana, and while their signature mariachi sound isn’t so prevalent these days, Joey Burns’ and John Convertino’s songwriting is still at the top of its game. Garden Ruin is the first we’ve heard from Calexico since 2004’s Convict Pool EP, where the band shared their love for the Minutemen and Arthur Lee’s Love and a smattering of original work. Then there was the laudable but not up to par In the Reins with Iron & Wine last fall, which tended to lean more towards showcasing Sam Beam’s songwriting as opposed to his partners on the project. The decision to avoid the sound that many had attached to their band (mariachi horns and the like) was a bold move. It was also a successful one. Garden Ruin is classic Calexico already—the record is vintage and modern simultaneously, with one foot in a breezy desert, the other nursing a whiskey in some seedy country bar. The arrangements aren’t nearly as intricate, the songs are more often than not bereft of brass accompaniment, and while it’s not right entirely accurate to deem the record a departure from the past, it’s certainly a slight turn off Calexico’s well-worn path. Opener “Cruel” showcases a full band (nine folks contributed to the track, so say the liner notes) and then quickly segues into the meager instrumentation of “Yours and Mine,” in which Burns acoustic guitar and vocals share the spotlight with a solemn cello inclusion and Convertino’s tranquil, low-key percussion. “Bisbee Blue” warmly pays homage to where Garden Ruin was laid to tape and feels very much like a throwback to the Calexico of old. “Letter to Bowie Knife” rocks hard (for Calexico); “Roka” is a poignant duet with Latino vocalist Amparo Sanchez delivering dreamy verses en Espanol while a mini-orchestra provides gorgeous accompaniment. The styles tend to vary, but Garden Ruin is as much a keystone in Calexico’s catalog as anything else. Where it might not be the brightest star, the album is still part of the same glowing constellation, and to skip it over would be a shame. [www.quarterstickrecords.com]

This is an experiment that has been botched beyond belief many so times before that it's a wonder there are still droves of bands shameless enough to do it. Metallica gave it the old college try when they were kings of the rock scene back in the late 90s -- and failed miserably. In their heyday, Creed tricked out some of their biggest hits with melodramatic orchestral tracks -- and made complete asses out of themselves. Thus it would seem totally reasonable to write off Collective Soul's latest effort, Home, a live album recorded with the Atlanta Symphony Youth Orchestra, as just another lame attempt by a band whose 15 minutes of fame passed long ago to reclaim its relevance by crossing genres. If Metallica couldn't pull it off, there's no reason why a group tailor-made for VH1 aficionados and aging hipsters should any fare better…right? Much to dismay of the metal gods, though, it appears James Hetfield has been one-upped and by a band that was at its peak when pogs were popular and Lebron James was still in elementary school. Home is actually a poignant collection of songs that mesh seamlessly with massive orchestral arrangements. It's no fluke that tunes like "December" and "The World I Know Sound" sound good in this style -- the original cuts were also backed by strings. But even some of the band's harder hits of yesteryear like "Shine," "Gel" and "Heavy" sound electric with the extra instrumentation. Maybe Collective Soul didn't get a fair shake when it was designated for early entry into oblivion. Their work here shows they are more than capable of waking up the echoes of past commercial greatness. [www.collectivesoul.com]

There was once a band so edgy and sarcastic that it was hand-picked to appear in one of the most underappreciated films in cinematic history. There was once a band so ahead of the curve that it left its "revolutionary" Seattle counterparts Nirvana and Pearl Jam in the dust. Ladies and gentleman, that band is back -- and its name is Mudhoney. You may remember these guys from their earth shattering performance in Chris Farley's Black Sheep -- they were the strung out rockers who pushed Mike Donnelly onto the stage after they mistook him for a gubernatorial candidate. More importantly, you may remember them from the cloudy, yet glorious days of Seattle grunge rock. Mudhoney's new album, Under a Billion Suns, might not be enough to make flannel shirts and disgustingly dirty jeans retro chic, but it’s a painfully enjoyable collection of classically pissed-off songs. Lead singer Mark Arm says it best in the ironic romp "It Is Us" when he belts out, "Sing a song of cheer / happy days are here again!" You don't have to dig the band's sarcastic sense of humor to enjoy this record. The razor sharp guitar parts and nut-crunching drum lines give the songs more than enough to stand on their own musically. They even throw some horns into the mix just to get weird. But half the fun of listening Mudhoney is joining them in their psychotically indifferent lyrical rants. The two strongest cuts on the album, "Hard On For War" and "Blindspots," make for one giant middle finger to the world. It takes a clever bunch of guys to inspire so much joy with music this dark and snotty. Welcome back, boys. We missed you. [www.subpop.com]