I’ll be honest; it was with incredible trepidation that I began listening to Simpatico, the latest release from The Charlatans UK (I never say UK, but that’s what’s on the promo, so there). The reason for my trepidation is that I adore them. They have been in my life over the last 17 years. This being said, I also did not care much for their last two releases, Wonderland, which had a scant few songs that I really enjoy, and Up At the Lake, which admittedly I didn’t hear much of due to the fact that it hasn’t had a US release date yet. Then there’s Tim’s solo album, which had good songs on it, but still left me feeling sort of wanting. The explanation behind this wanting is that on all three of these releases, lead singer Tim Burgess abandoned the one thing that kept the band cohesive and consistently gave them their ‘Charlatansness,’ his fabulous voice. Instead, he explored the use of a falsetto, and I would say that 8 out of 10 Charlatans fans agree that this was not really our cup of tea. But hey, he’s an artist, so fine. Do what you need to do. Ok, so now you know why I was a little afraid. I wanted to love the album, but I didn’t know if I would. Well, I am ecstatic to report that The Charlatans have put out a very fine piece of work here in Simpatico. It is an excellent example of band growth and rebirth, and I am proud to stand behind it. Now if you’re looking for a rehashing of Some Friendly or even Us and Us Only, you might be disappointed. Only the first single, “Blackened Blue Eyes,” follows the path of what the Madchester beat stands for, and it does it well. But that one song does not represent what is the meat of the album. Club-inspired “NYC (No Need To Stop)” feels so completely modern and retro dance club at the same time. This song in particular reminds you that Tim has been doing a lot of djing for the love of music in the past few years. It’s clearly rubbed off on his sensibilities. It’s a good-time cruising song even if you can’t get to a dance floor. “For Your Entertainment,” “The Architect” and “City of the Dead” are undeniably homages to Ska, The Specials “Ghost Town” in particular. “Dead Man’s Eyes” is almost a rocker, and “When the Lights Go Out In London” is just a perfect, harmonica-and-beat-infused nod to one of the greatest cities in the world – it’s laid back, a little raw, but moving at an energized pace. And as in all Charlatans records, there is that one track that I just can’t quite wrap my heart around. In this case, it’s “Glory Glory,” a rhythmically loping tune in which Tim’s rich voice becomes almost strained in a way that I just don’t enjoy. It’s not a falsetto per say, but it’s stretched enough to make it unpleasant. I’d like to say it will grow on me, but like I said, there’s always one. On the exact opposite end of the spectrum, however, there is “Muddy Ground,” a song that sent goosebumps down me the first time I heard it. And it’s this song, and the countless others like it on every single release from this veteran band that make me love them. They always find a way to make music that puts that lump in my chest, that makes my eyes water at the sheer emotion and power of their art. The Charlatans touch something in me and in their millions of fans that cannot be denied. They are the consummate band, giving, taking and working through traumatic events and life changes that would have left other bands in ruins. And they turn all of that growth and observation into music that soars with you and wraps around you when you are at your depths. Simpatico is simply another example of why they are still around, still making music and are still so relevant. They have grown, and their fans have grown with them. And they offer enough on this record to not only go on but to also add to their base of devotees. If you don’t know them, pick this album up, you won’t be disappointed. If you do know them, open your arms once again to your old friends and rejoice in their continuing triumph. [www.thecharlatans.net]

The Ark comes in on a fading wave of electronic static, and they ride that neon surf until all that glitters is bold. Caroming off a line like “We’ll go shim-shim shammey and get whimsy and get whammy,” the lead singer Ola Salo makes tracks like “Clamour for Glamour” a blitzkrieg of fun, even if those bombshells might need to drop some acid first to be real hits. Of course, some of those hits are abysmal craters, and halfway through State of the Ark, the band tumbles into it, as if “Let Me Down Gently” were an imperative rather than a track title. For the next five songs, the dazzling explosions are muted, dim, and dull, and their spark and sizzle is lost, coasting on the waves they’ve already made. These drown-worthy songs are bad enough to make you want to bathe with a toaster; ironically, the other half is crazy enough to make you want to fuck one in glee. This Swedish group sings glam pop, with all the melodram"antics,” and they’re catchy to the point of insanity. They cross that line on tracks like “Hey Kwanongoma” that just repeat absurdities ad infinitum and belly-bottom smack rudder . . . you get the point. There’s nothing special about lyrics like “Gonna enlist every baldheaded chick with a dick,” and even less so when it’s accompanied by a sub-par synthetic riff. However, within their manic comfort zone—an area quite large, thanks to Ola’s sick, Mercury-like range—they’re able to put together some slick songs, and even a few stunners, like “No End,” the album’s penultimate track (a softer side you wouldn’t believe they have). Noah let the animals onto his ark two by two, and I guess The Ark did the same: Half of their tracks are just lesser versions of the rest. You may be able to sail this album through the storm, but if you have to listen to it for forty days and forty nights, someone’s going to die. [www.thearkworld.com]

Being a sucker for the kind of hand-clap employing, funny vocal warbling, good-natured pop that The Little Ones so effortlessly hatch, I'm either in an excellent or a terrible position to review their debut EP Sing Song. In regards to the former, I listen to stuff similar to this all the time. But for the latter charge, not everyone shares my addiction. For what it's worth, I give 'em a thumbs up. The Little Ones are bearers of the belief that they're merely "creating and planting notes [they] feel will grow to become melodies." By keeping a collective childlike persona intact, the Los Angeles-bred fivesome beget an ambrosial arrival to the indie rock scene, lining up behind their musical brethren in The Spinto Band, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, and so on. With only six tracks to serve as the band's introduction to most people, Sing Song fares just fine. Incorporating keyboards, "whoa oh's" and well, bells, into "Let Them Ring the Bells" for the opener, the Littles set up the vertebrae for the rest of the EP--whimsical, deftly executed indie pop. "Lovers Who Uncover" flaunts simple structures and steady group claps with a squeaky clean keyboard line to back it all up. "Cha Cha Cha" emphasizes Caribbean beats and maracas in its percussion-centric delivery where "High on a Hill" relies heavily on the drums to drive its key-savvy melody and bubbly vocals. "Oh, MJ!" is soaked in thick, pounding bass; closing track "Heavy Hearts Brigade" probably takes the cake (layered in icing and sprinkles, of course) as the most airy and musically engaging of the bunch. The Little Ones pull off a boisterous, enthusiastic, and most importantly, appealing debut. And if their future is half as vibrant and charming as this EP's cover, they'll be in a good place. [www.wearethelittleones.com]

If you love modern rock radio, if your ideal music festival lists Puddle of Mudd, Hoobastank, and/or Incubus, etc., then here is a treat for you. Classic Case has all the elements required for a smooth radio takeover including, but not limited to: Thick guitars, lush production, predictably catchy songs, a thesaurus, in-tune singing, tours supporting popular acts, and experience in previous bands. This could be your chance to love them before they got big. Located just above the median of the musical bell curve, Classic Case is more listenable than most modern rock found on the dial, which is to their credit. For an occasional listen, that works out, but the luster quickly fades. Boredom creeps in. Love has its price. Ever see the movie National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation? The scene where the glistening turkey is cut only to reveal it has been cooked too long and is dried out and disappointing? The only missing similarity is the Randy Quaid hilarity. Classic Case may not be in quite such dire straits with Dress To Depress - they easily stand above their ‘Puddle’ peers. Just have a glass of water standing ready and be prepared to do some intermittent chewing when they show up on the airwaves near you. [www.classiccase.net]

My auspicious introduction to Belle and Sebastian came through the film High Fidelity, in which Jack Black refers to the Scottish collective as “sad bastard music.” As one whose taste makes him predisposed to enjoying “sad bastard music”, I made haste to record stores and websites to investigate the band. I found a treasure trove of exquisitely melodic pop songs with a sardonic lyrical twist and have been hooked on the group ever since. The Life Pursuit finds Belle and Sebastian continuing in a progression away from “sad bastard music” with an album full of smart, whimsical, almost exclusively up-tempo tracks. While the band can still make the most melancholy of sentiments reverberate (especially on the delicately orchestrated “Dress Up In You”), the majority of the album’s successes center on a sound that assimilate a 1970’s era pop/rock feel complete with funky, shuffling rhythms and well-layered vocals. Opener “Act of the Apostle” utilizes a syncopated piano riff and the band’s hallmark religious imagery as the song’s protagonist ponders how living like an early Christian might alter her disbelief: “Oh, if I could make sense of it all…. /I would float along in my everlasting song/What would I do to believe?” The appropriately titled “Another Sunny Day” follows, marrying a cheery sound with classic lines like “I saw you in the corner of my eye on the sidelines/Your dark mascara bids me to historical deeds.” The consistency of quality lags a bit during The Life Pursuit’s middle but rebounds nicely with the delicious faux-soul feel of “Funny Little Frog” in which Stuart Murdoch praises a lover as “the funny little frog in my throat.” Followed by the buoyant gem “To Be Myself Completely” and “Act of the Apostle II,” this trio of songs is the strongest stretch of the album. The Life Pursuit skillfully retains the best elements of Belle and Sebastian’s catalog while allowing the group to expand and experiment with fresh sonic textures. Well-produced and lushly arranged, this album ranks among the band’s greatest successes. [www.belleandsebastian.com]

On their third trip around the indie rock block, Brooklyn collective The Essex Green reaches the pinnacle of their career--so far. Cannibal Sea is an seemingly effortless foray into psychedelic pop, country-pop meanderings, and straight-up indie pop. The term suits every second of the record's dozen tracks, which are the culmination of three songwriters--Chris Ziter, Sasha Bell, and Jeff Baron. Where Baron and Bell have forged a beaming indie pop identity with Ladybug Transistor, Ziter has a past with the two in The Sixth Great Lake. With a trio (two males and one lady) at the record's foundation, comparisons to The New Pornographers aren't unwarranted claims; the similarities end at individual personalities and musical characteristics, but The Essex Green is much easier to digest. Cannibal Sea pulls its nuances from a mishmash of like-minded artists who put the heaviest importance on melody and harmony. While the band depends on the past to inform their sound, there's also an intense reliance on their modern counterparts--The Shins (minus the quirkiness), Jens Lekman (without the sense of arrangement), or the aforementioned New Pornos. Songs tend to be straightforward affairs, keys pumping and harmonies flying high. "Penny & Jack" illustrates indecisiveness between a couple as Ziter and Bell take turns on the verses before revving up for sweet-as-honey harmonies on the chorus; while "Rue de Lis" is stripped-down and simple, its genial approach making for a pleasantly unforgettable number. "Rabbit" is a more serious, ominous track making use of strings and an M. Ward-ish demeanor. The rest hold their own, easily, but reviews aren't supposed to spoil all the surprises. Cannibal Sea is easily one of the indie pop's most notable of 2006; the record is relentlessly enjoyable and surprising, the cooperation between the band is admirable, and their output is stellar. [www.mergerecords.com]

Jenny Lewis’s first album sans the members of her indie-rock outfit Rilo Kiley is an understated and, at times, poignant affair. While lyrically Lewis travels thematic roads similar to those of Rilo Kiley (songs about complicated relationships, complicated sex and complicated feelings about religion), she finds herself in a wholly new musical landscape. Sparsely arranged and steeped in the fundamentals of traditional, AM-radio friendly country/western, the songs on Rabbit Fur Coat allow Lewis’s vocal and lyrical presence to become the album’s centerpiece. Choosing to embrace a more fluid sonic approach than on her band’s most recent disc, More Adventurous, Lewis assumes the burden of creating subtle yet recognizable alterations to each shuffling mid-tempo number and torch song present here. At times brimming with knowing confidence (best evidenced on “Rise Up with Fists”) and at others, cracking with fragility (see the title track), Lewis’s compelling vocals more than meet the challenge. The album’s finest moments come when Lewis allows enough personal reflection to accommodate both boldness and vulnerability, such as on “The Charging Sky,” where she offers her best lyric on an album full of carefully ordered words: “Still they're dying on the dark continent, it's been happening long enough to mention it/Have I mentioned my parents are getting back together again/It's been 25 years of spreading infection, somehow we're not affected/ So my mom, she brushes her hair and my dad starts growing Bob Dylan's beard/ And I share with my friends a couple of beers in the Orlando streets, in the belly of the beast.” Though receiving assistance from such notable figures as The Watson Twins, Ben Gibbard, Conor Oberst (who participates in a formidable vocal trio with Lewis and Gibbard on “Handle With Care”), Matt Ward, Johnathan Rice and members of Maroon 5, Rabbit Fur Coat prevails as a revelatory look at a complex and versatile songstress in her prime. [www.jennylewis.com]

Their first performance after seven years, Smoking Popes’ At Metro is a reunion tour, a fast-paced and energetic live performance, a best-of collection, and a reason for the group to stay together. I’d never heard this Chicago-based band before, so I can’t compare this performance to their recorded tracks, but this DVD/CD makes it clear even to newcomers that Smoking Popes should stay in it for the long haul. Three brothers, three guitars, a drummer, and a cocktail of classic adrenaline-pumping shreds coupled with pop lyrics make for songs that will satisfy those in it for the music as well as those in it for the soul. This will probably also satisfy vocal coaches around the world, as Josh Caterer, who also writes most of the songs, can actually sing. In their wonderfully unusual cover of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’s “Pure Imagination,” Josh’s voice floats over the notes—as it does even through the more aggressive tracks, like “I Know You Love Me” or in songs that call for a more agonized croon, like “Pretty Pathetic.” It’s not an ethereal sound, it’s actually quite down-to-earth, but he’s got enough of a range and quite a bit of power that helps him blend the lows enough to blow the roof off the highs, all while remaining loose and lucid enough to keep the lyrics intelligible. This vocal quality also keeps the songs from being simply punk or pop or post. If you don’t like extended bridges and can’t deal with straightforward lyrics, then Smoking Popes isn’t the band for you. But before you rule them out, listen to a song like “Writing a Letter” and tell me the vocals aren’t catchy. And then listen to “Brand New Hairstyle” and show me the rock bands out there that can still rip up a guitar like that. And then try out “Paul” and see if the easy hook doesn’t rip out a bit of your heart. If you’re still trying to convince yourself that this isn’t the type of music you’d like, listen to “Stars,” which, in milking the chorus over a series of graduating scales alone, manages to win the whole audience over. Did you really expect profundity from a band called Smoking Popes? When it rocks this much, there’s something to be said for simplicity. [www.smokingpopes.net]

If you aren’t constantly elbow-deep in the vast world of mp3 blogs and webzines, and you don’t live in Texas, chances are you have yet to hear of one of Austin’s finest. Voxtrot only released their second EP weeks ago, but the band is already poised to “blow up,” as they say. With a mere ten songs in their collective output, Voxtrot has established a rock-solid foundation for a future in the music business, even if at this time it doesn’t seem like a full-length is in view on the horizon. Last year’s Raised by Wolves EP introduced Voxtrot’s mash-up of jangly guitar rock, youthful energy, and sincere song-craft to the land; a year later, Mothers, Sisters, Daughters & Wives does the same but emanates the growth—both musically and lyrically—that the band has embraced since the last release. The maturity—I hesitate to use that word because Voxtrot constantly upholds a starry-eyed youngness in their songs—is evident, but the music never comes across as brash or contrived. The five tracks on Mothers Sisters, Daughters & Wives incorporate all of the band’s former strengths and are complemented with a throng of atypical rock instrumentation (violin, cello, French horn, trumpet) courtesy of guest musicians. The title track is the counterpart of the former EP’s opener—the most vivacious of the bunch, displaying the strongest hooks and most memorable chorus. “Fast Asleep” is another straight-forward rocker before diving headfirst into swelling strings and piano. “Rise Up in the Dirt” utilizes those same fundamentals for four minutes of twee-poppy excellence; “Four Long Days,” for some reason, brings the better days of Elton John to my mind, with Leah Zeger’s swirling violin harmonizing gorgeously with Ramesh Srivastava’s vocals. The closer of this all-too-short excursion, “Soft & Warm,” yields a brazen brass backbone from Nathan Stein and Matt Bricker, while the violin aids the melody Voxtrot isn’t the most original band in the world, but they cover up their weakness of uniqueness by making something that’s so good for what it is, that being excessively innovative becomes irrelevant. [www.voxtrot.net]

Considering adjectives to appraise this South Dakota foursome’s debut, I found myself pondering words like "perplexing," "unfulfilling," and "unsatisfactory." Facing over-analysis, I began questioning my conclusion. Absolutely nothing is wrong with The Sound of Pseudoscience; it has a very pleasing modern rock sound. The twelve songs contained on the album are catchy pieces of 80’s influenced ear candy. Then why the dissatisfaction? Sometimes the worst disappointment comes not in witnessing complete failure, but in seeing someone achieve a level of quality while hinting they’re capable of an even higher plane. The Weather Machines have recorded an album of good songs when several moments show they are capable of greatness. For example, the album’s first two minutes (opening track “Modern Text on Love”) imply an understated brilliance and display all the best elements of the album: Uncomplicated but tuneful guitar riffs, Jason Ward’s new wave-influenced vocal delivery (a cross between The Cars and Elvis Costello), and the ability to pack a great melodic punch in a brief time frame. Unfortunately, the next great track comes eight songs later with “Me Too Iguana,” a delightful faux-punk offering in which Ward questions, “Why don’t you confess?/You’re falling apart.” Everything in between these songs seems to lack a certain sparkle or energy. Where one great element is present, another is noticeably missing. Next is the outstanding “The Last Stop” with its well-crafted melody and highlighted use of the band’s rhythm section. Before momentum can be truly gained, the record’s weakest track, “32,000’ Above Suck City” appears, halting any progress. Is it fair to chide a good band for just being good? I’m honestly not sure. Despite my criticisms, I would not hesitate to recommend this album and will certainly be looking forward to the band’s next record. However, I will also be interested to see if The Weather Machines keep the promises of brilliance they’ve made in just a few moments here. [www.theweathermachines.com]

Glass Floor wasn’t the event that people had hoped for when ex-The Promise Ring members Davey von Bohlen and Dan Didier enlisted Dismemberment Plan bassist Eric Axelson for this Maritime endeavor. The collaboration of a few of indie rock’s notables would seemingly result in a product greater than its respective parts, but the band’s debut was seething with mediocrity and stagnancy. Though it housed a scant number of gems, an abundance of that album's material was underwhelming, subsequently excelling in lackluster, contrived indie pop. This time around, they've done much to escape the past, and the results are rather glowing. Two years and a label-jump later, Maritime still isn’t on the verge of making waves—but We, The Vehicles does do a lot to refute the skepticism garnered by the previous album. Davey Von Bohlen’s warm, near-lisp vocals haven’t escaped his throat’s grasp and are central to the melody-focused record. The straightforwardness of Glass Floor is still present, which brings things to a dull point at times, as Maritime builds on these foundations to tries to create something more flourishing and vibrant, if not stylistically innovative. If you’ve been keeping up with Maritime, you’re more than likely familiar with a handful of the tracks on We, The Vehicles. If memory serves correctly, “Calm” and “German Engineering” were leaked prematurely; “Parade of Punk Rock T-Shirts” floated around cyberspace legally as the record’s featured track for a while. “Calm,” the record’s first track, really isn’t a nascent opener—the delicate vocals tend to get lost in the sea of splashing cymbals, and the structure doesn’t really give way to any rollicking splendor. On a slightly more positive note, “Tearing Up the Oxygen” and “People, The Vehicles” are more engaging affairs. By the fourth track, the record hits its best stride. “Parade of Punk Rock T-Shirts” serves as one of the better songs in Maritime catalog—or at least its catchiest. Plus, it's one of my favorite songs of the year. Stop/start ska chords, plus a memorable bass line aid von Bohlen’s carefree vocals—he seems incessantly determined to never let his voice override any cheery sentiment, despite what he’s saying. And to be honest, I don't know what exactly the song is about, and I doubt you will either until it's played in your head a thousand times and you decide to dig in a little deeper. “German Engineering” bounces along before another peaceful, multi-tracked vocal harmonized chorus; “Young Alumni” and “Don’t Say You Don’t” are key tracks and are two of the few songs on the record showing Maritime how to get out of the middle of the road. Maritime know how to write some stellar songs, and the improvements made since last time aren't to go without a pat on the back. What they're still lacking, though, is defining character; The Promise Ring and Dismemberment Plan were chock-full of it, but Maritime hasn't quite yet fully grasped its own identity and are still apt to write some faceless songs. Still, they're getting better, and We, The Vehicles is worth picking up, if not simply for the excellent half of the record, which doesn't let its lesser parts bring it down much. I can almost guarantee that the phrase "third time's the charm" nails the band. [www.maritimesongs.com]

Of his first solo project since 2002’s The Instigator, Rhett Miller said he planned to make a punk rock Ziggy Stardust, “but I wound up with George Gershwin does T. Rex's The Slider.” Whatever his intent, on The Believer, Miller (best known as front man for the alt.country band Old 97’s) has delivered a well-rounded collection of songs featuring irresistible hooks, earnest lyrics and a multitude of high-quality supporting musicians.

With producer George Drakoulias (Black Crowes, The Jayhawks, Tom Petty) at the controls, Miller deftly mixes elements of straight ahead rock, alt.country and chamber pop. Opener “My Valentine” begins with a Baroque feel (thanks to Patrick Warren’s skillful Chamberlain part) before giving way to raucous guitars and Miller’s assertion that “Sex in war-time is sweeter then peace/Yeah, it’s the one sweet thing about war.”

Overall, the orchestration on The Believer is varied and beautiful, excelling when Miller and Drakoulias allow the arrangement to accent the song, rather than become the focal point. Several understated gems include the poignant, humorous “Fireflies” (a duet with Rachel Yamagata), a reworking of the 97’s “Singular Girl” and the lilting “Brand New Way.” Another standout track is the Aimee Mann-Jon Brion penned “I Believe She’s Lying,” featuring an outstanding performance on guitar by Lyle Workman (Beck, Sheryl Crow).

While the exceptional musicianship and production provided by Miller’s supporting cast often highlight his effortless, sincere songwriting, The Believer can on occasion sound a bit too slickly played and produced. As previously mentioned, Miller’s work sounds best when raw, natural emotion shines through and forced gravitas is avoided.

Though its dissimilarity with some of Miller’s material with Old 97’s might keep a few listeners from immediately embracing The Believer, this is one of the best pop records of the young year. Miller has more than displayed his ability to function and succeed both in and out of a collective band setting. [www.rhettmiller.com]

Give Paulson two listens. As one small part of a constant deluge of new music from friends, the Internet, radio and a swath of other sources, sometimes one shot is all a band has with a new listener. And that can be a shame, especially noting that some of the greatest music doesn’t always hit you over the head right away. I won’t put Paulson in the league of “greatest music,” but they are worth a little more attention. My first listen to All at Once left me rather unimpressed, although not completely turned off. But I gave it another try. Paulson has an earnest sincerity that grows on you. Lead vocalist Logan LaFlotte’s singing and lyricism grow on you as well. As I fostered appreciation for these factors, the music started to take on more of a shine. This is not in-your-face music. The themes are fairly simple, and the music is catchy in a pleasant, understated fashion. But the product rings true. Paulson list a solid mix of influences and current favorites on the ubiquitous Myspace profile page, which is always a comforting sign that a band has good musical intentions (Excluding those instances of name-dropping and the conjuring of legitimacy). Their own brand of sound is middle of the road indie rock that sports some effectively underused synth sounds and an undemanding sing-along quality - it asks you politely to join in. Paulson's All At Once: Reflective, simple and sincere. And worth another listen. [www.paulsonisaband.com]

The local press in Candy Bars’ hometown of Tampa, Florida has been extremely receptive and gracious when reviewing the trio’s live shows or recordings, but a group can only hope to thrive on its art for so long in one place before it must move up and out to forge an existence on a larger scale. On Cutting Ti-gers in Half and Understanding Narravation is Candy Bars’ first major step to reaping a following outside of The Sunshine State, and the band’s fondness for bright melodies cloaked in some darker, orchestral indie pop garment succeeds on most every level. “We wanted to create depressing heroin pop,” says vocalist/guitarist Daniel Martinez on the record’s second track, “Works Cited.” Whether Candy Bars aimed to make that statement a reality or if it’s just another abstract reference floating harmlessly in a sea of lyrical anomalies in On Cutting Ti-gers…, the fact of the matter is that the group has pulled off an interesting, compelling debut. With the “orchestral indie pop” tag being excessively used and descriptively lacking, it’s tricky to nail any style on Candy Bars’ door. The base of the band beyond Martinez is simply Ryan Hastings on drums and Melissa Castellano on cello, and the recording process didn’t provide much more instrumentation than the trio would be sporting in a live setting. The majority of the tracks are stripped down to Martinez’s mellifluous, smoky vocalizing, plangent strings, and minimal percussion. To put it into a more easily-referenced context, The Elected minus the sunshine, or Ris Paul Ric exploring more moody, recondite atmospheres with a Southern flair. The meanings behind the songs—if there even are any—aren’t easily grasped. Martinez swerves in between inside and outside narration during his songs; his references and seemingly disconnected thoughts may be more abstruse than those of Dan Bejar and Isaac Brock. “A closed-eye Houdini with a deck of breath plays silk harp in the morning,” from “Works Cited,” or the philosophy on “Enough to Choke a Cold Air,” telling us that the average American “mistakes art, always runs, never stares enough to choke a cold air,” aren’t easily digested. But On Cutting Ti-gers in Half and Understanding Narravation on the whole is gorgeous and mysterious, tipping a hat to late, warm summer evenings and quirky expressionism. [www.newgranada.com]

What appears as a little wisp of a record has much more depth than a first listen might convey and may scare off listeners. Enemy of Love, Annie Hayden’s second solo record was several years in the making and demonstrates some significant musical growth, and it is worth it, to borrow the name of a song on the album, to “Wait for Returns.” Annie wears her influences on her guitar strap as she name checks Cat Stevens (Cara Mia) and references Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young on “Your Carnival.” These thirteen songs were intelligently recorded and wonderfully arranged using an array of instruments. As in film, not a moment of this half an hour is left unaccounted for, even the negative space created by the piano’s pause on the Carole King-inspired “Hip Hooray” figures prominently. Ms. Hayden spent the last decade performing as guitarist in New Jersey’s now defunct Spent. Her roots are clear, as her singing voice is heavy schooled in the mid-90s tradition that also educated the Juliana Hatfields and Lisa Loebs of the musical world. But these little-girl vocals almost do a real disservice to the singer. Unlike the other artists who may perform this way, the sweetness hides a deep cynicism; although it is not clear if this is a calculated move. To make matters even more confusing, her penchant for sickeningly sweet lyrics—literally in some cases (“I Wonder How to be an Ice Cream Cone/Pretty Little Berry on Top of the World”), further shield a wry take on relationships and life. Her deceptively sweet rendition of the Replacement’s “Swingin’ Party,” however, almost reveals more about the song’s double entendre than the original, almost. [www.anniehayden.com]

Thus far, Oklahoma’s Starlight Mints have built a steady reputation as a dreamy mini-orchestra of eccentric, often silly indie pop. The Dream That Stuff Was Made Of came out in 2000 as the group’s debut LP, and 2003’s Built on Squares solidified the group’s lovable oddball persona. Now Drowaton takes the most impressive facets the band’s past to culminate in their best of three. The vital elements of the band, and what fans have come to expect—delectable choruses, luscious string arrangements, and Allan Vest’s warm, exultant warbling—pervade nearly the entirety of Drowaton. The first couple of songs are typical Starlight Mints, showcasing tra-la-las and piping hot horns, whereas “What’s Inside of Me” is a rollicking, piano-led pop number. “The Killer” briefly exchanges the previous mood for a borderline rustic, folky demeanor. “Seventeen Devils” is the record’s shining moment, employing Vest’s knack for thinking up charmingly odd scenarios and letting the rest of the group complement him with a blithe abundance of quirky musical passages and handclaps, topping it off with an unforgettable chorus. While the Starlight Mints will probably forever be in the shadow of their more famous Oklahoma brethren with their own brand of weirdo pop music, and have yet to be given their due as far as this reviewer is concerned, Drowaton is the group’s most fully-realized record to date. With a stronger grasp in the composition department and more depth in variety (the tracks aren’t all that similar and tend to shift towards pulling attention to either the musical elements or the hooks, but not simultaneously), plus the some of the catchiest songs in their catalog, the Starlight Mints have made quite another little gem to be gleefully discovered by hipsters in 2031 A.D., but hopefully it won’t get passed up by too many people in the here and now, too. [www.starlightmints.com]

Only fifteen minutes (give or take) and four songs (really, three as there are dueling versions of the title track) long, The Mother Hips’ Red Tandy EP is fleeting but entirely delightful. Imagine a band from the British Invasion moving to California and settling down with a cowgirl and/or hippie chick, and you have an approximation of the EP’s sound. With its driving, bluesy guitar groove, layered vocals and tale of a girl “who likes it hot, that says a lot,” “Red Tandy” (the song) is two minutes and twenty seconds of pure retro pop perfection, opening the album in fine fashion. “Colonized” follows with an insistent opening guitar riff and straightforward rock sound that gives way to a sublimely melodic bridge section. More mellow and psychedelic than its predecessors, “Blue Tomorrow” changes the atmosphere quite nicely and sets the table for the return of “Red Tandy.” By adding almost a minute and a half to the alternate version of the opener, the song loses some of its original potency; however, its inclusion serves to bring the work full circle and bookend the album well. With their seamless blend of Brit-pop, Southern and classic rock, The Mother Hips have achieved a sound as appealing as it is diverse. Each of the tracks on Red Tandy provides maximum enjoyment and is likely to rattle around the listener’s brain for hours after exposure. Although Red Tandy may be short lived, it is a definite success. [www.motherhips.com]

Attention! All of you Against Me! Fans who spent days weeping on and off message boards after your favorite Gainesvillians took the unexpected leap to major label-dom, Defiance, Ohio is here to get you back on your dancing feet and yelling at The Man. Do they sound all that much like Against Me!? No, the two are musically incompatible, but the substance, ethics, and history aren’t so much at odds. Defiance, Ohio are six kids steeped in DIY ethics and early American hardcore sentiment, yet their musical landscape rides the waves of new-grass and rootsy folk channeled through an alternative conscience and culture. Punk kids with banjoes and harmonicas, off-key vocals, amateur musicianship, barn ‘n backporch excellence—and more heart and soul than those bands you’ll find gracing the excessively glossy pages of Alternative Press. The Great Depression is the second full-length from the Bloomington, IN-based group of anarcho-punks. Formerly, the group had worked with some of the tiniest of labels (including Plan-It-X, who helps out likeminded artists such as This Bike is a Pipe Bomb and Ghost Mice, to name a couple), and this is their first for No Idea Records. To dig into the sounds of Defiance, Ohio is pretty simple, even if you’re broke—even this brand new album is available for free on the band’s website—and the group wouldn’t have it any other way. Their sonic attack is comprised of an upright bass, violin, and cello, in addition to the aforementioned instruments and obviously drums and guitar. All members of the band—six of them—share the vocal duties. Poorly…at least from a musician’s point of view. But perfect pitch would defeat the sincerity, which, along with integrity, is the band’s strongest asset. As punk rock should do, The Great Depression attempts to teach lessons and make points through satire and humor. “Petty Problems” asks listeners to re-examine their world view and the American necessity to consume; “The New World Order” satirizes President Bush’s personal (and professional) relationship with God, backed with music that really wouldn’t make the band outsiders in a bluegrass crowd. Clocking in at under half an hour with 13 songs might be an abrupt end, but Defiance, Ohio thrives on affordability and good times, and The Great Depression suits both of those terms. [www.noidearecords.com]

The Sunny Side of the Moon: The Best of Richard Cheese isn’t so much the best of Cheese as it is a re-recording of his original (and out of print) Lounge Against the Machine along with a few smash hits like Sir Mix-A-Lot’s “Baby’s Got Back” and Disturbed’s “Down With the Sickness,” and a few new songs, like the Ying Yang Twins’ “Badd.” However, those revamped songs from Lounge include songs like Limp Bizkit’s “Nookie,” the Beastie Boys’ “Fight for Your Right,” and “Badd” is worth the CD’s price alone. There are a few notable absences, like Outkast’s “Hey Ya” and System of a Down’s “Chop Suey,” but more importantly, this is the first Cheese album that doesn’t have any bad songs. The worst is probably Young MC’s “Bust a Move” or The Clash’s “Rock the Casbah,” but it’s hard not to admire the many different rhythms Dick finds to use in his lounge covers (i.e., swankification). The production value is also superb, which shows just how well Cheese can be when it’s so deliciously bad. The best of Cheese usually comes from his rap parodies, and Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice” is about as good as it gets (though “Badd” blows it out of the water in raunchiness and its ironic clarity). But since Sunny Side has six years of albums to draw from, the final mix also illustrates how well Cheese can do from sampling songs within songs, like he does in Motley Crue’s “Girls Girls Girls.” The in-song skits are still mostly misses, but they’re only noticeable in Pink Floyd’s “Another Brick in the Wall” and it’s not as if he lingers on a bad joke¬—there’s too much music to parody. This sampling of Cheese also keeps the tempos mixed, showing that whether you make a song up- or down-tempo, it’s all about the execution and energy, both of which he’s got. Then again, when you croon the most venereal of lyrics, how can you not get a laugh? There’s no way material like this won’t be funny once it’s swankified and out-of-context: “I love the way she dance/she look like she fuckin’ herself/Shorty do a number/just touching herself.” Of course, Cheese is only good if you know the songs, so I’ll condense the rest of the album into this little ditty for you: Don’t be a “Creep,” you “Freak on a Leash.” When you come “Closer,” I feel like you’re going to “Rape Me” because it’s “Sunday Bloody Sunday.” Look, I know you’re “Hot for Teacher” so why not just “Come Out and Play’? I admit: that doesn’t seem to make much sense. But this is the exception to the rule, and if you haven’t heard these songs before, The Sunny Side of the Moon is an awfully nice place to visit. [www.iloverichardcheese.com]

The history of Metal Hearts is as unusual as it is short--the Baltimore-based duo is the brainchild of former high school enemies, from what their bio says. Anar Badalov and Flora Wolpert-Checknoff, ages 18 and 19, respectively, had made music together before heading off to college, and once finding campus life apart from one another to be too artistically straining, the pair moved back to Baltimore to enact a series of events that eventually led to a record deal with the Suicide Squeeze label and a debut record, Socialize. Dabbling in some awkward brand of experimental rock, the duo pulls off the delivery of a solid freshman (no pun intended) album. Rickety-sounding programmed drums elope with Badalov's and Wolpert-Checknoff's spare, whispery vocals, often making comparisons to Cat Power relevant. The slow, somber tracks (which most all are) can drone on, though some degree of variance will arise before a song becomes too cumbersome Guest musician Greg Bortnichak lends the occasional cello to the mix, earning the record some points and giving the songs an even more melancholy air. The most satisfying aspect of the record, though, is realizing the talent these youngsters have--and how those skills will translate to future records, whether it be as Metal Hearts or not. Socialize might put you to sleep at some points, but it's a predominantly enchanting and impressive record to come from anyone, much less two musicians who can't legally guzzle a beer. The album might be dreary and dark in some aspects, but Metal Hearts' future is nothing less than bright and promising, and Socialize is a good first step. [www.suicidesqueeze.net]