Amid the veritable slew of cutesy-pop man/wife acts, The Like Young stands out as a duo packing more balls (truly just one set) into their sound instead of relying on soaring synth lines for charming appeal akin to Mates of State-meets-Weezer. Last Secrets is the band's third LP but will be the first many have heard from the Ziembas (Joe and Amanda), as former releases were on the smaller indie label Parasol, and a lot of you may not have been around when the pair's previous band Wolfie was a champion of the indie-pop world. Typically you'd assume that a married couple making music would result in some happy end product, but Last Secrets, despite occasional hints of cuteness, is angst-ridden and dark, bereft of cheesy keyboards and bubbling harmonies. Additionally, the songs have some substance to reinforce the punky power-pop of the record. "All the Wrong Reasons" lectures about the women who lure older, rich men to wed them and the "weak men" who give in solely for the eye candy. Or, "Obviously Desperate," chronicling the sleazy, sex-obsessed male's desires. Despite the abundance of stark lyrical content, The Like Young has a penchant for wonderfully memorable melodies, and Amanda's sparkling coos contrast well with Joe's rougher half-shouted vocals. Last Secrets shows The Like Young growing as people and as musicians--probably even a couple, if you wanna read into it that much. It's also a worthwhile listen, though summer days are coming, and this record might not fare so well in the sunshine. [www.thelikeyoung.com]

Released as a precursor to the upcoming Wolves in Wolves' Clothing LP, Never Trust a Hippy is the same NOFX that's been around for years. As punk rock royalty, these guys could make a record of toilets flushing and might sell a few thousand copies. But never ones to rest on their collective laurels, the members of NOFX come through with a six-song release that will please most anyone who enjoys the politics and humor that have become synonymous with the band over a lengthy career. "Seeing Double at the Triple Rock" references Dillinger Four and nights of drunken confession set to the band's skate punk backdrop; "The Marxist Brothers" utilizes bits of dub and calls out the rich, white liberal class--both of these tracks will be included on the forthcoming full-length. "Golden Boys" was originally penned by seminal LA punkers (and Pat Smear's former band) The Germs, while "You're Wrong" is an acoustic number that would have Bill O'Reilly, Charlton Heston and Jerry Falwell clawing at Fat Mike's door if they were to hear it--obviously, the NRA, meat-eaters, religion, and conservative politics in general are the targets. Ann Coulter gets deemed "a cunted cunt," while Fat Mike lets you know "you're wrong if you agree with Sean Hannity." Even jaded punks aren't forgotten--"if you think that punk rock doesn't mix with politics...you're wrong." "Everything in Moderation (Especially Moderation)" is 83 seconds to remind you what NOFX is all about, and the closer "I'm Going to Hell For This One" resurrects Jesus Christ to collect on the money Mel Gibson made in that one film last year. Whether it's your bag or not, NOFX is in a class all its own when it comes to making a successful career by aligning politics and humor and never worrying about crossing the line when it comes to either subject. They're here to push your buttons, and they probably will. Not recommended for the ultra-religious, conservatives, Fox News fans, the firearm toting, or the easily-offended. But for all you NOFX fans, it's more guaranteed gold. [www.fatwreck.com]

Considering that Streetlight Manifesto's debut album Everything Goes Numb is still selling extremely well for a genre that seems to be dying more year after year, it might surprise some casual fans that this release isn't even new material. To make a somewhat short story even shorter: After releasing Keasbey Nights (1998), one of the most successful ska/punk hybrid albums of the 90's, Catch 22 collapsed due to inner turmoil--half the band forged on with the same name but with less appeal; the other eventually formed Streetlight Manifesto, including principal songwriter Tomas Kalnoky. The past couple of years predicted the release of this album, though some reports concluded that the re-recorded classic would be a child of both bands, which obviously it is not. To sum up the original Keasbey Nights--it's one of the catchiest and smartest records begat by the third wave of ska, played by a bunch of fun-lovin' New Jersey guys who fused the energy of punk with ska music probably moreso than any of their peers. At least, no one else really does it or did it this fast or made it as engaging. Keasbey Nights as performed by Streetlight Manifesto is largely identical to the original, though the vocals aren't as rough and are certainly more easily discernible. The re-recording obviously means it's going to sound a little different, and apparently there were some aspects of the original that Kalnoky wasn't entirely pleased with on the studio end of things. Brass sections are improved upon, as eight years typically does improve a musician, and a few other things might not line up with the Catch 22 version, but it's essentially the same record. If you never hankered an obsession for the first Keasbey Nights, chances are you wouldn't even realize that this one isn't the 1998 version. A classic as far as the genre is concerned, Keasbey Nights is essential listening for anyone still skanking around, but it's not necessarily a record that transcends its style to be embraced by a variety of people. It's not Operation Ivy, but it's not far behind. [www.streetlightmanifesto.com]

There’s a simple rule about independent punk—if you demonstrate that you can do more than rage against the whatever, feel free to get your screech on. Lying in States, with their second album, Wildfire on the Lake, has only one frustratingly aggressive piece (“Both Sides”), but cushioned as it is by such accurately disconnected instrumentals, even this track merits multiple plays. Of course, there are plenty of better songs—most of them rock ballads—and decent transitory pieces that are fine stuck between rock and punk, like “Qg,” which may have hard and heady guitar but also has the soothing and somewhat ambiguous maracas. There’s even a merited pop-like hit, “Turn,” which is catchy, deft, and filled with an uplifting and playful clarity: “I hate the thought/That what you are I’m not/But I’ll do my best to pass your test/If you’re sure I’m what you want.” I wish I could say all of the tracks made such progress, but there are a couple of mid-album duds, “Manis” and “Hackles,” that both fail for the opposite reasons, which leaves one thinking that if the two were combined, they’d make a killer track. But it’s all about balance, which is why they can have the submerged lyrics and endurance-heavy picking of “Wired Saint” right beside the vintage “Uphill Battle,” a song that all but backpedals into a jauntier time: “And it’s a downhill slide/Tonight/Now I’m doing much better/I think I’ll be just fine/There are lots of things I could tell you/But I can’t seem to find/The words I’m looking for.” The way these lyrics spread across verses seems almost like hip-hop, but in the context of middle-of-the-road rock, it’s not showing off so much as it is wringing every ounce of angst from the text. Wildfire on the Lake feels like an exercise in square dancing: Every track is one step forward, one step back. Then again, when you go above and beyond catering to your audience like this, you don’t need to step outside the box; you just need to stay quick on your feet within it. [www.lyinginstates.com]

With a record-releasing career now at a decade's length, Pittsburgh's Anti-Flag have not only solidified a place as one of today's most infamous and recognizable voices in punk rock. The infamy charge has varying degrees; detractors of the band have questioned Anti-Flag's credibility (the band had been strictly against major corporations in the past, though this record is an RCA release), others claim that the group is too much talk and not enough action or that the band isn't intellectually adept enough to warrant their lyrical content. Keep in mind, though, that The Clash heard some of these same things. For Blood and Empire is more or less what previous Anti-Flag releases have been--hard-edged punk rock with a thin veil of pop intuition sprinkled on top. The latter statement is more prevalent here, as this is by far the catchiest Anti-Flag album I've heard but is no less scathing in its musical nor lyrical delivery. The political bent is overt and obvious, which will turn off listeners who desire something that offers more deep thought, but this doesn't make the band's intent any less respectable. On the other hand, Anti-Flag makes much of their politics easy to understand and relate to, which can only help the band's younger listeners understand what they're hearing. True, Anti-Flag has been railed for being too preachy, but For Blood and Empire isn't abstract in its aim, and listeners should have some idea of what's in store. The production leaves something to be desired, for at times the album comes across as too clean and smooth. The music itself sounds like early Strung Out trying to write Good Charlotte-type hooks but without the bubblegum image and lyrics. "One Trillion Dollars" relies on a folky punk delivery, like early Against Me!, whereas "State Funeral" is melodic hardcore along the lines of Strike Anywhere. But, Anti-Flag has been around longer than any of these bands, and overall, it just sounds like those same notorious punkers who are one of the most successful punk bands out there that actually touches on politics in their songs. As with former labelmates Propagandhi (whom you could say are a rougher, more mature version of Anti-Flag), the liner notes contain an abundance of resources for left-wing ideology and other organizations the band supports, and if the music doesn't offer that much to you, at least you'll learn something from all the other information the band presents. [www.anti-flag.com]

I think Prison Jazz Records is poised to become a common name on the tongues of indie kids sometime in the near future. Last year's release from The A-Sides definitely garnered the label some well-deserved attention, and Okay Paddy's The Cactus Has a Point is another gem from the small Pennsylvania label. First off, I've gotta say something to the band. You've got me stumped on the album title. Between the liner notes, your website, and your Myspace page, I've heard that this album is inspired by a book of the same name written by "Japhry Turner," though search engine could find such a thing. The album's spine notes "Jophry Warner," while yet again, an online search proved futile. With that unneccessary rambling aside, we'll get to the album itself. As a debut full-length, The Cactus Has a Point is a fine chunk of power-pop, utilizing Weezer's nerd factor and early Pavement-ish song structures. Culling their finer points from 60's pop, the record clocks in at under 30 minutes, but the curtness can be overlooked when the songs are this good. Simple guitar solos, harmonies, and hooks--Okay Paddy isn't the most original band, but this entire record is infectious, enjoyable, and simply irresistable after a few spins. [www.okaypaddy.com]

Dan Bejar is typically more well-known for his role as the other songwriting arm of The New Pornographers, though the Canadian artist has been crafting his own style of oddball indie pop under the moniker Destroyer since 1995. Destroyer’s Rubies is the fifth full-length from Bejar; though he’s incessantly creating something new, whether it be with Carl Newman and the Gang or reworking pieces from his previous LP (2004’s Your Blues) with Great White North pals Frog Eyes. Coupling his mostly nonsensical lyrics with grand, psychedelic guitars and unpredictable segues in the same song, Bejar creates a world within his music that excels in simultaneous being playful, ominous, engaging, and just plain weird. His voice—a trait as distinct as his wordplay and songwriting—can rarely if ever be pinpointed as gleeful or mournful; it’s anything but emotionless, but Bejar keeps you guessing unless you’re ready to attempt to absorb all the words he’s throwing at you. Whether he’s pointing fingers at indie elitists (“3000 Flowers”) or name-dropping Camus titles (“Your Blood”), it’s rare to discern what the guy’s talking about. But, that doesn’t even seem to be his aim. The abstract is in full-bloom on Destroyer’s Rubies, and it’s got multitudes of early Bowie-esque moments in tow. Bits of classic and glam rock abound, and where Your Blues was a much sparser, quiet album, Destroyer's Rubies utilizes more instruments--trumpets, organs, sax, wurlitzer, etc. The result is Bejar's best work to date. Dan Bejar is a true character, whether you’re referencing his art or the persona he presents in interviews. His career is destined to fade into obscurity eventually, as he doesn’t seem to be a fame-seeker in the slightest. But Destroyer records will be discovered over and over again through the years as people dig into the past to find underrated gems—it’s happening now, and always will. And if Bejar doesn’t get his full appreciation now, well, hindsight is always 20/20. [www.mergerecords.com]

Any band that opens its album with a sample spoken in French obviously has some arty ambitions. Sabrosa Purr definitely has that on Music from the Violet Room. But what the band also has is a muddle of influences and styles without enough confidence to fully pull them off. Will Love's whiny, slightly androgynous voice can be put to good use, but when he starts screaming for no apparent reason, it comes across as almost comical. The line "My best friend since I'm 13/living through the magazines" from "...by the Water" doesn't sound any better when screamed, which does the song's serious subject matter of suicide a distracting disservice. Despite the catchy, crunchy guitar riffs on "The Lovely People," the song is marred by what sounds like he's trying out his best Marilyn Manson impression. Songs like "Pink" are more effective with an edgy sexuality that borders on the sinister. This song is the closest Sabrosa Purr to achieving the sort of sound they seem to be striving for. The dreamy "All the Leaves..." (the band has an affection for ellipses in song titles) and the acoustic "Liars, Petty Theives and Pets" just sound like digressions and a poor attempt to showcase the band's "range." If Sabrosa Purr manages to get past some immaturity in their music and overreaching attempts at proving its pain, the band might be worth hearing. As of now, though, there's only a glimpse of what the band could be and too much of what it shouldn't. [www.sabrosapurr.com]

Portugal. The Man has a solid foundation for their model home of a CD, Waiter: You Vultures!. But all the rooms look very similar, and after a while, the homey yet homely voices (shrill one second, cooing the next) are claustrophobic and tiresome. It’s seems quite lively and livable, and Portugal. The Man gets the most out of the acoustics with some creative floor design, but the next minute, the wiring short-circuits again, and the toilet backs up. I want to like this CD, and I have no trouble listening to it, but I can’t find something good to say about it. Solid, but empty, this is a doll’s house—all exteriors, with fragile fillings. At the same time, Portugal, The Man does a lot with emptiness: In “AKA M80 The Wolf” the vocals duck out for a moment and take the electric and bass with them. In their absence, the faint guitar-like plunking of keys lights the room, allowing for a layered texture as the other instruments return, one by one. Suddenly, with “Elephants,” we’re doing the same thing again - slow beats leaping into an up-tempo folk rock. Even the choruses themselves, while catchy, are quickly redundant, due mostly to the gravel-like intonations of the singers. These cracked wailings will be endearing to some, but it’s just cheap wallpaper for yet another duplicate room. The experimentation that Portugal. The Man finally opts for, in “Guns...Guns...Guns” is enough to make me shut up. That is, I would hate to tempt this group to produce more garbage like this track, a long babble of nonsense paired with the discordant slams of an angry piano, not to mention low-budget static and other distortions. This in-joke of a song doesn’t distract from the faulty plumbing, and this ghost of half-finished material can be found even in good songs like “Waiter.” In sum, I’ve described an artist’s residence. Portugal. The Man has patched together a collection of songs that gets the job done, but just barely, and just enough to remind you how much you need to move to a bigger, better, brighter place. [www.portugaltheman.net]

Scabdates, a mostly live recording of The Mars Volta, is the opposite of white noise: Painful chunks of discordant sound that make noise for noise’s sake. With the lack of studio polish, the improvisation spins out of control, and as soon as the electric orchestration finds beauty, it loses it again, a sacrifice to some unknown god of artifice. These are far from the “A” sides of Deloused in the Comatorium and even further from the “B” sides of Frances the Mute. These “C” sides—impossible as that sounds—are more a nightmarish warm-up than anything productive. Some fans will no doubt love the creepy dubs of babies wailing and overlapping voices on “Abrasions Mount the Timpani.” Hopefully, they and The Mars Volta will then wake up and realize that this, more than a distortion of sound, is a defilement of music. I have great respect for the stamina that goes into performing a forty-minute piece like “Cicatrix” (and its respective “Parts I-IV”), but simply making noise isn’t enough. This behemoth of a song starts out strong, with some of the progressive, vivacious spontaneity of their previous works, but it quickly peters out into idle experimentation. No sooner does “A. Part I” justify this eccentric behavior than “D. Part IV” ruins it all with fragments of samples, aimless and honestly heartless. “Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt” becomes nothing more than a showcase for some impressive fingering, and “Caviglia” is just a sonic bore. Even when there’s a catchy rhythm fueling these musical perambulations (“B. Part II”), it’s all just going in circles, and when all is said and done, nothing is said or done. The Mars Volta is dangerously close to bankrupting its reputation by churning out this unedited stream-of-consciousness. Talent and energy get you so far, but The Mars Volta may have just run out of gas. [www.themarsvolta.com]

What is this, follow the leader? Fivespeed’s CD Morning over Midnight sounds like any other kind of commercial-friendly hard rock. We’re talking about simple and repeatable chords, a generic and throaty “singing,” and redundant songs. There’s so little originality on the album that it might as well be elevator music. (Even that’s too lenient - Ensure that nobody ever rides the elevator, and just in case, mute the CD.) It’s not that Morning over Midnight is terrible, it’s more that there’s nothing to it. Suffice to say that any album in this genre that is published by a major label like Virgin is going to have at least the same technical chops and acoustic sound, so why this one? The repetition of a lyric in progressively louder increments is not impressive in of itself, nor is the ability to produce sound from an instrument. This is singing and playing taken to the least extreme possible (to still be hard rock), and the effect is unsurprisingly underwhelming. There are a few exceptions, like “Misery Loves Company” and “Blame it on You” (surprising because they don’t suck), but if you throw enough darts at a wall, some of them will stick. Then again, it could just be that when Fivespeed scales back their aggression (for which their style doesn’t really fit), their playing seems more resonant in the face of all the other yelling. “Wait Forever” mentions that they have “yet to find the low, yet to find the low, yet to find the low, yet to find the low,” but then again, they’ve also failed to find any high. [www.fivespeedmusic.com]

I, personally, don't exactly enjoy reading a record review overflowing with gushing admiration and exclusively positive feedback, but I'm subjecting all of you to just that. I won't deny that this is poor journalism, with objectivity gone straight down the shitter, but throughout this article I'll attempt to back all the upcoming opinions on one of the best modern punk bands, hands down--The Lawrence Arms. My musical taste has veered far away from the Fat Wreck roster (and punk rock in general) in the past years, as it happens with most "audiophiles" during those collegiate years of discovery. But, The Lawrence Arms have endured the struggles and still won't fall far from my favorite bands of all time. Some quick background on the band--formed in '99 after bassist Brendan and guitarist Chris departed from the Fifteen-meets-Crimpshrine punk of The Broadways; drummer Neil ended his stint with Baxter, which featured Tim from Rise Against on vocals. Once united, the trio followed with two LPs and two splits on Asian Man Records, before heading up the punk rock label ladder to Fat Wreck Chords, where they now deliver LP #3. The Lawrence Arms' dichotomy lends itself to my claim--Brendan and Chris previously divided the albums between their respective songs, which typically held Brendan as the drunken, proselytizing comedian who barks his anguish in between shots and reading Whitman and Bulgakov. Chris, on the other hand, represented the more sensitive, poetic face of the band. Brendan's more fervent and political, Chris, more personal and mellow. Musically, the threesome finds kindred spirits in Jawbreaker and Dillinger Four, to an extent, but also the more melodic side of the Alkaline Trio. Oh! Calcutta! brings both vocalists together, and instead of splitting the duties, they're more often than not sharing the limelight on each track. Call it maturity or natural progression, but it's undeniable that The Lawrence Arms have upped the ante for themselves yet again. Much of the album loses a "-punk" tag; "rock" almost fits alone. At other times, the group sounds precisely as they did a few years ago, but instead of reverting strictly to a worn-out formula, the musicianship (guitar-work and drums, mostly) are meatier and more impressive. There's an undeniable "anthem" feel at play on Oh! Calcutta!, and the poppier side of the record--not sleek, but unyielding in memorable choruses and hooks. Coming from the perspective of a fan and not that of an objectivity-bound journalist, I can't say that this isn't the culmination of everything this band has done. Brevity is the sole weakness at play, but for all you punkers, you can't really get any better than this. It's socially aware and biting, humorous, intellectual amongst its peers, and above all, goddamn catchy. [www.thelawrencearms.net]

Are these youngsters budding Hansonites or an homage to an earlier Weezer? Their long, blonde hair (some of them, anyway) and high-school good looks may point to the former, but their sound is comprised of a pleasant variety of fuzzy, under-produced rock and pop, and a definite lack of mmm-bop. Hailing from Port Angeles, Washington, Lonely H definitely carries a flavor of the Pacific Northwest, a more subdued and meandering post-grunge kissed with a laid-back, surfer-esque Californian influence. The bulk of Kick Upstairs is mellow, upbeat and enjoyable. Weaknesses include moments of whining in some of the ballads further along in the album, and there are times when an underlying adolescence breaks through. These occurrences may wear thin on older (dare I say, wiser?) ears. The songs “Don’t worry,” “Draconius,” and “Sweet Madeline” will give you a good taste of what is offered, if you are of the downloading mentality. Lonely H are like that band you loved before they grew too big, too out of touch, too trite, too boring and maybe all of the above. Don’t go looking for miracles, and you won’t be disappointed. Enjoy a sip of youthful, ambitious music that isn’t over laden with pretension. [www.thelonelyh.com]

So we’ve got a little problem. In normal fashion, I received a copy of “The Lashes” disc, a pre-release that record labels toss out to different magazines, websites, promotion companies, and/or anybody lucky enough to have some contacts at the label who will put them on the marketing staffs mailing list. I’d like to review this album, and I’ve really tried. However, SonyBMG has decided to encode this CD with XCP, the copy protection scheme associated with the root-kit fiasco of last year. It’s understandable that they would like to prevent this record from leaking to the general public before its actual release date. I understand such sentiment entirely - people should buy music (and lots of it). You may or may not have heard about the whole root-kit situation. Essentially, a copy protection is placed on the disc to prevent it from being burned onto a computer. Instead, it has its own media player software that loads automatically when the disc is loaded. However, this program, which installed itself on your computer without explicit permission from the user, created a security flaw in that computer that could be exploited by various hackers or viruses. The protection should have no effect on CD-only media players. However, being that this is 2006, I think its fair to expect people to not use CD-only media players designed within the last 18 months. I own NO CD-only media players. Most music is through my computer into my DVD surround system. This disk will neither play in my computer’s CD-ROM drive, or my DVD player. My car’s stereo system also plays mp3 discs, which essentially makes it a CD-ROM drive as well, so it won’t play there. Any portable CD players I have broke long, long ago (probably in high school). The same goes for any stereos that I formerly used to listen to Green Day and the Smashing Pumpkins albums back in Junior High. Thus I have yet to hear this disc. I can in no way comment on the music, but at this point I have little desire to do so. SonyBMG has since stopped using the XCP copy protection scheme, and has offered to replace discs that have it. However, being that this is a pre-release album, it is not eligible for replacement. Thus this reviewer will not be able to review The Lashes “Get It.” It is difficult to see how this might be in the best interest of the band [www.thelashes.net]

Who the fuck is Blight? I hadn't heard of them before receiving this, and chances are, you haven't either. Unless you are a staple of the Midwest hardcore scene in the early 80s, then it's doubtful that these Michigan-ites' music has ever crossed your ears. And, chances are, if you had stumbled across them, you'd remember. Peruse the accompanying liner notes to Detroit: The Dream is Dead, and you'll stumble across flyers for long past shows in which Blight shared the stage (or more likely, floor) with seminal early hardcore groups from Gang Green and The Meatmen (vocalist Tesco Vee sang for both Blight and The Meatmen) to the Dead Kennedys. Sounding like a wacky amalgam of The Fall and The Ex attempting to create noisy, industrial American hardcore, Tesco's vocals are mostly indiscernible Not thrashy hardcore, and not moshy hardcore--it's not even fast. Blight's music is droning, bass pulsating, sonically nausea-inducing if you listen to it for too long, and pretty much all-around fucked-up. Amateur-ish musicianship only lends itself to what Blight was doing, and had they been accomplished at their instruments, these songs wouldn't be as mind-boggling or bizarre as they are. Detroit: The Dream is Dead culls from Blight's brief stint as a band, having released a mere one EP (which was a 7" on Touch & Go originally, by the way), also includes some demos and a live set from a Detroit show with Jello Biafra & Crew back in the summer of '82. Twenty tracks total, all dripping in sludgy basslines, guitars awash in feedback, Tesco's electric trumpet chiming in awkwardly at the most inappropriate moments, and sounding like nothing else being made at the time or since. [www.touchandgorecords.com]

The vibrant cover and cuddly creatures featured on the cover of The Best Party Ever are tell-tale of what's to come from the piece of plastic within. The child-like drawings and gleeful partying the subjects are adorably compelling, and the two young Brits behind the album are just now garnering some more attention stateside, as they're currently residing on the road for new radio darling James Blunt. Pop they are, but of the indie and twee persuasions, not your typical Top 40 piece of pie. Track names like "Monsters," "Paper Cuts," and "I See Spiders When I Close My Eyes" are deceptive, as they belie the joyous, sunny melodies and optimism which imbues the record's entirety. To listen to The Best Party Ever is akin to warm afternoons in the sandbox or finger-painting the walls without your mother's knowledge--it's dripping with tender, imaginative innocence--and Jof Owens and Pete Hobbs understand their craft well enough to accurately nail each moment that needs a bell here or a whistle there to billow the listener into nostalgia for a time that probably never existed, at least not as pleasantly as The Boy Least Likely To would have you believe. Belle & Sebastian were never this delightful; The Beach Boys never this charming; and Of Montreal rarely as simplistically pleasant. If The Best Party Ever doesn't make a smile cross your face, you just might not be human. [www.theboyleastlikelyto.co.uk]

The Rosebuds have come up with another melodic and tender release in Birds Make Good Neighbors, and there will be a few songs that might just stick in your head for a good long while. The sparkling single “Boxcar” is probably one of my favorite songs of the past year; “Outnumbered” is an exemplary example of the duo’s sense of what makes a catchy chorus; and album-closer “4-Track Love Song” is a sparsely worded masterpiece of smoky sensuality. The Rosebuds inevitably stumble a little in the middle with “The Lovers’ Rights,” a tune that struggles to be catchy, but fails due to flat vocals and lackluster music, while “Blue Bird” has none of the energy shown at the beginning and the end of the disc. The overall effect leads the album to become just slightly saccharine. While Birds Make Good Neighbors may not be completely satisfying from start to finish, there are enough gems to make it a worthwhile addition to the music collection of anyone who enjoys good songwriting. [www.therosebuds.com]

How seriously should one take a side project? Over the years, rock stars’ attempts to supplement their day jobs with other musical means of expression have yielded mixed results. For every successful Traveling Wilburys or Postal Service album, there have been a myriad of projects like Tin Machine (the Bowie-led band you’ve never heard of). On Sun, Sun, Sun, Blake Sennett leads his part-time band through their second album of feel-good folk rock with a carefree spirit that could understandably cause Rilo Kiley fans to question the guitarist’s sincerity. By album’s end, however, the band’s warmth and geniality put all questions to rest and succeed in convincing the listener to experience the level of abandon they enjoy. One of the most absurd yet accurate ways to describe the sonic texture of Sun, Sun, Sun is that the album approximates what collaboration between the late Elliott Smith and The Beach Boys might have sounded like. As strange as it may seem, The Elected truly do make shoe-gazer music for those who spend their summers barefoot. Songs like “The Bank and Trust” and the exquisite “Fireflies in a Steel Mill” retain a laid-back, California rock vibe that would have felt at home on AM radio in the 60’s and 70’s. Clever arrangements by Sennett and co-producer/bandmate Mike Bloom achieve this feel by blending banjo, ukulele, lap steel and various horns with acoustic guitar-driven tracks. For every time the band wanders close to the boundary between carefree and campy (see the tracks “Do Me Good” and “Biggest Star”), they succeed with a tender folk ballad (“Desiree” and “I’ll Be Your Man”) or bittersweet pop tune (i.e. the title track). Vocalists Jenny Lewis (Rilo Kiley) and Stacey Dupree (Eisley) guest star with excellent backing vocals but the true highlight of the album is the obvious willingness of Sennett and his cohorts to eschew everything self-important about indie rock and make an album free of posturing and affectation. [www.theelected.com]

Unless you were hidden under a rock, chances are you remember “Teenage Dirtbag,” the runaway radio hit of years past. Well, contrary to popular belief, the band behind that song, Wheatus, didn’t fall off the face of the Earth. They had some label issues, giving birth to an album lovingly entitled Suck Fony, and battled through some hard times, but after much strife they are back with their third album Too Soon Monsoon. Jumping out of the gate is the very catchy and addictive “Something Good,” quickly followed by the equally catchy, but shorter, “In The Melody.” Although both tracks are high quality songs, they reflect a not so high quality production value, with somewhat muddy cymbals, guitars, and vocal tracks. Thankfully for the band, the lack of million dollar production doesn’t take away from the overall song quality at all. A left-field track on this disc is one of my personal favorites, “BMX Bandits,” inspired by the Australian film of the same name. Starring Nicole Kidman, it’s the story of a group of friends and their bikes (think “Rad” and “Gleaming The Cube”). My friend and I were addicted to that movie as little kids, and it’s good to know someone else even knew it existed. “London Sun” is definitely the crown jewel of the disc, and I could easily see it as a radio hit with the right marketing and budget. “I Am What I Is” is a great track, but its title sounds like Paul Wall song. What IT DO?!? “The Truth I Tell Myself” takes a turn towards seriousness and pulls it off well, leading into the very serious “Hometown,” a September 11th song that is not the usual corny tribute junk. It’s not the best song on the disc, but the superb ending, with the sing along kids and funky guitar riff, leaves you with a fond memory. “This Island” shows a bit of anger as it builds to a nice peak and sustains interest as a great “fuck off” song. The album tails off a bit at the end unfortunately, with “Who Would Have Thought” a song that doesn’t quite fit since it is the only song featuring female voice of Liz Brown, and “No Happy Ending Tune,” a track that starts off very boring but builds to a decent end. Two live tracks (“BMX Bandits” and “London Sun”) wrap up what is a stellar pop rock album from a forgotten act. Although the lead singer might be a striking point, since he has such a unique voice, the songs on this disc should appeal to a wide array of listeners. If you want a catchy rock album for the springtime, you can’t go wrong with this one. [www.wheatus.com]

Dork rockers The Swims come out blaring with their quaint brand of absurdi-pop in Ride of the Blueberry Winter. The opening rounds leave one wanting to give them some Ritalin and a swift kick in the posterior. When The Swims finally draw in their breath on track five to release the simple pleasures of “Sara Jean,” the moment is quite welcome. This bit of relaxation does the album some good because the rest isn’t too bad. The music cranks back up to its hyper state at times, but the material is more interesting and varied. The capricious nature of the songs begins to dig in to your skin. Compositions delivered are at times fun, beautiful, and dare I say, compelling? (Please reference one of my favorites, “Knitting Factory”). Just be prepared to handle the strong, overlying sense of oddity that wallpapers pretty much everything on the album. Okay- the first four songs were… questionable. Chalk it up to personal preference. Luckily, there are twelve more to go! That’s more songs than you might get on another entire album. My advice? Quaff some Truffleberry wine, grab an upstate milkmaid and doff your boring sensibilities for a while. [www.theswims.com]