The Morning After Girls put the sexy rock swagger to good use. Pulling from classic and '90s rock, the band exudes confident playfulness. Prelude: EP's 1&2: This is this as approachable and fun as mainstream rock can get. After the hazy instrumental "Introduction," the band fires it up with the cocky "Run for Our Lives." Bold guitars and assertive drumming set the tone for The Morning After Girls' sound. The Morning After Girls are mostly about rocking. "Straight Thru You" and "Fireworks" are joyfully loud and aggressive. But the quieter moments don't ring false -- the haunted "Hidden Spaces" and introspective "Lazy Greys" are effective in proving the band's range. "Chasing Us Under" includes strings over a shoegaze-tinged soundscape, creating a dreamy mix of electricity and emotion. The songs feel more like separate entities than anything that's meant to work together as whole. While there's not a marked difference between the first half and the second, the compilation does merge the band's two EP's (hence the title) and the latter half does show a more progressive spirit than the first. It's not exactly a complaint, though. The Morning After Girls are a band worth watching. They have all the promise of making it big worldwide. [www.themorningaftergirls.com]

What can I say about Bright And Hollow Sky that hasn't already been done? Not a lot. I was eager to listen in on the premier CD of this fresh band out of Austin, but when I listened in, I just couldn't get excited. The songs are not terribly memorable, and the vocal stylings are humblingly sub-par. I listened again, hoping that it just took me some time to get into it. Unfortunately, nothing doing. It takes a lot of effort to put together a band, and then even more effort to get oneself signed and release a CD. Regretfully, something was lost along the way. These songs come off as stilted and generic. Nothing has been done here that wasn't done by someone else before. Songs like "Porcelain" and "Going Down" come off as childish and simple mope songs with little to offer. Perhaps the most unfortunate thing of all is that Bright and Hollow Sky's debut is not terrible. It isn't some poppy, money-making scheme that gets slapped onto MTV to sell Coca-Cola. The worst thing is that this is a mediocre album. There is potential here, but the album we have in our hands might frighten us out of seeing what happens down the line. There is no challenge- there is nothing new here. And in a world filled to the brim with generic music, mediocre is worse than bad. [popfaction.com]

The Luxury of Time is a deceptively strong effort from the NYC tandem of vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Kenny Cummings and bassist Phil Schuster. On first listen, there are enough familiar elements present (early Radiohead, Oasis and My Bloody Valentine are all points of reference) to write Shelby off as just another in a succession of influenced but not influential modern rock bands. Fortunately, repeated exposure to the album reveals depth and nuance that enhance the band’s melodic sense and hint at a wealth of originality beneath their radio friendly veneer. “The Golden Boy” opens the record perfectly with its pulsing beat and single-worthy melody, asking questions like “How was your weekend?” with unprecedented intensity. The bass-driven “Loudon Wainwright” follows, starting with a murmur and swelling to its eventual peak as Cummings begins “paging” the iconic folk singer. Rocker “The Wait” manages to allude to both Radiohead and The Strokes without appearing derivative. Other highlights of the record include the rollicking “Green Eyes,” in which Cummings issues the strangely inviting call to “put away your common sense and crawl right up by my side” and the brief but radiant ballad “The Riviera.” Dragging down the overall quality of the album are the closing cover of “Let It Be Me” (popularized by The Everly Brothers), which proves an ill-advised swan song, and the unnecessary length of several tracks which would have been better served by a bit of editing. The Luxury of Time is a first-rate collection of lush, melodic anthems that delivers with more potency upon each consecutive hearing. [www.shelbynyc.com]

You’d probably be hard pressed to find a music journalist to argue that Blink-182 is a ground breaking or important band, but what makes them a success is that you’d be equally pressed to find a Blink band member to argue the same. The boys in Blink make fun and catchy rock music without apologies, and while that might ring shallow on an album to album basis, the greatest hits forum serves as a perfect showcase for what they do best. I don’t think this album will challenge the Eagles for greatest hits sales, but it will serve as a sugar shot of fun during the musical lulls of your listening life. Ninety percent of this album is straight up fun pop rock. “What’s My Age Again?,” “All The Small Things,” “The Rock Show” and all the bands TRL hits are here, providing a smile-inducing dose of rock goofiness. If you’re not a big Blink fan then the tracks off their early albums might be new to you and maybe of little interest, but every track after “Dammit” is recognizable to even the most casual radio fan. The serious moments come during the heart of the album, tackling the subjects of divorce (“Stay Together For The Kids”) and suicide (“Adam’s Song”) and showing that the band can get serious when it wants to address something important. A couple new releases cap off the album to draw in the fans that already own the other songs on previous releases and also promote Travis Barker’s show on MTV. Listen, this isn’t a nominee for album of the year, but who cares? Its fun and it’s lighthearted, just like the band. I never understood why people hate on bands that are just having fun and being successful, but I am sure some will hate on this album for just those reasons. Me? I like a little fun in my life, so I take this album for what it is, a collection of songs from one of the most successful radio acts of our time. [www.blink182.com]

Anyone familiar with any of Robert Pollard’s previous work with Guided By Voices will neither be overwhelmed nor surprised by the number of songs on this finally realized double album, which plays out like the four-sided piece of work. Most will be thrilled with his return to the very essence of early GBV only remarkably, yet appropriately, improved. What was always so wonderful about Robert Pollard’s work was his ability to strike a fantastic compromise between classic rock and newer musical influences. From a Compound Eye, is no different in that it naturally has what Pollard likes to call the “Four P’s: Punk, psych, prog, and pop.” (Maybe a fifth “P” should even be added for Pete Townshend, whose influence is all over the place.) The difference in this album is that rather than the terrific mini lo-fi opuses which were early GVB hallmarks, the majority of From a Compound Eye boasts fully realized songs. “A Flowering Orphan” and “Cock of the Rainbow” are vintage GBV but reflect Pollard’s impressive musical growth. Pollard’s songs, even the tiniest snippet of song from his gigantic collection of songs, could fill a stadium. “Other Dogs Remain” has just that hypnotic, sweeping quality that is the stuff of arena rock and, in typical Pollard fashion, does it all in under two and a half minutes. What is atypical are two songs that are over five minutes long, but nary a note seems excessive or wasted. "Conquerer of the Moon" is simply an homage to the mini rock opera form. As soon as the familiar sound of Robert Pollard’s familiar, yet long-missing guitar plucking begins on “The Right Thing,” it becomes clear what later GBV releases were lacking. “U.S. Mustard Company” could serve as an analogy for creation of this album which was recorded whenever he felt, uh, guided by voices. In this lovely song, he croons, “Contain yourself/Throw away your charts of progress.” Was this Pollard was trying to invoke his pre-major label self? No matter, Pollard’s strange magic has fully resurfaced, and From a Compound Eye will surely have everyone understanding why “In Bob We Trust." [www.robertpollard.com]

Outside of the music I review on this sight, independent country music is what you’re most likely to find on my iPod. So anytime I get the chance to review something with a little twang to it, I jump right on in. 1:50 In The Furnace, the latest release from alt-country-rock man Wes McDonald, might be the closest I get to reviewing anything country this year; thankfully, it should stay in heavy rotation, with enough satisfying tracks to last me the rest of the year. Opening up with “I Would Never," a mid-tempo, soulful track with twang, it’s obvious that Wes knows a thing or two about writing a great melody. “Shot Stereo” only further proves the point with another case of great melody and flow, powered by a “driving with the windows down" feel that will keep your foot tapping. Next up is the album's shining star, the rock-centric “Chinese Rug,” an outstanding rock song with no country to it but also the catchiest track on the album. Similar in stature and quality, “Wherever I Go” is the albums final punch in the left/right combo, balancing out the second half of the album nicely with the peak of the first. Although the album is top shelf quality, there are a few moments I could have done without. “All Revved Up” has an almost unintelligible beginning that has no value, and although the second half is a good track, the first seems extraneous at best. “Brethren” and “What’s Comin’ Over Me” both take a while to grow on you, but once they do they flow well enough with the rest of the selections. The title track kicks it up a few pegs by showcasing some funk undertones and influences over-laced with rock’n’roll icing. Finally, the album comes to an excellent crescendo with “Roswell,” a great track with varied influences that showcase the twang, the funk and the rock while leaving a great taste in your mouth. Overall, an excellent disc that, though not perfect, grabs your attention and warrants many repeat listens. Perhaps what speaks most highly about it is that it leaves you wanting more...and curious about what Wes McDonald’s other material might have to offer. [www.wesmcdonald.com]

Arabic for “the seeker” or “student of truth and knowledge,” Talib Kweli’s name has been prophetic as his brand of hip-hop historically utilizes an intense, literate style of wordplay seeking resolution to social ills. While Kweli’s latest album contains flashes of brilliance, nobly following in the vein of previous efforts, Right About Now (subtitled "The Official Sucka Free Mix CD") is a frequently uneven portrait of the uncompromising MC from Brooklyn. The scope of Kweli’s lyrical strength is best realized on tracks where his topic is focused and his challenge to the listener clear. For example, “Drugs, Basketball and Rap” seeks to elevate the status of blacks in the U.S. by reminding the listener there is more to African Americans than the song’s title. The album’s highlight, “Ms. Hill” (in reference to former Fugee Lauryn) is a heartfelt, brutally honest commentary on the singer’s achievements and tribulations set to a sample of Ben Kweller’s “In Other Words.” When Kweli pulls focus from others and puts the spotlight on himself, his art suffers. The title track is a rant on Kweli’s conflicts within the music business. While the song gives an oral history of Kweli’s recent career maneuvers, the track smacks of bitterness and self-importance. Kweli also displays irregularity in enhancing his powerful lyrics with the right supply of beats and hooks. Where tracks like “Two and Two” (with its soulful groove) and “Roll off Me” (with its simple, sorrowful piano intro) are enabled by their arrangements, cuts like “Supreme Supreme” and “Who Got It” falter from lack of invention. Contributions from Dave Chappelle, MF Doom, Mos Def, Jay Dilla and Jean Grae stimulate some of the record’s inspired moments. Ultimately, Right About Now’s success waxes and wanes with Kweli, whose brilliance is unquestioned but whose consistency, in this case, leaves something to be desired. [www.talibkweli.com]

Concerning Kicking the National Habit, it seems as though Grand National would be a band accumulating 5-6 members, but that assumption is a bit off—Rupert Lyddon and Lawrence Rudd comprise the main workhouse of the band. Additional musicians were brought into spice up the record with brass expertise or just to lend a hand amongst all the shuffling that probably went on in the studio, but the just-under-30 Brits at the steering wheel are the most responsible parties. This record—the band’s only LP—has been spinning over in the UK since 2004, but now sees a proper U.S. release thanks to the Recall Group label. Comparisons have already been made hailing the group as followers of Blur, The Happy Mondays and New Order—these charges are precise and fairly obvious, but you wouldn’t mistake Grand National for one of these influences, as the duo puts its own spin on things. “Drink to Moving On” could be a chipper Paul Banks vocalizing for a Graham Coxon-penned tune, with its funky, head-nod inducing rhythms and simple basslines. “Playing in the Distance” regales with vibrant, jazzy trumpet interjections and dance-oriented beats, while “Boner” could be a The Police twisted into a Factory Records party. “Cherry Tree” clocks in about mid-record, but is undoubtedly the most brightly shining moment on Kicking the National Habit--definitely one for the 24 hour party girls and boys. No torpid moments make their presence known on Kicking the National Habit; the original album (the first ten songs) are soulful and consistently engaging. The bonus tracks and remixes never languish, and that shouldn’t matter anyway—they’re freebies. Good freebies, in this case. [www.grand-national.net]

Music and marriage are pretty much the only places where opposites can merge, find harmony, and become something greater than their separate parts. Today, many people are finding that they can go at it better alone, and they've got a distinct sound too. Even Johansen, better known as Magnet, comes replete with his bipolar north and south, and, thanks to the miracles of studio production, is pretty good backing himself up. The Tourniquet, his new CD, is a folksy alternative blend that goes too slow to ever be mistaken for pop, even though the beats are catchy and the choruses repeatable (even if Johansen's falsetto isn't). And while Magnet may not have much of a band (there are a few guests on every track), playing enough other instruments and programming them slickly together in post-production still makes for a diverse arrangement on each of the ten tracks. It's all background for Johansen's lyrics; even the progressive chords ultimately downshift into a new rhythm to elevate the chorus. But background's important for setting the mood, and whether it's the sharp staccato piano of "Believe" or the submerged jazz of "All You Ask," it's easy to be attracted to Magnet. [www.homeofmagnet.com]

During the past year, the musical underground served up several compelling collaborations, including Louisville compatriots Lambchop and Hands Off Cuba, alt-country legends Richard Buckner and John Langford, and Iron and Wine/Calexico. The new year started off on the same note, pairing the mercurial Bonnie “Prince” Billy (Will Oldham) with Chicago's post-punk progenitor Tortoise. The result is The Brave and the Bold, an eclectic collection of ten cover songs ranging from a stripped-down version of Bruce Springsteen's “Thunder Road” to an upbeat reworking of Devo’s “That’s Pep!” < > The Brave and the Bold starts off with a bang--a brash guitar/horn driven reworking of South American pop icon Milton Nascimento's “Cravo E Canela,” followed by the standout track on the album, an epic version of Springsteen's “Thunder Road.” Whereas Springsteen’s original is a testosterone-fueled paean to the freedom of the open road, Tortoise/Bonnie "Prince" Billy's version uses minimal arrangements to highlight the narrator's desperation and vulnerability. Jeff Parker’s distorted guitar and Oldham’s unusually sinister vocals transform the Minutemen's previously funky “It's Expected, I'm Gone,” while the cover of Elton John's bittersweet “Daniel” is relatively faithful, apart from an odd, somewhat distracting electronic tweak. Lungfish's simple punk chord progressions in “Love is Love” get transformed into NIN-style industrial, not unlike “Happy Child,” a song Oldham previously recorded with NIN's Chris Vrenna. The remainder of the album includes a cover of Don Williams' schmaltzy country number “Pancho” that is simultaneously ludicrous and beautiful, Devo’s “That's Pep,” a sparse and haunting version of Melanie's “Some Say (I Got Devil),” a faithful rendering of Richard Thompson's “Calvary Cross,” and countrified version of Quixotic's “On My Own” complete with a smattering of banjo. Tortoise proves throughout The Brave and the Bold that they are more than capable of handling a variety of musical styles, but the songs that most forcefully resonate are the ones that showcase Oldham's strained, wistful vocals. When Tortoise reigns in the sonic experimentation and acts mainly as a support band, the results are impressive. The spare arrangements that accompany Melanie's “Some Say (I Got Devil)” are replete with sadness and despair, but also beauty. The same is true of “Thunder Road,” “Daniel,” “Pancho,” and “Calvary Cross.” The weak points on the album are “That's Pep!” and “Love is Love,” where the sonic textures Tortoise create reveal the limitations of Oldham's vocal range. Ultimately, The Brave and the Bold is not the best of either Tortoise or Bonnie “Prince” Billy, but it is a solid collection of covers from two of the most revered names in the indie music world. [www.overcoatrecordings.com]

Although he has built a strong fan base in the Leeds music scene, David Thomas Broughton's fractured, off-kilter folk has yet to gain the notoriety of other psych folk revivalists. His debut album, The Complete Guide to Insufficiency, on new label Birdwar Records, should change that. Over the course of five songs and just under forty minutes, Broughton firmly establishes himself as a compelling new artist who deserves to be mentioned alongside Devandra Banhardt, Current 93, Espers, and Six Organs of Admittance. Recorded in one take in Wrangthorn Church in Leeds, the record attempts to capture the atmosphere of Broughton's live sets, which maintain a precarious balance between control and chaos. On the opening track, “Ambiguity,” Broughton's tightly plucked acoustic guitar and otherworldly vocals provide an anchor for the listener as waves of electronic dissonance roll in and threaten to submerge anything approaching traditional song structure. “Unmarked Grave” and “Walking Over You” are somewhat more conventional, but each song follows the same basic formula. While some people may find this repetition a bore, others will be pulled in by the hypnotic, meditative quality it creates. Broughton’s experiments balancing electronic white noise with acoustic guitar draw immediate comparisons to Ben Chasny’s Six Organs of Admittance. Broughton's guitar playing is not as complex as Chasny's, but his eerie vocals and distinctive songwriting add to his appeal. His voice sounds like it rises out of the Leeds hills, a more organic version of Antony's harrowing falsetto. Lyrically, Broughton tends to focus on the territory mapped out by traditional murder ballads. On “Unmarked Grave” he sings, “My body rots / While she is weeping / I remain forever sleeping / Rest my bones from the daily chores / Rest my bones forever more.” The tension between lyrics dealing with the corporeal and music that sounds disembodied and surreal keep the songs from languishing. With The Complete Guide to Insufficiency Broughton has managed to create an album that sounds both timely and timeless—a remarkable debut for Broughton and Birdwar Records. [www.birdwar.com]

Who is Sierra Swan? I found myself strangely compelled to investigate the inner-workings of this red-headed, throaty singer standing barefoot on broken glass for the cover of her debut album. Perhaps it was my fixation with alliteration - and as it turns out, it appears her name may not actually be conjured from some marketer’s imagination. Regardless of the etymological enigmas, I proceeded with my investigation. After making a brief review of her Website for clues, I decided to go straight to the source and see what Sierra had to say in her songwriting. “Copper Red” seemed a natural place to start, being the first track of Ladyland. It was a strong kick-off. No subtle hints here; conflict was the major theme (“I know / I don’t know,” she sings). Sierra struggles with insecurity and indecision, and the glass she’s standing on, she threw herself. Interesting. A bad girl / good girl balance begins to form by track two, “Don’t say,” with a healthy dose of despair (“And then you’re a… goner,” Sierra rasps). She’s paid her dues; although she’s never tried heroin or done time. Despite dark topics (or lack of them), the song turns out rather upbeat, delivered with a strong, feminine quality that is already making a stamp on the album. Clues turn out to be plentiful throughout Ladyland; Sierra is reflective, seeking emotional stability, and destined. And she’s a mess, a fool, cruel, and… a man. Check out the title track - I’m assuming that particular lyric is more metaphorical in nature. Sierra also might be part Fiona Apple, judging by her overall sound and vocal delivery. Ladyland is a reasonable offering for those who can’t get their fill of empowering and emotionally wrought female singing. A sense of label architecture looms in the sidelines, but things check out, so far. [www.sierraswan.com]

After a good showing at last year’s SXSW, the Cloud Room has been on a roll. They’ve received some high praise on NPR, and their infectious single, “Hey Now Now” has been called one of the great alt-pop singles of 2005. The hype is well-deserved, especially in regards to “Hey Now Now.” It truly is a near perfect single: Like a musical metaphor for the dizzy whirl of a new crush----a crush that you know you shouldn’t get too excited about, but despite your better judgment, you just can’t help yourself. The guitars and drums of “Hey Now Now” propulse the song ever forward, while the vocals try in vain to keep a lid on the hopeful exuberance of the moment: Hey now now, the smallest things are crushing me now/The crush, crush, crush is so comforting now/Did the earth just slam in the sun, and I know, and I know, and I know, and I know it… The Brooklyn band, who take their name from a bar located on the roof of The Chrysler Building in the ‘30’s, has gotten some criticism for the rest of the album not living up to the promise of “Hey Now Now.” But when a single’s that good, maybe it’s inevitable. But it certainly isn’t like one of those records where the killer single doesn’t even seem like it’s by the same band; it’s just hard to be that good twice on a record. But The Cloud Room does come close. The other stand out single is “Blackout!,” which sounds like an American version of the Wedding Present at their best. Kinetic, bouncy, impossible to tire of. In short, the whole record is a brilliant piece of pop music. Yes, they are part of the current trend of vague ‘80’s nostalgia, but when you can praise your post-punk deities and make it all your own at the same time, well, what the hell is wrong with that? Lately indie-rock has kept both eyes on the rear view mirror. It’s good to hear someone’s been taking a few quick glances at the road ahead as well. [www.thecloudroom.com]

Unfortunately, this review comes in a bit late, as Bear Vs. Shark departed the realm of music via band break-up late last year. But, the music still exists, and all good music is supposed to be timeless, right? Maybe Terrorhawk isn't exactly a classic like Repeater, but the Michigan-ites of Bear Vs. Shark managed to release two solid, pigeonhole-avoiding, Fugazi-reminiscent records during their brief career. Though they didn't break any ground, those who encountered and enjoyed them will most likely keep a favorable view of the band, but unfortunately, two releases aren't enough to cement the band as anything more than "pretty damn good." 2003's Right Now, You're in the Best of Hands... set the quintet up as an raging, unpredictable mess of melody and literate aggression; Terrorhawk is a worthy follow-up, but replaces the fervent and frequent demeanor of the debut with an increased sense of musicality, experimentation, and overall songwriting. Rhythm changes, harsh vocals, even piano and brass instruments, are among the elements at play, and I'm tempted to say that these guys carried on the "emo" torch from those Dischord kids, Cap'n Jazz, and Braid mixing in with Hot Water Music or Leatherface, but those whiny, suicide and make-up lovin' bands (see Victory Records) have helped to destroy any positive connotation that term could carry. As for the band and this swan song, all I can say is that it's the opposite of a sophomore slump. Every aspect was increased in intensity, or skill, whichever the song called for, and in the punk and hardcore scene, Bear Vs. Shark could hold a torch to any peers, on or off the stage. Too harsh to be pretty, too well-read to be punks, and too musical to be hardcore, they were truly just themselves, and Terrorhawk testifies to that. [www.equalvision.com]

Sex, drugs… and the Home Depot?!?! Sounds more like a PR nightmare or bad theatre than pieces of a musical puzzle. Yet for F.M. Cornog this, more or less, is actually the case. Once a vagrant whose alcoholism had him sleeping in a train station in Hoboken, he’s now a full time employee of the home improvement chain, is married with an adopted child, and (perhaps most importantly for our present purposes) also releases records under the moniker East River Pipe. Any mention of a major corporation will probably send any indie fan running for cover, but thankfully Cornog’s music is anything but commercial. It harkens more to the isolation and desperation of his past than the routine stability implied by his present. Peopled with drug addicts, intellectual poseurs, and loners, in many ways it’s the dirty underbelly of the American dream - a country full of clutter, framed in static and set to the measured indolence of pneumatic guitars and keyboards, whose inhabitants feel more at ease with things than each other. At its worst, What Are You On? retreats into juvenile high-mindedness. The Dylanesque “what does T.S. Eliot know about you” has him sounding as pretentious as the pseudo-intellectuals he rails against, and “shut up and row” is a clumsy poke at the machinery of the modern Christian movement, describing its god as a glorified slave driver surrounded by nuclear bombs, dollar bills, and beautiful girls. At his best, however, Cornog invests his observations of the ordinary with a undeniable elegance. “Life is a Landfill” takes a goofy metaphor and sends it skyward with “black dove filled memories” that whisper “Come back, darlin,’" making for an effect that is simultaneously ludicrous and enchanting, so that you don’t know whether to smile or sigh. In “trivial things” he lumps college girls on cell phones with a rat with a chicken wing, and “some dreams can kill you” has children running “down cobblestone streets/ with light-up sneakers on their feet/ next to suicide cases/ and thumbtack schemes.” These tunes are like watching everyday life unfold before you in slow motion, its imperfections intact in all their smutty, granular glory. They’re also proof positive that, whatever else he might be on these days, music has become Cornog’s main fix. [www.mergerecords.com]

It’s hard to get a fix on what Virginia’s Rah Bras is up to. They’re in some ways a noise band---they’ve toured with Melt Banana in the past if that tells you anything---but unlike those guys, Rah Bras’ modus operandi isn’t modern angst…well maybe it is modern angst, but their angst, if that is indeed what it is, isn’t expressed the way most folks choose to express it. The band has an unusual lineup: Drums, synthesizers, and bass; and at first listen, “Whohm” sounds like it could be the score to an artsy-fartsy, German DaDa ballet…or maybe music made by half robot/half theatre-queer cyborgs. There’s something very German sounding to the band and their aesthetic. I’m not talking about the likes of Einstürzende Neubauten, more like some sort of cacophonic Nü Wave band with clipped, cutesy keyboard sounds on one hand (which in Rah Bras’ hands can become strangely ominous) and the other hand clutching the pitch knob which they ride to dizzying effect. Vocalist Isabellarah Rubella can wail like a banshee one minute, a Broadway singer in an Andrew Lloyd Weber production the next…sounds self-indulgent? You bet. That just may be the point. It also makes for a very uneven record. Some songs will have you scrambling to skip; others, especially the very entertaining “No Future,” you’ll skip through to hear first. It takes several listens (well, more than several) for the band’s sound to make sense. There’s an internal logic there. And after all it’s just pop music, in the broadest sense of the word. Will you like it? Probably not. You better stick with the Arcade Fire… But there is something refreshing about a band like Rah Bras: unlike many bands, you don’t have to figure out who they’re referencing/ripping-off/paying tribute to or what kinda scene they’re coming from/getting away from/trying to revisit. With Rah Bras there’s none of that. These guys are playing music for themselves, with no regard for positioning themselves to be the next big thing. Not many bands think that way anymore---not in a pop world where the possibility of playing to 35 people one week and having your song used for an IBM commercial the next is a real possibility. Listening to Rah Bras is like stumbling upon a civilization that has been isolated from the rest of the world. Their customs may seem strange, horrible or even stupid, but what do they care? You don’t live there. You’re just a tourist. [www.rahbras.com]

Portland, Oregon’s UHF is often categorized as psychedelic, and it is true that the band has drawn a lot of inspiration from psychedelic-era Beatles records. And there are gobs of delays and other guitar effects, too. But if you’re worried about having your mind blown or having a flashback triggered, you’re probably safe. UHF has applied a veneer of psychedelia trappings to their songs, but not the unpredictable, anything-goes aspect of psychedelic rock. No, UHF plays such boring and predictable pop it’s almost the opposite of psychedelic. Once you’ve heard the first couple of moments of any of the eleven tracks on All Our Golden Tomorrows, you’ve heard it all. There’s nothing musically risky on this album; everything is well-worn pop constructs. The dullness is compounded by the fact that most tracks are over four minutes long. That’s pretty long when you’ve figured out the song’s trajectory after the first twenty seconds. Not surprisingly for a band named UHF, they seem to have a fascination with technology. Imagery used on both the packaging (the record cover features a giant cable rising out of the ocean and plugging into an outlet on the beach) and within the lyrics keep hammering away at technology metaphors, like the opening track, “Disconnect”: …I wanna disconnect/ I wanna go direct/Straight into your head/ I wanna pull the plug out/ I wanna cast some doubt/ Before it all goes dead. But you would think that naming your band something like UHF would give a hint of the sound of the music; that it would convey the white noise and bleeding reception of that medium. My Bloody Valentine or The Jesus and Mary Chain’s "Psychocandy” could have been appropriately called UHF, for example. But UHF’s music shares no resemblance to their namesake. UHF is over-produced, slick and boring pop. A more apt name would be…hmmm, let’s see, how about “Basic Cable”? [www.uhfweb.com]

You go your whole life without tasting the real thing, fooled by the saccharine preservatives or the fancy packaging, and then one day, if you’re lucky, you bite into the real thing. I’m not suggesting that you run out and become a vegan, but there’s something to be said for the Devics’ organic, homebrewed sound. Push the Heart is better without modulation and auditory slight-of-hand. And while it might not be rock rock (slow, elegant, and drum-less as it is), it’s music music: Pure and with no strings (save the guitar’s and your heart’s) attached. Without the clutter of artificial seasonings and synthesized passion, Devics get by on honesty and clarity, letting each note stand alone, like a lingering whisper in the wind. The Devics thrive in the moments between, moments where Dustin O’Halloran can squeeze a squeak out of his guitar (or whatever’s appropriate—he plays everything), or where Sara Lov, with her bird-like voice, can just soar on the slightest of musical updrafts before streaking across the symphonious sky and then trailing off into the melodic sunset. Though the notes are piercing and clear, the offbeat, haunting and distinct (unwilling to become kitschy pop), is what pushes the heart. Despite being a collection of effortless ballads, near classical in their content and composition, the ten tracks are each unique. I credit clear and precise lyrics like these: If you can’t find love/then you will finally see/how we kill ourselves/slowly. That is, love may stink, but it’s all we have, so “Lie to Me.” Music, with the plethora of albums out there, has no such excuse; thankfully, Devics’ Push the Heart doesn’t need to lie. It’s honestly fantastic. [www.devics.com]

It appears that Mercury Radio Theater has intended to produce a recording that is both unconventional and creepy. If so, The Blue Eyed Model is then a success. Unconventional in that it hearkens to vintage radio theater storytelling, The Blue Eyed Model is a series of instrumentals punctuated with narration. Together, the music and narration tells the story of a young collegian by the name of Gregor who decides to build an ideal companion for himself. Enter the creepy side of the project. For those who have trouble following the twenty-three minute and four-second odyssey of Gregor’s ultimately unsuccessful quest to build and live with a girl assembled from spare parts, the accompanying booklet is full of little creepy drawings to fill in the gaps. The music is more interesting than the essentially mundane story it helps tell. Think Cake’s song "Arco Arena,” or perhaps early Camper Van Beethoven without the ethnic flavoring. Unfortunately, vocals are introduced to the songs near the end of the story, and the music is tainted with the surrounding silliness. The Blue Eyed Model doesn’t leave one much to return to after the first listen. The story is told, and to appreciate the accompanying music, the story must be heard again. If you enjoyed the story, you’re in luck, but I’m betting you’re not. [www.mercuryradioland.com]

The new album by Cat Power is not a greatest hits record. Nor is it Cat Power’s greatest record. But The Greatest is still another fine offering by the aural narcotic known as Cat Power, A.K.A. Chan (pronounced Shaun) Marshall. As always, Ms. Marshall’s ghostly voice is the star of the show. Her voice can appear from out of nowhere, command the attention of everyone in the room, then disappear leaving only the slightest vaporous trail---the evocative power of her voice is difficult to over exaggerate. On previous Cat Power records, the accompanying instrumentation, often just piano or guitar, remained decidedly minimal, but the former Atlanta home girl did mix things up a bit on The Greatest by hiring Mabon “Teenie” Hodges and Leroy “Flick” Hodges, among other pioneers of Memphis soul to back her up (the Hodges brothers famously worked with Al Green back in the day --- "Ain’t No Sunshine When She’s Gone," "I’m So Tired Of Being Alone," "Take Me To The River"). Although the band still remains in the backround, they do provide a much richer and more subtle musical texture than the usual Spartan instrumentation of previous Cat Power records, using everything from pedal steel guitar, sax, organ, and strings to frame Ms. Marshall’s elegiac ballads. For the most part, the band stays on the soul side of the country/soul divide of their historic sound, and the combination works, as on the opening track for which the album was named. The Greatest is not surprisingly a tale of a failed boxer: “Once I wanted to be the greatest/No wind of waterfall could stall me/And then came the rush of the flood/Stars of night deep to dust.” It’s never clear what happens to the boxer although we are given some clue when she adds, “Lower me down/To culprit south…Lower me down/Pin me in/Secure the grounds/For the later parade.” And so it goes for most of the record, telling tales of woe and heartache in a way only Cat Power can. The most surprising thing about The Greatest is that not only do the Hodge brothers provide a slight spring in the step to some of these songs, but if you listen closely you can even pick out some welcome lyrical slivers of hopefulness buried in Chan Marshall’s usual melancholy. [www.catpowerthegreatest.com]