Only recently have I truly familiarized myself with the rich musical legacy of The Who. Buying a copy of Who’s Next on vinyl last year was a beautiful gateway drug into their world of “maximum R and B.” Upon further inquiry into their greatness, it is clear that one of the key components to their success was the immense skill and quiet work ethic of bassist John Entwistle. So Who’s The Bass Player? The Ox Anthology is a posthumous compilation of Entwistle’s solo material and shows a side of him rarely seen in his collaborative work with The Who. This collection, spanning two discs and thirty-eight tracks, is a testament to Entwistle’s talents as an arranger and instrumentalist. Songs like “Heaven and Hell,” “Ted End” and “Pick Me Up (Big Chicken)” brim with creativity and display the brass-playing skills that made Entwistle principle French horn player in the Middlesex Youth Orchestra as a child. His songwriting is marked by a wry lyrical humor and willingness to experiment with elements of production and song structure. The anthology demonstrates the validity of Entwistle’s musical ideas and his great potential as a songwriter. Unfortunately, the album also reveals this potential was not realized on a consistent basis. The very elements that worked for Entwistle in his greatest compositions also worked against him at times, making some of his work appear forced. While there is evidence here of shining moments in Entwistle’s solo career, the majority of the material comes off as simply mediocre. I understand the compilers’ attempts to showcase a wide variety of Entwistle’s musical pursuits, but the aforementioned problem might have been alleviated had the anthology been more selectively put together. There is enough good material to pack a single disc but not enough for two. So Who’s the Bass Player? is a historically significant record of Entwistle’s work, and for that reason, I am excited to include it in my collection. Realistically, however, I doubt it will get much play. There is too much average material to wade through before getting to the good stuff. If I really want to evoke memories of this talented musician, I would be far more likely to spin his best work with The Who and enjoy how his playing helped place that band in the upper stratosphere of rock and roll. [www.johnentwistle.com]

The Ultimate Indie Hooks Compilation, Volume 1 released by French label Alcatraz Production, should stand as a cautionary tale. The album should be a warning for anyone starting out in the record business, putting out a compilation CD or attempting to use the word "ultimate." Intended as a means of discovering exciting new indie rock, the album is ultimately a collection of very average (and very derivative) work, often dabbling in genres that most of the music-buying public decided were irrelevant years ago (grunge and disco, to name a few). The bright spots on this compilation are few and far between, relegated to the album’s opening half. The first two bands to appear, France’s Foggy Bottom and Ireland’s Ely, kick the record off with a couple of high-quality Weezer impressions. ProXima, the only act on the CD to have more than one track on display, provide the album’s highlight with “Hello My Old Friend,” whose lilting intro and restrained vocals recall Radiohead’s “Karma Police.” Herein resides one of the major problems with this particular album. When there is something to enjoy, it appears to be a knockoff of a sound already mastered by an artist far more skilled. Those looking for music from independent record companies are generally doing so to discover something fresh and inspired, not retreads of artists they have heard before. By far, the biggest perpetrator of this crime is the lone American represented, Barbara Ann (the strange nymph on the album’s cover). Her “Wish” is apparently to unearth the sound of nineties grunge and marry it with a childlike vocal style that is somewhat unsettling. To be fair, compilation albums can only give a small glimpse into an artist or record label’s repertoire and the acts showcased here should not be judged solely on such a small amount of material. However, CDs of this nature are usually an attempt to put the best possible foot forward, musically speaking. If this is the case, Alcatraz has a long way to go before reaching “ultimate” indie label status. Displaying obscure bands with obtuse song titles (“I Write Your Name on Rice” and “Time Stole My Sandals” also appear here) is no replacement for cultivating true artistry. [www.alcatrazprod.com]

With the moniker Lake Trout, a lead singer named Woody and a band member who plays the flute; I expected this Baltimore quintet’s music to approximate the performance of any number of earthy jam bands with silly names (String Cheese Incident, Leftover Salmon, etc.). I was pleasantly surprised to find Not Them, You to be one of the more well-produced and sonically mature rock albums I have heard in some time. Frontman Woody Ranere’s commanding vocal presence guides his band on a journey through areas of psychedelic Brit-pop, sparse folk rock and electronica reminiscent of Radiohead circa The Bends. At a time when many records sound like they were mixed and produced on an assembly line, Lake Trout does a wonderful job of letting their music swell and breathe. Flawlessly layered guitars crescendo and decrescendo to fit the emotional landscape, accented by quietly probing bass lines and just the right amount of synthesizer. One place in particular where the dynamic contrast works to full effect is on “If I Can,” where the tight vocal harmonies give off a sublime, Queen-like vibe. Each band member seems to know their role and work in tandem to create a consistent vision for the album’s direction. As a result, standout rock cuts like “Riddle” and “Now We Know” blend seamlessly with the four ethereal instrumentals contained on the record. This type of unified variety speaks highly of the band’s musicianship. At sixteen tracks, this album might be difficult to digest in one sitting. However, with the exception of a less than stellar cover of The Rolling Stones’ “Street Fighting Man” and a bit of lyrical pretentiousness that clouds the track “Systematic Self,” there is nothing but quality songs here. Lake Trout may still be a band with a silly name, but there is nothing funny about the excellence of this record or about how poised and ready this band is to make a definite mark on the music scene. [www.laketrout.com]

Anders Parker’s solo effort, Tell it to the Dust, comes across as a similarly toned but sweeter and more polished effort than his previous project, the likable Varnaline. With Tell it to the Dust, Parker plays the chef by mixing various yet complementary music styles. The meat and potatoes of this meal is clean guitar rock. Add a dash of country, and a pinch of piano-rockin’. Stir in a little distorted guitar for spice. Garnish with some handclaps. Now, cover with sugar and don’t skimp. The result of Parker’s cookery is an album of struggle and balance. Lyrically, Tell it to the Dust struggles between being whimsically murky and just tired and trite (the song “Don’t worry honey, everything’s gonna be alright” is a prime example of this). Musically, refined vocals are balanced with edgier instrumentals. Parker lets his guitar and harmonica interludes convey his darker moments more often than his voice. The song “Into the sun” pulls this off well. Parker sings pristinely over a chunky riff before ripping into a blistering harmonica solo. Pleasurable elements overcome the few boring missteps scattered though the album. Listen to the title track that kicks off the album; it gives a solid preview of the better moments Tell it to the Dust provides. Early on, I found myself wishing Parker would put a bit more growl in his voice, but by the end I found myself surreptitiously wrapped in introspection and listening again. [www.andersparker.com]

As I grow older, the Vans Warped Tour grows less appealing, and if not for a free ticket, I wouldn’t have attended this year. I spent the majority of the day walking around, spending too much money, and only watching two bands—one of which, thankfully, was Bedouin Soundclash. There’s not really a better introduction to a band than catching their awesomeness live, and these guys are no exception. Taking a cue from Joe Strummer’s later work with the Mescaleros, these three Canadians play a fusion of dub, reggae, and ska, with Jay Malinowski’s soulful vocals leading the way, followed closely by Eon Sinclair’s crafty basslines being equally important to the mix. Expert production came in the form of Darryl Jennifer, who perfected the craft of reggae-infused punk rock as the bassist for Bad Brains. It’s not often that you find a group of this age playing this style of music—especially not in the “scene” they’ve landed themselves in. What’s considered by many to be the current “punk rock scene” has all but lost affiliation with the ska and reggae crowd, whereas at one time, these two factions were bridged by the Clash, and a few years later, in a more aggressive fashion, Operation Ivy. Though Bedouin Soundclash stays truer to the roots of said genres more than Strummer sought to, the same sentiments are found throughout, and Sounding a Mosaic is another record to add to the sounds that fit the summer. [www.bedouinsoundclash.com]

I try to listen to every band fresh – no preconceptions, no comparisons – just listen to that band for what they are doing and how well I think they are doing it. But I’m not perfect; sometimes I don’t want to work for my music. I want it to make my toes tap or sound like some other band that I like that reminds me of that time in high school, something like that. Other times, I don’t like a band just because they sound like some other band, only not as good. Unfortunately, the latter is more of the case for the Silversun Pickups. A quick read-through of their bio told me why I thought Silversun Pickups sounded like a weaker version of East LA bands like Earlimart, Autolux, and (going back a few years) Failure. Don’t get me wrong; I love some of these bands. But these bands did it first, and they just did it so well. Not to mention, they did it years ago. Maybe it's just that I find singer/guitarist Brian Aubert’s voice too reminiscent of Wheatus (Yeah you remember “Teenage Dirtbag”). Not every band can be ground breaking, and I don’t want them to be. Being that this is the debut EP, this group has some time to grow. They certainly have the connections to serve them well, including Aaron Espinoza of Earlimart (who produced a track incidentally). If you live in East LA, go see this band. You might just disagree with everything I say. But if you live east of the Mississippi, there are probably a few records on your list you’ll want to pick up first. [www.silversunpickups.com]

Over the last few years I have found that my favorite albums tend to be those I can’t quite stick a sound to. Source Tags and Codes and The Decline of British Sea Power stand as the nobility of albums whose sound jumps from track to track like a bachelor enrolled in 8 minute dating. A fast and abrasive rocker is followed by a dreamy and crisp epic, and that roller coaster is what provides the album with its beautiful soul. The 22-20s have evidently been paying attention to that diversity and they harness it quite well on a refreshingly bold debut. Somewhat an amalgam of the White Stripes, the Black Keys, and Ryan Adams the album kicks into action with “Devil In Me”, a bluesy and harsh strummer of a song. Turning towards the rock, “Such A Fool” leads into one of the albums strongest cuts, “Baby Brings Bad News,” a nice laid back groove. Lulling you down to hit you hard, the album swings with “22 Days,” a little out of control rocker that just manages to control itself. The band really starts to hit its stride with a trio of songs that mark the album’s apex, starting with a beautifully arranged acoustic piece called “Friends,” that really makes you slow down and recognized the skill the band exhibits. The meat in the middle, “Why Don’t You Do It For Me?” is a fantastic rocker with a nice beat and screaming guitars. “Shoot Your Gun” brings it all to a towering explosion as the best track on the disc and another nice rocker with melody. Where the album starts to stutter is near the finish line. “The Things That Lovers Do” is ultimately kind of slow and boring. “I’m The One” is decent but doesn’t really grab a hold of anything, and “Hold On” is just kind of bland in comparison to the higher points of the disc. However, “Baby, You’re Not In Love” brings the party back in line and leaves a nice taste in the mouth, sounding of a Ryan Adams-esque strummer. The diversity and range this disc exhibits serves notice of a band worth keeping an eye on. When hitting the highs, they achieve songs that are arranged and performed to perfection, and there is no question the talent is there to really hit one out of the park. Keeping it just short of great is the weaker back third of the album that lets your attention wander just enough to wonder about the lasting impact of the disc. Despite it all though, this is a disc well worth picking up and listening to, and with a little trimming of the fat, these guys should be around a while. [www.22-20s.com]

If this decade had a most populous genre, I suppose it would have to be labeled Power Pop. It seems every band with a guitar in it is focusing its might squarely on the sugary sweet lyrics and head shaking riffs that get your toes tapping, and music snobbery be damned, I sometimes like it. When it’s done right, I find myself loving some of the power pop albums that find their way to me, but unfortunately for me, American Hi-Fi will not be one of them. To put it simply, they remembered the pop but forgot all the power. It’s not a good first impression when a disc's opening track (“Maybe Won’t Do”) has a chorus melody VERY similar to “Everlasting Love” (no offense, Gloria Estefan). “Hell Yeah!” improves on the melody aspect but sounds thin and limps into the radio single “The Geeks Get The Girls,” which is sadly one of the best songs on the disc. If there is a bright spot on this album, it is certainly “Something Real,” a well-structured track with piano lead in and actual flow that may very well find its way onto my iPod. What follows is a string of half-way decent but ultimately not fantastic tracks, epitomized by “Separation Anxiety,” a track with potential but killed because the vocals and guitar really just lack drive. Ending with a couple hits, “Baby Come Home” actually manages to be a solid pop song, and the album ending “Hearts On Parade” flourishes with Matthew Sweet sounding vocals. The tale of the tape is that half-way decent pop equals half-way to a decent score. The production on this disc leaves it a bit thin sounding from start to finish. Overall, the whiny voice of the lead singer and the lack of any drive kill any potential the decent songs gave the album, resulting in a very average effort. [www.americanhi-fi.com]

In the iPod era, the concept of seeing the album as an art form seems to have been greatly compromised. Caring about the total quality of a record has given way, for many artists and consumers alike, to finding one or two quality tracks and discarding the filler. In light of this new paradigm, the fact The Black Spoons have made an album that is consistently good from start to finish should alone be enough for them to make an impression on a rock scene greatly in need of being impressed. There are no gimmicks here. The NYC trio of Tom Sean (vocals/guitar), Ruben Mercado (drums) and David Horton (bass) has, with their debut album, delivered a collection of unassuming but exquisitely melodic rock. Sean is a technically proficient guitar player who knows how to showcase his craft without resorting to showing off. Meanwhile, Horton and Mercado combine to create some of the tightest rock grooves this side of Franz Ferdinand without overpowering the album’s greatest asset: the lyrics. With a lead singer who, according to the band’s bio, is “dangerously close to a PhD. in Chinese History,” one might expect an album full of academic bravado and hazy non-sequiturs. Instead, Sean’s tales of sex, science and solitude are related with a subtlety that compliments his intelligence rather than betrays it. He is at his best when being reflective and his words shine brightest on “Never Ever” when he makes a list of things he did not do while with his former lover (among other things they include forgetting to eat, touching himself and contemplating suicide) and remembers the effect she had on his psyche. “Holy shit, she loves me/maybe I should love me, too,” he muses. Knowing this is The Black Spoons’ first record and that it was released just a year after the band’s inception should serve to put a scare into their indie rock contemporaries. The Black Spoons may not single-handedly usher in a new era where the album is once again king, but hopefully their understated excellence will cause enough of a stir to get things going in the right direction. [www.theblackspoons.com]

So a civil engineer walks into a bar, looking completely exasperated - shirt half-untucked, hair a mess, and papers and folders sticking out of the corners of his briefcase. "What seems to be the problem son?" the bartender asks, polishing an unused beer glass. "I'm sick of engineering sir, all the math and equations and everything!" the engineer sighed "But this is what I got my masters in, what else can I do?" "Well..." the bartender mused "Why don't you go sit down at that piano and make an amazing pop record, mixing Weezer, Badly Drawn Boy, Spoon, and Ben Folds Five?" So Mike, the engineer set out to do exactly that. Using his skills on piano, guitar, mandolin, and most importantly hand claps, Mike roped in his other disenfranchised 9-5 friends and started making music. The songs seemed to flow pretty naturally, singing about his life and all the things and people that surround it. "Cold Feet, Sweet Love" is a piano riff-romp about the things that clutter life. "Nostalgia" is a blazing uptempo look back on the carefree life of college. "Glares & Pamphlets" is a bluesy take on people's true intentions. And Finally, like every decent pop record, "Elizabeth" is fuzzy rock song about a girl. Anyway, I don't exactly remember how the joke ends, but I know it's something about "an account of the life of something." I know, I know. I'm sorry, I'm horrible at telling these. [www.mikeblackhurst.com]

To get an idea of what the female threesome Del Cielo sound like, think of pared-down mainstream rock radio without the ‘benefits’ of glossy production. Us vs. Them is filled with anguished lyrics that reek of banal high school insecurity. To sum up the drive of the album, apparently some people suck, and being in a band is traumatic. Oh yeah, and they can overcome it. Del Cielo are rebelling against everyone that never really liked them, and they sure don’t care what those “jerks” think anymore. This uninspired territory might be bearable with the proper presentation, but the lead vocals lack the guttural, primal qualities that are required. Instead, the delivery seems whiny and lacking. Have you ever been stuck listening to someone with a nasal voice who won’t stop complaining? It’s not pleasant. To be fair, the lead singer Andrea Lisi hits her stride for brief moments, doing her best Amy Lee impression, and the choppy beat of the opener “Too Scared” wants to be catchy. The cover art suggests a more sophisticated effort, but Us vs. Them is high-energy rock that just misses the mark too many times. Brief, enjoyable moments aren’t enough to punch through the tedium that builds while you listen. [www.delcielorock.com]

Listening to Silver Sunshine is akin to opening a time capsule of 60’s psychedelic pop-rock. From vocals to production to cover art, Silver Sunshine’s debut album gives the impression that these fellows might be a lost act from that time period rather than a modern group merely inspired by it. The Beatles would be the most obvious and possibly dangerous comparison for the sound of Silver Sunshine, but a wide range of influences can be heard throughout the album. The song “Way up in the Big Sky” mimics the distinct style of The Kinks, and I swear “If I had the time” reminds me of Herman’s Hermits (and not in an annoying way). Visual imagery is a unifying lyrical thread woven throughout. Vibrant colors paint songs with healthy applications of silver, and perhaps not surprisingly, crimson. This colorful imagery is layered onto finely crafted rhythms and infectious, vintage hooks. The subject matter may not come off as extremely deep or pointed; if Silver Sunshine has a message I may have missed it. But it is extremely pleasant to listen to. The question ‘is any new ground being broken here’ lingers. Regardless, old ground is being covered well. This trippy homage to music and songwriters past whets the appetite to what the future of Silver Sunshine could offer. [www.silversunshine.com]

Joel Peterson is the bassist for The Faint. Broken Spindles is not The Faint. In fact, if I had to put a face on Inside/Absent, which ironically is my job, I would have to say it reminds me of a senior seminar art project. There are glimpses of genius, but mostly, it’s just sort of an experiment in getting stuff out of the artist’s head. There are a couple of songs that are pretty cool on Inside/Absent. I really like “This Is an Introduction;” it’s basically dysfunction with a really good beat: I bought a house / And I live with my love / She left her city to be with me / I’m gone all the time / And she is thinking pretty hard about leaving me. Is this autobiographical? I also like “Birthday.” Maybe that’s because I’m writing this on my birthday…but seriously. This song is a really depressing look at getting older and the decrepitude that creeps up on all of us as the years pass. (yeah, most of you have no idea what I’m talking about) Not a perky track, but deliciously morbid with tinkling piano and monotone vocals. Then there’s the downside. Ever been stuck in a horror film? The majority of the tracks on this disc sound like they could have been used in one, and it’s hard to really “enjoy” listening to a lot of it. “Inward,” the opening instrumental, “Desaturated” and “Valentine” are prime examples of this. It’s almost like you’re listening to Poltergeist without the picture…DON’T OPEN THE DOOR!! I recognize Peterson’s talent in the way one admires art students for their passion and deep convictions. I just think this particular artistic venture is a little too gratuitous to be close to commercially viable or even very listenable on a regular basis. [www.saddle-creek.com]

When I see a list of really great bands on the press for a band I haven’t really gotten into enough to know, it makes me very leery. For instance, I saw Statistics being compared to Spoon, Death Cab For Cutie and even Catherine Wheel. BIG red flag. I hate to be trite really, but what we have here is another generic angst-ridden, testosterone-driven album that will appeal to really pretty 20-year-old males and the girls they're trying to pull. To be fair, I did hear smatterings of Death Cab in “Begging To Be Heard,” but it’s flat. The delivery is flat and the passion that rips your gut out in Gibbard’s work is not here. It’s more Verve Pipe than Death Cab, and I consider the former not exactly something to which one should aspire. Often Lie, while admittedly being cleverly titled, fails to reach any kind of a fever pitch or show anything deep enough to compete with the bands to which it has been compared. Statistics would be the perfect little college band, but I can’t see listening to this record again. [www.statisticsmusic.com]

It's almost a given fact that rock stars inevitably lose their edge as they age. Whether getting older makes angst harder to cultivate or an increasingly lavish lifestyle removes the necessity to rebel, what was once sharp and seemingly reckless becomes exponentially dull and boring over time. With the exception of folks like Tom Petty, David Byrne or Johnny Cash, it seems rock 'n' roll has a half-life. When Dave Grohl was out hyping In Your Honor, the first, supposedly more in-your-face disc of the double-album was described as "the most rocking stuff we've ever worked on, ever." Grohl further stated that In Your Honor was the definitive Foo Fighters album, their Physical Graffiti. Not only are none of those claims valid, Physical Graffiti isn't even the best Led Zeppelin album. The first disc opens with the title track and a droning riff, pulled straight from "Sulk" off Radiohead's The Bends. The track builds into a less than stellar climax and serves as an omen of things to come. It seems the Foo Fighters now equate "rocking" to having Dave Grohl growl and scream over studio-polished, paint-by-numbers radio rock. Tracks like "No Way Back" and "Free Me" do their best to back up Grohl's outrageous claims and hearken back to days of old. However, tracks like "DOA," "Resolve," and the laughable single, "Best Of You," promptly quash any false hopes. The second disc, with guest appearances from Norah Jones and John Paul Jones, is a slightly different story. Perhaps it's because there were no excessive claims to become jaded about, but the disc delivers a laid-back, acoustic vibe, as advertised. The atmospheric "Still," jazzy "Virginia Moon," and haunting "Razor" all show that the Foo Fighters may now be far more comfortable and versatile in this medium. Seeing as The Colour And The Shape is arguably the best album the Foo Fighters have ever released, In Your Honor considerably falls short. Perhaps Dave Grohl bit off more than he can chew, as double-discs have an odd way of failing miserably. Or, perhaps the Foo Fighters should rethink their approach, rather than grasping onto any notion that they still play rock music. [www.foofighters.com]

I can’t get a handle on where to categorize California quintet Innaway. They pull from 70s epic rock, 60s psychodelia, 90s shoegazer and blend it all together in a way that is refreshingly new and exciting. The band’s self-titled debut opens with “Threathawk,” and a homey harmonica dissolves into a soft groove echoing shoegazer lazy. There’s a distant, fuzzy guitar and a general white noise hum to this, and indeed many of the tracks, that really appeals to me. And as hard as it is to pull off a Beatles homage, Innaway has managed to pull of the psychedelic trippy vibe of their late 60s forays while staying original and showing off their understanding of the genre and what it was meant to be about. And just when you think you’ve got them pegged as a psychedelic rock band, they go off and do something almost techno in “Tiny Brains.” I actually heard this song on my local college station and was dying to find out who it was…thinking it had to be someone like The Faint but maybe a little more mellow. They pull solidly from Pink Floyd to bring you “Rise,” but confound you by mixing that with something akin to Soundgarden! So, welcome to the machine, eh? While most of the time their musical juxtapositioning works, it does come off a little stretched on this track in particular. Echoy vocals on the ethereal Doors-reminiscent rock song “Fall” are devastatingly cool, and closing track “George Walker On Water” leaves you thoughtful and wanting more and more and more. I’m willing to go so far as to say that this is the most interesting album an American band has put out in recent history. I love the sweeping melodies, the low, breathy vocals and the overall psychedelic rock tinge to the songs. I hope they get the press they deserve so you guys will go check them out. [www.innawaymusic.com]

You might know of Comets on Fire through guitarists Ben Chasny's other project, Six Organs of Admittance, who you might know through Devendra Banhart's touring troop (who, of course, you know through Kevin Bacon). But coming into this CD with the reference points of Banhart and Six Organs..., you get thrown for a bit of a loop. Blue Cathedrals sounds like the soundtrack to a really bad trip: Completely demented vocals, guitars flailing madly about with every sort of distortion imaginable (and a few that aren't), and drums and bass lines crashing and breaking like hurricane waves on a Miami sunglasses hut; this isn't lofi folk. Combining Jazz, Metal, Eastern, and a healthy (or perhaps unhealthy) dose of Psychedelia, this isn't a CD to bring home to your mother. The 'mentalest' of all garage rock doesn't hold a candle to these songs. "The Bee and the Cracking Egg," "Whiskey River," and "The Antlers of the Midnight Sun" are nothing short of organized chaos. However, the fact that it is at least organized provides depth to the songs, saving them from plummeting into experimental noisecore. But in the midst of this lies the other side of Blue Cathedrals, the slow jams. "Pussy Foot the Duke" and "Wild Whiskey" take the intensity down a few notches, providing for brief moments of relief. Sounding like the quieter moments of Led Zepplin mixed with Pink Floyd, this is good old fashioned head bobbing music. So while mom and dad might not approve of this 'Comets on Fire' band your seeing, that doesn't make them any less appealing. In fact, maybe it makes them all the more. [www.cometsonfire.com]

Comparisons to previous work from an artist is always ideal for any kind of critique, though I can't say that Crooked Fingers' past is an area I'm deeply familiar with, nor can I say that I ever enjoyed Archers of Loaf all that much, but Eric Bachmann and company's latest, Dignity and Shame, has only piqued my interest in what other greatness the North Carolina native has been responsible for over the years. "Islero" is the obligatory instrumental opening track, opting for a brass-accompanied Spanish guitar styling, a theme found throughout the record. "Call to Love" takes the cake as the album's most infectious lo-fi offering, while "Twilight Creeps" is a brilliant piece of indie pop that would fit comfortably into Paul Simon's 1980's repertoire. As far as I can tell, "Destroyer" isn't an ode to Merge labelmate Dan Bejar but yet another tune tending to matters of the heart. "You Must Build a Fire" recalls a lonesome, pining Bob Dylan to an extent; "Valerie" takes a different path with vibrant alt-country. The remainder of the disc goes slightly downhill and flatlines--it's above average but not worth going into detail. In summary, Dignity and Shame has some spectacular songs, some that are decent at worst, and the disc covers a lot of different styles. While some might say that this interrupts the cohesion of the album, Bachmann pulls it off, and while I can't tell you that it's better or worse than the Crooked Fingers of old, I can comfortably say that it's a nice addition to the Merge Records catalog and to my music collection as well. [www.mergerecords.com]

Equal Vision Records has built their reputation on hardcore dynamics, searing vocals, and caterwauling guitars. I was surprised, then, as The Snake The Cross The Crown’s debut full-length, Mander Salis, opened with a lush, atmospheric synthesizer sweep that set the tone for the oncoming album. Instead of punk-inflected hardcore, Mander Salis brings a melodic pop edge to its delicate, somber songs that soar with a Radiohead feel circa The Bends and gather an emotional feel similar to that of The Smiths. As much as The Snake The Cross The Crown do breeze through light, radio-ready psychedelia and modern pop tints and shades, they do still retain enough remnants of emo and rock to warrant their record label. Still, though, songs like swaying “Empires” or the Shins-like “On the Threshold of Eternity” catapult this band far past any pinpoints of emo. Although this is a rather typical indie-pop release, it is clear that these five musicians hold the songwriting prowess to one day sit alongside their many influences. [www.snakecrosscrown.com]

From Atreyu to Underoath to Finch, a few years ago any label with remote ties to “aggressive” music quickly lashed out and signed any band with a hint of screamo character. A Static Lullaby was one of those bands, and as the major labels swooped into this terrain as well, many bands were carried off to unfathomable PR budgets and ridiculous production qualities. Again, A Static Lullaby was included. In the months that have elapsed since Faso Latido, this outfit’s sophomore full-length, their fans have seemingly abandoned the new-found sense of finesse, melody, and radio-friendliness that satiates every track on their thirteen song effort. By paring down their energy and aggressiveness, A Static Lullaby are now forced to balance their songs upon their pop-oriented songwriting which, unfortunately, falters and falls apart on innumerable occasions. Although I do admire their bravery in forging past the dead-end screamo genre that the mainstream has taken a liking to, Faso Latido’s content unfortunately still stands with gaping holes and glaring missteps. [www.astaticlullaby.com]