VA - Eccentric Soul: The Nickel and Penny Labels

It's been two and a half years since the last volume in Numero's Eccentric Soul series (Smart's Palace) was released; getting to now hear such stellar cuts as Little Ben & The Cheers' "I'm Not Ready To Settle Down" and Jerry Townes' "Three Sides To A Triangle," though, has made The Nickel and Penny Labels well worth the wait.

"Chicago’s Richard Pegue was one of the most intriguing figures to come out of the Chicago soul scene in the 1960’s and 1970’s. Raised during the city’s fertile Doo-wop era, Pegue immersed himself in music immediately. He cut his chops as a mobile dj, record store clerk and recording artist before stepping into the booth as one of Chicago’s most enduring radio personalities to grace the city’s airwaves. The Nickel and Penny labels featured in this compilation are twin sides of the same eccentric coin, Pegue himself. He was the writer, arranger and producer of some of the most beautiful Chicago soul records in the ’60s and ’70s; too bad they all went out of print weeks after being released." - Numero Group

"Little Ben & The Cheers’ “I’m Gonna Get Even With You” is hummable as hell, but spikes its classic Motown punch with a shot of ego-wounded nastiness, and the vigorous pulse and righteous back and forth singing on South Shore Commission’s “Shadows” are just two of a half-dozen earworms that the song will lodge in your brain." - Dusted

VA - Big Band Present: Italo Funk Experience

Another excellent entry in Nascente's Experience series. Bene!

"Italian Funk Experience features lost soundtrack gems from cult soundtrack composers such as Piero Piccioni & Piero Umiliani, modal-jazz classics from Lee Konitz & Giovanni Tommaso, twisted Italian funk from the likes of Tony Esposito and super-rare pieces from the cult Italian library music label Rotary, many composed by Italian jazz-legend Amedeo Tommasi.

Big Bang is the production name of Simone Serritella, head honcho of the Italo-jazz re-release label Arision, and under his production name Big Bang, a celebrated jazz-dance producer and favourite of Gilles Peterson." - Demon Music Group

VA - Dynamic Grooves: Funk and Groovy Soul From the Vaults of Scepter, Wand, Dynamo and Musicor

Complementing/supplementing Kent's Manhattan Soul comp from earlier this year, the ACE family of reissue labels (this time around, BGP) unearths yet more late-'60s/early-'70s NY soul.

In 1960s New York, both the Scepter/Wand and Musicor/Dynamo groups of labels were at the peak of the independent label scene. They had hit artists from across the musical spectrum, but with a very strong foot in the world of soul. By the late '60s, as that world was starting to be strongly influenced by funk, they were in a position as established players in the industry to sign up recordings from all around the United States. Dynamic Grooves focuses on the labels’ output, providing a snapshot of the scene in which they worked at this time. - Ace Records

VA - This May Be My Last Time Singing: Raw African-American Gospel On 45RPM 1957-1982

Yeti publisher Mike McGonigal's previous gospel compilation curated for Tompkins Square, the mighty triple-disc Fire In My Bones: Raw + Rare + Otherworldly African-American Gospel 1944-2007, wowed us the moment it came into our shop almost exactly two years ago; This May Be My Last Time Singing is of an equally impressive girth, value and calibre.

"Get ready for fiery sanctified soul, heavy Pentecostal jams, drum machine gospel, slow-burning moaners, glorified guitar sermons and righteously ragged a cappella hymns! The music on this compilation was originally released on small label 45s, mostly in the 1960s and '70s. At least one-third of the records were self-released, paid for by a church congregation or the artists themselves. Others were on regional labels (typically run by one single producer) little known today outside of a small circle of collectors. This vibrant music is incredibly honest and almost criminally unknown." - Tompkins Square

MARINE DREAMS - Marine Dreams

Though Attack in Black are no more, its former members have carried on, producing a total of 2 EPs and 4 LPs since that band's demise in 2010. The latest of the bunch is AIB bassist Ian Kehoe's excellent debut as Marine Dreams.

"Nothing flashy, just 10 concise, crisply tuneful jams that go exactly where they should in subtly ingenious ways, shot through with a keen sense of wit and an audible appreciation for classic songcraft. Some pretty hot guitar playing, too. You’ll think fondly of Big Star, Guided by Voices, the Buzzcocks, the Who and Tom Petty hangin’ with Jeff Lynne while it’s playing and feel very good indeed about hitting “repeat” when the half-hour is up." - Toronto Star

"It’s the kind of record you can easily listen to over and over again and again; a true record from start to finish.  It’s something that he and his fellow AiB buddies seem to understand intrinsically.  Each of their solo efforts during their current hiatus, as well as their last Attack In Black full length, are documents made to be digested as a whole." - Quick Before It Melts

"Marine Dreams is everything I love about guitar music. Kehoe’s ability to find melody from the most inauspicious chords and captivate me with premature endings and new beginnings is a lost skill." - Herohill

DILLARD & CLARK - The Fantastic Expeditions Of Dillard & Clark / GENE CLARK - White Light / GENE CLARK - Roadmaster

Sundazed just reissued three albums Gene Clark released between 1968-1972, including his acclaimed collaboration with Doug Dillard. You can't go wrong with any of them!

"Gene Clark was front and center as tambourine player, singer and principal songwriter for the Byrds, but in early 1966 he flew the coop. A gifted songwriter, expectations ran high for a stellar solo career, but those hopes were dashed when his debut solo album and single both failed to chart. Dropped by Columbia Records the following year, Gene's career remained in limbo until teaming up with banjo player extraordinaire Doug Dillard for The Fantastic Expeditions Of Dillard & Clark."

"Tiring of the Hollywood fast lane by 1969, Gene and new wife Carlie moved up to Mendocino on the Northern California coast. It inspired a body of songs unlike anything Gene had composed before. Their stark simplicity and stripped down arrangements—acoustic guitar, harmonica and voice—evidence a deeper insight into life and an overall optimism rarely found in his previous body of work. The resulting album, White Light, produced by renowned guitarist Jesse Ed Davis, remains one of Gene's most accessible and much-loved recordings among fans and critics."

"By 1972, Clark had settled into a new life far from the adulation that still surrounded someone of his stature as a former member of the Byrds. However, he still owed A&M Records one more album. Gathering together the cream of the L.A. country-rock fraternity—innovative guitarist Clarence White, Chris Ethridge on bass, ex-Byrd and Burrito Brother Michael Clarke on drums, pedal steel guitarist extraordinaire Sneaky Pete, Byron Berline on fiddle and pianist Spooner Oldham—Gene set about recording an album of pure country rock unfettered by any commercial dictates." - Sundazed

ATLAS SOUND - Parallax

Pop music: there ain't much to it. And that's often what is most enticing about it, for listeners and musicians alike. The former gets instant access to an enjoyable experience (usually, anyway). And musicians? Well, they get an immediate template to follow...or mess with.

Some of the best indie music—not just recently, but for decades, really—has been made by musicians in this spirit. A simultaneous worship and subversion of pop music's most basic blueprints. Surf rock. Folk music. Wall-of-sound pop. Rockabilly. Any of these configurations can be manipulated and skewed endlessly until even the most basic two-chord song can be turned into a fresh experience.

It was the stock trade of bands like Pavement and Guided By Voices, groups who used feedback, collage, loose musicianship, lyrical non-sequiturs, and intentionally bruised recording techniques to add new dimensions to songs that often would've been at home on albums released decades prior. And it's essentially what makes Atlas Sound so appealing. 

Whether under this solo moniker or in the group he leads, Deerhunter, Bradford Cox is about as revered as a musician can get without nudging himself into the mainstream consciousness. Parallax continues his absolutely dizzying pace of releasing songs (something he also shares with indie greats like GBV's indefatigable Bob Pollard)—but what's most baffling about it is how high a standard he's been able to maintain as of late.

In part, he can thank the digital revolution for this not coming across as overkill. Where previous eras' overproductive artists (like Lou Barlow or Pollard) would flood the market with an endless stream of singles, EPs, and demo albums on tiny indie labels, today one can choose to release one's 'lesser' music quietly via free downloads (as Cox did last year on his intriguing four-part Bedroom Databank collection). The result? A goldmine for obsessive geeks that still allows something like Parallax to be counted as only your third album—as well as letting you appear prolific, yet not overly vain about foisting your product upon the world. (That said, one of Parallax's best tracks is a reworking of "Mona Lisa", the opener on Bedroom Databank's third volume.)

As for Cox's terrific track record of late, let's just say that this lovely album does nothing to diminish it, even if it does lack the highlights of his past album, Logos. Where that record found him paired with Panda Bear ("Walkabout") and Laetitia Sadier ("Quick Canal") to produce quantum leaps in Atlas Sound's music, Parallax is more consistent in mood and finds him completely at ease with his abilities and instincts. It's a tremendously relaxed album, but it never sounds lazy or unfocused. Whether presenting dreamily-framed looped odes ("Te Amo") or in-the-back-pocket shimmies ("Nightworks"), he's always on target. Whether with giants of pop music's past or his own persona and style, Cox's intelligent manipulation of the ideas at hand continues to make for a great listen.

VA - Midnight At The Barrelhouse: The Johnny Otis Story, Volume 1 (1945-57)

We can't stop playing this in the shop—with the wide variety of '40s/'50s styles covered (from R&B to jump blues to fuller, big-band arrangements) and such standout tracks as "The Turkey Hop", "Oopy-Doo" and "Hound Dog", customers' ears pretty much always perk up, and we're invariably asked what we've thrown on. A real grabs-you-from-the-get-go crowdpleaser from an orchestral revue that clearly put on one heck of a show.

"Although universally recognized as an important figure in mid-20th century rhythm & blues, Johnny Otis did not make the most consistent records, whether he was the featured artist/singer or involved in more of a production capacity. This first volume of a two-part career overview compiles some of the more significant entries in his discography (a massive one if you count his productions)." - Allmusic

"The spectacular career of Johnny Otis was a microcosm of the entire Los Angeles postwar R&B and subsequent rock ‘n’ roll scene. He wore every hat imaginable during those rollicking years: bandleader, musician (drummer, vibist, and pianist), dynamic singer, prolific songwriter, hitmaking producer, label owner (Dig Records), deejay, and TV host, excelling at all[...] Ace’s 25-song overview of Otis’ dauntingly voluminous early catalog does a splendid job of examining the first dozen years of Johnny’s recording career, its songlist spanning no less than eight labels." - Blues Revue

VAN DYKE PARKS - Arrangements, Vol. 1

A man who started his parallel careers as arranger, producer, lyricist, songwriter and A/V/A&R rep at an astonishingly early age, Van Dyke Parks is a musician's musician thoroughly deserving of canonization by way of this long-awaited, self-released anthology (with more volumes hopefully to come).

"Van Dyke Parks helped Brian Wilson write the songs for SMiLE and recorded a handful of fine and critically acclaimed albums in the 1960s and '70s, but he earned his bread and butter as a producer and arranger, creating striking musical backdrops for other artists. Arrangements, Vol. 1 is a collection compiled by Parks himself that features 15 tracks he arranged; five were released under Parks' moniker, but the rest found him working for the likes of Ry Cooder, Bonnie Raitt, Arlo Guthrie, and Sal Valentino during his tenure as a staff producer at Warner Bros. Records." - Allmusic

"His solo records, starting with 1968's confounding Harry Nilsson-meets-Charles Ives opus Song Cycle, are subjects of fervent cult adoration but known to few. His arranging work, meanwhile, has put an inimitable stamp on American pop, though the vast majority of music fans have no idea when they are listening to his work. He is the quintessential liner-notes hero, in other words, which makes the overview of Arrangements, Vol. 1, on his own label Bananastan, that much more gratifying." - Pitchfork (Best New Reissue)

THE BEACH BOYS - SMiLE

First recorded in 1966-67, The Beach Boys' SMiLE is regarded as one of the greatest "lost albums" of all time. Different bootleg versions have been floating around for years, and many of the songs were remade for later Beach Boys albums. Heck, Brian Wilson even revisited the album in 2004, recording a brand new version with his band at the time, The Wondermints. However, this is the first time the original, as-complete-as-possible version of SMiLE gets an official release, and it's a doozy. Using Wilson's 2004 sequence as a guide, the album feels pretty dang near complete, with all the pieces falling nicely into place. It's exhilarating to finally hear, and it will surely put a smile on your face. Available as a 2CD, 2LP, or deluxe box set, with tons of extras, alternate versions, outtakes, etc. Dig in!

"If it ultimately sounds like nothing else, it still variously touches on doo-wop, barbershop singing, ragtime, the mock-Polynesian Tiki culture that swept Hollywood in the '50s, pre-rock'n'roll crooning, yodelling, cowboy movies, and 'You Are My Sunshine'." - The Guardian

"It’s easy to lose yourself in the countless studio takes. Little gasps of pure genius here and there. The slow dissolution to it all. The echoes of things to come. It’s a history lesson come to life, and that’s part of the reason the collection here works so well." - Consequence of Sound

VA - MGMT LateNightTales

The latest in LateNightTales' DJ mix series finds MGMT currating a mix of downbeat tracks expertly sequenced to be be the perfect soundtrack to your very own late night tale. Includes an exclusive cover of the Bauhaus song "All We Ever Wanted Was Everything" performed by MGMT.

"With choices from the some-of-these-people-may-be-on-something area of pop history, there’s the likes of The Chills, Television Personalities and Disco Inferno nestling alongside The Velvet Underground’s 'Ocean' and a cut from Felt’s full-on Cocteau Twins phase, Red Indians. Martin Rev and Suicide crop up with the menace-haemorrhaging 'Cheree' and slightly more upbeat 'Sparks', while Julian Cope’s 'Laughing Boy', from his own disowning-pop-era masterpiece Fried, is a welcome selection." - BBC Music

"The Late Night Tales albums usually consist of their fair share of older tracks but this is even more so the case here, with tracks from The Velvet Underground, Suicide, Julian Cope and the Durutti Column amongst others. The mixture of tracks is, however, pretty spectacular. The album opens on Disco Inferno's ghostly and lost sounding 'Can't See Through It' - a track by a band I had not heard before but that perfectly kicks off this floaty, folky mix." - Black Plastic

MGMT Late Night Tales Minimix by LateNightTales

SANDRO PERRI - Impossible Spaces

So, we really like Sandro Perri around these parts.

His last full length, Tiny Mirrors, was our shop's fave record of 2007. And though it's not here on our website for reference, I believe the previous year's top record was the self-titled effort by Glissandro 70, a side project of Perri's alongside one Craig Dunsmuir...who kinda, sorta, umm...works here at Soundscapes.

If you still believe by this point that we're capable of any objectivity at all, then I would like to say this: not only do I predict that our 2011 staff poll will find Perri's latest once again on top of our year-end list, but I think he absolutely deserves the accolade...and should get the same praise elsewhere. That's because Impossible Spaces is more than just the best thing this local uber-talent has done (whether under his own name or his also-exceptional aquatic ambient guise, Polmo Polpo). It's an album that stacks up beautifully against anything released this year. It is, as a colleague of mine opined earlier, "a game changer."

But first, a little word about nepotism. No one likes it, am I right? Except that whether you're a CEO or a convenience store clerk, I'd wager we're all guilty of it at some point. Because whether it's landing someone a cushy new job or a jumbo Squishee for the price of a small, who doesn't love the feeling that comes with abusing power to favour one's friends? It's kind of innate—true objectivity just doesn't happen to be something we humans do all that well.

But, there's also a check against that kind of apparently unbridled favouritism. The truth is, that feeling of wanting to be the one to draw attention to our overlooked peers—to be deemed forward-thinking tastemakers and benevolent benefactors of a local scene—that good feeling is a transient one. It rapes and pillages and plunders and then quickly moves on. That's why so many artists (especially local ones) are built up and torn down so quickly. It's not about loving them, it's about loving the feeling that being the first to tell others about them brings us.

Familiarity and community alone does not breed loyalty. Loyalty requires more. In music, it ultimately asks that the local artist is capable of moving us in the same lasting and surprising ways that any other musician or group does. And that is what Sandro delivers to us, his very appreciative fans. He's one of a kind, baby.

Without a eye to any trend, Perri has very quietly amassed a discography of very human music. It makes sense that the first Polmo Polpo full-length was called The Science of Breath. Despite many changes in approach, his music has remained organic and instinctive in its movements. Like a creature growing and evolving before us, each new record has found ways to absorb and adjust past lessons into new patterns and expressions, each set both more efficient and more complex that what preceded it.

Consequently, Impossible Spaces is the greatest example yet of this career evolution. At seven songs, it is brief. And yet with several tracks reaching over seven minutes, nothing about the record is linear or overly direct. It contains immediate hooks (like the killer guitar bends of "Wolfman" or the gentle title mantra of "Changes"), but also is full of arrangements so subtly nuanced that they continue to be mysterious after dozens of listens. Perhaps most importantly, despite any number of touchstones (from Arthur Russell and The Sea and Cake to Van Morrison and Brian Eno), it sounds like absolutely no one else. Sure, if you're looking for it, you'll hear funk, blue-eyed soul, ambient soundscapes, folk-jazz, electronic, and psych-pop all cozying up together. But if you really listen, you'll hear an absurdly smart and humble musician following his own cues without shame or pride. And then you'll realize just how rare an experience that is.

Sandro Perri may come into our shop sometimes, and that's certainly endearing to us. But the reason we really love him—and why we'll continue to love him even if Impossible Spaces gets feted above and beyond our wildest hopes—is because he's the bloody best at what he does. He's the only guy who does what he does. And if you've ever needed a reason to check him out, it's this: this album is listen-to-it-for-the-rest-of-your-life good; it's Astral Weeks good.

And yes, we're biased. But for once, it doesn't matter.

ROLL THE DICE - In Dust

from Soundscapes <info@soundscapesmusic.com>
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date Fri. Oct 14 2011 at 10:45 AM
subject Re: **** *** **** - ** ****
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Also, while I think to mention it, if you're up for listening to a new synth + piano release that I just really got into and think you might also like, this Swedish duo Roll The Dice has a new album called In Dust on the Leaf label that takes that whole kosmische/Cluster/early Kraftwerk/electronic krautrock/John Carpenter set of influences that has been the zeitgeist for a little while now and does something really refined with it (think Vladislav Delay, Moritz von Oswald or that Mokira record I was raving about a couple years back)—the production's really rich and flattering on this, the sequencing is solid, and to me it sounds bummed but blissed out at the same time.
 
Check it out if you've got a free hour (or less, of course, if it doesn't end up being your bag!) at some point:
http://www.self-titledmag.com/home/2011/09/05/free-association-stream-roll-the-dices-in-dust-album-and-read-their-track-by-track-commentary/

FEIST - Metals

You knew this was coming. It was there the moment that Leslie Feist embraced the game-changing success of Grammy nods and iPod commercials with an arena show driven not by slick light shows or in-the-round extravagance, but by shadow puppets. And with Metals (her third or fourth record, depending on whether or not you choose to count the seemingly happily deleted Monarch), she confirms it: Feist has no interest in selling herself. 

At least not for cheap. 

The trick in understanding this stance, however, is to not misinterpret this as some cold, bitter misanthropic stunt. Having attended her triumphant ACC stand near the end of her touring cycle for The Reminder, what was most impressive was how she managed to stage a show for 10,000 people in a hockey arena that was so fragile, intimate, whimsical, spontaneous, and touching. It wasn't a middle finger to impending stardom, but rather a successful attempt to rewrite the laws on how such a crowd could be embraced.

Metals sets its sights just as high. Tentative and somewhat effete at first glance, it comes to brim effusively with confidence, spirit and humanity as one better makes its acquaintance. Lots has been said about the shouts that punctuate "A Commotion" or the triumphant final chorus of "Graveyard", two moments that stand out readily. But like the titular location of that latter track, there's lots more interesting stuff buried throughout Metals. 

Like the woozily drawn-out phrasing and swooning string arrangement in "Anti-Pioneer". And the juicy blues thud of "Undiscovered First". Or the way her levitating vocal in "The Circle Married The Line" sneaks up on your ears when you're not looking. And the tiny joys one finds spending time with "Cicadas and Gulls". Gradually, these moments (and many, many more) add up to become a greater confirmation of her talent than anyone single could aim to be. 

In the past, I liked to lazily call Feist a 'phone book singer' (as in she could easily sing the contents of said book and it would be quite enjoyable). I've always thought of it as a compliment, but Metals' greatest strength is how it takes such a silly, off-the-cuff statement to task. That's because far more than the simple pleasure of 'the voice', this record works on the back of eloquent writing, thoughtful arrangements, and patient respect for its listener. Will it take? Feist never intended to sing in the hopes of helping to sell millions of MP3 players. But what's done is done. The way she's carried herself in the wake of this—with an album that is both absolutely on her own terms and still full of moments that embrace an audience—is what makes both her and Metals great.  

WILCO - The Whole Love

There's a lot to be said for first impressions. Except when they're wrong. 

Take Wilco's last album, 2009's Wilco (The Album). Opening with the pleasing yet slight and self-referential silliness of "Wilco (The Song)", one tends to remember the entire album as a bit of a lark. In truth, the material within contained nothing else that approached that track's looseness—rather, it was a sweeping and detailed cataloguing of the band's many and varied strengths, from gorgeous balladry ("You and I") to tense paranoia (the terrific "Bull Black Nova") and all points in between.

Given that The Whole Love comes to life with the seven-minute skittering beat study meets full-on guitar freakout of "Art of Almost" (as well as the fact that it's the band's first album on their own dBpm label), it's easy for it to feel like a return to their art rock heyday of the first half of the 2000s. At that time, riding high (or low) on a wave of fractious interband relationships and agitated creative sparks, the group produced a double whammy of peerless and thorny music.

But despite our first handshake with The Whole Love, this is not a return to the days of 2004's intriguing if distanced A Ghost Is Born. After the wild ride of "Art Of Almost", the record hits a more casual, relaxed stride. Much like Wilco (The Album), it is a somewhat varied yet content collection of all of the things Wilco does well. And it's hard not to be of two minds on this. 

It would be terrific to see Wilco spread their experimental wings wide and make an album that challenged and surprised their audiences as much as Yankee Hotel Foxtrot did. Perhaps that's just too obvious (or difficult) a move to make. And yet it's next to impossible to resist the charms of Wilco being Wilco. I don't want to say that Tweedy the songwriter and Wilco the band are good enough to get away with doing just enough...but they kind of are. The ten songs that form the meat of The Whole Love are all three- to four-minute slices of prime Tweedy, with the occasional guitar burst ("Born Alone"), tender moment ("Open Mind") or heartwarming horn shuffle ("Capitol City") to define the landscape. If it isn't revolutionary, it is great.

If only just a little, Wilco may forever live in the shadow their most daring times. It was an exciting moment to see someone willing to allow his songs to be beat up in the name of art not as a crutch for his lack of ability, but simply because it made terrific songs extraordinary. But if the last impression made by The Whole Love is anything to go on, they still have a wandering muse to follow. At twelve minutes long, "One Sunday Morning" is neither wild nor drawn out. It is a gorgeous wander through an autumnal soundscape, guiding the listener by the hand with a gentle acoustic refrain and Tweedy's sure, steady tenor. It's ambitious in its own right, and a fitting reminder of the band's endless capability to sneak up on you. No one really saw Yankee Hotel Foxtrot coming. If the winds in Wilco's camp ever blow that way again, I doubt we'll see it on the horizon either.

ST. VINCENT - Strange Mercy

Annie Clark is in love with the moment of collision. She swoons in the presence of abrasion. No matter how magnificent any two things are in their respective pure states, it's nothing compared to the heavy, heavy mess they can make when they're thrown together.

This idea has always been a central part of her young career as St. Vincent, but it's never been truer than on her latest, Strange Mercy. On this, her third LP, Clark is completely committed to this pursuit, and it creates a statement that is about as bold as any you'll hear on record all year. 

But it also bears the scars of such a sacrifice to a single ideal.

That's because Strange Mercy is an album that is led by its sounds. Clark's lyrics—and there are many very good ones throughout—never really take centre stage. Unprinted in the art and nearly always delivered in the most delicate, breathiest of tones, they rarely stand out against the fascinating and constantly evolving melange of tones that surround them. Clark's no dummy, and such a juxtaposition is clearly intentional. If anything, her consistently delivered voice can be seen as a necessary constant, a point on the horizon to keep the listener from succumbing to the digital seasickness that surrounds them. 

And it does get wild out there. For starters, Strange Mercy marks the moment that she emerges as a new breed of guitar hero. In spite of (or perhaps due to) a heavily processed sound that renders it both farty and arty, her guitar playing is incredible throughout. Deft and delicate at one moment, frayed and falling apart the next, it perfectly embodies the two most leading traits of Clark musical persona: elegance and nervousness. And so we get "Northern Lights", a track that radiates both awe and foreboding as Clark sings: "I saw the Northern Lights/convinced it was the end of times." As her hysteria mounts, the song veers into a violent, unrecognizable solo that draws inspiration from the titular phenomenon to create an audio squall that figuratively attacks the rest of the song. You can just imagine the wide smile that appeared on her face when she was in the studio listening to the first playback of that moment. It's unbelievably overwhelming.

Elsewhere, like the opener "Chloe in the Afternoon" or the slippery riff that kicks "Surgeon" into sultry gear, she takes the explorations into arty funk suggested by songs like Actor's "Marrow" to new, skewed heights. She brandishes her guitar and the various effects she employs with the casual skill of an expert martial artist—never breaking a sweat, daring you to flinch first so that she can easily expose your weakness.

To be sure, Strange Mercy isn't without its lesser moments—the last third of the album runs a little out of gas compared to the high, high standard she sets in the songs that precede it. Still, throughout, Clark proves she has attained a new kind of pure state in her music—a place where she has been able capably to recontextualize the ideas of "beautiful" and "rocking out" in music in a way that is nearly entirely her own. Given just how many other musicians there are out there using the exact same tools as she, I don't think you can understate just how significant an accomplishment Strange Mercy is.

WILD FLAG - S/T

The Riot Grrl movement of the '90s was a hugely significant one for many reasons, but one thing it didn't produce in large quantities was skilled musicians. That was kind of the point—after all, it was the way that Kathleen Hanna's aggressively off-pitch, obnoxious wailing collided into her bandmates' hungry, haphazard playing that made Bikini Kill sound so feral and dangerous (like a lot of great punk rock).

But Sleater-Kinney—a later entry that started to make a spark as many of the movement's early embers were dying—were different. Led by guitarists/vocalists Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein, this trio matched politically-charged fury with playing of increasing invention and energy, especially after the introduction of drummer par excellence Janet Weiss on their first great record, 1997's Dig Me Out. By the time the group reached their end with 2005's monstrously loud The Woods, seeing the band play live was an experience on par with witnessing some of the greatest rock bands ever produced. Yes, they went out on a high note, but their likes have never been seen since.

It's understandable, then, that the biggest news about Wild Flag is that it's the first time Brownstein and Weiss have played together since the days of S-K. But, while I doubt it was calculated as such, just as worthy of note is the potential the band has to reignite the career of Mary Timony. As the main writer behind '90s act Helium, Timony was always too obtuse and introverted a presence to sit fully alongside the other grrls. Though her music certainly addressed gender politics, she was far less direct about it, preferring to use intricate instrumentation, coy metaphor, and, eventually, full-on tales of dragons, witches and wizards. Her solo albums since the end of Helium are all worth a look, but none have quite the beguiling mixture of grit and wit she displayed early on.

And so, with the addition of Rebecca Cole (formerly of The Minders) on keyboards, the stage is set to have Wild Flag be a return to form for some of the most beloved cult musicians of their day. And it is a huge relief to say that the record completely kicks ass.

Throughout, Timony and Cole slip seamlessly into Weiss and Brownstein's already well-established musical mind-meld (and, in fact, display that Helium and S-K's guitar styles were not all that dissimilar to begin with). From the frantic first notes of "Romance" to the head-nodding conclusion of "Black Tiles", everyone is playing for keeps, as though they're all aware of how fortunate this second chance is. Even songs that don't go for the jugular, like "Electric Band" and "Something Came Over Me", show a group of players whose understanding of each other runs far deeper than the scant few months they've actually played as a band.

But considering that the one big question going into the group was how Weiss and Brownstein would fare without their ex-bandmate Corin Tucker's mighty pipes, what's maybe most pleasing about Wild Flag is how terrific the vocals sound throughout. Brownstein developed a unschooled, raw intensity that over the years grew to hold its own against Tucker's hurricane bluster, but she's rarely sounded as energized as she does on the back-to-back dose of "Future Crimes" and "Racehorse"—the latter turning into an absolute vocal throwdown by its conclusion. Timony—always a far more ephemeral, mystical presense, but also a much better singer—acquits herself beautifully by never trying to match Brownstein's fury. Her quiet confidence is beguilingly evident at all times. And so while Timony's songs are definitely less immediate, the entrancing ways they unfold over repeat listens brings balance to a debut that could've been high on adrenaline, but low on depth. Instead, tracks like the awesome psych workout "Glass Tambourine" and punchy closer "Black Tiles" end up as some of the best on the record.

These kinds of bands—you know, supergroups—rarely arrive with much of a shelf life. And for the most part, they're such a disappointment, we could care less. But (and unsurprisingly, given the hunger of the players involved) Wild Flag display a potency that suggests this could be far more than a fleeting moment in their respective careers. Here's hoping so.

GIRLS - Father, Son, Holy Ghost

In tennis, there's a traditional gesture in response to an opponent's move that is so audacious, so improbable, and yet so peerlessly executed, that it renders you helpless to counter it. Instead of embarrassing yourself, you simply lower your head, raise your racquet and clap your other hand on the strings in appreciation of such a display of skill and class. The message: "Too good."

I can see how someone might attempt to refute the second full-length album by San Francisco's Girls. Throughout, it certainly cribs liberally from everyone from Big Star and Deep Purple to Pink Floyd and Wings. And then there's the whole hipster band du jour thing they've got going on (through no real fault of their own, but a charmed fate that's certain to rankle many). But much like that insanely angled forehead that's passes you at the net and clips the line with the accuracy of a sniper's bullet, you can make yourself look stupid trying to repel it, but you're better off raising your racquet and saying, "Too good."

Especially if it truly is too good and so much fun to appreciate. Love brisk, summer pop candy? It's got that. Into majestic odes to being brokenhearted propelled into the stratosphere by heady gospel wailing? Check. Need some of that luverly acoustic frailty that gets you all weak-kneed and misty-eyed? No worries. Dig on drugged-out guitar heroics that'll have you grabbing the nearest racquet for something other than tennis? Hello...it's here, too. But most importantly, for a band so loved by critics (and title aside), it's all done with a serious lack of obnoxious posturing or irony. It's honestly written, beautifully paced and very well-played.

Too good to refute. Too good to resist.

STEPHEN MALKMUS AND THE JICKS - Mirror Traffic

Reunions can be awfully leading propositions. Like an accidental drunken hookup with an ex that moves too quickly from the bar to the bedroom, neither party really knows what's going on in either's head. "Are they just lonely?" "Do they really mean those things they said about their current relationship?" And, of course, "Where do we go from here?"

But no matter how desperate for a new long-term relationship the indie rock world may have been, there was little mistaking Pavement's tour last summer for anything other than a one-night stand (albeit a very enjoyable and extended one). 

This was especially clear from the point of view of Stephen Malkmus. The lanky linguist leader was (generally) affable about the whole thing, but it was never in doubt where his vision was ultimately cast. His future was to be soundtracked not by the loose, manic wails of Pavement's court jester Bob Nastanovich, but by the formidable jamming chops of his new backing band, the Jicks (who, fresh off recruiting inimitable ex-Sleater-Kinney drummer Janet Weiss, were in the best form of their career).

Mirror Traffic marks the SM album that sees his solo output match the length of Pavement's storied discography. So, especially in the wake of the recent reunion, it's natural to examine the two careers side-by-side.

By the time of Pavement's fifth disc, 1999's Terror Twilight, the band was brutally frayed and dysfunctional. And even though the record was a good one, it shows. Slick, punchy, and often quite dark, the record leaves little to no room for forays into the band's freak zone (even the sonic detour that ends the slippery "Speak See Remember" is a tightly rendered slab of harmonic blues-rock rather than the punk spazz-out such a coda would normally elicit from the group). By this time, the group's secondary songwriter, the charming Scott "Spiral Stairs" Kannberg, was essentially removed as a contributor. In other words, under a cloud of caustic intraband relationships, Pavement had essentially become Malkmus' backing band. And for a man becoming increasingly frustrated with the limitations that imposed talent-wise, change was clearly on the horizon.

Mirror Traffic, on the other hand, could not be more confident and content as an album. After four solo albums that saw Malkmus subtly alternating back and forth between a sunny indie-pop screwball and a surprisingly capable guitar hero, this record is the first to successfully merge the two identities. It been mentioned in a few reviews already that it's as all-over-the-place as any record he's made since 1995's landmark Wowee Zowee, and this is fairly true. But this time around, his approach to such omnivorous tastes is far more mature and sonically refined. This is not a record that could have ever been made by Pavement, instead accentuating the admirable internal communication he's built up over the years with the Jicks—this is especially true of bassist/singer Joanna Bolme, the only player to be on all five of SM's solo records (although it also appears to be the swansong for Weiss, who has since joined the killer Wild Flag with S-K's Carrie Brownstein). 

Also helping to complete the picture is the record's producer, Beck. Between his own playful Record Club series and some stellar production gigs with Charlotte Gainsbourg and Thurston Moore, Beck's on quite a roll and you can hear this all over Mirror Traffic. Sometimes, it's something quite signature like the horn arrangements that close the beautiful "No One Is (As I Are Be)." But overall, it's in the relaxed, natural vibe that characterizes even the most frantic moments on the record.

Pavement's reunion proved that Malkmus could play it loose and sloppy one more time for the kids (even if those "kids" are now parents of actual kids), but its swift and quiet conclusion, devoid of any teasing maybes or extra legs ( à la Pixies), proved that Malkmus is very comfortable in his present.

THE WAR ON DRUGS - Slave Ambient

Like a lot of people my age, I grew up in a home where a lot of Bob Dylan was played. Dylan can sound like a lot of things to a kid, what with that voice and all. But as much as I remember my mother ribbing my father over Bob's weird cadence and strained drawl, I remember thinking of it as two things: smart and comforting.

Long before my six year-old mind could actually understand the complexity, abstraction and clever metaphor of his lyrics, albums like Highway 61 Revisited gave off a vibe of intense thought and intelligence. All of this was delivered—and ironically so, given his actual prickly nature—with great warmth to my young, eager ears.

Adam Granduciel—the lead singer/songwriter of Philadelphia's War On Drugs—certainly has a voice that makes for an easy comparison to Dylan. But then again, so does nearly every male singer with an unconventional, half-spoken singing voice. What has been most striking in listening to his new album, the gorgeous Slave Ambient, is how much it immediately evokes for me those feelings of intelligence and warmth that I so associated with Dylan as a child—something that is far from true for just any old band sporting a vocalist with a nasal, Midwestern drawl. Instead, The War On Drugs own something very particular to themselves.

The key in this case is the music itself. On Slave Ambient, the quite slight three-piece manages to articulate a wide sound that is as fond of the past as it is the future. A not-so-bizarre, yet still-unique amalgam of time-honoured folk/pop songwriting and digitally fueled aural wanderlust. And so it is that the group is just as comfortable on the gentle harmonica-laced shuffle of "I Was There" as they are on the short ambient interlude "The Animator."

But the most thrilling moment on the album is one where all of these approaches come together. The sustained rush of "Your Love is Calling My Name" is a stellar six-minute drive along the "freeway" and the "harbour" and urged forward by a "strong wind through my mind." The song both flies by and passes by in slow motion, like the way those sped-up films of cars on a highway at night begin to morph from warp speed into something entirely different and perceivable. Ultimately, this song acts as a microcosm for the small victory that is the whole record. It is an album that is smart without ever feeling condescending or exclusive—familiar without ever feeling cloying or lazy.

It's a record that is a perfect soundtrack for a long walk, late at night, to nowhere in particular—the kind of accidental private moments where, as Granduciel sings on "Brothers", you find yourself, "wondering where my friends are going, and wondering why they didn't take me."