THE BLACK KEYS - Brothers

As much as working in a record store keeps you in a pole position to be first to hear the latest and greatest (although, in this day and age, that's hardly a given), there's a certain beauty to being a latecomer. Not only is it humanly impossible to actually be on top of everything that you're supposed to listen to, but arriving at something at your own pace releases the weight of expectation that can squash so many albums like a proverbial grape. While they've never been The Strokes or Franz Ferdinand in terms of hype, The Black Keys have been a band to check out for the better part of a decade now. Brothers, their sixth LP, is my introduction to the band, and even though it wasn't a matter of conscious abstinence on my part, it's been well worth the wait.

I must admit to hearing a track here and there that often leaned toward the greasy side of sludgy. And I'm aware enough of the group's circumstances to know about 2008's Attack And Release, which featured production from Danger Mouse and is often credited with expanding their sound. But no matter how they got here, the most impressive thing about Brothers is how it quite simply doesn't sound like the work of two guys—and I'm not just talking about the obvious matter of all those overdubs done in-studio. They're creatively circumnavigating their limitations without abandoning what makes them unique or getting too busy. 

From The Spinanes to The Inbreds, from godheadSilo to the mighty White Stripes, duos nearly always explode into their careers with their audience focusing on what they don't do rather than what they do: "They don't have a bassist! Rock with no guitars? I gotta hear this!", and so on. But inevitably, this character trait leads to a lot of dull follow-up records that sound the same—unless they find a way to turn a corner. The best have done this, and I'd happily put The Black Keys in that category. While everything here clearly sits in the general niche of blues/rock/r&b/soul, it's passionate, varied, and classic without being predictable. What's more, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney never lean too heavily on studio games to fill out their sound—no matter what's going on, you feel the casual communication between these two gents, especially in Carney's loosey-goosey drumming. Sticky, groovy, sexy and haunted, it's straight-up a really great record. 

Now go away; I've got a back catalogue to check out.

SAM AMIDON - I See The Sign

We somehow forgot to feature this album on our website when it was released way back in April, which is strange since Sam Amidon's last album All Is Well made our year end list back in 2008, and I See The Sign is more than a worthy follow-up. Perhaps it was for the best, though, because on first listen, I See The Sign sounded a lot like All Is Well—not a problem, but also not exactly revelatory. After all, both albums follow similar paths, with Amidon taking the words and melodies from old public-domain folk songs, dusting them off and making them sound new again.

It's only after spending a few months with it that its unique characteristics have emerged. Where the beauty of his last album was its sense of privacy and sparse arrangements, this time around there is a lot more going on in each of the album's 11 tracks. Chalk this up to appearances from percussionist Shahzad Ismaily, avant-garde composer Nico Muhly, and songstress Beth Orton, whose backing vocals on "Relief" (actually a cover of an obscure R. Kelly song) help make it an album highlight. Both subtle and majestic, I See The Sign will satisfy his fans, while also providing a perfect point-of-entry for those just discovering this talented young musician. I see the sign, and it says "Buy this album!"

TEENAGE FANCLUB - Shadows

As much as it's a cliché, a midlife crisis can be a real bitch. All that time that once seemed so limitlessly ahead of you becomes something you can quantify—you're halfway there. It's a tough feeling to come to grips with, especially because being 35 to 40 is hardly old. Teenage Fanclub dealt with this as gracefully as one could imagine on their last album, 2005's Man-Made. Songs like "Cells" and "Time Fades" were frank and poignant without ever resorting to cheap melancholy.

And so, with that out of the way, we get the Fannies' first LP as true gentlemen: Shadows. Despite its title, it appears that the three Scots who form the band's songwriting core—Norman Blake, Gerard Love and Raymond McGinley—are anything but troubled by their station. It doesn't hurt that TFC have always made music that was in a position to age gracefully. Even with the occasionally profane choruses on their debut, A Catholic Education, or the dark-lord-invoking feedback of Bandwagonesque's "Satan", their music has always been about the supremacy of harmony and the beauty of melody. Their first single, 1990's "Everything Flows", was a perfect initial mission statement—an elegant instant classic that sang of the virtues of letting go and accepting the mysteries of life for what they are.

Twenty years later, and this philosophy is effectively reprised on Shadows' opener, "Sometimes I Don't Need To Believe In Anything". The song coasts and purrs like a well maintained antique roadster for an afternoon spin on a coastal highway, and its message is simple and, well, uplifting. Certainly for some, this laidback, congenial approach might reek of general wussiness and a lack of creative momentum. Fair enough: through and through, this is easy-listening for the aging hipster set. That said, it's hardly easy being as consistently gorgeous as Teenage Fanclub have been these last two decades, and if their message seems lightweight at a glance, the comfort and joy it brings is anything but.

These Scottish vets may be starting their third decade much as they started their first, but I, for one, wouldn't have it any other way. I believe in Teenage Fanclub.

THE ACORN - No Ghost

A local paper's review of this album made a point of focusing on No Ghost's apparently "awkward-ninth-grade-poetry moments." As an assessment of this record, it's a rather pithy, bitchy critique, but it does clumsily highlight a shadow that hangs over these songs. After a predecessor that contained such a well-conceived and passionately realized narrative (Glory Hope Mountain's tribute to leader Rolf Klausener's immigrant mother), this group had a hell of a task outdoing themselves on the follow-up—especially with regards to the lyrics.

The band answers this challenge with a simple but effective shift of focus. No Ghost is as obsessed with sonic details as GHM was with maintaining a consistent narrative. The album takes the group's specialty—generously layered indie-folk—and punctuates it with crackling bits of distortion and noise.

Not that this is the group's foray into garage or trendy digi-rock, though—this is still The Acorn, and the setting remains ordered to exacting standards. No fidgety shred of feedback is an accidental occurrence—it's all meant to be there, and is never done in excess. But by giving themselves a broader palette from which to draw, The Acorn have avoided what would've been a major tactical error—following up a serious LP with one even more serious.

Instead, this record is a succinct beauty, distinctly bearing new influences courtesy of exceptional English tourmates, Elbow (as well as several melodic touches that suggest magnificent Chicago vets Califone). With No Ghost, these guys have loosened their collective collar a touch and are all the better for it.

ACTRESS - Splazsh / RENE HELL - Porcelain Opera

While it may not appear to be the case at first glance, there are enough affinities between these discs to warrant a joint writeup, and not just because they share a release week (although that certainly helps). 

While these two young men's soundworlds are both singular enough to be miles apart (and draw from their own mongrel mixes of entirely different subgenres), Actress (a.k.a. Darren Cunningham) and Rene Hell (a.k.a. Jeff Witscher) are both releasing their highest-profile full-lengths to date (for the highly respected Honest Jon's and Type labels, respectively) after years of underground acclaim in each of their domains (post-dubstep, abstract tech-house-inspired, what-u-call-it? U.K. bass music for Cunningham; ambient drone, harsh noise, power electronics, U.S. post-hardcore and, as Rene Hell, analog-synth industrial/prog/kosmische for Witscher).

While Hell's been much more pseudonym-happy than Actress (having also gone by the names Impregnable, Marble Sky, Secret Abuse and Abelar Scout, among others), both these artists have plenty of experience going it alone, not only through making their music solo, but also by releasing much of it on smaller labels that they each run (Werk Discs vs. Agents Of Chaos/Callow God), proof that Cunningham and Witscher both know how to skillfully produce tracks on/of their own, as well as how to lend their releases and identities the sort of mystique that's increasingly crucial to getting heard amidst the din of the independent music marketplace.

Each a unique, hermetic and disorienting sound experience unto itself, Splazsh and Porcelain Opera both bear the mark of years of hard work paying off, yet are immersive enough listens to render all this backstory moot, making for two of this writer's favourite electronic releases of the year thus far.

DANIEL ROMANO - Workin' For The Music Man

The Constantines once sang, "Work and love will make a man out of you." It seems like young Daniel Romano has taken this lesson to heart. In the past year, the native of Welland, Ontario has been incredibly busy, releasing a full-length and a split 12" with his rock group Attack In Black, playing with and appearing on records by artists as diverse as Shotgun Jimmie and Julie Fader, and forming the folk trio Daniel, Fred & Julie alongside Fred Squire and Julie Doiron (and according to the liner notes to this album, he's fallen in love, too). To top this all off, he founded his own record label, You've Changed Records, as an output for his work. The freedom of calling all the shots seems to have informed his music, as Romano has been trying something new (at least within his body of work) with each release.

Similarly to Daniel, Fred & Julie, Daniel tackles a few traditional songs on Workin' for the Music Man, including the old English ballad 'Lady Mary'—perhaps the most immediately likeable song he's ever recorded, here titled "She Was the World to Me." However, it's his originals that make this album truly worth your time. Tracks such as "Missing Wind" and "A Losing Song" (which both appeared in alternate versions on a 7" released earlier this year—also available here at our shop!) show that Romano is an excellent songwriter in his own right. Bruce Peninsula singer Misha Bower appears thoughout the album, adding some gravity to the songs.

The overarching themes of the album, work and love, are universal, and the music follows suit. This is an album you can put on and immediately understand, which in this day and age seems to be happening less and less.

HOLY FUCK - Latin

I love swearing. Call it juvenile, call it reactionary, call it simplistic, but there's a joy, silliness, and release that comes from a good cuss word that can't be found anywhere else. And yet, despite this cozy relationship with blue words, I've had little room in my heart up until now for Holy Fuck. The blunt obviousness of the name could actually shoulder some of the blame, but that hasn't stopped me from loving Fucked Up. Nay, the real issue has been a search for the resonant core to the band's music. This Canuck quartet come complete with an enviable premise in tow—an analogue/real time take on electronic music—and in a live setting, the success of their hybrid is clear. It's loud, relentlessly groovy and quivering with creative and kinetic energy. But the same in-your-face-ness of their live sound always came off a little ham-fisted on album. After the admittedly strong, sweaty first impression, there was little in the way of hooks or memorable moments to bring you back.

Latin isn't a complete reinvention of Holy Fuck's sound—previous album LP's first single "Lovely Allen" was an excellent example of how well this band can combine chaos, rhythm and a tune—but it does take the foot off the gas just long enough in key places to allow the band to set up stronger moods, melodies and pacing. By allowing themselves a moment or two more to breathe in and reflect, suddenly the bursts of energy and noise have so much further to go when they appear. It's a tough thing to explain farther than that (and hey, maybe I'm just warming up to them myself), but everything about Latin is sharper, smarter, and more tastefully presented than anything they have done before. That's not to say that this is a conventional record—it's just an example of a great live band coming closer and closer to making a great record as well. There are still higher peaks for Holy Fuck to climb, but this is their tallest summit yet.

THE ALPS - Le Voyage

For most, a perfect summer album means bringing the party—dance jams to get you hot and sweaty. I don’t know about you, but I’m already hot and sweaty. I’m looking for something like the cool breeze that hits you just as you’re reclining in the garden with a little sundowner. Le Voyage hits the spot perfectly, with gauzy soft-psych streaming over everything and letting the mind relax and bliss out completely.

Steering clear of the claustrophobic reverb flood of Animal Collective and the like, Alps paint their psychic landscapes the old-fashioned way: shimmering twelve-strings, cymbals so airy they must be transparent, and the old stand-by tambura—'70s secret code that things are about to get trippy. When things do get electronic, things don’t stray far from that vintage palette—gurgling analog synths, tape echo, and distinctly French-sounding found-sound collage, with plenty of room left for your own imagination as you let your head float up into the ether.

KAREN ELSON - The Ghost Who Walks

The only reason I paid any attention to this record was because shop owner Greg threw this one on shuffle, and it stood out. No doubt, Karen Elson will be catching the ears of people who want to know if the model wife of Jack White can carry it off. Just as many people will not listen to this record for the exact same reasons, which would be a shame considering the talent Elson shows in both singing and songwriting departments. No vain dilettante, Elson was involved in various musical projects before meeting Jack, notably adding BGs to Robert Plant’s “Last Time I Saw Her” on his 2003 album Dreamland.  She’s also duetted with Cat Power on a cover of Gainsbourg’s “Je T’aime…Moi Non Plus.” You can’t suck in such company.

Produced by her hubby and launching from his Third Man imprint, The Ghost walks through the sorts of southern gothic trails blazed by Kurt Weill and Tom Waits, showing a penchant for minor-key folk and the kind of cavernous Americana that the Giant Sand guys could have easily revived their OP8 collaboration alter-ego for. Her musical foils include Jack Lawrence (Raconteurs, Dead Weather), Carl Broemel (My Morning Jacket) and her hubby. She nods to different traditions via “Stolen Roses” (a variation of “Scarborough Fair”) and “Cruel Summer” (a Cajun-spiced waltz with a melody reminiscent of “Itsy-Bitsy Teenie-Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini”), but the kickers here are the haunting cabaret “100 Years from Now” and superbly-arranged “The Truth Is in the Dirt,” two numbers that nicely showcase her versatility and approach to performance. Recommended. 

MALE BONDING - Nothing Hurts

Short and sweet. Three chords, the truth and some bruised ribs. Quick and to the point. A half-hour-ish blast of perfectly pesky pop songs that bring some respect back to the phrase "pop-punk". Lessons learned at the feet of Billy Childish, Graham Coxon, early Supergrass and The Jam absorbed, then scribbled on in the margins and turned into supersonic paper airplanes and spitballs.

And why? Are they really that angry? Nah, just because they can. Because it's fun. Because long songs are boring. Because we all could be skateboarding right now. Because it's only rock n' roll, and we like it and they love it—so much so that they seal it with a K.I.S.S. Man hug!

FLYING LOTUS - Cosmogramma

When I first saw that Ravi Coltrane (son of, well, you know who...) was a guest on Cosmogramma, my curiosity was immediately piqued. After all, despite his legendary pedigree, Ravi is hardly a well-used sideman in electronic circles. Of course, then I quickly found out that Steven Ellison (aka Flying Lotus) is the saxophonist's cousin. Ellison's aunt and Ravi's mum, Alice Coltrane, was a truly exceptional figure. From her coming out in 1965 as a pianist in her husband John's late- period quintet, she grew into a remarkable bandleader in her own right—in particular, her late 60s/early 70s albums are all canon-worthy works of psychedelic, tranced-out jazz (especially when she turned to the harp as her main instrument).

So why the family tree? Because this ancestry definitely adds something of an understanding of what Flying Lotus is after on his excellent Cosmogramma LP. From the mystic sketched artwork covered in Arabic script to the restlessly open nature of the music within, this is a very worthy successor to the kind of aural voyage his aunt began in the '60s and '70s. Mind you, this is still a modern record—a product of computers, technology and the possibilities these devices open to us. But FlyLo is constantly looking for ways to connect the two eras. The result at times is one of the more 'classic'-sounding electro/hip hop records you're likely to hear this year.

Hip hop in general has a strong presence here, but unlike DJs such as Madlib, it's one of the few musical histories that's not really mined for material on Cosmogramma. Instead, it's used to refract other styles into pleasing and surprising new shapes. The mid-record trio of "Arkestry", "MmmHmm" and "Do The Astral Plane" is a mini-suite of resonant jazz drums, searching sax, early-evening soul and disco all viewed through a hip hop lens. Elsewhere, we're treated to minimalist psych, bursts of 8-bit noise, tight percussion loops, and even a game of table tennis transformed into a loping rhythm. It's telling that maybe one of the least successful moments on the record is the collaboration with Thom Yorke—not so much because it's a bad song, but more that hearing the Radiohead frontman whisper sweet, incomprehensible nothings over skipping electro-beats ain't exactly new territory.

But thankfully for Ellison, the rest of Cosmogramma is entirely top drawer stuff. And when he drops a little nod to Alice on "Drips / Auntie's Harp", you know it's a mention that would make the dearly departed icon proud.

KEITH JARRETT/CHARLIE HADEN - Jasmine

Any follower of Charlie Haden will tell you that his true strengths are most apparent in a duo setting, where you can hear his clear and direct accompaniment style affect whoever he is playing with. He’s been at it for years—from his criminally unavailable A&M Horizon albums in the late seventies through to a dozen or so outings with the likes of Kenny Barron, Hank Jones, Pat Metheny and Ornette Coleman.  As convention dictates, these releases are generally credited to the soloist, but for the experienced listener, the guiding force in these performances is clear. Here we find Haden serving under Keith Jarrett for the first time since the dissolution of the latter’s American quintet in the late '70s. While this recording is a far cry from the sort of stuff they were up to back then, it immediately reveals that the lines of communication developed during the pair’s nearly decade-long association haven’t been lost to the ages.

As a collection of standard ballads performed in a direct style that puts the melody above any clever reharmonizations or flashy solos, Jasmine acts as a sort of sequel to Jarrett’s 1999 solo disc The Melody At Night, With You. Where the difference lies is in the pianist’s license to get a little more outside himself thanks to the presence of Haden, whose warm and full sound describes the harmonies of the tunes in simple, strong lines that would secure even the most flighty soloist.  The sound is strikingly dry for an ECM release—just a clear and honest representation of what seems to have been fairly casual meeting of old pals in Jarrett’s home studio. Serve with pasta or sharp cheeses.

THE ROLLING STONES - Exile On Main St.

It’s never too late to be convinced of the greatness of this album; it took me a couple of years to get it.  A friend in university explained that Exile was truly the apotheosis of American music, as could only be done by white British rock band. Not only did the Stones master raunchy blues/rock’n’roll, but they also nailed country, folk, and gospel sounds and distilled them in a way that had rarely been done previously. 

Covering four sides of vinyl, this record is a miracle of greatness, the Stones at their most convincing, going for purity of expression and performance over clarity of production. The album is famous for its quirky mixing approach, often burying Mick’s vocals in the murk of a haphazardly recorded rhythm section. How they were able to put so much legendary music onto one recorded document boggles the mind, and it still shocks me how many people can reference this record but not be intimately familiar with the tracks that make it up.

So where to start with this reissue? First, there’s the bare-bones remastered version that would be swell for anyone who still doesn’t own this. Curious fans already familiar with the music, though, will find much to be enjoyed on the deluxe edition that boasts 10 bonus tracks, suggesting that Exile could have actually been a triple album! Sure, Mick went back and re-recorded some of his vocals, an understandable griping point for purists, but I think most people wouldn’t have even noticed. You’ll hear “Good Time Women,” which later became “Tumblin’ Dice,” demos of “Loving Cup” and “Soul Survivor,” plus other outtakes. Interestingly, “Plundered My Soul” is kind of a new song, as it never had a vocal until Mick put one on in March. And guess who also did a new lead guitar lead on the track?  You got it, Mick Taylor! (Go back to The Faces where you belong, Ronnie Wood.) 

Want more? Try the Super Deluxe Edition, a beautiful box filled with vinyl, a 50-page book, and a DVD which includes footage from legendary films Cocksucker Blues (pure sleaze), and Ladies and Gentlemen (pure majesty). Take your pick.

VA - Nicola Conte Presents Spiritual Swingers

Originally available last year only as a very expensive Japanese import, fans on these shores of Nicola Conte can rejoice in gaining tantalizing hints of his famously deep record crates. Following his two-part Viagem series of rare bossa nova and Brazilian jazz, the stylish Italian thrills us this time with a smashing set billed as “spiritual swingers,” but it would be more aptly referred to as “the roots of spiritual jazz”, since most of this material predates the heyday of spiritual jazz, most famously typified by A Love Supreme by John Coltrane (1965) and Karma by Pharaoh Sanders (1969).

Yes, it’s an unorthodox take on the sub-genre, since most spiritual comps focus on Black Power Afrocentrism, hippie exoticism, indie-label free jazz wigouts and outrageously long and meditative sleigh-bell-sprinkled vamps. However, Conte wouldn’t be so well respected if he didn’t know his stuff. Going as far back as 1957 for Lorez Alexandria’s oft-compiled “Baltimore Oriole,” he showcases a period in jazz in which space, mood, timbre, and tonal colour were trademarks of such forward-thinking labels as OJC, Prestige, and Fantasy. So you get homages to Miles’ Kind of Blue (Mark Murphy doing “Milestones” and the Klaus Weiss Trio’s oceans-deep “Subo"), Anita O’Day (!) taking on Horace Silver’s “Senor Blues,” the Quincy Jones-arranged “Swahili” by Clark Terry, George Gruntz’ “Spanish Castles” (joined by the great Barney Wilen on soprano), Alice Clark’s arranger Ernie Wilkins waltzing to “The Hooter,” and so much more.

You would need a small fortune to own all of these tracks in their original form, which would mean nothing if the music wasn’t so expertly sequenced and so completely inspiring. A pure triumph, and proof of how important vinyl excavators are in this current musical climate. Don’t miss this one.

THE RADIO DEPT. - Clinging To A Scheme

By virtue of its name alone (one that you get the feeling no self-respecting musician would ever choose themselves), twee pop is set up to be derided as slight, trite, and even just plain irrelevant. But it's a little too easy to forget what this stuff does so well. Great pop music—whether it is actually simple or not—needs to state its case with directness and economy. This M.O. fits the understated, pure song structures of most twee bands like a glove.

Of course, in the nineties, when it felt like every third indie band was playing some version of twee, it was pretty easy for most of us to pay attention to only the most exceptional of the genre (i.e. Belle & Sebastian) while letting the majority fall by the wayside. But with a second wave of this stuff hitting its stride here in North America (The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, the Slumberland records revival in general), it might be nice to dig a little deeper, and there's no better contemporary place to start than Sweden's The Radio Dept., a group from one of the countries that has helped keep this genre's flame alive through the 2000s.

Clinging To A Scheme is a exceptional study in everything that makes delicate pop music such a pleasure to experience. Barely-there vocals and spritely hooks abound—it's remarkable how quickly each of these tunes zero in on your pleasure centres. Even better, it intelligently expands its own sonic palette continually—delving subtly into the worlds of hip hop and samples—without ever seeming contrived. Succinct and beautiful songs done to perfection.

JAMIE LIDELL - Compass

Let's not dance around the subject (ha!): white dudes making R&B is always a tricky deal. Be too stylistically reverential and on point, and it just comes across as cheap imitation at best, and inappropriate at worst. But be too irreverent and wacky with the form, and it while it might be your own style, it can be awfully disingenuous and trendy.

For my money, Jamie Lidell is walking this line about as well as any caucasian you can name. It helps that the man can actually sing, for one—his voice is a marvelously tangled, mangled mess, alternately ravaged and sensuous. But whether he's trying to modernize (2005's Multiply) or inhabit (2008's Jim), he makes far more good decisions than bad.

He's not immune to falling flat on his face, but when he does, it's usually when he's playing it safe—Jim's Stevie Wonder-aping first single, "Little Bit Of Feel Good", and that same record's Maroon 5-esque "Figured Me Out" are probably his worst offenders. Compass does many things (some better than others), but one thing it does not do is play it safe. This is easily Lidell's most diverse record—the squelchy belch funk of "The Ring", the marachi-tinged title-track ballad, the ricochet beats of "You Are Waking"—he's all over the place and clearly enjoying the experience. At 14 songs, Compass ironically comes across as a little lost at first, but once you acclimatize to its anything-goes spirit, it's a thrilling collection. The highs of Multiply are never quite reached, but it's a real flag-in-the-sand moment for the man—an attempt to stake claim to a brand of oddball R&B a weirdo white guy can call his own. When he hits the late album peak of the Beck-assisted "Coma Chameleon" and the absolutely luscious velvet drapes of "Big Drift", you know he's onto a voice that is an honest one. You can't ask for much more than that.

TREMBLING BELLS - Abandoned Love

Electric folk is going to be a throwback no matter how you cut it, but this time around Alex Neilson and company volley right past Joe Boyd and directly to William Byrd, providing a thoroughly vital update on the sounds of Fairport Convention, Pentangle et al. And while a healthy early music influence has always been par for the course in British folk, the Bells take things far beyond beads-and-brocade renaissance hippie trimmings and eagerly display Neilson’s deepening understanding of Medieval and Renaissance music with a generous helping of period-style writing and instrumentation.  Not that it negates the fuzz and flowers—"September Is The Month Of Death" is likely the only place you’re going to find crumhorn and e-bow guitar in the same bizarre broken consort. 

All the while, Abandoned Love is far poppier than its predecessor Carbeth, with co-producer Stevie Jackson dropping Belle & Sebastian touches throughout and keeping the madness of the group’s debut reigned in. Those turned off by Lavinia Blackwall’s somewhat strident soprano will find the keys a little mellower, and the lyrics a little less dedicated to desperate heartache. In fact, there are some positively upbeat moments—"Love Made An Outlaw Of My Heart" is pure California, something like a Monkees outtake with a Sneaky Pete guest spot. Abandoned Love is clearly made by folks with a voracious appetite for music, and is a more than fair offering in kind. 

LCD SOUNDSYSTEM - This Is Happening

"You wanted a hit/but we don't really do hits", LCD mainman James Murphy scoffingly taunts on "You Wanted A Hit". Well, yes and no. Ever since he first began to make a name for himself about five or six years ago, this soundman-turned-producer-turned-indie star has been the guy decrying the taste of cake while it oozes from between the teeth of his shit-eating grin. Because lengthy and caustic as they may be, tunes like "Daft Punk Is Playing at My House", "All My Friends" and "Losing My Edge" are hits, and Murphy knows it. Even more than this, he's the kind of hitmaker whose main source of inspiration is a smart but obvious rescrambling of a series of past successful templates. New Order, The Velvets, Eno, Bowie, Cage, Reich, The Slits—he's the hip joint of a hipster, a vital intersection with tastes so unerringly tasteful, it's very easy to be a cynic.

What's saved Murphy from going up in his own flames has been an eagerness to expose himself to his own withering and often humourous cultural critique—and to paraphrase his own "North American Scum": the more he did it, the better it got. What started as a dumpy, middle-aged scenester squeezing his tummy in front of the mirror ("Losing My Edge") became a very poignant self-examination of how to age—relevantly, if not gracefully—alongside a club scene that is built for the young. When this approach climaxed on the one-two punch of "Someone Great" and "All My Friends" from 2007's Sound Of Silver, he'd become the John C. Reilly of rock stars (er, well, I guess that was Dewey Cox, but roll with me on this one)—funny, inexhaustibly observant and wry, and yet full of a boatload of tragic humanity. He was an outsider to the very scene he was creating.

That's an exceedingly tough balance to maintain, and no doubt many are gunning for This Is Happening to be the sound of Murphy finally choking on his own bitter bakery. But he's a slippery character and on this newest album, he manages to make some of his deftest escapes yet. Lead single "Drunk Girls" would be that gagging death-blow if it weren't so hilariously dead-on. "Pow Pow" (which finds the guy from "Losing My Edge" full of bleary-eyed rebuttals the next morning at the coffee shop) has a tackle box worth of putdowns that are simply far more fun to go along with than critique. But above all, Murphy knows he has to start strong, and does he ever on Happening. Opener "Dance Yrself Clean" is as good a defense of the LCD brand as any could muster, gently lulling you with a series of off-hand wanderings before walking face-first into a telephone pole of a synth breakdown that turns into a completely irresistible five-minute party. It's flat out awesome and like several other tracks here (especially the soaring guitar love affair of "All I Want"), you bet it's a hit. Because, as great a character as Murphy has been able to construct out of his own midlife missteps, it's ultimately his dance steps that we're most interested in. Don't worry, kids—daddy's got this one covered.

THE SADIES - Darker Circles

Like those old Holiday Inn commercials used to say, "the best surprise is no surprise", which pretty much applies to The Sadies' latest release. That shouldn't be read as a putdown, because it's always a pleasure to listen to the band deliver their patented and potent blend of country, garage, folk-rock and psych. Even if Darker Circles picks up where 2007's New Seasons leaves off, it's nevertheless a refinement on their previous album. In other words, The Sadies keep getting better, not to mention increasingly sombre.

The songs on Darker Circles are suffused with sadness, regret and loss, from the heartbreaking lyrics of "Tell Me What I Said" to the haunting tale of "Violet and Jeffrey Lee". There are many delightful moments to choose from here: the way the opening cut, "Another Year Again", culminates in a Bo Diddley beat-driven rave-up; the Byrds-y twang of "Postcards"; and the spaghetti western soundtrack feel of "10 More Songs", to name a few. Paradoxical as it may seem, immersing yourself in the gorgeous melancholia of Darker Circles is most certainly an uplifting experience.

SALLY SELTMANN - Heart That's Pounding

The cliché that will bless and haunt the artist formerly known as New Buffalo is that Sally Seltmann co-wrote “1-2-3-4” with Feist. It’s an unavoidable bio fact that, alone, will keep her safe and sound for quite a while, and neatly serve as auto-promo for the first solo album released under her own name. Still, she has a lot more to prove since Feist vacuum-packed all of the fame that went with that era-defining ditty. 

Seltmann’s vocal approach is much smoother and airier, occasionally betraying her Australian background. It’s the kind of stuff that continues to perfectly encapsulate the kind of sensibility forged by Lisa Germano (particularly on “Book Song”) and Lily Frost. Repeated listens reveal her natural gift for gorgeous melodic contours that show off the lovely upper range of her voice, and with songs like “Sentimental Seeker” and “Dream About Changing,” Sally Seltmann could be once again blessed by the gods of licensing deals, even if household-name status eludes her.