Tegan and Sara

"My Number"
from the album This Business of Art
2000
iTunes

Nobody recognizes the originators. Does anyone care The Creation used a violin bow on the electric guitar before Jimmy Page? Does anyone remember the psychedelic '60s Nirvana who discovered phasing by accident before The Byrds? Does anyone recognize that Jon Spencer started the retro rock revolution back in '92 almost a decade before The Strokes' debut? Probably not the majority of music "fans."

So it's possible only the same people could care that Tegan and Sara predated the release of Avril's Let Go and teeny girl-punk by over two years but with the glaringly obvious and crucial difference that they've always written their own songs and lyrics and that their sound, different on each album, has none of the stagnant homogeny that blankets major label lip-synching sell-outs like Ashlee Simpson. While the twin sisters, Tegan and Sara Quinn, were getting signed to Vapor Records, the label of Neil Young whom they would later tour with, on the strength of essentially a full-length demo, 1999's rare Under Feet Like Ours, Avril was still doing the country bar circuit perfecting the Shania Twain covers, no joke, that would see her picked up by RIAA tumor label Arista.

Like most originators, the Calgary duo's debut album This Business of Art was released in mid-2000 to relatively little fanfare despite being produced by Canadian icon, singer-songwriter Hawksley Workman. At the ripe age of 19, the twins' songs read with a heavy diary vibe, each overflowing with lyrics often wise beyond their years, yet at times naïve, leading to more adult situation descriptions and a more precise form two years later on If It Was You. At the same time, their voices matured to their now signature graveled timbre. The groundwork was laid and elements of what Tegan and Sara are now naturally shines throughout various aspects of This Business, but they didn't really grow into themselves as artists until they started touring heavily (they are pretty wicked live) and messing around in the studio more. The much simpler approach to If It Was You allowed the fragility of their voices and the unique harmonies they could create to fully come through, the subtleties that were somewhat lost behind Workman's professional but ultimately out of place production.

As they gain more experience and exposure and learn to take more control over the creative process, Tegan and Sara can only continue to grow. It's up to us not to blame them for Fefe Dobson or for the sheepherding trends they helped create and to truly listen to their music as, like George Harrison said, the songs will continue to outlive the style in which they were recorded. The catchiness of all pop music fades over time, but the substance of the Quinn character will see their music remembered long after Avril is doing Old Navy commercials -- at least by those of us who like to remember these things.

~Filmore Mescalito Holmes, Tiny Mix Tapes

Wolf Parade

"This Heart's on Fire"
from the album Apologies to the Queen Mary
2005
iTunes

The hype machine, when it points its finger at a band, rarely does that band any lasting favors -- any subsequent success comes despite the inevitable backlash and accusations of overratedness. Following hard on a period of much-fawned-over Arcade Fires and Broken Social Scenes, Montrealers Wolf Parade would seem to be merely the next shift of overpraised Canadian musicians -- the flavor of the week, in a phrase. It doesn't help that Wolf Parade has a decidedly Arcade Fire-esque Bowie-by-way-of-Modest Mouse vibe; you can hear it in Dan Boeckner and Spencer Krug's flamboyantly rough-hewn singing, in the angular, explosive song structures, in the lyrics that are just obscure enough to be open to interpretation.

However, bands don't hook the music press literati by copying other groups, and Wolf Parade are no exception. Their secret weapons are Hadji Bakara and Spencer Krug's keyboards and electronics, which soften Boecker's rough guitar edges with plonking analog melodies and rich held-out undernotes. The songs themselves are equally arresting, especially with repeated listens. Apologies literally starts off with a bang (and a big hi-hat rattle), as delivered through the mid-tempo bombast of "You Are a Runner and I am My Father's Son." If its rhythms are jerky and ultra-defined, "The Modern World" is a smoothed-out driving song, its vocal harmonies evoking a vague melancholy. Boeckner and Krug trade off on the mic; their styles, while distinct from one another, are complementary enough to gather the variety of moods into a cohesive whole. Wolf Parade balance Apologies to the Queen Mary between uptempo hook-fests like "This Heart's on Fire," with its Cars-like keyboard line and noddable riffs, and slower numbers like the echoes-of-the-fifties pop ballad "Same Ghost Every Night."

Apologies to the Queen Mary is almost an hour long, and there are certainly portions of it that aren't essential... but it's difficult to see where any fat could have been cut, as each track has its own fractured beauty. The band indulges in a lengthy outro for the lovely "Dinner Bells," but it wouldn't be the same song without it.

Critics have a tendency to academicize music, which is one cause of today's darlings becoming tomorrow's obscurities. Music that charms people who like to dissect and analyze doesn't necessarily light a fire under those who just wanna dance. Apologies to the Queen Mary has plenty to offer both camps -- but whether it's an album for the ages is up to the ages.

~ Sarah Zachrich, Splendid Magazine

Starlight Mints

"Inside of Me"
from the album Drowaton
2006

Download an MP3 of "Inside of Me" from Barsuk Records
[right-click/save-as]

Starlight Mints are a group of beautiful pop mutants: four oddballs whose love for archetypal pop music and AM radio has provided a rock-solid foundation for a whole bunch of inspired weirdness. Allan Vest (vocals/guitar), Marian Love Nunez (keyboards), Javier Gonzales (bass), and Andy Nunez (drums) began jamming together in the '90s, giving birth to their own funky brand of heavily instrumental, surrealistically worded pop sound. Maybe you could call it bubblegum psych. It all adds up to something very grand: one marvelous piece of orchestrated, catchy surrealism after another. The band has released two albums, The Dream That Stuff Was Made Of (2000) and Built on Squares (2003), combining classic string arrangements, cheeky boyish vocals, and a feel good vibe to bring a glossy, fresh sound to indie rock. Their debut Barsuk release Drowton will be out April 25, 2006.

~ Barsuk Records

the Long Winters

"Ultimatum"
from the EP Ultimatum
2005
iTunes

Download an MP3 of "Ultimatum" from Barsuk Records
[right-click/save-as]

Ultimatum is a spare six-song snapshot of the oblique and poetic-minded side of astounding songwriter and Winters bandleader John Roderick. At times sparse, at times warmly lush, this collection of songs is always intensely beautiful, stretching from simple vocal-and-guitar folk balladry to orchestral grandeur to band-driven electro psych-pop and largely leaving aside the guitar pop rave-ups with which Roderick is equally comfortable. The band's first release since 2003's When I Pretend to Fall, the EP is an enticing set-up for the band's upcoming '06 full-length and that rarest of things: an EP that stands on its own as a great record from a band that has already set a high standard for themselves.

~ Barsuk Records

Viva Voce

"Lesson No. 1"
from the album The Heat Can Melt Your Brain
2004
iTunes

Husband and wife team Kevin and Anita Robinson make bottom-heavy, dreamy tunes as Portland, Oregon duo Viva Voce, and they clearly enjoy themselves in the studio. On The Heat Can Melt Your Brain, the couple's third, they color their whispery melodies, club-ready grooves and understated social criticisms, with fuzzy distortions, washed-out backup vocals and a slew of other mixing board tricks. Along the way, the band sounds psychedelic and electronic (although they play instruments). There's an element of portent lurking within the songs, as the two sing in stark monotones that turn seemingly hopeful lines like "So happy today's the day, things will turn around" ("Lesson No. 1") icy and ironic. And with songs (and song titles) like "Mixtape=Love," which casts inarticulate lovers failing to communicate, and "Free Nude Celebs," which is ultimately about hopelessness and loneliness, it seems that Viva Voce (Italian for "by word of mouth") achieve something greater than simple space jams: sharp, smart stoner rock.

~ Benjamin Friedland, Rolling Stone

Straylight Run

"Existentialism on Prom Night"
from the album Straylight Run
2004

So you help form Taking Back Sunday, record the debut album and sell some 200,000-plus copies of it that droves of rabid, angst-riddled teenagers will adore for years or until they find themselves in a happy relationship. You tour extensively and have a great time on the sonic rise to success, then decide that you don't like the direction that the band is going and the way they write their songs. You call it quits. TBS goes on to record a new album and sell 163,000 copies of it in its first week while your new band, Straylight Run, is building hype on the Internet, chalking up thousands of downloads and selling a pile of merch with no record in stores. This is what John Nolan and Shaun Cooper did after enlisting ex-Breaking Pangaea drummer Will Noon and piano-presser Michelle Nolan, John's sister, to make their band. The sounds the kids get are bittersweet melodies laced with youth-conscious lyrics on a varied tempo field. Hmmm, sounds interesting.

Straylight's sound is basically split into two categories: the slowed down, somber ballad; and the tumbly pop song -- both styles interlaced with each other throughout the album. The slower-paced songs are what Straylight handles best. The opening song, aptly titled, "The Perfect Ending," is a good fit for the first song you hear in the morning or the last song you hear before you go to bed. The keys lay a nice backdrop for Nolan's stringy vocals as he peers into the mind of a person balancing on the line between depression and happiness, questioning their role in life. There's enough here to make even the most jaded elitist think back to his optimistic, impressionable days and re-acclimate where he or she stands now.

Another highlight is "Existentialism on Prom Night," which contains the chorus, "Sing like you think no one's listening," this line put a pleased smile on my face; let it out, who cares what you sound like. Nolan's song writing peers into the mind of this generation's cautious, yet passionate psyche, subliminally encouraging perseverance and optimism. Rarely are the lyrics extremely complex ("What's another word for desperate?"), but at times they're just enough to reach into your head and get you thinking.

Straylight Run's songs might not appeal to everyone, but you might be surprised -- they could strike the last vulnerable nerve you have in your body and they'll make friends with it. On the whole, this album probably won't be in my rotation forever, but for now it's a good fit. Do you keep a diary? Sold. Otherwise, listen with a cautious ear, the shaky track arrangement could be the factor that turns you away.

~ Philip Del Costello, indieworkshop.com

the Cloud Room

"Hey Now Now"
from the album The Cloud Room
2005
iTunes

Download an MP3 of "Hey Now Now" from InSound.com
[right-click/save-as]

C / E / F / G: This unassuming, subtly Motown-flavored bunch of chords has an exuberant little crescendo built right into its guts, a progression that drives, among other songs, "Hey Now Now", the debut single by a band called the Cloud Room. The track also has a chorus that makes for one of those fantastically silly circular melodies (Suzanne Vega's "Tom's Diner", Gorillaz's "Clint Eastwood" -- hell, the Beatles' "Yesterday") that seem familiar on first listen, inspiring rightful dèjá entendu. To hear it is to get it lodged in the brainpan for days on end, churning on a loop in the background of one's commute and grooming routine. In other words, a record executive's wet dream.

In winter 2004, an aspiring New York singer-songwriter with the temerity to call himself simply "J" got a sore throat that proceeded to last unabated through the season and into spring. At the end of the fourth month, the spooked J got an HIV test. It came back positive. He tested again-- at which point the doctor took a three-week Caribbean vacation, safely locking the new results (negative) out of J's reach in her office. The basic tune for "Hey Now Now", in all its fetal-position primality, came together during the wait ("I wasn't sure where it came from-- it sounded like a children's song," the author says). Conversely, the lyrics ("We're going downtown! We'll take the bus there! Pay the bus fare! And we'll find a new reason, a new way of living") tumbled out in the rush of joy that followed.

The ecstasy proved contagious. By July 2004, the rudimentary song had floored, in chronological order, J's bandmates, family, friends, friends' friends, and a modest Luna Lounge audience that included a woman named Polsia Ryder, who ran the music arm of a media mini-empire called Gigantic. "It was such a perfect song," says Ryder when asked about her first exposure to "Hey Now Now." "There was no doubt in my mind it was a hit."

Gigantic's downtown Manhattan offices are a throwback to the heyday of the New Economy: unfinished wood, an open floor plan, a Galaga machine. The studio itself is formidable. It once belonged to Philip Glass. Apart from the studio and its outgrowth, the music label, Gigantic also operates a film and video production house, a fashion boutique, a music store, an art gallery, a party space, and, when needed, a PR company. J describes it, by way of compliment, as a collective of "enthusiastic people starting out in areas where they don't have a lot of experience."

"I approached the band as a manager first," explains Ryder. "I shopped them around, and [labels] were interested." Those included Astralwerks and Virgin. "But they all wanted to hear a full album's worth of demos, which we didn't have then." The strategy was to get "Hey Now Now" out-- the three-note chorus hook was burning a hole in everyone's pocket, and waiting a year or so to put together a full demo seemed a masochistic proposition.

Though Ryder doubted that Gigantic had the financial resources to launch a worldwide smash, she brought the band home, placing them in a curious situation where their manager was also the head of their label.

Gigantic signees get the benefit of recording in the label's studio for free, and are thus spared the notorious music-biz trap of recoupable costs. The downside to the label's largesse is that paying clients come first, and "house bands" are relegated to the few empty slots on the studio's schedule. In fall 2004, the only such slot was a week in November (The Fall, of all bands, had booked the remainder of the year). Recording later would mean missing the April deadline for delivering "Hey Now Now" to college radio. Students would go on summer vacation, and there'd be nobody left to wow.

So come November, the Cloud Room, with a new rhythm section, were ensconced in the studio recording an album. The problem was they didn't have an album to record.

Another problem was that nobody saw that as a problem.

Ryder originally brought the Cloud Room to Gigantic for a quick'n'dirty EP, hoping to get the song out while keeping the majors at bay and salivating at the same time. Before long, lawyers pressured the band to get the most out of the one-record deal by banging out an LP, which would be an easier sell to the stores and the press. Plus, they had a hit on their hands. The blogs were agog at "Hey Now Now" -- who cared how much filler it came bundled with? Everyone involved with the song was taken over by dizzy impatience -- except J. "I had a fantasy of how things would happen," he recalls, "and this was, well...the exact opposite of that."

The Cloud Room went in prepared to record five tracks in one week. They had a contractual obligation to deliver 10. In the mad scramble that followed, old, long-discarded songs were unearthed and hastily retooled, half-baked ideas were thrown straight onto tape, and lyrics were written minutes before the first vocal take. With half a day to go, the band had nine songs -- one short of an LP as defined by the label. A bare-bones acoustic ditty became the 10th track. Its coda, rechristened a "reprise," became the 11th. Done.

"It's a strange album," concedes J. "I grew up on the Stooges and Sonic Youth. This was as pop as I allowed myself to get, but I had a hard time believing that I would ever make this type of music." He hesitates, then offers: "In a way, the whole record was a vehicle for that one song."

For its part, "Hey Now Now" was now cemented in an appropriately sleek version -- dressed up in echoes and reverb, with a fashionably lazy guitar part and hyperactive hi-hats; specters of Spector and Murmur flitted in the background. It was still a hit; it could still sell an album. At this point, it had to. There was no follow-up single to speak of, or at least nothing as immediately ingratiating.

Soon, a secondary question arose: How to sell the band itself. The first photo shoot "looked like a GAP ad" and confirmed J's worst suspicions: The Cloud Room were about to be marketed as the next Franz Ferdinand. The band begged the label to take the photo off the CD, replacing it with a streaky digital shot. Since the name Cloud Room comes from an old lounge on the top floor of the Chrysler Building, J briefly entertained the idea of a 1940s sartorial vibe before coming to his senses.

The excitement over the product was such that, at first, Gigantic didn't bother hiring a PR company. All calls, so to speak, were coming from inside the house. As planned, in mid-April -- a week or so before the album's release -- the single was delivered to college and specialty radio. (The latter is the catchall name for indie-oriented shows that run in inconvenient time slots on otherwise mainstream stations.) In its first week on specialty radio, "Hey Now Now" hit No. 3 and proceeded to stay near the top for at least five weeks. It was a success for both for the Cloud Room and Gigantic. It also fueled the idea that the song could cross into the mainstream. It was being played on major stations already; surely a tune this catchy would eventually break out of its timeslot ghetto? Wasn't the whole point of specialty shows to function as Clear Channel's minor leagues?

In the meantime, college airplay leveled off. The album, slavishly structured around the single, was not going to pick up word of mouth or critical endorsements beyond the reflexively trend-spotting blogosphere. "Hey Now Now" was the LP's head, heart, and lungs. By general consensus, the rest wasn't particularly bad; it was barely there.

Most of the album's press reflected that strange imbalance. Pitchfork Media's review spent roughly 230 of its 350 words on the single. "'Hey Now Now' is perfect, and it has a good chance of being on everyone's iPods throughout the summer, but I'm not so sure that it will survive through the fall," wrote PopMatters.

At this point, either the big jump was going to happen or the album would wane and vanish. The early signs were good. The Cloud Room's first mainstream "add" -- CD101 in Columbus, Ohio -- propelled the CD into the local top ten.

The episode reinforced the label's optimism enough to make Gigantic consider enlisting the services of an independent promoter -- referred to, ironically, as an "indie" -- someone who common music-biz wisdom dictates is necessary to get your record on the radio. Nobody knows or wants to know what indies do, but you pay one several thousand dollars and your record suddenly stands a better chance of getting added to radio playlists. Everyone, of course, is welcome to make his or her own conclusions about this arrangement; New York attorney general Eliot Spitzer, for instance, made his.

After paying an indie to "service" (in the industry's icky slang) 30 or so stations, Gigantic were in for a rude awakening. Over the past two years or so, in response to the recent payola scandals, mainstream radio took its murky playlist-selection rituals even further into the smoke-filled-room terrain: many large commercial stations have acquired their own indies.

Allow me to spell out what this means: If you want your song added to a particular station, you can pay that particular station's indie. Except you wouldn't know who that person is. Who would know? Why, your indie, whom you are also paying. The most elegant part of the arrangement is that it contains absolutely no guarantees, and total deniability, on the station's side: All talks occur between two freelancers on your label's retainer.

Unable to engage in big-boy shenanigans, Gigantic tried more benign methods of promoting the Cloud Room. For the band, it meant an endless string of acoustic in-studio performances followed by brief insipid interviews and ticket giveaways (during one, an unusually excited female fan called in. It was quickly determined that she thought she won tickets to Coldplay). Gigantic even zeroed in on the above-quoted PopMatters zinger, buying several iPods for radio stations to hand out (be our ninth caller when you hear "Hey Now Now"!). It's anybody's guess how many iPods actually made it to the listeners, but the action did spur a couple more adds. And then, "after a certain point, we just didn't have the money to go on with it," says J. "I guess we were naïve enough to assume that success on one station results in adds on other stations."

Since fall 2005, the band has been in a holding pattern, waiting to see. "Hey Now Now" is reportedly doing well in Australia; the Cloud Room will make their first visit there later this spring. The band's UK boosters made the strange choice of "Blackout!" for the first single. That track stalled and, as a result, the album is yet to be released there.

"We have regrouped," says Polsia Ryder combatively. "There are 60 alternative stations out there that we need to create our own relationships with. No more indies. We'll make all our own calls. Plus, XM and Sirius are a much bigger deal now. If we get the satellite radio and the national web-streaming stations -- WOXY and KEXP -- on our side, it should be good enough. We may not even need traditional radio."

"I have to break 'Hey Now Now.' This is one song that has to get huge," she says, welling up a bit. "And we are all patient...patient and...willing to figure this out."

J seems more philosophical. "Our contract with Gigantic is technically over -- it was one year, one album -- but they're still pushing the CD," he admits with carefully calibrated ambivalence.

Would you repeat the whole experience, if need be?

He shrugs helplessly. "I just don't want to get super-fucked."

~ Michael Idov, Pitchfork

The Cloud Room responds to the Pitchfork article

Chromeo

"Needy Girl"
from the album She's in Control
2004
iTunes

Download an MP3 of "Needy Girl" from Vice Records
[right-click/save-as]

A lot of what you need to know about Montreal duo Chromeo is built right into their name. The "chrome" tips us off to their penchant towards flash, veneer and the artificially formal, while the "romeo" lets us know that real lovermen lurk behind the curtain, and that it's their human fingers tweaking out this analog bling. The word's not necessarily coincidental proximity to "Cameo" also helps locate them as spiritual contemporaries to the electro-funk of the '80s. Some of this aesthetic sounds familiar, sure, but as grade-A pastiche artists, Chromeo wear familiarity well.

Consisting of lifelong friends Dave 1 and P-Thugg, Chromeo was formed at the behest of Turbo Recordings head Tiga, who was already a fan of their work within local hip-hop circles and wanted to hear them try something electronic. The liquid funk workout of "You're So Gangsta" followed. Featuring a rubbery keyboard lead, a coattails-to-the-wind saxophone solo and an accompanying remix from Playgroup's Trevor Jackson, the single fell perfectly in sync with the burgeoning Vice City-inspired 8-bit revival.

She's in Control, the duo's ensuing full-length, is an '80s-plundering scrapbook of talk boxes, gloopy synths and digital funk that, for all its contrivances, proves Dave 1 and P-Thugg to be extremely keen-eared dilettantes. From the slightly unpolished quality of the recording to its carefully gated drums, the album doesn't simply appropriate the plasticky elements of the decade so much as it marinates in them.

Were its hooks not as strong, She's in Control would probably come across as mechanical and calculated, but its many bright spots elevate it above being just a shrewdly timed exercise in cultural re-appropriation. The punchy "Me and My Man" opens the record with a slap-funk bassline and a flurry of canned beats, while P-Thugg heads the haters off at the pass through heavily treated vocals ("You think it's irony/ I wish you'd try to see/ That I need someone to set me free") before being drowned out by a barrage of percussion. Even better is the album standout "Needy Girl," a bright-lights-big-city cruiser that's equal parts Hall & Oates and Mantronix. The aforementioned "You're So Gangsta" makes an appearance, as does the rubbery funk of "Destination: Overdrive", which houses a glorious instrumental hook and features an impressively gaudy abuse of the vocoder.

Admittedly, things do drag a bit during the latter half (especially on the aimless "Mercury Tears", which grinds itself into the ground with an ill-advised guitar motif), but even most of Chromeo's misfirings have something interesting behind them. Opulent in all the right ways, She's in Control has the good sense to wear its gimmick proudly.

~ Mark Pytlik, Pitchfork

Three Fantastic

"Etude de Pop"
from the EP Three Fantastic
2006
iTunes

Download the full six-track digital EP at iTunes for just 99 cents -- that's, like, less than 17 cents a song

Although Three Fantastic has only been together for less than two years, they are, now more than ever, a band on the verge- - the music that could very well put Conroe County, Texas on the musical map. The band has seamlessly spot-welded garage band and punk rock, with an undercurrent of a jazz influence that leapfrogs through the genre-bending musical psyches of guitarist Kelly Doyle, bassist Evan Groeschel and drummer David Taschery.

Singer Charles Peters, 22, whose powerful vocals call to mind what a young Tom Waits might have sounded fronting the Strokes, is more influenced by '70s pop and '80s punk. The band is currently putting the finishing touches on a debut CD and has made audiences at the Rhythm Room and the Continental Club swoon on the outskirts of downtown Houston and have even found a place amongst the hard-bent modern rock acts that frequent the 19th Hole in The Woodlands; on stage, Charles Peters' lanky frame transforms into a true rock 'n' roll showman: Jim Morrison with a sense of humor with just a dash of Beck thrown in for good measure.

Perhaps the most genuinely unique thing about Three Fantastic is that it is truly a band; so many times, bands are the mouthpiece of the front man -- usually a singer-songwriter with a point-of-view. In Three Fantastic, all four members are equal partners in the coolest kind of musical crime; most bands, the drummer sits down, shuts up, and keeps the beat. In Three Fantastic, the drummer, David Taschery, writes cool songs like "Grocery Store," a dark, deceptively peppy two-minute rocker with a vaudeville flavor.

The band takes a shot at arena rock with the pounding drums and talking guitar of "Five Seconds," while R&B is stretched to its wild-child limits with "Funkalicious." There's the metered and mesmerizing "Japenese," and the flat-out punk free-for-all "WWII," a song in which all four members take a turn at the mic; and Peters shows his more sincere side with the poignant power pop of "Running Backwards."

While the band is down and dirty with the inspired garage licks and infectious hooks, the jazz undercurrent within the band cannot be ignored. Three Fantastic aren't just punk kids who play that there hippie music, this is a group of studied musicians: while drummer David Taschery is an admitted jazzaholic, bass player Evan Groeschel is currently studying musical theory at Montgomery College.

~Mark Williams, The Bulletin

the 88

"Hide Another Mistake"
from the album Over and Over
2005
iTunes

Los Angeles, reject your Whiskeys and your walks of fame, your Viper Rooms and hair bands and dens of exclusivity. Dismiss those pay-to-play free-for-all shakedowns as nothing more than bad ideas and pretend power trips. Child's play is what it is, and furthermore, there's some honest truth in them thar Hollywood Hills.

Continue to boast of your winterless winters and infallible sunshine, for those are the undeniable elements that attract the rest of us to your magnetic pull of possibilities. Lobby for the residual side effects such geographic blessings afford. Count the 88 as a blessing worthy of your boasts.

You can sing so sweetly, Los Angeles, as a band as wide-eyed and devilish as the 88 proves. You can stomp your feet in Face to Face tantrums, catch the breeze of Jackson Browne's reasonable heat or Warren Zevon's surly wit, and stumble through arena-sized intersections with the platformed panache of Marc Bolan. Let the 88 show you how.

Over and Over is another collection of robust California pop songs by the L.A. quintet, a band that intimately knows the touchstones of British and American rock, not to mention one whose lead singer (Keith Slettedahl) sounds like he just stepped off the British Invasion boat. It's a more confident album than the 88's 2003 debut Kind of Light. Over and Over tones the muscles of its predecessor's strengths, bolstering the band's charm with some pliant brawn.

"All 'Cause of You" and "Coming Home" pump up the 88's trademark carefree bounce (on loan from the Kinks' "Sunny Afternoon," one of many points of reference coursing through the album's bloodstream) with grit and intensity. The gleefully acidic "Nobody Cares" salts its barrelhouse romp with some "Magic Bus" percussion, while "Head Cut Off" makes instrumental nods to Radiohead and the Beatles via strangled guitar trills and piano punctuations, respectively. The record's greatest moments are those when the pop is pushed to a white-out boiling point: "Bowls," "Everybody Loves Me," and "Not Enough" turn the infectious into the infected, their choruses ballooning into unrestrained pomp.

The 88's publicity machine is firing on all cylinders now, building upon the good homegrown buzz for the band's debut with song placements in a bevy of television shows. It's a fairly safe bet to assume that the band will realize a respectable level of notoriety, the very kind of notoriety that L.A. is built on. For good reason, too -- the 88 makes the sort of effortless, embraceable pop that can easily flatter whatever tainted image its hometown harbors. "I've got the West coast sunshine / But it don't mean a thing," Slettedahl sings on "Hide Another Mistake." OK, we've got that down; now go give the rest of the world another reason to wish it lived in your neighborhood.

~ Zeth Lundy , PopMatters

Secret Machines

"Alone, Jealous and Stoned"
from the album Ten Silver Drops
2006
iTunes

Audio stream of "Alone, Jealous and Stoned" from Reprise Records
QT | ASX; or buy it from iTunes at the above link

Valentine's Day 2006 marks one year since this blog's birth. And they said it wouldn't last! The inaugural post featured a song from the Secret Machines' debut 2004 album Now Here is Nowhere. To mark the one-year anniversary, the band is making a reappearance.

Secret Machines have announced plans for their sophomore full length. Ten Silver Drops is another self-produced effort from the band, recorded in Allaire, a studio apparently located on a secluded mountaintop. Comparing the album to its predecessor, the band says it is "more spacious -- its wide frequency spectrum giving it both frozen peaks and murky depths."

The album will be released in stores on April 25 via Warner Brothers/Reprise Records, but will be available via digital download on February 28. The first single from the album "Alone, Jealous and Stoned" is currently available for download.

The Black Keys

"All Hands Against His Own"
from the album Rubber Factory
2004
iTunes

Download an MP3 of "All Hands Against His Own" from Fat Possum Records
[right-click/save-as]

A couple of former lawn care guys in their mid-twenties, Dan Auerbach and Patrick Carney have somehow stumbled across the formula that combines Morphine's lyrical economy and mood with the American-bred musical sensibilities of Uncle Tupelo and its feuding offspring. On their third full-length, the Black Keys' performance sounds like it's coming from bluesmasters who've lived twice as long and seen three times as much.

Rubber Factory -- a title that references the former tire manufacturer's offices in which they lived and recorded the album, but which also calls to mind the songs' resilient, junky flavor -- is a raw, dirty blues and rock romp, with Dan Auerbach's gruff vocals slurring and slicing their way through stripped-down tales of heartache, bitterness and toughness.

From the hammer-and-anvil, drum-and-guitar plodding beginning of opener "When the Lights Go Out," we are thrust onto this gritty, dimly lit path. Among the watering holes of modern music, Black Keys is definitely a dive -- but it's a dive with a finely aged bottle of whiskey stashed under the bar. These songs are bitter brews, but they're easy on the ear and catchy in a worn-down, comfortingly familiar sort of way.

Rubber Factory covers a full spectrum of moods. "Just Couldn't Tie Me Down" and "All Hands Against His Own" display a rootsy infectiousness, with killer licks and melodies set against tales of solitary defiance. "The Desperate Man" and "Girl is On My Mind" spill over with sultry "hey hey"s and fat bass lines. Meanwhile, "The Lengths" is a wistful, desperate song in which Auerbach utters the ultimatum "Hold me now / or never hold me again" against the whine of a steel guitar. The duo's cover of the Kinks' "Act Nice and Gentle" is a loping, twangy tribute.

The blues influences here are heavy -- "Grown So Ugly" is a cover of a song by bluesman Robert Pete Williams, also once covered by Captain Beefheart -- but modern rock flavors bubble to the surface as well. "10 A.M. Automatic" strongly evokes Wilco's "Monday," and there's a strong sense that Morphine's Cure For Pain was playing during some of the songwriting sessions.

Rubber Factory wasn't manufactured -- it was home-brewed in the winter-hardened soil of Akron, Ohio. This may be why the Black Keys have swagger without ego. They've lived the hardscrabble, up-from-your-bootstraps rock n' roll life, but they have no pretenses about saving rock music. Whether we let them do it is up to us.

~ Georgiana Cohen, Splendid Magazine

the Sounds

"Song With a Mission"
from the album Dying to Say This to You
2006

Watch the video for "Song With a Mission" at the band's MySpace

Attitude plays a big role in the Sounds.

Virtually everything written about the band over the last three years mentions how this band from the small southern Swedish city of Helsingborg stalks the stage like they think they're the greatest band in the world. "I can't really help myself onstage," singer Maja (pronounced "Mya") Ivarsson says. "We're not really putting on a show -- this is the way we are always."

That attitude has helped bring the band from Helsingborg to the world. The Sounds' 2002 debut, Living in America -- made when the band members were barely out of high school -- debuted at #4 on the Swedish album charts and earned them several "Best Newcomer" awards and a Swedish Grammy. In America, the album firmly established the band and as one to watch as they played more than 300 gigs since its release, logging many miles on the Warped Tour as well as with the Foo Fighters and the Strokes. Besides being on every late-night TV show and featured in almost every national US publication, including the New York Times Sunday Magazine, which is startling for any band, let alone one from such a remote place, The Sounds also unexpectedly picked up a star-studded fan base, with Dave Grohl, Pharrell Williams, Quentin Tarantino, Bam Margera and even Britney Spears among the many publicly cosigning for the band.

"It's kinda weird, being from such a small city in Sweden and all these celebrities starting to dig our band," says keyboardist Jesper Anderberg. "But it's cool when we play and people like it. That's the most important thing to us."

The Sounds' second LP, Dying to Say This to You, is an even stronger fusion of the band's punk attitude and pop savvy. Honed by a sonic brain trust that includes producer Jeff Saltzman (who helmed the Killers' Hot Fuss), with additional production from Scratchie Records co-owners James Iha (Smashing Pumpkins, A Perfect Circle) and Adam Schlesinger (Fountains of Wayne, Ivy) and mixer Paul Q. Kolderie (Radiohead, Pixies, Hole), the album presents a diversified and deeper version of the sound they established on their debut.

"The rock songs are even more rock and the electronic songs are more electronic," Maja says. "One song even has a disco vibe, like an Erasure thing, but you can still totally recognize that it's The Sounds."

From the spitting rock cockiness of the opening track and first single, "Song With a Mission," to the funk punk of the sexed-up "Tony the Beat" to the new wave anthem "Painted by Numbers" to the tearjerker piano ballad "Night After Night," the album's expanded styles come in part as the result of a different approach.

"How we wrote the album was a big change for us," says guitarist Felix Rodriguez. "The first album we wrote together and rehearsed together and played the songs live before they were recorded. But this one, we wrote maybe 75% in our studio in Malmo from February till May, then we went straight to recording."

Sessions began with Saltzman at Studio 880 in Oakland, California, the massive and eccentrically designed studio where Green Day recorded American Idiot. "We made the first record in a small, small studio outside of Stockholm," Maja says, "but 880 is huge -- you feel like you're Bruce Springsteen when you walk in."

The music the band ended up making there, at New York's Stratosphere Sound and Boston’s Camp Studios (formerly Fort Apache) is bigger and more complex as well. "When we wrote the first album, everybody was so young," Maja says. "So we were really going for upbeat, uptempo songs with catchy lyrics and stuff. And now, you can still hear that in some songs, but others are darker, because we have been through a lot together. There's still a catchy chorus, but maybe the lyrics aren't about drinking and partying. That combination of darkness and light is the kind of twist I like."

Thus, on the new LP you'll find exuberant-sounding melodies juxtaposed with lines like "Without me, you're nothing at all" ("Song With a Mission") and "Could I act like you, and put a smile on my face? / Not even for a second would I lie to myself" ("Painted by Numbers"). And "Ego" features the lyric from which the album takes its name: "I've been dying to say this to you/ but I don't know what else to do/ because I've seen your fucking attitude."

That word again.

"In 'Ego,' the person is really eager to say something -- and we are as well," Maja says. "To the public, to our fans: we've been longing to see you, and we are really dying to play this music for you."

Felix, however, puts a finer point on it. "When we are performing I feel so fucking good. It's not that I think I'm better than anyone else, but... In Sweden, we have this expression called the Jante Law -- it's been around for ages, it's this mentality that says that you should not think you're a big deal, that you should not be proud of who you are or what you do. I don't walk around and feel cocky, but I'm doing something with my life and I'm really proud of that. Maybe that's why we have a lot of attitude."

~ Filter Magazine

Yeah Yeah Yeahs

"Gold Lion"
from the album Show Your Bones
2006
iTunes

In July of 2004, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, a rock trio from New York City, opened for Devo, the new-wave group, in a show at the band shell in Central Park. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs' 2003 debut album, Fever to Tell, had gone gold, a considerable achievement for a noisy and idiosyncratic band that lacks a bass player and has a sound that is sometimes thin and spiky. The group had sold half a million records, in part because the video for "Maps," a stirring love song that is as close as the band gets to a ballad, had become a staple on MTV2.

The Central Park gig was the trio's most high-profile to date in its home town. It had been raining, and clear plastic ponchos had been distributed to the audience, about three thousand people, some of whom shouted "Devo!" during the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' set. The band members were fighting the crowd, the weather, even their clothes. Under a poncho, Karen O, the lead singer, who is twenty-seven years old and long-legged, was wearing a leotard that looked like a stained-glass window and appeared to be a couple of sizes too small. Eventually, Karen O (her last name is Orzolek) removed her poncho and tied it protectively around her waist while she romped around the stage, hollering and throwing her hands in the air. It was a typical performance for her: simultaneously aggressive and vulnerable. And, like everything the Yeah Yeah Yeahs do, the show was both off-kilter and mesmerizing.

Show Your Bones, the group's second full-length album, which will be released in March, is a testament to its ingenuity. Karen O and her bandmates -- Brian Chase, the drummer, and Nick Zinner, the guitarist -- put primitivist graphics on their album covers and appear with bands, like the Liars and Black Dice, who think noise is its own reward. But beneath the art-rock trappings the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are pop musicians. Theirs is a slightly scruffy version of pop, made with cheap instruments and Karen O's surreal lyrics, but their songs -- like their performances -- have all the traits of Top Forty hits: economy, momentum, personality, and pleasure. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs value joy over indie credibility, and they want to be catchy. (The group's albums are each less than forty minutes long, and its other two releases are brief EPs.)

Chase, a compact, bespectacled young man, who attended Oberlin College with Karen O, is one of rock's most satisfying drummers; he is capable of complicated polyrhythms but rarely plays anything fussy. Zinner, who played in a duo with Karen O before they formed the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, is fine-featured and rail thin, with a nest of black hair and a talent for writing elegant, howling guitar motifs that often echo, but never overwhelm, her singing. Both men need to be this good to hold their own against Karen O, whose fearsome charisma would have made her a success had she appeared with nothing more than a microphone and a pair of maracas. She stalks the stage, plants her feet wide apart, pours beer on herself, and flings equipment around with no apparent regard for whom she might hit. (On the band' Web site, she is depicted breathing fire, with one foot resting on an enormous cartoon rabbit.) Her outfits, which are made by her friend the designer Christian Joy, are a jumble of kindergarten and runway: short, shiny skirts worn with Converse high-tops, ripped fish-net stockings, and, on at least one occasion, a Wonder Woman-style capelet. Karen O's voice lacks the power of Björk's, but she is as versatile a performer. Sometimes she sounds like a barroom country singer; at others, like an Eastern European folksinger, or a ditzy pop star.

The Yeah Yeah Yeahs played their first show in 2000, opening for the White Stripes at the Mercury Lounge. The following year, they recorded a five-song EP, which they released themselves. It quickly became popular, and was re-released by the respected indie label Touch & Go. One track, "Art Star," is a gleeful parody of the art world. "I've been working on a piece that speaks of sex and desperation," Karen O deadpans, boasting, "I got a dealer in Tokyo. I got a rep in Paris. I got an agent in Cologne. Shit, I got a gallery in New York!" The chorus consists of her screaming "Art star! for a very long time, as if she were being electrocuted. Just before you reach to turn the howling off, she does so herself, chiming, "Doot doot doot doot, doot di-doot di-doot." (Perhaps the art star has overcome her anxiety attack and is skipping down the street to the bank.)

The song that seemed to stick with people, though, was "Our Time," which begins with a primal drumbeat common to girl-group songs from the sixties; it sounds like the opening of the Ronettes' "Be My Baby," only slowed down a bit. Karen O sings about what could be a romance gone bad -- "I've been sunk by your lies, and my heart, baby, is cold and blue" -- but in the chorus the words become more ambiguous: "It's our time, sweet babe, to break on through. It's the year to be hated, so glad that we made it." Is she talking to her lover? Or to her bandmates, imagining that the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are on the verge of becoming big enough to be resented? Karen O understands that rock lyrics aren't necessarily better when they're clearer.

"Gold Lion," the first single on Show Your Bones, is more like a traditional rock song than much of the band’s previous work. The opening measures are unexpectedly generic, consisting of a simple beat, basic acoustic guitar chords, and a mysterious phrase: "Gold lion's gonna tell me where the light is." But soon the drums become commanding, and the echoey, growling guitar parts stack up, one after another, until the music reaches a cacophonous peak. Karen O is making poetic promises. "We'll build a fire in your eyes," she says, before breaking into a girlish "ooh, ooh," as the guitar whines like a violin being played over a walkie-talkie. The next song, the gentle and plangent "Way Out," borrows liberally from R.E.M., Sonic Youth, and Nirvana, which is a sign of confidence; the Yeah Yeah Yeahs know that no one will mistake them for anyone else, however much they plunder the past.

The entire record seems hopeful. It is rife with cheery catchphrases -- "we’re just another part of you,” “good things happen in bad towns -- and tremulous guitar parts. "Phenomena," one of its most exuberant songs, is destined to be remixed as a dance tune. The beat is heavy, and Zinner switches between robust metallic riffs and hollow, spooky oscillations. In the chorus, Karen O sings, "Something like a phenomenon" -- a lyric lifted from Grandmaster Flash's "White Lines," which is based on a classic eighties dance track, Liquid Liquid's "Cavern." In the next breath, she modifies the phrase to "Something like an astronomer."

In the chorus of "Cheated Hearts," a gorgeous, yearning track that could become the album's big hit, Karen O sings one phrase over and over in a crescendo: "I think that I'm bigger than the sound." The band responds with a convincing eruption of noise, elegantly belying her claim. The moment neatly captures Karen O's appeal: in her recordings and in her live performances, she satisfies the audience's need for a star while allowing us to see the ordinary person struggling with that role. "It's important for kids to feel bigger than they usually do," Karen O tells. "We're trying to make you feel a little bit cooler than you might actually be." Kids listening to Show Your Bones will recognize the insecurity she describes, and feel it drain away.

~ Sasha Frere-Jones, The New Yorker

Pretty Girls Make Graves

"The Nocturnal House"
from the album Elan Vital
2006

Download an MP3 of "The Nocturnal House" from Matador Records
[right-click/save-as]

Over the past few years, Seattle punk rockers Pretty Girls Make Graves have developed a small but devoted following with constant touring and releasing two critically acclaimed albums. And they are ready to expand their audience with a new sound and album this spring.

Pretty Girls Make Graves will release their brand new studio album Elan Vital April 11 on Matador Records. It will be their first album since 2003's New Romance.

They started working on this album in 2004, shortly after guitarist Nathan Thelen left the band. They were in the middle of recording when keyboardist Leona Marrs joined the lineup and took the music in a different direction. According to the band, "...When we started playing with her it made more sense to just start writing with her, rather than her writing to the songs that were already written. So yeah, she brought a whole new style to our music."

~ universalbuzz.com

Embrace

"Gravity"
from the album Out of Nothing
2005
iTunes

Whatever happens, nothing is going to get Embrace down. Just as anger is a form of energy -- Johnny Lydon's words, not mine -- so is optimism. With Embrace, energy takes the form of radiant sonic solar power and fuels the soaring, orchestral anthems of Out of Nothing, the latest from the most positive force in Brit-pop today. “Watch me rise up and leave/ All the ashes you made out of me,” sings Danny McNamara in “Ashes,” and in light of the recent suicide bombings in London, it seems like a sweeping chorus that could galvanize a grieving nation; it’s that powerful and triumphant.

It’s also been done before. Should I go down the list? Obviously, there's Coldplay, the band that started this Brit-pop trend toward emotional, piano-based epics. Behind them, coming off the assembly line, you've got your Keane, your Mercury, your Travis, your Elbow, your Starsailor, your Ed Harcourt… you get the idea. You can trace the lineage all the way back to Radiohead, then to the Verve and U2 (especially in their early years). But unlike Bono and the Edge, Embrace and its Brit-pop brethren have discovered strings and they're not afraid to use them.

On Out of Nothing, Embrace even get a little help from The London Session Orchestra -- as if they needed a bigger, more arena-friendly sound. God help me, I've fallen for it. As predictable as their loud-soft dynamics are, as sickeningly melodramatic as the strings become and as slavishly the band emulates their heroes, Embrace still sweeps me off my feet. It's the ringing guitars and crashing piano waves of "Keeping" that get to me; it's that darkest-before-the-dawn attitude of "Ashes" and the hopeless romanticism of the aching, crescendo-seeking ballad "Gravity" -- written by a friend of the band, Coldplay's Chris Martin -- that sends me reeling. And even when Embrace cheats and copies their homework off that same friend (as they do in the decidedly "Yellow"-like "Looking As You Are"), you want to chastise them, but you can't. You just take your significant other's face in your hands and serenade them.

What's most exasperating about Embrace is that they tend to stick to tried-and-true arrangements that go only in one direction: up and up, like a host of vividly colored helium balloons escaping from a child's hand. Formulaic to a fault, every song keeps rising until it exhausts itself, as if it's a rocket flown by astronauts who realize the ship is losing fuel, but the crew has gone too far and can't turn around.

Exploding like fireworks against a night sky, Out of Nothing sees Embrace on the rebound (a fact evidenced by the cover, which shows the quintet in a show-of-solidarity huddle). A few years ago, a record label merger left them stuck on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean without a home in the States. Now, thanks to Lava, Embrace is landing on our shores with the latest British Invasion. No, Embrace isn’t bigger than Jesus, but when you hear the heraldic guitars and the canyon-sized harmonics of Out of Nothing, you start to wonder if maybe He is thinking about a comeback.

With Embrace, it’s like there is a fissure growing ever wider in the ozone that keeps spreading open until it bursts, and The Polyphonic Spree, in all their robed glory, come spilling out. That moment of orgasmic release comes in the chorus of "Someday," as McNamara and his backing choir let it all hang out, belting out life-affirming platitudes like "A light is going to shine," and "You will feel the way I feel someday."

Maybe we will feel that way, or maybe we'll get sick of being with such a one-trick pony. If only Embrace gave us more of the spacey, Mercury Rev-style psychedelia of "Near Life" (sans McNamara's poorly mumbled vocals), it'd be easier to forgive their lack of imagination. Still, Out of Nothing is an enormous mural of angelic melodies, and most of the time, McNamara's rich tenor is simply stunning. Out of Nothing sails on celestial seas and rides out dual guitar asteroid showers to touch Heaven. If the band stays the course, they will succumb to storms of criticism, but if they are willing to experiment, we could be talking about the next Radiohead. Yeah, I know; you've heard that one before.

~ Peter Lindblad, lostatsea.net

Infadels

"Can't Get Enough"
from the album We Are Not the Infadels
2006
iTunes

After tuning their sound in the backroom of Ibiza's dance mecca Manumission for two years, British synth-rock outfit Infadels finally release their debut We Are Not the Infadels in the U.K. this week. Infadels are the latest band to combine '80s punk-pop elements with today's electronic production stylings. But the group presents a distinctively different sound compared to many other punktronica bands that are flooding the music scene. Instead of relying on slick pop choruses, model girlfriends or thick eyeliner, these East Londonders present an authentic underground sound that is confident, raw and truly invigorating.

The album kicks off with a rush of energy on "Love Like Semtex" that flows into the bouncy lead single "Can't Get Enough." "Girl That Speaks No Word" should be chart contender as well with its straight up lyrics and downbeat production. The poignant "Reality TV" is one of my favorite tracks on the record. "Wanna see people hugging and kissing. That's because it's what you're missing. The people on the screen are your best friends now," sings Bnann about people's obsession with reality television.

The group turns down the volume on "Murder That Sound" that has a nice cosmopolitan feel with lyrcis like "Some people say they're free in the city with their liberty. But I don't go for that." The distorted electro-clash on "Give Yourself To Me" turns into a ska-like beat that exhibits the group's ability to experiment with different genres and make them their own. I also highly recommend the catchy disco-rock stompers "Jagger '67" and especially "Sunday" with its infectious synth loop.

Not included on the record is the song "Brandon Vegas" that will mostly like be a B-side tune. As you might initially expect, the title is not a nod to Las Vegas-based Brandon Flowers of the Killers. The song takes its inspiration from a news story about Brandon Vedas, who, persuaded by friends in an Internet chatroom, died of a drug overdose.

If there ever was a wall between dance and rock, Infadels tear down a big piece of it on this debut. We Are Not the Infadels is a sublime album brimming with attitude and refreshing, retro-fitted dancefloor rock that deserves to strike it big in '06.

~ arjanwrites.com

the Elected

"Not Going Home"
from the album Sun, Sun, Sun
2006
iTunes

Download an MP3 of "Not Going Home" from Sub Pop Records
[right-click/save-as]

On the Elected's 2004 debut, Me First, frontman Blake Sennett and his supporting cast of Saddle Creek usual suspects dug up the classic California dusty-pop recipe, tossed in some pale lo-fi undertones alongside Sennett's smooth, gentle voice, and delivered an excellent debut that made for a suitable loaner on days when your Beachwood Sparks record was in the shop. Like many debuts, Me First was the proverbial pie cooling on the windowsill: Sure, it lured you in with a heavenly smell, and its warm interior was delicious, but let it develop fully and that delayed gratification tastes great.

Sun, Sun, Sun isn't as precious as its predecessor, but it still cracks with enough fragility to keep the Bright Eyes and Elliot Smith comparisons rolling in. The subtle electro-accompaniment on the debut has been ditched, replaced with beefed-up amps and an up-tempo classic-rock sound full of naked analog warmth. And it seems that Sennett, who also sings and plays guitar in Rilo Kiley, is settling into his role as frontman. Here, he steps further out of the shadow cast by his main band's frontwoman, Jenny Lewis, and his confident songwriting lets things grow grander and more polished. Before, he was the wet-behind-the-ears bedroom troubadour; now he conveys rode-hard-and-put-away-wet band leader -- a hard sell considering his boyish looks (not enhanced by the creepy stash he sports on the album's insert) and child-TV-star past (he was on Boy Meets World, among others).

Officially, the Elected is Sennett, multi-instrumentalist Mike Bloom, bassist Daniel Brummel and drummer Ryland Steel. But this four-piece swelled with guests during the multi-city recording process. There are four different horn players credited on the record, and even lyrical advice given to the frontman on a few songs gets documented. (Lewis pitched in some words on "Fireflies in a Steel Mill" and "Bank and Trust.") Written and recorded while Sennett was on the road with Rilo Kiley, the album's tone and lyrical themes are a natural translation of the transience experienced by a life out on tour.

The backbone of Sun, Sun, Sun is right up front: Built around the feeling of disconnect between a couple doomed by perpetual motion, third track "Fireflies in a Steel Mill" is the band's finest hour. Driven from the start by Sennett's elegant vocals, the track quivers with a minimal piano progression, cautiously picked guitar and beautifully executed harmonies. But in adherence to the new full-band feel, the chorus punches up the time and drags in a trumpet and flugel horn to the fray while the drums that were shuffling shyly in the background assert themselves. On the following track, "Not Going Home," the Elected gets downright anthemic, with hooks galore and easily identifiable lyrics. It may conjure up that cliché-stuffed gag-athon Almost Famous, but it'll be hard to contain your sing-along instincts when cranking this chorus in your car: "I'm not going home/ Sometimes you just wouldn't dare/ Sometimes you can't go home/ Sometimes you're already there."

All told, Sun, Sun, Sun is a sweeping piece of music. When the songs are spare nothing feels left out, and when they're grandiosely band-heavy not one harmony or piano fill comes off as pilled on. Put on a pot of coffee, thaw out some ice cream and dig in. This pie is good to go.