Quitzow “Better Than Ever” – It’s kind of a rare thing that I get to get to feature an artist who is from more or less the same region where I grew up. This isn’t to say that there aren’t many musicians in the Hudson Valley of New York, but rather that they either just are not to my taste — there’s always been a lot of earnest folky stuff, especially as you get further up into hippie country — or the artists don’t really do much in the way of self-promotion, and you just never really hear about them in the first place. The one major exception is Mercury Rev, who are terrific and kinda perfectly capture the aesthetic of the upper Hudson Valley and the Catskills, i.e., about an hour north of where I’m from.

Like Mercury Rev, Erica Quitzow lives and works somewhere up in the north of the Hudson Valley — New Paltz, I think? — but unlike them, her music doesn’t really have much to do with the upstate aesthetic. She specializes in a blend of live, acoustic strings and electronic pop, and her voice superficially resembles the cool, reserved tones of Metric’s Emily Haines. If anything, the music sounds European, even when she’s messing about with throbbing Timbland-style synth lines. Her greatest asset is her gift for writing strong, simple yet elegant hooks for strings. In particular, “Better Than Ever” glides along with a sort of menacing grace that contrasts with the track’s hesitant bass groove and stuttering percussion. (Click here to buy it from CD Baby.)

Hemme Fatale “Animal Lover” – The most obvious touchstone for Hemme Fatale would be the Human League in their prime, but there’s something about their take on classic boy/girl electro-pop music that comes out sounding subtly skewed and mildly disorienting. All of their songs are informed by a ridiculous, deadpan sexuality that, when combined with the off-kilter funk of their tracks, result in something close to actual sexiness. In “Animal Lover,” the group mess around the listener’s expectations by taking a fairly standard lyrical conceit — she’s an animal in bed! — and twist it by alternating between taking the title phrase very literally (i.e., “I know a girl who says / she wants to take me to an owl sanctuary / the second biggest in the country”), or pushing the sex talk to deliberately awkward territory. (Click here for the Hemme Fatale website.)

Lil’ Wayne “Dr. Carter” – “Dr. Carter” is essentially an advice song in which Lil’ Wayne — starring as a doctor in a hip hop emergency room — offers words of wisdom to rappers who lack his skills and originality. Taken at face value, it’s very amusing and his craft is dazzling, but really, this is more than just a goofy, boastful skit extended to a full-length track; it’s the sound of a genius who is totally exasperated by the people who ought to be considered his peers. Throughout Tha Carter III, Wayne repeatedly suggests that he belongs in the company of acknowledged greats — Biggie, Tupac, Jay-Z, Andre 3000 — and he’s not wrong. He’s an absolutely brilliant MC who can make even terrible songs sound good simply by gracing the track, and he has a persona and gift for lyricism that is unmatched by anyone else in his age group. This is the frustration at the heart of “Dr. Carter” — Wayne isn’t bagging on anyone but the rappers of his generation, and in every moment of the song, you can hear his disappointment. This is a man who wants competition, and not just from guys ten years older than him. He seems desperate for a challenge, but more than that, he comes across like a person who just wants more good music, and for everyone else to raise their standards. When the track picks up at the end of each verse, Wayne sounds as earnest as an evangelist, and his intensity conveys a deep, passionate love of hip hop that totally eclipses the requisite egomania of a top MC.

Also, oh my GOD, this track. I already loved Swizz Beatz and have been wondering for some time why he doesn’t get the awe and respect he clearly deserves, but “Dr. Carter” takes it all to the next level. It’s not quite like any other Swizz composition — there’s no synths, the beat isn’t non-stop euphoria. It’s low key and organic, with a jazz-funk swing in the verses that shifts into a cinematic, symphonic grandeur as Wayne’s rap builds up to a crescendo. Swizz makes Wayne sound brave and heroic, and altogether, the piece is incredibly inspiring. Whether you’re a rapper or not, “Dr. Carter” will make you want to do better, and to aspire to its greatness. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Annie “I Know Ur Girlfriend Hates Me” – Wow, Jezebel is right — this is a really good song! It’s hip-switchin’, gum-snappin’, tit-perkin’, and everything! (I love it when songs are tit-perkin’!) Anyway, even though Slut Machine is pretty right-on about the song — gee, it’s just like that thing Tyra Banks says! — some of the folks in their comment box are a little off-base.

For example:

Gundam_Halo: That video was hypnotic. I’m a sucker for choreography. Damn, I’m a self-loathing, depressing person. I’m not supposed to entertained by something as pop (or whatever the label is) as this.

Awww! I’ve got good news and bad news for you, Gundam_Halo — you’re not wrong to enjoy well-crafted pop songs or music videos with choreography! Unfortunately, the bad news is that if you have successfully convinced yourself that somehow pop music and dancing are inherently shameful things, you actually have a good reason to be depressed and loathe yourself!

CreoleSugar: Isn’t this woman a bit old to be singing about how someone’s girlfriend hates her?

Maybe? Probably not?

goodcheapfun: This is the perfect genre for an entertainer long on looks and short on talent.

Really? Because this is pretty much the same genre as Prince, and there are melodic turns in this that rival some of his finest work. But in fairness, that little fucker was always getting by on the strength of his ‘stache.

There’s actually about 30+ iterations of this point, but I’ll go with this one —

Miss Smith Drank Your…: I’m glad y’all are posting about the ugliness of the lyrics. As soon as I saw the title I did an eyeroll. Enough of the girl fighting over man! Srsly. And Avril/others – if “her” BF really wanted you, he would be with you and not her.

Okay, so you know how Europeans are always like “ugh, Americans don’t understand irony,” and it’s really smug, and you want to get defensive and say “hey, I can process irony, and I can tell when someone is kinda taking the piss, especially in a pop song!”? Well, as it turns out, for the most part, they’ve got a good point. I understand and relate to feeling a great deal of fatigue with regards to the sentiment of the song, but is it so hard to tell that the song is not 100% serious? And that, maybe just maybe, it’s a parody?

Sigh! I could keep going through these all day, but you know, whatever, it’s the internet.

(Click here for the Annie MySpace page.)

Douglas Armour “Fall Apart Again” – The character in “Fall Apart Again” is desperate to express himself to his partner, and trying very hard to get on the same page, but something isn’t working. No matter what he says, he’s left wondering if they even understand what he means, and if they’ve somehow gone reverted from sharing a close rapport to being little more than strangers in familiar bodies. You may expect a song with that theme to have a fairly anxious sound, but instead, the gently bouncy synth-pop groove and Armour’s airy voice conveys a feeling of calmness and resignation, and maybe even a bit of optimism and relief, as if the singer is realizing this situation is really for the best. (Click here to buy it from The Social Registry.)

Low Motion Disco “The Low Murderer Is Out At Night” – This is for stumbling around in the wee hours, or for being half-awake in the passenger seat of a car, watching neon signs and street lights pass by in abstractions of colors and lines. This is for passing out, and waking up and not knowing where you are. This is for being up to no good, but not actually doing anything wrong. (Click here to buy it via Low Motion Disco’s MySpace page.)

Weezer “Troublemaker” – I’ll never understand why people are so hard on Rivers Cuomo. Since Weezer emerged from their post-Pinkerton hiatus, the guy cannot escape the constant bitching of his fanbase, and it’s just ridiculous given the fact that he can be relied upon to knock out at least two or three full-on power pop classics on every Weezer release. Granted, any complaints about the quality of Weezer’s records since 1996 are valid — they’ve all been uneven, but to focus on the consistency of the band’s albums misses the point in an enormous way. As I wrote back in 2005:

Weezer is a singles band. It doesn’t really matter if they put filler on their albums because it’s all about the songs that will end up on their greatest hits collection, and that will inevitably become the best record in their discography. Watching their career unfold is basically like getting the best power pop cd ever slowly doled out over an installment plan.

The other thing that people seem to forget is that Weezer is never supposed to be cool, and that since day one, their brand has been about embracing whatever might make “cool kids” feel uncomfortable. Their tactics shift with the times: You’re all gonna be rockers? Well, we’ll be dorks. You’re all gonna sing cryptic lyrics? Well, we’re gonna overshare about our obsession with young Asian girls. You’re all gonna be dorks? Well, we’ll be rockers. You’re all inching up to your 30s and feeling anxious about adulthood? Well, we’re gonna embrace aging and do the whole “rock and roll dad” thing. That contrarian attitude is crucial to the band’s enduring commercial success — by rebelling against hipness, they tap into a mutant strain of populism.

So yes, The Red Album is uneven. Of course it is. The first three songs — “Troublemaker,” “The Greatest Man That Ever Lived,” and “Pork & Beans” — are absolutely amazing, and rate in the highest percentile of Weezer tunes. “Dreamin'” and “Everybody Get Dangerous” are solid, respectable album tracks. “Heart Songs” is on the fence — it’s dorky, sappy, and insipid to such an extreme that it seems purposefully designed to make Pitchfork readers cry tears of blood, but it’s sorta pleasant. The big problem is that — FOR SOME REASON — Cuomo decided to let the other guys in the band write and/or sing their own songs, and they are just so so bad. So so so so so so bad. Nevertheless, it doesn’t really change anything about that opening trio, and why should it? They are essentially a mini-album unto themselves; a song cycle about rock stardom, or perhaps more specifically, Rivers Cuomo’s rock stardom. It starts off with a number that comes across as the secret origin of Weezer, climaxes with a deeply ironic multi-part rock epic about the joyous arrogance of fame set to the tune of a Shaker hymn expressing a profound humility, and resolves with a self-deprecating rocker about recommitting to the notion of embracing a dorky non-conformity. It’s a pretty awesome 1-2-3, and really, any more Weezer songs of that caliber on the album would be surplus to my requirements.

Like many songs before it, “Troublemaker” imagines success and fame as a way out of stifling conformity, but it is skewed by the singer’s acute self-awareness and a naked desire for validation. Though most of the lyrics are focused on insisting that he’s a bad-ass maverick, it’s really a song about a guy who feels some pretty intense sexual anxiety, and is willing to do whatever it takes to make himself feel attractive. He doesn’t even seem to be all that interested in sex as anything but a stepping stone to validation: “I’m gonna be a star / and people will crane necks / to get a glimpse of me / and see if I am having sex.” Unsurprisingly, the song ends with the singer imagining a life as a glamorous recluse, with all the privilege, excess, and recognition of stardom, but without any of the, y’know, human interaction. It’s a ultimately a funny light-hearted song, but mainly because it’s easy to recognize the crazy ol’ Rivers who pops up in interviews and magazine profiles in its words. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Hercules and Love Affair “Athene” – Even without lyrics and vocals, “Athene” would feel like a wish for inspiration, and for escape from dreariness, complication, and tedium. Lyrically and musically, the song looks wistfully to a magical past, but whether it’s Greek Classics or late 70s New York disco, Andrew Butler desires to invest the present tense with the power of mythology. Kim Ann Foxman may be singing to the Goddess of Wisdom, but with this track, Butler may as well be beseeching the wisdom of Larry Levan or Arthur Russell. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

The Cool Kids “What It Is” – The Cool Kids are undeniably retro, but unlike a majority of artists who lean hard on the sound of 80s hip hop, they are neither aggravating or boring. The music is entirely matter of fact — they come across like a couple of guys who are so in love with a particular tradition that they would dismiss anyone who might tell them that their style died out around the time they were born. And they’re right — fashion may have moved on a few times over in the past two decades, but just the same with classic rock or Motown soul, the appeal of old school hip hop is evergreen, and comes down to a brilliant, primal simplicity crossed with loud charisma and largely invisible craftsmanship. The Cool Kids make it work because they are just as interested in craft as affect, and can effortlessly kick into the perfect contrast of crisp, dynamic beats and playful party-dude vocals. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Elsewhere: My early impressions of some songs from Of Montreal’s forthcoming album Skeletal Lamping.

The Ting Tings “That’s Not My Name” – The Ting Tings’ debut album is a peculiar balance of chart pop style and indie affect, and as such, it seems like something that ought to make a select group of people very happy, and completely alienate pretty much everyone else. Aside from the single “Great DJ,” the duo are most successful when they lean hard on their slick pop influences, and end up with tracks that come off like a leaner, less brain-smashing version of Girls Aloud. “That’s Not My Name” is particularly strong with its ridiculously catchy staccato chorus melting into a softer refrain that eventually overlaps with two more vocal hooks when the song hits a crest in its final third. Aside from the basic thrill of the rhythm and melodies, there’s something very appealing just in the way Katie White spits out the names in the chorus — Stay-CEE, Mary-JO-Leee-suh! It’s fun. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Prototypes “Synthetique” – You know, it’s actually kinda hard to imagine that understanding all of the words in this song would improve it in any way. In fact, even though the Prototypes are from Paris, their French-ness seems like something of an affectation, sorta in the same way that American country singers play up their drawl, or the way guys like Jarvis Cocker, Damon Albarn, and Morrissey trade on their extreme British-ness. This song is a song, but it’s also like this very well-executed concept of vaguely rocking French hipster disco music. (Click here for the Prototypes’ MySpace page.)

Portishead “We Carry On” – Just about two weeks ago, a few minutes into the daily morning meeting at work, I found out that I, along with all of my co-workers, was about to be out of a job. It only took a few seconds to break the news, but the meeting kept going on and on, explaining why it was all happening when all I wanted was to get out of that room and that building as quickly as possible. I needed to process it; I needed to be alone; I needed to freak out. I had to stick around and stew in a silent panic for a few more hours, but sometime around 2 PM, I went home. It was an exceptionally dark and rainy afternoon, almost too perfect for my dreary mood. When I got back to my apartment, I couldn’t do much more than put on the new Portishead album, get in my bed, and attempt to sleep it off.

At that point, I had owned a copy of the Portishead’s Third for a while, but hadn’t really given it much of my time. I was never in the mood for it. I flicked through it a couple times, settled on “Nylon Smile,” and thought “okay, maybe I can do something with that on the site,” and pretty much ignored it for weeks. The choice to put the album on in that moment was somewhat arbitrary — I didn’t actively think “oh, I’d better put on that really bleak Portishead record,” it just happened to be one of the cds sitting in front of the stereo. At any rate, it was just about the most ideal album I could have heard under these specific conditions.

The sound of the record is a reward in and of itself — each song has its own set of specific tones and textures, and many of them are quite odd. Every so often, I’d be pulled out of myself just to notice a particular sound: The clanging horror movie guitar contrasted with the Silver Apples pulse of “We Carry On;” the eerie staccato drum machine hits of “Machine Gun;” the sudden, disquieting horn skronk in “Magic Doors.” The entire album is a paranoid lull, and its sustained feeling of impending doom seems infinite, even when some of the songs end in abrupt silence. It’s ideally suited to moments of doubt and fear, serving to both exacerbate that mood, while also offering a sort of solace, perhaps from a sense of implied solidarity in the face of loss and loneliness. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

I should know by now that the Fiery Furnaces are never going to do anything the “normal” way. I had assumed that when the band got around to releasing a live album, it would be very simple: Each tour has a different line-up of instruments and/or musicians, and corresponding arrangements and medleys, so they could just release a disc from each period. Blueberry Boat medley tour? Check. Four-piece hard rock combo circa 2006? Got it. Groovy keyboard-centric combo, circa now? Rad! But no, they went another way, and shock of all shocks, it’s unlike any other official live record that I’ve ever encountered. Remember is less like a document, and more like an audio documentary that culls recordings of various sound quality from a range of shows and cuts it all into a very odd sort of mixtape.

Weird things about Remember:

1. As I said, the audio is of varying quality. That would be strange enough, but several songs cut back and forth between very nice, professional audio, and clips that sound as though they were taken from a B+ audience bootleg recording. It’s extremely jarring at first, but in some cases, it has an interesting dynamic effect, and keeps the listener aware of context.

2. Though the band is known for performing medleys, several of the medleys on Remember were created in post-production. In some cases, it’s a matter of keeping the flow through the record. In others, such as the string of Widow City fragments at end of disc 2, it’s just baffling, especially since “Navy Nurse,” “Philadelphia Grand Jury,” and “Clear Signal From Cairo” have only ever been performed in full to the best of my knowledge.

3. There are totally frustrating cuts. The most egregious example is “Chief Inspector Blancheflower,” which starts off with the typical art-punk version of the opening section, before having the second section start and cut off immediately and gracelessly clunk into the seldom-performed “bakery” section of the piece. This is a totally maddening thing, especially since the second and third parts of the song are the crowd-pleasers.

4. A majority of the album is taken from the band’s worst period as a live band, i.e. the 2007 Bitter Tea tour with the extra percussion. Granted, a lot of that stuff comes across better on this album, but that doesn’t change the fact that many of the older songs performed on that tour were butchered horribly. Seriously, whenever I hear this version of “Name Game,” I wonder how it is that they were able to take one of my favorite songs in the world and make me hate it. However, I didn’t have any nicely recorded shows from that tour, but I do have top-quality recordings of every other era, so maybe they were just trying to fill a gap there?

5. They make Frankenstein versions of the longer songs.

The Fiery Furnaces “Blueberry Boat” (Remember version) – For example! Though it is a multi-part song, the band only ever performs the verses of “Blueberry Boat” that are sung by Eleanor on the album. This epic version of the song is in fact composed of bits and pieces of the song in slightly differing arrangements from various shows. You can really get a sense of the varying sound qualities in this track, especially since you’re essentially hearing the same thing over and over, but from different takes. It holds together as a track with its own internal logic pretty well, but it’s still quite bizarre and questionable. I mean, it sounds more like something an obsessed fan would make, and less like the opening track of a double live album.

The Fiery Furnaces “Forty-Eight Twenty-Three Twenty-Second Street” (Remember version) – The most exciting and enjoyable section of Remember is its run of radically re-arranged numbers from Rehearsing My Choir. In concert, the band tends to downplay the spoken word sections of the songs, and emphasize the grooves that were often only implied in the album arrangements. Some of the make-overs are so drastic that the songs are nearly unrecognizable compared to their studio incarnations: “Forty-Eight Twenty-Three Twenty-Second Street” has so many elements added or removed that it may as well be considered a new (and superior) draft of the composition.

(Click here to pre-order it from Thrill Jockey, or buy it at the merch stand on the band’s current tour.)

Rose Elinor Dougall “Start Stop Synchro” – When it was announced that Rose and Becki were leaving the Pipettes, many people were right to be skeptical about the future of that band. Sure, the group had been designed with a revolving door of lead vocalists in mind, but the two were crucial to the appeal of the band. Their personalities and style slightly tweaked the girl group dynamic, and kept the project in check by grounding it in contemporary indie music despite the over-the-top retro affectations. Rose was particularly magnetic and interesting. Of the three women, she had the most “indie” voice, and came across as the most fully formed character both in song and on stage — sassy and cool, but also a bit defensive and insecure despite being quite fabulous.

That apparent neurosis is foregrounded on Rose’s first solo track to be released to the public. With its slow beat, hazy tone and vaseline-lensed melancholy, “Start Stop Synchro” is a clear departure from her work with the Pipettes — if anything, it seems like a catchier, less ethereal version of Beach House. The arrangement is evocative, but decidedly brittle and understated, leaving Rose to carry much of the song in her vocal performance. She’s something of a revelation here — she’s essentially fighting back some substantial pain while attempting to keep a stoic, graceful demeanor. (Click here for Rose’s MySpace page.)

Allá “Una Dia Otra Noche” – This is an artist’s rendering of heaven on earth. It’s bliss and togetherness and absolutely perfect weather, now and forever. The string arrangement approximate the feeling of a perfect breeze on a warm day; the vocals are a harmony of contented sighs. It’s utopia, but for three minutes and six seconds. (Click here to buy it from Crammed.)

Erykah Badu “Twinkle” – Much of Erykah Badu’s latest album lingers in a shell-shocked haze; claustrophobic and uncomfortable, yet zoned-out and inert. Nearly every song is about struggle, but despite the righteous indignation at the core of the record, the music primarily expresses bitter resignation and cynicism. “Twinkle” is especially blunted and weary — there is virtually no hope to be found in its lyrics, just this vision of the future as an endless corridor of locked doors. The track is a disconnected buzz of cell phone beeps, swear word bleeps, warped drones, and a nervous, uneasy electronic beat that seems to nudge the song in a slow, hobbled diagonal motion. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

School of Seven Bells “Chain” – A little bit of a vocoder goes a long way, and over the past few years, we’ve certainly had enough robotic vocals to take all of western civilization into the 2030s. That said, School of Seven Bells do the same old trick without the heavy hand of, say, T-Pain, and end up with something that mostly polishes a lovely melody into a freakish sheen, and warps its most dynamic turns into something that sounds less like a bunch of clowns in a studio goofing around with ironic effects, and more like a clever aesthetic decision that emphasizes the generally aloof and slightly unreal tone of the piece. (Click here to get the entire Ghostly Swim compilation from Ghostly International.)

Zeigeist “Tar Heart” – The really obvious thing about Zeigeist that really cannot be left unsaid is that they sound a LOT like The Knife. “Tar Heart” sounds so much like The Knife that if it was sold to me as a new single from that group, I would not think twice about it. Of course, aside from a few songs, they aren’t quite as good — Princess can replicate the timbre of Karin’s voice, but does not match her ability to convey complicated emotions with subtle vocal inflections, or her her willingness to distort her voice for artistic effect. Zeigeist can compose very sharp and interesting pop songs, but despite being theoretically more “accessible,” they are not yet capable of approaching the level of catchiness and sophistication on display in your average Knife song, much less classics like “Heartbeats” and “We Share Our Mothers’ Health.”

That said, Zeigeist are pretty terrific, and have their own charms. For one thing, they are far more Europop, and have a knack for composing dense, compelling hooks out of some fairly corny keyboard settings. It’s entirely straight-faced — they aren’t going for kitsch, but they do intend to keep their concepts grounded in a particular milieu and subcultural aesthetic. In particular, “Tar Heart,” a song that seems to be a tribute to a submissive man named Eric who is engaged in some rather intense S&M play, benefits greatly from a keyboard sound that comes across like a wall of ice illuminated by blue neon lights. (Click here to buy it from Zeigeist.)

Metronomy “My Heart Rate Rapid” – It’s hard to know what to expect from Metronomy. They’re more miss than hit — trust me when I tell you that you probably don’t want to see them in concert — but every once in a while they turn around and surprise me with a track like this. “My Heart Rate Rapid” is a spazzy, frenetic dance tune with a springy, slightly goofy element that reminds me a bit of The Residents, or Can circa Ege Bamyasi. Nevertheless, there’s a real sense of urgency in the song, at least enough so that I could not bear to listen it when it came on a few days ago because I was already feeling way too freaked out. (Click here to buy it from Turntable Lab.)

Alphabeat “What Is Happening?” – There was a perfect moment for this song in this week’s season finale of Gossip Girl. Spoiler alert — if you’re the kind of person who can’t see super-obvious plot points coming from miles away, this is definitely a big spoiler — but after a full season of dealing with her incessant lying, Dan Humphrey dumped Serena van der Woodsen, and in a better world, “What Is Happening?” would’ve been the soundtrack to the scene when it all falls apart, and the actors have to go about looking sad yet stoic. This song was built for such a moment, whether it’s in fiction, in life, or somewhere in between.

Alphabeat draw on the same potent well of digested post-modern narrative as Josh Schwartz, yielding a glossy, super-stylized, hyper-pop version of emotional reality. The lyrical details of “What Is Happening?” are fairly mundane — a couple has a huge fight, but at least one of them is still in love with the other, and they make a gesture to hold it all together — but the effect of the song is something far more magical. From the very first moment, it pulls the listener into a state of heightened drama and romance, and boils a complicated set of thoughts and feelings into one intense super-concentrated shot of emotion. It gives you the feeling that everything has become more complex and meaningful, though in reality, it’s all about streamlining and idealizing a difficult situation into something so easy to understand and manage that it becomes a desirable fantasy.

Oh, also: In my mind, I have this half-formed notion that Alphabeat’s debut album is like the inverse version of the Arcade Fire’s Funeral. The two bands have a very similar approach to executing their songs, but radically different tones. In this analogy, “What Is Happening?” is their equivalent to “Wake Up,” right on down to the way both songs start out anthemic, but eventually shift into a boppy vamp for its finale. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Music Go Music “Light Of Love” – Whether we’re jaded by bad experiences, bitter from chronic lovelessness, or have simply heard too many bad pop songs, it’s very easy to be put off by tunes that express a sentiment that roughly translates to “love has come into my life, and now EVERYTHING IS BETTER.” That said, Music Go Music’s elegantly composed, ABBA-esque “Light Of Love” manages to convey a subtle tinge of lingering sorrow and doubt, even at the pinnacle of its jubilation. Crucially, the song really hits home the sense that the singer was truly depressed and hopeless before her love came along. This isn’t about landing a new boyfriend; this is about salvation, and finding a reason to stay alive. (Click here to buy it from Secretly Canadian.)

Rostam Batmanglij “Campus” – I’m not an expert, but it would seem that this string-centric version of “Campus” credited to Vampire Weekend’s Rostam Batmanglij predates the arrangement that appears on that group’s celebrated debut album. This is troubling, at least in that I believe that the band severely diminished the charm of the song by downplaying its lovely, graceful melodies by performing it in their typical Afropop-goes-mall-punk style. (Let’s be really really really really real about this: Vampire Weekend are basically the Ivy League’s answer to Sublime.) Anyway, this recording is delightful, and stands as a perfect argument against band democracy. Yes, the lyrics about avoiding a girl on a school campus makes me feel very old, but the breezy sweep of the strings undercuts the minor angst of the words with the understanding that the singer’s concerns are not much of a problem. (Click here for Rostam’s MySpace page, and here to buy the Vampire Weekend version from Beggars Group.)

Diet Cola “Wicked Witch of the Northeast” – Diet Cola’s debut 7″ is a blur of overdriven keyboards, heavily reverbed vocals, high velocity beats, and urgent hooks. It’s the best sort of art-punk: effortlessly catchy and accessible despite deliberate attempts to make the music as abrasive, confusing, and abstracted as possible. “Wicked Witch of the Northeast” can barely contain itself — imagine it as a car that careens at top speed into a wall, and somehow is able to keep moving even faster until it flies off of cliff and explodes in mid-air. (Click here to buy it from Diet Cola.)

The Long Blondes @ the Bowery Ballroom 5/16/2008
Here Comes The Serious Bit / Weekend Without Make-Up / Autonomy Boy / Round The Hairpin / Erin O’Connor / Separated By Motorways / I Liked The Boys / Century / Too Clever By Half / You Could Have Both / The Couples / Once and Never Again / Guilt / I’m Going To Hell / Giddy Stratospheres // Lust in the Movies

This was a fine show, but the dynamic in the room was very strange. As can be expected, there were a lot of pretty, stylish young women, but the front of the room was dominated by weird guys with cameras, which resulted in small pockets of dancing people scattered around the floor of the venue. The creepiest of the camera men by far was a pair of chubby, balding middle aged men in raincoats standing in the middle of the second row who obsessively filmed Kate Jackson from start to finish, and never seemed to even glance at the other members of the band. This is odd because there are two other attractive women in the Long Blondes — but then, they weren’t wearing tiny denim short shorts, and Ms. Jackson was.

A thing that I’d never seen at a rock show before: Halfway through the set, Dorian Cox ate a banana, and then threw the peel out into the audience.

The Long Blondes “The Couples” – The character in “The Couples” has had it. She’s been coming to this same old bar, playing the game, but she always loses. The only men who seem interested have already paired off, and she can’t rationalize being the other woman — or at least, not anymore. It’s not clear whether or not she actually wants to be half of a couple, but she’s certainly fed up with not having the option, and even more annoyed when more fortunate people condescend to know she feels. It’s all set-up for one of the best choruses of the year: “These people have the nerve to tell me that they’re lonely…you’re not lonely; I am, baby.” Jackson sounds a little bit exasperated, but mostly resigned, particularly when the chorus gives way to a disheartened sigh, or a breakdown in which she imagines her isolation on a cosmic scale. (Click here to buy it from Rough Trade/Beggars Group.)

Tom Scharpling & Jon Wurster “The Story Weaver” – I’m a sucker for the Best Show skits that go off on odd tangents, and grow creepier with each new casual revelation. In this bit from last week, Tom talks to a co-worker from Consolidated Cardboard who turns out to be a pathological liar without any ability to craft believable lies. Every time Tom challenges one of his ridiculous claims, Wurster’s character pushes his story in a weirder direction rather than admit that he was not being honest. (Click here for the Best Show on WFMU website.)

Carole King “It’s Too Late” (Live in the mid-70s) – If you’re like me and you grew up listening to adult contemporary and lite FM radio, you know this song backwards and forwards, maybe without even realizing it. It’s an absolutely stunning composition, the sort of stealth pop song that is pretty much perfect on every conceivable level without calling attention to its brilliance. This solo performance by Carole King boils her song down to its essential components, but somehow doesn’t come across too differently from the polished, beautifully nuanced studio arrangement on Tapestry. It’s all in the craft, really — it’s subtly stylish and sophisticated, and designed for a precise effect. King had it all down to a science, without losing the heart necessary to pull off a heartbreaking ballad.

Like most great pop radio staples, “It’s Too Late” pulls off a neat trick — it is highly effective at conjuring a specific, affecting emotion that is instantly and universally understood, but can also easily slip into the background of your life while you work, drive, shop, or go to the doctor’s office. This is actually the ideal context for “It’s Too Late.” Basically, it’s a song about going through something extremely painful — the slow dissolution of long-term relationship — with the awareness that the situation is actually quite mundane. King embraces that prosaic sadness, and articulates it in such a way that its mix of regret, resignation, and well-adjusted gratitude is deliberately understated, and it feels like a sort of musical cinéma-vérité. It’s not the big dramatic moment, but rather the time after ever tear has been cried out, and there’s no choice but to go about your life while processing the trauma. You know — working, driving, shopping, going to the doctor’s office. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Devil’s Gun “Million Miles” – This song is an expression of empathy and concern for a friend on a clear downward spiral, and really, they could’ve stopped there and ended up with an affecting piece of music. Instead, Devil’s Gun complicate matters by refusing to judge, or condescend to offer any sort of answer for this person’s problems. The result is a blur of mixed emotions, but the vocals, lyrics, and well-crafted track convey a constantly shifting balance of love, resignation, hope, nostalgia, and despair. (Click here for the Devil’s Gun website.)

Adem “Invisible Man” – Adem’s covers album includes some rather smart and non-obvious selections — dude does a very pretty version of “Starla”! — but for the most part, he sticks to a “let’s pare it down to just acoustic guitar and a bit of percussion” street busker formula that’s easy on the ears, but doesn’t do much more than prove that Adem is a competent singer and guitarist who has good taste in music. His recording of the Breeders classic “Invisible Man” is one of the exceptions. His arrangement is not wildly original — I feel like I’ve heard several variations on this sort of twinkly, pretty indie jangle many times in the recent past — but it’s an inspired take on an unlikely song, and it shifts the emotional tone of the piece enough so that it feels like a brand new song with a familiar melody. (Click here to buy it from Domino Records.)

Free Kitten “Erected Girl” – As a Sonic Youth fanboy, one of the appealing things about hearing the individual players perform outside of that band is getting a sense of their tics, and identifying the common rhythmic and melodic themes specific to them. It’s kinda like reverse-engineering a meal, I guess — it’s never quite as good without the harmony and balance of flavors, but you do get to focus and meditate on just one aspect of the whole. Obviously, the new Free Kitten album isn’t a solo record — Kim Gordon is collaborating with Julie Cafritz and Yoshimi — but from the first moments of “Erected Girl,” we hear a distinctive tone and strum that ought to be immediately familiar to fans of post-Washing Machine Sonic Youth. Maybe it’s because she’s in a band with Thurston Moore and Lee Ranaldo, perhaps it’s because she’s mainly identified as a bassist, but Gordon has one of the most interesting, original, and underrated guitar styles that I’ve ever encountered. Whereas Lee and Thurston have become increasingly refined, Kim’s rhythm parts tend to sound a bit ragged and lackadaisical, and seem to patiently and curiously explore some indefinite horizon. “Erected Girl” sounds like a slow lateral progression, forever moving somewhere off to your side, occasionally shifting into a more determined stride, but generally more concerned with the moment rather than the mission. (Click here to buy it from Amazon.)

Meanwhile, on Fair Game: Silje Nes in session, and Sacha Jenkins of Ego Trip discusses Miss Rap Supreme.

Atlas Sound “The Time I Spent With Nico (Quiet)” – I get the sense that there are are very few days in Bradford Cox’s life when he is not conceiving, writing, recording, or performing music. Add it up: Last year he made an album and an EP with his band Deerhunter. That band toured incessantly and are playing out right now, in advance of a recently-finished record that will come out sometime later this year. On top of that, Cox released an album under the name Atlas Sound, and toured with that band as well. Most interestingly, he has put out enough free EPs and singles as Atlas Sound that Deerhunter seems more like the side project. This restless productivity makes me think of three things:

1) He is rather like Bob Pollard. Not simply because both men are freakishly prolific and have a similar hit-to-miss ratio, but in that the two share an obsessive fascination with the concept of elaborate discographies. Cox may have pragmatically forgone the aura of the object, but he clings to the aesthetic of tossed-off EPs and one-off singles, and like Pollard, takes care to design artwork for even his most minor works. He’s a fan, and he caters to that unending desire for more, more, more. But the thing is, it’s as if he’s his own biggest fan. (Sorry, Marc Hogan!) He’s an obsessive collector of his own art, and as an artist, he’s just trying to keep pace with the demand.

2) He’s burning through material in order to improve at a faster clip. Frankly, more artists should work in this way. One of the most common and useful bits of advice given to writers is that you have to write through all your bad ideas and get them out of your head before you have the experience and self-knowledge necessary to create something truly impressive. The quality of Cox’s work to date, particularly with Deerhunter, has been mostly above average and occasionally sublime, but his free releases have been very hit or miss. That’s not really a problem though. The songs that have been featured on the blog in recent month have included yawn-inducing drones, cover versions, experiments with dub, tributes to favorite artists, deliberate rip-offs, lo-fi piss takes, uninspired shoegazer reveries, and occasionally, absolutely brilliant songs that rank among his finest works to date.

The gentle, sad-eyed quiet version of “The Time I Spent With Nico” certainly falls into that last category. As you can probably glean from the title, it speaks to his fascination with and reverence for the art rock canon. Much like the Scissor Sisters’ brilliant “Paul McCartney,” it seems to be a song about communing with a muse in a dream, and attempting to make sense of the ideas and actions that our unconscious mind attaches to people we consider to be heroes and geniuses. There is also a “loud” version of the song, but it’s not quite as successful, mainly because it strays into one of Cox’s problem areas — a tendency to bury the nuances of his voice beneath louder sounds that do not convey nearly as much emotional detail.

3) He’s writing as much as he can because he’s afraid that he may die very young. This is a very morbid thought, but given Cox’s history and fragile state, he’s probably not wrong to figure that he’s only got so much time to build up his body of work. I definitely get the sense that he’s interested in having a legacy that can be picked apart long after he’s gone, and that he’s probably a bit self-conscious in crafting his work with that in mind. That’s no bad thing. That ambition and willingness to pursue and execute his every creative whim is part of what makes him an artist worth some attention.

(Click here to get the full single, and several other recent free Atlas Sound recordings, at the Deerhunter/Atlas Sound blog.)