First Friday Music

The Donnas - Bitchin'

It's hard not to think that "bitchin'" has been used to describe the Donnas' music many a time, so it's an appropriate enough title for their seventh album. At the very least, it has a better ring than The Donnas Turn 27, but that might have been a more truthful summation of this record, because advanced age is beginning to hit the band big time.

What was once snappy and energetic is turning a little bit heavier and sludgier, a sure sign of high mileage, and that's all the more evident because the band is doing the same thing it always has: turning out party anthems -- party anthems that are seeming a little less ironic each time around. It's hard to call this a holding pattern since the Donnas never, ever aspired to art, but this isn't quite like the Ramones, where the signature sound revealed new wrinkles along the way. This is more like the band is pounding out new tunes every two or three years whether it needs to or not.

Working bands are always appreciated, but it's hard not to wish that there was a little more joie de vivre on Bitchin'. After all, if you're gonna be a party band, the least you can be is fun, something that used to come easily to the Donnas but now is a struggle on this maddeningly uneven album. When the Donnas indulge in their fetish for '80s metal -- whether it's on the Judas Priest pulse of "Wasted," the Def Leppard lifts on "Save Me," the arena-filling thump of "Here for the Party" and "Smoke You Out," or even "Don't Wait Up for Me," which comes close to ripping off the riff to "Don't You Wanna Touch Me" from Joan Jett, their biggest influence -- they fulfill the trashy promise of their title, but this doesn't happen often enough.

The problem is, the Donnas once rocked as if they were tanked to the gills but they now sound like they're playing with ferocious hangovers they just can't shake -- and it's hard to have a good party if the threat of the morning after hangs over the whole affair.

Bat For Lashes - Two Suns

Natasha Khan's debut album as Bat for Lashes, Fur and Gold, was so vivid and fully realized that it was a tough act to follow: she found ways to make her wildest flights of fancy into music with the immediacy of pop and the intimacy of a singer/songwriter's confessions. It takes a lot of ambition to pull off that kind of alchemy, and that ambition defines Two Suns.

Khan's sounds and visions are even more widescreen here, full of pristine electronics and heady concepts, and Scott Walker, the undisputed king of high-concept music, duets with her on the ultra-theatrical finale "The Big Sleep." Since Bat for Lashes' songs practically burst with characters and ideas, a concept album seems like a logical next step for Khan's music, but the magic her songs had previously feels dissipated this time around. Two Suns revolves around Khan's "desert-born spiritual self" and her "destructive, self-absorbed, blonde femme fatale" alter-ego Pearl as it covers "the philosophy of the self and duality, examining the need for both chaos and balance, for both love and pain, in addition to touching on metaphysical ideas concerning the connections between all existence."

That's a lot to pack into just 11 songs, and it's not always entirely clear just what they're about, despite motifs like "blue dreams" that run through them. Some songs are just plain overdone: "Traveling Woman" and "Peace of Mind," with its tribal rhythms and gospel choir, aim for majesty but end up dragging. Others use the album's posh polish to make an impact, like "Glass" -- on which Khan hits some amazing high notes -- and "Daniel," which nods to the poppier side of her music. The directness that made Fur and Gold's modern-day fairytales so enchanting and moving is often missing, and nothing on Two Suns is as musically or emotionally immediate as "What's a Girl to Do?" or "Sad Eyes."

However, the subtler spells Khan casts with hypnotic tracks like "Sleep Alone" and "Moon and Moon" eventually reveal their beauty. And as Two Suns unfolds, it gradually shifts from overt attempts to dazzle listeners to focusing on Bat for Lashes' greatest strengths: Khan's voice and her considerable skills at telling a story and setting a mood. Pearl may be the album's dark side, but she's responsible for some of its best songs. "Siren Song" sets her seductive false promises to dramatic pianos, while "Pearl"'s Dream," with its battles and kingdoms, is classic Bat for Lashes.

"Good Love" reaffirms Khan's way with bruised ballads, and "Two Planets"' pummeling beats and swirling voices make the mystical power the rest of the album reached for crystal-clear. Ultimately, Two Suns is nearly as graceful and poetic as Bat for Lashes' best work; it's just that the album's massive concepts and sounds require a little more time and patience to unravel to get to the songs' hearts. It's clear that Khan's talent and ambition are both huge, and for her to slightly overreach is better than not aiming as high as she can.

Animal Collective - Merriweather Post Pavillion

Animal Collective have brought the celestial down to earth with each record, but they've never sounded simultaneously otherworldly and approachable quite like they do on Merriweather Post Pavilion. Their eighth studio LP, it finds them at their best — straining farther away from conventional song structure and accompaniment, even while doubling back to reach lyrical themes and modes of singing at their most basic or child-like.

Where before AC expertly inserted experimental snippets into relatively straight-ahead songs, Merriweather Post Pavilion sees them reach some kind of denouement where pop music ends and pure sonic experience begins — the sound is the only structure. Dismantling the framework of a pop song almost entirely (but using recurring passages in a very poppy way), the group offer a series of overlapping circular elements, all of which occasionally come together for a chorus but then break apart just as quickly.

The music itself, at least what's describable about it, consists of deep bass pulses and art-damaged guitars with overlapping vocal harmonies that rise in a holy chorus. This may sound much like previous Animal Collective highlights, but where those records seemed like a series of accidental masterpieces — the type of work that sounds brilliant only because it's been culled from hundreds of hours of tape — Merriweather Post Pavilion is a perfectly organized record, not a note out of place, not a second wasted.

It has the excitement and energy of Sung Tongs, the ragged sonic glory of Feels, and Strawberry Jam's ability to make separate parts come together in a glorious whole. Like the best experimental rockers surging toward nirvana — from the Beach Boys to Mercury Rev — Animal Collective have not only created a private soundworld like none other, they've also made it an inviting place to visit.

Samantha Crain and The Midnight Shivers - Songs In The Night

The buzz: Recorded in just five days under the ever-watchful ears of producer Danny Kadar (My Morning Jacket, Grizzly Bear), Samantha Crain’s debut LP is set to seduce everyone on Paste magazine’s subscription list (naturally, the rag called her out late last year as an artist to watch).

The verdict: Exceedingly pleasant, Crain makes a well-executed attempt at bridging freak-folk and neo-Americana, with a meaningful nod toward current tones and full band instrumentation. She’s not playing a harp or some homemade instrument and pretending modern music confuses her fragile sensibilities. Nope, the Oklahoma native comes out subtly swinging with a picky acoustic guitar that’s quickly augmented by a solid backing band on opener “Rising Sun,” and the mid-album “Bullfight (Change Your Mind)” hints at an amped up approach that could set her apart from the crowded field of indie-roots not–Norah Joneses. Lots of the other tracks sound familiar (vaguely sorta upbeat and kind of meandering, mostly folky at heart, probably about old loves or the fear/wonder of being alive), but Crain’s honest voice and lack of empty theatricality sell them so that the shortcomings may be overlooked long enough to enjoy the album on certain Sunday afternoons or Tuesday nights.

Emmy The Great - First Love

The inventive, acoustic guitar-wielding folksinger Emma-Lee Moss was born in Hong Kong and moved with her family to England, where she became a fixture of the burgeoning London anti-folk scene. The young singer/songwriter collaborated with Lightspeed Champion, Fyfe Dangerfield, and Jeremy Warmsley, and her audience grew as she shared the stage with the likes of Martha Wainwright, Tilly and the Wall, and Kimya Dawson.

Reminiscent of Belle & Sebastian’s early output, ‘First Love’ has the power to disarm and reward you anew on repeat listens. It contains songs with simple, unobtrusive melodies masking idiosyncratic, literary and often acerbic observations of modern young relationships, the lyrics delivered in Emmy’s clear and confident voice.

Steve Earle - Townes

After moving to New York and recording 2007's Washington Square Serenade , Steve Earle is now headed to Texas. At least in song, anyway. Earle's new album, Townes , finds him paying tribute to his long-time friend and mentor Townes Van Zandt by covering 15 of the late Texan's best songs. The disc features contributions from Earle's wife, singer Allison Moorer and his son Justin Townes Earle, as well as less likely help from former Rage Against the Machine guitarist Tom Morello.

Anyone who saw clips of Steve Earle discussing Van Zandt in the documentary Be Here to Love Me knows that Earle clearly understood Townes and all his demons just as much as he admired the man as a songwriter. So this set of covers just might turn out to make up one of the most revealing and affecting album's Earle has put out. He's clearly fond of the material, since he's already claimed, "This may be one of the best records I've ever made." If he's right, then Townes is sure to be a hell of a thing. And, as if that weren't reason enough to pick it up, there will also be a two-disc deluxe edition and a limited-edition, 180-gram vinyl pressing of the album for those of us who can't get enough Steve Earle. Or Townes Van Zandt, for that matter.

Chris Issak - Mr Lucky

Mr. Lucky is the first album Chris Isaak has released in seven years but it's hard to call it a comeback: it's been so long since Isaak had something approaching a crossover hit that it's hard to say that he's been away, that he has something to come back from -- he just appears every few years, such as in March of 2009, when Mr. Lucky appeared as part of a coordinated multimedia attack.

In addition to this new album, Isaak has a new talk show on A&E -- like Elvis Costello's Spectacle but on basic cable -- and Mr. Lucky isn't strictly a soundtrack for the show, but it's fair to say that the show gives Mr. Lucky a larger potential audience than any Isaak album in a long time, probably since the last time he had a television show in the early-2000s sitcom The Chris Isaak Show. Given this bigger platform, it makes perfect sense that Mr. Lucky feels carefully considered: from its production to its construction, it's a deliberate attempt to modernize Isaak's retro obsessions without abandoning them.

Usually, this modernization surfaces in echoey atmospherics partway between U2 and Coldplay, textures that suit his melodramatic Roy Orbison tributes. Mr. Lucky works because Isaak and crew don't overplay their hand -- he's never swallowed in waves of digital delay, the way Roy himself was on his swan song, Mystery Girl -- but tweak subtly, then alternate these coolly romantic mood pieces with swinging rockabilly, sly low-key grooves, duets with Trisha Yearwood and Michelle Branch, breezy pop that harks back to a time prior to the British Invasion, and a big, glitzy Vegas number to close the whole show.

As a sensibility, it's no different than anything Isaak's done, so the difference is the execution, not just in the light, fresh touch of the production but the songs, which are his strongest in a long time -- and that's good enough to please his longtime fans as well as anybody whose interest might be piqued by the new show.

Asher Roth - Asleep in The Bread Aisle

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=43pkqeamXe8

requested by Mitali...

Sold as hip-hop's Great White Dope, rapper Asher Roth ("The King of the Blumpkin") came on the scene with the great "I Love College," an infectious slacker anthem as simple as "I love college, I love drinkin', I love women" and with a "Chug! Chug! Chug!" chant in the middle.

A hilarious 18-minute freestyle on Tim Westwood's radio show made him all the more lovable, but Asleep in the Bread Isle is an everyday suburban rap album, if there is such a thing. The first problem is the big cut itself, now stripped of its Weezer sample thanks to Rivers Cuomo's reluctance to license the riff to "Say It Ain't So." It blows the whole mash-up charm of the original bootleg, but it's still a party starter, and one with a conscience as it fights against date rape and suggests doubling up on the condoms.

That doesn't mean Asher is the responsible type, as "Blunt Cruisin'" drives around town stoned, while "Lark on My Go-Kart" speaks of a "door-matted whore" who needs her feet fixed. If that sounds like Eminem, the differences are outlined on the reggae-fied "As I Em," which explains Asher's relationship to the Slim Shady LP with the brilliant "My Mom brought it down while I was ironing/Irony." The line "Don't get it twisted/I definitely benefited" shows respect, but when the song goes off on a tangent about how hard it is to break through, it seems like side-stepping how Em's debut was filled with danger while Asher's is relatively safe.

Smoking weed, having sex, and swearing is hardly riveting material, and when Asher can't turn these topics into something clever, it becomes tiresome. The promising "Fallin'" pulls the rudder up at the last moment, making one believe the rapper could have made a knockout debut if the meteoric rise of "I Love College" hadn't hurried things along.

Bella - No One Will Know

Bella is a trio from Vancouver that does a neat little bit of mixing and matching on their first record for Mint, No One Will Know, and ends up with an instantly recognizable, completely enjoyable sound.

They aren't the only band around that operates using some combination of squelchy old synths, new wave-inspired rhythms, New Order-y basslines, angular indie rock guitars, and indie pop sweet vocals. There are quite a few in Sweden (Suburban Kids with Biblical Names, the Legends, Vapnet), a couple in Canada (Immaculate Machine, the Gay), and a handful in the U.S. and elsewhere (Tilly and the Wall, the Rentals, Architecture in Helsinki) that come to mind, but Bella does it so well, it feels like they're the first to ever try it.

What makes them special is their perfect balance of melancholy and sweetness, of simplicity and unpredictability. The lyrics are the melancholy part, dealing with snowy days, sleeping alone, that good old standby heartbreak, lousy apartments, and rotten dreams. Never too mopey or personal, they pack a punch using a few keywords and phrases. The voices are the sweetness; both drummer Tiffany Garrett Sotomayor and keyboardist Charla McCutcheon have angelic voices that blend in perfect harmony and soar shyly on their own. They also sing everything very straight with absolutely no excess technique, letting the melody and the words impart the emotion.

The starkness of their voices and harmonies really hits hard on the album's slow ballads "Settle Down" and "No One Will Know." Bassist/guitarist Cameron Fraser handles the vocals on a couple songs, and though his voice is more impassioned, it fits well with the girls' harmonies and gives the band and album another dimension. The simplicity of the record's arrangements works well in the group's favor, again letting the melodies and vocals breathe.

The unpredictability from song to song as to the components of each arrangement keeps things interesting since the band uses a different synth sound, guitar tone, or drumming style on just about every track. Of course, without songs to fill the excellent arrangements, they are just empty window dressing. No problem there; Bella has the songs. The best on the album ("Give It a Night," "Camelot," "Don't Sleep Alone," and "Didn't Mean to Break Our Love") are as good as any pop, indie or otherwise, in 2007. Bella may not be reinventing the wheel on No One Will Know, but if you are a fan of indie pop, you simply have to have this record in your collection.

Silversun Pickups - Swoon

Silversun Pickups hold Smashing Pumpkins as close to their heart as, say, Mudhoney does the Stooges — perhaps even more, as Silversun Pickups (whose very initials are the same as the Pumpkins) don't attempt synthesis or reimagination, they merely seek continuance, acting as nothing happened between Siamese Dream in 1993 and Swoon in 2009. Try as they may, the band can not deny the passage of time, or their geography, for Silversun Pickups are creatures of their time and place, just as their idols were. At their core, the Pumpkins were Midwestern misfits, something that was evident in their very appearance and sound, something that could be heard in Jimmy Chamberlin's thundering backbeat, the skyscraping guitars of Billy Corgan and James Iha, and, especially, Corgan's outcast wail, producing a sound that found beauty in ugliness and vice-versa. In stark contrast, Silversun Pickups are pretty, shimmering sweetly on the surface, a sound suited for Los Angeles. Silversun Pickups avoid unpleasantness to such a great extent on Swoon that they rarely shift tempos or dynamics. They merely wallow in washes of sound, deriving equally from guitars and whispered vocals, never pushing forward, never achieving any sense of momentum, just glimmering in the sunlight. It's pleasant enough, particularly when the breathy vocals fade away to leave behind cascades of guitars, but even at its best, it's somewhat of an approximation of Smashing Pumpkins at their peak.

Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan - Sunday at Devil Dirt

The second collaboration between Isobel Campbell and Mark Lanegan, 2008's Sunday at Devil Dirt, follows roughly the same template as the first, 2006's Ballad of the Broken Seas. The songs hit all the same signposts with stops at the lowdown country blues, and melancholy orchestral pop à la Nancy Sinatra & Lee Hazlewood, restrained British folk, and dramatic Bad Seeds-lite balladry. Once again, Campbell reverses the traditional pop formula of a male Svengali, writing, producing, and molding his female talent by writing all the songs and doing all the production and arranging herself, leaving Lanegan in the diva role. In fact, Devil Dirt is almost a carbon copy of Broken Seas in every way (except for the decidedly cheap looking album art). This similarity could be problematic and make the album less impressive or desirable; fortunately, the formula is strong and worth revisiting. Campbell's arranging skills have grown some too, though they were already strong, and the production is clean and dramatic. In spots, it verges on too clean (a little more grit would have made some of the songs more powerful, a little less NPR, and a little more dangerous) but never to the point of dulling the songs impact. The real treat of the record is hearing Lanegan's gruff baritone mesh queasily with Campbell's paper-thin vocals, their duets on "Who Built the Road?" and "Keep Me in Mind, Sweetheart" to name two are quite entertaining and charming. Lanegan's solo spots are treated with his trademark broken down melancholy growl; he's remarkably steady and reliable throughout (this album and his career) and gives the album a rocksteady foundation of melancholy soul. Campbell's vocal feature is a bit of a wobbler, though, as hearing her purr her way through a 12-bar blues is territory better left to Holly Golightly, she just sounds kittenish instead of sultry here. It's really the only stumble on the album though and more proof that a Svengali is better off staying in the background, especially if the world of sound he creates is as captivating as what Campbell creates on Sunday at Devil Dirt.

AC Newman - Get Guilty

Carl Newman has been behind so many excellent bands and albums that by 2009 it has become increasingly easy to take a new album for granted, to mistake his steady craftsmanship for complacency. While it's true that Get Guilty doesn't break any new ground, you'd be wrong to think that Newman is treading water or just cranking out albums because it's his job. The album is full of songs that would have made the cut for the New Pornographers' last couple albums -- in fact, some (like "The Heartbreak Rides" and "Submarines of Stockholm") would have bested everything there. On his solo albums, Newman is more relaxed with the arrangements; many of the songs forgo the insistent rhythms of the NPs for a more stripped-down and immediate feel. While there is less experimentation here than on Slow Wonder, it's still nice to hear Newman thinking small(er). He's also more focused in the songwriting department when he's on his own, forsaking the often manic twists and turns of a typical NP song in favor of a more direct approach. That's not to say that Newman has suddenly become a confessional singer/songwriter; it's just that he appears more confident in writing songs that simply sound good. It may not seem like a big distinction but it really is, and it helps give this record (like it did with Slow Wonder) a feeling of peace and warmth that wasn't really part of Newman's game until very recently. Of course, all that being said, Get Guilty is still a Carl Newman record -- so you get all the things you've come to expect from him: insanely catchy songs, loopy and indecipherable lyrics, and first-rate female backing vocals (here provided by Kori Gardner of Mates of State and Nicole Atkins). Call him a journeyman indie rocker if you like, take him for granted if you must, just don't write him off. Anyone who can craft a record that sounds and feels as good as Get Guilty deserves to keep on making records forever.

Company of Thieves - Ordinary Riches

With their penchant for Oscar Wilde quotes and inclusion in Wind-Up Records' lineup, a place normally reserved for post-grunge rockers and alt-metal groups, Company of Thieves know how to set themselves apart from the pop/rock pack. Musically, however, the band doesn't quite establish a unique personality with Ordinary Riches, originally released in 2007 as the band's independent debut. Singer Genevieve Schatz confidently captains the album's best number, "Oscar Wilde," with a mix of belty choruses and girlish verses, sighing through the high notes with breathy sex appeal. Meanwhile, guitarist Marc Walloch alternates between arpeggiated chords and swirling riffs, all of which he reprises throughout the record to diverse effect. Where the group falters, then, is in the actual songwriting, which yields several standout tracks ("Quiet on the Front," with its harmonica-filled intro, and the neo-jazz tune "In Passing") but also produces a good deal of alterna-rock filler. Few songs on Ordinary Riches are concise -- only two tracks conclude before the four-minute mark, and one does so with four scant seconds to spare -- which makes the filler songs all the more troublesome, as they often continue for upwards of five minutes. Had Company of Thieves reentered the studio on Wind-Up's dime, they may have left with more worthy partners to "Oscar Wilde." Instead, Ordinary Riches betrays its origins to its own detriment, since this is essentially a very good independent release swamped by major-label expectations.

Bob Mould - Life and Times

Based on its title, it's tempting to think of Life and Times as an autobiography, especially when armed with the knowledge that Bob Mould recorded this album while writing his actual autobiography (scheduled to hit stores in 2010). It's tempting, but not quite accurate, as this is less an orderly journey through the past than memories refracted through the prism of the present. Life and Times bears the unmistakable stamp of being latter-day Mould in how he consolidates his strengths, not embracing his electronica but not running away from it either, in how his writing has a casual, disarming frankness, particularly when recounting last night's sex on "Bad Blood Better." Still, there's no denying the reflective nature of Life and Times, how the past feeds the present in its subject and sounds, a description which suggests that this is a fragile, folky album, which isn't so -- this is Mould's purest pop since Sugar, its ballads surging with grace and its muscular songs built on skyscraper hooks. As immediate as Life and Times isn't nearly as diamond-hard as Copper Blue, which is a great part of its appeal: it flows naturally, the music never pushes, it settles, comfortable in its own skin.

The Decemberists - The Hazards of Love

King Decemberist Colin Meloy's love for the heydays of British folk-rock has always served as the foundation on which he builds his crafty, idiosyncratic chamber pop, but on Hazards of Love he's taken that bedrock and built his own version of Stonehenge. A 17-song suite (think one continuous song with track ID's peppered throughout for sanity's sake) about a girl named Margaret, shapeshifters, forest queens, and fairytale treachery, Hazards of Love is ambitious, pretentious, obtuse, often impenetrable, and altogether pretty great. Harking back to the late-60s/early-70s offerings from bands like Pentangle, Horslips, ELP, Steeleye Span, and the Incredible String Band, it makes no apologies for its nerdy, prog rock musicality, and convoluted narrative. On a record with no obvious single (the first instance of the title track comes the closest), it's the album as a whole that needs to engage, and for the most part, the Decemberists have succeeded. The inclusion of guest vocalists Becky Stark (Lavender Diamond) and Shara Worden (My Brightest Diamond), who bring some Little Queen-era Heart to the table, as well as bit parts from Jim James (My Morning Jacket), Rebecca Gates (Spinanes), and Robyn Hitchcock help keep the focus off Meloy's affected vocals, but its the music that drives this beast into the forest. Producer Tucker Martine has beefed up the band's sound even more than he did with Christopher Walla on 2006's Crane Wife, channeling more reverb into the acoustics and a whole lot more brimstone into the electrics, resulting in what is easily the band's best sounding record to date. Hazards of Love won't convert anybody who already wrote the band off as overly precious bookworms with a Morrissey/Victorian ghost story fetish, but fans who have dutifully followed the Decemberists since their 2002 debut get to take home bragging rights this time around.

Jose Gonzalez - Veneer

Don't let the name fool you; singer/songwriter José González is a Swedish-born and -raised son of Argentine parents. His debut album, Veneer, is a striking collection of hushed and autumnal indie pop bedroom songs that reside on the hi-fi end of the lo-fi spectrum. González is definitely a member of the "quiet is the new loud" school as founded by Elliott Smith and the Kings of Convenience. Veneer is about as intimate as they come; it sounds like he is sitting right on the end of your bed singing just for you. At times, González is a little more forceful than most of his schoolmates, often working himself into a tightly spinning ball of emotion (as on the driving "Lovestain" and the bluesy "Hints"). At these moments his voice is reminiscent of Mark Kozelek (of Red House Painters and Sun Kil Moon), only without the wild flights of pretension. Mostly though, he is content to cruise along on mellow vocals double-tracked behind gently plucked and strummed acoustic guitars. The beautiful "Heartbeats," "Deadweight on Velveteen," and the gently rollicking "Stay in the Shade" are the high watermarks of a remarkably focused and promising debut. González is a welcome addition to the q-school of indie pop.

Cage The Elephant

What is it with dirty Southern musicians raised in churches, catching success in England? Is there something our U.K. buddies can hear before we all catch on? Kings of Leon, Black Rebel Motorcycle Club, found their success across the ocean, before getting any love at home, and this seems to be the case with Kentucky boys, Cage the Elephant. The five piece is composed of brothers Matt and Brad Shultz and friends, Daniel Titchenor, Lincoln Parish, and Jared Champion. The boys were raised in an alternative religious commune started by their ex-hippie parents, which definitely explains their "tree-hugging preacher on acid" sound. After relocating to the U.K., the band debuted their self-titled album in mid-2008, to have it sell over 40,000 copies, driven by their Top 40 charting single and extensive touring. The band could very well be mistaken as British, there are obvious influences by the Stone Roses, but perhaps this is just America's answer to the Arctic Monkeys, but certainly less saucy. The second song on the album "Soil to the Sun" sings "come one come all" calling everyone to the dance floor, while "In One Ear" is a throwback to London's swinging '60s. "Free Love" is the poster child of this funk-rock band, and you almost can't help finding yourself thrashing wildly, like you were at a Phish concert. By the time you get to the band's single and the last song on the album "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" you find yourself mentally exhausted from all the head bobbing, but ready to push play again.

Ida Maria - Fortress Around My Heart

"Oh My God" was one of 2008's most explosive and ear-catching singles, a burst of punky guitar pop propelled by an electric vocal performance from 23-year-old Norwegian breakout star Ida Maria Sivertsen. "Oh, you think I'm in control," she taunts, her voice teasing out the tension between commanding authority and unhinged chaos -- she sounds at once powerful and vulnerable, ready to collapse or destroy at any moment. If the rest of Fortress Round My Heart can't hope to match the searing intensity of its calling card, much of it is nearly as engaging, both musically and emotionally. Sivertsen turns out to be as generous with hooks as she is vocally captivating, and although her loud-mouthed, liquored-up confessionals can sometimes grow grating, they're more often than not genuinely affecting. Wisely, she keeps things pretty peppy, with plenty of giddy rave-ups (the best being "Louie," "Queen of the World," and the cheeky "I Like You So Much Better When You're Naked") and only a few (less memorable) moments of downtempo tenderness (the ballad "Keep Me Warm," addressed to her coffee and cigarettes). Throughout, she offers an endearing mixture of pop sweetness and punky toughness, writing with honesty and humor on a prototypically rock & roll slate of subjects: lust, loneliness, desperation, booze, and God. That last, obliquely invoked in the opener, crops up again in the curious allegory-song "Stella," which imagines Him falling for an aging hooker and offering her the world (literally) for her affections. In the album's so-so, overly sober finale, "See Me Through," she addresses the deity directly, asking "When's the time for me?" Listeners will have to wait and see on that score, whether she grows up and calms down or if age only sharpens her rage, but for all her all-too-human flaws, with a set of songs this strong, it's safe to say her time has already arrived.