First Friday Music

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.

Metric - Fantasies

Metric's third full-length album, Fantasies, is a glossy, slick, and so-clean-you-could-eat-off-it slice of modern rock that may scare off some of the band's early fans due to the unrepentant commercial nature of the album. Anyone who isn't repelled by the band's professionalism and ambition to sound perfect will find it to be quite good. You can't begrudge them taking a shot at the big time, especially when the result is as good as this.

And it's not like they are doing anything radically different here; it just sounds freshly painted and shorn of any defects. In other words, it sounds just like an album by one of the bands that inspire them, finely tuned machines like the Cars, Garbage, Blondie, and Missing Persons. Or conversely, they sound sort of how you'd imagine the ideal Idol contestant's album would sound -- huge with an excess of glittering and hooks. Indeed, most of the songs on Fantasies wouldn't sound out of place on a Kelly Clarkson record; they are finely crafted, totally focused, and powerful pop songs that blend '80s new wave, '90s alt-rock, and timeless pop songcraft into compact pop nuggets.

If "Sick Muse" were given a push on radio, it could easily be a big smash for the band. The hand-waving chorus, the pulverizing drumming, and the smooth-as-glass production are perfect for the airwaves. Quite a few others sound like they too should be blasting out of car radios on summer streets; the laser beam-tight "Gold Guns Girls," the shimmering "Front Row," and the propulsive "Gimme Sympathy" all fit this bill perfectly.

The few ballads that dot the album like frozen teardrops betray none of the warm introspection that Emily Haines brought to her solo albums; her singer/songwriter demons sound like they've been exorcised once and for all here. Instead, they sound big enough to reach the back row of a stadium, as does the whole album. That Metric title a song "Stadium Love" gives you a clue to the ambition of the band. There's nothing small or careful about Fantasies -- it's a full-on bid for pop glory and it's a smashing success.