Elizabeth Cook has been called a punk-rock Patsy Cline, and aside from the fact that Patsy was plenty punk herself, the comparison is apt. With her guileless drawl, rollicking steel guitar twang and song titles like "Sometimes It Takes Balls to Be a Woman," this singer owes more to the brassy wit of her bluegrass foremothers than the saccharine gloss of Faith, Shania, et al. Expertly roaming from pacy honky-tonk numbers to closing-time ballads that showcase the surprising purity of Cook's voice, Balls is a modern spin on the classic country-bluegrass sound.
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After the experimental departure of High Water (a project with free jazz artist Matthew Shipp), El-P returns on his third full-length with soundscapes that are every bit as intricate, heavy and ominous as expected. "Tasmanian Pain Coaster," featuring the Mars Volta, melds layered drums, bass, piano, guitar and spooky samples to create a densely packed apocalyptic groove and clatter that sounds like little else in hip-hop. "Habeas Corpus (Draconian Love)," is a twisted, dystopian tale of love and heartbreak between an executioner and a female prisoner, and "The Overly Dramatic Truth" sees El-P laying himself bare as he describes a doomed relationship he just can't quit. Fierce and focused, El-P is at his least wordy, but also his most lucid and poignant.
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On The Reminder, Feist resurrects the prickly beauty of her early demos, without sacrificing the slow-burning pop fabulousness of her previous record, Let It Die. Here, soulfulness outweighs sleekness, as on "So Sorry," a stripped-down acoustic guitar track that puts her cracked jewel of a voice front and center for a contemplative apologia. Meanwhile, bouncier tracks like the sunnier-side-of-heartbreak "1 2 3 4"—a crowd-pleasing combination of banjo, bluesy piano, hand claps and horns made famous by its presence in iPod nano ads—betray the irrepressible joy that lies just beneath the surface of these songs' perfectly pitched wistfulness.
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A recentish Kompakt signee, Swedish laptop producer The Field (aka Axel Willner) has copped much buzz for his debut album. Willner's strength lies in his ability to embed warm beats and melodies beneath icy textures; a nuanced technique that lends his dewy, trance-inflected techno an ethereal, almost vaporous quality—like winter's snowy vestiges melting and then evaporating under a spring thaw. From Here We Go Sublime isn’t typical dancefloor fodder, but rather, a pleasantly chilly reprieve from club filler, or a dreamy headphone-listening retreat.
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French-duo Justice are populists to the core, and they don't disappoint here with a dozen tracks that are guaranteed to fill any dancefloor. All of the big tunes included on †—"Let There Be Light," "Waters of Nazareth" and "Phantom"—feature dirty, stuttering electro drums and tidal waves of caustic mid-range distortion. But even when Justice stray from this combo, their impish sense of fun always prevails; there's the wacky glitch-house of "New Jack," the kitschy, naive melodies of "Valentine" and, of course, the unlikely single—campy filter-disco cut "D.A.N.C.E.," with its Mickey Mouse Club chorus. † is an absurd, spastic and edgy caricature of house music, initially baffling and ultimately thrilling.
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In the realm of indie electronica, the early half of 2007 belonged to all things "nu-rave," and British trio Klaxons were the genre's poster boys par excellence. Their debut album, Myths of the Near Future, set the bar for this new club-friendly sound and hit on every level of party preparedness: syncopating, cowbell-inspired beats; falsetto choruses that get branded on the brain; and indie-pop riffage that pays as much attention to guitars as throbbing synths. Coupled with some of the best live performances of the year, Klaxons proved that nu-rave might not be a flash in the pan after all.
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Friend and Foe is an exercise in controlled chaos from the Portland-based trio Menomena. Lead by driving rhythms, the songs swirl and spin around on themselves at high intensity, with heaps of musical ideas tossed into each like a blender. If the top came off at any point, things would turn into a total mess. Luckily, the band can thank their airtight musicianship for holding everything in place. The charging drums and guttural saxophone of "Wet and Rusting" wind the listener up before the vocal and piano interplay of "Rotten Hell" spins things back in the opposite direction. It's a dizzying, and fascinating, experience straight through.
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M.I.A.'s debut album, Arular, was an instant classic, a brainy yet populist hip-hop hybrid that garnered rave reviews and an entirely justified tidal wave of hype. It's the sort of album that nearly guarantees a sophomore slump, but despite the odds, the British/Sri Lankan MC has returned with a follow-up that delivers on the promise. The fundamental elements of M.I.A.'s style—colorful electronic textures, strong yet slightly decrepit beats, a distinct vocal style blending hip-hop, ragga and punk—are in evidence on Kala, but the formula has been tweaked, resulting in a record that feels like a far more aggressive and extreme version of Arular.
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Post-Americana quintet The National follow up 2005's undeniable masterpiece, Alligator, with a subtle and elegant rock album unconcerned with trends or special effects. Singer Matt Berninger's soulful baritone uncannily recalls Johnny Cash, Leonard Cohen and Ian Curtis, an affecting and impressive list of reference points. But it's the echoed instrumentation of the backing band that gives the album an organic and piquant wholeness. During the heartening "Apartment Story," Bryan Devendorf's stuttering drumming pushes the band forth despite Berninger's lament that he's "getting tired and forgetting why." In the elegiac "Slow Show," Berninger testifies "you know I dreamed about you for 29 years," and his sorrowful voice conveys a heartbreaking sincerity. This record's subtle hooks dig in deep.
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St. Vincent, or Annie Clark as her family knows her, can easily be described in one word: beguiling. Clark's debut marks the arrival of an enchanting songwriter who successfully brings an element of true eccentricity to conventional pop music. The opening track of Marry Me, "Now Now," finds Clark channeling a contemporary Kate Bush as ethereal backing vocals and tumbling drums play over her harp-esque guitar plucks. Further on, the deceivingly sweet "Apocalypse Song" would pacify even the most vociferous of doomsday prophets. Here's to the end of the world.
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Canadian duo Tegan and Sara Quin have been edging ever-closer to mainstream recognition since their 2000 debut. Their last release, So Jealous, tightened their songwriting and taste for hooks, winning them exposure on shows like Grey's Anatomy and Veronica Mars. Now, the Chris Walla (Death Cab for Cutie)-produced The Con adds slicker synth layers and rich production, building a melancholic intensity that is both complex and accessible. The title track deftly weaves thwarted romance with a crescendo of harmony, and the blatant desperation of "I'm capsized now, on the edge of safe" is softened by a swoop of melody.
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Wolves in the Throne Room wrap Black Metal in swaddling clothing and return it to the manger, Mother Nature style. Yup, this is a band proudly comprised of three farmers from Olympia, Washington. Dudes who rattle off phrases like "black metal respects the divinity of the earth" in interviews. Crazy thing is: their music backs up all the hubris. With a field recording for every blastbeat, and a female-led funeral procession for every punchy tremolo picked guitar part, Two Hunters is a smartly-crafted album of epic proportions. And a beautiful love letter to the earth.
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