Los Campesinos!

When I was younger, I was often perplexed when listening to performers from the non-American English-speaking world as to why the accents (or lack of accents, depending on your perspective) so prevalent in their speaking voice nearly always vanished when singing. From the Beatles to Elton John and on to U2, there seemed to be little distinctiveness of their respective deliveries from their American counterparts (by American, I mean North American, as Canadian accents are only just slightly different from those in the states). Of course, there are been exceptions. The punk movement stressed authenticity, and artists reaching as far back is Ray Davies in The Kinks to Johnny Rotten's Sex Pistols and Joe Strummer's The Clash all emphasized their British roots far more than their predecessors. Later, the frontmen in alternative-era acts like oasis, Blur and – to a far less lasting degree, The Proclaimers – mildly stressed their homelands' vocal uniqueness, although their peers in Radiohead, Bush and Coldplay could hardly be spotted as brashy Brits on a first listen. Conversely, some American vocalists – namely Green Day's Billy Joe Armstrong and The Killers' Brandon Flowers – chose to adopt a pseudo-British sneer to fit their sound.

As this to say that when you come across an artist or band featuring more identifiable accents in song, it's noticeable. And such is the case with the Cardiff, Wales-based septuplet, Los Campesinos! and their duly British-sounding primary vocalist, Gareth Campesinos! (the band goes Ramones-style, adopting Campesinos! surnames for all its members; campesinos itself means peasants in spanish). From the outset, it's clear you're encountering a group from Her Majesty's empire. Gareth's punk-infused snarl harks back to influences like Davies, Rotten and Strummer, and is fitting for the group's hard-charging demeanor. But, in contrast with the band's punk-tinged Romance is Boring – their third full-length release in 2010 – their new 10-track collection, Hello Sadness (out today on Wichita Recordings) blends the punk sneer of its predecessor with the more bright and boastful pop collective approach of their first two records, Hold on Now, Youngster... and We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed, both released in 2008 on the same label.

This combination of styles – the post-punk power found in outfits like Tokyo Police Club (NMT) and We Were Promised Jetpacks (NMT) with the big, poppy multi-gender collectives like the Arcade Fire (NMT), the recently-on-hiatus Broken Social Scene and the Givers (NMT) – breeds an offspring that's both lively and edgy, and allows a coterie of sonic habits to trickle in, not only from their aforementioned peers, but hints of U2, The Hold Steady (NMT), The Cure, Weezer (NMT) and more. The album's dawning track, "By Your Hand," points most directly to the latter set, with its boisterous chorus and hand claps suggesting a communal vibe, and the tawdry details of Gareth's verses much in keeping with tracks like The Givers' "Up Up Up" and Library Voices' (NMT) "If Raymond Carver Were Born in the 90's." Gareth – who's also the band's glockenspieler (glockenspielist? glockenspielmeister? I've longed for the opportunity of such a quandary in this space!) – allows plenty of room for the rest of the band to shine here, especially back-up vocalist and keyboardist Kim (Gareth's sister), bassist Ellen and guitarists Neil and Rob.

Meanwhile, the following "Songs About Your Girlfriends" – while still sufficiently poppy – lands closer to the post-punk tradition, with its its clenching guitar intro setting up Gareth's gnarly lyrics and the track racing across its 3:18 of runtime. But it doesn't stray far from the Arcade Fire-style group sing-alongs found on the opener, either. Next up, the record's title track is a bit more restrained and moody – a nod to their Cure influences – but features some nice violin contributions from now-former member Harriet (who amicably left the band this September to continue her education) and builds to a swirling zenith later on.

In "Life is a Long Time," the band arrives at it its closest counterpart to the Arcade Fire's most recent offering, The Suburbs, as if Win Butler and crew contributed a lost track meant to fall between "We Used to Wait" and "Sprawl 1 (Flatland)." Gareth's tale of disillusionment mirrors Butler's description of suburban malaise, in lyrics like:

Over time they build up the city / And our arguments show it all /
Every ring road, every motorway / Displayed in crease and wrinkle

and

You know it starts pretty rough / And ends up even worse / And what goes on in-between / I try to keep it out of my thoughts

The post-punk vibe returns on "Every Defeat A Divorce (Three Lions)," with its less exuberant tone and featured keyboards from Kim echoing a similar use on Tokyo Police Club's Champ collection. Interestingly, the cut contains a reference to ABBA's "Waterloo," with Gareth slightly reworking lyrics that song's chorus prelude to, "and how could I ever refuse? I feel like I loose when I loose." After the slow-moving ballad, "Hate for the Island," the group delivers the record's most shimmering track, the U2-flavored "The Black Bird, The Dark Slope." Guitarists Neil and Rob are at their pinnacle here, with their The Edge-like minimalism providing an emboldening lift. Moreover, the split vocals between Gareth and Kim are a welcome change of pace, although I wish Kim had been utilized more on this record, in keeping with the band's greater use of smoother female voices to balance out Gareth snarly foundation (Kim succeeded her predecessor Aleksandra on back-up vocals and keyboards in 2009, after Aleksandra also left on good terms to pursue studies). I always prefer bands with shared lead vocals, and even more so when they're split between girls and guys.

Like "Hate for the Island," "To Tundra" is largely a plodding affair, although it very gradually builds some steam and benefits from some greater conviction near its conclusion. The slower stuff continues on the concluding pair of numbers, with "Baby, I Got the Death Rattle" and "Light Leaves, Dark Sees Pt. II" easing the effort on a more restrained note. However, the former isn't far from a slower version of The Hold Steady's "Sequestered in Memphis" in its second half, with Gareth reprising Craig Finn's call-and-response chorus alternating "headstones" and "headboards" much like Finn's "Texas" and "Memphis."

Come for: "By Your Hand"
Stay for: "Songs About Your Girlfriend"
You'll be surprised by: "The Black Bird, The Dark Slope"

The Decemberists – Long Live the King

(I had fully intended to post on schedule the previous two Tuesdays, however, technical difficulties involving my email machine had prevented me from actually listening to the new music slated for review. Now, with fully computing power restored, this is my best attempt to catch up, which explains for coverage of only an EP-length release)

Often, when you hear artists or bands describe a recent studio session, and boast how they had written and worked on boatloads of new material, but most of it never made the final release of 10 or 12 tracks. Now, surely, there were fragments of songs that didn't quite pan out, and others that needed more cultivation, possibly to re-appear on a still later record (next week's profilee, Noel Gallagher, includes a track on is first solo album that he claims was in the works as an oasis tune for more than a decade, but never released). Regardless, it would be nice to have a chance to hear some of that discarded material left on the cutting room floor, especially from bands or artists who routinely turn out top-notch material, but take longer breaks between new releases. This is exactly the sort of desire fulfilled by one of this blog's favorite acts, The Decemberists, with their recently-released EP, Long Live the King; a half-length compendium to the full LP, The King is Dead, which came out early this year and reviewed by us here.

Of course, the flip side to my advocacy for the release of studio hold-backs is that sometimes when they do emerge, it's a load of fluff – shoddy acoustic demos, fly-by-night covers and other uninspired fare. One recalls the b-side material box set of the Smashing Pumpkins' Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness concept album as particularly trivial (although both "Medellia of the Grey Skies" and "Aeroplane Flies High (Turns Left, Looks Right)" were solid cuts). In other words, there's good reason the band chose to leave them off initially. But, fortunately for us, this is not the case with the six tracks of Long Live the King (itself more than half the number of tracks found on the original source material).

The connection between the two records is explicit, from the medieval monarchical phrase that represents the title of both collections to their alt-country overtones. Why chief songwriter and frontman Colin Meloy and his mates declined their inclusion on the full-length album is uncertain, but most could have been slotted among the rest without dampening the quality or context of The King is Dead – in fact, they would have likely only added to it.

Opener "E. Watson" is a somber, acoustic graveyard lament from Meloy, dedicated to the title character. Although The King is Dead certainly featured much of Meloy's trademark quirky intellectualism, what it lacked was the more intricate narratives that defined much of the band's work prior to that album. Here, the nuanced and interesting real-life tale of Edgar Watson – one of Florida's first pioneers – is the sort of output many longtime fans of the group have come to expect. Meloy's lyricism here is at it's finest, as witnessed in the second verse:

Watson had it in from the beginning
He built that house on Chatham Bend
A white-washed knotted pine
Ninety acres furrowed for the cane
And he drove it down from Georgia
His dad a martyred soldier
In the war between the states

Meloy is one of the few contemporary songwriters who possesses the talents to push his listeners' intellectual capacity – along with Okkervil River's Will Shelf – and he should be encouraged to continue. But The King is Dead seemed to be a slim retreat from that mission, and my review of that record noted that shift. In a track like "E. Watson," those fears may be allayed.

Moreover, when paired with "Burying Davy" two tracks later, the numbers could have been pulled from the pages of the morose, but fascinating Spoon River Anthology collection of poems by Edgar Lee Master (another Edgar!), where the accounts of those who passed away in some small hamlet are far more interesting than those who remain. The tracks link back to The King is Dead through the exemplary backing vocals of Laura Veirs (who also previously contributed guest vocals to "Yankee Bayonet" off the Crane Wife record) and Annalisa Tornfelt, who mirror the fine work done by Gillian Welch on the previous effort.

Meloy's macabre stories are balanced by the more meatier, alt-country duo of "Foregone" and the band's cover of The Grateful Dead's "Row Jimmy." The former is easily this record's strongest offering, with it's tangy Gram Parsons vibe and honey-laced steel guitar by guitarist Chris Funk buoying Meloy's pangs of regret, which he dubs "the reach and the wrecks and the wrong." It melds nicely with the Dead cover, which replaces the original's blues sketch with a more robust roots foundation and a more subtle bridge part via pianist and organist Jenny Conlee (who's currently recovering from successful cancer treatment after being largely unable to participate in the band's tour this spring and summer).

The one that doesn't fit here as neatly is "I 4 U & U 4 Me." Just judging by the title, it would, at best, seem to be an odd Prince rarity, or at worst, the latest garbled vomit by whichever boy band is reuniting at the time. Instead, it's delightfully closer to the Violent Femmes or The Pogues (both of which Meloy has noted as influences on the band), with its galloping acoustic parts from Meloy and Funk contrasting with bassist Nate Query's sludgy acoustic bass and drummer John Moen's stiff snare. Even though it's listed as a demo version – and the production sounds just a bit unrefined – that's alright considering the tune's upbeat and unpolished ethos.

Rounding out the collection's half-dozen tracks the understated "Sonnet." Although it begins as a somewhat vanilla Meloy ballad, the addition of the full band and horns just before the number's midpoint enlivens the melody and ends the proceedings on an upturn. Sounds like the perfect place to leave things until next time...

Come for: "E. Watson"
Stay for: "Foregone"
You'll be surprised by: "I 4 U & U 4 Me"

Library Voices

There's a pretty simple formula for what gets me going for a new band or artist: catchy, clever tunes; interesting instruments and concepts; nail your vocal harmonies, and don't be stingy with them; bigger bands are always preferred, especially those with mixed gender compositions; Canadians and Scots move to the head of the class; horns and pianos are always welcome, but not required. Line-up some or most of these, and you have a happy blogger. And I'm pretty happy this week with the discovery of the Canadian indie pop-rock octet, Library Voices, and their sophomore release, Summer of Lust, out October 18 on Dine Alone Records.

The Regina, Saskatchewan-based group – which tacks closest to New Music Tuesdays'(NMT) favorites, The New Pornographers – is the second positively startling find from that province this year, following the boogie rockers The Sheepdogs (NMT) from nearby Saskatoon. Here, extremely hooky pop confections are mixed with clever lyricism and a big sound befitting the band's sizable roster. And it begins with the album's finest stuff, the leadoff "If Raymond Carver Was Born In The '90s." This is the rarest of rare, folks: pure pop-rock majesty that is indelibly catchy with surprising depth, as multi-instrumentalist frontman Carl Johnson (and what is it with Canadian indie pop bands being fronted by guys named Carl?) explores the increasingly adult status of his age group while he hides behind songs he's not even sure are that good. Don't worry, Carl: this one passes the test – and then some – and should buy you a few more years before true adulthood comes calling.

What follows across the record's remaining nine tracks – not including a brief intro and outro voiced by some unknown Brit – does not fully match the shimmering punch of "If Raymond Carver...", but is nonetheless chock full of peppy and smart pop-rock cuts. The springy surf rock of "Generation Handclap" – the album's first single – could have easily been submitted by fellow Canucks The Arcade Fire (NMT), with Johnson veering towards Win Butler-style choral anthems and the bulk of the ensemble matching The Arcade Fire's energy and tempo step for step. And the more laidback vibe of "Reluctant Readers Make Reluctant Lovers" slides in between Canadian indie rock proginators, Sloan, and their American counterparts, Fountains of Wayne (NMT). The tune might also rank a very respectable second in the Best Canadian Litany of Authors Recording by Duo or Group category, following only the brilliant "My Baby Loves a Bunch of Authors" by the now (sadly) disbanded Moxy Fruvous.

Johnson utilizes his and his compatriots' instrumental talents largely to feed the overall sound, rather than focus on many individual solos or highlights, again reflecting an approach effective for A.C. Newman's Pornographers or Buther's Arcade Fire. The sole exception is the saxaphone work from Paul Gutheil, who injects snippets of jazz flavor or Clarence Clemons power depending on the song's mood. And drummer Michael Thievin is crucial in keeping the unit charged to churn out the hooks and harmonies that make the whole thing go. But harder to peg are the roles of Johnson, guitarist/keyboardist Brennan Ross and synthesizer wizards Michael Dawson and Amanda Scandrett in rounding out the sound. Now and then, there might just be a touch too much synthesizer (I'd prefer an actual piano on occasion), and a wall of horns could add some beef elsewhere, but it's nothing to get in a twist over.

The collective approach is most noticeable through the record's midsection, the trio of tracks comprised of "Que Sera Sarah," "Traveller's Digest" and "Be My Juliette Greco, Paris 1949." All are outstanding pop-rock jems, with the former starting out restrained before grabbing a meaty chorus hook and coyly referencing Dorris Day's 1956 hit of similar title. The middle of these is the album's second bona fide can't-miss – following "If Raymond Carver..." – with a plucky rhythm you might hear in a 10,000 number like "Stockton Gala Days" and, surprise, another catchy chorus. Meanwhile, the latter blisters along like the best of Fountains of Wayne, with Johnson sharing Fountains frontman Chris Collingwood's penchant for witty contemporary social commentary.

The record's concluding quartet rounds out the effort solidly, and each deserves mention. "The Prime Minister's Daughter" takes on Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper's absurd quote that "ordinary people don't care about art" in the face of government cutbacks to art programs by imagining Harper's daughter, Rachel, someday falling for one of the artists her father hung out to dry. "Me, Myself and ID" might be the least interesting idea here, with its fuzzy intro and armchair psychology, but doesn't automatically warrant a pass-through. The group tries a little ska on "Anthem for a New Canadia," and largely succeeds, with Thievin and bassist Eoin Hickey-Cameron laying down a nice '50s-era rock groove. And the concluding "Regina, I Don't Want to Fight" wraps things up where countless others throughout literature and music have: the recurring battle with one's hometown, and Johnson does a nice job of doing just that while sticking to their indie pop veneer, never an easy chore.

Come for: "If Raymond Carver Was Born In The '90s"
Stay for: "Traveller's Digest"
You'll be surprised by: "Anthem for a New Canadia"

P.S. Here's a good behind-the-scenes look at the group recording Summer of Lust, the sort of thing you'd expect from a bunch of nice, young Canadian kids.

The Horrible Crowes

The debut post of this blog in January, 2010 covered the sophomore release from the New Jersey-based punk/folk troubadours, The Gaslight Anthem. I returned that June to review that band's third effort, American Slang. And littered throughout the posts since that first Gaslight review are recurring references to the band. So, its safe to say that the group maintains a seminal role in informing the material most commonly highlighted here. In that sense, it should come as no surprise, then, that the Horrible Crowes side project of Gaslight frontman Brian Fallon should receive due attention. Fallon, along with longtime Gaslight guitar technician Ian Perkins formed the duo as an outlet for Fallon's creative output that stayed beyond the more aggressive posture of Gaslight, and the pair released first full-length offering, Elsie, on September 6 on Side One Dummy Records.

Of course, given your blogger's propensity to gravitate to Fallon's prime project in both reviews and references, I won't spend much time chronicling his overall milieu. Check the previous reviews for the backstory. Instead, I'll focus on what's different from the more well-know Gaslight sound, and explore some of divergent influences found across Elsie's dozen tracks.

It seems as if one of Fallon's primary objectives in his work with Perkins is to dispel the notion that the polar influences of Bruce Springsteen and Joe Strummer constitute the bulk of his musical foundation. Instead, he seems to undertake a mission demonstrating that Tom Waits and Van Morrison have just as much sway in his sonic and tonal philosophy as the former luminaries guided his time with Gaslight. To that end, Fallon downgrades the tempo from Gaslight's trundling pace to a more measured trot, and his lyricism is less clever narrative and blunt emotion, instead taking a much more subtle path.

This much is true from the outset, with the exceedingly somber "Last Rites." The droning whole notes from the piano and hazy organs are already a marked departure from anything Fallon orchestrated in Gaslight. Previously, Fallon has been the narrator of hardscrabble characters – Marys and Veronicas and Estellas – who, while flawed, are redeemed through their determined spirit. Here, that pervasive optimism is largely stripped bare by a more stark reality. As he explains in the opener, "Call up your boyfriends from out by the ocean / While I get my last rites read by a thief. From here, it's not a great leap to reach Waits' own "Everything Goes to Hell," complete with similar seaside imagery.

The hesitating "Sugar" is likewise morose, but more fleshed-out. The western-via-California-mission guitar cut by Perkins adds to the desolate scene of the loneliness and fading emotional stability of its subject, one whose shaking hands and dream-addled mind are not cured by the "sugar" of friendship and concern of Fallon's narrator. It's haunting and a touch troubling, but entirely genuine – a spirit not easily conveyed by the hard-driving and emboldening Gaslight.

Of course, to expect Fallon and Perkins to shed entirely the mantle of their day jobs would not be fair, or necessarily wanted. After all, Fallon and his trio of compadres in Gaslight make outstanding music, so an appetizer here and there is not unwelcome. In this case, it comes via the first single, "Behold the Hurricane." Fallon is at his most full-throated and comfortable here, and along with the number's stiff drums and churning guitars, it could have resided quite comfortably on American Slang. If you're looking for an easier transition from the familiar Gaslight territory before diving deeper into Elsie, you'd have no trouble starting here.

But just as quickly as Fallon returns to the well, he departs it, with the bluesy interloper "I Witnessed a Crime." A thick Hammond organ line grounds the late-night saga. The Van Morrison flavor begins to trickle in here, with a much looser vocal delivery from Fallon, and Perkins' whining guitars. And Fallon firmly stations himself at Morrison's R&B lamppost on the following "Go Tell Everybody." The jumping verses loosen the ground for the stage-shaking gospel chorus, chock full of back-up singers, organ vibes and near James Brown wails from Fallon, before the bridge introduces strings and horns – such augmentations never found within a country mile on any previous Gaslight production.

After the slow, deliberate funeral march of "Cherry Blossoms," "Ladykiller" may be the record's second most compelling track behind "Behold the Hurricane." Fallon fires up the pipes after a building intro and settles into a jangly ballad – a venue not often exploited by Gaslight, and one that meshes well with Fallon's expressive delivery. Later on, "Crush" could be another Gaslight contribution, again one that would be best suited for American Slang, rather than the band's more hard-charging early barnburners. But the listener does feel a bit for Fallon's vocal chords on "Mary Ann," the sludgy and gnarly devotional, where he exerts every atom of grit from his voicebox and often overtakes the tune to the point where it becomes distracting.

The collection winds up with the darker, slower and quieter trio of "Black Betty and the Moon," "Blood Loss" and "I Believe Jesus Brought Us Together." Of these, the former is the most enjoyable, with its piano and acoustic guitar background pacing a gentle stroll – something you might expect from Waits with a bit more up-front melody or Morrison in his Astral Weeks phase. The second of these is moody with a bit more screaming from Fallon, while the latter is trippy and floaty – the sort of thing that would never appear on a Gaslight record.

Come for: "Behold the Hurricane"
Stay for: "Ladykiller"
You'll be surprised by: "Go Tell Everybody"

We Were Promised Jetpacks – In the Pit of the Stomach

Hey, two weeks in a row of NMTs posts! In the spirit of pressing on with what has brought us thus far, we consider the sophomore outing of the Scottish outfit that is doing just that: We Were Promised Jetpacks, and their second full-length release, In the Pit of the Stomach – out today on Fat Cat Records.

Rather than lead in with a lengthy discussion of the Edinburgh-based quartet's history, it's easier just to point back to my February, 2010 review of their 2009 debut, These Four Walls. The foursome largely picks up where they left off on their initial collection, with driving and sturdy post-punk thumpers bridging the gap between U2's early-career anthemic swirl and the Springsteen-flavored punk of contemporary Jersey-based ensembles like The Gaslight Anthem and Titus Andronicus. And they remain a more muscular and charging version of their fellow Scots, Frightened Rabbit.

In that sense, the 10 tracks of In the Pit of the Stomach advance only marginally from the solid entries on These Four Walls, a meager progression that is both the new record's key advantage and chief drawback. Certainly, if you enjoyed cuts like "Ships With Holes Will Sink" and "Keeping Warm" off the debut, then you'll have no reason to fault the bulk of the new material from singer and guitarist Adam Thompson and his blokes. The slow-burn intros that defined that first album return again, and benefit from a greater touch of polish and precision in the studio. Tracks such as "Circles and Squares," "Hard to Remember" and the late-appearing combination of "Boy in the Backseat" and "Human Error" all line-up squarely in the Jetpacks' wheelhouse.

The lads are no easy-going, laid-back harbingers of summer, with wispy, clean-cut yacht rock calling you to a evening sail or a back porch soiree. Instead, they're a furnace built to ward of the chill of a coming winter, with their yearning, boastful projects warming up every corner of the room, and arming their listeners with a fighting heart. Thompson himself warns of the coming harshness, "its hard to remember a colder November" on the track named for the same line. To this mission the group has been true, and these cuts accentuate the pounding work of the rhythm section of bassist Sean Smith and drummer Darren Lackie more when compared to the first record, while Thompson's husky brogue and guitarist Michael Palmer's lanky figures stretch the band's sonic reach. "Boy in the Backseat" is particularly engaging, with its frenetic triplets and striding percussion leading the number just to the brink of collapse.

And yet, there's not an overriding sense the band has taken a substantive step forward on its latest offering. Sure, the first single "Act on Impulse" shifts the tonal direction a bit from the hard charge of the aforementioned numbers, with a graduating intro backing off into a more restrained and somber narrative from Thompson, with even a few synthesizers fluttering in for a fleeting moment. And "Pear Tree" moves inconspicuously closer to the Frightened Rabbit pattern. But, in all, there's no great leap forward from what's come before, and while a certain amount of leeway is afforded for a band to build a base of cohesive material at the outset of a career, a third record might stretch the boundaries a bit much in that regard. The group seems to possess enough talent, ambition and authenticity to elevate their sound; here's hoping they have the opportunity to do so before too long.

Come for: "Circles and Squares"
Stay for: "Boy in the Backseat"
You'll be surprised by: "Act on Impulse"

Wilco

Earlier this year, when I took a break from this space, I returned to review what was – in hindsight – the final new studio record from R.E.M., Collapse Into Now (at least as we can tell at the moment). No doubt by now you've heard, the remaining members of the Athens, Ga., trio decided to call it a career after more than 30 years of work. Few acts have been as influential in American independent rock as R.E.M., while also contributing such a fine catalog of material. So, it is only fitting that I again return from a hectic period to consider the new output of a band heavily influenced by and associated with those Rock-and-Roll Hall of Famers in the form of the Chicago-based outfit, Wilco, and their seventh release of original material, The Whole Love – out today on the band's own label, dBpm.

To beleaguer the R.E.M. connection for just a bit, Wilco frontman, guitarist and songwriter Jeff Tweedy began his musical journey in the pioneering St. Louis alt-country trio, Uncle Tueplo. A rough and unrefined entity, R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck found his way to the group and produced their third full-length offering, March 16-20, 1992. But tensions between Tweedy and co-frontman Jay Farrar ultimately led to the demise of the act, as Farrar went on to found Son Volt, while Tweedy assembled the first iteration of Wilco in 1995. Tweedy would continue his working relationship with Buck, most notably contributing guest vocals on Buck's The Minus 5 side project on "With a Gun."

When The Police called it quits in 1986, they very publicly anointed their successors by literally handing their instruments to U2 on stage at Giants Stadium. And while there's unlikely to be such a explicit coronation by R.E.M., it isn't a stretch to suggest that Wilco is primed to assume their title as America's trendsetting rock ensemble that is also accessible to a wider swath of the general public than indie devotees. Consider the bands' mutual foundation in the marriage of Americana roots instrumentation, touches of country flavor and a resounding intellectualism that also manages not to overwhelm good songwriting. Drop the needle on Wilco's "Outtasite (Outta Mind)" off their sophomore effort, Being There and I defy you to miss the strains of "Man on the Moon." Similarly, build up the patience to work your way through all of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot – Wilco's 2002 sonic opus – and you'll find R.E.M.'s painstaking focus on Life's Rich Pageant from 1986 not far in the rear view mirror, or notice the congruities between R.E.M. serving as the backing band for Warren Zevon on 1987's Sentimental Hygiene, and Wilco's work with Billy Bragg to give voice to two albums worth of Woody Guthrie's lyrics that became the Mermaid Avenue collection. The bridge between the two groups becomes more obvious with every glance. And although they were surely unaware of R.E.M.'s impending retirement while formulating The Whole Love, the new record's dozen tracks easily positions Tweedy and his mates to carry on in their stead.

Like their six preceding albums, The Whole Love builds upon what came before it – much like the arc of R.E.M.'s career – but doesn't take as vast a sonic leap as Yankee Hotel Foxtrot with its long stretches of aural freakouts or the unsettling urgency that accompanied A Ghost Is Born, which was fueled by the forced departure of former multi-instrumentalist Jay Bennett after Yankee Hotel Foxtrot (Bennett would pass away in 2009 from accidental causes, having never reconciled with Tweedy). All the same, it's a more consistent effort, with even it's avant garde movements informing Tweedy's reconciliations with more straightforward Americana and alt-country concepts.

The collection is bookended – and in many ways defined – by its longest tracks, with the more than seven minutes of the "Art of Almost" at its outset reflected by the concluding "One Sunday Morning (Song for Jane Smiley's Boyfriend)," checking in at just over 12 minutes. The two cuts couldn't be more different, however, with the disjointed experimentation of the former aligning with Yankee Hotel Foxtrot's "Radio Cure" and A Ghost Is Born's "Spiders (Kidsmoke)." If you're already a Wilco fan and have some appreciation for Tweedy's insistence on pushing the envelope, give it a try. If not, this might not be the most natural place to begin your Wilco encounter. Conversely, the closing number is measured in its simplicity and rusticism, perhaps a bit more familiar for those ingrained in the alt-country milieu, although its in no rush to get anywhere in particular.

With those dual pillars affixed at either reach of the record, the intermediate selections seem to have the opportunity to stretch out in comfort. "I Might" introduces a heretofore unannounced influence in Tweedy's arsenal: Attractions-era Elvis Costello. With its punchy grove and the Farfisa organ delivered by keyboardist Mikael Jorgensen, it's one of the band's most hooky offerings. To the same degree later on, "Standing O" serves up much of the same Costello-esque palate, but with a touch more brashness suggested by its title. The pairing would serve as a choice accompaniment for your next house party or sports rally, and would be a good jumping-off point for those a bit scared off by Wilco to date. Meanwhile, "Dawned On Me" stems from the same indie-rock tradition as more recent purveyors of the genre, such as NMT reviewees The New Pornographers and Telekinesis, with clenching guitars from Tweedy and guitarist Nils Cline locking-in a certain rigidity, which frees up more space for Jorgensen's organ and multi-instrumentalist Pat Sansone to play around with the synthesizers. Tweedy's whistling solo also helps to lighten the mood, along with more fleshed-out harmonies, typically not a Wilco trademark.

Some of the most interesting moments on the collection come via the most alt-country flavored compositions, pointing to Tweedy's time in Uncle Tupelo and Wilco's early releases. "Sunloathe" isn't especially spirited, but it makes up for lack of drive in earnestness and an ethereal and wispy figure, one highlighted by the alternations between chimes and bells and slide guitar and concludes with a nearly classic rock guitar bent from Kline. Likewise, the gentle shuffle of "Born Alone" pivots around a rubbery bass line from John Stirratt – the only original Wilco member since 1995's A.M. aside from Tweedy – and really digs in around the track's midpoint for the record's most aggressive rock campaign. And the jazzy "Capitol City" is a less romantic, but equally compelling version of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot's "Jesus, Etc.," and is the closest Tweedy will ever get to a straight-up narrative.

The remainder of the 12 tracks are filled in by generally somber and reflective acoustic ballads. The trio of "Black Moon," "Open Mind" and "Rising Red Lung" are more reliant on Tweedy as an upfront presence, which isn't necessarily uninviting on its own, but he serves as a much more effective messenger when backed by the weight of his compatriots – whomever they happen to be at the time – much in the same manner as Springsteen loses a sizable portion of his gravitas when not supported by the mighty E Street Band.

Come for: "I Might"
Stay for: "Standing O"
You'll be surprised by: "Capitol City"

Her Space Holiday

For some reason, many recent acts which include a greater role for symphonic elements – namely strings and winds – have had a tendency to also be quite delicate. I'm thinking of artists such as Sufjan Stevens, Stephin Merritt's The Magnetic Fields or the Scottish chamber pop of Belle & Sebastian. Either due to the composition preferences of those songwriters (likely the case in regards to Stevens' portfolio), or their limitations in physical performance of their creations (Merritt's hearing disorder, or Belle & Sebastian frontman Stuart Murdoch's less than bombastic vocal might), their in-studio efforts include a measure of fragility which can sometimes undercut the strength contained in a more enhanced instrumental vision beyond the traditional guitar-bass-drums rock format. But this week's profilees – Her Space Holiday, Marc Bianchi's indie rock front – buck these trends on their most recent, eponymous release, out on August 16 on Bianchi's No More Good Ideas label.

Bianchi and his band of unnamed cohorts handily dispel the currently prevailing notion that more instrumentally intricate arrangements cannot include a dose of rock power on the 10-track record. Although opener "Anything for Progress" initially appears as gentle, acoustic-flavored indie pop, with lilting flutes and strings, the pace is upended quickly just after the half-minute mark, with its driving snare drum beat and rapid-fire lyrics serving as a early call-to-arms, and is explicitly so, as Bianchi snaps, "come on, little soldier, come fight for me..." Sure, it's a love song, and a relentlessly optimistic one at that, but the tone is decidedly militaristic – a musical esprit de corps that beats a hasty march across the album's first half. It's anything but delicate, and is a persuasive argument that horns and strings can add heft and force to a composition, not just nuance. As interesting is the carefree "ba-da, ba-da, ba-da" refrain at the song's midpoint, much in the same vein as the lighthearted chorus round in The Decemberists' "Billy Liar."

Of course, not all rock-via-orchestra productions have focused on sonic gentility as prominently as the Stevens/Magnetic Fields/Belle & Sebastian set. The Beatles' arrangements only grew louder as they became more grandiose under George Martin's involvement, and Jeff Lynne's Electric Light Orchestra was anything but restrained in its decibel levels. And more recently, the exemplary work of fun. on their debut, Aim & Ignite, fused Lynne-style AM pop with Freddie Mercury's muscular theatrics. It is in this tradition that Bianchi dons his instrumental armor.

The following "Black Cat Balloons" again begins subtly – and sounding a bit like Great Lakes Myth Society frontman Timothy Monger – but quickly emerges as an anthemic, gang chorus-driven affair, not far removed from a New Pornographers-style energy. Once more, Bianchi frames his message in militaristic themes – we hear of battles, bombs, and defenses – but they serve as cover for a larger discussion of beauty, camaraderie and bravery. It's hard to believe the barricades are imminent with a chorus that begins, "if we all said sorry and tried to mean it, would that make things cool between us?" Nonetheless, the recurrent snare foundation and swirling chorus inherently interject a sense of urgency, which vanishes just as quickly for the verses, like the hovering cloud of smoke following an aggressive cannon volley. The contrast makes the themes even richer, and sets-up the track's dynamic instrumental pinnacle; it's easily the collection's finest number.

The more balanced "Shonanoka" displays a bit more of the intricacy of Bianchi's nimble assembled players – whoever they are, with smartly plucked strings and skipping flutes pacing his linear narrative. Meanwhile, on "The Hummingbirds," Bianchi laments the fading health of a friend, with an expressive delivery not far removed from a younger Neil Diamond (similar to Mikel Jollett of past New Music Tuesdays reviewees Airborne Toxic Effect). It's completely removed from the hesitating, low-confidence style of Murdoch or Stevens, and once that serves the work well. At the same time, low-register clarinets and trilling violins are juxtaposed with clanging guitars and meaty drum fills to produce a curious hybrid of Peter and the Wolf and the New Pornographers' Twin Cinema.

By the time "Come On, All You Soldiers" rolls around, you're ready to enlist in whatever troupe Bianchi is assembling. Its the perfect material to rally the troops, storm the castle or stampede the alleyways; a unifying call to action in hopes of being part of something special. Whether the unit's weapons are the tools of war, a waving flag of solidarity or a jangling guitar riff is unimportant here. You can feel the movement building across the track's 3:24, as more singers, instruments and energy join the band of frolickers. As the Bianchi's crew explains, it's the ability to "bask inside the freedom of having nothing at all to hide."

The record's second half isn't as rousing as its first, however. "The Candle Jumped Over the Spoon" is sparse and disjointed for most of its 3:33, despite its folksy banjo and cello accompaniment, and "Ghost in the Garden" is a bit trippy and ethereal when compared with the rest of the proceedings. It also sounds heavily influenced by Destroyer frontman/occasional New Pornographers contributor Dan Bejar, most notably in the structure and delivery of the verses.

But "The Bullet, The Battle, The Trigger, The Barrel and Me" might just make you tear up a bit, with Bianchi's twin dedications to his late father and a fictional movie scene. "Death of a Writer" is slow and steady with its moody clavinet early on, which builds through spinning strings and the returning snare march. Closer "In the Time it Takes the Lights to Change" is the most Beatles-flavored, tracking to the Fab Four's later career excursions, somewhere in between "Happiness is a Warm Gun"and "A Day in the Life."

Come for: "Anything for Progress"
Stay for: "Black Cat Balloons"
You'll be surprised by: "Come On, All You Soldiers"