GROUPLOVE

 Since this post is already more than three days late, we'll skip the clever/verbose lede and dive right into the review of another spirited, multi-gender outfit that prioritizes energy and enthusiasm in the form of Los Angeles-based quintet, GROUPLOVE, and their debut release, Never Trust a Happy Song – out this past September 13 on Atlantic Records.

You may already be a bit unintentionally aware of the band via their track "Colours," which has appeared in a widely-appearing Chevy commercial and leadoff single "Tongue Tied" promoting Apple's iPod touch. Sure, the mid-90s version of your blogger would have derided such abject commercialism, and would have pointed out that acts like R.E.M. and Pearl Jam would would sooner be caught dead then overtly endorse any product or service. But times have changed with music acquisition nearly exclusively occurring online (legally or otherwise) via the massive decline in record stores, radio stations featuring new music and a bastardized MTV who refuses to air any music videos. Accordingly, bands – especially young bands – need to aggressively promote themselves in as many venues as possible, and mainstream commercials are just one avenue.

Regardless, both tracks featured in the product promos are catchy and representative samples of the group's work on the record. The former is mid-tempo and a touch sludgy, but hooky enough to lure new audiences. Featuring the nasally wail of primary lead vocalist and guitarist Christian Zucconi and solid background vocals from keyboardist Hannah Hooper, it blends Weezer (NMT)-style chorus crunch with looping verses. Its counterpart in "Tongue Tied" is even catchier, with a carefree party grove built around the same bouncy rhythm that anchored the Smashing Pumpkins' iconic "1979" with the blitzing jocularity of contemporary acts like Los Campesinos! (NMT), The Givers (NMT) and Library Voices (NMT). The only fear with the latter track is the risk of it caroming off the cliff into the ravine of dance pop, only one remix away from stocking the playlists of dance clubs everywhere.

Elsewhere, the album's dozen tracks largely feature upbeat and enjoyable pop rock, with a few exceptions. The reggae sway of "Lovely Cup" breezes along with a delightful lightness and "Spun" is both the record's finest cut and one that should earn a spot on any collection of road anthems, alongside highway soundtrack tracks from artists like The Eagles, Jackson Browne and Fleetwood Mac. It might actually be best suited in a pairing with modern road anthems like The Arcade Fire's (NMT) "Keep the Car Running," the Great Lakes Myth Society's "Across the Bridge" and Hey Rosetta's (NMT) "Seeds," especially with Zucconi's lead-in mandolin trading-off nicely with guitarist Andrew Wessen's sturdy electric parts. Deeper tracks like the beach party tribute "Naked Kids" and the harder rockabilly romp of "Chloe" fit well with the record's lighthearted vibe.

But the band is a little less successful on a few other efforts here. While opener "Itchin' on a Photograph" is a fine tune on its own right, Zucconi's vocal range seems to get the best of him, as he spends the better part of the track screeching to a level that could be labeled as unmusical. Meanwhile, Hooper's first taste of leadoff vocals on "Slow" aren't the finest introduction to her talents. Not that her singing isn't adequate here, but rather the song's concept is so dull (as its title might suggest) that her debut is rather ho-hum. It sounds as it could have served as the prime example of the Eurythmics' forays into the depths of the avant garde.  Fortunately, she gets another shot on "Love Will Save Your Soul," and delivers on the slightly bluesy number. Later on, Zucconi uses his distinct nasal delivery to better advantage on "Cruel and Beautiful World," harnessing it more like Rural Alberta Advantage's (NMT) Nils Edenloff, especially with its blend of rusty acoustic guitars and scratch rhythm section backing from bassist Sean Gadd and drummer Ryan Rabin.

Come for: "Tongue Tied"
Stay for: "Spun"
You'll be surprised by: "Lonely Cup"

Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds

Since it's just days before the holiday season begins – and because your blogger is pretty busy presently – this post will be an exercise in brevity. But a short post is better than no post. Plus, much of the backstory on this week's artist – former oasis songwriter, guitarist and part-time lead vocalist Noel Gallagher – was already taken care of in my review of his brother Liam's post-oasis project, Beady Eye. So, if you're looking for my thoughts on all things oasis and Gallagher brothers, head there. Here, we'll focus on Noel's competing project, Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds. His debut album of the same title was released on November 8 on Noel's own Sour Mash Records.

After the demise of oasis, my initial expectation was that Liam and his mates in Beady Eye would have a tough time songwriting without Noel's creative force, and that Noel would emerge with a steady effort, building on his two decades of songwriting for oasis. I was only half correct. Beady Eye defied all expectations, and delivered a well-constructed, ambitious debut outing on Different Gear, Still Speeding last March. Meanwhile, Noel has responded predictably with his High Flying Birds, turning out a solid, consistent 10-track product infused with his trademark Beatles-style constructions, some heady orchestral arrangements and professional-quality musicianship. But, it's also not terribly exciting.

Noel always benefited from the better pure singing voice of the two brothers; a smoother, more balanced counterpoint to Liam's rusty nails sneer. And he exploits that talent well here, hitting and sustaining higher notes beyond Liam's range and routinely employing his well-honed falsetto. This is apparent as soon as the opener, "Everybody's on the Run," with Gallagher shepherding the tune's soaring chorus, and benefiting from sturdy drumming from session percussionist Jeremy Stacey. Gallagher always demanded solid, but unspectacular work from his drummers in oasis, and he finds a willing partner in Stacey throughout the record. He also effectively deploys a mix of horns and strings across the album, boosting the complexity of his songwriting, especially on the album's closer, "Stop the Clocks" – apparently a would-be oasis number than never left the studio over a decade, according to Gallagher.

The problem with the collection, though, emerges quickly: the tracks are nearly all indistinguishable from each other, one mid-tempo cut to the next. This isn't to say that any are bad on their own; in fact, not a single track is a must-skip. They're all carefully structured, well-executed pieces of pop-rock, and several are a step above, such as leadoff single, "If I Had A Gun" and the catchy chorus of "Dream On." And if the Gallagher's acoustic guitar progression on the former of these sounds familiar, you're right: it's nearly the same as oasis flagship number, "Wonderwall." 

But the pace on all of them is largely identical, not moving too fast or too slow. Some variation in tempo and intensity would be welcome. There is a bit more pep on a couple of numbers, though: the optimistic "AKA...What A Life" and it's fluttering counterpart, "AKA...Broken Arrow." But neither hardly qualifies as a barn-burner, and it's hard to believe Gallagher no longer has the more upbeat stuff in him, considering high-energy oasis tracks spanning that band's catalogue, from the early "Supersonic" to the more recent "The Shock of the Lightning." And perhaps his forthcoming full-album collaboration with Amorphous Androgynous – expected in early 2012 – might boost the intensity level. But in the battle between the Gallagher brothers as to who could produce the more interesting material without the other, the victor is surprisingly Liam.

Come for: "If I Had A Gun"
Stay for: "Dream On"
You'll be surprised by: "AKA...What A Life"

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"