Timothy Monger

Very infrequently in this space do profiles focus on a solo artist. Generally, this is a place for bands and multi-person projects. There have been a few exceptions (here, here and here), but my tastes trend towards tandems. Yet today's review will mark one such exception, the sophomore release from Timothy Monger, one half of the Monger brother-led northern rock outfit, Great Lakes Myth Society, who are currently on hiatus. Monger's The New Britton Sound was released last Tuesday on his own Northern Detective label.

In much the same manner that his larger band's material blended rock, American, country and folk to form what they dubbed "northern rock" – a direct counterpoint to the more popular southern rock branding popularized by acts such as The Allman Brothers Band and Lynard Skynard – Monger's independent work features the same mix of subtle musical influences and localized narrative, unsurprising since he was the Myth Society's chief songwriter. That sound is apparent from the dawning banjo tones of "The Lark," a midtempo affair which offers an ideal palate for Monger's high, light vocals stretching across a barren roadway at daybreak. The two verse track is further enlivened by Matt Collar's trumpet piece, which serves as its chorus.

Even more in line with Monger's earlier Myth Society catalog is the follow-up and first single, "North Side of the Road." It's tableau is littered with the signposts of rural Michigan, Monger's native land. Besides the depiction's of the quiet town with its cornfields, tornado sirens and airfields, his sketch becomes all the more pronounced in the second stanza, noting:

"and off to the west side is a mill, in a railroad town /Population 500 people, it's hard to make time for other people"

Whatever commentary Monger's offering here isn't quite obvious, but that's not essential inside the boundaries of the laid-back vibe, again flavored by Collar's trumpet. Indeed, it seems that no matter how bleak a portrait Monger attempts to depict, his vocal delivery streams across as relentlessly positive, making his accounts that much more bearable. That reality is all the more highlighted in the subsequent "Witches," despite its forlorn title. His self-harmonizing here contains all the lighthearted resistance his lyrics proclaim as futile. And despite his efforts to engender a more ominous scene with a floating organ and rusty banjo plucks, none of it comes across as all that haunting, which isn't a bad thing.

"When I'm a Happy Drunk" is more intentionally upbeat at the outset, but gradually devolves into melancholy as his character drinks in periods of loneliness and anger, and their resulting emotional consequences. Still, the uillean pipes (think a blend of bagpipes and harmonica) attributed to Tyler Duncan on the liner notes only serve to tack the mood to pensive and wistful rather than defeatist and resigned, despite Monger's best efforts.

Monger finally decides to abandon the glum outlook by the time "Guitar Case" announces the 10-track record's midpoint, instead tracking more towards realism. He describe the guitar case, that once functioned as a "diplomat to the world" as now a collection of "stickers and cracks, held together by smoke." More intellectually humorous is "Mining Accident," where people in the midst of unfortunate events – the title's reference, a hurricane cellar, a state of anarchy – can "really connect" and "have a good talk," protected from the chaos outside in a cocoon, rather than being buried alive. The cut's slight backbeat from John Fossum only reinforces Monger's tongue-in-cheek perspective here.

A late highlight is "Friends and Foes," again recalling the heart of the Myth Society material, which builds steadily through its course of just-under three minutes. Should his larger group return from its time away, the number would be a fitting match with "Isabella County, 1992." At the same time, "Broken Barrows" is sparse and sullen, although it does feature some solid lyricism such as "away from man's light on this trolley of lost souls." After a similarly somber "Song Clerk," the closing "The Classics" advances with the same sort of trembling electric guitar riff found at the outset of the Myth Society's poppy "Across the Bridge." And while this number reaches the set-closing triumph of that effort, Monger's ode to rock nostalgia is affirming and muscular by it's third verse, and strikes just the right note to close the proceedings.

Come for: "North Side of the Road"
Stay for: "The Classics"
You'll be surprised by: "Witches"

White Denim

Although it has been more than a month since the most recent post in this space, that doesn't mean there hasn't been noteworthy releases to assess in the meantime. All it means is that next year, my annual retreat from music reviews will be more acknowledged in advance. Simply put, late May and early June are just too busy to devote the amount of time required of each selection. I'm thinking of inviting a series of guest reviewers to pick-up the slack in 2012.

Well, enough of that, and a return to a record that has been waiting in the wings for a New Music Tuesdays review since its May 17 release. The single consonant-titled D delivered by the Austin, Tex.-based White Denim marks the culmination of the quartet's evolution from scattered collections of deliberate chaos to a more directed and accessible set of tracks. The 10-song album – released by Downtown Records – easily vacillates between power pop rock, jammy prog and hard blues in the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion tradition.

With a juiced-up Grateful Dead-style shuffle, "It's Him!" propels the collection from the outset with a sense of urgency. The pairing of frontman James Petralli's wafting vocals and determined acoustic guitar with the more aggressive rhythm section of bassist Steve Terebecki and drummer Joshua Block effectively straddles the line between fidgety and focused, and is a solid standard bearer for the remainder of the effort. It's subsequent counterpart, "Burnished," is a bit more trippy in tone and message despite its relatively short 2:36 of running time. The recent addition of lead guitarist Austin Jenkins is particularly noticeable here, with his angular riffs drawing sharp distinctions from the more linear progression delivered by the larger outfit.

The opening numbers also serve as a functional prelude for the third track, a full-on instrumental jam that showcases Terebecki's talents in particular. Swinging in easily from the retreat of "Burnished," "At the Farm" is a jam track for those of us who aren't quite as fond of the usual meandering pace of such offerings from the jam band set. The nearly four minutes of instrumental here are focused and driven, building from the song's dawning and oriented around Terebecki's rubbery lines. There's a sense of purpose here and its hard to remain unengaged in the proceedings because of their ferociousness.

Stepping back from the increasing energy is the starry "Street Joy," evoking more David Gilmour than Trey Anastacio. The leisurely pace is well-positioned in the set and hangs in the twilight like a slowly emptying summer evening. However, it's followed-up by the record's most twitchy and unenjoyable production, "Anvil Everything." While their attempt is perhaps enviable, there's just too much going on to reign it in for intent and direction – between the multiple levels of rhythm, effects and verses – to make sense of what's happening, although it might make good for a soundtrack for a movie drug trip sequence.

Fortunately, the group rebounds not long after with the tres Jethro Tull "River to Consider." Seriously, has a flute found such a prominent role in rock music since Aqualung? Again, the energy revolves around Terebecki's hard-pulled approach, with the other players bouncing around in unrelated tangents while Terebecki holds the grove down. The difference between this track and its predecessor is some distance stretching out their sonic ideas over a full five minutes, rather than layers of kinetic energy piled atop one another. Even more well-executed is the unforced transition into the album's most accessible track, "Drug." The number clearly has somewhere it wants to be and wastes little time in getting there. The guitar harmonies of Petralli and Jenkins are a nice treat to inject some intentional melody to the affair. While it's not likely to ever find a connection on dance club floors, the track's movement is welcome and deftly delivered.

Surely the record's most rocking project follows in "Bess St." The Blues Explosion influence is most pronounced here, while it also wouldn't be hard to envision Dave Ghrol finding his way to a similar concept, especially in the zesty boogie that marshals the number's middle third. Stepping out from that arena, the initial spaciness of "Is and Is and Is" is a bit stark at first, before kicking into the harder stuff in the chorus. And in relation to what came before it, the closing "Keys" is a bit of an outlier, like a deep cut from Lennon & McCartney tacked on to the end of a Zappa record. Nonetheless, its sweet and simple and a little countrified – a fun way to wrap-up the journey.

Come for: "Drugs"
Stay for: "It's Him!"
You'll be surprised by: "At the Farm"

Seryn

Sandwiched between two eagerly-anticipated releases – last week's I Am Very Far from Okkervil River and next week's D by White Denim – this week is a good time for a breather. The kind of reprieve found in the first breath of the pending summer, or the comforting warmth radiating up from a summer field. This the is type of earthy interlude offered by the Denton, Tex-based quintet Seryn on their debut collection, This Is Where We Are, released in late January on Spune Records. And if this review reads less exhaustive than previous versions, that's because it is, but not because the material is wanting but rather there is a bit less to unpack on the 10-track record.

The most unconventional aspect of the folk-country/Americana outfit is its general use of drums and percussion not as foundational elements, but tools to accent their otherwise more obvious banjos, fiddles and accordions – the exact opposite role percussion instruments play in most rock compositions. This instrumental preference is apparent from the outset, as "So Within" debuts with a layered acoustic guitar riff met with the group's hallmark belt-it-out choruses and harmonies. De facto frontman Trenton Wheeler is a near vocal double for now sole Barenaked Ladies leader Ed Robertson (who inherited the reins when former partner Steven Page split in 2009). As the album's shortest piece at 2:29, it benefits from its brevity and allows the listener some cover to familiarize themselves with the group's approach.

Continuing the pattern that extends across the assembled tracks of a gentle intro followed by a more substantive buildup is "Of Ded Moroz," again featuring the group's all-in vocals, the multi-instrumental talents of Wheeler, Nathan Allen (guitars, banjo, etc) and Chris Semmelbeck (organ/accordian, banjo, guitar and drums when needed), and the more melodic contributions of violinist Chelsea Bohrer (bassist Aaron Stoner also fills-in on trumpet and cello). Slightly-longer than its predecessor at 2:56, the number is hearty and purposeful – much in the same vein as previous NMT alt-country profilees Farewell Drifters and Telegraph Canyon – setting the stage for what's to follow.

The quintet should be commended for not burying the heart of their work too deep in the compilation. The expansive "Beach Song" at 7:05 might be mistitled – it's far better suited for a late-nite campfire or summer festival in a yawning field – but its no less effective. Although its in no hurry to get moving, as a solid three minutes pass before its stiffens its spine, its concluding signature – unraveling over another three minutes – is beautifully rendered and stretches out the band's musical range in crescendoing intensity.

Similarly, "We Will All Be Changed" demonstrates the group's capability. Echoing Robertson's own "Easy" with Allen's ebullient acoustic part and flavorful, but not obtrusive accordion work from Semmelbeck through the verses before the full compliment tackles the gang chorus with full gusto, but maybe with just a smidge too much power in relation to the more measured verses.

"Towering" backs down the intensity without loosing much body, again highlighting Bohrer's strings and their selection of banjo treatments. But although "Our Love" suggests something different may be afoot with its Gothic and ominous intro, it falls short of the movement displayed on the earlier cuts. The same is largely true with the remainder of the record, save for the instrumental jamboree of the closing "Untitled," a bright and foot-stomping way to resolve the proceedings.

Come for: "We Will All Be Changed"
Stay for: "Beach Song"
You'll be surprised by: "So Within"

Okkervil River

Becoming a follower of Okkervil River requires a discerning palate. The outfit out of Austin, Tex., featuring a rotating lineup orbiting around frontman Will Sheff, is capable of moments of astonishing achievement but also a bewildering lack of focus on occasion. The good nearly always outweighs the bad, and the great accomplishments are no less captivating. But every landmark like "Unless It's Kicks" – pure sonic cocaine off their 2007 release, The Stage Names – is weighted down by the glacial "Title Track," and the brilliant, but disturbing narrative of "Westfall" is immediately followed by the nearly unlistenable "Happy Hearts" (both off their 2002 debut, Don't Fall in Love with Everyone You See).

Such is the case with the groups' sixth effort, the long-awaited I Am Very Far, out today on Jagjaguwar Records (their most recent, The Stand Ins, came out in 2008). There are a solid handful of outstanding tracks, but also a not insignificant number of wayward affairs. The effort and riskiness of Sheff and his colleagues cannot be questioned; only their execution. The selection of the 11-track collection's first single – the thumping, but somehow breathless "Wake and Be Fine" – is fully in keeping with Sheff's best material. He churns out rapid-fire snippets of verse, including, "Carrying their years around / it's all been chasing down as we rot," and "Feelings on the creek, the killer's in the crowd / I'm coming apart," with like a well-trained policy debater, as he's obviously skipping syllables to boost his word efficiency. Even New Pornographers' frontman A.C. Newman - who contributed guest vocals on the track, as well as on appearance on Late Night with Jimmy Fallon (which also included house band The Roots' ?uestlove and Tuba Gooding Jr. – a must-see performance, where you can observe Newman routinely glancing at his lyrics sheet on his monitor) – noted in a Tweet his difficulty in keeping up with Sheff's manic rendering, despite his own band's proclivity for uptempo numbers. The only puzzle here is why the cut is buried so deep on the record, appearing as the penultimate offering.

Meanwhile, closer to the front of the album, "Rider" is nothing shy of frenetic, with its biting snare of drummer Cully Symington and punchy keyboards from Justin Sherburn enhance the number's urgency. Sheff's penchant for menacing, if not haunting lyrics is undiminished here, with accounts of the "blood red of flayed pigs," "staggering apes" and how the "golden shore groaned," as if Radiohead's "Paranoid Android" had been mugged in an alleyway by a drunken Ray Davies.

On a wholly different bent is the corresponding "Lay of the Last Survivor." Although far more gentle in its instrumental treatment – with Sherburn's piano adding a warming touch and lead guitarist Lauren Gurgiolo reversing Sheff's habit of truncating measures – the lyrics still point to a daughter's loss of her father. But it's undeniably beautiful, for while The Decemberists' Colin Meloy might best him on vocabulary and Gaslight Anthem's Brian Fallon can outflank him on authenticity, Sheff is singular is his phrasing and imagery, as evidenced here:

"A big sky, blue of a dead bachelor's tongue; a new bloom on the rose"

Or, "slobbering lovers, drink-clinking brothers; they don't have to tell us, because we know."

It's nearly tear-jerking just reading the stanzas, but its even more poignant via Sheff's delivery, and is a profound addition to the band's catalog.

Returning to the more briskly paced fare is "White Shadow Waltz," which sounds as if its the product of a blended portfolio of John Lennon and Brian Wilson, with Lennon's purposeful storyline combining alongside Wilson's studio wizardry. Symington fires out sporadic fills like anti-aircraft flack, which the rest of the outfit seems to be attempting to dodge through speed and intensity, providing Sheff just enough cover to transport his narrative safely to its drop zone. It only wants for a more dedicated chorus – in keeping with the leadoff track from The Stage Names, "Our Life is Not a Move, or Maybe."

A couple other of Sheff's concepts are digestible, but not so easily as the aforementioned cuts. In the leadoff slot, "The Valley" is sparse and disjointed, but not listless – in many ways born from the David Byrne tradition. "We Need a Myth" is far more haunting and hesitant, its ominous strings at the outset suggesting a plummet that never transpires, and a growing unease that goes unresolved, even as the track builds in organization and anticipation. And while it will never be formatted as easy listening, Sheff does succeed in advancing his concept via tone and tactics.

But, no matter how you slice them, a whole set of numbers are very rough sledding. "Piratess" could have fit on Steely Dan's obtuse Gaucho, while "Show Yourself" meanders around in the avant garde, but it might be fun sometime to line-up with the culminating scenes of 2001: A Space Odessey. "Your Past Life as a Blast" begins with some promise, with some hope Sheff might grab the reins at its midpoint and kickstart it with some drive, but it never comes. "Hanging From a Hit" just trudges along in soupy mire, and although "The Rise" gets some slack as the closing track and for Symington's saloon parlor piano, its not enough to overcome the 6-plus minutes of battling.

Come for: "Wake and Be Fine"
Stay for: "Rider"
You'll be surprised by: "Lay of the Last Survivor"

P.S. For a capsulized look at Sheff's distilled songwriting talent, check out (the non-specific) "The President's Dead." Hardly pausing for breather for a two good minutes, Sheff connects two distinct plot vehicles with astonishing deftness before band kicks in at the story's zenith. Incredible stuff.

The Airborne Toxic Event

Imagine if, somehow, Neil Diamond, U2, Duran Duran and Bush's Gavin Rosdale came together to set aside their lesser devils and unite the better angels of their respective sounds. The end result would sound something like All At Once, the sophomore effort of The Airborne Toxic Effect – out April 26 on Island Records.

Obviously, with that kind of lead-in, there a lot going on here, and the resulting compilation of influences and directions that comprise All At Once is a more fragmented offering than the recent concept or thematic approaches presented by acts like The Decemberists and Southeast Engine, as reviewed here in the past few months. This is not to suggest that the product is unenjoyable or unfocused, but rather a marked deviation from more cohesive records. It all starts with a delay-style riff – a la The Edge – in the opening, title track. The low-octave, hesitating line from lead guitarist Steven Chen suits the boozy, rich vocals of frontman, rhythm guitarist and occasional keyboardist Mikel Jollett – at times warm and full like The National'sBeringer Matt , at others grainy and unkempt, more resembling the former Bush singer, Rosdale, and still others bearing the half sung/half spoken schmaltz of Neil Diamond. While Chen and Jollett slide into the number's first third, the introduction of the full quintet tacks most closely to the intensity of The Edge's hallmark Irish outfit, as if Bono sat nearby in a darkened corner of the studio, nodding behind his signature shades. The same urgency is reflected not only on the following "Numb," but also in a more restrained capacity later on via "Half of Something Else." This trio of cuts accounts for but one division of the Los Angeles group's arsenal.

The poppy stomp-stomp-clamp of "Changing" – which draws the third slot on the 11-track album – channels more of a Duran, Duran 80's synth pop style, filtered through the more contemporary lens of The Killers' charging veneer. While Chen's stabbing staccato cuts give the number its bite, its color is filled-in by peppy keyboard parts supplied by Jollet and multi-instrumentalist Anna Bulbrook (who also contributes viola and percussion, while bassist Noah Harmon and drummer Daren Taylor round-out a capable but hardly flashy rhythm section). The same sound reemerges later in "Strange Girl," which features less sparkle but more substance, owing to its assignment in the nine-hole.

Amongst all this, surely you're wondering, where does the Neil Diamond flavor fit in? The answer is found in another trio of distinct tracks, starting with "All for a Woman," on through "The Kids Are Ready to Die" and the closing "The Graveyard Near the House." The combination plays like some unexpected, late-career resurrection we all wish Mr. Diamond had in him. The influence here is mostly found in Jollet's phrasing when paired with acoustic guitar. Close your eyes and let a line like, "so you smile politely and you demur" in the the first of these recall "Cracklin Rosie;" rediscover "Memphis Streets" as Jollett accounts how, "...I was just 13 when I got my first taste of danger" in "The Kids Are Ready to Die;" and allow the evocative imagery spun out in the latter ("we looked so silly there; all decomposed, half turned to dust, in tattered clothes") to direct you back to "Morningside." And although the last of these is just millimeters away from lifting the melody of "Hey There, Delilah," its unlikely the Plain White T's could have crafted lyrics that tiptoe between haunting and conviction so effectively.

Still another sort of sonic direction resides here, in the form of the strange Gordon Lightfoot-meets-Rockabilly of "It Doesn't Mean a Thing" and the punkish "Welcome to Your Wedding Day." The former describes a shotgun wedding – much in the same manner as Great Big Sea's "Hit the Ground and Run" – with Jollet delivering the collection's most well-crafted line:

"It was shot gun forest wedding, but they forgot to bring the gun. As they were busy counting promises to the children not yet born"

The whole time, you get the feeling the band feels like they're getting away with one here, which only adds to the track's tongue-in-cheek groove. It's expertly delivered. Meanwhile, the latter is topical considering this week's events, and is something you'd expect that the increasingly adventurous Green Day would have attempted on 21st Century Breakdown – something like "Peacemaker," albeit with significantly less synth. The building refrain at the number's climax – "we don't negotiate with terror" – is eerily reminiscent of Rosdale's "there's no sex in your violence" in Bush's breakout hit, "Everything Zen." While the pair of cuts standout from the others in tone and attitude, they're also the record's most enjoyable moments.

Come for: "Changing"
Stay for: "It Doesn't Mean a Thing"
You'll be surprised by: "Welcome to Your Wedding Day"

Eisley

Family-related bands are inherently risky propositions. A few weeks ago, we looked at how tensions between the Gallagher brothers ultimately led to the collapse of oasis and the resulting creation of Beady Eye. Other sibling-driven outfits have likewise met with turmoil – Credence Clearwater Revival, The Kinks, The Neville Brothers – in many ways fueled by familial conflict. But, at the same time, the same internal friction that can often lead to inflamed emotions can also fuel creative synergy, when folks who have longstanding familiarity and more substantial bonds are in-tune with each others' habits, thought patterns and artistic directions to produce a more unified vision for their material. That spirit drives the work one of today's most popular rock groups – Kings of Leon, but they're not the subject of today's review. Instead, its the tandem of four siblings and one cousin from the DuPree family in Tyler, Tex. that form Eisley and deliver their third full-length release, The Valley, out on March 1 on Equal Vision Records.

The 11-track effort combines two parts of the great, swirling anthems of groups like Metric and Great Northern to one part smooth, R&B-flavored piano rock of artists like Valery Gore and April Smith. The group's genesis dates to 1997, when teenage guitarist sisters Chauntelle and Sherri DuPree would work-up a mix of covers and originals. Younger sister Stacy – today the band's primary vocalist, as well as alternating between keyboards and guitar – was only allowed to participate after she contributed her own original material, while brother Weston – sandwiched between the older sisters and Stacy – was drafted to man the drum kit. Cousin Garron was ultimately added to hold down bass duties.

Following a series of EPs between 2003 and 2009, and full-length records in 2005 (Room Noises) and 2007 (Combinations), The Valley reflects the most full realization of the family band's sonic and lyrical approach. Largely tracing the destruction of a relationship, the collection is infused with imagery suggesting medical trauma: we hear of ambulances, oxygen masks and multiple references to blood or bleeding. It's obvious the breakup left the material's subject reeling. This much is clear from the leadoff title track and it's opening lines, "real heart-breaker come and take me to the real heart ache that everyone's talking 'bout." It's a charging mix of strings, drums and guitars while Stacy DuPree's vocals glide above, much in the same manner employed by Metric's Emily Haines and the Great Northern's Rachel Stolte.

Less soaring and more hard-edged its the following "Smarter" – a classic account of post-breakup avarice – with guitarists Chauntelle and Sherri chugging through Kirk Hamlet-style riffs while Stacy's piano lines and surefire soprano brighten the lyrics' seething spite. Stacy – like Haines and Stolte before her – manages to clench the beauty of her upper-register range without loosing any of its power, a feat that is often unachieved by many sopranos as they negotiate octaves (think Sarah McLaughlin) and is a perfect match for the group's muscular instrumental tone.

Conversely, "Watch It Die" is centrally driven by Stacy's bouncy piano and more reflective of the Valery Gore / Regina Spektor / April Smith approach. Then again, it's followed-up by the bluesy "Sad," a near onion paper tracing of Metric's "Gimme Sympathy." The number's pace seems to land squarely in the band's wheelhouse and strikes a nice balance between the heavier fare of "The Valley" and "Smarter" and the less aggressive "Watch It Die" or "Mr. Moon" later on. Also in that latter vein is "Oxygen Mask," easily the album's poppiest track, with its layered strings, rare acoustic guitars and melodic chorus.

And although "Better Love" starts off like a mistaken Blink-182 cut, it rounds into a rather convincing rock song. It's meaty chorus is bolstered by Rock 101-lyrics like, "Because I've finally found out / you're on my side / with a bullet for the bad guys," and would certainly rank as the choice for a one-off sample of the group's sound.

On the other hand, "I Wish" is a bit too watered-down in relation to the record's larger vision, with too many "oooh, aaah, ooohs" and a ballady self-importance. Later on, "Kind" again tacks towards the softer, piano model, but closer "Ambulance" – although has more fortitude even though it's slower and more composed, acting as a requiem for the deconstructed romance chronicled throughout the proceedings.

Come for: "The Valley"
Stay for: "Sad"
You'll be surprised by: "Better Love"

The Head and the Heart

Following last week's hardscrabble concept album from Southeast Engine comes a less thematic but just as a rootsy and spiritualized take on Americana from the Seattle, Wash. sextet The Head and the Heart. Instead of a closely linked set of characters and settings as heard previously, the group's eponymous debut offering (officially released today on Sub Pop Records, although digital versions have been available for more than a year) focuses more on a single and more loosely-defined theme to unite its work – a literary convention which spans Homer to The Hold Steady: leaving and returning home.

Hardly reflective of their hometown's signature sound that emerged nearly two decades ago, The Head and the Heart are morseo in keeping with the more widespread roots-rock / alt-country revival that has gained a foothold in recent years, originating with the Uncle Tupelo/Wilco/Son Volt triumvirate in the early 90s right on through to The Decemberists' The King Is Dead. And yet, while violins and rustic acoustic guitars center the 10-track collection, strong undercurrents of pop sensibility add a layer of distinctiveness to the effort.

Opener "Cats and Dogs" serves much the same mission as Okkervil River employed with "Our Life is Not a Movie or Maybe" on their The Stage Names record, with its clicking E strings and snare rims for the initial third of the track's expedient 1:58. Co-frontmen and guitarists Josiah Johnson and Jon Russell swap lead vocals throughout the proceedings, while the entire outfit rounds out the vocal approach with hearty but not saccharine harmonies, bolstering their roots bona fides.

The pop-flavored festivities arrive quickly via the combination of "Coeur d'Alene" and "Ghosts." How much the former is a fitting representation of its Idaho namesake is dubious given the buoyant piano part laid down by pianist/keyboardist Kenny Hensley – perhaps the most noticable component of the unit – and would make a fine pairing with The 1900's similarly peppy "When I Say Go." The telltale pop line of "I'll give you three bucks for your sympathy and another for a cigarette; the interaction feels so cold" doesn't feel particularly evocative of northern Idaho, but is no less easy on the ears. Meanwhile, the latter emerges with a southern-fried piano lick from Hensley before filling in with a do-do-do chorus not far removed from a more upbeat version of The Decemberists' "The Soldiering Life."

Strangely, the project pivots immediately after, summoning Springsteen's Ghost of Tom Joad or his latter Devils and Dust at the outset of "Down in the Valley." The escaping popiness is swept out the door with the mean broom stroke of the following stanza:

I wish I was a slave to an age-old trade,
like ridin' around on railcars and workin' long days;
Lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways

Seriously? Where did that come from? But despite the apparent arrival of the forlorn balladeer, the group reemerges with its fuller sound not long after, and steadily injects body into the mid-tempo number. A couple minutes later, and we're nearly in revival tent mode (well, sort of), with violinist/percussionist Charity Thielen and the rhythm section of bassist Chris Zasche and drummer Tyler Williams delivering some needed gravity to support the front-end work of Johnson, Russell and Hensley. It's a pattern that repeats for much of the album's middle third – a soft entry from Johnson or Russel, to be met down the road by the full party apparatus. Such is the case with "Rivers and Roads" – highlighted by some change-of-pace spot vocals from Thielen – and the folksy "Honey Come Home," displaying some delightful front porch harmonizing and a perhaps unintentional nod to the influence of Okkervil River on the genre's recent direction.

First single "Lost in My Mind" is buried towards the back and features a foot-tapping, piano-and-vocals format (a la the Ben Folds/Ben Kweller/Ben Lee super trio The Bens' minor key "Let's Pretend") and includes some truly goosebumps-inducing vocal blends, but doesn't seem to have enough juice to leave the stratosphere as it teases you to expect something orbital. "Winter Song" is gentle and earnest – again emboldened by spot duty from Thielen – but is still only the second best alt-country tune called "Winter Song," after the Crash Test Dummies 1993 version, a legitimate early entry to the format.

The concluding numbers are more spiritually-inclined, as the titles "Sounds Like Hallelujah" and "Heaven Go Easy On Me" might suggest. The rolling gospel of "...Hallelujah" is exuberant, but only after a solid minute of slightly moody folk. By the time it wraps its 3:12 running time, there's a good deal more that could have been done with its thumping groove at the end. On the other hand, "Heaven..." is a perfect submission for the closer; the traditional last cut of Side B, with its competing rounds of "we're well on our way," "all these things are rushing by" and "all things must end, darlin'" marking a ideal point for a fading departure.

Usually, I tend to pick one or two tracks in each review I'm less enamored with. Here, it's more of the Michael Bolton character in Office Space, in that I kinda like 'em all. But my one gripe is the lyrics can occasionally draw towards hokey at best and cliched at worst. For example, "reading good books and playin' songs" in "Heaven..." or "...Hallelujah's" "I'm just waitin' on the sun to close his eyes and call it a night" A minor defect in an otherwise stellar debut.

Come for: "Lost in My Mind"
Stay for: "Coeur d'Alene"/"Ghosts"
You'll be surprised by: "Down in the Valley"

P.S. The Head and the Heart will be touring later this summer with NMTs favorites The Decemberists. Eventually there might even be a Touring Schedule Saturdays post with some of these details.