V
39 TURBONEGRO

RETOX

It takes a smart band to do metal this gloriously dumb; the flamboyant Norwegian cult heroes who answer the musical question “What Is Rock?” with the lyric “Rock is the possibility of choking on your own vomit in the back of a rapist’s van” surely deserve a MacArthur grant. Now in their third decade of inflicting the ear-bleeding, self-aware, Alice Cooperish riff rock that Art Brut merely winks at from a safe, ironic distance, Turbonegro are wise enough to know the dick jokes (“Stroke the Shaft”) and the groaner puns (“Hell Toupee”) are funnier when the songs can be taken seriously. STEVE KANDELL

40
38 DIZZEE RASCAL
MATHS + ENGLISH

U.K. grime’s early-2000s sound— a flurry of bass grrrr, scuttling death-drums, chintzy synths, and pirate-radio jabber—never felt like a trend with Dizzee Rascal. And on his pointed third album, the MC/producer is still bristling with off-kilter beats and moods. “There’s a world outside of the ghetto / And I want you to see it,” he muses on the ethereal opener. He tangles council-estate police panic with noise-guitar gnarl on “Sirens,” while “Pussyole (Old Skool)” boasts a nimble dance-floor skip. Angry, hopeful, and playful, Maths contains dizzying multitudes. CHARLES AARON

RILO KILEY UNDER THE BLACKLIGH T Plenty of bands blow their first major-label advance on cars, Jacuzzis, and cars with Jacuzzis in them; Rilo Kiley blew theirs hiring Dr. Dre and Fiona Apple knob-twiddler Mike Elizondo, who helped trick out their relentlessly crafty tunes with tasty traces of sleek mid-’80s R&B, big-band Nashville blues, and dreamy Fleetwood Mac–style coke rock. A storyteller with a diarist’s penchant for self-incrimination, frontwoman Jenny Lewis uses the sonic flash to flesh out her songs, which zoom in on the classic Hollywood three-way between money, power, and sex. MIKAEL WOOD

37 TED LEO AND THE
PHARMACISTS

LIVING WI TH THE LIVING Confronted with a world spinning off its axis, Fugazi’s most articulate heirs deliver their London Calling, experimenting with everything from anthemic calls to resistance (“The Sons of Cain”) to jaunty Celtic storytelling (“A Bottle of Buckie”) to sweetly swinging pop (“Colleen”) to frantic art punk that shouts down military cowardice (“Bomb. Repeat.Bomb”). Leo can be verbose, but he’s never less than wholehearted, balancing topical specificity with raw emotion. And the Pharmacists tear into complicated melodies with the verve of true believers. JOE GROSS