to sound like a 300-pound interdimensional Mongol: These are things that the Knife’s Karin Dreijer Andersson uses to better understand her humanity—not, as it would seem, to deny it. Her solo debut slightly tones down the Knife’s electro innovation but turns up the creepy affect, making lyrically tender tracks like “Concrete Walls” and hallucinatory sketches like “When I Grow Up” into reverse Rorschachs: Dreijer Andersson spews her psyche to show just how alien our own minds are. SPENCER KORNHABER

The Flatlanders Hills and Valleys

••••••••••
MYSPACE AMAZON
Sage old-timers ponder
life’s mysteries, again
Grizzled Texans Joe Ely,
Jimmie Dale Gilmore, and
Butch Hancock originally
teamed up in the ’70s, then
opted for solo careers.
Hills and Valleys, their third
studio album since reuniting
in the late ’90s, holds zero
surprises—mixing Tex-Mex
bounce, outlaw twang,
and folkie sincerity—but it
feels utterly right, like your
favorite greasy meal at the
local diner. Mining poetry
from the everyday, “Free
the Wind” and “Love’s Own
Chains” offer homespun
observations on affairs of
the heart. And the stomping
“Just About Time” provides
an excellent excuse for
causing a minor distur-
bance. JON YOUNG

HOT LEG

soaring melody and sturdy harmonies, “Natural Reaction” could be a lost CSNY outtake—until the spooky marimba breakdown, anyway. MIKAEL WOOD

of who she is, but who she becomes. For their second album as a duo, longtime collaborator John Parish gave Harvey finished songs to write lyrics for, and his sometimes brittle, sometimes thundering guitar work provides the skeleton for an array of fleshly narrators. Harvey morphs from rasping seductress to screaming chimera with stunning velocity, but the line “When you call out my name in rapture / I volunteer my soul for murder” on “Black Hearted Love” shows that she’s a more elemental mixture: a little sin and even less salvation. JESSICA SUAREZ

far better than the Darkness’ Queen-size, pan-flute flameout, One Way Ticket to Hell…and Back. He’ll never be anybody’s Marc Bolan, but at least he’s trying. CHARLES AARON

Gomez A New Tide

••••••••••
MYSPACE AMAZON
Shaggy U.K. roots vets
keep on blippin’ on
Long before My Morning
Jacket spiked their
Southern-rock jams with
early-’80s electro beats,
these Bonnaroo-friendly
Brits were mixing space-age
electronica into their funky
art-blues brew. Those
dots and loops still ripple
throughout Gomez’s sixth
studio album—check how
“Win Park Slope” works up
to a Chemical Brothers–style
climax. But A New Tide also
contains some of the band’s
most straightforward
material yet: With its

Grandmaster Flash
The Bridge

••••••••••
MYSPACE AMAZON
A more reliable guide
to the ’80s than usual
Flash’s first studio album
in more than two decades
isn’t for wallflowers.
“Tribute to the Break-
dancer” and “Here Comes
My DJ” (with the effusive
DJ Kool of “Let Me Clear My
Throat” fame) showcase
the legendary turntablist’s
ear for party starters.
Overall, The Bridge has a
very Reagan-era vibe,
and not just due to appear-
ances by KRS-One and
Big Daddy Kane; the synth-
laden “Unpredictable”
rivals Timbaland’s recent
’80s-influenced produc-
tions. Flash’s experimen-
tation with 21st-century
slang, however, isn’t as
successful—the sluggish
“Swagger,” featuring
Snoop Dogg and Red Café,
is as generic as its title.
THOMAS GOLIANOPOULOS

Hot Leg Red Light Fever

••••••••••
MYSPACE
A gleeful comeback
from the snowy depths
The Darkness’ peacock-
ish pop-metal frolic left
frontman Justin Hawkins
nose-down in a powdery
trough by 2004, but here
he tries to end a personal
five-year slide on his new
group’s feisty debut. And
most of these tautly played
tracks—the operatically
clucking “Chickens,” the
glam-boogie piety rant
“I’ve Met Jesus,” the kooky
strum-along saga “Trojan
Guitar,” the Flashdance-
flaying “Cocktails”—tweak
cock-rock riffs with a
synth-pop joie de vivre
that illuminates Hawkins’
falsetto freakazoid shtick

Jeremy Jay
Slow Dance

••••••••••
MYSPACE AMAZON
Incurable romantic?
Aspiring serial killer? Both?
The stripped-down, synth-
and-guitar indie pop on this
oddly spellbinding second
album from Los Angeles
singer-songwriter Jeremy
Jay could be the Cars minus
the dreams of chart glory
and bloated studio budget.
Jay’s sleepy yelp suggests
an attempt to seem cool
and sexy, but he can’t quite
pull it off, coming across
instead as repressed, and a
little creepy. Still, his quietly
unsettling aura perfectly
suits these childlike love
songs: Not many people
could sing, “Sometimes we
gallop over moonbeams /
Giddy-up, horsey, giddy-up”
with such unironic, persua-
sive conviction. JON YOUNG

James sellar/Digital Pyrotechnics

PJ Harvey
and John Parish
A Woman a Man Walked By

••••••••••
MYSPACE AMAZON
Sly guitarist reenables
bone-chilling shape-shifter
PJ Harvey’s music can be
frightening, not because

Joker’s Daughter
The Last Laugh

••••••••••
MYSPACE AMAZON
Spooky Brothers Grimm
grooves from Brit folkie
London’s Helena Costas
sings of King Arthur and
jousting knights, giant flying
trolls, and a magical bull
that avenges the injustices
of man. Not interested?