Cobras’: The girl-girl duo spit-shine and garage-rock unknown oldies, but mightily transcend cover-band status. That may be because these snakes act like irreverent archivists rather than slavish imitators, grabbing lost-to-history sides by girl groups like the Cookies and boy groups like the Beatles (never heard “Leave My Kitten Alone,” have you?) and twisting them to fit Rachel Nagy’s big voice— sometimes R&B-smooth, sometimes Chrissie Hynde on a great day. It’s unoriginal by definition, but exactly as fun as it sounds. JOSH MODELL

old-fashioned tension still lingers. AARON BURGESS

Dinosaur Jr. Beyond ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Alt-rock legends rise triumphantly from the ooze

It’s been ten years since Dinosaur Jr.’s last album, and 18 since founders J Mascis, Lou Barlow, and Murph recorded together; but with Beyond, the once-tumultuous trio’s proto-grunge energy surge feels like 1989 all over again. From the swirling haze of “Almost Ready” to the electrocuted folk of “Lightning Bulb,” even the production on Beyond (by longtime foil John Agnello) sounds plucked from the trio’s Bug heyday. Though the band members have mended fences publicly, Beyond’s nervous energy suggests that good

Dntel Dumb Luck ITUNES MYSPACE Indietronica producer mails it in, despite guest stars

You might expect producer Jimmy Tamborello, also half of the Postal Service, to push the boundaries of his woozy laptop-pop tomfoolery with the first record under his Dntel alias in six years. But the vibe here is mellow, unremarkable, and a touch contrived—Dntel’s warped synths and shivering static try to evoke alien landscapes, but the Twilight Zone effect is one-note and soon turns dull. Virtually all the tracks feature guest vocalists, but with the exception of Lali Puna (on the frisky, bubbling “I’d Like to Know”) and Jenny Lewis (who commands the otherwise sleepy “Roll On”), they don’t help much. MICHAELANGELO MATOS

Mercer is singing about. “I lower myself into your water / Like a mealymouthed calf that is suckered to the slaughter,” he incants in a near-lucid moment, evoking Bowie’s easy grandeur and Xiu Xiu’s embarrassed insanity. Whether conjured by a showman or a madman, Valedictorian frequently collides with bracing beauty, sometimes of the conventional sort, but more often like nothing else before it. JOSH MODELL

 

Get Cape. Wear
Cape. Fly
The Chronicles of a
Bohemian Teenager
ITUNES MYSPACE
Sensitive guy with guitar
struggles to justify the hype

Frog Eyes Tears of the Valedictorian ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Baroque pop quartet goes from unhinged to sublime

Frog Eyes’ breathless, hyper-literate songs sound like frantic come-ons even when you have absolutely no idea what Carey

Like his obvious idol Conor Oberst, current U.K. sensation Sam Duckworth spends most of this buzzed-about debut examining the complexities of being an artist while belting out a series of lush emo-folk tunes. Unlike Oberst, however, the 21-year-old Duckworth hasn’t figured out when to let his songs breathe. “Glass Houses” and “War of the Worlds” benefit from giddy laptop affectations and bright orchestral touches (recalling Dashboard Confessional). But in the end, Teenager feels too cluttered to really soar. TREVOR KELLEY

If she couldn’t
sing, she’d be a
dead ringer for
Jane Birkin.
Under Your Skin
She’s not ready for the latte ghetto yet

FROM LEF T: MICHAEL WEIN TROB/COUR TES Y PRESS HERE; MARY ROZZI/COURTES Y TAG TEAM MEDIA

Dinosaur Jr.: Not
the poster boys
for sexy time

Feist The Reminder ITUNES MYSPACE

Considering her past exploits as a Broken Social Scenester and sidekick to electroclash queen Peaches (under the tasty pseudonym Bitch Lap Lap), Leslie Feist probably didn’t expect to seduce the Starbucks set with 2004’s Let It Die, her second solo album. But thanks to a cool-as-lemonade coo and cuddly disco-folk grooves—not to mention the use of her music in several TV ads—that’s exactly what happened. Three years later, Feist is in a delicate spot: Does she kiss the underground good-bye and cater to the folks hungry for more mellow Sunday-morning sounds or indulge her eccentricities at the risk of alienating a prized consumer base?

On The Reminder, which she recorded outside her adopted hometown of Paris with a team that included glitch-soul maestro Jamie Lidell, Feist gets as close to playing it both ways as humanly possible. Quieter and more uniform in sound than the willfully eclectic

Through headphones,
the album offers up
subdermal weirdness.

Let It Die, the new album emphasizes her sumptuous vocals and ear for a handsome melody; “So Sorry” and “The Park” wouldn’t sound terribly out of place on a Norah Jones record. But listen through headphones and the album still offers up bits of subdermal weirdness, as in “Honey Honey,” where luscious harmony vocals tangle with field-recording white noise. Bitch Lap Lap has come a long way. MIKAEL WOOD