The Clutters Don’t Believe a Word ITUNES MYSPACE Unruly Music City rockers struggle to catch onstage fire The latest upstarts from Nashville’s burgeoning rock community, the Clutters sport a punky live aesthetic, but their second album doesn’t quite capture that brash energy. Still, there are plenty of bright, riff-heavy crunchers, and after a few listens, tracks like “ Rockaway,” “Fire,” and “Temperature” (with its blazing organ-cum-guitar) will have you cranking up your car speakers like a good-natured heathen. Don’t Believe a Word is a better-than-average building block for a scene whose peak has yet to come. DOUGLAS WATERMAN

to me,” sneers Ryan Jarman on “Our Bovine Public,” while his two brothers lay down a giddy dance-rock groove. Men’s Needs isn’t nearly as unique as Jarman thinks, but his tunecraft is often as sharp as his wit. MIKAEL WOOD

’90s, this clamorous, lo-fi New Zealand trio flailed against the country’s thriving indie-pop scene (centered on the Flying Nun label), occasionally creating an outright squalid masterpiece, like 1995’s White House. They’ve not budged an iota since, as the cheekily titled Future Artists attests. An overdriven guitar resolutely obliterates the verses of “The Magicians,” leaving room aplenty for long, unyielding excursions like “The AMM of Punk Rock” and the apt “Eternity.” Throughout, the Dead C’s din of slow and stubborn drum-thud coupled with wheezing chord organs is as cantankerous as Grandpa himself. ANDY BETA

 

The Cribs Men’s Needs, Women’s Needs, Whatever ITUNES MYSPACE Bratty Brits keep rockin’ for the hipster riffraff they hate

“Hey Scenesters!,” the most memorable track on this English fuzz-pop trio’s last album, worked like a cynic’s response to Art Brut’s “Formed a Band.” For their third full-length (which Franz Ferdinand’s Alex Kapranos produced), the Cribs have grown no more tolerant of cool-kid conformity: “You say nothing / So you’ll always mean nothing

Crowded House Time on Earth ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Australian pop legends still have the melodic skills

Midway through the sessions for a solo album, Neil Finn rang up some old mates. And with original Crowded House bassist Nick Seymour, late-era guitarist Mark Hart, and former Beck drummer Matt Sherrod ( replacing Paul Hester, who committed suicide in 2005), Finn delivers the modest, delicately crafted record that 1993’s Together Alone—the band’s enervated, far-flung studio swan song—should have been. Though lacking the immediacy of hits like “Don’t Dream It’s Over” or “Something So Strong,” Time on Earth is an assured, soothing collection of sweet-tempered pop tunes (“Even a Child”) and ballads (“Pour Le Monde”). J. NIIMI

“I am he as you
are he as you are
me as…wait…”

The Dead C
Future Artists
ITUNES MYSPACE
Eternally cranky Kiwi punks
prefer noise over pop
From the late ’80s into the

D oppelgangsta
King of the South trades rhymes with his evil twin

FROM LEF T: KERR Y BROWN/COURTES Y BIG HASSLE; PATRICK HOELCK

Crowded House:
The dream’s
not over yet.

Eyvind Kang Athlantis ½ AMAZON MYSPACE Well-traveled violinist takes his most bizarre journey yet

When not scoring strings for Blonde Redhead or scouring them alongside John Zorn or Sun City Girls, Seattle-based violinist Eyvind Kang imagines his own idiosyncratic compositions (like 2002’s ambient dirge Live Low to the Earth, in the Iron Age). But even in the context of such outré players, Athlantis, Kang’s second disc for Ipecac, is truly out there. Inspired by Re-naissance-era texts, he utilizes the voices of Mike Patton and Jessika Kenney to render his chillingly phantasmal choral arrangements. Think the monolith scene from 2001 as rendered by Mr. Bungle and you’re almost there. ANDY BETA

T.I.
T.I. vs. T.I.P.
ITUNES MYSPACE

Gabby Glaser Gimme Splash ITUNES MYSPACE New York alt-funk boho searches for her own groove

Well rested but not out of touch, Luscious Jackson singer/guitarist Gabby Glaser fuses garage rock and funk with touches of ethereal pop on her first solo album since the group’s breakup in 2000. (Luscious cofounder Jill Cunniff released her solo debut in February.) “Shakedown,” Naturally High,” “Spirit of Long Island,” and “Sophisticated Gentlemen” are all driven by a hypnotic rhythm straight out of the Velvet Underground’s “Sister Ray.” And when Glaser tosses in some reverb, wah-wah guitar, and vocal distortion, she creates a well-rounded, enjoyable jumble. ROB O’CONNOR

All is not well in the trap. Clifford “T.I.” Harris, the Southern MC who ruled the rap airwaves last year with his fourth album, King, is at war with his alter ego, T.I.P. The personae represent two stages of his career: the lyrical smoothie dancing alongside Justin Timberlake on “My Love” and the hardened young thug from Atlanta’s rough Bankhead neighborhood.

In Act I, T.I.P. is at his boastful best, nodding to N. W.A and breaking down the formula for street entrepreneurship on “Da Dopeman,” as producer Mannie Fresh supports a gothic, ethereal beat with rhythmic handclaps. By Act II, T.I. is reasserting his position as an international playboy

and musical savior: “Got the game on lock / And it ain’t gon’ stop / Say hello to the man who saved hip-hop,” he claims on “Help Is Coming,” a Just Blaze anthem layered with gospel keyboards. On “Touchdown,” he challenges Oprah Winfrey while Eminem supplies booming Dr. Dre– style beats.

But though T.I. is one of
the best game-spitters in the
business, he struggles with
self-analysis, and too often
Lacking self-
analysis, T.I. ends up
just violently arguing

he ends up just violently arguing with himself. By Act III, T.I. faces down T.I.P. in the mirror during a bizarre skit, yelling, “Why can’t you just talk about what’s wrong with you? Why can’t you just let everything out?” The same could be said for the ambitious but uneven T.I. vs. T.I.P. MOSI REEVES