on its sadly sexy eight minutes with some deliciously funereal chord changes that Cat Power (a clear antecedent) hasn’t bummed us out with yet. SHANNON ZIMMERMAN

UNKLE War Stories ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Past-his-prime trip-hop impresario calls in rock chips UNKLE’s debut, 1998’s Psyence Fiction, was essentially a DJ Shadow disc packed with guest stars, so when Shadow left the group—masterminded by Mo’ Wax label chief James Lavelle—so did its musical vision. Lavelle has turned to some rock-centric friends (most notably coproducer and Queens of the Stone Age collaborator Chris Goss) for UNKLE’s third album, ditching the electronic undercarriage in favor of live instruments and singers known better for growling—Josh Homme, Ian Astbury—than rapping. Although still engagingly widescreen at points (Astbury’s goth throwback “Burn My Shadow”), War Stories feels more like a random compilation than a fresh exploration. JOSH MODELL

label has spent the past five years getting crowds to glisten like disco balls with its effortless meshing of ribald Chicago house and rigorous Berlin techno. The double album 5 Years Get Physical offers a set of new remixes from Hot Chip, the Rapture, and Moby, but the real treats are on disc two: Jona’s breathless “ Fisherman,” a tawdry monologue by Chelonis R. Jones, and even a remake of Laurie Anderson’s “O Superman,” by M.A.N.D. Y. vs. Booka Shade, that imagines Xanadu anew. ANDY BETA

A post-Coolio
fantastic
voyage

Videohippos Unbeast the Leash ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Pop songs lurk beneath the demented, droning bedlam On the surface—the name, the druggy artwork, the drum machines—Videohippos look and sound deliberately abstruse, but at the heart of the seemingly lawless Unbeast the Leash lies a desire to be hummed, not shunned. Even when the Baltimore—sorry, Wham City—duo add chipmunk vocal effects

(“Take It”) or combine video game noises and overdriven jackhammer beats (“Sick Dolphin”), they find fuzzy, friendly melodies. It’s perfect for those rare times when deciding between Mates of State, a tab of Ecstasy, and Lightning Bolt proves too difficult. JOSH MODELL

 

Yellowcard Paper Walls ITUNES MYSPACE After fiddling with their sound, it’s back to emo business

This pop-punk quintet released a fan-polarizing 2006 album that included a contemporary jazz number and—gasp!—a cameo by a Dixie Chick, but here they return to the infectious anthems that made them Warped Tour headliners. Sure, there’s still an occasional acoustic waltz, but mostly, this batch of songs is built around chugging power chords, instantly memorable choruses, and, on “Five Becomes Four,” one of the finest violin solos you’ll hear this side of your local Ren faire. TREVOR KELLEY

 

John Vanderslice Emerald City ITUNES MYSPACE Turning terrifying headlines into riveting story-songs

With a gift for creating troubled, realistic characters, gloomy San Francisco songwriter John Vanderslice excels at evoking a simmering dread, and Emerald City may be his most unsettling work yet. Tense folk-pop melodies and sorrowful vocals offer zero comfort in these portraits of loss, which range from a mother coping with a child’s murder to survivors who can’t forget burning towers and vaporized dust. Describing “dripping blood on the road,” the lovely yet horrific “The Minaret” is the ultimate antiwar song for today. JON YOUNG

Can’t Stop, Won’t Stop
New York’s radical raconteur watches reality crash his party
Gogol Bordello
Super Taranta!
ITUNES MYSPACE

LAUREN DUKOFF

Various Artists 5 Years Get Physical ½ ITUNES Dance-floor juggernaut compiles, remixes classic tracks

Named for Australian hardbody Olivia Newton-John’s ’80s Jazzer-cise jam, Germany’s Get Physical

Eugene Hütz’s revolution has hit a snag. On ²⁰⁰⁵’s Gypsy Punks Underground World Strike, the Gogol Bordello frontman roused hordes of rabble from the urban immigrant stew he dubbed “the Gypsy part of town” toward two radical goals: a joyously chaotic hedonism and a borderless planet populated by interracial mongrels. Two years later, gentility threatens the first (“No can do this, no can

do that,” the firebrand grumbles on “Tribal Connections”); and Hütz acknowledges the second’s downside on “Zina-Marina,” in which Ukrainian girls are lured into Middle Eastern slavery by Top Model promises.

Hütz declares his new
“Supertheory of
Supereverything.”
And don’t get him started on that lousy
“American Wedding”—over by 1 A.M., you
call that a party?
Undaunted, Hütz declares his new
“Supertheory of Supereverything” and his
indebtedness to the tarantella, an Italian

folk song and dance. Leave verification of the latter to the musicologists—we laypeople can simply enjoy the band’s increasingly deep groove, its rich crosscutting of violin and accordion melodies, and its mastery of both Gypsycore thrash and lilting Euro-reggae. Hütz’s energy remains undiminished. He transforms sentiments like “There was never any good old days” and “I can’t go on / I will go on” into rallying cries, and he’s even more eloquent on the title track, where the lyrics degenerate into unintelligible muttering. Celebration is still Hütz’s natural mode. But desperation also becomes him. KEITH HARRIS