Unleashing a torrent of words to describe the endless search for anything that matters, he wails like the high-strung little brother of Old 97’s Rhett Miller. Sheff’s restless longing sends him careening from orchestral textures on “Our Life Is Not a Movie or Maybe” to the pumping Motown beat of “A Hand to Take Hold of the Scene” and into a country haze on the sultry “A Girl in Port,” one of the sexiest indie-rock come-ons ever. JON YOUNG

The Pipettes We Are the Pipettes ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Retro-’⁶⁰s girl power, with ironic polka dots included

For all the love given to classic, built-from-scratch girl groups—even Rhino’s 2005 B-list box set, One Kiss Can Lead to Another, received almost universal acclaim—it’s surprising that they’re so rarely manufactured successfully (except when they’re pseudo strippers like the Pussycat Dolls). The sweet-singing, nattily outfitted Brit trio of Gwenno, Rosay, and RiotBecki, have been embraced by the indie-rock set, who are apparently happy to ignore slight similarities to the genre’s last great phenom, the Spice Girls. But that’s no insult: “Pull Shapes” and “One Night Stand” make delicious dessert treats, aspiring to little more. Quoth the former: “I just wanna move / I don’t care what the song’s about.” JOSH MODELL

Sum 41 Underclass Hero ITUNES MYSPACE Once-hateable pop punks craft disturbingly likable hooks It’s always been tempting to define Sum 41 by what they’re not—not pointed and ambitious like Green Day, nor goofy and irreverent like Blink-182— but their fifth album makes such judgments feel like needless bellyaching. On Underclass Hero, the group continues to grow out of the snotty insouciance of its younger years and builds on the earnest political engagement of 2004’s Chuck. The result is a bigger, slicker record laced with potent American Idiot–style Bushbashing (“The Jester”), a handful of emo-heavy relationship ballads, and very few surprises. DAVID PEISNER

Super Furry Animals Hey Venus! ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Ladies and gentlemen, we are no longer floating in space Making art-rock epics is exhausting work, and if any band has earned the right to dial down the galaxy-hopping ambition, it’s these Welsh oddballs. Their eighth album eschews the usual genre-splicing and orchestral sweep in favor of unfussy, hook-filled tunes that generally try to make a point in less than four minutes. And the lower-key approach pays off—the standouts here, like the Bacharachian pop of “Show Your Hand” or the country-fried apocalypse ballad “Let the Wolves Howl at the Moon,” rank with some of the most affecting songs the group has ever recorded. LANE BROWN

Linda Thompson
Versatile Heart
ITUNES MYSPACE
Legendary folk rocker puts a
few tears in your, um, lager
“Give me a sad song / I’m
in a class of my own,” sings
the former Mrs. Richard
Thompson on her first solo
record since 2002’s moving
rebirth, Fashionably Late
(her first recording in 17
years). And indeed she is.
Though she falls victim to a
handful of leaden troubadour
laments and shows too much
reverence for mustily
traditional British folk
(unless you dig lyrics of the
“ey fiddle ah la day” variety),
her voice has never sounded
better than on the sprightly
title track and the instantly
classic weeper “Beauty.”
SEAN HOWE

VHS or Beta Bring on the Comets ½ ITUNES MYSPACE Hey, guys, Curiosa was three years ago. Let’s move on. Kentucky’s least country sons, now entirely removed from the Francophile disco of their first album (2002’s pleasantly innocuous Le Funk), continue to mimic ’80s new wave on their third. But without the strong vocals and volatile rock leanings that make the Killers and Interpol sound modern, Bring on the Comets is ultimately a bland regression. Percolating synthesizers bleed into the album’s unrelenting mid-tempo beat, as Craig Pfunder mewls like Robert Smith, highbred Sloane-y accent and all. Even the mix is tinny, like a fuzzy trip through an unremarkable memory. STACEY ANDERSON

For Mature Audiences
High-spirited indie rockers ease back and turn inward
side. Too bad the bandleader called his 2004
solo debut The Slow Wonder; the title better
reflects this one.

That’s not to suggest that we’re entirely in Simon & Garfunkel territory here, although “Adventures in Solitude” does conjure a lovely library-folk vibe. “All the Things That Go to Make Heaven and Earth” bounces along on a go-go surf-rock groove, while “Failsafe” rides the menacing tremolo riff from the Smiths’ “How Soon Is Now?”

Still, most of Challengers trades the fuzzy
synths and galloping drums of the outfit’s
past records for acoustic-based ruminations
o n matters of the heart. Even the cuts that
The New Pornographers
Challengers ½
ITUNES MYSPACE

feature lead vocals by Neko Case—usually the Pornos’ brightest rave-ups—sound reined in, as on the title track, where Case embraces a new lover as “whatever the mess you are.” The melodic sense of

Last year, New Pornographers mastermind Carl Newman relocated from Vancouver to Brooklyn, a move you might assume would increase the energy level of the band’s already exuberant power pop. Yet Challengers is their least frantic effort yet—instead of goosing the tempos and hardening the guitars, the Big Apple’s intense buzz has

e vidently inspired Newman’s contemplative
Even cuts that feature
lead vocals by Neko Case
sound reined in.

Still Remains The Serpent ITUNES MYSPACE Christian guitar grinders exult in keyboards and beats

Ostensibly, this Michigan six-piece carries the metalcore torch lit by Killswitch Engage and Shadows Fall. But the band’s synth-heavy sound doesn’t reflexively fall back on jackhammer riffs and Cookie Monster bellows. The Serpent moves from epic balladry (“Maria”) to squiggly, Europe-esque sports metal (“Sleepless Nights Alone”), and even neo-disco (the stunning “Dancing With the Enemy”). Not everything sticks (“The Wax Walls of an Empty Room” is as clunky as the title), but T.J. Miller possesses a moan-shout that adroitly adapts to the band’s shifting styles. K YLE ANDERSON

Newman and cowriter Dan Bejar (who contributes three of his own songs) keeps things from stalling out, but you’ve gotta wonder where Newman’s been spending h is New York minutes. M IKAEL WOOD

MARINA CHAVEZ/COUR TES Y MATADOR

The “It’s Raining
Men” concept was
always doomed.