The eighth studio album from these folk-pop weirdos opens with 25 seconds of squelchy insectoid chatter that comes off as willfully annoying. Then the noise resolves into a chunky electro-throb that forms the basis of a fine summertime pop tune, featuring samples of monster movies, words like “broccoli,” and a chorus woven from the cheery sounds of steel drums. The track, “Peacebone,” foreshadows this whole delicious record, forging the band’s often shambling experimentalism—which rides the line between childlike and childish—into something strangely pulsing and sublime.
solo record called Person Pitch, on which the singer dove deeper into Beach Boys waters than ever before. Those pure, keening melodies are evident, especially on “Winter Wonder Land” and “Derek,” but you can also hear the pop faith that underlies them—the belief that a bright, catchy melody is a sacrament for us all. However, the sweetness of Strawberry Jam is savvily balanced by the sour, or at
least the edgy. Peculiar sounds abound, and on the driving “For Reverend Green,” Avey Tare starts shrieking like a stuck pig over a chipper squeezebox. “Now I think it’s all right to feel inhuman,” he barks. That might sound harsh, but it’s precisely why animals are noble. ERIK DAVIS
Bay-bay-buh, bay-buh, bay-bay-buh, baby, I fell from the sky... The good news for Cult fans who fretted when Ian Astbury split to front the re-formed Doors is that the singer hasn’t gone completely Lizard King. On the U.K. band’s first new album since 2001’s Beyond Good and Evil, they return to what made them one of the ’80s most reliable, riff-heavy outfits: Guitarist Billy Duffy supplies relentless, fist-pumping power chords (on “Sound of Destruction” and “I Assassin”), while Astbury knows when to hold back and when to unleash his killer wail. Nothing here kicks as hard as Cult classics like “She Sells Sanctuary” and “Love Removal Machine,” but “Dirty Little Rockstar” slithers surprisingly close. JASON BUHRMESTER
new stuff to sound empowered and celebratory. Instead, the Donnas have never seemed less enthused; none of these 14 tracks contains a melody as catchy or a beat as pumping as those on Spend the Night or Gold Medal. When frontlady Brett Anderson announces in “Save Me” that “I’m gonna party till the day I die,” her voice reveals more weariness than excitement. MIKAEL WOOD
proves they can generate emotional heat without sacrificing weirdness. JON YOUNG
Now a New York resident, Steve Earle announces, “Good-bye, Guitar Town,” on “Tennessee Blues,” the first track of his 12th studio album. But even with added hip-hop textures ( courtesy of Dust Brother John King), Serenade hardly signals a break from the singer/songwriter’s folk-country roots—he’s reworking his own territory here. Which is why we expect the song about sweaty illegals to have a better twist ending than “All of us are immigrants,” and the tune about meth addiction to feel more, well, lived in. Luckily, as he shows on “Days Aren’t Long Enough” and “Sparkle and Shine,” the man can still write a damn pretty love song. SEAN HOWE
moving indie pop of their 2005 debut full-length with dramatic prog-guitar lines and shades of Fleetwood Mac’s warm soft-rock glow. The vintage makeover suits them well, though, especially bewitching vocalists Stacy and Sherri, who have long seemed ready to twirl down Stevie Nicks’ ethereal trail. TREVOR KELLE Y
ADRIANO FAGUNDES/COURTESY DOMINO
The Donnas Bitchin’ ITUNES MYSPACE
Bitchin’ is the Donnas’ first album since exiting the major-label system that subtracted any irony from their sexed-up rock-chick spectacle. So you’d expect the
This Cleveland-bred band’s insanely eclectic debut—recorded with TV on the Radio producer/ guitarist Dave Sitek—almost collapses under the weight of its own fuzzy ambitions. Fronted by twins Aku and Akwetey O. T., who learned music theory from jazz great Yusef Lateef, the Dragons mash familiar styles into intriguing, irregular shapes, with melancholy psychedelia, romantic soul, itchy hip-hop, and frazzled hard rock all subjected to creative abuse. The echo-heavy production and cerebral arrangements sometimes suck the life from the songs, but the gorgeously sludgy “Closer”
Bighearted Boston loudmouths storm the barricades again
Despite gaining mainstream exposure on last year’s soundtrack to The Departed, Dropkick Murphys haven’t softened their rough edges: The band’s sixth album is a massive blast of exalted noise via shouted, sore-throat choruses and brain-crushing beats (along with a hint of bagpipes). But The Meanest of Times moves beyond just connecting the dots between working-class punk and ancient Celtic ditties, with surprisingly thoughtful songs that explore lives shaped by drunken violence and Catholicism—the brute fury of “Shattered” alone provides reason enough to listen up. JON YOUNG
Eisley Combinations ITUNES MYSPACE Remember the ’70s? Neither do they, but that doesn’t stop ’em. What’s a young band to do when their much-hyped, long-incu-bated first album fails to connect with the masses? For Eisley, a wholesome group of siblings from suburban Texas, the answer is to borrow heavily from the classic-rock geezers who called it quits before they were born. Throughout Combinations, the DuPree sisters augment the slow-
This Buffalo, New York quartet’s metalcore sound owes more to classic-rock party grooves than the Swedish death-metal scare tactics that many of their contemporaries ran into the ground a couple years back—think razor-sharp guitars, as opposed to thick, D-tuned riffing. There’s also more melody than on 2005’s Gutter Phenomenon, with legit choruses behind Keith Buckley’s screams (no childish growling, thankfully). Every Time I Die’s rhythmic looseness and sense of humor (sample song title: “Buffalo Gals”) actually threaten to bust them out of their sometimes constrictive genre. ANDREW EARLES
References:
http://www.myspace.com/animalcollectivetheband
http://www.myspace.com/cultmusic
http://www.myspace.com/dropkickmurphys
http://www.myspace.com/dragonsofzynth
http://www.myspace.com/everytimeidie
http://www.myspace.com/thedonnas
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