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Dresden Dolls The Dresden Dolls (8ft.)
In the complex, sinister world of Boston's Dresden Dolls, Brechtian punk, show tunes and decadent pop conflate to capture the confusion of mental illness. Singer and pianist Amanda Palmer sings frantic songs, teetering between intimate confession and disturbing disconnect, while Brian Viglione's drumming slams underneath. Occasionally guitars, bass and other strings join in, but mostly this duo handily creates waves of sound that match the toil in Palmer's husky alto. For as she wails about emotional instability, sexual confusion and self-mutilation, the music swarms and dissolves around her, mimicking the violent, sudden mood swings of depression. It's not exactly easy listening. Still, this self-titled debut is indeed wickedly ironic. On the addictive, circus-y "Coin Operated Boy," Palmer muses, "Made of plastic and elastic, he is rugged and long lasting/Who could ever ask for more? Love without complications galore." The song, though, like the rest of the record, is ultimately tragic: fearless music with the potential to dismantle. (BENJAMIN FRIEDLAND)
Lit Lit (Nitrus/DRT/Dirty Martini)
After amicably breaking ties with major label RCA, Lit experience -- phew -- freedom. But where to go musically? Back to the beginning, natch. Frontman A. Jay Popoff, brother/guitarist Jeremy, bassist Kevin Baldes and drummer Allen Shellenberger keep it simple, abandoning studio gloss and reaching for live-show grit. The result: Lit, a comfortable collection that successfully showcases the SoCal quartet's tightness and musical maturity. Once and again an indie band, the foursome continue to move from pop to metal to punk and back with carefree abandon. Power pop gets Beatlesque for a moment on "Forever Begins Right Now," adopts a Cheap Trick lightness on "Needle and Thread" and thrashes about on "Too Fast for a Fast Turn." The foursome takes some serious turns as well, addressing suicide on "Bulletproof" and hard personal luck on "Times Like These"; A. Jay, a first-time father, injects a newfound tenderness to "Lullaby" and sings with understanding the Cure's ode to commitment "Pictures of You." Throughout, the guys keep it loose and easy, clearly enjoying themselves and the music they make. It's a surefire recipe for good pop, and hit records. (MARIE ELSIE ST. LEGER)
Tragically Hip In Between Evolution (Zoe)
One thing that's remained the same in the Tragically Hip's twenty-plus years together is their power to ask questions without repeating themselves. Frontman Gordon Downie's role as a working class poet has only gotten better with age and the double-guitar attack of Rob Baker and Paul Langlois continues to complement the band's boundless ambition in making honest rock & roll. The Hip's eleventh album, In Between Evolution, stays true to the simple formula that plainness breeds purity. Quiet storms guide you through a world map of spiritual inquisition ("Nautical Disaster" and "Springtime in Vienna") throughout In Between Evolution. From the poignant flare of "Meanstreak" and the sepia-toned loneliness of "If New Orleans Is Beat" to the angular anticipation of "Summer's Killing Us," the Tragically Hip's journey is once again an education worthy of degree. They haven't tired of progressing, and it's a beautiful thing. (MACKENZIE WILSON)
Matt Nathanson Beneath the Fireworks (Universal/Cherry)
Too bad that Matt Nathanson's major-label debut isn't a live album -- when performing with just his guitar and a cellist/sidekick named Matt Fish, Nathanson brings his confessional songs to life with a rare power . . . and a hysterical sense of humor. To see him live is to be at a comedy show peppered with terrific music: one minute the crowd is cracking up, the next they're singing along in unison to Whitesnake's "Here I Go Again," the next, Nathanson's energy is channeled straight into the twelve-string, his voice warm and familiar. But after four self-released albums and an EP, Nathanson doesn't seem particularly phased by the jump to the majors. Rather, the songs on Beneath the Fireworks become larger, more impassioned without irony: the quiet opener "Angel" is the sweet antithesis of a kickoff track, with its unabashed swooning, while hushed songs like "Little Victories" and "Sing Me Sweet" are complemented by full-band rockers like "Pretty the World" and "Lucky Boy," with its biting conclusion: "You're not gold and there'll be centuries left . . . when you're gone." Matt Nathanson occasionally bites back -- and even pain can feel good. (ANDREW STRICKMAN)
Maritime Glass Floor (Four Stars)
Call it post post-rock: Formed from the remnants of emo-poster boys Promise Ring and punk-rockers Dismemberment Plan, Maritime cut songs with a rare unironic pop sensibility. Yes, Glass Floor begins with the whimpering melancholy "The Window Is the Door," but then the record takes a turn for the quirky, offering little pop gems rife with rich melodies and vocalist Davey von Bohlen's quietly teasing lyrics. Just like Get Up Kid Matthew Pryor (and his mid-life band the New Amsterdams), Promise Ring's von Bohlen's grown up and settled down. There's a warmly insular, suburban quality to his songs, reflected in tracks like "Someone Has to Die" -- "I don't care what happens in Argentina, yeah, or way up north off the coast of Norway on an island with no name." These days, von Bohlen's content to croon sly songs about love and loss, and it suits him -- and Maritime's shining debut record -- just fine. (JULIE GERSTEIN)
Brindley Brothers Playing With the Light (Paste)
On Playing with the Light, Luke and Daniel Brindley create concise, guitar-driven power pop fattened by fuzzy Fender Rhodes organ and brotherly harmonies made possible only by a genetic link. Fans of the Gin Blossoms or pre-Yankee Hotel Foxtrot Wilco will swoon to the disc's opening title track, with its bouncy melody over taut guitars; the piano-and-horn pomp of "Roman Candle"; and the chunky power chords of "Slow Burn" and "Supernova." Luke Brindley's linear narratives take you into Manhattan's entertaining East Village on the Jackson Browne-flavored "Hudson River" ("I'm sitting here in Peter Cooper Park/Street preacher punctuates each sentence with a bark"), but for most of the album he deals with family, friends and the restless ache that fills the passage of time in a romantic heart. With nine songs in thirty-four minutes, brevity is obviously important to the brothers Brindley, and they've seen enough performers to understand that it's a requirement in holding the attention of listeners -- when they're not playing, the two run Jammin' Java, a popular live music venue and coffeehouse in Vienna, Virginia. (MEREDITH OCHS)
Patterson Hood Killers and Stars (New West)
This collection of twelve demos from Drive-By Truckers leader Patterson Hood was recorded in his dining room over two nights in 2001 and then sold at solo shows as a private glimpse into the singer's then-difficult life. The band was finishing up its double-album opus Southern Rock Opera with much unresolved tension and Hood's marriage headed to divorce ("Miss Me Gone"). Hood nearly forgot about these naked sketches, but recently decided to have them properly mastered and issued for posterity's sake. These dark acoustic tunes confront everything from the sketchy personality disorders that lead to cult stardom ("Frances Farmer," "Cat Power") to Alzheimer's ("Old Timer's Disease") with both a critical and empathetic eye. Hood's southern drawl becomes a lonely whine against the plaintive guitar occasionally smacked out of key by his overheated strumming. Throughout, cathartic and therapeutic, Killers and Stars maintains its raw edge. (ROB O'CONNOR)
The Soviettes LP II (Adeline)
The Soviettes are fiercely adhering to the two-minute, pistols-in-the-air-style punk song so popularized by the Ramones. And bonus: they manage to squeeze in some political lyrics. They also resemble the Go-Go's with their screamy salt-water choruses. But unlike those two bands, the Soviettes don't have the hang of it -- yet. They haven't quite mastered the tasty, fat-ass hook, the kind of melody that can pull you under, peeling off bikini bottoms like one mean riptide. Without a razor-hook, a song can feel like an advertisement for what could've been. On their second full-length, LP II, the Minneapolis foursome (one guy, three gals) end up with too many billboards -- but serious potential abounds. "Pass the Flashlight" is a nasty-paced call and response about virtually nothing that sounds like everything, and "Channel X" is complex, critical and somehow sweet. Maybe by their next record the Soviettes will have made red the new red, white and blue. (MARGARET WAPPLER)
The Izzys The Izzys (Kanine)
If you like Stonesy garage rawk with splashes of heartland twang, you're gonna love the Izzys' eponymous debut album. Sure, at times they get almost close enough to "Jumping Jack Flash" (on "Little Sally Water") to have to cough up some cabbage to Jagger and Richards, but if you can ignore the obvious connection to Mick and the lads, it's a sweet ride. Short, catchy songs with loose, raunchy guitar playing and shrug-and-wink lyrics will grab you by both ears. Dig the wry, country-tinged "Lonely," or the hooky chagrin of "You Got Me Crying." The trio kicks out the jams on the rockers "Strange," "Morning Bells" and "Velocity." Mike Storey's axe work is gorgeously haphazard and at times threatens to meander off into parts unknown, while his vocals stretch and strain, punch and pull, devoid of star-singer power but drenched with mood and character. This one's for the real rock & rollers out there. (ADRIAN ZUPP)