Shriek, the fourth full-length from Baltimore dream pop duo Wye Oak, represents a drastic change for a band that never needed one in the first place. Just a few years ago in 2011, Jenn Wasner and Andy Stack were doing just fine for themselves composing delicate, wispy acoustic tunes with their third album, Civilian. This LP’s sound, although not entirely different from anything these two had done in the past, was tighter and more affecting than usual, and seemed to hint that Wye Oak would one day make a truly unforgettable indie folk record, something even better than a great meditative collection.

Turns out that prediction was wrong — well, only in part. Shriek is most certainly not an indie folk album or a meditative piece; however, it’s their sharpest and most direct album yet. Instead of using hushed acoustics and tranquil vocals to achieve dreamy eloquence, Wye Oak instead employs vivid synths and fluid bass, without even the slightest hint of guitar. As told to SPIN, Wasner’s decision to radically reform Wye Oak’s sound was a life or death situation for the act: “[While writing Shriek], there was all this weird baggage associated with the guitar for me, and I couldn’t get around that,” she grieved. “It was a block. I had to sidestep the block in order to be able to make anything.” And sidestep the block she did; in fact, she’s leapt over it. The novel sound Wasner and Stack convey on Shriek is braver and more affecting than anything they’ve done to date, although it’s a formula they have yet to perfect.

From the moment the warbly, disquieting synths of “Before” open the album, it’s obvious that Wye Oak is going for something different here. This song’s empathic vocal delivery and lush synth beds are fleshed out even more fully on the title track, which follows in sequence. Wasner’s breathy vocals and milky synths flood the music with anguish, as they do on Shriek‘s true slow-burner, “I Know the Law.” This tune would blend in near perfectly on Beach House’s masterpiece-to-date, 2010’s Teen Dream.

Actually, Wye Oak’s trajectory to date slightly mimics Beach House’s musical path. The latter act too started their career in lethargic, desolate dream pop (“Apple Orchard”, “Heart of Chambers”), eventually progressing to direct and unexpectedly heartwarming synthpop. It’s an interesting comparison because it suggests how far Wye Oak has come: just as Beach House’s more recent output, the most tactile and lively material in their catalog, has drawn significantly more acclaim than their early albums, so too should Shriek as compared to its predecessors. Songs like Beach House’s “Norway” and “Myth” find matches in Shriek‘s “Glory” and “The Tower”, respectively.

It’s no coincidence, then, that these two tracks are Shriek‘s strongest (but maybe it is a coincidence that these are the album’s two singles). Placed back to back early on in the album, they’re the most immediate moments present, and deviate a tad more obviously from Wye Oak’s past work than the rest of what’s here. Although the short ambient intro to “The Tower” could segue directly into a Civilian-style acoustic hymn, it instead swells into a massive strut of synthetic sparkle and slinky low notes. Wasner’s voice sounds unusually cold, an excellent match for the arhythmic synths defining the song. “Glory”, on the other hand, is pure warmth and ecstasy: percussive pounding, essentially the complete opposite of the ambience introducing “The Tower”, initiates this track. A thick bassline quickly appears, with snippets of synth warbles outlining the soundscape. The chorus of this track is arguably Shriek‘s most explosive: a surprisingly funky bassline and synths that almost feel like they’re hugging you envelop Wasner’s emotive, exasperated vocals.

If “Glory” isn’t the pinnacle of Shriek‘s outwardness, then this award goes to the track following it, “Sick Talk.” Synth crests outline this sweet, sugary tune, and eventually ascend to watery waves of creaminess during the song’s Friendly Fires-esque chorus. Although the breathiness of Wasner’s vocals makes her exact words somewhat difficult to understand here, this quality doesn’t stop them from sending chills up her listeners’ spines. Really, though, there aren’t too many songs on here where Wasner’s words are fully discernable, which is unfortunate since she may well be saying some incredibly affectionate, relatable things. Take, for example, “School of Eyes”: right before this song’s first chorus, Wasner says something along the lines of “my hand is mine/even when you hold it”, but the heft of her voice disguises her words too much to confirm this.

This problem with Wasner’s voice isn’t limited merely to “Sick Talk” and “School of Eyes.” “Paradise” and “Logic of Color” are particularly guilty of this sin, and of something even more troubling: these tunes simply aren’t as enjoyable as the songs comprising Shriek‘s first half. Indeed, Shriek is a frontloaded album, but that’s not to say the back half is completely flat. “Despicable Animal” is definitely interesting and almost psychedelic, and the uneasy bass of “Paradise” is impossible to track down elsewhere on the album.

Shriek expends its best moments rapidly, yet it somehow stands tall as Wye Oak’s finest accomplishment. If Wasner can learn to elucidate her vocals and enunciate her words, and both Wasner and Stack take steps to keep their formula engaging for all forty minutes of a typical album runtime, then they’ll certainly make the truly unforgettable record that’s suspected to lie within them. Until then, we’re left with a slew of blissful, sensitive songs that, despite the inevitable Beach House comparisons, probably could have come from no one else.

Phantogram’s career to date has proven that an artist’s musical approaches can be scattershot and haphazard without coming off messy or amateurish. Their debut LP Eyelid Movies dabbled in a wide range of styles: faintly dark, electro-tinged dream pop, terrifying, urgent, 90s-style hip-hop, and contemplative yet forceful indie rock all received equal space on this album. Follow-up EP Nightlife demonstrated the duo’s proficiency in even more modes: eerie acoustic hymns, distant electropop, and dreamy, stadium-oriented rock all appeared within. However, the band’s second full-length and first in five years, Voices, sees Sarah Barthel and Josh Carter ditching the stylistic indecision of their past releases, resulting in their most consistent work yet. Although such a decision might plague the band’s fluctuating sound with sameness, these two cleverly avoid this problem by delving further into the darkness and sexiness their catalog had previously only hinted at.

From the get-go, though, it’s not entirely obvious that Voices marks any new territory for this duo. Opener “Nothing But Trouble” explores the same musical motifs and vocal methods employed on Eyelid Movies highlights “Mouthful of Diamonds” and “As Far A I Can See”, but this is certainly not a bad thing. Acting as a gateway between Phantogram’s former doings and their newer ways, it provides a proper segue into newer terrain, leading directly into the sensual moodiness of “Black Out Days.” Constructed upon ominous synths and thrilling vocal loops courtesy of Bartel, this song begins Voices‘ journey into more affecting, lust-speckled themes, somewhat uncharted territory for these two. Elsewhere, the deceivingly-titled “Bill Murray” exudes warmth and sensuality despite the murky, bleak synth crests forming its core; “Howling at the Moon” employs Western-tinged guitars and haunting synths to achieve an aching, evocative synthpop tune. The chorus’ main lyric of “at night I crawl and howl at the moon” can easily be mistaken for “at night I cry and howl at the moon”; in fact, maybe that’s what the words really say — it can be hard to distinguish through the flickering percussion, background howls (no coincidence), and longing guitars. Regardless, it’s downright afflicting since Bartel’s voice is so flexible.

Although Bartel usually takes the vocal lead on most of these songs, Carter gets his fair share of time front-and-center. This is a continued trend — Eyelid Movies‘ “Running from the Cops” and Nightlife‘s “Turning Into Stone” feature Carter on vocals, but Voices marks what’s possibly the best use of his vocals yet. On “I Don’t Blame You”, Carter alternates between monotone storytelling in the verses and skyward, longing tones in the chorus. The bare instrumental composition of the verses — rhythmic, repeating percussion, background synth hum, muted brass samples — perfectly contrasts the explosive chorus, its synths and percussion both accentuated to far greater heights. It’s arguably Phantogram’s best tune with Carter as frontman to date, although Voices‘ sparkling, heartbreaking “Never Going Home” could also qualify for this title. “If this is love/I’m never going home,” emotes Carter during this song’s chorus, and though the sentiment may be ordinary, his pleading delivery makes it fully believable.

Preceding the somewhat introverted dynamics of “Never Going Home” is the heaviest, most adrenaline-rushing song on Voices. “Fall in Love”, released as the album’s first single way back in December of last year, proves to be Voices‘ strongest track despite how familiar it feels by now. Synthetic strings unassumingly open the song, but quickly pave the way for huge synth blasts, slamming percussion, and digitized oohs and aahs. These elements disappear quickly as Bartel croons the first verse, but reemerge thereafter as the foundation of the song’s absolutely giant chorus, in which the background voices strikingly underpin Bartel’s cries of “You were fallin’/I’m sorry.” Its bridge contains a contender for Phantogram’s most disturbing lyric yet: “The lights/on my face ate away my smile,” laments Bartel, adding more ghostly feelings to this already eerie track.

“Could it be that I’m/falling apart?” asks Bartel during the bridge of “Fall in Love”, yet, if anything, Voices implies that Phantogram are just coming together. As Phantogram’s darkest, steamiest, most cohesive effort to date, Voices establishes that Phantogram’s career has not been a series of flukes, of disparate ideas that just happen to click. Here, they’ve channeled their varied ideas into a document that speaks to their strengths like never before.

Dan Bejar is one of very few people who can claim to have spent the last fifteen or so years yelping and whining his way through a musical career. He’s also one of a much greater number of people who can claim to have spent the last fifteen or so years cleverly musing and sensually crooning his way through a musical career. Bejar’s music, which he releases under the name Destroyer, uses his chameleonic vocals as one of its most prominent vehicles, and on no two songs over his nine-album discography do these vocals take the exact same form. Despite the diversity of Destroyer’s acclaimed output, few listeners probably expected that, somewhere between the lethargic, resigned near-whispers of Kaputt and the manic, ear-splitting shrieks of This Night, there exists a range of Bejar’s voice that perfectly suits the Spanish language.

The most surprising element of Destroyer’s Five Spanish Songs EP isn’t that a wordsmith as extravagant and unmatched as Bejar has chosen to abandon his native tongue for a language foreign to some of his audience; if anything, Bejar might be the modern musician most apt to make such a poetic, romantic decision. What really stuns about the EP is that a man recognized for howling through lyrically dense, poetically perplexing masterpieces sounds so fluid in a language so much more nuanced than his own. From the first words of opener “Maria de las Nieves,” it’s clear that Bejar’s shape-shifting voice has settled in an unexpectedly logical place.

As an opener, “Maria de las Nieves” also establishes the dynamics and instrumentation that form the rest of the EP’s songs (all of which are covers of music by the band Sr. Chinarro). The Kaputt-esque, dreamy electric guitars lining “Maria” appear prominently on the tropical percussion-backed “Babieca”; “Del Monton” borrows the lucid, acoustic guitars of “Maria” and throws in some pianos while minimizing the percussion; “Bye Bye”, the most minimal piece here, isolates the opening track’s acoustics and electrics to create a slow-burning, Streethawk-styled ballad.

It’s this last track that best resembles previous Destroyer works. Centered on a bare, basic acoustic guitar riff and sprinkles of light, clear-as-day electric guitars, the instrumental palette brings to mind past Bejar pleasures “Helena”, “It’s Gonna Take an Airplane”, and “Watercolours Into the Ocean”, among others. Indeed, “Bye Bye” rewards long-time Destroyer fans directly after the surprising rock stomp of “El Rito.” Although the latter track is by far the most obviously energizing tune present on the EP, it’s rather straightforward and fun coming from a guy who writes about fictional society balls and swords hanging above liars (“A Dangerous Woman Up to a Point”).

Compared to the wordy weight of past efforts, Five Spanish Songs strikes gently, perhaps a relief for fans seeking something a bit less challenging than the rest of Destroyer’s catalog. Yet it’s this very quality that prevents the EP from meriting infinite replays, unlike past albums including, but absolutely not limited to, Destroyer’s Rubies and Kaputt. Even though Bejar name-checks Franz Kafka on “Del Monton,” these five songs generally lack the cultural references and wordy mass that galvanize the bulk of Bejar’s writing. Regardless, Bejar has recorded these tracks in such a way that enjoying them does not depend on knowing that they’re all covers of the same band; they shine without context, a quality that confirms, in light of the doubt cast by the language switch, that Five Spanish Songs is indeed the work of Dan Bejar.

A mere 18 months have passed since The Vaccines entered the UK Album Charts with their debut What Did You Expect from The Vaccines?, but the young band is clearly endowed with enough energy to pull off yet another bluntly strenuous record. The singles “No Hope” and “Teenage Icon” have hinted at a slightly less straightforward sound than the guitar pop found on their debut album, both bearing a resemblance to early days of The Strokes. “No Hope” is feasibly their strongest lyrical effort so far, depicting an adolescent sinking into utter despondency and tribulation.

The album’s most electrifying point comes with “Aftershave Ocean”, a simple yet effective Blur-esque track, substantially different from anything the band has released so far. And it’s not just this track; the entire album is a respectable step away from irrefutably refreshing, but slightly yielding debut. By any means, Come of Age is not a groundbreaking, historical event in the history of music industry, but it’s nevertheless patently showing progress of a young and promising band.

The Vaccines may have been accused of sounding painfully repetitive and characterless, and in all honesty, tracks such as “Lonely World” and “Weirdo” will hardly help to erase such reputation, despite being fairly popular among the band’s devoted fan base. Still, there is an occasional spark of sheer magic such as the witty “Change of Heart Pt.2”. Another playful part is “Ghost Town”, containing slightly more groovy guitar sounds and sprightly drums.

All in all, the album is noticeably less prosaic that its predecessor and the London four-piece deserve a monumental praise for breaking the spell of unproductivity that seems to surround contemporary bands. Despite being blamed for being posh, tame and altogether too clumsy, the Vaccines’ second album should ensure them a more respectable place in the hearts of fans and critics alike.

My first introduction to Cat Power was as a high school senior, clothe in graphic tees and anxious to desert the Midwest. I was still trying to get over New Found Glory, listening to downloaded singles on a first generation iPod, and desperately longed to put an edge on my musical tastes. I had dabbled in the post-punk revival of the 2000s, pretended to love ska and emo, and went through phases where I truly believed that music was only worth listening to if it was abrasive and came with a parental advisory. Yet, some how in the shambles of my adolescence, a burned copy of You Are Free found its way into my CD case. The album provided a moment of clarity in my musical crapshoot, grounding me with its lo-fi blues that were perfectly directed at my teenage malaise. There began my relationship with Chan Marshall, the face behind Cat Power.

Marshall, who is now forty, released her ninth studio album, Sun, the first full-length recording of personal material in years. The stories floating around the writing of the album only added to the anticipation of its long overdue release. Known for her struggles with addiction, depression, and stage fright, she had fashioned herself as a modern day train wreck who taunted fans, canceled shows, and would frequently appear too intoxicated to perform.

As early as 2006, statements from Marshall were floating around claiming that Sun was already written. However, it took six more years and an unanticipated breakup with Giovanni Ribisi for Sun to finally come to completion. “I cut my hair off three days later, got on a plane to France, and finished the shit,” stated Marshall in a recent interview with the Stool Pigeon.

Sun exhibits a newfound maturity, reaching a complexity unknown in previous Cat Power recordings. In doing so, Marshall is moving beyond her cult following of yesteryears. Plugged-in and propelled by driving beats and backing vocals, the album is refreshing, confident, and cogitative. Marshall has cut much of the angst that so readily defined her earlier music and the result is eleven tracks with a surprising sense of coherence.

In the existential track “Real Life,” Marshall proclaims, “real life is ordinary / sometimes you don’t wanna live/ sometimes you got to do what you don’t wanna do / to get away with an unordinary life.” Staying true that conviction, in the following song “Human Being,” Marshall goes on to declare, “when I say, I know the way, I’m only trying / No, don’t nobody know where the road to life is really lying.” This lucidity that Marshall seems to have found comes after eleven years of publicly displaying herself at one’s weakest moments and in that, it is well deserved.

Some of her ardent devotees, who, like me, are prone to months of long binges on the melancholy ballads of earlier releases, will find themselves longing for the vintage and familiar sound of Cat Power. But Sun is still vocally as rich as anything that Marshall has released previously. There is nothing wrong with a little guidance and direction, and there is never a moment in Sun that feels strained or overwrought, which Marshall can become in her worst moments. Nor is this revamping completely outside the realm of Marshall’s prototypical sound, as it parallels moments such as the track “He War,” on the 2003 album You Are Free. At no point in the career of Cat Power did Marshall promise us stability and there is nothing to criticize in catching one’s stride late in the game and running with it.

Being a musician is tough work. The hours might trounce the average nine to five, but not having a steady paycheck and life on the road can really ware on a person. Then there is the whole musical, artistic aspect of the trade. Not only do you have to create something that you are proud of personally, but you are constantly held to the whims and desires of fans and critics. Critics by their nature will always demand something new and inventive, like the pestering college professor with unrealistic expectations. Fans, on the other hand, will only love you for what you did before and often detest anything that is out of their comfort zone. “You win some, you lose some,” the saying goes. Yet in the world of a musician, there is seldom a winning record.

With their sophomore album, Coexist, the xx seeks to strike the perfect balance between those two dipolar expectations. After their debut in 2009, the xx left the world convinced that after all these years we had been missing something – the sparse, haunting sexiness found on their first album xx. Three years later, Coexist is a pleasant public service announcement reminding us of that. The vocals of Romy Madley-Croft and Oliver Sim compliment the raw lyrics effortlessly. Juxtaposed with the dubstep beats of Jamie xx née Smith, the album is beautiful in its limitedness. If what you were looking for was an extension of the album you fell in love with three years ago, there will be no disappointment. If anything, Coexist is even more polished and refined, the perfection of an accomplished oeuvre.

However in that, there is still an emptiness to be found. Coexist is almost indistinguishable from xx, and it leaves you with an unfulfilling feeling. It is almost as if the xx is playing it safe, hesitant to deviate too far from the norm and push their limits. There are plenty of clichés that your grandfather or a self-help book could interject here about failure, mediocrity, and success. But I feel the band summed it up best themselves in the track “Sunset.” “I always thought it was a shame,” croons Madley-Croft, “that we have to play these games / It felt like you really knew me / Now it feels like you see through me.” Heartache is not exclusive to the world of lovers and sweethearts, it plagues musicians and their audience as well. That is the bittersweet splendor of it all.

The very first time I ever heard a song by Young the Giant was way back in 2004 when I was a lowly freshman in high school. At that time they were still known as The Jakes and I had discovered them on PureVolume.com (my addiction for new, unknown bands…yeah, I was THAT kid). Their song “Cough Syrup” caught my interest immediately and instantly became my favorite song ever recorded. So you could understand my surprise when I heard the ending lyrics to “Cough Syrup” playing on the radio just a few short months ago. Baffled by the instance, I was unable to Shazam it in time to see who had, in my mind, ripped off my favorite song in the world. I would catch a portion of the song a few more times before one day catching enough of the song to know that The Jakes had done a name change and re-released “Cough Syrup” for their new self-entitled album Young the Giant.

For the longest time, I had issues accepting the new version of my favorite song (“Cough Syrup”). And I can honestly still say I favor the original version of the song from when they were The Jakes. Perhaps, it the pretentious music snob in me enjoying them more when they were not so well known, or it could simply be due to the fact that it is the version I am used to. I must honestly say though, that the Young the Giant version of “Cough Syrup” has grown on me. I’ll let you all make your own decisions on the matter though.

“Cough Syrup” aside, the rest of the album is the ultimate summer road trip soundtrack. Calm and chill while having moments of chaos and excitement, perfect for a summer day of driving. The perfect mixture of amped up tunes blends in with the relaxing to keep the listener entranced and on their toes. Songs like “My Body” and the album closer “Guns Out” are true alternative rock jams that make you want to turn up the music and scream along. While songs like “12 Fingers” and “Islands” are much more relaxing but certainly just as fun to sing along to and certainly do not leave the listener wishing for substance. I have always been a fan of the lyrical quality of The Jakes and that completely bleeds into the music of Young the Giant.

Young the Giant has become quite the musical sensation as of late and after listening to their self-entitled album, on repeat for the last week or so, I can completely understand why. Sameer Gadhia, Jacob Tilly, Eric Cannata, Payam Doostzadeh, and Francois Comtois certainly have created a brilliant album that is fun and relaxing, while still exhilarating. Sameer’s vocals are unique to the ears while the surrounding musical complement blends in so perfectly they basically function as one working organ of musical delight.

Here are some YouTube links to compare the old and the new “Cough Syrup” to gather your own opinions on the matter:

The Jakes | Young the Giant

Both are delightful and they do sound fairly close, but there are obvious differences.

There is no doubt that almost everyone has seen the viral YouTube video of “Walk Off The Earth” playing every part of a song called “Somebody That I Used To Know” on a single guitar. But did you know that an artist by the name of Gotye (pronounced “goat-ee-ay”) has an even higher view count on his own music video? Yes, the smash hit single off of Gotye’s album Making Mirrors is being made famous by two different artist! With both videos combined, the view count is over 210,000,000! With numbers competing with mainstream pop artists like Nicki Minaj and Justin Bieber, could this solo artist from Belgium be a very talented musician? Or is he just another one hit wonder? 

After I heard “Somebody That I Used To Know” on YouTube, I had to grab Gotye’s album. The compilation starts out with the album’s title song, “Making Mirrors” which is a slow and abstract song with interesting sounds and a few words. To most, the intro will not make them want to dive into the album so I suggest starting with track number two.

If you skip to track two, you dive straight into the bulk of the album. “Easy Way Out” is the second song, and third single, off of the “Making Mirrors”. “Easy Way Out” is a good alt-rock song that will get most listeners pumped to see what the rest of the album has in store. In fact, the first 5 tracks, excluding track number one, are all very well put together and very fun to sing along to. In that list you will hit “Somebody That I Used To Know,” which is an instant favorite, and two more named “I Feel Better” and “In Your Light”, which make the listener want to get up and dance (or sing very loud if they are driving). 

There is, however, on black sheep on the album. The song “State Of The Art” is apparently Gotye’s attempt at an electronic song. The song is filled with a repetitive beat, auto-tuned voice over, and very electronic-y sounds that are inconsistent with the rest of the album (which is played on instruments). “State Of The Art” is very unique, and almost seems out of place on the album, but after a few listens it does start to grow on you. I’ll have to admit, I sort of dig it.

After many, many listens since the album has come out, I have to say that it is definitely one of my favorite albums of 2011 and into 2012. When my iPod is on shuffle, I almost never hit next when a Gotye song comes on. The best descriptive word I can say for Making Mirrors is fun. The whole album is great and very fun to listen/sing along to. Gotye is definitely a great artist and I think anyone can find a favorite song on his album. Keep him on your radar, I believe he has much more to offer in the future.

The first time I heard of Frightened Rabbit was just over a year ago when my best friend made me watch the music video for their song “Backwards Walk” on YouTube. After that moment, I knew I needed to hear more from this group. The lyrics were captivating and told a story that is relatable and heartfelt of a man trying to leave a bad relationship but just cannot find it in him to leave this girl.

Scott Hutchison who is the lead vocalist, rhythm guitarist, and lyricist of the group speaks to soul with his seductive lyrics that fit perfectly into the instrumentals created by guitarist and bassist Billy Kennedy, guitarist Andy Monaghan, and drummer Grant Hutchison on their second studio album The Midnight Organ Fight released in 2008. (Note: In 2009 after the release of The Midnight Organ Fight, Frightened Rabbit added keyboardist Gordon Skene who is currently still with the band.)

The Midnight Organ Fightis chalked full of delightful hits that really showcase Hutchison’s brilliantly unique lyrics. Take a listen to songs like “Old Old Fashioned” and “Modern Leper” for example which are two standouts on the album to me for their not only creative lyrics but for their folky rock sound. Hutchison’s heavy Scottish vocals ring through the ears and captivate the listener into a lulled, relaxed state. This album is one that can easily be listened all the way through multiple times without boring of it. I personally have listened to it on repeat for the last day because I am still able to explore the lyrics and instrumentals and find new and exciting aspects of the songs that I had not discovered in previous listens.

My only complaint with The Midnight Organ Fight is that it is stacked at the beginning of the album with lyrically and instrumentally strong songs like “Modern Leper”, “I Feel Better”, and “Old Old Fashioned” that the ending four songs on the album feel like a weak outro to a brilliant album. Now that is not to say that those last four songs are horrible and should not be included on the album. That is not what I am saying at all, I just feel that they may have been better placed elsewhere in the album.

I had the pleasure to see Frightened Rabbit in concert last year when they were touring with Death Cab for Cutie. One thing that I look for in a band is their ability to sound identical to their studio albums because I have noticed that many musical groups have fallen victim to over editing to the point that they sound completely horrid live. Luckily, that is not the case with Frightened Rabbit. They had a captivating show that sounded exactly as if I were sitting at home with my headphones on shamelessly rocking out to one of their albums. That being said, I would have to boldly say that I think Frightened Rabbit is a band that one should look out for in the future with their fourth studio album rumored to be released in August of this year.