LOVE IT - The Wind, Harum-Scarum.

The Wind’s Harum-Scarum is the best album I never would have heard this year had it not been for the band contacting me personally (because they’re good friends with The Fling, whom I reviewed earlier). Word of mouth, people. That’s the way to get things done.


A self-produced 23-track debut album is ridiculously ambitious, but this project has paid off. Instead of teasing us with 10 or 12 spoonfuls now, then an antsy two-year wait for more, The Wind introduced itself with one huge dose of excellence, infusing the Beatles with Harry Nilsson’s cheeky lyrics and the harmonics of modern-day indie-folk rock acts like Dr. Dog.

Highlights include “Hathor,” “Distractions,” and “An Astral Dance and a Shared Dream.” Go shout it from the mountaintops that the Wind is the shiz. Perhaps they’ll blow our way someday.

LOVE IT - The Fling, When The Madhouses Appear.

I’ve had The Fling’s When the Madhouses Appear on repeat for a few weeks now, and am having a ridiculously hard time putting its awesomeness into intelligible words. Since I am bursting to share these guys with the world, I’ve decided that few words are better than no words at all.

At once recalling Fleet Foxes, Delta Spirit (a band I previously reviewed and whose lead singer, Matt Vasquez, contributes guest vocals on this album) and Rubber Soul-era Beatles, The Fling have produced a debut EP full of beautifully melodic and well-textured songwriting — instantly sing-alongable yet arranged complexly enough to warrant multiple listens.

The swishing layers and impassioned vocals stand out, even above the lovely poetic (yet thankfully un-melodramatic) lyricism; their angelic harmonies left me speechless the first time they soared through my speakers. If you listen to only one song from the album to convince yourself whether this band is worth your time or not, please make it “Strangers.”

Everything about this album screams “give us worldwide fame,” so I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before the masses take notice. If I had it my way, the radio would only play heartfelt music like that purveyed by The Fling. This is the kind of aural pleasure that ears were invented for. (Out now on Lady Monk Records)

LOVE IT - People Eating People, People Eating People.

Seattle is one lucky city. Not only do they get coffee and rain and Tom and Meg and the Space Needle, but they also boast one of the most interesting songwriter/pianists hovering around the indie circuit: Nouela Johnston.

Known these days under the moniker People Eating People (chosen from a friendly contest for the worst band name of all time), Johnston’s complex melodic structures and varying tempos put her somewhere between the likes of Sara Bareilles, Regina Spektor and Amanda Palmer.

That wide medium is ground not often covered, yet Johnston covers it all on her eponymous debut LP. Accompanied by little more than drums and guitar, Johnston’s duet of piano and vocals–raw and real and probably untrained but who cares–are a mesh of sounds I can only describe as confusingly enjoyable. One can sense the typhoon of emotions in her voice, but to hear that with breezy classic piano arrangements is disarming and invigorating.

Her songs paint images of human stupidity, embarrassment, unrequited love, alienation, and anger with an overall sense of black humor and realism. The production quality is often stark–delicate and suddenly pounding, and never glossy–but this only enriches the experience, as if we are standing in the room with her as she plays.

Standout tracks include “I Hate All My Friends,” “For Now,” and “Supernatural Help,” but all 11 songs have something beautiful and cleverly painful to offer.

LOVE IT - Sea of Bees, Songs For The Ravens.

Sea of Bees is the best thing I’ve discovered so far this year. Code name of singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Julie Bee (Baenziger), Sea of Bees is a one-woman act whose debut LP, Songs For The Ravens, has left me spellbound. No kidding, I was thisclose to a car accident this morning because I was zoning out to the insane lilting harmonies of “Willis.”

It’s hard to believe that Songs For The Ravens is Bee’s first full-length. She displays such technical mastery and her musical arrangements are exquisite — layers upon layers of wooshing piano, glockenspiel, slide, and marimba, with the ebb and flow of drums in the background. Some songs are sad, some are hopeful, some are pissed-but-trying-to-rise-above-it-through-this-beautiful-chorus-you-sucker. There are stompers and siren-songs, dark shadows and twinkling lights, intimate acoustic diary entries and anthemic electricity; it’s this smoothly blended diversity that keeps the album experience fresh and intriguing.

And her voice. Good grief, could anything be more enchanting? Imagine, if you can, Sherri DuPree of Eisley and Camila Grey of Uh Huh Her singing a duet. The control, range, sweeping tenderness and swelling force of those two voices are somehow trapped inside of Julie Bee. Restrained and then let loose at a moment’s notice, Bee seems to intuitively know just what to say and when to not say it, just humming or ahh-ing along with her gorgeous melodies to lull the listener into a calm-induced blackout … and a conversation with their Geico representative because of a mysterious crushed fender.

If you find you can’t get enough of Sea of Bees, check out her five-track Bee Eee Pee EP, which she recorded in one day right after learning how to use ProTools. This chick has got something.

Sea of Bees is the best thing I’ve discovered so far this year. Code name of singer/songwriter/multi-instrumentalist Julie Bee (Baenziger), Sea of Bees is a one-woman act whose debut LP, Songs For The Ravens, has left me spellbound. No kidding, I was thisclose to a car accident this morning because I was zoning out to the insane lilting harmonies of “Willis.”

It’s hard to believe that Songs For The Ravens is Bee’s first full-length. She displays such technical mastery and her musical arrangements are exquisite — layers upon layers of wooshing piano, glockenspiel, slide, and marimba, with the ebb and flow of drums in the background. Some songs are sad, some are hopeful, some are pissed-but-trying-to-rise-above-it-through-this-beautiful-chorus-you-sucker. There are stompers and siren-songs, dark shadows and twinkling lights, intimate acoustic diary entries and anthemic electricity; it’s this smoothly blended diversity that keeps the album experience fresh and intriguing.

And her voice. Good grief, could anything be more enchanting? Imagine, if you can, Sherri DuPree of Eisley and Camila Grey of Uh Huh Her singing a duet. The control, range, sweeping tenderness and swelling force of those two voices are somehow trapped inside of Julie Bee. Restrained and then let loose at a moment’s notice, Bee seems to intuitively know just what to say and when to not say it, just humming or ahh-ing along with her gorgeous melodies to lull the listener into a calm-induced blackout … and a conversation with their Geico representative because of a mysterious crushed fender.

If you find you can’t get enough of Sea of Bees, check out her five-track Bee Eee Pee EP, which she recorded in one day right after learning how to use ProTools. This chick has got something.

LOVE IT: Hanson - Shout It Out.

Hanson is one of those boy bands you can’t believe you were so in love with once upon a time. But once you turn the radio past 94.9FM and a snippet of “MMMbop” squeezes its way back into your heart, you forget all your inhibitions and crank up that jam. Mentally, you’re mentally back in middle school, each lyric rolling miraculously off your tongue and making your morning commute bouncy and carefree.


With their eighth album, Shout It Out, the band of brothers has brought me back to that mental place with another batch of perfectly-packaged power pop cookies. It’s eerie that they don’t seem to have aged much, in looks or vocal ranges, since their breakthrough in 1996. Their music has always been about life and love through the eyes of someone much too young to be world-weary (what 10-year-old seriously knows anything about relationships, or cares enough to break the cootie shield?), but now it seems they have finally matured.

Issac, Taylor, and Zac are all grown up, inching towards their 30s, raising broods big enough to build their own commune, and somehow they have enough excess energy to run their own small record label, write, record, and tour endlessly with big smiles on their purdy boyish faces. This energy is boundless on Shout It Out. With nary a ballad amongst its 12 tracks, it oozes with peppy charm that teeters dangerously on the edge of syrupy preciousness, and after a while it leaves an over-processed taste in your mouth. Richard Simmons will be reaching and lifting to these, no doubt about it. Yet after clapping along to the adorably cheesy video for “Thinking ‘Bout Somethin” (see it below — and what’s Weird Al doing there?), I can’t help but enjoy it — at least in small increments. The guys seem to know it’s hokey but make no apologies and are having a blast.

Shout It Out will likely be shelved after a few weeks on your iPod rotation, but there isn’t much more refreshing to hear than three brothers still flawlessly whippin’ out their instruments to do what they love together. (released June 8 on their label, 3CG Records).

LEAVE IT: Rooney - Eureka.

If it had been another band, I would not have been as disappointed. But it was Rooney, and because I expected an explosion of greatness, I was let down big time. Rooney’s third album, Eureka – recorded and self-released independently by the band after breaking from Geffen — is moderately adequate radio pop/rock. Maybe if the guys didn’t focus on being bitter and juvenile, their tunes would be enjoyable. As it is, however, their usually carefully crafted orchestrations just come off as sounding paint-by-numbers.


No song on Eureka is memorable. I listened to it twice yesterday, and today I cannot recall a single melody. The songs are lacking essential lifeblood - this from a band who seamlessly meshed 60s, 70s, and 80s madness with such feeling on two stellar previous albums. The band says this is the proudest they’ve ever been of their music; some critics call Eureka their best yet. I just don’t hear that.

Many songs, including “Holdin’ On,” “All Or Nothing,” and “I Can’t Get Enough” are straight up boring. “Not In My House” is bombarding and creepy. “The Hunch” laughably recalls the theme song to “Duck Tales,” but the punchy horns are peppy enough to make it the album’s highlight.

Where is Rooney’s trademark affinity for skull-rippingly excellent pop hooks? Robert (brother of actor/musician Jason) Schwartzman and Co. have lost their oomph. They mindlessly adhere to the verse-chorus-verse method of songwriting, trading their let’s-enjoy-life-no-matter-what philosophy for flat rhymes that spew at The Man and the music machine. It doesn’t have to be all sunny skies, but if clear weather is what it takes for Rooney to make good music, perhaps they should have cooled off a while longer, instead of giving fans an explosion of mediocrity.

I was going to see them at Crowbar on July 9, but I’ve changed my mind. I don’t think I can take seeing cardboard cut-outs of a band I love.

LOVE IT: Delta Spirit - History From Below.

I saw Delta Spirit live three years ago and was literally struck dumb by their set. The group’s collective energy, multi-instrument switcheroos, and heartfelt sentiment was heart-warming and entrancing.


Such is the energy and emotion captured in the group’s second album, History From Below. In the three years since their self-released debut, the incredible this-is-all-you-will-listen-to-for-three-weeks Ode to Sunshine, Delta Spirit has moved into a real studio and given us 11 of the most captivating songs you will ever hear, and while the band sounds more polished, they haven’t lost the essence of what makes them so good.

The album opener, “911,” bounces around a relevant tale of economic caution while “Bushwick Blues” plows out of the speakers with pulsating rhythms and a message of human vulnerability. “Salt in the Wound” is one of those mind-reelingly personal songs that arouses intense emotion and knee-jerk replays. Listen to this one with headphones in a quiet space.

Delta Spirit is comprised of old souls who know just what to say in their major-key melodies and hopeful anthems to encourage and comfort the human race, or simply to help a person through theinevitability of heartbreak. “Ransom Man,” “St. Francis,” and “Ballad of Vitaly” quietly trudge through bravery, uncertainty, self-realization and unfair loss, but are so beautifully hopeful that I want to reach in and give singer Matt Vasquez a hug. He shouts and murmurs the lyrics like any man in crisis — rousing and intimate, he gets angry and frustrated and torn down by life, but pulls in the listener like a friend.

History From Below shines a light on the human condition, but offers a melancholy hope, as if to say, “Yep, life blows and storms are ahead, but we have life jackets.” (Out June 8 on Rounder Records)

LOVE IT: Eli "Paperboy" Reed - Come and Get It.

Stir Marvin Gaye with two cups of Otis Redding, two teaspoons of Little Richard, a dash of vanilla, and all of the excess energy you have left in your pantry. Bake for one hour and out pops Eli “Paperboy” Reed, the pompadour-sporting Jewish kid from Massachusetts who, surprisingly, rocks and jives on a level almost up there with the original masters of Motown. It blows my mind that his major label debut, Come and Get It (Capitol), wasn’t originally released in the ’60s.


From the moment “Explosion” came blasting from my car speakers, I knew I was in for an exciting throwback to the time of jive and soul and bands with horn sections and a frontman sporting shlicked back hair and delivering falsetto screams in an awesome nod to all those men who really knew how to trap emotions in a vocal. The song is a bit erratic but definitely gets you pumped for the ensuing, better organized Motown-tinged rhythms and melodies.

With his backing band, True Loves (precious, right?), Reed delivers soul and groove enough to knock you off your feet – or onto them. These tunes are made for a dance floor, and I couldn’t help but tap along to the beat with every part of my body that wasn’t occupied by keeping my car on the road.

Each song offers a different color of the Motown spectrum, and though the album’s pace could be smoother — the latter half suddenly halts into a string of slow blues after a fervor of upbeat wailers — Come and Get It will be a delight to those of us who miss, as Reed describes it, “an explosion of rhythm and blues.” It’s no Marvin or Otis, but it’s a pretty dang decent substitute for the real thing.

LOVE IT: Kaki King - Junior.

Sometimes artists try too hard to revolutionize themselves and as a result, the changes they make sound forced. Though some of her new material is familiarly expressive — that enigmatic and mesmerizingly shapeable mass of notes — such is the case with Kaki King’s fifth full-length, Junior (Rounder).


King’s guitar skills are unmatched. After listening to 30 seconds of any track on any album, this is an obvious fact. The woman can finger-pick and fret-tap her instrument into a whirlwind of melodic percussion so well that you have no idea what you’re listening to – she is Rolling Stone’s first female “Rock God,” shredding mere notes on a page into unforgettable sounds. So it’s disappointing that her sparse and incredibly emotive instrumental style is lost on Junior.

Like other albums produced in the aftermath of personal crisis, Junior’s blend of tension, frustration, heartbreak, bitterness, and the ever-distant possibility of happiness overwhelms the tracks – an often claustrophobic miasma of depression and anger too palpable to digest in just one sitting. Plus, King is a player, not a singer, and her undisciplined voice gets an unfortunate spotlight. The gnashing mixture of King’s spitting lyrics and her band’s simplistic, punk-influenced jams like “Falling Day,” “Death Head” and “The Betrayer” – which opens the album on a startling harsh note – remind listeners that even though King’s technical mastery is clear, she expects us to follow her through the five stages of post-relationship grief. Consequently, the album feels bipolar and un-Kaki.

Some of Junior is a welcome addition to King’s repertoire, and it is these moments that make Junior worth experiencing. Her instrumental wizardry is a thing to behold, and the gems (notably “My Nerves That Committed Suicide”) hidden between unimpressive songs should be enough to hook potential fans.

LOVE IT: The Bird and the Bee - Interpreting the Masters, Vol. 1: A Tribute to Daryl Hall and John Oates.

Ah, Hall & Oates. Mullets and mustaches. Synths and hand claps. Emotional lyrics and hearts on fringy, acid-washed jean sleeves.

I was dubious when I heard about a cover album made up of the sacred duo’s most celebrated works. But since I love the Bird and the Bee, I was intrigued by their latest LP, Interpreting the Masters, Vol. 1: A Tribute to Daryl Hall and John Oates (Blue Note Records). Lo and behold, this duo approaches the project with finesse and respect, bringing H&O into The Now with a light, feminine makeover.

Kicking things off is the twosome’s sole original, “Heard It On The Radio” — a track so soaked in synths and awesomely ’80s that I initially thought, “Wow, they discovered a vaulted Hall & Oates song!” No, it’s 100 percent made in 2010, but it cleverly flows with the covers of “I Can’t Go For That,” “Sara Smile,” “Kiss On My List,” “One on One” and the other tripendicular H&O tunes you were secretly devoted to listening to in your youth.

The album’s highlight is “Maneater.” With a modern, synthesized beat and backing vocals by Garbage’s Shirley Manson, this cover is the epitome of all that is right with Interpreting the Masters. Instead of twisting an instantly recognizable melody into something too genre-skewed to be appropriate, the Bird and the Bee upgrade the sassy “Whoa-oh, here she comes” chorus with 21st century technology to create something fresh and accessible. The song can now go out in public again and be accepted by people who weren’t alive when “Maneater” originally topped the charts in 1982.

While I was disappointed that my own personal H&O favorite, “You Make My Dreams,” didn’t make the cut, I was impressed overall. The Bird and the Bee have succeeded in paying a pitch-perfect, sticky-sweet homage to one of the most enduring, secure-in-their-masculinity songwriting teams on the planet.