On their third release, Montreal trio We Are Wolves polish and refine their unique brand of indie, post-punk and electro to such a shine it’s hard to find another band to compare them to. They’re most reminiscent of It’s Blitz!-era Yeah Yeah Yeahs but they are still strikingly different in the way they combine punk and electronic music. While the YYYs practically abandoned their punk influences to create their dance-happy indie rock, We Are Wolves still embrace it, combining scuzzy garage rock riffs with Moroder-influenced synths in a way that shouldn’t work as well as it does. Invisible Violence is a pendulum of a record, swinging back and forth between rock songs with an electronic edge like the opening track “Paloma” or electronic numbers with a slight rock edge, such as the epic “Reaching for the Sky.” It’s cold and detached while being energetic and in-your-face, like someone gave Gary Numan and fuzzbox and had him go to town. The term “dance-punk” doesn’t fit these guys, they could probably best be described as garage-electro; everything about them is lo-fi, with their wonderfully retro-sounding synths melding perfectly with their scuzzy guitars and howling vocals. This has to be the most hard-rocking, punk-friendly album ever to be obviously influenced by late-’70s disco. (Dare To Care Records 2010)
It would not surprise us in the slightest if Interpreting the Masters Vol. I: A Tribute to Daryl Hall & John Oates becomes a hit with the hipsters for all the wrong reasons. They’ll get off on the “irony” of someone as cool as the Bird & the Bee covering someone as patently uncool as Daryl Hall & John Oates, despite the fact that, as the title clearly states, the band did not do this to be ironic. They don’t feel an ounce of guilt for loving Daryl Hall & John Oates, nor should they. Having said that, Inara George has no business singing Daryl Hall songs.
No knock on George’s voice, mind you; her airy soprano is tailor-made for the Bird & the Bee’s machine-driven synth pop. However, a soul song, even of the blue-eyed variety, will eat her alive, and that is the main problem with Interpreting the Masters – it’s too sterile, from George’s clinical delivery to Greg Kurstin’s rigid arrangements. These songs were already pretty white in their original form, but in the hands of George and Kurstin, they approach blizzard-in-Utah levels of whiteness. The ballads fare better than the up-tempo numbers, namely “One on One” and “Sara Smile,” but they would have been better served playing to their strengths and covering a like-minded act like the Pet Shop Boys instead. (Blue Note 2010)
Damon Albarn is surely still scratching his head over the fact that he had to hide behind a crudely drawn character in order to sell a million records in the US, while the humanoid version of Albarn remains a cult act, be it with Blur or the Good, the Bad & the Queen, his project with the Clash’s Paul Simonon. Give him credit, then, for not capitalizing on this loophole by turning the Gorillaz into a Hannah Montana-style media juggernaut, churning out an album, plush doll, video game and TV show every 18 months. God knows, it must have been tempting. Sell millions of records, or don’t sell millions of records? Credibility is nice, but as David Cross pointed out, those outside the industry are stingy about accepting it as collateral.
Indeed, it’s been five years since Albarn has donned the ink and paper, and if the Gorillaz’ new album Plastic Beach is any indication, the anger that fueled 2005’s Demon Days has subsided. Unfortunately, Albarn’s energy level seems to have subsided as well. The album doesn’t shift gears much, opting for mid-tempo grooves that you’d expect from a Jack Johnson or a G. Love. “On Melancholy Hill” sounds like OMD circa The Pacific Age. This is not your older brother’s Gorillaz, though that’s not entirely a bad thing. The album may be completely lacking in bottom end – you’d have to go back 30 years to find tinnier drum tracks – but Albarn is still good for one unforgettable single, in this case the “Safety Dance”-ish “Stylo,” featuring a passionate vocal from Bobby Womack. De La Soul return to guest on the cutesy “Superfast Jellyfish,” and “To Binge,” a perky duet with Little Dragon, is one of the best pop songs Albarn’s written in years. He gets a bit carried away with the guest performers, though. Did he need Mos Def and Bobby Womack and De La Soul and Mark E. Smith and Lou Reed and Snoop Dogg and Mick Jones and Paul Simonon? (And that’s not even all of the guest performers.) Albarn ultimately minimizes his contributions to his own album.
Perhaps the most perplexing aspect about Plastic Beach is its warmth, or lack thereof. This is one cold album, and perhaps that was Albarn’s point. If so, mission accomplished, but it could come at a huge price. His band is already artificial; when the music begins to feel the same way, discontent is sure to follow. There is much to admire about Plastic Beach, but it’s also one of the most emotionless albums you’ll hear this year. (Virgin 2010)
You have to admire the tenacity of UK pop stars. They keep trying to crack the American market, even though most of them are met with the equivalent of a hair tousle and a cheek pinch. “Oh, you’re so cute. Keep on trying, you’ll get there.” Of course, most of them never get there, and of the few that do, many owe it to their ill-gotten celebrity status (Amy, meet drugs; Lily, meet topless photos) as much if not more than their music, but you have to think that if anyone is going to buck this trend, it’s Little Boots, the solo pseudonym for former Dead Disco member Victoria Hesketh. For starters, look at her.
Yep, she’s gorgeous, and her debut album Hands is stuffed to the gills with perky dance song after perky dance song not unlike a certain Ms. Gaga, though there are varying degrees of quality. “New in Town” is one of those earworm-type songs that will own your soul, “Stuck on Repeat” playfully tweaks the “I Feel Love” keyboard line, and she winks knowingly to her synth-pop predecessors by tapping the Human League’s Phil Oakey for a duet on “Symmetry.” She’s not blessed with the strongest set of pipes, but then again, neither is Madonna, and her voice is at least as good as, say, Lady Gaga, Rihanna or Katie from the Ting Tings. And with a hook like the chorus to “Remedy,” vocal power is almost beside the point.
Still, the bias against UK pop in the States is a strong one – ask Robbie Williams. Hands should be a hit on both sides of the pond, but any music fan will tell you that there are lots of albums that should have been hits. Will Little Boots be one of them? Who the hell knows, but there is enough here to entertain the question. (Elektra 2010)
It is said that late is better than never, but in an industry where timing is everything, the decision to push Love & War, the solo debut of Australian soul singer Daniel Merriweather – it is actually his second album; his first one remains unreleased – to 2010 is a curious one. If memory serves, the first word to come out about the album dropped in late 2007, presumably to take advantage of the buzz surrounding Merriweather’s performance of the Smiths’ “Stop Me if You Think You’ve Heard This One Before” on Mark Ronson’s album Version, released earlier that year. So what gives?
Our best guess: too many ballads. Love & War sounds exactly like you would expect a Mark Ronson-produced Daniel Merriweather album to sound. The arrangements are vintage soul and cutting-edge recording techniques at the same time, and Merriweather, who sounds like a soulful version of UB40’s Ali Campbell, emotes the ever-loving daylights out of these songs. The results are consistently pleasant and occasionally stunning, notably the horn-drenched “Change,” the Al Green-ish “Getting Out,” and the “California Dreamin’”-cribbing “Could You.” Give Merriweather credit for aiming high – the opening track “For Your Money” sports half a dozen key changes – but a few more shifts in tempo would have worked wonders. (J Records 2010)
BT’s 2003 album Emotional Technology is still arguably the most overproduced album in music history, which is saying something given the huge advancements in overproduction in the last few years. Indeed, it appears that Mr. Transeau himself knows that he went too far on Emotional Technology, because his next album, 2006’s This Binary Universe, consisted largely of ambient orchestral music, with not a single vocal to be found. Now seven years removed from his last pop album, BT finally gets back on the horse and, BT being BT, he goes whole hog, though in a slightly different way. Where Emotional Technology contained bushels of those trademark stutter edits, These Hopeful Machines contains boatloads of music. Two albums’ worth, in fact, with nary a track under five minutes…and six songs over ten minutes. Uh oh.
Ah, we kid. These Hopeful Machines, despite its preposterous length – wisely, it’s being sold for the price of a single disc – is a triumphant return to form from a songwriting perspective. It may take 20 minutes to play them, but “Suddenly” and “The Emergency” are two of the best tunes BT’s written in ages, the latter of which sounds like a lost track from Chicane’s (awesome) Behind the Sun album. More importantly, BT has improved dramatically as a singer; the a cappella harmonies in “The Emergency” are stunning. He’s at the point where he doesn’t need guest singers to dress up his albums, though he brings a few in anyway, notably ex-Catherine Wheel singer Rob Dickinson. And we would be remiss if we didn’t mention “Rose of Jericho,” which blends Paul Oakenfold’s “Save the Last Trance for Me” with, of all things, Hot Butter’s instrumental “Popcorn.”
The album is still way, way too long – each song could stand to be at least a minute shorter – but closing Disc 2 with an ambient cover of the Psychedelic Furs’ “The Ghost in You” eases the listener fatigue a bit. The potential for a crossover hit is clearly here; if BT would submit to having an executive producer keep him focused, there would be little stopping him. (Nettwerk 2010)
MOTOR is hardcore (too hardcore for lowercase letters, apparently), and they want you to know it. With song titles like “Bite the Bullet,” “Death Rave,” “Le Bitch,” and “Jacked Up” they’re advertising their abrasive acid house before you even listen to them. With house going the way of electro and disco thanks to artists like Justice and Daft Punk, it’s nice to see someone take it back to the acid house roots of the late ’80s/early ’90s while adding their own spin to it. In the case of MOTOR, that spin is a dark and menacing vibe that is usually reserved for darkcore drum and bass and hardstyle. Acid house was already jarring and abrasive enough, so when you add the dark and evil vibe that MOTOR is going for, you get nonstop jarring, pounding rhythms, vicious synth riffs, countless hoovers and screeching sirens custom designed to raise the roof at a midnight rave. There’s no other way to put it – this shit is intense.
Maybe too intense. Hyper Machine sure as hell lives up to its name. It never lets up, the beats are nonstop, the sirens get louder and louder and save for a few quick samples, there are no vocals to speak of. So it can wear on you after a while, especially since later tracks like “Le Bitch” and “Thwack” just aren’t as interesting as the high-energy title track or “Death Rave,” a track so in your face that it’s just one step away from punching you in the face. Perhaps it’s best in small doses or at an actual rave But those looking for a throwback to classic hard house should really dig this. (Dim Mak 2010)
Editors have stood out from their UK peers by doing the most unlikely thing: staying the same. In an age ruled by extreme makeovers, Editors followed their 2006 breakthrough The Back Room with an album almost exactly like it (2007’s An End Has a Start), and were rewarded with their first #1 album in the UK and their highest-ranking single.
Then a funny thing happened: they grew positively bored with what they were doing.
Cut to present day and In This Light and On This Evening, Editors’ third album, where the band chucks the guitars for a wall of synthesizers and in the process makes an album that is absolutely unlike anything they have done before and yet right in line with everything they have done before. The songs carry the same epic feel of their best work – lead single “Papillon,” for one, has a mile-wide chorus – but the new tools they use to build those songs have opened the playbook considerably. The melodic high keyboard line in “Bricks and Mortar” serves as a secondary vocal, while the delicate “The Boxer” touches upon ideas that would have been completely foreign to the band last time around. “Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool,” meanwhile, could be this generation’s “Being Boiled,” a relentless piece of minimalist electro that stacks on some real drums for dramatic effect.
As remakes go, In This Light and On This Evening is the type that will impress both the casual Editors listener and the diehard. Even better, the band has put themselves in a position to take their next album in any direction, and it would appear to be a logical progression from here. Quoth the prophet Sheryl Crow, a change will indeed do you good. (Fader 2010)
A problem, sadly, that tended to happen far too often this decade.
I’m not going to write some lengthy intro for this; if you’re reading our continuing coverage of the decade that was – and thank you very much if you are – then you know that despite music’s increased exposure thanks to the interwebs, it also became damn hard to either find a good band or vault them to the next level. Several of the bands in the list below actually had both good buzz and record company support behind them, and still failed. Such was the ’00s: as the Icehouse song goes, no promises.
Here are ten of my favorite albums that no one bought, or at least, didn’t buy enough of.
Sugarbomb: Bully (2001)
A small but devoted cult has built around this completely insane group of Ft. Worth power pop aficionados. Legend has it they dressed like women and kissed onstage while rocking the ever-loving shit out of their audience. This was their only major label release, and because of the sudden belt-tightening the nation suffered upon its release – it came out September 25, 2001, ow – the band was dropped shortly afterwards. Pity, because these guys could play. And they could sing better than they could play. And man, could they do a, um, killer Queen impression. Think Muse sounds a lot like Queen? Listen to “After All,” the closing track on Bully.
The main songwriters in the band, Les Farrington and Daniel Harville, seemed so distraught over the collapse of the band that they never really gave it another shot, at least in terms of playing to their strengths. Last I heard, Harville was slumming in some Shiny Toy Guns-type band that’s far beneath his abilities, whlie Farrington has pulled an Andy Sturmer – a fitting analogy, since Farrington’s a big fan of Sturmer and his band Jellyfish – keeping virtually no profile on the web. Again, pity. All concerned deserved better.
Midnight Juggernauts: Dystopia (2008)
Odds are, if a band signs to Astralwerks, I’m going to like them. but even I was unprepared for how totally fucking awesome the Midnight Juggernauts’ debut album Dystopia is. They’re an Australian trio that melds Daft Punk beats to late ’80s modern rock stylings, with perhaps a dash of Air-style ambience. And best of all, they’re an actual band, playing these songs on real guitars, keys and drums. Anyone who listens to Peter Murphy, David Bowie and Daft Punk should own this at once.
The Lolas: Silver Dollar Sunday (2001)
Poor Tim Boykin. He’s sickeningly talented, a guitar virtuoso and a wizard at stacking harmonies like a Jenga block, but his power pop band the Lolas never quite got off the ground. It could have been a matter of timing; the band sputtered to a halt shortly after MySpace took off, and according to the band’s MySpace page, they haven’t checked it since May 2006 – but even if he had kept waving the power pop flag, the odds of a band like the Lolas making the jump is unlikely, especially if they’re based in Birmingham. The Alabama Birmingham, not the UK Birmingham. For those who scoured NotLame’s release sheets in the early ’00s like a meth addict looking for another fix, though, the Lolas’ sophomore effort Silver Dollar Sunday was, pardon the pun, a hell of a score. They wiped the floor with Oasis on “Long Time,” and turned in the best Stone Roses impression ever on “Wild Blood.” If the YouTube vids are any indication, Boykin is now a long-haired guitar instructor in his hometown of Birmingham. I urge everyone within 200 miles of his house to sign up for lessons.
Delays: Faded Seaside Glamour (2004)
Their influences are apparent – The Hollies, Cocteau Twins, the La’s – but there isn’t a band alive quite like Delays. Their debut single “Nearer Than Heaven” is a flat-out skyscraper, and Greg Gilbert’s androngynous tenor/falsetto combo is as unique a voice as you’ll find in music today. This was one of those records that just made me dance around the house in a ‘hey it’s all going to work out’ kind of way. And in 2004, that was a stark contrast to the other dark, melancholy shit we were being subjected to. This album makes me glad to be alive. That’s as nice a compliment as one can pay, if you ask me.
Rialto: Night on Earth (2001)
They may have been late to the Brit Pop party (and extremely late at that, dropping their debut in 1998), but Rialto singer and chief songwriter Louis Eliot has a way with a tune – ask the people in South Korea, they loooooove Rialto – and in many ways the band improves upon their eponymous debut with Night on Earth. They had two drummers first time around, but are down to one drummer and the occasional machine on this one, and in the case of a melodramatic song like “London Crawling” it fits like a glove. “Idiot Twin” is one of the best songs Depeche Mode never wrote, and “Shatterproof” will make any fan of OMD’s “If You Leave” squeal with delight. Of course, I bought the import, convinced that it would never see the light of day in the States. Sure enough, two months later, Eagle Rock releases it, with bonus tracks to boot. So I bought it again, and gave the import to a friend.
Gene: Libertine (2001)
As much of a Britpop fan as I was during the mid-’90s – seriously, what the hell else was I going to listen to, Hootie and Alanis? – Gene never grabbed me the way I expected those endless Smiths comparisons to. I loved “Fighting Fit” from Drawn to the Deep End, but scarcely listened to anything else from that album. When their 2001 album Libertine came up for grabs during my tenure with PopMatters, I thought, ‘What the hell,’ and ended up thinking, ‘Hell, yes.’ More mature, more patient, and eager to explore different textures, Gene basically laid the groundwork between Coldplay’s Parachutes and A Rush of Blood to the Head. You’re welcome, Chris Martin.
Paul Melancon: Camera Obscura (2002)
When this album was released, I had daydreams about hooking up Atlanta pop genius Paul Melancon with Jon Brion. It made perfect sense to me; they both love classic pop melody, fractured fairy tales, and the Beatles. It’s a match made in heaven, and Brion will make him a star. Ah, but being signed to an Indigo Girl’s record label apparently only had so much pull, and the album didn’t quite jump into the general consciousness the way I hoped it would. Damn. Didn’t they hear his love letter to ELO mastermind Jeff Lynne, cryptically titled “Jeff Lynne”? Even better is the album’s final track “Fine,” which sports one of those great wordless choruses. Oh, and it ends with arson, like all love stories should.
Republic Tigers: Keep Color (2008)
The Republic Tigers are like the American version of the Feeling – they are simply not from their time. Listen to those melodies (the A-ha tribute “Buildings and Mountains”), the patience they take with the arrangements (”Golden Sand”). Ideally, someone will hear this album and think that that is how songs should be written. But after the whole Paul Melancon thing, I’m not holding out hope. For what it’s worth, guys, the people who grew up in the ’80s think you guys are peachy keen.
Kenna: New Sacred Cow (2003)
This was going to be included in our piece on the best albums you never heard, but we based the inclusion of the albums on which artists were willing to answer a few simple questions, and Kenna forwarded us to his publicist…who couldn’t be bothered to respond. Ironically, Kenna called me shortly before his second album came out, even though I told the label that we needed to reschedule the interview. As it turned out, the interview was never rescheduled, and to borrow a phrase from Led Zeppelin, it makes me wonder. Here’s me, an avowed fan of the man – one of the best concerts I ever attended was a Kenna show at Schuba’s in Chicago. The show started at 6:00, and drinks were on the house, woot! – and the label can’t coordinate an interview. I suppose it’s fitting, since labels just have no idea what to do with an artist like him. He’s black, but his music knows no color. You’d think that the fact that his high school buddies, who are now known as the Neptunes, produced the record would be enough. Not so. Oh well. I love this album, and this album also produced one of the most original videos of the year.
Swag: Catch-All (2001)
When we asked Swag singer Doug Powell about Catch All, his stint with one-shot super group Swag, he dismissed it as pedestrian pop, and seemed surprised that anyone would love it. I get where he’s coming from, since the album doesn’t exactly rewrite the rules of pop, but it sports some damn good tributes to the Zombies (”Please Don’t Tell”), Elvis Costello (”Eight”), and the Byrds (”Lone,” “Louise”). And what’s wrong with that? Not a damn thing, if you axe me.
Oy, this decade was a mess. The ’90s were easy. Rock had grunge, hip-hop had gangsta rap and a genre-defining electronic album seemed to come out every week thanks to artists like Aphex Twin, the Prodigy and the Orb (just to name a few). There was no Zeitgeist-turning moment in music this decade, no Next Big Thing. Instead, we saw mainstream rock dissolve into a post-grunge funk from which it might never recover, while pop music infiltrated rap music in insulting and embarrassing ways (thanks, Auto-Tune). Meanwhile, both the punk rock kids and hippies discovered electronic music, giving Pitchfork whole new genres of music to build up and tear down.
We’re more fragmented then ever – case in point: of all the albums selected by the writers who’ve contributed to our End of Decade series, only one album has been selected twice – which means that there’s something out there for anyone, but nothing for everyone. It sucks if you like the idea of a rock band being bigger than Jesus, especially if you don’t want that band to be U2. But if you like the idea that at any given moment there’s probably an album being released that will appeal to just you a few thousand other people, then this is a great time to be alive. However, that also means the chances of finding something truly “original” are next to nil. We’re getting to a point where it feels like everything has been done, and everyone is just paying homage, making pastiche or ripping off something that came before.
That being said, there were still a few original albums to make their way to my ears this decade, and almost all of them ended up being my favorites. So while you say this is my “best of” list for the decade, you could also call it my “most original” list as well.
1. Fucked Up: Chemistry of Common Life
Canadian indie rock seemed to be the scene of the ’00s, and while it gave us some good music, most of it bored me. It was just so damn pleasant. And Fucked Up is a lot of things, but pleasant isn’t one of them. In fact, almost everything about them, from their R-rated name to the abrasive vocals of their lead singer (who goes by the name Pink Eyes) almost dares you not to like them. I sure as hell didn’t at first; it seemed like they were trying too hard to be “outrageous.” But when they give you a song as brilliant as “Son the Father” with its goosebump-inducing riff and the best lyric of the decade (“It’s hard enough being born in the first place / Who would ever wanna be born again?”), it’s impossible not to take notice. This is hardcore punk’s Dark Side of the Moon and will probably be just as influential in the years to come.
2. Arcade Fire: Funeral
Okay, so not all of the indie-rock from Canada bored me. I didn’t want to like Arcade Fire, I didn’t want to fall for their melancholy lyrics and haunting melodies, and I didn’t want to be put under enchantment by the haunting closing track “In The Backseat.” It just kind of happened that way. Damn Canadians and their near-perfect records.
3. Hell: Teufelswerk
An as-yet-unheard masterpiece, although there is some hope still since it only came out this year. Teufelswerk picks up where The Orb’s Adventures into the Underworld left off, taking the listener on a journey across two discs that include ambient, house, electro and just about everything else in between. Not made entirely for the dance floor, it’s the kind of electronic album that should have mainstream appeal, even with its 13-minute tracks and bizarre guest appearance roster of Bryan Ferry and Diddy. If you consider yourself a fan of electronic music and you don’t have this album, you’re doing it wrong.
4. At the Drive-In: Relationship of Command
It came out in 2000, and nearly 10 years later there’s still nothing that sounds remotely like it. It’s usually pegged as an emo record, (the first time I heard the word “emo” was in regards to this record) but modern emo has little in common with this masterpiece of tempo changes, passionate vocals and adrenaline-fueled insanity. Too bad the band couldn’t survive much past the album’s release, and the two offshoots they formed after the break-up, the Mars Volta and Sparta, have come close to even matching this record in the years that have followed. Of course, almost no one else has, either.
5. Marnie Stern: This Is It And I Am It…
“This chick is kinda nuts,” said my editor when he pitched this CD to me. I’m naturally attracted to insane women, so that’s partially why I took a shine to Stern so quickly, but it mostly had to do with the fact that I’ve heard nothing like her before. She’s some heavenly combination of Van Halen and Sleater-Kinney, taking guitar virtuosity and mixing it with riot grrl passion to create an entirely one-of-a-kind sound in the process. She’s her own beast, creating her own genre which should just be called “holy shit music,” because that’s all I can think to myself when I hear her.
6. Deltron 3030: Deltron 3030
Indie hip-hop may be easy to find now, but in 2000 there was no scene for that, at least there wasn’t in my consciousness. I still don’t remember how I found this record, which is a crazy concept album about an intergalactic rap battle in the year 3030, but I remember being pleasantly surprised when a year later everyone involved on it (Del Tha Funkee Homosapien, DJ Kid Koala, Dan the Automator and Damon Albarn) went on to form Gorillaz. But this album is still better than anything those animated monkeys put out. It isn’t only the best hip-hop album of the decade, but the most original as well.
7. Mastodon: Leviathan
Prog-rock and heavy metal, two great tastes that taste great together, especially when used to create a concept album based on “Moby Dick.” Mastodon’s early albums showed promise, but this seafaring epic really sealed the deal and heralded their arrival as “the” metal band in 2004. It was also the first album to show me that popular metal was finally getting past that nu-metal BS that nearly ruined the genre at the turn of the millennium. There needs to be more metal based on classic American novels. I’m waiting for a metal interpretation of “The Age of Innocence.”
8. Yeah Yeah Yeahs: It’s Blitz!
The biggest 180 of the decade. Sounding nothing like their previous records, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs didn’t go dance-punk for their third LP, they went full-on dance – like a rocking version of Kylie Minogue. You’re not going to hear a better dance track this year than “Zero,” unless you count all the other up-tempo numbers on this flawless record.
9. Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Fever to Tell
Oh yeah, and their first album wasn’t half bad, either.
10. The Strokes: Is This It?
The poster band and the poster album for the for the poster genre (post-punk revival) that was supposed to become the Next Big Thing. And while that didn’t really happen, we still got some really good records out of it, this one still being the best. And even if you didn’t like it, you have to admit that it probably got a bunch of kids listening to the Stooges for the first time. And the UK version (see photo) had the best album cover of the decade as well.
On their third release, Montreal trio We Are Wolves polish and refine their unique brand of indie, post-punk and electro to such a shine it’s hard to find another band to compare them to. They’re most reminiscent of It’s Blitz!-era Yeah Yeah Yeahs but they are still strikingly different in the way they combine punk and electronic music. While the YYYs practically abandoned their punk influences to create their dance-happy indie rock, We Are Wolves still embrace it, combining scuzzy garage rock riffs with Moroder-influenced synths in a way that shouldn’t work as well as it does. Invisible Violence is a pendulum of a record, swinging back and forth between rock songs with an electronic edge like the opening track “Paloma” or electronic numbers with a slight rock edge, such as the epic “Reaching for the Sky.” It’s cold and detached while being energetic and in-your-face, like someone gave Gary Numan and fuzzbox and had him go to town. The term “dance-punk” doesn’t fit these guys, they could probably best be described as garage-electro; everything about them is lo-fi, with their wonderfully retro-sounding synths melding perfectly with their scuzzy guitars and howling vocals. This has to be the most hard-rocking, punk-friendly album ever to be obviously influenced by late-’70s disco. (Dare To Care Records 2010)
It is said that late is better than never, but in an industry where timing is everything, the decision to push Love & War, the solo debut of Australian soul singer Daniel Merriweather – it is actually his second album; his first one remains unreleased – to 2010 is a curious one. If memory serves, the first word to come out about the album dropped in late 2007, presumably to take advantage of the buzz surrounding Merriweather’s performance of the Smiths’ “Stop Me if You Think You’ve Heard This One Before” on Mark Ronson’s album 
MOTOR is hardcore (too hardcore for lowercase letters, apparently), and they want you to know it. With song titles like “Bite the Bullet,” “Death Rave,” “Le Bitch,” and “Jacked Up” they’re advertising their abrasive acid house before you even listen to them. With house going the way of electro and disco thanks to artists like Justice and Daft Punk, it’s nice to see someone take it back to the acid house roots of the late ’80s/early ’90s while adding their own spin to it. In the case of MOTOR, that spin is a dark and menacing vibe that is usually reserved for darkcore drum and bass and hardstyle. Acid house was already jarring and abrasive enough, so when you add the dark and evil vibe that MOTOR is going for, you get nonstop jarring, pounding rhythms, vicious synth riffs, countless hoovers and screeching sirens custom designed to raise the roof at a midnight rave. There’s no other way to put it – this shit is intense.
The Lolas: Silver Dollar Sunday (2001)
Rialto: Night on Earth (2001)
Gene: Libertine (2001)
Paul Melancon: Camera Obscura (2002)
Kenna: New Sacred Cow (2003)
Swag: Catch-All (2001)
1. Fucked Up: Chemistry of Common Life
2. Arcade Fire: Funeral
4. At the Drive-In: Relationship of Command
6. Deltron 3030: Deltron 3030
7. Mastodon: Leviathan
9. Yeah Yeah Yeahs: Fever to Tell
