After effectively hopscotching from label to label – four in approximately the past ten years – Ed Harcourt seems to have found a comfortable home with Dovecote, a company that presumably grants him the ability to follow his creative whims without regard to commercial consequences. Still, Russian Roulette doesn’t divert all that much from his usual template, a reliable mix of stirring, angst-ridden ballads and soaring anthemic outpours that capture the heart while seizing on more cerebral possibilities. Being more of a modest affair – six songs recorded rather quickly as in deference to the original demos – it also serves as a stopgap prior to the unveiling of his next full-length opus, due sometime next year. Regardless, its certain to satiate fans unable to wait that long, courtesy of such enticing offerings as the title track – an opening volley of over-arched emotion – and “Sour Milk, Motheaten Silk,” a song which, despite its curious title, proves both elusive and alluring. However, the EP’s true highlight emerges in the form of “Caterpillar,” a purposeful and effusive number written about his newborn daughter that also ranks among the most stirring songs he’s ever written. Dovecote

Ed Harcourt MySpace page

April 21 marked the release of the second LP from Atlanta, Georgia rockers Manchester Orchestra. After four previous releases, Mean Everything to Nothing is a breath of fresh indie-rock air thanks much in part to producer Joe Chiccarelli (The Shins, The Raconteurs, My Morning Jacket).
In place of their usual brand of mellow indie-pop, Manchester Orchestra has compiled a cohesive collection of tunes that echo the likes of Nirvana and Weezer. There’s a new grunge twist on Nothing unlike any of the band’s previous releases. It’s the perfect addition to the Manchester Orchestra catalog, and has the potential to be the band’s most commercial success. The Boston Globe talked about the album’s strong points saying,

“[Mean Everything to Nothing] is like a sonic form of whiplash: lullaby-like intros progress into fist-pumping choruses, pensive piano arrangements are followed by gritty guitar riffs, and front man Andy Hull’s vocals shift from folksy Conor Oberst-like warbling on power ballads (”I Can Feel a Hot One”) to breathless emo-wailing on anthems like “I’ve Got Friends.”

There’s really nothing to criticize about Nothing. The substance is there, more so even than the majority of Top 40 releases dominating the radio. The growth that’s evident on Nothing successfully bridges the gap between Manchester Orchestra’s early years, and the bright future they are sure to have thanks to the transformation. Bottom line, Mean Everything to Nothing is what indie-rock should sound like today so have a listen. You can even preview tracks on Manchester Orchestra’s MySpace here.

Emo-rockers, Cursive have returned to the scene with their sixth studio album, Mama, I’m Swollen.  After a three-year hiatus the band is back with a valiant attempt at progression, that unfortunately has failed to attract the kind of following we saw with The Ugly Organ or Happy Hollow.  Nonetheless, Mama, I’m Swollen is classic Cursive:  an intricate web of instruments and lyrics, all woven around the same angst-ridden, emo-tastic thread.

While some may argue that redundancy will be the proverbial straw that breaks this camel’s back, since when is more of a good thing bad?  It is true that Cursive takes the listener down the same paths on Mama that they did on previous records but in this case quality has not been compromised.  In fact, Amazon.com wrote, “On their sixth album, [Cursive] proves yet again why ‘after all these years’ they remain one of the most exciting and inventive rock bands today.”  All the pieces of a great rock album are there, they just need to be celebrated.  Pitchfork.com gave a review of the records strengths saying:

Musically, Cursive’s range is subtler here compared to their previous albums, but there are some satisfying occasions when everything pulls together nicely. Shifting time signatures keep the more straightforward songs from getting dull, and there are plenty of thoughtful guitar hooks interlaced with brass sections, strings, and an intermittent flute…it’s the occasional appearance of these additional instruments that sparks the most excitement while listening to this record. The final song, “What Have I Done”, a tale of a man holed up in an El Paso motel scratching lyrics on paper plates instead of writing a great novel, turns out to be the album’s most memorable track.  It impresses with its swell of electronic ambiance, growling bass, and triumphantly dejected chorus as Kasher keeps screaming “What have I done, what have I done, what have I done!” until he is out of breath.

The intensity and passion of Mama, I’m Swollen is what hooks the listener, and, whether a Cursive fan or not, it is also what keeps you coming back for more.  On DrownedInSound.com, James Skinner hits the nail on the head as he writes:

Mama, I’m Swollen manages to synthesize almost every strength of [Cursive] while tangibly pushing them ever forward.  An enviable awareness of space only hinted at in the past is present, lyrical concerns are ranging and articulate as ever, and the sonic dexterity exhibited is something to revel in. This album feels like a simultaneous departure and tacit acknowledgement of erstwhile achievements.

While hardcore fans may be torn when it comes to Mama, I’m Swollen Cursive’s latest attempt at immortality is a classic example of emotional lyrics and simple, yet embellished melodies.  It may sound like the Cursive you know and love but that’s only because it is the Cursive you know and love.  Give Mama, I’m Swollen a second listen.  At the very least, it’ll grow on you.

Someone in a popular men’s print magazine recently said something horrible about the latest Weezer album, something to the effect of, “If Rivers Cuomo burned down a hospital, it wouldn’t be the worst thing he did in 2008.” As harsh as that may sound, that critic probably hadn’t heard Cuomo’s latest batch of home recordings, sharply titled Alone II: The Home Recordings of Rivers Cuomo. Cuomo is one of those songwriters that you might call prolific, and he’s been known to literally use computer formulas to create those songs. The problem is that whatever formulas he’s using are not very good, and if his “best” stuff is being released on the Weezer albums, why would anyone want to hear this schlock? Okay, it’s not all schlock - tracks like “I Was Scared” and “My Brain Is Working Overtime” sound like classic Weezer. But that’s two tracks out of 19. Everything else ranges from bad to downright painful, especially “Please Remember” and “Can’t Stop Partying,” on which Cuomo’s raw, pitchy vocals effectively marry nails and chalkboard. And he sounds like a whiny emo kid from 1999 on “My Day is Coming.” So before we all start hating Weezer, whether we were fans of the band before, let’s hope Mr. Cuomo goes on a long vacation, or does something else newsworthy so we can forget about these awful home recordings. He doesn’t have to burn down a hospital, but robbing a hot dog cart wouldn’t be a bad idea. (DGC Records/Interscope)

Rivers Cuomo MySpace Page

Their odd, ill-defined moniker aside, Guggenheim Grotto are a deeply emotive trio, hailing from Ireland but obviously adept at capturing universal sentiments, particularly when it comes to matters of the heart. On this, their sophomore set, the group opts for gentle, dreamy melodies that reside midway between the arched anthems of Coldplay and the contemplative designs of the Beautiful South, capped by soaring refrains coupled with a distinct sense of wistful yearning. That’s especially true of “Her Beautiful Ideas,” perhaps the most torrid song about severed romance in recent memory, and “Sunshine Makes Me High,” which regales in sublime inspiration. Likewise, “Oh Nikita” glides on supple rhythms and a bittersweet plea, while “Just Not Just” provides a breezy lesson in unrequited love. Indeed, there’s a profound sense of desire that permeates the set as a whole, a hope for a passionate connection that remains just out of reach. “What has love in store for me,” they ask plaintively on the guardedly hopeful “Lost Forever And?,” a song that surmises the answer but reaches no definitive conclusion. Its title to the contrary, Happy the Man finds bliss an elusive ideal and optimism all the more difficult to cling to. (United for Opportunity)

Guggenheim Grotto MySpace page

Rebecca Pidgeon’s first album in three years portrays more of her sensual, seductive style, one that reflects a Sunday morning sound and a somewhat overcast aura that dissipates only on occasion. Pidgeon, who’s also gained fame for her acting portfolio and the fact she’s married to playwright David Mamet, supplies the soundtrack for the film “Redbelt,” much of which extracted for Behind the Velvet Curtain, but any thematic thread is difficult to discern. In fact, the album is so uniformly low-key that any change in tempo or tone becomes practically non-existent. To her credit, she’s recruited an impressive roster of musicians to back her up – producer/bassist Larry Klein, guitarist Dean Parks, steel guitar player Greg Leisz among them – but Pidgeon’s wispy, willowy sway finds the proceedings rarely rising above a whisper (think Norah Jones at her most nocturnal). The only time Pidgeon and company gather any modicum of am upbeat tick is when they turn up the tempo on, appropriately, “That’s Life, That’s Hollywood” and a somewhat spunky cover of the Beach Boys’ “Wouldn’t It Be Nice.” Otherwise, consider this a rather drowsy digression. (Hot Milk Records)

Rebecca Pidgeon website

There’s something that’s different from most power pop and Warped Tour fare when it comes to Canadian rock band Social Code. On the band’s debut US EP, He Said, She Said, Social Code sets itself apart from the pack a bit with a lot of guitar-driven energy and with Travis Nesbitt’s raspy vocal (think Hawthorne Heights and Fall Out Boy having a child). The title track is the kind of stuff that will give record labels and radio programmers a collective wet dream. But Social Code is just paying the bills with that and with the catchy but slightly grating “Beautiful.” That’s because the best tracks here are “Perfect Grave” and “The Shortest Line.” The former has a dark, melody-driven approach ala the Goo Goo Dolls, and could launch this band into superstardom if the right people hear it. Love it or hate it, this genre is still here to stay for a while, and Social Code is worth keeping your eyes and ears on. (LABEL: Fifth Season Music)

Social Code MySpace Page

Born in Ireland but a New York City transplant since 1992, Mark Geary has quietly worked below the radar while fashioning an eerily hypnotic musical motif. There’s always been something both confessional and contemplative about his material, a shadowy aura that casts him at a distance. With Opium, his fourth album, Geary takes steps to remedy that elusive stance, thanks to a set of songs that’s beautifully beguiling in its sensual, seductive appeal. The music is framed with his usual hushed ambiance, but it finds its footing in muted tones, plaintive vocals, gentle entreaties and wistful sentiments that soar with a quiet resolve. The delicately percolating rhythms of “See-Saw (Houpacka),” the kinetic urgency of “Not on Your Life” and the easy shuffle of “Tuesday” ensure a steady foundation rather than an aimless drift and an array of organic instruments – acoustic guitars, violins, clarinet, flute and piano – combine to create some lovely soundscapes. Ultimately, this Opium proves as addicting its title might imply. Sonablast Records

Mark Geary MySpace page

Up until now, New York singer/songwriter Steven Alvarado has dwelled mostly on high-minded precepts, with philosophical ruminations veering towards politics and religion. However, on his latest effort, Let It Go, he, well, lets it go, trading his proselytizing for dark deliberations about broken relationships. Largely acoustic, it opens with a flourish of earnestly strummed offerings – the rockabilly-tinted “Get This Far,” the ever-persistent “It’s For You” and, most notably, the vibrant and jangly “New York.” Ultimately though, the album falls prey to a veil of tears, a downcast demeanor that finds Alvarado reveling in his own despair. “Nobody Knows” is especially affecting, a loser’s lament that finds our hero “Drinking and thinking about you,” even though the woman in question apparently broke his heart into a zillion tiny splinters. Still, that’s only the first hint of apparent anguish; “Burning Bridges,” “Blue,” “It’s Alright” and “Gone, Gone, Gone” document bitter break-ups with unflinching animosity. Several star session players rally in support, but ultimately it’s down to Alvarado wielding his guitar like a weapon and blasting his ex partners in the process. (Mott St. Records)

Steven Alvarado MySpace page