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The “press” section of Erich Von Kneip’s website includes links to three articles, and two of them are in German. This is pretty depressing for an album that was released a year ago, but it’s also sort of fitting; they may have been recently recorded, but the nine originals and one cover that make up A Collection of Abject Musings have the sound and feel of long-forgotten objects from a distant and perhaps imagined past. Like Tom Waits without the frog in his throat (and with Django Reinhardt standing behind him), Von Kneip leads the listener on a fairly convincing stroll down the alley behind a 1920s saloon. His sound isn’t terribly dissimilar from Andrew Bird’s, but unlike Bird, Von Kneip never seems to be mugging. Whether this is because he isn’t as concerned with making sure you hear everything he can do – or because he just can’t do that much – isn’t important; all that matters, really, is that he’s the type of guy who knows you can’t go wrong with a one-eye-open, album-closing cover of Irving Berlin’s “Blue Skies.” He could do with more consistent original material, but hey, this is just his debut – there’s plenty of time for that. (LABEL: Bitemark 2008

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Scary’s debut earned raves from Pitchfork, Paste, Popmatters and, um, Perez Hilton, giving him the extra burst of chutzpah that must have been necessary to assemble the follow-up, a nutty dozen-song cycle inspired by Thomas Pynchon’s thousand-page doorstop “Against the Day.” The overall effect – at least if you don’t pay any attention to the lyrics – is akin to what Todd Rundgren getting high with Queen and the Electric Light Orchestra in the early ‘80s might have sounded like. If you do pay attention to the lyrics, on the other hand, you’re liable to waver between amused and irritated – and if you lived through the peak of prog rock’s popularity, you may end up suffering (and we do mean suffering) flashbacks. Try to boil Pynchon down to album length, and you’re bound to end up with an unwieldy mess – but whether Scary’s buckshot approach is the result of genius or attention deficit disorder is entirely an open question. The arrangements are tight and the hooks are plentiful, but you get the feeling you wouldn’t want to share an elevator with the guy. (LABEL: Black and Greene 2008

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The whole “these guys sound like [random band] meets [another random band]” cliché of describing new music acts is old, tired and worn out. That being said, the Flight Orchestra sound like Radiohead meets Aphex Twin…with some Grandaddy thrown in. On The Military of Fatima, the Flight Orchestra (which is really just a man by the name of David Wilson) challenges the conventions of the experimental and glitch genres, although saying that either genre has conventions is a little bit of a stretch. Still, by singing over near-random assaults of feedback, freaky bleeps and a wacky assortment of miscellaneous sounds, Wilson takes the notoriously noncommercial subgenre and almost-but-not-quite makes it commercial. His singing voice isn’t all that great, but his near-whisper vocals and limited range fit well on great tracks like “Daylight” and the hideously titled “Win One for the Endless Empire and the Neverending Day.” Unfortunately, many of the tunes that do not feature vocals are annoying pop-and-crackle messes that are either downright boring or migraine-inducing. There’s potential on The Military of Fatima, but Wilson’s going to have to either improve his singing voice, hire a professional singer, or refine those instrumental tracks just a bit more. Still, there’s something to be said for an album that almost undoubtedly took at least some of its samples from old Nintendo cartridges. (LABEL: Breathing Room Records 2008

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