ANIMAL COLLECTIVE
Sung Tongs (Fat Cat Records, www.paw-tracks.com)
Sung Tongs is an album that I think the world needs more of right now. Albums of sunlight and humour. Kudos to Animal Collective for taking chances and anyone who says people aren't making great records anymore hasn't heard this. A collection of childlike acoustic fun that's more about process than result, this is one of the most whimsical musical experiments I've heard so far this year. Avey Tare and Panda Bear's experimental folk opus just feels like summer to me on one record (I'll have to remember this album come February of next year). Remember that first day out of school on summer holiday when you were a kid? Here it is. Their Dadaist Beach Boys creations and sun-kissed kaleidoscopic idealism are a true delight for the ears and the child inside. Grab those crayons, kids, and just dig it. -- SV
File next to: Important nonsense, joy and fun seasons in the sun, spontaneous parades.

BATTLES
EP C (Monitor, www.monitorrecords.com)
Ian Williams has always had a way with teaming up with percussionists. Back in his dysfunctional Don Caballero days, he and Damon Che tried to outdo each other regularly, and when he founded Storm and Stress, Kevin Shea laid down some sick-ass free-jazz anti-beats to go along with the music's meandering amble. Now he's got Battles, a band that harkens back to Don Cab's American Don in its intricate, pretty guitar work, but makes up for that album's lack of real percussive dynamic (it's not just the BOOM BOOM CHK anymore) with the inclusion of John Stanier (Tomahawk, people) on the traps. This works out pretty well for the band. Ian weaves guitar lines together with insane bro Tyondai Braxton, whose solo work is not to be missed. Basically this is a super-group of a bunch of dudes who are all pretty awesome but, thanks to their working together, are made
even more awesome. Even more... awesome. -- AG
File next to: Atari sounds, Don Cab, Storm and Stress, dynamic!

THE BLAM
Caveat Emptor
What an awesome record. Underappreciated, if only for the shit band name, The Blam channel the sounds of '60s and '70s freakbeat and '90s baggy shit. It sounds like Creation jamming on a Style Council album with Leisure-era Blur and The Jam watching from a distance. I could make a funny joke about the buyer not having to beware when purchasing this album, but I'm not going to. -- AG
File next to: I guess I actually did make that joke, after all.

BRIAN BONZ
Susan The Boy Scout (Electric Frog; brianbonz.com)
This sweet little EP is a lovely mélange of experimental pop, fuzzy rockers and straight-ahead acoustic songs. It's hard to put a finger on one singular sound that Bonz has but that's his charm. It makes for a fresh and unique listen. The sleepy and touching voice of Bonz seems to be the only constant here. Let's just say that it all just sounds great to me and I wish this was a full-length album so I could see which direction he'd go next. This zig-zagging quality is one of the things I truly loved about this release. He's an extremely diverse talent to watch out for and we're going to see big things from him I think. The Boy Scout motto is “be prepared” and Bonz certainly seems that way from song to song, he could go anywhere. This world needs more unique sonic talents like Brian Bonz. -- SV
File next to: Yo La Tengo, Alex Chilton, The Busy Signals, Fraggle Rock.

BUNNY BROWN
Tomorrow the World (www.bunnybrown.com)

Bunny's doing eclectic. That seems to be her thing. Tomorrow the World opens with a John Mellencamp-esque (with a nod to BTO!) mellow hard rocker for the over-40 crowd; next a vaguely punk thing called “Freakezoid,” then she takes an abrupt Kate Bush/Tori Amos turn sprinkled with ambient/trip-hop filler (and by that I mean if trip-hop had been conceived in Brampton, Ontario rather than Bristol, UK). Bunny got me thinking though. She got me thinking about a particular genre of music, a sort of, “Hogtown hard rock,” if you will. An aesthetic typified by over-30-ish bands like The Headstones. They're supposed to be punk I know, but to me they sound like Q107. I know the bio says Iggy Pop, but I'm hearing Kim Mitchell. There's a whole generation of “punk rockers” in denial about a teenhood spent listening to stadium rock. In a way it's really too bad; there are some elements to Bunny's collection here that I almost like -- her whiskey-soaked voice, a touch for lilting melodies, a few gems of lyrics buried within the bulk of politically aware pedantry. -- GF
File next to: Skirts worn over leggings, Kensington Market in the 1980s, “Mmm, grilled tempeh!”, summer concerts at Nathan Phillips Square.

MCLUSKY
The Difference Between Me And You Is That I'm Not On Fire
(Too Pure; www.mclusky.com)
If McLusky Do Dallas was an attack-trained pitbull launching itself airborne towards you and snapping back at the chain just inches from your throat, then this new record is more like a burly German shepherd circling you at about twenty paces. It may or may not be tame; it's hard to tell. Lacking the blood-boiling whiplash assault of its predecessor, the Welsh powered-by-lager-trio's third LP does seem like a disappointment on first inspection: Where are the hits? Where are the jokes? They're there, but you have to look a little harder -- like at the lyric sheet, which is now printed on nice-smelling paper, which means Too Pure are investing in these blokes. Good on them, being bloody uncommercial and all, but now they're also more unlistenable, maybe because they don't seem as much fun. “Everywhere I look is a darkness” is this album's catchiest refrain, and this may be emblematic of the new, more “serious” McLusky. I still fear they'd break a pint glass over my head for saying that though. -- JD
File next to:

MISSION OF BURMA
ONoffON (Matador; www.missionofburma.com)
Holy time discontinuity! The first Burma LP in 22 years sounds like they never left. Hardly a retro move though, just proof of how ahead of their time they really were. Brief history lesson: MOB formed in Boston in 1979, released one EP and one LP, and broke up in '83 due to public disinterest and guitarist Roger Miller's hearing problems. What they left behind was the blueprint for indie-rock as we (should) know it. Disclosure: Burma are my favourite band of all time. So, after their “inexplicable” reunion in 2002, I was honestly hesitant to hear new songs by them, lest they not live up to the brilliance of their small canon. But thank fuck, this rocks. It's all here: Miller's gravity-defying harmonic fireworks, Clint Conley's hefty melodic basslines, Peter Prescott's imaginative drum pounding, and thoughtful, impassionate lyricism from all three. Bob Weston-as-Martin Swope's tape loops don't play that big a role, as it's all about the songs -- and the new ones are actually preferable to the re-recordings of old tunes. Conley's “Hunt Again” and “Dirt” are more definitive in their speedier versions on the Taang! demo-vault releases, but fuck, this is a fan talking. Prescott's songs are the real relevation here, as his time with Volcano Suns and Kustomized has clearly kept his rock larynx in beefy shape. So: Burma -- three great singer/songwriters with a well-defined sonic vision. And they rock. That's it. Fuck! Yes! -- JD
File next to: Signals, Calls and Marches, Vs., The Horrible Truth About Burma, s/t EP, Forget.

MELVIN GOES TO DINNER
Directed by Bob Odenkirk
This is a film about four people sitting at a restaurant, talking. That's pretty much all they do. It's based on a play. It shouldn't work, but it does. And it is wonderful. I promise, promise, promise you won't find it boring. The script, the performances, and the editing are all so tight that I was immediately caught up in the film. It's just insanely well written. It's not Seinfeld-esque in the sense that nothing happens, it's a more intimate and realistic portrayal of intelligent people who are essentially fucked up. Not exactly what you'd expect as Bob Odenkirk's (Mr. Show) first feature, but fantastic nonetheless. The DVD itself is excellent, with commentaries from Odenkirk, the cast, the cinematographer, the editor, and the producers, which are actually worth listening to. Do not neglect to watch “The Frank International Film Festival,” either, which is a short film directed by Odenkirk and worth the price of the rental alone. -- SK
File next to: Of course there are David Cross and Jack Black cameos. Now just go rent it.

JOANNA NEWSOM
The Milk-Eyed Mender (Drag City, www.dragcity.com)
Seven days of headphones, ever since I got back from New York and The Milk-Eyed Mender was waiting on my pillow. I was not expecting a gift, nor did I expect to like it. Seven days now, and with every play and pause I am more and more amazed. There are countless words to describe this, but I do not have them. Just the feeling. Knowing that these 12 songs will be stuck in my jukebox head and I will be humming them for months. Learning the words until I can sing them like they are my own. I cannot imagine the mind that constructed these songs. It fascinates and confounds me. How did the rhyme rhythm rhyme slip over the string string string strings and still meet the harpsichord in one breath? Twist tight and unravel; it is completely beautiful. -- RP
File next to: 365 more days of headphones.

THE ORGAN
Grab That Gun (Mint, www.mintrecs.com)
I was so excited to get my hands on this album, and it didn't disappoint. All tracks were equally great and consistently catchy, my personal fave being “No One Has Ever Looked So Dead,” an upbeat reflection on past relationships, and “Brother,” which is hit material if I ever heard any. The instrumentation which includes organ, bass, guitar and drums is lush and full, with the guitar giving off a shiny ringing tone. Katie Sketch's melodramatic vibrato-tinged vocals bring Morrissey to mind and contribute a lot to make The Organ's distinct sound. -- KK
File next to: The Smiths, Slant 6

PEACHES + YOUNG HEART ATTACK + THE WORLD PROVIDER
The Opera House, May 5. $18.50
I bet even if I didn't have a first-class ticket on the free boozeahol express, this show would've been like Pink Floyd: The Wall (with Peaches as a not hairless, not fascist Bob Geldof; I see you shaking your head, and point out that nairism and totalitarianism are but two stars in the galaxy of rampant symbolism that is Alan Parker's magnum opus). Serious -- a crowd of fashion-crazed, drunk (an underaged few enabled by yours truly and yours truly enabled by World Provider whilst promoting Enabler -- reread this review after smoking a bowl!) and positively sweating hundreds would hae done anything Peaches told them to -- even kill. The stage show was like one hand yanking you so fast into the fist which is literally a dozen dozens, chanting “Fuck the pain away.” And even though there was probably no narrative at all, it was like when there's the floating in the red swimming pool and you go, “Shit that was so intense and it's over” and don't even bother to worry about it making
sense. Follow that up with getting so drunk on the tour bus you almost end up in Detroit and you have rock criticism on an epic scale (sorry, I only get this many words)... -- BOTP
File next to: Next month -- Peaches with The World Provider and Young Heart Attack, Opera House May 5th cont'd.

THE PETER PARKERS
This Is Sity Music (www.thepeterparkers.com)
I think the Peter Parkers put some hard tracks on this album just to wake you up every so often so you remember there's music playing. Unfortunately, it makes the album feel jagged and random. The songs are good, but not engaging. If it was all soft, it would be good ambience, but as it stands, attention grabbers, like the fantastic “Damaged and Dangerous (10 o'clock scotch),” show a progression and melody that a lot of the songs lack. The final track, “Ghostown Belle (slow love),” is mellow but absorbing unlike its counter part, “Ghostown Belle (fast love)” which epitomizes the lull that drags this record down. Taken one song at a time, this is a decent space-rock album. If it was one or the other, the fast or the slow, this could've been something special, but as a whole it's unfortunately forgettable. -- RM
File next to: Anything with raisins in it.

THE REPUTATION
To Force A Fate (Lookout!, www.lookoutrecords.com)
Elizabeth Elmore has written many songs that perfectly summarize situations I have been in with every boy I've either dated, or wanted to date. When listening to The Reputation's self-titled debut album (as well as the albums Distant and The Glass Intact by Elmore's former band, Sarge), I found myself scrambling for the lyric insert, old love letters and a bottle of Pabst midway through the first listen of the first track. Not so much with To Force A Fate. In fact, after repeated spinning, I took it upon myself to re-read all of the lyrics, just to make sure there wasn't anything I missed. No such luck. It's fortunate that this sophomore effort has all of the riffs, hooks and perfectly-timed choruses that make The Reputation such a joy to see live. Maybe Elmore is biting her tongue a bit. Maybe her perspective towards some of her relationships has changed. Or, maybe I just
haven't met the boy(s) that these songs could potentially recap. -- SB
File next to: Scrubbing off the writing on the wall.

ROYAL CITY
Little Heart's Ease (Three Gut, www.threegutrecords.com)
Royal City play with those emotions we loathe to embrace, and hold them out to us as if in reassurance that it's okay to enjoy them. Like an overcast Sunday in the dead of winter, they make even the most dreary of times seem like the most beautiful, and the most beautiful of times last forever. With their previous releases, they plucked our heartstrings with a confidence and an instant familiarity that just felt right. With their latest they have really come into their own, growing into a band with hearts in hands and the world at their fingertips. The opening track, “Bring My Father a Gift,” kicks in with the bass bouncing along like a train on a destination to a far away place, and once Aaron Riches' vocals kick in, Royal City are back. Beautiful harmonies fill the chorus as the words penetrate the ears softly singing, “He will come, he will come,”
with an eerie piano lurking in the distance as the harmonies tune in with the ebb and flow of instruments. The record goes on to bring those same elements Royal City have been known for, the folk/country fused with slow rock that makes them seem as though they have lived through the ages. Strings, harmonica and piano are placed intricately in the most perfect of circumstances throughout the entire album, and as always. Riches' vocals are pure and harsh all at once. When he sings of his “drunk body, bleeding misery” during “Can't You,” you can hear the emotion in the crack of his voice and almost familiarize yourself with the room he's in, because it all seems so safe and warm. From Lonnie James letting loose on the kit during “My Body is Numbered,” to Jim Guthrie playing the most minimal of notes during “Count the Days” in contrast with the softness of the bass from Simon Osborne; Royal City have taken all of the elements of music and life that we may love, or may hate, and meshed them together to form a brilliant collection of gems. Never pretentious, always honest, there should always be room
for them in your stereo. -- RT
File next to: Superman vs. Clark Kent

TANGIERS
Never Bring You Pleasure (Sonic Unyon, www.sonicunyon.com)
This album is best played loud driving. I mean, it could work other times, but loud, while you're driving, it's great. See, I would like it more, but I don't usually go in for the rock'n'roll late at night. You know, that's more of a time for other music. And this is definitely THE ROCK AND ROLL. Tangiers brings the rock better than most Canadian bands trying to bring the rock... that I can think of... at the moment. They also seem to channel an '80s indie vibe that's not usually as tapped, a vibe that reminds me of early Dinosaur Jr., or maybe a less punky Mission of Burma. Anyway, I dig this. Just not at night. -- AG
File next to: Rock... and... roll...

THE THERMALS
Fuckin' A (Sub Pop, www.subpop.com; www.thethermals.com)
Fuckin' A: a declaration about the power found here or a sarcastic comment on the current state of the Union? On this sophomore release from the Portland trio of Hutch (from Hutch & Kathy), Kathy (Hutch & Kathy, All Girl Summer Fun Band) and Jordan (Operacycle) have one-upped themselves from their debut, but it's still very much a one-take affair (best played LOUD for maximum pissed-offedness). The Thermals' political message is delivered like suddenly being woken up from a deep sleep. Hutch reminds me a lot of a highly caffeinated John Darnielle (Mountain Goats) fronting Guided By Voices. Clocking in at less than 28 minutes with most of the songs lasting little more than two minutes long they get straight to the point. “Don't give a fuck about what we say,” Hutch tells us. It's hard when the songs are so catchy and powerful. “Fuckin' A” indeed. -- SV
File next to: The Mountain Goats as a punk band, McLusky, GBV (RIP), being really pissed off.

VARIOUS ARTISTS
Late Night Tales: Turin Brakes (Whoa; www.latenighttales.com)
I'll admit that Turin Brakes is a band that I've heard of but have never really gotten into. Not sure why, but I am interested in them more now simply for the company they keep here. This is part of a series of compilations where popular artists curate and get to play DJ. Turin Brakes collect some true gems in John Barry's “Midnight Cowboy” theme, Silver Jews' “Send In The Clouds”; an alternate stripped-down, (even for Smog) version of “Cold-Blooded Old Times” and the soul-jazz of Grant Green's “A Walk In The Night” that I could listen to all day. Other notables such as John Hammond, Talk Talk and the timeless Gillian Welch also make appearances. Who the hell are these Turin Brakes guys? Well give them a medal for their superb taste. Next up: Four Tet. Keep an eye out. -- SV
File next to: Compilations that don't suck, desert island CDs.

THE WORLD PROVIDER
Enabler (Ta Da)
Kingswood Music Theatre. 1983. I was six. A phalanx of male dancers in gold sequined pants sashaying and shimmying and jazz handing to Wham!
Maybe my details are all scrambled through a haze of childhood jelly bracelets. But I'm pretty sure The World Provider was there with me. Shimmying to glittery synth-y pop, bouncing to the beat of the handclap, swooning over ex-choir boy vocals -- I can't see the stage anymore -- Oh, I'm in my bedroom. It's 2004. And The World Provider is in my stereo. And the '80s are a couple decades away. My childhood is long gone, but The World Provider has sparkled some turquoise into my life again and for that I am grateful. -- GF
File next to: Tears for Fears, blocks recording club, The Culture Club

JASON & JONNY, BOY DETECTIVES:

THE DAY AFTER TOMORROW
(directed by Roland Emmerich, starring Dennis Quaid + Jake Gyllenhaal)

JASON: Like all great movies (well, maybe just John Carpenter's The Thing), this summer's only global warming disaster movie begins in scenic Antarctica. Get used to the sight of Dennis Quaid's frost-covered eyebrows, 'cuz you're gonna be seeing a lot of them before we're through. In the words of Thom Yorke, “Ice age coming, ice age coming, mumble, etc.” But nowhere on Kid A did Thom mention the five-pound hailstones in Tokyo beaning salarymen, the tornadoes destroying the Hollywood sign or the sheep-sicles in Scotland. Anyone who savoured the superb scenes of world destruction that Roland Emmerich delivered in Independence Day is gonna love this. We're talking world-class apocalypse. And it's 100 percent scientifically accurate!

JONNY: I don't know, my Google search on “the day after tomorrow + scientific accuracy” discovered there's a lot of indignant neo-conservative sci-fi fans out there. It globally warmed the cockles of my bleeding heart to see a super-liberal Hollywood blockbuster -- where the Third World wins and a Dick Cheney doppelganger eats humble frozen pie. Also: the movie world's first paleoclimatologist action hero and heart-stopping use of the term “critical desalinization point.” So global warming melts the ice caps and shuts down the Gulf Stream, ironically starting a new ice age overnight. What's awesome is there's no quick fix and no happy ending: the Northern Hemisphere is iced over and we're all fucking dead -- well, whitey, that is. TDAT may have started a new genre: the blockbummer.

JASON: Yeah, take that, Cheney. It must really burn him that the VP was played by a friggin' Canadian: Kenneth Welsh. And I thought it was so cool that the President was Perry King from Riptide, an '80s Magnum P.I. ripoff that had a kickass theme song. Too bad the music here is a Howard Shore-ian bore, though I was happy to hear Culture Club's original version of “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” in the academic decathlon party scene. Jeez, the kids are so dorky in this movie -- was that just an attempt to make Jake “Donnie Darko” Gyllenhal seem hot by comparison?

JONNY: Speaking of hot, how about Jake and his insipid love interest sharing their body heat in that hypothermia-fetish scene?

JASON: And I never would've guessed that the deadliest thing about global warming is all the damn ice wolves.