Nothing ruins a good idea more than poor execution, a point exemplified by "fusion" concepts. The world is full of them: the "Southwest eggroll," hybrid cars less efficient than cars from the 1980s, countless movie sequels, etc. It takes a determined bit of genius to merge two concepts into a cohesive and unique creation. Brooklyn's A Place to Bury Strangers attempts to exhibit their particular brand of brilliance in their second album, Exploding Head.

I hate to sound like an old man on the porch, but this is a loud album. From "It's Nothing" to "I Lived My Life to Stand In the Shadow of Your Heart," you're bombarded with an unrelenting sound. It's as if they're going to yell at you until you understand that they're the loudest band in New York, and nothing is going to change that. Loud can be good, but their brand of self-described "sonic annihilation" is just so grueling that you're left fatigued and in desperate need of a break.

The band's biggest crime isn't this unending noise, though, but the lack of creativity when fusing multiple genres together. Imagine My Bloody Valetine's Loveless on speed, played over any distorted and washed-out industrial rock riff, and you have Exploding Head. To make things worse, vocalist Oliver Ackermann sounds like another homage to Ian Curtis. Even the song titles pay tribute to their influences with names like "Smile When You Smile" and "Ego Death." What you're left with is an album that starts out promising but ends up losing your interest due to repetition and homogeny.

For me, there was so little to like about this album mostly because I had such high expectations for could have been. It's incredibly daring, almost brash, to try to improve cult classics by fusing them to other genres. However, when it comes to Exploding Head, A Place to Bury Strangers might have been better off leaving them alone.

[A Place to Bury Strangers is playing 4/7/10 at Warehouse Live, along with The Big Pink.] (Daniel Yuan // 03/27/10)

Dead Plans, the second album from Detroit band The Bodies Obtained, has a creepy, 1980s-infused sound, with bleak lyrics and a well-thought-out combination of synthesizers. Their first album, From the Top of My Tree, did well, leaving fans in eager anticipation of a follow-up, and Dead Plans, a ten-track album released this past September, gives the duo another opportunity to show off their trippy, depressing concoction of music.

Their talent lies in their ability to combine many swelling synthesizer parts in an intriguing way, which works through layering and with the pleading words carrying above them. On my iTunes, they were listed as "unclassifiable," but I'm trying my best to categorize or at least describe them. They use so many effects I can hardly keep up. I recognize some of them from my own keyboard, such as "raindrop" and "fantasy." At times all this chaos sounds like noise, but not to the degree of The Locust, because the vocals stay at a medium level tone, almost rapping or talking occasionally. They're not as dark as Nine Inch Nails, but darker than Pulp, and definitely place their emphasis on recalling the homage to synthesizers of times past.

On the opener, "Death From Above," the band sings of impending doom, with the words "Death, you still come," sounding like a funeral gone electric and an odd bass saxophone solo at the end. "She Wants What She Wants" is a bit more upbeat and jolly, with the repetition of the confession, "We were young / We did what we did." It fades out with a light beat on the cymbal, which sounds like the end but is only the middle, then erupts back into the complex layering of several synthesizer parts.

They wear their pessimistic attitude on their sleeve, like in "The Perfect Plan," when they sing, "[You] can't hide from a sad day." All The Bodies Obtained's songs seem to be about plans gone amiss or the consequences of past actions. Basically, they're not too positive or optimistic. Their sense of humor is also prevalent and a bit harsh. They like using hyperboles, such as, "Did I ruin your life / or just a bad day," in "Walking on my Head." I wouldn't recommend them to the easily offended. (Krista Kesseler // 03/27/10)

Progression, I'm finding, is generally a good thing in the end, even if it doesn't necessarily seem like it at first blush. Back in 2005, Tody Castillo's self-titled solo debut appeared and promptly blew my doors off with its in-your-face hooky choruses, smart lyricism, almost Rentals-like keys, and shiny-bright roots-pop. I still listen fairly regularly to "Brainwashed," arguably the best track on there, and it makes me shake my head in wonderment at how flat-out perfect a pop song it is. The guy seemed poised for great things.

And then...poof. Nothing. Word would come periodically out of the online ether that yes, the followup would be forthcoming, and soon, but no new album materialized. He'd play occasionally, but really, after the initial burst of activity when the album came out, Castillo seemed to disappear himself for long stretches.

Four years and a move from Houston up to Austin on, Castillo's finally back with the followup, and Windhorse is nowhere near what I'd expected. The album seems to be a wholly different thing from the debut, the previous disc's bold splashes of primary color wiped away and replaced by darker, more muted, melancholy hues and a far more delicate brushstroke. The full-on pop-rock is mostly gone, only appearing on jangly, sweetly poignant opener "The Other Side of Love," the almost Tom Petty-sounding "Sad Decision," and the one truly "rocking" track, "Spoken Up Sooner," which blazes nicely with just-distorted-enough guitars and a great, almost Bob Mould-ish feeling of regret.

The rest of Windhorse, though, is gentle and soft-voiced, far more on the folky side of things; the guitars jangle and swoon, the drums (when they're there at all) are appropriately minimal and subdued, and the vocals are downcast and tragically beautiful. At times Castillo's voice reminds me of Sun Kil Moon's Mark Kozelek in its careful restraint and expressive beauty -- it's almost an instrument to itself on songs like the utterly spellbinding "Set to Lose" or "Mustang Island."

The best moment on here comes with "Best Thing Ever," which is cool, laid-back pop that brings to mind both Aimee Mann in its Jon Brion-esque production and Elliott Smith in its downtrodden, meandering feel. Hell, even the little string touches remind me of Smith, and that's no bad thing in my book.

Listening to the song, as well, the melancholy vibe of Windhorse suddenly makes a bit more sense -- while it's technically pretty much a love song, there's an undercurrent of loss and pain running through it, particularly when Castillo sings, "I miss my brother." You have to wonder if the personal stuff he's experienced since Tody Castillo set the stage for Windhorse's new-ish direction.

Granted, Castillo's got a long history of performing as more of a folk-pop artist, so maybe this is actually a return for him to what he was doing before the brasher, poppier stuff. Or, hell, maybe he's just been doing a lot of growing up in the meantime -- being married and having kids can definitely do that to you. Maybe it's like on "Hearts On A String," a wispy, bittersweet meditation on (I think) fatherhood where he sings, "I'm an angry old man / among other things." I feel that one, definitely.

Whatever the cause, once you peel back the layers of Windhorse, it becomes pretty apparent that there's a lot more going on below the surface than on the previous album. As a songwriter, Castillo's matured and deepened, and it's awesome to see. It sneaks up on you, even; I'd put the CD away for a while before writing this review, and when "Set To Lose" and "Best Thing Ever" came on, I realized I'd been humming both songs at various times over the past couple of months, not remembering in the slightest where the hell I'd heard their respective melodies.

Like I said, even unlooked-for progression is most often a good thing; it definitely shows here.

[Tody Castillo is playing 3/27/10 at Rudyard's, along with Bright Men of Learning & The Sour Notes.] (Jeremy Hart // 03/27/10)

Relatively new on the scene, Crossing Togo consists of two men who create wonderful music together. They possess a pop-rock feel, with steady guitars and a likeable singing voice. Their songs are like a journey into a colorful landscape, with transcendentalist themes related to nature and a person's true essence. There are no "I love you"s or "my heart is broken"s here. All references to relationships are done through complex concoctions of words which require you to read between the lines for comprehension.

This duo sounds like Radiohead at times, with somewhat intense guitars and strange arrangements. Ko Nakamura is a relatively well-known lyricist outside the band, and his relatively high-pitched singing voice sounds like Damon Gough from Badly Drawn Boy. The lyrics here are very literary, using a lot of imagery, similes, metaphors, and plenty of rhyming. The words read like poetry in the lyric booklet. Everything Ko sings can be imagined into a vivid picture by the listener, like an eclectic painting.

On track two, "Delilah" (not to be confused with the Plain White T's hit song) Nakamura sings, "you danced as though nothing could fall," alongside a pretty guitar melody and chords on a piano. Track eight, "Autumn Sunshine," opens with, "You take your place where the colors bleed through the canvas / where the air tastes like kiwi and passion," and continues wistfully until the chorus, which utilizes an odd vocal effect. Track nine, "Like Water," warns, "Never going to be what you wanted her to be / She's got her own set of sails," over an interesting, countryish banjo part that turns more rock when he says, "Hard as glass / but you move like water."

Texan guitarist/composer Scott Spencer met Japanese lyricist/vocalist Ko Nakamura on Craigslist here in Houston. It took them two years to write this debut, with help from a slew of musicians, including Steve Christensen and Dave Alberta on drums, Max Dyer on cello, Dan Workman on keyboard, and Brendan Buckley on percussion. Crossing Togo has an easily accessible sound I think anyone could like, given the opportunity, but their best bet for getting new fans hinges on connecting with people who crave good lyrics.

[Crossing Togo is playing 3/12/10 at the Last Concert Cafe.] (Krista Kesseler // 03/12/10)

Electric Courage Machine was one of my top stand-out bands for 2009. Hailing from New Braunfels, TX, they're one of those bands that you marvel aren't bigger than they are. Their latest EP, Wasted, was a steady fixture in my tape deck all summer, and they achieved one of those rare feats with their song "We Can't Count," in that I would listen to it on repeat for hours straight.

Brothers Vincent and Jonathon Flores, on guitar and drums respectively, along with Damnit Joe on bass, capture raw feeling and emotion in their music, which I feel should be the aim of all musicians. The songs are earnest and aren't over-produced or polished to within an inch of their life. Vincent sings with a raw simplicity but captures so many meanings and nuances with just a few simple words. The songwriting is great, often oblique and never straightforward, with the same minimalist approach they take to their music. Heard in context, when Vincent sings, "Oh, Hero, are you brave?", on "We Can't Count," it's one of the most powerful lines on the whole EP. Occasionally, they'll add a light electronica flourish to their songs that's slightly reminiscent of Radiohead, without the reference ever becoming distracting.

Wasted is a beautiful disc and a must-have; head over to their Myspace and check them out right now. Just make sure to get this disc before summer rolls back around, because I'm telling you, this is the perfect summer record. (Dremaceo Giles // 03/27/10)

On seven-song EP Trying Got Us Nowhere, Elika, an electro-indie-pop band led by a female singer, is sure to have you swaying. It's shoegazey and lush, not quite fitting into the 1980s. It's nice mood music, for the background, sleeping, driving, or headphones. It has an ambient feel, using light drumming, a keyboard, and an acoustic guitar, but occasionally growing into a harder sound with an electric guitar.

Like Azure Ray, there are two singers, but one is male and one female, Brian Wenckebach and Evagelia Maravelias. They have that feel like when you're listening to Abba, though, where you forget there's even a male in the band because you hardly hear from him vocally. Elika has a Ladytron vibe, with Maravelias's mid-range vocals which don't go too far in one direction or the other. She also sings in almost a monotone, even when the lyrics become more urgent, but sounds less robotic than the females in Ladytron. Her voice echoes in a pretty way, clear even when it goes electronic, and it's sometimes layered over herself. Most of the songs build into a noisier climax from a soft beginning.

The first song and first single, "The Whip," starts off the EP with distorted guitars. The music video features a spinning motion sequence of the band playing in a room, for the most part devoid of color. On "To the End," Maravelias sings, "there is no philosophy in saying the right thing when I am not listening." Second single "Let Down" has a catchy melody and keyboard part, and she sings the lyrics, "I should have read my sister's books as a young girl," as she searches for answers on how to be in love. This music video is completely black and white, and split in half, with a picture on each side of the band playing and sitting outside. Track seven, "Eliana", repeats the "all I have is nothing" theme and makes an interesting end to the CD, with its breakdown slow-motion effect.

The songs themselves are definitely more entertaining than the videos, but I'm sure it's on purpose, to keep the emphasis on the auditory and not the visual, form of art. Elika, deceivingly from Brooklyn, have also done a split EP with Auburn Lull. (Krista Kesseler // 03/27/10)

It's funny, but until I heard Freelance Whales' Weathervanes, it'd never really occurred to me how much influence Ben Gibbard's had on music; I mean, the guy's an icon, these days, both for Death Cab and The Postal Service, but all of a sudden I'm seeing threads connecting folks like Freelance Whales backwards to Gibbard's melancholy, melodic soft-rock. There're huge chunks of Weathervanes, in this case, that I'm guessing wouldn't exist were it not for Gibbard and cohort Jimmy Tamborello melding indie-pop and electronics back in 2003.

I don't mean to disparage Freelance Whales, mind you -- they've taken what they love, which is early-'00s, sweetly-melodic indie-pop, and built on it in admirable fashion. There's an undeniable, wildly joyous feel to a lot of Weathervanes, especially on tracks like "Starring" and "Stairs," and the baroque, clever arrangements call to mind bands like The Decemberists (were they to drop the drama-school stuff somewhat, that is) and a less-frantic You Me & Iowa. I let the album spin, and after a while, even if I'm not fully paying attention, I feel like I need to skip back and rehear bits and pieces here and there.

"Stairs," in particular, is hooky to the point of marvelousness, making me smile like an idiot while the lyrics unfurl like a bespectacled poet hurriedly trying to woo the girl of his dreams but tripping over his own intelligence. There's also the thumping, heartbeat-like rhythm of "Location," a track that layers sheets of spacey guitars over vocals and that insistent beat. Further on, "Starring" employs skittering, stuttering drums beneath lush beds of sunshiny synths, and the whole thing makes me long for sunny, warm days when the sound can just explode out of the car's windows. "Kilojoules" is more laidback but still smiling and subversively sweet, like a friendly ghost singing from his home inside the house's walls before dissolving into nothing but a fading shimmer.

Then, at the halfway mark of the album, "Broken Horse," things shift gears pretty dramatically. All the electronicism moves to the rear, and the more delicately folky stuff gets dragged protesting up to the front of the stage. "Broken Horse" itself sounds less like any of the preceding indie-pop songs and more like stark, bitter-yet-calm indie-folksters Winterpills, and it's pretty great for that, channeling a fair amount of melancholy through choral vocals, subtle bells, and jangly, strummy guitar.

After that, it's like Weathervanes becomes a totally different album. "Ghosting" is appropriately drifting and gorgeous, a far cry from the full-tilt speed of some of the previous tracks, while "We Could Be Friends" sways and meanders along in a dreampop-y haze. Banjos (at least, that's what I think they are) figure prominently into "Generator ^ Second Floor," turning it into a warm, thoughtful hoedown/elegy, even though it veers somewhat back into Death Cab-ish territory. Then there's closer "The Great Estates," which is pastoral and fuzzed-out at once, plinking along gently 'til it becomes a river of sound that drags you along with it. And by then, trust me, you don't mind.

[Freelance Whales is playing 3/16/10 at Mango's, along with Cymbals Eat Guitars & Bear In Heaven.] (Jeremy Hart // 03/16/10)

So I've kind of gone about this bass-ackwards, to be up-front about it, but honestly, I'm now thinking maybe that wasn't such a bad thing. You see, I got a hold of a copy of the Hell City Kings' 2009 LP, The Road to Damnation, a month or so ago, but it languished on the floor next to my desk until I got sent a copy of the band's new EP, The Wolf, released this month.

I put on the latter, curious to hear the band for the first time in some form other than their Myspage page, and hot damn, was it good. Nicely raw, satisfying sleazy rawk songs about booze, wimmen, rockin' the fuck out, murder, partying, and breaking shit, all played by a bunch of tattooed, chain-smoking guys who look like they'd kick your teeth in as soon as talk to you; how can you not like that? The music's awesomely thick and meaty, while the guitars slash and gouge out chunks with each garage-y riff and the rhythm section thunders along. It's not headphone music, admittedly, but that's not really what it's meant for, I don't think -- instead, this is music to crank insanely loud, preferably on busted-up speakers littered with cigarette burns and weird, how'd-that-happen? holes punched in the sides.

Musically, The Wolf dwells in the same garage-punk ghetto as fellow Houstonians (with whom the band shares at least one member) Born Liars, but they blend in more of an old-school punk ethos, funneling in a fair dose of the Ramones and street-punks like Roger Miret and the Disasters; hell, they even come near to Black Flag territory every once in a while (see fuck-you anthem "Neighbors"), and when I hear "The Rivers Edge," I can't help think of Black Cat Music's classic "Hands in the Estuary, Torso in the Lake." It's furious, rough-edged rock that makes no apologies for living fast and hard, and it's great for that.

Now, having heard the EP, I went back and listened to the LP, putting on The Road to Damnation for the first time, and...well, it's just not the same. The sound's actually better than it is on the EP, but that may kind of work against the band, making their scrappy, facepunching tunes sound too damn clean and polished when they should sound scratched-up and messy.

Beyond that, though, it's the lyrics that really give me pause. It kills me to say it, but about half the time, the Kings' lyrics on the full-length are clichéd to the point of inanity. I started cringing about halfway through the lead-in title track, and that's not a good sign. Things got better for a while, with the darn good "If Tomorrow Never Comes" (not the Garth Brooks song, thankfully) and the sinister, Steel Pole Bathtub-ish guitar line the band throws in towards the end, and followup track "Gone And Forgotten" ain't bad, either.

"Silver Bullet," though, hits a new low -- it's a sleazy, grimy punk rock song about, yes, werewolves. "Scumbags And Scallywags" doesn't help matters any, with its nautical theme and sailor jargon; I'll give it to the Kings that the chorus is pretty catchy, in spite of itself, but it's hard to take the band seriously when they're singing about Davy Jones' locker and "salty dogs." Wow. Then there's "Rock N Roll Outlaw Rides Again," which puts the band in Western gear and fantasizes about robbing banks, Jesse James-style, and I'm left shaking my head and wondering if these guys are just screwing around.

It's telling that the best songs on Damnation either sound like the stuff on The Wolf or are the same songs as on the EP -- "Never Let Go," the awesomely head-snapping first track from the EP, is easily the best song on here, followed by bitterly angry breakup song "Another Lesson Learned." My advice? Keep going the way you seem to be headed with The Wolf, guys, and don't get sidetracked by the weird storylines and all that shit. Leave out the werewolves, the outlaws, and the pirate songs, and you're golden.

[The Hell City Kings are playing their EP release 3/12/10 at Mango's, along with White Rhino, Shit City High, & The Wrong Ones.] (Jeremy Hart // 03/12/10)