The sixties are alive and well in Aster's world. The band incorporates understated vocals and infectious harmonies with low-key indie rock, complete with organ, harmonica, and a stripped-down drumkit. "Lift Provider" and "Counter Culture" are the best examples of the band's broad range of sounds, and "Stop The Parade" is the closest the band gets to modern garage -- Bryan Ellis and Tim Hussman constantly mix genres on the EP (there's a definite Britrock influence), yet the Austin-based Aster never sounds like any particular influence. This is a good start; hopefully their full-length will be as adventurous. (David A. Cobb // 04/27/06)

I'm relatively ignorant of Rilo Kiley, Elected frontman Blake Sennett's "day job" band. Hard to believe, I know, given the amount of RK-love currently floating around out there, but I think I've actually heard more of Sennett's The Elected than I have the other band. And right now, I'm pretty glad for it, because it lets me listen to The Elected's Sun, Sun, Sun without the raft of preconceptions that would otherwise be tagging along.

So, while I haven't a clue what fans of More Adventurous are going to make of this, I can say that from an outsider's viewpoint, Sun, Sun, Sun is simply a freakin' brilliant gem of an album. Sennett (along with co-producer/occasional co-writer Mike Bloom) has continued to grow in leaps and bounds as a songwriter on this release, crafting some of the most effortlessly beautiful songs I've heard in quite a while. For a large part of the album, he aims for the same countryish vein the band dug into on 2003's Me First, but this time out he ups the ante by also taking on the mantle of a '60s-inspired soul crooner on several tracks, a shift that works better than I'd guessed it could. In the hands of a lesser musician/singer, the smooth horns-and-organ soul raveup of "Did Me Good" would come off as supremely hipster-ironic (and therefore worth forgetting about completely after the obligatory sly indie chuckling), but here it sounds like honest, heartfelt love of the music, right down to the James Brown-style "testifying" in the break.

This isn't to say that the only songs on here worth hearing are the handful of soul-inspired tracks, mind you. From opener "Clouds Parting," a soaring, swooping orchestral intro that'd make The Polyphonic Spree blush, onward, the whole album rolls along nicely, first straight into the jangly, desperately sweet country-pop of "Would You Come With Me." After that, there's "Fireflies in a Steel Mill," which is exuberant and melancholy at the same time, with a sunshiny sound like the best AM radio songs you remember from your childhood (if you're my age, at least), the sappy, repetitive, yet still endearing "It Was Love" (a duet with Kiley's Jenny Lewis, and a track that reminds me of The Pogues at points), the chiming, measured prettiness of "Beautiful Rainbow," and the delicately folky, Bright Eyes-esque title track.

I've tried to intentionally downplay the Conor Oberst comparisons, by the by, but I figure I probably ought to get 'em out of the way and be done with it. I have to admit that when I first heard the songs on Sun, Sun, Sun shuffle through my iPod's headphones, I could've sworn they were tracks from some long-lost Bright Eyes album I hadn't bothered to get. The smart, literate, sometimes self-referential lyricism, the strained, nearly whimpery vocals -- I had to check twice to make sure I hadn't hit the wrong button on the player. The Oberst comparisons don't really hit the mark, however, because where Mr. Bright Eyes turns introspection into self-obsessive navel-gazing and seems to revel in the dark, dysfunctional side of the relationship coin, Sennett flips the whole thing over and looks forward hopefully and joyfully, with an blissfully unrepentant smile plastered all over his face.

If you want proof, just take a listen to Sun, Sun, Sun's two highlights, "Biggest Star" and "Not Going Home." The former essentially closes out the album (the final track is actually "At Home (Time Unknown)," but it's just a quick bit of jangle-pop that bookends the disc) with Sennett jumping feet-first back into soulful "shouter" mode. His voice gets more and more frenzied through the course of the song 'til he's practically roaring -- which comes as a bit of a shock, really, since his vocals everywhere else are so deceptively soft and gentle -- and towards the end, the song even throws in some of the only real "rock" guitars on the album, sending the proceedings veering unexpectedly off into Pinkerton-era Weezer territory. It's a heck of a way to end an album.

Then there's "Not Going Home." Although it doesn't show up 'til four songs into the album, "Not Going Home" is where Sennett and company (assisted on this album by Jason Boesel on drums, Daniel Brummer on bass, and Mike Bloom on gorgeous lap steel and harmonica) really hit their stride. While the rest of the album is excellent, this track was the one that made me sit up and really start paying attention. The shimmering guitars, the understated keys, the fuzzed-out bass, the whispered harmony vocals -- the whole thing's just an absolutely perfect example of a well-put-together song.

And then, when the band hits the chorus, ah... I'm a cynic to the core, these days, but I'll be damned if my heart doesn't feel a bit lighter in my chest. The song's a triumphant, defiant declaration of love, of finding home wherever the person you care about happens to be, and it's one of the bravest, sweetest, least cynical songs I've ever heard. Taken as a whole, Sun, Sun, Sun is one of my favorite albums of 2006 so far, but even on its own, "Not Going Home" would be worth the price of admission. (Jeremy Hart // 04/27/06)

I've mentioned a couple of times in these pages that it seems like Victory is moving away from the hardcore types of music that established the label, in favor of more accessible, poppier fare. I guess The Forecast further proves that point. In all actuality, though, I think Victory is just broadening its roster (and has been since the days of Thursday) rather than eschewing harder bands altogether. Whatever the motivations, at least the quality control hasn't gone out the window. Late Night Conversations is a better-produced, more accomplished take on what The Forecast put forth on Proof of Impact, without watering down the dynamics or just plain rocking the fuck out. Actually, I'd say that there are songs on here that rock even harder than those on Proof, as I remember it. The Forecast still utilize the male-female vocal dynamic to great effect, most especially on "Fade In Fade Out" (probably my favorite track on the album), which combines the unisex melodies and call-and-response shouts with buzzsaw guitars. There's even an occasionally twangy, rootsy side to the band ("Helping Hands") that exposes The Forecast's Middle America roots. I like what I've heard so far from these guys (and girl), and can't wait to hear what's next. (Mel House // 04/27/06)

Yeeaaah. THIS is what "screamo" really is and should be. You won't find a Funeral Diner CD at your local Hot Topic, that's for sure. But (or maybe because of that), this is the most incendiary, most cathartic, most real example of this subgenre I've heard since...well, since probably the first Planes Mistaken For Stars album. If more bands made music like this, then "emo" wouldn't have picked up the commercialized, milquetoast-y modern-day connotations that are killing the genre. I mean, you can practically taste the blood and smell the sweat during The Underdark. And it's not just the pure power and volume level that I'm responding to here -- there are lots of "louder" bands out there -- it's Funeral Diner's raw emotion that really gets me into this record. Reminds me of a time when bands like this actually believed in what they were singing/screaming/thrashing about, instead of conforming to an "image." The Underdark is ultimately a bad-ass album, and if you yearn for the stylings of Rites of Spring, Still Life, or even Saetia, then find this disc somewhere and commence to rocking the fuck out. (Mel House // 04/27/06)

Seven songs in nine minutes. That alone should give you, Constant Reader, an idea of what lies in store for you here. Just in case that's not enough of a warning/invitation for you, you should know that Head Wound City features members of the Locust, Blood Brothers, and the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Take all those bands, and distill them down to their basest, most primal, most visceral, and you'll have Head Wound City. Whenever I review a CD like this, it's hard for me to say that I "enjoy" it...but then again, it's probably hard for people to comprehend why I "enjoyed" Slayer or Mr. Bungle back in the day. This is the kind of music that pummels the listener into submission. I think it appeals to the part of the zeitgeist that is also responsible for Faces of Death, Ultimate Fighting, and Rotten.com (all of which I like, actually, so I'm not being smarmy). At any rate, if you like any of the member's other bands, or Dillinger, or even stuff like Chimaira, then you might want to check out what Head Wound City has got going on. Everyone else, stay the hell away. (Mel House // 04/27/06)

Funny name, but Novillero's newest release Aim Right for the Holes in Their Lives, is nothing but serious. These guys mean what they say and they aren't holding anything back. Issues to do with broken hearts, politics, and life in general are all in evidence on this album, thrown together with no compunctions.

Made up of Sean Stevens on guitar and moog, Grant Johnson on bass, piano, and vocals, Dave Berthiaume on drums and vocals, and Rod Slaughter on piano/organ, bass, and vocals, Novillero as a whole has a wealth of talent. Their opinions are more than obvious, and the music is upbeat and entertaining. It really seems to draw all of your attention to them and forces you to really listen to their delivery and what they have to say. Trombones and trumpets make an appearance in "Dean," a song about a self-centered actor (everybody can definitely relate, including myself), while the title track is a song about fulfilling our lives with materialistic items as opposed to just being happy with ourselves.

Beyond the lyrics, Novillero brings an array of musical genres to the table. "The Hypothesist" brings a mix of ska and modern rock, along with haunting vocals. "Abbey," on the other hand, seems to be inspired by The Beach Boys or The Beatles; it combines catchy keyboard hooks and poppy lyrics to which everyone can relate. Novillero's certainly their own kind of band -- their unique, original compositions and the freedom to speak their collective mind makes them a band worth getting acquainted with. (Jessica Garcia // 04/27/06)

For nearly a decade, the music industry's armchair quarterbacks waited for "the next Nirvana" -- the band that would remind big record labels and radio listeners (again) what decent music sounded like (and that it could be sold to teenagers). When it came, bands that hit the (much smaller, due to hip-hop) rock jackpot turned out to be a whole slew of artists in a variety of genres, including indie/emo (Death Cab For Cutie, Modest Mouse, Bright Eyes), stoner rock and metal (Queens of the Stone Age, Mastodon) and garage rock (the White Stripes, the Hives, a million worthless bands with short names). And then there's the Brits. In the past few years, only Death Cab for Cutie has surpassed Interpol (who, admittedly, aren't from England themselves, but that's where they draw from) and Franz Ferdinand for sheer overplayedness on college radio, at least in Houston. Their potent, if one-dimensional, dance-rock bounce and extreme hipness go over quite well with a generation of listeners whose primary fixation sometimes appears to be fashion. The inevitable legions of imitators suffer greatly from the genre's lack of musical ideas and conformist sense of style, but with good execution, a sense of humor and a little attitude, the formula can still succeed.

In come the Rakes. The London quartet deftly cuts Interpol's Joy Division copping with the edge of the Buzzcocks and Wire, though they unsurprisingly lack the latter's adventurousness. The Rakes also seem to be grasping tentatively at a tragicomic take on the dead-end dance-party lifestyle, particularly on the bleak title track, though they could stand to expand their lyrical scope. And like their countrymen, they eschew the bombastic overproduction that plagues so much good American music (I'm looking at you, Rogue Wave) in favor of a tight, clear and driving rock sound.

The Rakes have the formula down. The question is whether they can expand on the borrowed ideas of this EP to produce music of real meaning and distinction. Having their single remixed by Bloc Party's producer does not count. They could also do with a splash of humility -- drummer Lasse Peterson: "I don't get the fact that people create stuff that's already there anyway." Get this, guys: you sound like Interpol. Deal with it. (Daniel Joseph Mee // 04/27/06)