Over the last several years, there have been a growing number of instrumental bands whose musical vision is focused on gorgeous ambient melodies, hypnotic chords, and intense musical progressions. These bands create stories woven not with words, but with the union of instruments that mesh together to sing tales of desire, passion, and sadness. With so many established ambient rock bands already out in the world, novice bands really need to step things up to stay ahead of the curve. Bands like Pennsylvania-based La Brea have to constantly and consistently keep their music groundbreaking, beautiful, and different. Although La Brea hasn't been around long, it's already showing a great deal of promise for such a young band. The band's self-titled release is a surprisingly mature compilation of songs that place an exquisite blend of traditional instrumentation against less organic electronic rhythms. The fusion of sounds results in songs like "Reign of the Idiot God" that ebb and flow through layer upon layer of melodic complexity. Each instrument floats on top of the next, maintaining its unique sound until they all collapse into a vivid, harmonious pile of instrumental fury. La Brea is hope that young musicians have what it takes to move independent music to new heights. (Brigitte Zabak // 04/16/08)

Those that have been missing the power ballad and anthem-rock sound that has been MIA since the mid-'90s will undoubtedly find their fix with The Millions' sophomore release, Disrespectfully Yours. It delivers almost a sugary-sweet injection of upbeat hard rock. The edgier and more modern sounds on the album manage not to overshadow the happy rock target at which the Millions aim and keep the group from being a direct offshoot of bands like Poison and Bon Jovi. Be forewarned, though: the "hard" part is very subtle, and it is impossible to be in a bad mood while listening to this album. The foundation of this Chicago band is the twin guitars of Johnny Million and Dan "The Fox" Edwards, who're backed by drummer Kip Serena and bassist Christopher Grey.

The lilting hook on "We're Through" is downright "pretty," to use a word that is not generally in my vocabulary. "Island of You" is the quintessential power ballad that runs in the vein of Def Leppard, and "Stay Down" actually starts out a little harder, with a pluckier guitar opener, before quickly falling back to the happy-go-lucky, "I'm stronger than your suppression and will rise again," poppy metal/rock optimism. This is not a bad thing, considering that the sound the band sets out achieve is heavily memorable harmonizing hooks. Mission accomplished...

I'm not going to ruin the CD for you by doing a play-by-play of each of the 13 tracks, but if you're a fan of '80s and early '90s rock, you'll love Disrespectfully Yours. The more you play it, the more it tends to grow on you....damn those hooks.

The only downside to the album, if you can call it a downside, is that there is virtually no difference in the speed of the songs, and it's easy for them to blend into each other rather than stand significantly on their own. Otherwise, Disrespectfully Yours is well-produced and ready for radio play. The arena rock sound combined with dueling guitars, heavy kick drums, and those big harmonizing hooks is the recipe for success that allows The Millions to stand out among the other anthem-rock bands. (Jamie Teague // 04/02/08)

How do you feel about your day job? Yeah, I thought so. The Austin band Paperwork makes a musical dissection of the dull anguish felt by so many in cube farms across the world. Just peer over the cube at your huddled-over co-worker, working away their adult life -- clacking on the keyboard, shuffling paper, emailing, and someday retiring with a grand retirement party at the local buffet restaurant. What happened to those dreams, man? (Side note: I always love those Bring Your Kid to Work Days, watching high schoolers find out how boring their parents' jobs are. Aren't those days supposed to inspire kids?)

Well, the band Paperwork is hanging onto their dreams, working away at the day job just to get a chance to create some music in their off hours. Paperwork's debut full-length, Parts and Labor, plots the band's revolt against the nine-to-five-grind while commiserating in the harsh reality of it. The music is standard alt-indie-rock fare but very calculated, with no loose ends or reckless noise. The vocals are well done by both of the band's primary singers, and there are some nice mathy beats and rhythms, as well. I guess you could call it post-college rock; err, um, grad-school rock with lyrics to get you thinking a bit.

Take the song "Company Man," for example; Paperwork sings, "Put away your childish things / Isn't it enough to have had a dream?", and then they end the song with, "I'm giving in / I'm not giving up." On the track "Accts Receivable," however, there's a hopelessness: "I blink away days at a time / Waking dreams by fluorescent light." And the disc goes on like that, one song getting discouraged by what seems like just wasted time ("Buried in Layers") and then the next song revving up the energy and not allowing the day job to be all that defines you ("Part and Parcel")...check out Paperwork if you find yourself thinking about such things. (Pedro // 04/10/08)

The press release warns that partlycloudy threatens to dethrone The Ramones and The Clash. That press release should be destroyed. First of all, musically, why would this progressive rock band change any kind of history that The Clash and The Ramones have given us? And even if they were in the same category of sound, the legacies of those two bands don't have much to worry about. This self-released debut album, Arm Your Weapons, seems a bit overproduced, especially when the band attempts to give off a "defiant hardcore" attitude.

The sound is a little bit like Snapcase, but for some reason this effort doesn't do much for me. Even the name "partlycloudy" seems so forced (and then, come to find out, their Myspace is filed under "PartlyCloudyRocks"). It seems like the band is trying to scream out how dark, hardcore, and serious they are, but they can't quite make all the synapses come together in the way they want. Fans of Hawthorne Heights and the like might be into this, though. If they can just tone everything down a little bit, like press and production, they would have a better chance of fitting into the whole nu-Victory-emo sound -- I'm guessing that's what they're after. (Teri Sue Bailey // 04/10/08)

The cover of Consolers of the Lonely, the much-anticipated followup LP from the Raconteurs, is some black-and-white job with the group posed as some turn of the 20th century group of minstrels, or maybe as some saloon stand-ins. This is obvious foreshadowing of the banjos, fiddles, horns, and grind-organs you will find here. Personally, I think there's an embarrassing amount of horns on this record, but I think it's balanced out by the weirder prog-rock elements.

The first two cuts are full-on rockers which generously utilize Jack White's White Stripes-style yipping vocal delivery. I sense the Raconteurs are flirting with ideas much more complicated than the settings on their effects pedals. "Old Enough" is a powdered mixture of Emerson, Lake & Palmer and some sort of mountain/bluegrass/hillbilly parade, all pulsing organ stabs with fiddles and plucking banjos. The songs with such flirtations never seem to fully commit themselves one way or the other, however. Rather, there seems to be a slightly formulaic way of being "not-too-formulaic." Just when I get to feeling cozy, someone slams on the brakes.

"The Switch and the Spur" is molded into some sort of Mexicana/soundtrack from Hollywood's golden age (think old Zorro films). Blaring trumpets and dashes of flamenco-styled guitar. This track is 4:53 of pure awfulness. But hey, you might like that brand of madness. Songs like "Attention," "Hold On," and "Rich Kid Blues," on the other hand, have all the fun, urgency, and/or solid pop backbone to really sell me. In fact, I wish more songs were like these. Likewise, "Many Shades of Black," in its simplicity and melody, has a timelessness that I'm intrigued by. Or maybe it's because of the strange sounds lingering around the solo.

With a 14-track album, things can get a bit testy. Consolers is certainly not my favorite release this year, but it does have some really outstanding cuts and is pretty easy to get along with. Much like their debut effort, the album's an interesting mix of sounds and textures that proves that this is not some Jack White-only show, nor does it attempt to duplicate itself. So, if you don't like the direction the music's heading, don't worry -- things will turn around in a second or two. Well played, boys. (Damon Murrah // 04/10/08)

I won't pretend to have known much about Scott Reynolds before listening to Adventure Boy, his solo debut as Scott Reynolds & The Steaming Beast. Upon doing a bit of research, however, I discovered that Mr. Reynolds has quite a rich punk rock past. Reynolds began his musical career in 1989 fronting All, a punk rock act comprised of members of the legendary punk band Descendents. Between '89 and '92, Reynolds released four albums with All and then split with the group over artistic differences. From there he went on to form two pop-punk bands, Goodbye Harry and the Pavers, both bands gaining cult followings and both now seemingly defunct.

This brings us to his newest and current project, Scott Reynolds & The Steaming Beast. Well, he's also currently in a band called the Bonesaw Romance. And another band called 40 Engine. But we're here to talk Adventure Boy, his album as Scott Reynolds & The Steaming Beast, so let's get back to that.

One of the best things to be said of the Dave Fridmann (Flaming Lips, Mercury Rev)-produced Adventure Boy is that Reynolds is trying something new here. While his other work never strays too far from the pop-punk formula, Adventure Boy is something of an eclectic country album that only hints at his punk predispositions, although they still do peek through from time to time. "Eclectic," is a double-edged sword here, though. "Tracy Hardman's Cheek" is a saccharine pop gem that will undoubtedly get stuck in your head after a few listens. The songs harmonies sound effortlessly catchy, and the sunny instrumentation and bouncing drum beat are perfect accompaniment for a song about puppy love.

On the other hand, "Jesus, Satan, Gene Beeman, His Car, and Pizza Hut" is a song as weird as its title suggests. The song tells the tale of Gene Beeman, a man who shrugs off encounters with both Jesus and Satan and then goes to Pizza Hut for "a Dr. Pepper and a mushroom pizzone." The song's lyrics sound even more silly when sung over music fitted for an arcade game. Similarly, "Scaffold Lick" is a pretty instrumental whose pensive piano arrangement suggests a songwriter more talented than the same one who wrote the album's throwaway track, palm-muted rocker "Line Check."

Adventure Boy features several guest musicians, such as Suburban Home labelmates Drag the River and members of Reynolds' band the Bonesaw Romance. Reynolds seems to be at his best, however, when musical virtuoso and member of the Flaming Lips Steven Drozd is in the mix. Drozd plays on four of the album's tracks, "Tracy Hardman's Cheek," the unfortunate "Gene Beeman," "The Boy Who Stole Your Heart," and "The Truth Teller's Soul." Exclude "Gene Beeman" from the list, and you have the album's best songs. "The Boy Who Stole Your Heart"'s pitter-pattering snare brushes and sparse but effective organ and guitar are the perfect soundtrack for lyrics that lament unrequited love. "The Truth Teller's Soul"'s fuzzy, chirping synthesizers and bare acoustic strums make for a nice contrast and satisfying album closer.

In a way, Adventure Boy is a gift to Reynolds, both from the people who helped make the album possible and from Scott Reynolds himself. In the album's liner notes, Reynolds says that he didn't pay a "red cent" towards making the record and thanks those appearing on the album for helping him "remove and catalogue these slivers of inspiration which have, for too long, remained agonizingly embedded in my spirit." It would be wise of Reynolds to work with Fridmann and Drozd in the future, as the three clearly have chemistry. If future collaborations between them bear more moments like "Tracy Hardman's Cheek," Reynolds may just get the recognition as a songwriter that has eluded him thus far. For right now, though, Adventure Boy is an album made for the maker that has too few moments the rest of us can enjoy.

P.S. Adventure Boy comes packaged with a sample disk from label Suburban Home Records. (Wes Buhler // 04/02/08)

Though I can't quite put my finger on it, there's something about Sea Lion's packaging and artwork that perfectly fits the album's sound. Kudos to artist Amee Kathryn for accomplishing (let alone even attempting) this feat in an age where the MP3 is sadly making album art irrelevant.

What is it, though, that makes the artwork adorning the Ruby Suns' second full-length record so appropriate? Is it that the vivid colors used on the album's case seem to mirror the colorful Pacific and African sounds that paint Sea Lion's forty-plus minutes? Maybe it's that the collage of images adorning the outside of the album's booklet remind me of the collage of sounds and Dictaphone tape recordings that string together Sea Lion's ten tracks. Or it could be that the psychedelic lettering used in the artwork reflects the band's psych-pop leanings.

Really, it's a combination of all of these things that make Sea Lion's artwork so fitting, just as it's the combination of inspiration from psychedelic and pop acts past and present that make the New Zealand-based Ruby Suns such a fun and intriguing listen. The joyfulness and symphonic grandeur of the Polyphonic Spree, the sporadic energy of Animal Collective, the experimental attitude of Os Mutantes, the harmonies of the Beach Boys, and the world music dabbling of Paul Simon are all present in the Ruby Suns' music on Sea Lion. Chief songwriter Ryan Mcphun infuses these influences with his own style, however, obscuring them from the listener and celebrating the result.

The festivities begin with "Blue Penguin," a track whose distant reverberated vocals and easy sway sound like a sleepy morning that finds the suns rays slowly peeking over the horizon. The following track, "Oh, Mojave," shakes the grogginess away with sunny Hawaiian melodies, cheerful handclaps, and dancing percussion. "Tane Mahuta," the most distinctly New Zealand-sounding song (it's sung in the Maori language) begins with clanking, tribal-sounding percussion that leads to flamenco guitar riffs and mariachi horns. "There Are Birds," written and sung by Ruby Sun Amee Robinson, continues to show the band's fascination with '80s synth-pop, featuring the same drum machine sound and airy synthesizers as "Give Advice," which appears both on 2007's Lichen Ears EP and (oddly) in abridged form tacked onto the end of Sea Lion's finale "Morning Sun."

"Adventure Tour" is pure solar energy, with bright 12-string guitar strums and thumping toms in the distance that sound like a timer ticking away the seconds until the song will explode, only rather than an explosion the listener is treated to the space launch of "Kenya Dig It." "Kenya's" otherworldly synth notes and climbing flangers make it feel as if the song is heading toward outer space, and eventually you're looking back down at the Earth with the band as thunderous drums and sunny reverb-drenched vocal lines are traded between singers in one of the album's most satisfying moments.

The Ruby Suns' music borrows greatly from like-minded contemporaries and predecessors, of course -- all songwriters have influences, and these influences will always show up in the music. The line between being derivative and innovative is a thin one, and what keeps bands on the right side is what Ryan Mcphun has done with Sea Lion: drawing selectively and conservatively from a broad spectrum. In doing so, The Ruby Suns are developing a sound that in another album or so will be distinctly their own. For now, the band has a great sophomore album under its belt that shines as brightly as the sun.

[The Ruby Suns are playing 4/16/08 at The Mink, with Scout Niblett, Throw Me The Statue, Elaine Greer, & Sew What.] (Wes Buhler // 04/16/08)

When I'm looking over the lists to find a new record to snag for a review, not a lot ever pops up in the Dub/Reggae section. In fact, it's usually completely vacant. So, when something did finally show up, I grabbed it because, frankly, I like dub. It's a dying style, but it's not without it virtues. And, yes, I'll be honest, "Shangoband" just sounds way to cool to pass up.

While I'm not blown away, I wasn't all that disappointed, either. Wise Shepherd shows these guys have been around the dub block before; they know the routine. They can sink into a groove just like old-school. The lyrics seem to reflect a sincere immersion in the beliefs historically associated with reggae -- Englishman and company really wish you would all stop fighting and just get the hell along. Okay, he's a little more graceful than that. And I think we could use some of that these days. Maybe we should just relax a little bit, okay? And maybe enjoy something every now and again.

The real shame about this record is the production. Rather than stay true to the old school, Shangoband slips into the smooth-jazz trap, with super-artificial keys and programmed drums that ultimately reflect no soul. While lyrically and vocally they deliver sincerity, it's hard to take seriously when that's backed by such sterile instrumentation. A lo-fi analog run with that "live-in-studio-feel" would really serve their purpose with a much higher degree of soul and passion. (Steven O'Sullivan // 04/10/08)

While driving my usual commute to school, I was fumbling around trying to find a suitable radio station -- or at least one that wasn't depressing country -- when I remembered about a little college radio station and automatically veered to it. After several minutes of interesting music, this nauseating song spilled from my speakers. Although it was entirely in French, its diabetic pop energy immediately piqued my interest. Despite my four years of French classes, I was overwhelmed by the fast lyrics, which left me with only a few decipherable words to aid me in the search for the band that birthed such a song. With the help of Google, I found out it was by those experts of the chanson, Françoise Cactus and Brezel Göring, who make up the eccentric pop group Stereo Total.

They've been around for years, with plenty of productions to boast, and have brought us lo-fi poppy song after lo-fi poppy song, continuing to do so with Paris-Berlin. The songs range from a song about a sexual revolution to a repetitive song about the infamous terrorist Patty Hearst to one about nonsensical chewing gum. Expect some name-dropping of dead rock stars in the song, "KÜSSE AUS DER HÖLLE DER MUSIK," although I'm sure that none of those mentioned would approve. Most of you won't understand the album, since the majority of the songs are in French, German, or a mixture of the two. Alas, do not fret, because there are a couple of songs in English and there's always freetranslation.com. Do a quick translation, and Brezel and Françoise expose us to their lack of creativity in lyrical style, already evident in their English songs, by repeating the same phrase over and over.

Such an album might impress virgin ears but will sound like regurgitated songs with different song titles to those who've heard Stereo Total before. Cactus's phony, youthful vocals will irritate the listener, especially since she's on almost all of the tracks. Göring, not to be outdone, will creep you out with his cavernous voice. This album is not a breath of fresh air but the recycling of pop hooks and the repackaging of them into a weird, offbeat list of songs that make no sense. Their band's energy remains a constant in this album, but it seems a little repetitive and boring now. If I had known things would turn out this way earlier, I would've quickly changed the radio dial. (Kimberly Mora // 04/02/08)

Mark Kozelek's sound has become his language, the way he sets himself apart from emulation and the derivatives that seem so common these days. It typically takes three chords to recognize a song as being a Sun Kil Moon composition, and there is a comfort in that, something like warm marshmallows eaten under a pine tree in November or half-drunk conversations with friends on a Sunday. Something simple, something nostalgically longed-for -- this is the feeling of a Sun Kil Moon song.

And no other band or musician I can think of can do it with as much consistency and ease as can Kozelek. He's always given us transcendentally simple yet enigmatically literary songs (think David Mitchell writing narratives about the landscapes of New Jersey, if he would ever do such a thing, which is he probably wouldn't, but still...) that beg for a re-listen, and this, his third release under the moniker Sun Kil Moon (which is just him, basically), is no different.

April is actually only the second original Sun Kil Moon record (not including Tiny Cities, Kozelek's take on Modest Mouse), and it's a perfect extension of the hypnotism found on his first release, Ghosts of the Great Highway. There is something different about these songs, though -- they're much more epic, much more lilting, and much more mature. On first listen, April does not have as much immediacy as Ghosts; no longer, it seems, is Kozelek trying to construct radio-friendly singles that will find a large audience (think back to a time you heard a Sun Kil Moon song played on the radio...yeah, they're not, and Kozelek is starting to realize that, and his songs are all the better because of it). These songs sound like they go together narratively -- the disparate feel of Ghosts can't be found here, and that makes this record one that gets better with each listen.

The record grabs you with the very first song, "Lost Verses," a ten-minute jaunt through the dreamscape of emotional defeatism; it reads as an ethereal love letter to the ghosts that reside in Kozelek's sometimes tragic imagination. Kozelek is a storyteller, and his stories are original pieces of emotional relatability -- there seems to be a bit of all of us in each of his songs, which is what has made him a cultish figure in the indie-pop zeitgeist (if there is such a zeitgeist).

Each song on April seems to play off the one before it -- "The Light" and "Lucky Man" follow the lead of "Lost Verses" by drawing the listener into a place of seemingly recognizable lyrical and musical amenity (as found on Ghosts), only to push them to the brink of irrevocable discomfort by the time "Heron Blue" starts. "Moorsetown" sounds like a B-side from Ghosts and acts as the climax of the album before "Harper Road" gives the audience hope that maybe Sun Kil Moon is turning optimistic (no one but Mark Kozelek can make the line "I'll always find you stretched out like an orange tabby" sound so relevant), only to end with two songs that sound like twilight, "Tonight in Bilbao" and "Blue Orchids."

With the brilliantly multi-layered April, Mark Kozelek is putting himself firmly into the picture of artists that matter, and not a minute too soon. (Brandon Hernsberger // 04/16/08)

Honestly, Vopat's Sometimes It Will is actually a beautiful album, and it stays surprisingly interesting for a collection of Explosions In The Sky-esque instrumental ambient-rock movements. In fact, some songs even stray into darker -- but still strikingly pretty -- dissonance-filled numbers reminiscent of Smashing Pumpkins or Sonic Youth.

Not many can write a slew of four- or more minute instrumental songs with no solos but still manage to keep it interesting, but Vopat does it. All the transitions from one section of the songs to another section were timed perfectly to avoid being repetitive; I just really dig this album.

Normally I wouldn't support the metallic, bare-bones drum programming throughout Sometimes It Will, but with the wall of distortion and slicing leads just made it work, and the use of smaller interludes to segue larger pieces had everything flowing beautifully into one another in a way i can only liken to, as cheesy as this may sound, the sea. To further this metaphor, sections and melodies rise and crash gently into one another in grand crescendos and then periodically calm, although never enough to become placid.

The album registered more to me as a score than as an album, because it wasn't just a collection of thoughts but more of a progression or exodus from one place to another. I would suggest driving to this album; you'll feel like you're in a car commercial, but perhaps a really epic car commercial, where maybe Gandalf's in the passenger seat and you're driving maybe The Millennium Falcon.

The last track ventures into this creepy region of music that itself at times ventures close to a Latin sound, featuring this almost flamenco-esque breakdown with a pretty sweet lead line. As an outro for the album: genius move.

I think that's all I can really say...it was really good. Also, in closing, this CD was ten tracks long, and just so the world knows, that is a really good number for tracks on an album. Eight, nine, ten, eleven -- that's the ticket. Don't give 13 or 14, give me ten, like Vopat. (Evan Malone // 04/16/08)

Joshua Geissler, the lone member of Worrytrain, has created an electronic orchestral sound bereft of words that is powerful and raucous yet at the same time delicate and reserved. Geissler's third album, Destroy The Wall Street Sundial, denotes this beautifully -- with its roaring waves of crescendos and decrescendos, it embodies the movement of emotions. The twelve tracks on this album are enriched with dark, massive, heavy downbeats whilst sprinkled with fragile mandolin strumming that shows the depth and layered technicality rooted in the ambience/experimental genre. Unlike similar artists, you can listen to this effortlessly and never feel overwhelmed or bored because of the lack of lyrics. I don't know what kind of beef Geissler has with Wall Street, but it's as if he is channeling the ups and downs of the market and its ultimate destruction through his music. Too analytical? Perhaps, but that's the beauty of instrumental music and Worrytrain. (Kimberly Mora // 04/10/08)

Cheesy guitar solos, nauseating high-octave boy vocals followed by non-sequitur lyrics and electro-manic music is what embodies spastic quartet ZibraZibra. Those things are not necessarily positive, yet the band uses these qualities to make themselves annoyingly endearing.

Why can't I help but feel like I just walked into the self-indulgent '80s, with all its fluorescent pop glory, while listening to these guys? Is this one of those fake bands that make up horrible songs yet exude charm that you can't help but adore? I can't pinpoint it, but they're crafty.

T Kid Z, Vanilla, The Atomic Wolf, and Technosaurus Flex formed in Minneapolis, Minnesota, where they recently graduated from high school, which is crazy, but what's crazier is that they've only been playing for a year and a few months. Their sound is contradictory, with its fragile hooks and erratic sense of time. These guys know what they're doing -- or, at least, know how to play it off as such.

777 is ZibraZibra's second full length album (End of the Lion being their first), and is probably their weirdest by far. They dabble in a little old school hip-hop on the song "Kiss Kids," along with '80s synth-driven pop, corny metal, manic electro, and anything you could think of. With peculiar lyrics like, "Touch, touch my body with your fingertips and salty hands," to childishly calling someone a "butterfinger face" to a seizure-inducing ode to the quintessential arcade games of years past, one can't really seem to take them seriously, but I don't think that's what they're aiming for.

They're not trying to be groundbreaking -- they're aiming to invade and disorientate all your senses with laser sounds and out-of-tune vocals. Their main objective is to play loud and fast and irritate you in the process. Mission accomplished. (Kimberly Mora // 04/16/08)