The Ax make a lot more noise than you'd expect a two-piece band to make. On their first album, Our Queen of Dirt, they use a lot of overdubs to flesh out the sound. Their sound is different -- it's a combination of Unwound or Shellac, crossed with a Sonic Youth vibe. You wouldn't ordinarily put Sonic Youth in with that sort of band (at least, not after EVOL), but these guys made the connection, and it's an interesting sound.

Their best song here has that SY character to it. "Sea Urchins" is a slightly off-kilter rock song with a break that sounds like "Expressway to Yr. Skull." The song has some math-y, sharp edges to it that give it a bit of the feel of Bob Bert-era SY, as well. They have a nice variety to their songs, too. "Out to the Wolves" sounds like less virtuosic math rock, with a weird rhythm below abrasive, menacing guitar riffs.

The band doesn't use vocals the way most rock bands do. Some songs are almost completely instrumental, with just the occasional line, while "Who Wears the Crown" has nothing but these weirdly cheery harmonies above driving drums and guitar -- it almost makes you want to laugh. It's like a pop song boiled down to its essence, except that it's all a little strained. And "Bargain in Hell" has these odd dual vocals, where they don't seem to be listening to each other all the time. "Red Witch" sounds almost like garage-rock, except with occasional sections that shift and destabilize the song.

The Ax definitely has a unique sound; not many bands combine Sonic Youth style ideas with more abrasive punk sounds. But they don't stick only to that sound, either -- they incorporate a lot of different sorts of ideas and sounds. And considering that this is their first album, it's even more impressive of an achievement. A fine start to a musical career. (Henry Mayer // 06/12/09)

The Human Zoo is the first full-length album from Austin's Death is not a Joyride. Recorded by John Congleton of the Polyphonic Spree, it sounds like the dark mirror of that beacon of shiny happiness. The approach on The Human Zoo is highly experimental, with punk and industrial noises choreographed like a symphony or a Trent Reznor cover of an entire Zappa album. The audio experience is an exploration of humanity's fear of being caged and how we manage to incarcerate ourselves regardless. It's a restless cacophony of drums and guitar most of time, with the vocals mixed low in among demonic organs and a violin. The title track says it all when it states that we are in the mind of a tiger pacing in cage. You cannot rock out to this vision of prison. Even the softer and more mainstream cuts, like the instrumental "Rats at the Fair" and the almost-pop "Sleeping With Skeleton Keys" leave you feeling skinned and salted. You might like that -- after all, some people like to hang themselves on hooks -- but just because you enjoy the screaming of your nerves doesn't mean you're not bleeding. The Human Zoo's got teeth and claws. I advise you to approach with caution. (Jef With One F // 06/20/09)

You can't force yourself to like somebody; anybody who's been through middle school knows that sad little truth. Even if you're talking with somebody who's got all the same interests as you, somebody who's got the same background, somebody who likes the same things, there's no magic button you can press to instantly make the two of you friends. Sometimes you do get there, sure, but not just because of your similarities. That's just not how it works.

And that pretty much sums up how I feel about Deleted Scenes' Birdseed Shirt. I know, deep-down, that I should freaking love these guys, right off the bat, and yet, it's been a bit of a struggle. Which is weird, because they hit all the right notes most of the way through Shirt. There're hints of the New Pornographers here, some seriously Modest Mouse-esque phrasing right off to that side, a bit that sounds like a less-cerebral Dismemberment Plan, vocals that come off like Band of Horses, and even a murky, seemingly out-of-place of near-trip-hop that sports a cool, crunchy, Soul Coughing-ish bass stomp. The band veers back and forth between styles like a speeding drunk swerving across four lanes of traffic.

It's the scattershot aspect of the Deleted Scenes that makes Birdseed Shirt a hard album to love, really. The band apparently forcibly recruited reclusive producer/songwriter L. Skell to help out with the record, citing his one album as The Rude Staircase as an overlooked classic, and I have to wonder if maybe Skell's the reason things are so all-over-the-place. The band lurches from the breezy, swaying pop of "Take My Life" to the aforementioned trip-hop-ness of "Mortal Sin" to the shambling, WTF?-inducing backwoods gospel raveup of "Got God," all in the span of about ten minutes, and while each song's pretty cool on its own, they could very well have come off of totally different albums.

Listening to the album for the fourth and fifth times, I catch myself thinking, "oh, yeah -- I remember that song now, that was a good one." Except that I can't remember it in context, staring at the track listing, because it feels like it doesn't really fit there, y'know? I like all the pieces, just not necessarily together.

At their best, the Deleted Scenes mine the indie-pop thing, as on opening track "Turn to Sand," which staggers and stutters coyly 'til it suddenly clicks right into place with an awesome rippling guitar line and back-and-forth melody, or the end of "Deacons," which is Jeff Mangum dragged back down to our reality, or "Ithaca" and "Fake IDs," both of which sway hypnotically like Isaac Brock covering Death Cab For Cutie.

When the band gets going, there's a loose, half-loaded messiness to it that brings to mind (favorably) the Grifters in its constant teetering on the edge of chaos. The Modest Mouse-isms further that feeling, too, but Scheuerman and bandmates Matt Dowling, Chris Scheffey, and Brian Hospital (all of whom play too many damn instruments to list out here) do it with their feet still firmly planted on the ground, like they know exactly what they're doing. Stack the indie-pop-ish tracks together and leave the oddball stuff for a B-sides comp, and you'd have one damn impressive EP.

[Deleted Scenes are playing 6/12/09 at Mango's, along with Young Mammals, News on the March, and Flowers to Hide.] (Jeremy Hart // 06/12/09)

Want some punk for the masses? Blasphemy! Go buy some Green Day if your stomach can't handle real punk. If you get tired of all the hate and madness, however, Double Dagger's More is much easily digestible. What you get, instead of the routine "I hate George Bush," "government oppression," is a rather comical commentary on the typical schlub, and the American experience. Then again, at times I don't know what the hell they're singing about (and I bet they hate George Bush).

More is Double Dagger's third full-length album, and while decidedly post-punk, it's also a definite departure from the genre. The band operates without a guitarist, which is a departure in itself. There are plenty of groups that lack a bass, but hell, even Les Claypool keeps a guitarist within reach. Despite being a guitarist myself, I can't say I miss it. Bassist Bruce Willen has crafted some really cool licks and plays his bass quite like a guitar, where it could be easily mistaken as one at times. As you would expect, those who like bass-heavy tracks will dig this and should sample "Camouflage." Vocalist Nolen Strals and drummer Denny Bowen round out the trio and manage to stay just as loud and impressive as Willen.

No punk album is complete without some spoken word, and "The lie/The truth" delivers its point with a little bit of that comedic flair I was mentioning: "Your living in the middle of nowhere / in a town called exactly right / It's got a population of you / and everyone sleeps well at night." These serious-yet-fun lyrics continue through much of the album, and it's nice to see a loud group not take itself too seriously.

I was also impressed with the soft beginnings of some of the tracks. Upon first sound, it's not something you'd expect to hear, and even though you know some heavy sound is coming, it somehow builds anticipation. If you're in a hole of confusion, then let me try to create some imagery: Explosions in the Sky drinking Mezcal from the bottle, smoking unfiltered Camels, and doing hammer curls -- they'd craft similar intros. I might possibly have dug that hole deeper with that, but hell, if you like punk and like to have fun, then just go see 'em! They'll be in Houston June 23rd. I'd bring a mouthpiece if you plan to get close. Bring some extra cash, too, because I bet you'll want to take a disc home with you.

[Double Dagger is playing 6/23/09 at Super Happy Fun Land, along with Black Congress & Muhammid Ali.] (Quinn Alexander // 06/20/09)

The Heartless Bastards' third album, The Mountain, is a return of sorts for Erika Wennerstrom, the leader of the band. After breaking up with the bass player, the previous lineup dissolved, and she replaced them with the people that performed on the Bastards' original demo. It doesn't affect the sound of the band, however -- the core is Wennerstrom's guitar and vocals, which are still intact.

The album is full of great songs, full of Wennerstrom's usual dark songs with a few rays of light breaking through. "The Mountain" is a driving mid-tempo anthem set off by a nice pedal steel part. "Hold Your Head High," a slower-moving song, combines a countrified feel with her standard rock style in an unusual way. And the album closes with a beautiful, upbeat rocker, "Sway," which features a graceful melody and vocals and the band churning behind her. The band's accompaniment never gets in the way of her melody and guitar pounding, remaining as professional as they need to be but still bringing the rock.

In some ways, the quieter songs are the most interesting ones here. Her voice is even more impressive and distinctive when she restrains it, taking on an ethereal quality. And those are some of the best songs here, too. "Had To Go" is a striking acoustic ballad with pretty, bluegrassy violin and mandolin contrasting with the sturdy folky melody. And "Could Be So Happy" is a fragile-yet-determined solo acoustic number accompanied by only her pretty harmonies.

The Mountain is the Heartless Bastards' best yet. It's full of great songs and impassioned vocals. Wennerstrom's voice also helps -- it's one of the more unusual in rock, big like Robert Plant but with the wistfulness of a folk singer. That might seem like an odd combination, but she really uses it well, never oversinging like most people with her range and vocal talent would. Her taste and vocal style will continue to bring the Heartless Bastards more attention, and they deserve everything they get.

[Heartless Bastards are playing 6/24/09 at Warehouse Live, along with Jenny Lewis.] (Henry Mayer // 06/20/09)

Invention is from Seattle. Do "electronica" music, apparently. Beyond that, we know nothing about them -- nothing really online, no bios, nothing. In crafting their spacey, midrange-y music, Invention use compressed bass and guitar to create very synth-like sounds. Lots of interesting rhythmic vocal parts jammed against round-cornered industrial beats. Lots of reverb keeps everything melodic way in the back, guitar and bass way up front.

Snippets of a sci-fi "B" movies weave in and out of the songs, apparently about the imminent destruction of the earth, connecting, stitching together a bloated album that never feels heavy. In some places a dirge, in some places a delay pedal ("A Retrospective") or ping-pong echo ("Non-Vista") creates the beat for a half-time vocal line surrounded by bees. The vocals are nearly always dreamy, nearly stream-of-conscious. "Baskerville" introduces a death metal riff over programmed drums.

Surveyors is at once dense but not murky, spacious but not airy. It may be overlong, and a few of the songs drag a bit, but dragging to one listener is a slow build to another. "Nacht" attempts to crush itself under its own weight, but a fantastic chorus riff gives you just enough joyous lift to keep the whole thing standing, and slammed up against "Greatest of All Directions," another tech-metal mashup (think an electronic Dream Theater, but without the pretension), probably the heaviest thing on the album. "Never Before Imprinted" never really goes anywhere, but "Passion and Capacitance" and "Pepper and Cream" (appearing back-to-back on the album) introduce a somewhat new feel while never moving too far from the spine of the album (in fact, the middle of "Pepper" might be mistook for an experimental online e-jazz jam).

This is not an album to include in a party mix; there aren't any singles, and you have to be in the right mood to digest it. It is masterful, however, and an incredible achievement, really. The palette of sounds and images reminds me of Pynchon. There's just so much coming at you that it's hard to know where to focus your attention, but when it's over, you know something important happened -- you just can't really describe what it is. (Andrew Perkins // 06/12/09)

Okay, so I do like Kylesa's Static Tensions, but I have to ask: what the hell does it add to your sound, really, to have two drummers? Especially if they're playing the same damn thing (or minute variations thereof)? I get the whole percussionist thing, believe me, and everybody knows dueling guitarists rule, but two guys pounding away at drum kits at the same time seems more than a little redundant to me.

But fuck it, that's small potatoes, because in pretty much every other way, Kylesa bring it on Static Tensions, and the result is something that's got a metal foundation but spirals out of control from there. Opener "Scapegoat" comes out swinging, belligerent and satisfyingly raw, a pit-spinning anthem that combines hardcore vocals, Mastodon-ish drums, and thick, messy-sounding guitars that occasionally dive sideways off into this weird scraping post-rock thing; it's like some NY hardcore band fed through a Mudhoney filter.

That sets the mood, and "Insomnia For Months" takes it from there, churning and heavy, bassy as hell like Federation X but with guitarist/singer Phillip Cope's roaring vocals reminiscent of Isis. "Said and Done" treads similar stylistics lines, but gets one-upped by "Unknown Awareness," with its nicely trippy, shimmering guitars and tribal (and yes, every so slightly distinct) drums, and "Running Red," which starts off with spooky, minimal piano before shifting into Eastern-sounding melodies, more of the snapping, handclap-sounding tribal drumming, and other guitarist/singer Laura Pleasants' serenely psychedelic monotone. Of course, then the desert sands morph into hard, sun-blistered rock, the whole track turning into something off the last Sword album.

The band's appeal, really, lies in their willingness to throw any kind of style considerations to the winds -- who gives a shit if it's "real" metal, as long as it's crush-your-head heavy, right? And Static Tensions delivers plenty of that, to be sure, alongside the woozy, heavy-lidded flights Eastward. Suddenly, the fact that the band takes its name from a Buddhist term for evil spirits of "defilement and delusion" makes a lot more sense. (Jeremy Hart // 06/12/09)

Like Bells is a violin-led, mostly instrumental trio from Antioch, Ohio. The music on their self-titled debut is sort of a cross between Dirty Three and Mono, embracing quieter lyrical moments as well as some louder rock. They borrow more from Mono than anybody else -- a lot of their melodies sound strongly like Mono -- but their sound is more varied than Mono generally is.

Unfortunately, they need to borrow more from those groups. While the songs themselves have a few nice lines, the band rarely comes up with enough for an entire song. The best song here is "The Streets Themselves," which has a pretty guitar line opening the song and a nice, intense chorus. "Atlas," however, is more typical of the songs here: a pretty verse violin and guitar line, but an odd chorus that's mostly just bombast without any interesting going on. Sadly, songs like "Where is the White?" are just as common, songs which have no real melodies to them and are just kind of pointless.

They also subvert the songs by adding contrasting ideas that just don't work. A couple of songs use keyboards and processed instrumental sounds that are really silly. "Searching Now" wrecks an otherwise decent song by incorporating some really cheesy processed keyboard and violin. In "Can I Say Something to You?," they don't manipulate in those kinds of ways, but the big rock chorus is just overwrought and pointless.

Like Bells tries hard, but a lot of it just doesn't work. They have some nice moments, but those moments aren't enough to make a record. And the processing that they did to the record further shoots themselves in the foot. They have some nice intros and verses, and if they wrote songs took from those quieter moments, they could significantly improve their songs -- more of a Dirty Three idea than a Mono idea. But as it is, Like Bells doesn't really work. (Henry Mayer // 06/12/09)

What's most exciting, and most maddening, about Eleni Mandell is that just when you think you've got her figured out, she spins off in a new direction. And yet, whether cranking out a roots-pop tour de force like 2004's Afternoon or offering up 2007's duskily noir Miracle Of Five, she's never lost her own identity. Artificial Fire confronts that head-on, with Mandell all over the place but still sounding like herself. She amps up the rock and roll quotient on the spirited "Little Foot" and "Cracked," while "In The Doorway" is so soft and dreamy that you barely notice the guy's hand up her skirt. Mandell's lyrics are still both straightforward and evocative; "Personal," for instance, begins "My eyes are the color of martini olives / I only drink two, never three." With some odd but satisfying detours like "God Is Love" (which combines vaguely off-center drum clatter with a guitar that sounds like a clock continuously winding down) and the cracked-bell chimes hooking "Front Door," Artificial Fire doesn't do anything resembling hanging together. But it would be difficult to grab three random songs and not end up holding at least two winners. (Marc Hirsh // 06/20/09)

I think Volume III works best when viewed as part of a bigger whole, right alongside Paris Falls' previous efforts, Vol. 1 and Vol. II. Going by the band's choice of titles for the three albums so far, it sure seems like they intended there to be some kind of progression, and even if they didn't, well, the theme definitely fits when Volume III rolls into view.

Looking back at the first disc of the trilogy, Paris Falls seems like an a much angrier, more bitter band, with guitarist/singer Ray Brown snarling and spitting venom as much as singing. The followup, Vol. II, headed tentatively down a somewhat more low-key road, trading bitterness and attitude for thoughtful depression; while I definitely liked it, the album seemed uncertain, unsure of itself and where it was supposed to be headed. With Volume III, though, the band sounds like it's gotten where it was going all along.

The sound here is still very similar to that on II, but with less out-and-out melancholy and more of a forward-facing outlook. Take "Obsolete," for example; the song's fairly straight-up pop-rock, with a nicely jangly, almost Elliott Smith-like melody, and while it's resigned and down, to be sure, there's still a hint of relief that at least something (whatever that something happens to be) is finally settled. There're heavy, heavy nods to Floydian psych-rock here, definitely, as with II, but now it's less the slit-your-wrists-and-bleed variety and more the it-all-ends-anyway-so-why-worry variety.

That comfortable feeling allows Paris Falls to both stretch out some, as on the drifting, woozy, seven-and-a-half-minute "Delay," which is all shaky/shimmery guitars and David Gilmour vocals, and to head for sunnier territory, like they do on "Goodmorning," which is louder and a lot more Beatlesque than most of what the band's been doing lately. It's also the best moment on Volume III, its quasi-psychedelic strummed guitars and roaring vocal melody reaching for the skies in a way Paris Falls rarely seems to since Vol. 1.

Of course, part of the reason Volume III shoves up so tightly against 1 and II is because of the band's all-encompassing love of that warm, '70s-sounding analog vibe. The band declares their allegiance in the very first bit of crackly, staticky record noise on the album ("Intro"), and even when things get strange, Volume III sounds like it was recorded love, straight to tape at some dingy dive on the wrong side of town.

To their credit, Paris Falls still steer clear of the whole revivalist thing. Regardless of the fact that Volume III does point backwards to a bunch of the standard "classic rock" benchmarks, the band doesn't play like followers, not by a long shot; they play like they've absorbed all the old stuff and are making something new out of it, not just within its boundaries. Better still, the music here sounds a lot more deliberate and interesting than the music made by a lot of similar bands.

So much of this sort of thing seems faddish, throwaway music that you'll like the first time and then file away, but Paris Falls write songs that are smart and heartfelt and pained and that definitely don't fade away after just one listen.

[Paris Falls is playing their CD release party 6/20/09 at Mango's, along with Airon Paul Dugas & georgia's Horse.] (Jeremy Hart // 06/20/09)