Tom Alford's Second Foundation combines great beats and catchy lyrics with a rockabilly twist. This man definitely understands the meaning of a hook and doesn't hesitate to use that knowledge.

Alford gets our head bopping right from the start with "Yes It's You." This is a song about being happy and in love, and really, who could resist such a thing? It's short, fun, and sweet, a perfect tune for Alford to showcase how much talent he has to offer. The whole album embodies the meaning of "pop."

"Shiloh" has an early-'90s vibe reminiscent of the Gin Blossoms. The melody and song structure are simple yet entertaining at the same time. The message, however, is more than simple, which is what makes Alford a talented musician: he has the ability to make a pop song with an underlying message. He seems to know exactly who he is and is fully aware of what he's capable of doing.

Overall, Second Foundation is ideal for laying back, relaxing, and thinking about old times. There is no doubt that Alford delivers a quality piece of work. (Jessica Garcia // 11/09/07)

Something To Cry About begins and ends with what sound like European cowbells; ocean sounds, city soundscapes, and nocturnal insects float in and out, connecting the songs. Auralift's co-founder Ben Hargrove suggests that there is no overarching theme but that "the music still flows with a deep sense of continuity and connection." One of the strongest songs is the first, "Meaning For," with its joyous chorus harmony. Night-driving sounds coast into "Long Time Sigh," musically rocking and fun but paired with uninteresting and tuneless vocals. Native American chanting introduces "072904," the first of a few instrumentals featuring vocalist/guitarist/bassist Jason Meador on drums (I'm assuming this, mind you; if the guitar is supposed to be the featured instrument, they should've removed the obvious strumming mistakes and blown notes). "Whisper" floats along nicely, with a wobbly Leslie-sounding guitar riff holding things together admirably until the vocals start. "This Island's Shore" comes straight from Ben Folds's notebook (is that the bossa nova or the cha-cha?), but with a brutally out-of-tune chorus. "Benterlude" is a nice, Moog-y instrumental, interweaved with seagull sounds and water lapping on the shore, sliding into "Forever Girl," a grimy acoustic dirge reminiscent of early STP -- then the vocals come in. "Silence Now" is more of the same, and "Something to Cry About" starts out strong but devolves into poorly-mixed echo-panned guitar soundscaping. And more cowbell.

Auralift is a studio project, and it unfortunately sounds like it. The musicianship is interesting, although there are numerous self-indulgent drum parts and way too many instrumentals. The singer sounds out of tune on many of the songs, especially at the top of his range; I'm guessing that's why his vocal is deeply buried in the mix. I'm not a fan of vocal tuning in general, but in this case, I may have to change my mind -- it's that rough. Finally, although the songs are competent, there is little sense of urgency; there is no style. It doesn't seem like Auralift has much to say or is really compelled to say it. (Andrew Perkins // 11/17/07)

I've fought with it and I've fought with it, so now I'm just gonna say it: Bottomless Pit sound a heck of a lot like Silkworm. And I mean, seriously, how could they avoid it? With two out of four ex-members of that band onboard, Tim Midgett and Andy Cohen, who were both partly responsible for the sound of that band vocally and guitar-wise, it's pretty much a given that the new band's going to sound at least somewhat like the old. It's unavoidable. Right?

Well, sort of. Bottomless Pit do bear a resemblance to Midgett and Cohen's much-beloved old outfit (less so to drummer Chris Manfrin and bassist Brian Orchard's respective bands, Seam and .22), particularly in those half-yelped/half-spoken vocals, the moody, not-too-fast tempos, and sharp-edged-yet-warm guitars that eschew simple power-chord rock in favor of more complex, occasionally nonrepeated, sometimes sparse guitar lines. But hey, so do a ton of other bands -- for me Silkworm will always be one of those unassailable archetypes of mid-'90s indie-rock, and you could apply the description above to any of three dozen or so bands from the same era.

What's really different here, though, is the mood of the music as a whole. Where most Silkworm releases wobbled between being downtrodden and melancholy and saying "screw it" and good-naturedly/drunkenly giving a finger to the whole mess -- a la the Grifters, the band made music that always made me wish I drank so I could appreciate it better -- Hammer of the Gods is unrelenting and bleak. To these ears, at least, it's a dark, dark, down-in-the-depths album, made by a crew of musicians who've seen a significant chunk of their lives ripped apart in some way or another.

Songs like starter "The Cardinal Movements" (which, by the way, is probably the album's highlight, largely due to that recurring gorgeously distorted guitar melody), "Dogtag," and "Greenery" carry an undercurrent of menace and resignation, like the sound of doom, indie-rock-style. "Greenery," especially, is misanthropic as hell, an apocalyptic meditation on the pointlessness of everyday life at the end of the world, and comes off like close kin of British post-punk acts like The Fall with it's determined drumbeat, sporadic and flat vocals, and screeching, gouging guitars. It's the sound of a man who's decided it's all going to be over soon, so why bother?

Even the more hopeful-sounding tracks on here, like the U2-esque "Leave the Light On" or the almost life-affirming "Human Out of Me," where the narrator marvels at the fact that somebody close to them was able to teach them how to behave like a normal human being, still leaves the listener aware of the loss behind the words, the hole revealed when that person went away unexpectedly. Cohen and Midgett's lyrics have always been the obliquest of oblique, daring you to decipher them or re-envision them to fit what's living in your own head, and Hammer is no different. There's a subtext here, I think, whether conscious or not, and the album takes on an elegaic feel because of it.

The elephant in the room that I've been trying somewhat to dance around, of course, is the sudden passing of Silkworm drummer Michael Dahlquist in 2005. With his death, surviving members Midgett and Cohen ended Silkworm, knowing full well that there was no way they could possibly replace Dahlquist either as a friend or bandmate. And while I certainly can't claim to know what Midgett and Cohen have gone through over the past two years, I think Hammer of the Gods is a rare glimpse into the internal world with which the two musicians have been trying to come to grips since that fateful car crash (which may be mirrored in the grungy, grimy pseudo-boogie of "Dead Man's Blues").

There's anger, hopelessness, pain, nostalgia, bitterness, love, and even a little joy in there, all vying for dominance. And while it's tragic as hell that Dahlquist is gone, it's fitting that the sound of two of his best friends attempting to deal with his loss sounds this absolutely, heart-breakingly incredible. (Jeremy Hart // 11/17/07)

It's a weird thing to say, I know, but maybe it's the throwback sound that shrouds all of Audio Postcard that keeps it afloat. I mean, if I looked at these songs as coming from just some random mid-tempo rock, they'd really be pretty unremarkable, just the usual bland, same-old-thing-sounding thing. On this album, though, Broken Land manage to sound like they stepped out of The Wayback Machine from the tail-end of the '60s, when Indian instrumentation had already spent a while steadily creeping into psychedelic music of all kinds.

It's hard to get away from the distinctive sound of the tablas (there's also something called a "tanpura," but I've got no idea what that might be), especially on tracks like "Dervish," "Priest," or "Obfuscate"; the overall effect at times is that of a more overtly mod Cornershop. Not to worry, mind you -- apparently the three members of Broken Land are aiming for that sort of stylistic collision, even referring to themselves as "Hindie-rock" on their CDBaby page. (Yeowch. Um, yeah, I guess that works...)

The bulk of the disc feels like it wouldn't be out-of-place on some British Invasion comp somewhere, wedged in-between The Dave Clark Five and The Troggs. There's a nicely warm sound to it all, sort of a light fuzz coating everything that keeps it from sounding too modern and hyperprocessed (and that's a very nice change of pace, lately). The songs are sometimes funky, sometimes strange, and occasionally silly (and yes, "Grey Men" does indeed seem to be about E.T.s), with the pseudo-British accent on the vocals heightening the whole Brit-rock resemblance, but I find myself liking it, especially on the tabla-heavy "Obfuscate." Even when Broken Land slip and betray a hint of more modern (relatively) influences here and there, like the Mission of Burma-sounding guitar figure that drives "My TV" or the jangly '90s-indie feel to "LZ," thankfully, the adulteration actually seems to make the songs sound better and not worse.

So, the final analysis? Audio Postcard ain't bad, especially considering how bad it truly had the potential to be. (Memo to musicians: when you throw tablas into the mix, you immediately start walking the tightrope between Cool Cultural Appropriation/Homage and Ridiculous Crap Your Ageing Hippie Uncle Wouldn't Even Listen To. Just a helpful warning.) Hat tip to Broken Land for making it work. (Jeremy Hart // 11/02/07)

Camarada should be charged with the crime of Attempted Emo. Or maybe Assault with a Deadly Weapon, 'cause listening to it nearly killed me. On King in the Dark, the band's debut album, the singer thinks everything is a big power ballad and sings accordingly. There aren't many strong songs here, and Camarada gets too ambitious with the production, to boot. They're just trying way, way too hard throughout the album.

The biggest problem is that their melodies try too hard to be catchy, and the result is a bunch of mush. Most of the songs are just tedious, but some of them are really bad -- the bridge of "On the Fire Escape" has this really stupid call-and-response and harmony bit. "Love Yer Lover Too" tries to be this stately high-school graduation piano anthem, but the melody is sappy and obvious and terrible (of course, so are a lot of high-school graduation anthems). It should be a sign when even your title song ("King in the Dark") is bad.

As I said, the production doesn't help, either. "Patience" features this strange vibe sound with way too much vibrato and this annoying scratching sound which distracts from the song. "Overtime" has a big Cure-style keyboard part with way too much chorus on it and which sounds pretentious. "No Se" has this weird triplet riff thing that throws the song off, and in "Love Yer Lover Too," the band mixes the lead guitar part so loud so that you can't hear the song (although, all things considered, it's not much of a loss).

The one redeeming part of this album is the song "The Ballad of Blue Collar." It's got a good melody and minimal arangement and even a sadly funny line: "Dead on the 10 in the afternoon light / All just enough to make rent and get high." The singing is still overwrought, but the song is okay. It's too bad that they went overboard on the others, 'cause it just made everything worse. Not that the songs are that good to begin with, but at least they'd be listenable. If they have one decent song, then in theory there's a chance they might grow out of it, but this album doesn't give anyone much hope. (Henry Mayer // 11/17/07)

Calgary's The Cape May is part of the current Canadian Invasion that's sweeping the US, and their sound on Glass Mountain Roads is like Slint or Rex fronted by Will Oldham. They have an interesting combination of songwriterly melodies and indie-rock backbone and, most impressively, they use their additional instrumentation tastefully, with arrangements that feature the song rather than overwhelm it.

The most immediate songs come at the end, when they start slacking on Indie-Rock Rule #43 ("Vocals Shall Always Be Just Louder Than Guitars"). "Little & Hook" is a slow lament with a great chorus and an added slide guitar part enhances the desolation of the song beautifully. Ingeniously, they only get loud once, three minutes into the song.

"Still Island" is another slow song with a beautiful melody; the violin and cello accompaniment highlight the moodiness of the song. At one point the violin plays this crazy and cool part that's slightly off-key and dissonant, which really adds to the atmosphere. It's also very dynamic - on the choruses it gets only a little louder, but waits till the bridge to really blast off.

The other songs are interesting as well. With good songs, a unique sound, and a solid band (some nice drumming, in particular), The Cape May pulled off something good on Glass Mountain Roads. Hopefully they'll continue in this direction, because they have a lot of potential. (Henry Mayer // 11/23/07)

"Where did you go when I needed you most?" -- it's a fitting lyric from The Challenger Deep, a post-punk/sludge band from San Diego who recently released their self-titled debut EP but then had to split up when family responsibilities called their guitarist/vocalist back home to the East coast.

The Challenger Deep's self-titled EP is a collection of five strong songs that leaves you wondering what the band could've accomplished if they were able to continue on. The songs are noisy, full, and hard-edged, and usually have a strong central riff to come back to after exploring a variety of musical tangents. Their sound is in the same vein as Drive Like Jehu and Fugazi. Drummer Gregg Geradi does a fine job of keeping everyone together, while bassist Andy Kondrat adds interesting low tones that are perfect companions for Rob Trout's guitar riffs. The songs are mixed so all the instruments can be heard and they take turns coming to the forefront. The lyrics and vocals, however, are by design in the background and pretty minimal as to not distract from the music but instead to add just enough feeling and emotion.

The EP's intro song, "Historian," is short and intense, grabbing your attention. Then comes "Convent Station," which is quick-paced, too, but winds all over the place and gets right into the vocals, with the drums accenting all the changes. The next song, "Bad News," is more pensive and relies on the bass during the verses before kicking into a big hook on the choruses. The fourth song, "3-5-3," builds instrumentally with a staccato, regimented feel, then bursts into a few lines of lyrics shouted at the end. The EP ends with "Cipher," which repeatedly steps on the gas throughout, with a maniacal riff that the whole band follows skillfully through crazy hairpin turns.

The recording of this EP from The Challenger Deep shows musicians who are talented and mature and who really play off each other well. In interviews with Jim Ruland at Razorcake and McHank's Perpetually Twelve Internet Show, the band seems surprised by the attention they've garnered and say they just started playing music together "for fun." They also kind of shunned the lyrical and vocal responsibilities, but Trout took them up when they couldn't find a front man. Personally, I think he should own them, as the lyrics that are discernible are interesting, showing there is some thought process going on. Just with that, they've got most bands out there beat.

The Challenger Deep has here a quality five-song debut EP that I'd recommend. Just be warned: like they sing on their song, "Convent Station," they'll leave you asking, "Where did you go when I needed you most?" (Pedro // 11/17/07)

Okay, so I caught an abridged version of Copeland this fall when they opened for The Rentals, and I could've sworn frontman/songwriter/main guy Aaron Marsh said the band would have a new album out very soon. Now that I've got Dressed Up & In Line in hand, I'm not sure this is it. Rather than a "real" album, Dressed Up is a collection of B-sides, outtakes, cover versions, and left-behinds that span Copeland's seven-year history.

Given that, it comes as no surprise that the album suffers from the problem that, pretty much by design, afflicts any B-sides/covers release: it doesn't really sound like an actual "album." Which is understandable, since it's not -- it's an odd-and-ends mix of different songs from different albums/periods in the band's life, so how in the hell's going to all hang together like they kicked it out in a week at some studio? I'll give the band credit for trying, mind you -- they apparently went back and reworked some of the really old stuff, retooling the tracks so die-hard fans won't feel ripped off and so they at least sound somewhat similar.

That's a good plan on the face of it, but Dressed Up & In Line misses the mark; it sounds like what it is, and because of that listening to the album is a bit like listening to somebody's mixtape of their favorite band, except that in this case the songs aren't the band's "hits" (mostly) but are outtakes and such. This is kind of a problem, especially for a relative newbie to the band like myself. About the only Copeland I've heard 'til now (barring the band's live performance) has been 2003's Beneath Medicine Tree, with parts of 2004's Know Nothing Stays the Same all-covers EP thrown in for flavor.

Speaking of covers, by the way, I was a bit surprised at the two the band picked to showcase -- Soundgarden's "Black Hole Sun" and The Police's "Every Breath You Take." They play the former straight, if anything injecting a bit more "rock" into the original's swirly trippiness, and for the most part it does the job, even if Marsh can't pull off Chris Cornell's trademark shriek. The only bad thing about the track is that it sounds so much like the Soundgarden version that it ends up being fairly nonessential. If you've heard the song, Copeland's take on it isn't going to surprise you much.

"Every Breath You Take," on the other hand, is interestingly re-envisioned as a soaring, melodic ballad, but that in itself is a bit of a misstep. Back in college, a friend happened to put this on a mix tape she gave to her boyfriend at the time, and I didn't think much about it 'til another friend pointed out, horrified, that the song's about the unrequited love of a stalker. There's a hint of the sinister to Sting's delivery on the song, but that's totally absent here -- the boys of Copeland instead make it as undeniably gorgeous as the rest of their songs, with minor-key piano, echoing vocals, and wonderful strings. Which kind of says that they're just as oblivious to the song's underlying meaning as my college friend. Not a love song, guys, but a creepy-ass stalker song, which means that it's made even creepier (and not in a good way) to hear it done ballad-style.

I don't mean to beat down the band solely for their interpretations of somebody else's songs, by the way. I'm just a bit disappointed, is all, given that Know Nothing Stays the Same saw Marsh & co. tackling everybody from Phil Collins to Stevie Wonder to the Top Gun love theme and doing it with style. Hell, their version of "Take My Breath Away" pretty much erased the imaginary line separating over-the-top '80s pop from '00s emo, and I salute them for acknowledging how close their music veers to that old-school schlocky stuff. With that in mind, when I put Dressed Up in I fully expected to enjoy the heck out of "Black Hole Sun" and "Every Breath You Take"; didn't happen.

(Spoiler Warning: In the interests of your sanity and overall love of music, dear reader, I strongly urge you to forego listening to the "hidden track" stowed at the end of the disc. All it is is another version of "Black Hole Sun," except that whoever's singing apparently doesn't know the words and they can't sing. Ouch. I swear to God, it's like really bad karaoke. Save yourself the pain and just hit "Stop" after track 15. I'm only blowing the "surprise" 'cause I love you, man, and I don't want to see you hurt.)

But hey, I can't complain, overall. In spite of all my qualms about this disc, there are some shining moments. Opener "Your Love To Sing (Slow Version)"'s one, a sweet, gentle, celebratory paean to the way a lover genuinely loves to sing, and Marsh's vocals fall somewhere in between Coldplay's Chris Martin and Zookeeper/ex-The Gloria Record's Chris Simpson. Another, "Chin Up" hooked me in quick with it's quiet, low-key-but-insistent feel, coming off like my favorite Death Cab for Cutie songs.

Oddly, though, the show doesn't really start 'til after the band muddles through both covers (and a handful of acoustic versions and a "premix" of In Motion's "Sleep"; what the hell's a "premix"?). When "May I Have This Dance" comes crashing in, it's immediately apparent that the band, for whatever reason, back-loaded the album -- that track sounds like Jimmy Eat World circa Bleed American/Jimmy Eat World, and the followup, "That Awful Memory of Yours," is similarly hard-charging.

At the album's absolute peak, Copeland pulls out all the stops for "Second Star To The Left, Go 'Til Morning," which blows the first half of Dressed Up right out of the water. The song roars and rages like the band forgot to bring the acoustic guitars and string section to the rock show, and thank God for it. Listening, it's like I'm back in the "glory years" of emo all over again. And actually, that makes sense, since the song's apparently from back then -- come to think of it, all three of the best rock tracks on here are leftovers from back then, rebooted for 2007. Weird.

Weirder still, the band follows up that blast of energy with two awesome versions of tracks from Beneath Medicine Tree, an acoustic rendition of "Brightest" and an "alternate" take on "When Paula Sparks" (which is, admittedly, one of my favorite tracks from Tree). The latter is chiming and pretty, with a great, addictive, sing-it-under-your-breath chorus (and yeah, it's not that different from the original, but the original's great enough that I don't care), and the former is awesomely melancholy and crushed. Even though the lyrics sound happy, the stark instrumentation and Marsh's beautifully broken-down voice puts the lie to 'em, making you wonder how sure he is that things are really perfect.

The original version, to my ears, is more confident, a narrator who's moved on from a past relationship laying the facts out for an ex-lover who's come back around -- not the Dressed Up version, though. And that, ladies and gents, is how you do an alternate version of a song -- you mess with it, so much so that you change what the song means. (Hrm. Come to think of it, maybe that's what the band was attempting with "Every Breath You Take," too. Sorry, y'all, but that one just didn't pull it off.)

Now, it may be that I'm still flying from the joyous roar of "When Paula Sparks," but I find myself enjoying the DJ Cakeface (gah, what a name...) remix of "Thanks To You." While the "original" version earlier on the disc skipped past me without leaving much of an impression, the remix makes the track seem more deliberate and thoughtful, more grateful, even. The slight processing on the vocals and the warm, echoey, Dntel-but-not-as-hyper beats really emphasize what the song's really meant to be, which is a heartfelt word of thanks to a friend/lover.

In the end, I guess it doesn't matter that much that Dressed Up & In Line doesn't "hang" like a real full-length -- we do live in the age of the song-as-digital-single, after all. Buy the album for the second half and the couple of good tracks near the beginning, and then you can put just those on your MP3 player. When you hit "Shuffle" and "May I Have This Dance" comes on, who cares if it really fits with the rest of the disc it's on, right? (Jeremy Hart // 11/23/07)

The Flatliners are a Canadian group that plays '80s-style punk, with some hardcore and reggae thrown in to change things up and the singer using that standard punk-style shout. They try to write big catchy melodies, but they fail more than they succeed, unfortunately. Though many excellent bands have come from Canada recently, this band's not one of them.

They're excellent, in fact, at inserting irritating moments into otherwise unremarkable songs. The first song, "July! August! Reno!," gives you the first clue during the bridge part -- all of a sudden you think somebody switched the station to the power-ballad station. "This Respirator" has a verse that's again okay, but the bridge takes the song to places it doesn't deserve. The chorus on "Hal Johnson Smokes Cigarettes" is merely banal, but the bridge takes off on this overdone break section that shows off their technique but not their taste.

A couple of the songs here are truly bad. "Mastering the World's Smallest Violin" is a slow, reggae-style ballad with one of the cheesiest melodies ever; it sounds suspiciously like some terrible '80s anthem I'm better off not remembering. And clichéd lyrics about being heartbroken: "I've never been this cold / I've never felt this way before." Try again, guys. And anyway, don't tell me you've never been that cold -- you live in freaking Canada! "And The World Files for Chapter 11" starts out with the chorus to charge you up, but it does the opposite. The verses have this half-time ska feel that is okay at first, but the backup vocals wreck it, and the anthemic melody of the bridge sounds even sillier on a song which isn't really that catchy to begin with.

The band itself is tight -- they've obviously been working hard. It's too bad that it's wasted on such terrible music. Although it is kind of impressive to see so many crappy moments on the same album. Maybe if they work harder, the next album will be complete crap. (Henry Mayer // 11/02/07)

One of the reasons people buy music is to listen to it over and over, because it provokes an emotional response. Often that emotion isn't even related to the song and is, instead, something that was attached to the song during a particular time and the sense memory of hearing the same sounds again brings those feelings back. We humans are suckers that way.

Comedy, on the other hand, relies on novelty. A joke is only funny a handful of times before it starts to get stale. Can you imagine going to a comedy show to hear the old jokes? "C'mon, tell that bit that I already know the punchline to. I want to laugh like it's 1999." This is why people don't rush out to buy comedy albums.

Musical comedy, then, has two diametric elements -- one that makes you want to listen repeatedly and one that makes you want to listen once. So if your stock-in-trade is playing funny songs, you want to maximize the former. The trick to repeatability would seem to be good music. There's nothing more annoying than a comedian with little musical ability trying to sing a funny song. In that case, the song is little more than a prop. And nobody likes prop comedy. Just ask Gallagher.

But there's more to a funny song than just the song and on their latest release, Flight of the Conchords walk the delicate line and manage to pull off the musical comedy. Few have made it to this land and lived to tell the tale. Here, in list form, is how the FOCers pull it off:

There you have it. Now you have the formula, so you can make your own musical comedy album. Be sure to credit me in the liner notes and have your lawyer contact mine to set up the royalty payment. I look forward to your checks. (Justin Crane // 11/02/07)

Jon Fritz's When It's Over begins with relaxing acoustic melodies and flows into pieces that have a bit of a soft rock feel mixed with a country flavor and a coffeehouse aftertaste. The first song might pack a little more punch if it were a bit shorter, as it's very enjoyable but doesn't quite end in time. With the song "Bitch," When It's Over seems to take a major leap in style, exposing this band's ability to rock with an alternative sound -- until the vocals begin, and suddenly it's all country for the rest of the song (but not the rest of the set). This CD was obviously produced well and it certainly keeps the listener guessing from track to track as to what's going to come next. It has a fun ending as well, so make sure that you listen to this one all the way through track 13. I have a feeling that this is a band that I'd definitely enjoy seeing live. (Alicia Crowder // 11/23/07)

Richard Hawley has been around for longer than you think. Richard's been here the whole time, in the corner of your mind, in the corner of your room. It's easy to see, though, why artists such as Hawley are quickly looked over are passed over. We're not talking about some hunky white guy who does lots of sit ups and tries to act like a rapper. We're not even talking about someone who "dances."

No, Mr. Hawley wears suits and plays huge guitars and writes songs with so many hooks that there's no possible means of escape without your mind changed. Mr. Hawley carries a torch, carries a tune, and will sweep you away with lush string arrangements, bittersweet melodies, and a voice richly characterized by cigarettes and late nights.

Take the title track, "Valentine," which is slowly strummed and gently crooned until the chorus crashes in and crescendos into a heart-crushing dose of loneliness: "I don't need no Valentine's, no, no / I don't need no Roses / 'Cause they just take me back in time, no, no / Now you're not here." Ouch. Hell, yeah! There's a tenderness and maturity here that's, for some strange reason, all too rare. More! More!

"Roll River Roll" -- are you kidding? A song about rivers? Yes, and so beautifully done. Tinkling piano, brushed drums, blues-runs, and sizzling cymbal crashes. Quite unlike the production quality of the previous cut, there's now an open-air quality before the tears dry and it gets "serious." Now we're getting into the boppier, clicking of the swingin' double bass and that old rock n' roll sound. A danceable number with equal amounts of musical muscle and sparkling hope: "Take her in your arms and never be afraid." Indeed.

"Dark Road" has a bit of an ambling, country flavor, with echoes of lonesome guitars carrying cursed men away from their past/present/futures. Still, these sentiments and heavy burdens will be one day laid down and forgotten. "The Sea Calls" is a similar portrait of a man that's moving on (but for different reasons this time). It employs an enchantment and story that's in waltz-time, with subtleties of instrumentation and where Hawley's voice clings to notes like he's being reluctantly being torn away from them.

Though there's familiarity here, there is also comfort here. This is a piece of work that's varied, with moods and colors that never allow interest to wane. Tenderness, honesty, and songcraft abound and are equally at home. These are the types of songs that never age. And with Lady's Bridge, like with his previous albums (all highly recommended), no stone is left unturned for the listener. (Damon Murrah // 11/17/07)

With most artists, as they develop, their subject matter and the tone of their songs usually becomes more serious. Sam Beam, on the other hand, has taken the opposite path. The new Iron and Wine album, The Shepherd's Dog, is actually less serious in tone than previous albums. Beam says that this album was an attempt to discover a more true and personal sound for himself, like Tom Waits did with Swordfishtrombones -- although I should note that where Tom Waits was looking for something that was significantly less conventional on Swordfishtrombones, the sound of the new Iron and Wine is significantly more conventional.

First off, the material on the new album is much poppier than the original stuff. Where before the melodies seemed shaped by the words, now it's the other way around, with soaring melodies and harmonies that carry the songs to new places. "Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car" has a catchy melody and an vocal arrangement that adds a lot to the song, and "Carousel," a ballad with processed vocal and electric piano, could almost be a less-pretentious Pink Floyd song. The melodies and harmonies in the old material weren't as developed, and the sound and feel was darker and more lonesome. Which is not to say the older songs were worse, by any means -- they were just different.

The presence and power of the band does a lot to change things, as well. The sound of the band and the arrangements are much more positive and uplifting than before, with a wider range of instruments on the record. They even groove, which is a rare thing for a singer-songwriter to have in a band; the band sounds like a alt-rock Greatful Dead. On the earlier stuff, the focus was on the voice and the song, not the accompaniment, but here the band adds as much as the songs.

Sam Beam has made an impressive transition; it took Jeff Tweedy nine years to make the transition that Sam Beam's gone through in only about five years. Some people will undoubtedly want the old Iron and Wine back, but undoubtedly more people will enjoy the new, confident, poppier Iron and Wine. (Henry Mayer // 11/09/07)