My first listen-through of Joanna Newsom’s third official album Have One On Me left me feeling as if I had picnicked in a field of wildflowers at noontide, pedaled my vintage teal Schwinn bicycle (complete with wire basket) home to my Anthropoligie-ridden suburban cottage, in which I sang as I showered in my revamped white claw-footed bathtub, prepared myself a strawberry parfait, and were currently sitting out on my back porch eating said parfait in the late spring.

Newsom’s musical style echoes a melding of pseudo-country soul-singer Emmylou Harris and fellow Californian Tom Waits (in terms of composition and instrumentation). While Newsom herself claims no genre, she fits snugly into a modernized old-time American folk category, and is also considered to be part of the psych folk genre (began in the 60s, named for its attempt to imitate the trance-like state resulting from psychedelic drug usage.

The two-hour long, three-disc album is a refreshing commitment for the ears; each of the seventeen original songs is a pleasant experience that leaves the listener enthralled. The humanly raw and poetic nature of her lyrics captivates and pulls the listener into her world—one of oddball fantastical elfish parties and old-fashioned madrigals. Newsom’s folk-esqe poetry is complimented by the sultry, yet lively, manner in which she plucks her harp—her second signature, following close behind her quirky vocals.

Newsom’s voice is often a point of controversy for listeners. The response seems to be that her squeaks and crooning are either endearing or grating. Compared to her previous work, this album showcases subtler vocals that cater to a wider audience, especially as the album progresses. Her tone becomes more powerful and less child-like (a description often used that Newsom herself resents). This change is a result of the songstress contracting vocal cord nodules (a tissue growth that incapacitates vocal chords) early in 2009. She was able to recover and record Have One On Me in the same year.

With this album, a marvelous display of talent, creativity, and an ability to communicate personality, Newsom has firmly established her place in the ranks of this musical generation’s great singer-songwriters.

Gorillaz has always been somewhat of a novelty. The side project of Blur frontman Damon Albarn and comic book illustrator Jamie Hewlett, the band is best known for their hit singles “Clint Eastwood” and “Feel Good, Inc.” As an “animated band,” they have relied heavily on a rotating cast of guest artists and slick music videos for substance, but somehow this group of cartoon characters has enjoyed double platinum sales and five Grammy nominations.

Their newest album is titled Plastic Beach, and every song on it is crafted around a central image presented in the cover art: a lonely mansion perched atop an island formed from flotsam. The elaborately illustrated back story for the album retells the psychological tailspin of Murdoc Niccals, the cartoon “brains” and bassist of the band, who retreats to the island to record the “last LP on Earth.” During production, he learns that the island is actually an ecological disaster of collecting garbage that is growing as mankind declines.

This forms the basis for the album’s rich tones of apocalyptic paranoia. “The waves are rising for this time of year / And nobody knows what to do with the heat” sings Damon on “Rhinestone Eyes” and guest artist Gruff Rhys of Super Furry Animals warns that the “sea is radioactive” in the chorus of “Superfast Jellyfish.” The album is incredibly consistent thematically, considering the “band” has shied away from a firm identity in the past. And despite the uncertain future of the LP format, Plastic Beach is a concept album meant to be heard in its entirety.

Gorillaz has always been known as genre-bending band, but Plastic Beach explores new territory, deftly blending disparate musical styles. The album opens with a string score that fades into an electro-funk backing track for Snoop Dogg. Arabic orchestra and British grime find a home together on “White Flag.” Soul heavyweight Bobby Womack comfortably shares the mic with Mos Def on “Stylo.” De La Soul contributes the verses for “Superfast Jellyfish.” Even Mick Jones and Paul Simonon of The Clash make a brief appearance on “Plastic Beach.” These guest artists enhance Plastic Beach with their presence but are never allowed deviate too far from its wider vision.

For doubters, Plastic Beach is all the necessary proof that Gorillaz has transitioned from an MTV-fueled gimmick to a more mature musical endeavor. For fans, it shows that this so-called “side-project” may have much more in store.

Not too long before Johnny Cash died in 2003, he could still be found in his studio recording songs for the closing chapters of his American Recordings series. The final installment of those sessions (supposedly) was released last week, and is titled American VI: Ain’t No Grave. The 10-song album is mostly covers, and isn’t that different from anything we’ve heard since American V. But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. Keep reading.

True to his nature, Cash’s album begins on a note of defiance. But his challenges are no longer reserved for the wardens of San Quentin; they are instead directed at death himself. With chain gang percussion reminiscent of American V’s “God’s Gonna Cut You Down,” the record’s haunting title track has an ominous sound, as a haggard Cash taunts the reaper to try and hold him back at the moment of Christ’s return. Added to the mix is banjo plucking and foot stomping courtesy of the Avett Brothers, making for a chilling effect on the first listen.

As the album progresses, its musical tone lightens. But Cash’s assail on death does not stop. In the album’s only originally written song, “1 Corinthians 15:55,” Cash draws his inspiration from Paul’s powerful mockery of death, adopting it to his own foreseeable mortality. It is for this reason that while American VI may not offer anything new by Johnny Cash standards, it can’t be completely written off as a posthumous cash-in record for producer Rick Rubin, who has recently caught flack for releasing an album deemed by some critics as “unnecessary.” Cash knew his days were numbered; perhaps the critics should take a cue.

To be honest, the message of American VI is anything but “unnecessary.” Considering the scope of Cash’s career, the album, despite a few boring songs, is nothing short of remarkable. At death’s door, there is no fear in Cash’s voice, there are no doubts in his words; instead there is purpose. He knows where he is going, and goes willingly. Be careful. After listening to Ain’t No Grave a few times, you might just find a song you’ll want sung at your own funeral.

Radio so easily recedes into the background noise of a coffee shop. I often catch myself humming tunes about which I have no meaningful recollections—just a few bars I heard somewhere and can’t get out of my head. I’ve dubbed this the “Party in the U.S.A. phenomenon” because, like their namesake, such songs are simultaneously unbearable and nightmarishly catchy. But, occasionally, a non-Miley Cyrus ditty wiggles into my brain and drives me nuts until Google tells me who wrote it. And Surfer Blood’s “Swim (To Reach The End)” is one such song.

Earlier this month, Surfer Blood released their debut album, Astro Coast. Every track uses “Swim” as a template, but these Palm Beach rockers extracted a wealth of material from what is essentially a redux of nineties rock, drenched in reverb. The simple ingredients that make “Swim” such a great debut single can be found anywhere on the album. These infectious chord progressions and lyrics, delivered with a disarming earnestness, invite you to hum along and otherwise make a fool of yourself.

Critics immediately compared Surfer Blood to Weezer, Pavement, and Built To Spill. That’s perhaps more credit than the band deserves at this point, but it’s easy to see why they draw such comparisons. Astro Coast distills the best work of its collective influences, cleverly disguising it all under a layer of lo-fi effects to make everything sound like it was recorded in a cave. Surfer Blood avoids sounding derivative by transcending the tropes of power pop. The guitar work on “Floating Vibes” and “Anchorage” in particular owe a lot more to Dinosaur Jr. than Weezer, and The Shins frequently emerge as another influence.

Lyrically, Astro Coast isn’t the series of fist-pumping anthems that “Swim” would lead you to expect. Surfer Blood is capable of generating all the energy expected from a five-piece band, but they are equally capable of conveying a somber mood. Singer John Paul Pitts delivers lines like “I don’t care for anyone / Probably not a lot of fun” with a cool sincerity that steers clear of emo but still delivers emotionally. The band excels at preventing even their most depressing lyrics from disrupting their carefully crafted hooks.
Surfer Blood are on tour now, and will be playing free shows at record stores in Nashville and Atlanta this month to promote their official concert dates. Visit http://www.myspace.com/surferblood for more details.

New Pelican album is a “sonic Freight Train.”

Building a sonic freight train is not easy. The Chicago-based instrumental metal band Pelican has been doing it for nearly a decade. Imagine a visible wall of sound coming out of your speakers. Sometimes the wall disappears and you are left to ride a wave of reverberating guitar riffs and droning bass lines. The wall swirls back together between the stereo-panned guitars. Now, you’re coming close to imagining the sound of Pelican’s latest release, What We All Come to Need.

Laurent Schroeder-Lebec and Trevor de Brauw, Pelican’s guitarists, are the conductors of the massive beast that is Pelican. They weave their respective guitar parts together like magic. A listen to samples of Pelican’s back catalog will show an upward progression of skill from this dynamic duo.

A listen to tracks like “Specks of Light” or “What We All Come to Need” proves their love of precision. If these tracks are listened to through headphones one will hear the details of their guitar work. As “Specks of Light” begins, the two take on the same riff in unison. Each guitar is panned a degree to the left and right. As Lebec and de Brauw change their riffs slightly it sounds as if their Marshall amplifiers are surrounding the listener.

What seems to be missing from the album is a departure from the Pelican norm. Much of the album sounds like just another album from Pelican. The freight train travels on the same track at the same speed and level of ferocity. The listener receives the same sonic pummeling. But this time, the train has been reworked, polished, and given a new paint job.

On past albums, the group was partially handicapped by drummer Larry Herweg’s unpolished pounding. Where Herweg fell behind, Lebec and de Brauw stepped in. What We All Come to Need presents a better produced, and more skillful Herweg. Not to mention better overall production. Maybe they got tired of his mediocre drumming and told him to step it up. Now, although exploring the same territory, we have Pelican fully realized on What We All Come to Need.

The real surprise is the final track, “Final Breath.” At the last moment the train barrels toward a track switch and the band adds vocals. After Pelican has been completely instrumental for nearly a decade, they finally have vocals. Guest singer Allen Epley emits dream-like vocals to this epic final track. Ironically, “Final Breath” is the best track on the album because of this addition. This track is huge (just listen to it) and powerful.

At 3:33 “Final Breath” settles to a repetitive two-note riff and a distant snare drum. The band is secretly heaping coal into the furnace. At 4:12 this sonic freight train takes on a whole new form. The song pours over the listener like tsunami waves in slow motion. It is as if the train has suddenly begun to dive towards the center of the earth. The track sweeps and sways as the molten core comes into sight, and then it is all over. Pelican have officially driven you straight through the earth and back.

What We All Come to Need is the same sonic freight train as past Pelican albums. This time around, the train is stronger and runs smoother than ever. Lebec and de Brauw drive it home, heaping bricks on this locomotive wall. Herweg has definitely been practicing and keeps everything in line as it speeds along. Pelican proves that they still build sonic freight trains, but now, they have mastered the art.