Despite this being the sixth studio album in the Pernice Brothers’ longer-than-a-decade recording career, a milestone most bands will never make, Joe Pernice has lived numerous lives, both before (Scud Mountain Boys), and with solo releases between albums. Now adding “published author” and “unwitting Twitter celebrity” to his illustrious curriculum vitae, it’s a wonder Pernice even had time to sit down and knock out this ten-track piece of exemplary countrified pop. Clearly pretty masterful with word-stuff, it’s a pleasure to actually tune in and follow the stories the man is telling, though Goodbye, Killer is just pleasant enough to enjoy without having to work too hard, especially when clocking in at only half an hour. Sturdy and time-tested, the man knows how to write songs – and with his Brothers (including real-life brother and founding band member Bob), Pernice has turned in another well worthy effort. MC

Local gentlemen Glass Owls have crept up on the Auckland scene like a sneaky ninja, and their debut EP dishes out six ninja-stars (songs) set to prove that they’re here to stay. Like their contemporaries and good pals The Artisan Guns, Glass Owls sound mixes folky sensibility in with high energy indie guitar pop, with heart-on-sleeve lyricism from vocalist Tomas Nelson. Having proved their worth on the live stage, the Dead Love EP was recorded with Dave Parker, the Little Monster responsible for several local favourite records over the past wee while. If they keep churning out catchy numbers like “Griffin Boy”, “I’ll Be Waiting” and “Nothing Personal (Just You)”, it won’t be long before these ninja gentlemen will be taking over the radio. MC

ANDREW’S ALBUM OF THE WEEK

Crystal Castles’ second eponymous album (their first one was too) is the sound of everyone you know, everyone you love, everyone on the planet being annihilated. Simulataneously. Destroyed. Killed. Mercilessly. But the beauty of mankind’s ultimate demise being the the final solution to the gradual destruction of the planet, and Earth’s salvation, becomes overwhelming. This is an album of extremities. Polarized. Disparate. Horrifying one moment and sublime the next. It is the sound of the welcomed apocalypse. The salvation we shalt not want. The global euthanasia of Earths most insidious, destructive, raping parasite will sound like it, too, was recorded in a church in Iceland, a garage in Detroit and a log cabin in Ontario. The refrain “Do you pray with your eyes closed… When it’s cold outside, hold me tight, hold me”. will echo long after our collective final breath is exhaled. From our darkest hour shall become our brightest and we shall, upon our own un-marked graves, dance. With strobe lights. – AT

MATTHEW’S ALBUM OF THE WEEK

Sub Pop’s new little darlings Avi Buffalo burst out into song earlier this year with the impossibly wonderful single “What’s In It For?” – a song that attacks the Sub Pop sound with a young-eyed, melancholic take on joy. The self-titled debut album from Avigdor Zahner-Isenberg (aka Avi…) & co doesn’t so much follow up with a set of pop hits, as takes its time getting to know you, and eventually shares its post-teenage diary with you. What’s surprising, though, is just how articulate and laden with charming feeling the diary is. With a voice that comes off like the Shins’ James Mercer attempting a Devendra impression after sucking a little helium (complemented perfectly by the sweet harmonies of bandmate Rebecca Coleman), Avi is ever regaling you with stories of summer sex and eager crushing, not to mention the youthfully playful obsession with death. Avi Buffalo: young, full of cum, but not at all dumb. MC

Brooklyn based Woods are, primarily, a duo – Jeremy Earl and Jarvis Taveniere and this is, in fact, their fifth studio album – although I need to confess the first time I have heard them. It’s quirky lo-fi pyscho-folk. Earl’s vocals have earned some Neil Young comparisons which seem a reasonable leap to make, while their homemade-tape style has also led to Guided By Voices coming up in reviews; again, not unreasonably so. But what really puts this record up head and shoulders over many of it’s peers, is, quite simply the quality of the songwriting; and their ability to hit a home-run pretty much with every track – and serving up eleven tracks in under thirty minutes means that these guys get straight to the point. The point being awesomeness. At Echo Lake is a really, really enjoyable record, that, i confess I was initially prepared to write off as yet another trendy kooky Brooklyn band. Which they are, but, shouldn’t be written off for. At all. Even. Yes. That’s good, then. AT

It’s 1976, and the Cool Dude is cruising down the highway in his pastel pink convertible. He’s alone, save for his radio and the sunset. The Cool Dude doesn’t steer his ride, it steers itself. He’s alone, save for the Los Angeles nightlife that’s clicking its heels around him. The Cool Dude is Ariel Pink, I’m afraid our little scene is all in his mind. It’s not 1976, and there’s no car… just a cassette tape recorder and some hazy daydreams. Having recorded a rumoured 500+ tunes in the last decade or so, and having long reigned as the Duke of Lo-Fidelity, a major label signing for Ariel Pink & his band is quite a deal. Before Today by no means sheds the weird & wonderful approach to writing Mr Pink is celebrated for, and a sheenier shinier studio sound allows the true yacht-rock spirit inside his music to shine. It seems fitting that the record was produced by legendary producer Quincy Jones’ grandson – Sunny Levine. A kind of third generation take on the music of the past five decades is exactly what this is – laden with harmonies, awkward synths, wedding-song beats, and a groove that says, “My uncle lives in California, imports coconuts and cocaine, and is about to get married for the third time”. Marking the first album not made up of tunes culled from his hundreds-strong back-catalogue, Before Today is a druggy, dreamy, dinky pleasure from sexy-saxy start to the Cure-ious finish. MC

Listing everyone who contributes to this paean to Pink Floyd’s classic record has almost taken up the entire space I’m normally allowed. That’s ok, because I’m not exactly sure what to say about this little experiment. Stardeath and White Dwarfs are a band led by Wayne Coyne’s nephew Dennis, and together with the Lips – they’ve re-imagined every track from The Dark Side of the Moon into something often tricky to recognise. Being the Flaming Lips, you know this isn’t going to be a note for note rendition, and sure enough – it’s a fuzzed up, fucked up affair. As with Karen O’s curious appearance on the Flaming Lips recent opus Embryonic, Peaches isn’t here to do what she does best – aka talk dirty and wear hot pink. She’s here to scream like Yoko Ono over “The Great Gig In The Sky”. Similarly, you’d be forgiven for listening twice for the Rollins contribution after his angry 15 seconds of fame at the album’s opener. He’s there – he’s just buried in noise, replicating the muttered dialogue hidden on the original. Tracks of note are the catchy-glitchy take on “Money”, and the fairly straightforward but pretty & Lips-y “Brain Damage” – but all in all, it’s more a curiosity that fans of the Flaming Lips will flip for. To be honest, I’m curious to see what happens when I watch this in synch with Return to Oz. MC

Seeing Trans Am live, ten years ago, was a transformative experience. Their synths & electronics rocked harder than any guitar-only band I’d seen, and the precision drumming of Sebastian “Seb” Thomson was incredible. That was ten years into their career, and following the release of what was arguably their masterpiece – Red Line. Almost exactly a decade later, the trio (rounded out by bassist/vocalist/keys guy Nathan Means, and Philip Manley on lead guitar, vocals and keys) have released what I personally consider a perfect summation of their varying directions and sounds. “Black Matter” could have been a single from Red Line, while “Arcadia” takes that sound and treats it with some sci-fi loving. Space and robotics are the perfect imagery for the Trans Am sound, while the albums title itself suggests a homage to the glory days of horror soundtracks (see John Carpenter’s “The Thing” for details). Call it a return to form, call it what you like, Trans Am most likely don’t care. They’ve been doing this shit for twenty years, they do what they like. All your base are belong to Trans Am. MC

John Dwyer’s San Francisco based Thee Oh Sees are returning with their eleventh full length player; kicking things off with a 13 and a half minute title-track jam – which, on paper, would immediately put me off if I were reading this review. So, I hasten to add, now, in fear that you, dear reader, may also be deterred by such a prospect , that it’s the most fun psychedelic jam I have heard in a mighty long time – and a worthy opener to a record jam packed with warped goodness and childlike vocals. The rest of the record is served up in my bite sized morsels of weird garage pyscho-billy. This is as much fun as warm slime would actually be. Awesome. AT

A healthy relationship with trusty old Domino Records, a debut produced by Hotel of the Kills, five star reviews of their sophomore release, and accolades all over the show must have made the Archie Bronson Outfit all shy, as it’s been four years since their last release. Never fear – they haven’t gone mental or died. In fact, they’ve been working on this sweet release. Produced by Tim Goldsworthy (fellow Brit and former label boss at DFA), Coconut finds the Outfit ready to wiggle – with influences like the Happy Mondays (”Hoola”) and New Order (”Sharks Tooth”) evident of the first few tracks alone. It’s a distorted sound they’re sporting, but the fuzz simply serves to dress up the party – at least for the first half of the album. The midway peak of “You Have a Right to a Mountain Life…” screams and squeals with a psychedelic noisefest that signals the end of party-time, and heralds the more serious second half. Coconut closes on a fun little note, though, and all is well. A welcome return from the little English trio who could. MC

If this was a game of Jeopardy, I would guess the question as: “Who is the only man that can save R&B, funk and soul from becoming purely retro genres, and carry them safely into the future”. The answer, naturally is Jamie Lidell – but you knew that. Compass is the fourth studio album from the secretly British entertainer (the third for electroniweirdica label Warp), and the guest reads like a who-the-fuck-is-who of music. It almost sounds like I’m kidding… produced by Beck, partly recorded at Feist’s Ontario ranch (she’s also on the record), featuring contributions and production from Gonzales, members of Grizzly Bear, and probably the ghost of James Brown. But is it any good? Well, yes it is. Beck ought to be careful, helping others do what he used to do, and in some cases do it better. What Compass might lack in consistency, it certainly makes up for in deliciously diverse funky future soul/R&B numbers that will have Prince considering giving up the purple throne. MC

I have been playing this record on loop for a while now – and I am in the middle of a vast ocean of golden blues and greens; buoyed only by the Lennon-esque vocals of Kevin Parker. I am gloriously lost; psychedelically at sea. Dolphins from outer space fly past me spewing rainbows from blow holes in the guise of multi-octave guitar leads. Eastern deities weep torrential silver tears and exhale gale force sighs over me as rhythms and melodies. Vibrations fade in and out of focus and I become more and more disorientated with every ebb and flow. It is as if the ghosts of Jimi and John joined Stone Roses and Happy Mondays simultaneously, perhaps, in the heavenly choruses that spin in a universe sized whirl pool around you. Tame Impala are in in fact, and somewhat unbelievably, a three-piece from Perth, Australia. Innerspeaker is their debut long player. It’s truly amazing. The end. – AT

Janelle Monae is a name you should take note of. Seriously, Write it down. Put it in your phone. Because this could, frankly go either way. This record, a 70 minute, 18 track epic in two suites – each with their own overture is certainly not afraid of it’s own ambition. It will either propel her to superstardom or to obscurity. I wager nowhere in between. She manages to bounce, cohesively between genres. She co-labs sparingly, but distinctively from Outkasts Big Boi to Of Montreal to Saul Williams, and her vocal talent is undeniable. Of course, concept albums run the risk of coming off as pompous and a bit, well, full of themselves. But here, Monae remains playful and interesting – she strikes, I think, the balance of eccentric and accessible that could easily put her name on the lips in every household by the end of the year. And, if you took notice of me, you can, come December be a bit smug that you had her name already scrawled on a piece of paper in your wallet or on your mobile device. AT

Rob Barber & Mary Pearson are pretty different people. Spend a day with them both, and that becomes apparent. However, despite whatever differences they might have, it’s the common trait of an inquisitive nature that perhaps makes High Places make sense. With Rob ball of energy, and Mary often lost in books (books even get a shout out on penultimate track “The Most Beautiful Name”), it makes sense that He creates the bulk of the music – and a slowly frantic, but organic take on electronica, while Her dreamy vocal conveys a kind of wistful longing, more-so here than ever before. Vs. Mankind is a more “song” based record than the self-titled, with Mary’s vocal at the fore of all but two of the tunes here. Make no mistake, High Places haven’t gone all out pop, they’re still swinging the same melodic bat that was always their point of difference, it’s just a little more refined this time around. MC

Karen Elson is the international supermodel wife of Jack White, who plays drums on this, her debut album. Patti Smith’s son (and Meg White’s husband) plays guitar. Jack Lawrence is on bass. It’s difficult not to dismiss this as yet another Jack White project which leaves me torn. Y’see – I am, to be honest, pretty much obsessed by anything White Stripe related. So, from a purely fan-boy perspective, I am drawn to this record. But, in any attempt to consider this record objectively, removing those connections; I struggle to find anything here that actually grips me beyond my initial fancy. I regret to report that, while there are beautiful melodies which show promise, the promises, for the main part are left broken and un-kept; it’s an album of someone play-acting at country music. Someone modeling it. It’s just kinda empty. Sorry. – AT

After 2008’s slightly disappointing offering Living With the Living, it’s a pleasant relief to hear Ted Leo & his Pharmacists back on form with their sixth studio record – their first for Matador. 2004’s Shake the Sheets was Leo at his best, and Brutalist Bricks plays out as its more natural sequel. If you’re new here, all you really need to know is that Ted Leo writes poppy punk tunes that are anything but pop-punk. At once political, literate and fun, you’ll be pleased to learn that the high energy guitar rock of the Pharmacists has more in common with the Jam than Blink 182. 2010 finds Ted at his most optimistic, clearly welcoming political change in America, though always ready with a warning that things could get messed up any time. Shouty without the annoying angry, and at an energetic peak that defies the decade-plus old format the band have been exploring, Brutalist Bricks is a fine entry point into the unique works of this important songwriter, and his awesome band. MC

Oh look; another Frank Black record. To be honest, there might be a need to start culling them soon – for fear of over-population at your local record store. Perhaps he feels that if he releases enough records eventually everyone on the planet will own at least one, just through sheer mathematics. This is his 18th solo release. Now, I would dare to nor even dream of criticizing Frank Black – to be fair he has more ideas in his little finger than some bands achieve in their whole career. But, this record just seems like just another Frank Black (or Black Francis) record; there’s nothing particularly special going on. Obviously it’s good, but is it great? That said, he does a song called “When I Go Down On You” which makes the album worthwhile just for the mental image of Frank Black performing cunninglingus. AT

There’s actually, to be clear, only one Villager. His name is Conor O’Brien and he’s from Dublin. So, put simply then, he’s a singer-songwriter and he’s going to sing you his songs of woe and youthful anguish. And, y’know, they aren’t bad songs or anything; but, I dunno… I do really want to hear how he feels like he’s feeling like he’s fallen to pieces? Do you? He actually howls. Like a dog. Seriously. At the end of that one (Pieces) It’s actually painful. I was going to try and ay something nice about this record, but the fact he does that really just pisses me off. I mean, not that he does that, I mean, each to their own, I suppose; but that he thinks that people will pay money to hear him do it annoys me. I think that I generally find this ilk of singer-songwriter annoying for this reason. Their anguish, pain, heartbreak, sorrow, whining and, now, howling are NOT ENTERTAINMENT. AT

Wounded Lion aren’t lazy, they just prefer not to polish their trophies. Haven’t you guys ever heard of garage rock? Jeez. Let’s party, if you even remember how. Wounded Lion are in charge of the party music, and the party is in your back yard. I don’t care if you mum has friends over, it’s party time. P.s. I give them TWO THOUSAND POINTS for having a song about the Degobah System. MC

Honorary kiwi Tim Guy has been treating us with his residency here for two records so far, and with the release of the pretty-as-pie Big World, we’re fortunate to have him back. The bulk of Guy’s third record was written during a five month stint in Barcelona, and the result is a collection of songs that grapple (albeit gently) with the strange big-ness of the world. The album opens with two breezy pop numbers that come complete with effortless and lovely harmonies (courtesy of Anji Sami, Ed Cake and Ben King) and proceeds to duck and dive with genres aplenty – from sweet gospel to a hint of disco (?!) on a number or two. Big World is a little pop gem, brought together by a cast of talented friends, all sewn together with Tim’s breathy vocal, hints of his native Australia accent still at play, and sounding as natural as ever. MC