New York's chimeric-bopping Beach House's debut on Sub Pop, Teen Dream, came out last week to bold fanfare and acclaim from old fans (and new acolytes like me). They also got hit with some critical flack for not mixing in enough dark flavors with the Scotch-and-butterscotch ice cream float of their sweet, intoxicating sound.

For a third full-length from the formidable duo of vocalist Victoria Legrand (the niece of French chanteuse Christiane Legrand, and awesome composing mastermind Michel Legrand, whose soundtracks for The Umbrellas of Cherbourg and Band of Outsiders are essential in the OST canon) and young multi-instrumentalist Alex Scally, some scribes were apparently hoping their M.O. of sunny, chilly, melancholic impressionist pop with sweet drum ticks would "evolve" into something else. But what? Something "more substantial"? I have no defense to that behind my immense rating for the record.

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I had a low-key Sunday writing nearly-overdue thank-you notes (which is actually quite fun because you get to gush to your friends about how great they are), sipping copious amounts of tea, and pulling an afternoon soundtrack from the most recently acquired vinyl in the stack. Near the top of the stack was the debut album by Melbourne, Australia's Summer Cats entitled Songs for Tuesdays. It's a mighty fine album (if the fact that it's on Slumberland Records wasn't enough proof) and all, but what raised my interest most was that the record is printed on what experts describe as "multi-color splatter vinyl." Songs for Tuesdays is both mesmerizing to listen to and to watch spin round as it plays. Note: the above photo doesn't do it much justice, but that's what happens when you've got an iPhone and bad lighting. You get the *idea* that it's spectacular though, right?

Colored vinyl is magical. It's way up there with the phrase "limited edition" on the list of things that make me lose my cool (and empty my wallet). I read somewhere that, for some scientific reason, colored vinyl doesn't have as good of sound quality as the standard black issue... but whatevs. I can't deny it's power.

It got me thinking... what vinyl records rank up there as prettiest? I put 7" and 12" in the running and came up with these off the top of my head:

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Flight of the Conchords' second album I Told You I Was Freaky has been out for a couple of weeks, so this slightly untimely review has more to do with what to buy other people for the upcoming holidays than razor-sharp, up to the minute new release coverage. And by writing that it should be considered a stocking stuffer I am indeed saying it is not only a good idea to purchase the CD for yourself, but for those who matter to you. As long as they have a knowledge of current pop trends and a taste for well-played musical satire.

I found the second season of the New Zealand duo's TV show on HBO better than their first: looser, friskier, and less droll. Their second album (for Sub Pop again) is not quite as stand-alone as the accompanying debut release (nothing on here quite as darling as "Robots"), but this Top 40-mocking music is more richly developed in composition as well as more specific to its targets. The playing is still crisply layered, acoustic-driven soulful pop with an indie rock smirk, but a loving smirk, for tell-tale topical titles such as "Demon Woman" (she's really a bitch, man), "Hurt Feelings" (yes, rappers have them too), and "Sugalumps" (giving Black Eyes to some Peas).

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Are you a Bleach fan or into In Utero? This question, not exactly worded like that, has sort of replaced the "Beatles vs. Stones" dumb-ass everyone-has-an-opinion question in every rock-loving bar from Portland to Portland. The truth is, someone out there must have loved Nevermind, because copies of it are everywhere. But attaching yourself to the band's debut for indie Sub Pop or their second full length for a major label seems to be as good a way of branding yourself as a circular cigarette burn on your hand made you a Germs fan.

If you're a fan of Bleach it usually means You Were There, or at least imagined yourself so, when Nirvana's first full length came out twenty years ago. Sub Pop has reissued the Platinum Certified album as a deluxe CD with mostly-photo booklet, or in 180 gram white vinyl (as was the original run), and now of course in download versions. The big news, besides discovering the actual great album for yourself if you never have before, is that all the formats include Live at Pine Street Theatre from a February 1990 show in Portland. The seventh track in that set list is the cover of "Molly's Lips," played to a crowd that probably knew who the Vaselines were in the first place.

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Okay, guys. Here’s the thing: I am writing this recommendation based solely on my love for The Brunettes. We’ve mentioned Throw Me the Statue here on TIG a few times before and I’m sure they’re a mighty fine band, and uh, Nurses sound great too, but my point is – GO. SEE. THE. BRUNETTES. They’re an adorable band from New Zealand and they are chock-full of great lyrics and fun, poppy goodness.

Seriously. Exhibit A:

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Keep In Mind Frankenstein was recorded at a studio called Paradise Sound in a spiritually and economically crippled town called Index, WA. This berg was no paradise though, with many necrotic mining town incidents, including a rumored double suicide somehow helping to inspire the album's dim, moist feel.

What was supposed to be Grand Archive's glory-to-glory follow up to their assured self-titled Sub Pop debut was instead swallowed by spontaneous new material, sung in first takes in nocturnal bursts of inspiration as the band were isolated in the loony-boonies. (I won't imagine the libations, but absinthe and opium seem possible.) The Furies-style haunted backing vocals of Sera Cahoone and Jenn Ghetto returned to help previous bandmate and Grand Archives leader Mat Brooke (singer, songwriter, guitar) create something as beautiful as it is disturbing. Everything that had been prepared for Frankenstein had been jettisoned save for "Dig That Crazy Grave," which, despite its title, is placed in the middle of the second half of the album as some relief to the gorgeous Washington State Death Trip swooning and moaning around it.

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{Fruit Bats play on Thursday, August 20 at the Crocodile with Johnny & the Moon and Palmer Electric Co. and on Friday, August 21 as part of KEXP's Concerts at the Mural series at Seattle Center with Johnny & the Moon and The Moondoggies.}

It's hard not to cheer for Eric D. Johnson. Recent collaborating with The Shins and Vetiver just proved what good taste us early-Aughts fans of the Fruit Bats' debut Echolocation (2001) had. Our initial enthusiasm had been proved right by Sub Pop releases Mouthfuls (2003) and Spelled in Bones (2005), yet larger reception eluded the Chicago multi-instrumentalist who started in the band Rowboat. In the past few years, echoes of his hayride, clap-infectious, intelligent songs have streamed like fresh water through the body of wide-spread rock-pool, even to the point we may have forgotten about the Fruit Bats. Their music seems like just another shimmer on that great music surface. But their use of major keys, lack of drama or urgency or melancholy, seems like a world other kind of band sometimes, a "ruminant band." 

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Pissed Jeans has one friend on MySpace -- Tom. Because he's such an inclusive guy, I guess.

This may be what happens when you make rock music as anti-social sounding as this "living here in Allentown" band does on their third (second for Sub Pop) album, King of Jeans. Touring for their debut Hope For Men, the New York Times specially noted the crackling response from a likewise awkward crowd, feasting on the low and slow noise-core that once had Flipper and Black Flag dig in. The angsty expostulations of "Lip Ring," "Dominate Yourself," etc. are again batter-slammed by drummer Sean McGuinness, whose kick on this record is as yeasty and strong as his last name. Guitarist Bradley Fry collides with the rhythm with as much acidic string spray as can be collected.

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In the four years since Fruit Bats last album, Spelled in Bones, I have found myself frequently wondering if this band was one of many that I discovered too late and would never get to see live. Originally I fell in love with "Seaweed" off 2003's Mouthfuls. That was in 2004 and something about the folky tinged nostalgia it inspired within me, made me think that Fruit Bats had formed and disbanded before I was old enough to experience nostalgia.

Thankfully, this is not the case.  In the interim of Fruit Bats releases, songwriter Eric D. Johnson has been keeping busy playing with bands like Vetiver and The Shins. In 2008 the band reformed and recorded the new album in the same Chicago studio where they recorded Echolocation, nine years ago.

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Chelsea blogged about a then-forthcoming Tiny Vipers record called Life on Earth not too long ago, which was just released less than two weeks ago on Sub Pop to critical acclaim.

After touring the east coast, Jesi Fortino brings her Tiny Vipers alias, voice and guitar to the Fremont Abbey Arts Center for her CD release show Saturday night. It's all ages, tickets can be obtained here and the Fremont Abbey is located at 4272 Fremont Ave., N.

{Photo by Sea-Tattle from TIG's Flickr Pool}

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