Bamboo Kids - Safe City Blues (2013)

Four years after their last transmission (and seven since their last full-length), the Bamboo Kids show up with their very own London Calling.  Twenty-one songs (with 9 bonus tracks accompanying the digital download), chockful of everything these guys can think of, which amounts to a glorious sprawl of punk rock, Stones licks, pianos, horns, hooks and gutter wisdom. Songs like "Dumb for Life"  power through on sheer adrenaline, while "Batshit Crazy" chews on an Exploding Hearts bubblegum melody and "Privacy" jumps on top of a 50s rock & roll strut. Singer/guitarist Dwight Weeks wields his guitar as if he's spent equal amounts of time listening to Keith Richards and Johnny Thunders (and moments like the muscular lead that explodes out of "The Most Important Rule" suggest a Mick Ronson influence as well). The various keyboards, from pounding 88s to droning roller rink organ, coupled with the wise-ass strain in Weeks' vocals conjure up the days when Mott the Hoople was attempting to draw a line between Dylan and Jerry Lee Lewis. This is seriously on that level.  Safe City Blues presents a band with all the right influences wearing those influences on their collective sleeve, playing their hearts out, all while being fully aware of the futility of taking a stance like this in 2013. I tell ya, it ain't nothing but heroic.

Bamboo Kids at Drug Front Records

Waves of Fury - Thirst (2012)

The conceptual conceit of dark, scuzzy punk rock goosed by classic Stax/Volt horns is enough to make me do happy backflips. Forget that it’s an idea mostly borrowed from the Saints, because a) the Saints left it alone after Prehistoric Sounds found nothing but audience indifference, and b) it’s a totally great idea that MUST NOT DIE. So here’s Waves of Fury, pulling it off like they thought of it themselves, and even though the ultra-amateur vocals do their utmost to kill the whole enterprise, there’s still enough drama, tension, chaos, and future promise to keep me listening and loving.

Waves of Fury on iTunes

Oh Mercy - Deep Heat (2012)

Oh Mercy wunderkind Alexander Gow makes his move on this album, and it’s a move that will have fans of his previous output scratching their heads. Gow has deep sixed the touches of power pop and delicate acoustic minstrelsy of old – or at least buried ‘em deep - and instead he’s jumped headfirst into a strangely singular brand of, I dunno, let’s call it dance pop. The beat is big, horns litter the landscape, and groove usurps hooks as a song’s primary focus. It took me a long time to get my head around it. I kept waiting for a trademark Oh Mercy irresistible chorus – and the precocious little fucker never gives it up. He makes you work for it, makes you find your own way in. For me, the entrance came late one night, tired and alone, drinking a Manhattan, the hazy glow of the city spread out below, and suddenly the way “My Man” cribs the horn line from Roxy Music’s “Love is the Drug” made perfect sense. The rest of it all clicked into place. And now there’s no going back, for any of us.

Oh Mercy on iTunes

Erin Costelo - We Can Get Over (2012)

An album that didn’t win me over at first, a miscalculation I attribute to the second song, “Count to 10”, which is an annoyingly chipper ditty that sounds like a kissing cousin to Alvin & the Chipmunks. Minus that confection, We Can Get Over is remarkably assured adult pop that looks back at the days when Dusty Springfield and Dionne Warwick were hitting the Top 30 charts. Costelo possesses a voice that’s both airy and soulful, and it’s the latter quality that imbues these songs with the emotional weight to resonate beyond the melodic hooks. The arrangements meld Memphis soul to cosmopolitan 60s mod pop, and Costelo’s vocals float above the band, although always at the service of the song itself, employing tasteful restraint instead of soaring into the American Idol brand histrionics that beckon. And it keeps growing on me with every spin. Just as long as I skip that one song.

Erin Costelo on Amazon

Nick Waterhouse - Time's All Gone (2012)

Unapologetically retro, Nick Waterhouse starts with a foundation of 50s rock ‘n’ roll and rhythm ‘n’ blues, tosses in some soul and a modern eye to cool, and comes up with something that struts more than it rocks. Probably sounds best in a small dingy club rather than a concert hall too. Waterhouse’s reedy vocals and twangy geetar hold their own charm, but it’s the way he uses the horn section to propel the momentum - a honking, unstoppable groove that steamrollers all resistance - that pushes this album over the top for me.

Nick Waterhouse on Amazon

Yukon Blonde - Tiger Talk (2012)

The word lush has been as misused by our modern rock journo ignorati as much as bombastic and angular, but it’s a fairly accurate description of Yukon Blonde. It’s not just that the production possesses a rich depth, it’s the way the band piles harmonies on top of harmonies. A song like “Oregon Shores” starts fairly sparsely, but by the time the hook of the chorus kicks in the entirety is bathed in so much harmonic bliss it’s almost hard to take. This is what Fleet Foxes might sound like if they had a pulse instead of emulating the stillborn dullness of Crosby, Stills, & Nash. Yukon Blonde reaches for Brian Wilson as if Brian Wilson hadn’t got scared of rock music and negative ions.

Yukon Blonde on Amazon

Nude Beach - II (2012)

Sure, they sound like a buncha kids trying to play “Born to Run” by memory after hearing it only once on an older brother’s eight track, but that’s where most of the charm emanates from. These guys harbor dreams that are big, huge even, so big they can’t possibly realize ‘em, which makes this a classic case of reach exceeding grasp, which in turn somehow adds up to magic, because they so clearly know what they want but can’t help but splay noise and mess all over these pop readymades. Not sure what’ll happen when they’re good enough to play ‘em the way they hear ‘em, probably something like Marah (poor fuckers), and I’ll probably still like them, just not quite as much.

Nude Beach on Bandcamp