Consequence of Sound's Top 50 Albums of 2011

After two previous releases, St. Vincent (a.k.a. Annie Clark) finds a way to channel her avant-garde instincts in more accessible directions, displaying a firm grasp on pop songwriting forms even as she subverts them. In tandem with producer John Congleton, she plays nervous industrial beats and quivering keyboards against billowing ‘60s-ish melodies. Her cooing vocals on “Cruel” and “Surgeon” insinuate dark scenarios of betrayal and abandonment, transcending mere irony into something palpably sinister. More direct in their intentions are “Cheerleader” (an anthem of personal liberation) and “Champagne Year” (a jaundiced look at success). If Clark’s lyrics tease and dazzle, her music hits hard sonically, clattering to a galloping groove on “Hysterical Strength” and erupting into guitar-fueled cacophony on “Northern Lights.” The otherworldly grandeur of Kate Bush or Björk is recalled on tracks like “Chloe In the Afternoon.” But St. Vincent is in a class all her own as she exorcises sexual demons, grapples with psychic breakdown, and achieves an uncanny catharsis.

On their sophomore album, Bon Iver add just a touch of color to their stark indie folk, while retaining every bit of its intimacy. The haunting chill of solitude continues to cling to Justin Vernon\'s every word, even when his lilting falsetto radiates warmth over a rich bed of acoustic guitar, synths, and horns. The drama exudes from every little sound—the soft, pattering snare guiding \"Perth,\" the delicate whirrs of sax on \"Holocene,\" and the big, gleaming synths on \'80s-esque noir jam \"Beth / Rest.\"

Bon Iver, Bon Iver is Justin Vernon returning to former haunts with a new spirit. The reprises are there – solitude, quietude, hope and desperation compressed – but always a rhythm arises, a pulse vivified by gratitude and grace notes. The winter, the legend, has faded to just that, and this is the new momentary present. The icicles have dropped, rising up again as grass.

In the wake of 2007’s spectral *White Chalk*, Polly Jean Harvey turned her songwriting focus outward. Dismayed by the direction of politics in her British homeland and around the world, she set to writing lyrics—fever-dreamish poems that used brutal imagery and borrowed lines from older music—that worked through her sadness and anger. Using three autoharps, each tuned to different, dissonant chord configurations, she transformed the verses into striking, sad songs. *Let England Shake* is an elegiac 21st-century reimagining of the protest album, an urgent call to end global cycles of war that hits harder because of its ghostly sonics. Harvey’s voice is the focal point of *Let England Shake*, although its timbre sharply contrasts with the shredded wailing that made her harsher ‘90s records so celebrated. On songs like the rain-spattered “The Glorious Land” and the swirling “Hanging on the Wire,” she’s in the upper reaches of her range, adding a pleading edge to her cutting observations; she hovers over the echoing chords of “On Battleship Hill” in an unnervingly beautiful way, heightening the horrors once committed on that site. “The Words That Maketh Murder,” meanwhile, accentuates its grimy images with bleating brass and a snippet of Eddie Cochran’s “Summertime Blues” that simutaneously calls back to the post-World War II era’s seemingly endless promise and mourns the present. *Let England Shake* evokes the fog of war while puncturing it with potent reminders of its bloody reality.

The British electronic pop artist James Blake was showered with attention and nominations in his native land in 2010 and 2011. That’s striking because Blake’s music is truly strange. Drawing on the weirder side of R&B as well as leftfield English dance music, the singer/songwriter crafts spare and spooky gems. On “Unluck,” simple electric piano (evocative of ‘70s Sly & The Family Stone), itchy rhythmic tics, and sound blurts serve as a backdrop as Blake sings, at times through a vocoder. The track sounds like something you would hear while a producer was tinkering with a mix, but here it’s the intriguing end result. One of the album’s singles, “The Wilhelm Scream,” is as lovely as it is eldritch. The catchy melody is surrounded by music that is both minimal and ambient. Blake is capable of all sorts of odd moves: on “I Never Learnt to Share,” a beat doesn’t kick in until the cut is more than half over. One of the album’s highlights is a cover of the Canadian songwriter Feist’s “Limit to Your Love,” which consists of his naked voice, piano, and a haunted atmosphere.

M83’s cinematic tendencies come to a head on French musician Anthony Gonzalez\'s sixth album. Zola Jesus’ turn on “Intro” sets the scene like a cliff dive filmed in sparkling slow motion, and “Midnight City” amps up the synth-pop drama with soaring vocals and volleys of electronic drums. “Reunion” revisits the ringing guitars of ‘80s soundtrack staples from bands like Simple Minds, and from there Gonzalez glides across ambient interludes, bright digital keys, and stadium-sized New Wave. It’s the perfect marriage of indie aesthetics and blockbuster production.

Vancouver’s Dan Bejar has always been a sly kind of agitator, tearing apart the conventions of indie rock from the inside out. *Kaputt* turns the sloppy proclamations of his earlier albums on their head, opting for streamlined yacht-club funk in the vein of Steely Dan and \'80s Roxy Music. Though the music is soft and leisurely, Bejar’s lyrics remain serrated: “Hey, mystic prince of the purlieu at night/I heard your record, it’s alright,” he sings on “Savage Night at the Opera,” half-whispering with witty contempt.

Drake\'s still fretting about lost love, the perils of fame, and connecting with his fellow man; just look at him on the cover, staring into a golden chalice like a lonely king. These naked emotions, however, are what make *Take Care* a classic, placing Drake in a league with legendary emoters like Marvin Gaye and Al Green. \"Marvin\'s Room\" is one of the most sullen singles to hit the Top 100, and the winsome guitar howls of the title track, coproduced by Jamie xx, are among of the most recognizable sounds of the decade.

With 2009’s *Hospice*, Peter Silberman recruited drummer Michael Lerner and multi-instrumentalist Darby Cicci to help flesh-out what was supposed to be another solo album, but an uncanny chemistry resulted. The music birthed on 2011’s *Burst Apart* is the sound of this chemistry solidifying with stunning beauty and confidence. A confessional “I Don’t Want Love” opens flirting with *OK Computer*-era Radiohead as glimmering electro flourishes and lilting guitar lines compliment Silberman’s woeful falsettos before “French Exit” takes an uncomplicated approach to melodic chamber-pop by building on primary parts to create elemental dynamics with a less-is-more ethos. “Parentheses” is an amazing standout that digs a bit deeper into electronic influences (namely, Boards Of Canada and early recordings by Air) with sequenced beats, pulsing bass loops and Silberman’s high inflections singing soulfully over his band’s organic mechanics. “Rolled Together” gets into Sigur Rós-inspired atmospheres with an infectious lyrical mantra. Bonus track “Tongue Tied” is a robotic dirge with Silberman channeling the future ghost of Thom Yorke.

Colin Stetson is a Montreal-based woodwinds player whose main ax is the bass saxophone. His impressive and expansive technique on the big horn — he employs circular breathing allowing him to play continuously — is absolutely dazzling. In 2008, he released a striking album, *New History Warfare, Volume 1*, and this 2011 follow-up is excellent as well. No overdubs or loops were used to capture his sax work, but 24 microphones were employed to record Stetson’s massive sound. (A lovely, brief piece, “All the Days I’ve Missed You,”finds Stetson overdubbing French Horn parts.) Laurie Anderson adds spoken word on a few tracks, and Shara Worden sings on two cuts, including a version of the traditional, “Lord I Just Can’t Keep from Crying Sometimes.” Listening to this album, you might think of Terry Riley’s soprano saxophone and Time-Lag Generator work from the ‘60s, but Stetson’s one-man band workouts are all his own. *Judges* ends strongly with “In Love and In Justice,” where droning tones and breathy sounds circle again and again.

ORDER PHYSICAL LP OR CD HERE: cstrecords.com/cst075 Colin Stetson is a horn player of uncommon strength, skill and genre- defying creativity. He composes and performs otherworldly songs that combine a mastery of circular breathing technique with percussive valve- work and reed vocalisations, making a polyphonic solo music that combines influences as diverse as Bach, early metal, American pre-war Gospel, and the explorations of Jimi Hendrix, Peter Brotzman and Albert Ayler. New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges is Stetson's second solo record and his first for Constellation. Colin has been making his mark as a staggering solo performer for several years now, in front of audiences small and large, from intimate jazz and experimental music venues to big stages, whether opening for Arcade Fire or The National, or playing at jazz and new music festivals like Moers and London Jazz. His talents have been widely recognised and employed by artists as diverse as Tom Waits, Laurie Anderson, TV On The Radio and Bon Iver. Colin also plays in Belle Orchestre and Sway Machinery. The music on New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges was captured entirely live in single takes at Montréal's Hotel2Tango studio, with no overdubs or looping, using over 20 mics positioned close and far throughout the live room. Guest vocals by Laurie Anderson and Shara Worden (My Brightest Diamond) are the only exceptions to this rule, along with one brief french horn piece that was multi-tracked. The Judges sessions were co-produced by Stetson and Shahzad Ismaily and engineered by Efrim Menuck at the Hotel2Tango, then taken to Greenhouse Studios in Reykjavik and mixed by Ben Frost. The result is a highly original, experimental, euphoric record that fires on all levels: a document of a profoundly gifted player, a compositional tour- de-force, and a studio production bursting with intensity and inventiveness. New History Warfare Vol. 2: Judges features cover art by Tracy Maurice and will be issued on CD in custom 100% recycled paperboard gatefold jacket and on Deluxe 180gLP with a limited edition screenprinted poster and a CD copy contained in the first pressing.

Helplessness Blues is the new full-length from Fleet Foxes. Helplessness Blues was recorded over the course of a year at Avast Recording, Bear Creek Studios, Dreamland Studios, and Reciprocal Recording. The album was recorded and mixed by Phil Ek and co-produced by Fleet Foxes and Ek. The piece that appears on the album cover was illustrated by Seattle artist Toby Liebowitz and painted by Chris Alderson. Fleet Foxes is Robin Pecknold, Skyler Skjelset, Christian Wargo, Casey Wescott, Josh Tillman and Morgan Henderson.

If *In Rainbows*—with its direct, live-influenced songcraft and game-changing honesty box pricing—was Radiohead aligning two distinct visions of the band, this eighth record explores a third way. Concise, dance-indebted, and dripping nocturnal electronica, *The King of Limbs* sees them experiment with galloping loops (“Bloom”) and blippy production (“Morning Mr Magpie”). Still, their knack for affecting avant-rock is undimmed, and “Lotus Flower” is a spectral—and appropriately beautiful—career-high.

If Bradford Cox’s first two albums under his Atlas Sound moniker are intimate patchworks of ambient bedroom pop, *Parallax* is where he fully emerges into the spotlight. Full-blown folk-rockers like “Mona Lisa” stand beside Technicolor art-pop masterpieces like “Te Amo” and “Terra Incognita,” rivaling his best work in Deerhunter and bridging his experimental and accessible sides with beautiful harmony. This album features one of indie rock’s most beloved voices coming into his own without losing his unique sense of grace.

When The Weeknd’s debut mixtape, *House of Balloons*, dropped in 2011, it was clear, even then, that something had shifted. This was a divergent kind of R&B that hinged on atmospherics over vocal prowess—an almost soulless quality in a genre built around soul. At the time, The Weeknd was largely anonymous, hiding in the shadows of his own music, the aloofness only adding to the allure. He was no one and yet everyone, as his raw, bruised candor resonated with fans suffering the effects of overexposure and contradicting desires to both feel and be numb simultaneously. He was a decent enough singer (his falsetto often drew comparisons to Michael Jackson), but it was the one-two punch of the nocturnal sound and indulgent lyrics—the darkness, the dysfunction, the hazy synth-bath of it all—that gave it staying power. When he says, “Trust me, girl, you wanna be high for this,” as he declares on the opening track, it\'s hard to tell whether it\'s an invitation or a warning, but it landed on ears that were all too happy to oblige. *House of Balloons*, here now in its original form with all samples restored, introduces the sentiment that has underscored nearly all of The Weeknd\'s music that\'s followed: a blurring of the lines between love and addiction, between having a good time and being consumed by it. In multi-part songs such as “House of Balloons/Glass Table Girls” and “The Party & The After Party,” a night\'s zenith and nadir are never too far apart; his audience, like his women, are held captive by the mercurial nature of his moods. A line like “Bring your love, baby, I could bring my shame/Bring the drugs, baby, I could bring my pain,” from lead single “Wicked Games,” serves as a kind of mission statement for the mixtape\'s (and, perhaps, the singer himself\'s) central tension. In the exchange of affection and substances, there exists an emotional transference wherein power is gained by feeling the least. The Weeknd taps into our id-driven urges for pleasure and domination and rewards them again and again. Cruelty somehow becomes sexy in this world where detachment—from everything—is the only goal; the music that he’s created as a soundtrack continues to leave its audience equally insatiable. As the years go by, *House of Balloons* has become increasingly timeless. It remains as much an exercise in mythmaking (and star-making) for The Weeknd as a testament to our own pathological impulses, sending us barreling towards destruction and ecstasy all at once.

When Childish Gambino, the project of visionary artist Donald Glover, released his debut album, *Camp*, in 2011, he was an alternative media phenomenon. The *Derrick Comedy* alumni and *30 Rock* writer made his name in improv long before he was a household name as a musician. It’s this mindset that informs his debut LP, *Camp*, an album as indebted to the quick-wittedness of his improv comedy roots as the rap albums he grew up idolizing. On the album opener, “Outside,” Glover outlines his feelings of loneliness and isolation from the community he was raised in. Over pulsating drums and a soulful choir, he raps, “Mrs. Glover ma’am, your son is so advanced/ But he’s acting up in class and keeps peeing in his pants/And I just wanna fit in, but nobody was helping me out/ They talking hood shit and I ain’t know what that was about.” On “Les,” Gambino raps over a heartbeat-like pulsing bass and stirring strings that accentuate his pop side. Aside from his versatility, the artist also found success thanks to the way he used the internet to harness his audience. It was a one-stop shop where he could interact with his fans and introduce them to his new music. *Camp* is a heady, intense album, with Glover introducing pop-rap beats as an obvious counterbalance to his heavy meditations on race, religion, and the unique role of hip-hop in the cultural sphere. The LP serves as an introduction to a style of music Gambino would hone over the years, blending intense, thought-provoking ideas with moments of levity and playfulness. Some would argue that he mastered this approach with his hit TV show *Atlanta*, but it all began with his debut album, *Camp*.

In the hipster borough of Brooklyn, four scrappy noisemongers called the Men have been mashing up and scraping out an interesting blend of hair-raising post-hardcore and discretely melodic post-punk (think Swell Maps, early Sonic Youth).  Vocals screech and yelp on tracks like “Lotus” (where the warped guitar din vaguely recalls the Butthole Surfers) and on the corrosive “Think,” but on other tunes, like “( ),” there is something approximating singing — though it’s pained, and buried. On the blistering “Bataille,” guitar notes blaze and blink like a neon rail, and the melodic bawling evidence some lineage to ‘60s garage rock. The bookend tracks alone define the true greatness of *Leave Home*: “If You Leave ...” takes more than three minutes to launch, and when it does, the song kicks into a churning brew of clanging, fuzzed-out guitars layered in varied tones, with a concrete, percussive bottom keeping the song on track. On closer “Night Landing,” guitars and snares pulses ominously, sounding a bit like Big Black meets Can, and Smith’s yelp is perilously close to complete mental melt-down. Hardcore never sounded this good.

The Men yes, “The,” are a four-piece post punk outfit from Brooklyn, NY. Their catalog, which began in 2008 with a hand-dubbed self-released demo cassette, has grown to include two LP’s — We Are the Men and Immaculada — two more tapes, and a 7-inch. They have toured three times, played over 75 shows and have grown a following of die hard fans crowding into living rooms and basements throughout the five boroughs, desperately trying to see them. The buzz in their hometown has grown so fervent that the Village Voice debuted this album’s first single, “Bataille,” a full six months before the record was scheduled to street. Named for the famed French pornographic writer, the track review expounds, “rides a pug-ugly joy-punk riff into almost krautrock oblivion — complete with gorgeous voice cracks and face-mooshing distortion.” Nick Chiericozzi, Mark Perro and Chris Hansell recorded this album at Python Patrol in 2010. Rich Samis joined the band shortly after and is now their full time drummer. Having three songwriters in the band allows them to pull from innumerable post punk sources, referencing drone, metal, shoegaze, and even Spaceman 3 lyrics on Leave Home. Recording to tape for the first time here, using elements of distortion, feedback, pop hooks, and a couple of beautifully destructive instrumental passages, The Men have been described by Mishka as, “more composers than musicians.” They have breathed new life into the genre of hardcore and created a seminal album that is truly for punks of all ages. Look for them on tour this summer.

Philadelphia’s The War On Drugs hold the perfect balance of classic rock and spaced-out indie rock. Members Kurt Vile, Charlie Hall and Kyle Lloyd departed the band at the end of 2008, leaving founding singer and guitarist Adam Granduciel to recruit drummer Mike Zanghi and bassist/guitar player Dave Hartley. Yet somehow, 2011’s *Slave Ambient* sounds a lot like 2008’s *Wagonwheel Blues*. “Best Night” sets the tone like *Nebraska*-era Springsteen as accompanied by the musicians who played on Spiritualized’s *Songs in A & E*. Throughout *Slave Ambient* there’s also a prevalent lean on Krautrock-inspired repetitions, immediately noticeable during the first song’s end jam and in the hypnotic “It’s Your Destiny.” The consecutive pulsing speeds up on “Your Love Is Calling My Name” where Granduciel’s nasal-toned croons recall a young Tom Petty under driving indie-rock oscillations braided together with some dream-pop ambience. Fans of the band’s previous penchant for anthemic epics will feel right at home with the uplifting “Come to the City.”

Philadelphia’s The War on Drugs, the vehicle of Adam Granduciel — frontman, rambler, shaman, pied piper guitarist and apparent arranger-extraordinaire, returns with 'Slave Ambient'. On their debut, the life-affirming 'Wagonwheel Blues', and the follow-up EP, 'Future Weather', The War on Drugs seemed obsessed with disparate ideas, with building uncompromised rock monuments from pieces that may have seemed like odd pairs. Folk-rock marathons come damaged by drum machines. Electronic and instrumental reprises precede songs they’ve yet to play, and Dr. Seuss becomes lyrical motivation for bold futuristic visions. Now, Granduciel has done it again, better than before: 'Slave Ambient', their proper second album, is a brilliant 47-minute sprawl of rock ’n’ roll, conceptualized with a sense of adventure and captured with seasons of bravado.

On the title track Gotye whisper-sings into a lo-fi filter over spacy drones, sounding a lot like Spiritualized’s Jason Pierce. The following “Easy Way Out” makes good use of \'60s-style fuzz guitar, tambourine, and bombastic drum parts before his falsettos in the chorus recall a young Beck Hansen. “Smoke and Mirrors” contrasts orchestral accouterments with a big, boomy tribal rhythm.

When the British soul belter Adele began working on the follow-up to her 2008 debut *19*, she had a difficult time finding songwriting inspiration. Then, her relationship imploded—and within a day of her breakup, she and producer Paul Epworth had written the stormy, tearful \"Rolling in the Deep,\" which would go on to not only open her second album, *21*, but eventually become one of 2011\'s defining singles and set the tone for a vibrant portrait of young heartbreak that showcases Adele\'s fierce alto. On *19*, Adele established herself as a key part of the 2000s class of British R&B-inspired singers that included Amy Winehouse and Duffy. For *21*, however, she added new dimensions to her sound, bringing in ideas borrowed from country, rock, gospel, and modern pop—as well as a gently psychedelic take on the downcast \"Lovesong,\" originally by fellow Brit miserablists The Cure. Adele\'s powerful voice and unguarded feelings were *21*\'s main draw, but her savvy about using them—and only going all in when a song\'s emotional force required her to do so—made it one of the 21st century\'s biggest albums. While a few top-tier producers, including Rick Rubin, Ryan Tedder, and Dan Wilson, worked on *21*, its coherence comes from the woman at its center, whose voice channels the anguish of the stirring ballad \"One and Only,\" the weepy \"Don\'t You Remember,\" and the vengeful \"Rumour Has It.\" The stripped-down \"Someone Like You,\" meanwhile, is the natural bookend to \"Rolling,\" its bittersweet lyrics and quietly anguished vocal sounding like the aftermath of the argument that track began. “*21* isn\'t even my record—it belongs to the people,” Adele told Apple Music in 2015. That\'s true in a sense; *21* was one of the 2010s\' true pop successes, reaching listeners from all over the world. But Adele is its key ingredient, a modern soul singer whose range is only matched by her ability to conjure up deeply felt emotions.

Formed by (underrated) Mint Chicks guitarist Ruban Nielson, Unknown Mortal Orchestra sounds like an Elephant 6 band sent back to the ‘70s. They groove on simple funk rhythms, guitars and keys cloaked in a rather thorny kind of reverb, a snare drum happily clanking out a bony backbeat. Nielson’s voice sounds like a cross between Beck and Marc Bolan, and his proficient guitar work periodically steps out into the limelight, like a shy stoner trying out his moves. On the viral “hit” “FFunny FFriends,” Nielson offers up a coolly restrained 30-second break amidst the snaky rhythm parts, and on “Bicycle,” the spare lead is accompanied by a hilarious and charming manipulated vocal approximation of a wah-wah peddle. The garage-punk guitars on “Nerve Damage” are one unexpected delight, among many: “Strangers Are Strange” undulates to a slinky, soul-pop vibe (remember Sly & The Family Stone?), and “Thought Ballune” is a paisley-colored slice of sweet psych-pop that could turn a dark day sunny. The brilliance of “How Can You Luv Me” is evident from the first bit of Fender Mustang funk-twang and percolating bass line. Dance? Try not to.

UMO was initially conceived by New Zealand native, Ruban, to release some tracks via a Bandcamp page to promote his limited addition vinyl in 2010. He pieced a band together, with a skilled producer, Jake, on bass and a brilliant teenage drummer named Julian to fill out the band. They are based in Portland.

As Smog and as himself, Bill Callahan writes and records subtle, flat-toned tunes that are dryly hilarious. Lyrics come first for Callahan and listening straight through a handful of his songs, it’s apparent that he has a thirst for words and concepts. *Apocalypse* plays to his strengths. “Drover” begins as a faux-Western. The chords build dramatically. A fiddle saws until the music falls away and it weeps. “America!” plays as word-association, with Callahan sounding like he’s messing around on the guitar absent-mindedly while the rhythm section takes an occasional break that leads to an over-caffeinated ending with everyone celebrating so hard they trip over themselves. “Universal Applicant” throws a flute into the mix. Recorded and mixed in Texas, *Apocalypse* prominently reflects the great sprawling real estate of that state with pauses and leisurely paces in nearly every tune. “Free’s” clocks in at a punchy 3:13, but the others are all over five minutes. There’s nothing indulgent here. Every moment deserves to be heard. The album ends with “One Fine Morning,” a beautifully expansive piece that is reminiscent of the great works of Van Morrison.

A mirror held up to the self and then turned around to the world. This record makes us wonder what has really happened in the last 100 years. And what will happen in the next 10. The soul of your country called and left you a message. Seven messages.

The serene Dan Graham cover photo is no misdirection: this is some relaxing music. The Garden State’s pre-eminent chillout band gets deeply mellow on their second album, but they never drown in a bottomless sea of reverb. Instead, Real Estate’s swirling guitars and wispy vocals strike just the right balance of sharpness and haziness, as on the gorgeous “Out of Tune” and the sparkling “Wonder Years.” *Days* perfectly conjures those sun-soaked July afternoons when you’ve got nowhere to go and nothing to do.

The first full-length release by producer and multi-instrumentalist Ernest Greene helped define the sound of the chillwave movement. *Within and Without* is a heady mix of throbbing bass and cleverly layered synth sounds underpinning Greene\'s tender, faded vocals. The single \"You and I,\" featuring Chairlift’s Caroline Polachek, is a particular high point. But from the sumptuous melodies of \"Eyes Be Closed\" and the uplifting \"Amor Fati\" to the blissed-out haze of \"Soft\" and the title track, Greene\'s relaxed, sensual vibe creates a sustained mood of pleasurable nostalgia.

Washed Out is the operational alias for Atlanta, GA’s Ernest Greene, and on July 12th, we at Sub Pop Records will be releasing the first Washed Out full-length, Within and Without. We are excited about this, to an almost unseemly degree. Greene recorded Within and Without with Ben Allen, who, among a great many other things, co-produced Animal Collective’s Merriweather Post Pavillion, Gnarls Barkley’s St. Elsewhere and Deerhunter’s Halcyon Digest. In 2009 Washed Out released two critically-acclaimed EPs; Life of Leisure (Mexican Summer) and High Times (Mirror Universe Tapes). Most recently, the Washed Out song “Feel It All Around,” from Life of Leisure, was chosen as the theme song for the new and very funny IFC series Portlandia, which features Saturday Night Live cast member Fred Armisen and Sleater-Kinney/Sub Pop alum and current Wild Flag member Carrie Brownstein. Early confirmed press for Within and Without includes a “Breaking Out” feature in the June issue of SPIN, as well as NPR “Song of the Day” coverage for the album’s lead track “Eyes Be Closed.”

The rapper formerly known as K-Dot had built a buzz prior to his 2011 breakthrough album, but the Compton native still had everything to prove: In spite of a coveted co-sign from Dr. Dre, he was barely out of the shadow of his Top Dawg Entertainment labelmate Jay Rock, on whose tour Lamar still regularly served as hype-man. Los Angeles’ old guard of gangsta rap greats was waning; the hottest trend in L.A. rap around the time Lamar was forming his Black Hippy super-group (alongside Jay Rock, Ab-Soul, and ScHoolboy Q) was the jerkin’ movement, a fun but frivolous dance craze. Los Angeles hip-hop needed a new hero, and Lamar stepped up to the plate. But *Section.80* was far from a bid for mainstream attention. Over jazzy beats suited for contemplative spells, Lamar raps like he’s searching, bar by bar, for answers to America’s biggest questions, turning a critical eye on his own reality and the systems that reinforce it. The title itself combines Section 8 housing, the low-income developments in which Lamar was raised, with the decade of Lamar’s birth; he thus fashioned himself an ambassador for a generation raised under Ronald Reagan and the crack epidemic. “You know why we crack babies? Because we born in the ’80s,” Lamar spits on lead single “A.D.H.D.,” a generational study as sharp as it is catchy. Ultimately, though, *Section.80* channels that unrest into a quest for enlightenment; on the knocking “HiiiPower,” Lamar conjures visions of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Malcolm X. and urges listeners to “build your own pyramids, write your own hieroglyphs.” Upon the album\'s release, some listeners thought this stuff was too radical for Lamar to ever fully break into the mainstream; but the maverick was on the threshold of something even bigger.

Conceived and recorded as a form of therapy to help cope with adjusting to life post-college, an ensuing break-up and geographic isolation, Mikal Cronin steps away from the rhythm section of Orange County surf-punk bashers The Moonhearts with his eponymous debut solo LP. Fans can take heart, this isn’t a “vanity project” or half-baked endeavor - Mikal’s 2011 solo debut is fully realized, cohesive and beautiful, with themes that are as personal as they are universal; questioning your future, accepting your past and living in the moment. Taking influences such as late sixties Del Shannon and The Everly Brothers and filtering them through his own mutant California fuzz, Mikal deftly explores his singer/songwriter side that at moments feels like a punk Harry Nilsson or Curt Boettcher that balances sweet melodies & chords with chunky, psychedelic guitar freak-outs. Don’t let the opening Beach Boys-ian harmonies of “Is It Alright?” fool you into thinking this record can be easily pinned down... with long-time friend & collaborator Ty Segall producing, Eric Bauer running the tape machine and guests like John Dwyer of The Oh-Sees, you can be positive you’re in for something special. Once those guitars kick in, and you hit that first transcendent chorus, you’ll be hooked and anxiously awaiting what comes next. "... an album of wistful, psychedelic pop that pits lush and layered arrangements against needle-pinning power chords." ~Pitchfork

While they’re clearly inspired by classic late ‘80s and early ‘90s shoegaze and indie rock—Ride, Dinosaur Jr., Pavement—this young London quintet proved on their self-titled debut that they could spin their influences into a memorable, blissful, fuzzed-out sound all their own. Whether heavy in the red on the ebullient “Holing Out” or swooning on the sweet, reverb-laden ballad “Stutter,” Yuck’s sunny songwriting has that sense of infinite possibility that, at its best, underground rock music is all about.

*Goodbye Bread* is Ty Segall’s 2011 come-down long-player — a possible reaction to the crazed, mind-warping, psychedelic party that was 2010’s *Melted*. His fifth studio album (and first outing on Drag City) finds the prolific San Francisco garage rocker musing on more mature subject matter while keeping his youthful enthusiasm well intact. The title-track opens with a sole electric guitar accompanying Segall singing wistfully under wet reverb before bass and drums sneak in with morning-weary tempos. The staccato rhythms on “California Commercial” pick up the pace prior to “Comfortable Home (A True Story),” which plays like a medicated Kinks tune. It’s hard not to think of Love’s second album *Da Capo* while listening to the flamenco-tinged guitars that stop and start on “The Floor.” With catchier songs and more complex arrangements, *Goodbye Bread* could be the stone from which Segall steps into more masterful territories.

Ty Segall has his finger on it. A finger on it, digging into your vinyl, since 2008. Ty plays the show one-man-band style and goes home and plans the rest: the records you got, tunes in your head, the unpretentious display of rock wealth. So what do you get now? It's 2011. Ty is 23. So, do we get the comedown record? Yes and massive.

The Joy Formidable’s mini-LP of 2010 (*A Balloon Called Moaning*) hinted at the Welsh group’s capacity for live shows that could singe the hair off your arms. It was alluring enough for major labels to come calling, and after signing with Atlantic, the band pulled four of the strongest tunes from that release and combined them with a handful of shiny new tracks for their official U.S. debut, *The Big Roar*.  This tiny trio makes music befitting the release’s title, with walls of guitars and sweeping crescendos that sound like a band twice as large. Singer/guitarist Ritzy Bryan might be small in stature but her voice delivers beautifully; reverb swathes Bryan’s guitar notes, but her brawny, unadorned vocals are well suited to tunes like the billowing “The Everchanging Spectrum of a Lie” and the muscular “Magnifying Glass.”  Elsewhere, Bryan’s slightly sweeter approach adds the right touch on tracks like the shoegazy “I Don’t Want to See You Like This” and the irresistibly frothy “Cradle,” one of the highlights from *Balloon*. (Other tracks from that release include “Austere,” “Whirring” and “The Greatest Light is the Greatest Shade.”)