Luomo, 'Convivial' (Huume)
House music's surgical genius lets singers have the floor.
By Philip Sherburne 12.18.08 6:35 PM
On his fourth album, Luomo (a.k.a. Sasu Ripatti, the Finnish electronic minimalist who also records as Vladislav Delay) stays true to the course he began with 2000's Vocalcity, which announced itself as "the next chapter in house." Dub-disco bass, wax-paper drum hits, and powdery synthesizers chug away, channeling an alternate '90s where nobody forgot how to dance.
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Longwave, 'Secrets Are Sinister' (Original Signal)
New Yorkers emit enough steam to float a hot-air balloon.
By Jon Young 12.18.08 6:32 PM
On their rebound from major-label rejection, Brooklyn's Longwave unloads a barrage of righteous guitar anthems, suppressing any prior dreamy tendencies like they're hiding a nasty little secret.
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Butch Walker, 'Sycamore Meadows' (Power Ballad/Original Signal)
Pop-rock poobah mines tragedy via savvy Rundgren knockoffs.
By Mikael Wood 12.18.08 6:30 PM
This well-connected Los Angeleno spends his days producing hits for pop-radio stars like Pink and Avril Lavigne and his nights crafting vibrant power-pop discs crammed with record-nerd ear candy.
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The Postmarks, 'By-the-Numbers' (Unfiltered)
Spacy pop cadets reshape songs in woozy countdown.
By Jon Young 12.18.08 6:28 PM
Gimmicky yet compelling, the delicate second album by Miami's Postmarks presents 11 numerically titled covers in ascending order, plus Sesame Street's cute "Pinball Number Count." Languid Tim Yehezkely sings like she's dissolving into the mist, staying true to the elegant anxiety of Bowie's "Five Years" and transforming Bob Marley's "Three Little Birds" into a touching reverie.
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Jedi Mind Tricks, 'A History of Violence' (Babygrande)
Guys, didn't we discuss this whole guns-and-religion thing?
By Mosi Reeves 12.18.08 6:26 PM
This Philadelphia duo have built an unlikely indie-rap niche by giving their thuggish hip-hop a quasi-spiritual undertone.
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Travis, 'Ode to J. Smith' (Red Telephone Box/Fontana International)
Durable guitar band tries to shed self-important excess.
By Jon Young 12.18.08 6:20 PM
Six albums on, these Scots aim to reverse the creeping bloat in their elegant pop, though bad habits die hard. Despite refreshingly brief songs, frontman Fran Healy can't resist self-conscious vocal flourishes that insist he's imparting great truths (shades of Bono), and the bombastic arrangements encourage Andy Dunlop to uncork cheesy, stadium-seeking guitar riffs.
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