Hot New Band: Thao With the Get Down Stay Down

Winsome folk rocker knows good things come to those who wait -- in airports.
Photograph by Jonathan Ratcliff

Thao Nguyen has a strange feeling about loitering in airports. "I love it!" exclaims the sweet-voiced singer-guitarist. "You can even ask the dudes" -- bassist-keyboardist Adam Thompson, 25, and drummer Willis Thompson, 26 (no relation).

Just Us Girls

After surviving a religious cult and years of druggy disarray, Christopher Owens emerges with Girls, the best new band of the year.
Girls: Christopher Owens & Chet JR White / Photo by Guy Aroch

"This is what I'm talking about!"

Woods, 'Songs of Shame' (Shrimper/Woodsist)

Heartfelt, homespun warblers stomp freak pedal.

Woods may move in fuzzy lo-fi circles (frontman Jeremy Earl runs the Fuckittapes and Woodsist labels, which have released records by Wavves, Psychedelic Horseshit, and Blank Dogs), but the Brooklyn foursome’s classic melodies don’t take a Dustbuster to uncover.

Box Elders, 'Alice and Friends' (Goner)

Garage-pop shouters go for endearing brashness.

On their debut album’s title track, Nebraska brothers Clayton and Jeremiah McIntyre describe a slap-dash neighborhood band who sings that “anything you wanna do should be all right!” And what this trio wanna do is blast through buoyant, unruly singalongs about necrophilia (“Necro”), staying up all night (“Stay”), and savage beasts (ahem, “Cougars”) like they’re the Black Lip

Various Artists, 'The World's Lousy With Ideas Vol. 8' (Almost Ready)

Proudly sounding like shit for nearly two years.

Since 2007, the World's Lousy series, compiled by Brooklyn obsessive Harry Howes, has excavated worthy punk/garage/shitgaze lesser-knowns (including Eddy Current Suppression Ring and Pink Noise) on three- or four-song, limited-run seven-inches. The inaugural full-length gathers exclusive cuts from more prominent, scene-making groups.

Crocodiles, 'Summer of Hate' (Fat Possum)

Restless grandchildren of Beach Boys go on rampage.

Through drum-machine slaps and guitarist Charles Rowell's fuzzy, pulsating chords, Crocodiles' other half, Brandon Welchez (a dead ringer for Cate Blanchett in I'm Not There), sings the isolation of a sunglasses-at-night cynic in an oppressively daytime town -- their native San Diego.

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