Torche, 'Meanderthal (Hydra Head)

Artful Miami brutes become new queens of the stone age.

Maybe it's the bunker-thick wall of sludge, maybe it's the doomy undertow, or maybe it's the hair-farming guitar whiz and gay frontman (peace to Judas Priest), but Torche aren't really a metal band, certainly not the pleasureless Ozzfest kind, not with riffs this gloriously anthemic. "Meanderthal" is guitar pop for those who wish Foo Fighters had a pre-sellout period.

Rose Hill Drive, 'Moon Is the New Earth' (Megaforce)

Have probably heard "Dude, can you play 'Slow Ride'?" a lot.

A power trio as an experiment in Skinner-box songcraft: Tell two brothers and a pal that culture ended in 1973 and then record the results. So you've got meaty hard rock that can jam with Bonnaroo and thrash with Warped. They love their "Trans Am" sans irony (because who doesn't?), which means swing and torque are everything.

Thalia Zedek, 'Liars and Prayers' (Thrill Jockey)

Fiery indie-rock survivor spits venom with undiminished force.

Outside of a silence = death T-shirt, widescreen politics have never been a strong suit of this gravel-voiced vet of such indie-circuit scene-definers as Live Skull and Come. Which might explain her ham-fisted, Bush-is-a-Christian-who- lies album title.

No Age, 'Nouns' (Sub Pop)

Punk passion to the power of two.
No Age / Photo by Ed Templeton

Duos simplify the concept of "band" as far as it can go before becoming "solo artist." Synth pop made duos an emotionally unique form, testifying, "Us and our funny haircuts against the world, baby. All I need is a keyboard, an arpeggiator, and thou." Hip-hop's "He's the DJ, I'm the rapper" steez brought bold ambition -- here's a turntable, a mic; let's change the world.

Evangelista, 'Hello, Voyager' (Constellation)

'90s country-punk chantuse leads an angry army of cellos.

On 2006's Evangelista, ex– Geraldine Fibbers frontwoman Carla Bozulich teamed up with Montreal musicians from avantchamber- rock collectives (Godspeed You!

These New Puritans, 'Beat Pyramid' (Domino)

Pesky U.K. kids worship the purity of "The Perfect Kiss".

Drums that can't decide between the dance floor and art school, guitars that flicker and nod versus a bassist futzing between smooth rhythm and chunky riffs, a stock-still gal punching buttons, and a singer whose ranting may or may not mean something. These New Puritans prove the model perfected by New Order ain't dying anytime soon.

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