Wire, 'Object 47' (PinkFlag)

Art-punk geezers recapture their catalog's restless essence.

"Please let me help you remember / Your memory's shot / You've lost the plot." That refrain -- from the caustically chiding "Mekon Headman" -- is more than just a finger-jabbing offer of, um, assistance. It captions Wire's clever twist on the career retrospective: Revisit all phases of your career with new material.

Walter Meego, 'Voyage' (Almost Gold)

Chicago twosome uncorks fizzy, dance-floor spaz attack.

The debut album from this pop-rock duo comes so frontloaded with carbonated keepers (especially the spastic gurgles of "Girls" and liquefied beats of "Forever") that the album's back half can't help but sag.

Silver Jews, 'Lookout Mountain, Lookout Sea' (Drag City)

Musical page-turners from the post-Pavement poet laureate.

Like Liz Phair and Bob Dylan, David Berman is a cunning wordsmith who can't really sing. Also like those luminaries, Berman turns weakness to advantage, serving up toe-tapping short stories in a sing-speak deadpan perfectly suited to his oddly good-natured cynicism.

Ponytail, 'Ice Cream Spiritual' (We are Free)

Baltimore bashers stomp across thin ice of avant punkiness.

With a gazillion ideas snapped together like so many Legos, Ponytail's second album is an exhilarating puzzle. Tracks marked by ringing classic-rock riffs ("Beg Waves," "Small Wevs") vie for space in your brainpan alongside screechy, art-damaged affairs ("Late for School" and "7 Souls"). Presided over by Molly Siegel -- a fiery young Yoko

The Watson Twins, 'Fire Songs' (Vanguard)

Former Jenny Lewis sidekicks gingerly edge into the spotlight.

Leigh and Chandra Watson first pricked up indie-rock ears when they backed Rilo Kiley's Jenny Lewis on her 2006 solo debut, Rabbit Fur Coat. Their haunting harmonies are in full effect throughout the L.A.-based sister act's first full-length, on which they coo seductively over atmospheric folk-rock arrangements.

Karen Dalton, 'Green Rocky Road' (Delmore)

Stunning time capsule from indispensable folk-revival icon.

Try and conjure a time when sincerity was the new irony. Powered by assuredly picked banjo, homespun overdubs, and a reedy, authoritative warble that Neil Young cribbed, this collection of startling demos is a vivid snapshot of the folk-music scene at its early-'60s culture-defining moment.

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