Northern Liberties has been around awhile, playing up and down the East Coast and only recently getting as far west as Dallas. (They skipped Houston, for some strange reason. Or not.) Ghost Mind Electricity is interesting, strongly experimental post-punk, with little variation on a theme that Northern Liberties feels extremely comfortable exploring. "Controlled By Voices From Beyond" starts out with midrangy AM radio vocal samples, then flips the switch into a drum-driven assault.

Lead singer Justin Duerr is eerily reminicient of a spacey Jello Biafra, especially when he isn't wailing, with the same powerful warble (if that makes sense) but greater range. "Children of Unholy Light" is less controlled, with questionably tuneful vocal melodies slapped over a downtuned (C#?) bass line. "Among The Unborn" slows things down, a melodic bass line (doubled by with what sounds like an acoutic bass) starting a nice build to the repetitive second section of the song.

Gotta give props to bassist Kevid Riley -- really interesting parts, with enough variation to keep things interesting but never devolving into wankery. The brothers Duerr (Marc is the drummer) have a lot of interesting rhythmic interplay, and unique percussion sounds keep popping up (the swooshy drum scrapes in "Changing"). "E.G.G." might be the most interesting musically, flipping between time signatures with a nice left turn about halfway through. The album ends with "Asylum" and "National Anthem (for Birds)," the former building from a clean bass and drum nursery rhyme groove to a strong bashing ending, while the latter could be could be a folk song in some twisted alternative universe.

Regardless of the sameness of the song structure here, the energy is powerful, and I've heard Northern Liberties's live show is killer. As I've mentioned in other reviews, bands like this really need to be seen instead of heard; while one can pick apart the clammy note here and there on the album, they fly by in the moment, and the listener is left with a memory trace of the whole rather than distinct songs. (Andrew Perkins // 01/03/09)

Pale Young Gentlemen was founded in 2004 by brothers Michael and Matt Reisenauer, and has grown steadily over the last few years both in body count and musical range. Today, the critically acclaimed Wisconsinites travel as a seven-piece ensemble and make good use of a variety of instruments, including the viola, cello, and piano, in addition to the traditional guitar, bass, and percussion. Veering away from overplayed indie music-by-numbers and tangling American roots music with Eastern European gypsy folk, the Pale Young Gentlemen have caught the wandering attention of the unwashed, underfed, and underpaid indie scene.

In 2007, PYG dropped their self-titled debut -- a wonderful prelude to Black Forest (Tra La La), released in 2008. Poetic lyrics and a diverse range of sound (thundering solo acoustic guitar on some tracks, the quaint mini-orchestra on others) holds my attention for the length of two albums.

PYG's original quality and delivery is impressive. Recorded and mixed in two weeks, the album is far from crude but does retain a slightly ragged, lo-fi edge. A decoupage of gypsy eclectic, mini-orchestral medicine show melodies, and classic piano blues contribute to an overall folk-noir sound. Tracks like "The Crook of My Good Arm" and "Kettle Drum (I left a Note)" are a nightmarish cabaret of crashing tempos and somber string orchestration, and "Marvelous Design" and "Is There a Place" remind me of a Tim Burton film -- ethereal, clever, and darkly human.

That said, I'm wary to grant my full approval. Mike Reisenauer's melancholy voice is unnervingly reminiscent of Coldplay's Chris Martin. I won't make any formal accusations, but I will say that it disturbs me to hear his original musical recipe tainted with a dose of expired Coldplay. Regardless, I am already anticipating the next album. My hope for the Gents is that they will explore something darker and that caballero Mike would share the mic every now and again. (Jessica Golden // 01/03/09)

As Frank Zappa & The Mothers so cryptically stated it in one of their early songs, "What would you do if the people you knew...were the plastic that melted and the chromium, too?" The only thing I can possibly imagine theoretically rising back up from the ashes of such a poetically offbeat dissolution just might be Brooklyn's own neo-psychedelic trio called Seasick and their recent EP that explores a musical road far less traveled by most bands.

To put it mildly, Seasick is...well...complicated. Their music is the oddest amalgamation of intertwined sounds I've heard in a very long time. As their name might suggest, the combined emanations ushering forth from cuts off their EP kind of put you in mind of being caught in a boat in the middle of the ocean while huge waves loft the craft upwards and downwards in a spellbinding motion that eventually has an effect upon your very equilibrium. In much the same way, this band's sonic offerings -- best described as layer after layer of sound waves coming at you -- is definitely going to affect your inner-ear region, as well, whether for good or ill. I find it pleasingly hypnotic; others might find it nauseatingly awful. There's no accounting for taste, I suppose. Objective analysis aside, however, musical taste has a lot to do with how one reacts to this band. Break out the Dramamine and do your own evaluation.

On the one side, this EP is a fantastic example of just how dark and ominous a band can be, given the right conditions and creative tools. I'm tempted to call it goth-jazz-acid-rock-psychedelic, though certainly not "goth" in the traditional sense (whatever that is, and if you can even say it with a straight face), and certainly not traditional "jazz," either, other than mimicking its expansively-sweeping note runs without necessarily honoring the sacredness of any given harmony rules. "Psychedelic" fits, for sure, and "acid-rock" is noticeably a building block, as well, but Seasick is just not the kind of a band that can be solitarily labeled. Most of the material comes off sounding like a surrealistic cross between early Jefferson Airplane, free-jazz/art-rock fusion, and vox/orchestral-leaning, Cirque du Soleil-styled New Age music.

And, as the infamous psychic noted in the movie Poltergeist, there's definitely "more than one haunt in this house," too. To be specific, there's exactly three: Jasmine Golestaneh (vocals, guitar), Geoffrey Lee (keyboards), and Sam Levin (drums). As counterparts, they mix together a pretty strange brew of both conflicting and complimentary concoctions within. It's noteworthy and quite remarkable the way all three of these musicians manage to come up with a triad of overwhelming blends while still retaining a degree of individual presence in the mix that doesn't upstage any of the other segments. Musically, they absolutely exude more method than madness here, but the only completely unifying force behind their collection is the wafting and sometimes wailing vocals of Golestaneh, which are eerily reminiscent at various points of femme poet/singers like Nico, Grace Slick, Patti Smith, Deborah Harry and PJ Harvey.

On the flip side, Seasick does create true music qualities and not just incoherent noise. It's just that the music they create effectively walks a very thin tightrope between purist musical forms and abstract art-rock expressions. The band doesn't seem to be focused on writing mainstream -- or even underground -- hit songs. Instead, their focus is apparently upon motivating some type of right-brain, impressionistic hit with their listeners. The last artist I recall who was able to do this quite effectively was Jim Morrison, and there are certainly elements of his handiwork residing in Seasick.

Some people ask what "progressive rock" is. Most reviewers are shy to define it, because the term is so misused. In my opinion, "progressive" music, of any genre, is basically music that's ahead of its time, often almost prophetically so. (Since it's a somewhat elusive term to use in prospect, most avoid labeling content that way, except in instances where some musical features seem to hint of possible new directions for a particular genre.) Though few artists or bands rightly fit completely into this category, surely some of The Doors' material was correctly so-called. Jim Morrison, among scant others, had this future-reaching poetic-musical gift. Now, Seasick doesn't have this gift, but they sure do rehash and play off of Morrison-like artistry very nicely. There's nothing really new delivered here, however, just a fine recapturing of formerly progressive elements.

I haven't seen a live Seasick show except through internet videos, but from what I have heard online or from other people, these shows are truly affairs that tap into the late-'60s-psychedelia, oil-gel-filtered arena in marvelous fashion. Regardless, even without all the onstage bells and whistles, Seasick's music still succeeds in laying hold of the fingerprint of a fair amount of the Airplane-collaborated songs of the later "Sunrise" ilk, and the expressionistic appeal resident in The Doors' "Strange Days" material that provided fodder for their art-immersed live renditions on tours.

If you like artsy takes on the '60s psychedelia period set to intriguing female vocals and impressionistic lyrical poetry, then you'll probably really enjoy Seasick's music. (Bill Reed // 01/03/09)

On their debut album, Aperture For Departure, Strangers Die Every Day play instrumental chamber rock, reminiscent of Dirty Three with the rock feel of Papa M. The use of the violin and cello gives the group a distinct quality. They have a beautiful sound, which is pretty much given when you include strings, but their songs are also interesting. And while the strings also limit the range of things you can do, they still cover a lot of ground.

The first song, "...And The Blood Shall Spill," sounds like an acoustic version of Mono, although the violin goes a lot of its own places, including some classical-sounding variations on the melody. The minimal drumming fits perfectly with the tone of the piece, and on the chorus takes the song up exactly the right notch. And the bass player plays some clever lines that work like guitar parts.

"Aperture For Departure," another simple, pretty tune, sounds like a Dirty Three anthem, with a big, beautiful melody and a nice cello part in counterpoint. The melody is simple enough that they don't need to change it, and they keep repeating it, building it all further and further up. And it breaks down half-way through like a Sonic Youth tune or something -- one of those "Expressway to Yr Skull" tension builders, but much quieter.

Strangers Die Every Day have a lot more good songs here, too. And they make the most of their group, every member occasionally taking on the role of a different type of instrument. Because there aren't any dramatic changes of texture, some of it does start to sound the same, but their sound is unique enough that it doesn't matter. They have a lot of good ideas, and Aperture for Departure is an auspicious debut. (Henry Mayer // 01/03/09)

Eyes At Half Mast is the latest release from Portland, Oregon's Talkdemonic, originally a solo project (founding member Kevin O'Connor's first shows used pre-recorded backing tracks), Talkdemonic blends hip-hop style beats with piano and viola, primarily, to achieve its unique sound. While the album is essentially an instrumental (sans a few backing chants here and there), the music holds your attention enough that you don't even notice. The beats are groove-laden and fit hand in glove with Lisa Molinaro's beautiful viola sounds. One can't help wonder where this band would go if one of them would lay a verse down here and there, or maybe even a catchy chorus, but it seems the duo has found their niche.

The best track on the album by far is "Duality of Deathening" -- the harmonies and note choices are somewhat eerie, and one might expect some underground rapper to lay down some rhymes, but nonetheless the tune is well-written and thought-provoking. Who knows how far Talkdemonic will take their instrumental symphony, but they've already spent a few years touring the country playing with bands like Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and The National. Their Myspace provides no information about any upcoming tours, unfortunately, but keep an ear out and an eye open should they ever come to your town. (Rob Fiasco // 01/20/09)

Bay Area band Totimoshi is a power trio not afraid to sound much bigger than their numbers. Milagrosa, Totimoshi's fifth album, is big, bombastic stuff. Jangly guitars mix well with a thumping bass and heavy, cymbal-driven drums. Slightly proggy vocal parts reminds me of David Bowie or Ian Anderson, not so much in lead singer/guitarist Tony Aguilar's voice but in his story-telling phrasing and imagery. Interestingly, the vocals are mixed pretty far back, even though lyrically the songs are very story-driven, forcing the listener to really pay attention to the vibe of the words rather than just trying to absorb them subconsciously.

Unfortunately, the heaviness of the content gets to be a bit much after awhile. "Sound The Horn" is a call to arms, jumpy but heavy. "Fall And Bound" is a slower grind, seemingly about failure and the inability to recover, while "Last Refrain" is even more of a dirge, in the Black Sabbath vein. "Milagroso" feels a lot like "Sound The Horn," with cool crooning background chords underneath an AC/DC-lite main riff that resolves to a killer jam in the second verse and a cool mouth-harp -driven bridge. The contrast between this bridge and the main riff is great, lightening up the song just as the listener is feeling like they are being driven underfoot.

"Forever In Bone" is the breather before the heavy ending. "Gnat" fixes on a cool bass intro sitting under a disjointed 6/8 vocal and guitar and is an appreciated departure from the rest of the album. "Dear" relaxes the end of the album, synth strings and interesting percussion under an unfortunate vocal melody.

An interesting, strong album you should definitely pick up. (Andrew Perkins // 01/20/09)

I'm envious. Honestly, that's what I am -- I mean, how can I not be? With their eagerly-anticipated Microscopic Metronomes EP, The Wild Moccasins have distilled the essence of what it's like to be young and wild and carefree, and I'll be damned if it doesn't make me feel real fucking old.

Not mad at the band for that, mind you; listening to The Wild Moccasins is like opening the door to a stuffy, overheated room and letting in a rush of cool breeze from the calm, clear springtime blue. It makes me yearn for my younger days, want to say "screw it" to life spent shuttling between the office and the car and just spend all day outside with my the family, enjoying the beautiful day. It's like a wakeup call when you're stuck halfway between sleep and waking, letting you know that the morning's here and it's time to get up with a smile on your face.

So, how do they do it? How do those crazy Wild Moccasins kids so effortlessly evoke in me feelings of long-gone youth and the need to go do something fun? Well, in the end it's probably a lead-by-example kind of thing, really -- throughout Microscopic Metronomes, the band itself sounds like it's having a blast, just smiling cheerily along as they play some of the sweetest, most unaffected jangle-pop I've ever heard. They exude a kind of exuberant, unforced energy that you can't help but smile along, from the opening "friends around a campfire at night" singalong (complete with crickets!) on "My Favorites Die" on through to the end of "Shiny Strings."

Obviously, while it certainly helps, energy isn't the whole ball of wax. It also helps that the Moccasins (Cody Swann on vocals & rhythm guitar, Zahira Gutierrez on keys, vocals, & percussion, Andrew Ortiz on drums, Nick Cody on bass, and Andrew Lee on lead guitar) write some fine, fine songs, balancing more layered, New Pornographers-style stuff (see "Shiny Strings" and "Fruit Tea") with more minimal, breezy, jangly, flat-out indie-pop a la Boyracer, The Boo Radleys, or more recent cohorts Rilo Kiley (see, well, pretty much everything else).

Swann and Gutierrez trade lines back and forth like a mellower Mates of State, while bright, sparkling guitars and Cody's amiable bass dance nimble circles around them. On "Spanish and Jazz," the track I'd tend to call as the band's "signature" song, the Moccasins swing and sway with just a hint of melancholy countriness, moseying along unconcernedly at a gentle pace, while "Fruit Tea" and "Mailman" turn things up a bit both in terms of tempo and volume, displaying a bit of a Brit-pop influence.

Throughout, the band is playful and friendly, with the nicely-synced yells in "Fruit Tea" and the silly, cute-as-hell little bit of faux-sleeping noise that makes up the entirety of "Zzzzzzz." I think I've found my new perfect soundtrack for the next sunny day.

[The Wild Moccasins are playing their EP release show 1/23/09 at Walter's on Washington, with Teenage Kicks, Buxton, & DJ ADR.] (Jeremy Hart // 01/20/09)

It was like walking alone in the mind of a person tripping on acid while hallucinating on mushrooms. The guitar strummed, and it began; the sounds hit like a wave of colors smacking me in the face, waking me up to a new world. The drums followed soon after, and I realized I was falling deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole, falling and screaming. What can take me out of this world and throw me into a spatial, dream-like sequential world? An unconventional band from Baltimore, Maryland, oddly enough, with the name Wilderness. Wilderness has always been an unconventional band, and with the release of their third full-length album, (k)no(w)here, they may have garnered that title more to themselves.

(k)no(w)here is eight tracks that are not readily separated from each other, the flow from each song to the next is so smooth, and you'd be a fool not to think that all the tracks have the same guitar track layered over them. There may be a reason why this album plays like one big track, as opposed to eight individual songs. The composition came from an invitation to collaborate with renowned visual artist Charles Long at Long's exhibit at the Whitney Biennial in the spring of '08.

I will admit at first listen I found myself cringing at the music, thinking it was nothing more than a mess of nothing passing off as music. On that first listen, I couldn't even bring myself to finish it, stopping after only the third track. Two weeks passed before I allowed my ears another listen. What I found then was sounds not heard before. It was no longer a mess of noise passing off as music, but instead a mess of beautiful, stylistic slow jams with a couple of missed opportunities for greatness.

From the fist track, "High Nero," with its wavy, airy intro that kicks off an assault of vividly imaginative visions into your brain via your ears, you get the sense that this album will open up a portal into some forgotten world. With the lights off and your mind open, you'll also receive this album how I received it on that second listening. Although at the start I praised this album and its band for its uniqueness and willingness to create a truly mind-expanding album, it's not without its misses.

During the first six tracks, the guitars and drums seem to have the Repeat button stuck, with the guitar giving the same sound -- a whiny riff that runs on -- and the drums seem very skeletal and barely there. Making matters worst is singer James Johnson's wailing and howling, rising, falling, and lifting his voice over and over and over chanting theatrically. So difficult is his voice that one can't understand what he's singing about. James Johnson does a good Isaac Brock (Modest Mouse) imitation, but unfortunately, it seems to miss when placed next to the music his band mates play.

The seventh track, "Soft Cage," sees Wilderness break out of the mold set within the first six tracks. The track starts with a tom-heavy drum pattern and cymbals that shimmer and splash over a guitar lead that echoes with light distortion. But again Wilderness singer James Johnson joins the track and begins to wail his voice which at times tends to draw attention from the music. Wilderness would do better if the band could become a strictly instrumental band a la Explosions in the Sky, or if James Johnson could find some way to add a melodic approach to his vocals.

On Wilderness's last track "<...^...>" (and yes, that is the title of the song), James Johnson is joined vocally by guitarist Colin McCann, who complements the music well. I wouldn't surprise me to hear him jump on more tracks and even take more of the singing over from principal Wilderness singer James Johnson. Wilderness are a band unlike any other, and like the band name suggests, it's okay -- encouraged, in fact -- to get lost in the Wilderness. (Jesus Acevedo // 01/20/09)

Dang. I've had a hard time getting a handle on this one; it makes some sense, though, since Woozyhelmet's Get Down is the latest by a band that has vexed me in the past, where live performances left me reeling and wondering what the hell just happened, unable to really pin 'em down. The last time I saw them, in particular, I can remember thinking, "yeah, they're decent, but they're not quite there -- wherever 'there' may be -- just yet."

Good news time: Get Down is the "there" in my little bit of unvoiced mental criticism from back then. I can't put my finger on what was missing before, but I'll freely admit that the band's new stuff well and truly hits the mark. It's still strange, but it's good shit, better than I've heard from them in the past. That doesn't mean, however, that I have any easier of a time figuring out how the fuck to talk about it.

I know, I know -- what's the big deal, then, Mr. Hotshot Reviewer Man? If the album's so damn good, why in the hell have you been having problems writing the review? Well, the sticking point's really that this disc is one heck of a multiple-personality disorder mess. On the one hand, you've got raw, scraping, punk-gone-mathcore indie-rock that comes off like Sebadoh's noisier moments ("Carter (Wolf)," "New Bear," "Chocolate," "Nixon (Jessica)," "What Respect Means to Jose") with bellowing, threatening DC hardcore vocals that nearly rip the roof off the house. Then there's the oddly funky, art-/prog-damaged rock ("We Support the Italian Stewardesses," "May Be a Rock," "Carotid"), which reminds me of The Rapture at points and the Talking Heads at others.

And then there's the real right turn, the mid-tempo, countrified, drunk/sloppy-ish Modest Mouse-esque tracks ("If Not for Pants," "The Well," "Hopeless"), with those sloppy-but-not-really rhythms, lethargic, quasi-medicated vocals, and fractured -- yet never completely broken. The one songs that really bridge the gap, at least between the Modest Mouse songs and the loud punkier stuff, are "Hopeless," which meanders and jangles along cheerily 'til it explodes in bitter fury two-thirds of the way through, and "The Well," which is high-lonesome mopey 'til Nancy Walton cuts loose near the end.

In spite of the three-way stylistic split, however, I find myself humming along to bits and pieces of each of the band's musical "sides," unearthing gems in each of the piles. It took me a week to get "Nixon (Jessica)," which somehow encapsulates the total awkwardness of one of the uncool kids making contact with one of the high school superstars in its one-line lyric -- big, big kudos on that, y'all -- and then buzzy, edgy, Fugazi-ish "Carter (Wolf)" took its place. That track faded and got replaced by the low-key (mostly), warbly "The Well," after which followed the bumping, pseudo-glamorous "We Support the Italian Stewardesses," the weird, desperate musing of "What Was Dad Talking To Daniel About?" (love this one: "Daniel's a superstar / Daniel's from Jupi-tar"), and the hilariously repetitive "Karaoke." If you asked me to name a favorite, I honestly couldn't tell you, and that's an enviable problem for a disc like this to have.

To Woozyhelmet's further credit, Get Down rides the line beautifully, never falling into the Uncle Tupelo trap of, "oh, yeah -- I can totally tell which guy wrote which song, because it feels totally different; why are they all one band, again?" The songs are often disparate, sure, ranging off at right angles to one another, but they still work together somehow (okay, yeah, and maybe it's because guitarist/singer Jay Crossley's the only guy doing the songwriting, unlike with my Tweedy/Farrar comparison). The album trundles along like a wagon with square wheels; you get where you're going, and the scenery's incredible, but it's a bumpy, surprising ride. (Jeremy Hart // 01/03/09)