One of about a dozen voracious, head-on sonic attacks on Black Milk’s new record (Kanye’s gonna have to shake these live-in-the-red monster drums out of his brain with his head tilted to the side and a palm hammering at the top ear), “Deadly Medley” benefits from two things that the rest of the record does not have: one, a simple but ravishing refinement, a dirty break driving a beat that chortles out knowingly from within the clear discord between its two parts, two sides of one asymmetrical heart; two, Royce and Elzhi.

And while Black Milk doesn’t make any huge strides as a rapper over the course of Album of the Year, there’s the sense on this song, with this beat, with this company, that his confidence and audacity and sheer hunger for all things hard can carry him far beyond his own limitations. Looking forward to what his peers are about to drop on the track, Milk drops one of his best verses of the record. It’s all grandstanding, all bigger-than-life, all chilling-on-some-skyscraper shit. Check the video (ignore the part where Milk runs into a paparazzi of four). His verse means nothing except that its meaning is all in its posture. And its posture is upright, pants anchored to the cement by hardware while fingers point to the heavens. Which is what anyone would do with this beat in their head. Which is why when I listen to this track I suddenly find myself agreeing with Milk when he states that he’s “Martin Luther” while his lessers are “Martin Lawrence.” I shit you not, I want to go stand on the edge of a tall building.

Royce sounds kind of overwhelmed by the beat’s nasty immensity, admirably degenerating into the pseudo-Weezy rhetoric of making an emphatic non-rhyme punchline out of “I don’t even write seriously, I just fuck around,” but he’s the only dude who completely switches up his flow for the beat’s perverse flip—and it’s a wildly successful moment. Elzhi, on the other hand, is completely game to be a Malice stand-in and more, hitting a gallop of a lyrical stride once he gets to “Pockets go green like it was Earth Day / That’s why I blow cake / like it’s my birthday.” On “Deadly Medley” the beat is bigger than the rappers and that’s a good thing. Their bars get to exist, almost by default, on a higher plane.

⊙ Keyword Tags: Black Milk, Elzhi, Royce

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To be suspended can mean any of several things. If you work in a circus, it can mean ropes, drum rolls, and a possible spell in traction. If you’re a bridge-builder, it means “bring cables.” If you’re former Maryland shoegaze star M. Ostermeier, the brains behind post-rockers Should, ‘suspended’ could mean the moment in the flotation tank when M decided to ditch the guitars, and bathe himself in a slower kind of noise. Ostermeier hales from Baltimore, and like The Wire, he’s married to his own kind of needle: as well as setting up the Words On Music record label and doing mixes for For Against, he’s recently switched genres to ambient/classical, with two minimal mini-albums out this year already (Percolate and Lakefront, worthy names for a possible Wire buddy spin-off). With the intros to his new approach now out in circulation he’s sent a full-length to new imprint Tench; his first record to take his ghostly new melodies on a ghostly ten track meander. You have to wonder what M’s round-the-clock music habit does for time he’s meant to spend with his loved ones. His brother/ex-bandmate Eric probably thinks he’s got crack phials piled in the studio.

The reality is the studio’s surprisingly spartan, and Ostermeier instead gets high by using sparse instrumentation to fuel mood. We’re talking mega sparse here, by the way: “Suspended,” the third cut from Chance Reconstruction, uses hesitant piano chords to break through a wall of unrelenting tape steam. M’s pensive blend of thinking, pauses, poignancy and pauses recalls West German fairy story The Princess and the Warrior (2000), while his balance of detail and emotive ivories give minimalism its own little heart. It won’t be to everyone’s tastes—the rain effects and glass crickets, for example, will throw those who came looking for shoegaze—but the track has a way of trickling down into you, like Chinese water done nicely. Ostermeier mounts a solid case for floating/thinking/being suspended, and made me flicker back to my own brush with the term: the time my brother got suspended from school for blowing out the wiring in the French block (never ask a mechanic to sit a vocabulary test, never under any circumstances). Now if he had starred in a West German fairy story, “Suspended” might be playing as he shuffles out the gates, his two-weeks-of-freedom punishment in front of him. As he steps off the pavement the pianos strike up, then die in a loop of slow rainfall. That, class, is how you subdue a rock urge.

⊙ Keyword Tags: M. Ostermeier

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The past few years have been good to No Age. The LA duo was signed to Sub Pop on the heels of their debut 2007 collection Weirdo Rippers, and the ensuing album Nouns (2008) had critics, hipsters, and fellow indie rockers crying “best new band.” Not content to sit back and let the praise roll in, guitarist Randy Randall and singer/drummer Dean Spunt continued to tour heavily and record new music, including last year’s Losing Feeling EP and the upcoming full length Everything in Between. Oh yeah, and they also had a clothing line and a killer video. Success like this naturally leads to trepidation. The same hipper-than-thou fans that made No Age can break them with the flick of an anemic wrist over a touchscreen. As it stands now, however, things look good for the band. No Age has always been a well-balanced marriage of Spunt and Randall’s punk roots and a lo-fi pop sound, beginning with ingratiating hooks and then drowning them in noise, and Everything in Between‘s first single, “Glitter,” is true to their sound but subtly more accessible.

Quieter and more conventionally melodic than Nouns, “Glitter” is closer in style to the songs on Losing Feeling. The song kicks off unexpectedly with some Bow Wow Wow-style handclaps, but settles quickly into that murky No Age sound. Randall’s chugging guitar barely announces itself, and the song’s luster lies in one fuzzy, screeching ambient layer that grows in intensity over the chorus, blotting out the coherence of the verses. Spunt’s vocals are clearer and more intelligible than ever, though at the same time pointedly affectless. The low tremble of his voice acts in stark contrast with the song’s piercing hook as he chants, “I want you back underneath my skin.”

“Glitter” resists the liveliness of Nouns anthems “Eraser,” “Teen Creeps,” and “Sleeper Hold” and acts as more of a slow burn. It’s a less exuberant sound, and maybe a more mature one. The band has inched towards greater accessibility without sacrificing any of their trademark noise. But maybe that’s to be expected: No Age hasn’t toyed too much with their winning formula, and so something tells me 2010 is going to treat them well.

⊙ Keyword Tags: No Age

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Back in 2005, Scottish singer-songwriter Johnathan Rice played on Jenny Lewis’s Rabbit Fur Coat; the two sparked and have since started up a professional and personal partnership. Their upcoming release I’m Having Fun Now finds them on equal ground for the first time as Jenny & Johnny, though Rice may struggle trying to share the spotlight with a reigning indie queen. “Big Wave,” the album’s second single, offers a slice of summery California pop like a lazy August day: satisfying enough but not too memorable. A retro appeal lies in the cheery Wilson Phillips harmonies of the chorus as Lewis croons “It’s gonna hit you with a big wave” over do-do-do’s and lightly grinding guitar. It’s one of those indie rock songs that sounds like a celebration of life and the beach but is really about being depressed and taking pills.

Jenny Lewis has proven herself to be a sharp-witted songwriter and charismatic vocalist, both in her early work with Rilo Kiley and her more recent solo efforts. We need only look to The Execution of All Things (2002), Rabbit Fur Coat (2006), and songs like the gorgeous “Godspeed” from 2008’s Acid Tongue, as examples of her charm and occasional brilliance. But “Big Wave” doesn’t wear its Jenny Lewis-ness on its sleeve like it should. While it’s a alt-rock throwback from Lewis’s recent 1970s California bell-sleeves and jam sessions sound, it’s far less vibrant than a Rilo Kiley track. And while Lewis’s presence is felt here more than Rice’s (which is restricted to backing vocals), I can’t help but wonder if “Big Wave” is the sound of his mostly flavorless folk dulling her usually sharper melodies. Even post-Rilo Kiley, Lewis has been a fan of collaboration, bringing Elvis Costello and Bright Eyes in on her solo records. But Rice, neither idol nor equal in terms of talent and success, seems like an uncomfortable fit.

“Big Wave” works fine as a summer song to stream out of car windows. That said, it feels half-hearted, less appealing than similarly spirited Rilo Kiley tracks “Spectacular Views” and “Silver Lining.” In a nutshell, Jenny Lewis has released a perfectly acceptable pop song with her less-talented boyfriend. These things happen. But it’s only a fraction of what she can do.

⊙ Keyword Tags: Jenny & Johnny

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“See Me Now” sounds like the unholy love child of Boyz II Men and Vampire Weekend. Which is not a good thing, in case that clarification was necessary. Here’s the thing: I love Kanye West. I am really into cheesy old soul records; I think the man is a genius, straight up; I am even an 808s and Heartbreak (2008) apologist. Kanye West, for me, revolutionized the face of hip hop and popular music. So it hurts my heart a little to admit how much I hate this song.

Lyrically, Yeezy is on top of his game. Because I am a sad fangirl, I recognize his rhymes from the weird spoken word performance he gave at Facebook headquarters. As spoken word, it was pretty damn great, dropping references to Socrates, Nobu, Whole Foods, and giving fashion advice. It all works: “All my homies GDs, but I am lord / Rap god, Greek mythology / And this life too crazy to think logically.” Here’s classic Ye: a little bit of social commentary; a lot of boasting. And there are a lot of great lines: “I’m Socrates, but my skin more chocolately.” Genius, and delicious! On the other hand, we get groaners: “If you pass on a Kan beat, that’s your last fault.”

It’s even worse because the production on this particular Kan beat is whack attack. I like Beyoncé okay, I guess. And as someone who milked the Taylor Swift VMA debacle joke for all it was worth, “Uncle Charlie, I’mma let you finish, but I got Beyoncé on this track” tickled me pink. And I guess the song is supposed to have an “old R. Kelly joint” feel, since Kanye, you know, says that, but it just falls flat. And the weird syncopation, man—I just can’t get behind it. And I want to, so bad. I am sort of hoping that the YouTube community is right (I never thought I would say those words) and this song is not finished yet. Because it has the potential to be great. And “Power” was just so perfectly on point. So I guess I still have faith in you, Kanye West. To quote your twitter feed, #ITSAPROCESS. I am waiting on pins and needles, with bated breath, for September. Here’s hoping that Dark Twisted Fantasy (or whatever its name ends up being; at least Good Ass Job is out) is as good as it should be.

In conclusion, FREE WEEZY #RANDOMKANYEWESTINTERJECTIONS.

⊙ Keyword Tags: Beyonce, Charlie Wilson, Kanye West

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I think that this is the most ironically named band in showbiz. Like, take a classic rock band and smush it together with a noise band, and you get the bro-iest bro sound in the world. Throw in some prog too, and, like: damn son. Stereotypically speaking, of course. As a person of the female persuasion who happens to be pretty into noise bands, I think I may have just offended myself. But I digress.

This song is pretty and weird and sparse. I have been doing a lot of all-purpose hating on the fake lo-fi distortion monster lately, but this song does it right (I am looking at you Bethany Best Coast). It hearkens back to the early ‘90s in an “in reverence to Dinosaur Jr” way instead of a “let’s rip-off Kim Deal” way. Or something.

Because I have a compulsive need to classify everything, here is my obligatory pretentious comparison to other bands vis-à-vis this song: it sounds like the Beach Boys mixed with Television. Like, imagine a hidden Brian Wilson-penned track on Marquee Moon (1977). Pet Sounds (1966)-era Wilson, but that goes without saying (…read preceding sentence in a super haughty voice, please). You know, it’s got that Upbeat Tinged with Horrible Sadness thing going for it. It’s summery, but cold. It’s like six and a half minutes long, but that doesn’t feel excessive, somehow. It also has, like, an early Flaming Lips feel to it? It’s got me coming up with too many half-assed ways to simply say: I really, really like this song. So there’s that.

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⊙ Keyword Tags: Women

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Who did it first is irrelevant. Numerous 4chan-types have taken credit…but ultimately it’s just a Justin Bieber song really slowed down. The drums break like waves beneath his cherubic syllables, their pure Auto-tuned tone granted beauty through reverb. Each simple chord is a revelation—especially the F of the chorus. Bieber becomes a more disciplined Panda Bear or Jónsi, tightening every screw as if in recognition that some day, some anonymous genius would come along to test the integrity of each one. No wonder it’s spread so quickly and virally.

⊙ Keyword Tags: Justin Bieber

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Alan Platten is like the opposite of the new Spider-Man: British-born but living in the States, and able to sense upcoming attacks only seconds after they’ve happened. When eighties Casio romantics Orchestal Manouevres in the Dark struck it big, Alan’s senses tingled on realising that he, an untrained musician, could also make his own brand of kinetic pop given time and the right kind of keyboards. When Orbital and their cronies in acid house began turning heads a decade later, he again sensed a phantom rock-techno element taking control of his output. And now that it’s the tens and both his mentoring acts are alive and kicking arse again, Platten is ready to dust off some favourites such as this old Taoyoyo stormer, or Retroyoyo as he likes to call it, as it first drew breath back in 2003. In those days, Platten still had much in common with his future Spider-Man counterpart: they both could be found taking tea in Swiss Cottage, London, neither aware that they might one day start speaking colloquialisms from across the Atlantic.

“Jello” is one of these colloquialisms—Platten’s first word in American, and his reaction to a continent where jam, chips, and jelly changed meaning as he stepped out through Customs. It’s the former graphic designer’s first time in the States and his new song crawls forward like a kitten: a teased synth line creeping through ultra-low growls, the cat vibes going through the roof. Platten is hungering for toast spread with Frank Cooper’s finest but all he sees are quarts of maple syrup. Luckily, as well as speaking the international code of house music, he also knows that the only way to survive change is to stay flexible, or, in this case, chewable. Hence “Jello”‘s blurred pads inspired by LA’s Crystal Method and their stirring into the deep, deep beat, the rhythm rising up like two flags. And then, impossibly, seven minutes have gone by, and you’re left landing for the second time that day. Taoyoyo let you float in this music-without-time bubble wondering how you broke through without chemicals, and as the drums fade out and the strings begin tilting you feel rested, like you’ve just been tumble-dried. That’s the closest I’ve felt to the “Jello” sensation anyway, and I’ve never even crossed the Atlantic. For Taoyoyo, though, and for a Brit who’s headed west to spread his roots and explore pastures new, he certainly beats the fuck out of Sting.

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⊙ Keyword Tags: Taoyoyo

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The conceit here is pretty simple: uncomplicated vignettes of suburban squalor followed by a proud, defiant negation: “I’m awesome.” It’s like the opposite of Triumph the Insult Comic Dog’s “...for me to poop on,” both of them monuments to undeniable illogic. The Arcade Fire may have spent three years modulating suburban ambivalence into an endless, wispy groove, but here Spose bullshits out a thematic twin that feels more of itself—not the populist musings of Exeter grads but authenticity which stumbles into profundity.

It succeeds both because and despite of its genre, being: white boy joke rap, destined to sit forever under the noxious armpit of “I Love College.” And yet, compared to Asher Roth’s lowest common denominator pandering, here we have an artist whose sense of location—Maine, hometown disaffection—throws even the Arcade Fire’s watercolor universal-isms into sharp relief. I can’t deny the widescreen appeal of trying to reach everybody at the same time, but whatever happened to detail? For all of The Suburbs‘ (2010) merits, there aren’t any window-to-window tunnels or police disco lights, images whose surreality was a perfect match for their otherwise blurry nostalgia. “I’m Awesome” may have its fair share of instantly dated generalities—“I met all my friends online,” for one—but they don’t feel calculated, more like guileless would-be jokes from somebody who will actually “talk to myself on my Facebook wall.”

So yes, the song might not be a “Neighborhood #5,” but its invocations of lobster rolls and cat piss are certainly more evocative than “took a drive into the sprawl,” and the confessional aura boosts its artlessness towards truth. If The Suburbs is an Animals (1977), an undeniable work of discontent from a protected behemoth, “I’m Awesome” is perhaps, in a world we’re unaware of, a first salvo from a post-ironic Never Mind the Bollocks (1977), a work of boredom and desperation from the disenfranchised and disrespected. Now that so-called independent heroes like the National and LCD Soundsystem can debut in the Top 10 and command the respect of the most atrophied mainstream critics, have the Juggalos become today’s dumb, disaffected mods or teddy boys? What is the neon human refuse that clogs today’s Warped Tours? Is anyone over the age of sixteen even keeping track of that shit? Spose may not have anything to do with those subcultures in particular, but he is an oddly clear beam of light in the Top 40, and perhaps an instructive one.

⊙ Keyword Tags: Spose

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