Amoeba Music

The prequel to Monsters Inc., this finds the Monsters taking on higher education, with Billy Crystal's Mike Wazowski majoring in scaring and battling John Goodman's "Sully" Sullivan for top honors in the field. Grand old man of L.A. Tin Pan Alley Randy Newman lays down a classic soundtrack full of tunes wry, wondering, sentimental and delightful, taking a break just long enough to let the Swedish House Mafia guys blast off a tune appropriately titled "Roar". It's a good thing those Pixar films are suave and snappy enough to live up to a soundtrack this classy.

Nine albums and countless EPs in, roadside poet Joseph Arthur is finally delivering the mastepiece he’s worked towards his whole career: his Exile, his Blonde On Blonde, his Disintegration, his watershed. On The Ballad of Boogie Christ, Arthur sounds wasted and holy, angelic and down-home, as clear and rough and great-hearted as ever. The tunes and the themes are big: what is life, love and art? What’s right and wrong? Why do we do these things? Arthur belts it out with the glorious spirituality of U2, “Christ would be rockin’, Christ would be free, he’d say there’s no difference between you and me.” Rough redemption, validation of the real, something Joseph Arthur has striven for through a lifetime of music. It sounds like he’s being reborn.

Perhaps it’s a good thing singer Brent Walsh was going through a very nasty breakup when I The Mighty lurched into the studio to record their debut LP -- the vocals roar, the lyrics sting, the drums thunder and the pain is physical. Satori is a Japanese term for awakening or enlightenment, which it sounds like the band is achieving here: they blast through song after complex, vaulting song like a single organism, with impeccably meticulous drumming and snarling guitars melding seamlessly with the vast anger and frustration of the self-rending tunes. Fans of Pierce the Veil or Circa Survive will find another star in their firmament of epic rage and cinematic performance.

Despite the departure of guitarist Adriano Cintra last year, Brazilian party-rock band CSS soldier on. And perhaps because of his absence, fourth album Planta is a more electronically based album, eschewing some of the post-punk guitarwork that the band combined with chintzy electronics to great effect on their early material. Over glittering disco, the band seems to address their lineup change on one of the album’s strongest tracks, the Icarus-reffing “Into the Sun”: “Driving away into the sun, I’m looking forward, f*ck everyone/Leave him alone, starting a new day.” It’s a bold restatement from the band, who with the help of producer David Sitek (TV on the Radio), churn out catchy electronic pop across Planta. Rancid’s Tim Armstrong (who’s also worked with Pink, among others) co-writes single “Hangover,” which brings ska horns into the mix, doing a better No Doubt than No Doubt did on their last album. Singer Lovefoxx continues to be a driving force for the band, her accented delivery helping to carry the otherwise unremarkable “Honey,” and she shows she can actually sing pretty well behind the sass on the dreamy “Girlfriend,” channeling ’80s heroines like Cyndi Lauper and Siouxsie Sioux. And the band comes in for a good ol’ fashioned new-wave raveup on “Dynamite.” When the band is able to balance its newfound reliance on electronic shades with the charisma and energy of their early work, Planta truly shines.

Finnish extreme metallers Children of Bodom were beloved in the ‘90s for their ferocious double-riffing attack and pitch-black evilosity. Their past few albums veered offroad into flailing high-velocity thrash, nonplussing many of their original fans. Fortunately their eighth full-length Halo of Blood marks a return to the solid, focussed melodic black metal sound of their early work, which will surely bring smiles and laughter to their dark fanbase. Epic, soaring riffs, blasting cannonade and evil, roaring vocals will make first-wave black metal fans feel young again. Rediscover these extreme metal pioneers as they deliver the murderous goods.

The L.A. indie-disco powerhouse duo of Sebu Simonian and Ryan Merchant blows up an ammo dump of trash-house beats and Weezer-worthy stoner lyrics on their majestic full-length debut. It sounds destined for the big time and it already IS the big time, making its way onto commercials and dancefloors the world over. Not hard to hear why upon first casual listen; it’s hilarious, body-rockin’ party music, with slammin’ drums, pulsing bass, freaky synths and everyman lyrical awesomeness. Shades of MGMT and LCD Soundsystem, but the CC are partying on their very own planet of fun. I think my favorite is the song about Farrah Fawcett’s hair, pieced together from snippets of NPR commentators and Andre 3000 listing things he likes. Occupy yr Capital Cities tonight!

One of Austin’s best kept secrets, Bob Schneider is the rock star who never happened, a Ryan Adams / Jack White / Tom Petty troubadour who’s still just a cult favorite to his hugely devoted cult of fans. He’s got the looks, the operatic pipes, the soulful sensitivity and the expressiveness but somehow he’s eluded the stratosphere. Perhaps Burden of Proof will change that: his best album yet, a wondrously dreamy, strummy set where the love songs are funny, the funny songs pierce your heart, and the bummer songs make you want to go out and change the world. Get into these tunes and enjoy him while he’s still on the hush-hush.

Classic rockers rejoice: Andrew Stockdale, onetime frontman of Aussie spaceblasters Wolfmother, has gone solo and taken his riffs and his wailing vocals into outer orbit! This is a tasty set of Stonesy rockers, that wastes no time in getting to the hooks: every song is instantly catchy and rides a chunky riff and a whomping groove straight back to the heavy ‘70s. Need I add, he is personally keeping the classic rock afro in circulation, in the grand tradition of Rob Tyner, Phil Lynott and Lenny Kravitz. Hitch a ride with Andrew in the Keep Moving van, it’s headed for a monster desert party from sunset to sunrise.

Anyone can serve under a classic style, it takes real strength and individuality to make it serve you. Indiana's great roots-rock combo Houndmouth plays a familiar style, gutbucket country soul a la Dylan and The Band, but what hits you first is the voice and the stories -- which means they're doing their job right. Matt Myers and Katie Toupin unfold wry hardluck tales of life at the bottom in cracked, whiskey-soaked voices, tales of drug running, casinos and back alley hustlers, and barely scraping by. The tough, honeyed backbeat grooves and swells with their twining harmonies, the ragged-but-right guitar and Hammond sound vintage but the stories are new. Fans of classic roots rock, and of newer revival bands like the Alabama Shakes or the Black Keys, will know this is the real thing. More

It’s been four years since Camera Obscura released their last album and it feels like a lifetime ago when their brand of witty, winsome indie pop was the underground style du jour — does the world need another album from Camera Obscura? One listen to Desire Lines and the answer is a resounding yes, yes, yes. The time off has done them wonders, following a run of increasingly great albums that hit a wall with the so-so My Maudlin Career. Desire Lines is invigorated with a warmer sound, billowed by warm synthesizers and sultry horns, giving songs like “This is Love (Feels Alright)” a postmodern blue-eyed soul feel, like they’re updating what Roxy Music did on Avalon. Camera Obscura have always been able to do downtrodden-yet-upbeat well (see past singles like “Lloyd, I’m Ready to Be Heartbroken”), and they take that winning formula to new heights on songs like the new-wavey “Troublemaker,” the sea-shanty-style “Every Weekday” and their good ol’ fashioned ’60s pop style “Do It Again.” Even when they slow things down, on songs like “William’s Heart,” whereas in the past they’d be charmingly bookish, Tracyanne Campbell sounds rapturous when she dwells on the evocative line “to die in the arms of a 20-year-old.” Lyrically, she’s as strong as ever, and her delivery remains the perfect concoction of shy and snarky, singing self-deprecatingly of her “New Year’s resolution to write something of value.” The totality of Desire Lines would qualify as just that. More