The songs on El Perro Del Mar’s North American debut have been floating around in some form or another for about two years now. They first appeared in 2004 on two limited-edition EPs, were then assembled by Memphis Industries earlier this year and now appear on a domestic release with just one pesky bonus track from the split 7-inch with Jens Lekman.

So why bother releasing these songs so many times? Well, because they’re damn good. Sweden’s El Perro Del Mar, aka Sarah Assbring, makes the type of music that begs for repeated listening. Like the French chanteuse Francoise Hardy, El Perro Del Mar’s blend of the femme fatale with the lonely girl next door is as fascinating as it is inviting. Musically she appeals to retro sensibilities, and yet adds enough of her own to prevent songs from ever being dull. Songs like “God Knows (You Gotta Give to Get)” and “I Can’t Talk About It” sound like they were produced by a Phil Spector gone lo-fi, and “Here Comes That Feeling” has Assbring’s vocals simply dripping in reverb as she gives a nod to old Otis Redding.
Since these songs are about two years old, ingest them quickly and be on the lookout for new material, because El Perro Del Mar must have something brewing in the kitchen by now.

A Christmas album is usually a bad idea. Gimmicky at best and unlistenable at worst, Christmas albums are usually played for a few weeks in December, then consigned forever to the bargain bins. Too bad for One More Drifter in the Snow, Mann’s tenth album, that it had to fall into such a miserable category. Granted, it’s not as bad as it could be, but it’s still not very exciting.

Except for two original songs, the album is a collection of the “classic” yuletide music Bing Crosby and his ilk croon over department store PA systems every year. Mann wrote one song on the album (the forgettable “Calling on Mary”), and one was written by her husband, singer Michael Penn. Most of the songs—languid, lounge-y confabulations—ooze together and form a not-entirely-terrible-but-still-not-very-interesting miasma of saddish Christmas goo.

Much like the fruitcake an elderly relative brings to Christmas every year, One More Drifter in the Snow isn’t particularly appetizing, nor would you want any in, say, mid-August, but it somehow satisfies, in a weird way. Continuing with the fruitcake metaphor, it is a mass of festive, sometimes syrupy, sometimes bitter nostalgia in a bland, slightly stale matrix of half-assed, depressing elevator music. Non-devotees of Aimee Mann: avoid this album. Fans: do yourself a favour. Pull out your old copy of, say, Bachelor No. 2. Use the extra money to buy a Santa hat and some candy canes. Seriously, fuck this shit.

Hyvönen is at her best when she’s penning tunes with the upbeat bounce of the album’s opener, but she never reaches the same level as “I Drive My Friend”. “You Never Got Me Right”, for example, starts off strong but withers after the first minute, slowly limping for another 53 seconds, and ending before it has a chance to take off again. Ironically, her slower numbers suffer from the opposite problem, with the very short “Valerie” (clocking in at a mere 1:34) standing head and shoulders above the rest of the more reserved compositions on the record, due in large part to its brevity. Conversely, “N.Y.” plods along slowly as Hyvönen plunks out chords, singing the praises of the Big Apple in uninspiring fashion, while some “tasteful” horns decorate the space around her. After four minutes of this, the off-beat bounce of “The Modern”—another one of the record’s highlights—is a welcome rescue.

On Until Death Comes, Frida demonstrates that she’s certainly capable of writing some rather stunning, ivory-laced pop songs. Unfortunately, the record is so uneven, it’s hard to recommend. The high points are good enough to rank with most of the finer releases I’ve heard this year, but they’re too few and far between. And while Frida’s voice is one of her strengths, she’s certainly no Cat Power, and can’t hide her somewhat rudimentary piano playing behind her pipes for the duration of a full-length.

This album does more than ride on the wave of a popular flavour of the week, but stands out as one of the stronger albums as the second wave of this music begins to wash over us. Most of the imitators in dance-punk are easily forgettable, however this album is one that will stick out as a suitable child of the parents that spawned it.

What’s really interesting about these songs is that Sarah Slean’s vocal performance is always similar to the album version, throwing the emphasis onto the music. It turns out this has a big effect: “Lucky Me”, originally a pretty pop-sounding single, shows up here first as a lounge piece for piano, and then at the end of the album as performed by a string quartet. The three versions have very different moods, and seemingly give different meanings to Slean’s often enigmatic lyrics.

Since so much of Orphan Music is a version of Day One, it’s easy to think of this as a companion album, the kind of dubious release that features remixes suspiciously similar to the album version. But this isn’t the case; instead, the songs almost become entirely new tracks. With the addition of a handful of b-sides and two unreleased songs, this is the next best thing to a new album.

On the other hand, if you don’t like Sarah Slean in the first place, then you probably won’t have much use for what is essentially an album of Sarah Slean doing covers of Sarah Slean songs. But you already knew that.

As always, his teary melodies and Elvis Costello-like delivery make for some rather efficient power-pop on the new album, Live a Little. Here, Pernice and co. revisit some old friends and sounds, while at the same time stretching out their artistic feelers.

As for the old, producer Michael Deming is back behind the boards. He recorded Pernice’s previous band, the Scud Mountain Boys, and the first Pernice Brothers record, Overcome by Happiness. Also returned are the strings and horns that accompanied the debut record, making an effective comeback on this latest release. On tracks like the Curtis Mayfield-tinged “Zero Refills” and horn-squelching “Microscopic View”, this instrumentation is a perfect fit for Pernice’s poignant yet funny lyrics. And to top off the old, the Pernice Brothers have re-recorded “Grudge Fuck”, which was originally done with the Scud Mountain Boys.

As for the new, Live a Little is more of a rock record than previous albums. This doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll break out the devil horns, but foot-tapping and head-bopping are often appropriate. This is especially noticeable in the album’s early tracks like “Automaton” and “Somerville”. The lyrics also feel a bit more rock ‘n’ roll this time out, such as on the stunning closer “High as a Kite”, which rhymes summer with Joe Strummer.

Package this all up and you have yourself a great little album.

The only occasion when this album falters is on the minimalist electro of “Pink Cellphone”, which features a rather irritating spoken word piece from Giant Drag’s Annie Hardy. Fortunately, the album quickly recovers with a closing triumvirate of brilliant songs: “Combat”, “Kimdracula”, and “Riviere”. This album once again reaffirms Deftones’ position as a band who came to prominence during the nu-metal movement but has always been a far more fulfilling, cerebral and indeed enduring musical proposition than the rest of the bunch. Korn who?

Despite former associations with Jim O’Rourke, and the drafting of sound-bending guitar virtuoso Nels Cline, musically Wilco have virtually nothing in common with Wolf Eyes. The Michigan trio’s recorded output, however, does bear a certain resemblance to that stack of bootlegs that currently sits in my room; for the uninitiated, if you’ve heard one, you could’ve easily heard them all. I’m not suggesting that “all noise sounds the same” or even that one Wolf Eyes track or album is indistinguishable from another. However, if you’re not a hardcore devotee, you’d be hard pressed to glean any significant differences between washes of sound on Human Animal and any of the dozens of recordings the band’s released this year. Similarly, Wilco’s January 10th, 2001 rendition of “Shot in the Arm” is surely different from the March 12th, 2001 performance of “Shot in the Arm”, but no one would blame you if you didn’t know why or care either way. But you should still care about Human Animal.

If you’ve got a stack of cassettes and LPs that you acquired from the merch table during Wolf Eyes’ recent visit to Vancouver, you already know this record is one of the best things Wolf Eyes has put out this year or any. If you aren’t drowning in tapes full of aural experimentation, however, this is an excellent place to start. Human Animal finds Wolf Eyes in a slightly more subdued state of mind, but there are still moments of squealing, crashing, and banging that build to create some sublime moments that emerge from the rather wonderful cacophony. If you’re not a Wolf Eyes devotee, chances are you won’t find yourself ready to embark on a quest to fill your iPod with the rest of the band’s vast catalogue, but if you’re only going to put your money on one noise recording this year, this record is a pretty safe bet.

And as bad (or good) as this might sound, Riot City Blues does have its moments. The rock ‘n’ roll numbers, “Suicide Sally & Johnny Guitar” and “The 99th Floor,” go down easy after a beer or three, and “Hell’s Comin’ Down” calls for some boot stompin’, courtesy of the country and western vibe whipped up by Dirty Three’s Warren Ellis. However, like Give Out But Don’t Give Up, the album’s strongest tracks are the slower numbers, like “Sometimes I Feel So Lonely” and “Little Death”, which might almost fit on one of the last two Primal Scream records. If you key in on these few decent songs and ignore the blatantly cliché lyrics of Bobby Gillespie, which are a given at this point, Riot City Blues is decent enough.

Note: Not sure if all the copies out there are like this, but my lame-ass bonus material seems to be improperly labeled. Instead of the listed John Lennon cover of “Gimme Some Truth”, I got a live version of “Country Girl”, and there’s no video content on this disc like they tell me there is. Either the cutbacks must be bad at the majors, or this was some trick to make me put this disc in my computer so it could infect my baby.

To me, the way artists use instruments is very important. Technique can contribute or harm the music considerably, depending on factors like variety and notes played. Throughout Harpo’s Ghost the instrumentation mostly stays low key yet interesting, like in the first (and probably best) track, “The Gambler”, with its smooth piano chords. Flashes of electric organ and harmonica solos (a Dylan trademark) grace such laid back tracks as “Call Me Your Darling”, and cello/oriental flute weave throughout “Slow Journey II”. On other tracks, a simple acoustic guitar or percussion accompaniment provides the only support for a sparse, stark tone (“The List,” “Whistle and Steam”). With her ear toward variety, she also includes a metal-pop serving (“We Built a Monster”) that’s sure to get some airplay (well, at least on 101.9 FM).

Gilmore also sports a strong, competent voice with minimal vibrato. She in fact reminds me of the modern Joni Mitchell (I’m not trying to box her in with these comparisons; it just helps in visualizing her music). Her penchant for writing fun, almost sing-along vocal melodies is a plus to my ears (such as “Cheap Tricks,” which I would release as a single if I were her). Besides, who wants to hear a cynical folkster without a decent sense of melody?

But what is her weakness, you ask? Two things: the first is the words. As with many introvert singer-songwriters, Gilmore writes lyrics that try too hard to sound mysterious and full of angst. The second is the production: too often, the electric rhythm guitar is played in the same loud manner. Some variety would freshen things up.