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Neil Young - "Le Noise" (Reprise) (rating 9 out of 10)

"Le Noise" is Neil Young's best work in decades, at least since "Ragged Glory." It's also without a clear precedent in Young's catalogue. Sidestepping the mellow acoustic/barnstorming electric dichotomy that characterizes nearly everything Young has done, "Le Noise" is solo electric - just Young and his crushing guitar. It's loud and heavy enough to satisfy adrenaline junkies and Crazy Horse fans, but retains a starkness and immediacy that would be difficult to replicate in a full-band setting. Its relatively concise 38-minute runtime keeps the admittedly limited sonic palette from wearing thin, and the swirling echoes of Young's voice and guitar (presumably courtesy of producer Daniel Lanois) fill out the sound, adding an air of psychedelic mystery.

"Angry World" marries ambiguous lyrics that are either a howl of frustration or a condemnation of bitterness and cynicism to a brutally heavy riff. It works. It's awesome. But then comes "Hitchhiker," and it's incredible. It's as nakedly personal as anything Young has written since the Ditch Trilogy. The first several verses are straight autobiography, a laundry list of drugs, infidelities, and other transgressions. About four minutes in, it takes a turn for the surreal: "I thought I was an Aztec / Or a runner in Peru." Young has previously said that his songs often don't have literal meanings, so much as connotative meanings arising from words and dreamlike images. But coming after verses with such clear autobiographical content, and relying on such well-worn tropes as time travel and indigenous peoples, it's hard not to see this as some sort of commentary on Young's songwriting, perhaps as a vehicle for escape.

By turns mellow and heavy, personal and abstract, "Le Noise" encapsulates nearly everything that you'd want or need from a Neil Young album, and does so in a novel yet organic way. That Young takes risks with his music at this stage in his career is remarkable enough; that this one has paid off so handsomely is nothing short of spectacular. Welcome back, Shakey. - David Gassmann

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Nellie McKay - "Home Sweet Mobile Home" (Verve) (rating 9 out of 10)

"Home Sweet Mobile Home" is seriously fun and funny. Nellie McKay's musical influences are all over the place, from reggae and '50s doo-wop to Broadway and swinging jazz to contemporary coffee house and funky New Orleans to modern rock and Caribbean styles, and everything in between. The bricolage effect removes the music from any one context into the realm of planet Nellie. She borrows from a diversity of genres to create pastiches that knowingly mock cultural and political conventions that value compliance and consistency over creativity. McKay zaps the consumerist cool kids and hipsters of the 21st century and employs humor to direct her barbs deeply into her targets: from the current state of liberty in the world to equality between the sexes, to the food we eat, to the homes we live in, and much, much more in a manner that often disguises the seriousness and depth of her genius.

The diversity of styles, tones, and topics presented here reveal McKay's obsession with the past, the personal, and the possibilities of the future. The total effect of the autobiographical "Please" is that of a Mobius strip that twists back on itself with philosophical insights and droll wit describing the tough life that shaped her into the person she is today. She begins by thanking the Lord for a "hard luck childhood," then turns the other cheek and shows gratitude a la Oliver Twist to those in charge that profess to be merciful, while acting cruel and callous. Along the way, McKay appreciatively asks, "Please Mrs. Henry," making an obscure reference to the mean master of Bob Dylan and the Band's "Basement Tapes." She ends all this with a tongue-in-cheek thanks to Mr. Hula Hoop, equating this fictional character with the unreal, or at least non-interventionist, God with a sense of black humor. She sings and plays in a sweet manner as she continues to equate "college green" with "a lynching tree" as she understands that American history, like her biography, may be all messed up - the good and bad - but it is what it is and she is glad to exist in the here and now.

Most of the song titles here are one word: "Adios," "Please," "Bodega!," "Dispossessed," "Bluebird." While the musical arrangements frequently border on the excessive as she goes from one style to the next, and often during the same song, she knows the importance of keeping the lyrics clear and simple to make her points. McKay may give you a smile like Charo, but don't mistake the grin for a lack of seriousness. She conveys more with one word than most musicians do with a lexicon of language. - Steve Horowitz

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Deerhunter - "Halcyon Digest" (4AD) (rating 6 out of 10)

Deerhunter is talented, to be sure, but their popularity in indie circles comes more from this: Deerhunter makes us feel smart. We like Deerhunter because we - a small, clustered-up 'we' - know where they came from. That's not to say they don't have a unique sound, but for their first two records, Bradford Cox and company were unwieldy noisemakers. At their best, those songs carved out their own churning niche. But mostly they let us talk about My Bloody Valentine or Slowdive or even just drop "shoegaze" into conversation, since to even know the term is to exert some deep-set musical knowledge.

All this - where we are as a musical world, and where Deerhunter has been - brings us to their new album, "Halcyon Digest," which is in some ways the band's most accomplished record to date. For the best parts of this record, Deerhunter burst out fully-formed, as a compelling, shape-shifting rock band. Gone are the thick fogs of noise to hide behind, and here is a more organically murky but arresting sound. "Don't Cry," the album's second song, has crunchy but well-defined guitars that chug along while Cox coos out each line with a haunting charm. "You don't need to cry your eyes out," he insists, but there's enough edge in his voice to belie the comfort he's offering.

For Bradford Cox, a guy who is constantly noodling with demos and new experiments, often posting them for download on his blog, much of his final output lacks that sense of discovery. Inherent in his constant creating is the need to always move on, and his songs can feel well worn by the time they get to record. Songs on "Halcyon Degest" like "Earthquake," "Basement Scene," and "We Would Have Laughed" fall into this category. You can see the interesting parts: the way the shimmering acoustic guitar works against the terse beat and grinding atmospherics on "Earthquake," the clever play on the Everly Brothers' "All I Have to Do Is Dream" on "Basement Scene," the unruly but striking layers of disparate sound on "We Would Have Laughed."

I don't doubt that Bradford Cox feels this music in his bones, but sometimes his carefully built sound comes across to us as a musical dissertation. "Halcyon Digest" is, to my mind, the best we've seen from Deerhunter, and a hint that their best is still to come. It's a fascinating document to study, but I'm not sure that makes it great music. - Matthew Fiander

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Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark - "History of Modern" (100%) (rating 6 out of 10)

Over the past few years, OMD have really set the table for a smashing comeback. First came the well-received reunion shows, featuring the band's "classic" four-piece lineup performing their classic material. Then came the concerts with symphony orchestras and an art installation with famed graphic designer Peter Saville. Throughout, the band realized their music, particularly their more experimental early-1980s material, had undergone a critical revival.

It seemed natural, taken for granted, really, that "History of Modern" would at the very least "sound" like classic-era OMD. But wait a minute. Andy McCluskey, who helmed OMD alone during the 1990s and does the bulk of the songwriting here, has always been ambivalent about the band's modest commercial success. As OMD-influenced Depeche Mode conquered the world, McCluskey had to make do with a few British hits and the odd European success. Prior to the band's reforming, he claimed he regretted "Dazzle Ships" being so experimental. He wanted another massive hit like "Architecture & Morality" had been. However good or lousy they were, McCluskeys's trio of 1990s OMD albums were nothing if not unabashedly commercial.

On "History of Modern," you can hear OMD trying to straddle the line between the artful moodiness longtime fans have been led to expect, and the pop sensibilities that might grab some airplay. It's like the band have created a pretty-good "classic"-sounding OMD album and then injected it with a bunch of random detritus that was lying around McCluskey's flat. There's enough here to warrant the inevitable "best album since..." claims, for sure. McCluskey gets out all his frustrations on "New Babies: New Toys," a scathing attack on the ready-made music industry, complete with fuzz guitar, pounding drums, and a satisfying burst of energy and confidence. Throughout the album, his nasally voice remains a singular, emotive instrument.

Maybe the expectations for "History of Modern" were too high. But if so, OMD are as much to blame as anyone. They set the table for a full-on renaissance, then stopped a couple courses short. With judicious programming, the best two-thirds of "History of Modern" will give you just enough of that old OMD magic to warrant a purchase. The problem is, it's also just enough to make the rest of the album break your heart. - John Bergstrom

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The Posies - "Blood / Candy" (Rykodisc) (rating 6 out of 10)

Anyone who followed the trajectory of the Seattle-band group the Posies during the '90s understands that they knew their way around an irresistible hook. Whether it was well-crafted balladry, delicious power pop or simply rage, the Posies were the "ne plus ultra" of purveying workman-like pop-rock songs, especially in lieu of their hometown's fascination with the particular sludge of grunge music at the time. "Blood / Candy," however, shows the group - led by Jon Auer and Kevin Stringfellow - taking a slightly different approach to songcraft as opposed to their usual power pop route. Instead of hooks that sink into your brain, there are angular jabs that linger. Instead of wall-to-wall high-octane pop songs with gorgeous melodies, parts of this album are written in minor keys. Instead of being a relatively sunshiny affair, much of this record is more autumnal - something to listen to while wearing a wool sweater.

The band's seventh studio album and first release in five years, sees the Posies even reaching further back into their bag of influences in the canon of popular music: instead of the Raspberries, Todd Rundgren or Big Star, the band here also rips pages from the sheet music of the Beach Boys and even the Beatles. There's a real paradigm shift in the sound of the Posies of the 2010s and the results of that change are middling at best. There are stellar songs to be found in the 12 tracks, but if I may bring up a certain f-word - filler - well, there's a bit of that, too. It's an album with a real multiple personality disorder, partly as a result of being recorded in various locations around the globe, necessitating the use of no less than eight recorders and mixers. That's about halfway to "Loveless," for those keeping count.

"Blood / Candy" is the mark of a band that isn't content to retread past successes, which is an admirable trait. However, some of the experimentation and attempts to travel further afield fall flat, which leads to the conclusion that the band needed more editors than mixers on this album. As a result, this occupies a strange place in the work of the Posies. While long-time fans will probably be happy to get something, "anything," from the group, considering the long lag time it took for this album to be readied, those curious about the Posies and haven't had much exposure to them would be better directed to the pure, unabashed power pop of "Frosting on the Beater." "Blood / Candy" might be the sign of a band stretching out, it frequently stumbles over its own two feet. Alas, for those who came of age with "Dream All Day," that's a pronouncement that's bound to be a disappointment. - Zachary Houle

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