The Righs are an Irish punk band and (full disclosure) my friends, as lead singer/acoustic guitarist Nate Williams was a long-time writer for Independent Clauses.  Nate handed me this album and asked me what I thought. I told him pretty much what I’m writing now. But now you’re free to take all this with a grain of salt.

Back to the Righs’ Irish punk. The band is gleefully raw, having recorded these tunes on Roses purposefully without pristine sound quality. Having seen some of these songs performed live, it was a good move to go a little more raw on the recording; this album sounds a lot closer to what the Righs sound like live than their debut album The Rivers Run Deep does. The drums pound, the vocals run ragged, and the band seems to tilt a little bit toward losing control. It’s a wild and frantic sound most of the time, and it’s an energizing one.

I’m sure that the decision to let the sound be less-than-perfect will drive some away. But if that’s what sends them packing, they weren’t really listening to the songs anyway. This album is over an hour long, and the band uses almost every minute of it to say something. They charge through punk songs, drinking songs, anthems, folk tunes, sea shanties and more. The lyrics run the gamut too: from the call-to-arms of opener “Double Edged Sword” to the depressing storytelling of “Mother Knows Best” to the protest anthem “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” back to philosophical musings on closer “What Good is Death?”, The Righs devote time to tons of topics.

Because this album is long, varied musically, varied lyrically, and in a style that often gets pegged as a gimmick, it would be easy to think that this would get tiring. It doesn’t, because the album can be neatly broken into two parts: the ragged, wild beginning half, and the more subdued second half. There are still punk tunes in the back half, but “And So It Goes” is a much more orderly song than the “fire that’s on fire” urgency of early standout “The Man With Nickel Plating Makes All the Rules.” It doesn’t mean it’s less enjoyable; it means it’s different. And the Righs use that difference in songwriting and recording style to keep their long album interesting. There are some tunes that lag, but you can skip ‘em. With so many songs to choose from here, missing one isn’t a huge loss (especially when the album is not composed with a particular theme, story, or central element).

The Righs’ Roses is an entertaining Irish punk album that draws in a variety of songwriting and lyrical influences from outside the Celtic tradition. While still retaining their core sound, the band pushes its boundaries outward, mostly resulting in success. The crazy, energetic, great songs are proof.

The instrumental work here is solid. The hard-charging guitar work and snare-heavy drumming is nothing that hasn’t been done before, but it’s pulled off with attitude and grit. They do a decent build-up section in “Running From Our Selves,” but they follow it up with a blistering section that proves they’re much better at just cranking out the jams. The harder they play, the better.

The problem is the vocals. When the vocalist sings, his high, young vocals don’t fit the sound at all. The gritty, Latterman-esque punk needs a lot grittier approach to the vocals to make the sound work. He spends much of his time yelling on “Running From Our Selves,” and as a result that track takes the prize for best track. The more sung vocals there are on a track, the less cohesive that track is.

Mourning shows that they have some good ideas on their four-song EP, but they’ve got a long way to go before they’re turning those good ideas into great songs.

In a statement regarding Warrior Angel, L’illon says, “I like to think of it as part of a new musical revolution, drawing from ancient tones, melodic filigree, harmonic complexity…”  Unfortunately this “musical revolution” sounds similar to the mood music that the listener would expect to hear while relaxing at a spa.

Although the singer has a somewhat soothing voice, at times it seems the songs would be much more enjoyable if the cheesy vocals were dropped altogether.  The instrumentals are unique and colorful, but it is incredibly hard to take seriously lyrics like “Hey mister shy guy.”  The percussion and guitar hint at a Latino influence, so the appeal that L’illon has reached with Europeans is understandable.  However, she is definitely lacking the intensity and fierceness of the likes of Shakira and Paulina Rubio.

Despite the fact that the album has drawn some attention from within the indie world, it seems almost misleading to consider her “indie” with the stereotype that follows that title.  L’illon’s music seems of the type that would be much more appealing to under-romanticized, middle-aged women versus the coffee-shop going, rock-concert-attending listener.

L’illon makes it apparent that one of her goals is to be incredibly honest and straight-forward with her lyrics, which is different from the typical vague, metaphorical songs of many indie artists today.  Her listeners will likely appreciate the chance to understand the song’s meaning from the beginning, rather than trying to play a guessing game of decoding.

In reference to the term she coined, “lucid pop,” L’illon says that “you can feel a new spark of sensuality and vibrancy so that everyone can feel cool, modern, and sexy in their own skin.”  The exotic sounds of songs on Warrior Angel will probably achieve that for those who like hypnotic beats mixed with pop vocals.  Songs like “Love Story” and “Navigate Me Home” will leave you imagining belly dancers and colorful costumes in a psychedelic new age realm, which may not be the most pleasant experience for those of us who have become accustomed to the comfort of acoustic and alternative rock.

The Bright Light Motion is a band of good musicians. They write competent tunes that would fit in well on radio. But they don’t have an outside hook (Snow Patrol’s accent, peculiar instruments a la Cake or Yellowcard, theatrical songwriting twists a la Panic! at the Disco, dance beats a la everyone on the radio right now) to set them apart. Their four-song EP For All the Right Reasons passes pleasantly but not impactfully. The best moment comes in the end of “Wither,” where they drop out the guitars and bring in the choir of chanting hipsters, which segues into a neat whoa-o section with a cool synthesizer. They’re tried and true pop tricks, and BLM uses them to good effect. If it ain’t broke…

“Oceans Away” is a mid-tempo headbobber that shows off the vocals but doesn’t push any boundaries. “Love Wakes the Dead” starts off with a nice little riff and a vaguely danceable drum beat, but it crashes back into chord-mashing mode for the chorus and kills whatever momentum the band had built up creatively.  The song serves as a sign that The Bright Light Motion has some songwriting chops waiting to be released; they just didn’t get into this EP.

There is not a thing wrong with The Bright Light Motion. The vocals are good, the recording is tight, the songs have melodies to hum, and there’s more than enough charm to go around. But it just doesn’t add up to anything out of the ordinary. And that’s the hardest curse to break.

Friday Mile’s Good Luck Studio is essentially what would have happened if Coldplay had written an album between Parachutes and A Rush of Blood to the Head. Neither preoccupied with dreamy acoustic soundscapes or serious piano epics, these songs inhabit a transitionary space that allows the tunes to swing back and forth between the extremes. There’s some songs that ratchet up toward “Daylight” or “Politik”-level piano songs, and there are tunes that drop down toward a “Sparks” or “Trouble” level of melancholy. But this is no Coldplay rip-off, as Friday Mile has an ace in their sleeve that makes them different: Hannah Williams’ vocals.

Hannah Williams’ versatile voice molds itself to different moods very well; from ghostly backups to plaintive harmony to resonant lead vocals, she opens up a whole other part of the Coldplay-esque sound and transforms Friday Mile’s songwriting into an unexpected affair. These songs would still be incredible without Williams’ voice, but my attention was kept rapt, wondering when the next time Hannah Williams would sing would be.

The album blows by, taking down ten songs in 33 minutes. Each song has its own delights, from the prominent bass work of “Even I” to the acoustic pop bliss of “Lives of Strangers” to the jaunty piano and dissonant guitar of “Handle It” to the wistful keys of “Adorable Machine.” This album doesn’t repeat songs, but the songs still flow. The goals of the songs may be different, but they’re not so disparate as to disjoint the album.

This album’s mood is light but serious; it can easily be played as entertaining background music, but it stands up to close scrutiny as well. This is about as high a compliment as I can give; it’s artistically sound and entertainingly sound. I expect many more good things from Friday Mile, as their sound is just too good to pass up. Good Luck Studio is a fantastic full-length debut that will give listeners prolonged enjoyment. Look for its tracks in soundtracks of sitcoms and films near you soon.  Also, look for it in your CD player and iTunes. Cause it should and will be there too.

Perhaps somewhat strangely, I Will Not Fear reminds me a lot of the city I (currently) live in: Norman, Oklahoma. The EP is little (a short five songs), but substantial, like the semi-small town of Norman, which feels a lot smaller than it is. The EP blends in nicely with its roots and contemporaries of folk and country, but definitely still stands out. There are some decidedly Woody Guthrie-esque (and thus, Bob Dylan-esque) moments, but enough modernity that I could easily imagine it played in one of Norman’s arty coffee shops and hangouts. There’s a certain fuzziness in the recording that might make one think of continually windy weather. And I, too, had to warm up to Norman a little before falling in love with it.

“Do I Have To Stay Here Alone (Big White Clouds)” opens I Will Not Fear with a woody graininess, topped with a little sharpness in lead vocals that balances with full-sounding harmonies that actually sound like big white clouds, if that’s not too big a stretch of the imagination. The even-paced airy choruses blend the pieces together nicely.

“Heart in Seven” is more uptempo, but it doesn’t lose the “down home”/DIY/basement-in-a-prairie-home feel because of its simple instrumentation and echo-y reverb. The excellently-named “And the Truth Shall Let You Be or Brain vs. Heart” is the musical equivalent of a wavy line, with both soaring and dipping moments, pulling you along gently until suddenly you’re there with the band at the end, wishing it wasn’t quite over yet and wondering how you got there.

Of all the others on the EP, the song “Mantra/What Is and What Is Not” is definitely the most epic. It seems to have several movements, one sounding big and orchestral and another that emphasizes Fleet Foxes-like backup vocals.

I Will Not Fear What I Don’t Understand ends with a cover of Cake’s “Mexico,” but in The Vision of a Dying World’s revamping of the song, even a Cake fan might not recognize it.

Hopefully after this metaphor-heavy review, the reader will take a strong liking to The Vision of a Dying World’s EP I Will Not Fear What I Don’t Understand much sooner than I did.

Western Giants is a band from Texas, and as such they incorporate country music into their amalgam (it’s really almost impossible not to if you’re from Texas; even the metal there has a country swagger). But they also include a strain of energetic, easy-going indie rock that’s been popping up in Oklahoma in bands like The Uglysuit, The Non, and more. These two elements together create a dreamy, lazy, warm sound that I’ve never heard before. It’s like what would happen if country artists started listening to the majestic Margot and the Nuclear So & Sos or the wide-eyed Annuals. Or maybe it’s the sound of indie hipsters not just rocking cowboy boots but actually getting on the horse for a weekend of work. Either way, it’s glorious.

There’s only four songs on this EP, and that distresses me. I wish there were a full album of this, because it’s simply fantastic. From the supremely indie chilled out keys of “Long Live the Live Long Day” to the spare, folksy drumming and accordion of “Once We Reach the Other Side” to the pressing indie beauty of “As Hard as the Road Ahead” back to the charming country strum of “Park,” there are moments in each of these songs that make it hard for me to declare a stand-out track. They’re all highlights.

I could dedicate more words to Long Live the Live Long Day, but I don’t need more than this: Western Giants plays a mix of mellow country and dreamy, lazy indie that will leave you speechless. It’s the best EP of the year so far. You need this EP, and you need to follow this band. Up-and-comers in the indie scene for sure.

Christopher Browder, who is Mansions, has released ten songs that paint him as caught somewhere between being Bright Eyes and The Mountain Goats. He captures the all-encompassing songwriting of Bright Eyes (electronic pieces, pop songs, folk songs, song fragments, etc) but does it through the earnest lyrics of the Mountain Goats. There is some adolescent moping throughout the album (“LetsBSdTgthr,” “18th Bday,” “Tangerine”), but there is also an impressive amount of questioning of weighty and substantive issues, like “Never Enuff,” which is a story about someone breaking up with God. Browder isn’t questioning the existence of God, he’s questioning whether or not God is worth it. That’s a pretty advanced step for a pop song.

Also advanced is Browder’s songwriting ability. Browder sets up “All Eyes on You” with a dance-ready synth line and a clicking backbeat that just begs to become a thumping techno song. Instead, he keeps the clicking and the synths going, and adds mellow, atmospheric synths on top of it. It transforms the mood of the song and drives it in a whole other direction. It’s a masterful re-direct and display of his unique songwriting vision.

Other songs are more straightforward, like the plodding guitar and piano of “Unwell” or the lo-fi guitar sound of “I Swear” and “LtsBSdTghthr.” These display Browder’s prowess in a totally different way. On “LtsBSdTgthr” and “I Swear,” Browder creates memorable, distinct songs out of the most basic of elements. He’s not just a composer; he’s a genuine songwriter. And in this day and age, pure songwriters are becoming less lauded and (thus) less heard from.

Every song on this album is worth writing a hundred or more words about; some songs merit even more than that, as I’d want to set aside a hundred plus for the lyrics and a hundred plus for the words. I’ll spare you the words, but take that statement in good faith. This album is amazing, and it’s a friggin’ B-sides album. If Browder writes with this sort of clarity, quality, and intensity on his regular albums, I may have found a new prolific artist to keep up with. And that’s not a statement to be made lightly, because liking a prolific songwriter is an expensive venture (I had to cut Damien Jurado when I discovered the Mountain Goats, etc.). Get this album. It’s available as a pay-what-you-want download on Bandcamp, and that’s just silly for the amount of quality you’re getting in these tunes.

The problem with Hello Morning is that it falls squarely into the genre “indie-rock.” When there’s no genre-creating crutch to rely on (punk’s energy, downtempo’s beats, pop’s singalong qualities, metal’s riffing, etc), the songwriting gets thrust into the spotlight very quickly. Especially since these songs are meant to be epic and meaningful (read: OK Computer), there’s a lot of weight borne on the collective talent of these four men to produce great songs. They can’t hide behind any tricks. And, like shining a bright light on a dark spot exposes all the flaws, this no-tricks approach leaves Hello Morning wide open to praise and criticism.

The criticism first: most of these songs don’t have an attention-grabber. The songs are tightly constructed, excellently played and recorded brilliantly, but there’s nothing in them to snag a casual listener. The chorus of “Coldbreakers” is one of the better moments on the EP, but its melody still seems like a Radiohead cast-off. “Come Home” has a sprightly ’80s feel to it, but the guitar melodies are not significantly different enough to be distinct from, say, “Everything is You.” The songs aren’t difficult to listen to; they’re difficult to tell apart.

The exception is “Mercury (Once Again),” which opens with a distinctive single-note melody, then throws in a counterpoint and a slinky bass line. Their decision to forego the full-on atmospheric treatment (no keys) actually creates a more memorable atmosphere for the song to reside in. Throw in an excellent (although still Thom Yorke-esque) performance by the lead vocalist and a great bridge, and you’ve got a winner. It sticks out on the album, and it’s the one that I keep returning to.

Hello Morning has a lot going for them, but they haven’t found their exact voice yet. They play and write with confidence, but I have a hard time connecting with the songs. If you’re a big fan of OK Computer and albums of its ilk, this will interest you. Otherwise I’d give Hello Morning a little more time to grow.

But there really is an indie-rock sound. It’s characterized by a rock’n'roll set up, with at least some drums, a guitar and a bass. Chords are used in unusual ways, rhythms and melodies are experimented with, and songwriting structures are composed in non-traditional ways. There’s intensity, but it doesn’t make a habit of the lightning tempos of punk, the brutal intensity of metal, or the macho posturing of rock’n'roll. There are quiet sections, but it doesn’t turn into the cute moods of twee, the forlorn sounds of folk, or the giddy shine of indie-pop. It’s middle of the road, if the road was on someone else’s map that you couldn’t see. It’s emotionally tempered rock’n'roll with thought. There’s artistic ideals fused into it.

The reason I spend the time to explain my definition of indie-rock is because Self-evident plays indie-rock. If a person came up to me and asked me what indie-rock was, I’d point them to Endings as a beginning. Then I’d give them the history lesson. But on a time crunch, Self-evident’s songs would work.

That’s not to say that Endings is generic or wishy washy. On the contrary, the musical vision of the three men in Self-evident is laser-guided. They cull most of their aggression from the vocalist, who hollers as if he were in a punk band, while they pull their melodies from the incredibly tight interplay between the bass and guitar work. The two musicians weave rhythms and melodies together in a fascinating and mesmerizing way, often resulting in beautiful harmonies that take the ear off-guard. The power comes from the drummer, who pounds away as if he were in a straight-up rock band. And the parts, which don’t seem on paper to blend well, mix gloriously. This can only be the result of hours and hours of practice and songwriting.

And when “The Future” comes over the speakers, I’m immensely glad that the band took the time to be precise. The song is the epitome of the last paragraph; the tight rhythms and harmonies scattered throughout the piece demand to be carefully listened to. There are sections that thunder with a dissonant intensity, but it gives way to a peaceful, lullaby-esque melody to close out the piece. It’s simply astounding. It’s like if the Appleseed Cast wasn’t prone to distorted freak-outs, or if Unwed Sailor had lyrics, or if MeWithoutYou had gone all indie-rock instead of all post-hardcore.

“Everything All at Once” has a similarly powerful and beautiful sway. This one’s pretty section overpowers the intense section. It gives in to the ominous “Temporary, Confused,” whose use of background vocals and insistent drumming make it another standout. The glitching “At Last” threw me for a loop for a second until I understood what was going on; it’s one of the most complex and heaviest of the bunch, but it also features one of the quietest sections on the album.

This is not an album that you slap on in the background of your life. This is music to be appreciated. Endings is an album of eleven tunes with nothing left up to chance. Every turn is meticulously planned and plotted, and the result is a brilliant album that holds attention melodically, rhythmically, and mood-wise for almost forty minutes (longer, if you repeat songs – as you should). This is a stand-out release in every sense of the word, and I hope that people will release that and lavish the praise this album so rightly deserves. I mean, who else in the world is going to write a song as ambitious as “Apprentices,” and then make it sound easy? No one. Get this album now.