Tool squeak onto the list this year with an album that is arguably the weakest of their career. Still, when you’re talking about Tool, “weakest of their career” doesn’t mean it’s bad. After all, these freaks have churned out some unbelievably good albums and 10,000 Days is still quite tasty. But it’s REALLY subtle and you have to dig REALLY deep to find the creamy goodness within. Oh sure, ubiquitous radio single “The Pot” is instantly accessible but it’s also ridiculously infectious. You know a song is truly good when it can stand up to radio overplay and still rock your ass. Back to the subtlety issue: what makes this album less effective than prior works is that it has a tendency to meander aimlessly at times. A track such as “Wings for Marie (Pt. 1)” creeps along for several minutes, then abruptly switches gears to rock hard for mere seconds, then withdraws back to its quiet corner. You might feel that the song was just a big tease, giving you much less than you bargained for. But after numerous listens I came to see it simply as one portion of a much larger picture. On the other hand “Jambi” displays what Tool do best: they don’t write a song, they take you on a journey. Through deceivingly simple melodies, a cool-as-hell fadeout bass note, and slamming chugga-chugga riffs, this track is seven minutes and thirty seconds of bliss. “Rosetta Stoned” is another winner, serving up the standard Tool formula to great success; the huge, muscled guitar chords at about the 10:30 mark are a particular highlight. Okay, so now we get to the difficult part: two of the last tracks, “Intension” and “Right in Two,” are tricky numbers. It’s easy to dismiss them, to feel like the album is basically over with nothing but detritus and filler remaining. Frankly, these tracks are difficult to unlock without concentrated headphone listening. They’re so damn unassuming and laid back that you’ll pass them by without thinking, but there is magic to be found here and they are truly worth exploring. They are followed, however, by “Viginti Tres” which I’m sorry to say actually is a waste of time. The album would have been better off without this pointless assemblage of noise. Lastly, I am reluctant to hold up album packaging as a legitimate success factor, but this one does bear mentioning. It’s literally a hardcover booklet full of artwork with stereoscopic magnifying lenses included. Each piece of art comes in a pair, and when viewed through the lenses the pair coalesces into a single three-dimensional image. The wild thing is that I had to “train” my eyes to see them properly, much like that stupid laser artwork that was all the rage in the ‘90s. You know the stuff, where some hidden image was locked within a seemingly disparate mess of lines and colors (a good metaphor for this album, now that I think about it). Anyway, once I learned the trick it was impossible NOT to see the images properly and it made for some trippy viewing. At the very least, you gotta give the band points for creativity on that one. So I suppose we’ll have to wait yet another five years for the band’s next album, but I’ll be waiting with anticipation. Ever mystical and unique, they stand apart as legends in their own time.

Anaal Nathrakh roar forth with their third full-length album of necrotic insanity. I’m happy to say it’s a bit of a comeback for them after the slightly flat Domine Non es Dignus. Here they’re in top form, relentlessly shredding through vehement hymns of blackened sickness. They’ve moved ever more to the grindcore side of the metal spectrum, while still retaining their supersonic black metal core. But before you go getting the wrong idea, this stuff isn’t just head-down, bull-in-china-shop grind. There are brilliant serpent melodies writhing their way through most of the tracks. “The Yellow King” is one such shining example. Also, Anaal aren’t afraid to utilize cleanly sung vocals, which work to great effect. Check out “Between Shit and Piss We Are Born” (lovely title, eh?) for a soaring chorus that dances upon a machine gun foundation. “When the Lion Devours Both Dragon and Child” is another wonder, combining epic singing with dazzling melodic mastery. As further evidence of an evolution toward grind, the band’s live roster now includes Shane Embury and Danny Herrera of Napalm Death. Mr. Embury (here known as Embryonomous) also does a guest appearance on the album, as does Mayhem’s legendary Attila Csihar. But closing track “Regression to the Mean” throws the black/grind genre out on its ass and comes across like a demonically possessed Godflesh. It crunches along at mid-tempo, seething utter darkness. With a looped effect that sounds like mechanical winds howling through the very gates of hell, and a low scratchy vocal calling your soul to the pit, it’s a fitting finale for this work of misanthropic art. Embrace the Pandemonic Hyperblast.

Enslaved: the most prolific band in metaldom. What is with these guys? It seems they literally release an album every year. In an age when bands such as Tool and Agalloch take four and five years to make an album, Enslaved’s track record is impressive. What’s more impressive is that the albums are unfailingly good. Sometimes they require a few listens (as this one does) but greatness invariably reveals itself. I suppose that might be because the band stay so true to themselves. They change a bit with each album, but not necessarily in a linear fashion. They used to be straight-up Viking/black metal, then just intense black metal, then prog metal, then even proggier metal, then thrash/black, and now they’re…well they’re just Enslaved. I guess that’s my point; they clearly do what they want, when they want. They always sound like no other band, and they always wield a careful style of songwriting that oozes integrity and craftsmanship. Sometimes the songs are vicious, sometimes they’re pensive, but they’re always well-made. Take the majesty that is the title track. It begins with a sinewy guitar line that joins with monotone singing, almost like a chant. Then the bottom drops out, we get a nice frigid melody and Grutle Kjellson starts in with his acidic shrieking. Then back out to the chant, then back to the heavier stuff, then throw in some acoustic guitar and finish with harsh and clean vocals in tandem. It’s called layering and structure, folks, and it’s what great music is made of. “Essence” is another choice cut with its classic pagan metal guitar tones, rollicking blackened break sections, and evocative chorus vocals. Or dig the big, angular riffs that power the grooving “Api-Vat,” frosted with a classy guitar solo. Whether grinding through blizzard blasts or lulling your brain into deep reflection, Enslaved are a band with immense talent and passion, and the metal world is lucky that they seem to effortlessly release quality in such great quantity.

Isis have established themselves as a band with vision, vision that wildly surpasses the creative abilities of most bands. And while their latest effort still showcases some of that keen vision, it is a regrettable step backward for the band. When you’re talking about that intangible “it” factor that makes an album truly great it’s difficult to dissect your viewpoint and explain it entirely. Likewise, when the “it” factor seems lacking or diminished one is at a loss to explain just why that is so. But when comparing this album to its epic predecessor Panopticon or the entrancing Oceanic, it becomes clear that some special element is missing. Nevertheless, we are talking about one of the finest bands on the scene so the standards are higher for them. There is still much here in which to rejoice, such as the monstrous closing minute of “Dulcinea” which is tinged with a Middle Eastern vibe akin to Aussie band Alchemist. Actually, that sound pervades a few of these songs; there’s also an indication in the liner notes that the band may have drawn inspiration from the Mesopotamian region. Other highlights: “1,000 Shards” slithers with a morose melody line that sounds rather like The Cure then finishes with massive guitars and brutal vocals. “Holy Tears” is probably the strongest track, building slowly and carefully to the five-minute mark when it breaks loose with thunderous sound and enchanting melodic underpinnings. “Garden of Light” makes for a strong finale with some excellent ebb-and-flow dynamics and a nearly freeform jam session feel that is wonderfully expansive. So Isis have delivered another solid release that makes most artists’ work look positively juvenile, but here’s hoping they make better use of their arsenal next time around. They fired a few blanks on this one.

Katatonia are slipping a bit. There was a time when they were nearly guaranteed a top 5 spot on my list, and unquestionably a top 10. And if this entire album were as strong as the first four tracks are, it’d be ranked higher this time too. But while their signature style of gloomy pop gone heavy is still intact it’s a little less riveting this time around. Maybe they’re in need of another shift in their sound. For years they changed distinctly with each and every album and you never quite knew what was coming next. Now they’re sticking to a successful formula so the albums aren’t offering up many surprises. Still, they are an extremely talented group and their presence here is certainly warranted. Look to the stellar “Soil’s Song” or “Deliberation” for reasons why. Both are classic Katatonic hymns to loss, death and all things dreary but with some excellent guitar work that both reinforces and contrasts with the nature of the songs. While the second half of the album is where things seem to be a little more stagnant, look for notable exception “In the White,” a gorgeously melancholic number punctuated by jagged guitar attacks. Jonas Renske’s voice is absolute gold here, with inflection and drawn-out tones of sorrow that pull you into his wretched world. Katatonia still have what it takes to set them far apart from the hordes of faceless, meaningless bands you can find around any corner, but here’s hoping that next time around they re-evaluate their current position and once again take up the flag as bold leaders in the kingdom of metal.

In considering Moonspell’s latest entry into the musical realm I of course considered their past ones. I was admittedly surprised to find that former effort The Antidote was released three years prior. It does not seem so long ago! That album made my list for the year and I heralded it as a huge comeback for the band. And so it was, grinding their previous foray into electronica beneath its heel and making it clear the band had returned to play pure metal. Well if that album was a comeback, then Memorial is the nail in the coffin of any remaining doubt. In all seriousness, you could nearly jump from the classic Wolfheart to this disc without skipping a beat. I might even go so far as to call it Wolfheart Part II. The thundering gothic presence that emanated from the band some eleven years ago is here in full force, but with added maturity. “Finisterra” alternates between blazing black metal tempo and rattling staccato percussion, closing with the taunting lyric “A lie at the end of the earth.” There are lots of great acoustic passages throughout the disc, adding dynamics and dimension. And check out the guitar solo in “Sons of Earth;” it’s damn close to being a replica of the opening licks of Testament’s thrash classic “Trial by Fire!” What a curious and fun reference, though presumably not intentional. “At the Image of Pain” contains an exciting guest appearance by the enigmatic Big Boss of Czech masters Root. Boss at times sounds odd here, like a tormented spirit sending his operatic cries through the darkened chambers of a haunted castle. Maybe that’s what performing with Moonspell does to you: brings out your inner spectre. It certainly is a great cameo. In this golden treasure trove of excellent songs comes one shining jewel: the spine-tingling “Luna.” Guest vocals from Brigit Zacher lend a transcendent air to the chorus, enough to leap into your soul and make it sing along. The song sort of reminds me of The Gathering and Lacuna Coil and that whole glut of late ‘90s/early ‘00s female-fronted gothic metal bands. The trick is that is distills the very best qualities of that style into this one magnificent track. The surging musical backdrop provided by the band doesn’t hurt either. The keyboard work, in particular, is very reminiscent of Type O Negative at their most eerie. Make no mistake; with this effort representing them Moonspell are once again a major force in the metal universe.

It would seem The Mars Volta swing on some kind of prog rock pendulum. On one side of that arc they are brilliant, untouchable musical masters. On the other they are wanky, self-obsessed, pretentious noodlers. Full-length debut De-Loused in the Comatorium was on the very, very good side of the spectrum; last year’s Frances the Mute was not. Oh it had some memorable moments but it dissolved into incoherent mush for a little too much of the album’s running time. So as the pendulum goes we’ve now headed back in the other direction. Amputechture isn’t perfect; it hasn’t reached utter genius territory, but it is much better than Frances and so the Mars boys are back on my list. In a sense I’m now hearing the “grown up” Mars Volta. They take a more mature, subtle approach, so subtle that initial track “Vicarious Atonement” is over seven minutes long but is little more than spacey lounge music. It takes a lot of guts to open your album that way, as many people lack the attention span to stay focused; that’s sort of what makes the track worthwhile. “Tetragrammaton” follows with a whopping 16 minutes of classic Volta. Guitar melodies climb and descend, textures shift and dance, and Cedric Bixler-Zavala croons and soothes his way into your psyche. “Asilos Magdalena” is a gentle ballad sung entirely in Spanish and the effect is magical; there’s just something about the way the words roll off the tongue, backed only by some nice Spanish guitar. In contrast, “Viscera Eyes” is big, bold groove-laden track with a memorable central riff. “Day of the Baphomets” returns to the formula of prog madness; horns and wild guitars duke it out in an amazing battle. The whole affair ends on “El Ciervo Vulnerado,” yet another quiet and simplistic track. That makes three such songs over the course of the album, harkening back to the comment I made earlier about the band growing up. They just seem to be taking more time to do what they want to do and the material sounds purposeful because of it. This album is definitely not as immediate as De-Loused… so some extra listening time is required to sort it all out. I wholeheartedly recommend giving it that time because you’ll be glad you did when you come out the other side.

Early last year …Trail of Dead released Worlds Apart, a decent album which was made mediocre when compared to the excellent Source Tags & Codes that came before it. Well I’m happy to say that they’ve bounced back; So Divided is an impressive release. After a weird intro track, things kick right into high gear with the hard-rockin’ romp of “Stand in Silence.” I’ve always identified this band most closely with Sonic Youth; they share that style of squelched-guitar college rock that left a lot of twentysomethings smiling in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s. “Wasted State of Mind” is still a great example of that, a spectacular sing-along tune. The title track is also very Youth-ish. But on this effort I think they distinguish themselves more, if for no other reason than because of the sheer diversity on display. “Naked Sun” has a retro feel, almost an homage to ‘50s-themed greaser rock which morphs into a big ending with swelling film score keyboards. Perhaps showing an affinity for the rock of yore, “Eight Days of Hell” seems to be another blast from the past, and the chosen idols are the Beatles. It’s chock-full of vocals sung in group harmony, and it’s upbeat, almost manic, with a big fat grin that’s cracking at the corners. By far the biggest shock comes with closer “Sunken Dreams,” where the clear influence is…get ready for this…The Cure! And it ain’t subtle, folks. The first two minutes of this song are so downright Cure-like that you’ll think someone slipped in Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. In addition to everything I’ve said about this record there’s an overall vibe that I can’t quite put my finger on, a vibrant energy that makes it all just sound really alive. The result is the most pleasantly refreshing album of the year.

I know some wouldn’t agree with me, but I think Mastodon are getting better and better. Remission had its charm just for being a weird, unclassifiable introduction to the band, and Leviathan impressed with its occasional Voivodian guitar flourishes and epic tales of man and beast. But Blood Mountain, while sounding unmistakably like Mastodon, seems often to have a simpler agenda: to tear your fucking face off. “The Wolf is Loose” starts with hyper-spastic yet perfectly controlled drumming (skinsman Brann Dailor is still a god) and keeps the pedal all the way to the floor. Follower “Crystal Skull” hits just as hard, though not as fast. And oh the melodies! Classic metal melodies abound throughout the record, even harkening to the NWOBHM sound. After several listens I was struck by a similarity to another sound: that of The Dillinger Escape Plan. The frantic melodies and mathematical attack really do remind of that band at times. “Capillarian Crest” is a perfect example with its crawling, scrawling guitar acrobatics. Funnily enough, Mastodon even get a bit of Faith No More creeping in, just as DEP did on their last album. Check out the Mike Patton-esque rhythmic spoken word section of “Sleeping Giant.” For the ultimate madness, however, turn to “Bladecatcher.” After an intro of huge arena rock chords, this juggernaut blasts along at light speed with totally indistinguishable effects passing for vocals, then drops back and treats the listener to delicious guitar histrionics from one end of the scale to the other. In addition to the fact that this disc is jointly released by Relapse and major label Reprise, here’s another sign that Mastodon is hitting it “big” (that being a relative term in the metal world): an all-star guest lineup. Josh from Queens of the Stone Age, Scott Kelly from Neurosis, and Cedric from The Mars Volta all contribute additional vocals on the album. Josh’s voice in particular lends a mellifluous quality to the awesome “Colony of Birchmen.” Yes, Mastodon have officially been promoted from worthy side note to metal heroes in my book. Now I just hope they pass through my town again to play a live show because they are totally crushing onstage; do yourself a favor and catch them if they come your way.

There’s a lot of talk these days about how strong the U.S. Black Metal (USBM) scene is, and Wolves in the Throne room are a big reason why. Hailing from the ice-encrusted arctic hell of…uh…Olympia…Washington…okay, so they don’t dwell in a land of frozen fjords, but they certainly sound like they could. This material is pagan black metal that rivals any corpsepainted Norwegian crew. Epic orchestration is served up with every track clocking in at 13 minutes or longer. “Queen of the Borrowed Light” opens the cacophonous affair with hypnotic notes that ring of Agalloch, and this similarity is further reinforced by the guitar solo. It could almost be a track off Agalloch’s legendary Pale Folklore. The remaining tracks, however, dwell more in the Burzum/early Ulver vein, but with a twist. Check out the gigantic resonating guitar chords that enter midway through “Face in a Night Time Mirror Part 2,” which stand alone in their majesty for a couple minutes before they are joined by rapid percussion which then becomes a shuffle beat. Finale “(A Shimmering Radiance) Diadem of 12 Stars” takes numerous forms during its mind-warping 20+ minute journey, but one of the coolest is the thrash break in its final quarter. Such interesting departures make for an engaging, surprisingly diverse recording. Still, the modus operandi is clear: a necromantic, trance-inducing buzz that lulls you into submission as your soul strains to escape its earthly cage. These wolves set a standard for what black metal, be it American, Norwegian or otherwise, ought to be. The rest are sheep.

Two years ago I praised Disillusion as “the German version of Opeth.” In regard to Back to Times of Splendor, the disc being reviewed at the time, I still stand by that statement. But you can throw that thought, and all your other preconceptions, out the nearest window as of right now. Disillusion circa 2006 are quite a different animal and unfortunately for them they’re now a pretty polarizing beast. This album has already been panned by numerous critics and it is surely of the love-it-or-hate-it variety. Why? Two words: dance beats. Yes, while Disillusion still play a variation of melodic and/or progressive metal, they’ve thrown some major non-metallic elements into the mix. Opener “The Black Sea” makes that clear with its quirky beginning and mega-synthesized chorus. “Aerophobic” is almost nothing BUT dance beats and is reminiscent of a late ‘80s/early ‘90s Depeche Mode remix. I applaud the band for taking a bold leap but anyone who has heard the last album will initially be taken aback. But fear not, metal fans: there are plenty of cool riffs slithering in and amongst the electronica. The melody that starts off “Dread It” is solid proof of that, as are the blazing black metal intro of “Avalanche” and the rocking axe work in “Too Many Broken Cease Fires.” In fact that one is virtually dance beat free! Missing the epic feel of …Splendor? Gloria’s title track has it with a backdrop of soaring and ethereal choir vocals. Yearning for things to take a heavier turn? The synth-twisted riffs of Lava are the aural equivalent of boulders falling on your head. I cannot deny that there’s a cheese factor to some parts, and some plain goofiness too. “Don’t Go Any Further” opens with a bizarre monologue that seemingly finds a drug- and/or alcohol-addled fellow watching someone iron clothes. “Dread It” finds the vocalist abruptly proclaiming “Mmmm…undisputed,” as if “undisputed” were a tasty snack. Such quirks are hysterically funny to me, and in their own way they enhance my enjoyment of this release. Overall the toughest things to swallow are the goth vocals which are a little deadpan much of the time. Still, I found that the more I listened the less they bothered me. Gloria requires patience and an open mind, but there are rewards to be found here. So hit the dance floor, shake your booty, and bang your head. It’s all good.

Red Sparowes return with another tale of woe and human ignorance. Their works tend to be based around the concept of mob mentality and how easily it can be manipulated by leaders serving their own ends. Every Red Heart… is actually based on a true story. Apparently, in 1958 the Chinese government attempted a movement called The Great Leap Forward meant to spur the country to economic success. One of the plans was to “annihilate the sparrow, that stealer of seed.” So they set about blindly slaughtering these birds, only to realize too late they had destroyed the greatest enemy of another feared creature: the locust. Their crops, which they thought would burst with life, were of course devastated and millions of people starved to death. Although this plan seems obviously short-sighted, there are complexities to any such story in society, and Red Sparowes realize that. Like its predecessor, this album surges and trickles in heartfelt movements that lead you through the narrative. It’s a dark journey, to be sure, but worth every step. Musically the band still rest somewhere in the realm of Isis and Pelican (like the latter they craft purely instrumental songs), but not as heavy. There’s lots of space to just jam and let things go where they may. You have to wonder if the band themselves even know what’s coming next, instead being led by their muse down a path of artistic enlightenment. The emphasis here is not on crushing you, but on slowly smothering you with a seamless wall of skillfully wielded instruments. Few bands are better at evoking sorrow, regret and humanity’s shortcomings, but there are no shortcomings here. Note for note, Every Red Heart… delivers with power and sincerity.

If only Neurosis had released a new album this year we could have had the same noisecore triple threat that we had two years ago: Neurosis, Isis and Cult of Luna. But things are different this time around. Both Isis and CoL have altered their sound a bit. But where Isis lost some of their edge, Cult of Luna just…changed. There are moments on Salvation, their prior release, that are so ungodly heavy that you are nearly forced to redefine what “heavy” means. Somewhere Along the Highway, though it is extremely punishing at times, has no such moments. At first I thought that was a bad thing; I yearned for the same shuddering mass to roll over me again. But the end result is not necessarily better or worse, it’s just different. And really the unexpected differences are what make it shine. Take the leadoff track “Marching to the Heartbeats.” At just over three minutes in length (short for this band) it consists only of gleaming guitar drone and airy vocals. While you’re still trying to figure out what happened, “Finland” attacks with thundering chords that smack you back into reality. But two tracks later you find yourself in the midst of “And With Her Came the Birds,” another strange surprise. With a slow folksy/country style it lulls the mind and then…is that a banjo? A banjo?!?! You’re damn right it is, and it is heavenly. I have an odd weakness for the banjo to begin with, but the way it is woven into this track is marvelous. Its mournful notes are very slowly and deliberately picked out, enhancing this mesmerizing tune. “Dim” sounds a whole lot like Red Sparowes with its almost twangy style and mostly instrumental nature, adding yet another facet to the Cult of Luna repertoire. Overall, this album is just slower and more carefully constructed than its predecessors and I think you can chalk that up to maturity. In the past I stopped short of criticizing Cult for choosing flash over substance, but certainly I cannot level such criticism here. If there’s anything this album has, it’s substance. Two years ago I had a fierce internal debate about whether Isis or Cult of Luna had created a better album. I chose Isis, but this year there is no contest. Without a doubt, Cult of Luna are the current reigning kings of atmospheric, planet-shaking radiance.

After four long years the masters have returned. The prospect of a new Agalloch album is always a bit worrying because the bar is set so high. I truly believe that this band is comprised of some the finest songwriters in the entire history of metal (or modern music, for that matter). So my expectations are understandably high when these guys are set to unleash another mind-bending masterpiece upon the musical world. And from the first moments, the piercing opening guitar note of “Limbs” and the explosive glory that follows, I felt my universe open up and expand to the most distant horizons of artistic ecstasy. Agalloch just have a WAY about them, an ability to create music that is ridiculously far beyond the “black metal” tag that seems to be thrust upon them. I prefer “pagan metal” because that phrase embodies more of a concept than a style, and it’s a concept they wield better than any other band I have ever heard. The entire majesty of the wilderness pulses through them and they accomplish the difficult task of translating that to musical arrangements. So with all this fevered ranting, why am I placing this at #2? Well it goes back to that impossibly high bar I mentioned. You see, I consider 2002’s The Mantle to be perfection from start to finish. It is a staggering work of heathen pride and it shatters my senses every time I listen to it. And while Ashes Against the Grain contains several songs that are absolutely on par with Agalloch’s very best work, the album as a whole falls just short of The Mantle (or maybe even Pale Folklore but now you’re comparing apples to oranges). “Falling Snow,” with its dazzling guitar lines, is certainly one of the finest songs the band has ever written. The aforementioned “Limbs” is also godly, and “Not Unlike the Waves” delights with its pattern of achingly beautiful melodies and rumbling riffs. Had the entire album been akin to these tracks, then yes, absolutely the album of the year, hands down. But you have “Fire Above, Ice Below” which, while it has a spectacularly mesmerizing finish, inevitably loses me somewhere in its 10+ minute length. I find my attention wandering and that’s just not something that typically happens with Agalloch songs. The triptych of “Our Fortress is Burning” also leaves me wanting with some less-than-brilliant moments, and while I will stop short of calling part three (“The Grain”) a throwaway track, it doesn’t do much for me. It’s an ambient soundscape of guitar pulse and white noise; I’m okay with that, but it lasts for over seven minutes. Too much of too little, guys. If this album is your first taste of Agalloch, then great. You will be overcome and left in the wake of a staggering brilliance you’ve never encountered. What should really blow your mind, though, is that it gets even better than this.

Based only on a very brief clip of this band’s music (heard on a TV commercial for the album, no less) I got an instant, albeit vague, sense that I should check them out. So I took a chance, and found once again that great things can come from buying albums on a whim. The disc’s weakest tracks are the first two, which is lamentable because they have a tendency to skew your initial perception. Even listening to this disc for the review process I found myself hesitating and wondering if I was way off the mark. But no, get to the first single “If You Talk Too Much (My Head Will Explode)” and things take a strong upturn. Somewhat Manchester-like in sound, the track is a gloomy mid-tempo gem. In fact these boys hail from Wales, and sometimes bear a resemblance to another talented UK group: Radiohead. By track four, the exquisite “Moth,” the album really takes off and every subsequent track is practically stronger than the next. “Light for the Deadvine” is especially potent with a passionate delivery and ass-kicking chorus supported by abrasive guitars. “Penny” surprises with a brief foray into what sounds like synthesized beats, then closes with triumphant horns. “Fire” is a perfect example of the Radiohead influence I mentioned, with crooning vocals and a second half that could’ve been written by Thom Yorke himself. All these glorious songs lead up the best of all, the stunning “Narcoleptic.” If you’ve ever heard Minus the Bear, you know that band’s sound is unique. Or at least it was. “Narcoleptic” is a near-replica of a Minus track, replete with haunting guitar reverb that’ll bounce from one side of your head to the other for infinity. It slips into a simmering bridge section that builds to a crescendo, then drops away into silence leaving room for nothing but that beautiful echoing guitar to take the stage. It’s joined a few seconds later by handclaps, then crashes back into full motion with the other instrumentation. Pure distilled genius. In the end this stuff is simply great indie rock, executed with style and conviction. And sometimes that’s enough to be the best of the best.