Thankfully, I was completely undersold. Dan Rico’s debut record is a bit of a grower, but it’s an album that demands your repeated attention. Endless Love is garage rock at its purest.

What stands out to me, more than anything else, is the way Rico bridges the gap between his pop influences and his 70s punk influences. Endless Love is filled with garage rock and lo-fi punk influences that make Dan Rico so much more than a Prince sound-alike.

In fact, comparing Rico to Prince feels wrong. Rico is mining some of the best sounds of the 70s — even elements of Endless Love’s production are very old-fashioned — but he’s writing music for the dopamine-driven A.D.D. generation. There are only three tracks on the record longer than three minutes, and the longest track is three minutes and five seconds long. The songs are more like staccato-style thoughts, delivered quickly and sincerely.

These quick songs are reminiscent of Rico’s punk influences. “Kinda Wanna”, which clocks in at a minute and forty-five seconds, or “Wasted Youth” (two minutes and fifty-one seconds) could be played at a skatepark. And it’s these tracks that, for me, are the most memorable on the record. They come in quick, short bursts, like excited proclamations and high energy capos to what came before. Some of these songs, like “On a Tear”, are so reminiscent of the slower Misfits stuff that I did a double take.

Not every track is blatantly punk or anything like that. There are plenty of in-between tracks, like “Endless Love” (the title track, obviously). It’s one of the best tracks on the record, but it’s not punk, and it’s not pop. It’s just this in-between old-school rock thing, delivered with Rico’s kind-of shrill voice.

Then there are tracks like “After All”, which do feel tremendously like pop music and lose the edge that Dan Rico otherwise has. The two styles are nearly jarring to hear side by side, and keep me from recommending Dan Rico for just anybody.

Because not everybody can get into Dan Rico. If it’s not clear, Endless Love is a hodgepodge serving a niche. But if you fall into the niche of people who miss ’70s rock, which I often do, you’ll likely find a soft spot for this glorious oddball in your heart. And in your vinyl collection.

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Think about root beer. Have you ever met a root beer fan who doesn’t have an incredibly specific opinion on their favourite brand or variety of the drink? You might have drank hundreds of root beers, but you still know when you’ve found a special bottle of the stuff.

Why? It’s just got some kind of magical quality.

Les Deuxluxes is a “two-man” (one man, one woman) garage rock band from Montreal. You’ve heard music like this before (The White Stripes, The Black Keys, almost every other garage rock band ever). This isn’t the first time, or the last time, you’ll hear music from “a hip new garage rock outfit.”

But Les Deuxluxes have some kind of magical quality.

It’s more than their high-energy tracks (like “Queen of Them All”, which opens the record). There’s a magical quality to slower songs, too. Songs like “Bomb of Time” or “Bloody Queen” evoke everything from Led Zeppelin to Loretta Lynn, but have a spark to them that defies explanation.

That’s why I can say that I enjoyed “My Babe & Me” more than almost any other rock track this summer. There’s a spark there. I haven’t heard a spark like this since the early White Stripes records (obviously Elephant. I’m aware. I don’t care).

True, this is garage rock. I’ve heard plenty of music like this before. It doesn’t matter. Les Deuxluxes have a lot of charm, and a truckload of magic.

Besides, listen to “So Long, Farewell” and tell me if you’ve heard a single track this summer that has an ounce of the same amount of fun.

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So it might be surprising, then, for you to learn that Kaleo is a distinctly Icelandic band equally inspired by the native folk music of their own country. Folk-inspired Blues tracks like “Way Down We Go” hint at this, but “Vor / Vaglaskógi” makes it pretty clear.

Still, it’s hard to guess their roots most of the time. Tracks like “Automobile” even celebrate North American traditions, like chasing after the perfect car (my European friends tell me that’s definitely not as much of a thing over there). And songs like “Glass House” sound nearly Springsteen-inspired.

You could be forgiven for assuming that Kaleo is the latest in a string of rock bands who want to emulate the fuzzy sound of American rock in the ’70s (blame Wolfmother for kickstarting that craze). But largely because of their distance from it, Kaleo is able to make all this work and feel somehow original.

I actually largely like how the band seems at a loss between who they are and who they want to sound like. That very identity crisis makes them feel more “authentic” than many of those throwback bands usually are.

One of the reason their music sounds so authentic is because of the production: Kaleo’s music uses a resonator to make some frequencies vibrate more than others. It’s a track that makes some ranges sound louder than others on a record. It also simulates that slightly washed-out fuzz sound of the ’70s without attempting to duplicate it in post-production, and it works perfectly.

A/B is guitar rock for people who miss Guitar Hero. It’s riff-heavy, filled with guitar solos, and generally just a ton of fun. I think the last couple tracks aren’t as well-balanced as the first half of the record, but there isn’t much to complain about on A/B — which is a ridiculously fun rock record from a band who’s going to accomplish great things.

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Let me give a little bit of context: Positive Thinking is a garage record that reminds me of White Stripes, but also Wolfmother. And the guitar fuzz, as well as the pre-chorus melody, remind me of one of the tracks from Wolfmother’s debut album.

When the pre-chorus comes in on “Yes, I Know”, my brain fills in the next blank from the memory of the Wolfmother song. The chorus I expect is the logical choice for a garage rock band to make; it would be a return to the key’s first note — the song’s pulse.

But The Pack A.D. go the opposite way, leaving the song in unresolved tension — and completely surprising me.

That whole scenario happens seemingly countless times on Positive Thinking: I’ll recognize the influence, I’ll know what comes next based on my expectations, and then The Pack A.D. does something else — every time. Whether it’s “Yes, I Know”, or the Misfits-influenced “Teenage Crime”, or even the Hives-influenced “Los Angeles”, the duo continues to sidestep my expectations.

If you don’t know The Pack A.D. very well, you might be surprised to find out the band has just two members: a drummer and guitarist/singer. They make a raucous amount of noise for two people, sounding much larger than they are. That’s one of the things they’re known for.

They’re also known for their energetic live shows, which you can tell Positive Thinking has been made for. With rare exception, these songs are loaded with punk-like attitudes that work well on the stage.

But even when the band isn’t playing punk-inspired garage rock, they manage to reset my expectations. On “Gold Eyes”, which sounds like a Rah Rah song (and betrays The Pack A.D.’s Canadian origins by association), they manage to beat my expectations every time by adding in a dash of energy just when I don’t expect it.

The jury’s out, though, on whether or not Positive Thinking is The Pack A.D.’s best record. It doesn’t matter, though: six albums in, The Pack A.D. is a completely different band from how they started, and it feels like they’ve fully embraced the alt-rock sound and more or less ditched their blues influence altogether.

But despite the fact that their influences continue to remain obvious, The Pack A.D. are getting better at creating a sound all of their own. Positive Thinking is many things, but I can’t count the number of times it flat-out surprised me. While they continue to cobble together their sound from a number of somewhat unsurprising places, The Pack A.D. have pulled together a surprisingly unique sound all of their own. Positive Thinking is their most definitive statement yet.

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The riffs are fantastic too: unearthly guitar riffs are taken straight from the blues rock playbook. Sometimes you swear you’ve heard the riff before — the boys in Black Pistol Fire might be paying a little too much attention to their idols.

Beyond the guitar licks, blues is in Black Pistol Fire’s soul. Morning Star is a song that sounds modern, with a great riff that feels as modern as it gets, but the lyrics tell a different story. Ripped straight from blues songs of old, vocalist Kevin McKeown sings about the devil causing him pain and refusing to let him go. Muddy Waters approves.

I find writing about Black Pistol Fire to be difficult, because their music isn’t innovative and there isn’t much about them that actively inspires good writing. To be clear, that doesn’t mean they’re a bad band (if they were, their music wouldn’t be featured on Unsung Sundays). It’s just because they’re not reinventing the genre.

But music this old-school can’t be reinvented; it can only be perfected. Every few years, there are new artists who hold up entire genres on their own. The White Stripes and The Black Keys previously held this position for blues-influenced garage rock. Now it feels like the genre is in flux, with no clear leader.

Black Pistol Fire is trying to become the genre’s crown wearer.

I don’t know if they’re going to be successful; these things aren’t easy to predict and often defy logic. But Black Pistol Fire is undoubtedly at the top of their game with Don’t Wake the Riot, which is likely their best record yet. They’re a contender for the genre’s throne, which is saying something, and a band I plan on watching for the next few years.

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None of this happened by accident: Holy Fever, based in Los Angeles, is a sort of indie super-group made up of members of hardcore bands like American Nightmare, The Hope Conspiracy, and The Explosion. In fact, the only band member who isn’t a former hardcore rocker is Samantha Barbera (from the Beginners).

Barbera’s vocal work — whether she’s singing like an indie darling or providing the backing “ohs” and “ahs” of a chorus — are a gorgeous counterpoint to the guttural barking of Todd Cooper’s gruffly shouted lines. The two of them offer counterpoints, keeping the music interesting and energetic. Barbera helps Cooper avoid pummelling the listener into exhaustion, and Cooper helps Barbera from letting the music turn into another indie punk project. (It also helps that the whole record is only 34 minutes long.)

The title track is the closest the band really gets to standard indie rock, complete with a slower bridge and an ending that demands to be sung by the crowd in concert. But they’re at their best when the band is at their least predictable and most fun. The opening track, Duress, has all the magic of a White Stripes track and all the aggression of a Minor Threat track. Find Your Fame has both singers swapping parts like they’re playing hot potato, and it works.

Once in a while, the band elevates it to another level. The mix of indie and post-hardcore works really well on songs that Japandroid wishes they wrote, like Someday — which even includes a harmonica part, despite its shouted chorus.

Thanks to all of this, Holy Fever defies classification. Perhaps it’s easiest to describe them as party rock, music made by a group of people who don’t care what you think and just want to have fun. And The Wreckage is the perfect party punk record.

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The comparison to White Stripes (and in some ways, The Black Keys) is very apt: not unlike their predecessors, The Bonnevilles are a blues rock band with the aesthetic of a punk-influenced garage rock sound. And to top it all of, the band is a duo from Northern Ireland featuring a guitarist and a drummer (Chris McMullen).

The Whiskey Lingers is another track reminiscent of vintage White Stripes, particularly its smashing chorus. Raging guitar riffs, aggressive drum hits, and more bring it all together — but not before The Bonnevilles bust out a dark blues riff that lingers like that shot of whisky they sing about.

It illuminates the difference between The Bonnevilles and their predecessors: The Bonnevilles have a darker sound that feels more primal and bluesy than White Stripes ever did. McGibbon’s guitar tone is darker and bassier, and has more in common with Queens of the Stone Age than it does Black Keys.

And they don’t always sound as rock-inspired. The Electric Company and I’ve Come Too Far for Love to Die are both blues jammers, with little punk influence, and it’s clear that the band know the genre well.

And what’s more, it never sounds like they’re vying to be a clone — in fact, they don’t sound like a clone of White Stripes or Black Keys. The similarities sound coincidental, as if The Bonnevilles wrote a thesis paper on blues-influenced garage rock and came to similar conclusions on the genre independent of other influences.

All of that is to say, despite obvious influences, it’s hard to accuse The Bonnevilles of ripping anybody off. When all of their influences come together, it’s a rousing success: I Dreamt of the Dead and Learning to Cope are fantastic songs that scream to be witnessed in a live show.

If the album has any sore note, it’s the closing Who Do I Have to Kill to Get Out of Here?, which is too messy and lingers too long after the album’s previous momentum. It’s a single wrong note in what’s otherwise a sterling album from The Bonnesvilles, who make the case that rock is far from dead — it just needs a shot in the arm.

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II is a distinctly lo-fi record, performed almost in entirety by frontman Ruban Nielson (with the exception of the drums and a few horns). For this reason, the album sounds very tight musically — Ruban is clearly an expert musician — but it also sounds distinctly lo-fi, almost as if its being played underwater.

That’s the intention, of course, on a record that seems obsessed with vintage-style songwriting and musicality, but it might also be for thematic reasons. On one of the record’s most poignant moments, Nielson sings “I wish that I could swim and sleep like a shark does; I’d fall to the bottom and I’d hide till the end of time in that sweet cool darkness.” That Simon & Garfunkel-style melancholy is perfectly suited to the production style of the record.

The production is worth talking about: It demonstrates that Neilson has, compared to his peers, a superior understanding of what made those old records great. Today’s recordings reveal every note with crystal clarity, but these older records age so well because their production inefficiencies hide some of their details and preserve a sense of mystery (Led Zeppelin IV being a classic example).

While Unknown Mortal Orchestra is often reminiscent of the afore-mentioned Led Zeppelin and Simon & Garfunkel, they’ll also remind you of The Beatles’ approach to psychedelic pop (From The Sun) or Jimi Hendrix’s trademark fuzz sensibilities (One At A Time). This amalgamation of style makes Unknown Mortal Orchestra feel uniquely original, in an odd way: So Good At Being In Trouble is at once comfortably recognizable and uniquely Unknown Mortal Orchestra, with Nielson’s falsetto during the chorus giving the song a sense of urgency.

The same sense of urgency is often missing throughout the latter half of the record, which feels frustratingly more indulgent (although certainly in line with the styles the band is emulating). When the band finds their groove again on Faded in the Morning, it’s a much-needed and appreciated kick in the pants. But the wandering in the album’s mid-section demonstrates the band’s mastery of this lo-fi psychedelic style: unhurried and willing to experiment, the band refuses to settle on a single style. It’s an approach almost entirely ditched on last year’s Multi-Love, perhaps because the band felt they took the sound to its natural conclusion on II.

Regardless of why the band drifted away from this approach to songwriting, II feels like the sort of record that will later be recorded as a forgotten gem. Authentic and unique, despite its blatant influences and obvious stylistic emulations, II might go down in history as Unknown Mortal Orchestra’s best record.

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Their debut record swaps out some of the partying for tunes about love and loss, but the band never seems to take it too seriously. That’s not a complaint; actually, it’s pretty refreshing to hear a band that doesn’t care so much and recognizes it as life being what it is.

I’ve heard a lot of bands like Hinds, but what really makes them unique is the camaraderie between lead singers Carlotta Cosials and Ana Perote. Where most duet leads work off each other with harmonies, these two ladies will sing opposing parts and let the music slowly build into a shouting match.

In other words, these two ladies are definitely punk.

But it’s their defining feature. It’s what makes them unique. And they sound awesome together, and the band is undoubtedly at their best when they’re just belting it out. Recommended.

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What follows is a lesson in respecting the greats: offering tributes with subtle tonalities instead of full-out cover songs. The overtones are all there, and the band is still having a lot of fun, but Dan gives it just enough weight that it doesn’t feel like just a collection of singles.

In that way, the record feels like a celebration of the album as a timepiece of culture — very fitting for a band known for their bouncy and jangly records and a producer known for reviving the blues and seventies psychedelic rock. While I’m not sure that Tell Me I’m Pretty will ultimately go down as a classic among the stars, it might be Cage the Elephant’s best record.

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