If that’s true, it’s only slightly true.

There are tracks throughout Life Without Sound that pummel as hard as anything in Cloud Nothings’ catalogue, with production quality that slays and unbridled aggression that captures much of what Cloud Nothings has become known for. Tracks like “Darkened Rings” or “Strange Year” carry much of the craziness of albums like Here and Nowhere Else.

In other words, this isn’t exactly the sort of record you’d want to meditate to.

That being said, there are new sounds on Life Without Sound. The band is more tuneful than ever before. The album opener, “Up to the Surface”, carries a piano in its intro and builds through a nearly pop-punk introduction. “Internal World” and “Enter Entirely” take their influence from bands like Weezer (and even some classic rock).

For Cloud Nothings, this is par for the course. Cloud Nothings’ trademark is our inability to know what an album is going to sound like upon release, and Life Without Sound is no different.

That’s not to say that Cloud Nothings is making music that sounds unlike themselves. They’re not making pop music, after all. But they’re embracing a method of songwriting that sounds less rushed and more tuneful. It’s a step in a new direction, but not necessarily a commercial one.

For the first time, Cloud Nothings just sounds optimistic.

Well, as optimistic as Cloud Nothings can sound.

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The Toronto natives are a special sort of awesome, and have a great sound that is completely reminiscent of punk that came before, but also wholly unique. This is a band who isn’t afraid to be wild with it. Listen to Human: that’s a sound aware of the past, but completely dispassionate about sounding anything like it today. Especially as it gets towards its end and breaks down into its off-kilter bridge.

And while we’re on the topic of Human, let’s be honest and say that Weaves’ drummer is bloody tight. That guy is on. He’s one of my new favourite drummers.

The record is bound together by a consistent aesthetic, but not necessarily by a consistent style. That is to say, while Weaves has a sound all of their own, each song sounds different. A song like Birds & Bees, which reminds me Self (before he appeared on the Shrek soundtrack), sounds like Weaves while still being a completely unique song on the record.

The effect is powerful: a couple listens to Weaves is enough to assert that the band is a wholly original take on a retro genre styling, but also able to craft memorable and unique songs. It’s pure magic — the sort of thing you’re lucky if an artist can do once in their career, never mind on their debut.

Whether you’re listening to the punk-y One More, the jittery Coo Coo, or the panic-laden Candy, Weaves have a sound that’s all their own. It’s one of the most exciting punk albums of the year, and certainly one of the year’s best debuts. It reminds me a lot of the first time I heard Nirvana; the same energy is there.

Weaves is the sort of band you listen to so you can see them live, and I’m really hoping to catch a show soon. This record is phenomenal; I can’t say enough good about it.

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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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Make no mistake, Post Pop Depression — if the album title wasn’t already a clear giveaway — is an existential album. Iggy is in full virtuosic form, with his genius — or Homme’s genius, because who can tell — on full display throughout. Iggy just plain old doesn’t care what you think anymore.

Josh Homme does, though. His production values are incredible on this record: the guitar notes are clear, the drums sound impeccably tough, and the bass hits hard. Homme has given this the same level of production he would a Queens of the Stone Age.

In particular, Gardenia reeks of Homme’s quality production and songwriting. Lyrically, it’s Iggy at his most torrid as he explains how he wants to tell Gardenia “what to do” tonight:

“America’s greatest living poet was ogling you all night. You should be wearing the finest gown, but here you are now — gas, food lodging, poverty, misery, and gardenia.”

And on Paraguay, in the record’s final moments, Iggy accuses the audience of being positively inhuman and tells them he’s tired of all their fear and insecurities. It’s pure Iggy — pure punk.

The inclusion of the other band members is vital, but confusing: is Iggy passing the torch to them? What’s next? When Post Pop Depression was first announced, the first thought I had was about how meta it was. Iggy Pop will come out and pass along the torch, making it clear who’s taking over the rock and roll establishment in his wake.

On Depression, though, Iggy doesn’t do that. He proves he’s still alive, pissed, and ready to take some names. If it really is his final record, it’s a great way to go. It’s an unapologetic admission that Iggy’s tired of being the guy America calls when it needs a friendly old-school rock and roller for an advertisement. It’s Iggy giving the establishment a big middle finger before walking offstage and riding a horse off into the sunset.

Instead of passing the torch, Iggy reminds us that nobody of the current generation can do what he does. He reminds us of his singular talent in front of the mic. It’s a reminder that nobody can do what he do. And maybe the significance of Post Pop Depression’s grease-filled, sexed-up angry sadness is that Iggy’s not ready to die with rock and roll — but he’s going to get out while the getting’s good.

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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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That’s not a complaint: the record excels because Savages aren’t screaming at you from a distance. They’re intimate, asking questions — the same questions that punk has asked since the beginning — but doing it in a way that makes it feel like the band is two feet away.

I read one review of the album shortly after its release that said the album feels like a songwriting rut for the band. I find that perspective very interesting: I understand what the author means, but as somebody who’s played in a number of groups, this sounds exactly like what a band would put out if they were comfortable.

These songs weren’t meant for a stage, necessarily. They were made for the basement. When friends are over and they want to hear what you’re working on, but you don’t have the space to get right in their face about it, you’d play something like this. It’s still got a bite, but its instrumentation is quieter.

While most punk (and perhaps even most post-punk) sounds like an angry, barking dog, Adore Life sounds like a long and bitter stiff drink. It’s a step forward for the band musically and sonically, and it’s also a tremendous sophomore effort that surprises fans and breaks the mould of what we often expect from the genre.

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Their latest release, No Cities to Love, comes after a decade-long hiatus. It might be their best record, which is incredible. If you’ve been living under a rock, it received practically universal acclaim from critics last year and has been dominant on Best Of lists.

What makes the record so special isn’t just great songwriting or intricate and unique chunky riffs. It’s that all of this greatness is stuffed into a collection of raw, unnerving three-minute punk-like songs.

With great songwriting, awesome riffs, left-leaning politics, and perfect cover art, there isn’t much not to love here. You’re missing out if you haven’t heard No Cities to Love yet.

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That being said, when they take their feet off the gas and slow down a little bit, they don’t have the same Tom Petty influence that the Foo do. Whether or not that’s a good thing will depend on how much you like the quieter Foo songs. I like The Men more when they’re rocking out, but their quiet songs aren’t bad — they’re just not as memorable or high quality.

Ultimately, what makes the record so interesting is that’s a band trying something new. It’s rare to capture the moments of musical birth on tape, and thanks to their background in fuzzy rock music production, something about their experimentation sounds incredibly organic.

But that all being said, their music is incredibly good when they turn up the distortion. And I absolutely love the simple album art, which is somehow riveting. I can’t figure out why I like it so much. Maybe it’s the colours.

The post The Men: Open Your Heart appeared first on Unsung Sundays.

And you can tell these guys are not afraid to experiment with the genre. (Having the freedom of calling yourself “post”-anything really just lets you throw rules out the window and do whatever you feel like.) They’re also clearly comfortable in the studio now.

The record’s production is incredibly punk — everything is clear, so it’s not a grungy punk sound — but nothing is overly produced. It just sounds like a bunch of guys hanging out in a good-sounding garage, playing a few lo-fi punk songs. When they pull back on the punk, they get chilled. And when they go back to the punk, they throw out the established raw power chords of the genre and replace with them with fresh ideas and new takes on a crowded scene.

And that’s exactly what’s so charming about Ought. Unlike a group like Royal Headache, who are putting the punk back in punk rock, these guys are going for a laid-back approach. This is by no means a quiet record, or one that lacks any power. But it strips the raw power and rules away from the music and adds a sense of intimacy, all without losing a sense of where punk came from.

Another great reason to love Canadian music.

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What makes Girlpool so wonderful is their ability to sharply emote through their simplicity. Although their playing isn’t complicated — the most intricate guitar parts could be picked up quickly even by a newbie to the instrument — the album finds its power within that simplicity.

It takes a couple listens to notice, because it doesn’t feel completely strange, but Girlpool doesn’t have a drummer. Despite that, their songs still retain an impressive sense of aggression and vitality. While you could call the band folk, if you don’t at least label it as punk-inspired punk, you’re missing the most important part of their sound.

Punk, not unlike hip hop, has long given voices to the voiceless and the impoverished. That’s why, quite often, it feels as if some music is improperly classified as punk (or hip hop, for that matter). What matters with these genres isn’t so much the stringency of the instrumentation, but the performers themselves. In the case of Girlpool, it feels as if disenfranchised and confused twenty-first century women, often inexplicably removed from our cultural conversation, are being given voices. Girlpool are socially conscious, they’re mad, and they make great music. Not a bad combination.

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