Progressive rock fans are fascinating.

The word “progressive” is in the name of the music they purport to love, and yet you’ve never seen a group of people so opposed to progress. If a piece of music isn’t complex enough, or is too pop, or contains too few keyboards, or doesn’t exactly ape 1970s Yes and Genesis, right down to the multi-part suites and serious-arty lyrics, prog fans will trash it.

Especially if that piece of music was made by a band that formerly adhered to all the silly rules. The last band to successfully change the prog-rock landscape was Dream Theater – they made it okay for classic metal and thrash influences to creep their way in. Since then, it’s been all about sounding like Close to the Edge, with a dash of Images and Words.

I’m being overly harsh, I know. But troll the Marillion message boards for half an hour, and you’ll see what I mean. Every new piece of music the band unveils gets picked apart, over-analyzed and stacked up against their previous works. They’re not grateful that this band has been around for 25 years and is still creating the best music they can, they’re outraged that that music doesn’t fit their ideas of what Marillion ought to sound like. It’s too poppy, it’s not poppy enough, there are too many drum loops, there are too few guitar solos, the songs aren’t long enough, and when the hell is Fish coming back, anyway?

It almost makes me wonder if these people like the band at all.

You want another good example? Pain of Salvation. Who are they? PoS is a Swedish band led by a mad genius named Daniel Gildenlow, and lately, they’ve been the target of the prognoscenti.

Gildenlow used to be the golden child – his band’s first four albums followed the prog-metal formula set up by Dream Theater and the like, with staccato rhythms, wailing solos and sweetly melodic passages. Their records are all concept pieces, and to be fair, they’re all excellent, for what they are, especially 2000’s The Perfect Element Part 1. But let’s be honest, it’s a formula. Even DT has become depressingly formulaic – here’s the thunderous metal song with the three-minute guitar solo, here’s the ballad with lush keyboards, here’s the 15-minute epic song with six parts, all delineated by Roman numerals.

So you’d think that any attempt to break out of that rut would be seen as, y’know, kind of progressive, but that’s not the case with Marillion, and it’s not the case with PoS. In 2004, Gildenlow debuted his masterpiece, an album called Be. It’s not so much an album as it is a thesis statement on God and man, full of soundscapes and dialogue, but also full of two dozen musical styles that PoS has never tried before.

Here is “Nauticus,” a lovely low gospel moan. Here is “Pluvius Aestivus,” a gorgeous piano instrumental. Here is “Imago,” a shimmering folk song. And best of all, here is “Vocari Dei,” a collage of answering machine messages to God that, honest, is astonishingly moving. The old PoS style crops up here and there (“Diffidentia”), but the overwhelming majority of this album is a grand exploration of new musical forms, constructed as God would hear them – all at once. The record takes a few listens to absorb, but once it takes hold, it’s amazing.

And it was crucified by the fans. Not enough music, some claimed, as if things like “Nauticus” and “Omni” didn’t count.

There’s certainly a lot of music on Scarsick, the just-released follow-up to Be, but there’s also another dozen things that will send (and have sent) the gatekeepers of prog into a tizzy. Scarsick, at first glance, seems to be a return to the old style, with 10 heavy songs over 68 minutes, but take a look at drummer Johan Langell’s expression on the back cover photo – they’re not serious this time. And as any prog fan can tell you, not maintaining an air of absolute gravity at all times is a cardinal sin. (Not to keep bringing up Marillion, but see the reaction to “Cannibal Surf Babe,” or “Hope for the Future.”)

In addition, this record shows that PoS has not, and cannot, forget the lessons learned while making Be. Even the departure of guitarist Kristoffer Gildenlow (Daniel’s brother) can’t dull the band’s newfound experimentalism – they’re letting everything in, and no style is unacceptable. The first two tracks (“Scarsick” and “Spitfall”) show off a rap-metal influence, but this isn’t Limp Bizkit or Linkin Park – these guys are fantastic on their instruments, even when grinding out a punishing, repetitive groove, and the choruses are unfailingly melodic. “Spitfall” may be the finest rap-metal song I’ve ever heard, in fact.

But that’s it for what I feared would be an album-long stylistic switch, as the band moves on to anthemic balladry with “Cribcaged.” By this point on the album, a theme begins to emerge – Scarsick is about America, and modern society, and about being angry at both. “The only cribs we should care for are the ones we are here for, the ones belonging to our children,” Gildenlow sings, taking aim at the MTV generation. The second half of the song is a list of things Gildenlow can do without, and despite the sweet music behind him, he’s not gentle about it: “Fuck the million-dollar kitchen, fuck the Al Pacino posters, fuck the drugs, the gold, the strip poles, fuck the homies, fuck the poses…”

That’s nothing compared with “America,” the flashy hoedown psycho-pop song that follows, during which Gildenlow savages El Presidente Bush and his empire. His dismissive “It could have been great, America” speaks volumes, and the song itself is a superb ride, complete with banjos and pedal steel guitars one second and a Faith No More vibe the next. It’s awesome, but it’s in no way prog-metal, so guess what: the fans hate it.

And if you think that song raises their bile, you should see what they’re saying on the message boards about “Disco Queen,” the eight-minute monster that closes out the first half. The song exists in some imagined halfway point between Tool and the Bee Gees, catapulting from creepy to danceable in a heartbeat. Over its running time, “Disco Queen” morphs into an ever-building symphony of rage, then trips backward into its Saturday Night Fever coda. The lyrics to the chorus are, “Disco Queen, let’s disco.” Honestly.

It’s the best damn song on the record, and the more serious second half can hardly compete. But give it time to sink in, and side two turns out to be marvelous. “Kingdom of Loss” is another look at the wasteland of modern life, this one half-spoken over some of the most lilting, melodic music Gildenlow has written. “Mrs. Modern Mother Mary” has a hint of late-period Queensryche, while “Idiocracy” brings back the Tool influence, adding synth atmospheres and what sounds to me like a mandolin.

And “Flame to the Moth,” the album’s one screamer, carries the record’s theme forward: “We once had blue eyes, probing the skies, now they are blackened from this modern life…” The song ends with one of the disc’s most haunting passages – all goes to piano, as Gildenlow sings defiantly, “When you bow your heads tomorrow at the world we built today, I want you to remember that I stood my ground and said no…”

Scarsick concludes with “Enter Rain,” 10 minutes of trance-like melancholy that find Gildenlow pleading for rain to come and wash away the scars of the last nine songs. The inner spine tells me that this album is supposed to be part two of The Perfect Element, though I’ve heard that this and the next two will actually make up the sequel. Even so, I can’t see many connections between the former Element and this one, and Scarsick develops its themes well enough to stand on its own as an indictment of modern society, complete with mock-ups and tributes to the music of these wasted times.

So why are people hating it? I’m not sure. It’s true that this album is not as painstakingly crafted or mind-bogglingly complex as some of the band’s earlier works, but it is hundreds of times more interesting for its diversity and its willingness to take chances. More importantly, Scarsick shows Pain of Salvation as a band that continues to evolve, shattering their own formulas and refusing to be what they’re “supposed” to be. And I ask you – is there anything that deserves the term “progressive” more than that?

Next week, who knows, but probably Of Montreal, Menomena, the Apples in Stereo and/or Loney, Dear. And if you’re asking yourself just who any of those bands are, trust that I did too, in some cases, and that you’ll want to tune in.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Well, that was fast. Ladies and gentlemen, the first great album of 2007: Wincing the Night Away, by the Shins.

I wasn’t sure what to expect from this album. The Shins’ 2001 debut, Oh, Inverted World, cast them as an indie band in love with the melodies of Brian Wilson, and while some songs felt incomplete, several of them were brilliant. The whole thing gave off a warm air of charming cheapness, like if the teenage Beach Boys made a record for $50. And World includes “Girl Inform Me,” which I honestly consider one of the finest pop songs of the last 20 years.

But when it came time to follow it up, the Shins nose-dived. 2003’s Chutes Too Narrow improved the sound and production quality somewhat, but tanked when it came to memorable songs. Only a few, like “So Says I” and “Saint Simon,” really took off, and the reliance on acoustic guitars only added to the feeling that Chutes was a rushed, homespun knockoff. Listening back to it this week, I was struck anew by just how average it all is.

But maybe that’s only in comparison, since Wincing the Night Away is by no means average. The band took nearly three and a half years to craft this thing, and it shows – the sound is massive and layered and expensive-sounding. Many have already taken that as a cue to write the Shins off as sell-outs, and that’s a shame, because this album sports the best, most consistent set of songs James Mercer has ever written. It’s true that Natalie Portman’s character from Garden State probably wouldn’t find this one life-changing, but that’s her loss.

Wincing opens quietly, with shimmering keyboards and Mercer’s quivering vocal, but before long “Sleeping Lessons” explodes into quick-time guitar rock, and we’re off. The album is a series of interlocking moods, and takes you through half a dozen different atmospheres in 40 minutes. But don’t worry – about half these tracks sound like the Shins, and the band is smart enough to alternate their more experimental moments with the pure melodic pop they do best. When Mercer is on, he writes some fine vocal melodies, pinching Brian Wilson’s tendency to take the vocal line places you wouldn’t expect.

Take “Australia,” for example. It’s the first out-of-the-park smash on the album, based around a delightfully loping bass line and a jangly guitar part. But it’s that vocal melody, that cascading, looping, rising tune that takes you by the hand and leads you, moment by moment, through the whole song. Other elements become little tourist attractions – look left, kids, there’s a banjo in the pre-chorus! – as Mercer’s voice guides you. It’s the kind of thing more bands could stand to learn, and what really sets Mercer apart.

Check out “Phantom Limb,” the first single, for another killer melody line, this one so very Brian Wilson. (Hey, if you’re going to wear your influences on your sleeve, you may as well be influenced by the best.) The song itself is surprisingly simple, but the soaring vocal line captures your attention, and the extended “whoa-oh” coda is terrific. Wincing the Night Away contains the longest songs Mercer has written, but none wear out their welcome – they’re too focused on blindingly great melodies for that.

But just as you’re getting ready for another seven sweet pop songs, the Shins pull the rug out. “Sealegs” sounds like a lot of bands, but none of them are the Shins – it’s based on an almost Beck-like beat, slinky bass figure and acoustic staccato, over which Mercer unveils yet another restless melody line. This song’s almost mechanical sound and shivering strings take a few moments to get used to, but the song works. “Red Rabbits,” which follows right after, sets an ambient mood with chiming, plonking keyboards, then adds sweeping strings and some reverbed electric guitar, and the overall effect is like swimming underwater. But it, too, works amazingly well.

And so it goes through the second half – “Turn On Me” is classic Shins, all ringing guitars and hummable melody, while its immediate successor, “Black Wave,” is a dazzling experiment in mood and texture. Through it all, Mercer only stumbles once, on the Shins-by-numbers “Girl Sailor,” and even that is not half bad. The album closes with one of the prettiest songs to spring from Mercer’s pen, “A Comet Appears.” With a circular guitar figure setting the scene, Mercer pours his little heart out: “The lonely are such delicate things,” he sings, while the music strives for that same delicateness. It leaves you with a feeling like warm summer nights, watching the sun slowly fade.

What else can be said? The Shins not only brought it all together for this record, they launched themselves into some new directions, and refused to settle for emulating those new influences without fully assimilating them. Wincing the Night Away is a beautiful, nearly completely successful record, and while some will whine about the loss of indie sparkle that comes with the more polished sheen, the songs win the day. It may have taken Mercer and company more than three years to put this album together, but from the available evidence, it seems they didn’t waste a day.

* * * * *

When I made the trek to the record store to buy Wincing the Night Away, I knew I was going to also pick up The Brothers Martin. While the rest of the world has been anticipating the Shins album, I’ve been quietly waiting for this collaboration between two of my favorite little-known songwriters.

Long-time readers probably know who the Martins are. Jason is the voice and guitar of Starflyer 59, and he’s been turning out one spunky, jagged rock record after another for 13 years. Brother Ronnie is the mastermind behind Joy Electric, and he’s been painstakingly crafting his blipping, beautiful synth-pop for nearly as long. Between the two of them, they’ve made more than 30 records, with more on the way and no plans to stop.

But what you may not know is that Ronnie and Jason were in a band called Dance House Children together, long before SF59 and Joy E (and even their longtime label, Tooth and Nail). DHC sounded like early Joy E, all programmed synthesizers and fluttery vocals, with the added treat of Jason’s guitar, deep and reverbed and thick as a mountain even then. The pair split in 1992, but they’ve been promising to reunite for some kind of project ever since.

And here it is – The Brothers Martin is 34 minutes of angular pop music, performed in an interesting and near-equal mix of Ronnie’s and Jason’s styles. The brothers split songwriting and singing duties right down the middle, and though Jason plays guitar and bass while Ronnie does everything else on his analog synths, the sound is much more representative of both. This isn’t Dance House Children, but it’s not Starflyer 59 with disco beats either.

Admittedly, some tunes, like Ronnie’s “Fears to Remember,” are more Joy E, with their ‘80s new-wave synth bass lines. And some, like Jason’s “The Plot That Weaves,” are more SF59, with real drums by Alex Albert and a strong electric guitar focus. But the best of these songs form a whole new amalgam. Take “Opportunities,” for example – a very Jason Martin song, but weaving in and out of the Cure-like guitar figures is Ronnie, providing the bass bed and swooping up with his synth leads. Opener “Communication” does the same thing, but gives Ronnie a chance to sing a pounding rocker, something he rarely gets to do.

Oddly enough, though, my favorite of these tracks is a genuine experiment. “The Missionary” is a Jason Martin song, one that sounds as though it was written for his trademark thunderous guitar. But instead, Ronnie has sculpted this song into a synth-rock masterpiece, one that revels in its own cheesiness. You can just see the goofy grin on Ronnie’s face as he plays the power-chord guitar line on his keys, making his own kind of rock music. It’s just great.

Overall, fans of either Martin brother will find much to love here, but fans of both will be in heaven. The Brothers Martin contains 10 solid, strong songs, and a fully collaborative spirit between Jason and Ronnie. It was worth the wait, and it stands as the best project they’ve done together. For Ronnie Martin fans, the year’s just beginning – he releases both The Otherly Opus and its companion EP, Icicle Streusel, in March. Nothing’s been announced from Jason’s camp, but I’d be surprised if SF59 didn’t have something new by the end of the year.

Until then, though, The Brothers Martin will more than tide you over. Despite their prolific natures and their track records, the Martins remain obscure, and a listen through this collaborative platter will have you wondering why.

* * * * *

What I didn’t know when I trundled out to the music store was that I’d also come home with Carey Ott’s Lucid Dream. Hell, I didn’t even know it existed.

About five years ago, I saw Chicago-area band Torben Floor open up for Phantom Planet. They quite simply owned the room from moment one, and the stars of the show were the songs of lead singer Carey Ott. I bought their full-length debut, Matinee, that same year, and have included songs like “Midwest Distress” on mix CDs ever since. But the band disappeared – I heard hide nor hair of them since 2002.

But lo and behold, here is Ott’s debut solo album, self-released last year but finally receiving national distribution on Dualtone this month. Ott has a great voice and a way with a melody, and though Lucid Dream doesn’t rock as hard as Torben Floor did, it does collect 11 swell new songs (as well as a new version of his old band’s semi-hit “Sunbathing”). In general, think Rufus Wainwright singing for Travis, and you’re on the right track.

Lucid Dream is a lot more acoustic and intimate than Matinee was, and the shift takes a few listens to get used to. But once you’re in, Ott’s low-key charm will work its magic. “Hard to Change” has hints of Neil Finn, and “Mother Madam” is almost a Paul McCartney impression, but overall, Ott delivers a set of fine, pleasing pop-rock, with some memorable melodies.

Nothing here is as stunningly excellent as “Sleep Too Much,” the hidden gem on Matinee, but even so, it’s nice to see such a talented, classically-informed songwriter still turning out the goods. Plus, apparently the first track here, “Am I Just One,” got featured on Grey’s Anatomy a couple of times, earning Ott some well-deserved publicity. Ott’s work is thoughtful and shimmering and often sad, and his album will appeal to anyone who likes British pop, or really anyone who likes good songwriting. Hearing his album was like reuniting with an old friend. Far from disappearing, Ott’s been hard at work, and it shows on Lucid Dream.

Check him out here

Next week, Scarsick, and maybe a couple of other things I picked up this week. Still working on Zappa…

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Well, it didn’t happen.

I wondered last week where I was going to find the time to finish my massive Frank Zappa buyer’s guide project, and as it turned out, I didn’t. I’m pretty far along, but not done, and I don’t want to post this in installments, as it’s going to be eight interconnected pages. It needs to debut all at once, and now I’m shooting for one of the barren weeks in February. There are a couple, so we’ll see if I can land this beast on one of them.

Of course, that leaves me with nothing to write about this week. Or it would have, if not for the internet. But thanks to this glorious series of tubes, I found a new musical obsession last Saturday, and his songs have become like old friends over the past seven days. I’m apparently really late to this party, but I’m glad I finally made my way there.

I’m talking about Jonathan Coulton. Or JoCo to his friends.

I was directed to Coulton’s website from a message board I frequent. I listened to three songs, and then plunked down my cash for everything the man’s ever done. And I’ll tell you, it was probably the best $70 I’ve spent in a while. Coulton is a witty writer with an ear for great melodies, and he combines the best parts of Barenaked Ladies (before they started to suck) and Fountains of Wayne, with a touch of Dr. Demento. His songs are geeky, funny, sad and triumphant, and they deserve to be heard on a wider stage.

Much of the press attention Coulton gets centers on his unique marketing methods. His website allows you to hear every song in full, and buy each one individually or as an album set. You can purchase CDs from Coulton, too, but one gets the sense that printing up physical discs is merely a concession to an old paradigm for him. He’s an internet artist through and through, and he releases everything under a Creative Commons license, which means that anyone else is free to use his material for their own projects, as long as they a) don’t make any money off of it, and b) they link back to his site.

So naturally, YouTube is full of homemade Jonathan Coulton videos, ranging from fully animated concept pieces to single-camera shots of people dancing. Coulton counts on this exposure to spread his name across the net, and as far as I can tell, it’s working wonders. He records his songs at home, using professional digital equipment, and then he releases them into the world, and watches the lives they live. And with each new video or podcast or what have you, more people hear his work, and more of them find their way to his site.

But that’s not the best of it. In September 2005, Coulton embarked on a year-long experiment he called Thing-a-Week. Basically, he recorded a song a week, and released each one as a podcast on Fridays, and he kept that up for a full year. By the end, Thing-a-Week became an internet sensation, and to hear him tell it, the experiment increased his audience considerably. I missed out on Thing-a-Week while it was happening, of course, but I can easily imagine racing home on Fridays to check for the new song. It’s a fascinating and very effective approach.

But you know what? I don’t want to talk about any of that. I want to talk about the songs, because they’re at the heart of the matter. And Coulton’s songs are the best kind of pop music – warm and funny and touching and simply bursting with ideas. Those ideas are often about monkeys and robots and zombies, but they are just as often about people orbiting around each other, and the interesting ways they interact.

Coulton’s first album, 2003’s Smoking Monkey, is hit or miss, and sometimes self-consciously silly, but it is a fun half-hour. It includes a couple of smirking winners, like “Ikea,” a They Might Be Giants-esque anthem to the world’s greatest discount store, and “First of May,” a sweet ode to… well, I don’t want to ruin that one if you haven’t heard it. But the record is weighed down by brick-subtle numbers like “Over There” and “I’m a Mason Now,” songs that pale in comparison to later efforts.

2004’s follow-up EP Where Tradition Meets Tomorrow is a huge improvement, taking Coulton’s melodic pop to geeky new heights. The first three songs are all classics – “The Future Soon” starts off as a tale of grade school embarrassment, but ends up being about robot wars in a far-flung decade, and “Skullcrusher Mountain” concerns an evil genius in love with his latest captive. (“I’m so into you, but I’m way too smart for you, even my henchmen think I’m crazy, I’m not surprised that you agree…”)

But it’s “I Crush Everything,” a sad ballad about a self-loathing giant squid, that fully establishes the Coulton style. You would never expect a song about a sea creature to move you, but this one will – Coulton manages to find the sadness, the desperation, and the humanity in his science fiction concepts, doing what all good sci-fi should do. Oh, and he composes heartbreaking melodies, too. I’ve had “I Crush Everything” stuck in my head a dozen times this week, and I’m not tired of it yet.

And then there is Thing-a-Week.

Coulton’s year-long endeavor is collected on four CDs, one for each season, with corresponding mini-vinyl-style sleeves, all packaged in a tin box. All 52 songs are here, with the exception of “When I’m 25 or 64,” a copyright-violating mash-up. And as a whole, it offers the most complete picture of Coulton’s particular brand of genius.

The best thing about Thing-a-Week, though, is that you can hear Coulton blossoming and maturing as a songwriter before your ears. The first volume is a mixed bag, with found-sound experiments like “W’s Duty” and “Sibling Rivalry,” novelty tunes like “Podsafe Christmas Song” and a folksy cover of “Baby Got Back.” (Okay, that last one is brilliant.) At track four is “Shop Vac,” the disc’s one undisputed keeper – it’s an exploration of suburban half-life, with an entire bridge about taking a left turn into Starbucks. But otherwise, Coulton’s warning about the relative quality of his Thing-a-Week material seems spot-on.

But a funny thing happened about halfway through Thing-a-Week Two: Coulton started taking this experiment as the challenge it was meant to be, and began turning out his best work. There’s “Chiron Beta Prime,” of course, a Christmas card from a family held captive by robots, but there is also “A Talk With George,” a deeper song about conversing with the ghost of George Plimpton, and there is the aforementioned “Re: Your Brains,” detailing a business meeting between a zombie and his victims. (Imagine the Misfits singing a ‘90s pop song after watching Office Space.) Mix in fine covers of Beatles and Rick Springfield songs, and an anthem for the unlikeliest of Olympic events (“Curl”), and you have a winner.

Here’s the thing, though – Coulton was just getting warmed up. Thing-a-Week Three and Thing-a-Week Four are superb pop records by any definition – the sound experiments are all but gone, the novelty tunes take a back seat, and in their place are song after song of melodic bliss, each one with its own high concept. The third volume includes “Code Monkey,” a should-be smash hit about a hapless software engineer in love. There’s also wimp-seduction ballad “Soft Rocked By Me” and kickass breakup song “Not About You,” but the highlight might be “When You Go,” an a cappella stunner.

Thing-a-Week Four contains “Creepy Doll,” his Danny Elfman-esque four-minute horror movie, but it also has hard-luck anthem “Big Bad World One,” sweet parenting song “You Ruined Everything,” and “Pull the String,” a psychodrama about secrets. And at track eight is one of the most perfect love songs in my collection, called “I’m Your Moon.” It’s a love letter to Pluto from its moon Charon, written shortly after Pluto was declassified as a planet, and it is defiantly beautiful: “I’m your moon, you’re my moon, we go round and round, from out here, it’s the rest of the world that looks so small, promise me you will always remember who you are…”

Coulton wrapped up Thing-a-Week last August with an unlikely cover of “We Will Rock You,” but he did it in a way that symbolized his connection with his fanbase. He asked his fans to record a single handclap and send it to him, and he assembled all those claps into the famous backbeat of the song. Then, naturally, he bluegrassed it up, and as an encore, he gave “We Are the Champions” a low-key arrangement, as if sung by a weary mountain climber surveying how far he’s come. It sounds strange, but it’s the perfect conclusion.

In the end, Coulton delivered a set of surprisingly warm and well-crafted songs, and it’s kind of amazing that he managed one of these a week. It’s also kind of amazing that he’s remained obscure, with a pen so prolific and witty. So here’s my attempt to spread the word: Go here to hear anything and everything he’s done, and then buy what you like. And then, tell a few people and send them to the site. Someone this good deserves all the support I can muster for him.

Some places to start:

“Ikea” and “First of May” off of Smoking Monkey.

“The Future Soon” and “I Crush Everything” off of Where Tradition Meets Tomorrow.

“Shop Vac” and “Baby Got Back” off of Thing-a-Week One.

“A Talk With George” and “Re: Your Brains” off of Thing-a-Week Two.

“Code Monkey” and “When You Go” off of Thing-a-Week Three.

“Big Bad World One” and “I’m Your Moon” off of Thing-a-Week Four.

Or, you know, just pick a song and start listening. I hope you like Coulton’s music as much as I do.

Next week, the Shins return with Wincing the Night Away, and as if that weren’t enough, we have the Brothers Martin album and the new Of Montreal, too. The following week sees Pain of Salvation’s already-controversial Scarsick and the second album from Clap Your Hands Say Yeah.

Also, Marillion announced the track listing for their 14th album, Somewhere Else, this week. The follow-up to the 100-minute Marbles is half that length and contains 10 songs, and one of them is “Faith,” a tune they’ve been playing live since 2003. Early reports compare the record to Afraid of Sunlight, which may be my favorite Marillion album, and “Faith” certainly fits in with that style – it’s a gorgeous acoustic song that should be a terrific closer. The album’s out on April 9, and I’m counting the days…

See you in line Tuesday morning.

So this is the new year, and I don’t feel any different…

Actually, that’s not true. I had a good, if hectic, Christmas break – met some new people, connected with some old friends, and got more DVDs than I have time to watch. I slipped back into the work routine this week, writing about disputed old hospitals and public housing and Christian horror films. (I love my job – it’s never boring.) And I feel refreshed, ready to take on 2007.

On the musical front, my selection of Joanna Newsom’s Ys as the best record of 2006 has brought on the diverse reactions I kind of expected. I have an annual tradition of listening to the album of the year, in full, with my friend Mike before midnight mass each Christmas Eve, and he was so enraptured with Newsom’s songs and voice that he swears he’s going to buy the album. Mike owns about 12 CDs all together, so this is a big deal for him.

On the other hand, my friend Jeff is convinced I’m putting everybody on. He compared Newsom’s work to music from a Tim Burton movie, written by Jack Black and sung by Bjork. Which, to me, sounds really appealing, but for Jeff is like setting his eardrums on fire. He’s certain that I’ve lost my mind, or else I’m punking the whole of my readership, and all of my friends and co-workers. Such is the divisive nature of Newsom’s music.

For the record, I’m still happy with my choice, though I understand the objections, and I get why some won’t take to Newsom. It’s just that every time I listen to this album, I get wrapped up in it again. It weaves a spell, and I’m caught in it.

Good thing, too, because I’m going to need something to get me through the winter doldrums. January is traditionally the most barren month for new releases, and while 2007’s going to be a little better on that score – I’m actually excited about the eight or so new ones hitting by the end of the month – it’s still going to be a tough 30 days for this music junkie. And February, if you can believe it, looks like it’ll be even worse.

I do have contingency plans for this column – I’m still working on the Frank Zappa Buyer’s Guide, which I hope to have ready in two weeks or so, and there were a couple of stragglers from December that impressed me enough to warrant their own reviews. But this week, I think I’ll go easy on myself. I was originally going to write up a bitch session about Pitchfork and their picks for the best of the year (Liars? The Knife? Ghostface Killah? WTF? Although they shared the Joanna Newsom love, and that Hold Steady album is pretty good…), but I’m not feeling that negative today.

Instead, I thought I’d springboard off of the final few paragraphs of last week’s column, and give you a more in-depth glimpse at some of the things I’m looking forward to this year. Of course, I have no idea of the shape of the year yet, and no doubt the best stuff has yet to be announced, or in some cases even recorded. But as of the first week of January, here are some coming attractions that have me jazzed for 2007:

The Shins – Wincing the Night Away
We don’t waste any time getting right to the first major release of the year, the third record from the Shins. Forget all that indie hype, the Shins are just a classic pop band trafficking in superb melodies and inescapable sweetness. I honestly think that “Girl Inform Me,” off of their 2001 debut Oh, Inverted World, is one of the finest pop songs of the past 10 years. Their two albums thus far have been spotty, but the bright spots have been absolutely brilliant. “Caring is Creepy.” “Mine’s Not a High Horse.” “New Slang.” “Saint Simon.” Need I say more? The first single from Wincing is called “Phantom Limb,” and it easily joins the aforementioned tracks in the modern pop hall of fame. Let’s hope the Shins have finally made that cohesive, knockout album they’ve been threatening. It’s out January 23.

Pain of Salvation – Scarsick
This one’s likely going to be a lot less sunny, if the title’s any indication. I’m excited for this because it’s the follow-up to Be, one of the strangest and most rewarding albums of the Aughts so far. Be was a thesis on God and man, and on the interconnectivity of all things, but even beyond the cerebral exercises, it was an amazing musical statement, taking on three dozen different kinds of music and melding them into a cohesive wonder. It took a few listens, but Be quickly revealed itself as a masterpiece. What I’ve heard of Scarsick incorporates an unfortunate rap-rock influence, but I’m still hopeful. That’s out January 30.

The Brothers Martin
Nearly two decades after the breakup of their last joint band, Dance House Children, Ronnie and Jason Martin have collaborated on another project. Who are Ronnie and Jason Martin? Well, Ronnie is the quirky genius behind Joy Electric – he writes spunky, melodic tunes and performs them on nothing but analog synthesizers. And Jason is the primary force driving the enduring guitar-pop dynamo that is Starflyer 59. Both Martins know their way around a pop song, and what I’ve heard of The Brothers Martin has been a perfect marriage of their styles. Here, take a listen to “Communication.” That’s out on the 23rd.

I may as well note here that Ronnie has a busy year ahead of him. Already winging its way to me is Workmanship, Joy Electric’s new EP, and Martin promises another one before the release of The Otherly Opus/Memory of Alpha, his reportedly amazing new full-length, on March 20. I’ve also heard something about a Joy E live album that might be out this year, too. Ronnie Martin’s music is unlike anyone else’s, and I’m always excited to get another glimpse at the world through his eyes.

Explosions in the Sky – All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone
Pelican – City of Echoes
I love complex, dreamy instrumental music – see my rave of the new Hammock album – and these two bands scratch that itch nicely. Chicago’s Pelican is an instrumental metal band, playing mostly slow, heavy, intricate music that crushes all in its path. Oddly, though, their stuff is mesmerizing, almost ambient in its thunderous power. Explosions in the Sky are very different, preferring to work with clean guitar lines and atmosphere, and their work is surprisingly emotional and vast. All of a Sudden is out February 20, and City of Echoes will hit on May 22.

Type O Negative – Dead Again
Since we’re talking about slow, deep and hard music, the latest from Type O will be out on March 13. People are often surprised to find out how much I love Type O, and I’m not sure why – they have a striking, individual vision, they sound like no one else, and they write some great songs. Some write them off as a goth-metal band, but they’re so much more, mostly because they never let you forget that at heart, they’re just four jerks from Brooklyn. Their stuff is both funny and surprisingly moving. The new one, with that typically Type O title, is 10 songs in 77 minutes, and seems like it will be a return to the classic, doom-laden sound of old.

Enuff Znuff – Lost in Vegas
Speaking of bands people can’t believe I like, there’s EZN, one of the most enduring bands to come out of the ‘80s. Writing off EZN because of their hair-metal past is a huge mistake – few power pop bands have produced so many great, hummable songs over the past 15 years. EZN is like Cheap Trick could have been if they’d remained fantastic, and the tentatively titled Lost in Vegas will be their 13th record. The last one, ?, was a bit of a letdown after a string of winners, so I’m hoping they return to form here. There’s no release date yet, but I’ll be on the lookout.

Fountains of Wayne – Traffic and Weather
Is there a better pop band than Fountains of Wayne? They have equals, but few can surpass them for wit, melody and sheer fun. Their last album, Welcome Interstate Managers, hit #3 on my list for 2003, and would have been higher if not for some superfluous songs at the end. Tracks 1-12 are perfect, from the guitar-driven joy of “Bright Future in Sales” to the wispy sadness of “Hackensack” and “Valley Winter Song,” to the loungy fun of “Halley’s Waitress.” If Traffic and Weather can measure up, count on its inclusion in the 2007 top 10 list. It’s out on April 3.

Marillion – Somewhere Else
You knew I’d have to mention this, currently the farthest point out on my ’07 musical map. Marillion is one of my favorite bands, technically amazing and yet unfailingly emotional, and their 14th album is out on April 9 in the U.K. The good news is that the sessions also produced their 15th album, out in May of 2008, reportedly. Somewhere Else sounds like it will be more straightforward than 2003’s masterpiece, Marbles, and we’ll see when the first single, the distressingly titled “See It Like a Baby,” hits in March. Of everything here, this is the one I am most excited to hear.

There are others, of course, including records by Of Montreal, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah, Bloc Party, the Magic Numbers, Bright Eyes, Lovedrug, Neal Morse, Ted Leo, the Arcade Fire, Low and Grant Lee Phillips on the horizon. It’s shaping up to be a pretty good year, all things considered, and I’m looking forward to diving in. Thanks for coming along for the ride. And please let me know if I missed anything worth checking out.

Next week, a few albums that snuck out while I wasn’t looking last month. And the week after that, hopefully, a whole bunch of Zappa.

See you in line Tuesday morning.