I talk a lot about the Internet here.

Which is odd, considering I’m an old-fashioned physical-product kind of guy. This week, for example, I bought Radiohead’s The King of Limbs again, just because I had to have it on CD. But there’s no doubting the Internet has changed the whole game. Artists with no chance of being heard only a few years ago now have the same shot as everyone else, the same opportunity to have that viral hit. The only problem is, no one knows what will strike a chord with the Internet audience. It’s completely unpredictable.

Occasionally, I need reminding that the Internet is just a tool. It’s neither good nor evil. The same mechanism that allows for Cee-Lo Green to have the hit of his career with “Fuck You” also allows Rebecca Black’s “Friday” to become the most-discussed and most-circulated song of the year so far. If you haven’t heard it (and what are the odds of that?), “Friday” is perhaps one of the most laughably bad tunes ever written, and it’s gamely sung by a 13-year-old girl with stars in her eyes.

Daniel Tosh was the first to share this, in a blog post titled “Songwriting Isn’t for Everyone,” and now the damn thing has traveled around the world and back. “Friday” is insanely bad – there’s the existential dilemma over which seat to take, the front or the back, when cruising in the car, and the long section wherein Black enumerates the days of the week. But I think people are slinging their derision in the wrong direction here. This isn’t Black’s fault – the song was written by the “professionals” at Ark Music Factory, and Black’s mom paid them $2,000 to record her daughter singing the song and put her in a video.

In short, Black had nothing to do with the sheer unintentional hilarity of “Friday,” nor did she have anything to do with the crazy popularity of the tune, nor did she work for or deserve her instant fame. This is the Internet. Anything you do or say can catch fire at any time, if the faceless masses deem it worthy. Anything you do, no matter how old you are when you do it, can become your online identity. It doesn’t matter what Black grows up to do now. She’s the “Friday” girl, and taunts of “Tomorrow is Saturday, and Sunday comes afterwards” will follow her forever.

But in a way, the Ark Music Factory producers did what they were hired to do. Black is famous – she’s on talk shows now, and serious music critics are writing about her next move – and she became famous in a way that was literally impossible only a handful of years ago. There’s no reason I should know this girl’s name, but I do. Used to be, you had to work hard or do something notable to become famous, or at least have rich and influential people on your side. Now, it’s all down to the whim of Username Nation. And no one knows what will light the Internet on fire.

Just ask Alexandra Wallace. Earlier this month, the UCLA student posted a racist video rant about Asians in the university library. Among her complaints: the Asian students talk on their cell phones while she’s trying to study, and they invite their extended families to her campus apartment building to cook and clean for them. At one point, she does a ghastly impersonation of those students on the phone (“Oooh, ching chong ling long ting tong! Ooooh!”), and chides them for not having “American manners.”

This is harsh stuff, and within hours of its posting, it took off. The reaction was massive and vitriolic, and Wallace, in her apology in the UCLA paper the following week, said she had received email after email, many of them threatening, and had been so ostracized from the campus community that she decided to drop out. This is, sadly, a pretty typical Internet response. (See the Cooks Source controversy of last year.) Wallace’s rant was ill-advised and horrible, no question. But did she deserve what she got? I don’t know.

But here’s what I do know. The same technology that allowed Wallace’s words to travel the globe in hours, and allowed those upset by them to respond with such force, also gave Seattle-based musician Jimmy Wong an opportunity to show us how it’s done. His response to Wallace is the sharp-yet-gentle “Ching Chong (It Means I Love You),” a beautiful piece of work that serves to strip Wallace’s rant of all its power. It’s classy, yet biting when it needs to be – it is, in short, a perfect rejoinder, and it deserves to travel at least as far as the screed that inspired it.

This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Internet. A one-world community with no rules, that brings out the best and worst in all of us. It can be used to spread hate, and to strike back at that hate with a joke and a hug. Your worst deed can be around the world in minutes, as can your greatest artistic triumph. It can make Rebecca Black an of-the-moment star, but it can do the same for Jimmy Wong. And it’s up to us to make sure the good people get the benefits. I didn’t know Alexandra Wallace’s name two weeks ago, but I didn’t know Jimmy Wong’s either.

Guess which one I’m going to remember.

* * * * *

Three short reviews of three loud records this week. Go!

Every year, there’s at least one new band that knocks me out, that makes me glad I decided to take a chance on an unproven artist. I know it’s early days yet, but there’s a good chance this year’s band is The Joy Formidable.

This Welsh three-piece has entitled their debut album The Big Roar, and that’s very fitting. This is one of the sharpest, loudest and best full-on rock albums I’ve heard in a while. This band’s sound is massive. It’s all drums, bass and guitars (with some textured keys), but it sounds like they hired six or seven people to play each one. Every element of this sound is used to propel it forward – essentially, even though it’s layered and deep as an ocean, the whole thing rocks. Rocks.

Don’t let “The Everchanging Spectrum of a Lie,” the eight-minute crawl that opens the record, fool you. While that one eventually explodes, the tone is truly set by “The Magnifying Glass,” with its big, dumb, amazing riff. Atop all this din, Ritzy Bryan’s high, clear voice is like shafts of light. Check out “A Heavy Abacus” for a great example – the melody is dynamic, and is all down to Bryan, since the instruments are busy making as much noise as they can behind her. Bryan’s guitar is responsible for a lot of that noise, and she bends it and shapes it into thudding bricks or caressing waves, depending on the song.

There’s nothing subtle here, nothing that doesn’t scream for the skies and spread its wings to the fullest. This is high drama in song form. But it’s also an astonishingly self-assured first record – they let single “Whirring” go on for nearly seven blissful minutes of dissonant, powerful musical interplay, certain that you’ll want to hear all of it. And you will. Underneath it all, The Joy Formidable plays pop music, but they do it on such a grand stage, with such piledriver force, that even their sweetest songs will bowl you over. There’s nothing about The Big Roar I don’t like.

* * * * *

So here’s the thing about Swedish trio Peter Bjorn and John. For one, they don’t use a comma between Peter and Bjorn, which drives me nuts. For another, they will never again have a fluke hit like “Young Folks,” the whistle-tastic ditty from 2006. Never. So we should stop expecting that they will, and holding them to that standard.

If you release them from those expectations, and just go with it, their fifth album, Gimme Some, is actually a lot of fun. I don’t think it’s particularly good, but it’s miles better than Living Thing, the 2008 follow-up to their big hit. That one felt crushed under the weight of “Young Folks,” while the new one sounds free and joyous. It’s simple, garage-y pop music, but there’s an energy to it that sets it apart somehow.

You won’t hear anything innovative, or even particularly memorable, on Gimme Some. “Second Chance” is the closest thing I hear to a hit, its Bachman-Turner Overdrive riff hitting home more often than not. (You may be thinking, a few minutes in, that it could use more cowbell, and the band is happy to oblige.) But while this whole thing should bore me silly, it doesn’t. It sounds alive, in a strange way that has nothing to do with the quality of the songs.

My favorites here, in fact, are the ones that sound the most tossed-off. The 1:37 punk eruption “Breaker Breaker,” for example, and the screamalicious “Lies.” The Three Swedes are never going to top the song for which they will always be known, but for the first time, they seem all right with that. Gimme Some is light and danceable and full of weird joy, and for a simplistic little rock record, I like it much more than I feel like I should.

* * * * *

Speaking of things I like more than I should, there’s Panic! at the Disco.

I have rarely heard such an enormous difference between a first and second album as I did with this band. Their debut, A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out, was Fall Out Boy-style pop-punk, but their second, Pretty, Odd, took on a Beatlesque dimension, with Merseybeat tunes and horn sections. I really like Pretty, Odd. I really don’t like A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out.

So when the Panic! boys promised a mix of the two styles on their third album, Vices and Virtues, I didn’t know quite what to expect. Adding to my concern: half the band has walked out the door, including main songwriter Ryan Ross. He and bassist John Walker now go by The Young Veins, and all it takes is one listen to their album to know where the ‘60s influences came from.

So with just Spencer Smith and Brandon Urie left, what would Panic! give us? Turns out, it’s just as advertised – it’s a poppy hard rock record, with more melody than the first album and more sharp edges than the second. In a way, I guess, they’ve found their sound, and it’s an enjoyable and interesting one. But it isn’t one that’s going to make me go out of my way to recommend it. I like this, but I was secretly hoping for more Paul McCartney, and less Pete Wentz.

That’s not to say this isn’t fun, though. Opener “The Ballad of Mona Lisa” has a charming chime part, and a nice melody. “Hurricane” is eminently danceable, and “Trade Mistakes” makes fine use of a string quartet. “Always” is a pretty acoustic piece, probably the most immediately memorable thing here, although “The Calendar” is a fine little pop song too. And “Sarah Smiles” is a genuine surprise, a shuffling delight that elevates the record’s final third.

You’ll notice that Panic! has reinserted the exclamation point into their name. It was removed for Pretty, Odd, as a symbol of the drastic change that album represented. The fact that it’s back now should be all you need to know. Urie and Smith have tried to be all things to all Panic! fans here, and they’ve done a decent job of it. While the album is certainly rooted in the band’s punky origins, it has enough melody and diversity to appeal to pop lovers like me. This is definitely worth a listen. Whether it’s worth more than one will depend on which side of that spectrum you come down.

* * * * *

So it’s the end of March already, which means it’s time for my First Quarter Report. Essentially, this is what my 2011 top 10 list would look like, if I were forced to print it now. Thankfully, I’m not, because it doesn’t include upcoming records from Elbow, Paul Simon, Fleet Foxes, Sloan, the Antlers, and Death Cab for Cutie, all of which I have high hopes for. It also doesn’t include the new triple album from the Violet Burning, which will most likely be in the final list. I’m still absorbing and digesting that one.

But if I were held at gunpoint and asked for the 10 best albums of 2011 right now, this is what I’d say:

#10. Lykke Li, Wounded Rhymes.
#9. The Decemberists, The King is Dead.
#8. White Lies, Ritual.
#7. Radiohead, The King of Limbs.
#6. The Joy Formidable, The Big Roar.
#5. Iron and Wine, Kiss Each Other Clean.
#4. The Dears, Degeneration Street.
#3. R.E.M., Collapse Into Now.
#2. Over the Rhine, The Long Surrender.
#1. PJ Harvey, Let England Shake.

It’s gonna take a lot to get Harvey out of that top spot. We’ll see if anything does.

Before I go, I have to thank Marissa Amoni for writing the first ever news story about Tuesday Morning 3 A.M. It appeared in my former paper, the Beacon-News, last week. It was jarring to see that quote from 11 years ago – I’d like to think I’m not so melodramatic now – but the story was very kind, and I appreciate it.

Next week, the old guys strike back, with new things from Robbie Robertson, Ray Davies, the Smithereens and Bob Geldof. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I bought seven new CDs this week, and none of them were the work of new artists.

That used to be par for the course for me. I’ve always been more interested in established artists than newer ones. There’s something about experience, about hearing an artist evolve and mature before my ears, that draws me in. I love extensive back catalogs. I love hearing a songwriter’s 15th album and comparing it to his first. New artists, I find, are usually more about the potential than the actual. If I like a debut album, it’s usually because I’m imagining how good the band’s fifth record might sound.

But lately, I’ve been making a conscious effort to try new bands, before they become so buzzed-about that I can’t avoid them. Just this year I’ve bought efforts from Ringo Deathstarr, the Joy Formidable, Cage the Elephant and Telekinesis, all of whom are on their first or second albums. I don’t plan on turning into one of those bleeding-edge critics scouring the clubs so I can say I heard the next big thing first, but so far, trying new bands has been pretty rewarding. (See: Fleet Foxes.)

So it’s unusual for me not to have bought anything this week from a new (or even semi-new) band. Two of the acts I picked up got their start in the early ‘80s, another in the late ‘80s, one in the late ‘70s, and two others in the ‘90s. The most recent band I bought was Panic at the Disco (more on them next week), and they got together in 2004. At least that’s this century.

But I have to admit, it’s interesting for me to hear what these older bands are doing now, and match it up with their earlier work. None of these acts have been around longer than I have (yeah, yeah, shut it), but I grew up with some of them, and discovered others at pivotal points in my life. I’m always going to celebrate the new here at tm3am, but I hope to do it with a healthy respect for what came before. So now, here’s a look at what came before, and what those bands are doing now.

* * * * *

Every 10 years or so, the entertainment media gets it into their heads that Duran Duran is making a comeback. That, to me, is like saying the cheeseburger is making a comeback. Some years it’s more popular than others, but like Duran Duran, it’s kind of always been there.

Sure, there have been lineup changes galore, but Duran Duran has, solidly and dependably, put out an album every two or three years since 1981. If you’d told me in 1983, at the height of their popularity, that Duran freaking Duran would go on to have a 30-year recording career, I’d have… well, I’d have probably looked at you funny for a second, and then gone back to playing with my Legos, because I was nine. But the point remains. Nobody expected the “Rio” band to keep on plugging for this long, and absolutely no one expected them to be as good as they are.

It would be very difficult for me to name a bad Duran Duran album. Some are worse than others – Notorious and Liberty pop to mind – but none of them out-and-out suck. Duran Duran specialize in dramatic, synth-y pop, and with minor stylistic variations along the way, they’ve stuck to that for three decades. Occasionally the general public catches on again (“Ordinary World” was a hit in 1993, Astronaut cracked the top 20 in 2004), but for the most part, Duran Duran keeps on doing what they do, regardless of who’s paying attention.

That’s why collaborations with Danja and Timbaland and Justin Timberlake on 2007’s Red Carpet Massacre were so surprising. It was the band’s first major bid at mass popularity since their earliest days, and they made it work, but it didn’t spin the gold they hoped it would. So for album 13, All You Need is Now, they’ve gone back to just being who they are. And as much as I liked Red Carpet Massacre, this is the real deal. This is why I love Duran Duran.

All You Need is Now is chock-full of the classic Duran sound. With four-fifths of the original band back in the fold, and a clearly conscious choice to get back to basics, the record pulses along comfortably. Truth be told, anything the band does behind him would sound like Duran Duran with Simon Le Bon’s distinctive vocals on top, but here he gets some grand melodies to sink his teeth into. The title track, “Blame the Machines” and “Being Followed” may be the most self-confident opening triptych this band has delivered in more than a decade.

And honestly, no other band I know would compose a six-minute epic called “The Man Who Stole a Leopard” (literally about a man who stole a leopard), but even if there were one, that band would not also be able to pull off a cheeky stomper like “Too Bad You’re So Beautiful.” As is this band’s custom, the best material appears toward the end: “Mediterranea” is the sky-high ballad this time around, and hidden gems “Other People’s Lives” and “Runway Runaway” are silly yet satisfying home runs. Owen Pallett (of Arcade Fire fame) contributes two instrumental bridges that tie everything together. Just like the Dude’s rug.

I’ve been a Duran Duran fan since the ‘80s, and they’ve never given me reason to regret it. All You Need is Now is another in a long line of thoroughly enjoyable pop records from a band that will remain forever underrated. It has the potential to take off, and you might see some news reports touting Duran’s latest comeback. Don’t believe it. Three decades in, they’re one of the most dependable pop acts out there. They don’t need to come back, they’ve never gone away.

* * * * *

The Strokes, on the other hand, did go away. Five years ago, they released their third album, First Impressions of Earth. It did very well, they toured it, and then the New York quintet kind of faded out. Every member went on to side projects or solo albums. It was kind of a fizzle. Now, I’ve never been a big fan – if I never hear “Last Nite” again, it will be too soon – but even I was a little mystified at how such a popular band could just drift apart.

As it turns out, they didn’t. The hiatus lasted a couple of years, but the band’s back together now with a new album, called Angles. Although I certainly wouldn’t call this a comeback either. There’s very little on this 10-track disc that makes me miss the Strokes, very little that makes me glad they’re back in my life. The band does make some interesting leaps into new sonic territory, but they retain their sloppiness and their so-so songwriting.

The album actually gets off to a roaring start, with glossy ass-kicker “Machu Picchu.” The twin guitars rage and then fall back as Julian Casablancas dives into a strong chorus. All seems well, but things go south pretty quickly after that. The slovenly “Under Cover of Darkness” is everything I dislike about this band. Casablancas sounds like he’s whining through a telephone, and the chorus attempts to soar, but ends up spluttering.

And from there, it’s one bout with mediocrity after another. “Two Kinds of Happiness” sounds like they went back in time to 1984 and got Ric Ocasek to produce, but the song is shaky and half-formed. I like “You’re So Right” for being so damn weird – the electronic rhythm and angular guitars underpin three or four Casablancases, through robot effects, intoning in something that might be called harmony. It’s unlike anything the Strokes have done. That doesn’t mean it’s particularly good, though.

“Taken For a Fool” is my favorite. It has a nice melody, some stunning playing by Albert Hammond Jr., and an overall super-cool vibe. But it highlights what I like least about the Strokes: they’re a fine, tight band pretending to sound bored and sloppy. The five songs in the back half don’t hold much for me. The band flirts with the electronics that were all over Casablancas’ solo album, Phrazes for the Young, but they don’t add much to these decent-to-disappointing tunes.

Some will love this album, and wonder why I just can’t hear how good it is. I guess I am just immune to this band’s charms. I have tried, and I have found things to like (such as the insane little breakdowns in “Call Me Back”), but not enough. Angles rarely rises above decent to me, and often sinks far below it. They’ve come a few baby steps from their debut, but it would be hard for me to call what they’ve been on a journey.

* * * * *

On the other hand entirely, we have the Pet Shop Boys.

This is another band that has surprised me with their longevity. Their first single, “West End Girls,” dropped in 1984, and since then, they’ve reliably released an album every two or three years. Four remix albums, a pair of live documents, and an even 10 studio records make up their catalog, and every one of them is a synth-pop gem. They’ve stumbled a bit recently – 2006’s Fundamental and 2009’s Yes are not all they could have been – but Neil Tennant and Chris Lowe remain singular figures in the pop landscape, wise old men who still cover the Village People’s “Go West” in concert.

But even as a longtime Pet Shop Boys fan, I would not have believed they would ever turn out something quite like The Most Incredible Thing, their score to a new ballet based on Hans Christian Anderson’s famous story. Anyone who doubts that Tennant and Lowe are first-rate musicians and composers should listen to this thing. It is almost entirely instrumental, and offers the Boys their first chance to work with a full orchestra since 1988’s “Left to My Own Devices.” They seize it.

The story is typically Anderson. The king of a large yet boring kingdom offers his daughter’s hand in marriage to whomever can show him “the most incredible thing.” An artist named Leo decides to create a clock full of magical creatures, and he handily wins the contest, but a group of bullies step in and destroy the clock. This destruction is somehow considered the most incredible thing, and the head bully, a guy named Karl, is declared the winner.

But then, on the eve of Karl’s wedding to the princess, the magical creatures from the clock come back to life and kill him. Leo and the princess then fall in love and get married, their love declared the most incredible thing. Yeah, it’s weird, but you can just picture this happening on stage, right?

The one drawback of the two-disc soundtrack album is that you have to keep on imagining that. You get just the music – no DVD of the performance, not even any photographs. I assume this would all be more amazing as a complete work, watching the visual element while hearing the Boys’ astounding music. But thankfully, the music itself is good enough that you won’t care that much. Throughout, Tennant and Lowe marry their trademark synth pulses and dance beats to the massive sound of an orchestra and a choir, and the effect is intense.

But it’s when the Boys shake things up that the score really comes to life. “Help Me,” midway through the first act, is a tender piano piece, and the multi-part “The Clock,” which opens the second act, is a fantastic wonderland of sweeping string melodies and sound effects. “The Miracle,” the extraordinary centerpiece of Act Three, is this score’s finest hour, utilizing themes that had been stated earlier to tremendous effect. It all builds up into an explosion of joyous sound.

This is the second instrumental score Tennant and Lowe have released, after their 2005 music for Battleship Potemkin, but this leaves the earlier effort in the dust. If all you know of the Pet Shop Boys is “West End Girls” and “It’s a Sin,” check this out. They’ve truly earned the title “composers” with this one, and as much as I want them to release another winning collection of pop tunes, I wouldn’t be sad if they followed this orchestral path a while longer, either. The Most Incredible Thing is an unexpected triumph.

* * * * *

Next week, it’s back to the modern times with the Joy Formidable, Broken Bells, Panic at the Disco and Peter, Bjorn and John, along with my First Quarter Report. Shortly after that, the amazing new Violet Burning triple album, and some more old guys: Ray Davies, Robbie Robertson and the Smithereens.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Apologies for last week’s abbreviated column. I promised to tell you why I had to cut things short last week, and I also promised that the reason was pretty cool. So here it is.

I’m involved in a fairly amazing project called Made in Aurora. It’s the brainchild of Steve Warrenfeltz, who owns my favorite record store, Kiss the Sky. Earlier this month, a couple dozen local musicians converged on Backthird Audio in Aurora to record a compilation. Steve plans to press up hundreds of copies on vinyl (with an accompanying CD) and have it ready for Record Store Day, on April 16.

What’s my part? Well, I played piano on one song, Kevin Trudo’s “Once a Week Won’t Kill You,” and I wrote the liner notes that you’ll find inside the gatefold cover. The whole package looks and sounds fantastic. It features the talents of Dave Ramont, Greg Boerner, Noah Gabriel, Dick Smith, HOSS, Jeremy Keen, the Empty Can Band and the aforementioned Kevin Trudo. And it ends with all of the above, plus most of the musicians who played with them, gathered in a room and banging out a version of “In My Hour of Darkness,” by Gram Parsons and Emmylou Harris.

That list of names up there probably doesn’t mean much to you if you’re not from the area, but trust me when I tell you it represents a huge wellspring of talent. This is one of the coolest things I’ve ever been involved with. I’m not sure if Made in Aurora is going to be available outside of this area, but if it is, it’s worth hearing. And not just for me stumbling my way around the ebonies and ivories. (But mostly ebonies. Key of F#. Thanks, Kev.) I’ll keep you posted.

So this week, I thought we’d catch up a little bit. Here are five short reviews of five new records, some of which have been out for some time. This one’s beholden to no genre, no theme, no unifying thread. Just five records I like. And I think you’ll like them too.

* * * * *

Bruce Cockburn has been making albums since 1970. That’s 41 years. It’s difficult for me to wrap my brain around that, but even more difficult to understand why he’s not more famous. Surely in that amount of time, he’s done a few things worthy of worldwide notice. But no, the great Canadian songwriter soldiers on in relative obscurity, playing to dozens instead of thousands, and making album after album that none but the faithful will hear.

Yes, I’ve sung this song before. I may have sung it about Bruce Cockburn. But that doesn’t make it any less true. The just-released Small Source of Comfort is his 31st album, and it’s another argument for his place among the greats. It’s not the best record of his career, but it’s not as hastily-assembled as his previous one, Life Short Call Now. This one feels fully thought-out – it’s more mellow, more carefully arranged, more of a rumination. But it once again ably demonstrates Cockburn’s mastery of the guitar, and piercing way with a lyric.

Small Source of Comfort opens with “The Iris of the World,” which is at least partially about traversing the Canada-U.S. border: “Crossed the border laughing, never know what to expect, they want to know what church I’m from and what things I collect, they’re trying to plug holes in the hull while flames eat up the deck, the captain and his crew don’t seem to get the disconnect…” This is largely an album about going to and from, about leaving home and returning there, and taking in the sights along the way.

It’s musically diverse, but sticks pretty close to Cockburn’s well-worn territory. The acoustic stomp of “Five Fifty-One” is vintage, its tense chord progression matching the lyrics perfectly: “Knots in my muscles, too much traffic in my mind, it was five fifty-one, gray light creeping through the blind…” It’s followed directly by “Driving Away,” a typical slow-burn ballad about escaping responsibility. Annabelle Chvostek adds some tender duet vocals to this one.

And as is his custom, Cockburn delivers five (count them, five) instrumentals this time, ranging from the snappy “Bohemian 3-Step” to the propulsive “Comets of Kandahar” to the sweet “Ancestors.” I’ve never quite gotten used to the instrumentals on a Cockburn record – they seem to break up his train of thought – and in this case, three of them are sequenced practically in a row near the end of the record, making them feel like bonus tracks.

Ah, but Small Source of Comfort ends with an old song that never found a home until now. “Gifts” is not even two minutes long, but concludes things on a lovely, graceful note: “Silver rain sings dancing rhyme, sunlight on blue water, rocky shore grown soft with moss catches all our laughter, and it sends it back without its edge to strengthen us anew, that we may walk within these walls and share our gifts with you…”

So yes, I may start every Bruce Cockburn review lamenting his obscurity, but I only do that because he’s been so very good for so very long. Small Source of Comfort is a strong album – only the too-literal “Call Me Rose” stumbles – and another in a long line of reasons to become a fan of Cockburn’s work. He’s 65 years old now, and he’ll be 66 in May, so there’s no telling how many more of these we’ll get. To my mind, each one’s a treasure.

* * * * *

Liam Gallagher thinks Beady Eye is the best band in the world.

Of course, as the singer, he’s slightly biased. But statements like that are about what we’ve come to expect from the brothers Gallagher, who formed Oasis together 20 years ago. Since then, the warring siblings have threatened to break up the band (and to wring each other’s necks) more times than I can count. And yet, Oasis kept on trucking, and along the way earned some respect. Their last album, 2008’s Dig Out Your Soul, brought them some very nice notices, some from critics that had dismissed the band only a couple of years before.

So no one took the Fighting Gallaghers seriously. But in August of 2009, Noel Gallagher finally had enough, and made good on his threats, leaving Liam holding the band together. Which he did – Beady Eye, despite the name change, is primarily the last incarnation of Oasis, including Liam, guitarist Gem Archer and bassist Andy Bell. Even the title of their debut album, Different Gear, Still Speeding, seems to say that very little has changed.

And it’s truth in advertising. Different Gear sounds exactly like Oasis, from the Manchester guitar sounds to the Beatles appropriations. If you like this sort of thing – and I do – this is a really good little record, right in line with the last few Oasis records. I’m especially fond of the skipping “Beatles and Stones” and the powerhouse rock of the opener, “Four Letter Word.” I’m also a fan of the sun-through-the-clouds “For Anyone,” all jangly acoustics and smiles. The band seems to have lost nothing with Noel Gallagher’s departure – this is a confident, capable piece of work.

That said, there’s nothing here you haven’t heard before from Liam Gallagher and his cohorts. In everything but the name, this is a new Oasis album, albeit a slightly more mellow one. If you found their brand of ‘60s-inspired Britpop creaky and irrelevant before, there’s nothing here that will change your mind. But if you like melodic rock with a touch of barrelhouse and some well-lifted Beatleisms, this is for you. I think it’s pretty damn enjoyable.

* * * * *

Two years ago, the Dears all but broke up.

While making their bleak, oppressive fourth album, Missiles, most of the band called it a day, leaving only mastermind Murray Lightburn and keyboardist Natalia Yanchek. It looked like Missiles would be the dramatic Montreal band’s swan song, and it kind of sounded that way too – it was a tough record to get through, and it lacked the spark of the band’s previous work.

But holy hell, look what happened. Everyone came back into the fold, and the Dears have somehow turned things around and made their best record ever, Degeneration Street. They’ve retained their trademarks – a huge, sweeping sound, led by Lightburn’s powerful voice – but they’ve cut the song lengths down dramatically, and brought in some much-needed variety. Only three of these 14 songs top five minutes, and none top six.

In some ways, it’s the perfect mix of the wide-open vistas of No Cities Left and the down-and-dirty rock of Gang of Losers. But it’s more than that. This time the Dears have written their little hearts out, and allowed for some interesting detours. They open with one – the slinky “Omega Dog” slides in on a funky bass line and some slippery guitars, Lightburn whipping out his strong falsetto. “Blood” is a rocker and a half, while “Lamentation” is one of the band’s best epics, compressing 12 minutes of widescreen force into 4:20.

And then there is “Galactic Tides,” in some ways the Dears version of Radiohead’s “Exit Music (For a Film).” It sports a lyric and melody Muse’s Matt Bellamy would be proud to call his own, and it starts out spare and ghostly, but builds up and up, adding choirs and wailing guitars as it goes. This would be at least twice its length on prior Dears albums, but here it’s 4:38, and the smaller space gives it a sense of palpable urgency.

That sense remains all the way to the end. “1854” marries its supple bass line to a soaring melody (and man, this Lightburn guy can sing), while the concluding title track brings it all crashing down in a tense, off-kilter way. This is the most consistent album the Dears have made, as if they needed to hit bottom to understand that every record, every song is worth giving your all to fight for. Where Missiles felt like giving up, Degeneration Street feels like waking up. It may not be the last record the Dears make, but it’s so intense and vital that it feels like they thought it might be.

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Noah and the Whale had me on their side immediately, just by virtue of their name.

It’s a reference to director Noah Baumbach and his film, The Squid and the Whale. Anyone who knows me knows how much I like Baumbach – he’s stumbled here and there, but his first movie, Kicking and Screaming, remains one of my all-time favorites. Name your band after Noah Baumbach, and I’m going to check you out. That’s a given.

So the name got me in the door, but I remain a little conflicted about the music. Their debut, Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down, is a fine slice of indie pop, leader Charlie Fink intertwining his voice with girlfriend Laura Marling’s sweet pipes. But then Marling left (both Fink and the band), and they swept up the pieces and made the skeletal, broken-hearted The First Days of Spring. It’s an album that was probably cathartic to make, but takes a lot to get into. Fink’s tentative, untrained voice is one of the main drawbacks – on much of Spring, it was left to fend for itself, on its own in a bleak and sparse landscape. And it didn’t do well. If there had been wolves, it would have been brought down.

But I could see what the band wanted that album to be, and in some very important ways, they achieved it. The record’s journey from despair to hope feels earned, and by the end, even Fink’s shaky vocals seem important somehow, like the album wouldn’t pack the same punch without them. The question, then, became how Noah and the Whale would fare, stripped of that album’s conceptual underpinnings.

As if to answer my query, here’s Last Night on Earth, the second Marling-less Noah album, and it’s pretty swell. Fink hasn’t suddenly learned how to sing, but this time he’s surrounded his voice with much more support. The first notes of “Life is Life,” all electronic drums and synthesizer, will surprise you, but it settles into a groove quickly. The first three tracks, in fact, make great use of the fuller, more electro sound, especially the danceable “Tonight’s the Kind of Night.” It’s a left turn, but it brings them to a fascinating destination.

Fink does a fine Proclaimers impression on “Waiting for My Chance to Come,” one of the most successful numbers – imagine John Mellencamp’s band produced by Ric Ocasek and you’ve got the right idea. My favorite song here is “Just Me Before We Met,” a tale of undiscovered secrets. It’s set to a pulsing electronic beat, and Fink manages to wrap that voice around a pretty dynamic melody. Virtually everything about it works.

Last Night on Earth is a short 33 minutes, and its jump into electro-land isn’t exactly breaking new ground. But I like the record. It’s sweet and hopeful and ingratiating, and when its synth-gospel finale “Old Joy” is over, it leaves me with a peaceful feeling. I’d never say this is a masterpiece, or even a particularly excellent release, but for what it is, I enjoy it a lot more than I expected to. The band had me at its name, but the music has kept me around.

* * * * *

And speaking of bands who had me at their name, here’s Ringo Deathstarr.

I’m going to repeat that for effect: the band’s name is Ringo Deathstarr. Just try to beat that. You can’t. It’s one of the best band names I’ve ever heard. It’s also the kind of name that buys you one free pass with me. If you’re creative enough to come up with Ringo Deathstarr, I’m interested to hear what else you can do.

So. Ringo Deathstarr’s debut album is called Colour Trip, and it takes me right back to high school. It sounds like My Bloody Valentine and Ride and a hundred other early shoegaze bands. The rhythm section is fast and punky, and the band drapes sheets of densely-reverbed guitar noise on top of it. Female bassist Alex Gehring is also the co-lead singer, and her high voice is practically drowned out by the din, but when it cuts through, it’s lovely. The songs are simple and melodic. Seriously, this sounds a lot like My Bloody Valentine.

And every time I listen to it, I like it more. It is little more than the sum of its influences, which also includes Psychocandy (of course), but no one seems to be doing music like this anymore, and it’s a style I enjoy. This is catchy and fun and at least as good as some of the high points of the shoegaze movement. It turns out, Ringo Deathstarr is more than just a clever-clever name. They’re a band worth tracking down.

* * * * *

All right, next week we’ll have a lot to choose from. I’m buying new ones from the Strokes, Duran Duran, Panic at the Disco, James Blake, Richard Ashcroft and the Pet Shop Boys, as well as live documents from Green Day and Soundgarden. (Viva la ‘90s!) Hopefully I’ll have time to write another nice long column. Cross your fingers.

Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I keep saying that 2011 is an amazing year for new music. The awesome just keeps on coming – it seems like every few days, there’s a new major announcement that puts a grin on my face.

So here’s what I thought I’d do this week, just to illustrate how great this year is. I’m just going to list, week by week, the records I plan to buy through May. Some of them are more interesting to me than others, but when you see this list all written out like this, the sheer mass of it is just impressive. Here, take a look:

March 15: Noah and the Whale, Last Night on Earth; Mastodon, Live at the Aragon; Tres Mts., Three Mountains.

March 22: The Strokes, Angles; Green Day, Awesome as Fuck; Soundgarden, Live on I5; Richard Ashcroft, United Nations of Sound; Duran Duran, All You Need is Now; Pet Shop Boys, The Most Incredible Thing; Panic at the Disco, Vices and Virtues; James Blake.

March 29: Peter, Bjorn and John, Gimme Some; Mars Classroom, The New Theory of Everything; Cavalera Conspiracy, Blunt Force Trauma; The Pains of Being Pure at Heart, Belong; Broken Bells, Meyrin Fields; Emery, We Do What We Want; and the CD release of Radiohead’s The King of Limbs.

April 5: Robbie Robertson, How to Become Clairvoyant; Ray Davies, See My Friends.

April 12: Paul Simon, So Beautiful or So What; Alison Krauss, Paper Airplane; Low, C’Mon; Panda Bear, Tomboy; Foo Fighters, Wasting Light; TV on the Radio, Nine Types of Light; Elbow, Build a Rocket Boys; Between the Buried and Me, The Parallax: Hypersleep Dialogues.

April 19: Blackfield, Welcome to My DNA; Gorillaz, The Fall.

April 26: Explosions in the Sky, Take Care, Take Care, Take Care; The Airborne Toxic Event, All at Once; KMFDM, WTF?!; Of Montreal, The Controllersphere; Boris, Attention Please and Heavy Rocks.

May 3: Fleet Foxes, Helplessness Blues; Danger Mouse and Danielle Luppi, Rome.

May 10: Okkervil River, I Am Very Far; Manchester Orchestra, Simple Math; Sloan, The Double Cross; The Cars, Move Like This; The Antlers, Burst Apart.

May 17: Moby, Destroyed; Owl City, All Things Bright and Beautiful.

May 31: Death Cab for Cutie, Codes and Keys.

And these are just the releases I know about now. May will fill out more over the next month or so, and I expect there will be a number of surprise announcements in the near future. (Though, if I’m expecting them, they’re not surprises… never mind.) If anyone tells you this is a lousy time for new music, or there just isn’t anything coming out these days, please refer them to this list.

* * * * *

Of course, the quantity of new releases doesn’t matter as much as the quality, but 2011 keeps on delivering on that score too. We’ve seen great new records by PJ Harvey, Iron and Wine, Eisley, Teddy Thompson, Lykke Li and others, and even the Radiohead album was pretty good. I’ve downloaded and listened to the epic new Violet Burning album, The Story of Our Lives, and it’s staggering, especially considering it’s two hours and 18 minutes long.

And this week’s contestants, the venerable R.E.M., have just made their best album in nearly 20 years.

It really hasn’t been easy to be an R.E.M. fan these past couple decades. Athens’ favorite sons had a run like few other bands in history from 1982 to 1992, putting out classic after classic. They dropped their last one, the gentle and gorgeous Automatic for the People, in 1992. I was a freshman in college, and I remember hearing “Sweetness Follows” for the first time and sitting there awestruck. This band could do no wrong.

But since Bill Berry’s departure, they’ve been floundering. Quick show of hands: how many people got all the way through 2004’s bore-fest Around the Sun? And how many people could stand listening to it twice? That, I thought, was it, the death knell for one of my favorite bands. When a duet with Q-Tip is the highlight of your record, it may be time to hang it up.

If I may belabor the point, the problem with the last two decades of R.E.M. is the band’s seemingly endless desire to be someone else. Every album from Monster forward is a diversion from the sound they created in the ‘80s, instead of a refinement of it. Monster is the glam record, for example, while Up is the chill electro one, Reveal the sunny Brian Wilson-inspired one, and Around the Sun the shitty one. Even 2008’s Accelerate, up until now the best record the R.E.M. Trio had made, is the loud one, the one on which they tried to prove they can still rock. All of these decisions, in retrospect, feel forced and unnatural.

That’s why the new one, Collapse Into Now, is such a joyous revelation. This one sounds like R.E.M., simply and effortlessly. It’s like they went back in time and found their groove, right where they left it.

That’s not to say that this is a nostalgic affair. From the first moments of opener “Discoverer,” you’ll hear a vital band playing their hearts out. They’ve teamed up with Jacknife Lee again – he produced Accelerate – and while his work is full-bodied, he keeps the focus on the reinvigorated, live-band R.E.M., pounding out these short, sharp tunes like their lives depended on it. Despite the crashing rock of the first two songs (and several others), this is not Accelerate part two – it’s more varied, more open-sounding. And that’s the key to its success.

Early R.E.M. records felt adventurous, like anything could happen. Collapse Into Now recaptures that feeling, darting from spunky songs like “All the Best” (perhaps the finest showcase here for semi-permanent drummer Bill Rieflin, who, as I never get tired of saying, used to be in Ministry) to sweet numbers like “Uberlin,” which brings back that classic Peter Buck acoustic sound. “Walk it Back” is the hidden gem, the delicate piano underpinning Michael Stipe’s world-worn, yet still arresting voice, and that contrasts with an explosion like “That Someone Is You,” all of 1:44.

In fact, I’d almost describe the feel of this album as “freewheeling.” Just look at the crazy guest list: Eddie Vedder adds his pipes to the near-endless singalong at the end of “It Happened Today,” sex-pop iconoclast Peaches shows up on the awesomely silly “Alligator_Aviator_Autopilot_Antimatter,” and Patti Smith and Lenny Kaye add their spectral eeriness to closer “Blue.” That song is something of a drugged-out cousin to “Country Feedback,” from 1991’s Out of Time, and finds Stipe in beat poet mode while Smith sings the melody. And then it eases into a little reprise that will make you smile.

These songs are mainly simple and enjoyable things – try hard not to grin as “Mine Smell Like Honey” plays – and for the first time in many, many years, the band sounds all right with that. There’s no attempt to make any kind of statement, or break new ground. This is just a good old-fashioned R.E.M. album, the likes of which I thought I’d never hear again. The members of R.E.M. appear, largely unobscured, on the front and back covers of Collapse Into Now, the first time they’ve done so. It’s fitting to see that on a record that finds them remembering who they are, and reclaiming that identity.

If you couldn’t tell, I love this. If you ever liked R.E.M., you’ll love it too.

Next week, maybe Bruce Cockburn, maybe The Violet Burning, maybe something else. I have to cut things short, but I’ll tell you why next week. The reason is pretty cool. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

This week’s column is all about women, but I’m going to start it off with news about two groups of men. Yeah, I know, I’m a bastard. But it’s good news, on both fronts, and music fans are going to want to know it.

There’s been an explosion of really cool Canadian bands in recent years, including the New Pornographers, Broken Social Scene, and the Grammy-winning Arcade Fire. (Not tired of saying that yet.) But I still think the country’s best band is Sloan. They are masters of ‘60s and ‘70s-inspired power pop, and over 20 years and nine albums, they’ve amassed a killer catalog and a dedicated following. Their 10th album is called The Double Cross (as in “XX,” as in 20, as in their 20th anniversary), and it’s out on May 10.

That’s not even what has me all excited about it, though. It’s the first single, “Follow the Leader,” which you can hear for free right here. If this doesn’t make you want to get up and dance your way to a record store and buy this album, I don’t know what will.

In other brilliant power pop news, Quiet Company has announced that their third album, We Are All Where We Belong, will be released in May or June. If I had a time machine and could travel forward three months and hear this thing right now, I would. I’m anticipating this like no other album this year. But as if to tide me over, this month will see QuietCo’s first DVD release, Live From Studio 6A. Having seen the band live, I can attest to their awesomeness. You’ll be able to buy both the album and DVD from their site. And you should.

You can also see the ridiculously amazing track list for the new album here. Every song has a parenthetical subtitle, and several of them call back to earlier QuietCo tunes. (One of them calls back to two at once.) My favorite: “Fear and Fallacy, Sitting in a Tree (You Were Doing Well Until Everyone Died).” I have no idea what a song with that title might sound like, but I’m excited to find out.

* * * * *

Two out of my top 10 albums of 2010 were made by women. Same with my picks for 2009. And 2008. Only one woman made it into my 2007 list. Ditto 2006.

Why am I telling you this? Ordinarily, demographic information like this doesn’t faze me. I pick the best of the year, as far as I can determine it, and it doesn’t matter if the number one record is made by albino giraffes, it’s still the year’s number one record. But when it comes to female artists, I’m particularly sensitive. There’s a general lack of respect paid to women who write and play their own songs, as if that’s the province of men only, and I don’t want to perpetuate that.

Still, the numbers speak for themselves. I used to console myself by berating the male-driven music business: there just aren’t that many female artists that are allowed to make great music, I’d say. I’m not sure that was ever true, but it’s not true now. The Internet has leveled things out. Women have the exact same opportunities as men, when it comes to making interesting music and getting that music out there. I hear a lot of great music, and more and more of it lately is made by women.

Take this year, for example. We’ve already got one album by a female artist, PJ Harvey’s Let England Shake, that’s practically a lock for the top 10 list. I’ve also loved new things by Over the Rhine and Corinne Bailey Rae. And this week, I have three more albums, by three artists you probably haven’t heard. They’re all worth tracking down, and they should (hopefully) help pump up the number of women in my top 10 list this year.

First up is Texas quintet Eisley. Three sisters, their brother and their cousin, all named DuPree. They play and sing sweet pop music with extraordinary melodies and harmonies. It’s been four years since their second record, Combinations, and the DuPrees have spent it first recording, and then fighting for the right to release their third. They’re off Reprise Records now, and back to the indie world.

So the natural headline is Family Band Fights for Their Music to be Heard, which should be enough of a hook. I hope it is, because Eisley’s third album, The Valley, is wonderful – it’s accomplished and full and complete, and worth every minute of the wait. There’s a certain sheen to this record, as you might expect – it was originally recorded on a major-label budget, after all – but the songs make it work, and the DuPree sisters sing like angels, as always.

Eisley specializes in optimistic-sounding pop that masks the darkness of their lyrics. “Watch It Die” is practically a celebration of a relationship’s end: “My love for you has died tonight, I don’t know how to own you…” The chorus of this song soars, the strings pulse, and the whole thing sounds sweet and exultant. “Sad” is the same way. The song (which I first heard at Cornerstone Festival last summer) is about commiserating with a friend whose lover isn’t coming back. But the music is jaunty, super-melodic and fun.

Judging by the lyrics, it’s been a bad few years for the DuPrees. Most of these songs are about love dying, about trust eroding. The most hopeful is “Better Love,” which finds Sherri DuPree down on herself, but taking solace in her significant other: “’Cause I’ve finally found out you’re on my side, with a bullet for the bad guys…” Most of the rest of The Valley reads like life unraveling, right up to the final track, the heartbreaking “Ambulance”: “And you say that I’m going to be okay, but it doesn’t seem that way, not today…”

Here’s the thing, though: you’d never know it, just listening. Eisley’s songs have hummable melodies to spare, and they never wallow when they can fly. Musically, this is energetic and energizing stuff – it’s a little meatier than they usually are, and there are string sections everywhere, but this is the work of a fine pop band playing fine pop songs. If you don’t pay attention to the lyrics, The Valley will leave you with a big, wide grin.

That juxtaposition has worked for Eisley before, and it works here. The Valley is, in many ways, the band’s most accomplished effort. There are at least four songs on this record that should be huge hits. They won’t be, which is a shame, but I’m glad this music is out there, finally, and not still languishing in major label hell. If the masses don’t get to hear Stacy DuPree’s beautiful singing on “I Wish,” well, that’s their loss. I’m enjoying it immensely, though.

* * * * *

Swedish singer Lykke Li is a stranger case. I think Atlantic Records is trying to position her as a pop star – her songs make it onto Gray’s Anatomy all the time. (Or so I’m told, because I would rather wash my eyeballs with sulfuric acid than watch Gray’s Anatomy.) But she certainly doesn’t write songs like a pop star. Her second album, Wounded Rhymes, is a vast improvement over her first, Youth Novels, but it still doesn’t contain a single song I would consider a potential hit.

That’s a good thing, in this case. And I’m not begrudging Li her wider platform – I do wish more people would hear Eisley, because I think they’re more accessible than their indie status would indicate, but Lykke Li’s material is so weird, and in general so good, that exposing this to the masses can only be a positive development. Where her first record was more tentative, a little more traditionally electronic, Wounded Rhymes is confident, assured, strange and terrific.

Opener “Youth Knows No Pain” is a drums-and-organ delight, with a smoky, shouted chorus and a middle eight right out of a Runaways song. It’s off-kilter, but works perfectly. Like the rest of this album, it was produced by Bjorn Yttling of Peter, Bjorn and John, and he knows a thing or two about off-kilter hit-making. The trend continues on the dazzling “I Follow Rivers,” which at times sounds like it contains an endless cavern of sound behind its thudding bass and pinging percussion. If this is a pop hit in Sweden these days, I want to move there.

Like Eisley’s album, Wounded Rhymes is a dark affair, the product of a broken relationship. The song titles give it away: “Unrequited Love,” “Sadness is a Blessing,” etc. But unlike Eisley, Li doesn’t disguise her emotions with a brave face. She wants you to feel her pain, to go through the roller coaster of emotions she’s experienced. The aggression of “Get Some” is balanced against the tender agony of the closer, “Silent My Song,” and they meet in the middle in the tremendous “Love Out of Lust.”

On the album’s darker moments, like “Get Some,” thunderous toms pound ominously while reverb stretches the sound out for miles. Synthesizers don’t pulse on “Get Some” as much as they do caress and slither, while Li compares herself to a prostitute and verbally writhes all over the beat. But three songs later, she’s giving us the album’s prettiest moment, the spare “I Know Places.” “I know places we can go where the highs won’t bring you down, babe,” she sings tenderly over an acoustic guitar and little else. It’s the emotional center of the album, and my favorite track.

Overall, Wounded Rhymes is a huge step forward, a much deeper ride than Li’s debut. I don’t know where the idea that Lykke Li is a pop star comes from – this album is the work of an honest-to-god artist, one willing to go to some interesting places for the sake of her music. All I can say is, if these songs end up in American television shows, they can only make those shows much, much better.

* * * * *

Eisley and Lykke Li are relative unknowns, but they’re Lady Gaga when compared with our third contestant this week, Julianna Barwick.

I can tell you almost nothing about the Brooklyn-based Barwick. I know three things about her, in fact: she’s on Sufjan Stevens’ Asthmatic Kitty Records, she creates music almost entirely with her voice, and her new album, The Magic Place, is one of the most beautiful things I’ve heard this year. Or last year. Or the year before that.

We’ll start with that second one. Aside from some delicate piano and a few chimes, every sound on The Magic Place was made with Barwick’s voice. She overdubs and overdubs herself into a choir, but it’s more than that – her music sounds like someone has torn the veil between this world and the next away, and off in the unimaginable distance, beyond anything we’ve ever known, the dead are singing.

The parts of this album that are not crafted with vocals – the subtle, looping bass and heartbeat drums on “Keep Up the Good Work,” for example – serve to ground it, but they sound right here, right next to you, while Barwick’s unearthly harmonies always sound out of reach. “Prizewinning” is built around a throbbing synthesizer line, unfolding like the road ahead, while Barwick’s voice builds up an ocean of glorious harmonies around it.

There are lyrics here, I suspect, but I have no idea what they are. I’m not sure I care, either – when the songs are this abstract, hammering them down with words just seems wrong somehow. Pitchfork made a point of comparing Barwick with Enya, which I think is all kinds of wrong. Rather, I’d say she does for the human voice what Hammock does for the guitar – she turns it into something formless and endless, and then gives it shape. The Magic Place isn’t an album for everyone, but it is remarkably beautiful stuff, and unlike anything else I own.

Barwick is here.

* * * * *

Next week, R.E.M. returns. So does Bruce Cockburn, but we may have to save that for the following week. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow my infrequent twitterings at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.