So basically, right now, I’m living for September.

I mentioned in a previous column that September is a veritable gold mine of potentially great records this year. Well, it just keeps getting better. In fact, September 2013 is starting to look like the best month ever. Here, I’ll just list off the new releases I’m getting week by week. We’ll talk about a few of them after, but for now, just marvel at the sheer scale of this month. (And wonder how I’m going to get around to reviewing all this stuff.)

Sept. 3: Neko Case, The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You; Nine Inch Nails, Hesitation Marks; Okkervil River, The Silver Gymnasium; Over the Rhine, Meet Me at the Edge of the World; John Legend, Love in the Future; Glasvegas, Later…When the TV Turns to Static; Volcano Choir, Repave; Smashing Pumpkins, Live in NYC.

Sept. 10: Janelle Monae, The Electric Lady; The Weeknd, Kiss Land; Ministry, From Beer to Eternity; Arctic Monkeys, AM.

Sept. 17: Elvis Costello and the Roots, Wise Up Ghost; MGMT; Toad the Wet Sprocket, New Constellation; Tom Odell, Long Way Down; Mike Doughty, Circles; Islands, Ski Mask.

Sept. 24: Mazzy Star, Seasons of Your Day; Dream Theater; Peter Gabriel, And I’ll Scratch Yours; Sting, The Last Ship; Elton John, The Diving Board; Metallica, Through the Never; Jellyfish, Radio Jellyfish.

See? 25 new albums, all of which (with the possible exception of Ministry) I expect to enjoy. Oh, and somewhere in there, Fish will unleash his new opus, A Feast of Consequences. So that’s 26, with more added to the roster all the time. And it’s not like the flow of good music has stopped, either. Next week we get new ones from the Polyphonic Spree and the Civil Wars, and in the next few weeks we’ll see records from Glen Campbell, John Mayer, Travis, White Lies, Julianna Barwick and the great BT.

It’s just… so much wonderful.

A few notes about the list above. Neko Case has the album title of the year so far for me. I have heard the Over the Rhine, and it’s marvelous. Janelle Monae has a spot in my top 10 list reserved for her, and I hope The Electric Lady earns it. Elvis Costello and the Roots may be the greatest counter-intuitive pairing I’ve heard in a long time. Mazzy Star is back! MAZZY STAR IS BACK! Tom Odell’s “Can’t Pretend” was used in a promo for The Newsroom on HBO, and that’s where I first heard it. It’s breathtaking. The Metallica album is live, and the Jellyfish record a collection of radio appearances.

And Peter Gabriel has finally, finally finished the companion album to Scratch My Back. The original concept was simple: Gabriel would record covers of tunes by some of his favorite artists, and in turn those artists would cover one of Gabriel’s songs. Gabriel’s covers came out in 2010, and only about half the chosen artists delivered their reciprocal tracks. It’s taken this long to put the rest of the tributes together, and two of the original artists didn’t even participate. But the final list is strong. You can see it here. The ones I’ve heard have been amazing, particularly the Bon Iver, David Byrne and Elbow tracks.

So yeah, September. Now all we have to do is get there. In the meantime, here are quick looks at three good new ones you can buy right now.

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I don’t know why Jimmy Gnecco isn’t a star.

The man sings like Jeff Buckley and looks like Trent Reznor circa 1995. He writes sweeping, glorious rock anthems with his band Ours, songs that should be hits. But they’re not. I first heard Ours in 2001, when “Sometimes,” the first single from Distorted Lullabies, hit MTV. Here, I thought, is a superstar. This band is going to be enormous.

So of course, 12 years later, Gnecco is still plugging away, and his audience is smaller than ever. He turned to PledgeMusic to fund the fourth Ours album, Ballet the Boxer I, and self-released it. The cover is minimal – white text on black, a far cry from the elaborate gothic imagery of previous Ours records. It looks like a slapdash demo, like the sad fate of a fallen band.

Which means, naturally, that the album is really good. This is a leaner Ours, Gnecco playing many of the instruments himself, and aiming for a punchy sound. His voice is still a remarkable thing, gliding atop these songs and then filling the room with his extraordinary howl. I mentioned Jeff Buckley before, and the comparison is still apt. Gnecco has astounding power and control, and his voice remains Ours’ biggest asset.

The songs on this album are also pretty terrific. Opener “Pretty Pain” is a circular-guitar dirge that puts the emphasis on that voice, but “Coming For You” is a shifting melodic rocker with some great moments. “Devil” feels much more epic than its 4:24, with its dramatic piano chords and soaring guitar solo. “Been Down” is loose and almost funky, while “Stand” lurches forward on a thudding beat and a 6/8 strum. “Boxer” is gorgeous and huge, and “Sing” is dark and pulsing.

There are more epic tunes here than you’d think would fit in a mere 43 minutes, none more sweeping than the closer, “Fall Into My Hands.” Gnecco unleashes his falsetto on the wide-open choruses, and the song builds over six minutes into a massive anthem. While Ballet the Boxer I may look like a cheap garage effort, it sounds as rich and full as any Ours album, and more than some. Presumably Ballet the Boxer II is in the works, and I hope it’s as terrific as this first installment. Jimmy Gnecco should be a star, but I’m glad he’s still making the music he wants to make anyway. This album is splendid.

Buy it here.

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There’s really no other band like Gogol Bordello.

Led by frequently shirtless Ukranian madman Eugene Hutz, the nine-member New York band bills itself as “gypsy punk,” and that’s as good a description as any. They incorporate influences from a dozen traditional European musics, and play them all with the subtlety and speed of a locomotive. Their albums are exhausting, their live shows even more so. I have no idea where Hutz, 41 years old next month, gets all his energy. He seems to have a boundless reserve, and Gogol Bordello on stage is just anarchy, a musical carnival of crazy.

If you’ve been thinking of trying out this band, but you’ve been a bit scared, now is probably the best chance you’ll ever have. Gogol Bordello’s sixth album, Pura Vida Conspiracy, is their most streamlined and accessible effort – 12 short, memorable songs, played with (for them) a measure of restraint. It’s also great, possibly their best studio effort. Rather than try to distill the live experience down on disc, producer Andrew Scheps and the band have opted to create a layered, almost radio-friendly sound for this album.

I don’t mean to suggest that the band’s energy has been sapped. Far from it – opener “We Rise Again” is an anthem that can stand alongside anything else they’ve done, Hutz screaming his heart out on the choruses. “Malandrino” starts off on acoustic guitar, but quickly explodes into what sounds like double-time Russian punk, complete with violin flourishes. “Lost Innocent World” smashes up polka and surf-rock guitar, with a shouted chorus over flailing, unstoppable drums and congas.

This still sounds like Gogol Bordello, but there’s something welcoming about it, where an album like Super Taranta just sounds daunting. Every song here is hummable – “Dig Deep Enough” may be the greatest singalong they’ve written, and “I Just Realized” is actually pretty – and every song seems designed to make new fans. This isn’t quite the manic, go-for-broke Gogol Bordello you’ll see on stage, but somehow reining in Hutz and his comrades has resulted in one of the band’s very best records. There’s no other band like them, and if you’re looking for an introduction, Pura Vida Conspiracy is it.

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Lately, everyone’s been going nuts over Robin Thicke. (Want to jumpstart your career? Just add boobs.) But if I’m looking for sexy, sarcastic white-boy soul, I turn to Mayer Hawthorne instead.

While I’m pretty sure Thicke is kind of an asshole, Hawthorne is always winking at you, no matter how well-written and sophisticated his music gets. His third album is called Where Does This Door Go, and the cover is literal – Hawthorne sits in a chair by an open door, owl on his shoulder, pondering the title question. It’s hilarious, and though the album it adorns is Hawthorne’s most serious and meticulous, that sense of playful, ironic fun suffuses all of it. Hawthorne’s style is soul-pop, reminiscent of Hall and Oates and Steely Dan, and what may have started as a joke now feels like a genuine slice of musical awesomeness.

Opener “Back Seat Lover” is middling, but once the skipping “The Innocent” kicks in, the album never flags. Hawthorne gives up his producer credit here, ceding the chair to the likes of Pharrell Williams and Greg Wells (who worked on Adele’s 21). He’s added a fine helping of electro-pop and hip-hop to his neo-soul sound, so much so that a guest verse by Kendrick Lamar on “Crime” doesn’t feel out of place. There’s a nerdy fussiness to a lot of this, but the fun-as-hell vibe prevails – just listen to the piano-bar-meets-dance-club “The Only One,” with its marvelous brass hits and soaring harmonies. It’s swell.

The hooks keep on coming on this record – it’s one three-minute wonder after another, ‘70s-style hits dressed up in modern clothes. The title track is a mini-epic, bringing Nillsson’s “One” to mind, with bold strings and big chords, while “Robot Love” is just as clanging and funny as you’d expect. Hawthorne only slows it down once, at the very end – closer “All Better” drifts in on delicate electric piano, a plaintive plea that builds to monumental soft-rock proportions. He’s not serious – no one would seriously use that drum pattern – and yet, he’s very serious. It’s a difficult tightrope to walk, but Mayer Hawthorne manages it throughout this record, never losing his balance.

Most importantly, though, Where Does This Door Go is a lot of fun. And that’s really all it needs to be. I’m not sure if Mayer Hawthorne has a well-thought-out musical mission statement, or if he’s just having a good time. Either way, his record’s a blast. From the past, and otherwise.

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Next week, the Civil Wars and Over the Rhine. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I love watching artists evolve.

As a music fan, there is nothing more thrilling for me than encountering an artist with a vast catalog, and listening through. I enjoy tracing artistic growth, listening for quantum leaps forward, contrasting the journey with the destination. A life lived in song, and captured on disc for all eternity, is a simply marvelous thing. If you’re not reading my Frank Zappa Buyer’s Guide over on my blog, well, that’s my attempt to trace the life of a genius through the music he released over nearly 30 years (and more if you count the posthumous records). Shameless plug, but check it out.

I also love growing up with a long-running artist, and experiencing that vast catalog piece by piece, as it comes out. Tracking the growth of Ben Folds, for example, has been a treat, each album arriving at seemingly pivotal points in my life. I can actually follow the tracks of my own years through his, and that’s sort of amazing. A band like Dream Theater means less to me, but I know where I was when each of their 11 (soon to be 12) albums came out. It’s remarkable to think that Images and Words hit when I was a freshman in college. So long ago…

The thing is, you never know which of the bands you’re listening to now will go on to have that kind of decades-long career. It’s always a crapshoot. For instance, I never would have guessed back in 1988 that I would still be following the unfolding saga of Queensryche, deep into my 30s. I was 14 years old when Operation: Mindcrime blew me back against the wall – it was the first rock opera I’d ever heard, and it stood miles above the glammy hair metal it shared the airwaves with. Queensryche were dubbed “thinking man’s metal,” and I wanted to be a thinking man, so I fell in love with them.

It wasn’t difficult, honestly. They were among the very best bands of the 1980s, and when they hit it big with “Eyes of a Stranger” (and then bigger with “Empire,” “Jet City Woman” and the indelible “Silent Lucidity”), it was like some strange form of justice being done. Here was a loud, inventive, politically savvy band hitting the top of the charts with a song about lucid dreaming. They had their moment without compromising a thing. I was too young to know how rare that is, but I know it now.

In retrospect, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that Queensryche soldiered on through the ‘90s, the 2000s and beyond. They adapted to changing tastes without sacrificing who they were, they created albums like Tribe and American Soldier that carried on their legacy without sullying it, and they even made a sequel to Operation: Mindcrime that wasn’t an all-out embarrassment. Founding guitarist Chris DeGarmo is long gone, but the other four original guys – distinctive singer Geoff Tate, bassist Eddie Jackson, guitarist Michael Wilton and drummer Scott Rockenfield – have stayed the course.

That is, until April of last year, when Tate was fired for reasons unknown. The fallout was brutal and public, with Tate suing for wrongful termination and claiming ownership of the Queensryche name. The three founders hired former Crimson Glory singer Todd La Torre and kept going, while Tate formed his own version of Queensryche with some hair-metal survivors, including brothers Rudy (Quiet Riot) and Randy (Hurricane) Sarzo.

Whew. Got all that? Because it gets even more complicated and sad. A judge is scheduled to rule in November on which band gets the rights to the name Queensryche. Until then, though – and this is a really odd quirk of the legal system – they both get to use it. So we now have new albums from two bands calling themselves Queensryche, one led by the band’s longtime singer, the other by another three of its founding members. And the competition has been ugly. It’s been like watching a family break up.

Here’s what’s interesting, though. Sad as it is to watch a band with such a rich and lengthy history splinter in this way, the fans are winning. The little secret that both versions of Queensryche don’t want you to know is that you don’t have to pick just one. If you’re a fan of this group’s brand of intelligent, thoughtful metal, you now have two bands plying the same trade. Better yet, they’re both trying to outdo the other, so the music they’re making is lean and hungry and vital. I was truly surprised by how much I liked both of these new Queensryche records.

We’ll start with Frequency Unknown, the Geoff Tate band’s effort. Yeah, the cover is juvenile – a fist wearing F and U rings – but the album is pure Queensryche. Tate’s been the driving force of the band for some time, so it’s no surprise that his album sounds the most like modern ‘Ryche. But his tendency to skimp on the melodies is completely absent here. These 10 songs are all sharp and memorable, the riffs interesting. Tate’s voice has sounded strained in recent years, but even given his age-related limitations, he sounds good here. There’s really no mistaking that voice.

Frequency Unknown could have been just another Geoff Tate solo record, but he stepped up his game, as if he knew just how much more closely he’d be scrutinized here. The album has several melodic rockers, like the opening punch of “Cold” and “Dare,” but also its share of miniature epics like “In the Hands of God” and the interesting closer “Weight of the World.” Only “Everything” falls short, its keyboard-heavy structure slipping into power ballad territory.

Scanning the credits, Frequency Unknown starts to feel more like a studio creation than the unveiling of a true band. Tate hired axe-slingers Ty Tabor, KK Downing, Chris Poland (of early Megadeth fame), Brad Gillis and others to provide solos, and three drummers trade off throughout the record. The bonus tracks – new versions of Queensryche’s biggest hits – complicate things even more, as Martin Irigoyen handles all the instruments. It’s truly a hodgepodge.

But it’s remarkable how consistent it is, how well it hangs together as a Queensryche album. I haven’t been the biggest fan of Tate’s solo records, but this is in another category. This feels like the band I love, kicking it up a notch. If it’s the Queensryche name that brought this out of Geoff Tate, then let him keep using it, by all means.

But not if that means that the other founding members can’t also use it. Their first album with La Torre is self-titled, and it also feels like a rebirth. La Torre sounds an awful lot like Tate, but like the youthful, Operation: Mindcrime Tate. His range is remarkable, and the band sounds energized behind him. The result sounds very much like Queensryche, but a Queensryche that never took many of the stylistic detours after Empire. It’s sharp, guitar-heavy, dense melodic metal. Some of it reminds me of Fates Warning, particularly songs like “Spore.”

Most of it, though, just reminds me of Queensryche. The guitar harmonies are everywhere, Rockenfield’s drumming is powerful throughout, and the songs are soaring and strong. “Redemption” is a powerhouse, its thudding riff giving way to a break-through-the-clouds chorus, La Torre singing it exactly the way Tate would have. (My one criticism of La Torre is he doesn’t establish his own identity enough here, but his voice is so awesome that it hardly matters that he sings like his predecessor.) “Vindication” is a stunner, Rockenfield’s drums propelling things forward as Wilton and second guitarist Parker Lundgren dance around each other, heading into another great chorus.

My only complaint about Queensryche is that, at 35 minutes, it’s too short. All things considered, that’s a fine problem to have. Mid-tempo pieces like the crib-death tale “A World Without” dot the second half, and these songs are just as massive and epic as the Queensryche of old. Closer “Open Road” is a worthy little epic. I want another six songs like these. But I’ll take what I can get. The Todd La Torre version of Queensryche has also made a tremendous impact the first time out of the gate.

If there’s a difference between these two records, it’s that Tate’s group is reminiscent of more modern Queensryche, while La Torre’s hearkens back to the earlier records. You can see that in their choice of bonus tracks – both included old ‘Ryche songs remade, but while Tate focused on the hits, the La Torre band tackled songs from the first three pre-Mindcrime releases. (La Torre can really sing these tunes.) It’s a difference in attitude, but the difference in quality between these two records isn’t as vast.

I’m definitely interested to see which way the judge leans later this year. But for now, I feel like we’re getting the best of both worlds. We have three original members of Queensryche making remarkable music with a strong new singer, and we have the original singer stepping up his game with a new group of luminaries. If these two bands want to keep putting out alternating Queensryche records for the next 20 years, I’d be all right with that.

Next week, a random smattering, including Gogol Bordello, Ours and Mayer Hawthorne. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

I was 27 years old the last time Daniel Amos released an album.

I was living in Tennessee at the time, and still new to buying records over the Internet. I was also a fairly new fan of the band – in fact, the extraordinary 2001 double album Mr. Buechner’s Dream was the first new Daniel Amos album I’d bought. A few years before, I’d discovered the genius of Terry Taylor and his many musical identities. The following year, I would attend my first ever Cornerstone Festival, and see Daniel Amos live for the first time.

I think Taylor might be a little upset if I call it a religious experience, but it was pretty close. I said this then, and I still believe it: I can’t figure out why Terry Taylor isn’t constantly listed among America’s very best songwriters. How someone with this much talent, imagination and love of the art has toiled in obscurity for his entire life is simply beyond me. Between Daniel Amos, the Lost Dogs, the Swirling Eddies and Taylor’s solo work, the man’s written more great songs than just about anyone you could name. He’s in the same league as Elvis Costello and Ryan Adams.

I use those particular comparisons not just because Taylor has a vast catalog of fantastic songs, but because, like Costello and Adams, he’s a musical chameleon. No two Daniel Amos albums have ever sounded the same, from the country rock of Shotgun Angel to the angular new wave of Doppelganger to the baroque pop of Motorcycle to the full-on classic rock band explosion of Mr. Buechner’s Dream. And that’s just Taylor’s main band. He’s explored every facet of Americana with the Lost Dogs, gotten funky with the Swirling Eddies and released folk records, synth-pop albums and soundtracks for video games on his own.

And still, with all that behind him, he had to turn to Kickstarter to fund a new Daniel Amos record. I say that as if it’s a bad thing, but only because I think record companies should be lining up to give Taylor money. In truth, Kickstarter is the perfect tool for a band like Daniel Amos, with a small-ish following of extremely dedicated fans. I count myself among them, and I gladly supported the campaign. The band asked for $12,000 and raised $32,276, a budget that gave them the luxury of really digging into the recording, and making something special.

And here it is. The first Daniel Amos album in 12 years is called Dig Here, Said the Angel, and it’s a sonically rich collection of first-rate tunes. Like all DA albums, it sounds like nothing else the band has done. It’s a mixture of the orchestral leanings of Motorcycle with the raw mid-tempo rock of Kalhoun, but it has a character all its own. Most importantly, despite the long gap and the advancing age of the members – Taylor is 63, the other guys slightly younger – the album is vital, powerful and important. Daniel Amos never sounds like a band pulled out of retirement. They sound like a band on a mission.

The statement for that mission is at track two. “Jesus Wept” is a rollicking number that encapsulates Taylor’s major theme this time out – facing mortality with a wry grin. “I found my masterpiece in a discount bin, I pound against the wall of my aging skin,” Taylor sings over one of the band’s most danceable grooves. Bassist Tim Chandler, easily one of my favorite players, dives and swoops all over this thing, grounded by drummer Ed McTaggart’s thunderous beat and guitarist Greg Flesch’s straight-ahead chords. “Another bad guy wins, more good guys die, they mounted up like eagles, now they’re dropping like flies, I cry ‘let me out,’ you’re saying ‘no, not yet,’ before he danced, Jesus wept…”

The title track is a genuine epic, the cry of a faithful man. “I’m dyin’, I’m dyin’,” Taylor screams over a crawling backdrop of snarling bass and backwards guitar. He talks with an angel about death, and about walking up to the big door and walking right in, but then the rug is pulled out: “‘Here’s the catch,’ said the angel, ‘you’re gonna suffer for a while, I’ll tell you straight,’ said the angel, ‘don’t plan to go out in style…” It’s a simply fantastic song about the longing of mortal life.

“We’ll All Know Soon Enough” is a standout, a slow crawl full of glorious doubt. “There may be no heaven, there may be no hell, there may be no place to go, but we’ll all know soon enough,” Taylor sings as Flesch’s thick guitar lifts things into the stratosphere. I’m particularly fond of this verse: “We were hoping for a few quick fixes, but we found ourselves still down in the hole, now we’re thinking that our prayers aren’t answered ‘cause when it came, the answer was ‘no.’” Daniel Amos has always been the antidote to the notion that faithful life is easy, and never more than here. The song’s an absolute masterpiece.

It’s followed quickly by the jarring “Waking Up Under Water.” Co-written and sung by original DA guitarist Jerry Chamberlain, the song details a series of splendid dreams, and the horror of waking from them. “A cruel sea is leaking in, this fragile boat I’m sinking in, I need to dream again…” The guitar riff is fantastic and loud, the chorus frightening, the entire song menacing in a way Daniel Amos rarely is.

But it’s not the most aggressive thing here. That crown belongs to “Now That I’ve Died,” on which Taylor crosses over to the great beyond, and loves it. Up there, he says, he never has to ask what’s truth and what’s a lie, and the rich serve the poor and the poor are the rich. (“It’s kind of hard to describe.”) He nearly throws out his voice screaming the refrain: “I’ve never been more alive now that I’ve died!” (Perhaps the most telling line: “I sell records worldwide, now that I’ve died…”)

Yes, death is on Taylor’s mind. But first, you have to get through life, and that’s never easy. “The Uses of Adversity” is a sweet piece about accepting the struggle: “Don’t send me certainty if somehow it’s best for me to doubt,” he sings. He works at finding “grace disguised as adversity,” and yearns to hear God’s voice above “The Ruthless Hum of Dread,” a truly experimental piece that sways forward on a rolling bass figure, before evaporating into piano and vocal.

This all sounds pretty grim, but it’s not – the songs are catchy and enjoyable throughout. And there are strong shafts of light. In “Love, Grace and Mercy,” Taylor rejoices in forgiveness: “Love, grace and mercy, now if you’ll just say the word, I will get exactly what I don’t deserve.” In “Our New Testament Best,” he embraces that forgiveness as a lifestyle, rejecting the judgment and violence of old. And in the radiant closer, “The Sun Shines on Everyone,” he extends that grace to the entire planet: “Love comes to everyone, saints and sinners everyone, it’s nothing new under the sun…” Yeah, there’s a choir at the end, and yeah, it slips into power ballad territory, but after an album of whistling past the graveyard, it’s a welcome burst of hope and joy, and a fine way to go out.

It’s hard to say whether Dig Here, Said the Angel is better or worse than anything the band has done. It’s phenomenally different, and yet still Daniel Amos at its core. The richness of sound is extraordinary, proving that they did pump that Kickstarter money into the album, and the songs are among their best, capturing Taylor at a crossroads. He knows that every album he makes these days could be his last, and we fans know it too. Just having a new Daniel Amos album is a miracle. Having one this good, this important, is even better. I dearly hope it’s not the last, but if it is, Dig Here, Said the Angel makes for a fine capper to a brilliant, brilliant career.

Buy it here.

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Also returning after a fairly long absence is Seattle’s Robert Deeble.

I discovered Deeble only a couple short weeks ago, at the first AudioFeed Festival, and I feel silly for not finding his work before. Deeble has been making records since 1997, playing in an ambient folk-pop style that often reminds me of Bruce Cockburn. I saw him playing acoustic guitar with Choir drummer Steve Hindalong backing him up, and the set was mesmerizing. Deeble played only the notes needed to keep the song moving forward, and no more, letting the spaces around those notes do the heavy lifting.

That style carries over to his albums. I bought Deeble’s entire discography at AudioFeed, and haven’t regretted it for a second. He’s made some good ones, most notably 1998’s Earthside Down and 2003’s diverse Thirteen Stories (which contains one of my favorites, “The Secret Life of Emily Dickinson”). But for my money, he hasn’t made one as compelling, as powerful, as enjoyable as his latest, Heart Like Feathers.

Released last year after a nine-year gap, Heart Like Feathers is a full-on headphone record. The depth of sound here is astonishing – Deeble is still leaving wide open spaces around his notes, but this time there are beautiful strings and atmospheric guitar noises gently nudging those spaces like clouds. It’s a gorgeous sounding thing, and the songs are equally beautiful, the most consistent set that Deeble has delivered.

Just take the opener, “Hearing Voices Seeing Ghosts.” It opens with a lengthy ambient instrumental section, but when it kicks in, it builds convincingly to that heart-stopper of a chorus. “And she goes out through the window like a crow, flying clipped-winged and haunted,” Deeble sings as the violins augment the lovely guitar work. (Deeble’s voice is high and wavery – it’s effective, especially when paired with other singers, but it’s his weakest attribute.) The song sets the tone for the album – slow, floaty, beautiful.

Deeble gets deeper on “Eucharist,” a song of separation, both from a lover and from God. “A lover’s quarrel all in duress, I fold my arms for Eucharist, we fell in love, we got enmeshed, bless me father, I’m a mess,” Deeble sings, repeating the sad refrain “We get so close we get estranged.” At times on this song, there’s barely any music playing – the ringing guitar tones brush up against the minimal bass lines, leaving swaths of empty canvas. It works beautifully.

There are other highlights – the piano ballad “Undertow,” the dark and lovely “The Colors of Dying,” the memorable “Exhale” – but the entire record is of a piece. It sounds like the full flowering of Deeble’s particular style, like the album he’s been aiming for since he started this journey. I would never discourage you from buying his other works, or even springing for his complete box set. But if you can only hear one, hear this one. Heart Like Feathers is an absolute treat, one that keeps revealing new layers the more you listen. And you’re going to want to keep listening.

Buy it here.

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Next week, a tale of two Queensryches. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

The AudioFeed Festival is not Cornerstone.

This is an important thing to remember. Although AudioFeed has risen from the ashes of Cornerstone, which ended its epic 29-year run in 2012, it’s not the same thing. I was a devotee of the brilliant spiritual pop festival that called Bushnell home for nearly three decades. It was just about the only place to see some of my favorite bands, including Daniel Amos, the 77s and the Choir, and the atmosphere of the place was always welcoming and wonderful.

But man, there were so many times last weekend when AudioFeed felt like Cornerstone. This new festival was rushed together in three months, but you wouldn’t have known it. In fact, in some ways – and I say this while looking out for the lightning bolt – AudioFeed is an upgrade. It’s like the organizers took my Cornerstone experience, isolated it from everything I didn’t like about the festival, and made it more convenient by a factor of 10. Your mileage may definitely vary, but I had a terrific time at AudioFeed, and I think it’s a fine successor.

I wasn’t really expecting much. The lineup included only a few bands I wanted to see, over two days instead of five, and at the Champaign County Fairgrounds, a small-ish outdoor venue. And a week or so before the fest, one of the artists I was excited to see, Bill Mallonee, pulled out. But my friend Jeff Elbel was playing (four times!), and going to festivals with Jeff is a summer tradition. So I paid my money and I took my chance.

So, let me count the ways I enjoyed AudioFeed more than Cornerstone:

It’s closer. About an hour closer, in fact, and the drive is a delightfully easy one.

There’s no dust. The Champaign fairgrounds are nicely maintained, a step up from the dirt-filled Cornerstone Farm.

There were three stages – the main (Arkansas) stage, the metal stage and the acoustic stage – and they were all right next to each other. Minimal amounts of walking.

The main stage was inside and air conditioned.

The main stage booked bands I wanted to see. Cornerstone’s main stage often included mindless cheerleaders like TobyMac and Skillet. AudioFeed’s headliners were Denison Witmer and The Soil and the Sun. That was pretty much the tone.

My hotel was about two minutes from the festival, instead of 20.

I understand this list makes me sound old, like I shouldn’t be attending days-long music festivals. And maybe that’s not far off. I can’t do Lollapalooza or Pitchfork Fest – they’re just exhausting. But I’ll say that the audience for AudioFeed was probably 75 percent young kids. And they seemed to like the more convenient festival just fine. For me, AudioFeed was all of the music I loved with none of the discomfort. I’ll take that equation.

And the music! Once again, I got to see some of my favorite unknown spiritual pop bands on a big stage. Highlights for me included Michael Roe, who tore the roof off with a snarling, bluesy set, backed up by Steve Hindalong and Tim Chandler from the Choir. They played fiery versions of some of Roe’s most rocking songs, including “Tattoo” and “Perfect Blues,” and threw in a cover of “Back Door Man.” (The sign language interpreter blanched at some of those lyrics.) Roe was the perfect lead-in to bearded bluesmen Sean Michel and Glenn Kaiser on Friday night, and both delivered fine, smoking sets.

My roommate Jeff Elbel killed it on the main stage on Friday with his expansive band, Ping. They played a high-energy set spanning Jeff’s whole career, from his old band Farewell to Juliet to his new album Gallery. As I mentioned, Jeff played four sets, including two with semi-retired goth-rocker Brian Healy, as part of an all-star Dead Artist Syndrome band. The acoustic set on Friday night was a bit of an unrehearsed disaster, but Saturday’s main stage show came off well. The band included Steve, Tim and Derri Daugherty of the Choir and Gym Nicholson, of legendary (at least in these circles) band Undercover.

But by far my favorite Elbel moment came early on Friday, as he and members of Ping backed up Harry Gore at the acoustic tent. If you’ve been to Cornerstone, you know Harry Gore. He usually sets up anywhere he can, with his electric guitar and a portable amp, and plays requests. Cornerstone just wouldn’t be Cornerstone without Harry Gore, and giving him his own set at AudioFeed started this thing off just right.

And man, Harry’s set was awesome. Half originals, half covers, all blistering rock – he somehow missed the definition of “acoustic stage,” ripping into extended, fantastic electric solos at every opportunity. The big wide grin on his face was worth the whole weekend. So much fun.

Of course, the Choir played on Saturday night. They remain my favorite band, and every time I get to see them in a festival setting, it’s an indescribable treat. Derri’s voice is still sweet as a bird’s, and his guitar an uncaged animal devouring the room. The Choir live is barely controlled chaos, even as they play some of the prettiest songs you’ve ever heard. They did just about everything I wanted to hear, and threw in a few surprises – an acoustic take of “All Night Long,” from their first EP, and a fairly decent new song. It was one of the best shows I’ve seen the Choir play, and I feel lucky, as always, to have experienced it.

I’m also grateful to have seen Hushpad, and watched their evolution into a top-class band. I discovered them last year at Cornerstone, and thoroughly enjoyed their shimmering shoegaze pop. This year, they blossomed – a six-piece band took the main stage on Saturday night and mesmerized the audience with glorious, reverb-drenched bliss reminiscent of the Cocteau Twins and Kitchens of Distinction. Leader Matthew Welchel swears his band is making an album this year, and I’ll be watching for it – the hour it’s available, I will buy it. Hushpad is one of the best bands I’ve discovered in years.

I made several other new musical friends at AudioFeed. There was Noah James, he of the big voice and the wry stage presence. James has just released an EP of reworked hymns, and it’s pretty great. Ravenhill tore up the main stage on Friday – imagine if Black Sabbath had grown up as Southern Baptists, and you’ll get the idea. Lauryn Peacock played a couple sets of unadorned piano-pop, which didn’t prepare me for the full production on her album Keep It Simple… Let the Sun Come Out. It’s nice stuff.

Probably my favorite discovery, though, was Robert Deeble. I’m almost embarrassed to admit I’d never heard him before – Deeble’s been around since the mid-‘90s, creating atmospheric acoustic music unlike almost anything I’ve heard. He reminds me of Bruce Cockburn at times, but his music is more spare, more airy. Deeble played some tunes at the acoustic tent, but really impressed with his main stage set, accompanied by Steve Hindalong on drums. I bought his complete discography, including his latest, the accomplished and lovely Heart Like Feathers. A full review is coming soon. It’s simply excellent.

Who else? So many others. I got to see Cody Nicolas of the La De Les playing solo, dazzling the audience with his complex guitar technique. I caught most of a crazed rapper who calls himself Spoken Nerd. (“This song is called ‘I Wish Those Jerks Had Never Killed John F. Kennedy,’” he announced, before actually playing a song with that title.) I saw a bizarre Portland act called Insomniac Folklore, a duo going by the name Mayhew the Traitor, and a lovely singer-songwriter named Molly Parden. I also caught a terrific set by harpist Timbre, who is currently working on a double album called Sun and Moon that is among my most anticipated new releases.

And I even ducked into the metal tent a few times. I saw Hope for the Dying again, and they’re still the best new metal band I’ve heard in some time. I caught some of A Hill to Die Upon, and saw most of Grave Robber’s show – this is a band heavily inspired by the Misfits, wearing Halloween masks and spraying the audience with red liquid. They were a lot of fun.

And so was AudioFeed as a whole. The organizers have already doubled down for next year, and I’m ready to go again. Copious thanks to Jeff Elbel for once again being my festival buddy and my excuse to talk to semi-famous people. (Thanks to Jeff, I also got to meet legendary producer Mark Rubel, tour his amazing studio in Champaign, and then eat the most hideous, delicious breakfast concoction on earth with him at 3 a.m.)

AudioFeed is not Cornerstone, no doubt. But it’s a fine answer to the question of what’s next. I hope it survives for years to come.

Next week, some of that spiritual pop, with Daniel Amos and Robert Deeble. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.

Sometimes the best stuff comes out of nowhere and smacks you in the face.

I’m a fairly meticulous planner. I have a calendar set aside just for new release dates, and I obsessively check information and update it. I know, to the full extent of available information, what’s coming out when until the end of the year, and in some cases beyond. But of course, I only include albums that excite me for one reason or another, so my calendar is mainly full of artists I already know and love. (See the end of this week’s column for a little glimpse.)

But it never works like that, thankfully. My year is never a succession of albums I already expect to be great. There’s some of that, certainly, but every time, I find myself blown away by the surprises more often than the predicted winners. Last year’s top five contained records by Husky, the Punch Brothers and Lost in the Trees, none of whom I’d heard of on January 1, 2012. So while I am certainly looking forward to new records this year from Nine Inch Nails, Moby, Elvis Costello (with the Roots!) and Travis, I’m equally looking forward to whatever unknown pleasures the rest of 2013 has in store for me.

Oh look, here’s one. I owe my friend Kevin Munday for turning me on to English soul-pop wonder Laura Mvula. Her debut album is called Sing to the Moon, and it’s one of those rare yet amazing works that seem to have emerged fully formed. There’s no early fumbling on this album, no hesitation or confusion. Mvula has immediately put her wholly original stamp on a strain of soulful pop that stretches back to the likes of Nina Simone, but in her hands sounds completely modern. It’s a lush and glorious record, and as you may have noticed in last week’s column, it’s already claimed a place among the best of the year.

Mvula is a graduate of the Birmingham Conservatoire, a prestigious institution that usually sees its students go into jazz or classical fields. Despite its pop milieu, you can hear that caliber of composition all over Sing to the Moon. This is patient, complicated stuff, but deceptively so – it never feels studied or fussy. There’s a beautiful soulfulness to the entire album, its flowing melodies built up by horns and strings and the occasional electronic flourish. The music certainly sounds like a labor of love, even before you realize that Mvula played most of the instruments and sang nearly all the vocals herself.

That last bit may not seem impressive if you haven’t heard Sing to the Moon. Within seconds of pressing play, though, you’ll get it – the first track, “Like the Morning Dew,” opens with a veritable choir of Mvulas, in delirious, honey-dripped harmony. Later tracks, like the kinetic “Green Garden,” have tight yet expansive vocal arrangements, all sung by Mvula. Her voice is a definite draw, thick yet supple, full of emotion. Just listen to the way she glides over every syllable of the delightful “Can’t Live With the World.” She’s a great singer, obviously drawing from the Simone school – she never overemphasizes or overemotes, she simply sings, to perfect effect.

Much of Sing to the Moon is slow and languid, and while she certainly does a tremendous job with songs like “Is There Anybody Out There,” it’s the more aggressive ones that truly show off what Mvula can do. The aforementioned “Green Garden” is a highlight, Mvula playing a circular xylophone figure and riffing on it. The standout, though, is “It’s Alright,” a spiritual cousin to Tracy Chapman’s “Born to Fight.” Over an absolutely explosive drumbeat, Mvula lashes out at those who would drag her down: “I will never be what you want and that’s alright, ‘cause my skin ain’t light, and my body ain’t tight, and that’s alright.” On the refrain (“Who made you the center of the universe?”), the chorale of Mvulas is joined by a joyous horn section. It’s awesome.

I do wish the album contained more of this energy, but it’s hard to complain when Mvula is breaking my heart on the delicate “Father, Father” (a clearly personal plea), or stirring my soul with the soaring title track. Sing to the Moon is a calling card announcing a major talent, and discovering it has been a joy. It’s an immediate album that reveals further layers upon repeat listens, like meeting someone special who just grows more interesting the more familiar you get. It’s the best kind of surprise.

* * * * *

Our other English Laura this week didn’t come out of nowhere, but the sheer quality of her new album is something of a shock nonetheless.

Laura Marling was all of 18 when she recorded her debut solo album, Alas I Cannot Swim, following a brief stint in Noah and the Whale. She’s only 23 now, and on her fourth record, but the meteoric rise of her talent has been something to behold. That fourth album is called Once I Was an Eagle, and it’s sprawling and scathing and far beyond anything she’s done. The word “maturity” is almost a dirty one, conjuring up images of bland corporate pop. But in this case, it simply means what it says – this is an almost frighteningly mature album for such a young songwriter, one that would make artists twice her age feel envious.

Once I Was an Eagle spans 16 songs in 63 minutes, the first four of which blend together into a seamless 15-minute suite. It’s about longing and loss and leaving, about being brave and, finally, about being open to doing it all again. It winds like a snake around its melodies, confident that you will follow it wherever it leads. Marling performed the entire album live in the studio on guitar and voice first, and then she and producer Ethan Johns added other instruments later. The result is a loose and raw attitude that still feels lush – there are strings and pianos and entire drum circles of percussion here, all supporting Marling’s playing and singing at the center.

Had this just been an EP containing the first four tracks, it still would have been remarkable. The opening suite details a difficult yet necessary breakup – in the title track, Marling exclaims, “I will not be a victim of chance or circumstance or romance or any man who could get his dirty little hands on me,” and by the end of “Breathe,” she’s bid it all goodbye: “When you wake you’ll know I’m gone, so don’t follow me.” There are a dozen little melodic tangents here, but Marling confidently leads you down each one with her sharp guitar playing.

There are indeed 12 more songs after this, and they’re all just as good. The explosive “Master Hunter,” with its thunderous percussion, gives way to the spare “Little Love Caster,” which sets a marvelously melancholy mood. It’s two and a half minutes before the cello comes in, and before that, it’s just Marling, leaving so much beautiful silence around her notes. The album is of a piece, feeling like a continuous thought, until the instrumental interlude at track eight. After this, the record takes on a more joyous tone, like taking flight after a long climb up out of a hole.

But that’s not to say that things go twee. Marling’s joy is hard-fought – the down-home “Undine” finds her asking a specter to “make me more naïve,” and on “Once,” she laments that “once is enough to make you think twice about laying your love out on the line.” The protagonist of the Joni Mitchell-esque “Where Can I Go” sighs that “it’s a curse of mine to be sad at night,” and the main character of “Pray for Me” feels haunted by the devil. These songs, however, have a lighter touch than the opening salvo, their eyes on salvation.

And by the time she gets to the end, Marling is ready to love and be loved again. “Here comes a change over me,” she sings in “Love Be Brave.” “I am brave and love is sweet, and silence speaks for him and me.” Closing hymn “Saved These Words” is one of Marling’s most beautiful tunes, a realistic yet lovely song about waiting for someone, patiently and with kindness. “Should you choose to love anyone anytime soon, then I save these words for you,” she sings, with a voice that would open the hardest heart. Love is hardscrabble and difficult work, but when it’s right, it’s sublime.

Once I Was an Eagle is a remarkably assured album, and it’s difficult to believe its author isn’t even 25 yet. Marling never doubts her own vision, or her own ability to realize that vision, and listening to this album, neither will you. It’s a little too sprawling, but that’s the worst that can be said about it. It’s been clear for a while that Marling is a singular talent, but this album brings that talent into sharper, more beautiful focus. This is Marling at 23. Imagine what she’s going to be capable of in 10 years. I’m grinning just thinking about it.

* * * * *

So all of a sudden, September has turned into a treasure trove of new music. July and August remain somewhat barren, but once we get to that ninth month, we’re in for some greatness.

On September 3 alone, we get the new one from Neko Case, with the amazing title The Worse Things Get, the Harder I Fight, the Harder I Fight, the More I Love You; the new Nine Inch Nails, called Hesitation Marks; the new Okkervil River, entitled The Silver Gymnasium; and the second album from Justin Vernon’s side project Volcano Choir, called Repave. (There’s also the we-promise-this-time final album from Ministry, From Beer to Eternity, but I’m sure that’s going to suck.)

September 10 is Janelle Monae day – her second full-length, The Electric Lady, hits, hot on the heels of her great single “Dance Apocalyptic.” We’ll also get a new Arctic Monkeys and a new Clash box set. The 17th brings us Wise Up Ghost, that collaboration between Elvis Costello and the Roots, as well as New Constellation, the first new Toad the Wet Sprocket album in 16 years, and the self-titled album from MGMT. And then on September 24 we get the self-titled 12th album from Dream Theater and The Last Ship, a 20-song collection from Sting. (I do hope that will be good.)

I’m sure more announcements are on the way, but that’s a damn good month of new music. October, you have your work cut out for you.

Next time, a tale of two Queensryches, and thoughts from the first AudioFeed Festival. Leave a comment on my blog at tm3am.blogspot.com. Follow me on Twitter at www.twitter.com/tm3am.

See you in line Tuesday morning.