Envelopes

The first chunk of tracks don’t make any kind of definitive statement: there are bits of Belle and Sebastian’s melodies, some twitchy electronic drums, aspects of the Rentals co-ed cheekiness, gently strummed acoustic guitars, and questions like, “Are you actually saying that we’re not as cool as we think we are?” all held together with Scotch tape hooks. But by the time you get to the infectious chorus of “Sister In Love,” you can tell there’s something more going on here. Much like Destroyer’s incredible Destroyer’s Rubies, this disc reveals itself bit by bit over time, and after multiple listens, you’ll be picking out favorite parts: the way the electric lays against the acoustic in “Glue”; the slippery bass and “Wha-oh, wha-oh” chant of “I Don’t Even Know.” It’s as if somebody got all your favorite garage and/or twee groups from the past ten years together for a photo, then took that photo to one of those airbrush T-shirt joints at the mall. Despite all the sounds and bands vying for primary influence, Demon is remarkably light and ready to waft over hip neighborhood cookouts this summer while your friends ask, “Who is this?” “Envelopes,” you’ll say. “Who?” Exactly. STEVE MCPHERSON

Tom Hunter
Here I Go Again
FS Music

Minneapolis-based bluesman Tom Hunter has a clear, strong, well-seasoned voice that puts all the right notes in all the right places. He also plays a mean piano, Fender Rhodes and Hammond Organ. And on his newest offering, Here I Go Again, he’s backed tighter than the crack of dawn by Jon “Gunner” Gunvaldson (guitar), Keith Boyles (bass), Rob Stupka (drums) and, for incidental sweetening, ace backup singers Tonya Hughes, Nesey Davis and Latonius Earl. He gets a whole lot of work (with a day or two off, he’s booked in and around the Twin Cities almost every night). Those are the positives and, admittedly, some strong ones at that. On the downside, Hunter has Chicago and New Orleans blues phrasing down cold, but it’s in paint-by-number fashion without much feeling. Which makes it an odd experience listening to the old Ray Charles classic “Drown In My Own Tears.” The arrangement is exquisite, taking you right to church—down-home gospel church, Hunter working the keys with reverential, almost mournful grace. But it’s sung with forced, even clichéd urgency. This is a paradox that repeats itself throughout the album with cuts that include Billy Joel’s New York State of Mind,” Tom Waits’ “New Coat of Paint,” a handful of lesser known standards and a pair of originals, the title track and “Nothing’s for Free.” Fine music and a world of technical proficiency. Just no heart, no soul. DWIGHT HOBBES

Koalas
S/T
Self-released

Don’t be fooled by the cuddly name, kids: Koalas is not, as Mitch Hedberg would’ve said, “the cutest infestation ever.” They’re sludgy beautiful, and if you’ve seen them live, you know that singer Rita Puskas can strip paint with her vocals. The surprising thing about their debut EP, then, is that there are some great bittersweet melodies tucked into the songs—in the bridge of “Pretending He Was You,” in the chorus of “Sleeping on a Wednesday.” These slivers of gold are shot through the otherwise black rush of sound, a loose and headlong mixture of Jay Luton’s metallic guitars and Lori Barbero’s thundering drums, all rendered with an exquisite imprecision. Koalas definitely fall onto the metal side, but where the bulk of metal acts wield their power in precise bursts, impressing with their tightness and control, Koalas are more like an unmanned fire hose spraying chunky power chords over everything in sight. Relief comes in the form of the Barbero-sung “Hold Your Breath” and its dreamy, sing-song, shoegaze-worthy chorus, but the real highlight is the punishing quasi-Middle Eastern hook of “Fuck You Shitbag.” It comes down to this: When you’re cooking something up, you can follow a recipe or you can make it up as you go along. In the end, you might be impressed with the precise execution of a formula, but you can’t beat hand-measured home cooking. STEVE MCPHERSON

North Styrenn
The North Styrenn EP
Star Guide Recordings

Some bands come out of absolutely nowhere and are so unexpectedly well-rounded and great sounding that it almost makes you want to cry for the bounty that is the Twin Cities music scene. “Be Not Afraid,” the opening track from North Styrenn’s debut EP, busts out of the gates with some serious Britpop swagger, sounding like a blend of the La’s’ harmonies, the Verve’s expansiveness and Steve Winwood’s white-boy soul vocals. If that’s all it was, it’d still be a great pop song, but four minutes in, they put the brakes on and turn it into a full-on many-part harmony jam that seals the deal, with singer Ryan Pula’s gentle melody pulling it all together. “Touch the Ground” pulls off the same moves with a chorus worthy of Blind Faith and an instrumental breakdown that Lee Mavers could easily have penned. The Hideaway’s decks probably don’t have ’60s dust on them the way Mavers preferred, but the studio was apparently a comfy enough environment to get this mini-British Invasion down on tape, and the material on this EP bodes well for a full length to follow. With most of the tracks clocking in at around five minutes, they might not have that radio sound locked up, but they’ve got the spark and the chops to make an impact on the scene, even if the back half of the disc loses a little of the drive of the first half. With so many groups around from Colonial Vipers Attack to White Light Riot vying for that golden pop crown, the field is crowded, but North Styrenn should feel confident about their odds as a scrappy Cinderella pick. STEVE MCPHERSON

Spank Rock
Yoyoyoyoyo
Big Dada Recordings

I’m firmly not the first writer to compare Baltimore-native Spank Rock to Steve Urkel from TGIF’s “Family Matters,” but it’s almost unavoidable. When he took the stage opening for M.I.A. last fall in fat black glasses, baseball hat askew, tight Milkcrate Athletics T-shirt clinging to his slight frame, it was like the Winslows’ neighbor had grown up and gotten crunk. The music on his debut disc Yoyoyoyoyo definitely owes a debt to electro and reaches way back past gangsta to take its inspiration from Afrika Bambaataa, but don’t think that means he’s some kind of backpack rapper talking about back in the day. His flow ranges from the dirty antics and spine-grinding bass of opener “Backyard Betty” to the blippity-blip-hop meets world groove and boast rap of “Rick Rubin” to the killer panther call sample of “Touch Me.” Sounding like a hopped up and helium-filled Mos Def on most of the tracks, Spank Rock never loses sight of the party, though, so don’t expect political commentary from songs with titles like “Coke & Wet” or “Screwville, USA.” Even if the topics stick to rep and dirty deeds, the off-kilter production will keep you guessing and it all sounds club-worthy. Somewhere, Urkel is kicking himself for not parlaying his weak-geek shtick into geek-chic cred. Check Spank Rock out at the Seventh St. Entry on Thu., Apr. 20. With Mike the 2600 King and Mel Gibson & the Pants. 8 p.m. 21+. $8/$10. STEVE MCPHERSON

The Sunny Era
Connection Lost
Dobra Silenus Records

Twin Cities band The Sunny Era have been stealing some pages from Mojave 3’s playbook, and that’s all to the good. Mojave 3 and The Sunny Era have the kind of instant appeal that gets people to walk up to the counter and ask what’s playing when their stuff is in the store disc changer, kind of like that scene in “High Fidelity” with the Beta Band. It’s a delicate sound that nonetheless has momentum, with simple and direct drums driving clean guitars along straight lines while the melody rides aloft. Think tree-shaded parkways taken at 65 mph during a light rain and you’ll get the vibe of the instrumentals like “Marked by Expectation” that break up the vocal numbers. Add in your best friend catching you up on his low-key but turbulent love life in the passenger seat and you’ve got tracks like “The Briefcase” if he or she can’t seem to stay in any relationship for long, or “Heart of Chrome” if they’re working out the kinks in a long-term commitment. Connection Lost skips along at a good clip, never straying too far into atmospherics, and never constricting the melodies. Who are The Sunny Era? It’s hard to say; further research has only yielded up a Myspace profile with two friends, one of whom is the omnipresent Tom. With a debut effort this solid, don’t expect it to stay that way for long. STEVE MCPHERSON

Holly Brook
Like Blood Like Honey
Warner Bros.

L.A.-based, Wisconsin-born vocalist Holly Brook swung by these parts at The Fine Line in late January, promoting her debut Like Blood Like Honey. If she was half as good live as she is on this album (there’s a 3-song DVD, too), those on hand had a great time. The press kit calls her sound “alternative pop,” but the quality transcends genres and certainly improves on anyone’s notion of pop music. Not a profound lyricist, Brook more than makes up for it with a fine voice and superb, emotive phrasing. Sure, she reminds you of Sarah McLachlan (who isn’t influenced by somebody?), but Brook sings so well, you’d have to be picking nits to really give it much thought. The melancholy “Curious,” penned by Brook, sets its fluid melody against dark chords with a sultry vocal. The seductive “Wanted” is one of those rare cuts that have both sterling artistry and hit record written all over it. Timeless veteran Joni Mitchell has to be one of the toughest acts there is to cover. The 19-year-old Brook, though, delivers a rendition of “All I Want” (on the DVD) that truly holds its own in comparison to the original. With the kind of juice she has behind her with major distribution, there’s every chance in the world that, for once, a real talent will find its day in the sun instead of interminably beating around the underbrush, working in vain to be discovered. DWIGHT HOBBES ||