Reviews

Year number eight, year number eight. For nearly a decade now, I’ve provided my favorite music of the last 12 months around this time (because you care … right … right?!). The rules are simple: I pick my 10 favorite local songs, why? Because we only review albums every other week. So, in case you’re counting, there are far more songs from which to choose than there are full-length albums.

There’s one other caveat: The local songs are picked from the crop of records I reviewed in 2018. That might mean, then, that some of the albums were actually released in 2017, but we didn’t review them until 2018. Hey: With an every-other-week clip, sometimes, it takes a minute or three to get around to some releases — especially when the submissions get backed up, which they always do.

Per tradition, I should also note that this is the time of year I share one of the meanest emails I received in response to a review I wrote. Behold my personal favorite paragraph:

“I’m not sure of your qualifications to write on anything concerning music, and quite honestly it doesn’t matter as a review is just a matter of opinion. Even so, I feel if you are going to share your opinion with the masses, you should do so intelligently and with knowledge of that which you speak. You sir have done neither with this review.”

Rad, dude!

Anyway, despite Josh Morningstar’s weirdly angry fans (even though I said I liked the record, you still murdered me!), let’s get to my favorite music of 2018.

LOCAL SONGS

1. Flo Petite – AND

My favorite song of the year, as is per usually the case, comes from my favorite EP of the year, Flo Petite’s “Soft Wrinkled Feelings.” There’s a very specific feeling music can give you when you come across something that moves you in an unexpected way, and that feeling is the feeling that keeps us music nerds coming back to the art we hold so dear. Flo Petite provided me with one of those rare moments this year the second I pressed play on her four-song set, and for that, she deserves much more than just the No. 1 slot on a silly list.

With “AND,” she cemented her ability to craft perfectly catchy tiny pop songs that hold as much weight in air as they do in wit. Not only is this track musically cute, but it allows the singer to play off a mysterious vibe that ultimately becomes her signature by the time these two minutes and four seconds conclude. Maybe it’s the acoustic guitar plucking. Maybe it’s the xylophone. Maybe it’s the lo-fi production. Maybe it’s the longing in her voice as she begs a nameless lady to tell her how to live again. Or maybe it’s all those things combining for an aesthetic that’s entirely her own. Which, of course, is the true victory here: Staying honest to who you are in a world where originality is only offered at a premium that seems to grow by the Insta Story. Flo Petite managed to cut through the noise to create something transcendent for the local scene. Album No. 2 can’t come soon enough.

2. Karen Jonas – Dance With Me

“I dare you to move like you’ve never been wrong/I dare you … I dare you to dance through it all.” And that right there, ladies and gentlemen, is the most moving moment in 2018 local music. Any year with a new Karen Jonas record is a good year, anyway, but with this song, she upped her game to a polished, anthemic height that she had previously never reached. Listen as her voice trembles to open the song, listen to it crescendo throughout the bridge and then listen as it gracefully takes a bow with 10 seconds left. The structure isn’t anything special – a slow pop-waltz that simmers with an epic Nashville organ paving the road ahead – but, as it typically goes, Jonas can take the most basic musical tropes and make them as magical as anything you’ve ever heard. Doing this for nearly a decade now, I can’t think of a local artist who has consistently made my head swirl the way she has with her art. Here, she makes dancing through a landmine sound like the most glorious way to go out.

3. Gin Rickys – Town That Swings

Channeling the ghost of Squirrel Nut Zippers, The Gin Rickys embody their name with this swing-tastic 1950s night club ditty that inspires visions of women with fur and men in tuxedoes. With the help of a hot piano and the sultry voice of Ariana Harbin, this song recalls a time when getting on the dance floor meant something a little more respectable than a sea of twerkers, and if you have a pulse, this is the exact type of tune that should get your butt out of its seat anyway. As an added bonus, check the call-and-response chorus that adds an extra tablespoon of fun to an already delicious recipe.

4. Mr. Husband – A Night Like Today

In what ended up being somewhat of a precursor to Kenneth Husband’s stripped down “Ocean Pines” that came out later in the year, this, the final track on Mr. Husband’s excellent “Silvertone,” deserves a lot of accolades not only for its expected lush harmonies and tender vocals, but also for its spoken-word body. I mean, it takes guts to offer up some spoken word verses in 2018, and not only does Kenny Tompkins pull it off with lovable flair, but it also adds an impressive level of sincerity to the production. As he told me in 2017, while the moniker may be intended for laughs, the music is no joke at all. And considering how this song can bring me to tears, you can’t argue with him.

5. The Dirty Middle – The Ballad Of Ensign Jimmy

The Dirty Middle have to be one of the most underrated bands in Frederick. What they have going on is actually pretty darn cool, when you look around only to find little more than a sea of dudes playing angsty power rock (hehe), it should make you appreciate this bluesy quartet even more. Led by Adrienne Smith, this was the grooviest song on their self-titled debut EP, and it all but transports you back to the days when Stax Records was still putting out records that topped the charts and Southern Soul was far more than a niche novelty. Plus, those whoa whoa’s that punctuate the end of each chorus are such a neat throwback, you can’t help but swoon at this shot of retro rock.

6. Crooked Hills – Nightmare Synonyms

It’s just so powerful — and it comes from an album that is the musical equivalent of an old-school Mountain Dew commercial: extreme, in your face, unapologetic and brimming with energy. As lead singer Brett Putz explosively approaches a dealer who has “been giving me the wrong drugs/when all I need is love,” it sums up what makes Crooked Hills so great, which has almost everything to do with the dichotomy between their message and presentation. Dirty heavy Appalachian hill music, indeed.

7. Santa Librada – Something To Say

Oh, the defiance! From one of the best albums you probably didn’t hear in 2018 (shame on you!) comes punk rock at its finest, in both execution and spirit. Singer Rahne Alexander doesn’t care that you don’t care and that voice bleeds contempt in all the most irresistible ways. Be sure to stick around for the brilliant rants she offers throughout, piquing with this tremendous assertion: “Guess what? You don’t have to have a hot take on every little thing. You can actually just sit and take in information.” Preach.

8. J Berd – Moonwalker

We didn’t get many hip-hop records sent our way this year, but this, off J Berd’s “Overtime” (which, it should be noted, dons fantastic cover art), was a definite highlight in the year of local music. Backed by a slow, moody groove, the textures give space to allow Berd’s most impressive accomplishment — his commitment to avoiding curse words throughout the record — to step to the forefront in a more thoughtful way. The cherry on top is the hook, which doubles as almost a spot-on homage to Eminem, high-pitched voice and all. “I hold court like I was subpoenaed to attend,” he offers at one point. Thank God he made it.

9. Jeff Cosgrove – High, Low

If Jeff Cosgrove is involved with album, you should be listening. And better yet, if Jeff Cosgrove is involved with an album — and you happen to like jazz music — you damn well better be listening. “High, Low,” off his excellent “Hunters & Scavengers” with Scott Robinson and Ken Filiano, swings more than most anything else he’s done in recent memory and yet it continues to reach toward the abstract in ways only Cosgrove can. Robinson’s saxophone scats in wondrous ways while Filiano’s bass sprints forward at a pace impossible to ignore. The drummer, meanwhile, holds nothing back as he explores every inch of his kit. When it comes to original jazz in this area, you’d be hard pressed to find a mind as interesting as Cosgrove’s.

10. Ethan Larsh – I Miss Cocaine

Bringing his blend of Harry Nilsson, Randy Newman and Ben Folds together in ways only he can, Ethan Larsh sure knows how to craft a piano-driven ballad with more than its share of winks and nods to both the profound and the absurd. With “I Miss Cocaine,” perhaps the most charming song on his solid LP “Ethan Larsh Breaks Hearts,” he whimsically proclaims, “I miss cocaine, and how it effects my brain … I’ll say it again.” It’s equal parts charming, revelatory and fearless — all the things needed to make a great pop songwriter. And Larsh, for all he offers here, is on his way.

NATIONAL ALBUMS

1. Janelle Monae – Dirty Computer

It’s hard to argue against “Dirty Computer” being Janelle Monae’s best work to date. Until this set, she was content to label herself an android while crafting (admittedly) out-of-this-world music. Naturally, then, what makes “Computer” so compelling is that for the first time, she has kinda/sorta shed the robotic persona in favor of something more sincere, or in her words, more personal.

That’s most visible on the intergalactically funky “Make Me Feel” when she chides a questioner by asserting “you got the answers to my confessions” right before a Prince-ified guitar brightens the room. “Django Jane” is then much less colorful yet undeniably more raw, leaving the world to beg for that hip-hop-only album we so desperately need Monae to one day unleash. And then “Americans” brings the rocket ship back to earth with defiance, confidence and optimism as she confides, “Love me, baby. Love me for who I am.” These 14 tracks cement the reality that it’s impossible not to.

2. Chvrches – Love Is Dead

You know that band that you once fell in love with, but you knew that eventually, they would disappoint you? You love the first record, but the expectations for the second record are low … and then that second record somehow out-performs the first. But there’s no way the third album could measure up, right? But then it does … and then it becomes your favorite in the artist’s cannon.

Chvrches is that band for me and in my eyes, “Love Is Dead” might just be the most underrated, overlooked album of the year. Singer Lauren Mayberry is as mad as ever in songs like the piercingly hopeless opener “Graffiti” or the disappointed “Never Say Die.” Even Matt Berninger stops by for a devastating collaboration in “My Enemy,” the group’s best ballad to date. It’s a set of reflection, regret, doubt, anger and not nearly enough hope to make sure things will be OK. It’s also the most addicting that Chvrches has ever been.

3. Ambrose Akinmusire – Origami Harvest

Sure, I’m an Ambrose Akinmsire mark — just look back to 2014’s No. 1 album on this list if you don’t believe me — but this is a truly transcendental record, not just for jazz music, but within popular culture today. For the first time, there are moments here when the trumpeter opts for groove over concept and he’s never sounded better. Check the opening jaw-dropping statement, “A Blooming Bloodfruit In A Hoodie,” for a giant leap from artist to activist. Dude still knows how to get beautiful, though, as “The Lingering Velocity Of The Dead’s Ambitions” churns through a cavalcade of emotions, bending from angelic strings to aggressive drums on a dime. It’s the best EP of the year, no matter the genre, and it’s not even close.

4. Sarah Blasko – Depth Of Field

Ohhhhhhhhh, this is just so dark. In fact, it’s the Australian singer’s darkest moment to date. From the brooding misery of “A Shot,” to the unexpected groove-pop of “Never Let Me Go,” to the Gabriel-esque ballad that is “Savour It,” Blasko cements her ability to transform from indie pop to the NPR side of goth effortlessly throughout this, her sixth full-length record. You could see it coming on 2015’s pretty good “Eternal Return,” but “Depth Of Field” takes those ominous textures and matures them in ways that can only be described as tremendous. It’s hard to reinvent yourself in such a fickle music world, but these 10 songs are proof positive that it can be done — and done successfully.

5. Paul Simon – In The Blue Light

You probably won’t find this on many other year-end lists, but hey … I’m a Paul Simon fan boy. And while you can argue that the idea for his final studio collection — a reinterpretation of some of his older songs — was a bit of a cop-out, you can’t argue that a goodbye record from Paul Simon shouldn’t be duly noted. The highlight is “Can’t Run But,” a dramatically orchestral take on “The Rhythm Of The Saints” song that has never sounded more inspired. He played it on his farewell tour this year — a tour I caught up with in Philadelphia. It was my favorite show of 2018, a fitting goodbye for one of pop music’s most celebrated geniuses. With its imagination and perspective, “In The Blue Light” doubles as the same.

NATIONAL SONGS

1. Childish Gambino – This Is America

Sometimes predictability is actually the best way to go, and while it’s hard to imagine this song not being No. 1 on most Best Song lists in 2018, that doesn’t mean it’s not where it rightfully belongs. Coupled with an explosive video that caught the attention and imagination of what felt like the entire Internet for at least 48 hours, this earned its title as The Most Representative Song Of The Times, right down to the “Don’t catch you slippin’ up” refrain that takes on different auras with each utterance. The most profound words are never the ones that try to be, and with Gambino’s drawl echoing in and out of a stone-cold delivery, the gunshot sounds prove be just as lyrical as anything you hear come out of an actual person’s mouth. It’s hard to write protest songs in an era of pop culture that was founded on eye-rolls, but with “This Is America,” Childish Gambino proves that cultural demonstrations aren’t just limited to the streets anymore.

2. Chvrches – Get Out

If there’s one thing the Scottish trio knows how to utilize, it sure is some electronic hand claps, and “Get Out,” the lead single off the group’s third (and best) record, “Love Is Dead,” has the band using them with more vigor than ever before. Even so, it’s the synth line that will sink its hooks into your conscience before that chorus forces you to the ocean floor for good. The best part? Check the bridge, when the proceedings get to drum overload, both live and electronic, the results proving to be beautiful chaos. Plus, hey: If you can’t see that “You are a kaleidescope” is the new “Are we human or are we dancer” then you need to turn in your glow sticks yesterday.

3. Ambrose Akinmusire – A Blooming Bloodfruit In A Hoodie

“Everything’s everything/Understand most songs/Are just phrases and sentences/Every last song is a long sigh/A breath in the middle of one single run-on sentence/Every last bar I meant it/Run it back/Hear it again/That’s everything/We are the universe/Learning to love itself.” You wouldn’t quite expect a run like that from a “jazz” record, yet as those words emanate, Akinmusire’s trumpet scats like the perfect backing vocal over a groove that’s as powerful as it is bright. If nothing else, 2018 was a hell of a year for music that made statements. And if you aren’t listening, you aren’t learning.

4. Janelle Monae – Make Me Feel

In an album filled with standout songs, “Make Me Feel” is like the biggest diamond in a billion-dollar mine. Most of that is because of the funky-fresh beat that anchors the vibe, Monae doing her best to honor Prince by offering up something that you would like to think The Purple One would have dreamed up himself if he was still roaming the halls of Paisley Park (which makes sense: Monae has said that he helped create some of the sounds heard here before he passed). It’s the best song the 1980s never heard, and while it bleeds sex appeal and provocation, it also calls back to a time when pop music was much more interesting. Monae, in all her glory, reminds us here that to her, being interesting is only the beginning.

5. Camila Cabello – Never Be The Same

There is always one song a year that reminds me why I enjoy making it a point to listen to pop radio every now and then, and in 2018, “Never Be The Same” fit the bill perfectly. The verses, moody and suggestive, give way to that falsetto-laden pre-chorus before a hook that will knock you out, stand over you and smile as your body lay motionless. Oh, and, of course, it was made to fill stadiums. Cabello’s story has always been one that should inspire us to bet on ourselves a little bit more than we often do; this song, however, cements the reality that somewhere within us all, there’s a jackpot to be found.

Tyler Alexander fancies himself a troubadour of sorts. Or, well, at least so it seems if you head to his website or listen to his debut record, “Imposter Syndrome.” Going by the name of Redd Alexander (have a look at his scruffy demeanor for a tip as to why he presumably chose “Redd” to stand in for “Tyler”), he loves him some acoustic guitar, twangy vocals and low-grade prosthelytization. Add a drum, harmonica and tambourine, and Alexander doesn’t apologize for setting out to be the wisest of street prophets.

The problem? He might not be as poignant as he thinks he is. That’s, in no small part, because of the backdrop behind his message. For such a spare, folky collection of songs, you hope that musically, the effort would be skin tight. It’s not. Instead, there are useless unsteady kick drum patterns that muddy up the production and multiple guitar tracks that don’t always line up. In short, you want to love it, but in this case, it’s hard enough to even get to “like.”

Those musical issues are most prevalent on “I’ll Be Damned,” which is one of the rare moments that highlight electric guitar riffing on top of his tried and true acoustic aesthetics. Why he would resort to such things, though, is anybody’s guess, because in short, they aren’t needed. In fact, they only make the track feel more disjointed than it already does — and with some unsteady percussion trying to keep up in the background, the end result is a bit of a mess.

Better is “Cowboy Hats And Camouflage,” which asserts itself as one of the most tender, sincere moments here. It works best because of how pared down it is — the only thing adding to his guitar and voice is a smartly placed harmonica — but the true secret weapon here is Alexander’s steady guitar playing. The simple victory allows this song to stand above its contemporaries in palpable ways. It’s almost like listening to a brand new artist.

Ditto for “Every Chance I Can,” which reminds listeners that the singer works best the less he has around him. Based around a pretty six-string pattern, Alexander can’t say he’s not influenced by Bob Dylan with the way his off-kilter singing voice fades in and out of key with his own unique twist. In this case, it works because of the seemingly genuine tale that unfolds, all beginning with “I cussed you out this morning/‘Cause you washed my jeans,” a line that’s sure to grab ears.

It’s a shame this isn’t a record filled with those moments because instead, we get the scolding of “Breadcrumbs and Circuses,” an airing of grievances that feels more forced than it should. Unapologetically wavering in tempo with that silly drum-and-tambourine combo, Alexander’s poetry fails to hit the mark it so desperately wants to tackle, which isn’t something new: A look down at authority, popular culture and society for all its warts and shortcomings. Even though it’s a little to on-the-nose to take seriously, it still should probably earn points for being the only song written in 2018 from Frederick that references PornHub.

More depressing is “Right Here Waiting,” if only because while the admirable sentiment is there, the song itself turns out to highlight why the LP as a whole doesn’t work as well as it should: Alexander doesn’t know who he wants to be. Musically, the track echoes simple pop music, a contrast from the folk ethos he otherwise seems to champion. That issue creeps in and out of most every other song, too, outside of a select few. It steals credibility away from someone seemingly eager to gain it. Sure, this track is a heartfelt ode to a daughter, but the pleasantry of a love letter is overshadowed by his lack in identity.

“Nobody Knows.” “Nothin’ More Than Change.” “Up In Smoke.” They all suffer from the same sogginess. It’s unfortunate because at his core, Redd Alexander is more John Moreland than Jason Mraz, but you wouldn’t quite gather that from “Imposter Syndrome.” While an admirable shot at a first solo LP, the unevenness of the performances weigh the entire thing down. In short, it’s the sound of an artist you’d like to hear five years from now, not only in the name of evolution, but also execution.

“Don’t think that you’re a winner in this pay-to-play game,” he offers on “Breadcrumbs and Circuses.” “Those rules have long been written with no plans to ever change.”

Reassess some plans, and things could get interesting.

** 2 STARS OUT OF 4 **

It’s remarkable, really. Each year, it seems like Baltimore’s Red Sammy has a new album, a new direction, a new project, a new life. If it’s not a Tom Waits-leaning, jangly set of swamp rock, it’s a dip into calmer waters, embracing some Trespassers and offering up an acoustic collection that doesn’t not fall under an Americana umbrella. From resonator guitars to mandolins; from gruff male vocals to pretty female-driven harmonies, if there’s one thing you can call Red Sammy at this point, “prolific” would be the most apt word.

The credit for that goes to Adam Trice, of course — the brainchild behind the operation. Whatever he bills the project as doesn’t matter; he’s the one always leading the way, always gathering the artists, always captaining the ship. And while the incarnations consistently vary in style and vision, you can always count on his blend of underbelly melancholy to darken your day in interesting ways. “Neon Motel,” his most recent set, is no different.

A contrast to his previous outing, 2016’s paired down “True Believer,” which featured a group he dubbed Some Charming Trespassers, these 11 tracks find Trice returning to his rock-and-roll ways, plugged in, turned up and ready to stomp forward, be it through the vice of anger or sadness. It’s a logical, respectable decision that suggests the singer succeeds with evolution. He’s not rewriting his own rulebook, per se, but he’s making sure the ties binding the pages together are tighter than they’ve been before.

There’s no better example of that than opener “Ernie The Lizard.” Paying homage to the great British rock of the 1960s, it’s deliciously straight-forward, drums pounding as Trice’s vocals feel strained in ways previously not heard. “Hey mama, wanna cut my hair/When I get wasted, you want me to get bent/so you wanna burn the clothes I wear/searching for the degenerate in the basement,” the singer offers as a chorus and while it might not look that impressive on paper, rest assured it comes across as the most defiant slacker anthem this side of the Patapsco.

The thing is, laziness can fit him just as well, too. While balladry has been a stumbling block for Red Sammy in the past, here, Trice’s group takes a significant step forward with a song like the title track. Featuring a lead guitar scientifically proven to cement itself in your brain after a minimum of five listens, it paints pictures more vividly than any of his previous attempts. Throw in some tastefully exceptional noodling that backdrops the chorus and you have a rarity in the Adam Trice lexicon: A legitimate pop single.

So, where does he slip? For the most part, it’s throughout the middle section. While the songs here are respectfully short, they don’t always further the growth of the artist. “Tired And Free,” while accessible, is a little too schmaltzy for its own good. Yeah, he might gain a Coldplay fan because of it, but for every one of those, he’ll lose five of the diehards who love him for his grit. “You That I Refuse,” meanwhile, is a good idea, but as has occasionally been the case previously, it lacks the energy and passion that could make it transcendent. Ryan Bowen’s drums refuse to feel confident and with such a biting idea lyrically, you would hope for more fire from Trice.

Perhaps that’s not the point, though. “I Stay In Bed” veers mildly into formulaic territory, downtrodden message and all, with its simple acoustic guitar filling in the less-than-mid-tempo, but the singer makes it work if only for how hard it is to doubt his depression. Even better is his decision to go it alone. In the past, he may have opted for needless backing players, but dancing solo here proves to be the most affecting move, his desolate vocals getting the space they need to truly make the raindrops shine.

It’s the perfect illustration for why “Neon Motel” is an essential piece of the Red Sammy oeuvre. The choices are more mature. The performances are more adequate. The development is more obvious. And, maybe most notably, the resilience is more pronounced. In seven years, this is Adam Trice’s fifth LP, and in an era where local artists have a hard time lasting past year three/album two, there’s more than a lot to be said for the singer’s tenacity.

“I wanna be a rock star,” Trice offers on the catchy “Rock Star.” “Gonna spend the night in the back of my car, be a dead-end rocker in your old town bar.”

Gas it up when you come to, young man. There still might be a lot of miles left, but rest assured that when it comes to distance, you’re closer than ever to where you want to be — even if that means waking up with a stiff neck for a little while longer.

*** 3 STARS OUT OF 4 ***

What’s the only thing more curious than a concept album? A local concept album.

Such is why Patterns In Traffic’s “Direction” finds itself stuck at a red light more often than it does facing that ever-illusive green signal. According to Kyle Simmons, the one-man-band behind the Patterns In Traffic moniker, the six-song set is “a themed EP based on the six relative directions (forward, backward, left, right, up and down),” and the songs “explore different concepts and interpretations of those words.”

It’s not particularly the highest of high concepts, sure, but clearly, Simmons had a vision. The problem? While the singer/songwriter goes to great pains on his website to explain the stories behind each song here (honestly, check out patternsintraffic.com and find a trove of essays revolving around these things), the notion spends far too much time in the space between clever and forced.

Take opener “Forward,” which finds Simmons repeating the word incessantly throughout each chorus in a way that will admittedly stick on your head for days. Still, there’s something missing from the composition. He makes no secret of the fact that he’s the man behind every instrument here — even drums, which, according to his website, can be chalked up to some trickery in Logic — and perhaps that’s why the track hints at a lack of soul. Yeah, the droning guitar combines a neat mix of 10,000 Maniacs’ “These Are The Days” and … wait for it … Sixpence None The Richer’s “Kiss Me,” but when Simons tries to put on his aggressive face as the hook opens up, it lacks believability.

As for where the concept stretches thin, check “Down,” one of the weakest musical moments on the album. Playing with gloomy chords and a groove that never quite feels human, the bright spot is an infectious guitar hook that announces the songwriter as an artist who knows his way around a hook. Still, when you’re married to a through-line and the magic word is used so flippantly with a throwaway like “We could write down all of our regrets” … well, it just seems lazy. The world was never clamoring for a six-song EP dedicated to driving directions, so if you’re going to do it, at least take the time to make the concept more … conceptual.

Not all is lost, though. Sins can be forgiven with the ‘80s bubblegum of “Up.” Clearly the moment that calls the most people to the biggest dance floor, the track cements Simons’ place in pop. While each song on the EP displays the singer’s ability to toy with bright colors and sensitive sugar, this, the best track here, makes you yearn for an LP from him filled with more candy and less weight. Complete with lush backing harmonies throughout each chorus, Simons’ unassuming voice works best when it’s not asked to be taken as seriously, and the positivity behind the message of “Up” — “It’s not as scary as it seems if you turn the lights on,” he contends — plays well into his strengths. It’s a lovely detour.

Smoother roads continue with “Backward,” which serves as perhaps the sharpest metaphor offered on a record about relationships masked as some comment on traffic arrows. “Fall back to you” is the money line here, and if you’re going to write something about traveling in that direction, you could do worse — especially if that phrase is followed by something like “My world is spinning and you’re all I can hold on to.” What makes the song stand out is the fact that it holds the set’s most fascinating moment: With a little less than a minute to go, the track spreads out to make room for a drum break that sounds weirdly real … even if it’s all through the magic of Logic. Why Simons would opt for such a moment is confusing when you consider how intense it could have been with a real drummer. It just feels like going out of your way to highlight a pothole.

“Right,” meanwhile, rocks a little harder than it should. Why Simons tries so desperately to gain an edge is beyond comprehension — his soft, pop-emo voice doesn’t lend itself to it, and try as he may, the heft of the production just isn’t there, making the statements of grit feel more and more insincere. Even the whiny guitar lead feels shoehorned into a place where perhaps a synthesizer would have done him better. Conversely, “Left” highlights the singer’s tenderness as he channels Ben Folds and becomes considerably more victorious. There’s no real need for an accompanying “band” to kick in after the halfway point, but he still gets points for understanding how to craft a solid ballad.

What he doesn’t receive points for, however, is his ability to understand what he does best. If Kyle Simons wants to write pop music, the sky above him is limitless. If he wants Patterns In Traffic to be a serious rock project, he might want to reconsider his route. Either way, “Direction” comes off as a guy trying to find his footing as an artist, which isn’t always a bad thing, and, at the utmost least, can always be forgiven.

The only thing that matters now is a simple question: As Kyle Simons speeds ahead, which lane will he ultimately choose to use?

** 2 STARS OUT OF 4 **

It’s so easy to look at Sepia and think “alternative rock.” And while the label has been thrusted upon them since they began releasing records in 2013, it’s not hard to see why. Ryan Beckelman’s voice sits firmly in the space between the obvious (Bush’s Gavin Rossdale) and the obscure (Mayfield Four-era Myles Kennedy). The songs plod along, for the most part, at a mid-tempo destined to be played during an era when rock music was a much bigger part of the mainstream.

Or in other words, you love your WHFS. You need your WHFS.

What’s not nearly as easy to decipher, though, is if it’s any good. Like a pop hook with your crunchy guitars? These guys have you covered. Prefer pristine production and a beefy, well-rounded sound? That’s harder to come by on the quartet’s latest 10-song LP, “Drop Dead, Gorgeous.” While the songs are adequately crafted — if not just a little too predictable at times — the more glaring aspect of the recording is the production. The drums aren’t full. The guitars aren’t punchy. The bass is barely noticeable.

Unfortunately, there isn’t a track more guilty of that than the opener, “Change For You.” Derek Falzoi’s drums constantly feel like they’re playing catchup, as the song’s groove never settles into anything remotely comfortable. Because of as much, the performance feels too loose, an outline for an artistic idea that could succeed with a better studio engineer and drums that feel more planted, more confident. Instead, the listener is left with something that feels forced — insincere, even.

The good part, though, is that it gets better — and it happens almost immediately, with the significantly tighter “Cool.” Beginning with a simple guitar line, this is where Beckelman truly gets his Mr. Machinehead on, offering breathy vocals that fall right in line with anything from “Sixteen Stone” and beyond. Better yet is the pre-chorus interlude that serves as a legitimate opportunity to dance through those oversized JNCOs you know you’ll be wearing. It combines for one of the better moments on the record.

As for what’s the best moment on the record … that title can probably go to “Hard To Tell,” which showcases a more rounded, versatile side of the band. Centered around an acoustic guitar that owes at least something to the pop-grass that had its hot minute in the Top 40, it works, if in no other way, as a reprieve from the gloomy aesthetics painting the other nine songs. It’s bright, it moves well, and as a welcome surprise, Beckelman’s voice actually translates solidly into another genre, which is way more impressive than a first glance might suggest. Sure, it can feel a tiny bit hokey at times, but these guys deserve credit for leaving their comfort zone and succeeding.

That softer side does them well again on “Delaware,” the most made-for-pop-radio moment within the collection. Again driven by an acoustic guitar, this time the band gravitates back toward its mid-tempo center and what you have is the best thing DC 101 never heard in 1996. And as if the downtrodden vibe wasn’t ‘90s-ified enough, the pretty guitar solo that paints the bridge certainly makes you want to set that VCR to record the next episode of “120 Minutes.” Nostalgia can be a great thing when you use it correctly.

Sadly, it’s not used correctly everywhere throughout the record. “Better Out Than In” tries to kick up the speed and much like “Change For You,” the approach doesn’t do the group any favors despite a tasteful guitar riff that opens up throughout each hook. And while there are things to value in the album’s de facto single “Marionette,” it’s hard not to sigh when Beckelman decides to trade in actual words for a flurry of “na-na-nas” for the latter half of the bridge. Mirroring an infectious guitar riff, it’s the type of decision that can work in moderation, but its insistence here makes the move feel lazy.

Yet lazy isn’t quite the word to sum up Sepia’s problems throughout “Drop Dead, Gorgeous.” It’s easy to tell that they care, they try, they do their best. Some moments work better than others while other moments don’t work at all (“I hope you know/I hope you know/This isn’t cool anymore” is a really tough line to swallow, given the way they deliver it). But regardless of subjective success, you can at least take solace in knowing that this album will shoot you right back into simpler, more innocent time in mainstream music.

“You make me stupid,” Ryan Beckelman constantly insists on “Born Yesterday.” It’s not that bad, dude … but there’s definitely room to learn.

** 2 STARS OUT OF 4 **

It’s really easy to fall in love with The Gin Rickys. They’re part throwback to the times when jazz music was pop music, and part lounge act that can sell the blues with surprising authenticity. It’s the kind of band where an upright bass isn’t just a novelty — it’s imperative, and if you aren’t able to play tastefully, don’t even bother picking up your instrument. Plus, without the right kind of leader, the whole thing would crash and burn in a sea of cheese.

Thankfully, though, they do have the right leader. And she comes in the form of Ariana Harin. Which is why, if nothing else, “The Town That Swings,” the group’s latest six-song live EP, is a must-listen for anyone who even flirts with the kind of genres these guys showcase. Not only does she have the pipes to hang with the music surrounding her, but she also has a presence that transcends recordings. Hearing Harin sing on record makes you want to see her live. It’s an unmistakable aura from someone who really actually does know how to sing.

And holy hell. Ariana Harin really knows how to sing.

Looking for some waltz-like blues that ought to make early-years Etta James proud? Try “Ain’t My Baby No More,” a broken-hearted ballad that wouldn’t be out of place on a Christmastime rom-com, right at the scene when you think the couple du jour is about to call it quits. Harin’s vocals ache, right up to and including the deep growl she intones ever so slightly about halfway into the track. Throw in some saloon-style piano and a break for Stefan Edward’s refined guitar work, and you have all the ingredients for a deliciously sad four-star meal.

They paint with the same color on the short “Too Good For You” and the moody “Blues Chose Me.” The former comes equipped with a fun callback to doo-wop days with its subtle-yet-playful backing vocals that echo the best of Motown. Better yet is the organ that kicks in around the 40 second mark, hitting all the right notes for a formula tried and true. The latter, meanwhile, showcases the six-string exquisitely — and it does so in a way that grants the song a striking level of honesty. Besides: When you have such a sultry voice offer a line like “Look what I done/Got no more tears to cry” on top of that guitar, it’s nearly impossible to fail.

And while failure isn’t something that comes often here, the only miss is “Don’t You Come Back To Me.” Standing out as the only non-blues/jazz tune on the EP, it’s a bit of a sore thumb, even though it features a nice pop groove and Harin’s tireless commitment to going for it despite the musical soul of the group being compromised. You need power for a song like this to work, and instead of asserting itself, the track winds up being three-and-a-half minutes of a band holding back. Or, at least so it sounds.

None of that matters, of course, when they veer back to the jazzy side of things. “Town That Swings,” the best song here, introduces the EP with flair and elegance. At a crisp two-and-a-half minutes, it recalls a time when you were still allowed to smoke in fancy lounges and you’d find rooms filled with tuxedos and cocktail dresses on a typical Wednesday night. Or, for those more modern, think Squirrel Nut Zippers without the camp. Also: It sounds like a vibraphone makes an appearance, and what’s cooler than that? Outside of Miles Davis, the answer is nothing.

“Lost My Love In Paris” then takes a breezy trip down the Seine, fully equipped with warm temperatures and a bright sun. It’s as close to world music as these guys get, and it works splendidly, Harin taking her voice into lazy territory, adding to the tropical vibe the track exudes. Adding more texture to the production is Ricardo Gutierrez’s upright bass, which will make you want to fall in love even if its lead singer asks, “Why did you go and break my heart?” on top of it.

It’s funny, a group so lovable making its bones largely singing about being unloved. And while you surely wouldn’t want anyone in the Gin Rickys to feel even the slightest bit of hurt, they really do know how to turn those feelings into some affectingly soulful music. Suffice to say, that with “The Town That Swings,” they prove that even if the light at the end of the tunnel sometimes seems impossibly dark, the tinniest sliver of illumination is always worth pushing forward.

Especially if you have someone who can sing about it.

*** 3 STARS OUT OF 4 ***

 

There are only really two things to say about Marzy Maddox’s “Catching Up To Massimo,” and we’re going to get to the good stuff first. It’s impeccable. No, but, really. It’s impeccable. The production is so slick that ice wouldn’t even be able to walk on it. The playing on all ends is impressively technical. The creativity is nothing short of remarkable. And the presentation is truly next level — especially for music that has the “local” tag.

You don’t have to look further than the opening track to establish all of this. “Mankitsu Happening” blackens your eyes, bloodies your nose and knocks out your teeth. And yeah, Matt Earp’s guitar is menacing and angular while Phoenix Johnson’s vocals are as pristine as ever, begging to be placed on top of a band who regularly poses for Alternative Press covers. But the true hero here is Anup Sastry and his outrageously spectacular drumming.

Through the pretty guitar work of the verses and the unexpected success of the singing tradeoffs, Sastry’s inventive performances — not just here, but throughout the entire album — stand tall above what surrounds it. The guy is a beast, a gem in Frederick’s always-growing list of exceptional musicians. And while the two core members here ought to be commended for their gigantic leap forward in songwriting — Sastry works on this record as a hired gun — it’s impossible not to notice precisely how much flair the drummer brings to the duo’s equation.

Still, the kids are all right, too. If 2015’s “The Tragic Fate Of Arthur Volunte” was a trip through high school, these 10 tracks skipped college and are already working on their Masters. “Ragnarok,” one of the set’s best songs, single-handedly proves how far Johnson and Earp have come between records. From the backing ba-ba-ba’s around the minute-and-a-half mark, to the smart, tasteful use of falsetto, it feels like an entirely new band three years later. Fast-forward to the final 50 seconds and hear the sounds of maturity as a “Close your eyes/I swear it won’t hurt/Free yourself/Of all this anger” chant commences and arenas become the only place left that these guys can go.

Other highlights come when the band’s pop sensibility steps forward. “Killing You,” driven by a sugar-y guitar riff, has fun with dichotomy as the uptempo, bright feel is offset by a chorus that explains the narrator here will be killing “you and yours tonight.” “Towers Of Midnight” provides some of the same, inescapable guitar work and all. Even the vocal growls feel more grown up whenever they appear. Throw it on top of a crisp pop-punk groove and you have the band at its most concise.

Which begins us to the only other thing to say about Marzy Maddox’s “Catching Up To Massimo”: It needs an editor.

Songs with movements are great. And prog-leaning songs with multiple movements are even better. Without question, those are the things for which this band is aiming. They want to be Coheed And Cambria, and there’s nothing wrong with that. The problem, however, surfaces when it feels like Marzy Maddox is being expansive for expansive’s sake. Or, in other words, there are tracks that really do feel like ideas for three or four completed songs within the fabric of one song. Throw on the CD, never check to see when the number changes, and you’ll wonder why there aren’t at least 20 titles on the back of the cover.

One of the biggest offenders is the title track. While it stretches to 9:46, there are three different song ideas that show themselves within the first five minutes. Then, when you swear everything has finally concluded around the eight-and-a-half minute mark, the last 1:15 kicks through the door in ways that can only be described as pointless. Such is the trick when it comes to crafting this kind of music: Through-lines aren’t easy to come by anyway, but when they are so blatantly ignored, it becomes a matter of the fine line between indulgence and de rigueur. One is annoying; the other is tasteful.

“The Storming Of Ban’tiel” suffers slightly from the same issue, but not until the final movement, and that’s only because the body of the track fades to black so convincingly. The closing instrumental section is pretty, but fleshed out, it could be an even more affecting composition. “Betting Halos In Heaven” and the aforementioned “Mankitsu Happening” each share similar flaws, though in their cases, the fake-outs aren’t the most egregious element. Rather, it’s the glimmer of potential that each individual section embodies. None of them are bad ideas; it’s just easy to want to hear more of some of them.

None of this is to say that “Catching Up To Massimo” isn’t worth your time, because holy Moses, it certainly is — especially if you’re a fan of the pop-metal-prog-punk thing that has carved out its own prominent space in the rock world. And especially if you fancy yourself a musician, it’s undeniable that you’re going to find a slew of things to value in the performances, ambition and production here. Plus, considering where Phoenix Johnson and Matt Earp were three years ago, it’s downright scary to think where they could be three years from now.

Because once they learn to settle down, let go and embrace a sliver of simplicity, those Halos In Heaven ought to be theirs from now until forever — and ever, amen.

*** 3 STARS OUT OF 4 ***