When Joanna Newsom followed her intricate and exhausting 2006 album, Ys, with a live EP that took a pun, Joanna Newsom & the Ys Street Band, for its name, some fans were puzzled. A joke? From Newsom, the harpist-poet with the chirpy voice? The one who'd spent chunks of her 56-minute opus detailing the differences between a meteor, a meteorite and a meteoroid and describing the drowning of a broken bear named Ursula? Wasn't her art beyond humor? Guess not.

"Good Intentions Paving Company", a track streamed by Drag City last week in advance of Newsom's upcoming Have One on Me, may be the most humanizing song we've heard from Newsom. Here, over music that seems unusually earthy and warm and with a clear view of Laurel Canyon, her apparently precise wit assumes a leading role. "I regret how I said to you, 'Honey, just open your heart,' when I've got trouble even opening a honey jar," she twists, the piano and organ that have been pulsing and pealing behind her relenting to a playful banjo-and-guitar gait. She teases her own nervous disposition, segues "Auld Lang Syne" into "Signed, Sealed, Delivered I'm Yours", and compares her love-stricken state of mind to a fistfight with the fog.

Actually, love takes the other lead here. As Newsom, the passenger, and her new partner, the driver, head toward a gig through what seems to be a treacherous mountain pass, she confesses that she's committing: "I fell for you, honey, easy as falling asleep," she sings when she knows they're safe, her voice more tempered and casual than it's often been. She admits she's tried to control her heart, describing the limbo-- to love, or to run-- with a zest for syllables worthy of a backpacker rapper and a Rickie Lee Jones-like knack for shaping bits of verses into little hooks. The song keeps shifting, and each piano line pulls her like rope to a simple romantic conclusion: "I only want for you to pull over, and hold me, till I can't remember my own name."

This is a rare thing, then-- an unapologetic love song that feels, you know, new.

[from Have One On Me; out 02/23/10 on Drag City]

Considering they turned phrases like "no culture icons" and "more parts per million" into irresistible earworms (in the same song, no less!), creating something as reductive as "Canada" seems beneath a band of the Thermals' talents. Of course, it could also be said that to concoct something this insidiously catchy is a testament to those very talents.  Suffice it to say that the Thermals dared to be stupid ("a place called Canada" -- oh, THAT place!), and they succeeded beyond anyone's wildest imaginations. "Canada" is nearly 140 seconds of pure hook, the indelible sticky-sweet stuff that commercial jingles and TV themes and Hanson's singular contribution to pop culture are made of. It only takes about 15 seconds of exposure for that hook to sink its whoa-whoas in past the point of extraction, and it only takes a second listen to wish that there were some way to unhear the song. It's the track's gift, and the track's curse. Soon after "Canada" hit the web, a Kill Rock Stars representative posted to Twitter that the song is simply a one-off thing, and won't be included on the group's upcoming album. It's as if the Thermals realized what unwitting horrors they unleashed upon the world, and silently vowed to never do so again.

Stream:> The Thermals: "Canada"

[from "Canada" single, available now on iTunes]

Ted Leo's best songs don't waste time with build-ups, come-downs, or anything as glib as a "tease." Instead, their melodies immediately introduce themselves, as if Leo and his revolving-door gang were the band performing on the Titanic and needed to get that last punk-infused itch scratched before the ship went down. That sense of urgency has taken a few forms throughout Leo's career, from the brittle Kiwi pop of "Squeaky Fingers" to the organ-led Madness of Hearts of Oak's "Tell Balgeary, Balgury Is Dead" to the palm-muted pop-punk of "Me and Mia", from Leo's most underappreciated effort, 2004's Shake the Sheets.

"The Mighty Sparrow", the opening track from the band's forthcoming The Brutalist Bricks, may not break any new ground, but its declaratory melody and sense of urgency quickly knock aside any idea that Leo is going through the motions. It also helps that the song kicks off with a bang: "When the café doors exploded/ I reacted to/ Reacted to you," Leo proclaims, balancing the vaguely political images of "sirens ringing" and, well, the explosion itself with the sort of earnest romance that goes along with lines like, "Coming to/ Coming to you".

Longtime drummer Chris Wilson provides colorful fills throughout the song, but what shines through most is Ted Leo's economical songwriting. Leo repeats the main melody just enough times so it remains infectious but doesn't get repetitive, throws in an appropriately tense bridge, and lets loose a surprisingly warm guitar solo that sounds as if it were plucked from sessions for the Replacements' Pleased to Meet Me. All this, and two false endings, in two minutes and 37 seconds. How punk is that?

MP3:> Ted Leo and the Pharmacists: "The Mighty Sparrow"

[from The Brutalist Bricks; out 03/09/10 on Matador]

On May 1, 1947, Evelyn McHale leapt 86 floors to her death from the observation deck of the Empire State Building. Photographer Robert Wiles quickly snapped a picture of the 23-year-old woman serenely cradled atop a smashed taxi, and that photo, nicknamed "The Most Beautiful Suicide", later graced the pages of Life. McHale's fate serves as a catalyst for Parenthetical Girls' latest project-- the first of five limited-edition 12" EPs that will eventually comprise the Portland trio's fourth release, Privilege-- and slots well into journalist-turned-musician Zac Pennington's art-damaged schema.

The band has called this track "Bolan-ian", but their vamping is subtle. Strings sway in the distance while a warbled hook relays the tragedy, and Pennington floats above the wreckage, cooing into Evelyn's ears: "Sure we look loathsome from afar/ Hateful and hollow, smugging smart/ Well, don't we look the part/ Sweetheart remembered for your art." The lavish arrangements of 2008's Entanglements are appreciatively toned down, and Pennington hits the right note of garish theatricality. But something about the skewed lounge music approach subtly diminishes the song's effectiveness. Though it works on its own merits, in a sense "Evelyn McHale" resembles "Suicide (Fallen Body)", Andy Warhol's abstract representation of Wiles' original photo. Pennington's transformation of the past, perhaps inevitably, doesn't quite live up to the arresting source material.

[from Privilege: Pt. 1: On Death & Endearments; out 02/23/10 on Slender Means Society]

Coming off a terrific split with Diamond Rings last summer, Kingston, Ontario, duo PS I Love You return with a new 7" they can call their own. Picking up where the immediately likable "Facelove" left off, "Butterflies and Boners" again displays the band's affection for distortion-assisted guitar squalls and anthemic builds but seems less interested in instant gratification. Heavier and more detailed, its mid-tempo frame frees up a little space for the band to explore, as guitars tangle and swell against Paul Saulnier's pained Viking cries (about what specifically, I'm not exactly sure-- though both "butterflies" and "boners" are in there). The sludgier two-thirds give way to a furious little solo and what sounds like the rising of a choir, suggesting that if PS I Love You were willing to focus more on the drumming, they might be able to tap into some serious Nordic Metal shit. But more importantly, it shows that this band doesn't necessarily need pop pleasures to win us over.

MP3:> PS I Love You: "Butterflies and Boners"

[from "Starfield" 7"; out 03/15/10 on Thing Itself]

"My Baby Left Me", the debut single by the London-based soul singer Rox, is not exactly a new song. It has been drifting around the Internet since 2008, but it's only just now getting a proper release on Rough Trade, a label not typically associated with R&B. Listeners used to the recording that first made the rounds online may have to adjust a bit to the new arrangement for the official release. Whereas the original version, produced by Al Shux, was a dead ringer for a slick, streamlined Mark Ronson production, the new take, also produced by Shux, has a busier beat and a lusher arrangement featuring some sugary orchestration. Thankfully, Rox's gorgeous voice and the song's strong hooks do not get lost in the fuller sound, and the general sentiment of the piece is flattered by the "widescreen" approach rather than blown out of proportion. Even when some elements of the song come on strong, there's a great balance to "My Baby Left Me", resulting in an easy-to-love single that is at once emotionally forthright and laid back in tone, not unlike Lauryn Hill's best solo work. You could call this neo-soul, and you wouldn't be wrong, but while much of the music with that tag suffers from a stuffy reverence for the past, Rox seems mainly interested in turning out a memorable pop tune, and that is exactly what this is.

Stream:> Rox: "My Baby Left Me"

[from My Baby Left Me single; out 03/15/10 on Rough Trade]

Just a few years ago, the Pipettes sounded like the sunniest, smartest women in the room, coordinating their polka dots and pulling shapes while updating bright 1960s pop with a knowing smile. They found power in their pin-up poses, whether telling off a wandering fella ("Your Kisses Are Wasted on Me") or repurposing Beyond the Valley of the Dolls as a campfest video. In retrospect, it was bound to be a short, sweet ride, and soon enough, RiotBecki and Rosay left the group, Gwenno's sister Ani joined, and Be Your Own Pet one-upped them by re-repurposing "Dolls" for "The Kelly Affair".

Now we have the Pipettes' debut as a duo, and that passive-voice title should be the first clue that something's amiss here. "Our Love Was Saved by Spacemen" updates their sound from 60s girl groups to 70s ABBA, but it's crammed to bursting with desperate-to-persuade ideas. The chorus nearly lifts off, but nothing else really achieves orbit-- not the earthbound disco-derived beat, not the busybody strings, and certainly not the Auto-Tuned vocals near the end. With all the zero-gravity bubbliness, the Pipettes' pep gets quashed by a clunky concept and overeager production, making "Our Love" kitsch without the wink, pop without the pop.

MP3:> The Pipettes: "Our Love Was Saved by Spacemen"

[from Earth vs. Pipettes; out later this year]

The Morning Benders hail from Berkeley, but the affable indie-pop found on their 2008 debut, Talking Through Tin Cans, sometimes brought to mind the bright Southwestern landscape that first nurtured the Shins. The coming follow-up, Big Echo, adds Grizzly Bear multi-instrumentalist and co-producer Chris Taylor to the mix, adding the kind of sunlit harmonizing and wooly arrangements recently favored by fellow Left Coasters Foreign Born (not to mention Taylor's main act back in Brooklyn).

Early mp3 "Promises" gave a taste of the Morning Benders' shift in sound while staying in their comfort zone, but it's the dizzying, strummy album opener "Excuses" that surprises. "Excuses" rubs the sleep out of its eyes with a single electric guitar surfing over a sea of hazy, twinkling piano keys, before an acoustic guitar figure bursts wide open like a summer sunrise. Lead singer Christopher Chu's warbly croon floats along with a kind of lazy charm, and later an a cappella break accentuates a distinct 1950s doo-wop influence. Chu and the boys in the Morning Benders certainly deserve kudos for expanding their horizons here, but it's Taylor's production hand that gives "Excuses" a kaleidoscopic wallop. This tune is an audiophile's delight, from its opening faux-needle-drop to the ominous orchestral dissonance that creeps into the mix halfway through. The sound is big and full of space-- imagine Olivia Tremor Control with Dave Fridmann manning the boards-- yet for all its grandeur, "Excuses" possesses a simple sweetness, proving you don't have to be "difficult" to sound so gloriously complicated.

MP3:> The Morning Benders: "Excuses"

[From Big Echo; out 03/09/10 on Rough Trade]

Last year, Memphis' Magic Kids got a few toes tapping with their Langley School-meets-Phil Spector anthem "Hey Boy", whose swooning strings and lovesick-teenager lyrics somehow coaxed a fresh sound out of half-century-old recording gimmicks. Germany's Hanoi Janes, the largely one-man project of Oliver Scharf, aims for a more economical rendering of the Wall of Sound on "Across the Sea", favoring loads of percussion to the sax and strings embellishments of Magic Kids, and layering the recording in a thick lo-fi haze that bears as much resemblance to retro-minded Captured Tracks labelmates Christmas Island and Spectrals.

The song's tricks are simple but effective. A fuzzy three-note guitar riff carries a chorus of "whoa-oh-oh"s above layers of tambourines, shakers, and chimes, until it folds over itself on the bridge and the song devolves into a tide of buzzing guitars lapping over each other in foams of distortion. The lyrics, too, are straightforward and repeated for both verses, interspersed with as many "whoas" as actual words. Hanoi Janes apparently have a fondness for short, simple songs, and "Across the Sea" is just as indebted to the three-chord minimalism of punk as to the speaker-filling production techniques of Spector, managing to cram overflowing exuberance into a bite-sized pop nugget.

MP3:> Hanoi Janes: "Across the Sea"

[from "Across the Sea" 7", out now on Captured Tracks]

When discussing the myriad charms of Japandroids, you inevitably get around to irresponsible drinking, unattainable girls, and wind machines. Everything they do cuts against the idea of restraint. Funny, then, that one of the most enduring qualities of Post-Nothing is judicious self-editing. Perhaps it would've been every bit as much of an end-to-end burner had it housed a more traditional 10 tracks, but as is, you figure they stopped at eight because that's all they deemed necessary to get their point across.

Inevitably, this casts songs like "Art Czars"-- written in the Post-Nothing sessions and the first of a planned five 7" singles from Japandroids in 2010-- as second-class from the jump. And in a way, those fears are justified, as it's considerably less fuzzy and urgent than anything that made the cut, even sounding like it came out of a significantly pricier studio. But it's as much an issue of quality as it is of fit. Though every bit as sloganeering as a Post-Nothing track, lines like, "Here's your money back/ Here's your punk rock back," are informed by an emotion that was mostly absent: anger. But directed at whom? Could it prove to be foreshadowing of a more cynical follow-up to Post-Nothing? Here, though, it hardly matters. While it's somewhat disconcerting to hear Japandroids in such a relatively adult guise, it's heartening to hear something from them where a relatively subtle and cyclical melody generates its maximum impact long after the first listen.

MP3:> Japandroids: "Art Czars"

[from "Art Czars" 7"; out 04/13/10 on Polyvinyl]