The following have appeared in publications both online and off.

Sloan: Pretty Together (Murderrecords) Always the bridesmaid but never the bride in the United States, Sloan apparently hasn't lost hope of catching the bouquet outside its native Canada, where the band remains wildly popular. But you have to wonder if a modern-day foursome that trades on Beatlesque harmonies and comely hooks can make much of an impression in these grim times. "Pretty Together," Sloan's follow-up to the shiny '70s power pop of 1999's "Between the Bridges," is loaded with plenty of goosebump-raising vocals, all of which leap to the fore on the opener, "If It Feels Good Do It," an expression that best describes the vibe this group exudes. The Who is the other major influence here, evident on the shake and rattle of "In the Movies" or the supercharged riff-a-rama of "Pick It Up and Dial It." It's all ebullient and deliciously whipped, performed with a go-for-broke spirit. Maybe they've yet to spark the international frenzy currently buzzing around the ultra-hip Strokes, but after listening to "Pretty Together," you'll have to admit that Sloan has it together.

Bodega: Without a Plan (Brobdingnagian) Produced by man-of-the-moment Dave Friedmann, "Without a Plan" is as one might expect it to be - beautifully realized psychedelic pop in the vein of recent recordings from Mercury Rev and Flaming Lips. But whereas those two bands' melodies tend at times to drift off into the ether, Bodega - or more accurately, singer, instrumentalist and songwriter Andrew Rodriguez - keeps the songs, for the most part, nicely earthbound. With a high, clear voice reminiscent of a younger Neil Young, Rodriguez affectingly puts across his often-plaintive tunes, which involve such subjects as love, loss and Vespas. But he also knows how to kick it a la Crazy Horse, as he does on the brief "Don't Have a Clue." The album is filled with sudden delights and fancies, from the symphonic title track to the melancholic "Up in Smoke, Out in Tears" to the gentle "Sometimes." A record this spellbinding, this meticulous, it's hard to believe it's without a plan.

The Lilac Time: Lilac6 (spinART) Not much has changed over the years in the Lilac Time's universe. Yes, the band now features the occasional modern-sounding loop or contemporary production touch, but this is essentially the same melodic, amiable group that put out such lustrous late '80s offerings as "The Lilac Time" and "Paradise Circus." Leading light Stephen Duffy knows his way round a pretty tune, and with his sweet nasal voice he doesn't skimp on "Lilac6." Following 1999's peerless return to form "Looking for a Day in the Night," the new album puts you in its gentle sway with lilting melodies and melancholy lyrics that broach subjects from aging to mortality itself. "Dance Out of the Shadows" hits upon the former theme, beginning with the words: "Middle age / it's all the rage / & it's my life style option." What rock star who wants to be hip with the kids has the effrontery to toss off a line like that? As a whole, the album exudes the "beautiful despair and other folktales" of its subtitle, especially on tracks like the darkly graceful "Wasted" and the desperately gorgeous "Come Home Everyone." A subtle gem filled with unexpected lights and colors, "Lilac6" quietly insinuates itself in your subconscious.

Beachwood Sparks: Once We Were Trees (Subpop) For Beachwood Sparks, California dreamin' has become a reality. If the group's self-titled first album was reminiscent of the bright harmonies of early Byrds, then the new "Once We Were Trees" recalls that seminal '60s band's flirtation with psychedelia on "Younger Than Yesterday." While not abandoning the jangle, the new album adds denser production and spacier touches. With its "Eight Miles High" otherworldliness and heavenly vocals, "Confusion Is Nothing New" says it all. From there, the band finds itself at home on a familiar range, from the Flying Burrito Brothers ("You Take the Gold" and Hearts Mend") to early Neil Young ("Let It Run") to Dillard & Clark ("Old Manatee) to Buffalo Springfield ("Banjo Press Conference"). But this band's not merely an incredible simulation. Because after repeated spins you'll likely find yourself hopelessly addicted to "Once We Were Trees'" many whimsical but not insubstantial tunes, which soar like a vapor trail through the cosmos thanks to Chris Gunst's guileless vocals. The weepy catch in his throat on songs such as the ethereal "The Good Night Whistle" and the countrified reworking of Sade's "By Your Side" will conjure images in your mind of the West Coast's sunset - boulevard, that is.

The Charlatans UK: Wonderland (MCA) Once a group on the periphery of the U.K.'s Madchester scene, the hard-living members of the Charlatans have survived the death of keyboardist Rob Collins as well as the passage of fads and fashion to successfully reinvent themselves several times over. The band's last outing, 1999's "Us and Us Only," a collection of incredibly complex and emotionally direct songs, donned a pronounced Dylanesque feel. On "Wonderland," the band has all but abandoned its Britpop roots for Northern Soul, with singer Tim Burgess - who on "Us and Us Only" chronicled the meltdown of his marriage - affecting a Curtis Mayfield falsetto and a slightly sunnier disposition. With its distinctly funkified Stones-y vibe, "You're So Pretty - We're So Pretty" jumpstarts the album, establishing an hallucinogenic party atmosphere. Nowhere is this more evident than on the groovy "Love Is the Key" or in the brooding back beat of "I Just Can't Get Over Losing You" or all over the down and dirty driving instrumental "The Bell and the Butterfly." "Wonderland's" a narcotic experience. Go ask Alice.

Club 8: Club 8 (Hidden Agenda) Ever experience weather that's both cool and warm at the same time? Well, that's the sensation that Club 8 radiate - a mix of polar elements, all occurring simultaneously. Swedish duo Karolina Komstedt and Johan Angergard combine light as fluff melodies and deep blue sounds with end-of-the-season melancholia, all articulated by Komstedt's breathy croon: "So you drift / when the days grow cold / away from me / and won't look back," she sings wistfully on the album's opening track, "Love in December. This sets the tone of the album, which is shot through with a burnished Bergman-esque icy despair. The occasional glistening chorus, as on whispery "Falling From Grace" or the trip-hoppy "Keeping Track of Times," gives a sense of uplift - until you listen closely to what's being sung. Not that "Club 8" is a complete drag, but I wouldn't suggest putting it on if you're having a long, dark night of the soul.

I Am the World Trade Center: Out of the Loop (Kindercore) There's always something unabashedly childlike - not childish - about Kindecore's releases, and I Am the World Trade Center's "Out of the Loop" is no exception. Imagine some ambitious and plucky sixth graders filching dad's laptop and proceeding to imitate in their innocent way the repetitive robo sounds of St. Etienne and Stereolab. In actuality, the slightly more grownup duo of Dan Geller and Amy Dykes cobbled together this album of bloops, bleeps and beatific melodies entirely on a Gateway notebook computer. Throughout, the homemade rhythms and readymade dance tunes make for dizzying aural gratification. Dykes' pleasing wisp of voice is nestled nicely amid the honeyed shuffle of "Look Around You," the tripped-out "Light Delay" and the Euro disco of "September." All the while Gellar lays down squiggly synth effects and an out of the loop racket - careful, the post-modern pyschedelia of songs like "Flute Loops" and, especially, "In Your Head" might just blow your mind! Shove this in your Walkman, and step lively. Much like the way it was crafted, this is portable music for a portable age.

Tim Finn: feeding the gods (W.A.R.?) It must gnaw at the elder Finn that younger bro Neil has accumulated accolades over the years while Tim's equally evocative but woefully underrated work has languished in near obscurity. Last year's low-key "Say It Is So" was both tasty and textured, but who knew it was ever released? Now the former member of Split Enz and Crowded House has teamed again with producer Jay Joyce and returned with "feeding the gods," an album whose central theme, Finn says, is about giving back to the world his gift of music. In a better time and place the world would be listening, because these 11 songs are imbued with an understanding of and a compassion for the human condition. They are also among the least-fussily arranged of Finn's curlicue career. "I just wanted to rein it in and be more simple with it this time," Tim says, and the relatively straightforward production on the new record allows his songwriting and affecting tenor to shine like a spring morning, especially on tunes like the otherworldly "Subway Dreaming" or the hard-charging "Say It Is So" or the impassioned "What You've Done." With not a duff track on it, "feeding the gods" is the work of a true classicist. Now if the gods would only feed his record sales.

The Push Kings: Feel No Fade (Le Grand Magistery) The music of the Push Kings is like the cleansing autumn air that follows the muggy dog days of summer - breezy and refreshing. Moving away from the moody, neo-lounge sound of the group's second album "Far Places," the new "Feel No Fade" updates the retro, Beatle-y sound of the band's debut with something more trippy and sexy. Sure, there's the occasional queer sound effect or loop, as on the start of "Rocket 'n' Ride," to remind you that this is the 21st century. But what this band does well - write and perform gorgeous, effervescent rock 'n' roll tunes - transcends time. It's also catchy as hell. Every one of these nuggets - the wry "I Hate Everyone but You," the slinky "Beat Girl (and Me)," the wistful "Party to End" - is graced with the kind of hook that's powerful enough to drag you down to bedrock. Add to that the extraordinary harmonizing of Finn and Carrick Gerety, whose voices blend in the best tradition of other sibling bands, from the recent Cash Brothers all the way back to the Everly's. And did I mention it's catchy as hell? Well, don't you get caught without "Feel No Fade."

Dwight Twilley: The Luck (Big Oak). Luck is not something one would normally associate with Twilley, because his has been a career fraught with anything but. For the most part his recordings, as brilliant as most of them are, have been, as he once put it, "tangled in legal spaghetti." Such was the case with this album, originally recorded in 1994. Produced by legendary popmeister Richie Polodor and polished up for release now, "The Luck" is yet another sparkling jewel in Twilley's gem case. It's certainly a passionate-sounding record, brimming with dreamy melodies and Dwight's even dreamier voice, as on songs like "Holdin' On," "Leave Me Alone," "Oh Carrie" and "Suzyanne." These midtempo ballads are easily among his best tunes, striking the right chords, literally, between the earthly and the ethereal. That's not to say that our boy has forgotten how to shake and shimmy, because "The Luck" is packed with upbeat bouncers, such as "Remedies" and, especially, "Gave It All Up for Rock 'n' Roll," a track whose title says it all. After all these years, Twilley's still on fire.

Elbow: Asleep in the Back (V2). The latest band to float over the pond from the UK in an otherworldly cloud, Elbow feature much of the same hypnotically dreamy sounds being employed by groups like Radiohead, the Beta Band and, more recently, Simian. Vocalist Guy Garvey's nearly indecipherable, disembodied wail is not that far off from Thom Yorke's and the band's abstract ensemble performances surge and subside with a grandeur that's not atypical of its peers. But "Asleep in the Back" is definitely a singular experience, busy with passion and darkness that's at times dissolute ("Bitten by the Tailfly" is downright harrowing). "Presuming Ed (Rest Easy)" snakes along creepily. Or how about the somber "Newborn," which begins with the line, "I'll be the corpse in your bathtub"? If you can manage a little aural anguish as the days grow shorter, make some Elbow room.

The Strokes: Is This It (BMG). Last I checked it's the 21st century, not the 1970s. But that hasn't registered yet with the Strokes, whose grungy and exuberant sound re-imagines Television by way of Velvet Underground. This Manhattan quintet has emerged out of nowhere to become this year's "it" band, but unlike most overnight sensations the Strokes has the chops to back up the hype on "Is This It." From the cheeky (literally) cover to the band's unkempt look to the just-woke-up-at-4-in-the-afternoon snarl of singer Julian Casablancas (great name!), this band of early twentysomethings knows how to crank out brutal riffs and infectious hooks with a detached cool. Songs like "The Modern Age," "Barely Legal," "Soma" and, especially, "Last Night" hurl out of your speakers, sounding like missing post-punk classics. The production is garage raw, the lyrics barely intelligible and it's all over in 35 minutes - a miracle of brevity in the CD age.

Ken Stringfellow: Touched (Manifesto). Ken Stringfellow is a multifarious talent. Whether it's with his on-again, off-again, apparently on-again hard pop band the Posies or pitching in with R.E.M. and the Orange Humble Band or on his lonesome in a more experimental mode (1997's "This Sounds Like Goodbye" is definitely outre), the flame-haired musician has demonstrated he's got as many facets as a fly's eye. Now out of the remnants of his never-quite-got-off-the-ground Saltine project comes this latest solo venture. Adroitly produced by Mitch Easter, "Touched" is filled with plaintive songs and gentle melodies, as on the country-tinged opener "Down Like Me" or on the ruminative "Find Yourself Alone." Momentarily separated from the vocal interaction of Posies partner Jon Auer, Stringfellow's voice takes center stage; although it's a high, clear and ringing instrument, it still conveys the intended pain and desperation on tracks like "Reveal Love" and "The Lover's Hymn." Plumbing both the depths of despair and the high peaks of hope, this is an album that's touched with beauty and grace.

Margo Guryan: 25 Demos (Franklin Castle). Following last year's re-release of the extremely rare, legendary underground classic "Take a Picture" comes "25 Demos," a deeper trawl through the catalog of a barely known but nonetheless brilliant songwriter. Although these are demos, the sound quality is consistently high, not unlike her official recordings. But even if they were to sound like sonic sludge, nothing could mask the beauty and charm of these classy, avant-pop tunes. The Beach Boys-influenced "Think of Rain" is strong enough to place her in the pantheon that includes Brian Wilson. Not to mention "Sunday Morning," which all these years on has not aged a whit. And that's one of the amazing things about this collection: even though it traverses nearly four decades of songwriting, what Guryan was laying down in the mid-'60s remains fresh and alive today. "25 Demos" is timeless magic.

Nick Lowe: The Convincer (Yep Roc). With its mood-setting cover shot of a dapper-suited, laid-back Lowe, "The Convincer" completes a trilogy of darkly soulful albums that began with 1994's "The Impossible Bird." Minus the rockpile-driving pub rockers of yore but still marked by Lowe's trademark adroit wit, these songs smolder and sting with the pain of human experience. From the bitter "Homewrecker" to the lamentable "Only a Fool Breaks His Own Heart" to the slinky "Let's Stay In and Make Love" to the wistful "Lately I've Let Things Slide" ("There's a cut upon my brow / must've banged myself somehow / but I can't remember how"), these are well-chiseled portraits of lives that have been lived. Lives that only someone with Lowe's whitened thatch could understand. Some of these tracks sound like long-forgotten classics, particularly "Indian Queens" and "I'm a Mess." Of course, one song is a long forgotten certified classic, Johnny Rivers' "Poor Side of Town," and Lowe delivers it in a mellifluous, heartbreaking croon. Years ago, Lowe posed the question, What's so funny about peace love and understanding? On "The Convincer," he's finding his answer.

The Ladybug Transistor: Argyle Heir (Merge). Take the less easy elements of easy listening, siphon off the kitsch factor, sprinkle in strings, woodwinds and brass and what you end up with is the soft but not shallow sounds of the Ladybug Transistor. This six-piece mini orchestra hails from Brooklyn but its musical recipe has more in common with overseas counterparts Belle & Sebastian, Gorky's Zygotic Mynci and the Apartments than what usually gets cooked up in the States. Bright and bouncy melodies are undercut by sardonic lyrics and Gary Olson's warm, deadpan voice, which is both charming and mysterious. This is progressive music as it was meant to be - incorporating the beauty and sweep of the classics into the popular form, but managing to steer clear of the overly arch pretentiousness that has kept so much of "prog rock" from being truly engaging. Strange, ambitious and remarkable, "Argyle Heir" will fill the space between your ears with technicolor air.

Rufus Wainwright: Poses (DreamWorks). Rufus Wainwright's sophomore album is a portrait of an artist as a self-deprecating young man who goes to the city and leaves a drug addict. Steeped in bohemia, bone-dry wit and Tin Pan Alley, "Poses" expands upon the apparent autobiographical themes of Wainwright's first record, but is lyrically richer and musically more varied and sophisticated. It's also more strange and silly, filled with images of cosmopolitan decadence that stick in your consciousness like bar smoke on a cashmere sweater. Right from the start, on "Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk," Wainwright recites all the vices that are "harmful for me," and slyly begs that one might "please be kind if I'm a mess" in a dusky voice that recalls a woozy Ron Sexsmith. Such are "Poses'" unrepentant characters - desperate, skeptical, dangerously addicted and more than a bit destructive, but also no less charming or poignant. For Wainwright, life is a cabaret, albeit one that is constantly teetering into the abyss.

Kings of Convenience: Quiet Is the New Loud (Astralwerks). There's a kind of a hush all over the world, one that has influenced Norwegian pair Eirik Glambek Boe and Erlend Oye, a.k.a. Kings of Convenience, whose debut brings to mind the sounds of silence of another, slightly more well known former duo. With its simple but elegant arrangements (a very occasional drum, piano or violin), gently strummed guitars and limpid harmonies, "Quiet Is the New Loud" could easily have been produced at any point in the last 30 years. This timeless quality makes the album somewhat of an anomaly - especially on a normally techno label like Astrawerks - but considering that Nick Drake is suddenly popular again and artists like Belle & Sebastian and David Gray are carrying the torch, not unprecedented. To be picky, Kings of Convenience's unprepossessing melodies do seem to drift by without leaving a deep mark, but that just means you have to listen harder. Sweet without being twee, "Quiet's" subtle grace speaks volumes.

Fantastic Plastic Machine: Beautiful (Emperor Norton). Fantastic Plastic Machine's "Beautiful" is aptly titled. While not totally abandoning his usual mating of Bacharach and breakbeats, on his third full-length release FPM's Tomoyuki Tanaka admits that he's interested this time in developing his sound into something more adult oriented. "Comparing my music to a girl," he says. "I used to like a 'cute' girl but now I prefer a 'beautiful' girl. It is more mature." Tanaka's idea of sophisticated? Why, the satin soul of that walrus of love, Barry White. Yeah, it's mostly a kitschy mishmash, but so what? It's a lot of fun, and the arrangements swing like a house (music) afire. Especially on tracks like the slippery "Paragon" and the wiggy "Love Is Psychedelic." What else? "On a Chair" rides an ethereal wave, all breathy "ahhs" and "oohs" and Philly strings over a chillin' hip-hop clop. Then there's a remake of Frankie Knuckles' classic "The Whistle Song." From start to finish, Fantastic Plastic Machine offers a continuous groove that seamlessly incorporates a world of music. In a funk? Become one of the "Beautiful" people.

Tindersticks: Can Our Love ... (Beggars Banquet). From Pulp to the Divine Comedy to Nick Cave, an excess of musicians has long followed in the footsteps of '60s cult hero Scott Walker. With their preoccupation with existentialism and French composer Jacques Brel, and with singers whose incorporeal baritones mournfully convey the varied sensations one encounters during a dark night of the soul, these artists are a gloomy lot, and over time their records can be wearying. As if to dig themselves out of their own artistic grave, on "Can Our Love ...," the members of Tindersticks infuse some rough and ready R&B into their customary somber sound to come up with the freshest record they've made since their 1995 self-titled release. Songs like "People Keep Comin' Around" and "Chilitetime" even feature a back beat - something the group has never fully employed before - and singer Stuart Staples sounds undeniably soulful.

Pernice Brothers: The World Won't End (Ashmont). Like just about every other band once lumped into the alt.country genre, Massachusetts' Pernice Brothers leans a lot more these days on alt than it does on country, fashioning a new category of cocktail-lounge lush but not unsophisticated pop. Joe Pernice's breathy croon recalls Colin Blunstone at his sexiest, and his songs - which are often decorated with strummy guitars, heavenly harmonies and strings that add texture not glop - do not shy away from prettiness. Whether it's in a wry turn of phrase or in a nifty guitar lick (check the buzzy runs throughout "Let That Show"), every single one of these tracks has a most definable hook, their gorgeous melodies wafting over you like a welcome cool breeze on a sweltering summer afternoon. Frankly, listening to "The World Won't End," I am overcome by happiness.

Travis: The Invisible Band (Independiente). Remember when it was all about songs? Well, somehow, somewhere along the way, songs got abandoned for beats or production techniques or slick image. Worse, songs themselves became unfashionable, and the bands that produced them were looked down upon. You write songs? How unhip! Well, no longer, thanks in large part to the sudden leftfield popularity of Scotland's Travis. Calling its latest "The Invisible Band" is no doubt the group's way of saying, "Songs come first" - and indeed they do. No flashy guitar solos or histrionic vocals here, just performances that add the exact right tune-enhancing touches. Although it's not much of a departure from "The Man Who," the new record is, as singer Fran Healy says, "A lot more colorful than our last one ... much more summery." And it sure sounds that way on the opener, the joyous, banjo-plucked "Sing." Still, this is the same Healy who pondered why does it always rain on him, and he continues to be introspective, ruminating in "Dear Diary": "What's wrong with me / Cause I'm fine / Between the lines." Or on "Pipe Dreams," he muses that he'd "pray to God if there was a heaven, but heaven seems so very far from here." Even the cheerful-sounding "Flowers in the Window" is infected by an overall gloominess. Perhaps Healy's idea of summer is like the ones that we have here in Boston, where one can drown in the oppressive heat.

Lucinda Williams: Essence (Lost Highway). In what has to be some kind of a land speed record for her, Lucinda Williams has released an album a mere three years after her award-winning breakthrough "Car Wheels on a Gravel Road." Not one to be overly concerned with matters of commerce, Lucinda has abandoned the scruffy blues and hard pop of "Wheels," stripping things back to its, well, essence. The arrangements here are minimal, relying on a spare folky atmosphere, and as a whole it's much more intimate and personal. Her husky voice has taken on new lights and colors as well, and in many cases it barely whispers above the mix, as on the heart bursting "I Envy the Wind." "There was a lot of stuff going on in my personal life," she said about the making of this album, "and that came out." Listening to "Essence," it's not hard to guess what. These are songs by and about a woman who is clearly enduring both romantic agony and religious epiphany. She's plainly struggling to get right with God, but her world - filled with isolation and cruel lovers, as well as madness and death - makes it hard to keep the faith. Still, Lucinda struggles, and on the final track, "Broken Butterflies," she not only ruminates over who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel, but who can mend them. The road is still covered with gravel, then, but there are the occasional smooth patches.

Whiskeytown: Pneumonia (Lost Highway). An album that's been suspended for the last two years in record-label limbo, Whiskeytown's latest is, sadly, also the group's last. With only three records under their holster, this alt.country collective was just getting into a full gallop, "Pneumonia" being its most cohesive and coherent work to date. At the core is Ryan Adams' voice, an instrument that is as shredded as it is soulful. And when he wraps it around detail-rich tunes like "Don't Wanna Know Why," "Jacksonville Skyline" and "Under Your Breath," the downbeat intensity is strangely uplifting. With its woozy laments, rough edges and simple joys, "Pneumonia" is positively catching. As for Adams, who has made a career out of being unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed, he has apparently cleaned up his act. His "Heartbreaker" solo album last year was stunning, and he's about to release "Gold," a new a solo album. Bottoms up!

The Webb Brothers: Maroon (Atlantic). On "Maroon," Christiaan and Justin Webb blow up the mini multiplex vistas of their debut, Beyond the Biosphere, into a wide-screen panorama, fleshing out their tunes with blinding technicolor details. Much like the epic sweep of classic songs like "MacArthur Park" - written by none other than their famous father, songwriter Jimmy Webb - "Maroon" takes unexpected turns and twists that are as fun as they are jarring. With its sleigh bells, careering violins and ringing pianos, the album could overload on its own orchestral sugar high, but instead is underpinned with bleak moods and dizzying aural sensations that make for an extremely uneasy listening experience. With its extravagant shades of dark and light and its odd combination of surreal kitsch and lyrical brutalism, "Maroon" tills a sonic landscape that's truly unique. Call it muzak noir.

Mark Eitzel: The Invisible Man (Matador). Recorded mostly on his own in his San Francisco apartment using a sampler and Pro-tools, "The Invisible Man" sees the return of a more clearheaded Eitzel three years after the dour "Caught in a Trap." Although his fourth official solo release since the demise of his much-loved-by-those-in-the-know American Music Club is initially easier on the ears with its engaging acoustic and synthetic textures, it is not minus Eitzel's trademark wit and intelligence. With its tales of death, masquerade parties, betrayal and revenge, good drugs and bad sex all sung in a husky baritone, "The Invisible Man" is dense with hope and melancholy. It is also the most overtly musical album Eitzel has recorded since "60 Watt Silver Lining," with the occasional welcome choruses - as on the luminous "Shine" - that stick not only in the mind but in the heart. But as in the past it's Eitzel's emotional veracity that affects you the most. The words of "Bitterness" and "Anything" cut so close that you feel like a voyeur, as if you are reading someone's personal journal. Even Eitzel admits as much. Of the song "Christian Science Reading Room" he remarked: "It's a true story. All of my songs are true stories, actually." Nakedly honest, at times almost embarrassingly so, but "The Invisible Man" is never anything less than engaging. It's darkness made visible.

Penelope Houston: Loners, Stoners and Prison Brides (Normal). This live-in-the-studio unplugged trawl through Houston's songs past and present shows plainly just how far the former Avenger has come from her pink-haired punk days. Then again, maybe not. For although the sound here is acoustic, "Loners, Stoners and Prison Brides" is not lacking in fiery intensity, its songs peopled with difficult characters whose lives are painted in violent brushstrokes. As in the past, vengeance is the order of the day, in tunes like "Pale Green Girl," in which the pissed-off narrator flatly states: "She knows the way you pace the floor / she knows the way you fucked her dry / she knows your tapping on her door." Or in "Walnut," where the yearning protagonist declares: "All my life I've been waiting to / break out of the kitchen into the ether / So take my hand pull me up, wake me up / out of this fever, into the dreamer." The motif of expectancy and dashed hopes is prevalent from beginning to end, but it's especially manifest on "Everybody's Little Dreamer," which Penelope introduces by remarking: "Anybody's who's been following my career knows that I haven't exactly modeled myself into the perfect little pop star. And I'm sure that anybody's who's had a relationship with me knows that I haven't modeled myself into the perfect little girl, either." Although she lets out a brief laugh, you know she's not just being flippant. Like the album cover itself - an image of Penelope bearing an expression so filled with longing that she practically looks medieval - "Loners, Stoners and Prison Brides" is riddled with barely disguised pain and sexual frustration. But at its heart is Houston's tough optimism. Like a geode that's all bumpy on the outside but filled with unexpected lights and colors within.
(Only available through Penelope's site.)