So Josh Homme kicked out the bass player. Let’s just avoid the bass player jokes and point out the obvious–so what? Queens of the Stone Age have maintained a solid reputation for a while now, and rightly so. Bringing a genuinely unique sound to an admittedly tired genre is worth celebrating. But I’m not so sure that their bass lines were ever really the talk of the town. If there was some kind of trepidation that the personnel overhaul would leave listeners with a stunted, or even marginally different band, they can be put to rest.

Lullabies to Paralyze is a logical next step for the band after 2002’s Songs for the Deaf. That album was marred by the horrible misstep of fake radio banter between tracks, as well as a sort of overwhelming sameness that bogged it down by the second half. Here, things kick off with "This Lullaby," a sombre love ballad sung by long-term collaborator Mark Lanegan. It’s a bold choice to start the album, but it sets the tone perfectly. There are unsettling underpinnings that run throughout Lullabies to Paralyze, whether overtly through minor key harmonies and dissonant riffing, or by more subdued atmospherics, such as the whispers or knife sharpening that colour the backdrop of "Someone’s in the Wolf."

But it’s Homme’s well-crafted pop sensibilities that are really at the forefront of Lullabies, a sort of Bo Diddley/Buzzcocks/Neurosis styled hybrid, run through a vintage ’70s fuzz box. The falsetto crooning tempers the driving riffs, and the drums are driving and tom heavy, never too flashy, but always nicely understated. The bass playing is, well, competent.

Unfortunately, the overall lack of diversity means it drags a bit at the end, much like Songs for the Deaf, but what can you do? I can’t really say that the material could have used much of a cull, and too much of a good thing isn’t really basis for complaint.

Oh wait, found a good bassist joke. Q. What’s the difference between a bass player and a Duracell battery? A. The Duracell battery has a good life.

BECK
Guero
(Geffen)
**** (out of five)

In most cases, the jack-of-all-trades is the master of none, but Beck Hansen is attempting to prove this hypothesis incorrect with his period-shifting full-length Guero. This is Beck’s attempt at retaining his already-splintered fanbase after emotionally draining them with 2002’s Dylan-esque Sea Change. With the return of the Dust Brothers on the boards comes the return of the break, as Beck is dealt with the drum loop from "So Whatcha Want" by the Beastie Boys on the single "E-Pro," among other venerable run-throughs. The most interesting part about the record is how radio-friendly it is. Various songs could make huge singles, but "Girl" in particular, a rolling guitar rave as ode to summer, looks like a viable smash. That isn’t to say Beck has shunned the esoteric, as overt hip-hop banger "Hell Yes" has him championing "fax machine anthems," pinned against a Japanese girl’s call and response. While it may not have enough of whichever Beck you prefer, Guero provides the necessary way station between whatever innovations our man chooses next.

ARMOR FOR SLEEP
What To Do When You Are Dead
(Equal Vision)
**1/2 (out of five)

Concept: Boy falls in love with girl. Boy loses girl. Boy kills self. Boy’s disembodied spirit descends from heaven to revel in the past and wallow in regret.

Within a genre that has milked trite high school relationship melodrama to the point of near collapse, it’s an interesting approach for one of Equal Vision’s slicker emo bands to explore in album format. Well, maybe it could have been. What To Do When You Are Dead begins with a bit of promise–the first two songs offer memorable choruses, catchy hooks, and vocals that sidestep the effeminate whines that taint most of the players in the pop-punk breeding pool these days. Formerly something of a dream-pop band, Armor For Sleep has descended from the clouds to produce a tight, focused rock narrative with edges of Jimmy Eat World-style accessibility. So far, not bad. But what begins as a potentially appealing concept album loses its focus as the songs blend into an indistinguishable mélange of homogenized, hyper-produced mall-punk with crucial hooks and choruses as lost as the ethereal wanderings of the album’s protagonist.

"Now I’m in your basement/I’m laying low to keep out of your way," mutters vocalist Ben Jorgensen on the anemic "Basement Ghost Singing." C’mon now: could being a ghost really be this bland? Maybe if Egon and Ray made a guest appearance somewhere along the way with proton packs blazing, this album would be a tad more memorable.

HOT HOT HEAT
Elevator
(Sub Pop)
** 1/2

Caterwauling is back in style with the return of Canadian new wave indie-beat kids Hot Hot Heat. While their last record was a rather remarkable turn at mashing the melody of the Cars with the dry wit of Lou Reed, this one is a more polished affair, with pop hooks that constantly remind me of Simple Plan’s whiny quality. The melodies are way less immediate–interesting given that their admitted goal was for a more hook-driven expansion. For some reason, the charm escapes me this time. There aren’t any angular art-rock moments or awkward attempts at genre clash (calling the dub homage on "Bandages" to aisle 32), and the lack of that sort of ambition takes away from this new record, making it appear safe. The slower songs don’t have interesting enough arrangements to warrant their pace. When they go back to their dance-punk roots ("Island of the Honest Man"), it works out pretty well, but when they seem to lean into a Strokes-lite bend, it’s ripe for failure. The title track is one of few that show new promise: the piano-led rock out creates suitable pressure and reminds me of the vastly shifting landscape of Make Up The Breakdown. It also makes me miss that sound all the more.

BRITISH SEA POWER
Open Season
(Sanctuary)
*** 1/2 (out of five)

There is an epic struggle going on in music today: British Sea Power tag teaming against Colin Meloy and his Decemberists, battling it out for the "most literate band" crown. (Runner-ups compete for the "most self-consciously clever turn of phrase" belt buckle and "most precious metaphor" sash.)

If you enjoy lyrics that make you feel smug if you "get" them–a longstanding tradition for disaffected cardigan-wearers with Manchester-envy everywhere–you could do much worse than either group, who in their own inimitable ways bring twisted humour, barbed catchy hooks, swell song craft, and big-ass vision to the table along with their Victorian curio cabinet-raiding, library-geek leanings.

BSP stray less into sea shanty territory, though, sticking with big, beautiful elegiac pop songs about things like massive Antarctic ice shelves that crash into the ocean ("Larsen B"), going into the afterlife together ("The Land Beyond"), and guillotines with "abattoir tendencies" ("Be Gone").

Open Season is not as chaotically energetic or adventurously discordant as their debut, but then again the chief complaint against that brilliant offering was its unevenness. The first few listens to Open Season were pleasant but not thrilling; the overall impression is that the band had been a little neutered and overly polished. Still, there are no missteps here either, and, like quiet day on the ocean, you still know you are floating on top of something deep and powerful.

CADENCE WEAPON
Is the Black Hand Mixtape
(Independent)
*** 1/2 (out of five)

Edmonton’s (and SEE Magazine’s) own Rollie Pemberton has released the Black Hand Mixtape under his Cadence Weapon moniker. If you’ve happened to read any of his music writing, you know that he knows his shit. If not, you should start. He’s probably got something on this page. Not content to just sit around bemoaning the state of hip-hop, Pemberton has thrown his hat in the ring. With this mixtape (though not really mixed, nor a tape), Pemberton proves his potential as a gifted emcee developing his own style.

His delivery sits somewhere between the Aesop/Jux camp and the Eyedea/Rhymesayers side of things. I’m also reminded of Beans, but more in terms of structure and production. But unlike sounding like he’s borrowing heavily from the likes of the Slugs or Sages out there, Pemberton thankfully avoids the tendency to over-emote. When he drops his flow down to hushed or earnest tones, it lends a character to his cadence that sounds natural. That’s the whole key to this thing, really. It sounds very natural, even when at just 19 years old he’s warning us to "stop biting [his] shit," and on his first release at that. We’ll call that a pre-emptive strike, then. His timing and lyrics are sharp, and he can turn a phrase cleverly, keeping things interesting and often funny. But he also incorporates elements from all sides and schools of hip-hop into his work, which should ring true to those fed up with half-baked intellectualizing found on less-realized records. Cadence Weapon likes to get his booze on, and there’s a certain pleasure to be found in civic name-dropping on record.

The drawbacks are few. You can hear the eclecticism throughout the record, and though it’s always refreshing to hear less homogeny in hip-hop, it has more of a scattered feel than was probably intentional. The production varies from okay to good, not great, and it’s usually mixed too loud, dwarfing the vocals. While boosted production is usually the norm for work of a more cinematic nature, it just doesn’t work as well with Pemberton’s more subdued/relaxed delivery.

I’ll say this–what he’s good at, he’s good at. This thing has promise written all over it. Expect good things.

OCEAN COLOUR SCENE
A Hyperactive Workout for the Flying Squad
(Sanctuary)
* 1/2 (out of five)

I suppose we all need something to throw in the PT Cruiser while we’re on the way to Moxie’s.

Really, despite the desperately reaching name there’s nothing exhilarating or particularly kinetic on the disc, an average-bordering-on-dismal outing through late ’60s Brit-pop revival territory.

Oddly enough, Guy Ritchie and Paul Weller like these guys (two for the "pro" side of the list, though both have sucked hard of late). Then again, Oasis called them the "second best band in Britain" (big fat "con").

This is simply the most asinine, tedious interpretation of mod I’ve heard since the mid-’90s: ham-fisted horn sections, jingly-jangly guitars that are so tepid as to evoke elevator music, lyrics a high-school girl would wince at, and Northern soul wannabe "woo-woos" that are so grating they beg to be placed in a death-match pit with that chick from The Nanny.

"Drive Away" is one of those ninth-circle-of-hell-along-with-Lionel Ritchie ballads, the country-flavoured "This Day Should Last Forever" may result in a worldwide fatwa against the band from fiddle players defending their good name, and the tribal-spiritual optimism track "Gods World" should come with a razorblade.

As they say on the first track, "Everything Comes at the Right Time": "Gotta move outta here/gotta change my name."

Yes, please do.

SAM PREKOP
Who’s Your New Professor?
(Thrill Jockey)
**** (out of five)

Before I knew it, it was over.

Sam Prekop’s Who’s Your New Professor? had ended, it’s breezy sunshine-filled melodies but a memory. The only thing left to do was to go back to the start.

Chicago’s Sea and Cake frontman certainly didn’t suffer from the dreaded sophomore slump with his latest release, yielding similar results as his self-titled debut: a toe-tapping, jazzy, post-rock-filled collection of melodies that will chase any blues away.

Granted, it’s not all that different from the Sea and Cake’s latest efforts (Oui and One Bedroom). In fact, it’s almost too similar to his previous solo work. But it just flows so steadily and with the same kind of ease that it’s impossible not to enjoy. What impresses on Who’s Your New Professor? is the way styles are clearly cut between each song. "Magic Step" is a shuffling samba, while "Density" is pure Prekop-infused jazz and "Little Bridges" borders on slow funk R&B. The arrangements are crisp but it’s the quality of the guitar work that should really be focused on. Whether it’s on the lightly fingered "A Sleepy Hollow" or the bitingly distorted Dot Eye", Prekop’s playing gives the songs a whole new depth and creates a much appreciated contrast between his dry airy vocals and the occasional horn that streaks his musical canvas.

While it normally wouldn’t get such a high rating based on how it ranks compared to the artist’s previous work, Who’s Your New Professor? is so endearing it could easily become your springtime soundtrack.

One to play over and over again.

JACK JOHNSON
In Between Dreams
(Brushfire Records)
**** (our of five)

Poor innocent Jack Johnson attracts cynicism like smoking attracts lung cancer.

His effortlessly carefree tunes seem to release an unwarranted glut of condescension from urban hipsters everywhere. Which brings me to question them: why you gotta hate so hard? Just because Jack Johnson has a casual, beachy charm that you could never touch, even if you did take your Converse off long enough to get some sand between your toes, doesn’t mean he can’t write a damn fine song.

Johnson’s third album has now been on continuous repeat in my car for the past week, and has filled my heart daily with acoustic joy. He doesn’t stray from the formula that made his previous two albums platinum successes, and while with another artist that might be considered a flaw, with Johnson, it’s another reason to love him. He does what he does and he does it well. His music achieves a perfect simplicity, and while it is undemanding of its listener, it’s certainly not unenjoyable. Take "Banana Pancakes," for instance, where Johnson espouses against waking up too early: "Maybe we could sleep in/ I’ll make you banana pancakes/ Pretend like it’s the weekend..." I’ll bet even his grumpy naysayers wouldn’t say "no" to Johnson’s brand of breakfast.