So I’m going to buy this pretty basic car, right? But it’s not going to be basic at all, because there’s a twist, OK? Are you ready for this? During the night, the front of the car is going to light up bright red, there’s going to be this voice coming from the speakers, and all the females are going to be like, “Damn, there goes Knight Rider.” That’s what everyone’s going to call me in town — Knight Rider. But then when I’m ready to get all sexy with the ladies in the car, I’m going to turn off KITT’s voice and start pumping Frank (Just Frank) so that they know I’m smart and worldly. They’ll be like, “Hey Knight Rider, you know about Paris and shit?” And I'll say, "Yeah, I know about Paris."

The Brutal Wave is a champion record, despite the sometimes-pushy depression of tracks that fall late in the album. Kirti and Chris, the duo composing Frank (Just Frank), do well with their album moniker/ homage to the multiple ‘80s wave scenes they hearken back to. The early ‘80s Parisian Cold Wave in particular receives due attention, sounding a lot like today’s chillwave or any wave/gaze/trance in my opinion. But I was a tike at the time, so my Sony Walkmen was mostly churning through Kool Keith and Rick Springfield. What do I know? I know the wave this duo is riding is clean anyway you spin it. They do a top-notch job of zoning you out, and with the exception of one song, “Le Son Du Trottoir,” where an annoyingly upbeat string of French lyrics drowns out a tubular guitar solo and keyboard gallop, The Brutal Wave is pretty much flawless. 

If my mom had caught me sitting in my Volvo smoking pot and listening to Frank (Just Frank), The Smiths, or Joy Division ten years ago instead of Sublime, she probably would have thought I was a deep, emotionally capable teenager with intellectual potential, instead of a proper candidate for another senior year of high school. By William Port Whales

Just quoting the lyrics to Capricorn One’s opening track “Stand” and putting a stick-figure drawing of someone doing something revolutionary for 16 years as a rating would say it all for this album. But that would result in a novel of stick figures, and I want to say more through personal memory. Good Riddance was coupled with the rise of a lot of important movements, all of them denim-clothed phoenixes fueling a mass of angry young men and women like none before. Yet this Santa Cruz, CA, band has served as an anthem for more after-school park fights and T-shirt rippage then anyone, anywhere, forever and ever nevermore.

It’s important to note that some of the greatest tracks by Good Riddance were never released on any of their nine full-length albums. But many were included on the Fat Wreck Chords preview compilations, and these were worth their weight in gold. In most high schools and educational institutions, they were spread hand-to-hand in a speed unmatched by any text message or web video around today. Lead singer Russ Rankin could have spoken up for any cause and the masses of intellectual social outsiders confidently walking the hallways across the country would have leant an ear. One vivid example being the tough conversion to vegetarianism so many youth made that was advocated and inspired by Good Riddance.

Each single or unreleased track chosen for Capricorn One: Singles & Rarities is accompanied by Rankin’s personal insight, and this is just as worthy an element to the collection as the recordings themselves. To deliver so much volume upon the fan is a true compliment from a group that has remained loyal to their listeners, dedicated to stopping social injustice, and committed to being brutally honest about the trials of life. The mark of Good Riddance can be exclaimed like an old friend: “Who? Good Riddance? Yeah, I’ve known them for 16 years.” By William Port Whales

Somewhere On The Golden Coast, the third album by L.A.-based indie rockers The Henry Clay People, can only be described as the soundtrack to a perpetual youth. On songs like “Keep Your Eyes Closed” and “End Of An Empire,” bubbly piano melodies and ‘70s rock-influenced guitar riffs provide a spoonful of sugar to wash down lyrics like “If you think there’s peace in growing old/ Then you’re just repeating what you’re told.” But although there are a few heavy messages laced into the album, Somewhere On The Golden Coast is largely a celebration of youth. It’s a verbalization of all the vaporous, intangible thoughts that swirled around in your head back when you had no idea what life was about and didn’t care. And the band’s matter-of-fact vocal style delivers those ideas in a way that sounds contemplative and unconcerned at the same time.

The Henry Clay People seem to have a direct tap on the minds of a generation, and although they’re certainly not what you’d expect from an L.A. band, they’ve struck gold with their casual and sincere sound. Founded by brothers Joey and Andy Siara, the group aims to create music that is both meaningful and accessible. Joey Siara admits, “Nothing we’re doing is rocket science,” but nonetheless, Somewhere On The Golden Coast has a unique sound that comes across as instantly likeable. And perhaps that’s because it perfectly captures what it means to be young. Listen to their album, and you can’t help but hear it. It’s contented confusion. It’s restlessness and lethargy. It’s the simultaneous hope and despair of a generation at the beginning of a long and winding road. And most importantly, it’s an anthem for everyone who’s ever tried to find his or her place in the world. By Allison Arteaga

Scoping the title of L.A. MC Amad-Jamal’s debut album places it specifically in a Southern California pantheon. But everything you assumed about Amad-Jamal is irrelevant — a mortgage lender by day, he’s been in the hip-hop game since 1992, when Dr. Dre and Ice Cube first took gangsta rap from the corners to the charts. Part of several different forward-thinking L.A. collectives over the years, he co-created Village Entertainment, spent time rapping around New York, performed on D.C.’s vaunted The Lyricist’s Lounge, and attended college in Atlanta with Lil Jon, Speech from Arrested Development, and Saul Williams.

The result of this maddening grab bag of influences is immediately evident on Barely Hangin’ On, which kicks off with thick bass and bombast on “We” before segueing into the quirky organ and female vocal-backed “Rodney King.” Underground hip-hop titans Dilated Peoples offer a swaggering guest spot on “Believe That,” before “Goin’ Postal” contrasts Amad-Jamal’s stressful day job with the perils of life on the streets. Five songs into Barely Hangin’ On, the most obvious aspect that sets it apart is the live instrumentation layered on by Amad and Colonius Funk after the album was recorded — thrumming guitars and rock ‘n’ roll drums add an element of urgency to “Beautiful Hardcore,” while warm jazz bass lines make “The Pros” sound more playful than frightening.

Along those lines, “Stop Fuckin’ Around’s” lush atmospherics could almost soundtrack an indie rock album, if it weren’t for a streetwise tale of growing up submerged in graffiti and drug culture. But for every gritty retelling like “Hood Tales” and “Spread Love,” Amad-Jamal proves he can get downright esoteric on “Boy Meets Girl” and “Regardless.” And “On Point” and “Get Peace” speak to a higher consciousness that west coast hip-hop just isn’t remembered for. In that sense, waiting nearly 20 years for Amad-Jamal’s debut album doesn’t seem all that bad. If he can shake stereotypes and deliver a bumping, intelligent, and masterfully produced record on first try, chances are there’s much more quality where that came from. By Nick McGregor