In today’s indie rock-dominated world, “alternative rock” is nothing more than a disparaging descriptor, a throwback to the grungy ‘90s when crunchy guitars ruled supreme, hipsters were still wholesome toddlers, and synthesizers were basically illegal in all 50 states. But before alt-rock came to describe bands as different as Nirvana, Stone Temple Pilots, and Soundgarden, there was Dinosaur Jr., the legendary Massachusetts trio that laid the foundation for so much of late-20th-century guitar rock with their seminal late-‘80s albums Bug and You’re Living All Over Me.

Well, in case you’ve been sleeping under a rock while listening to nothing but MGMT — J. Mascis, Lou Barlow, and Murph reconvened in 2005 and released their first distorted album of brilliance in 10 years with 2007’s Beyond. That album kicked ass, but it’s got nothing on this year’s Farm, Dinosaur Jr.’s first for esteemed indie label Jagjaguwar. The boys redefine the term “power trio” on blistering opener “Pieces,” which finds Mascis’ definitive guitar solos crying wildly over a punishing rhythm assault from Barlow on bass and Murph on drums. Lead single “I Want You To Know” staggers woozily behind Mascis’ evocative, decidedly “alt-rock” lyrics, while “Ocean In The Way” stands as the closest thing to a weepy ballad Dinosaur Jr. has ever produced… even though it still rocks the fuck out.

More than anything else, that is the band’s M.O.: high-gain guitar riffs that simultaneously bludgeon and caress, drums that pound, rollick, and penetrate, and understated bass lines that hold the whole shebang together. “Your Weather” adds a bit of postmodern angularity — and an opportunity for Barlow to flex his vocal skills — while “Over It’s” wailing languor could serve as the perfect slacker anthem for the 1980s, or the 2000s. “Said The People” downshifts into bluesy territory, but true to Dinosaur Jr. form, it explodes halfway into its eight-minute running time with another trademark J. Mascis guitar solo. The Library of Congress should consider gathering the white-haired frontman’s guitar work into an archived time capsule — as Farm demonstrates, nobody can pluck more hard-rock emotion out of six strings. By Nick McGregor

For a bunch of dudes from Alaska-by-way-of-Portland, OR, The Builders & The Butchers have the Southern Gothic/creepy bluegrass/blood-curdling Americana thing down pat. Their sophomore album, Salvation Is A Deep Dark Well, doesn’t traffic in the feel-good folk you may find from similar revivalists like Old Crow Medicine Show, instead focusing on the more demonic and twisted side of America’s musical heritage.

“Golden And Green” starts the dark journey off with insistent mandolins and tortured violins, setting the gloomy tone for the album to come as jaunty percussion and cryptically Biblical lyrics like “You’re tied up to the cross/’cause your life ain’t worth the nail” come barreling through on “Devil Town.” Harmonicas lend eerie weight to lead singer Ryan Sollee’s phantom wail on “Short Way Home,” which eventually digresses into the apocalyptic ether, all soaring background vocals and plunking banjos. “Barcelona” could easily become an indie-rock masterpiece, as horns and complex time signatures combine to explode with fury before barroom piano introduces the urgent “Down In This Hole.”

“Raise Up Your Weary Hands” laments the presence of “blood in the water” and “brothers killing brothers,” relying on unique instrumentation brought to the table by producer Chris Funk of The Decemberists to reach a fever pitch. I don’t know whether The Builders & The Butchers occupy the same haunted world they evoke so spectacularly on Salvation Is A Deep Dark Well, but if they keep churning out powerful fare like sing-along album closer “The World Is A Top,” they might just emerge from the shadows to dominate the normally halfhearted and happy-go-lucky Americana world. By Nick McGregor

Brooklyn singer/songwriter Chris Garneau’s construction of carnival-esque windings, pitter-pat percussion, and grand orchestral tinkering forms a well-organized, catchy, and simultaneously chaotic mash-up on sophomore album El Radio. Introducing tracks like “Dirty Night Clowns” and “Fireflies” with varying piano/organ pops and uplifting circus noises allows Garneau’s eerie vocal range to sound somewhat cheering.

As a Parisian tot and Berklee College pupil, Chris Garneau developed impressive talents on both the keys and in the throat, allowing him to bubble wrap his broad work around somewhat simplistic lyrical subject matter. Delightful confusion seems to be the aim on El Radio, especially on songs like “Home Town Girls” and the playful “No More Pirates,” making for an album which sounds like a toddler masterwork from Beethoven, had he been born in 1988 in a traveling fair from fictional Narnia with knowledge of how to use the F-word — in short, a serious compliment for Garneau. Quickly judgmental listeners beware, because the puppet strings moving El Radio to and fro are made out of pillow talk. And general softness quickly places Chris Garneau’s second full-length in the “love or hate” wing of the art gallery. By Will Tunstall

Scottish indie rock has formed its own mini-niche alongside musical cousins down London way. Perhaps because of a long history of subjugation at the hands of the English, though, bands like We Were Promised Jetpacks possess a harder edge and sharper power than their snarkier, more cosmopolitan British counterparts. Of course, it doesn’t help WWPJ to share a label (and, this summer, a tour) with fellow Glaswegians Twilight Sad and Frightened Rabbit — all three also share an affinity for anthemic vocals, brogue-heavy accents, and sweeping layers of theatrical instruments.

These Four Walls finds WWPJ at their best on urgent post-punk tracks like “It’s Thunder And It’s Lightning,” “Quiet Little Voices,” and the pummeling “Ships With Holes Will Sink.” Tender moments do occur, most successfully on the brooding “Conductor,” the sensitive “This Is My House, This Is My Home,” and acoustic album closer “A Almighty Thud.” “Moving Clocks Run Slow” unabashedly pays tribute to early-‘80s bands like Joy Division and New Order, but the jagged and ferocious “Short Bursts” may be WWPJ’s best moment. These Four Walls isn’t going to change the indie-rock world, but it’s a solid debut that proves We Were Promised Jetpacks has plenty of Highlands-inspired room to grow. By Nick McGregor