Naming your band after a famed track from Echo & The Bunnymen is a pretty good indication of what you’re trying to sound like. Fortunately for the San Diego duo Crocodiles, it’s a worthy fit, as the moping rockers fill the speakers with their blend of Kraut-rock, punk, psych, and shoegaze with a distinctly vintage vibe, not too dissimilar to some of the great gothic bands of the ‘80s. Sleep Forever, Crocodiles’ sophomore release, has a much more cohesive feel than their first effort, Summer Of Hate, most likely due to Simian Mobile Disco frontman James Ford adding a touch of direction as their new producer.

With Jesus And Mary Chain and Echo & The Bunnymen being the obvious corollaries to their influences, the more subtle and modern comparisons might be linked with A Place To Bury Strangers or The Brian Jonestown Massacre. But there’s also quite a bit of dub infused with the organ and hollow-body guitar work found on Sleep Forever that separates Crocodiles into a category all their own.  “Mirrors” immediately sounds like JMC, “Stoned To Death” shoegazes its dubby little melody listlessly, “Hollow Hollow Eyes” is a Horrors-esque creepy organ jam, and “Hearts Of Love’s” twangy pop refrain and anthemia feel completely different and will probably be the breakout hit for these guys.

Sleep Forever is the type of album that stands the test of time. With all of the treatments and wide-ranging sounds, it’s still dirty rock ‘n’ roll. And there’s always room for more of that… kind of like Jell-O. By Peter Viele

Vincent Kircher, Austin Dutmer, Andrew Harris, and Ryan Adams have the funniest and most appropriate official press release I have read to date. Their music together as Jaill is described as a sound that will bring sweat to the ankles of women’s feet after they shake their asses just so hard. I don’t want to follow up such a divine wordsmith with my janky interpretation of music I technically know only a fraction about, since fraction is a mathematical and technical term that signifies only the portion I know.

But a small group of folks living in Milwaukee are actually listening to bands from Milwaukee, and three out of four of these people are former bassists for Jaill. I imagine most other Milwaukeeans are spending their allotted music time instead listening to Gucci Mane, gradually slipping into “Gucci Time” and as a result slowly falling asleep after drinking too much drizzle. Alice Cooper eloquently described the history of Milwaukee’s name in Wayne’s World and I think eloquent is the proper way to describe Jaill’s newest full-length That’s How We Burn.

The sound of The Shins yields memories of an introduction for hundreds of thousands of college students to the sound of soft intelli-rock. And the sound of Jaill yields memories of The Shins for anyone else who has heard them pitch their goods. The way things pan out is like this: Jaill sounds great and every punctual note is pre-planned and well placed. These guys have a profound ability to translate grit into groove and pull it off with an edge. Hearkening back to days of Weezer triumph and ska rebellion while making your ears feel like they are full of finely ground sand, That’s How We Burn is as edgy as the jerk dance and as laid back as the drizzle. Everything about it will make your ankles sweat. By Will Tunstall

Some bands stick around for years never making their way to radio-friendly or MTV-sellout status. Blonde Redhead is such a band. Comprised of lead vocalist Kazu Makino and twin brothers Simone and Amedeo Pace, Blonde Redhead has made solid artistic music since the early 1990s. Calling New York City home, this trio accurately represents NYC’s artsy/ fashionista/ blasé culture through their music. Penny Sparkle sees the band jumping on the bandwagon and embracing a more electronic sound than on their past albums, and this fact seems ironic considering the electro-dream pop record got its name from a large, fleshy horse Makino became acquainted with at an upstate New York stable.

Blonde Redhead approached Penny Sparkle differently than with its past albums by working in a more intensely collaborative relationship with rising Swedish production duo Van Rivers and The Subliminal Kid (aka Henrik von Sivers and Peder Mannerfelt). And Blonde Redhead stuck to the same emotions and essence of its past music, but updated their sound. The band’s new and more textured product is easily identifiable on the album’s opening track “Here Sometimes.” A mysteriously snappy drumbeat begins before Makino’s ethereal and at times indistinguishable vocals float into consciousness like early morning mist: “But the day we watched the sun go down/ But I can see the light grow fainter/ You want to stay with me/ People will save me,” Makino sings without emotion or conscience. The track steadily builds, as a shockingly tasteful concoction of digitally produced noise layers on top of the steady drum splashes. The chorus arrives smoother than the classiest of con artists giving off a subdued, introspective dance feel. It’s as if you want to dance, but you become stuck in cyclical pondering: why do I want to dance? Is it really worth it? Should I bust out the sprinkler?

Blonde Redhead hit their best on Penny Sparkle with the dark ode to Norway “Oslo.” Tellingly, Van Rivers and The Subliminal Kid’s electronic influence seems most subdued, and a repetitive, simple riff of ringing notes and another strong, unique beat drives the song. Blonde Redhead continues the same surgical precision of song composition but limits the layering, and Makino’s vocals are also more solid, making the whole thing more appealing. Blonde Redhead should look to the accomplishment of “Oslo” as a sign of how to better their future music. Most of Penny Sparkle’s other tracks are too distant and complicated, and the result is a technically perfect trip through a mind nearly devoid of excitement. In its quest to create a new masterpiece, Blonde Redhead forgot art’s greatest aspect: its unpredictability. By Alex Lemonde-Gray