The idea that this album falls into the “harder rock” category is either arguable or inarguable, depending on your take on what exactly “harder rock” is. Renowned music journalist Chuck Klosterman makes a valid argument that all metal and most rock is spawned from Led Zeppelin — he also argues using footnotes, and I’m a fan of both traits. If you agree with the Led Zeppelin family tree, then this would make sense, because Maserati is speed-injected raw power with a fuzzy umbrella of electronic synth. Plus they’re damn fast, which is appropriate, since I like to imagine looking like the men who drive Maserati sports cars, and Maserati the band sound like the music I would like to listen to while riding with a man driving a Maserati sports car¹.

I know that this sounds very much like a go-to metaphor, but I don’t give a shit, because Pyramid Of The Sun is very interesting, and I would very much like to be seated next to a Ed Hardy enthusiast/ real-estate development tycoon wearing a goatee in a two-door GranTurismo while listening to it, if only for a moment, because I don’t care what anyone thinks. Yet there is a much more interesting piece of information gathered from this album: no one sings on it. That’s right, Pyramid Of The Sun is instrumental and fully engaging, even without voice.

I hate to be sentimental or overly triumphant in a review, but I feel Maserati deserves some over-the-top praise, even if I run the risk of sounding like an idiot in retrospect². Pyramid Of The Sun is completely different. It sounds like the future. Actually, it sounds more like the noise a DeLorean might make if you cracked the window while the speedometer topped out during time travel. In that sense, possible fans include scientists, wild animals, and Michael J. Fox. It is also sad but important to note the passing of drummer Jerry Fuchs, who fell to his death during the recording of this album. Before this happened, though, he managed to contribute the drummer’s equivalent of Michael Jordan’s free-throw line slam-dunk on the final track. Maserati is, was, and remains fantastic. By Will Tunstall

1. Maserati the band looks nothing like the men you would see driving a Maserati sports car.  They look like very normal, very friendly men who would ride in a van and otherwise drive environmentally sensible sedans or muscle cars from the 1970s. They are also from Athens, GA, and none of the members own major real-estate developments.

2. I won’t.

What do you get when you cross UK grime, house, electro, fringe-hop, club, and dubstep music? No, not Stereo MCs — that was soooo 1992 — and no, not Prodigy — that was soooo 1996 (although, sadly, they have been putting out new tunes as of late). So where does that leave us? Well, add in the fact that there is absolutely nothing new on this album save for a few bleeps and cross fades, and we’re left with one big remix of 250 songs celebrating the 20th anniversary of Ninja Tune Records, all clocking in at a stately 74 minutes.

Dylan Richards, the “ninja” behind King Cannibal and the Ninja Tune operation, brings a hearty offering of grimy, UK-sounding electronica from both his catalog and that of Ninja Tune’s many club hits. Much like the way Girl Talk paved the way for mash-ups, King Cannibal elaborates the formula with a drum ‘n’ bass slant, while adding a bit more club bounce and Brit-hop feel. There are way too many artists on this bangers ‘n’ mash mix to list, but here’s just a few to whet your appetite: Diplo, Thunderheist, Poirier, DJ Shadow, Kid Koala, Wiley, Hexstatic, Spank Rock, The Qemists, Roots Manuva, King Cannibal, etc. Get the drift? 

This is not your Modern Collective and subsequent soundtrack biter’s electro, or even your downtown Orlando, post-Surf Expo club music. This is what’s happening overseas in dark London clubs, and as such has a much more dirty, visceral feel to it. If you have ADD and enjoy mixing Red Bulls with your daily injection of eight-balls, then this album might feel a little too shoegaze-y for you. Otherwise, your head might explode spontaneously if you listen to The Way Of The Ninja with those nice headphones that have subwoofers built into them, just like in 1981’s Scanners, all juicy and bloody-like. By Peter Viele

For a free download of a five-minute The Way Of The Ninja mini-mix, visit
www.ninjatune.net/thewayoftheninja

It’s hard to pin down exactly what Franz Nicolay is all about. Former keyboard player for epic indie rock titans The Hold Steady. Accordion-wielding member of circus-punk collective World/Inferno Society. Co-founder of Continental klezmer-jazz outfit Guignol. Organizer of New York’s Anti-Social Music, which aims to destroy the traditional boundary between classical music composers and their audience. You can go ahead and add prolific singer/songwriter to that puzzling list as well, because Nicolay’s third solo album, Luck & Courage, is an intriguing, lyrically adept journey through the far-flung influences that make up modern indie rock.

There’s the heartfelt, slightly ironic ballad “Felix & Adelita,” whose namesakes show up throughout the album. Squeals of horns and pounding drums on the titanic “Have Mercy.” Tenderly plucked banjos and washes of country-drenched pedal steel majesty on “This Is Not A Pipe.” “My Criminal Uncle” unleashes a foot-tapping, piano-pounding melody on unsuspecting listeners, mixing Franz Nicolay’s rapid-fire vocal inflections with the kind of massive rock chops that made bands like The Hold Steady and The National famous. And then, just as unexpectedly, “Z For Zachariah” quietly calls to mind The Mountain Goats’ brand of spoken-word folk-rock.

More biblical imagery follows on “Job 35:10” — maybe Franz was a fan of John Darnielle’s last album, The Life Of The World To Come? — but the moments on Luck & Courage that really stand out are the brooding piano numbers “James Mansor Redeemed” and “The Last Words Of Gene Autry” and the hopeful “Anchorage (New Moon Baby).” That latter song and the title track that follows perfectly personify Franz Nicolay’s inimitable ability to wrap stunning storytelling in bright, catchy chops — something the often-experimental musician has been accused of neglecting in the past. It might take a few listens to fully feel at home with Luck & Courage, but it’s worth the effort: one day, we might look back and say, “Damn, Franz Nicolay was a hell of an artist!” So let’s not neglect him while he’s still here. By Nick McGregor

For a free download of “This Is Not A Pipe,” visit www.franznicolay.com/thisisnotapipe.mp3

Considering that this is a concept album about a dark work of fiction addressing a metaphoric jungle encroaching on the African landscape and the treatment of leprosy by a 19th-century physician, I don’t think you’re going to find Locrian doing lyrical content about groupies with belly-button rings or how much Jagermeister they can drink in a night. That means that this is a different type of metal — minus the shit that makes metal great, plus the shit that makes metal interesting. It is a fact that angry people are usually the types drawn to metal. But intelligent folks quite often are, as well. I do however have a question about the endless offspring of alloys that classify clearly different music with distinctly different objectives.

Locrian isn’t my cup of tea, but that doesn’t give me the right to ignore the fact that they impress a lot of people. All I can say is that personally, The Crystal World is a drudging headache for someone who doesn’t really know about recent progressions in metal. It does sound like what I imagine is the exact audio equivalent of a jungle’s vines and the pangs of leprosy simultaneously blowing out of my eye sockets after eating my skull’s interior, so points scored there. The explosion would also be like a small campfire, because it is incredibly slow and anti-climactic. 

This is why I love metal. But everyone who listens to real metal is probably more qualified to listen to it than myself — it’s like the person who will never love me no matter how hard I try to win their heart. Basically, I apparently understand this shit less than anyone, so it bores me. But I fully intend to understand metal by the time this review is posted. I was thrown a curveball this week, and I actually wrote the entire Maserati review preceding this one thinking they were the metal band I was reviewing. But they aren’t metal — they are rock ‘n’ roll. Upon realizing this, I felt it was better to just let it go and agree to learn as much as I could about Locrian and “doom metal dark ambience” in the next few days. I hope you’ll do the same. By Will Tunstall