Nowadays we’re so used to the ubiquitous warmed-over nod to past pop forms that Swift’s out-and-out motown or vaudeville sounds can be bracing, especially encountered back-to-back as they are laid out here. But they are also transporting, straight lines back to Abbey Road and Tin Pan Alley. Even under the perhaps unfair impression that Richard Swift is merely playing Dr. Frankenstein on this album, we want to hear more from the monster he’s sewn together using lost limbs of disparate pop genres. more ›

The Kills play rock with the sustained tension of a chain smoker in the long moment just after a drag and before exhalation. This duo of Alison “VV” Mosshart and Jamie “Hotel” Hince strip British indie down to its indispensables—those being his and hers guitars, a drum machine (get over it), and rebellious disaffection involving the occasional Dostoyevsky reference. more ›