BIG BOI
SIR LUCIOUS LEFT FOOT: THE SON OF CHICO DUSTY
DEF JAM

I can scarcely remember life before Outkast. When Southernplayalisticadillacfunkymusic dropped in 1993 I was just out of high school, living in my first apartment, surrounded by couch-hopping knuckleheads, blunt wrappers and empty 40-ounce bottles. That record is the soundtrack of my life at that time. Going back to it now documents the early to mid-90s better than any photo album ever could – Big Boi and Andre’s rapid-fire back and forth yapping and the big bottom beats on that particular record still have the ability to transport me. The duo took off from that point, as everyone knows, culminating in Grammy wins and universal adoration for their 2003 split personality opus Speakerboxx/The Love Below. We’ve heard little from either of them since; one disastrous movie project aside (Idlewild...shudder) this official first solo release from Big Boi is the first legitimate effort to emerge from the Dungeon Family in nearly a decade. Thankfully (and I say that in as brutally ecstatic a manner as I possibly can), Sir Lucious Left Foot: The Son of Chico Dusty is entirely worthy of its placement in Outkast’s brilliant canon. This is a flat out masterpiece. It’s early, and I’m a little excited, but I’ve been telling people it’s better than Speakerboxx with a straight face and I continue to stand by that. There are more than enough dynamite guest appearances (Janelle Monae, Vonnegut, Too Short, Yelawolf) but the highlight of every stinking track is Antwan “Big Boi” Patton himself. His rhymes dip and drop all over these beats, stopping and starting with the flip of a phrase, offering bawdy braggadocio without ever resorting to that drug-rap nonsense or old man told-you-so’s. First and foremost, this shit is funky – emphasis on the “fun-” part. Most of you have heard “Shutterbug” already; it has, I reckon, caused a certain amount of rump-shaking to occur in your house, as it has mine. Sleepy Brown drops by on “Turns Me On” and nearly out-smooves the legendary performance he gave on Speakerboxx’s “The Way You Move.” It’s a bouncing, banger of a jam. "Be Still" and “Shine Blockas" make honest, winning attempts at emotional resonance, a path usually avoided in modern hip-hop. Andre 3000 is suspiciously absent throughout, though he has collaborated with Patton on a couple of recent singles that are seriously worth getting your hands on (“Royal Flush” and “Lookin For Ya”). Fuck Jive records for making us wait so long to hear something this fantastic… – Andrew Watson

KORN
III: REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE
ROADRUNNER

Nu-metal godfathers Korn take a step back from the foggy digital departure of their more atmospheric last album, 2007’s Untitled – or Korn II, as it’s called by fans – and reunite with producer Ross Robinson, who worked on the band’s raw first two discs. Even nine albums and 17 years in, this cathartic simplicity just feels right. And the album does exactly as it promises: it remembers. It isn’t a bunch of middle-aged guys with back problems trying to kick it in their worn-out Adidas, imitating their past selves; it is a band living up to their history by turning their grizzled, grown-up confusion (“Are You Ready To Live?”) into an emotional, growling guitar onslaught echoing the fury of their youth. – Eric Mitts

MIA
/\/\/\Y/\
N.E.E.T. RECORDINGS/XL/INTERSCOPE

Naming her new album after herself (/\/\/\Y/\ being typeset for Maya), M.I.A., aka Maya Arulpragasam, indulges more in her current industrial influences than the world-electro-fusion of her first two albums, named after her parents. Or, to put it simply, /\/\/\Y/\ hits hard. That’s nothing new for M.I.A., whose biggest hit (2007’s “Paper Planes”) made its hook out of gunshot samples, so the guitar-riff-friendly, noise-based stuff like the power-tooled bass implosion of “Steppin Up” or “Meds and Feds” shouldn’t shock. Although they do awkwardly contrast with M.I.A.’s other move toward her recently acquired mainstream audience, as the reggae lilt of “Lovalot” and the conventional club styling of “XXXO” somewhat temper her radical politics and still fearlessly collaborative beats (“Born Free,” etc.). – EM

WILD NOTHING
GEMINI
CAPTURED TRACKS

Jack Tatum hails from Virginia but a casual listen to his brand of aching pop-rock would suggest he grew up in Manchester or Belfast or somewhere else dismal and affected. He takes a refreshingly lazy, secondary approach to vocals, which I respect greatly, and his compositions shift from Pavement shag (“Live In Dreams”) to John Hughes ‘80s (“Drifter”) to an electro-La Tengo kind of drone (“Bored Games”) without ever losing the cleansing sheen of misery and longing. For a record as blatantly European sounding as this to come out of Virginia, of all places, is somewhat remarkable. This is a great background summer record – the perfect choice for a poolside barbecue. Sounds crazy, I know.` – AW

IN THIS MOMENT
A STAR-CROSSED WASTELAND
CENTURY MEDIA

Opening with the relentless firepower of lead single “The Gun Show,” In This Moment lay waste to any claim that they’ve gotten soft. The song’s vulgar display of power, led by vocalist Maria Brink’s gut-wrenching screech, doesn’t go for the guttural, gender-confusing lows of the band’s debut, but definitely sounds like she woke up on the wrong side of the bed after their lighter last album, The Dream. Leveling the battlefield between both, Wasteland picks up the best pieces from each. Lots of layered vocals, including more backing shouts from the boys in the band, along with a pronounced piano presence (the absolutely amazing finale “World In Flames”) add a shock-and-awe array to the band’s awesome arsenal of mixed-melodic metalcore. – EM

WAVVES
KING OF THE BEACH
FAT POSSUM

Nathan Williams’ debut record really was an awful thing to behold. What made it worse was the maddening hype and hoopla that pushed the thing, the contrived online indie fanaticism; at the time it seemed to be hovering over every two-bit lo-fi bedroom rocker in the country. The backlash was inevitable. Williams, it seems, is indifferent. King of the Beach, while decidedly more engaging than its predecessor, treads a vaguely similar path. The songs, thank goodness, are much stronger. The title track is skuzzy skate-punk perfection; think Trash Brats, circa 2010. I know the kid probably doesn’t deserve the shitstorm that’s been thrown at him, but his skin is surprisingly thick. – AW

THE ACORN
NO GHOST
BELLA UNION

In 2008, I heard a record by an obscure Canadian outfit called The Acorn. I was sold by a gushing review I had read somewhere and made a point of ordering the thing, fully prepared for the letdown that I usually experience when I purchase a record without actually hearing any of it. Long story short: I heard it, loved it, played it for everyone I knew, and loudly proclaimed it to be my favorite record of that year. Glory Hope Mountain, it’s called, and I still listen to the damn thing on a near-weekly basis – a gorgeous, magnificent collection of songs. The Acorn makes music that borrows equally from a number of different genres – folk, R&B, afrobeat and bluegrass among them. Lead singer/songwriter Rolf Klausener’s thin, pleading delivery plays the perfect foil to his mates’ confident, capable arrangements. The album itself told the story of Klausener’s grandmother and her frightening exodus from Honduras, capturing with a haunting accuracy the fear and struggle she suffered through to ensure her family’s survival. It’s pretty powerful stuff, and for me to expect the band to ever top it would have seemed highly unlikely. That’s not to say that No Ghost is a better record than GHM, but it certainly ranks. It’s definitely a much different record. No Ghost is, by all accounts, a guitar album. There is no narrative linking the songs, no story being told. There are several moments of loud syncopation, the kind of thing that popped up ever-so-rarely in the past. “Bobcat Goldwraith” plays like a lost Crazy Horse outtake, the least likely of any of Neil Young’s incarnations that I would have previously expected to be drawing comparisons to. “Crossed Wires,” written and sung by bassist Jeff Debutte, is an unexpected pop detour – catchy enough for college radio. I am so impressed not just with these guys’ ability to genre-hop, but in the ease they display doing so. Nothing is forced. The delicate songs come plaintive and unwrapped while the busier ones burst open like rhythm and fire. This band has quietly delivered two of the finest records of the last half decade. It’s as if the Canadians (and I generalize with the utmost respect and admiration) don’t seem as preoccupied with the machismo, grandstanding or whatever else seems to eventually derail the bulk of their American and European counterparts...as if they’re content with simply producing beautiful art. I’ld thank them personally, if given the chance. – AW

THE ROOTS
HOW I GOT OVER
DEF JAM

I questioned the Roots’ decision to act as Jimmy Fallon’s houseband. It seemed a silly cash grab at the time, particularly for a band as accomplished and revered as the Roots. What I didn’t account for was the cross-pollination effect. With the Roots backing every single musical act that plays Fallon, the opportunity for future, album-worthy collaborations was inevitable. How I Got Over is a fantastic album (naturally) that benefits greatly from a few unlikely, indie-centric guest spots. Jim James, Joanna Newsom and members of the Dirty Projectors all lend their considerable talents to the project, to wonderful effect. Nobody else pulls this off, trust me. The Roots are unfreakingtouchable. – AW

NEW POLITICS
NEW POLITICS
RCA

For the sake of clarification, punk-rap trio New Politics doesn’t do anything new, and they aren’t really political. The Denmark-by-way-of-Brooklyn-based band doesn’t get any more ideologically insightful than the title to their ultra-catchy lead single “Yeah Yeah Yeah” suggests, but they’re far from the worst batch of post-emo bros doing their best Beastie Boys impersonations. Borrowing the Bloodhound Gang’s retro synth-cheese, without their vulgar sleaze, New Politics get by on their performance more than their music. The energy and enjoyment lead vocalist David Boyd and guitarist/vocalist Søren Hansen have for the simplicity of what they’re doing (“Burn,” in particular ignites instantaneously), along with the propulsive power of drummer Poul Amaliel, make up for the heard-it-before three-chord choruses and mediocre rhymes. – EM

ARIEL PINK’S HAUNTED GRAFFITI
BEFORE TODAY
4AD

Ariel Pink will never be mistaken for mainstream. His music features the kind of purely lo-fi aesthetic that will always confuse the masses, but for the Before Today sessions, he’s opted for a much more sophisticated approach to the recordings. The results are a marked improvement upon his older stuff. “Round and Round” and “Can’t Hear My Eyes” occupy an engaging late-70s early-80s headspace and are among the most hummable tracks in his catalogue. “Butt-House Blondies” not only boasts the year’s best song title, but its most face-melting guitar solo as well. The rampant oddities may turn a lot of you off, but the vividly imaginative will cling tightly to these songs. – AW

THE MAINE
BLACK & WHITE
ACTION THEORY/FEARLESS/SIRE

Wrapped together with the Warped Tour, The Maine has gotten mislabeled as a pop-punk band. Make no mistake; on their major label debut these guys polish up so much their pop-rock sparkles without a glint of an edge. Obviously influenced by bouncy late ‘90s pop-rockers like SR-71 and Third Eye Blind – and appropriately teaming with Butch Walker (in writing “Right Girl”) — The Maine have made a likeable but lame, musical equivalent to a summer romantic-comedy movie. Girlfriends will openly admit to loving the harmless yet charming harmonies (“Fuel To The Fire”), while boyfriends will secretly enjoy the sing-along-able sentimentality of it all (“Every Road”). Just get ready to hear “Growing Up” at about every high school graduation come next year. – EM