If you drain the youth and vitality from punk’s ardent nihilism, what creative force remains? Iggy Pop’s latest solo release Preliminaires answers that question: not much.

On Preliminaires, Iggy retains his bleak, cynical outlook, but substitutes goofy French cabaret pop for overdriven guitars. This death-obsessed introspective album is purportedly inspired by Michel Houellebecq’s novel La Possibilité d’une île. It reaches for literary relevance with its café ambience and spoken-word interludes; the album is lounge-ready and laid-back. But the songs are flat, bitter and singularly lacking in poetic sensibility. On “Party Time,” for example, Iggy sings: “It’s party time / And I smell slime. / The stupid people / Make me evil.” On “Spanish Coast,” he exhorts, “Die, die, die / On the Spanish coast. / Die like a clown / with no friends around.” When he’s sneering through Funhouse or cavorting on Raw Power, Iggy’s broad-axe lyrics come across as bold and powerful. But if he isn’t wrecking himself with destructive ardor, we don’t become enraptured by his performance. His words have to stand on their own. Unfortunately, they don’t.

Musically, the album is in shambles. On his cover of “Les Feuilles Mortes,” Iggy intones amour in his nasal Detroit drawl over jazz clarinet and cheesy organ. “I Want to Go to the Beach” plods in two-chord steps through a suicide march to the seaside. “Party Time,” with its ridiculous slap bass and effects-laden beats, sounds like the Garageband tinkering of a Eurotrash dude pimping his Myspace page. The arrangements and engineering aim for menacing but arrive at silly. Occasionally, we catch a glimpse of a thoughtful, introspective artist at work, pushing through to another creative plateau (e.g., “A Machine For Loving,” “How Insensitive”); oftener, though, the old punk pioneer sounds like he’s given up the fight.

Fortunately, at key points when it sounds like moribund Iggy is about to take the final plunge, the album rattles to life. Third song “King of the Dogs” is a New Orleans romp that is both self-deprecating and self-aggrandizing – classic Iggy irony. Fourth song “Je Sais Que Tu Sais” is a Memphis blues boogie, albeit corrupted by aimless synth interjections. Sixth song “Nice To Be Dead,” one of the few tracks with heavy guitar layering, gathers some nice forward momentum. Without these tracks, the album would be lifeless; with them, it’s defibrillated repeatedly.

Preliminaires certainly has interest for rock historians and diehard Iggy Pop fans. The album isn’t unlistenable; but as a work of art held up against Iggy’s entire oeuvre, it is disappointing. Iggy marches on with the same old nihilistic anarchy; but with the guitars turned down and the drums swapped out for bongos, he just comes across as an old narcissistic windbag. His lot in life has made him bitter but not wiser. His difficulties with success have left him bitchy but not humble. A brash, angry youth is stirring. A bitter, silly old man is embarassing.

Cleveland’s Other Girls bring taut melodies and impassioned singing to the drafting table as they lay out their blueprint for better municipal living in their full-length release Perfect Cities. It’s a reasonable project; a city as desiccated as Cleveland could certainly use a rock-and-roll overhaul. Other Girls muster all their energy to rejuvenate the city. They strum and wail with a punky rough-edged flange like the Strokes shook down Band of Horses for booze money, resulting in brilliant, intense pop rock that rarely lets up.

In eleven rolling anthems of self-aware post-adolescent angst, Other Girls pine for escape from youth, adulthood, relationships, and the city tangle of lights and people. Third track “The Long Con” expresses this escapist impulse: “I want to go to a place where no one can drive / I want to see that city where the honest people hide / Can you take me to that place tonight?” The shimmering wall of guitars and optimistic major-key riffs contribute to Other Girls’ vision of a mythic city free of the pollution of human folly. Ultimately, though, they abandon idealist fantasies and reconcile with the responsibilities presented by reality. On “The Facility,” they concede, “We took a shot but that won’t free us / Another empty no good pain / … / We might have chanced to make escape / We’re in this together now and it’s the price we’ll pay.” The stories presented here are personal but universal, local but mythic, and they are backed up by grin-inspiring melodic barrages of ecstasy.

The album is mature in its outlook, but youthful in its energy. And while the energy is infectious, it can be exhausting since it rarely relents. Nevertheless, Cleveland should vote Other Girls for city council. Their vision is invigorating and their performance here provides a fleeting escape from the grind of the burned-out city.

Chicago’s MR RUSSIA don’t exactly offer fabulous rewards or dream vacations on their EP Training For the Gameshow Host, but they do their best to keep the party alive. Instrumentally, the album is powered almost entirely by two basses, garnished only by an occasional keyboard flourish. While a dual-bass ensemble seems like a concept culled from the deleted scenes of This is Spinal Tap, the album mostly remains light on its feet, managing a fair amount of dynamic range given its instrumental constraints.

The songwriting isn’t what you’d call virtuosic. MR RUSSIA’s melodically limited delivery and straightforward singing are grounded in uncomplicated progressions and thick-sliced arrangements. This approach sags in places, as on opener “Wooden Heart.” But its simplicity smolders on “It’s True” and “National Anthem” and ignites on “Fireball.” The orchestration is driving and crisp.

Frontman Ivan’s half-spoken, half-melodic vocals, landing somewhere between Devo and Cake, assert a sexual bravado that is half-credible: “Come on, come on, come on / you know you want it, don’t stop” (“It’s True”); “Good behavior, I could care less / I just want to watch you undress / … / I’ll take you home, get you alone / I’m gonna love you like a fireball” (“Fireball”). The songs predictably follow well-worn alt-punk tropes. While it’s not music for the thinking man, it would be fun to get sloppy to at a pub or party.

But things take a turn for the interesting on the final, title track. The band trades dueling basslines for a lounge-style narrative about, well, a character on his way to becoming a gameshow host. It’s not your everyday rock-song storyline, and while the song doesn’t impart any breakthrough insights, its meaning is ambiguous enough to stimulate the imagination.

Should you buy this album? The question is moot. The band is offering their downloadable album for free on their website (http://www.MrRussia.Net).  Download it, shake your rump to it, raise a pint to it. The price is definitely right.

Alex Greiner’s Rags is a short burst of avant-folk songs. With 5 songs at only 14 minutes, Greiner wanders back and forth between simple folk ditties and a few more ambitious song structures. The EP tends towards a hushed acoustic aesthetic with few surprises. It becomes clear that Greiner is a decent songsmith, but he still makes some missteps on the record.

The EP starts off with the conventional but catchy acoustic lullaby “Jumping into Gym.” A soft-loud (mostly soft) dynamic carries the song with the occasional off-key jolting acoustic riff to see if you’re awake. After a couple of verse-chorus cycles it enters into a trance for a minute or so before surrendering. The song is pretty good but it wouldn’t necessarily stand out much in a line-up of acoustic folk singer-songwriters.

Second song “Dans, Afrikaans” is a dirge disguised by a lively intro. Unfortunately, Greiner switches here to a nasally, styled voice that sounds more like an impression of someone else than an honest voice. The instrumentation is pretty good, waltzing on major-minor chord switches. A simple layer of accordion adds some variety, but nothing will surprise you much given the last 5 Decemberists albums. In the end, the vocals sink what would be a compelling song. It’s a shame — this song would be the best on the EP otherwise.

On the next song, “Out of Water,” you’d be forgiven for thinking there is a brand-new vocalist. In an unaffected, soft voice, Greiner strums through two minutes about a crayfish out of water and ponders the aftermath (“A lesson in every letter / What kind of dad would I be?”).

Just when you get comfortable with that voice, Greiner moves on to more stylized territory. “Quatrain” gives you a quick minute of minimalist community-theatre poetry in the form of as many slant rhymes as possible. The song sits in something of a no man’s land. It isn’t quirky enough to be a They Might Be Giants song, but it is clearly being playful with its language.

Finally, the jazzy “A Journey Spent in Telescope” sounds something like a David Garland song. This is one of the best songs on Rags, but it still feels a bit thin. I’d like to hear some cymbal swells, some snare rolls, something to spark some life into the song. Greiner has an opportunity at the end during a compelling round (“I see a little of myself in that kid / Remind him his place or he’ll go how I did”) as he adds some brass to the equation, but the song peters out just when it had the chance to blossom really nicely.

There’s definitely some creativity exhibited here, but it still needs a little work. What little percussion is there doesn’t add much to keep you awake even in such a short EP. If Greiner can find his voice and a backing band he may be onto something.

Purchase: http://alexgreiner.bandcamp.com/
Myspace: http://www.myspace.com/alexgreiner

The Hard Lessons’ Arms Forest has the Detroit boy-and-girl duo wandering Hansel & Gretel-like into new territory, strewing only a few crumbs of their constrained past behind them. While they have always churned out likeable Detroit-style garage power-pop, such cheap tricks had begun to wear thin. This release is modulated with broader orchestration and more space for frontwoman Korin’s soulful vocals.

The album is bracketed with dreamy, sample-filled acoustic duets. It opens with the salutation “Welcome to where we come true” in “Manoogian Zoo,” a tribute to Detroit, and closes with the wistful “I Can’t Sleep.” Both tracks are intimate and inventive. The album is most brittle with its straightforward power-pop songs: “Made to Last,” “See You Again,” and “Irish Wristwatch,” which are tired and cliché-riddled, are practically cued for a pitch for the CW’s fall lineup. But the Hard Lessons prove their mettle on tracks outside their previous milieu. Besides the low-key opening and closing tracks, Arms Forest boasts several piano-driven ballads that showcase Korin’s luxuriant and mature voice: “Talk it Over” and “Wedding Ring” are simple, beautiful, and engrossing. The album has some great barn-burners too: “The Arms Forest” is sexy, menacing and mean (and owes a lot to the White Stripes); “Sound the Silent Alarm” is loud and messy, surely  an arena-size anthem live; “Tired Straights” is adrenaline-addled fun; “The Memo” is honky-tonk boogie for twenty-something hipsters.

Not all the experimentation is effective. “Roma Termini” is a calculated electro-punk dance song with a flamenco interlude and …robot vocals (!) – a terribly unfortunate choice with such excellent raw material. “St Christopher,” which invokes the patron saint of travel with piano, sax, trumpet and timpani, is a bit of a reach. Still, Arms Forest shows how a band can grow by leaving the garage and having some fun with production.

http://www.thehardlessons.com/

Joan of Arc’s Flowers is a monument of resilience. Though they out to sound like the indie graybeards they (figuratively) are, the members of Joan of Arc manage to remain bright-eyed and fresh-faced on this latest release. As Tim Kinsella proclaims in opener “Fogbow,” “Nothing bounces one’s step like hitting bottom.” Beats that barely hang together and melodies that go where they please prove that creativity can flourish in all circumstances, even as the band itself has undergone constant mutations in its decades of existence. The album plunges between acoustic jams, electronic experimentation and pop weirdness; there is plenty for the ears to latch onto.

The best tracks are sparse melodically but full of perfect ambience, alive like a forest at night. “The Garden of Cartoon Exclamations” wonderfully incorporates choral synchrony, bizarre wordsmithing and sparse piano plinks that give way to richly textured guitar wails. “Fasting” and “Fable of the Elements” play with found sounds and simple structures that tickle the ear and refresh the palate. “Explain Yourselves #2” kicks in with a singular guitar stutter, and Kinsella’s voice is still youthful and fresh as he sings, “No one wants to die with a couple hundred bucks still stuck in the sock drawer.” That’s the key to this album: Why hold things in reserve? Flowers tosses it all in with abandon.

Are the lyrics often incomprehensible? Are the extended acoustic tracks at times self-indulgent, bottom-heavy and directionless? Yes. But the album is a reminder of the joy of creation. These artists who have started over time and again remain fresh and loose.

http://www.joanfrc.com/

According to their Myspace page, the Safes are a “gospel/hardcore/power-pop” band from Chicago consisting of the O’Malley brothers (Frankie, Michael, and Patrick) and drummer David Suycott. I’m not hearing the gospel influence, but I can say that on their latest EP, Sight of All Light, they’re at their best when they stick to punk/power-pop songs.

The EP starts off with the excellent title track. It’s easily the best song on the release and features an undeniable chorus that would fit perfectly on a Superdrag album. Second track “Troublemaker,” whose verse is a vintage ‘77 punk snarl that morphs into a half-time deconstructed surf-rock chorus, more or less keeps pace. The EP loses momentum on “The Sky is Falling,” however, thanks to an uninspired CB radio vocal effect and lack of a memorable hook. But things definitely improve on fourth song “Greed.” Had Rancid circa …And Out Come the Wolves decided to drop the white boy reggae (you’re not the Clash, ok?) and gotten a singer you could actually understand, this would be the likely result (for the record, I still listen to that album when I want to remember getting wasted at high school bonfires. There goes my cred…).  The EP wraps up with “Unlock the Mystery,” which suffers the same problems as “The Sky is Falling” minus the CB radio vocal effect (thanks!). The Safes show promise on this 12-minute EP despite two aimless songs. They should continue to play to their strengths: hook-heavy, power-pop punk.

http://www.myspace.com/thesafesmusic

On their forthcoming album So Much for Romance, brother and sister Ben and Sarah Cohen weave immaculately conceived harmonies into shimmering vistas of love lost. With bandmate Sam Woldenberg, the siblings make up the Toledo, Ohio band The Antivillains. Their new album is nostalgic but ahistorical, old-timey but fresh. At times, they co-opt the close harmonies and pop-jazz sensibility of the Zombies (“So Much for Romance,” Emily”); elsewhere, they exude a rootsy American folk vibe (the glissando vocals of “Weightless,” the slide guitar on “The Only Sound,” or the Slim Pickens-tested and Quentin Tarantino-approved “I Can’t Fall Asleep”). They blend these influences with textured hooks and energetic indie rock a la The Pixies, a comparison suggested by not only the boy-girl vocals but also by the bacchanalian exuberance of tracks like “Don’t Get Excited” and “To Be the One.” The Antivillains’ yesteryear tendencies and contemporary smarts make for an album that is both surprising and quite familiar.

We received an advanced copy of So Much for Romance that is still unmastered, but the album’s incomplete production does not obscure the band’s talent. In fact, if the album has a weakness, it is that there are too few loose ends. Even the wall-of-feedback moments are masterfully engineered. But So Much for Romance is not cold or antiseptic. It is permeated with humid dreamscapes and bright aural sunrises.

The Antivillains plan a July release show at Frankie’s in Toledo ( www.frankiesinnercity.com) and a supporting tour.

http://www.myspace.com/theantivillains

Night shall eat these girls and boys.’ Where Your Interests Lie is an exercise in intimacy, as disconcerting as it is inviting. “When we are alone/ I feel anxious and weird,” sings Willy Skillets in the title track; “/… / It’s so hard to be near you / when I know who you are.” His vulnerable voice and close-to-the-bone confessions lend humanity to a soundscape driven mainly by synths and drum machines. His lyrics are dense and syntactically challenging, but well worth unpacking.

For this record, Willy is joined by brother Alex Lopez and multi-instrumentalist Austin Hermann, although the live lineup is a matter of chance and circumstance. They  incorporate synth, guitar, electronic beats, trumpet, whistling, and what sounds like pebbles falling on cardboard. The songs veer between sparse melodic musing and synth-drenched jouissance.  Mostly reserved, the album invites you inside with whispered words and then wallops you with outbursts of polyphony. On the title track, the guitar lilts along in 5/4 time, until it explodes into a shouted “whoa-ohh” bridge. “Mammoth Beat” delivers a wordless (but not voiceless) pulsating dance tune, without the cock and bull of your average synth rock anthem. On “slowdance”, the guitar chimes and bubbles like the soundtrack to a PBS documentary on Jacques Cousteau. “Zip Zap Zup” rocks out, a Gameboy waltz with a theremin-freakout ending.

The last track, “Lily and I”, stands out. It is simple but nuanced, untangling a damaged relationship: “Lily and I are learning becoming friends / We do this by keeping very far away / we’ve already yelled and kicked and cursed / our drinking throats devoid of thirst / and now that’s done / I’ve found the silence left to be much worse.” The song captures Night shall eat these girls and boys.’ modus operandi: smart melodies propel self-aware lyrics while odd arrangements interject to raise questions and wreak havoc. Where Your Interests Lie is an intriguing listen by a promising songwriter.

http://www.myspace.com/thesegirlsandboys