Originally released in 1970, this album by Detroit's Sixto Rodriguez sank without a trace domestically, but curiously hit it big with listeners in Australia and South Africa. Cold Fact bears a Dylan/Donovan influence, and was co-produced by great Motown session guitarist Dennis Coffey. Kicking off with dreamy acid-folk rock of "Sugar Man", a paean to a drug dealer, and the fuzz guitar crunch of the searing putdown "Only Good For Conversation", this disc bitterly reflects the harsh comedown of the hippie hangover. Caustic, socially conscious songwriting and hard-bitten vocals, along with some lovely orchestration, make for a lost classic well worth rediscovering.

Part One in the threatened "Thank Your Parents" triptych first lays an almost Spacemen 3-like groove down, flattening out at the 5-minute mark just in time for some tuneful bass/guitar unison lines to peek out from the distorted drum thicket. Gusts of wrecked speakers then blow across the stereo field for the even slower, even dronier second part, where singing drifts in for a spell before breaking off in a fried-synth clipped motorik for the third and final fifteen-minute stretch. Honestly not likely to win many new converts, Preteen Weaponry still does a great job of showing off the ever-expanding, self-sufficent psych studio skills of these by-now old-school Brooklynites. 

With a note-perfect name and pedigree to match (two ex-Deadly Snakes, the drummer from recently-disbanded hardcore heroes Cursed, and a member of prickly punks No No Zero on bass), Quest For Fire has already amassed a fair amount of infamy in the past year, impressing much of this town's psych-savvy with a loud, extended and immersory live sound. On record, though, a broody sense of nuance balances out the rock-outs, suggesting a kinship with fellow vets The Unintended as much as with such stoned-age contemporaries as Comets On Fire, Dead Meadow, Black Mountain and Wooden Shjips.

As well-rounded as you'd expect from a lot whose songcraft so suavely synthesizes styles into gently beatwise, tuneful pop form, Sound Selection is a mix compilation a la Late Night Tales or Back To Mine, valuing feel and, well, selection over perfect blending and matching. Soulful choral consternation from the Staple Singers and Redbone goes one-for-one with late-golden-age hiphop for the front half of this sequence (maybe even poking fun at comp-curation vanity in choosing De La Soul's "Ego Tripping, Part 2"), and the band's own "Left Foot Stepdown" fits right in after a double-dose of reggae.

The first thing one can't help noticing is how worn Jason Pierce's voice has become, the result of a 2005 brush with respiratory failure from which he has slowly recovered. It's a transformation severe enough to make certain songs on In A & E sound like the work of another singer entirely, especially on rimtap rocker "I Gotta Fire", where Pierce's raspy whine matches the wah guitar accompaniment like a modern Malcolm Mooney sparring with Michael Karoli. It's at moments such as this or "Yeah Yeah", when J. Spaceman's frailty is most exposed but he belts out a hearty rock'n'roll howl regardless, that these Songs are at their most vital.  

It's easy to only ogle A. Newcombe's uglified track titles without paying much more mind ("Who F*cking Pissed In My Well?"), but the songs speak for themselves, often in contradictory tongues (ie. the artiste-ic austerity of solo piano piece "We Are The N*ggers Of The World", [apocryphally?] written at 9 years old). The ostrich guitar pecks on "Infinite Wisdom Teeth" and jawharp 'n' Marrakesh drums in, uh, the one about the well are swell, but the BJM's best served dipped into their baked bread and butter with some downer breakbeats and gauzy swirl, as on amorphous heaver "Who Cares Why?".

Full disclosure: it was only after being floored by what a college radio host announced after airing it as their last record's first number, Magic Potion's "Just Got To Be", that this writer paid this pair any mind. No such immediate attention-grabbers here, but the more diffuse feel focuses attention on the details Danger Mouse adds. Things first get overtly hip-hoppy on "Psychotic Girl" and, like "Strange Times" before it and the following "Lies", it's that spooky-ooky digi-dust at the changes that lets you know who's at the console.

Although we've had Slim's 2007 EPs Whiite Fantaseee and Dissonant Folk here in the shop since December, this earlier one, recorded with Dale Morningstar in '06, is news to us, so we're not quite sure if this was ever self-released in limited number, or just a matter of waiting for the right time (and label). With more and more local showgoers catching word of and getting wooed by the man live in both solo band and duo form as Tropics (even doing double-duty with both projects recently at CMW), Paper Bag were wise to sign Twig and his personal, wordplay-wise, goofy/aloof brand of dark dandy mantras.

Doubling up on bass and drums with two band members apiece gives the Dirtbombs a uniquely full garage-rock sound, with the kits often L-R'ed for a, um, surrounding headphone experience. Mick Collins and crew touch on a variety of sub-styles with We Have You..., but when they ditch the soul-stained punk completely and veer off into dancier territory, the fuzziness and campiness at hand bring to mind not Detroit but instead Wax Trax!-era Chicago a la RevCo/Thrill Kill Kult. Stick around for eight-minute near-album-closer "Race To The Bottom", a synthesized feedback squall worth waiting for.

At this point, the already-converted know what they're getting when it comes to Dead Meadow. Now that they've expanded their audience of early adopters with those (this writer included) who jumped aboard in time for the recent reissue of the first two albums, it's the perfect opportunity for the band to capitalize on this rekindled interest with a new record. More diverse than the casual fan of their stony side might expect, the handful of pared-down/acoustic numbers on Old Growth makes for a varied listen that keeps the proceedings from strictly focusing on the flat-out riffery they've made their name with.

The 2005 self-titled debut by this Vancouver act crammed thunderous guitar riffing, shimmying art rock, stoned psych-folk, and prog shape-shifting into one of the year's great surprises. In The Future carries the weight of anticipation on considerably broader shoulders. Everything about this album is bigger and more ambitious. If Future suffers a bit from the lack of an immediate tune like "Don't Run Our Hearts Around" or "No Satisfaction", the sheer scope of "Tyrants" and the 16-minute "Bright Lights" alone provide no shortage of treasures to plunder. And these folks have never sounded as hazily sexy as on the stellar "Wucan".

When your band leader makes his own guitar pedals under the company name Death By Audio, you can bet your band will understand the art of making some pretty righteous noise. And so is the case with Oliver Ackermann and A Place To Bury Stangers. Picking up where Ackermann's old band Skywave left off, this is 21st-century guitar pop of the noisest, harshest persuasion. While it's next to impossible to not bring up The Jesus and Mary Chain when describing this band, that's only because few bands since then have proved so able to merge thick waves of trebly noise and feedback with sugary melody. Exhilarating stuff.

Ben Chasny has built up quite a catalogue--Shelter From The Ash is his ninth release since 2000, not including his louder work with psych-hurricane Comets On Fire. Over this time, Chasny has found a way to merge the 20-minute raga drones of his early music into more concise songs. Just how that merging emerges is what lends Shelter its addictively morphing qualities. Whether it's the extended marriage of airplane howls and repeated codas on "Final Wing" or the more straight-up psych-rock of the title track, Chasny guides his music with just the right balance of sober assuredness and wired curiosity.

Black Lips already released a killer live album this year, Los Valientes Del Mundo Nuevo, which caught the group direct from Tijuana. Good Bad Not Evil keeps their momentum moving at a snarling clip. The album is vintage garage, nailing every detail. What makes the band more convincing (and fun) than the average ripoff is their commitment to an aesthetic. And only Black Lips could get away with "O Katrina", a song in tribute to the New Orleans catastrophe that is irreverent without being offensive, sympathetic without being corny, and just the right side of dumb.

A pairing of American-born David Vorhaus with BBC Radiophonic Workshop techs Delia Derbyshire and Brian Hodgson, White Noise was a definite contender for the oddest band signed to Island in the late '60s. With a more soft-pop-tinged A-side (although not without its more hardcore moments, such as the actual orgy recordings spicing up the Beach Boys bassline of "My Game Of Loving") backed by two long-form freakouts on the flip, An Electric Storm is both a novel artifact of its time and a highly original project that's still considered a high-water mark for experimental pop.

Legendary 13th Floor Elevators' singer, solo artist and psych-rock originator Roky Erickson is tailor-made for documentary treatment. Making said film is a tough proposition, but You're Gonna Miss Me succeeds nicely. Owner of a potent wail and explosive songwriting, Erickson was equally owned by a litany of drug addictions and mental health problems (culminating in shock therapy and an unfortunate stint in a mental institution). Director Keven McAlester focuses not only on Erickson, but on the toll his life has taken on his family, who battle to enforce their own view on how to best save him. 

Neither a solo artist nor female, this duo comes from one of the more unlikely places for indie rock: Italy. Listening to The Midnight Room, however, the benefits of their Italian music heritage are clear. Like the soundtrack work of Morricone, the music of Jennifer Gentle is simultaneously accessible and deeply weird. As such, it brings to mind other fractured psych-pop writers like Captain Beefheart and Syd Barrett. The Midnight Room requires patience and an open ear for the unexpected, but its wheezy, sighing, whimsical, morphing qualities make for a fascinating listen.

The third solo album from ex-Deadly Snakes frontman Andre Ethier is a watershed moment. While still in the realms of classic Dylan, Van Morrison and Woody Guthrie, On Blue Fog has a swagger that makes his past releases seem like the work of a boy. His voice, as a singer and a songwriter, is fully formed: rich, touching, and generous in tone. His lean folk style is now well balanced by vibes, stabs of manic saxophone, and Highway 61-esque electric workouts. As the closing stomp of "Pride of Egypt" fades from view, you know that this half-hour gem is nothing short of a treasure. 

Sweden's Dungen is one-man recording project whose 2004 release, Ta Det Lungt, felt more like a 70s time-capsule than a modern release. Tio Bitar continues in this vein, mixing psych-rock power with folk melodicism. Unlike the live band's jammy shows, the disc displays more of an affinity for mellow romps and well-written songs. All the same, it's no snoozer, with fierce drumming a constant source of kinetic energy. Dungen just seem to be aware that endless guitar solos are more fun live than on album.