Long the flagship band (or at least the best-known) of the Park The Van roster, Dr. Dog may be wild-eyed, bearded and keyboard-centred like fellow Philadelphians Man Man, but with a gruffness much more subdued, popping up more in the Let It Be-like howls of co-lead singer Toby Leaman than any sort of Waits-y circus barks. Confident from the potentially hubristic title on down, co-founder Scott McMicken even goes so far as to call Fate "the first true Dr. Dog record"; his chirpier vocal turns, perfected on mid-album ballad "From", offset Leaman's brazen wails, best heard on "Army Of Ancients".

Those yips following ends of phrases, the indignant tone in the singer's delivery, the driving, no-frills, almost rock'n'roll structures--many things about these Philly newcomers bring to mind The Walkmen, not least among them the charismatic vocals of leader Adam Granduciel. Being passed around and enthusiastically discussed in these parts as well as at Other Music and elsewhere, Wagonwheel's straightforward songwriting, slightly submerged in electronics (check the liners' washed-out shots of pedals and synths) makes this band one to watch as word spreads about this impressive debut.  

Flipping on the fuzz for some incidental album-opening effects checks, Canning and co. reliably fall into Dino-inspired step on Something...'s title track, continuing to write songs tuned to their collective '90s indie roots while mining the malleability of '00s production potential. As artsy as Brendan and Broken's micing/mixing techniques, quieter confessionals or instrumental interludes may get (even experimenting with full-blown disco on "Love Is New"), BSS still know how to temper those obtuse inclinations with big-hearted modern-rock moments that almost anyone can enjoy.

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.

The new Hold Steady record starts off with a bang--"Constructive Summer" is a raucous summer anthem in what is now typical Hold Steady style, meaning alcohol-infused storytelling, crunching guitars and sing-along catchiness. The album continues in this fashion with much success, even when the volume is turned down for "Lord, I'm Discouraged" and "Both Crosses", but it's the energy of "Yeah Sapphire" and the title track, among others, that will make the fans of this straight-up rock & roll record have it on repeat all summer long.

Opening a capella with 15 seconds of the sort of reverb-daubed harmony atmosphere popularized by Bears Panda and Grizzly, the stubborn racket that soon ensues ensures that no mistake can be made--Women stockpile their sound in their own inward way, fleeting comparisons be faintly damned. Although these Albertans' vocal sunshine is sturdy enough to hold up to other retroriginal Can-pop like Caribou and The New Pornographers, the mention of This Heat in the band's press kit holds truer than you'd expect, dipping into gritty fidelity, ambient creep and spidery guitar angularity at their whim.

In the midst of being supported by a three-month festival circuit tour that's already set world-music circles abuzz, this collaboration between the Boulder (via Toronto) banjo wiz and Malian kora griot sees the two men meeting halfway, splitting writing credits between Stone's adaptations of traditional West African melodies and Sissoko's own songs. Light and breezy but expertly played (with calabash and kit accompaniment from the always-attuned Nick Fraser of T.O.'s own Drumheller and Deep Dark United), fans of the likes of Toumani Diabate should enjoy this session of vibrant, pander-free fusion.

One to follow his muse in a supporting role no matter how much his popping up in the wings may frustrate those longing for him to retake the spotlight, it's no surprise to hear Kevin Shields' glide guitar relegated here to volume-pedal swells and accents. This is Patti Smith's show, after all, an hour-long spoken-word prose poem written to honour the late-'80s passing of photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, evocative fantasies (that "sea of possibilities" so famously sungspoken on Horses) spilling out from death's sad, final truth, recorded on stage at London's Queen Elizabeth Hall in 2005, then 2006.

Giving the rapping a rest, four-chord boppers "Gamma Ray" and "Youthless" stick out as the most single-friendly on a CD short and snappy enough to rarely slog. Chan Marshall sings on the unison choruses of "Orphans" and "Walls", seemingly more for camaraderie's sake than to assert herself into the mix, much more buried than, say, Will Oldham's Sun Kil Moon backups earlier this year. Danger Mouse throws small spanners into the works, such as the latter song's tinny two-bar snare loop; key contribution "Replica" has a dizzy hiccup of a drum sample as imbalanced as The Odd Couple's best beat or two.

For this third album for XL, Ratatat widen their scope so that all kinds of keyboards (even chopped-up autoharp, as on "Falcon Jab" and "Black Heroes") elbow for room among the video-game guitars that have thus far been their signature. Middle-eastern percussion (an Iranian drum, the zarb) in "Mi Viejo", "Mumtaz Khan" and "Gipsy Threat" avoids sounding tacked-on, and overall, LP3's expanse (attributable in part to their decamping upstate to the Catskills for its recording, perhaps?) could allow the New York duo to now appeal as much to fans of Air and Studio as Crystal Castles and Ed Banger hangers-on.  

Setting off what seems to be a full summer schedule for Blue Fog (with new discs from $100 and Andre Ethier to come), Jennifer Castle follows 2006's self-released Live At The Music Gallery with more sparse, beguiling beauty. Castle's guitar playing is as wonkily gentle as in her celebrated live shows, punctuating pauses with bluesy pull-offs. Folk-fiddling fellows Ryan Driver and Doug Tielli cameo, as You Can't Take Anyone ably introduces parts beyond our city limits to the range and power of one of this town's true balladeers, singing a secret language about to be made not-so-secret.

Respected among his peers enough to be the recent subject of his own tribute compilation, and an especially huge influence on Ottawans from The Acorn on down, Mike Feuerstack's newest set is as classily incisive as usual, with producer and longtime collaborator Jeremy Gara (formerly of Kepler, now much more famously known as the drummer in Arcade Fire) careful to keep any slight chances taken on arrangements from overshadowing the songs themselves, particularly with "They Won't Believe You"'s tympani-type toms, horse-hoof clacks, french-horn harmonies and reverb-iced solo guitar.   

Bookended by wordless piano-led pieces, any other changes to that ever-consistent Sexsmith songcraft on Exit Strategy are subtle, such as the Cuban horns betraying the sessions' Havana locale and helping to lighten the mood on his response to Feist's Reminder recording of co-write "Brandy Alexander", taking a more carefree view of the trouble he's in (don't know about the late-Cohenesque female backup vocal, though!). "Poor Helpless Dreams" casts Sexsmith in the same fine-fitting near-R&B cloak once worn on Retriever's "Whatever It Takes", this time picking the pace up to disco-lite tempo.

Looking outward after last year's Heima/Hvarf-Heim homecoming, much of ...Endalaust was recorded with Flood (U2/Smashing Pumpkins/PJ Harvey) around the world, with sessions taking place not only in Reykjavik but also New York, London and Havana. Wondrous trojan-horse leadoff "Gobbledigook" jams its foot in the door forcefully, and three minutes of tribal acoustic glossolalia rushes in; the rest of the record might come off as one big comedown to those piqued by such immediate odd-pop heights, but the meat of Med Sud... could also be seen as the sort of slowburn narcosis they do best.

The fame of those few tunes he wrote that broke through ("Eve Of Destruction", "Secret Agent Man") may still precede him, but the mystery that has surrounded P.F. Sloan ever since Jimmy Webb penned a song (concerning the price paid for the act of creative, soul-wringing songwriting) in his honour (and Eugene Landy temporarily lay claim to his identity!) unclouds itself that much more with the release of this Big Beat anthology, collecting Sloan's first two records for Dunhill, Songs Of Our Times and Twelve More Times. Slighted, sneering folkie-done-wrong self-righteousness rarely sounded so tuneful.

A labour of love decades in the planning, this beautifully-packaged two-disc deluxe reissue of Wilson's 1977 solo opus (only issued once on CD, way back in '91) is here at last--in fact, delays are still holding up P.O.B.'s proper Canadian release, making us one of the few places in town (and possibly the country) to carry this title at the moment! Paired with shelved 'lost album' Bambu, Dennis' wizened but still spry singing recalls Pussy Cats-era Nilsson, playing most of the instrumentation himself despite a long list of collaborators, including co-producer Gregg Jakobson and Beach Boys sessionist Carli Munoz.

African funk fans have truly been spoiled this past year, with three installments of Soundway's Nigeria Special series, Drag City-distro'ed Malian reissue label Yaala Yaala up to their fifth title, and Strut just having released its Lagos Jump single-disc follow-up to the unavailable original Nigeria 70 set. Having already enticed Afro-fiends with anthologies dedicated to The Green Arrows and Hallelujah Chicken Run Band, Analog Africa dives right in with African Scream Contest's overview of the '70s scene in Benin and Togo, two countries smack-dab between better-documented hotbeds Ghana and Nigeria.

Purse-lipped and sleepy-eyed on the black-and-white cover of this 1977 debut for Memphis indie Big Sound Records, Van Duren was waiting for a closeup that never quite came. Having grown up and casually played with Big Star's Jody Stephens and Chris Bell earlier in the decade, it's only fitting that when the time came for Duren's own material to be released, it too bore Anglo-leaning, proto-power-pop tendencies. Similar to Emitt Rhodes, Paul McCartney or Todd Rundgren, the piano work is as impressive as the rockers--songs like "Waiting" show he learned just as much from pre-Wings Paul as Chilton/Bell.

Like the Constantines' newest, keyboards gain added prominence here, with lead synth lines lending many tracks a somewhat more new-wavey sensibility than on the band's earlier releases. As long as Beck and Gary Numan don't decide to team up anytime soon, Boeckner/Krug will continue to have a unique push and pull at play, and while no particular songs are jumping out at this listener just yet, At Mount Zoomer has strong slow-grower potential. (Actually, hold that thought--"Kissing The Beehive"'s 9-beat riffing, vocal tradeoffs and modestly mousy disco-stomp breakdown's an epic last cut worth skipping to!)

More guitar-driven for the most part than 2002's Neon Golden, these Germans led by the stilted sincerity of singer Markus Acher regroup after spending more than five years concerned with the handful of other projects they collectively juggle, among them Tied + Tickled Trio, Lali Puna, Console and 13 & God (with anticon. crew Themselves). Not only should old fans of the band waiting for new material get their melancholic pop fix from The Devil, but there's also a good chance that admirers of newer acts that take a similarly wistful joy in the forlorn, from Hot Chip to Peter, Bjorn and John, will share the sentiment.