Hailing from Melbourne, Austrailia, psych rock quintet Beaches’ new album, titled She Beats, has all the ingredients of an excellent record: loud guitars; dreamy, reverbed vocals; a solid rhythm section; and the seal of approval from NEU’s Michael Rother (not to mention his guitar work on a couple tracks). She Beats is a mix of lo-fi graininess, zone-out atmosphere, psychedelic colors and some good old fashioned rock n’ roll bombast.

“Out of Mind” opens the album with some jangly guitar spray before the song jumps into gear, bringing to mind Primal Scream’s noise/melody recipe for ear candy. The song puts off a tape hiss, lo fidelity vibe, all the while never sounding too lo-fi. The dark aural shades only add to the song’s mystique, enhancing the already dreamy vibe. “Keep on Breaking Through” rolls in on a steady cymbal ride and some reverbed guitars, giving the track an almost “Riders on the Storm” sound – albiet sans the thunderstorm sound effects before the space echo takes the track into the milky way. Beaches, while they conjure dreamy soundscapes and ambience in the form of swirling guitar chords and echoed riffs, don’t fall under any sort of shoegaze category. These Melbourne ladies play guitar with bravado and attitude more in tune with the likes of Erik “Ripley” Johnson or Wayne Kramer (as opposed to, say, Kevin Shields or Andy Bell). They don’t coax sound from their instruments as much as they pull them out with swift, stern strokes. “The Good Comet Returns” brings to mind old Cure, back when they were still a trio with something to prove. “Distance” is the centerpiece track, with Rother jumping in on guitar to give the song a motorik drive. Vocals, while barely treading the musical waters, become part of the overall mix as opposed to being the centerpiece. Singing is merely another instrument used to fill the canvas.

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I first heard the Delfonics when I was a small child, on the radio – in one tiny ear and out the other. Then, when I was in high school, I saw Quentin Tarantino’s Jackie Brown, which featured the music of the Delfonics very prominently. That same night, by chance, I found an old Delfonics greatest hits disc in my mom’s stash and was an immediate fan. All these years later we have Adrian Younge’s third record, titled Presents the Delfonics, a collection that attempts to introduce a forgotten artist to a new generation, not unlike what Jack White did for Loretta Lynn or Dan Auerbach did for Dr. John.

I first heard Adrian Younge, the real star of this show, back in 2009, when I saw the film Black Dynamite, a blaxploitation movie – and instant cult classic – scored by Younge. Then, in 2011, I finally heard Younge’s opus, a R&B record called Something About April that sounds as classic as any R&B music I’ve heard released during my 25 or so years of music fandom. April plays through almost like a lost Al Green album that was produced as a collaborate effort between an early 90s RZA and classic-era Portishead. It’s a masterpiece. So to say that I have been greatly anticipating Younge’s next move would be an understatement. And now, after almost two years of waiting, it’s here in the form of this new Delfonics record. But this isn’t really a proper Delfonics record, is it? There’s no “La-La (Means I Love You)” or “Didn’t I (Blow Your Mind This Time)” moments of perfection here; really, all we get are some of William Hart’s sweet, light falsetto vocals. No Randy Cain, no Wilbert Hart and no Major Harris. Sure, the Delfonics were mostly thought of as William’s band, but William’s voice alone doesn’t quite offer the full effect of a proper Delfonics record.

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How many times over the last 40 years have we had these posthumous release blues from the Hendrix Family Archives?  From Blues, South Saturn Delta and Valleys of Neptune to First Rays of the New Rising Sun, Live At The Fillmore East and Winterland, Hendrix fans have endured money grab after money grab to the point where every year we just put some money back waiting for the Hendrix family to announce its next bit of table scraps they plan on tossing our way. To be fair, some, such as Winterland and Valleys of Neptune were nice collections, especially the fiery performances caught on the live Winterland. But in all fairness, Jimi Hendrix died in 1970 leaving us with three studio albums that changed the face of guitar and rock and roll forever. They showed a progression in not only his playing but his songwriting in just three short years that anyone would be hard pressed to repeat, ever. And only a handful of musicians and bands have done since. Basically, we didn’t need all these posthumous releases. There’s a reason they sat in a vault;  for the most part they weren’t all the great. I don’t think Jimi Hendrix would have put the majority of these albums out his family has deemed “Hendrix Family-Approved.”

So, all that being said, you can imagine my pessimism when late last year it was announced that yet another posthumous release was coming out. What now? Hendrix: Polka? Hendrix Live From Heaven? Hendrix Unleashed in the East? After hearing the first single, “Somewhere,” pessimism turned to optimism. It was a slow burner. That classic Hendrix voodoo that permeated albums like Electric Ladyland and Axis: Bold As Love was all over this track that was recorded with Buddy Miles on drums and Stephen Stills on bass. Eddie Kramer at the helm, this was a classic Hendrix track that was finally seeing the light of day in a new, and much better light. So after hearing the album, I can say that without a doubt this is by far the best posthumous Hendrix release to take money from our wallets. Does it stand up to those three classic and timeless Jimi Hendrix and the Experience releases? Not by a mile. But there are some gems well worth owning on 2013′s great money grab.

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Jack Tatum and Wild Nothing make music that’s both very familiar and very foreign to our ears. At once his songs are a flashback to the early days of 80s alternative and at the same time they’re the echoes in his head of some alternate universe where The Thompson Twins, Art of Noise and Gary Numan joined forces. His first full-length as Wild Nothing was Gemini, a group of lo-fi-ish 80s dance gems that hinted at Tatum’s impressive songwriting and production prowess. Nocturne came out in 2012 and was one of best indie releases of the year. Jumping off where he left Gemini, he refined his sound, beefed up the production and made pop gems that were simultaneously light and airy – yet also had low end and depth. Tatum had perfected a sound he could call his own. Now comes Empty Estate, a long EP or very short album that implies that Tatum became restless and needed to redefine his songwriting. It’s an album with late night dance excursions, guitar pop and otherworldly weirdness that hint at a Sufjan Steven-like re-imagining of one’s career. It also hints that Tatum and Wild Nothing are working on what will surely be a masterpiece of a third full-length.

“The Body In Rainfall” opens Empty Estate on an almost playful, guitar rock hand clap vibe. It’s a straight-up rock ‘n roll song, complete with driving drums, guitar fuzz and – lingering in the background – airy piano chords. “Ocean Repeating (Big-Eyed Girl)” has a loping, funky beat with a fluid bass line and a somewhat sinister vibe. The track is much more in the vein of Nocturne, but with a spidery guitar line taking the place of that album’s synth washes. There’s a weird, sinister vibe to the songs on Empty Estate that wasn’t in Wild Nothing’s music before. It’s refreshing and alarming all at once. It’s as if Tatum sat around listening to Swell Maps, Com Truise and Neon Indian one lonely evening in his Brooklyn apartment. Tatum shows a love of ambient instrumentals as well, like on the Brian Eno-inspired “On Guyot,” and the droning beauty of album closer “Hachiko.” The echoes of Nocturne’s dance-pop and 80s alternative can still be heard clearly on “Data World” and the excellent and delightfully quirky “A Dancing Shell.” Both show that Wild Nothing isn’t completely abandoning Tatum’s pure pop beauty, he’s just adding a few extra ingredients to make the colors a bit brighter and the pleasures more pleasureful.

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From the first notes of “The Right Thing Right” we know Johnny Marr means business. It’s a cross between The Jam jangle, Ian McCulloch’s vocal prowess and that driving rhythm that pushed so many of The Smiths great songs (there were many). There’s even a touch of Cheap Trick bombast that starts the song out. You listen to this opening track and wonder why it took Marr so long to put out a proper solo release. Sure, he had Marr and the Healers back in 2003. But he was still under the protective umbrella of a band. For the first time in over a 20-year career Marr is on his own, without the watchful eye of old lady Morrissey or countless other bands that were fortunate enough to have Marr slinging his guitar around in their bands – and ultimately making them more important and better than they actually were. Is The Messenger a game changer? It depends on what rule book you’re playing from. Either way, it’s a great album to get lost in for a little under an hour.

I often wondered how Marr lasted as long as he did with Morrissey. I mean sure, The Smiths were amazing, and Morrissey had a big part in that. But without Marr’s musical magic it would’ve been nothing more than Stephen Morrissey’s Oscar Wilde impressions. Marr provided the lush musical pages onto which Morrissey could write his scathing verbiage. There might not be the stories of naught Headmasters and girlfriends in comas, but the drama is still retained in Marr’s knack for great melodic play. On The Messenger Marr seems to be making up for lost time, as the musical scope ranges from Smiths-ian drama to punch-y power-pop to straight up rock ‘n roll.

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