Bright Eyes’ songwriter Conor Oberst recorded this self-titled album while rambling through Mexico. Far from home, the Omaha native still delivers introspective, witty lyrics with a country twang and a biting edge. He might have dropped his stage name and his longtime producer Mike Mogis, but Oberst is still singing deceivingly simple songs with haunting lyrics that linger in your memory. You can criticize him for being overly emotional, but Oberst is a brilliant lyricist. “Sausalito” is an on-the-road love song that comes to life in details from “hair blowing in the hot wind” to the smell of “the leather of your new car.” “Milk Thistle” is contemplative and ultimately resigned song about death that decides “if I go to Heaven, I’ll be bored as hell.” And while “NYC- Gone, Gone” aggressively pounds its way through, “Cape Canaveral” is a winding, delicate daydream full of hypnotic images that lull as they pay homage to loved ones. But Oberst’s theme is found in “Moab,” where he reminds us what his travels seem to have taught him, as he repeats, “There’s nothing that the road cannot heal.” (Margi)

Oneida has added more variety to its sound in recent years but here pares back to basics. That said, it’s still a bit of a change from previous albums as this is the closest they have yet gotten to pure motorik Krautrock. Most of the record is instrumental, and what singing there is comes on the most basic level both musically and lyrically. It’s as though they stepped back, evaluated themselves and decided, “This is what we do best, this is what we enjoy most in our music, and now we’ll do it better than ever.” The result is pure exhilaration. (Steve)

Waiting for the Sunrise, the second full-length offering from Michigander-turned-southerner David Vandervelde, leaves no questions as to its ancestry. Smacking of Alex Chilton-ish early-70s power pop, later-era Beatles and Neil Young (particularly the guitar work), the album rides the fine line between influence and derivation. The end result is a collection of songs begging for a cross-country drive so they can be experienced in their proper setting. Soulful, sometimes sad, and almost unnervingly catchy, Waiting for the Sunrise should carve a place into the most discerning record collection. The album as a whole comes off as earnest but complex; each song is handled with care and craftsmanship and is given the room to grow and evolve organically. This is a must-have for fans of Vandervelde’s previous work, and certainly a great introduction for those less informed. (Joe)

Remember this band, the High Places, because they are headed for big things. After releasing a series of seven-inches, the band finally gives us a proper full-length CD before their upcoming record in the fall, and it’s a pure delight: sunny melodies, jangly syncopated rhythms and a lush, psychedelic tranquility. The beats on High Places’ 03/07 – 09/07 primarily swirl through dub thumps, clattering cockleshells and tabla grunts. The key word, though, is “swirl,” because High Places derive their sound from an ambient aesthetic. In other words you’re just as likely to enjoy this album tinting the background as you are when sucking the marrow from every little pop-hook, very much like Person Pitch by Panda Bear. And there are a hell of a lot of hooks to feast upon from the opening stutter-step of “Head Spins” to the sandy tide-worn-glass smoothness of “Shared Islands.” Yet, as much as I describe their sound I guarantee you will still be surprised by how much joyous, bouncy fun there is to be had on 03/07 – 09/07. (Andrew)

Uwaifo is one of the greats of Nigerian music. This 19-track compilation of album cuts and singles focuses on the highlife sub-genre he invented, Akwete, a rhythmic embodiment of his synesthesia, and his subsequent hybrid based on the Ekassa rhythm that he took from a traditional coronation dance. This is only a small portion of his career, which after some dues-paying found him first recording as a leader in 1963, but it’s impossible to complain about what is heard on this disc’s 75 minutes. Everything’s funky in a happy/mellow rather than hard-driven way; the occasional bit of psychedelic-influenced strangeness adds a frisson of culture-clash. The booklet includes an informative review of Uwaifo’s career and his own synopsis of each track. Besides the expected CD, there is also a limited-edition two-LP version.

BACK IN STOCK! The best compilation of 2008 thus far, Gas’s Nah Und Fern is essential on so many levels – as a meticulously compiled box set, as a piece of important history, as pure entertainment. Box sets are a mixed blessing – bloated, expensive, unwieldy – and an electronic box set may seem even more daunting, but Kompakt’s 4-CD package of the complete works of Wolfgang Voigt’s immensely influential Gas is truly something special. Voigt is one of the most important figures in electronica, one of the leading forces in the birth of Cologne’s minimal-techno scene, which transformed dance music into a genuine cultural force. Here is Voigt’s work in the late 1990s, digitally remastered, mostly ambient but with subtle use of rhythms and loops to give the music an atmospheric, hypnotic edge. You don’t have to be a deejay or a club hound to love Gas; fans of Eno’s ambient work will love it too. Voigt later went on to found Kompakt, one of the world’s greatest labels – of any genre – and now finally have this long-awaited compilation of his finest work, with more than five hours of music! Absolutely indispensable in every way. (James)

On the quirky pop end of the post-punk spectrum, the Individuals were Glenn Morrow (later of Rage to Live and founder/owner of Bar/None Records), Janet and Doug Wygal (later of, naturally, the Wygals), and Jon Light Klages (who made an underrated solo album). They should’ve been stars; their angular, occasionally dissonant indie-rock still sounds great. Their 1982 LP Fields is the main attraction here, plus their 1981 Aquamarine EP and a bunch of bonus tracks. The “hit” (locally and on college radio) was “Dancing with My Eighty Wives,” but this is the sort of album where fans love pretty much every track and each is distinctive. Anybody who dug the Pylon reissue should check this out too. (Steve)

The Fun Years’ Baby, It’s Cold Inside is one of the year’s finest electronic records. The second full-length from this experimental guitar-turtable duo builds on the promise of last year’s compelling Life-Sized Psychoses, delivering an album of five long tracks of dark, mysterious and often beautiful electronica, filled with synth swaths, minimalistic drone, field recordings and a warm melodicism rare in ambient music these days. Led by Ben Recht on guitar and Isaac Sparks on turntable, the group lets each track develop slowly, adding layers of sounds that give the music a rich emotional complexity. I read that these guys were inspired by Gas, and you’ll hear much of Wolgang Voigt’s use of space and sound, particularly in the lovely opening track, the 11-minute “My Lowville.” Fans of Mountains, Fennesz, William Basinski and music on the Type label will find much to admire in this lush, beautiful record. (James)

Neil Halstead may be best known for his work in Mojave 3 and, before that, Slowdive. Each one, in its own way, explored textures, whether narcotic soundscapes or pastoral junctures. His solo work – this is his second album under his own name – forsakes that for a barer sound: usually acoustic guitar, piano, and voice. That last bit is the key here: weathered and open, it falls somewhere between those of Nick Drake and Joe Strummer. And while the music on this album is gently strummed and played, Halstead throws in a few unexpectedly biting moments as well, notably the religious kiss-off that opens “Sometimes the Wheels.” And the steadiness of mood that runs throughout makes more upbeat numbers, such as “Queen Bee,” sound that much more pointed by comparison. (Toby)

Get the party started! The third volume of the celebrated Ed Rec series is here, and it’s another rousing record ready for the dancefloor and the biggest bash near you. In today’s high-stakes mixtape environment, it’s not easy putting together a killer comp, but the folks at Ed Banger know how to keep things humming nicely. It also doesn’t hurt to introduce some new songs and mix styles, and there’s a treasure trove of material here. Artists include Justice, Spank Rock, Murs, Mr. Oizo, Sebastian and other heavy hitters from the world of electronica, hip-hop and techno. Need we say any more? I didn’t think so.

It’s always a delight when a local artist walks through our doors and introduces us to something wonderful. Such is the case with Aderbat, whose latest, We Belong to the Sea, is a real winner, a charming record of heartfelt and catchy chamber pop. It’s hard to believe musicians these talented and accomplished are unsigned, but the labels’ loss is our gain: pray listen to the album’s finest track, the strange and lovely “Busted Cars,” with its swirling melodies and plaintive lyrics; the cello-and-guitar interactions in “Recycled Language”; and the somber tone of the title track. Lead singer Matthew Taylor brings to mind a number of artists, from the scratchy warmth of M. Ward to the pop panache of Sondre Lerche to the aching vulnerablity of Thom Yorke. Recommended!

So how many musicians make you laugh out loud with their lyrics? Randy Newman sure does. Take, for instance, “A Few Words in Defense of Our Country,” as biting and hilarious as his classic “Political Science.” A eulogy of sorts for America’s fallen empire, the song features Newman at his most sardonic: “You know it pisses me off a little/ That this Supreme Court is gonna outlive me/ A couple of young Italian fellas and a brother on the Court now too/ But I defy you, anywhere in the world/ To find me two Italians as tightass as the two Italians we got.” He hardly lets up there. Nothing is off-limits to Newman’s sharp and cynical eye. Musically, Harps and Angels has Newman returning to the New Orleans-inspired R&B of Good Ol’ Boys and Land of Dreams, and it’s pure rapture. This is his first album of all-new material in nearly 10 years, so it is time to rejoice. Feast. (James)