Indie blockbuster! Noted wordsmith Colin Meloy and his anti-shock-troops, known in the past for their own particular brand of indie-folk bombast, come forth a little relaxed and confident on their sixth studio album. Then again, it’s easy to feel confident when you’ve got R.E.M.’s Peter Buck sitting in on three songs — two of which, “Calamity Song” and “Down by the Water,” bear his stringed-DNA so clearly you’ll instantly think of his band’s ’80s prime. The whole album is suffused with that atmosphere, easygoing but limned with a deeper emotionalism that feels decades old. Throughout, the Decemberists are firing on all acoustic cylinders: the full-on strumming of “Down by the Water” (which also features vocals from the sublime Gillian Welch), the worn-down but unbowed “June Hymn.” Perhaps most important, the often too-wordy Meloy tones down the lyricism — the album goes down real easy. The King Is Dead, long live the Decemberists.

The first big blog record of 2011 is here: Chicago’s young (but growing up fast) Smith Westerns have finally delivered album number two, and it proves that this band will be relevant on the indie scene for as long as they can stay together. Where their self-titled debut drew on glam influences from a good decade or so before these guys were even born, Dye It Blonde (as opposed to painting it black?) invokes the memory of George Harrison a bit more than Marc Bolan. Listen to the way the guitars practically sing out choruses on “Still New” — straight-up goosebump material! Influences are nice and all (they nod to another Beatle with the title of the bounding and fuzzy “Imagine Pt. 3”), but Smith Westerns are really just an energized indie-rock band with a great talent for synthesizing the best of the past into thoroughly modern, catchy and distorted pop songs. Did I mention that all the songs seem to be about girls? (Well, they are 20-year-old dudes.) Lose your mind and then your heart to the above tunes as well as “End of the Night” (wow — total classic chorus there!) and the part-heartbreak of “Dance Away.”

Who are the big British bands now? It wasn’t all that long ago that the UK seemed to only have big bands: Blur, Oasis, and whichever five or ten new things the NME was raising up the flagpole any given week. As if sensing a void, British Sea Power totally go for it on their fourth studio album, making it seem like this was what they had in mind when they chose their name about a decade ago. Valhalla Dancehall is grand but not grandiose, characterized by big melodies (I’d call them “mainstream” if not for fear that that would be a turn-off to some nerds) and modestly soaring choruses. This thing is totally pop, and there’s no shame on their end or yours. “We Are Sound” rips into a classic alt-rock reverie, and you can tell the title isn’t meant to suggest omnipotence but rather just how solid and comfortable the band seems to feel. “Georgie Ray” shows BSP’s subtlety, building on a quiet piano passage and into something bigger but still tender-hearted, while the vaguely Interpol-ish “Living Is So Easy” shows the band to be still connected to its indie roots. You don’t need to fear British Sea Power — just respect it.

A dramatic, even uplifting new sound out of Edinburgh, Broken Records come forth with Let Me Come Home, their second album (before I even know there was a first!). The six-piece, led by Jamie Sutherland (he—s the one with the nervy, indie-operatic croon) and his multi-instrumentalist brother Rory, have been drawing comparisons to Arcade Fire, which, as I listen to the band swoop through “The Motorcycle Boy Reigns,” Jamie—s vocals darting through clouds, really does make sense. Their Scottish roots set them apart though (it—s said that traditional Gaelic dancing has been known to erupt at their gigs), as does their versatility: “Dia dos Namorados!” features a duet with guest Jill O—Sullivan, and it—s the sort of heartsick dirge that Nick Cave might—ve turned out in the early —90s. Further along, the Records pierce through the darkness with the rousing, raging “You Know You—re Not Dead,” a jumpy number on which Jamie sounds like he really is shaking someone back to life. Fans of the aforementioned bands or even Radiohead—s more dynamic moments should give Broken Records a shot.

Here’s a release from late 2010 we don’t want you miss: the smoldering, claws-out debut from Weekend. The band hails from the Bay Area, but they are producing music unlike anything coming out of that city right now. No ’60s-inspired sunshine pop here: Weekend delivers some heavy shoegaze-psych with plenty of post-punk wallop. The songs on Sports are typically drenched in reverb, and Shawn Durkan’s vocals range from low and moody (reminiscent of some ’80s Britpop) to high and screeching. If all this sounds a lot like My Bloody Valentine and Jesus & Mary Chain to you, well, those influences are definitely here — it is a Slumberland release, after all — but you’ll also hear a bit of Hawkwind spaciness, and the rhythms are varied and inventive. If you enjoyed the recent releases from No Age and Women, check out Weekend.

What is it about Canadian bands? Braids, like a fair many other great Northern groups, have the sort of energy that seems as indefatigable as it is indefinable. On the Calgary quartet’s shimmering second album, singer-guitarist Raphaelle Standell-Preston practically glows right out of your speakers: “Plath Heart” sounds like a summation of every good positive energy vibration in indie-rock over the past couple of years, her voice gliding atop a jittery, spare groove built on a few guitar strings and a couple of floor-toms. Braids’ confidence shows in their facility with the longer pieces on Native Speaker; the title track, which starts softly and grows into something you might’ve wished Bjork would’ve done in the Sugarcubes, is one of four songs here that are about seven minutes or longer. (Just flashed on what it really makes me think of: You ever heard the first pre-Animal Collective duo album from Avey and Panda?) Chiming and charming, Native Speaker is one you’ll remember throughout 2011.

This is what I’m talking about — a local band that rawks! And you know, the rockingness is hardly the main attraction here: For the past five years or so, Shilpa Ray has been one of NYC’s best frontpersons, a petite Indian-American lass with a voice that could launch ships and a lyrical viewpoint that’ll drag you into the gutter and pin you there. Teenage and Torture is her second album with her current band, but the first recorded proof (that I’ve heard) of just how heavy their live experience is. Ray’s raspy, bluesy and boozy tone is unforgettable and battle-worn; “Hookers” finds her dissecting late-night desperation via the trope of Internet-whoring: “Click on me boy, click on me!” she commands. “Heaven in Stereo” and “The Chelsea Clinic Physical,” two live staples for years, are damn near perfect, fleet and bombastic — and they prove why Nick Cave’s Grinderman tapped Ray and her crew to open a stretch of recent dates (you can look it up on Spin’s website to find out how much of a fan Cave now is).