Label: Quarterstick

Somewhere between the thumping grooves of Tom Waits and the dusty landscapes of Chris Issacs, exists a genre that can best be described as Southwestern soul. Like soundtrack music from a 70′s Western, Calexico prods along an endless highway of dustballs and piercing sun. Calexico is really Giant Sand minus Howe Gelb, with a little Friends of Dean Martinez thrown in for kicks.

Referred to, at times, as “cowboy-lounge”, Calexico is mostly about creating a mood. At least half the songs are brooding instrumental pieces which feature mostly brushed snare drums and a lone wavering guitar. Much of their music tips a neighborly nod to Latin music- but more like Latin guitar work on prozac. These are slow lumbering songs we’re talking about, no easy listening here.

In part, the beauty of Calexico is their ability to shift from gentle ballads to fiesta style brass dance pieces on the drop of a dime. This is a record moody enough to turn off some die-hard proponents of the alterna-country movements, but played at the right time (roadtrips, tired anger) it sets one’s mind towards a peaceful dreamy calm.

Label: Cargo Records

I knew very little about this guy, Scottish born Nick Currie, other than the fact that he was British and had been making oddly beautiful indie pop records over ten years now. The 70 minute record was released on a small indie label in Michigan (Le Grand Magistery) and can best be described as disco-Belle & Sebastian or The Pet Shop Boys on Stereolab. Yes this is odd music, but it is good music.

Constructed mostly on an old synthesizers, Momus manages to come off sounding like a British Stephin Merritt tossing a delicious chamber-pop salad of new wave and disco. At times Momus lyrics tend to get a little raunchy, a la Serge Gainsbourg, but considering that most people don’t listen to lyrics anyway , those uncomfortable talking about sex might not even notice.

With songs entitled “Space Jews,” “Mr. Shaftenberg,” and “My Pervert Doppleganger” it is clear that Momus sensibility isn’t really all that focused on commercial success. Relying more on witty lyrics and catchy instrumentation, “Ping Pong” is not a record of hits, but more an indie concept record with the prevailing theme of pseudo-sexual weirdness.

Much of the music on this record can be classified as orchestral or chamber rock, cut from the same cloth at Eric Matthews and company, but heavier on the dance lighter on the guitar. All told, Momus is an oddly appealing album, like the soundtrack to an amusement park funhouse on some sort of weird drug. If you can find it, you should own it!

One day a haggard and defeated looking black man appears on the Spokane Indian Reservation in search of salvation. After being picked up in a rusty blue van by down-on-his-luck Thomas-Builds-A-Fire, the man reveals himself to be none other than blues legend Robert Johnson. Traditional blues lore has it that one day Robert Johnson met the devil and sold his soul to him for the ability to play guitar at a crossroads in the Mississippi Delta. After a hundred years of being followed by a possessed guitar that will not let him be, Johnson stumbles across the Spokane Reservation as if drawn by some magical spirit.

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