Constant Lovers, Experience Feelings (3/18, Good to Die, goodtodierecords.com) The cover image’s ghastly sensuality—a monstrous Photoshopped composite of all four hairy members—is spot-on for this release, a heavy, grunged-out art-rock record that sounds like Oscar the Grouch’s desperate come-ons to a potential Muppet-mate, doing his best to convince her that he won’t bite even though he lives in a smelly trash can. “I may be only 130 pounds/But I’m a tough cookie, macaroon, a snickerdoodle/Why don’t you ask me about my mean-guy scowl?” yelps rakish frontman Joel Cuplin in “Snickerdoodle” before menacing guitars rocket their way in, blowing the track wide open. This give-and-take between Cuplin’s surreal, goofy screaming and the Fugazi-style feedback that pepper the album drives the record’s main dynamic—one notably less drum-centric than that of the band’s last effort, True Romance. There are moments when the drums still take the forefront (“Cry Me a River” and album standout “Hey Bo Didley”), but for the most part, the band has traded its extra floor toms to focus on more rhythmic songwriting overall. Guitars lurch in and out of Cuplin’s vocals in stop-start zig-zag patterns, like a drunk wobbling toward you lustily but tripping on himself the whole way there. KELTON SEARS
The Soft Hills, Departure (3/18, Tapete Records, tapeterecords.de) While similarities to the melodic rock of Death Cab for Cutie exist, and where its folksy stylings call to mind Fleet Foxes, the Soft Hills truly make a sound all its own. Formed in 2007 by singer/songwriter Garrett Hobba, the Soft Hills sounds familiar because of its sweeping arrangements, crisp harmonies, inspiration drawn from lofty dreams, and of course Hobba’s soft, angelic vocals. Unlike the Americana leanings of previous releases, Departure finds the Soft Hills exploring more classic, rock-minded influences, including Syd Barrett, Brian Eno, and overtones of ’80s pop. The differences continue in the way the four-piece puts it all together: draping the album with layers of shimmering synths and lush, often psychedelic instrumentation. Album high points include lead single “Golden Hour,” a slow roller that feels like it could fit on the first Twilight soundtrack (this is a compliment), and “The Fold,” which finds Hobba delivering lyrics both concise and shockingly straightforward. While the words might not require much dissection, their accessibility is appreciated: “Lying in a vacant lot, sucking on alcohol/There’s no way he can make it, no one’s gonna save him/It’s over.” As a whole, the band’s melancholic, easy-on-the-ears vibe is something truly lovely and worth the listen. That the album was mixed in London by Abbey Road veteran Guy Massey (Spiritualized, the Beatles, Manic Street Preachers)? Well, that’s just a plus. KEEGAN PROSSER
