Postgrad

Alright, Polvo! I'm been in total rock-out for days listening to their second reunion album. I'm equal parts glad that they've still got it and that they're getting their snaky, mathy ya-yas out with the hooks proudly out front. This one may meander a bit, but the energy doesn't let up, and neither does my steady, dumb head bobbin'.

Polvo — The Water Wheel

Young machines in the open air

How sad are reunion tours? I suppose the spectrum is broad — between the goulish spectacle of another Rolling Stones rollout and the mostly respectable showing by folks like the Pixies — but still it's just an unnecessary exercise. Unless you need the money, in which case, put that disclaimer on the name of the tour, so everyone knows it's about real need and not vanity. Which is why Os Mutantes's wanna-be arena rock showing at Prospect Park this last Friday was such a bummer. It's not like they were ever in it for the money. And really, the only thing you can do to legendary status is to tarnish it by putting your good name on uninspired mediocrity in your plump years. At least it was another beautiful park night, and happily, some kids in the opening band saved the day with their giddily backward-looking sugar pop. Nothing for the ages, but great for welcoming a summer Saturday night.

Javelin - Drummachines

Love me in your car

Hypnagogic pop may have gone overground, but for me it's still the stuff of dreams. Literally! Some folks like it menacingly washed-out and queasy, and others like it magically vivid like midnight sunshine. There's plenty to like across that spectrum from the good folks over at Fortune 500. Here's a highlight. Deposit this in your bank of cool breeze cruisers.

Saint Pepsi — Carpark

Not faded

Yo La Tengo is emerging as the kind of band you grow old with — knowing how your tastes change and changing along with you, sometimes suggesting places you only might've gone. While putting Tortoise/Sea and Cake vet John McEntire at the console for their latest album might seem like a jump back to their more youthful '90s days, songs like this seem very much of the present. Which is to say, vaguely happy with where we are and yet quietly terrified of what's to come. Hearing it, I see bearded artisanal craftsmen libating at the beer garden in the late afternoon sun, stroller parked at arm's length, bobbing along to this melody, and imagining a time when they'd all be drunkenly belting it out together at the top of their lungs.

Yo La Tengo - Ohm