With Toronto's extremely harsh winters, it's hard to imagine the members of Broken Social Scene getting out of bed, never mind recording at the rate they do. For a group that has no set schedule and no official lineup and goes into the studio without having any songs written, they get a hell of a lot done. Their stunning U.S. debut, 2003's You Forgot It in People, was supposedly made during one of those shut-in snowfalls as friends of BSS top dogs Kevin Drew, Charles Spearin, and Brendan Canning soon became satellite members, coming and going and offering their myriad services as the spirit moved them. Suffice it to say that with only 13 of the session's sprawling songs making the cut for YFIIP, there's a lot of tape left over.

For the Scene's initiated – including the throngs that showed up for their landmark arrival at this year's South by Southwest showcase – the song sketches, do-overs, and unreleased nuggets that make up Bee Hives (B-sides, get it?) are far too long overdue. The live-to-air Brit radio take of "Lover's Spit," sung here by Royal City's Leslie Feist, is moving and aching, as are the heartfelt choruses of "Backyards" (featuring Metric's Emily Haines) and "Market Fresh" – all fine tributes to Toronto's splintered music community and its shaky identity crisis at large.

Newbies, however, might find the disc – its other half, gauzy, underdeveloped whispers of grander anthems – a rough place to start. It's the typical polarizing effect achieved by nearly all B-side collections; where You Forgot It in People's "Cause = Time" is an arcing, Sonic Youth-inspired, detuned-guitar juggernaut, the version that appears on Bee Hives is a bit frayed, with Drew sounding more like a bad Prince imitator than like a faithful Thurston Moore. That's not to say the Scene's M.O. is to ape the genre's tried-and-true successes – much the opposite, in fact. They're a highly inventive bunch with a penchant for pop experimentalism. But the haphazard noodling apparent on tracks like "Ambulance for the Ambience" and "hHallmark" that, when polished, made YFIIP such an unlikely success here can seem a bit unfinished. Broken Social Scene play Thurs/29, Bimbo's 365 Club, S.F. (415) 474-0365. (Ken Taylor)

Devendra Banhart
Rejoicing in the Hands ... (Young God)

From NPR to Playboy, so much hype surrounds the second coming of Devendra Banhart that he's practically cramping Jesus Christ's style. And it's a fitting response: not only can the neo-folkie bear a striking resemblance to J.C., but he's been touted as some sort of musical messiah since the release of 2002's homespun Oh Me Oh My ... After that no-fi debut – more field recording than proper album, really – Banhart found himself praised as nothing less than the embodiment of authentic expression, fingerpicking old-timey, acoustic songs rooted in blues, British folk, and even gospel hymns. However, it's his voice – a marvelously emotive, billy goat tremble that's equal parts M. Ward and M. Bolan – that ultimately inspired much of the near-religious fanaticism in his listeners.

Now, with his second arresting album in a row, Banhart looks to expand his following. Rejoicing in the Hands ... finds the 22-year-old upping the production and fleshing out his previous song fragments for 16 tracks that are downright radio-ready compared to its predecessor's answering machine recordings. Still, the focus remains Banhart warbling his way through weird, alluring voodoo verses about beards, moons, empresses, and insects; one song even finds him taking his teeth out for a night on the town. But despite a few moments when his surrealistic poetry devolves into the entirely inexplicable – as with "Poughkeepsie" 's Elvis references – Hands ... proves once again that Banhart's timeless, transcendent songs are, as he sings on "A Sight to Behold," "like finding home in an old folks' song that you've never, ever heard." (Jimmy Draper)

Corndawg
Live and in Person (self-released)

I saw Corndawg recently when he was passing through as a roadie for USAISAMONSTER, who played two shows in the Bay Area before taking their space-hippie circus up to Oregon – you've really got to see him live; the CD Live and in Person isn't going to win you over, and that being the case, this review is kind of pointless. But I get so much indie-label dogshit mailed to me that when I actually come across something that isn't total garbage, I get excited and want to share it with the world.

Before USA played their set, Corndawg took the mic unannounced and played an acoustic guitar, singing his 30 second-to-one minute songs to a confused audience. Why confused? First of all, the guy's got one of those weird handlebar mustaches that never fail to freak people out; also, he kind of dresses like a lumberjack, and he talks and sings with a heavy Virginia accent. Couple these details with seemingly straightforward songs that veer immediately into highly offensive (and masterfully timed) comedy – songs about getting hit on by men at the gym and a homophobic father's response to his son coming out of the closet ("Is It Too Late to Abort"), and one called "Tyrone," about marital problems and what will happen to "the little black baby we adopted" if the couple in the song split up. This one contains the gem "I'm begging please for you to come home and stay all night / Cause if you don't, I'm gonna get my truck, my guns, and all my wire, and I'm gonna hog tie you up bitch and drag you home." Another great performer I'm going to get in trouble for liking.

I don't know – homophobia, racism, violence against women. Not really the sort of jokes that go over in a city where people are as evolved as they are in San Francisco, but this is one of those instances where if you don't get the jokes, you're more of an idiot than the person telling them. There's nothing behind Corndawg's material: to a degree, he's playing a character, but it's more about the jokes themselves rather than any type of lame stage persona or political agenda. He introduces "Is It Too Late to Abort" by saying, "It's kind of ironic because the chords to this song are G, A, E. Heh, heh … kinda spells 'gay.' " Or maybe not. I don't know. Maybe there's something wrong with all of us who laugh at stuff like this.