I picture Lungfish fans as the cult of "living books" at the end of Fahrenheit 451 – songs and poems lodged in brains, freed of their burden as physical documents. For those unfamiliar with Lungfish, let's just say they make a sort of epic, meditative mantra rock with Daniel Higgs as their lyrical captain. An intense, bearded tattoo artist who stalks around onstage waving his arms and intoning verses about love and eyeballs, Higgs is the closest thing to a beat poet Dischord has ever produced.

Lungfish have been accused of making the same record since their inception in 1988. It's true that elements of their formula have remained the same, but that's almost irrelevant to the Lungfish thing, that improbable quality that makes them a cult band loved by some and abhorred by others. You're probably in the former camp if you're excited about Higgs's solo effort, Magic Alphabet, 17 tracks of jaw harp released on Dischord sister label Northern Liberties. As a fan of both Higgs and the metallic vibrating mouthpiece, I think this sounds like a win-win, and I recognize that I'm in a minority. There's a generation gap between what's considered "new emo" and what lifers like Lungfish are into, and it may be that punks become hippies when they grow up, but people like Higgs stopped caring about those distinctions long ago, and maybe we should too.

This may not be the first marriage of indie rock and jaw harp – Arrington DiDionyso of Old Time Relijun often employs the instrument when he performs solo – but jaw harp and a good set of lungs can fill a room in a way that's hard to capture on a stereo recording, and Higgs's staccato playing on tracks like "Future Echoes" and "Copious Tears" sounds like Appalachian drone techno or something equally improbable. Lungfish play Sat/20, Slim's, S.F. (415) 522-0333. (George Chen)

Dears
No Cities Left (spinART)

When they called their 2001 EP Orchestral Pop Noir Romantique, the Dears were getting ahead of themselves. That title, it turns out, is actually far more befitting of the majestic No Cities Left. With their second full-length, the Montreal collective have moved beyond their previous chamber-pop sketches and finally crafted the dark, string-laden masterpiece that's eluded them since 1995.

Throughout, Murray A. Lightburn – producer, singer, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist – and his coconspirators mope and emote so exquisitely, it's as if their entire outlook on life was culled from the Smiths' songbook. Just check moments like "Lost in the Plot," on which Lightburn uncannily evokes Morrissey while dramatizing the emotional ravages of loneliness and neediness.

Musically, however, No Cities Left takes cues from more than just the Moz. Available in Canada since 2003 but just now getting released in the States, the album's sprawling, epic song cycle – with an average track length just shy of six minutes – also nods to other British acts like the Tindersticks, Blur, and, on "Postcard from Purgatory," even Pink Floyd. But if the songs can sound slightly derivative, Lightburn always keeps them interesting with wonderfully pretentious and melancholic bon mots ("We want friends but we'll never beg") that – at least for listeners with soft spots in their hearts for theatrical introspection – make No Cities Left nothing short of riveting. The Dears open for Keane Dec. 2, Fillmore, S.F. (415) 346-6000. They also play Dec. 1, Amoeba Music, S.F. (415) 831-1200; Dec. 8, Cafe du Nord, S.F. (415) 861-5016. (Jimmy Draper)

De La Soul
The Grind Date (Sanctuary)

Despite De La Soul's 16-year career, The Grind Date finds the Long Island trio as invigorated on their eighth album as they were on their first. Of course, back when 3 Ft. High and Rising came out, in 1989, they couldn't have bragged that they were "the permanent tat in this rap shit, y'all are just temporary lick-ons," but despite patting their own backs, they've earned the right to preen, especially for releasing their best album in eight years.

The Grind Date navigates the narrow channel between unabashed commercialism and underground parochialism. True to De La's best traditions, such songs as "The Grind Date" and "Much More" affirm a forward-focused agenda, full of passion and insight but never nagging or naive. And just to show that their lyrical edge hasn't dulled after all this time, tracks like "Verbal Clap" and "Days of Our Lives" shoot shards of wit.

This robust energy is matched by the gorgeous collection of sounds, ranging from the stirring soulfulness of "Church," to the twitching tenseness of "Rock Cokane Flow," to the old-school funk blast of "Come on Down." Given that most of De La's previous albums were shepherded by either Prince Paul or themselves, it's all the more impressive that an ensemble team of beatmakers like Supa Dave West, Madlib, and Jake One managed to craft such a cohesive feel for the album.

Most rewarding is that the album is less a reminder of how great De La have been than a powerful statement of the potential they still have. Aging doesn't treat rappers kindly, but far from going quietly into the dark night of retirement, these pioneers choose to continue blazing ahead. De La Soul perform Wed/17, Slim's, S.F. (415) 522-0333. (Oliver Wang)

Laibach
Anthems (Mute)

Slovenian quartet Laibach have been around for a quarter of a century, yet it's hard to think of a more widely misunderstood band in rock. They're alternately written off as a kitschy novelty act or as humorless Euro-trash victims with a Hitler fetish, or they're mistakenly condemned as fascist neo-Nazis. As with the Residents – another anonymous, costume-clad troupe with a penchant for deflating pop song covers and puzzling concept albums – Laibach require some effort (and probably a Ph.D. in political science) to fully understand. They're not a band that lend themselves to casual introductions, which is what the two-CD compilation Anthems seeks to provide.

Disc one of Anthems works roughly in reverse chronological order, starting with two songs from last year's techno-heavy WAT and gradually moving into their harsher early- and mid-'80s material. It's a decent tour through the band's catalog, with three songs from 1987's brilliant Opus Dei – the album that introduced pop melodies and bombastic, Wagnerian classical overtones to their heavy industrial foundation – and three more from 1994's war-themed NATO, including their version of Europe's "The Final Countdown." There's also one song each from their album-length deconstructions of the Beatles ("Get Back," from 1988's Let It Be) and the Stones ("Sympathy for the Devil," also from 1988), as well as a whole disc of remixes I'll leave for the black-fingernailed techno connoisseurs of the world to critique. What's missing, of course, is the context of the original albums – for example, hearing the band obsessively pick apart the three-chord "Sympathy for the Devil" eight times in a row, or listening to atrocities like "The Final Countdown" get transformed into ominous political commentaries. Start here if you'd like, but realize there's more where it came from. Laibach play Tues/23, DNA Lounge, S.F. (415) 626-1409. (Will York)