Beck
Guero (Geffen)

Brand-new papa Beck's got an old bag of tunes on his sixth major-label release. Guero has been trumpeted as a return to the crazy days of Odelay, and indeed the Dust Brothers are back on board, raiding their own Beastie Boys back catalog (specifically, "So What'cha Want") to kick things off with a monster riff on "E-Pro." Life isn't full of parties for the Keane-eyed moppet, though, who uses the track as an opportunity to hand out "a confession of venom." The delicacy of Sea Change may be gone, but its Beck-on-a-bum-trip undertow remains.

Sprinkled with Christina Ricci's allegedly funny impersonation of a waitress at a Japanese restaurant, "Earthquake Weather" and its "Fax machine anthems / Get your damn hands up" couplet is the closest Beck comes to catering to some people's craving for a mid-'90s diet of Cheez Whiz, Novocain, two turntables, and a microphone. Though he's forsaken his previous album's lyrical starkness for a more familiar – as familiar as surreal can be – landscape, he'd still rather disturb you than seduce you. On the surface, "Girl" sounds like a summer rock anthem, but it's sung from the warped perspective (blackened tongues, bleached-white bones) of someone who takes lady-killing literally.

However disparate, the sounds here aren't antic, and throughout, Beck's forlorn foghorn vocal persona is a bit more detached than that of Odelay's entertainer or Midnite Vultures' swinger – even when he's dancing past a barrio's worth of melting Popsicles on the title track. The catchiest moment might be the sing-song honky samba of "Missing," and the cleverest image occurs during "Scarecrow," a twang banger closer to line dancing than to crunk, on which he watches his soul's silhouette rise from the ashes of a cigarette. Whether you call it pillaging or Dadaist bricolage, Beck's approach is the kind that gives rockists Cialis-length hard-ons, so it's no surprise that Guero's white-boy nods to the blues, hip-hop, and tropicalia are garnering five-star ratings. But is this his best mutation, or as great as Mutations? I'll answer with his favorite nonsense chant of the moment: "nah nah nah nah." (Johnny Ray Huston)

The Soundtrack of Our Lives
Origin, Vol. 1 (Republic/Universal)

Indie rock from Sweden. I guess members of this band were in some other indie rock band that was fairly well known or something. Who cares. This is about right now, today. I personally try to live in the moment. I do this by listening almost exclusively to music from the early 1970s.

In the past month, however, I have been going back and listening to lots of Guided by Voices and really loving it. I used to worship that band, and it seemed like indie rock itself was everything I wanted for a style of music to define my generation. Then for 10 years I hated everything with a melody. But now I am back, enjoying the indie rock roots of my past. Guided by Voices were really amazing. Robert Pollard wrote so many memorable choruses and hooked-in verse melodies that it's baffling. That song "Weed King" was about the most cathartic two minutes I'd ever experienced in 1993. I laid to rest my bitterness and came to the conclusion that there is nothing wrong with indie rock if it's good, and GBV made truly good indie rock for a few years there. Even Pavement, the other indie rock skeleton in my closet, were doing something interesting and great for a while there. I can't hear that shit anymore, though, unlike GBV. It sounds really bad now.

Anyway, the Soundtrack of Our Lives, besides having a name that is too long and annoying to type, almost cut it as far as delivering big rock guitars and lovely melodic hooks for you to sing along with. They incorporate elements of psychedelic prog rock, and at first glance, TSOOL (ugh, even that sucks) can appear to be like an orchestral pop-psychedelic band with lots of rock riffs thankfully cutting down on the fey factor so much of that sort of poppy psych flits around with. Also, the cover of the album is a nice beige color. And the dudes have beards and kind of dress like members of the Band. At first I even kind of liked the songs, but then I suddenly realized that this music is total shit. The Soundtrack of Our Lives play Sun/3, Great American Music Hall, S.F. (415) 885-0750. (Mike McGuirk)

Mommy and Daddy
Fighting Style Killer Panda (Kanine)

Unless you're afflicted with a particularly acute Oedipal or Electra complex, the name Mommy and Daddy probably doesn't bring to mind a band with unabashed sex appeal. New York City's Edmond Hallas and Vivian Sarratt just might change that, though: On Fighting Style Killer Panda, the follow-up EP to their U.K.-only Live How You Listen album (Big Cat), the husband-and-wife duo – who aren't, it turns out, actual parents – churn out danceable, bass- and sequencer-driven songs that somehow manage to make their creepy moniker sound, well, sort of hot. Just check the opener, "Confection," three alluring minutes of hand claps, hollers, and skuzzy electro-punk that set the right mood for Sarratt, who possesses a manic, menacing howl, to repeatedly exclaim, "Oh! I want to take you home!"

Fortunately, "Confection" is merely the warm-up. On the stellar Panda, the couple – who could pass as the direct descendants of another his-and-hers duo, Mocket – sound increasingly hot 'n' bothered as they pant and rant their way through each song. In fact, from the rollicking, shout-it-out chorus of "Question Marks Followed by Exclamation Marks" to "Run It Off," which builds into a full-throttle frenzy highlighting Hallas's wonderfully abrasive bark, the EP is never less than a relentlessly exhilarating assault. By the time it closes with a remix of "Confection," Hallas and Sarratt's racket has reached a feverish pitch that isn't just infectious – it's far more thrilling and sexy than two people who call themselves Mommy and Daddy have any right to be. Mommy and Daddy play April 26, Bottom of the Hill, S.F. (415) 474-0365. (Jimmy Draper)

M83
Before the Dawn Heals Us (Mute)

M83 have never subscribed to the notion that discretion is a virtue or that concealing one's influences should take precedent over creative impetus. Their latest Mute release, Before the Dawn Heals Us, continues to buck these precepts, never blushing at its own obviousness. Nor should it – when the adaptation and execution are done as well as they are here. If you were to consider Slowdive's Souvlaki and Air's Virgin Suicides rubbing uglies, then the offspring might very well end up sounding something like this extraordinarily sonic full-length. Everything, from the shoegazing guitars and synths to the hushed male and female vocals, conjures ruminations of Slowdive's 1994 masterpiece, while Dawn's esoteric, narrative samples and chord progressions walk the thin line of thievery with Air's 2001 score. However, despite these overt nods, Dawn may prove to be the first great work of the year, as it destroys lingering doubts about the validity and existence of a new breed of ethereal rock.

Awash in a calm spectrum of translucent shapes and sounds while simultaneously rocking with a fervor often reserved for less complex acts, Dawn provides a varied yet cohesive listen. Tracks like "Moonchild" and "A Guitar and a Heart" stay the course of earlier M83 recordings, which were almost entirely instrumental. Although maintaining a pop sensibility – and your average listener's attention – may seem futile with vocal-less rock music, M83's Anthony Gonzalez makes it look easy to achieve, with the majority of Dawn composed of engaging instrumentals. Using tasteful washes of lead guitar, coupled with simple, melodic synthesizer phrasing, Gonzalez opts to establish the tone and voice of each track with his lead instrumentation. Dawn may come on the heels of partner Nicholas Fromageau's departure, yet the now solo Gonzalez doesn't appear to have suffered from a lack of collaboration. Although, from song to song, much of the album does maintain a singular, structural cast that has left some listeners cold, Dawn is M83's catchiest album to date. M83 play April 28, Bimbo's 365 Club, S.F. (415) 474-0365. (Matthew Lake)