Perhaps one of the mostly aptly or literally named bands in recent memory, the Books reconstruct the experience of reading through stark but personal instrumentation and sounds. The recording of every instrument is the equivalent of a microscopic close-up of a bow or pick on the strings, and every ambient noise is painstakingly captured in such detail that you can hear the molecules of air colliding to make the sound. What Iron and Wine's Creek Drank the Cradle (Sub Pop) accomplished with hissing four-track charm, the Books' third album, Lost and Safe, achieves with clarity and closeness. The intimacy of the cello and guitar arrangements in concert with dramatic speech samples pries open memory boxes stowed away in a forgotten attic, and reminds us we're not as recent as we feel.

The Books' strength lies in battling narrow perceptions, and they deliver a more focused effort on Lost and Safe than on their previous albums. Though its stringed instrumentation and soothing vocals are conventionally pleasurable to listen to, the album opposes the vacant appeal of pop music by ensnaring you with several intriguing layers of meaning at once. On "Smells Like Content," for example, Nick Zammuto sings in hurried Ben Gibbard-esque pseudo-speech, "Most of all the world is a place / Where parts of wholes are described / Within an overarching paradigm of clarity / And accuracy / The context of which makes possible / An underlying sense of the way it all fits together." Not only are these lines as complex as what they describe, but they also tell us how to approach the album: by listening to its parts in the context of the greater whole.

Those parts, which take the form of contemplative vocal samples and sleepy folk strings, are beautifully chosen and arranged – such as "It Never Changes to Stop" 's threatening oration over an ominously sad buildup or "If Not Now, Whenever" 's mellow guitar foiled by a cacophony of voices – but their random placement often puts the responsibility of making them into a cohesive whole on the listener. This exercise reinforces the sense of reading by demanding an intellectual focus, except the particular book you feel like you're scanning belongs to many genres at once, from philosophical novel to science fiction. So take the Books off the shelf, kick off your shoes, and start reading with your ears. (Keith Axline)

Temple of Bon Matin
Infidel (Spirit of Orr)

Infidel starts with this sunburst: drummer Ed Wilcox's voice seemingly echoing through a huge canyon. He sounds desperately angry and yells these open-ended questions into the void. You can't understand them – you just get a feel for what's happening. At the end of the song, drums come rumbling in, and it all kind of fades out.

I think what happened next was Wilcox came down off the mountain and hit somebody in the head with a giant human bone he'd made a weapon out of. Then he ate that person's heart to gain the strength within. The problem is, he feels guilty for having done it. So he has these night fevers that won't go away, and they come out in these creepy, shamanic poems he screeches all over this record. The moral is that survival is ugly. I'm projecting a little bit, maybe, but there is no doubt this music was made from some kind of inner battle, and the shit is heavy and weird. That's good.

Temple of Bon Matin has been around for years now and has released music and toured extensively in total obscurity, at least partially for the reasons just described. The brainchild of Wilcox, the group is made up of a revolving door of varyingly able musicians, with the drummer assembling people for whatever he happens to be interested in playing at the time.

When I first encountered Temple, Wilcox was fusing his spirit-drum free rock to elements of jazz. Specifically it was a show at the long-dead Cocodrie, and Wilcox was on all fours whispering into these tiny hand cymbals arranged in a row on the floor of the stage. Over the years, the music has evolved into an earthier, more tribal thing, with increasing amounts of New Agey-ness creeping in, making for a sort of spiritual catharsis rock. Infidel goes even deeper into the jungle than the prayerful "Shining Path" and the "Mule Skinner" chant that opened Temple's 2003 release, Cabin in the Sky (Bulb).

The album has the usual TOBM confluence of 10 zillion types of music melded into a single, hurtling freak-out that, almost inexplicably, is as linked to straight rock forms as it is to free experimentation. Wilcox has always hidden this rock underpinning beneath mountains of no-fi recording techniques, diverting noise, and barely decipherable chanting, but never has he come this close to releasing such a traditional collection of "songs," with the vocals so upfront and intelligible. Still, because Wilcox's musical identity operates on some primal level, the stuff comes out as totally beyond fucked, and from any other band, it would not sound even close to conventional. There are other folks flirting with this sort of "New Age energy rock," but Wilcox takes it way beyond the parameters of what's been done before. (Mike McGuirk)

Blood Red Throne
Altered Genesis (Earache)

It's always nice to hear death metal coming out of places besides Florida. To be fair, plenty of solid death metal bands come from other places, like Sweden's wonderful Incision and Hungary's child-prodigy combo Decapitated. But as you probably already know, Cannibal Corpse, Morbid Angel, Deicide, and a bunch of others come straight outta Florida, which is fine because those three bands have basically set the standard for what death metal can be.

Still, variety is the spice of souls condemned to hell. Blood Red Throne are from Norway, and, yes, they have shrugged off the chains of black metal placed on them by their Viking brethren and ventured into the deep chugga-chugg guitar breaks, high-speed riffs, and monster gurgling vocals of American death metal! The band is led by Tchort, formerly of legendary black metal band Emperor, although it doesn't show. There is no trace of Emperor here. But the band has a creepy name, and the songs are well written, have lots of catchy parts, and will delight death metal fans everywhere.

"Eye-Licker" is a Deicide-influenced straight-ahead throat-ripper. It starts with halting guitars and drums and then rockets off into a pummeling series of riffs and growls, just as Deicide songs do, but instead of singing about bashing Bibles, they're singing about tenderly licking eyes. "Ripsaw Resentment" features a halting beginning as well, and it has a nice alliterative title. "Altered Genesis" begins with burning stair-stepping guitars, rolling double bass, and slow quarter-time snare snaps. That's such a nice combination, one of the best death metal has produced – everything is going at lightning speed except for that damn snare drum, and as a result, the song's heaviness is increased tenfold (according to mathematics).

If you like death metal, chances are you'll find a few keepers here. If you don't like death metal, why are you still reading this? (Nate Denver)