Devendra Banhart

Cripple Crow (XL) Paul McCartney

Chaos and Creation in the Back Yard (Capitol)

When floodwaters close in and everything from the Supreme Court to the foundations of FEMA seems to be in flux, where does one find solid ground? It's hard to imagine two more disparate artists than age-old mop-top Paul McCartney and longtime Bay Area folkster Devendra Banhart, but if one really stretches hard enough – and these of all times call for some serious downward dog crawls – one finds eerie commonalities, from the Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band-esque cover art of Banhart's new Cripple Crow (starring Bay Area pals like poet Cedar Sigo, Joanna Newsom, Yellow Swans' Gabriel Mindel, and coengineers/coproducers Andy Cabic and Noah Georgeson) to a gentle, effortless concern with nature, rain, and critters that flit about and fly such as "Jenny Wren," off McCartney's best album in memory, Chaos and Creation in the Back Yard, and "Dragonflies" on Crow (which depicts, in its cover art, Banhart in blackbird costume). And then there's Banhart's outright shout-out on, natch, "The Beatles": "Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr are the only Beatles in the world / Do you feel like dancing, are you getting hungry / Do you wanna be my girl?" he mumbles with trademark whimsy. Death, as well as chaos and creation, loom so clearly, we've got to get back to the garden, and if not that biblical, or Summer of Love, garden, then at least a familiar one, out back and populated by friends.

A sense of intimacy pervades both discs – with McCartney up-front and center and playing many of the instruments, unadorned by little apart from Radiohead producer Nigel Godrich's trademark sense of space, and with Banhart making sure to mix beautiful, delicate, often Spanish-language ballads like "Inaniel" with larky whoops, party sounds, echoey choruses, and sing-alongs, so that Cripple Crow sounds like his Buddhistic version of What's Going On. In answer to that question, there is a party, or hootenanny, going on – as Banhart appears to reach out beyond the boundaries of his status as a solo, solitary visionary. Cripple Crow may not be as immediately riveting as, say, his 2002 debut, Oh My Oh My (Young God), but its generous length and breadth – 21 songs long – promise to grow on you, like a living, leafy entity.

In contrast McCartney gets back to the can't-miss, melancholia-tinged songwriting of Let It Be's "Two of Us" and "The Long and Winding Road." Consider this album – with its updated Coldplay-like pop impressionism, careful attention to strings and keyboards, and the very occasional sap – Macca's response to the fact that of late he's inadvertently become the real dark horse of the Beatles, following the universal mourning that accompanied George Harrison's passing. We've all kind of written him off – but how to explain such strong songs as "Fine Line," "English Tea," "Vanity Fair," "Too Much Rain," and "How Kind of You," the latter of which sees McCartney injecting some tender irony into phrases like, "I thought my time was up." How nice to have him back. Devendra Banhart performs Oct. 30, Bimbo's 365 Club, SF. (415) 474-0365. Paul McCartney plays Nov. 7-8, HP Pavilion, San Jose. (408) 998-8497. (Kimberly Chun) Wolf Parade

Apologies to the Queen Mary (Sub Pop)

Aside from aping tired post-punk influences like Gang of Four, is there currently a bigger indie-rock cliché than including "wolf" in a band name? From noise-niks Wolf Eyes and AIDS Wolf to no-wavers We Are Wolves and poppy rockers Wolf Colonel, the moniker refuses to die despite reaching a saturation point years ago. But of today's myriad lupine-happy acts, Montreal's fractured-pop fiends Wolf Parade seem most capable of achieving a level of success comparable to, say, their hometown pals the Arcade Fire. On the excellent Apologies to the Queen Mary, the quartet make moody, synth-soaked rock for drunken and emotionally taxing nights on the town. Just check the rollicking "I'll Believe in Anything," wherein keyboardist Spencer Krug leads a strangely celebratory pub sing-along, declaring, "Nobody knows you, and nobody gives a damn."

Produced largely by Modest Mouse's Isaac Brock – a longtime fan who helped sign them to Sub Pop and who, along with the Arcade Fire, is an obvious influence – this full-length debut achieves the rare feat of sounding grandiose but not pretentious, fun but never frivolous. Credit vocalists Krug and Dan Boeckner, who could give depth to even the hokiest lyrics – not to mention the band's tightly coiled pop hooks – for turning a potentially trad sound into something truly remarkable. As with most of the album, highlights like the Springsteen-esque "Shine a Light," "I'll Believe in Anything," and jaunty "Dear Sons and Daughters of Hungry Ghosts" could pass for inspirational and highly soused indie rock if the lyrics weren't so goddamn depressing. But really, that's exactly what puts Wolf Parade at the head of the, uh, pack. Wolf Parade play Sun/18, Warfield, SF. (415) 567-2060. (Jimmy Draper) Wayne Shorter

Beyond the Sound Barrier (Verve)

Of Miles Davis and his oft-muted trumpet, not much needs to be said. The same goes for most members of his second great quintet, whose subsequent careers can be summarized with single words: Drummer Tony Williams epitomized power, bassist Ron Carter is synonymous with steadiness, and pianist Herbie Hancock conjures up inquisitiveness. But unlike his compatriots, Wayne Shorter remains a mystery. He possesses two distinct voices, on soprano and tenor saxophone, the latter echoing the bursting incandescence of John Coltrane and the humor of Sonny Rollins. Among living jazz composers, his stature may be rivaled by only Hancock, Kenny Wheeler, and Carla Bley. Yet he often places himself in the background: Joe Zawinul wrote much of the material for their group, Weather Report.

Beyond the Sound Barrier, the second live recording by Shorter's new acoustic quartet, further reflects this enigmatic quality. At times the performances are impenetrable because of their difficulty, even as the post-bop bursts with freedom, wit, and vitality. Many of the tunes have extended running times beyond six minutes – they start open and slow, then end with explosions. "Smilin' Through" begins with a short saxophone motif before John Patitucci's bass ominously rumbles in place with a repeated note. Danilo Perez's piano enters the picture, and soon he, Patitucci, and superdrummer Brian Blade swirl around Shorter's melodic fragment. Then the band takes off with a sinuous vamp that echoes the fragment in surprising ways. One dramatic recasting changes Felix Mendelssohn's lied "On Wings of Song" into jazz. There are no clear solos, but the constantly shifting textures exhibit a collective freedom and comfort with the unexpected.

Other highlights include the new composition "As Far As the Eye Can See," the short, improvised "Tinker Bell," on which Patitucci plays nice arco lines, and the awesomely cinematic "Beyond the Sound Barrier." Actually, all the cuts on the record are of consistently high quality, but their deep-set mystery will make them difficult to comprehend for jazz novices without repeated listening. Those who persevere, however, will follow Shorter into unexplored sonic domains. (Alex K. Fong)