Jeff McCord on the month’s new releases
 

Lucinda Williams’s

Little Honey

Lost Highway

Lucinda Williams’s West, in 2007, was a stunning effort, her strongest in nearly a decade. Yet it was an emotional downslide, and its cathartic declarations of unrequited love no doubt took their toll in the ensuing months onstage. At some point, she must have longed for a way to kick things into high gear. Little Honey (Lost Highway) fills just that void and, happily, finds Williams in a better place; she hasn’t sounded this content—or ebullient, even—since 1988’s “Passionate Kisses.” If the upbeat nature of the album’s single, “Real Love,” comes as a surprise, wait until you hear the ferocious “Honey Bee,” her hardest-rocking love song ever. There’s much to like here: the down-home “Heaven Blues,” a paean to self-destructive types in “Little Rock Star,” a fun country duet with Elvis Costello, and yes, a few melancholic gems (“If Wishes Were Horses,” “Plan to Marry”). Williams’s newfound optimism does take some getting used to, however; where this solid release leaves the “pain equals art” argument depends on whether or not you think an album of hers should include an AC/DC cover.

White Denim

Exposion

self-released

Lots of indie-rock bands wear their influences on their sleeve. Austin’s White Denim betrays elements of the visceral rock of the Stooges, the minimalism of the Velvet Underground, and even the weird fusion of groups like the Minutemen or the Meat Puppets. But what White Denim possesses, unlike so many others, is the ability to meld those influences into a sound all its own. Though ostensibly a power trio, its members were dabbling in odd instrumentation and song structure even on their early EPs. Exposion (self-released) is their first official album (digital and vinyl only; they deem CDs “worthless”), and it makes a forceful statement. It’s not entirely the cohesive effort you might expect: Among showstoppers like “Transparency” and the eighties-ish “You Can’t Say” are some meandering tracks without focus. Yet this is a band with promise. James Petralli (son of Texas Rangers catcher Geno Petralli) drives the songs with his vocals and nimble guitar work, and he finds a rare synchronicity with drummer Josh Block and bassist Steve Terebecki that makes all three of them sound remarkably tight.

Future Clouds & Radar

Peoria

Star Apple Kingdom

Austin’s Cotton Mather ended its nine-year run in 2003. The group’s Beatles-esque power pop had garnered praise from NME and bands like Oasis in the UK and inspired a following in Asia, but in this country, not so much. Still, everyone wondered what leader Robert Harrison would do next. The answer came to him while he was recovering from a back injury, and in 2006 the uneven, magnificent double-CD debut from Future Clouds & Radar appeared. Laden with overstuffed arrangements and fueled by horns and strings, the album moved effortlessly from pop to psychedelia to garage rock. Critics took note; fans less so. Now comes Peoria (Star Apple Kingdom), which, due in part to its length (eight songs, 34 minutes), has an intimate, even-keeled feel. Pared to a core five-piece band (including ex-Spoon bassist Joshua Zarbo), FC&R sacrifices some of its rambunctious nature for a crisper, ethereal focus. Harrison is a devotee of melody, but he’s clearly pushing his music into more-ambitious arenas; there’s a stranger, ominous tone here. But by exploring these darker corners, he may yet bring light to his band’s continually riveting work.

Warren Hood

Warren Hood
Photograph by John Grubbs/Rockslide Photography

With a natural, beguiling style, the 25-year-old songwriter and violinist has been a fixture on the Austin roots scene for nearly a decade, carrying on the legacy of his late father, Champ, of Uncle Walt’s Band. He has just released his eponymous solo debut.

Why a solo album now?

It took me two years to make the thing. It should have come out a long time ago. The album was a chance for me to experiment with ideas that do not exactly fit with the ensembles I’ve played with.

Do you get as much satisfaction from songwriting as you do from playing the violin?

Yes, but it is a little different. Songwriting—finding the right words to fit the music—offers up a whole new set of challenges.

With your expressive sound, people might be surprised to hear you’re a graduate of the Berklee School of Music.

When I got out of Berklee, I tried to fit everything I knew into every solo I played and sounded worse than before I went. [Austin guitarist] Rich Brotherton once told me, “It takes five years once you’ve left music school to decompress so you can really start playing.” Their job is to fill your brain with every possibility, and your job is to sift through it until you find your sound. It takes a lifetime. Read an extended interview with Warren Hood.