Wilco

"Summer Teeth," Wilco's new album, finds Tweedy flexing his songwriting muscles and, while he might not quite be in Bob Dylan's class, he's no lightweight. Jettisoning the steel guitar in favor of additional keyboards, "Summer Teeth" sounds less country than Wilco's previous outings. But it doesn't come off as a commercial decision; it's more like Tweedy happened to listen to a different part of his record collection while writing for this record. Instead of hearing the influence of Hank Williams and Johnny Cash, Wilco's sonic landscape ranges farther afield: hints of a Neil Young guitar riff, a chugging Lou Reed beat, celestial Brian Wilson harmonies. "We'll find a way regardless/To make some sense out of this mess," Tweedy sings on "Nothing'severgonnastandinmyway(again)," a sunny, buoyant song that wouldn't sound out of place on either "Pet Sounds" or "Rubber Soul." At times, he sounds downright giddy: "Will I set the sun/On a big-wheeled wagon," he croons on the optimistic "I'm Always in Love," with the band sounding like a musical martini from the '60s—equal parts Velvet Underground and Beach Boys, with just a splash of Kinks.

But don't worry, kids, Tweedy hasn't traded in his whiskey bottle-pout for a prescription of Prozac. In addition to the bouncy pop-ish tunes, "Summer Teeth" also boasts some of Tweedy's moodiest reflections. "She's a Jar" is an intimate portrait of domestic discord, with a haunting conclusion: "A pretty war/My feelings hid/She begs me not to hit her." Love, creativity, nostalgia, and loneliness all run together until the resulting swirl starts to take shape, making "Summer Teeth" as rewarding on the tenth listen as it is on the first. Turns out Wilco doesn't really need Billy Bragg and Woody Guthrie after all.—Andrew Clevenger

We've all got skeletons in our closets. It's just that some of us, much to the chagrin of our parents, painted them on the backs of our now-moldering leather jackets. But, seemingly not everyone has taken their capes and velvet corsets out of daily rotation quite yet. Yes, proving once again that old goths don't die (they just dress that way), the Creatures have joined the recent resurgence of pale and pasty aging goth stars refusing to go gently into that eternal goodnight. Thus, they have proffered forth "Anima Animus," their third full-length project since the release of their first single, "Wild Things," in 1981.

Reigning First Couple of Goth, Siouxsie Sioux and her husband, ex-Slits drummer Budgie, have long been making the world safe for angst-ridden teens in black-painted bedrooms everywhere. As members of the legendary Siouxsie and the Banshees, the duo (along with co-founder Steve Severin and a fluctuating cast of supporting musicians) released 15 albums and nearly twice that many singles. Naturally, with that volume of output, not every iota can be completely fraught with genius, but the Banshees created some works of truly dark and innovative brilliance, while never losing sight of the pop sensibility which garnered them their only U.S. Top 40 single, 1991's "Kiss Them for Me." Previous outings as the Creatures revisited this successful formula, amplified and enriched with the occasional warm overtones of steel drums and marimbas and the inclusion of a more playful and infinitely less dire lyricism (i.e., fewer mentions of decaying flesh, worms, drowning, etc.).

Unfortunately, precious little of this is evidenced in "Anima Animus." Couplets like "Hordes of locusts blot out your sun/Raining down—rain on everyone," and lyrical gems such as "Oh the pain of joy/Oh the joy of pain," atop uninspired electronica buzzes and drones may serve as a tasty chunk of black candy for baby goths who haven't done their homework. Most likely, though, it will just send any fan over the age of 18 or so moping back to her record collection to fondle her copy of "Nocturne" or "Boomerang," and sigh wistfully for the days of yore. There is, sadly, little to recommend this album, other than Budgie's uniquely expansive and layered percussion and the occasional trademark Siouxsie-on-Siouxsie one-woman choir stylings. Rather, cringe-inducing, cliched, and gracelessly morbid lyrics and now-formulaic backing music combine to give good reason to save your pennies and focus your attention on acquiring all that back catalog you'd been meaning to anyway.

But fear not, children of the night—so long as there are depressed suburban teens sporting ankhs and Christian Death T-shirts, and Anne Rice novels remain high on the Times' bestseller lists, Siouxsie and Budgie will be there for you. Maybe next time they'll get it right: Light one of your candles and make a wish.—Kat Kinsman

I don't think I've ever heard anything quite like "Dose," the second album by Los Lobos side project, the Latin Playboys. Its unlikely blend of roots-music basics and studio wizardry, souped up with all manner of sound effects and audio oddities, could've turned into a handful of good but half-realized ideas. Instead, it's a cinematic, hallucinatory journey of sudden turns and strange textures—but rather than wrap these collages around high concepts, "Dose" moves through a series of neighborhood vignettes: the sullen teen, the wise old woman, the streetcorner salesman. It's a little, if you will, like dropping a few hits of mescaline and spending a sunny Saturday getting lost in a benevolent East L.A., where every sidelong glance reveals a new panorama and every half-heard conversation spins off into infinite possibilities.

The opening instrumental "Fiesta Erotica" is a perfect takeoff to this wild ride: Looped guitars and violins intertwine, separate, and come back together over neo-industrial percussion, shifting like sand dunes in the wind. "Ironsides" features the sound of the eponymous pickup truck warming up in the driveway, as a cheesy tune plays on the radio anda kid drags his feet and bitches about wanting to take Lily's Celica to "the movie show starring Ricardo Montalban and some huer-as!" The found sounds of "Nubian Priestess" recall wandering down a sunlit street on a lazy afternoon and hearing seagulls, video games, and car engines somehow blend into a song of their own. Tunes that may seem clumsy ultimately become graceful in their simplicity: "Paula Y Fred" mixes distorted voices with a hurdy-gurdy backing in a ditty that seems throwaway, but one that you somehow can't get out of your head.

Not that all of "Dose" is artfully blended oddity: the dreamy keyboards, rolling piano, and cooing chorus of "Latin Trip" bring to mind a hipped-up Sergio Mendes and Brasil 66. "Tormenta Blvd." is a strolling garage instrumental that graces its old-school pace with new-style distortion, while "Cuca's Blues" applies burnished cymbals and urbane guitar riffs to the falsettoed tale of the eventual decline of the prettiest girl in the neighborhood. "Dose" may come on like a strange and unusual world, but if you relax and let it wash over and sink in, you'll be right at home by the third track.—Lissa Townsend Rodgers