Since its birth about five decades ago, rockabilly has had as many positive musical offshoots as it has poorly executed, fashionable frauds. Canada’s own Matadors have all the surface elements nailed but miss the musical mark by a long country mile. These boys may have the requisite flashy guitars, ’billy-’dos and filthy sneers, but the natural rebellious thwack of the true rockabilly pioneers is sadly lacking. Lyrically, these pseudo-badasses try valiantly to be certifiable hard cases but end up sounding like potty-mouthed underachievers. “I am death dealing, soul stealing, born sinning, you better lock up all your women,” reads more like misogyny than cockiness, and that fine line is breached throughout The Devil’s Music. If by-the-numbers psychobilly is your shot of 100 proof then this may sit well in your collection — otherwise shift into overdrive and move on out of here.

Jeff Monk

Echoes of Decimation isn’t just a cool catch phrase — it’s the very essence of this heavy (HEAVY) death/grind album. Origin isn’t about melody or choruses or any of that fluff; this band is about absolute aural violence and fast, discordant, painful music. The vocals are unintelligible and hoarse, the drums absolutely pummel and the heavy rhythm guitars drone and buzz relentlessly while a lead axe flies chaotically about the mix like a bird with broken wings. Though this 10-song disc checks in at less than 27 minutes, you should raise a metal fist in the air in self-congratulation if you can listen to it from start to finish. This is pure violence played by very technical musicians who just want to grind the bones in your ears into a fine, fine dust.

Mike Warkentin

A band that has knocked the proverbial socks off critics and fans alike usually finds itself with a big record company push to overachieve and get while the getting is good on its sophomore disc. That’s not quite the case with the second full album from Swedish garage pop/rock princes Mando Diao, even if this disc puts something of an edgeless sheen on the band’s somewhat errant capabilities. The elements that made The Bashers from Borlange so darn fun to listen to on their first album, Bring ’Em In, are here — from lead vocalist Gustaf’s pinched, sometimes cracking delivery to the loose and jerking arrangements — but it’s just a bit less fresh-sounding than album No. 1. The youthful verve remains and MD still sounds great referencing both ’70s bash rock and Strokes-like new wave chilliness. A logical follow-up and highly recommended. The CD includes three bonus videos.

Jeff Monk

“Southern Strokes” was the label pinned on this band of three brothers and a cousin (drummer Nathan, bassist Jared, singer/guitarist Caleb and guitarist Matthew Followill, respectively) when they emerged two years ago, but that description’s rather glib. Apart from a certain chiming guitar tone and similar lockstep syncopation, the Kings are ultimately warmer than their New York cousins, embracing Southern guitar boogie with aplomb while mumblemouth Caleb sings fondly, suggestively and cryptically about sex, love, lust and not being able to get it up. Best songs are Milk (the kind of tune that should be written by a band featuring three members who lost their virginity on their last tour), King of the Rodeo, Slow Night, So Long and barnburner Four Kicks. This is a sonically cleaner effort than Youth and Young Manhood, but the Kings have lost none of their charm.

John Kendle

There is a sublime, otherworldly vibe that permeates the latest from sonic soundscape pioneers Thievery Corporation. This lengthy album plays out best at either the opening or closing of a day with its easy-loping beats and late-night appeal. Co-leaders Rob Garza and Eric Hilton enlisted the help of some solid folks (Perry Farrell, David Byrne, The Flaming Lips) to flesh out their grand(iose) design — and it worked. Notably, the duo travels far and wide to get its groove on. There’s a whole world of beats and flows to be examined, and the Thievery Corporation moves mightily with a mix of East Indian, West Indian and straight-up trip hop rhythms. The angelic vocal stylings of Gunjan on Satyam Shivam Sundaram will have you craving some vindaloo with your psilocybin. The album lacks pretense, which prevents these arguably lightweight compositions from disappearing completely into the sonic ether.

Jeff Monk