Echodrone has certainly come some distance since their 2007 self-titled EP. While “shoegazer” is probably still the best genre in which to place them, their debut full-length The Sun Rose in a Different Place reveals that that’s not the most accurate classification to make. True, the layers of shimmering guitars and sighing vocals are still there, but the band is clearly in the process of honing and refining such elements—which is both exciting and somewhat frustrating.

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Longtime readers of Opus will know that when it comes to female vocalists, I prefer mine to be otherworldly and ethereal (e.g., Lisa Gerrard, Elizabeth Fraser, Rachel Goswell, Mimi Parker). Now, the ladies in Kissing Cousins can evoke an otherworldly air with their songs—particularly when they slip into an old time-y spiritual mood—but most of the time, they’re raw, rough around the edges… and quite exhilarating.

Kissing Cousins don’t pull any punches: right from the get go, with its stomping rhythms and writhing, tortured fuzz guitar, “Close To The Fire” grabs you by the throat and doesn’t let go. Meanwhile, Heather B. Heywood’s echoing vocals manage to be both sexy and eerie, like P.J. Harvey if she were a roller derby girl—or The Shirelles if they were into switchblades and drag racing.

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Although Hood might be on a hiatus that shows no signs of ending soon, the band’s members have been keeping busy. Gareth S. Brown has released two albums on Misplaced Music. Christopher Adams released We Know About The Need under the Bracken monicker in 2007 and has since contributed to various compilations, remix projects, and soundtracks. And Chris’ brother Richard has just released Haunt The Upper Hallways, the latest release from his lo-fi/experimental/post-rock outfit The Declining Winter.

I realize there are a lot of slashes in the above description, but that’s because Richard’s sound is rather mercurial. His brother Chris may focus on the more electronic/hip-hop aspects of Hood’s sound via Bracken but Richard is basically exploring everything else.

Think of the long, pastoral moments from The Cycle of Days and Seasons and Rustic Houses, Forlorn Valleys injected with post-classical fragments from Rachels and Steve Reich as well as some small amounts of dub and folk—and then all of it filtered through the sort of autumnal, melancholy, overcast haze that Hood and the rest of their Nostalgist ilk are so inclined towards and you’re getting close.

I don’t mean that listening to Haunt The Upper Hallways does nothing more than conjure up the desire to hear a new honest to God Hood album. Well okay… maybe it does at first.

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For the last 15 years, Ronnie Martin has been obsessed with writing the perfect synth-pop song. Actually, it’s been longer than that, if you include his work in Dance House Children and other pre-Joy Electric projects. But ever since 1994’s Melody, the man’s obsession has become especially pronounced.

This is most clearly seen in his production methods: throughout Joy Electric’s history, Martin has continually refined his craft, paring his music down to the barest, most necessary elements (the most recent Joy Electric albums, such as The Ministry Of Archers and The Otherly Opus, have used little more than his voice and a Moog).

This devotion is certainly laudable, but it’s easy to imagine how limiting such self-imposed restrictions could become. Which probably explains the numerous side-projects that Martin has become involved with in recent years—e.g., Shepherd, The Brothers Martin, The Foxglove Hunt, and now, Ronald Of Orange. But unlike those other projects, Ronald Of Orange is essentially a one-man operation. But it’s still an attempt to explore new music avenues not allowed by Joy Electric’s particular aesthetic.

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For some reason, I found myself reflecting on my “history” with Starflyer 59 when I discovered—a few weeks after the fact—that the band had released Dial M. I picked up their self-titled debut—aka Silver—shortly after it came out in 1994. Which means that I’ve been listening to their music for nearly fifteen years now.

That sort of longevity can lend itself to a sense of obligation, meaning you’ll pick up the artist’s album no matter what. And while such dedication is not a bad thing, it does mean that you have to prepare yourself for inevitable bouts of being underwhelmed (The Cure’s 4:13 Dream immediately comes to mind for me).

Such is not the case with Starflyer 59. There’s a workman-like quality to their music, to be sure. It’s not the sort of music that you listen to for wild innovation and experimentation, but rather to hear the tried and true (the innovation they do inevitably bring is just icing on the cake). For me, Starflyer 59’s music has become akin to an old, comfortable blanket or a sturdy oak desk: dependable and comfortable.

What’s interesting, though, is that Starflyer 59 has achieved that level of consistency despite constant personnel changes and shifts in musical direction throughout the years. Jason Martin has been the band’s single consistent player; at least a dozen others have joined him in the studio and onstage to date. And as for musical direction, Starflyer 59’s releases have dabbled in shoegazer, lounge, surf rock, ‘70s stadium rock, ‘50s pop, and electronica, ultimately settling into a brand of lushly produced indie-rock that incorporates elements from all of those aforementioned genres.

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It doesn’t feel quite right to say that Lovespirals is merely the new incarnation of Love Spirals Downwards, even though it’s pretty obvious why folks (myself included) would say that—and not just because of the name similarities.

While founder/songwriter Ryan Lum has largely eschewed the gothic/darkwave overtones of his previous band, there’s still no denying that the ghosts of acts such as the Cocteau Twins still haunt their way through Lovespirals’ Long Way From Home. One need only to listen to hazy guitar strums or shimmery effects on “Empty Universe”, “Treading The Water”, or “Sundrenched” for that to become readily apparent.

And then there’s Anji Bee’s vocals. Bee—who, according to the band’s bio, possesses the “the sexiest voice in podcasting”—lets her voice drift and sway through the album’s ten tracks in a manner recalling Love Spirals Downwards’ previous vocalists (such as Suzanne Perry), Liz Frazier (minus the glossolalia), and even Tracey Thorn (Everything But The Girl). You know what I’m talking about: a manner that is seductive, not so much for its sultriness and smokiness, but for its ethereal and otherworldly nature.

All that being said, however, Long Way From Home is far more straightforward than anything Lum (and his various collaborators) has done to date—especially when compared to the Projekt days. While there are certainly echoes of those early darkwave records, replete with their Victorialand influences, Long Way From Home also blends in more forthright pop, jazz, Americana, and even blues for good measure.

This approach does lend the album a light, deft touch that feels something like a crisp spring breeze in both its tone and electic-ness. The duo pull the music off effortlessly, with Lum’s lush production and guitar effects providing a gorgeous, sunlit backdrop for Bee’s vocals.

Occasionally, though, there is a stumble, which mainly occurs when the duo attempt to inject a little grit into their music—e.g., their cover of the classic spiritual, “Motherless Child”. Bee’s voice is better suited to flitting and floating, and so the more soulful approach here just doesn’t quite work as well. But those moments are few and far between, and oftentimes, are brushed aside as soon as the next lovely swell or ethereal vocal harmony comes wafting from the speakers.

Some folks might also dismiss Lovespirals’ music as too light and airy to be of any substance. And while it may be true that you won’t find anything soul-shattering on the album, that rather misses the point I think.

Ultimately, Lum and Bee are all about creating a mood with their music, a relaxed and blissed-out vibe that should be no stranger to fans of dreampop, chill-out electronica, and atmospheric pop. This is music for both late night sessions and noon daydreams, for both listening to at work when you need to escape the pressure of the day and at home when you simply need to unwind with a good book and a glass of wine. From that perspective, Long Way From Home succeeds pretty well.

A little over a year ago, the Boston-based Plumerai released Res Cogitans, a 4-song EP that found the group blending some very familiar post-punk and shoegazer textures, yet doing so in a manner that was all their own—though not without a few little bumps here and there. And now they return with Without Number, a full-length that mixes several reworked tracks from Res Cogitans with brand new material, and overall, marks a very solid improvement to the band’s oeuvre.

As with Res Cogitans, there is plenty of nuanced, darkly atmospheric pop to be found in the nine songs here, and all of it existing at that uncertain nexus between post-punk, shoegazer, goth, electronica, and gypsy folk(!). But to Plumerai’s credit, the quartet almost always manage to avoid being pigeonholed into any of those genres.

There’s an eclecticism at work here that recalls Arcade Fire. Not that Plumerai sound anything like Arcade Fire (though both groups have a penchant for building up to fiery outburtsts in their songs). But like Arcade Fire, Plumerai exhibits the same proclivity for taking seemingly disparate elements and using them to conjure up something that is both incredibly familiar and yet very much it’s own thing.

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This year’s Cornerstone Festival was the first one I had attended in five years, and as such, there were some notable differences between my experience this year and my experiences from years past. Perhaps the biggest difference was that my primary focus this year was not on the music side of the festival, but rather the film side. As such, the number of concerts that I attended can be counted on two hands—a mere fraction of the concerts that I’ve seen in the past.

Even so, as I made way through that paltry number of shows, there were still things that I was hoping for. Namely, a band that would come completely out of the leftfield, that would leave concertgoers picking their jaws up off the muddy ground—or at least scratching their heads full of rarely washed, nappy, campsite hair.

In years past, that bill was filled by such acts as S.S. Bountyhunter, Danielson, Fine China, Soul-Junk, and Psalters. For Cornerstone 2007, it was State Bird. And for a while, during their late night show full of insanity—Native American stylings, conga line—it was like those five years had never occurred. I was back in those Cornerstones of yore, and I couldn’t wait to run back to my campsite and grab all of my friends to herd them back to the Encore Stage.

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