Listening to Peg Leg Love’s S/T debut feels like driving fast and wearing sun glasses minutes past dusk, while holding between your inner thighs a favorite liquor or beer. This album would make the perfect soundtrack for an urban western epic. Keep your ears wax free for Peg Leg Love; you won’t be disappointed.

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This is smart and sharp cut-to-the-bone pop that would fit between the Modern Lovers and the Violent Femmes but could still have a 45 out on Rip Off Records. I suggest listening to this record and getting your mind promptly blown by the Franks.

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It was bright. It was bliss. The debut single from L.A. band Sweaters is a true pop artifact—never plastic, never dull, but rough around the edges, like gravel in the warm sun.

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Picture yourself on a boat on a river, riding on the wave of a musical crescendo as you’re taken by a hazy groove and the swell of an organ … and then the drugs take effect. The new EP from Los Angeles-based quintet Spirit Vine offers three psychedelically fueled tracks that synesthetically alter the senses and tantalize the ear’s taste buds.

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This EP’s song styles and track order feel classical in form, ala Homer and Virgil, but trade bombast for the correct balance of grit and sheen. With Donovan (Drums) and Kate (Bass) supplying solid, pulsating grooves for Tim and Mateo to splatter colors of guitar tone over, Cobalt Cranes earn themselves a place in the garage pantheon. Listen. Love.

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Widow Babies’ bassist Neal laid his instrument to rest after Saturday night’s show at the Smell. The word on the street is that Neal will be attending Columbia University this fall—starting Monday, actually—and for that reason he couldn’t play the Spaceland show. Despite this shortcoming, the band played on: Elise gave a lively vocal performance that sounded like a child singing to their favorite song while Danny kept his guitar sounding surfy and Tabor built complex beats out of simple rudiments. Even without a bassist, the Widow Babies ensnared the listeners with style and beauty.

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It was so strange to see Julian in Silverlake. To me, the Strokes were better suited as a small-venue band because when they played in large arenas, the group looked like little action figures on a stage. This we could chalk up to fame and stardom. But at Spaceland, we could see the man face to face. In the hallway, after informing the singer I was writing a review of the show, he admitted he’d be a little reluctant to read it in a few days due to what seemed to be a fear of bad press.

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