The Cars Are the Stars

Kicking off like The Notwist’s “Pilot,” “Helikopter” starts with the sparse kit and then takes a deep breath. There is beauty in the silicon: mixing Mogwai, Boards of Canada, The Merkin Dream and even a pinch of Postal Service. This is one of those tracks I’ll listen to over and over and over and in three years when I hear it again, I will be reminded of this time in my life.

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Stars

This year, I became a father for the first time. On the way home from the hospital, we listened to Stars’ brilliant album, Heart, and barely held it together. The first few weeks were touch and go, sleepless and filled with more emotion than I’d ever known existed. Heart was the soundtrack. This new track off the forthcoming Set Yourself on Fire sounds more raw and still as beautiful. You can’t help but love a band who will tell you at the height of the holidays to go listen to Prefab Sprout’s first full-length, Swoon, because it’s a reminder of Paddy McAloon’s failed youth. Yes, I’m out and proud about my Prefab Sprout love. I’m also out and proud about Stars.

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Air King Sound

San Francisco experimental sound posse who create very brilliant haunted soundscapes, perfect for moody film scores and a certain sense of isolation. Owing a lot to Brian Eno, but still managing to claim their own sound. Favorite track: “Gomez Gomez.”

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Dealership

I found these guys through their video. A friend of mine directed it. Clever and catchy, reminiscent of The Rentals, Dealership have a hopeful, Friday night action vibe working for them. A poppy and wonderful antidote to the approaching winter.

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Signer

Like a fuzzy popsicle on a hot August day at 7:13 pm; it’s hot out, but the popsicle is so cold it’s fuzzy. You might be seven or eight years old. Then you squish the popsicle against the roof of your mouth after you’ve sucked out the juice.

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Royal City

I stumbled upon these tracks (if one can call a mis-click of a mouse a stumble). Of course, you can’t be without their great cover of The Strokes, “Is This It?” — but that’s no fluke. More pop than country, more lemonade than bourbon.

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