I first encountered Empire of the Sun before the release of their album “Walking On a Dream.” Some of their earlier material made its way to last.fm and a consequential “suggested band” notice brought me to listen to “Walking On a Dream” (the song). It was catchy. It had falsetto. The singers sported ludicrous costumes. They practically channel MGMT (careful – the landing page for their site is a bit of a mind-fuck) – how could I refuse?

Please note that I take some pride in the fact that I just managed to piss every Empire of the Sun über-fan off. The vehement cries of “they aren’t MGMT!” echo across the internet with such force that I almost believe them… Almost. But the style and pretty much everything else are just entirely too similar to dispel all comparisons, and MGMT was here first. Nice try though.

I like glam artists. Yes, the bulk of them are crazy and more often than not the music itself seems to suffer as a result of a focus on the visual elements of the performance, but the scene still manages to produce some of the best songs in terms of creativity and emotional appeal. Empire of the Sun managed to get four together.

The first four songs of the album are dynamite, and then, suddenly, everything becomes underwhelming for me. The tunes that for the first 15 minutes inspired so much affinity morph into the sonic equivalent of a black dwarf – a star too weak to produce significant heat or light. They just fail to impress after such a promising opening – a sad and unfortunate occurrence since the album clearly shows a lot of potential but simply doesn’t find a way to follow through.

I know there are those who would disagree with me (the same people who would lynch me for the aforementioned MGMT reference), but I just fail to see the genius carry into “Delta Bay” and beyond. Fischerspooner managed to do much the same thing with their album “#1” – “Emerge” was the only song on the entire thing to move me in any significant way (and I loved it), but they couldn’t duplicate the success anywhere else.

With all this said, the first four tracks for Empire of the Sun are grand and definitely worth a listen. In fact, listen to the whole thing and form an opinion for yourself (as you always should). Just don’t be surprised when after a rousing (if not somehow sad) “We Are the People” you suddenly notice that your mind has wandered off and is currently pondering when recycle is collected next.

What to take away…

Empire of the Sun’s “Walking On a Dream” album is a promising start for the group, but we certainly hope their next release manages to hold our attention much longer. Despite our dissapointment however, “Standing On the Shore,” “Walking On a Dream,” “Half Mast,” and “We Are the People” are outstanding tracks in need of listening.

What should you expect?

Visual artistry and poppy electronic songs that will cleverly lure you in and then proceed to bore you for two thirds of the play time.

What drink would Empire of the Sun pair with?

An appletini. I think the color and presentation are key.

Favorite song?

I waffle between “Walking On a Dream” and “We Are the People” – it depends on my mood as “We Are the People” has some sad undercurrents that are hard to identify.

As with the bulk of my discoveries, Pandora was the catalyst that led to my uncovering of Róisín Murphy some months ago. I’m not sure which station brought up the song – it has subsequently appeared on a number of the stations I’ve assembled – but “Dear Miami” was the first of Róisín’s unique tunes to cross my path and effectively snag my ear.

“Dear Miami” is a regrettably under-appreciated track on her “Overpowered” album – no music video (yet), but a few dedicated individuals made certain that it was out there in one form or another for consumption by the masses. I found a decent version on YouTube, and played it fairly regularly. The well-timed beats and soulful lyrics quickly fought for dominance in my brain and I caught myself humming the tune (as well as I could) often.

YouTube, however, was a poor approximation and I became increasingly annoyed with the poor quality.

“So why don’t you buy it?” The snarky individual (or label exec) may retort.

Funny you should ask… It’s not readily available in the United States.

At least not in any modern form.

iTunes won’t sell it to Americans, and since I already had an account with the US store it would have taken an act of Congress to set up a UK account. Not to mention the headache of buying in Pounds Sterling and the associated fees I would be assessed by my credit card carriers for not trading in my native currency. It just wasn’t a very feasible option. Amazon didn’t have MP3s available, and the bulk of the imported CDs I wound up tracking down were either no longer available or would have cost upwards of $40 to purchase… Shipping not included. Any CD over $20 (there were a couple I found for $22 or so) must be made of gold to be worth the acquisition in this day of digital files and immediate downloads.

So I stewed, and held my payment.

Several months later (i.e. last week) I randomly decided to go and see if any merchants in the US had picked Róisín up, and was delighted to find that tower.com not only had an imported version (French from what I can tell) but also had it on sale for $14 and some change! Visa came out in a technological flash and I acquired.

Well Róisín showed up a few days ago, and I really haven’t stopped listening since.

I had made my rounds before I bought the CD: I checked to see if I liked the bulk of the songs that I could freely listen to across the internet and I briefly went over the rest by whatever 30 second clips I could find. At the time I thought some of the songs were good (“Overpowered”, “Movie Star”) but I wasn’t thoroughly convinced about the rest of the album. “Dear Miami,” however, was a prize just about worth all $14 in my mind so I went for it.

Great maker, did I wind up being lucky. There is a bunch of hype surrounding Róisín on the internet (from those lucky Europeans and few others with access to her), but it’s clearly hard to tell who just likes her as a cult follower and who likes her for her contribution to the art. Well, I was either rapidly brainwashed into the cult or her artistry overwhelmed in short order.

I like to think the latter.

In all fairness though, my girlfriend found very little special about the album calling it “repetitive” but something that she could see listening to as background sound. Our tastes do differ a bit so definitely check the music videos for a few of her songs before dismissing the album.

What to take away…

Róisín Murphy is in the broad spectrum between pure electronica and experimental pop, but I think it’s her vocal prowess that sets her apart. Her voice is velvety especially when she hits some of her lower notes… It’s intoxicating if you can sit though the admittedly cyclical music and heavy synth use.

What should you expect?

Uniquely deep and firm vocals – especially for an electronica infused album. Good dancing beats, and a general sense of being uplifted although a few songs buck that trend. Also, as you will find if you watch a music video or two, Róisín is a classic glam musician – her costumes are half the reason the videos are so interesting.

What would she pair with?

“Overpowered” is a hard album to pair with a single beverage because it’s a bit broad in its tone, but in a pinch I would go with a crème liquor on the rocks and right now I’m leaning towards Baileys.

Favorite song?

“You Know Me Better” is a tremendous piece that I don’t recall listening to before receiving the album. Definitely worth a few plays.

I pondered for a while on what my first few posts should be about… The state of the music industry? No, too depressing (and generally controversial). A top ten rundown? No, too broad, and besides, MTV and VH1 have had years of those. Eventually, I turned to my trusty iPod, and started browsing. Cha-ching: paydirt – my favorite frother, Kevin Barnes, would make a marvelous entry to the commentary of Sound & Tonic!

Now let me first define “frother” because, well… It isn’t a real word, but you’ll see it here fairly often. I first stumbed across the term in a BBC News article, and while the context was less than memorable the concept I found to be most appealing. Here in the States we throw such terms as “crazy” or “insane” around a lot, but have very few words to explain the various states of craziness (“fucking nuts” and “batshit insane” notwithstanding). “Frother” made an impression because its usage drew up the perfect mental image of a truly unstable person who through general harmlessness managed to also become endearing.

A definition that could not fit anybody better than Kevin Barnes, the very productive delusion behind Of Montreal.

How did I uncover this marvelous oddity, you may ask?

As has historically been the case, it was not I, but Leslie who tracked down the band and passed the information along. “Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse” read the song name. “Curious” I said to myself as the song started playing on the mix CD (including such names as Carbon Leaf and The Faint). How she found the song, I never bothered asking, but the product of the discovery involved sitting in my dark basement apartment staring into the computer monitor while Kevin proceeded to snipe off my synapses. The resulting numb feeling that spread down my body from the damaged part of my cerebral cortex was relaxing, but didn’t exactly help to disseminate the paradox I had just heard.

Thank the maker Les didn’t produce the entire Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer? album at that time because it would have assuredly ended in a quick coma.

I believe it was some dark wave electronica that nudged me back towards consciousness, but due to some undefined allure I proceeded to listen to “Heimdalsgate Like a Promethean Curse” four or five more times. Each play brought with it an ounce of immunity and a deep desire to hear more.

Within a few days I had acquired the album, and after the first play-through I was hooked.

Of Montreal is foremost what I would call experimental pop. The songs are a mélange of luring bass, chirping synths and erratic vocals – the lyrics are often nonsensical and where they are comprehensible stray towards the dark and implicative. The overall mood of the album is as close akin to a hallucinatory breakdown as I can imagine, and yet it isn’t an ongoing depression. The tunes are friendly if not catchy (one can’t exactly hum an Of Montreal tune very well), and the overarching feeling is one of disassociation with a painful past while embracing the giddy aftermath.

You know – that point in time where your brain starts drowning you in endorphins to help stave off some of the psychological trauma you’ve just suffered.

What to take away…

Of Montreal is something you have to listen to in order to even begin to understand. Words simply fail at describing the sound (and scene) because so much of it is purely emotional. You must like electronic fused pop, and an appreciation for glam musicians wouldn’t hurt. I saw Kevin in concert in Cleveland, and the crowd was a broadly eclectic mix so almost anybody could conceivably find some manner of appreciation for what he has to offer…

What should you expect?

Think bizarre – that’s what makes him the epitome of frother. If he was channeling an ADHD eight-year-old he couldn’t be more random, and it’s his randomness and raw emotions that give Kevin and the rest of Of Montreal their unique and endearing quality.

What drink would he pair with?

No question it would be old fashioned Absinthe with perhaps twice the sugar. Combine with a surrealist art exhibit and you’re nearly there.

Favorite song?

Suffer for Fashion. Despite the creepy-ass child noise at the beginning, this song sums up the style and sets the tone for the rest of the album.