The Loud The Proud and the Off-Kilter

As we sweat out the heat and the tropical watch (go, wind shears!) and the other worrisome and wearisome realities of our chosen home, let’s get our late summer groove on with some really vibrant and disparate artists.

The SLEIGH BELLS are another two-person male-female band from Brooklyn (undisputed locus of new indie rock). She is Alexis Kraus, formerly of failed prefab teen group RubyBlue, and he is Derek Miller, former guitarist of hardcore punk band Poison the Well.

They’re loud. They’ve explained that their sound was not so much chosen as thrust upon them by their pauper status. Apparently, this means they couldn’t afford an equalizer, since the entirety of their debut, “TREATS,” screams out of your speakers at way-past-redline levels. They have to be heard to be believed.

All is not noise, however. Krauss lilts above the barbed wire guitars and whomping bass ‘n’ drums like a coquette, alternately flirting and dismissive. The repetitive hooks burrow in and take hold like barnacles. The whole sonic assault is over in less than 33 minutes.

Opener “Tell ‘Em” starts with a fanfare: a machine-gun blast of bass and drums is followed by a twin single-shot synth response. Duel guitars swoop in like descending predators. Krauss then coos her rhythmic chant, calming the roiling tempest beneath her like a cheerleading princess.

Other songs come quickly, altering only the beat (from skittering hip hop to martial, but all danceable), proportion of distortion and percentage of synth versus guitar. Only “Rill Rill” provides a breather – acoustic guitar, languid rhythm and an actual melody that rises above a chant.

And I think that’s what Sleigh Bells has hit upon, whether calculated or not – a perfect synthesis of the x and y chromosomes, the macho and the feminine. What teenage boy or girl could resist?

THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM are from New Jersey and they embody that state’s in-your-face swagger and earnestness. They have a mutual thing going with The Boss, too. Brian Fallon, their lead singer and songwriter, has smarts, soul and ambition in equal doses. The rest of the band is quite adept at their instruments. They could be playing arenas instead of bars soon.

Their first two records were punk rave-ups full of late-adolescent groping for meaning and the fairer sex. Their third offering, “AMERICAN SLANG,” presents inevitable maturation in a still throbbing setting. It too races by in a little more than half an hour.

The title song’s a classic first cut, with jungle drums threatening, guitars crashing, Fallon wailing about tattoos of his lover on the inside of his arm and dead fathers, and fortunes told in American slang – thrilling stuff. “Stay Lucky” harkens back to the full-throttle roar of past albums with a look backwards “when you were young” (more than just a little annoying coming from a 24 year-old). “Bring It On” is a burning challenge to a soon-to-be past lover who’s got another man in her sights. “The Diamond Church Street Choir” finger-snaps and sways like vintage Van Morrison while the words implore and inspire wrapped in an irresistibly uplifting melody.

“The Queen of Lower Chelsea” starts with a western-meets-orient guitar riff, then lays out a world-weary string of geographically-based advice and reminiscing. “Orphans” is another mashed accelerator anthem. “Boxer” comes late in the proceedings, but clears the fences with its metaphorical exhortations and truly glorious arrangement. “Old Haunts” is pretty obvious; but it slows the pace to grant some needed rhythmic respite, and the hammer blows land all the harder for it. “The Spirit of Jazz” is another look backward with New York as its setting. So is its closer, “We Did It When We Were Young”; but musically it’s a haunting departure – ghostly reverb on the vocals and a relative crawl to the pacing.

The Gaslight Anthem’s worth hearing now and worth watching in the future.

MENOMENA (rhymes with phenomena) is a trio from the left coast that came out of the same field with a late-summer nugget, “MINES,” their fourth. Advertised as belonging in the indie or experimental rock categories, they actually hue closer to art and classic rock schools. They make thought-provoking but still emotionally and physically moving music.

The three members, Brent Knopf, Justin Harris, and Danny Seim, democratically share the songwriting and singing duties, and they all play various instruments. Knopf developed a computer program, Digital Looping Recorder, or Deeler, and the band use it to compose and then create songs. In theory it sounds wonkish, but in practice it’s sublime.

“Mines” is insidious. Most of the songs sneak up on you – starting a certain way, then building up to or veering off in unexpected directions. There’s a lot going on in the way of different instrumentation and clever arrangements, but it never sounds cluttered or contrived.

It’s also hard to describe these songs. They sound like known commodities, yet don’t follow familiar paths. Different, but not weird.

Take the opener, “Queen Black Acid.” It starts with a lazily-strummed electric guitar, then a big open drum kicks in. (By the way, the drum sound on this album rules, beefy but not overpowering.) The lead singer comes in with a relaxed yet still soaring melody line. A short interlude follows where stout and sharp electric guitars have their say, and harmonies from on high kick back in to take the song home.

The next song, “Taos” is the most conventional rocker, built on a blues figure and and an admission that the singer’s “… not the most cocksure guy”, but he still clearly gets it done. Tempos change; guitars and burly saxes(!) stab in and provide support and embellishment. “Killemal” is breezy and busy, lightening the mood but not drastically changing it. “Dirty Cartoons” starts soft and slow then builds organically to feature massed choruses of yearning regret.

Song after song follows with unconventional endearments. Tough and tender, mature and playful, experimental and in-the-tradition, the juxtapositions are many and thick. This is one hell of an album and a rewarding ride.