Architecture in Helsinki: Places Like This. Sounds like: Nothing I've ever heard.

They are a six-piece collective from Australia with a frenetic energy that makes them completely irresistible. Live, they never stopped moving. Each time they finished a song, everyone switched instruments and they started all over again. Bonkers.

Dave Gahan: Hourglass. Sounds like: Sex.

His voice is so ooh. And the music is so ahh. All I can say is, put your business socks on. Damn.

Kenna: Make Sure They See My Face. Sounds like: Prince, Radiohead, Depeche Mode, anything produced by the Neptunes.

It's so hard to describe his sound because it draws on so many disparate influences. It really is its own entity. Perfect for listening to when you want to dance, think, or rock.

Stars: In Our Bedroom After The War. Sounds like: Broken Social Scene

They sound like all the other smart pop coming out of Canada right now, RE: Feist, Broken Social Scene, etc. Good songs, thoughtful lyrics. They are fantastic live; a little more restrained on the CD but it's still all good.

Gotan Project: La Revancha del Tango. Sounds like: French tango techno music.

This album is four years old. But I just bought it. So it's new to me. If you like Thievery Corporation, Morcheeba, Hooverphonics, and the like, this will probably be up your alley. Actually a captivating live show, which seems weird because so much of it is electronic. But the violin player was there and the female singers were dressed in flamenco regalia so it was pretty cool to watch.

Rogue Wave: Asleep at Heaven's Gate. Sounds like: I don't know.

Not sure about these guys. I get the feeling this CD requires digesting and I only listened to it once. Seeing them on the fourth so that'll be the deciding factor. Reminded me a little of Secret Machines. But it didn't grab me on the first listen. However, the first time I heard OK Computer, I thought, huh? And now, well, you know.

Galactic: From the Corner to the Block. Sounds like: If jazz, funk, and rap had a threesome that produced a child.

I heart Galactic. They are so good live and Ben Ellman's saxophone is smoking. But when I heard they were doing a rap album, I thought, ugh. No more 8 minute funk jams. And yet...it's really, really good. Guests like Ladybug Mecca (Digable Planets), Lateef the Truth Speaker, and Mr. Lif are well matched with Galactic's Dirty New Orleans funk.

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Luckily I found myself on South Street this weekend, where Repo was already selling Rilo Kiley's Under the Blacklight. So I had the entire weekend to listen to it. And I did. Until I could sing "Silver Lining" under my breath by heart. It got me through a bad case of the Mondays.

Yes, I am slightly obsessive when it comes to music. And cutting my food into small squares. And burning incense as often as I can.

I just love this album. It's kind of all over the place and is a lot more eclectic than the band's previous CDs. But I dig it. It's like Multiple Personality Disorder Rilo Kiley. And crazy people are fun. To a point.

The buck stops for me with track seven, the super annoying "Dejalo." It sounds like a really bad impersonation of Miami Soundmachine circa whenever their last hit was. It's douche chill bad. Not even in an ironic way. Like my finger can't hit advance track fast enough bad. And I'm also not digging "15," but when I close my eyes and try not to listen to the lyrics I can get into it a little bit more.

Those two tracks aside, this is in my top 10 of the year, so far. It has the happiest break-up song ever written. Or at least ever heard by this pair of ears. "Breakin' Up" really hits on that duality of "Oh God we're breaking up," and "Hell yeah, I'm free."

Maybe Jenny Lewis got some of that sad sap folk out of her system when she was off doing her thing with the Watson Twins. Because on this album she and the rest of the band are ready to have some fun.

I was going to write that I wish it had come out at the summer's beginning. But I've decided perfect for the beginning of what will hopefully be a nice, long, Indian summer that drops off into fall.

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