Interpol

“Antics” (Matador)

Compare to: Franz Ferdinand, The Killers, The Strokes

Numerous comparisons to Joy Division and other ’80s alternative bands led to Interpol being a familiar name in every indie-friendly household.

Conventionality on the band’s 2002 release, “Turn on the Bright Lights,” to please the mainstream led to plenty of record sales.

But when you combine the hype and the convention, Interpol’s follow-up album, “Antics,” leads nowhere.

The last few years have brought a barrage of ’80s emulators to be embraced by a generation of kids who didn’t live in the decade long enough to grow sick of it.

One would have hoped Interpol would have realized it didn’t stand a chance of passing off another series of singles as alternative genius — or at least the band could have tried flexing some new muscles.

Unfortunately, after becoming familiar with Interpol’s last album for a couple years, “Antics” sounds like an even more contrived selection of standard ’80s fodder.

It’s not that Interpol lacks talent. In fact, both of the band’s full length albums play from beginning to end as well-written, cohesive alternative pop-rock. It’s just that for what the band seems to be trying to do, its respectable potential is now being trumped by a lack of creativity.

For someone raised primarily with music from the ’90s, Interpol may feel like a breath of fresh air. Nearly every song on “Antics” is catchy and makes good use of low, nasal vocals reminiscent of early R.E.M. But as a whole, from the first track of “Turn on the Bright Lights” to the closing song on “Antics,” it is obvious that Interpol merely recycles the same sounds over and over.

Certainly, art should not be judged purely by its originality. It can be easily pointed out that Shakespeare, the greatest playwright of all time, never wrote an original plot. Bach stole nearly every melody he used from Lutheran hymns, but he is still considered by many to be the greatest composer. It is the delivery and distinct flavor introduced by an artist that can be adored and even copyrighted.

Interpol knows how to package and deliver, but the flavors the band offers are not its own.

— Andrew Mabe

Hopesfall

“A Types” (Trustkill)

Compare to: Open Hand, Glassjaw, Endicott

It’s always an surprising experience to listen to a new album by a band that has previously delivered gold and find the album sounds nothing like its previous records.

In these rare occasions, the band has either changed for the better and created a brilliant album, or it’s changed for the worse and put out an complete disaster.

Chalk one up for disaster for Hopesfall.

After one listen to the first track of Hopesfall’s new album, “A Types,” it is apparent the band has made some major changes.

Most noticeable is the absence of Jay Forrest’s screaming and the band’s spacey-but-unique guitar approach, both elements that made Hopesfall’s last album, “The Satellite Years,” a creative and original melodic hardcore record worth jamming out to.

This time around, Hopesfall has replaced its progressive guitar work with bland emo-flavored hooks that better suit Forrest’s new vocal approach — singing — which, in turn, will be more suitable for your junior-high-aged little sibling than a mature music listener like yourself.

Of course, melody and singing are by no means new additions to the group’s approach, but they have never been the overwhelming elements either. “The Satellite Years” showcases Hopesfall’s abilities to flawlessly combine melodic guitar work and emotionally charged screaming, therefore creating music that is curiously melodic and heavy at the same time. Unfortunately, “Types” doesn’t hint at the band’s creative abilities in the least.

Not one of the 10 horribly generic songs on the album is able to capture the true potential of Hopesfall.

Instead, each track sounds like a cheap knockoff of every other emo/rock band on the market.

No doubt Hopesfall’s new album will get the band mainstream exposure and earn it a solid fan base, most likely at the expense of the fans who supported it when the group was pioneering the melodic hardcore scene.

If this album had been released under another name, it probably would have been well received by fans of Matchbook Romance or another emo flavor-of-the-week, since Hopesfall seems to have a firm grasp on how to write boring rock songs.

— Dante Sacomani

Yob “The Illusion of Motion”

(Metal Blade)

Compare to: Electric Wizard, Warhouse, Thorr’s Hammer

Imagine drifting through space for eons, only to be sucked into the merciless gravitational pull of a black hole.

This is the atmosphere Yob conjures on “The Illusion of Motion,” a spaced-out yet oppressive slab of Black Sabbath-inspired doom metal, where tempos crawl along slower than one of the legless zombies from “Dawn of the Dead,” and tidal waves of distorted guitar slowly cave in your skull from all directions. “The Illusion of Motion” is an overwhelming head trip into the darkest reaches of the cosmos.

These tempos ebb and flow, painting a macabre picture for the listener.

But don’t fall asleep at the wheel.

With four tracks clocking in at just under an hour, Yob shows it is a master of creating epic soundscapes.

Although the songs on “The Illusion of Motion” may be long, they are never boring, as Mike Sheidt’s vocals alternate between distorted death metal bellowing and a high-pitched alien-sounding whine as his guitar playing shifts from textured strumming to heavy-handed power-chord fury. The change shows intensity within the album.

Meanwhile, the rhythm section of bassist Isamu Sato and drummer Travis Foster propel the songs at requisite glacial pace.

It’s hard to believe that this monolithic sound is being created by a trio.

“The Illusion of Motion” is best experienced in its entirety, as each of the album’s four lengthy tracks feel more like movements in a massive composition rather than individual songs.

From opener “Ball of Molten Lead” to the closing 26-minute title track, Yob has created something more than the derivative ’70s rock worship often cranked out by its peers in the doom genre.

Each track, although long, is an essential chapter in the extraterrestrial journey that is “The Illusion of Motion,” full of stratospheric peeks and deep, dark chasms, like the landscape of some distant alien planet.

On “The Illusion of Motion,” Yob creates a damaging juxtaposition of ethereal atmosphere and senses-shattering heaviness without being tiring or boring. Prepare to be crushed in slow motion.

— Joshua Haun

Yonder Mountain String Band

“Mountain Tracks: Volume 3”

(Sci Fidelity)

Made up of acoustic wizards, The Yonder Mountain String Band continues to take its progressive and irreverent style of bluegrass to new heights with its latest live release, “Mountain Tracks: Volume 3,” the band’s third live release to date.

The band has released three solid studio albums as well, but for a band known for its energetic, improv-heavy concerts, the live albums are where it’s at.

“Volume 3” is Yonder’s first double-disc release, and it captures the glowing personality of this band better than any recording.

Imagine a barnyard dance and a Grateful Dead show crossed with a kegger, and you might have an idea of how Yonder gets down.

The first disc starts with Willie Nelson’s “Bloody Mary Morning,” followed by two catchy bluegrass numbers.

The next six tracks answer the question of why Yonder is so popular in the jam band community, as they improvise and segue from one song to the next, effectively creating one big, badass jam.

It starts with some Eastern-sounding noodling and vocal chanting leading into “If There’s Still Ramblin’ in the Rambler (Let Him Go),” written by mandolin player Jeff Austin. This song stops somewhere in the middle so band members can take a shot and discuss why they’re drinking whiskey instead of the usual on-stage beverage, Jagermeister. Apparently, it’s because it’s cold out and whiskey “is like a sweater that you wear on the inside.”

After warming their insides, the members go into Austin’s “Steep Grade, Sharp Curves,” which returns to “Ramblin'” via some vocal improvisation (read: vocal nonsense). The highlight of the rest of disc one is the last song, “Holding,” about trying to find some relaxation in this busy world.

Disc two is just more of the same — solid, traditional bluegrass with a modern, psychedelic sensibility. It really takes off about halfway through with “Too Late Now” and keeps its momentum going with Bill Monroe’s “Kentucky Mandolin,” which starts the 27-minute jam to finish off the disc.

If you like bluegrass, you’ll love this album. If you don’t like bluegrass, this album may change your mind.

— Aaron Butzen