The Party of Helicopters “Please Believe It” (Velocette)

Compare to: My Bloody Valentine, Fisticuffs Bluff, Hum

Rating: 4

Weezer, meet Black Sabbath. Black Sabbath, meet Weezer. There. Now the introductions are out of the way. Let’s move on.

Ohio has produced little in the “Famous Musician” department. Though, to call Chrissie Hynde, pianist Jim Brickman, and Marilyn Manson little would be bad form.So far, the Party of Helicopters’ chances look good. Eight years and 10 albums later, PoH seems to finally be breaking into the music scene with its blend of space-rock and emo-like lyrics.

PoH’s latest album, “Please Believe It,” starts off a little too loud and distorted and stays that way through all 10 tracks.

Drummer Corey Race stumbles over himself like a drunken frat boy in a sorority house, the guitarist simply plugs in, then turns it up to 11, and bassist Ryan Brannon’s presence is almost non-existent.

The lead track, “The Good Punk,” features lead singer Joe Dennis trying to be hard-core punk, yet moody at the same time: “I think I’ve been a good punk/ Let a-holes think I’m weird.” Yes, he actually says “a-holes.”

To break the pattern of depressing lyrics, “Delta 88” sounds eerily reminiscent of Dynamite Hack’s “Boys ‘N Tha Hood”: “I just want to roll tight/ Have people say/ ‘Hey, who’s that?/ Bumpin’ up around the way?’ ” It’s hard to tell if Dennis is being serious or sarcastic, and his Rivers Cuomo vocal style gives no hints.

What about the music, you ask? It may be the only thing that saves PoH. Well, maybe it’s just the guitarist that does it.

He is the melody of the band. Seemingly soloing throughout each tune, Stillman has good hooks, an ear for making muddy sounds become clearer and strong enough shoulders to carry the rest of the band’s sound.

If you’re going to party with the Party of Helicopters, don’t follow the band’s lead.

Do not drink and fly.

However, if you just want to be sad and break small things, then this is the album for you.

— Adam Greenfield

Lisa Marie Presley “To Whom it May Concern” (Capitol)

Compare to: Aimee Mann, Sheryl Crow, Stevie Nicks

Rating: 6

When I look at the cover of Lisa Marie Presley’s debut album, I can’t decide what features of her parents I notice first. Could it be that gorgeous facial profile of her mother, or is it those lips and eyes of her legendary father? This uncertainty resembles my anticipation to listen to the album: Will “To Whom it May Concern” be a pop-rock awakening of her father or just a lame entry into the biz that Presley has prolonged for over 30 years?

The result is a mix of both — Presley showcases a deep, sexy vocal talent throughout the 11 tracks on “To Whom it May Concern,” though the tone and depth of her songs don’t ever really change, nor does it mark a distinct diversity from others who have made similar albums.

The lyrics, written by Presley, are a different comparison to the song compositions themselves. Presley poignantly explores feelings about her father in the single “Lights Out” (the best song on the album): “You were a million miles away/ And I was crying every time I’d leave you/ Then I didn’t want to see you/ I still keep my watch two hours behind,” and the refrain, “Someone turned out the lights in Memphis/ That’s where my family’s buried and gone.”

The problem isn’t with her lyrics, but the way the songs sound. Presley both vulgarly and touchingly ventures into subjects of ex-husbands (in “Important”: “Maybe I’ll squash you relentlessly because you tried to crush me/ Please get out of my way because I don’t like fucking waiting”) and family (in “So Lovely”: “Know you’re everything to me/ Know you have to learn and try/ Please don’t fear to lose me/ You know I have the same fears too”). Her resonance could easily be mistaken for Sheryl Crow, though thankfully, Presley doesn’t invite us to go “soak up the sun.”

As far as new music goes, Presley has made an impressive debut and deserves accolades for writing her own songs and actually making it coherent. “To Whom it May Concern” is a heart-wrenching opus, but it changes only by the tracks that separate it. It’s an interesting album, but it didn’t tell me any more than what I read in her recent “Rolling Stone” cover story.

— Ryan Curell

The Blood Brothers “Burn, Piano Island, Burn” (Artist Direct)

Compare to: At the Drive In, Glassjaw, AFI

Rating: 9

Forget all the rules you learned about constructing a hardcore song — the Blood Brothers’ newest offering requires a tolerance for the unconventional. “Burn, Piano Island, Burn” is an impassioned middle finger in the face of mainstream mentality, a brutal response from uncompromising youth not content with following a formula.

“Burn, Piano Island, Burn” is the third, and most cohesive, release from the Seattle-based band, though the band is still pushing the boundaries of what’s expected from a potent punk band. The Blood Brothers create a fast-paced ride with unexpected aural turns through drastic time changes and harsh backing beats.

The most interesting aspect is the lyrics. They are pretentious but poetic portraits that, without music, could stand steadily on their own two feet. The music is built around poems created by carefully placed words that are executed through dueling vocalists — one scream shrill and urgent, one deep and angry.

On the closer, “The Shame,” vocalists Jordan Blilie and Johnny Whitney scowl, “My heart is a black haunted loom, weaving jackets for children who’ll never be born/ My hands are abandoned factories manufacturing heartbreak and hate for the world.” Definitely thought-provoking, requiring some brain to complement the bark.

The same track ends the album in a very climactic fashion. The track starts out slowly, with a disconcerting anthem over a quiet backdrop. “Everything is going to be just awful when we’re around.” It bursts into a screamy, spewing section. “How many whores till you send away for that trophy?/ And how many punches until you give yourself away for free?” Then it slows again. Becomes quiet. Repeating its anthem. It builds. Gets louder. Continues to escalate until you just can’t stand it. And abruptly ends.

“Burn, Piano Island, Burn” is the kind of album that gets its claws in you, shakes you and doesn’t let go until you’re exhausted. It’s a workout, a lengthy catharsis of everything angry and cynical that leaves you craving a post-coital cigarette.

— Erin Randolph

Switchfoot “The Beautiful Letdown” (Red Ink)

Compare to: Audio Adrenaline, U2, XTC

Rating 5 1/2

The title of Switchfoot’s newest offering, “The Beautiful Letdown,” sums it all up — though mostly beautiful, the songs are definitely a letdown. The whole album suffers from horrible song placement and extensive layering.

The Switchfoot of old was a straight-ahead rock threesome. Every song was upbeat and masterfully composed. Things have changed.

The band has added former Fold Zandura bassist Jerome Fontamillas to the lineup as a second guitarist.

The addition adds some much-needed texture to Switchfoot’s sound, but it’s not enough to salvage this album.

“Meant to Live,” one of the album’s few solid tracks, starts the album off well.

The song’s theme deals with the meaning of life and the struggle to find one’s true self. This “struggle” is referred to in the rest of the songs, though this reference is sometimes very subtle and hard to find.

“This is Your Life” is poorly placed. The heaviness of “Meant to Live” is immediately lost in a sea of boredom. Switchfoot fails to dig itself out of the chasm with “More Than Fine.”

However, there are a few bright spots. The stand-out sounds of “Ammunition,” “Meant To Live,” “Gone” and “Adding To The Noise” hit hard and heavy, yet soothe the mind at the same time. All of the other tracks sound poorly written and have been choked to death by the excessive use of Pro Tools.

It seems as if the post-grunge flavoring of Switchfoot’s first few releases has been completely abandoned for a more “mainstream” sound. It’s a shame because “Legend Of Chin,” the band’s first release, was overflowing with radio-friendly rock anthems. Switchfoot’s virgin guitars were so natural and untouched, but that has changed.

All that salvages Switchfoot from disaster are four driving rock songs and Jon Foreman’s deep lyrics, but it’s not enough to make up for the rest of the album.

— Dan Hopper