Much ado has been made of the aging of the dance music generation, but bucking the trend come the Martinez Brothers, two churchgoing kids from the Bronx-- Chris is 15, Steve is 18-- whose father turned them on to house music to steer them away from hip-hop's profane temptations. Under the tutelage of New York's "soulful" house vanguard, they've found themselves regularly playing gigs like Shelter and Danny Krivit's 718 Sessions. Their debut single, for mentor Dennis Ferrer's Objektivity label, is probably the last thing their classmates are listening to: an insanely deep, Detroit-inspired anthem that could give Âme a run for their money in the goosebumps department. A seven-minute swell of electrifying arpeggios and hangar-sized reverb, this is a sure contender for the summer's most epic track-- as well as a welcome alternative for when the DJ has played too many Carl Craig remixes in a row.

[from "My Rendition" 12"; out now on Objektivity | Buy from Beatport]

Daytrotter put together another great SXSW session, this time starring Montreal's Malajube. The set was recorded at Big Orange Studio in Austin, and the band recorded three tracks-- two of which are unreleased instrumentals.

"Cristobal", the group's first instrumental, skips over, backs up for a sprint. The piano trills and long pauses make it easy to picture this soundtracking one of those old silent films where a girl gets tied to train tracks, the camera going to the train, then the girl, then the hero: the whining guitar, the piano, the galloping drums are full of melodrama.

MP3: > Malajube: "Cristobal"

"la Contrôleuse" is good, but not as strong as "Cristobal". This four-minute prog lullaby ambles until minute two, when a video game melody (the vaguely classical guitar line marks it) begins. Maybe it's because I'm carb-loading. Or maybe it's the heat, but I was sleepy before it even got there. I guess that's what lullabies are for.

MP3: > Malajube: "la Contrôleuse"

Kieran Hebden as a remixer is not generally a minimalist. He tends to drop anchor with an isolated element or two and then saturate the colors of everything formerly relegated to the background. On his B-side take on the lead single from Matthew Dear's upcoming full-length, Asa Breed, Hebden moves in a couple of directions at once. He takes a fantastic new wave song and technofies it while simultaneously making it more organic. The percussion swoops in from jazz, all cymbal splashes and woodblock taps, while the tinkly keyboard from the original with more space sounds like the kind of one-handed melody Aphex Twin might come up with. But you can almost see the red blips moving from left to right on the tightly sequenced synths pulse through, hinting at the 4/4 kick looming somewhere out there in the future. And when it arrives, finally, with less than a month to go, it hints at a world on the other side that exists only in our imagination.

[from "Deserter" 10" and digital single; due 05/08/07 on Ghostly International]

Sounds like Silver is going to be a many-splendored thing. LCD Soundsystem's superlative second album has been out, what, a month? Now before you've even had time to finish downloading bootleg remix comp Sounds Like Silver, a few of LCD CEO James Murphy's friends are already kicking out cover versions. First up, the lads of Glasgow's Franz Ferdinand take out the epic "All My Friends" for an anthemic guitar-rock makeover.

In Franz's hands, the original's minimalist subway-clatter piano barely even arrives. Instead, the Archduke and producer Erol Alkan show off interlocking guitars, airy 80s synths, and singer Alex Kapranos' theatrical croon, putting the band's polished new-new-wave boots on LCD's poignant NYC cool. Rushing to a shouted, discordant conclusion, Franz manage to beat LCD's time by about two minutes. Yes, you can have it better, but not so much. Silver medal? Sorry, we haven't heard John Cale's version yet.

Stream: > Franz Ferdinand: "All My Friends"
[from LCD Soundsystem's "All My Friends" single; due 05/21/07 on DFA/EMI]

Yesterday, Columbia/Legacy re-released Leonard Cohen's first three LPs: Songs of Leonard Cohen, Songs from a Room, and Songs of Love and Hate-- all originally released between 1967 and 1971. While these records were more popular in Cohen's native Canada and in Europe than the U.S., each LP was influential. To celebrate, we gathered some of our favorite Cohen YouTubes. ("Hallelujah" isn't part of these reissues-- it's from 1984-- but we can't resist including it.)

"Suzanne" (live at the 1970 Isle of Wight Festival), from Songs of Leonard Cohen:

"The Stranger Song", from Songs of Leonard Cohen:

"Hallelujah", from Various Positions:

Trance, ambient, minimal techno-- none of these signifiers seem to fit the Field's music as well as the one contained in his album title, From Here We Go Sublime. One of Axel Willner's best recurring tics is using slivers of sampled vocals as agents of melody and rhythm at the same time, abstracting them into fallow syllables like a modern electronic descendent of Kurt Schwitters' seminal sound-poem Ursonate. The appropriately titled "Silent" forgoes vocal samples, but winds up wringing the same kind of rapturous lyricism from beveled synths: Willner, in short, requires no vocal cords to create a voice. Pinioned by an inexorable 4/4 wallop, "Silent" doubles in on itself with backwards sump-pump sounds, then lights up with a sliced countermelody and a triumphant refrain. It's an inspirational hymn for machines, milking more drama from stasis than should feasibly be possible.

[from From Here We Go Sublime; out now on Kompakt]

There isn't much in the way of fretboard wizardry on "Familj", but it is Dungen in fine form, still astounding in their time-capsule production and ageless melody. Sun-kissed speaker-panning organs recall a gentler strain of psychedelia, with just a trace of six-string jangle under the layered vocal harmonies that are the real center of the track. That's not to undermine the quietly stunning drum performance that skitters as the organ tones cascade around it, or even the fiddle seamlessly thrown in to the track's final moments. It still sounds just as lovingly vintage, but there's more confidence and bravery in the melody, as all the trappings we loved Ta Det Lugt for respect the vocals above all else. No less seductive for being softer, "Familj" has Dungen reaching the same ends with new means, adding some space to their songs and quite literally strengthening their voice.

[from Tio Bitar; due 05/15/07 on Kemado]

Joni Mitchell's tribute album has a great list of contributors-- Sufjan Stevens and Prince included. Björk's contribution comes off better than Stevens'. Stevens re-imagined Joni Mitchell's song as a brighter, orchestrated TV show theme, but Björk has a minimal take on the Hissing of Summer Lawns track: chimes, musical box melodies, and a few reverso-sound effects make up the whole track. Her voice stays front and center throughout.

[from A Tribute to Joni Mitchell; due today on Nonesuch Records]

The youngsters of Tokyo Police Club made their "Late Show" (and network TV) debut last Thursday night. Paul Shaffer and the CBS Orchestra contributed tambourine to the track (since the track really would have suffered with any sort of addition, really). The boys looked appropriately nervous, and lead singer Dave Monks hid behind a mess of bangs for their performance. Still, it's a competent debut-- unfortunately the YouTube video looks like it's a little bit out of alignment.

"Monster" is from You Say Party! We Say Die!'s second album, titled Lose All Time. The original has a subtler disco beat that goes into a regular ol' rock song for parts of the chorus and verses. The song is also a little sleepy and melancholy, but the remix, by RAC, buries some of the harmonies that make it so.

Grindhouse is a celebration of cult cinema, not cineplex fare, so it shouldn't be surprising (at least in hindsight) that the movie didn't catch on with mainstream audiences out for a night of predictable laughs and/or emptily sadistic gore. In fact, the double feature's success might have seemed a little perverse and would definitely have drained it of at least a little of its seedy, garish luster.

That's too bad, because the world needs a little Jack Nitzsche and Smith in its life, just like it needed Dick Dale and "Jungle Boogie" 13 years ago.

If you don't think you've heard any Nitzsche, just pull out your copy of the Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want"-- he did the famous choral arrangement. Or listen to Neil Young's Harvest-- he did...just about everything. Or go see Death Proof. "The Last Race", Nitzsche's 1964 instrumental single, scores the opening credits*, with Stuntman Mike's death car roaring through the Texas countryside. The song's revving guitars and menacing bassline create a surf fanfare whose grandiosity is almost silly. "The Last Race" sounds like Aaron Copeland popping the clutch and telling the world to eat his dust.

Stream: > Jack Nitzsche: "The Last Race" [WINDOWS] [QUICKTIME]

A good portion of Death Proof takes place in the bars around Austin, all of which apparently have nachos to die for and exquisitely stocked jukeboxes. Along with T. Rex's "Jeepster" (whose car associations seem especially sinister in this context) and Joe Tex's "The Love You Save May Be Your Own", Smith's cover of the Shirelles' "Baby It's You" plays in the movie mainly to make you think Austin is the coolest place on earth. A slinky guitar and tight rhythm section kick the latter song off with a seedy groove, made sticky by the organ, but it's Gayle McCormick's performance that makes the song a classic of sexual desperation. "It's not the way you smile that touches my heart," she sings, knowingly. "It's not the way you kiss that tears me apart." Like Stuntman Mike's murderous motives, the song's obvious subject matter is never stated outright, which only makes it kinkier, and it's a sign of Tarantino's growth as a filmmaker on Death Proof that he just lets it work its magic rather than staging a half-hour conversation about it á la "Like a Virgin".

*One piece of movie trivia: "The Last Race" also scored the credits of the hokey teensploitation flick Village of the Giants in 1965, starring a young Beau Bridges and a post-Opie, pre-Grand Theft Auto Ronny Howard.

Chris Corsano, Paul Flaherty, Matt Heyner, and Greg Kelley are Cold Bleak Heat. Sure, those names-- tapping a collective résumé that includes No Neck Blues Band, Björk, Vampire Belt, and the Dream/Aktion Unit-- probably already have some heading for the scroll bar, what with their concomitant connotations of big, screeching improvised jazz. But drop those preconceptions and listen: Less chaotic and more communicative than most would expect, "Pound Cake" opens with Corsano playing the part of a solo man on fire, taking advantage of every bit of space he has for 90 seconds. When the rest of the trio climbs on his back, Corsano is resilient, battling Flaherty and Kelley back when they blow him under foot or when Kelley drops a mammoth bass thump. It’s a battle to the finish that ends in cat-and-mouse playfulness, Heyner leaning heavy on the deep, hollow upright funk he’s been teasing the whole time as Corsano steps on the breaks to let his reed-and-brass chasers fly by in broad daylight. Cold, indeed.