BEACH HOUSE: Bloom
Sub Pop, 62 minutes
Rating: 5/5

Beautiful. Epic. Life-affirming. Beach House is the kind of group that inspires critics to trip over themselves with superfluous adjectives, the kind usually reserved for sunsets, childbirth or spiritual pilgrimages. With that comes a tendency to make their music seem more enthralling than it might sound on first listen; the Baltimore duo of Victoria Legrand and Alex Scally make no immediate grabs for anyone’s attention.

But sit with Bloom, their fourth album, and its power will reveal itself. Though it’s easily their finest work yet, it’s not the kind of great album that comes from a sudden burst of inspiration or frustration over being ignored. Legrand and Scally have been making the same kind of mid-tempo, guitar-and-organ-driven music since “Apple Orchard” first made its way through music blogs in summer 2006. The difference now is simple but crucial: the songs are better. Not catchier per se, or bolder, just ... better.

It’s a hard quality to describe, but few familiar with the Beach House sound will deny it has been tightened and brought pretty close to perfection. Moments of pop payoff creep in – the striking guitar line carrying “Myth,” the subtle bass groove of “New Year,” pretty much all of “On the Sea” – but they still don’t dominate. Music fans have anticipated and fawned over Bloom not because Beach House have finally made a record that requires no effort to get into, as some may have hoped, but because that effort is rewarded on every single track. Give it time, and it will serve you well.

TENACIOUS D: Rize of the Fenix
Columbia, 41 minutes
Rating: 3.5/5

Tenacious D’s first album dropped in 2001, a good decade after the kind of hyper-profane cock-rock they specialized in spoofing had any kind of commercial impact. Now even a decade after that, we have to wonder: is there a point in mocking something that was uncool before some of you were even born?

Maybe, yes. The mostly solid Rize of the Fenix wisely dumps the skits and filler songs that plagued The D’s previous albums, and while it’s a strange compliment to pay something that so frequently plays on excess and self-indulgence, it’s a pretty cohesive and streamlined piece of work. “Rize of the Fenix” is a rare moment of honest self-reflection, with Jack Black half-defending and half-regretting the band’s film flop The Pick of Destiny (2006), and it’s funny as hell. “Roadie” and “Rock is Dead” acknowledge the precarious position outlined above – is rock ‘n’ roll still important enough to make fun of? – while having a blast. “To Be the Best” is the finest ‘80s montage soundtrack that may never get its cinematic due.

Issues of relevancy aside, Rize of the Fenix is a breeze. Like The D’s best work of yore, it should earn spins well after the laughs have worn off. 

HOLLY MCNARLAND: Run Body Run
Independent, 42 minutes 

Rating: 3/5

Holly McNarland will be familiar to those of a very specific age. Her breakout Stuff (1997) produced two respectable hits, "Numb" and “Elmo,” that earned near-constant rotation on MuchMusic before the channel was hijacked by the impulses of a million pre-teen girls. McNarland’s appeal was pretty clear-cut at the time: she offered the angst of Courtney Love without the baggage, the radio-ready voice of Sarah McLachlan without the soft songwriting, the rare female songwriter of the time whose feminism was implicit and unforced.

Run Body Run, her fourth album and first in half a decade, feels like she never went away, for better or worse. First single “Alone Just Fine” is exactly the sort of serviceable alternative rock that ‘90s programmers ate up. Aside from that she favours varied, if instantly recognizable genres: confessional folk (“After I’m Gone,” “You’ll Forget About Me”) country-pop (“Widow’s Pane”) and indie rock (“Only Money.”) The title track is the most worthwhile, a haunting love song punctuated with eerie electronic effects.

Run Body Run is a fine record, one far enough removed from McNarland’s heyday that, for those who came of age with her tunes, it comes with the sweet taste of nostalgia.