BRUNCH: plouf!

Imagist primitives go pop. Toy-chest marauders clock in and dwindle before any heavy lifting — chorus or bridge, say — even seems advisable. No shambles, either — just radical abbreviation. Fleeting larks from the nursery.

"Dirty Plate"
"Lunar Holiday"
"Peko"

The Beets, "My Bones, My Flesh, and Me"

Underage echo-chamber pop from Jackson Heights' own. Pulsating reverb takes hold, etched only by a chorus of exuberant aharmonic yips. Lyrics bespeaking bulimia, or merely self-abnegation, are beyond their years: "But then I will eat again / And I feel like one of them / So I will have to let it out." Watch this space.

"My Bones, My Flesh, and Me"

Surf Nazis Must Die, "I'm Not Anti-Girls, Girls Are Anti-Me"

Berliner raw dogs traffic in renunciation, victimization. The Anti-Everything EP, a Youth Attack joint born of Das Oath's Dutch presence, is littered with chunky, cheeky, grating jams. This comma-splice conniption is the most gratifying of the lot, the coda a permanent breakdown. Sarcastithrash for the EU era.

"I'm Not Anti-Girls, Girls Are Anti-Me"

BRUNCH: Void

Rough, rough cuts from the undisputed kings. Little bouts of rage, tempered by a thick coat of static. Themes persist: "Draft Me Please" supplements the old conscripts "War Hero" and "Time to Die," the latter noticeably (p)rearranged here, hewed by arrhythmic stops. John Weiffenbach's code-red squeals never sounded better, even if his tactics self-contradict: "We're not asking you / We're telling you" segues into "Please give us a chance." His Rules.

Hit and Run

Charles Bronson, "What's Wrong With Me?"

Avowed Voidheads flip the split, cover Faith. Ratcheting up the relatively sedate track — next to Void, anything is — Bronson races for the finish line, radiating an oblique sense of musicianship, or at least coordination, that their patron saints solidly refused to develop. Until V-Day '08, the meanest thing out of DeKalb, Illinois.

"What's Wrong With Me?"

Apathetic Ronald McDonald, "Fuck That, Gimme Wafflez"

Imperial brunch violence from Fontana, CA. Roving power chords, lisped vocals, and an insatiable appetite for that Belgian batter keep AxRxMx (they insist) in their place. Play fast, eat fresh.

"Fuck That, Gimme Wafflez"

BRUNCH: Duke Nukem Forever

Sledgehammer LAPV makes of variety a virtue. Admixing Bronson-caliber samples, the grindstone diligence of a Tragedy, and even the errant Cookie Monster growl, these beginners bode well. Stick to your guns.

"Demo 2007"

All Girl Summer Fun Band, "New in Town"

Impressionistic lovers' rock to take the edge off. With the first chills of fall — and a new, surely inferior album — why not? "New in Town" comes from the 2001 debut, a cuddly conga line of pop whimsy that points to all points Northwest. They're based in Portland, but they get around: "Canadian Boyfriend" said as much; see also "Down South, 10 Hours, I-5." This one tracks a peripatetic crush from the grocery store to the punk-rock show, all anxious and obsessed. But the third verse speaks truth to puppy love: appearances can be deceiving.

"New in Town"

Baskervilles, "Caught in a Crosswalk"

Note-perfect orchestral popcorn. NYC vets pump trumpet and keys into this vaguely Britannic crisper, recalling Brilliant Corners without all the mope. "Caught in a Crosswalk" completed Twilight, a free singles series, fourteen deep, now collected on CD for eager purchase. This is the brightest of the bunch, a studio wonder whose creeping veneer doesn't eviscerate the twee appeal. And maybe they play out once in a while — but get your priorities straight.

"Caught in a Crosswalk"