As a genre, Christmas music is about as sacred a genre as they come, not due to any religious or spiritual connotations but rather because of the soft spot in most people’s hearts for classics sung by crooners with names like Bing and Nat and Burl. They don’t make names like that anymore, but then again they don’t record songs like those anymore, either. Classic holiday songs live outside the perverted influence of the zeitgeist, instead tapping into an aura of timeless nostalgia. Perhaps those vocalists from the 1940s and ’50s didn’t realize the degree to which their songs would become lionized as part of the American experience–indeed, how could they have known?–but the fact remains that their works have been etched indelibly on the consciousness of generations raised in a country that, for better or worse, fully indulges in the holiday spirit.

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Tribute albums are almost always ill-advised. Every musician feels passionate about the artists who served as their inspiration but the art of the cover song remains an elusive, enigmatic venture for all but the most daring and insightful of interpreters. The sheer preponderance of bad cover versions (and bad cover records) serves as a solemn reminder of the pitfalls associated with taking on the work of artists more successful than oneself, yet this stinking heap of attempted homage never seems to act as a deterrent.

There are two main ways to go wrong when paying tribute to someone else’s recordings, both of which happen to be anitpodal strains of the same thought. The first path to failure is playing things too close to the vest, attempting to stage a note-by-note recreation of the original performance. Efforts such as these feel bland, uninspired, and most critically, they pale in comparison to the glory of the more renowned version. However, the road to tribute hell is also paved with musicians who seek to stage majestic reinterpretations of the artist’s original vision. In their effort to render the song in an entirely new light, cover artists often miss seizing upon the essence of what made the song so nuanced and appealing the first time around.

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Swedish indie-pop duo Club 8 may have run out of surprises a few records back, but few groups can match Johan Angergård and Karolina Komstedt when it comes to consistently producing thoroughly beautiful, immaculately crafted albums. The Boy Who Couldn’t Stop Dreaming, their sixth album in just shy of a decade, follows the pair’s familiar footsteps through twelve tracks of gentle, melancholy guitars and Komstedt’s stunningly recherché vocals. If not much has changed since 2003’s Strangely Beautiful, no one is the worse for it; to squander such a reliably magnificent approach for the sake of experimentation would be a sin.

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This week we’ve got a double dose of new releases for you:

Simple Kid - 2

Ciaran McFeely pitches his tent on some lofty summits under the alias of Simple Kid, and on 2 (his follow-up to 2004’s 1), the panoramas are well worth taking in. His piercing blue eyes and boyish good looks are just the beginning of his similarities to kindred spirit Beck; like that protean mastermind, Simple Kid shares an intuitive dexterity for pulling in bits of disparate influences, seasoning his compositions like a chef reaching for all the right spices. From the glammed up banjo gamboling of “Lil’ King Kong” to the hard-charged disheveled fuzz of “Mommy N Daddy” and the Blur meets T. Rex showdown of “The Twentysomething,” 2 is filled with surprises and nimbly straddles the chasm of controlled chaos and proves that McFeely may be one of the most imaginative, competent songwriters making music under the radar today.

Simple Kid’s 2 is available on Yep Roc Records. You can stream a free three song EP on their site.

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Why Earlimart is not an indie powerhouse is beyond me. For years, the Los Angeles based outfit has been releasing exceptional records, touring the country, and racking up critical acclaim on a level few acts can match. Their last studio effort, 2004’s Treble & Tremble, appeared poised to thrust the band beyond the insular scenester threshold of popularity that acts like Death Cab for Cutie and The Arcade Fire have eclipsed in recent years. For some reason, however, critical mass has gone unattained, but if Earlimart’s new fifth album Mentor Tormentor is any indication, the band is utterly unphased, content to continue producing the sort of music that should have made them famous long ago.

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In 1996, Nada Surf inadvertently shot themselves in the foot by shooting up the charts with a great song that was, despite its excellence, an exercise in gimmickry. “Popular” should be familiar to anyone who watched MTV during that era, a snarky take on cliques and every high schooler’s desire to be accepted. It was unquestionably the stand-out track on their debut full-length, High-Low, but its own popularity came with a price. The song was such a winner that when Nada Surf presented Elektra with their follow-up, The Proximity Effect, label executives dropped the band from their roster because they didn’t hear a “single” that could meet the high expectations raised by their calling card. In the end, it was likely the best of all possible outcomes for the group as they have gone on to release three more excellent records on smaller, more accommodating labels.

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Irrespective of genre or era, most excellent records possess a transportive quality, a way of enveloping the listener in a creatively fabricated world that breathes itself into existence for mere minutes at a time and before disappearing into memory. On “Winter Windows,” the second track of the kaleidescopic Leaves in the River, Alex Brown Church laments “This is the world we live in/It’s not the one I’d choose but it’s the one we’re given.”

In light of the motley orbits Church soars through this notion rings ironic; Leaves in the River is nothing if not an attempt to erect new worlds. Every song strides through unique expanses and does so with an unassailably bold confidence. Where other songwriters would be ensnared by the pitfalls of dilettantism, Church thrives on keeping his music diversely oriented and superbly crafted.

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For the uninitiated, the most likely touchstone for The Cribs‘ sneering approach to guitar-centric, three minute rock ‘n roll songs will be the music of The Strokes. Although the former hail from the other side of the Atlantic, the two groups share the same penchants for slovenly fashionability and taut songwriting, not to mention the confidently slurred brio of those who are much hipper than you will ever be. Where The Strokes cultivated their cool factor through stylists and photo sessions, The Cribs have required nothing more than their music to convey their swagger over the course of two previous full lengths.

Of course, The Cribs are more than The Strokes sans hair and makeup crew and arena level popularity. For one, they’ve always been more self-aware and self-deprecating than many of their counterparts, particularly UK colleagues like Razorlight and the Futureheads. This sense of humor is on display on their new third release, Men’s Needs, Women’s Needs, Whatever, on songs like “I’m A Realist.” On it, Ryan Jarman proclaims “I’m a realist! I’m a romantic!” before deciding the truth is “I’m indecisive and that’s about it.”

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