No Age, 'Nouns' (Sub Pop)
Duos simplify the concept of "band" as far as it can go before becoming "solo artist." Synth pop made duos an emotionally unique form, testifying, "Us and our funny haircuts against the world, baby. All I need is a keyboard, an arpeggiator, and thou." Hip-hop's "He's the DJ, I'm the rapper" steez brought bold ambition -- here's a turntable, a mic; let's change the world.
Matmos, 'Supreme Balloon' (Matador)
Legions of Kraftwerk wannabes miss the band's secret weapon: From their man-machine fashion to their preference for dinky beats, the self-described showroom dummies could always tease out a good joke. And although they're purely instrumentalists, Matmos can too, with a charm that sets the laptop duo apart from lesser lights for whom chilly beats and icy synths are ends in themselves.
The Last Shadow Puppets, 'The Age of the Understatement' (Domino)
Judging by the title of his new side project's debut, Arctic Monkeys frontman Alex Turner believes we're living in a pseudo-Victorian era of restraint. Has he ever read one of his band's wildly enthusiastic reviews? The Monkeys are emblematic of an epoch of exaggeration -- hype-machine poster kids whose music reflects a culture in which the LOL has supplanted the sly chuckle.
Vetiver, 'Thing of the Past' (Gnomonsong)
Frontman Andy Cabic's affinity for wheezing British folk -- see the Incredible String Band, Bert Jansch, Vashti Bunyan -- is long established, but on Vetiver's third LP, Cabic tackles 1960s Americana, covering tracks by Guthrie disciples Michael Hurley, Derroll Adams, Townes Van Zandt, and others.
Does It Offend You, Yeah?, 'You Have No Idea What You Are Getting Yourself Into' (Almost Gold)
The only offensive thing about this English electro-rock outfit's debut is how blatantly they rip off Justice ripping off Daft Punk. (Contrary to the CD's title, if you've read a music blog sometime during the past two years, you'll know exactly what you're getting yourself into.) That said, DIOYY?
M83, 'Saturdays = Youth' (Mute)
French electronic producer Anthony Gonzalez has always teetered between technological brilliance and oversynthesized pomposity. But his fourth album finally tips the balance, as it replicates the pimply, overwrought teen steam of John Hughes flicks and Tangerine Dream soundtracks.

