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Elvis Perkins
“To say that I’ve just been too sad to get my act together until this point is a simplification,” says Elvis Perkins. “But sadness and post-traumatic stress certainly play into the equation.” On stage, the Rhode Island-based troubadour is a poised fencer warbling lethally sharp verses over a shield of sound. His music radiates with a kind of maturity you’re not sure his youth warrants – a hurricane of emotion revealed through occasional cracks. On record (see ‘Ash Wednesday’), Elvis creates an elaborate mix of stark instrumentation, and punches straight to the raw gut of themes as universal as love, time and the afterlife. But the most breathtaking moments come when he’s channeling the tragedy that’s befallen his own life. His father, actor Anthony Perkins, died of AIDS on September 12, 1992. His mother was in the first plane that crashed into the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. What brought him here is hardly happy, but we should be thankful he’s arrived. Lesley Bargar

Of Montreal
An offshoot of the like-mindedly lo-fi Elephant 6 collective that thrived in 1990s Athens, Georgia, Of Montreal have since outshone their forebears, Apples in Stereo and Neutral Milk Hotel – if not by notoriety, then certainly by the sheer volume of their oddball oeuvre. With more than 10 albums of Kinks-inspired psychedelia to their name, Of Montreal have seen a decade pass, right along with their lineups and labels. But at the acid-soaked centre of their unusual universe, it’s always been about one man, Kevin Barnes, and his irrepressible muse. “Nobody in my town played the kind of music I was into,” Barnes says, “so I said, ‘Fuck it, I’m going to just make it myself’.” That was back in Florida. The setting for the band’s latest effortlessly playful (yet surprisingly dark) opus, ‘Hissing Fauna, Are You the Destroyer?’, was decidedly different: a freezing winter spent in Norway. And for the record, it works. Bryan Chenault

RJD2
“From a theoretical standpoint, I think it’s not really any different.” So says Columbus, Ohio’s RJD2, of his forthcoming album, ‘The Third Hand’, but we know better. Here’s a man who was touted as DJ Shadow’s heir apparent with the arrival of his fantastic 2002 debut, ‘Dead Ringer’, and who just this past year produced an album for Los Angeles indie hip-hop kingpin Aceyalone. His pedigree displays the marks of American indie rap royalty – Rawkus, Rhymesayers, Definitive Jux – and yet, well, he’s made a brilliant blue-eyed soul record. ‘The Third Hand’ is indeed built with the same intricate precision as RJ’s previous work, but you’ll find no melodic samples whatsoever. In place of those rich borrowed textures are assiduously arranged layers of keyboards, guitar and harmonic vocals; all performed and recorded by the man himself. It’s a remarkable artistic about-face, and the results are as funky as they are unexpected. Sam Roudman

Annie Stela
Los Angeles-based singer/songwriter Annie Stela, 26, is a perfectionist and self-confessed homebody with a deep love for writers Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton and Charles Bukowski. “Their poems give you an entrance into who they were,” says Stela. “In very different ways, they laid their shit out for everyone to see. It was so confessional and honest and kind of shocking. I think that’s why it had such a huge effect on me.” Through her own work – her LP debut is titled ‘Fool’ – Annie reveals a finely honed etching of her world, but it could be the listener’s world too. Her lyrics are familiar like an old friend and her melodies crackle like an after-school candied apple. She cites George Gershwin and Randy Newman as influences and her arrangements bear a lush, sly playfulness. In a different era, Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson might have vied for her affection at West Hollywood’s famous Troubadour. Litsa Dremousis

Dr Dog
It all started when Scott McMicken and Toby Leaman were eighth graders in Chester County, Pennsylvania. New to town, the carrot-topped Scott, a guitarist of two years, was befriended by Toby, a gentle-featured aspiring bassist. “I was just learning to play classic rock songs,” recalls Scott, “but he got really into songwriting right away. I’d sit there in the basement making up chords and he’d just start singing and improvising lyrics.” And from those humble beginnings grew a wondrous thing called Dr Dog. The oddly named band (they’re now a five-piece) is soon releasing their fourth album (‘We All Belong’) of deliciously vintage-sounding pop-rock ’n’ roll. They aren’t afraid to wear their influences on their collars – The Beatles, The Beach Boys, Neil Young, David Bowie – because they’re so damn good at putting their own twist on the past masters. Not to be overlooked. Colin Stutz