Live Music

A bona fide veteran of the local scene, Andrew Chalfen has been serenading the kids in Philly with his sweet psych-pop melodies since the Reagan administration. In what might be the only documented occurrence of a positive trickle-down effect, Chalfen’s territorial pissings have marked just about every musical outpost, venue and startup garage band this city has thrown his way. From his early days with pop purveyors the Wishniaks to his current role with the somewhat more mellow and mature Trolleyvox, Chalfen has never shied away from spending every waking musical moment breathing new life into his ambitiously heady dream in sound. (Joshua Valocchi)

Tel Aviv-born Anat Cohen plunged into jazz as a saxophonist. But since hitting New York in 1999 she’s developed a seasoned voice on her first instrument, clarinet. She’s also broadened her artistry with a deep knowledge of South American, Afro-Caribbean, Middle Eastern and other traditions. This has been Cohen’s year, with a flurry of albums on her Anzic (“Anat’s Music”) label: her own Poetica and Noir, Yo Bobby! with the Waverly Seven; Nosso Tempo with the Choro Ensemble; and a double live set with Jason Lindner’s Big Band—not to mention Braid by the three Cohens, featuring her brothers Avishai (trumpet) and Yuval (sax). Talk about irons in the fire. (David R. Adler)

All right. Philly bands who’ve toured Europe with Nine Inch Nails, raise your hands. Oh, just the Popo? Fancy that. The band’s doomy grind may not get much attention in town, but they’re signed to Hollywood’s infamous Buddyhead label, and are apparently much admired by one Trent Reznor. Last year’s self-titled debut remains a puzzle, like a more lo-fi Suicide hijacking toy instruments and cheap basement beats. “London Falling” is the catchiest song by far, actually living up to the “post-hip-hop” tag the Popo have floated to describe their tense, patchy sound. Whatever you call it, it’s gritty, cynical and soaked in shadows, but still issues a strong summons to the dance floor. (Doug Wallen)

Bill Mays started as a West Coast session hand and became known as a jazz piano modernist, working with the likes of Sarah Vaughan, Gerry Mulligan and Freddie Hubbard. He recorded for small labels in the ’80s, then Concord in the ’90s. Now 63, he’s gained visibility with a solid four-album run on Palmetto Records, mostly in a trio with bassist Martin Wind and drummer Matt Wilson. His latest Fantasy is a departure: Mays joins trumpeter Marvin Stamm and cellist Alisa Horn (the Inventions Trio) for a hybrid jazz-classical summit, with a three-part original suite plus musings on Rachmaninoff, Scriabin, Debussy, Gershwin and a bit of Bach-meets-Bird. (D.R.A.)

You could’ve spent all summer and fall listening to nothing but Scottish rock—Twilight Sad, Malcolm Middleton, the 1990s, the reissued Fire Engines and the Glaswegian Frightened Rabbit. In their debut Sing the Greys these two brothers pounded on drums, slashed guitars, shouted in unison for “Music now!” and pleaded with their girlfriends for all kinds of favors (ahem, “please me with your mouth”). Somewhere along the way they also made one of the freshest, most vulnerable and endearing rock records of 2007. Word has it this energetic trio has been wiping the floor with headliners like Twilight Sad and Pinback. Let’s see how they do with Mum. (Jennifer Kelly)

Stevie freakin’ Wonder is coming to town. Do you need any more incentive to see Wonder live onstage? Okay, how about “My Cherie Amour”? “Signed, Sealed, Delivered, I’m Yours”? “Ribbon in the Sky”? The whole Songs in the Key of Life album? How about the whole ’70s? Hitting the road after a 12-year hiatus, Wonder’s tour is the perfect holiday gift for those who practically slid out the womb humming selections from Talking Book. Songs will be sung along, tears will be flowing and people will jump off buildings afterward—because they just saw Stevie Wonder in concert, which is about as good as it gets. (Craig D. Lindsey)

Growing up in a large musical family in Florida, John Ralston learned about layered harmonies early on. He just had to find a vocal space for himself between his aunts and cousins. With his second full-length Sorry Vampire Ralston puts that experience to work, working in as many as 20 vocal tracks per song, along with countless textures of percussion, guitar, synthesizers and keyboards. The end result, however, is surprisingly delicate, its choirs of angels folded artfully into wry indie pop à la Brendan Benson and Jason Falkner. He’s traveling with massively popular fellow Vagrant artists Dashboard Confessional this time, so count on crowds. (J.K.)

Amy Pickard finds prettiness in the most mournful of places. Her new Cut From the Hopeless is stripped down and tiptoed, and despite a backing band offering warmth where needed, Pickard’s world-weary singing and quiet strum fill most of the available space in her country ballads. She reworks Stephen Foster’s “My Old Kentucky Home” as a drowsy dirge, recalls tarnation on the title track and brightens her voice a bit on “Ashes.” Only on “Cotton” does the pace pick up, approaching the barnyard stomp of Pickard’s old band She-Haw. Funny thing is, in person Pickard is a corkscrew-curled firecracker, so don’t go thinking this release show will be a drag. (D.W.)