ALBUM REVIEWS

MATT COSTA

Santa Rosa Fangs Dangerbird Rock ’n’ roll is now old enough to draw social security, which means that for contemporary acts, influences become multigenerational. Such is the case with California singer-songwriter Matt Costa, who borrows from those who borrowed on his engaging new album, Santa Rosa Fangs.

The music is reminiscent of such pioneers as The Byrds, Phil Spector and Nick Drake, but also Oasis, World Party and The Polyphonic Spree. “It’s time, time, time playing tricks on my mind,” Costa sings as he distils half a century of predecessors into a potent pop pastiche.

It helps that Santa Rosa Fangs is filled with fetching melodies. There are also hooks galore.

Best is Ritchie, a Shangri-La’sstyle love tragedy times two, and part of an album-long narrative about love, loss, time and distance. The plot’s thinner than Mick Jagger, but the tug of the past comes through with every note.

JENNIFER CASTLE

Angels of Death Paradise of Bachelors Jennifer Castle’s Angels of Death is an ethereal, deeply poetic take on death — nimble, sure-footed and beautifully written and performed. On Castle’s third record under her own name (she used to go by Castlemusic), the sounds are a mix of country and folk with a dash of pop, reflective but with a dynamic that resists too much darkness.

Texas is about visiting a dying grandmother whose eyes remind the protagonist of her own dead father.

She wants to reach him through her tune but she’s also got something more worldly in mind: “Send a lover/up to my bedroom when you can.”

Grim Reaper is prefaced by a long silence and slow buildup of sound. Though Castle sings “It’s not that I’m afraid at night/ To meet the one who hold the scythe,” she’s not in any rush to confront him, either.

COURTNEY BARNETT

Tell Me How You Really Feel Milk! Records/Mom+Pop/Marathon “I need a little time out,” Courtney Barnett pleads on the plaintive signature tune of her third full album. Captivating as ever, the Melbourne phenom sings her heart out on the 10-track Tell Me How You Really Feel.

From the haunting psychedelic rock of Hopelessness to the edgy, throbbing I’m Not Your Mother, I’m Not Your Bitch, Barnett’s grunge garage-band roots show, in a good way.

She sounds just like she did on her first EP (2012) — like a bored street kid who absent-mindedly picked up a left-handed Telecaster and let it rip.

Barnett infuses Aussie-tinged lyrics with elliptical tales of introspection, and troubled partnerships, in Nameless, Faceless — a biting critique referencing The Handmaid’s Tale.

The mood softens on Sunday Roast, a sweet anthem to acceptance.

“You know your presence is present enough,” Barnett sings.

So, surely, is hers.