Sometimes we go classy here at Poprock Record. Sure, generally we like rambunctious guitar-centric beat group stuff. We love the thrill and the rush of great hooks. But every now and then we crank the mood lighting, fish out the Gauloises from their hiding place, and let loose the expensive cognac. And feature some classy artists who are not afraid to show off their smarts.

Few artist pressers contain quotes from Kurt Vonnegut but Rich Restaino’s no ‘strap on a guitar and go’ performer. There’s lyrical depth in the contributions to his recent EP Mostly We Lie. The title track calls out the short game many are playing, too often going for self-interest in the here and now. Then “Man Has Shit For Brains” has a tin pan alley kind of rough melody and wisdom. Restaino doesn’t paint a pretty picture of contemporary manhood here. “Every Cliché You’ve Heard is Partly True” rocks up the talking blues to good effect while “Life is for Losers” has a country shading. Personally, I’m loving the low-key jazzy pop coating “Don’t Fall Asleep on Me Just Yet.” This is a kind of well-crafted protest music from a man who clearly cares, despite his biting critique.

Just one run through his latest LP you know Lane Steinberg truly is Mr. Lane. This record is all class, bottled and displayed sonically over 12 sophisticated tunes. This time out Steinberg strikes a decidedly soul note on a number of songs, in an early 1970s Philly soul or Motown kind of way. “Number One” falls somewhere between cool jazz and early Hall and Oates. Then on “Than U” Steinberg vibes Smokey Robinson’s falsetto on a jazzy slow swing of a song. “The Words I Love You” moves the needle to a more pop position with some simple jangly lead guitar and a great pop vocal. “Pleasantville Sunshine” is more supremely pleasant pop. Steinberg is the master of the aching vocal, as exhibited on “Best Tears I’ve Ever Cried,” a track that sounds like a lost Beach Boys deep cut. Or check out what he does on “Wistful Baby Blue,” creating a kind drone with a slow, meditative ballad. Personal fave: “The Loneliest Man on Earth.” The vocal is so alluring, draping a mournful yet light pop crooner of a song, artfully framed in a spare jazzy arrangement.

Chris Church has got a philosophical bent that comes out all over his new record Obsolete Path. Titles like “What Are We Talking About,” “I’m a Machine” and “Tell Me What You Really Are” kinda give it away. The opening title track bristles with a gentle tension, preparing us for something contemplative. From there the records shift into its rock groove, a distinct new wavey 1970s California rock vibe that’s up front on tracks like ”Sit Down,” “I Don’t Want To Be There” and “The Great Divide.” In a related vein both “Tell Me What You Really Are” and “Running Right Back to You” operate in an adjacent musical space, the first registering strong hints of Walter Egan, the latter conjuring more of a sombre Fleetwood Mac. But musical departures abound here. “She Looks Good in Black” could easily be a Marshall Crenshaw single. “Life on a Trampoline” has a sonic shiver reminiscent of The Police sound on Ghost in the Machine. Then you have “I’m a Machine,” a selection that reminds me of a distinct early 1980s poprock sound I associate with Robert Palmer or Moon Martin.

There are bands that put out so much music that by the time I get round to covering them they’ve already got new stuff out. That’s pretty much Go Set Go to a T. Their most recent LP (as of today) is Pre-Shattered Glass and it brims with taut social observations, all delivered with an unmistakable DIY poppiness. Think the Smiths without the all the moaning and fewer jangly guitars. “Why Am I An Extra In The Movie Of My Life” goes where you think it might go but that takes nothing away from its relevance. A lot of songs here deal with the challenge of coping with modern life. “No Way Back Man” incorporates a bit of the Batman theme by way of recounting all the ways the singer is struggling with. “Broken Girls Loving Broken Boys” updates the class kitchen sink relationship drama. “Adios Motherfuckers” even makes suicide sound a bit chipper. “Debt, Rent, and Letting People Down” again is pretty straightforward audio verité. Personal fave: “The Seconds We Spend” with its lovely ‘whoo hoo’s and a hushed main vocal treatment.

Mae Martin’s new album I’m a TV is a lovely, slightly spacey place to be. They’ve got something to say but they’re not going to fight for your attention. The record is like an invitation to join Mae in a quiet booth somewhere for a chat. “Try Me” is practically a personal invite with its slightly hushed tone and languid lead guitar lines. “Good Dream” becomes a bit more insistent, in a ‘hey get up here a sway to the music with me’ sort of way. The vocals fall somewhere between Suzanne Vega and Elliott Smith in terms of their shivery warmth. “Big Bear” comes on with a contained cinematic sweep to start before the swirl of vocals start lapping up like the lull of the ocean tide. You get a lot of variety here, within the cocoon of Martin’s consistent sonic styling. There’s the hit single-ish “Stowaway” with its slick gentle hooks. The lush “I Love You So Much” which musically mimics the tentativeness of its lyrical content. You get folk pop on “People Get Back Up.” There’s even a light country kick to the pedal steel pop of “No Cowboy.” Hit singles? Sure. There’s the aforementioned “Stowaway” and “Garbage Strike” is another candidate with its quiet, sneak up you hooks. And then there’s “Quiet Street,” so quiet, so spare, so moving. And that horn section. As a full album experience, I’m a TV is gorgeous, full stop.

To cap off our classy interlude, you have to tune in to Lydia Loveless doing a 1950s ballroom version of Irving Berlin’s “What’ll I Do.” You don’t get a classier mix of piano and heart-wrenching vocals than this.

It’s late (or early). Grab your jacket on the way out.

Photo courtesy Thomas Hawk Flikr collection.