Imagine Weezer, or better yet The Gravel Pit, laced with sweet-as-can-be female backing vocals. Or ponder the concept of Letters To Cleo with a male lead singer. Think Rainer Maria with less quirky drastic turns. If these ideas appeal to you, buy Oh Me Of Little Faith immediately. It’s true The Plus Ones don’t deliver anything revolutionary on their fourth album and, at times, the sound is a little generic (like the commercially viable pop-punk and emo bands that have cracked the code to get on the radio). Still, Oh Me Of Little Faith is dense and compressed with big, in-your-face production that focuses on accentuating the songs’ accessibility. As damning as that may sound, there are a few things that prevent The Plus Ones from blending into the endless stream of mediocre music constantly being released. First, it’s nearly impossible to deny how stubbornly the hooks on this record stick in your head. Second, the vocal talent in the harmonies layered throughout the album is obvious, displayed most impressively on the breakdown in “She’s Not A Metaphor” and chorus of “Don’t You Dare.” Third is the considerable thought and wit bassist/vocalist Joel Reader invests in his lyrics. For example, on “Suicide Pact (You First),” Reader sings, “Forge ahead/ and when you’re dead I’ll follow you/ at least as far as you know,” and “I’m anxious, you’re cursed/ so let’s do it, you first.” On “Sweetness And Light” and “Don’t You Dare,” Reader removes his tongue from his cheek to provide honest, inspiring words that stop short of becoming trite or overly sappy. Reader's lyrics only falter toward the end of the record with the song “Direct Quote.”

Anyone who knows Buffalo-native Justin Gressley should not be surprised to learn that this super-tidy music nerd has founded a record label. We’re only surprised it took this long. Probably born clutching a limited edition Blur 7”, Gressley recently founded the Academy Fight Song label and released Purple Blaze. The solo acoustic debut from former Q and Not U singer Christopher Paul Richards, Purple Blaze sounds just like what you’d expect from a guy who used to make rock records for Dischord and now writes his songs wearing slippers in his bedroom. Purple Blaze is simple and sunny, content with whistling a melody where others would try to stuff in triangles and French horns. Those unfamiliar with Q and Not U will find a singer in the grand, high-pitched emo tradition. “Uh huh,” you say. “Every high-pitched male singer has got to be emo, huh? How glib of you.” Then why did the guy sitting next to me at work ask, “Is this the guy from Sunny Day Real Estate?” Check and mate. A generally solid debut for Ris Paul Ric, the album does feature the occasional misstep. The track, “Run Up Wild On Me,” was enough to make me get my wet hands out of my sink full of dishes to run across my apartment and skip to the next song. A shuffling, non-funk acoustic funk track, the song will make you imagine a world of Jamiroquai gone coffeehouse. In all, Purple Blaze is still a bold new direction for a growing artist, and would have been eagerly snapped up by many other labels had an ex-pat Buffalo son not gotten to it first and delivered it unto us.

I recently saw Tori Amos on TV promoting her new book, claiming that her songs are cosmic spirits that float into her head at any given time. Two things are possible here: