This is hardly Robert Pollard’s solo debut although it has been made to feel like it is. Forget about the half dozen albums and EPs bearing his name—those all saw the light of day while Pollard was leading Dayton, OH’s fabled indie stalwarts Guided By Voices. With GBV, Pollard was helming a mini empire. He was the grand poobah of a loose-knit alcohol and guitars outfit that seemed to come from nowhere with little pretension but proved to be one of the most powerful and significant American rock and roll and roll bands of the last twenty years. When Guided By Voices called it quits, following a beer stained eye tour in late 2004, there was little question that Pollard would continue to make music. GBV had always been a shifting aggregate around Pollard’s fading captain figure. The stakes for From a Compound Eye are high, however, as burying the Guided By Voices moniker signifies a new era. Fans of GBV’s brand of bedsit-psychedelia, slapdash-rock and punk-prog need fear not: From A Compound Eye is a quiltwork of lo-fi musings, vignette-sized rock epics, and sheer abandon collected across a double album’s worth of well-tracked everything and the kitchen sink songs. Pollard’s ever present fragmented lyrics and faux-English vox figure throughout. The song “Dancing Girls and Dancing Boys” glances luminescent, bouncy pop with a drumbeat nicked by GBV wannabes The Strokes while “The Numbered Head” clocks in over five minutes—a rarity in Pollard’s old days—that earmarks GBV’s sensibility for shambolic guitar pomp. Elsewhere, Pollard doesn’t shy away from his skewered take on introspective balladry—like on the song “Cock Of The Rainbow.” From A Compound Eye seems to tow the line for those of the opinion that the death of the name “Guided By Voices” is of little significance. In the words of one of Pollard’s uber-inspirations: “Meet the new boss/Same as the old boss.”

While Bonnie “Prince” Billy’s—née Will Oldham—music has often been aligned with moods of darkness and despair, his prolific output is indeed dotted with blatant stabs at humor, joy and fun. One doesn’t have to look too far beyond his various promotional photos to see that the intentionally enigmatic songwriter doesn’t take himself too seriously. Released a few months back, Oldham’s first live recording, Summer In The Southeast, takes things a bit further. For the first time, maybe ever, Oldham sounds as if he’s having actual fun playing these songs of pain and heartbreak. Recorded in various red states during his tour of 2005, Summer In The Southeast has the feel of a few friends undergoing a loose and drunken country rock set. Formerly delicate songs, such as “Master And Everyone” and “Death To Everyone,” are transformed into harsh numbers that retain their depth and intimacy while ascending to a new sort of power and immediacy. The classic “I See A Darkness,” notoriously covered by Johnny Cash a few years before his passing, keeps its hushed tone but comes close to a breathtaking gospel feel. Recalling his brother Ned’s band The Anomoanon or even an early-1970s Grateful Dead, Summer In The Southeast is a riotous rediscovery of Oldham’s past few endeavors and is indeed a real hoot.