Prototypes - "Who's Gonna Sing"

The much-lauded, and much-blogged Prototypes. So normally, I would just let them have that and talk about something else. But I can't let it pass by. Without agreeing, without clapping my hands over my head and woo-hoo-ing. Also, this is their best song and I haven't seen anyone talk about it yet. It's a turntably, piano-bashy strut, lead by the Prototypes girl, and a giant Kodiak with a mystery accent. It's like rooting through an old chest of instruments, calling them out as you throw them over your shoulder. The labas, les congas, the rods. And it's easy to decide who plays what instrument, but their indecision about the vocalist, while seemingly unsolvable, is solved in the very asking. And then there's some scat at the end, which, on thirteenth listen, might be your favourite part. [Buy *also, Montreal had them for three days, but you still have time to catch them in Toronto on Thursday*]

The Press - "Red Comes Ringin"

There is no confusion here about who will do the singing, but it seems there is confusion about which style of singing to stick to. Glorious confusion. At once giving shades of Joel Plaskett, Isaac Brock, Hawksley Workman, and every singer in a hard metal band, this song becomes a cavernous hallway of giant portraits, all of which can't do anything to keep you safe. You're alone in this song, save a presence that pulls you side to side, first screaming, then crooning, then pressing your face on the floor. Then we hit power chords, and we can feel safe again. But that lasts like eight seconds, more a tease than anything. Yeah, that's it, this song is a big tease, from a band that doesn't quite understand that teasing is at some point supposed to be revealed as false. [Buy]