The Luyas - "Dumb Blood". I'm all mixed up, Jessie Stein sings, and without distress. It's a state of the union address. It's like showing us the palms of her hands. This is how she is. And meanwhile I'm in my apartment on Parc Avenue and I stick my head out the window into the rainfall and I see her walking in her blue dress, soaked from the storm, hair dripping & lifting & curling. And I want to tell her hi, yeah, I see you. Hey there. And I want to tell her to step onto the cloud she's made, the little one floating beside her, and to go sailing into the gale. In spite of her dumb blood. In spite of all that's wrong and all the crash and want and blow and oh. Her friends are playing her pain with drums and french horn, the kids from Torngat and Bell Orchestre, but they'll trace her gladnesses too. This is the suggestion I'd make, the kindness I'd offer for a song as marvelous as this. I'd try to offer a trade: some hope in exchange for this great glowing ache.

[buy / MySpace. Faker Death is like Les Mouches, but further from death & closer to heartbreak.]

Sandro Perri - "Family Tree". I should not have to tell you anything but this: Sandro Perri's debut album is available for pre-order. I have written about music from both of his earlier EPs, but now there is something called Tiny Mirrors and boys, girls, lovers, fighters: his music's the summerest thing that this summer will bring. They're chilled-out songs - cool, smooth, silvergold, - but performed in a room with some of Toronto's finest improvisational musicians. Free and easy listening. Perri's sings in his mossy voice of trouble & its resolve; he kicks his kick-drum; and around him there's trombone, cymbal, a narcoleptic keyboard. A song for the passing of days, or seasons, or the passing from one time-of-life to another. Of searching for the things you've already laid eyes on.

On the final track they remake "Family Tree" as an instrumental, Perri not even in the room, all its stuffing laid bare. (And this you will have to buy.)

[buy!]

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Tuwa's appeared at the Tofu Hut, to tell a beautiful lie about Betty Davis.