Butterfly Boucher is the new Donovan Leitch. Songs like "Don't Point, Don't Scare It" are lilting, cello-hummed, renaissance fair kettle-boilers that jive with Donovan's trip-the-lights-psychtastic Sunshine Superman--without all the magical witch-queen/sad-princess bullshit. "Drift On" is a forest elf ballad--by way of Pedro the Lion's David Bazan--that you wouldn't feel silly or guilty bumping at your next indierocker happy hour DJ set. The rest are "Mellow Yellow"/"Season of the Witch" pop, upbeat but filled with dark, young-minded yet ambitious existential dialog that belies the polish of the thing. Although A&M will surely mishandle this lady and not push her where she needs to be pushed, Butterfly remains a damn fine lyricist and composer. And the potential! This is, of course, her first record. NOT TO MENTION the fact that the arty Boucher family has SIX more daughters lined up to make music! ADAM GNADE

Lost Subject

**** As Portland's first laptop battle winner, Deceptikon has a winning combination--solid beats, cool sounds, and interesting songwriting. His ability to keep heads bobbing with hiphop rooted breakbeats and a large palate of sounds helped him win the battle; these are both what makes his debut full length so hot. The songs flow together with rhythmic patterns and of melodies that can be playful, eerie, and beautiful. The arrangements show a mature restraint by not getting bogged down in too many layers or complexity, but they're far from formulaic. This is an exciting debut, especially because he can represent it all live, and there's got to be more heat on the way. AARON MILES

Uh Huh Her


Polly Jean Harvey's songs don't so much break your heart as pinch nerves you never realized you had. Over the course of an outstanding 12-year career, the unsettling songwriter has only increased the depth of emotion pooling in her music as she stretches her enigmatic aesthetic, and her latest album, Uh Huh Her, is no exception. From the carnal caterwauls of "The Life and Death of Mr. Badmouth" ("Your lips are poison/everything is poison/you'll be in the corner crying") and "The Letter" through the Rid of Me rawness of "What the Fuck," the dense album hovers in the shadowy corners between falling for someone and falling apart--familiar territory for Harvey yet she still manages to find new sweet spots in almost every song. And also true to Harvey's form, the record is breathlessly sexual in tone--especially the buzzing, naked lust of "It's You"--which should leave her fans weak-kneed in rapture once again. JENNIFER MAERZ