Keith Schofield has made a career of matching bands' songs with visual images that suit them: his clip for Death Cab For Cutie's "Jealousy Rides With Me" is warm and radiant, the Notwist's "One With The Freaks" is weird and supernatural, and clever Wintergreen's "When I Wake Up" becomes a cheeky meditation on "Atari's worst videogame ever". His video for "Knights" highlights the mathematical elements of Minus the Bear's music - but does so lightheartedly, entertaining the viewer with repetition, parallel action and optical illusion, and sudden breaches of symmetry. Schofield divides the screen into two mirror images, and then moves his camera, warping the perspective as he does. Things disappear into the center of the screen, duplicates emerge, and odd, striking hybrid shapes are formed. Objects emerge from the middle of the frames, one after another, in time with the guitar riffing, as if Knudson's staccato tapping is generating physical matter. He mischievously sticks his guitar into the midline, and saws it back and forth, again in time, as if he's playing tug-of-war with himself. But not everything in the "Knights" clip is mirrored: in fact, members of Minus the Bear travel from one side of the frame to the other, confounding expectation and adding to the dizzying quality of the clip. Like the band's music, the video is structured but improvisatory: there is chaos in the plan, madness in the science, and strange variables lurking within the formula.

The Seattle quintet complements their ace musicianship with a terrific (and often goofy) sense of humor. If the "Knights" video spotlighted the group's thoughtful side, "Throwin' Shapes" puts the playful elements of Minus The Bear on bold display. The comic clip follows the adventures of two shorts-wearing geeks preparing for an air basketball game - and woe betide anybody who gets in the way of their training! The young man and young woman who play the roles of the contenders aren't athletic in the slightest, but they sure are earnest about the game they're about to play. We're invited to chuckle at them, but by the end of the video, the pair has won our sympathy.

Before talking about the clip any further, though, allow us to crow about the band's accomplishments. When we sent you that "Knights" clip, Planet Of Ice had just been released - and while we had a good feeling about it then, we didn't know it would be hailed as the jewel of the band's already-scintillating discography. In a glowing review, The NY Times says Planet Of Ice "Splits the difference between mellow indie-pop and grand progressive rock"; All-Music Guide dubbed it the choice album in the band's catalog; Alternative Press listed it among the best releases of 2007, exclaiming "Planet Of Ice finds the Seattle quintet more comfortable in their own skin, exploring looser, more organic arrangements and indulging next-gen guitar god Dave Knudson's psychedelic side". But the most complete reaction comes from NPR World Cafe, which raves "Minus the Bear's brightly appealing indie-pop may be dispensed with remarkable technical prowess - complete with precise guitar work and complex time changes - but it also benefits from the band's sweetly personal lyrics and flair for writing power-pop hooks" The band has toured the world in support of Planet Of Ice - Minus The Bear spent the winter in Europe, Australia, and Japan, and they'll be back in the States in time to appear Coachella this spring.

Fittingly, then, the "Throwin' Shapes" clip begins with a shot of a marquee. But the camera doesn't venture inside a theatre - instead, we watch the athletic preparations of a young woman. She puts on her sweatbands and slips in her teeth-guard, and proceeds to dribble an imaginary basketball (between her legs and behind her back, no less) on the hard concrete in front of the club. Her opponent is no less determined: cocky, he leaps in front of the camera and runs his thumbs along the elastic inside his gym shorts. The two contestants charge through the city streets toward each other, taking invisible practice shots, and crashing into pedestrians as they do. Finally they meet atop an abandoned factory - and their fiercely-fought game of air-ball ends with an unexpected twist.

We're not sure there are any small cities in the United States with a more storied musical heritage - or a more active underground scene - than Athens, Georgia. If an Athens group can distinguish itself from its peers, it's safe to say that it's only a matter of time before the rest of the nation takes notice. Modern Skirts are no strangers to the 40 Watt Club's legendary stage, and won Flagpole Magazine's Athens Music Award for the year's best album in 2006. They're local heroes in the Southeast - and as usually happens to guitar-rock quartets who win the allegiance of the collegiate town (and some of its most famous rock and roll citizens), mainstream has come calling for them.

By now, most serious music fans recognize Scandinavia as a pop hotbed. But what of the infrequently-discussed countries across the Baltic Sea from hipster Stockholm - all of which have their own musical traditions? The cleverly-named N-Euro represents Estonia, a newcomer to the EU, and a small nation that has thrived and grown since winning its independence from Russia in 1991. Tallinn, the capital, is a thoroughly cosmopolitan city - and N-Euro makes the kind of music that's welcomed in cities around the globe. It's high-gloss, high-energy, infectious dance-pop, suitable for clubgoing, gym-going, or just getting down in the privacy of your home. His material bears the hallmark of all great dance music: Once you hear an N-Euro song, you're never likely to forget that you did.

The artist makes a striking visual impression, too. N-Euro possesses one of the wildest hairdos in pop history: A spiky, gelled-up starburst that makes his head resemble a lethal weapon. His earrings, designer shades, copious jewelry, and stylish threads all announce his presence with authority, but his most vital accessory is his impish smile. N-Euro has a great, self-deprecating sense of humor -- and character radiates from every gesture he makes. His quirky approachability has helped him become a darling of the European dance-music underground. And now, America beckons.

He's already shown he can reach international audiences: "Noise", his irresistible lead single, became an under-the-radar smash in discos around the globe. But "Lover On The Line" is the track that's going to throw the world open for N-Euro. It's an irresistible dance-floor stomp, filled with huge beats, glittering synths, and a magnetic performance by the producer-vocalist. It's already been released throughout the EU, and it's hit the European dance-download charts; this ear-worm has even infected South Africa. In late autumn, "Lover On The Line" hit #1 on Viva's "club rotation" list - and ever since, thousands of Europeans have been unable to dislodge the mantra-like refrain from their heads.

The clip for "Lover On The Line" is - like the artist's music - glitzy, sexy, and not altogether serious. N-Euro casts himself as the concierge of the five-star "Grand Euro Hotel." This giant glass building dominates the skyline of an unnamed Continental metropolis. The Grand Euro is no stodgy relic of the old country, though. It's completely sleek and modern, sparsely decorated, and flooded with white light. In fact, the only splashes of color in the lobby are N-Euro himself and his bank of pastel telephones. With these, he can communicate with the gorgeous women - in various states of undress - who phone him for "assistance". At one point, the helpful concierge has five naughty conversations going on at once - and requires the assistance of an extra set of hands. Eventually, talking isn't enough, and N-Euro rides the glass elevator to the beautifully-appointed penthouses. There's a choreographed sequence on the roof of the hotel, too; an opportunity for all the girls to shake it at once. N-Euro gets in on the action, too, dancing in front of the skyline, his smiling face flooded with electric light.

"Thief's Theme" is a single from Nas' double album Street's Disciple. It is the last song of the album (13th track of the double album to be precise). The single contains vocals from Nas' song "The World Is Yours" from his first album Illmatic:

"The Thief's theme, play me at night they won't act right Understandable smooth shit that murderers move with."

This was intended to remind listeners that it was Illmatic's 10th Anniversary.

The song featured an interpolation of the famous riff from Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida" performed by Incredible Bongo Band. Nas would again use the same sample on the 2006 single "Hip Hop is Dead".

Nas sponsored a contest in the United Kingdom in 2004, encouraging entrants to record a verse using the instrumental version of the song. The winner would perform a verse on the song, which would appear on the UK version of Street's Disciple. Rising Son would win the competition.

Lead video "Neptune City" has been a YouTube favorite for months, but after hearing "The Way It Is", it feels like a prologue. Similarly to "Neptune City", the latest single is suffused with nostalgia, but this is no simple trip down memory lane. Like Leslie Feist and Amy Winehouse - two singers who Nicole Atkins sometimes resembles - the talented indie frontwoman uses the past as a resource, and a jumping-off point for resolutely modern meditations. It helps that Atkins's huge, powerful voice bears the stamp of timeless authenticity. On "The Way It Is", Atkins is a gigantic presence, squeezing every ounce of remorse and longing from the song's elegant melody. Much like the late Roy Orbison, she leaps octaves effortlessly, and catapults the listener into emotional territory rarely traveled.

The clip for "The Way It Is" displays a similar fascination with the power of past - and the power and impermanence of memory. Atkins herself appears in red pumps and a billowing blue skirt; her outfit would look equally stylish at a Fifties cocktail party and on the streets of Williamsburg today. She sits in a dressing room inside a warehouse, and she's surrounded by antiques: blown-glass vases with roses in them, a framed still-life, classic furniture, an heirloom mirror. Yet, again, all of these lovely objects could easily have been found in a modern thrift-store. There's no clear implication that we're looking at a re-enactment of a scene from history. And yet: the footage of Atkins has been treated to appear as if it has been hauled up from a dusty archive. The edges of each frame fade toward black, and shadows encroach on the singer. White scratch-marks occasionally cris-cross the celluloid. The image jumps about nervously as if it's been threaded through a projector; at the end of the clip, it slips from the reel. By nodding to the past while preserving its ambiguity, Nicole Atkins makes a powerful statement about nostalgia and loss, and does so with consummate flair.