Then again, The Exies have always been independents at heart; they're a band unafraid to take risks and make bold moves. For instance, their second 2007 single isn't an album cut at all - it's an Internet-only release, and it's accompanied by an incendiary clip that's already become a sensation on video-sharing sites like YouTube. "God We Look Good (Going Down In Flames)" is a gutsy broadside against the state of contemporary media, a critique of celebrity culture, and a savaging of that which passes for political discourse on the modern airwaves. We have, Stevens seems to be suggesting, lost our nerve at a crucial moment, and we've become distracted by sideshows. "This is the pill, the pill that we swallow," he howls, his reference to The Matrix evident, "the death of us all, the cash, the kill - they're selling us off to make the deal."

The video for "God We Look Good (Going Down In Flames)" is similarly confrontational - and similarly unapologetic. Images flash by, one after another, none lingering on the screen for more than a second. It's like channel-surfing on speed, and at this rate, every shot projected becomes near-subliminal and loaded with meaning. But none of the footage assembled by The Exies will feel unfamiliar to anybody who's got a television: we're shown the faces of complicit politicians, shots of violence, sex, weeping celebrities carted off to prison, missiles, dollar signs, works of fine art, religious symbols, guns. The words "are you ready to go?" and "sell out" struggle to surface; they're a message fighting its way through the chaos. Stevens, too, breaks into the frame from time to time, and he forces his way straight up to the camera to deliver his accusation, as if he's besieged on all sides and wants to make sure he's getting his message across. He grabs the attention of the lens and hangs on to his connection with his audience while he can, like a pit bull with its prey in its mouth. But the tilt-a-whirl of images rushes on, oblivious to objection and seemingly beyond control. Who cycles through these channels, and who stands behind the rush of content that now fills the televised airwaves? The implication here is that nobody is in control: that, instead, we're all being washed downstream by a torrent of meaningless news and gossip, one greased by money and power but generated and perpetuated by its own sick momentum.

Bobby Harlow is a first and foremost an ace tunesmith, and his attention to detail is second to none in Detroit, and maybe the world. He's also one of the most protean singers on the scene: he can purr over a psychedelic breakdown like Syd Barrett, channel expansive Ray Davies, and then shout along with the distorted guitars like Roky Erickson at his wildest. The rest of the band follows suit, coaxing vintage sounds out of their amplifiers and charging through the tracks on Howl On The Haunted Beat You Ride with the fervor of RnB junkies. Their highly stylized creativity extends to their album art: the cover of Howl is pure psychedelia, and the song titles have been scribbled in shaky white-ink bubble letters of the sort you might find on old MC5 gig posters. Cartoonist M. Wartella exploded into the animation world after being featured on MTV2's cult-favorite Wonder Showzen. His sequential work has appeared in anthologies from D.C. Comics to Fantagraphics Books and in magazines including Andy Warhol's Interview and Spin. His illustrations have appeared on the cover of Vice Magazine (his infamous and now extremely rare scratch-off cover) and regularly in Nickelodeon Magazine. M. Wartella handles the band's visual aesthetic, and has blessed the quartet with one of the most striking logos in underground rock.

Wartella's also responsible for the animation in the clip for "You Go Bangin' On", which was animated by hand on top of every frame to achieve maximum "psych-out" effect. As the band plays against the black background, waves of Saturday-morning cartoon color flow from their instruments - a harmonica produces a wash of hot pink, yellow and blue waves, white zigzags fly up from the hi-hat, red lightning shakes free from maracas, and bright flowers blink into life around Krautner's fretboard. The kick-drum becomes a canvas for the band's lyrics (as well as other messages), and vibrations shoot from Harlow's dancing body.

Greg Dulli and Mark Lanegan have walked parallel paths: both first came to national recognition as the frontmen for ferocious indie rock bands, and have since explored more sedate (though no less dark) territory in critically-respected solo projects. And while grunge and alt-rock fans loved them both, Afghan Whigs and Screaming Trees boldly stood outside the conventions of the times. Lanegan's Screaming Trees were overtly psychedelic and often mind-altering, while Dulli's work for the Whigs featured dense, literary and hallucinatory lyricism, and incorporated elements from classic soul and R&B. Since the dissolution of the Afghan Whigs, Greg Dulli has devoted himself to the brooding, conceptually-rich Twilight Singers project; Mark Lanegan's post-Trees resume includes time spent as a singer for Queens Of The Stone Age, an enthusiastically-received collaboration with Isobel Campbell of Belle & Sebastian, and several magnificently bleak projects of his own. Lanegan also contributed vocals to Blackberry Belle, the grim and gorgeous 2003 Twilight Singers album; Dulli returned the favor with a guest appearance on Lanegan's Bubblegum. Dulli and Lanegan had known and respected each other for years - and after the aesthetic successes of Blackberry Belle, they immediately began work on the songs that have become Saturnalia. The Gutter Twins is their band together, and it's as dark, troubling, and irresistible as anything they've ever been associated with. Arguably, these two necromancers have amplified and intensified each other's magic. On Saturnalia, Dulli's barbed-wire guitar and Lanegan's whiskey-soaked baritone feel like twin sides of the same blade - and, as always, the lyricism is desperate, honest, human, and impossible to dismiss. "These are songs drawn from the Gothic tradition," raves Marisa Brown in her All-Music Guide review, "where good and evil and pleasure and pain crisscross and entwine indelibly, where the secular and the sacred have no clear defining lines." "All Misery/Flowers", the lead single, is a junkie's desperate refrain - the killer drug is never made clear, but it could be anything from heroin to religion to love. Throughout, Lanegan sounds on the verge of a breakdown - steeling himself against deterioration, as if the power of his own voice is the only thing that's keeping him from falling to pieces. "I tell you my story so that you might save me", he sings, right at the harrowing end; there's no indication whether the lover addressed - or the Lord above - thinks he's anything other than a street-crazy. Hula-hoop girls, gold-lame stage-curtains, and Big Easy marching bands don't impart much levity to the engrossing video for "All Misery/Flowers". Instead, they add to the feeling of decadence and sleaze that pervades the compelling clip. Lanegan's camera-presence is remarkable: although he appears to be in a trance throughout his performance, he still commands the lens. Meanwhile, Dulli is a ghostly figure on the piano, cool and detached behind his shades. Together, they walk past the mausoleums of a New Orleans cemetery; in their wake, a stage-dancer twists between the tombstones. Images of the singers blur, float, and slide through the frames; often, their partially-transparent faces are superimposed over shots of flames, dancing girls, microphones, musical instruments. A setting sun cuts between low houses; Dulli and Lanegan stride across an iron bridge. The entire clip is bathed in red light - and devilish illumination seems to radiate from the faces of the two legends as they sing.

It's no secret that during the past decade, Portland, Oregon has been one of indie rock's first cities. And during that time, few bands have epitomized Portland's restless creativity as well as The Helio Sequence. During their ten-year run, the duo have fused electro-rock with acoustic folk, covered The Beatles and Dylan, balanced trippy synthesizers and machine beats with raw guitar and pounding drums, and made themselves a concert force to be reckoned with. One thing has remained consistent: the band's thoughtful, compelling, intriguing writing. Sets like Young Effectuals and Com Plex bled songcraft; Brandon Summers and Benjamin Weikel have ideas to burn, and have never penned a throwaway. After the release of Love And Distance in 2004, The Helio Sequence took three years to put together a follow-up. The group's rabid fanbase wanted to know: would the new recordings be worth the wait? Well, Keep Your Eyes Ahead has finally arrived - and it's the sort of album that feels like the capstone of legendary discography. The band's fusion of electronic pop, Eighties underground rock, and classic folk has never felt so seamless or so sophisticated. Singer-guitarist Brandon Summers delivers empathetic and confident performances: after taking time to study singing and re-create his voice, his newfound comfort on the microphone is noticeable. He's always been a passionate frontman; with Keep Your Eyes Ahead, he's become a technically-accomplished singer, too. On the Dylanesque ballads - "Shed Your Love" and "Broken Afternoon", in particular - his understated, letter-perfect readings might convince a folkie purist he's listening to recordings unearthed from a time-capsule buried in 1964. By contrast, "Keep Your Eyes Ahead", the title-track and lead single, is an anthemic alt-rocker. (That Weikel and Summers make this track feel logically consistent with the folkier numbers on Keep Your Eyes Ahead is testament to their skill, vision, and imagination). Drummer Benjamin Weikel - who has won plaudits for his moonlighting with Modest Mouse - is explosive, driving the song with new-wave urgency and unforgettable fire. It's an indication of exactly how much onstage heat the duo can bring, and how they're able to generate a stadium-sized sound from the interplay between their two instruments. Those who caught The Helio Sequence on Jimmy Kimmel Live last week can attest to the group's staggering two-man energy. They'll be proving it in Europe this April before returning to the States for another round of relentless touring. For director Whitey McConnaughy (Mudhoney, Band Of Horses, Cobra Starship) the urge to simply shoot The Helio Sequence in concert must have been nearly irresistible - Weikel and Summers are twin spectacles, and provide sufficient camera fodder at every show they do. But McConnaghy's taste and style is too stark, arty, and hypnotic for something so straightforward, and as he showed in the clip for The Thermals' "Pillar Of Salt", he's fond of capturing bands in action in strange and unfamiliar locales. For the "Keep Your Eyes Ahead" video, he's built the band a portable stage; really more of a self-contained and well-wired open cage. He then shoots the duo in performance on the streets of the town at night, illuminated up by ambient urban light (neon, streetlamps) and exposed to the elements. Snowflakes flutter into Weikel's hair and Summers's breath hangs in the freezing air. They play in a deserted central business district after dark, rock a city bridge, pour their song out to a red-light district, don suits of light, persevere in the Northwest cold to bring their message to the city and beyond.

In case there was any question about it, the video for "She Moves In Her Own Way" announces The Kooks' intention to take the Western Hemisphere by storm. The beautifully-shot clip finds The Kooks on tour in Mexico, streaking from town to town on bus, walking the dusty streets and perching high above marquees written in Spanish, and horsing around in a luxurious hotel pool. They possess the ease and grace of true rock stars: there's an inevitability and confidence in every move they make, and all four bandmembers command the camera with playfulness and exuberance. This is the sort of clip that a group makes during the first flush of worldwide success - and that feeling of wonder and amazement at the thrill of rock and roll fame is present in every frame.

They've made an inspired choice of collaborator, too. Diane Martel is an auteur of glamour, and one of the most sought-after video directors working in American commercial music. She specializes in capturing the mercurial personalities of superstars, and her world-famous clips for Jennifer Lopez ("Get Right"), Alicia Keys ("If I Ain't Got You"), John Legend ("So High") and Beyoncé ("Listen") offer the viewer an intimacy rarely seen on contemporary music television. Martel has done the same for the rock bands she's worked with (Franz Ferdinand, The Bravery, and The Killers, just to name a few), showcasing both the dynamism of the groups and the star quality of the individual members.

We've watched the Brit-rock quartet become worldwide superstars, hitting the charts in three different continents, placing six singles in the British Top 40, and selling two million copies of Inside In/Inside Out, their blistering debut. The set achieved quadruple-platinum status in the U.K.; more tellingly, the band became a cultural phenomenon, and their songs became the soundtracks to the lives of countless young Britons Today, it's a thrill to be present at the beginning of a new chapter. Konk, the follow-up to Inside In/Inside Out, drops this April - and you'd probably have to go back to the heyday of Oasis to find the U.K. in the throes of such pre-release hysteria. In the States, anticipation has been considerable, too; the Brighton quartet might not be celebrities here as they are back home (yet), but Inside In/Inside Out made The Kooks favorites among fans of modern rock. Many enterprising Americans can already sing back the latest recordings: the band previewed cuts from the upcoming album at a series of sold-out shows in Los Angeles and New York, If the ecstatic reception at those gigs is any indication of future sales, the U.S. Billboard charts will soon be Kooks territory, too Konk, named for the Ray Davies-owned studio where it was recorded, is bigger, brighter, more tuneful, and more ambitious than the first album, and it seems destined to join Inside In/Inside Out in the ranks of undisputed Brit-rock classics. "Always Where I Need To Be", the teaser single from the Tony Hoffer-produced follow-up, gives listeners an idea of exactly where the band has headed. Turns out they've derived more than just studio time from Ray Davies: in its faith in the power of the distorted guitar-riff and the rough-but-sweet lead vocal, "Always Where I Need To Be" evokes Sixties-era Kinks. Singer Luke Pritchard's protean talent is a thing of renown in Britain, and it's on bold display here: he sounds simultaneously gutty and tender, arch and approachable, tuneful and tough. The camera loves him, too. He shines in Brendan Molloy's sly, casual, delightful clip for "Always Where I Need To Be", dancing before the microphone in a sun-lit Brooklyn practice studio. You'll remember that The Kooks video for "She Moves In Her Own Way" (U.K. Top 10) caught the band in action as they traveled through the streets of Mexico; the lead clip from Konk is based on a similar concept, but New York City is the territory the band is exploring. They roam through Manhattan streets, play atop a Kingsborough warehouse, and even indulge in a quintessentially Gothamite activity - attending a casting call. The clip has a gentle, hand-held quality that draws the viewer closer to the group; it's a concession to the intimacy that Kooks fans worldwide want with their heroes. What's more, it's the kind of clip guaranteed to win over the unconverted: if you weren't pulling for the Kooks before now, you surely will after watching "Always Where I Need To Be".

Since the release of their Sing Song mini-album, hailed as "one of the year's most lovable indie-rock CD's" by The New York Times, the buzz about The Little Ones has electrified the underground. On weblogs, social-networking sites, MP3 lists, and elsewhere, deejays, record-store clerks, and tastemakers everywhere have been spreading the word and recommending this quartet to anybody who loves offbeat, melodic indiepop. The Los Angeles indie rock band has toured America and Canada with the Kaiser Chiefs and The Walkmen, played a stunning showcase set at SXSW, streaked across Britain with Tilly and the Wall and The Magic Numbers, all while securing rave reviews in Pitchfork and NME.

With its Jesse LeDoux (Chutes Too Narrow by The Shins, Achilles Heel by Pedro The Lion) album cover and its wistful track titles, Sing Song looks and feels like the perfect accompaniment for modern heartbreak. The songs are sunny and bright - but lead singer and frontman Ed Reyes's beautiful arrangements conceal barbs. "Lovers Who Uncover", the current single, is a fantastic singalong number complete with shouts and handclaps, and a sugar-coated melody that wouldn't sound out of place on a Fleetwood Mac set. But listen a bit closer: it's a song about miscommunication, and the passage of time, and the cost of maturity. The heartbreaking clip for "Lovers Who Uncover" borrows its concept from "The Gift" by The Velvet Underground: a foolish lover mails himself across the country to the object of his affections. But there's no cruelty or violence in this version of the story. This time, the tragedy comes entirely from misapprehension - and that makes it all the more painful. Unlike Waldo Jeffers from "The Gift", the main character of the "Lovers Who Uncover" video isn't kidding himself about his girlfriend's affections. Instead, she's trying her best to get his attention while he, halfway across the country, concocts his plan. She sends him Polaroids, calls him on the phone, and checks her mailbox regularly for a reply - but instead of giving her the quick ring she'd need to reassure her, he opts for the more spectacular (and time-consuming) gesture. By the time he arrives on her doorstep, she's grown tired of wating and left to find him on her own, leaving them literally on each other's doorsteps!