As a founding member of the Vivian Girls, and a drummer/vocalist in both Crystal Stils and Dum Dum Girls, Frankie Rose has been an integral part of Brooklyn’s still vital music scene for years. Her highly anticipated solo project not only reflects the aesthetic earmarks of her musical past, but reveals her as a fully-formed artist in her own right.

Haunted by the ghosts of Brill Building, and equal measures of 80s and 90s pop, Frankie’s music evokes a spooky, lovely charm. Her ethereal, yet affectation-free vocal melodies, swirling in a sea of church-like harmonies over a bed of tambourines, bells, and propulsive drumming, recall such artists as Eilzabeth Fraser and Black Tambourine. It is both timeless and immediate; deeply personal and completely universal.

Ms. Rose’s self-debut titled debut, which hit the streets in July of 2010, is moody and subtle dream pop, as if Cocteau Twins and Spacemen 3 tracked a split LP with some help from Phil Spector. The record receive much acclaim, making it onto Rough Trade’s top 100 of the year. Cited by Pitchfork as “lean, elegant music that practically glows in the face of exceptional fuss,” and named one of New York Times Style Magazine’s “Ones to Watch,” Frankie Rose is truly a force to be reckoned with.

Look out for her sophomore LP, coming soon on Slumberland Records.

It's not hard to get tangled up in the Name Game while listening to Dirty Beaches. Alex Zhang Hungtai's schizo romantic crooning alter ego is chillwave-ugly in name and greaser-gorgeous in execution, as defined by its many references as it is by its creeping allure.

The recently released "Sweet 17" mines a few crucial touch points-- Suicide's desiccated punk wailing, the existentialism of David Lynch's ominous Lost Highway, Duane Eddy's rollicking echo rock-- to create something that slashes ligaments and hits the bone. In this moment of relentless, unchecked nostalgia, the 1950s have remained a curiously under-romanticized era, with a torrent of mystery and unmined cool ready to be pillaged. Hungtai, clearly an admirer of the decade, has a blood-red baritone that explodes into shrieks here, revealing some alien hybrid of Elvis Presley and Jerry Lee Lewis.

Dirty Beaches' forthcoming Badlands EP splits its time between corroded dream-pop and this sort of menacing road music. Brace yourself for the pomade revolution.