The Straight’s highly subjective rundown of songs you need to download this week.

We haven’t seen a young, talented Scot make waves this size since Sheena Easton was taking the morning train all those years ago, and that was back when KT Tunstall was still in tartan nappies. We should probably mention Texas too—the Glaswegian band that scored with the simmering “I Don’t Want a Lover” in 1989, not the enormous state where American presidents go to get gooned at the ranch or shot in the head.

Well, that shows how much the critics know. Before its U.K. release last August, Kate Nash’s Made of Bricks was pegged as a guaranteed bomb by British rag The Independent. Flash forward 12 months or so, and she’s taking home BRIT awards for best female artist, hanging platinum records on her wall, and selling the shit out of North American venues like Richard’s on Richards, where she appears tonight (May 8).

These resolutely quirky Californians have occupied the territory between novelty act and something more substantial for 17 years now, if you can believe it. So in the words of their biggest—and, let’s face it, its quirkiest—hit, Cake will survive. There’s also the small matter of vocalist John McCrea’s beard. The laconic frontman was wearing that ugly fucker on his chin long before Stephen McBean forgot how to shave and unimmaculately conceived an entire subculture, so dues should be paid.

If you’ve ever wished not only that the Beatles had never broken up, but also that they had steadfastly refused to update their music or image after their second Ed Sullivan Show appearance, then have we got a show for you. 1964: The Tribute aims to re-create the look and sound of a Fab Four live performance circa, well, ’64.

No one has ever suggested that NOFX lacks a sense of humour. Hell, if you don’t find the title of 1992’s White Trash, Two Heebs and a Bean funnier than fuck, you probably don’t get South Park either. Over the course of its nearly a quarter-century together, the staunchly indie quartet has moved from defiantly stoopid punk rock (“You Put Your Chocolate in My Peanut Butter”) to something that approaches semi-intelligent social commentary (“You’re Wrong”).

The Straight’s highly subjective rundown of songs you need to download this week.

Samarabalouf gives a fresh twist to the heritage of jazz legend Django Reinhardt. The acoustic trio from Amiens, France, plays original Gypsy-swing jazz tunes spiced with elements of tango, boogie-woogie, and rumba flamenco. Founder and lead guitarist François Petit launches into high-speed improvisations with punkish energy and the flair of a born showman. Samarabalouf has toured regularly in the U.S.

Maybe it’s the grade-A herb, or perhaps it’s the fact that four bottles of Hi-Test will get you more fucked up than an entire case of Old Milwaukee. Whatever the attraction, it seems that Louisville, Kentucky, electro-rockers VHS or Beta can’t stay away from Vancouver. Last seen in these parts back in November, the most danceable thing to come out of the South since, well, ever, returns to our bleak city for a Saturday (May 3) stand at the Plaza Club.

The eclectic Michel has been collecting critical bouquets and high-class admirers like Alejandro Escovedo and author Michael Ondaatje for more than 10 years now, even while he flies beneath most folks’ radar. A 2003 Juno nomination for artist of the year reinforced the idea that Michel is no mere hopeful with a guitar and boyish good looks, as does his newest album, Feather, Fur, & Fin, which takes on alt-pop, folk, reggae, and all points between with Michel’s usual idiosyncratic aplomb.

Let’s be honest: for most of us, the Joe Jackson that matters most is the marginally pissed-off one who sang “Is She Really Going Out With Him?” back in 1979. That’s not to say the lanky Brit didn’t prove himself a decent enough craftsman with the urbane Night and Day in 1982, or the swing-driven Jumpin’ Jive before that, nor are his efforts as a classical composer to be sneezed at.

There’s an argument to be made that Danko Jones isn’t overly proud to be Canadian. While the likes of Buck 65, Julie Doiron, and 54-40 dutifully crisscross the country every year or so, the man known to his mom as the Mango Kid prefers to spread the rock ’n’ roll gospel abroad. And hey, who can blame him? Think about it—would you rather spend your mornings on the road drinking truck-stop coffee in Prince Albert or quaffing cappuccinos in Belgium?

Remember back at the turn of the century when pop-punk held the Earth in terrified thrall of Dickies shorts, studded belts, checkered Chuck Taylors, and mind-numbingly banal, nursery-rhyme choruses delivered in double time by whiny white kids with no rhythm? And remember how worthier practitioners of the rapidly deteriorating genre, such as Gob, quietly and inconspicuously made themselves very, very scarce when that happened?

The Straight’s highly subjective rundown of songs you need to download this week

As tempting as it is to dismiss Duran Duran as a retro act that continues to capitalize on the nostalgia (and disposable income) of ’80s kids, the fact is the ever-stylish British pop band still moves millions of units every time it puts out an album. Evidently, there will be plenty of folks just dying to hear the new stuff when Duran Duran plays G.M. Place on Tuesday (April 29). Not us, though.