The bitter beneath the sweet

The Kills

“No Wow” (Rough Trade/RCA)

****

“You’re gonna have to step over my dead body before you walk out that door / This ain’t no ‘wow’ no more,” Alison Mosshart snarls with the defiance of PJ Harvey in this album’s edgy title track, which speaks about how the first glow of romance can turn into something dark and menacing.

The song, whose urgency is underscored by the tension and insistence of Jamie Hince’s guitar work, is typical of the psychological battlefield that is mapped out in this arresting slice of rock noir (due in stores March 15) from a London-based duo whose members go by the stage names of VV (Mosshart) and Hotel (Hince).

With music that was as unnerving as the darkest moments of such models as the Velvet Underground and the Jesus and Mary Chain, the group’s 2002 debut “Keep on Your Mean Side” introduced the Kills’ musical path. But this follow-up elevates expectations, as the pair show increased command and craft.

The biggest advance is that the Kills now wrap their songs, from the enchanting “The Good Ones” to the especially anxious “I Hate the Way You Love,” in melodies that are disarmingly sweet and seductive.

The pair refuse to lose faith in relationships, even as the songs tell what it’s like to have love shatter around you and portray characters so obsessive that there are certain to be lots more explosions ahead.

The music and themes may be too dark for some tastes, but with the right exposure, the Kills (who play the Glass House on March 22) could dominate late-night radio well into the summer on alt-rock and college rock stations.

-- Robert Hilburn

A playlist of classics old, new

M. Ward

“Transistor Radio” (Merge)

*** 1/2

Matt WARD is a Portland, Ore., resident who hails from Southern California, but there’s a warm, universal spirit to this lo-fi album that makes you feel his musical instincts could have been honed in any Smalltown, U.S.A. -- especially one in the South, where his beloved country, blues and folk strains are as much in the air as the morning dew.

Listening to this concept album is akin to monitoring the radio at some magical point decades ago when DJs were still free to pick their own records and every turn of the dial gave you a slightly different musical personality.

In saluting that music and that liberating approach to radio, Ward takes us on a journey that includes songs by the Beach Boys and the Carter Family, but is based mostly on his own material.

The best moments of this rich survey of vintage sounds make you feel you are just one station away from hooking into something from Bob Dylan’s “Love and Theft” album, which was a delightful salute to the music Dylan heard on the radio as a youngster in Minnesota.

There’s such a casual, old-timey feel to much of the CD that it’s easy to get caught up by the album’s charms and forget to focus on Ward’s writing, which would be a mistake. As he has shown in earlier solo collections, he is a gifted writer with a rich, understated feel for tales of restlessness and longing. Ward will be at the Troubadour on March 29.

-- R.H.

Refinements are paying dividends

Tori Amos

“The Beekeeper” (Epic)

*** 1/2

Tori AMOS’ iconoclastic work has long been a comfort to her fans, who found in her an artist giving sometimes histrionic voice to the sorts of harrowing, isolating experiences (rape, molestation) that many have endured but few could speak about openly.

Her more recent albums have been no less self-involved, but definitely less melodramatic. And with “The Beekeeper,” her eighth studio collection, she may well become a comfort to any listener roiled by the state of the world and inclined to seek solace in soulful, smart pop.

As always, Amos gives listeners a lot to absorb: 19 tracks that clock in at just under 80 minutes. She addresses such emotion-laden subjects as Christianity, censorship, power and relationships.

Numbers such as the title track, “Original Sinsuality,” and “Barons of Suburbia” are typically packed with complex musings on faith, fate, and community, but the music remains relatively simple.

The songs are driven by her trademark blend of piano and organ, but touched with other elements, from trip-hop to gentle funk, and her vocals occasionally entertain a male counterpart, as in “The Power of Orange Knickers,” featuring Damien Rice.

She’s been de-emphasizing hysterics for a while now, and here she mostly sings prettily, but still powerfully. Her voice is a beacon throughout, maintaining a calming flow as you glide almost serenely through her thoughts.

-- Natalie Nichols

Falling a bit short of her inspiration

Kathleen Edwards

“Back to Me” (Zoe/Rounder)

** 1/2

Alt-ROCKERS aren’t the only ones having trouble following up on promising debuts these days. Edwards’ first album, 2003’s “Failer,” may not have generated the widespread excitement of debuts by the Strokes and the Vines, but its folk shadings had enough promise to impress lots of critical ears, especially those who admire the introspective, storytelling approach of Lucinda Williams.

In this follow-up, the 26-year-old singer-songwriter from Ottawa seems to operate even more in the shadow of Williams, and the comparisons don’t always serve her well.

The title track seems so heavily influenced by the rock-edged bite of Williams’ “Change the Locks” that you’d expect Edwards to give her half the songwriting credit. Yet the story itself is a rather uneventful twist on Williams’ defiant tale of getting rid of an unwanted lover.

Edwards understands enough about the mechanics of songwriting to keep things moving, and several of the arrangements have a winning, if sometimes overly polished flavor. In the end, however, too many of the songs feel more obvious and slight than bold and revealing -- as if Edwards’ true muse is really Sheryl Crow.

R.H.

On the Web

To hear samples from “Transistor Radio,” “No Wow” and “Back to Me,” visit calendarlive.com/rack.

Albums are rated on a scale of one star (poor), two stars (fair), three stars (good) and four stars (excellent). The albums are already released unless otherwise noted.