The Magnetic Fields' new album Love At The Bottom Of The Sea (Merge) is the first in more than a decade to feature the shimmering synthesizer lines for which the endlessly malleable indiepop icons first became known. As I learned when writing this week's Voice profile of Magnetic Fields songwriter Stephin Merritt, he loves talking about the gear that helps him command those sounds—he gets downright giddy, which is both unexpected (given his cantankerous reputation) and endearing.

Below is a gear-centric excerpt from our conversation, which took place at an old-timey Greenwich Village restaurant that uses real anchovies in its Caesar salad, and where the waitress brought him his pasta before he even cracked open a menu.

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​​Sound of the City's search for the quintessential New York City musician enters Round Two this week, with battles in the Round of 32 daily. Keep up with all the action here.

In round one of Sound Of The City's March Madness, jazzmaster Miles Davis dispatched Cyndi Lauper with tonally perfect blow, and Strong Island rabblerousers Public Enemy fought the power of Mariah Carey and came out on top. Both of these icons of American music helped push their genres into artistic maturity and wildly explorative places. It is not overstatement to say these people were the rock on which the rest of their art forms were built. So have fun choosing this one.

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Your guest editor, about to be eaten by Pac Man

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Good morning. Your friend and mine Maura Johnston is currently overseas, enjoying grog and mead (I'm assuming) and generally being awesome. When you hear about the show she is seeing, in all probability you will die of jealousy. Expect a full recap on that next week, and let us pray that the inevitable Tyler, The Creator and Lana Del Ray duet does not drop while she is out of town. We all know how much she would hate to miss that.

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To supplement this year's Pazz & Jop launch, Sound of the City asked a few critics to expand on the reasonings behind their voting. Here, Michael Tedder breaks down his entire ballot, and along the way he talks about about the operatic heights of Fucked Up, the shredding ability of Annie Clark and Ritzy Bryan, and the power of the "boof."

​Fucked Up, David Comes to Life (30 points): I was starting to get a sense of the way the wind was blowing for this year's roundup, and I'm generally aware that aggressive music, no matter how smart and inventive, has a ceiling for critical support. (I should point out that I submitted my ballot before the Spin endorsement.) So, just like I did last year with Titus Andronicus' The Monitor (I will not accept the idea that anyone this decade wrote a better album about America now, or a better album period than that), I went all in, points wise, to try to get my favorite album in to the top ten. Like last year, I failed, and I regret nothing. Anyway, people focusing on the intentionally confusing plot of this rock opera are not paying enough attention to the operatic arrangements (that term is not used as loosely as you imagine) Mike Haliechuk and company are offering up here, like some bizarre amalgam of Crass, Queen and Chavez. Also, I still don't know how Veronica died, and I'm surprised that in these #OWS days no one is discussing the working-class fatigue subtext ("those better days have passed us by") on display here.

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​A year ago this month, Wye Oak kicked off their 2011 with an opening slot for The Decemberists at Beacon Theatre. There was a snowstorm, and it was a pain in the ass to get home, but their set was a great kickoff to what's been, for the Baltimore duo, a great year. Their third album Civilian, a slowly revealing mix of slanted arrangements, dream-pop melodies and guitar riffs that sound like pixies getting sucked into jet engines, won them the best reviews of their career, and they've been touring nonstop. They've been around the world, covered Dinosaur Jr. and Nirvana for the Our Band Could Be Your Life tribute show, and wrapped up the year with another Beacon opening set, this time with The National.

Singer/guitarist/songwriter Jenn Wasner has a complicated relationship with the hype machine. When I met with her and drummer/keyboardist Andy Stack for dinner at the end of December, the two were clearly wiped from a long year of taking advantage of their increased exposure. Still, they were very open with Sound Of The City about the toll this year has taken, the making of one of the year's breakthrough releases and their plans for the future—which include a solo set by Wasner, performing as Flock of Dimes, tonight at Shea Stadium.

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My Morning Jacket w/Band of Horses
Madison Square Garden
Wednesday, December 14

Better than: The other bands on the Bonnaroo roots-jam circuit.

I sometimes imagine the young Kentucky rock fan who would one day name himself Jim James surfing the internet in the late '90s (we called it surfing back then), searching for some Allman Brothers guitar tabs, and stumbling upon a message board debate about the perils of rockism and boomer nostalgia and dinosaurs who won't let the '70s go. I imagine James absorbing the ideas about not making "rock" the default genre idea, prejudices about pop and dance music and closed minds and closed ears. (You know the drill.) I imagine him nodding, taking it all in and deciding that they were all good points—but realizing that he still really liked guitar solos. The solution? He would use these ideas to build a better classic rock. This is a completely imaginary scenario, but it has worked out pretty well for him.

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Sebastian Slayter

​In this week's Voice Michael Tedder profiles the Brooklyn trio Widowspeak, who craft hushed, gorgeous ballads and whose self-titled debut (Captured Tracks) is one of the year's standout first releases. Tedder trailed the band around CMJ, where they were one of the beneficiaries of the week-long music festival's hype cycle. His account is below.

At their best, Widowspeak achieve a state of cinematic grace. Grace is something that has fuck-all to do with the CMJ Music Marathon, and even fuck less to do with the music industry at large; Widowspeak is still getting used to this. Vocalist Molly Hamilton says the band has only ever done a handful of interviews and getting all the members in the same room for a photo shoot is always a chore. Even managing the band email can be problematic. But they signed up for this year's music meat-market anyway.

A week before the festival, the band members laugh off the suggestion that they might try to "win" CMJ and accrue buzz band status by playing as many high-profile gigs as possible. "We have nothing really to push," says Hamilton, noting that the band's policy is only to do what feels right. The members were wary of overdoing it and playing gigs in the double-digits like some upstarts, plus there were days jobs to think about. (Hamilton is a barista, guitarist Robert Earl Thomas a busboy.) But both were happy to play showcases for things they supported, like WNYU or NYCTaper. That added up.

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​One of the most respected turntable artists in the independent hip-hop world, Brad Forste's fierce, punk-like approach to scratching always pushed each set he DJed right up to the line of pandemonium. On more than one occasion I have seen Forste, apparently unsatisfied with the crowd's energy, cut up something like Rage Against The Machine's "Killing In The Name" and then run through the mosh-pit to ensure the audience's enthusiasm level meet his high standards. Working under the name Mr. Dibbs, Forste toured with indie-rap kings Atmospere and El-P, collaborated with artists such as Peanut Butter Wolf, cLOUDHEAD and Murs and released several influential breakbeat albums.

For the past month Forste has been in the hospital for cirrhosis of the liver. Because he didn't have any health insurance, he has already racked up more than half a million dollars in medical bills. Dibbs' close friend Jamie Meline, better known as El-P, recently released a song to help Dibbs with his bills; "Rush Over BKLYN" merges his recent "Drones Over BKLYN" with Rush's classic-rock staple "Tom Sawyer." (The mashup was made using Legitmix, a piece of software that allows producers to create mixes using copyrighted material that they have legally acquired.)

When we got him on the phone Meline was reluctant to talk too much about Dibbs' current health or state of mind, but he did want to spread the word about the collection Forste and his wife are taking to help with the medical expenses. "He's my friend and he's in trouble, so hopefully 'BKLYN' will bring a little awareness," he said. "They're in a situation where they don't know what to do. They've gone public with it and they've asked people to help, which sometimes is all anyone can do. Sort of the last avenue sometimes."

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Benjamin Lozovsky

For more photos from the show, check out our gallery.

​Foo Fighters w/Social Distortion, The Joy Formidable
Madison Square Garden
Sunday, November 13

Better than: Some band with only two guitar players playing for only two hours.

Dave Grohl is often called the nicest guy in rock. Don't think he doesn't use this to get away with murder. During their performance at Madison Square Garden last night General Grohl led his Foo Fighters through "Stacked Actors," one of the deep cuts fans point to whenever detractors complain about "Learn To Fly." It's a great song. It has pointed lyrics, an insistent groove and just enough pop-polish to make the slash and burn riffs and throat shredding go down easy. It is not a song that benefits a great deal from instrumental vamping. But that didn't stop Grohl from running across the MSG floor to a second stage in the middle of the arena and then indulging in an extended back and forth solo off with lead guitarist Chris Shiflett. And it just kept going.

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They Might Be Giants w/Jonathan Coulton, Eugene Mirman & Pretty Good Friends
Williamsburg Waterfront
Friday, July 29

Better than: Funny you should ask.

Around the 30-minute mark of the the heavens' continued urination on the gathered masses at the Williamsburg Waterfront on Friday, comedian Todd Barry looked out to his soaked audience and asked in a voice filled with his usual jaded mischief: "Isn't this so much better than paying $15 to be inside?" Well, no. From where I sat near the front there was plenty of groaning, especially when the rainstorm started up again after a brief dry interlude, but few people actually left. Whether the assembled thought they could tough it out or were just that into They Might Be Giants is a question only they could answer, although based on the amount of Giants t-shirts and other paraphernalia—one dude straight-up came ready to LARP, rubber sword and shield and everything—spotted in the crowd, it's clear that the band's fanbase is a devoted one. Truly, there is no deeper bond in the universe than the bond formed between nerd and their formative talismans of nerd-dom.

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