Demons, You Are The Stars In Cars 'Til I Die

While new wave revivalists like The Killers and Franz Ferdinand crank out rigid dance tunes, Boston's Pitty Sing come from the school of Simple Minds and Modern English: dark, brash and loose, with suave synths and woozy, hypnotic vocals. As such, they're more interested in sweeping you off your feet than shaking your booty; check out the scintillating feedback and red wine-stained harmonies of "Radio," which has Manchester-born Paul Holmes crooning slyly, "We fook on the radio." The muse of the '80s-licious "We're On Drugs" could easily be a wide-eyed, milky-skinned Molly Ringwald in a hideous homemade taffeta gown. "The Wedding Song" and "We Know Better" teeter on the uncomfortably rapt median between madness and ecstasy. The only pity here is the fact that there aren't more songs.