Though her solo efforts coexisted with The Moldy Peaches, Dawson’s songwriting retains the pared-down, do-it-herself instrumentation of her former band without the Peaches’ scatological humor.

What is a young artist to make of a post-Giuliani, post-9/11 New York City? Some credit the former mayor’s strategic employment of the “broken window” philosophy in fighting urban crime and blight—along with a police force that, putting it kindly, ignored many of the subtleties of community relations—with helping the city to clean up its act. Many old haunts that once housed angst-ridden musicians are being developed into condominiums and shopping centers (it was, for example, recently announced that the former site of CBGB is being converted into a store for upscale men’s fashion designer John Varvatos). At the same time, the horrific events of 9/11 have created both a newfound sense of community among many New Yorkers and an intense preoccupation with all things safety-related. The grime, danger and sin historically associated with New York have seemingly been wiped off the cultural landscape of the city, creating a new atmosphere marked by a cleanliness that threatens to erase many aspects of the region’s checkered history.

"Murderer," the climactic highlight of Low’s latest album, Drums and Guns, reads like the transcript of one of the president’s most disturbing talks with God. “One more thing I’ll ask you, Lord,” singer Alan Spearhawk impassively volunteers, “you may need a murderer/ someone to do your dirty work.” “Don’t act so innocent!” Spearhawk seethes, turning accusatory. “I’ve seen you pound your fist into the Earth . . .

Mike Doughty had one main goal while creating Golden Delicious, his latest release. “I really went in there with the intention of making it more pared down, to make good songs and make the happy, happy sound,” the former Soul Coughing frontman says wryly. This simple rhyme of an answer displays his sardonic wit and quirky lyricism, the defining traits of his music. Since Soul Coughing split in 2000, Doughty has refined his distinct, syncopated vocal delivery through his solo work, most notably on 2005’s Haughty Melodic, which yielded a radio hit in “Looking at the World From the Bottom of a Well.” The album was Doughty’s first with a backing band after a series of sparse, self-released acoustic efforts.

Gambit is summarizing the namesake for his 12member rap group, the Marvel Comics crossover epic House of M. “Basically, there’s this character, the Scarlet Witch, who can change realities and probabilities,” he explains. “She has this big mental breakdown, and she ends up changing the whole Marvel world. It’s up to all the superheroes in the Marvel universe to band together and get the world back to normal. As his X-Men-derived alias suggests, Gambit has a passion for comics in general, but this particular story line has special relevance for him. “It symbolizes our group,” he says.

For anyone who still associates Bob Mould with Midwestern punk, the cover of his latest solo album, District Line, may come as quite an eye-opener. The art focuses entirely on the sights of Washington, D.C., with allusions to the city’s color-coded Metro subway lines and a photograph of one of the never-ending escalators that service this underground transit system. Such aesthetic decisions, which Mould describes as “a nod to my almost six-year hometown,” immediately make clear the impact that living in the nation’s capital has had on Mould and his art. This doesn’t mean that District Line is filled with political rants aimed at those living and working in Mould’s back yard (though Mould remains civically responsible: Charmingly, he apologized for delaying this interview because he had spent the early morning voting in the D.C. presidential primary).

In many cultures, Black Lips are considered unbecoming because they “tend to cast a sad reflection on one’s shoddy lifestyle,” according to the beauty and lifestyle magazine I Love India. Fittingly, then, few bands on the indie-rock radar are as notorious for troublemaking and excess as the Black Lips, a noisy, bluesy foursome from Atlanta. First there’s the band’s name, which could be viewed in a not-so-friendly light, especially after a few drinks. There’s also bassist Jared Swilley’s drunken driving charge, which keeps the band from crossing the Canadian border legally.

Isaac Hayes released his first album in 1967, but when Hot Buttered Soul hit the charts he made his indelible impression on popular music. In 1972, the singer and songwriter, became the first African-American composer to win an Academy Award, for the Shaft soundtrack. He was the creative grist behind Otis Redding and Sam & Dave, including co-authoring “Soul Man.” Hayes, 65, has emerged as an actor, radio celebrity and restaurateur, triple talents he combined in his role as Chef on “South Park.”

Heavy metal, despite its commercial success, remains a highly misunderstood, frequently maligned genre. Often, too much attention is paid to vocal or guitar histrionics, while the rhythm section goes unnoticed or underappreciated. Yet if you closely examine some of metal’s greats—Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden and Slayer, to name but a few—you’ll begin to realize that it is the drumming that propels these bands. Whether it is in the shape of Bill Ward’s manic originality, Clive Burr’s galloping time keeping, or Dave Lombardo’s brutal blast beat, it’s the drummers that separate the great from the good in the world of metal.

When singer/songwriter Richard Thompson brings his “1,000 Years of Popular Music” tour to the Pabst Theater on Feb. 7, his fans may be surprised to learn that none of the British folk-rocker’s own music will factor into the program. According to Thompson, who has recorded more than 50 albums in varying musical . . .