ALBUM OF THE WEEK: Eric Church - The Outsiders (EMI Nashville): The bold, foolish heir to Garth Brooks' KISS makeup dreams makes his arena move and his avant one at the same time. 2011's amazing Chief did everything right the old-fashioned way, with songs as simple as "Drink in My Hand" and the amazing "Homeboy" showcasing a voice too clear and fine for its gritty pretensions and a hook machine so unceasing that it didn't even occur to anyone he might not have any left. Three years later, here's The Outsiders, where Eric Church doubles down choirs, production worthy of Nickelback, and a startling, almost respectable aversion toward musical ideas that could be construed as memorable.

That is, The Outsiders would be Church's ARTPOP if he only understood his underdog dreams as well as his conventional talents. Aside from a wild backup singer whose name I'd love to learn, the best moments of Church's fourth album are not his faux AC/DC asides like "That's Damn Rock & Roll" or the overbearing thunder of "Give Me Back My Hometown." It's the relative restraint of the closer "The Joint," with its Waits-ian whisper and Young Marble Giants-style drum machine ping-pong, or the surprising crunch of "Cold One," or the (literally) skipping blues of "Broke Record" and the light soul of "Like a Wrecking Ball," which sure beats Miley. Eight minutes of "Devil, Devil (Prelude: Princess of Darkness )" for his fellow Pantera-heads only cements that there's too much narrated spoken word here. In fact, there's too much too much here.

Cibo Matto - Hotel Valentine (Chimera): Like Superchunk, Miho Hatori and Yuka Honda spent the '90s getting by on a concept and have returned over a decade later to add the content eluded them. Not just songs (follow-up Stereo*Type A was more tuneful than debut Viva! La Woman) but glue (it didn't quite figure out how to put rap, bossa nova and metal together though). Fifteen years on, Hotel Valentine doesn't soften the edges of the debut or attempt to modernize their sampladelic Dada trip-hop, merely applies what they know now about musicality to the old beats, with better results: "D�j� Vu" bends a symphonic sample out of shape a la Soul Coughing and the warped cha-cha of the title tune evokes fond memories of Tom Waits and Latin Playboys. At their best ("Spoon," "Working for Vacation"), they've been as good as the above-named. More often they've gotten by on panache and funky and no wave New York-isms. But it's hard to not root for these genuine originals, who here have opted for a concept album about love and lust in a haunted hotel, where "Housekeeping" features Odd Future-style sonics, double-time rapping and "ketchup on the sheets."