Records are rated on a scale of one (wretched) to five (classic) stars.

THE CURE 'THREE IMAGINARY BOYS' (RHINO)

To commemorate its 25-year anniversary, the Cure's first album (U.K. only) gets the two-CD deluxe edition treatment. And it couldn't feel more timely, hitting iPods on the heels of last year's Curiosa tour, another fine new album and the kind of year where half the new bands any Spin subscriber cared about (and all the bands on Curiosa) borrowed half their best ideas from the Cure.

And it's held up surprisingly well. OK, not "Foxy Lady." But the songs that Jimi Hendrix didn't write are often brilliant -- desperate yet quirky post-punk treasures, from the drip, drip, drip of the tap in an opening track that finds a sad young Robert Smith anxiously waiting for the telephone to ring while sitting in the kitchen sink to "Meathook," with its "Kinks stuck in an echo chamber" charms, to "Three Imaginary Boys," a melancholy title track that pretty much captures the feeling of being "scared of what the morning brings."

The post-Wire guitars are abrasive in places. The post-Shelley vocals are whiny, quirky, agitated, dripping with emotion and drowning in echo. Some would call them petulant. And they wouldn't be wrong. The mood is an actual member of the band, although he isn't credited. Or she. In short, it finds them well along the road to becoming The Cure (unless, of course, you count the goofy boogie-woogie instrumental that closes the album, in which case it finds them well along the road to becoming the early Replacements).

A second disc of rarities is best enjoyed by those who don't mind truly awful-sounding records. It's as though they threw a boombox in the corner, then phoned home and played the boombox tape into an answering machine. An early live recording does sound worse, though.

But that's for the audiophiles to consider. Hardcore Cure historians will welcome any opportunity to hear The Cure arriving at their sound while fumbling through early arrangements of songs that just got better by the time they made it to the proper album. A few of the songs that didn't make it to the album clearly should have ("I Want To Be Old" and "I'm Cold," in particular). And there's a demo of their greatest single ever, "Boys Don't Cry." But the actual album is the disc you'll keep returning to. As well you should. And if repeated listens help you figure out what Hendrix ever did to make them want to do that to his song, you let us know.

-- Ed Masley, Post-Gazette

pop music critic

SLEEPYKID 'MONDAY MORNING SMILE' (GET HIP)

Former Reveler Andrej Cuturic makes good on the title of his latest project with an album that runs the sleepy-headed charm of early Big Star through a dreamy psychedelic haze. At times, his rasping whisper of a voice recalls the last few records by the Eels, especially on "Don't Know Why" (the post-Beck shuffle of the hip-pop drums alone...). There's almost nothing here that "rocks," but somehow I don't miss the Revelers' post-Mod energy. And I'm a sucker for the Revelers' post-Mod energy. There's clearly something to be said for any pop guy who can come up with a perfect blend of two "Revolver" tracks ("She Said, She Said" and "Doctor Robert") plus some magic dust will give you "Ashes." But the ballads are what make this record one of last year's greater unsung treasures -- gorgeous, soulful songs whose melodies could pass for great lost Big Star classics, from the psychedelic charms of "Lift My Head" to the Lennonesque chamber-pop glory of the album's strongest cut, the brilliantly arranged "What We're Doing Today."

-- Ed Masley

LOW WATER 'HARD WORDS IN A SPEAKEASY' (LOW WATER)

This album finds two veterans of the local scene -- John Leitera of Boogie Man Smash and Dave Rubin of Blogurt -- rocking through an album's worth of gritty post-Replacements rock with style and substance. Whether swaggering his way through the urgent, exposed-nerve attack of the opening track, "Reputation," or showing his sensitive side on melancholy ballads as inspired as "New Song" (which the band attacks with the ragged abandon Westerberg too often turned his back on when he turned the tempo down), Leitera's rasping vocals make the most of every instantly engaging hook and richly detailed turn of phrase. On "Reputation," he sings "I got the dirt on her/It's falling right through my hands." On "Stay Away From Me, Girl," he rasps "Sometimes it's all for the best to walk around with all your insides showing." And he flat out nails the essence of a breakup in the aching, absurdly tuneful "New Song": "We both know this wasn't built to last/So there'll be no crying when things start dying/There's hair on pillow cases, fingerprints on the mirror/And after she's gone, she'll still be here."

-- Ed Masley