As you stumble out the door of your most reliable neighborhood watering hole, there's nothing classier than Tom Waits on the jukebox. He knows the piano's been drinking, not you. He's spent plenty of time emptying glasses and filling up ashtrays; he's not one to judge. With "Eggs and Sausage," he tells the hazy story of your after-hours misadventures.

If things get a little out of hand, maybe The Streets would be more appropriate. Of course, you don't normally touch anything but the occasional drink, but it's been a hard day. Someone offered you something to ease your load, and you didn't ask what it was. How were you to know the room would start spinning? "Blinded By The Lights" is there for you when you're not quite sure where you are.

Hopefully, your night hasn't gotten too heavy. If all has gone well, you're opening your front door with a wobbly-footed smile. In that case, perhaps you should pick a tune by locals Laughing Man to finish off the evening. "The Already Always" waltzes along its tipsy way with an off-kilter ebullience that feels just right as you lie down with all your clothes on, reeking of gin. Catch the soulful two-piece-turned-trio tonight at Rock & Roll Hotel opening for lo-fi blog-rockers Wavves.

There are two questions Sacramento, Calif.'s Ganglians say they're asked all the time: Is the band named after ganglion cysts? (Those are gross and kind of cool, frontman Ryan Grubbs said Tuesday, but no.) Also, what's it like to trip on ayahuasca?

Grubbs said he loves talking about psychoactive drugs almost as much as taking them. But he and his bandmates have never ingested that particular one, which is hard to find outside of South America. (Not that he wouldn't, he said.)

"We definitely talk about acid experiences a lot," said Grubbs, whose band opens for Wavves tonight at the Rock & Roll Hotel. "I think it was Rob [Enbom] of Eat Skull who told some guy from The Agit Reader that when we were on tour with him we were finding psychoactive stuff along the road like ayahuasca and ingesting it." Which is true, Grubbs said, except for the ayahuasca part. "Our bass player Adrian [Comenzind] is a botanist. He’s like the hippie of the group."

Well, more like the hippiest. Grubb's openness about drugs isn't particularly shocking, unless you've never seen the band (young, spaced out, and mostly bearded) or heard its latest record, Monster Head Room (out now on Woodsist), which isn't so much the latest iteration of this decade's freak folk as it is a direct tapping of poppy '60s psych acts like The Millenium and Love.

There's one final ingredient, according to Grubbs: The Beach Boys' radiant vocal harmonies. "If you're ever at the point [in an acid trip] where you’re hearing angel voices," he said, "we definitely try to replicate that."

Around the time Ganglians recorded Monster Head Room, Grubbs said, "there were a lot of mushrooms and acid, but we didn’t take it and record stuff. I would just take it and come up with ideas. Mainly we would just smoke weed. And we haven’t had a chance to do it lately."

When you're on tour, Grubbs said, "you have to be on the ball."

Which is still a challenge, to hear Grubbs tell it. The band was detained last week by U.S. Customs and Border Protection while trying to cross into Canada for a gig. They were held for several hours, Grubbs said, after a border agent discovered rolling papers in bassist Comenzind's wallet. The entire time, Grubbs said, he was high from a pot brownie: "It was totally insane, like Nazi Germany."

Grubbs is both an exhilarating interview subject (he is enthusiastic and utterly without guile) and an amusing one. Several times during our phone conversation, he asked me to repeat a question even though he already had spent several sentences answering it. (To be fair, neither of our phones had great reception.) When he told me that Monster Head Room is a coming-of-age epic structured like an acid trip—"it has a climax, it comes down, there’s the second climax and it comes down at the end"—I asked him what the post-bildungsroman Ganglians will sing about next time they record an album. Has the band cornered itself into adulthood?

The question puzzled Grubbs, and excited him. He said he needed to talk to the band about it, and get back to me. "Can I text you the answer later?"

I have yet to hear back.

Ganglians perform tonight at the Rock & Roll Hotel with Wavves and Tennis System. Photo courtesy of Ganglians' MySpace page.

Radiohead: "These Are My Twisted Words"
So, the blogs were wrong. Who would have thought? Instead of a new Radiohead EPall we get are some nasty words and an official release of "These Are My Twisted Words," a song that the band leaked last week onto a fan-operated message board. Hey, that's better than nothing. And it's not like "Twisted Words" is some sort of tossed off b-side, either. This is Radiohead at its jammiest, with hypnotic guitar arpeggios morphing together for over five minutes as if Johnny Marr were paying homage to Meddle-era Pink Floyd.

Wavves: "Cool Jumper"
San Diego-based scuzz-pop prodigy Nathan Williams has had his name floating all over the blogosphere recently, largely due to a drug-fueled mid-concert meltdown. There's a better, more productive way, to maintain that hype level, though: release good music. "Cool Jumper" finds Williams doing just that. The chords/grit/drums formula that drives Wavves songs is cleverly expanded using Hella drummer Zach Hill to drop in jarring off time fills over Williams' bubblegum "ooohs" and "ahhs."

The Flaming Lips: "See The Leaves"
For the last 10 years The Flaming Lips have been rock's leading purveyors of PMA, cutting one inspirational anthem after another. But "See The Leaves," from the band's upcoming record Embryonic, strikes a darker tone. In fact, between the song's stumbling groove and bleak outro, there's nary a confetti blasting/fist-pump-appropriate moment to be found here. "Without hope/ without love/ she sees herself from below and above," sings front man Wayne Coyne. The Flaming Lips do paranoia pretty well, though, and "See The Leaves" is no exception. It's hard to say what triggered the epic come-down, but it might not be a bad thing.

Camera Obscura: "My Maudlin Career"
The other Scottish indie-pop band paddles down a river of reverb with a lone buzzing guitar hook to guide it. But like similar minded Glasgow-based peers Belle & Sebastian, Camera Obscura is at its best when it's feeling worst (see "Lloyd, I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken"), and the song benefits from Tracyanne Campbell's convincing melancholy. "This maudlin career has come to an end/ I don't want to be sad again," she sings.

Wavves: "Gun in the Sun"
Snotty, fuzz-addled, lo-fi punk with gritty and unintelligible muppet-esque vocals. Sounds like it was conceived in roughly the same amount of time it took to record, but sloppy as it is, it's all the better for it.

Reading Rainbow: "Feral Kids"
With only about six words, three chords, and a drum sound that's sort of like hearing a Toyota Prius collide with a sack of dirty laundry, there's not a whole lot to drive this song by Philadelphia duo Reading Rainbow. "Feral Children" is pretty much running on attitude alone, but they seem to have a pretty good supply of that on hand.

R.E.M.: "Nightswimming (Steve Kream remix)"
Steve Kream brings together two generations of nostalgic yearning, splicing R.E.M.'s drama-club-crybaby anthem with the rhythm track from LCD Soundsystem's equally contemplative "Someone Great." But it's surprisingly natural, with Mike Mills' cyclical piano melody neatly settling into James Murphy's steady 808-groove.

D.C. rediscovered its love for vinyl (the story of the year is the resurgence of the mom-and-pop record store). A neighborhood—Mount Pleasant—stood up against anti-live-music NIMBYs. Even a local band or two seemed to surprise all of us (Deleted Scenes).

There's a new underground, a real underground, working overtime in a group house in the District, and Iowa City, and every place in between. This new underground doesn't have much of an Internet presence (no standard wiki page, packages sold via checks-in-the-mail). This underground has started releasing hand-made tapes (again). Its fuzzy folky CD-Rs were this year's mix tapes.

Some of the year's best music couldn't be labeled. Some of the year's best music couldn't be found on Pitchfork. I wish I could have digested all of it. I wish I could have given a deeper listen to Wet Hair, Children's Hospital, Kria Brekkan, Ducktails, Mark McGuire, and so on. But here's my favorite indie releases of the year so far:

1. Ruby Suns: Sea Lion (Sub Pop)

In a year where everyone copied a bit from the New Zealand sound all over again—kiwi pop was almost as big as afropop as a selling point this year—the Ruby Suns are one of the few who didn’t fall for either the tribute to Paul Simon (Vampire Weekend) or plunder the Flying Nun catalog. Leader Ryan McPhun, a Californian who has made New Zealand his home for years, combines Afropop congas, ‘80s dance beats, and even a tribute to the Mojave Desert (now, well, a tribute to Mojave, some new Microsoft thing). It’s what Neutral Milk Hotel would sound like now. I wrote about the band's live show at the Black Cat a while ago and filmed a bit of its performance.

Listen to "Tane Mahuta"

2. The Woods: Some Shame [Tour-Only Cassette]

Here is a band that scores zero mentions on Metacritic, has gotten no reviews on Pitchfork. They release cassettes, CD-Rs and limited runs of vinyl. They put so much stuff out, they seem like an empire. They are a band for message boards and word-of-mouth. None of this means anything except that these Brooklyn DIY tapeheads aspire to real-not-virtual audiences, not hegemony or to be heard on a Gossip Girls episode. The Woods produce music that actually feels personal, and maybe even truly free sounding. Listening to Some Shame is like what it felt like to discover Weed Forestin’: ­woozy psych, bursts of noise, secret knowledge. It's a feel-good weirdness you decode only when you can’t sleep. (For me, that’s a lot of the time.)

Listen to "Military Madness"

3. Yoro Sidibe: Yoro Sidibe (Yaala Yaala)

A Towson professor, Jack Carneal, finds himself mesmerized by the plunky, preachy sounds of ancient Malian hunters music. So he seeks out the master. What he brings back is trance music, story songs for the dance floor whether centuries ago or right now. You’ll want to crank this up. I wrote about the record for the Post.

Listen to "Track 3"

4. Crystal Stilts: Alright of Night (Slumberland)

The debate of the year for nerds—at least myself and a few friends—seemed to come down to how you felt about your Brooklyn-based C86 tributes: Crystal Stilts vs. Vivian Girls. Both revived indie pop, both had a lot of hype, and both released some super-rare vinyl that had to be reissued before the year was out.

I pick the Crystal Stilts.

The band’s songs just a bit more vulnerable—they can go down bittersweet, nailing the early-morning-VU-comedown or detail the 2 a.m. walk home as girl-group tribute. Buried under reverb, Brad Hargett’s deep wallow is just twee enough. “The City in the Sea” may be the most beautiful indie -pop song I heard in 2008. Any band that could revive the beloved, one-time local Slumberland label has to be doing something right. This was the record that became part of my morning routine. Coffee. Grits. And the Crystal Stilts.

Listen to "Prismatic Room"

5. Arthur Russell: Love Is Overtaking Me (Audika)

Over smokes, a colleague dismissed this latest edition to the Arthur Russell cult by saying this isn’t what he wants out of Russell. He wants quirky dance beats, some avant cello, and some really smart, warped disco. But damn—who knew Russell could do country tunes as simple-memorable as lullabies? Russell does Drag City before Drag City. His songs are just as intimate and bracing (“Eli”), beautifully rambling (“I Couldn’t Say it to Your Face”) and free of Nashville’s sheen. You may want to join the cult.

Listen to "I Couldn't Say It To Your Face"

6. Flying Lotus: Los Angeles (Warp)

One of the coolest things about the Stones Throw label is that it has never stopped memorializing producer J Dilla. Since his death in February 2006, Stones Throw has supported mixes, concerts, T-shirts, and reissues in his honor. Hip-hop is a forward moving beast, but it has never stopped paying its respects to the fallen. There may still be Dilla beats yet to make it to wax. But eventually, those beats are gonna run out. Someone’s going to have to take the Dilla sound to the next realm. I vote for Flying Lotus, the Winnetka, California producer. His Los Angeles is the kind of spaced-out place Dilla would have loved.

Listen to "Breathe. Something/Stellar STar"

7. Woods Family Creeps: Woods Family Creeps (Time-Lag)

Weird folk finally gets weird. Songs included here do not directly reference old hippie styles (OK, maybe a little). The tunes shudder with seemingly found sounds, and find their grip by the strum of a guitar, a sustained piano chord, or Jeremy Earl’s loneliest falsetto. Sometimes you can almost dance to it (“Twisted Tongue”), sometimes you will be frozen by its bizarro blues (“Howling on Howling”). It sounds like they’ve found Tom Waits’ old toy chest. And pillaged it (“Sleep Sleep Sleep”). These are the same misfits that constitute Woods and Meneguar. They’re busy.

Listen to "Twisted Tongue"

8. Wavves: Wavves (Woodsist)

Wavves is Nathan Williams. He is from San Diego. Comparisons to No Age aside (both share an affinity for fuzz pedals and loud drums and reside in the same state), Wavves takes his cues from less abstract sources like Beat Happening and the Ramones, and really likes dropping the word “goth” in his song titles. Sure, he can play with noise, but then he’ll drop the sweetest, fuzziest pop nugget you’ll hear all year (“The Boys Will Love Us”).

Listen to "California Goth"

9. She & Him: Volume One (Merge)

Zooey Deschanel can sing. She can write real good, too. She also knows how to make talented friends (M. Ward) and find a respected label (Merge) to do her songs justice. While indie boys continued to toy with fuzz pedals and grow beards and practice CSNY harmonies (yuck), this actress went ahead and made the best tribute to ‘70s AM radio you never realized you really wanted to hear.

Listen to "This Is Not A Test"

10. Blank Dogs: The Fields CS (Woodsist)

I’m kind of a wuss when it comes to the growing basement doom scene. A lot of the Sacred Bones roster is too brittle, too gloomy, too damn scary for repeat listens (still, Sacred Bones could be the label of the year). The demented whimsy of Pink Noise? The hellraisin' industrial clang of the Factums? It’s some of the coldest music coming up from the underground. Blank Dogs certainly comes from that place, but his songs don’t sound like androids covering Bauhaus.

Blank Dogs sounds like a kid enthralled with Joy Division and the sound of old Nintendo games. I have not heard all of the recordings of Blank Dogs. Not even close. But what I do know is that this mysterious Brooklynite–who obscures his face for photos, doesn’t play out much at all, produced a compilation of his works, and gives his stuff away for free on his blog—won’t be a mystery for long. With music like this, he’ll eventually have to come up from the basement.

Listen to "Now Signals"

11) Department of Eagles: In Ear Park (4AD)

Not quite a side project, this Grizzly Bear outpost goes lush with the finger picking, orch-pop, and glam tributes. The songs are just invented enough to not tire out—they thump, sway, and swagger. The most complete, fully realized album I heard all year. In this case, professionalism is no diss.

Listen to "No One Does It Like You"

12) Dodos: Visitor (French Kiss)

Animal Collective may have not produced an album this year for review. But was their a band mentioned more on other people’s album reviews? The band may have evolved away from their campfire psych, but that hasn’t stopped the rest of indie rock from playing catch up. Although Dodos got the AC-tag, it didn’t need the help.

Listen to "Walking"