When the quartet Deleted Scenes recorded its second album, Young People's Church of the Air, the atmosphere was "intense and pressurized," resulting in a "doomed energy," singer/guitarist/co-songwriter Dan Scheuerman has said.

In an interview this week promoting his band's February 3 performance at Rozz-Tox, Scheuerman elaborated on those intriguing phrases. To start, the recording period was more compressed than for the band's debut, he said: "We wanted the record to have a moment. Instead of being recorded over a year, it was recorded over more like three months. In that sense, it's more identifiable as one piece of work."

But the time frame was just one factor. "There was a weird vibe going on in the studio," Scheuerman said. Producer L. Skell "is hard to read. So there was a lot of silence and glowering ... . And so we'd go in a direction and not be sure what was going on. And then when things seemed dark and we weren't getting anywhere, everything would sort of snap together and ... [Skell] would come up with one or two really amazing suggestions to focus everything. There was a sense of ominousness to the proceedings, and that I think created a sense of doom. And there's also a bit of doom in the songwriting as well. ... There was a high degree of tension."

Metal often skates by on aggression and technical chops, and it rarely creates drama. The Quad Cities quartet Helmsplitter, on its debut Storms of Genocide - for which the band will perform a CD-release show Friday at RIBCO - nails the requisite fury and dark majesty while also capturing that elusive elevating quality.

Twenty favorite songs from 2011 clocking in at just under 76 minutes, roughly sequenced. No apologies for the narrowness of my tastes.

Paris Suit Yourself, "Sometimes." From the flat, stuttering riff to the woodblock accents to the falsetto vocals, this one plays a bit like a parody of Queens of the Stone Age, which itself has occasionally seemed like a parody. But as I've long said about the songs of Spinal Tap: There are a lot of bands that would be proud to have made "Big Bottom" and "Stonehenge." It's such a fine line between stupid and clever, and even when you're on the wrong side, sometimes it works.

Hella, "Self Checkout." Back in 2005, I described the guitar-and-drums duo Hella as a "spastic, manic, lightning-speed instrumental racket, equal parts math rock and free jazz, calculation and improvisation ... . It's strange and arresting, and - shockingly - instantly accessible if you keep your mind and ears open." Thankfully, not much has changed. The secret of Hella generally and "Self Checkout" in particular is its violent lyricism - the feelings and wordless narrative crafted in the context of the din. As you might expect, there's anger and frustration, but joy sneaks through; you can almost feel the exuberance of creation and the rush of nailing it.

In an interview, Robert and Scott Cerny - who will be playing as the Cerny Brothers on December 23 at the Redstone Room - said their album Dream grew out of one song: "I Want You to Run." The record's second track, it fuses elements of country, folk, and bluegrass with polished vocal and lyrical stylings that sound more like pop.

Starting at an ambling pace, "I Want You to Run" mixes a simple drum and high-hat beat supporting steel and acoustic accompaniment that rolls into the first verse: "I want you to run / Past your childhood home / To the great unknown."

This verse embodies the major thematic element of the album - that yearning to leave, that desire to take a chance and have someone else come along to share the experience. The writing here has a simple elegance and unforced honesty that work with the intricate pick work to create a sense of urgency. Here there's a radical optimism that's at the core of the entire album, a refusal to believe that dreams are better deferred than pursued.