God bless those fluid entities, the ones that violate strictures of behavior and being. Like the Southern debutante with a lovely singing voice who tears it up juvie-style on the weekends, Montreal-based band Stars is this kind of creature. Such lovely singing voices, such angelically churchy chords and builds, such earnest stuff, emoting heartily and occasionally in Prince-y falsetto. Belying the beauty is the bristling real deal of Stars.
Collectively and individually, the rebellious rocker spirit is alive somewhere outside the lily-of-the-valley indie pop. Amy Millan (who is often and inevitably thrown up against her Broken Social Scene colleague, porcelain sexpot Emily Haines, the singer for Metric) isn't above performing while a drunken mess, and in her spare time, she recorded a sort-of-raw album of country songs. Torquil Campbell wrote an annoying Pitchfork-response blog post (this, the definitive word in head-up-one's-ass, self-important, trying-too-hard obviousness) that continues to follow him around (like right here, for instance). The band opted to release their September 2007-scheduled album In Our Bedroom After the War into the wilds of the Internet more than two months early, addressing the fact that fans should get to hear the music when reviewers do. The common threads of Broken Social Scene and the rest of the Arts and Crafts clan (of course, Stars is one of the touchstone BSS offshoots) are apparent on the new(ish) album: self-possessed and wistful lover-lover stuff—not a heart-rattler like 2005's very good Set Yourself on Fire, but a quality source of whispery, ache-reveling fodder, for when you need it . . . because bad kids get lovesick, too.
Stars at the Glass House, 200 W. Second St., Pomona, (909) 865-3802; www.theglasshouse.us. Mon., 8 p.m. $15. All ages.