As a number of enthusiasts have pointed out, there are currently more pop-music genres than there are artists to occupy them. Whether such a sneering jab is true, the slotting of acts into ready-made categories has always been a vice of critics and fans.

The practice of labeling often gets dismissed as laziness, but the feverish production of new phyla seems to stem more from over-active minds than the other way around. Cross that industriousness with the inexhaustible supply of fresh sounds online, and it’s no wonder the cup is overflowing.

The result, however, has been the opposite of intent: there are so many alleged styles that nobody can agree on what each signifies, and they often come about with little regard for whether an existing tag suffices. (Or if – as in the case of mumblecore and crabcore – we’re even discussing music.) The “-core” suffix gets applied so liberally, you’d think the hacks who attach “-gate” to news scandals are behind it. The English-bred field of “drum and bass,” which sprang out of ’90s rave culture, has nearly two-dozen permutations (darkstep, breakcore, techstep, darkcore . . .) most of which appear designed to only appease the organizational demands of beats-per-minute Talmuds.

With local artists as a prism, we’re going to try and help you determine which sounds correspond to which circles on your Scantron sheet. In a cosmopolitan metropolis like Chicago, you never know if the next blues or house will spring from dubstep. Or drumstep. Or moombahton. Or moombahcore.

United States Black Metal (USBM)

While black metal itself is unfamiliar to most, the USBM delineation is hardly perfunctory. The mother genre arose out of Scandinavia with deceptively conservative architecture and an equally dogmatic culture (which is ironic, because it’s rooted in opposition to organized religion). Black metal is frequently written and recorded by individuals in solitude, by melding violent blast beats (percussive cannonades akin to machine-gun fire), low-fidelity recording techniques, a raspy, nihilistic Cobra Commander-esque vocal, and punishing, tremolo-picked guitar arrangements. A generation of Americans, however, have abused the genre for their own nefarious means. While many practice traditional black metal (and spend their days crafting perfectly indecipherable logos), others surgically dissect it, taking only what they need.

Chicago is perhaps the best place to start, with Nachtmystium (championed by “Caught In A Mosh” columnist Trevor Fisher) and some bands you’d only think of as tangentially heavy metal – though tangential seems to be the nature of USBM. Because for as important it is to note USBM’s similarities to and differences with regular black metal, it’s also a neutral identity. Nachtmystium sound no more like Liturgy than Jimi Hendrix sounds like Crosby, Stills & Nash. The former, fronted by Blake Judd, began as a trad outfit and who began splashing their core influences with classic metal signatures and even modern rock. (Key track: “Addicts.”) Locrian involve so much of the no-wave noise rock pioneered by Glenn Branca that, with a couple tweaks, they could almost be Sonic Youth. Utilizing chants, earthy percussion, and things that go bump in the night, they’ve become the sonic equivalent of a terrifying horror film that never shows you the gore. (Key track: “At Night’s End.”)

Dubstep

Typically an electronic-music movement makes its way through England and Europe before winding up in stateside pop songs and hip-hop samples. Dubstep emerged about a dozen years ago in London, from the mingling pools of drum and bass, grime (a mercurial strain of hip-hop), 2step, and dub reggae. Its American manifestation has shown up at the neo-raves of DJs like Skrillex, who’ve been slammed by purists for creating “brostep”: a frat-boy friendly bastardization. Mostly instrumental (save when samples have vocals), dubstep typically relies on a half-step rhythm and menacing bassline filled in by some or all of synth figures, syncopation, and samples. The modern/commercial tracks all lead to what’s known as the drop. “Filthy” drops are akin to bass solos conducted by malfunctioning automobile factories. Customized dance moves resemble breakdancing seizures, and remixes typically add teeth to the most innocent of tracks (Adele, Ellie Goulding). While Chicago has no one on the level of Skrillex or Bassnectar, DJs Chris Widman and Phaded (1/29 at Reggies) hold down regularly at Smart Bar, while Nameloc was among those at the Lava Lounge beginnings and who regularly throws down at Subterranean. (Key track: Nameloc “Ever After.”)

Juke

Juke juke juke juke juke. You won’t have trouble finding local examples of juke hip-hop, because juke is a Chicago idiom. Like go-go to D.C. or hyphy to Oakland, juke represents a regional culture that hasn’t really traveled outside the area. An offshoot of ghetto house, minimalist – and we mean minimalist – beats move at a breakneck pace to push dancers to the limit. The dancing (“footwork”) is more essential to juke than breakdancing was to early hip-hop, and it rivals dubstep moves in mind-bending ingenuity. You’re more likely to find representative CDs sold from of a car trunk than a Best Buy, with the more mainstream artists being Chrissy Murderbot, Zebo, Flosstradamus, and Kid Sister (Key track: “Luuk Out Girl“). But if you find yourself in a South Side fix and need to flash some cred to save your neck, you can always ask anybody if they have any DJ Rashad, Gant-Man, Traxman, DJ Client, Dude’n Nem, Ghetto Division, or Starfoxxx. (Key track: DJ Rashad ft. Gant-Man “Juke Dat.”)

Moombahton

The term “moombahton” sounds far more international than the Hispanic high-school where it was born. Invented when a DJ (Nadastrom’s Dave Nada) turned up for a dance with only techno, and deliberately modulated it to sound like reggaeton (the first song he tried was called “Moombah“), the style’s vocabulary has exploded in ways that variably amp or downplay the ethnic aspects. Chicago already has top men working on it – Top. Men. – with fierce parties hosted by Willy Joy (1/13 with Nadastrom at Metro) or Rampage & Nader, while Stratus – who also deals in dubstep – released the addictive cut, “Jasper’s Theme.”

Witch House

Nothing announces an arrival like a good backlash, and maybe all you need to know about witch house is that there’s an arbitrary band-name generator online: it spits out ideas with each capital A replaced by a triangle. The second thing is the deceptive use of the word “house,” which doesn’t necessarily signify the dance-music form. The best way we can describe it is ineffably slow and languid late-’80s goth-pop for the American Apparel generation. Vocals are purposefully drowned out and not particularly melodic, which lead to an impression of hauntedness. Pitchfork alleges that early, ambient dubstep and Swedish electro band The Knife were key influences, though witch house’s burgeoning star, Charli XCX, shatters the buried-voice rule and sounds like a synthed-out Siouxsie & The Banshees. With a scene that’s almost purely Internet-based, locating practicing local outfits is difficult. Local booking agents recommended Magicks, the nom de plume of a Reggies employee whose latest upload, “Catalyst,” tells you everything and nothing about witch house, because it might be considered . . . (Magicks: 1/19 at Reggies with Rituals)

Chillwave

Chillwave also goes by glo-fi, though the only people still calling it that are also calling witch house “drag.” The difference between the two depends on how you grade the amount of light you feel. The – semi-dismissive – shorthand on chillwave is “electronic vacation music,” if you believe vacationing to be sitting on a warm beach and letting the wind sift through your hair. (Male-pattern baldness need not apply.) Chillwave also prefers strong vocal lines, though in the eyes of Chicago’s Glitter Bones, they don’t have to be high in the mix. Houses (Key track: “Soak It Up“) amiably fit the holiday description, while Young Man (Key track: “Up So Fast“) – releasing another album on French Kiss this winter – drifts into and out of Animal Collective/Beach Boys space.

Noise pop

Not new by any stretch, noise pop has shown a spectacular ability to regenerate and mutate, recently adding middling success to its repertoire. As distinguished from full-assault, Boredoms-esque noise rock, noise pop’s game is to hide the melody. The bigger national bands like Animal Collective and No Age get prominent slots at major festivals, washing their tunefulness in waves of distortion and electronics that are less ferocious than textural. Provocation remains integral, but even local outfits like Yawn have managed to sculpt bracing psychedelia into something user-friendly. Bigcolour kicked off with sizzling, chillwave compositions but have since morphed into a garage-rock hybrid that trembles while trying to focus. But if it’s discomfort you seek, Gypsyblood’s Cold In The Guestway (Sargent House) doesn’t sound at all out of place on a label with serial Japanese noise terrorists Boris – as if when they were kids they put saw blades in their bicycle spokes.

Lazer Bass

Such is the yen for artists to feel insulated from traditional scenes, MC Zulu told the Chicago Reader he’d rather not live where there are large Afro-Caribbean communities. While Toronto and Queens teem with competitors, Zulu – born in Panama to a military family – has few peers in Chicago’s field of lazer-bass saplings. (Other descriptors include “future blap” and “turbo crunk.”) The sci-fi-like genre couldn’t be more of a melting pot if it tried, combining dancehall MCs, clunky hip-hop, hyperdrive techno, bossa nova, and whatever else you got. French-Canadian DJ Ghislain Poirier initially announced the “movement” to be stillborn, that it was only a small circle of people who were fiddling with the same sounds. Central to it – as for dubstep, moombahton, etc. – are deep, industrial-grade basslines that are frequently doubled in octaves above and below, plus the odd conflicting bass pattern. Zulu, quasi-Caribbean by birth, seems primed to overtake it. (Key track: “Call Red Alert.”)

Genre Unto Themselves

We could really run with this forever. Besides frequent citations of “post-chillwave” and well-populated but sufficiently underground categories like glitch-hop or crust punk, we’ve come across purple sound, acid crunk . . . it’s overwhelming. But one of the biggest square pegs we’ve found among Chicago-based musicians have already been put on the shoulders of an unlikely source: Victory Records. The punk label’s roster, which seems to aggressively recycle the same hard-edged tones, dug up Victorian Halls and no one knows what to do with them other than blast them for being Blood Brothers clones with high-tech dance beats. It’s a fair argument, though clearly the sound didn’t get the BBs anywhere – something else must be afoot. Dance punk, so myopically rooted in Gang Of Four since forever, needs an exit strategy. Even if that means Auto-Tune. Victorian Halls might not find the door, but with some occasionally embarrassing and thrilling solutions, they’re doing quite a bit more than fumbling through their keys. (1/27 at Double Door)

And if you only seek a pure, guitar-pop rush, there’s always Clip Art. They’ll be on display at Schubas every Monday (beginning the 9th) in January, and spiritually following Shoes and The Redwalls – or, if you like to get grandiose, Badfinger and Big Star. Their immediate antecedents, The Smith Westerns, headline Metro on February 3rd.?

“If you put out good music, it doesn’t matter when you put it out. It’s gonna get buzz, it’s gonna get what it needs to get. It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to ride on the tails of some whatever — if you make sure that what you do is consistently excellent, you don’t have to worry about that.”

Click here to read Jaime de’Medici’s live review!

So says Melisa Young, otherwise known as long-simmering, hip-hop “it girl” Kid Sister, who came up alongside hometown heroes and DJ duo Flosstradamus, rapping at the outfit’s mid-decade Get Out The Hood residency in Wrigleyville’s Town Hall Pub. (Kid Sis is actually the older sister of Floss’ Josh “J2K” Young). She’s the same Kid Sister who suddenly caught national attention when Kanye West contributed a verse to her blog-hit “Pro Nails” in 2007. She’s also the same Kid Sister who not only performed mainstage at last year’s Lollapalooza, but who made the cover of URB with Floss in 2007 and solo in 2008.

All without the Chicago MC even releasing an album.

A Downtown Records signee, Young halted the release of a previous draft of her record to pursue a product that more met her standards. (Earlier this year she told Pitchfork, “I need to make something I’m proud of.”) The saga finally ended November 17th, when the plastic wrap came off Ultraviolet. When asked if she ever felt any pressure to rush the album in light of ever-blinding exposure, the rapper is surprisingly nonchalant.

“I’ve never done this before, so it’s not like I knew that’s how it had to go,” she explains. “I mean, I just did things at a comfortable pace, because who cares? I just look at it like it’s not a business for me, I’m an artist. I’m not a businessperson.”

Yet even if Young wasn’t stressing, her fans were a different story. The frenzy behind the eagerly awaited Ultraviolet has generated the kind of demand most viral marketers would die for. Alongside the album’s fluctuating release date, an identity crisis only further fueled rampant speculation on the state of the M.I.A. (as in P.O.W., not “Galang”) effort. Originally titled Coco B. Ware, the album was later touted online as Dream Date.

“It wasn’t cohesive,” she continues, speaking of the album’s earlier versions. “There were songs that were fast next to songs that were slow, and it was just kind of a mish-mosh. And I wanted to make something a little bit more of a study in acts, rather than, ‘These are just beats that I like, and rapped over.’”

Indeed, Ultraviolet is meticulously sequenced, with tracks often segueing effortlessly into one another. Yet the set exhibits a range of approaches. From the opening notes of natural-born club banger “Right Hand Hi” on, a live-wire electro pulse charges throughout the album, powering dance factory jams (“54321″) and bouncy, beat-driven bubblegum pop (“Life On TV”) alike. Of course, Young herself is the real generator here. From the hyper-juke of “Switchboard” to the sped-up conversational flow of “Step,” she zigzags across tempos and deliveries with ease, switching styles with frenetic urgency without ever coming across jarring. What’s more, Young’s flow displays impressive growth since her earliest Web-released tracks, which the rapper attributes to the adage “practice makes perfect.”

“When you spend any amount of time on anything, you’ll see that you get results,” she states matter-of-factly. “It’s like being in the gym.”

If Ultraviolet is the result of Young working her musical muscles, it’s with good reason. It’s no accident that much of the record sounds eager to dethrone the pandering pap that passes for music on Top 40 radio. Young has taken aim at the current wave of hip-pop dance laze, and is unafraid to make it known.

“When I hear some of these songs, I’m like, ‘Do you think I’m deaf, or retarded?’” Young asks rhetorically. “‘Come on — we can see right through you, so don’t try to pull one over on me.’ That’s how I feel.”

Strong words, but it’d be hard to argue with them, given the tragic state of pop singles these days. For every “Bad Romance” innovation, there’s Kesha doing her best watered-down Radio Disney impersonation of Uffie. Each of Ultraviolet’s dance-floor juke jams has a pure pop gem that stands out as an undeniable candidate for crossover radio takeover. “Daydreaming,” produced by Brian Kennedy (he of Rihanna’s “Disturbia” and Chris Brown’s “Forever”) is Ultraviolet’s secret weapon — the song that calls out to hip-hop heads and mall girls alike. The track’s warm and slightly more vulnerable vibe is only made that much more undeniable by a Cee-Lo cameo that works in perfect sync with Young’s pop chops.

“Something like ‘Daydreaming,’ it’s kind of like me bringing my more sensible and innovative flow to a pop-sounding song,” Young describes. “‘Cause you know pop these days, it’s like — they’re trying to go the whole electronic route, too. So why don’t we take one of these big, electronic pop beats, and just totally disrespect it, and get crazy on it, and turn it out? And that’s what I did.”

There’s no denying the electro sound is big pop business right now, but Young looks at it from a different angle, determined to be the one to bring hip-hop into the mix.

“I just think it’s important that this record comes out because it is the one definitive item that you can look at and be like, ‘Oh, O.K. I can put a face to the name — not my face to my name, but you can put a title to, or attach something tangible to this whole electronic hip-hop sensation that seems to have happened,” she describes. “There hasn’t been one definitive album yet to do that, to say, ‘This is what this is, here’s a face for it.’ And that’s what I’m here to do.”

An ambitious objective — yet what with all the Kanye cameos and media buzz, it would be easy to assume Young has let it all go to her head. Not so, says the young MC.

“We just like to have fun, you know how it is. Like in Chicago: We just like to wile out, have a good time. No one’s trying to be too cool for this or too cool for that. It’s just about having a good time, and that’s what I want to bring around the world.”

– Jaime de’Medici

Chicago-based music-marketing behemoth Jeff McClusky Associates returns with its third McFest, a local-music roundup that benefits Special Olympics.

This year’s lineup was again booked by McClusky’s own 19-year-old daughter, and either she has been an avid street-festival goer, or someone’s been letting a minor spy some bands in the city’s 21-and-over clubs. How else to explain the presence of dance-party maestros Flosstradamus? Young McClusky also has an ear for guitars, so Powerspace, Breakers Broken, and Fishing With Spoons fill the middle bill, showing the family’s knack for unearthing fresh, new band. Opening are a couple of acts who wouldn’t be out of place onstage with Flossy-D at the end, rappers Teamone and dance rockers Par Avion.

For more information, visit McFest.com.

– Steve Forstneger

Right-wing bloggers are incensed. Leftist French laborers are kidnapping company executives. Stu, we need cleanup in aisle five! Can anybody hear me?! What in any god’s name is someone doing opening a nightclub in this climate?

Look: If we’re going to get any of President Barry’s stimulus moolah, we need to look despondent. Maybe sport gangrene or catch rabies. We can’t dial it up for late-night scenes. It has live music, you say? We’re listening. The LaSalle Power Co. bows May 1st in River North (the old Michael Jordan’s location) and redefines “nightclub” for downtown (no, it doesn’t suddenly mean “pear”). The 20,000-square-foot space spans three levels, including an intimate live stage, restaurant, and bar. With plans to showcase local and national talent, we may be forced to head back downtown for more than handouts.

I Am (Some Buddies)

A couple months ago we told you about the Chicago Noise Machine, a loose conglomeration of local bands including A Birdsong Valentine, Algren, Bullet Called Life, Echo Son, Heavy The Fall, Lucid Ground, Reverie, 72 Hours, and Simplistic Urge. Well, now these fellas done gone and made themselves a festival, one they’re calling the largest independent-artists party in the area. The single-day I AM Fest (Independent Arts & Music) goes down June 13th at Congress Theatre, and promises 25 bands (all local) and the same number of art/photography/film exhibits. CNM is hellbent on fostering a successful, thriving scene and this is just the next step in the revolution. For more information, visit www.iamfest.com.

R.I.P. Ripping?

By now you’ve heard: Capitol is finally unleashing remastered versions of all The Beatles‘ albums this fall to coincide with The Fabs’ own entry in the “Rock Band” video-game series. Most observers are calling this the music industry’s last big CD push, paying specific attention to the fact they aren’t rolling out refurbished albums one at a time, but dropping them all at once presumably so they can move on. Others have noticed a surge in reissues, with The Rolling Stones revisiting everything post-Exile On Main Street through 2005’s A Bigger Bang this June (a stitch that includes Sticky Fingers, Goats Head Soup, and Some Girls), and EMI purging the Radiohead vaults (see “Spins”). Sub Pop Records, that indie pillar, has upped its ante with bulky packages for Red Red Meat’s Bunny Gets Paid, a reunion-ready Vaselines, and a blowout of Sam Beam’s Iron & Wine archives. Us? We’re drafting our snotty “sounds better than MP3s” rant for when CDs hit a revival wave in 10 years.

Silky Smooth

Few people know this, but the pages that hold “File” every month are woven from the rarest Shanxi caterpillar silk. That in mind, when you come to the end of this month’s White Rabbits feature, we don’t want you tearing through this section to divine the origins of the Do-Division Festival. It more-or-less launches street-festival season in our minds, spanning Division Street from Ashland to Leavitt on May 30th and 31st, with two stages of indie-rock insobriety. We won’t mindlessly blow our way through silk to list all the bands, just that local DJ superstars Flosstradamus headline the first night with Handsome Furs, while the Rabbits provide direct support for Menomena to close.

– Steve Forstneger

We all know about the vinyl rage. Things have gotten so rough, a 62-year-old woman had her eyes clawed out at an Uptown thrift store over a bullseye-striped copy of Ozzy Osbourne’s No Rest For The Wicked the other day. Really.

As record manufacturers toast their .01-percent marketshare windfall, questions have arisen. How many new LPs found homes in 2008? According to Soundscan, 1.88 million. What were they? Radiohead’s In Rainbows (Fontana) shipped 25,800 units; according to LA Weekly, the figure represents only two nights’ worth of fans at the Hollywood Bowl. (And that’s from a mental fanbase who splurged good money on a free download and another couple benjamins on the “official” coloring book.) Neutral Milk Hotel moved a surprising 10,000 sleeves; The Beatles, Pink Floyd, Metallica, and Fleet Foxes also made the Top 10.

But you wanna know what’s (and this is in no way a reference to Fred Schneider) queer? The B-52’s’ Funplex (Astralwerks) is up there. What’s stumping so many analysts – and believe us, at least two people have poured five-minutes’ thought into it – is what the hell? Shifting to Soundscan’s compact-disc logs, Funplex barely registers as a dust mite. It’s not like a half-million old fans bought the CD while an enclave of white-belted West Town skate punks dropped some bob on their 180-gram vinyl. Something’s up. We’re not talking Enron, mark-to-market accounting here. But if Kate Pierson owns a tractor-trailer, it’s probably not filled with rock lobsters.

I’m In The Mood For Love

Each February, “File” traditionally alerts you to what you can do on Valentine’s Day when you can’t stand the sight or sound of the person you love. If you fly solo – it’s by choice, right? – put those fudgsicles and taquitos back in the Jewel freezer and join the new high-school tradition of going stag to prom. Flosstradamus are hosting their own (Flosstrapromus) at Abbey Pub on the 12th, two-days early so you can score digits and participate in a mad rush to do the following: Anything Box at the Auditorium Entertainment Center (3504 S. Western) or Mexican sexpot/alleged kidnapper Gloria Trevi at Congress or ’80s U.K. misfits The Godfathers at Metro or Buckwheat Zydeco at House Of Blues or Delta Spirit at Double Door or (bad idea for a young relationship) Fucked Up at Empty Bottle or Lights at Beat Kitchen or, get this, Pretty Lights at Subterranean. This is all assuming you support the whole Hallmark-holiday economy. If not, we still have you covered, and invite you to Kinetic Playground on the 13th for “My Bloody Valentine,” an anti-Valentine’s show featuring Canyon, In Case Of Capture, Arctic Fox, Chatty Cathy, and Wonderful Flying Machines.

Stuff Of Legend

We’ve accepted that “legend” gets applied too carelessly for it to mean anything but “old,” “once mildly popular,” or “Keith Richards once vomited on my boots from a combination of grain alcohol and the heroin DTs.” So, new definition in hand, IE won’t hesitate to announce two-decades-absent, legendary Brit rockers The Godfathers at the Metro on Valentine’s Day. Aside from referencing their “primal rock,” we’ll leave everything else Wikipedia says a secret, because whoever wrote the entry is bitter toward those (DJs, labels, listeners) who thwarted their growing legend.

“Legend” suggests a story, and Dave Mason (below) has one of those. As members of Traffic in the ’60s, he and Steve Winwood were often at each other’s throats. Despite writing some of the band’s biggest early hits (“Hole In My Shoe,” “Feelin’ Alright?”), Winwood and the other two members voted Mason off the island – all told he “left” the band on three separate occasions. His other credits include acoustic guitar on Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along The Watchtower” and work with George Harrison and Michael Jackson. Why mention his tale? Mason visits two legendary Best Buys in February, at 159th & LaGrange in iconic Orland Park on the 14th and Deane Dr. in mythical Rockford on the 17th, where he’ll sign autographs.

Century Media wins with “There are few individuals around today that exemplify the term ‘idol’ or ‘legend,’ but one of Seattle’s own stands tall amongst this chosen minority.” Who? Who? Who? Hendrix? Cobain? Tad? “This person is Duff McKagan.” Huh? We woulda picked Ann Wilson or Mark Arm before Duff. We like Duff. He was the only stable member of Guns N’ Roses. But he played bass. Wrote “So Fine.” And now Duff McKagan’s Loaded will release an album this spring, which certainly won’t add intrigue to the tale. Aye. Yi. Yi.

– Steve Forstneger