One of the best things happening in rock ‘n’ roll these days is this guy from Brattleboro, Vermont, who goes by the name King Tuff. His previous album, Was Dead, is awash in fuzzed-out guitar shredding, lyrics about cool stuff (cars, dancing, eccentric jewelry), and sunshiny stoner vibes. He has a self-titled album coming out late next month on Sub Pop that’s more of the same, but somehow even better. Lately I’ve been putting it on whenever a joyless indie-rock record or a new configuration of Jason Mraz facial hair makes me wonder what the point is of anyone making guitar-based music anymore. It’s tough to worry about rock ‘n’ roll dying when it sounds this good.