The contrasts between Pat Martino and Wes Montgomery are evident right at the outset of Martino's new tribute CD, as the quintet kicks into "Four on Six," one of Montgomery's most famous compositions. The tune is taken at an even brisker pace than the hard-bopping original, but this new version slinks where the original flew, thanks to John Patitucci's typically rubber bass and the leader's thick-as-molasses tone. It is instantly clear that while Martino may want to tip his hat in Montgomery's direction, he has no intention of imitating him. Both guitarists share a gift for spontaneous invention and lightning-fast runs, but the main difference between the two lies not in their fingers but in their heads. Montgomery is a sculptor where Martino is an architect; the joy of Remember is hearing the latter build his immaculately crafted structures on the swinging foundation laid by the former.

--Shaun Brady

DJs Julian S. Process, JG and Diabolic may not be as heatedly rock-break freak-funky as DFA, and together their sound is more spacious and quiet than DFA's brash offshoot, LCD Soundsystem. Still, despite the chill factor, the Philly trio's first recording as Pink Skull is still nearly as clamoring and busy as LCD Soundsystem. There's a chintzy thwacking electro-rock element to PS's unsettling cover of Roxy Music's "In Every Dream Home a Heartache" that makes Bryan Ferry seem chipper by comparison. Only Pink Skull is house-ier ("In Touch"). And more, hmm, diabolic ("Thank You"). And subtler in an oozing fluid fashion while maintaining that goofy LCD-ish sense of entitlement. (To wit: Compare Pink Skull's shuffling, languid "If You Know Can, Then I Guess You Really Know Music" to LCD's "Daft Punk Is Playing at My House.") It's their 12" EP, Unicorn Harpoon, that's hotter and wilder—a mellow-harshing mix that's guaranteed to cause panic in the disco with every spin. Let Daft Punk play your house. Pink Skull is staying over at mine.

--A.D. Amorosi

Sensitive and sensible, Canadian Invasion's debut takes you to a cozy and familiar place, a gently rocking landscape of sublimely catchy choruses and comfortable lyrics about missing you and knocking on your front door and losing hope. Your guide is frontman Matt Wanamaker, who's got this pretty, clean-cut voice, an easy, whispery Joe Pernice deal. Amid ambient electronic chatter and twinkling keys, the guitars strum exactly like you want them to. It's clear: Songs for the Atco Ghost is a portrait of a young band well-schooled in some of rock 'n' roll's most battle-tested formulas. But Canadian Invasion stays on the right side of the border between slick and hero-worship. Do you buy it every time Wanamaker says he can't fall asleep without you? Sure you do, cause you've been there.

--Patrick Rapa

Wed., April 5, 9 p.m., $7, with Shwa and Taylor Davis, World Café Live, 3025 Walnut St., 215-222-1400, www.worldcafelive.com.

Free improvisation performances often resemble boxing matches in structure, with tentative beginnings gradually giving way to a lengthy feeling-out process, finally evolving into a flurry of interaction. In contrast, the fourth CD in the Momentum series, with fewer than half its 14 tracks clocking in over five minutes, feels like a concise first-round KO from a fighter who has intimately studied his opponent. Steam kicks things off with Brennan's tinny piano, abrupt breaths and gasps from saxophonist Mejer and bass clarinetist Coleman (curator of Slought Foundation's intriguing SoundField series) and the percussive grunts of Unternährer's tuba, sounding like a rollicking cartoon machine and positing a common ground between Carl Stalling and Conlon Nancarrow. The series is aptly named, and momentum is not only maintained but crafts an abstract symphony of texture and atmosphere.

--Shaun Brady

Originally presented by West Philly's Ars Nova Workshop at UPenn, this 2002 concert pairs MMW's second M with local percussionist Weston for a duo show heavy on the thunder. Martin's own work tends toward more pop-oriented jazz, and Weston's heavy backbeat has found the funk even in Ornette Coleman's compositions, so it's no surprise that their collaboration leans heavily on groove excursions. Though Weston does pick up his trumpet on occasion and Martin throws some wordless vocals into the mix, the show does grow somewhat repetitive, with little variance in the mood or pace while Martin's shouted encouragements keep things galloping along. Neither man is a stranger to more free-form use of his instrument, but the limited palette they put on display here sounds less like free jazz than like one of those endless Grateful Dead bootlegs that convince the uninitiated that they're not missing much.

--Shaun Brady

Michael McDermott and Tim Motzer have made some pretty noisy shit. For the former, there's Gemini Wolf, Sleepers, Awake! and Robots in Disguise. And the latter? Ursula Rucker and King Britt's Sister Gertrude Morgan CD—not to mention contributions to David Sylvian's Nine Horses and Jaki Liebezeit's Secret Rhythms. Yet, on new solo excursions, each Philadelphian finds solace in silence.

Tissue Paper Ghosts finds composer/producer/laptopper McDermott stepping into his role as solo sonic seducer for a meditative drone-scape adventure based around the psychic remains of a car crash. Though slowly enveloping melodies make the softly clanging "Untitled Love" and the blip-filled "Arms Bent" gorgeous and sedative, woeful winds and menacing crickets aren't far behind, infiltrating unsettled tracks like "Slow Bleeding" and the swooshy, buzzy "Happy Birthday, Goodbye." Overall though, the tender TPG—much in league with say, the instrumental side of Bowie's Heroes—is a cleverly quiet joy that doesn't let you rest in peace.

Tilomo, Tim Motzer's guitar/laptop solo project, benefits greatly from the sloe-gin-y liquid soul of his work with Britt—you can hear it in the way his fuzzy jazz-foink chords ooze through the title track. But there's a sputter, beep, whoosh and clink to the proceedings that make it happily irksome and decidedly un-neo-soulful. The sawed, strained string samples of "Blue Samari," the thickly blown wind sounds that trace the development of "Embrace" from autumn chill to winter storm, the cheery tinkling of "Chi Moto"—there are eight million moody stories to be told in this ambient jungle.

--A.D. Amorosi