Butterfly Boucher, "Scary Fragile"

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Solitary confinement works against Butterfly Boucher

“SCARY FRAGILE,” Butterfly Boucher (Nettwerk)

A half dozen years after the release of her debut “Flutterby,” and Butterfly Boucher is still looking for her niche.

The Nashville-based Australian singer does all of the songwriting and arranging of the tracks on her new “Scary Fragile,” and she also does all of the performing apart from the drums, creating a spicy rockish/adult pop sound.

Her ambition drives her to fight off formula on virtually every cut, though she fails to come up with anything as wrenching as “I Can’t Make Me” or as infectious as “Another White Dash” — the highlight songs on “Flutterby.”

Still, she adroitly mixes it up with restless energy and unexpected touches. The schizophrenic “I Found Out” fuses crashing verses and meditative choruses with false stops. Elsewhere she kicks around the pacing with tribal drums on “For the Love of Love,” a marching rhythm on “Keeping Warm,” and a springy foundation for “Just One Tear.”

Although Boucher’s limited vocals are tinged with a monochromatic moan, they’re plaintive and distinctive enough to express her insecurities, exemplified on the title track, where she sings, “It’s scary to be fragile in this turning world.” Also, on “Keeper,” she sings, “Tell me that you need me, tell me I’m a keeper”; on “To Feel Love,” she goes, “I wanna feel love ... deep down love”; and on the dark-cabaret-tinged “A Bitter Song,” she divulges, “All I need is a bitter song to make me better.”

No wonder her music has turned up on such melodramas as “Grey’s Anatomy” and “Charmed.”

Yet something’s missing, and that something becomes clear when her supporting harmonies on “Bright Red” and “They Say You Grow” bring to mind the Bangles: Competent thought she is, Butterfly Boucher doesn’t have enough presence to stand out on her own. She needs outside input — song collaborators, a full band, guest vocalists ... something more than her D.I.Y. effort can produce.

And with a little help from her friends, she might not be so fragile.

Rating (five possible): 3

Fink, "Sort of Revolution"

Fink’s ‘Revolution’ flaunts preconceptions

“SORT OF REVOLUTION,” Fink (Ninja Tune)

Fink’s “Sort of Revolution” is the subtlest form of revolution, the quiet kind that disarms as it compels — much like a paralyzing toxin injected by a predator before it devours its prey.

But it’s a revolution nonetheless.

Fink, fronted by U.K. singer-songwriter Fin Greenall, creates a form of shoegazer blues/zombie folk music discretely wired to electronica. Greenall’s slinky and carefully controlled voice is mostly backed by a subdued, ghostly chorus that adds a tinge of foreboding to even sensual and upbeat songs.

Supported by the hypnotizing meander of the bittersweet title-track opener, Greenall beckons with, “Let me know when we get there ... if we get there.” His simmering soul likewise penetrates the subsequent gentle textures of the piano-based “Move on Me” as well as the festering electro-jazz of “Pigtails” and sedated acoustics of “If I Had a Million.”

However, Fink’s lyrical panorama isn’t reflected in Greenall’s somewhat monotonous, albeit beguiling, delivery. He may sound suitably seductive on the sultry “Maker” when he sings, “Let’s go somewhere quiet where we can engage” or hesitant when he offers, “I really want to kiss you, but I’m not sure if that’s wise” on “Nothing Is Ever Finished.” Yet his tone isn’t much different when he seems to be delivering a field-worker’s song on “Q&A” or fighting off the rhythmic upturn of “See It All.”

When Greenall concludes on a somber-feeling-though-uplifting-themed “Walking in the Sun” that, “Even a blind man can tell when he’s walking in the sun,” it challenges traditional notions of mood and perspective.

That’s revolutionary.

Rating: 4

Blk Jks, "After Robots"

Blk Jks fills up on formlessness

“AFTER ROBOTS,” Blk Jks (Secretly Canadian)

South Africa’s Blk Jks may have stirred anticipation for a full-length album after the March release of its “Mystery” EP, but its new “After Robots” could effectively snuff out the frenzy.

Although the band still maintains the “Mystery” mystique with the new release, it exposes its limitations.

“After Robots” is a celebration of the formlessness (and often pointlessness) of prog rock, additionally challenged by the unstructured nature of jam music. Fortunately, the Gothic histrionics of vocalist Lindani Buthelezi throws an anchor into the maelstrom.

There’s something to be said for the lack of formula and the cinematic atmosphere of Blk Jks’ sound, built on the traditional instruments of a rock band and fleshed out by guest appearances from the aptly named Hypnotic Brass Ensemble. “Banna Ba Modimo” may break down into a discordant, thrashing blur, but it’s dramatic while it lasts. Plus the flowery acoustic work on the ballad-ish “Standby” underpins an uneasy dream, much like echoing vocals help lather “Kwa Nqingetje” into a trippy aura.

Meanwhile, the elusive swarm of “Lakeside” detonates when the song deconstructs into a meltdown of electric cacophony.

Yet many of these songs never seem to get anywhere — from the rambling jam of “Taxidermy” to the cosmic dub-rock of “Skeleton” — and whatever intrigue “After Robots” musters ultimately sinks into the muddy depths.

This style might sound good on a four-track EP, but the full-length follow-up shows Blk Jks lacks more than vowels.

Rating: 3