Let me tell you about the newish thing: A group called Veronica Falls. Based out of London, though feeling more rainy-day Scottish a la The Vaselines, Veronica Falls is a gender split four-piece. Their Slumblerland debut shines varied rays of melancholy pop, punk, post-punk and garage, and all of it boasts a certain power of emotional deliverance. It gives you that really weird feeling of wanting to run through an open field of scrub brush on a slightly overcast day where the sun is just barely peking through, though peking enough that it’s still beautiful and wonderful and wintry outside despite the fact that you actually feel depressed. “Misery,” for example, has this power. It gets you high. It’s like being on drugs. Roxanne Clifford and James Hoare’s voices coalesce to form an incredible deity of a somber pop song with lyrics that just pry into your soul and make you want to cry strange tears of doubt, sorrow and misguided hope. Same goes for the Kim Deal-inspired “Stephen,” whom Clifford sweetly asks “Please don’t say anything/Take off your wedding ring,” or the bittersweet angst of “Wedding Day,” or the blind and inviting “Come On Over.” The whole thing’s getting me riled up, and I very much want to get completely nude and run wild through an English meadow.