Are you ready for the next club-conquering, catchphrase-popularizing, ring-tone-selling, purist-enraging hip-hop hit? No? Too bad. We’re living through a golden age of bold and propulsive hip-hop novelty songs; even listeners who claim to hate “This Is Why I’m Hot” or “2 Step” may find themselves feeling nostalgic once those hits become old enough to be considered kitschy relics. But for now, there’s Hurricane Chris (myspace.com/hurricane), a Shreveport, La., rapper with a diabolically addictive single called “A Bay Bay.” Perhaps he should explain, preferably over that streamlined beat (it consists of almost nothing but a downbeat) and those three pizzicato notes: “You wanna know what we say in the club? A Bay Bay/White folks, gangstas and the thugs? A Bay Bay.” It’s actually pronounced ay-bay-BAY, which might make the etymology clearer: it’s a new twist on an old way of asking for somebody’s attention. Or, in this case, everybody’s.

No doubt this emerging British singer is already sick of being called the next Lily Allen. But if that vague compliment helps people discover Ms. Nash, then so much the better. Her first single, “Caroline’s a Victim,” matched that cryptic phrase to a bare-bones electro beat; it sounded like a meanspirited daydream. The follow-up, “Foundations,” is even better, a disarmingly conversational account of a relationship on the rocks: “Thursday night, everything’s fine, except you’ve got that look in your eye/When I’m telling a story and you find it boring, you’re thinking of something to say.” At partizan.com, you can watch the music video, directed by Kinga Burza, whose cute images (tangling socks, kissing toothbrushes) echo the incongruous cheer of the strummed guitar and peppy drum machine. Everything seems fixable until the end, when Ms. Nash grabs that suitcase.

The Almost

This band is the side project of Aaron Gillespie, who plays drums and sings in the popular Christian screamo band Underoath. And after surviving a turbulent 2006 with Underoath (“old issues” forced the band to drop off the Warped Tour), Mr. Gillespie seems to be having a happier 2007. He played most of the instruments on the Almost’s debut album, “Southern Weather” (Tooth & Nail/Virgin), which has spawned a minor (so far) rock hit with “Say This Sooner.” It’s a memorable little pop-punk tantrum, with guitars that keep cutting out and then storming back in. If that refrain — “All my friends think that I’m gone/But I swear, I swear I’m not” — gets any more popular, the Underoath tour bus might get even more “issues”-oriented.

Ten years ago, John McKeown was a Glaswegian secret: leader of a clever, puckish post-punk band called the Yummy Fur. He never became a rock star, but a couple of his bandmates did, when they formed a group called Franz Ferdinand. Now Mr. McKeown (known these days as Jackie) is getting a second chance. He has a new band, 1990s, and a new approach: instead of delivering lyrics in a thick Scottish burr, he delivers them in his version of an American drawl, which still sounds pretty Scottish (at least in America). The debut 1990s album, “Cookies” (Rough Trade), puts Mr. McKeown and his ultratrebly guitar alongside the bassist Jamie McMorrow (another Fur alumnus) and the singing drummer Michael McGaughrin (formerly of V-Twin), who spend much of their time playing as little as possible. Everything is bare-bones, even the lyrics, and in “Enjoying Myself” Mr. McKeown turns moronic party banter into a perfectly paradoxical couplet: “Some people ask, Am I enjoying myself?/I say, I haven’t decided yet — I’m just enjoying myself.” American listeners can wait for the July 31 domestic release, find songs online (start at 1990s.tv) or just turn on the television: one song, “You’re Supposed to Be My Friend,” features prominently in an unusually hummable Nissan commercial.

Z-Ro

This bluesy Houston hip-hop star must be one of America’s most underrated rappers. Since the late 1990s, Z-Ro has been releasing brilliant albums and mixtapes at an impossible pace, often more than one a year. In November he released one of the best yet, “I’m Still Livin,” a surprisingly coherent collection of melancholy protest songs and gospel-inspired rants. He couldn’t do much to promote it, though: he was in prison, where he is to remain until July, serving a sentence for possession of a controlled substance. Nevertheless, he’s back, sort of, with an unwieldy new billing (“Tha Authentic KOTG: King of tha Ghetto”) and a scattershot new CD, “Power” (Rap-A-Lot). The weak beats and throwaway hooks suggest that this is an album of outtakes, but true-blue fans will discover a handful of strong performances, including “Ride All Day,” in which Z-Ro’s rhyme style changes every few lines. As for everyone else: “I’m Still Livin” is barely six months old, and it sounds better than ever.