The current lineup of Widowers looks an awful lot like the now-in-limbo Constellations, with two-thirds of the same people, but Mike Marchant's tight songwriting — with just the right blend of pop smarts and psychedelic swirls — and Cory Brown's melodic drumming signal that this outfit is up to something very different. In just over a year of live shows, the act's sound has evolved into a sticky, infectious garage-pop hybrid that's accessible enough to draw a crowd, but just unique enough to stand out in that crowd. Guitarist Davey Hart flails and wails hypnotically at the edge of the stage while Marchant — all doe eyes and Julian Casablancas come-ons — purrs his abstruse lyrics and twists his guitar into new and interesting shapes. Meanwhile, Mark Shusterman's fractured, flickering Rhodes adds just the right amount of sparkle. Driven home by subtle, insistent and undeniably sexy rhythms, Widowers melodies linger long after the last string stops vibrating.