Plowing through recent metal conventions, from grunge to Pantallica to NYC metalcore and on through the night, Another Society mixes things up enough to stay interesting. By a hair.

Not a whole lot of creativity cruising through the works or anything, but competent songwriting in the trendy (some past-dated) styles. The sort of thing that bands who desperately want to make it big will resort to from time to time.

And you can hear that desire, which is what keeps this project from being truly dreadful. The playing is good, the production fairly sharp and the energy flow is pretty high. I can't find much to really recommend here, but finding obviously flaws is also difficult.

Workmanlike. If these guys would put a little more effort into finding their own sound, well, something truly cool might happen.

The extreme aggro sound of Suckpump has become passe, and Bile is smart enough to know that. So what to do? Take it to the next level. I've bent over; give me twenty.

Cranking the distortion up another notch, giving the tempo an adrenaline overdrive and popping in some of that ga-ga-ga drum machine action will do that for you. Once again, Bile has managed to push the envelope of extreme experimental industrial music.

Even Nine Inch Nails fans would be pressed to call this music, and yet it moves like no other. Some wondrously evil grindage for those predisposed to that sort of thing. Yeah, some of the dirges get a bit dull; just wait for the beats to kick back in.

A horror thrill ride into the seamy side of modern culture. Bile not only takes music to a new frontier, it spews out the vitriol needed to truly describe our society. Bravo.

There are those who refer to Reek of Putrefaction and Symphonies of Sickness as the most brutal things they have ever heard.

Heartwork cannot be confused with those discs (actually, in the U.S. they wee originally released on one disc). Because Jeff Walker and pals have decided to try and take death metal to the masses and still stick to some of the roots.

This is the most vicious thing I've ever heard distributed by a major label. And when compared to other folk who are trying to do this sort of death metal, Carcass blows them away.

A few folk have told me they think this album sucks. Obviously not too many, because Carcass almost passed over Sepultura to debut at #1 (#2 ain't bad). But to those of you who don't like the new direction (and it's not that new), compare this to the last Napalm Death album, or even the new Entombed. And tell me what you think.

Still masters of their domain.

Three renditions of "Enemy Maker" (regular, acoustic and a dub), a demo lick, and a couple outside remixes. All showing the range and potential glory of Dub War.

When the band sticks to its idea of sparse pop (with the odd guitar bashing and such), like on the demo rendition of "Silencer", the results are stunning. It's on the grungy bashers like "Money in the Bank" (which serves as a b-side here, I guess) where the band falls flat.

"Enemy Maker" is an addictive enough track, with its nods to metal, pop, dance hall and plenty more. I'd like to hear some more.

Ether Bunny is Daniel Vahnke, best knows as the guy behind the samples and drum programming for Vampire Rodents. This project has that feel (which, of course, I dig immensely), though Vahnke is mostly sampling old jazz records (not to mention plenty of the Carl Stalling Project cartoon tunes) here. Hoo boy.

I have no idea what the legality of all this is (though I'm sure someone checked it out), and I won't comment on that any further. The trick is the music. And what was lost is now found in a wonderful way.

Just as jazz folks were split over the whole US3 thing, the same people would divide on how to interpret Ether Bunny. The stodgy would call it theft and unworthy, while the innovators would recognize the artful way Vahnke splices solos and even full compositions into the same song, creating whole new improvisations. And a sound that just won't let up.

I'm not sure how I can take this off the discer. Each tune rolls out, demanding to be heard again and again. As he does with Vampire Rodents, Vahnke has created an amazing sonic world in which to play. Perhaps the beats are a bit derivative and two dimensional (I wouldn't say so, but I know folks who do). The astonishing, seamless editing work has paid off here handsomely. This is one of those "Do Not Pass Go" albums. Ignore at the peril of your eternal soul.

Columbia never did figure out how to market Fishbone. After the across-the-board success of The Reality of My Surroundings, Columbia listened to the first few tracks on Give a Monkey a Brain... and decided to push the band at loud radio. And nowhere else.

Sure, the record wasn't as strong as it could have been, but the need to pigeonhole a band such as Fishbone truly perplexes me. Arista hasn't made that mistake, but the truth is, Chim Chim's... continues a trend of decent, but not great albums for the band.

As a live force, Fishbone is pretty much unequaled. The genre-blender strategy works best in a live setting anyway, but no producer has been able to really capture the energy of a Fishbone show. Dallas Austin does his best, but this album sounds like a Frank Zappa record (without all the really wild parts). Clean as hell, with fairly technical playing (more so than usual). Enjoyable, but nothing awesome.

Fans will dig, but there's no breakout track here to attract any new fans. It's getting late in the day for the career-defining Fishbone album, but I'll continue to wait.

A reasonably good live representation of Grievous Bodily Harm. The production is a bit treble heavy (kinda odd for a punk band, really), but good enough. The band trips through most of the memorable tunes that it had written by 1988, when this was recorded at the Celebrity Theatre.

Energy and style were never lacking with this band. Sloppy writing and playing were more of a problem, though the breakneck pace of this show pretty much eliminates such problems.

The main problem is that GBH, while a good punk band, never really broke out of the whole British scene, and its sound never really evolved past that. Fans might dig this, but on the whole it is an unimpressive addition to the rolls.

The usual white-boy power trio, with massive references to such influences as Urge Overkill and Husker Du. More UO, I guess, but there's an odd Minneapolis vibe running through some of the tunes.

As you may have guessed, Johnny Bravo is the name of the band, which consists of the Lancourt brothers on the bass and guitar (and both sing), and Matt Fass on drums. The knobs were twisted by Ric Ocasek, who is proving to be a decent facilitator of live-sounding albums. The production really punches up the fairly mundane songs and manages to funnel some serious energy through the sound.

Still, there's not much else here to really recommend. Nothing's dreadful, mind you, but the songs could have been written by a ten-year-old in his sleep. Standard progressions, banal lyrics. Yeah, it sounds great, but it's all filler.

Nothing to offend the elders, which should really tick off the kids. Johnny Bravo has to take some chances if it wants to get somewhere.

Take one of the better punk-pop bands in the Chicago, and let Bill Stevenson and Stephen Edgerton produce them. The result: a sophomore disc that outplays the first in every way.

And don't get me wrong: I like that first disc a lot. But the ALL boys have stripped just a bit from the old sound, and the result is lean, mean pop music (wait, you mean like ALL used to make?). Gone are the occasional lapses into incoherence; this album is chock full of hooky ravers that would make Mac, Laura and friends drool.

I don't say "oof" a lot, but, indeed, this album knocked the wind out of me. Fifteen songs. None of them suck, and most a great. This is one of those albums you'll be playing all summer with the top down. A perfect pleasure.

Don't believe me? Thirty seconds into the first track, "Suitcase", you'll be convinced. And rest assured, the attack doesn't let up. I already thought this was a damned good band. Riveter puts Judge Nothing into the great category.

Apart from being really tired of the whole Pantallica sound, the main reason I haven't gotten excited about a prospective Pantera release in ages (if I ever was, though I do remember really liking Cowboys from Hell) is that once you hear one song, the rest fall into place. Totally predictable.

Which is fine if you like this sorta thing. I guess. Anyway, like I noted, I'm tired of it. I can't figure out how Phil Anselmo can profess allegiance to such decent acts as Eyehategod and still put out stuff like this. Talent problems, I suppose.

The part about Cowboys that I dug so much was the industrial precision of the rhythm section. Like a clock. Since the trend has been toward sloppiness and distortion, Pantera hasn't approached that sound standard since. That's not the only problem, but it's a start.

The main problem is that the band has nothing new to say. That won't stop the fans from eating this up, but there's no reason for folks searching out cool new music to stop by this roadside attraction.

A stupid name, a cliche title and one of those retarded Raygun ripoff covers. Oh, what a way to start off a relationship.

Luckily, I'm a music critic and not a marketing critic. And Prescott Curlywolf gets good marks. Cool pop music in the style of the Posies, plenty of hooks, distortion and pleasure.

The production adds just enough bombast, and still manages to keep anthems like "Celebrate Ray" from sounding overly pretentious. The variety in the guitar is particularly appreciated. I mean, what's the use of a stack of effects if you won't change the settings now and again?

The songwriting breaks convention at all the right points (mixing up bridges and choruses from time to time, undercutting natural climax points with unorthodox progressions, etc.), which is the sign of pop music mastery.

Now if the guys would only find a decent name. I mean, come on. This album is too good to sell a bunch anyway, so why not just rename yourselves before you make it big?

Eight remixes of five songs from Trip Reset. I can't really compare these to the originals, but they stand on their own pretty well.

Befitting the band, these remixes trend toward the experimental. Not much in the way of club material here. I won't complain about that; I likes the weirdness. And since half the fun of Psychic TV is simply losing yourself in the void, this set of tracks does the trick well.

Enough to keep me quite amused. With folks like cEvin Key, Leaether Strip and Spahn Ranch reassembling the music, you know the results will be good. And eminently strange.

Yeah, these remixes probably emphasize the masturbatory characteristics of Psychic TV (there's a lot of excess lying around), but just remember this is only a test. Reality begins next week.

Six remixes of tracks from The Coiled One, and four live versions from the same.

The only remix that outdoes the original is the first track, the Birmingham 6 take on "Heretic's Fork" (which is one of the better songs of the past year). The album was one of my favorites from last year (we even played "Locusts" at our wedding-not pleasant lyrically, but a great dance tune), and many of the takes simple elongate and emphasize for no good reason.

The live tracks prove that Spahn Ranch can play live, I guess, but they are completely redundant. No use, as far as I'm concerned. Still, that first track is an amazing rendition. Worth the price of admission.

Spirit of the West has been around long enough to understand and master the contemplative pop form. The band has mutated its sound over the years (indeed, an album recorded with the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra has recently been released in Canada), and finds itself in comfy territory on Two Headed.

The songs are well-crafted and orchestrated with a wide variety of instruments. The use of accordion, flute and a whole array of other instruments really textures the album well.

And just because this is a well put together album, don't think for a moment it's dull. The songs are mostly bright, with lyrics alternately whimsical and brooding. A nice kaleidoscope of life experiences, which you might expect for a band that's been performing for over 13 years.

Spirit of the West knows what it's doing, and Two Headed is a natural result. If you like pop music, particularly stuff with thought provoking lyrics, then go no further.

It's not often that I really have no idea what the fuck is going on, but Sweet Pea has done it to me. Thick, throbbing guitar and bass meld around a completely incoherent songwriting style that might best be described as deconstructed Jesus Lizard.

Yeah, I know.

Most of the songs are damned long (11 songs, 67 minutes) and at first it seems they simply go on forever. The vocals are distorted and laid a ways behind the sound most of the time. When they exist at all, that is.

Add in a reworking of the old Nails hit, re-titled "88 Lines About 44 Men", oddly coherent (stealing the original drum machine and keyboard tracks), and I'm left wondering just what the fuck is going on (did I mention this before?).

Is it so brilliant that I simply cannot comprehend it, or is it simply shit? Well, it's not shit; I couldn't stop listening. Kinda like watching Nascar for the crashes or Sportscenter to watch the umpire die over and over again.

You got me. This is one of the strangest albums I've heard. And, remember, I'm a big Craw fan.

Not a whole lot of what I'm used to calling trance (which I understand to be your basic ambient wackiness with the odd house beat behind it), but why quibble? Plenty of cool stuff inside.

I particularly dug the Synapse Interrupt track, "Beyond", which threatened at times to get into the trance zone at times. Samples of William S. Burroughs, George McGovern and other folks going on about freedom, activism and life in general.

And there are other high points as well. Obviously, as this does come from the ambient universe, the tracks are generally long and you have to wait them out to get the full effect. But you already knew that.

This one's worth the effort. A good set of musicians who try to expand the realm of the subconscious, without offending the intelligence of the conscious. A good idea, that.

You can add "goth" to that description, as there are plenty of them sorts hanging out here.

The obvious headliners are listed on the sticker: Birmingham 6 and Leaether Strip. The mixes may be new, but the songs are not. Still, the names are worth getting on the disc.

The rest is maddeningly inconsistent. For every decent gothic pop bit like Neuroactive's "Obsession" there's at least one song that just doesn't work. On the whole, the pluses outweigh the minuses, but not by enough to get me wildly excited.

But if you're interested in hearing what kids in Scandinavia are playing these days, then this is a decent trip to take. Just don't expect a mindblower.

One of the top US goth bands returns with a bang. The sound is positively bombastic, which kinda undercuts the whole concept, I think, but whatever.

The production is appropriately lush, but messy enough to keep the mood flowing freely. I mean, this stuff should have a somewhat mushy feel.

The lyrics are as silly as ever. Goth bands will never overcome that. Heavy-drinking college students may find wisdom here, but eternal depression seems absurd from the outside. On the other hand, it sure as hell sounds pretty cool.

Well-crafted tunes are plentiful. The Wake has the attitude necessary to carry this sort of thing off pretty well. I'm still not a big goth (dark wave, whatever) freak, but when it's done well, I must acknowledge it. The Wake has a pretty good album here.