Very glossy pop metalcore. The guys write reasonably catchy songs in the classic Biohazard style. Unfortunately, the only song that breaks out of that rut is a really bad imitation of the Laughing Hyenas.

Oh sure, there are amusing points. I've always wanted to hear a song with the chorus "Boom motherfucker, boom boom motherfucker!" Obviously we're dealing with wits of the highest order.

While there isn't the slightest hint of originality in these six songs, at least the band pulls off the stuff well enough. The production is quite slick, which helps take the edge off the whole thing. I've heard much better from this band, but that was before any deal got signed.

I'd like to hope for better from an album. I know Anthrophobia has it inside to crank out better tunes in a more original style.

Now that they're plucky underdogs again, you'd think the Black Crowes would start ripping into the simple, pleasurable jams that made the debut so much fun.

You get hints here and there, and Chris Robinson's vocals are as soulful and electric as ever. But the overall effect is still one chord too many, one drum break too far. There is a delicate balance between dull and overwrought, and the Crowes still hit the far side too much.

The looser production doesn't help matters; in fact, it points out just how self-indulgent the songs on this album are. Yeah, the stuff is alright, but I couldn't find one song that got me excited. And I got that listening to the first two albums. The Crowes are wallowing where they've been lying just a bit too much. Yeah, it sounds alright, but I had hoped for more.

A generally ballsier and more creative approach to the "we've got a woman who sings in that ethereal, wispy style" band. And from Northern Ireland, to boot.

Kinda like crossing My Bloody Valentine with the Moon Seven Times and a bit of the Magnapop. The focus here isn't entirely on the somewhat cliche style of singing, but also on some seriously cool music behind the operation. In fact, I like what the band does much more than Eileen Henry's voice.

Yeah, it drags at points. What's the point of having a spooky singer if you don't waste a couple songs cloying to that sound? But for the most part Chimera manages to break free from the silly stereotypes.

Not a brilliant record by any account, but amusing enough. Folks into this sort of thing (if you remember, say, the Millions or even--gakk--the Sundays) might get off to extremes. Chimera is way past that stuff. But no pronouncements of ecstasy from me. I prefer to just float along.

More of that sixties lounge-style party music. I understand that this is the big trend sweeping the nation (I'm always the last to find out about such things), and I suppose the Civil Tones have as much a right to wail away at serious retro as much as anybody.

But this sounds like white guys trying to be Booker T. & the MGs. Take the second track, "Onions Only". I think that speaks for itself.

And Booker T. and co. were damned close to going straight as it was. These guys miss all the inflection and nuance, playing this style reverentially, as if it were high art. That's certainly not the case.

Amusing in a kitschy sense, I guess. But after a couple of songs this thing in my back starts crawling, and it doesn't stop until I turn off the discer. I guess I don't mind recreating the past. It helps if you can actually recreate the feel, as well as the sound. The Civil Tones could use some work there.

About half new stuff (most of which is uninspired) and half golden oldies like "Whip It". In fact, the packaging is pretty much an ad for the game.

Excuse me, make that "multimedia experience". And many of the oldies have been re-recorded (I think; the notes aren't very helpful here). But this is the mechanical band; it's not like there's a whole lot of difference.

Even for hard core fans, I can't imagine what the attraction might be. Yeah, this stuff is alright, but I'm pretty sure there's a greatest hits out there somewhere with more tracks than this puppy has.

Oh, yeah, if you're really interested, there's a couple solo performances by Devoids. Not that you'd notice any difference.

Soundtracks in general suck. This isn't much different, even if it is Devo.

Some of the spookiest music you'll ever hear three people play.

In case you missed the last album, Dirty Three are a trio from somewhere in Australia, though this album found its legs in London. The sound is one of those twisted takes on country music, not unlike Palace (whatever), though no vocals to screw things up. The stuff is recorded live, and the only instruments are guitar, drums and violin, with the odd organ moment.

And unlike a lot of bands, Dirty Three has figured out the positive value of silence. There are so many holes in this sound the entire Teamsters union could drive through it. And therein lies the charm. It is very easy to get lost in the music. Give it half a chance, and it infects your soul.

I liked the first album quite a bit. Found it astonishingly affecting. Horse Stories takes all that a notch higher. Exquisitely painful and lilting, passionately perverse. No lyrics are necessary or wanted. Dirty Three has it all down.

I always like to see how folks overseas interpret the various American musical trends. No self-respecting U.S. band would take elements of grunge, hardcore and pop music and merge it into a whole different sound. But then, Fireside is from Sweden.

And it doesn't work all of the time. Indeed, often the result is a plodding mess. But Fireside has the right idea: come up with something new and different. The main problem here is in the execution. Often, the original song constructions bog down into a traditional grunge bounce, and as Skin Yard showed, once you're there, there aren't many ways out.

Still, a band that is this daring deserves to be watched. With better-honed songwriting and playing skills, you never know what might pop out next. I like the concept; all Fireside needs is the finishing skills.

The trio is made up of the basic instruments: bass, percussion and piano (where Jeff Haas resides). Marvin Kahn adds his exquisite touch with an alto clarinet, which has a bit different tone than the standard B flat clarinet (it's a bit larger and thus plays a bit lower).

Jeff Hass is the son of Karl Haas (yes, that Karl Haas), and he goes about his composing and arranging with the meticulous attention of a serious music scholar. Most of the songs are arrangements of traditional Hebrew melodies, put into a jazz context. By bringing many traditions of music together (including one of his father's pieces), Haas shows a deft touch. He has a knack for the oldest of musical professions: reinventing the standard.

The playing is reverential, but not ponderous. Hass, Kahn and cohorts know exactly how to make this music sing. The production stays completely out of the way, allowing the musicians to completely express themselves in an uninhibited manner.

Cool, but not cold. Scrupulously scripted, but not straitlaced. Hass and friends have presented these ideas in a beautiful way. A wonderful expression of appreciation of history and hope for the future.

Recorded "live" in Albuquerque, Modesto and Las Vegas. Perhaps.

The joke in this comedy album is that nothing is funny. Hamburger (or whoever he is) has completely drained each and every one of his jokes of any humor whatsoever. He's managed this feat despite the fact that many of his "jokes" had astonishingly funny premises.

In other words, this is "high concept" comedy. The idea that a person would stand on stage and say this stuff, hoping for a laugh, is completely hilarious. Of course, you also get the reaction of folks like my wife, who wondered why anyone would go to the trouble to hear this painful stuff in order to get a cheap snigger or two. Fair question.

I don't know. I suppose I'm a masochist for comedy. And while Neil Hamburger doesn't have a funny joke in his repertoire, the act itself can be sidesplitting. Don't believe me? Well, you probably shouldn't.

Kepone kicks off with "The Ghost", an amazingly powerful tune. The groove builds from the start and never quits until the tune flies out in a blaze of glory. More captivating than most of the last album, and one of the better songs I've heard all year. A real crowdpleaser.

Not to be outdone, Pegboy counters with "Dangermare". Still riding that "smells like rotting flesh, tastes like Naked Raygun" style that has worked all these years, Larry and the boys are simply having fun, destroying eardrums along the way.

A truly inspired pairing, and the bands pull it off with aplomb. Fans of the bands: this is a must! And if you have any pretensions of being a real punk fan, well, you'd better not miss out, either.

Taking a somewhat keyboard-heavy, yet grungier, approach to the whole prog thing, Lemur Voice at once manages to sound wimpy and aggressive. An interesting idea that doesn't quite take off.

The main problem is that the band refuses to advance prog theory past the established masters. I hear way too much Rush and Yes in here. Sure, it's alright to borrow from influences, but the goal is to create your own sound. Lemur Voice occasionally does get past those two influences, and then it starts sounding just like Fates Warning.

The playing is adequate, though a bit sloppy at times. The production is stock prog work, lending atmosphere and a bit of spaciness to the surroundings. Adequate and appropriate. Just wish the music had something original to say.

An old saw, but I keep wailing away. Lemur Voice needs time to work past its influences and craft an original sound. Until then, it will be merely a decent act that could get better paid as a Yes tribute band.

A guy who obviously knows his stuff, Markowitz whips out a collection of standards and personal compositions with flair. He knows exactly where he should be and what his piano should sound like. The arrangements are exacting and tight.

Just a bit too cerebral for me. One look at the notes and you can easily recognize the quality of his musical education. And this transfers over to the music, for better and worse. Markowitz knows how to create moods and feeling with just a shift in key or time signature. And his playing sometimes manages that feat without any outside help. But not often enough to keep up with me.

This is quality, no doubt. Markowitz and his sides play quite well, but somehow some of the emotion and feeling that I can hear inside the musicians hasn't come out. Worrying about the next change, perhaps, or just plotting another tack in the course. I don't know. This is precision perfect, and I'd like something a bit more expressive. A personal beef, I know. But that's how it is.

The Discovery folks picked up this disc from Eggbert Records, and I can hear why: catchy choruses and a really nice production job that leaves the guitars choppy and vicious-sounding.

I know, I know, you're all screaming this sounds a whole lot like Everclear. True enough. It's simple pop, with just a couple frills. Believe it or not, it's the simple stuff that's hardest to accomplish.

And Mars Needs Women blows things on songs like "Nothing" with too much songwriting. The riff is cute, and the hook snags nicely. But the guys add a bridge and some other stuff that just gets in the way of the fun. Keep it simple.

And when the band does that, this album is a real ripper. I'm afraid the guys have too much ambition to be a simple pop band (you can hear these things in the background), but what the hell. This is a good enough effort.

Epitaph finally reaches out to the heartland and plucks one of the best. The New Bomb Turks have been hanging around Columbus for what seems like forever (when they're not touring, of course), and it's nice to see them move up to the big leagues.

And the guys didn't pull any punches. The famous buzzsaw attack is still there, and the tunes as raw and catchy as ever. Easily the most consistent album of the Turks career.

Plenty of non-traditional punk fun wandering about here, as well. Horns and piano flit through now and again, just to remind you this is, indeed, rawk and rool. The Turks rip the whole current pop-punk scene a new asshole, and then have time yank the entrails out for tomorrow's chit'lins. A simply glorious experience. Avoid at your peril.

Most of the time, this act is Ryan Hedgecock (once of Lone Justice) and Amy Allison (who I recognized from the Silos' RCA album, but also led the Maudlins and sang backup for They Might Be Giants and other folks). Six folky, kinda clunky songs.

A little overdramatic, considering the base of the material. The lyrics are kinda silly, and the music just doesn't quite support the strangeness it contrives. Now, whoever is slotting emphasis tracks obviously knows what's what. Because "Snow Dove" and "Cheater's World" are easily the best songs on the EP. The rest quickly approaches filler.

If Allison and Hedgecock can work more songs like "Snow Dove" into their album, then Parlor James just might have quite a future. And I know, EP releases like this are no way to judge a forthcoming album. So I look forward to a full-length, hoping for the best.

The second installment of the legend of the Red Aunts. Four women who don't compromise, period.

My brothers bought them beer at a show in Albuquerque last year, and the boys seem to have really picked up a fascination with the band. I haven't had the luck to see the Aunts live, which may be why I'm not bowled over by the discs.

Where #1Chicken was rough and greasy, though, Saltbox is lean and clean. I like this version better, though there are some spooky Go-Go's moments. Still, no one can deny that the Aunts have the true punk spirit, whatever that means these days.

And that does have its own merits, after all.

The last album was very dirty and live-sounding. Plenty of diverse moods and feels. This edition is even more diverse, and while obviously not a live-to-tape session, more immediate-sounding.

All the usual influences can be heard: NIN, KMFDM, Ministry, EN, whatever. 16 Volt manages to meld all the different ideas into its most seamless sound yet. The songs are tight and vicious, with a definite 16 Volt style permeating the mass.

I'd like to hear the guys get a little more "out there". This stiff is still a bit too ordinary to send me into orbit. Yeah, great jack beats and some awesome club tunes make for a very good album, but 16 Volt still hasn't found that last piece to really burst out into the open. Everything necessary is here. I'm just waiting for the payoff.

Until then, I'll just amuse myself with this very good piece of work.

When the first track, "Stealing" cruised on, I thought I might be in for an epic album by a band that had decided turn music on its ear. Perhaps something akin to the way I felt the first I heard the Masters of Reality debut.

Alright, I was wrong. This is an album by a bunch of guys who seem to think Badmotorfinger is the best Soundgarden album of them all. And, appalling musical taste aside, the members of Skunkweed can't even escape the two grooves of that album.

Totally derivative, and it's not like this is a good sound to emulate. It worked once for Soundgarden at a time when Soundgarden could do no wrong. For a band starting out, I would not recommend this collection of cheap hacking riffs. As you might expect, Skunkweed has little to say.

Almost without any merit. This is the sort of thing that gives guitar rock a bad name.

More dreary pop from one-man band Bill Callahan. He seems to plumb the depths of human feeling, but with a wicked wit that makes the whole experience something of an upper.

Well, just read the song notes. His bit on Jim O'Rourke and release parties is hilarious (jeez, I hope those comments show up somewhere in the commercial package and weren't wasted on hack critics like me). As for the songs, well, they wander all over the morose universe, from the almost peppy "Somewhere in the Night" ("Shoot me before I become Elvis Costello...", he notes) to the gorgeously painful "Everything You Touch...".

Yep, all the usual subjects, produced in a haphazard and sparse way by Callahan, who seems to almost want to destroy his music even before it reaches the public. No matter. Stuff like this is indestructible, despite Callahan's best efforts. Another bravura performance.

The thing I really liked about Type O before this album was that the band had audibly progressed from album to album. Of course, where do you go after Bloody Kisses?

Well, nowhere. Yeah, "Cinnamon Girl" is a much cooler song than "Summer Breeze" ever was, but then stuff like the first single, "My Girlfriend's Girlfriend", tends to bring the package down to the same level. The sound is still this astonishing mix of wild keyboard washes, epic guitar lines and Pete Steele's unmistakable voice. And "Love You to Death" is a worthy successor to "Black No. 1".

Yeah, there's a lot of filler, including the lead track, and the intro and outro stuff is just plain annoying. But what the fuck. If you really want to take all this seriously, then read Andrea Dworkin's analysis of Steele's sexual fears. Me, I'm just turning up the volume, turning out the lights and letting the stuff hit me full force. No other way to go.

Why would suck diverse bands as the Levellers and Napalm Death show up on a benefit compilation disc? When the proceeds go to AK Press.

Cool tracks also arrive via NOFX, Pitch Shifter, Propagandhi, Cain, Chumbawamba, Tribes of Neurot and many other cool bands. From punk to pop to noise to death metal and beyond, these bands are helping to celebrate one of the more interesting presses around. I've got a really cool book they published some time ago on how to sabotage your corporate bosses. Lots of great ideas there, and I even used a few.

As for the music, well, plenty of covers and other messy things. Some really nice stuff (I did mention a few highlights; you can find yer own), but the point is, you should get yourself exposed to some revolutionary thinking. Sure, you could just go to your local with-it bookstore and pick up AK Press books by Noam Chomsky, Murray Bookchin, John Yates or Jello Biafra, among others. But hell, why not buy a CD with cool songs on it, to boot?

Whatever. This is a good collection for a great cause. And in case you're one of those Abba freaks, there's a rendition of "Waterloo" by the Agnetha, Bjorn, Sven, Frida and Lars Fan Club, aka Bjorn Baby Bjorn. Such weirdness as I couldn't have invented in my most drug-induced hyperactive mental state.

Subtitled "This is the new sound of popcore". Un-huh. And this is from the same sorts of folks who brought us such wonderful things as Milli Vanilli, Right Said Fred and all those rave and "This Is Techno" compilations that still fill the bins at crap record stores everywhere.

The main reason for this set is two versions of "I Wanna Be a Hippy", which wasa big European dance hit and is amusing enough as a novelty tune. Almost everything else here doesn't quite live up to that standard, though the Party Animals' bouncy techno version of "Hava Nagila" is pretty amusing--the first time through.

If you're really wondering what the Benelux boys are doing these days, well, look no further. Belgian and Dutch technicians have been percolating this sorta stuff for some time, and they don't seem to want to let up now. Most normal folks can miss this without a second glance.

If you've always had a soft spot for that "Byrds all over again" thing that Tom Petty's been preaching for twenty-something years now, then Wake Ooloo should hit the spot.

These boys tear it up like petty hasn't in ages, and the pop feel is pretty much immaculate. Nothing to complain about. You know exactly where this has come from and where it's going, but why not enjoy the ride?

And to make sure you don't miss the connection, Wake Ooloo includes a rendition of "So You Wanna be a Rock and Roll Star". The music is a dead-on replication, but the vocals are completely fucked. Which, of course, does deviate from the ideal. Proves the guys have a sense of humor, even if their musical aspirations aren't very high.

A fun little ride. Light, refreshing and eminently forgettable. Like a sunny day on Lake Erie.

The only reason to listen to Wesley Willis is to experience the sheer joy of making music. Wesley is not terribly creative musically (every song has pretty much the same Casio backing), and he tends to repeat himself lyrically. But he sure does enjoy what he's doing.

Which makes this sort of thing almost irresistible. Lots of folks (including me) profiled Wesley with the release of his "greatest hits" on Alternative Tentacles, so you probably know all about his history of mental illness and other stuff. If not, I'm sure MTV news will have something tomorrow.

Not to be taken seriously. Morning shows will jump all over stuff like "Alanis Morissette" and "Rock Saddam Hussein's Ass" (which have many lines in common, actually). You can get tired of this stuff pretty quickly, but hell, catch an amusement buzz while you can.