Cool, understated pop with sly and vicious lyrics. Not unlike what Morrissey would sound like if he wouldn't whine so much and could play guitar like Johnny Marr.

And Alford does seem to take himself rather seriously, even while whipping out caustic gems like "Devil Kings of Sodom". Yeah, he's obviously a bit obsessed with his homosexuality, but without resorting to that annoying hand-wringing nonsense or the overtly aggressive machinations of a Pansy Division.

Which does leave Alford clinging perilously close to the "dull" mark at times, but always his smart music and smarter lyrics come to rescue. The production sound is perfect for the songs, doesn't get in the way in the slightest. All very pleasing.

Sure, I wish he would take more chances from time to time. The music is missing a few things to reach the transcendent stage, but what the hell. Lucky Pierre is quite fun as it stands. And as a postscript, I should note that Alford died from AIDS last year. The music is beyond that mere fact, but you should know.

Sounds a lot like early King Missile (you know, when Dogbowl was in the band). Songs with jokey themes and the same musical idea that keeps getting repeated over and over again. With really low-fi production, even on the number that use a lot of keyboards.

And still damned entertaining. The band's name is absolutely correct, but this is a 90-minute tape that is almost crammed with music. Plenty of filler and far-too-long songs, but plenty to smile at as well.

This is exactly the sort of tape that my brothers would wear out while in the throes of chemical immolation. They also listen to a lot of Beck at these times, but this stuff is much better in my book. Strangely compelling. I simply can't stop listening.

Boston was one of the main forces behind Low Pop Suicide, so you probably know what to expect here. Moody, even morbid pop music with hints of real genius.

And along with that comes Jessy Greene of the Geraldine Fibbers providing plenty of vocal help. Sounds like a winner. And it's close.

Boston has stripped down the sound to an acoustic (occasionally electric) guitar, a fiddle, drums and just a hint of bass. Some kind of weird pop hoedown, a concept that works more than it doesn't, but oh those missteps. A couple of times the sound is almost embarrassing.

Certainly an interesting idea. Not as effective as I might have imagined, but still a good album. Boston's knack for inserting a cliche at the worst possible moment still remains, and that can grate. Not enough to make me dislike this puppy, though.

Um, well, technically a mini-LP. Of course, the puppy runs over 33 minutes, which was long enough for an LP not 10 years ago. How things change.

Anyway, the reigning kings of grind (like anyone else is left) once again cruise through all sorts of shapes and sounds, from classic grind to classic death metal to serious noise abuse and more. The move to Relapse is apparently permanent, by the way, as Dan has decided to consolidate his efforts with the Pennsylvania boys (he's also a member of Exit 13, among other oddities).

While much more raw than Need to Control, this disc still shows an even more coherent game plan than before. The guys know exactly what they want to do, and they seems to be able to do that even when faced with less time in the studio. Fine by me.

More than enough to keep the fans happy. Brutal Truth is one of the few bands that is really advancing the cause of extreme metal these days. By pushing the envelope still further, Lilker and co. ensure that people will be paying attention for a long time to come.

That cool Brit punk thing that emphasizes pop and ska in almost equal measure, without getting too overwrought at any time. Plenty of fun from a band that's been doing this for quite some time.

Inexorably catchy, with 12 new bits to lure new fans into the coterie. The production keeps the sound sharp, but not edgy. Everything in perfect measure. Well done.

Sometimes the lyrics don't say a whole lot, and every once in a while a riff has obviously been pinched from somewhere. Smells like punk to me. And a good thing Lookout has brought this Fish across the pond.

Another fine effort. Plenty of smiles for all.

Music calculated to fill the pits, running along at Rollins-speed. In fact, there are more than a few similarities... and don't forget the heavy Biohazard influence!

The main difference is that Dearly Beheaded just can't stay stuck in a rut all the time. The tempo sometimes moves past "dirge", and even the slow mosh works on tunes like "Witness". Yeah, you've heard this before. Metallized hardcore that grinds along just fast enough to keep you regular.

But after cruising through the album, the most obvious reference point is old Anthrax. Like before Joey, but with better production. So folks don't call this stuff "metal" any more. Could've fooled me.

Passable, but just not enough originality to really kick me into gear. Not so much generic as just unexciting. I kept wanting to really like this, but to no avail. I'm feeling awfully indifferent.

A couple of tunes from the recent 7" (including "The Message", which is as glorious a pop tune as I've heard in ages). The rest of the album works very hard to explore many moods in the pop sound, and I've got to say the guys succeeded in their aim.

Just drums, bass and (sometimes) organ, thankyouverymuch. A unique sound, to be sure, and one that works really well. Sure, this is jangly as hell. Why the fuck not?

Describing terminal bliss is a bitch for me. I've been waiting for this disc with baited breath for the last couple months. The postcard alone sent me into some sort of ecstatic reverie. And the goods have been delivered.

My only (very small) complaint is that the production sometimes gets a little overbearing. With only a couple guys in the band, overdubs are a necessary evil, and like Flat Duo Jets, sometimes the mix gets just a bit weird. Still, this is very minor. I love this disc. Please sir, may I have some more?

Three songs on a tape that suffers from the worst case of demo-itis that I've heard in some time. Muffled and baffled and almost totally lost.

And the music is not terribly inspired, either. Somewhere in that whole R.E.M.-U2 melodic college pop thing. Better than Toad the Wet Spigot, but that's not saying much. I'm not much for cloying lyrics, myself.

All in all, one of the least interesting demos I've heard in some time. Wish I could be nicer, but even the sound on this is dreadful.

One of the better noise/grindcore acts around finds some help from a couple Brutal Truth guys and Bliss Blood of Pain Teens. Doing blues, jazz and swing tunes from the depression era, re-written with stoner-core lyrics.

Thus you get songs like "Stoney Monday", "Hempcake" and my favorite, "Sweet Marijuana Brown". Yes, this is a big fat... joke, but highly amusing none the less. Bliss is in fine form. Indeed, her vocals are the main reason this works. Bill, Steve and the other musicians crank out barely passable musical tracks, but Bliss' silky wail is a real treat.

A guilty, fun pleasure. Exit 13 has had a track record of creating highly innovative and amusing albums, and while this isn't terribly original, it sure makes me smile. Get in the mood, light one up, and crank up the stereo.

Hell, I'm sure the folks wouldn't mind if you indulged and did two.

Three tunes that check in at just under six minutes. Very Ramonesy; Dee Dee even checks in on "Betty Crocker, Punk Rocker".

Fun as fun goes, but eminently forgettable two minutes later. Novelty appeal is nice and all, but I'm hoping for more, somehow.

I've heard this sort of thing over and over the past couple of years. Furious George does as well with the concept as anyone, but I'm getting tired of the joke. Wish there was more to say.

Originally released in 1989, the Ghoulies (for those who missed the album earlier this year) play something that certain people refer to as "horror-core". Pop-punk with slasher movie lyrics. More like Evil Dead lyrics.

And the results are, ahem, a scream. The Ghoulies are masters at finding a crunchy groove and sticking with it. And the lyrics simply add to the enjoyment. Not high art, mind you. Just near-mindless craziness.

While I'm sure commercial concerns had something to do with this week's Ghoulie reissues, the music is more than worth the effort. The sound is amazingly good and fresh-sounding (this album seems almost prescient), and the cool songs (with some very strange covers) keep rolling out.

A worthy addition to any collection.

This one's from 1994, with a mostly new line-up (only Kepi remains from Appetite) and a more polished sound. And I don't like it quite so much.

Just a bit too calculated, which could be as much a problem with the production as with the songs themselves. But the Ghoulies sound just a bit tight most of the time here. I wish they would loosen up.

Still, the same goofiness reigns, and you gotta like that. More than enough to keep old (and new) fans happy. A special note: if you get these two albums on vinyl, Appetite is in pink, and Basement sports neon green. Of course, I got the CDs. Why waste cool collector stuff on a hack writer?

No one has called the Lookout folks stupid. And these re-issues are a very good idea, indeed.

Instrumental guitar stuff for old Maiden fans. Not a bad idea at all.

No, no, Harris wasn't in the band (that's Steve, no relation), but he sticks to a classical style of guitar that Maiden and a ton of their European cohorts propounded back in the early 80s. Aggressive, melodic and keyboard-laden at times.

Harris has pumped his lead tracks so high that when he settles into a song those lines sound a lot like Joe Satriani. But the rhythm work is really nice. I just wish it was a bit higher in the mix.

I could also do without the keyboard excesses. When he goes overboard, Harris really has a knack for going nuts. But luckily, most of the time the focus is on the songs themselves, which can more than stand on their own. With a little work, he could really do something.

A much more aggressive effort than the bands debut, which I thought suffered from a lack of direction. Lazy seems to know exactly where it wants to go, and the sound is markedly improved because of that.

The songwriting is still awfully simplistic and almost self-consciously avoids hooks. An interesting idea for a band that seems to want to be the next big pop thing.

The production leaves everything where it should be. The band takes advantage of the steady hand, ranging all over the landscape. Jarring chords combined with soft vocals, screeches over acoustic guitars, whatever. Lazy likes the dichotomy ideal, and this album certainly tests the theory to the max.

And the folks seem to be working a bit too hard to achieve these results. A little more feel and less crafting is still in order. But Lazy has moved up a notch.

Let's Go Bowling is one of those bands that always seems to be in town, but you wonder where the records are. Well, here's one, anyway.

Solid, energetic runthroughs of the stuff the band has been playing for something like forever. As with any ska act, solid horns and a tight rhythm section dominate. The vocals (and lyrics, for that matter) might leave a little to be desired, but skankers never seem to worry about such things.

Indeed, Let's Go Bowling takes more of a jazz-like approach to its sound, with the instrumentalists taking solos in turn as the beat rolls on. Solid work and solid musicianship about.

This is classic ska. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Let's Go Bowling has no outside pretensions (like punk or other such influences), and so the sound could just as easily be wandering in from the 60s as the 90s. Not a bad thing at all.

Surf for surf's sake. Some bands, like the now defunct Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet, really know how to take that base music and morph it into something greater. Or take Man or Astro-Man?, which simply is too strange to really explain in a couple words.

The Phantom Surfers are obviously great admirers of Dick Dale (a good thing), and go to great lengths to capture the sound of his records with the Del-Tones in the 60s. And throw in a few jokes and general silliness as the album rolls on.

I like that part. But the music is just a bit generic, and while the band is spirited enough, there just isn't enough innovation or interesting ideas to really break the Surfers out of the pack.

Plenty of potential, and the ace execution of the production shows that these guys know what they're doing. A little inspiration, and they'll be set.

Epic hardcore, showering heavy riffs with waves of fuzz. Or, if you prefer, grungy hardcore, with gothic overtones. Type O with a little more aggro. Whatever.

And while I'm generally annoyed by really pretentious stuff (and trust me, Pist-On is pretentious, down to the Nietzche quote on the back cover), I do like Type O, and I like this. While not totally ripping off Pete and the boys, Pist-On takes enough for a comparison, but also brings in much more of the hardcore mess.

And that's where Pist-On shines: when the punk parts show. The epic goth ballads sound a bit too much like a rehash. I hope the future shows a bit more originality.

And with songs like "Parole" and "Shoplifters of the World Unite", Pist-On might make a mark. But watch out for the copycat syndrome.

About fucking time. I've been waiting for a decent guitar rock band to arrive in my mailbox for one hell of a long time. I mean, for all the success of punk bands in the "alternative" world, the stuff that made the scene in the 80s was balls-out rock and roll from folks like Soul Asylum, the 'Mats and the Pixies. Rosa Mota finally fills the void I've been hearing.

A swirling buzzsaw rhythm attack, with wonderfully sloppy vocals from various members of the band. The songs generally don't have much of a center, but just barely hold together through some sort of undefinable centrifugal force.

The sorta thing that happens only when the members of a band really understand each other and know exactly how to play off of each other. This gives the band the confidence to whirl through all sorts of modes and sounds, all the while staying true to itself.

Utterly impressive. Rosa Mota has created a set of songs with amazing sonic impact. The power is undeniable.

Twenty-five songs, and the emphasis is on the lyrics. The music lies in that noise-pop style that bands like Chevy Heston and Craw (you can see how diverse this movement can be) noodle around with.

In general, the Pets stick to more pop than noise, but never underestimate the power of feedback. And these guys have no love for standard song construction or tone theory. Indeed, even on the most conventional songs the singing hardly carries a tune and the guitars trend to the strident. I like.

Perhaps not the most accomplished musicians or writers, the Smoking Pets have nonetheless managed to record an effective work. Live, Worship, Shop is goofy yet contemplative, a real interesting find.