Radio-only, so if you want to find this sucker, keep looking in the used bins. Philip Steir and Land of the Loops take on "Catch Me", each with vocals and an instrumental track.

Steir gives the tune an almost-ambient feel, with just enough punch to drive folks onto the dance floor. A good, ethereal rendition of the song.

Land of the Loops is much more over-the-top, with a full-bore Spectoresque wall of sound production laid onto the basic tracks. Instead of a simple instrumental, though, Land of the Loops second take is a dub mix that pretty much totally rearranges the song into an almost unrecognizable groove. Not bad, but it's been done.

The main problem is that the song itself is not much better than middling fare. There was better stuff on the album to cull for a single. Oh well.

Pop punk that stays right in the middle of the road. No tattoos or discernible marks. On the music, that is.

Strangely ineffectual. Cousin Dale might do better to pick up the tempo a bit and crank up the guitars a notch. I know, I bitched when Green Day found salvation in Andy Wallace's metalloid production values, but Cousin Dale has light years to go before crossing that bridge.

East Bay style from the west side. I don't think that's the problem or anything, but Cousin Dale just doesn't have much to say, musically or lyrically.

Not enough punch for a pure pop feel. Listless in general.

The FLA connection continues with Rhys Fulber taking on about half the remixing duties, the other half going to a variety of DJs who do a fine job of reinterpreting the original tracks.

I remember asking someone at Roadrunner if the special re-issue of Demanufacture meant that this long-awaited project was off the schedule. Sadly, it was said to be true. Now I am happy to report that that prognosis was incorrect.

Like Fear Is the Mindkiller, the DJs had access to actual tape, and the results are sharper than many remix projects. Fear Factory's highly industrial metal sound lends itself well to this sort of thing, anyway, so it's not surprising how good this is.

Indeed, Fear Factory is a band without fear. Some of these splice jobs take the music where it has never been before. Quite a few bands might be worried about what the fans might think. I believe that Fear Factory fans would worry if the band refused to take chances.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Remanufacture may not have the sheer audacity of Fear Is the Mindkiller, mostly because this sort of thing is a bit more accepted nowadays. But the sheer mass of great music is hard to ignore.

Any band from the place of my birth (Rochester, NY) always gets a free point. The Frantic Flattops play really stripped-down rockabilly. This sounds like it was recorded in front of one mike, with strange variances in sound quality abounding.

Plus, lots of cheap gimmicks, like the little intro and outro on "Look at the Size of that Boogie". Of course, that just comes with the territory. The real catch is the music itself.

When the Flattops get cookin', life is good. This doesn't happen often enough for my taste (the guys seem to be overly enamored of mid-tempo semi-ravers), but even the slower stuff sounds good.

Not great, but if you want to hear what real rockabilly sounded like some 40-odd years ago, this just might give you a clue. Total retro, but with style. The Frantic Flattops know exactly what they're doing.

The sound that slimed Chicago, a couple generations removed.

A few years back, my wife and I were enjoying dinner in Kalamazoo with another couple (who had just moved in from Chicago). Talk came to my work, and then the sort of music I covered. Then the obvious question: What's big now?

The Chicago sound, I said. The guy came back by saying the only Chicago sound he knew was that Jesus Lizard crap. Exactly what I was talking about, I said. We didn't discuss music much more that evening. Good thing. He was a monster U2 fan.

That tangent aside, The Great Brain takes "that Jesus Lizard crap", strips down some of the excess and returns with a vicious rhythm extravaganza. Like the first Kepone album, only not so intense.

It took me a while to really find the band's groove, but once my mind was in that spot, nothing could dislodge me. Kinda like returning to an old, familiar place and finding the pillows all rearranged. Oh, you can still cuddle up with your beer, but there's also something exciting and new (come aboard?). And for a second there I thought I was actually making sense.

Never mind. The Great Brain has a fine technical approach that never gets sterile. And a pleasantly mid-range production sound that leaves everything just slightly warm and fuzzy. This album gets better the longer you listen to it.

The first Energy release, Ausgeflippt, flipped through most of the biggest industrial/electronic trends of two years ago. The same is true here. There is the expected German engineering veneer, but beneath that lies the hearts of innovators.

A ton of folks really dug the last album (in fact, I got one of those "I'm listening to" things from a label rep a month ago that still mentioned it), and so this puppy has had some serious industry buzz. Indeed, I've gotten a few e-mails on the subject since the release date went up.

All the hype is totally justified. If anything, Transmissions from Uranus is more cohesive, more experimental and more complete than its predecessor. The world of electronic music has expanded significantly in the past couple years, and the progenitors of the band have read and recognized the most important trends, incorporating them into the Hanzel und Gretyl fold.

A bit heavier and with an overall fuller sound, this album simply advances the legend. Beautiful noise, indeed.

With a good grasp on the many moods of alternapop, Icon has crafted solid, if a bit uninspired set of tunes.

The songs' constructions are varied and well-done. I get the feeling, though, that the guys are working a bit too hard to mix things up, and so some of the natural evocative potential of the music is lost.

Still, I'd rather have a young band trying to innovate and falling just a bit short, than hear the latest flavor of crap. Icon has the right idea, and with a bit more work just might whip these tunes into shape.

Okay, the production is a bit muddy (though above general demo quality), but that almost works into the hands of the band, who aren't afraid of a little dirt on the sound. An encouraging tape.

Marc Olson has left the building, and so guitarist Gary Louris takes over the singing duties for the Jayhawks. Where Olson seemed somewhat slavishly devoted to sounding like Gram Parsons (which isn't necessarily a bad thing), Louris sounds a bit like a raspy Glen Frey. A little more anonymous sounding, but still respectable.

And the whole album is that way. Certainly, this is the most raucous and noisy Jayhawks album, but it's also the band's best since Blue Earth. While the American albums have featured such timeless songs as "Blue", a lot of the stuff in between could be generously described as filler. I've been quite hacked at the wild inconsistency in songwriting.

There's a greater emphasis on pop music (getting awful close to the Beatles at times, "Trouble" being the best example there), but the country rock feel is still in full force. While there really isn't a breakout great song on this album, almost every one is damned good. Yeah, the sound isn't quite as distinctive as it used to be, but if this is a starting point for the remaining members, it does well.

I was more than skeptical. Quite honestly, Sound of Lies knocks me out. Better than I had hoped for in my wildest dreams. Indeed, I'll be playing this one for a long time.

The legend lives on. Roboto-surf instrumentals (and the odd tune with vocals) that incorporate the latest in modern technology to give as old-fasioned a sound as possible. But of course; what else to expect from Man or Astroman?

I'm well aware that this band has almost as much of a backlash following as folks who like the music. I'm in the latter camp, mostly because of the, ahem, camp that always accompanies this fine music product. Read the fine print; it's as illuminating as ever.

The music has some fine print in it as well. You simply have to listen hard enough to find the humor. And even if you don't get it the first time, you've still listened to some cool sounds.

And if you don't get it, don't bitch at me. If I get one more "How can you like Man or Astro-Man? when you slag Frank Black?" e-mail, I'm gonna have to shoot someone or something. Sorry, it's a personal problem.

Solid, tuneful pop that wraps itself wonderfully around McCallion's somewhat wispy voice. Impressive, introspective lyrics complete the package.

And the production is sharp and full, rendering McCallion's talent in full bloom. These three songs are done as well as anything I've heard lately. Unlike some of the current alternapop divas (Jewel comes to mind, as much as I've tried to block her out), McCallion refuses to go for the cheap line or trendy melody, and instead marks her own territory.

Utterly impressive. McCallion has the complete deal here. She has the ability to appeal to both the mainstream and the underground, which is more than a little impressive. When she gets her big deal, I hope the A&R hacks don't convince her to cheese out. Stick to your guns, and the world will come to you.

I reviewed the band's first CD, Plankton Comes Alive, and was fairly complimentary. I got one of the more amusing and gratifying thank you notes a couple weeks later. The guys don't just play cool music, they have fine manners to boot. Thought I'm not sure if that revelation fits with the music.

The sound hasn't changed, really. Chunky, seventies riffs and vocal melodies, spewed forth with proper 90s punk aggro. Aptly named, The Mess is just that, but every time the guys manage to find enough reference points to hold the song together.

Perhaps nothing more than a bar band epitome (which isn't bad), The Mess now has two well-produced, solid CDs under its belt. The songwriting drwas on the sources I mentioned and plenty others. Always tending to the cheesy side of things, I suppose, but that's the bar band deal, you see.

More fun than serious, more goofy than focused. So what? You even complain about a good time?

More Fire for Burning People flicks of bits of eclectic noise pop, and then rips into an edgy sludge sheen for the singing parts.

The music is quite good, at least until it comes time to sing the songs. Then everything gets much more mundane and dull. I'm kinda amazed that such an inventive band can't seem to keep up the solid songwriting when the vocals kick in.

Actually, "Daddy's Girl" is a great example of how More Fire should do most of its songs. The basic experimental ideas stick around the whole song, even when the vocals kick in.

It's not that the sung parts are horrible. They just pale in comparison to the intros. More Fire has a whale of musical insight and talent. The members simply need to have more faith in their unusual ideas.

Mountain boys. Or they wannabe, anyway. Kinda odd for a Frisco outfit, but then I've always appreciated folks who play against type.

And for music featuring overbearing, arrogant riffage played in front of a throbbing beat, Mung's stuff is fairly good. It gets dull at times, but there's just enough of a punk edge to keep the whole disc from slipping under.

I can imagine that Mung puts on a good show. Better than the disc, I would wager. Cock rock always sounds better at a bar, anyway. Plus you get all that localized testosterone flowing, and the air gets a little heady.

It just doesn't translate well to an album. And this is presented quite well, with near-perfect production and a decent set of tunes. I simply can't get "Mississippi Queen" out of my fucking mind.

Um, you can take these guys seriously if you like, but if you do, then you're missing the whole damn point.

What possesses these solid popsters to don hillbilly outfits and cover country classics (not to mention some rather obscure shit) is beyond me. Now, there aren't as many covers here as on previous outings, which might make you think the boys are trying to make their mark as "real musicians".

With originals titled "Tip-A-Cow", "Makin' Out With My Dad" and "Nose Maul Problem"? I think not. The music is straight ahead pop with a bit of the old rock riffola, and the humor is utterly sophomoric. Got a problem?

Jeez, I'm dishing out way too much attitude. Must be stress. Anyway, if this is your bag (and it sure is mine), then you should be happy. If not, then go buy the new U2 or something equally pretentious (not to mention dull). Oh, man, there I go again. Somebody knock this chip off my shoulder, please. And feel free to check out this disc.

A quintet, which leaves the door open for a more varied sound. But here, the emphasis is on playing jazz by the book. Not in a dull, unimaginative way, but simply technically perfect. Yeah, it's pretty easy to anticipate the group's musical moves, but at least the themes are good.

And the Disciples draw from the many schools of jazz in putting together this album. All but Coltrane's "Some Other Blues" are Petersen originals, and the sound is, indeed, timeless.

All that said, I guess I would prefer to hear an occasional departure from the norm. The sound is wonderful, the songs are well-written, the playing is exquisite. But in all this perfection, I don't think the group has infused the music with quite enough emotion or individual flair.

A well-oiled machine that knows how to make good jazz. Would that it were great.

Q-South would be stuck in an ugly retro-metal loop if it weren't for one thing: the guitars are acoustic.

That doesn't entirely save the project. The songs are often overbearing and more than a little pretentious. Preachy kinda comes to mind. I do like the acoustic guitars a lot, and they add a nice texture to the slough of anthems on this disc.

But Q-South never quite breaks free from the overly urgent feeling that permeates the disc. a little variety would be nice, just as a breather. The band's relentless message of despair and pain simply loses impact in the end. I get tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.

I still like the idea, and there are a lot of good things happening. If Q-South could lighten up just a bit, I could really get into the band.

Yet another Bill Callahan album, produced by Callahan and (you guessed it) "Diamond Jim" O'Rourke. So the groundwork has been properly laid and you should know what you're getting into.

And following his recent trend, Callahan's songs are getting more and more fleshed out. In the notes for "Somewhere in the Night", he said, "Shoot me before I become Elvis Costello." Well, Bill, compared to the Smog of even a couple years, you're getting there faster than you might imagine.

But, of course, that relative judgment has nothing to do with reality. The songs are still brooding personal examinations, and even with the extra sides the sound is still decidedly low key. Gorgeously so, at times, as on "I Was a Stranger". That puppy has "monster hit single" written all over it, if of course, we lived in a universe where people appreciated good music.

Oh, more of my bitterness is creeping in here, and that's not fair. Maybe it's because I haven't been drinking as much lately. Maybe it's this whole moving thing. And now it's spilling over into a review of a great album. Stop it, now.

Hey, you knew I was going to love this puppy. The kind folks at Drag City knew I was going to love it. Hell, I had prejudicial knowledge that Bill Callahan is a pop music genius, and so I was predisposed to give this album a good review. But come on, now, the fact of the matter is this IS a great album. Don't just take my word for it. Take a chance and give Red Apple Falls a spin.

Where the other Throwrug release reviewed in this issue (The Great Brain) showcased the "old" Chicago sound, The Velour Motel is much more in the "Chicago sound" vein of Jim O'Rourke, Bill Callahan (Smog) and cohort.

A little punchier and less eclectic than those folks, but still in the area of low key pop music. There is serious attention paid to melody, and the songs do get closer to that Elvis Costello "mark" referred to in the Smog review.

But that doesn't mean this stuff can't be beautiful and haunting just the same. The Velour Motel has crafted a fine set of pop songs, brimming equally with fear and hope. The sound is a bit echo-filled, but that works well enough. The songs are intended to speak for themselves, and they tell wondrous tales.

Totally surprising. I reviewed this one right after the Smog, a tough act to follow. The Velour Motel filled in well. Hell, it knocked me out.

A band that resides not two hours from my soon-to-be-new stomping grounds in Pennsylvania. The quality makes feel pretty good.

Waiting for Rain plants a rootsy veneer over rambling punk-pop anthems. And sometimes distortion-soaked country music breaks out. Not unlike a heavier version of (early) Uncle Tupelo.

Great driving music (which I'll keep in mind on my 20-hour drive up north), the sort of stuff that simply makes me happy. Nothing complicated or difficult, just tuneful stuff that is a perfect fit for my musical sensibilities.

Precisely what they were thinking about with the REO cover is beyond me, but even that works reasonably well. Something special going on here.