Rather messy, disjointed rock music punctuated by the verbal abuse of the late Robert Winson. Winson's arrogant delivery and awesomely pretentious lyrics are perhaps the chief reason Bichos stands out.

The music is adventurous enough, though I get the feeling that sometimes the members are trying a bit too hard to sound different. Sometimes the meandering lines work, sometimes they don't. That's the be expected. But Winson's apocalyptic presence keeps this project alive.

Doors-y in that sense, I guess, though most folks wouldn't hear the connection. Bichos cycles through a gamut of musical ideas and moods, the playing good, if not great. I like the sense of discovery that pervades this disc. I can almost hear ideas getting uncovered on the fly. That's pretty cool.

All told, though, Bichos is a cult of a personality. Robert Winson's passing also marked the passing of Bichos, but this disc is a fine testimony to what is now gone.

The main problem with punk (hardcore, metalcore, whatever) live albums is that the bands aren't exactly known for innovation. That's not the point of the genre.

On the plus side, the songs are evenly chosen from the four Biohazard studio efforts, with a rendition of "After Forever" rounding things off. Also, there has been minimal post production work (with the exception of a fine mixing job), and that gives this disc a fine "live" sound. It's not hard to imagine the band playing this as I hear it.

But these are still rote performances with arrangements very similar to the original studio takes. Yeah, this stuff is rawer, and in some cases better played (particularly the stuff from the first album on Maze), but I don't see the point.

Well executed, probably as good as it could be. I'm just not sure why this exists in the first place.

What a dreadful mix. The bass is awfully low (what is there is lost in some serious echo), the middle range is nonexistent, and that leaves the drums sounding like an erratic machine. Okay, so this sounds like a crap black metal outing (though the music is strictly old school), but I can't imagine that was what was intended.

The songs are well-penned and strongly played (as near as I can tell). Dismember knows how to crank out fine extreme metal lines. But I'm still left wondering how the sound ended up this way. I mean, the band produced this thing.

What might have been a classic set of tunes is utterly wrecked by horrible post-production. I'm simply too pissed off to say much more. This is a textbook example of why some people are producers and some aren't. Yikes.

Cool pop music that generally does exactly what isn't expected. The a-side has a chorus that almost echoes the title, though not quite. The b-side combines a wispy ska beat with a bouncy Britpop bass and what sounds like Pianosaurus echoing somewhere in the background.

Too fun to really bitch about (that ska stuff is a tad annoying at first, though it wears well), the utter catchiness of the choruses is too much to get around. Sounds a lot like Squeeze recorded in lo-fi, with a lot of unidentified extraneous noise floating about. Or maybe that's just my needle.

Truly promising.

The press notes bandy about some pretty serious comparisons, with one caveat: Greg Garing sounds like nothing else on earth.

Alright, I must admit I've never heard something like this from a major label. And it is kinda cool to hear a nice standard-style country ballad like "Safe Within Your Arms" meshed with a cool, trip-hop beat style.

That's the main appeal here, pop-country music merged with one edge of the electronica style. It is pretty cool. There are Beck-like moments, though Garing seems to like his country leanings and doesn't rip on the music in a self-referencing style. And it is nice to hear a little bluegrass and honky-tonk stuff mixed in with the new.

Only one bummer: this puppy cost a nice bit to make, and the slick sound is just a bit much. I would have preferred a bit more of a mess, leaving the old-style sounds sounding that way to create a better contrast with the modern rhythm tracks. Still, for a first effort, this one's pretty strong.

German engineered, with a guitar sound I haven't heard since Bloodstar. Nice to hear it resurrected, and these folks do the whole KMFDM hardcore dance attack rather well.

Now, it isn't any more than that, and there's no way Girls Under Glass could be called trendsetting or groundbreaking. Still, the stuff is put together for maximum effect, and the results are nothing less than stunning.

Lovingly crafted, each song bears the stamp of hard work. The rhythms and melodies are simple, but the instrumentation is nicely complex, shifting sounds around from song to song. This stuff could have gotten dull quite quickly. That it didn't is a testament to the band.

Tasty, if not ultimately filling. Of course, that's the perfect recipe for some. As long as you're asking for more, Girls Under Glass should be enough.

A Dutch band that has studied melodic metal quite well. The guitar lines are right out of Helloween, and Joacim Cans' vocals sound a lot like a leaner version of Bruce Dickinson.

Speed and melody are equally treasured by HammerFall, and this incessant drive forward keeps the project tight and focused. The songs are all cut from the same sheet, but there's enough creativity to keep the sound lively.

Basically, this is one big load of fun. Everything is in its place, as would be expected, and HammerFall makes sure to drop in some seriously prodigious playing. Nothing over-the-top, but enough to get that rush going.

Retro and loving it. This sort of music can get pompous and overbearing in a heartbeat, and the band has done a good job keeping the lines simple and gorgeous. Albums like this are helping to bring about a new metal renaissance. And about time, too.

Not quite a year I reviewed something described as "the worst Bar Mitzvah band in the world." The band was Firewater, and I loved the album. Last issue I reviewed this band called Japonize Elephants, which sounded something like an Indian (the country) hoe-down. Hypnotic Clambake starts with a combination of those styles and then moves on out.

No, really. This album was recorded during a few shows last year (including, I believe, one just down the road from me in Lancaster). The first song clocks in at nearly 12 minutes, the second for more than nine. Not a way to sequence a "traditional" album, but then, as you might have guessed, Hypnotic Clambake doesn't truck much with tradition.

The easiest way to wrap your mind around this band would be to imagine just about every folk style of music (folk in the musicologist sense; i.e., bluegrass, zydeco, etc.), assume you're going to hear a bit of everything mixed into a solid rock or jazz base. Depending on the song. See if you can keep up.

And actually, Hypnotic Clambake is quite easy to grab on to. Like many of the live albums I've reviewed lately, the spontaneous energy captured outweighs any drawback in production value. And, honestly, the sound is pretty good. Hard to lose a smile when this stuff is on the stereo.

Trying very hard to be cerbral in both lyrics and sound, Idle flies through all sorts of concepts without really settling on much. Leaves me kinda breathless, though I'm not sure that's a good thing in this case.

At the core of each song is our friend, simple pop music. Verse, chorus, verse, chorus, bridge, chorus and fade. Idle likes to change the order of these things, drop in any number of extraneous sounds, varying levels of distortion and a new style for each song. I like the fertile idea camping ground, but in a quest for the unusual, Idle ends up saying nothing at all too much of the time.

The extremes of experimentation are quite interesting to hear, as long as you don't try to make sense of it. But since the general theory of pop involves a certain mindless appreciation, well, there's a bit of paradox. Which, of course, is a good thing.

Now I don't make any sense, either. See how this works? Anyway, Idle is way beyond my meager means of comprehension. There is simply too much here to pick up in one setting. Perhaps I'll really dig this after a couple of months. It's probably brilliant, even, and I'm just too dense to figure it out. Oh well. I do what I can.

Remember when They Might Be Giants performed with a tape deck? Remember that goofy, simple sound that was a lot more interesting than the full-on nerd rock procreated by that act today? Well, the Jongleurs don't sound exactly like that (think more of a sparse jazz sound, I guess), but the feel is similar.

This is one of those bands that likes to improvise and change things up a lot, which tends to make the studio recordings sound somewhat stilted. The Jongleurs has managed to avoid some of those problems with rather creative arrangements, but as amusing as the surrounding music is, the lyrics are rarely better than novelty status.

The emphasis is on the music, which is good because that part actually works. Not exactly jazz or rock or even something in-between, the Jongleurs have found an odd little musical niche that I've never quite heard before. Except to say that this sounds a lot like TMBG without sounding like TMBG. I'm sure that makes a ton of sense.

I'd encourage these folks to stick with the music and give up on trying to fuse vocals to it. If that were to happen, well, I might really dig this.

Kuprij plays various sorts of keyboards. Other than that, this is an instrumental guitar album. Lots of focus on pyrotechnics and not much attention paid to things like songwriting or heartfelt playing.

Indeed, the most interesting moments are when Greg Howe (the producer here) kicks in a few tasty, yet refined, licks of his own. The keyboards and piano lines are heavy into showing off. Personally, I don't care all that much.

Is it impressive that Kuprij can play this? Sure. I can't. But the second half of artistry is making a statement, and I can't find any real heart in any of the songs. Simply a big (okay, real big) doughnut. Nothing in the middle.

Some stuff BMG UK has had its hands on for a while (about half the tracks on the album date back to 1993), but since us yanks have just gotten around to appreciating this stuff we so brilliantly call "electronica" (wasn't there a dreadful New Order side project by the same name?), Lionrock finds its way to our shores now.

Which is, in general, a good thing. It would have been better if this simply came over when it was made, but, well, we can't have everything. Justin Robertson crafts beats and sample structures as well as anyone, the results often catchy but still somewhat disconcerting. Even when merely a backdrop for rap/spoken vocals, the music stands up well.

Robertson leaves enough organic material in the mix to keep the sound from getting too sterile, but he's a big fan of techno beats, so there's always something electronic assaulting the ears. A nice mix, really.

Along with the main album is a second disc of singles and remixes. While not as vital as the main disc, this is a nice treat. There's the ubiquitous Chemical Brothers remix (is there a band those boys haven't touched?) and plenty of other interesting goodies. Okay, so this stuff is trendy these days. It can still be damned good.

Okay, so the Lilith Fair is the big concert hit of the summer, and this album sold 160,000 copies its first week in release (more than all of the 400-something other albums I've reviewed this year put together) and hit #2 in the process. It's not like this puppy needs my (or anyone else's) help. Still, It showed up in my box, and I figure I'll rattle off a couple of thoughts.

McLachlan's strength has always been in appreciating much more diverse music than she herself performs. This sounds stupid, but very few have figured it out. McLachlan has performed with a wide range of producers and musicians, often getting little credit. And her albums have always been stuck somewhere in Suzanne Vega land, though even the most demanding of my friends can find at least once song per album that works for them. That's the secret: Incorporating lots of little bits without losing your own personal vision.

This current success shouldn't be surprising, as her last album, Fumbling Toward Ecstasy yielded a slew of hits and sold millions of copies. A big question might have been whether she could hit again. Well, the monster success of the tour probably answered that question, but this album leaves no doubt. The songs are well-penned, with lush, yet restrained, arrangements. After all, the main focus here is McLachlan's voice, which is in as fine form as always.

I'm tired of big name acts who score big numbers with shit albums. Sarah McLachlan deserves every bit of her success, and Surfacing is simply further proof.

One thing Dr. Frank and the boys have never been terribly good at doing is pick singles. Oh, the a-side is jaunty enough, but nothing great. Basic MTX which, while pretty good, isn't earth shaking.

The flip contains a duet with Kim Shattuck of the Muffs, doing a version of "Don't Go Breaking My Heart". Simply a runthrough, not even up to standards. A bummer, really.

"You Alone" almost makes up for the rest, but it's real short and no matter how good it is, it's still the last song on the single. I'm sure the album is just fine, but I wouldn't go out of my way for this slab of vinyl.

I had kinda gotten the idea that Fat Possum was a blues label, but the Neckbones are punk through and through. No complaints about that, by the way. I was just clearing the air.

Now, there is a good chunk of wildly distorted slide guitar work, and some of the songs seem to have a call and response thing going on, but then, so do some Weezer songs.

God, where did that reference come from? Jesus. Anyway, the playing is very sloppy, the production even more so, making it almost a miracle that any of this is recognizable. My main complaint is the songwriting, which isn't terribly interesting from either a musical or lyrical standpoint (man, I've been complaining about lyrics a lot, haven't I?). The band's infectious energy carries this puppy, but there isn't much substance on which to stand.

Close enough for rock and roll. Or the blues. But just barely, in either case.

This puppy is quite bulked up when compared to his album of a couple years back. More of that American Pantallica style, though merged with the rather overloaded sound that catapulted Norum and his mates in Europe to fame some years back.

I like this sound a little better, but Norum still sounds like a diva in search of a sound. His chops as singer and guitarist are good enough, but he really doesn't seem to have much to say in his songs.

But he's headed in the right direction most of the time on this album. It's a notch better than Another Destination, though that's not really saying a whole lot, and songs like "Where the Grass Is Green" bring to mind the most insipid moments of his old band.

Another reference I'm getting is White Lion. The third album. The one that no one wanted to hear. Maybe this is a bit more worthwhile than that, but I'm not going out on a limb or anything.

One of the last releases for Discovery, which will soon be folded into Sire. Another one of those major label reshuffling things. I'm not sure if the association with Antone's will continue, but this is the best from that pipeline I've heard.

This is live, with few overdubs that I can discern. The acoustic guitars sound full, not tinny. The fiddle has a nice wail. Price's voice is nice and husky, with just a hint of smoothness. There's a reason for that "whiskey-soaked" reference. She sounds a bit like Patty Griffin, which is high praise from me.

The songs themselves are updated honky-tonk folk, with a healthy dose of the blues. The pain rings true, and the joy resounds. There's some real emotional playing and singing here. It's been a while since I've heard such a raw and impassioned performance anywhere.

Fully satisfying. This is one of those live albums that sounds alive and personal. Price can bellow or whisper, with equal impact. A true artist.

Mitchell Rasor's got a big bag of tunes, and he won't be satisfied until I hear each and every one of them.

Eighteen, and not one sounds significantly like another. Rasor bounds about, riffing ethereal pop here, driving funk there and lots of colors of rock in between. He's got an inerring instinct for tight musical grooves, and he feels no need to fuck with a good thing. In fact, many songs consist of one groove, with little or no vocal help. Bravo!

I'm not sure if he's trying to make a statement about anything (more likely, everything, I guess), but this intensely personal album is a wonder and a joy to hear. It sounds like he wrote and recorded whatever was on his mind at the moment, and that off-hand style is precisely what this stuff needs. The album is so natural sounding, it's often hard to believe that this was even recorded.

Pretty damned fine. Rasor has a handle on what he wants to say and how to say it. To call this astonishing is to traffic in understatement.

A truly bizarre sound. All of the instruments and vocals have been modulated to sound like plates of tin, distorted, but way on the treble side. The band then proceeds to flail away through all sorts of punk-pop stuff (with the odd emo sidetrack).

The songwriting is alright, though at times it is really hard to hear what's going on. And yet, I kinda like this noise. No way a major label would release this sort of thing (they'd probably put out a contract on the producer), but it works fairly well here. Not as a distraction, really, but more of an integral part of the process.

The best pieces involve a goth-like synth overlay with morose lyrics. This kinda butts heads with the punky stuff, but Shadows of Me is able to make sense of it all. Most of the time, anyway. And that's good enough.

One of the more unusual albums I've heard in a while. It seems odd to say so, because the band is aimed in fairly traditional directions. Amazing what some direction behind the boards can do.

Cool, assured pop, with liner blurb from the senior editor of High Society. Bad taste? Irony? Blatant humor? Who knows.

I only mentioned the blurb because it was actually pretty funny and fit the sound of the band rather well. Alright, so this is very much by-the-numbers. It's got enough around the edges to keep me occupied and intrigued.

And here is one album in this issue with nicely incisive lyrics (hallelujah!). Yes, yes, that's what this sort of music is supposed to have, but folks seem to have been forgetting that lately.

It's kinda strange. I feel like saying this isn't anything particularly special, but I liked it lots. I guess both can be true.

Tenderloin was one of the first Lawrence bands to get the major record deal, and it's one of the last to still have one. Probably has something to do with the fact that Ernie and the boys play a version of the blooze an' boogie (they cover an early ZZ Top tune here) and not grunge.

Funny coincidence: Tenderloin once recorded a song called "Time Bomb", and now it's on Time Bomb. Coincidence? Dunno. Anyway, my memories of this band go all the way back to a predecessor known as the Sin City Disciples.

That act recorded some stuff for Headhunter, but never quite made it big. Still, it was a lot of fun to get loaded at the Blue Note and place money on when Big Ernie would next edge his jeans down the crack of his ass. Good sport, and always a great time.

This album is pretty good, but nothing near as much fun as the show, which is one thing Tenderloin has in common with the Disciples. The riffs get a bit clunky, and Ernie gets a little too excited about roughing up his voice for the next holler. And, honestly, these songs were made to played live. They sound okay here, but let me assure you, they'll kick ass down at the pub.

Completely twisted pop music, the sort of stuff that would appeal to fans of Heavy Vegetable and (now) Thingy. The guitar lines are fluid and eternally moving, sometimes even having something to do with the rest of the chaos. The tunes are generally upbeat and loony-sounding. Sounds like a recipe for greatness.

Well, this stuff is a bit simplistic compared to Rob Crow's compositions, but the spirit is similar. The choruses are wonderfully catchy, and when interspersed with the verses (which generally consist of instrumental licks, strictly speaking) create a sorta evolving chaos effect.

More scrambling of the brainwaves, I'm afraid. Still, I can't think of a better way to describe Toenut. On one hand, an unholy racket, and on the other, woefully pretty stuff. The paradox of my dreams.

Mordant and masterful. I wouldn't want to be in the head that conceived this, but I'm happy to listen to the results.