The two songwriters for Artension recently released solo works. Keyboardist Vitalij Kuprij writes the music, and singer John West crafts the vocal lines and lyrics. I liked West's solo album better, mostly because it was looser.

And Artension, as a band, sounds a lot like a loose prog rock outfit. While Kuprij may have been a little keys happy on his solo album, he gives plenty of meaty parts to the other members of the band, and West's soaring, anthemic vocals have a classic Euro-metal feel. The music is well textured, with fine performances by everyone.

The production leaves a bit of a technical sheen, but there are enough muddy spots to keep the sound from sounding artificial. Once again, Artension has scored another good album.

Yeah, it helps to have a jones for stuff like Uriah Heep, Mountain, Fates Warning and Iron Maiden (different eras, but still). Of course, I do, and I know lots of folks who share this affliction. Artension feeds the need well.

As promised, the review of the full-length tape. The music is a bit more hippie pop than the blues exhibited on the seven-inch, but Lisa Leilani Kekaula's jazz-inflected vocals are still impressive.

I definitely prefer the stuff I heard last time out. The music sounds somewhat rote, with little spark. I don't think this style properly shows off Kekaula's voice or the talent of the band. Of course, this tape also suffers terribly from "demo-itis", which makes it kinda hard to hear what's going on much of the time.

The seven-inch is much better. Since this tape is pretty old, I hope the band has moved more in that direction. This isn't up to what I expected.

Laid-back folk-rock with more than a twinge of classic country touches. The songs roll off almost effortlessly, though they have a much larger impact. This is potent stuff.

Binion thanks the Indigo Girls in the liners, and she also uses the first person personal. The music is nicely crafted, but not excessively thought out. Don't make it more complicated than it is.

My personal favorite tracks are the ones that feature Wally Murphy on pedal steel guitar, "Abilene" and the title song. They're classic country songs, the kind you could have heard on clear-channel AM stations 40 years ago. Immaculately presented, too.

There is a temptation for some to spice up this sort of music, cranking out something that might be a little more palatable to the general public. Seems most folks are almost embarrassed to embrace the sparseness. Whatever. Binion and her producers left things as they should be, shining the light on her formidable songwriting and singing skills. Fine work.

This puppy sounds a lot better (in all sorts of ways) than the album I reviewed last spring. For starters, it was recorded in a studio, and the music sounds like it was played by fairly competent musicians. Hell, the singing is even in tune as often as not. This is a throbbing, caterwauling sound compared to the fairly minimalist feel of the last album.

What hasn't changed is the brilliance of the music. The influences remain the same (that whole Big Star thing and its predecessors, for starters), but this collection of songs is much more sophisticated and crafted. Amazingly, my reaction is the same.

Usually when people do a quick shave-and-shit, I detect a definite level of self-censorship and loss of creativity. Not here. Not now. While I don't think the scope has increased, there's plenty of room for exploration, and the Brian Jonestown Massacre plumbs every crevice.

And still wacky as all get out. This is an album that should attract a huge amount of attention. All of the extraneous details that were lacking last time out have been corrected, and yet the Brian Jonestown Massacre still sounds wonderful. Something amazing is going on here.

Mixing the noise metal of Eyehategod with the metalcore drum grooves of Pro-Pain, Damaged kicks out some serious rhythm-laden goo. And they're Australian to boot (as if that means anything).

I'm already getting cute, and that's one thing Damaged is not. This is sludgy stuff that probably would have been called death metal a couple years back, though it's more like Buzzov*en than Incantation. And while the drums have been mastered to a strange, artificial quality, those skins power the songs.

Everything else kinda revolves around that percussive center, sometimes actually even cooperating with the other instruments. Often enough, though, anarchy reigns. I'm not opposed.

A glorious mess. I think the band should, you know, act like a band and play as a unit a bit more than actually happens, but the resulting cesspool is still fun to play with. I can only imagine the live show.

Back from the dead? Well, not exactly. Scott Burns' increasingly technical style of production does help clean this mess up a bit, but I'm not sure that's what Glen Benton really wants. Tight songwriting and ace playing are not hallmarks of Deicide.

But, actually, the more precise hand has helped. The songs are still repetitive and not terribly interesting, but at least I can hear what's going on. Benton has cleaned up his vocal style somewhat to the level that a few folks can understand what he's saying without the benefit of a lyric sheet. And the playing is at least proficient (most of the time)

I still have this feeling that it's too little too late. Deicide ruled in a time when image was everything, and now that this genre has fallen out of favor with most of the disaffected youth, the band has to rely on actual musical chops. There aren't enough.

From a technical standpoint, this is the best Deicide album ever. That's still not saying much.

Extremely hooky Aussie pop. DM3 has included 20 (yeah, 20) songs, all of which seem to have an astonishing ear for achingly gorgeous music.

The band whips out all sorts of different styles, though I'd say there is some serious devotion to Radio City ("Speed Freak" is awful close to "Back of a Car", and that's just fer starters). There are also plenty of references to Elvis Costello and other pop icons. These guys have done their homework.

The sound is nice and punchy, with a little grit where it's called for. Mitch Easter and the band did a terrific job. The playing is rather joyous, completing all the requirements for pop nirvana. DM3 has this stuff down.

This could have been split into two albums, and no one would have minded putting out the cash. Pop that's hard to turn off. Top notch, period.

Yet another band trying to be the next Oasis, which was the next Blur, which was the next... you get the idea. Following the current trends well enough, Elcka trips out nicely textured pop anthems. Sounds a lot like Tears for Fears just before everything got out of hand.

And I'm sure that makes for some fans across the ocean. While I have to admit the songs are well-written and perfectly performed, there's something missing. Soul, perhaps? I dunno. I just can't find a personal handle to this stuff.

Three songs is not enough to really get a handle on a band. Elcka certainly has the musical ambition and arrogance required to do great things. Time will tell as to whether or not the guys will make it big.

Wonderfully schizophrenic, the Elevator Drops flit about playing whatever sort of song they like. The first three songs are, in order: an Abba-esque groovehound, slash-and-burn garage pop and a moody ballad. To call these folks conceptual is an understatement.

Now, a lot of these tunes are damned close to their inspirations (tell me "Proto" wasn't taken directly from the Sweet), but there's enough variation to keep them safe, both artistically and legally. And the Elevator Drops bounce about stylistically so much it's hard to complain about a similarity here and there.

As would be expected, the sound on this disc is utterly precise. The band has so many ideas, the man behind the board has to be unobtrusive while he brings out the best in the songs. That's what happened.

The biggest surprise is that this is an LA band. Never mind that often enough the lead vocals have a distinct Brit accent or that this sort of sonic mayhem is usually perpetrated by them overseas types. This is a glorious domestic product. One we should be happy to export.

Not the noise band Gravy, but THE Gravy, a cool fuzz-pop band. The generic alt-pop formula, with Led Zeppelin-esque guitar distortion abounding. Not as weird as you might think.

It sure helps that the Gravy writes songs that work with their playing style. And there are some nice editing bits that undercut the bombastic throbbing, proving that these guys have a fine sense of humor as well.

The songs' construction is very basic, usually centered around a single riff or melodic idea. Once that's established, the songs moves on from there, generally coming back to the starting point. Nicely elliptical, with enough experimentation and little bits to keep the music moving along.

An awesome production job as well, providing plenty of echo, reverb and distortion on the guitars and balancing that with the rest of the band. This puppy comes together very well.

Same formula as last time. Each wrote five songs, producing the backing track and solo for his work and then sending the tapes over to the other for finishing solo work. If you're really curious, Greg's always on the left, and Richie's always on the right.

And as before, this somewhat antiseptic form of collaboration works really well. You really don't need to flip your balance to figure out who is playing what, either. Howe is a big fan of effects and unusual guitar sounds, while Kotzen sticks to a more basic sound. Of course, their playing styles are markedly different as well.

The most fascinating moments come when both are playing the same lick. That is when I did play with my knobs, hearing the different ways Howe and Kotzen approached the same lines. But even such intellectual pursuits did not keep me from enjoying this work.

These guys do better work together than they do alone. Howe inspires Kotzen to get a bit more cerebral, and Kotzen forces Howe to find an emotional edge in his sound. This isn't just another guitar god album. It's great music as well.

Generally moody roots-pop. These folk don't truck much with sticking to a coherent sound, swerving from a grunge groove to bouncy acoustic guitar strumming without missing a beat.

A little rote for my taste. While the music does wander all over the place, the songs stick pretty well within accepted norms. Not a lot of tinkering going on. And while the band is obviously quite competent, I simply wish there was a bit more of a spark.

I sure like the way the songs move about, though. And Howle has a fine bluesy alto that works well with the music. I have the same complaint about the lyrics (a bit too cliche-ridden for my taste), but the execution is very good.

It's time for Howle and the Tantrums to forget everything they've learned and just cut loose. The results just might be stunning.

The Johansson brothers wrote and played most of the music, with avant-garde guitar troubadour Allan Holdsworth adding more than his two cents worth. Not quite prog rock, not quite jazz and certainly not fusion, this project has captured precisely why it's a good idea to let talented people do their thing and ask questions later.

I've often been a critic of technical brilliance achieved at the expense of emotion. That's not a problem here. Jens and Holdsworth trade off pyrotechnic solos, but always within the speed and precision is an artists ear for expression. Anders lays down a fine rhythmic base (and helps out with many of the peripherals as well), and the rest seems to have fallen into place.

This is very much an assembled-in-the-studio album, and form time to time the sound gets a bit too artificial-sounding for my tastes. But I'm willing to accept some more of that if it brings me the exquisite sounds and ideas contained here.

This is really the sort of album I generally don't like. Guys who like to show off their skills, tossing virtuoso performances one after the other and calling it a song. But the trio has gone beyond the call of duty, crafting a coherent and exciting album. I'm always happy to be surprised like this.

Okay, so this is way overproduced. The artificially-induced thickness wears a bit, but come on, these folks know how to make power pop tunes. And once you filter out the cheese, it's easy to hear the great songs underneath.

Of course, this is a sound right up my alley. And I've always been a sucker for female vocals on top of heavy chords. Kay Hanley has a good range, and easily avoids the whole baby doll vocal cliche that is somehow still in vogue.

Throwaway? Yeah, maybe, but the stuff is so tight and pretty, I can't eat just one. This is a summer album, to be sure, but I'll take it in the fall if that's how it has to show up. And anyway, since this seems to be the next big thing (yes, it seems pop is actually Pop again), I guess the big boys want to crank their best stuff out during the Christmas shopping season.

What? Marketing involved in the release of a major label album? Duh. And despite the really wretched excessive production, this puppy is pretty damned good. I like this band a bit more stripped down, but I guess I'll have to get in to see a show sometime.

McClinton has been around forever. Like Buddy Holly, he was raised in Lubbock and recorded in the 50s. But while he's recorded umpteen albums and written for and worked with just about everyone in the blues and country circuits, he's never had a big hit album. This puppy follows the well-worn formula for Grammy, and then popular, success.

Like what Silvertone has done for John Lee Hooker of late, the money went out and favors were called in, finding a wealth of special guests. Everyone from B.B. King, John Prine and Mavis Staples to Lyle Lovett, Patty Loveless and Vince Gill adds a touch to the proceedings. And there are plenty more famous folks where those six came from.

No skimping on the basic studio band, either, with Benmont Tench, Jim Keltner, Hutch Hutchinson, Steuart Smith, Bill Cambell and Reese Wynans cranking out each groove. The songs are basic Delbert McClinton, which lies somewhere amongst country, blues and gospel. Probably not his best stuff, but good enough to allow his buddies to shine along with him.

I know, I know, this thing is a calculated stab at greatness. I don't think the songs are quite strong enough, and there is a bit of the cheese factor running throughout, but on the whole, I'd say McClinton has a winner. Whether Rising Tide can spend enough on advertising to influence the Grammy folks, well, that remains to be seen.

Extremely pretentious stuff, with lots of syncopated rhythms and echo effects. Almost as if Miracle Mile is trying to convince me that this stuff is really as important as it wants to sound. Well, it doesn't work.

I've gotta admit that the performances are quite good. The playing is expert, and Jonn Ross's vocals are dead solid perfect for this sorta thing. It's just that the lyrics don't have enough to say. It's not that they're terribly oblique or anything, I just find them hollow in the middle.

On the other hand, if you like moody, angst-ridden music, then Miracle Mile has enough to supply us until the millennium. I guess I wish there was something past the music.

Hey, they took a shot. It's really hard to pull through on a mission like this, and Miracle Mile did manage to craft good music for the occasion. I just wish the lyrics could keep pace. With all the musical build-up, that let-down is pretty disappointing.

The EP I reviewed last time out actually came out after this, and the folks were kind enough to send me the full-length predecessor along. And now I understand the band better.

Too bad, really, because what I liked about the EP isn't here. That meticulous editing amongst the acoustic work was just remixing, I guess. These songs are generally straightforward moody, noisy roots rock (emo country? maybe). And while that's not awful, it isn't the revolutionary stuff I heard before.

There are cool bits like "Rebuilding the Ancestral Statue" (which is also on the EP), but most songs are anything but unusual. Fairly decent and all, but nothing to get excited about.

I know, my adverse reaction come from liking the weird stuff on the EP so much, but honestly, I wouldn't have given this much notice had I not heard that disc. Somewhat better than average, but not too distinctive.

Truly gothic soundscapes. The six songs average over eight minutes in length, and they're worth every second. Great care has gone into crafting these exquisite explorations into the potential of sound, and perhaps more importantly, the sonic potential of silence.

Lots of empty spaces. This is a truly three-dimensional sound, occupied by all sorts of thoughts and beings. It doesn't take much impetus to leap past the material world and lurch into this one, searching out nooks and crannies in an attempt to get away from it all.

And even if you don't go that far, this is achingly beautiful stuff. The sort of album that makes morbid people ecstatic. Just the way the sounds emerge from the fog and then retreat sends shivers.

I've always liked sound construction albums, and this is one of the best I've heard. Wonderfully evocative songs. It's way to easy to get lost within. Returning is only one option.

Well, yeah, another DJ type crafting some sparsely populated electronic universe. Slater is tougher than most, filtering even organic elements through synthesizers, leaving a totally dry and dispassionate feel.

And he's not much for straightforward songs. His general mode of construction is to ride one element for a while, add another and so forth. The song builds by accumulation, not due to any inertia. This guy knows his Kraftwerk.

While I like the sounds he gets, Slater isn't moving through uncharted waters. He's kinda treading water in a nice swimming hole. There's nothing wrong with that, of course, but I guess I'd like to hear something I haven't before.

Not many folks are making music this sterile these days. And to give Slater credit, this stuff sits pretty well against the German stuff of the 70s. It's just that we're now in 1997, and some evolution would be nice.

Metallized punk pop from England, complete with those whiny upper-register vocals that seem to be a staple over there. The songs are extremely basic, most often with some sort of cheap humor element. And yet, they're reasonably amusing.

With the emphasis on reasonably. This stuff gets grating very quickly, and while I could probably take (and enjoy) the odd track on a mix tape or the radio, I can't stand an entire album's worth. I guess my patience is wearing thin in my old age.

Or whatever. This is disposable music, which even the band admits when it says "We record albums to promote our tours". If that's good enough for them, who am I to complain?

Ten years ago I ate this stuff up and came back for seconds. I've always thought my tastes became somewhat more sophisticated. Perhaps I'm just an old fart. I'd better stop before I get too depressed.

Is that a guitar or just a random fuzz machine? Boy, if you've got a thing for distortion that wipes out riffs, Zoomer is your band. And the funny thing is that there's also this fuzzy keyboard that's laid over the top, facilitating the bouncy pop stuff that the band traffics in.

It all works together with a drum machine (or heavily processed drums, I can't quite tell) to create a strange but fascinating sound. The more I listen, the more I'm entranced.

These guys are monster T. Rex fans (there's more than one riff stolen, and the basic tracks were laid down in "Slider Studios", though that may just be a fortunate coincidence), and while that helps explain the fuzz levels, I'm at a loss as to why this stuff has such a sugary base.

All that is cut down by the sound tricks, but at the core, this is cheesy pop. Nothing wrong with that, and honestly, these guys do a good job ripping out the sound. Definitely worth a spin. And if you give it a minute, you'll be hooked.