If you were to make an equilateral triangle comprising U2, the Chills and Pavement and trisect it, Absinthe Blind might be sitting there at the union point. Unless I've completely forgotten my geometry terminology and I just created some sort of vector black hole thingy.

Anyway, this is alt-pop stuff with a minimalist approach to melody and an affection for sweeping, atmospheric settings. Fans of Seam would probably dismiss this as a primitive attempt at ultimate flattery, but I'm quite a bit more charitable. Absinthe Blind is able to undercut its epic excess with some nice sleight-of-hand in the booth, and the lyrics certainly aren't afraid of expressing emotions.

Indeed, for all the musical mess, the sparsely-worded lyrics slash through any grandiose visions of pompous arrogance. This disc represents a band tackling basic philosophical problems (both intellectual and musical), with varying success. A worthy ride, nonetheless.

I get a little tired of the relentless use of the ironic morose backbeat (think about it, and maybe listen to any R.E.M. album), but there are enough fresh ideas here to keep me coming back around time and again.

I was rather intrigued by this band's self-released disc when I heard it almost two years ago. Spacey prog stuff that purported to be mostly improvised. While I've never been particularly enamored of "jam" albums, the sense of adventure obviously possessed by this band is hard to overcome.

Indeed, I was impressed despite myself. Since I knew what to expect here, I was rather keen to hear what the folks had come up with this time. Much of the same would be a cool trip to the outer limits of normal music, and that's what's here. Alright, so the lyrics ("largely composed on the spot") are as obtuse and somewhat silly as before. Some folks like simple mantras, which is the basic lyric form here.

The music, on the other hand, is the real treat. Yeah, it's three guys with various synthesizers, guitar-type thingies and the occasional skin-type drums (with few overdubs) playing whatever comes into their collective mind at the time. It's just that that particular collective is rather fertile.

The intent behind improvised albums is to find a certain air of discovery. That usually doesn't happen, though. Beyond-O-Matic is an outfit that does deliver. A real trip, in many senses of the word.

Quite a while back I heard an EP these boys split with Warzone. Cause for Alarm's energy and creativity (at least with the hardcore milieu) blew the geezers away.

This disc presents 11 reasons why folks should pay attention. Okay, so the boys lose the groove more often than a dull needle, running through unnecessary tempo and stylistic changes within songs. That is a hardcore hallmark, and I guess we have to live with it.

The guitars utilize many different sounds, and the songs themselves are well-crafted (probably a bit too much). Cause for Alarm continues to impress, even if there is work to be done. If the guys can make their songs a bit more coherent, well, a classic album could be the result.

Still, a good album. One that shows a ton of potential. Nothing to make me strike Cause for Alarm from the list of comers.

Editor's note: Many years later, when I burned this CD into my iTunes, I discovered that the songs on this CD were not, in fact, a Doughnuts album. My ears were correct!

Or maybe not. The album that was actually on this CD (there must have been a mistake at the factory; this was pretty common in the dark old days) was Refused's Songs to Fan the Flames of Discontent. And while it wasn't as good as what was to come from that band, my offhand review here was also miles off base.

You win some, you lose some. . .

Much more straightforward than their first EP. In fact, I can't even tell that this is the same band. This Doughnuts plays basic sludgy hardcore and is fronted by a new singer. I don't have the benefits of liners or any such information, but all of the voices on this puppy sound male(and I'm generally pretty good at discerning that sorta thing, even with hardcore).

For all the messiness, I liked the old disc better. This is simply retread city, riffs I've heard a thousand times and lyrics that aren't much more original. Surprisingly bad, really, considering how much music creativity oozed from the EP. I don't know where it went, but it's not on this disc.

This is pretty inexplicable. Actually, the stuff sounds a lot more like a bad version of Earth Crisis than the Doughnuts I'm familiar with. Very weird.

Continuing the commercialization of its classic sound, Entombed slashes out another load of hook-heavy metal riffage. A lot closer to Iron Maiden on steroids than death metal (though L.G. Petrov's vocals are still thick enough), this stuff has a nice Euro-metal feel with plenty of aggro for the kids.

It's cheesy, sure, and probably will scare off the mass market types (so as to piss off both sides of the pill), but what the hell. It sure is fun to take the ride.

The production is treble and bass heavy (with a big drop-off in the middle ranges), which leads to a very thick tinny sound. It works, oddly, mostly in that it most easily differentiates this from, say, early White Zombie (and yes, it wouldn't be hard to slide this album into that territory).

Goofy, sure, but still with a hell of a wallop. I have no idea who will buy this, but it's amusing enough for me. The future? I wouldn't bet on a long one.

Most Drag City releases are of the quiet and intense variety. Or perhaps raucous and loopy. But rarely noisy and harsh. Flying Saucer Attack does follow well-worn Drag City path: the crafting of awe-inspiring music.

The songs themselves are generally mellow pop bits, but they lie beneath imposing layers of electronic pulses and white noise. These upper layers provide most of the rhythm, and they also all but wipe out everything else.

Almost is the operative word. Yes, it's a challenge to decipher. The act of listening isn't a passive activity, and to get the full effect, some work must be performed. No one said the life of a music fan was easy.

As for me, I kinda like the overlaid stuff. Being a serious noise fan, the effect somewhat hypnotizes me, taking me to cool space deep inside my warped mind where I'm watching the new People's Court as Ed Koch sentences Kenny G to death for crimes against humanity.

Now that's good music!

Taking the whole minimalist hardcore approach one step beyond, Guilt didn't even bother to name the six tracks on this EP. Much on like the Bardstown Ugly Box album, Guilt takes the basics of hardcore (strident riffage, a somewhat anthemic style of song construction and rather pretentious lyric themes) and transmogrifies the whole mess into something almost new.

Actually, this EP is a bit more accessible, with a somewhat more melodic approach. Just a hair in that direction, though. The stuff is still definitely on the heavy edge.

I still hear a few too many musical cliches for my taste, but Guilt has the right idea: use the good stuff and try to build something new. The process hasn't been perfected yet here, but I can hear definite progress.

And, hell, once you get past the silly conceptual stuff I'm pushing here, the easiest reaction is to merely turn up the volume and fully participate. Not a bad idea at all.

A somewhat leaner approach to the anthemic hippie funk stuff that attempted to supplant glam as the dominant metal sound in the late 80s. Didn't work then, but the trendsters managed to mutate this idea into what turned into the commercial form of grunge.

And so Icos comes across as sounding almost authentic, even as it traffics in well-worn riffs and musical ideas. Each song is an anthem, and that gets old real quick. Icos works fairly hard to mix the sounds up, but in general this is pretty lame stuff.

Sharply produced, certainly good enough to find itself pushed by a major label. And, actually, that sheen is one reason I can't dig this. Too much emphasis put on craft (both in the booth and in playing) than on writing worthwhile songs.

I've heard a bunch of albums just like this one. And many of them had better songs. Icos sounds like a coldly calculated shot at success. Hey, I know folks have to make a buck, but I'm in the business of looking for musical merit. And there isn't much here.

Buoyant, bashing pop that gets to the point in a hurry. The 16 songs clock in at 39 minutes total, which doesn't allow for much past three chords and a lot of attitude.

The title of the album says it all, really. This is a power pop album that relies on clever lyrics and rote song structure. And while the bounce never leaves the Interpreters' steps, I'd like to hear just a bit of subtlety and variance between the songs.

Completely absent. Every song is about the same tempo and the same dynamic level (pretty fast and very loud). It's so bad that the semi-whispered singing for "Teacher" sounds almost innovative. It's actually really hackneyed.

Not so much bad as simply overdone. This is pop music for people without brains, folks who get confused when a song doesn't sound like all the others on an album. The problem is probably as much with the label's expectations as anything, but whatever the reason, this album fails to take off. There's a whale of potential, but it's buried under the excess.

Louisville has a reputation for fostering bands that take a simple idea and make things very complicated (Guilt, reviewed in this issue, and the legendary Rodan flit to the top of my brain, though Slint is probably the band that started this whole notion). King Kong does the same thing, by taking loose pop music and driving it to annoyingly cloying and catchy extremes.

The songs are cleverly written, with some of the loonier lyrics to find themselves accompanying a tune. Ethan Buckler's voice is addictively aggravating (he sings almost atonally, but that almost makes all the difference), and then when Amy Greenwood chimes in with her (relatively) perfect voicings, the whole package seems far too incongruous to actually be escaping the speakers.

The music itself is nothing special, just a constantly moving accompaniment for the lyrical chaos, but it works so well it's hard to work up much in the way of complaints. The sound is generally lite pop, with the occasional heavy fuzz guitar lick. Lots of organ, with leaves the stuff sounding something like a cross between Love and those cheesy 60s movie soundtracks.

On the mellow tip, obviously. As you might be able to tell, I've never been able to explain why I like King Kong. Perhaps the quirkiest band in the world, King Kong is simply one of my vices. This album actually relies on the band a bit more than others, but there's no way escaping Buckler's rolling, droning observations. Highly recommended, but certainly an acquired taste.

Subtitled "Vegas jazz and Latin lounge", and I can't really come up with a better description. The odd thing is that while I really can't stand the vast majority of this loungecore thing that's far too popular (and if I have to hear the Squirrel Nut Zippers ever again, I will kill), this stuff is earnest and goofy enough to keep me on my good side.

The playing is generally understated, but still quite good. The band is at its best when being a band and skipping the whole vocal thing, mostly because it's the songs with singing that really drop into the annoying category.

In fact, the cleverness of the "Pussy Galore Meets James Bond" medley and the swinging brilliance "Eso No Es Na" (neither written by the band, obviously) really capture the best of what these guys have to offer.

Originals with titles like "Pass the Cous Cous" give an idea of the band's somewhat whimsical approach, and that's what keeps me reasonably happy. I'm still not a fan of this trend, but at least the Last of the International Playboys are in this for the right reason: to make good music.

Featuring former members of Apparatus, this project delves deeply into experimental electronic caverns. Not really ambient, Liquid Sex Decay proffers its ideas in a deliberate fashion, as though ushering them with great care.

Much like Apparatus, Liquid Sex Decay prefers to move through all sorts of electronic sounds, from ethereal and ambient to techno and even some industrial guitar moments. The results are generally good, though sometimes the final sound seems oddly lightweight. Perhaps that's a result of the very trebly-heavy mix; I don't know.

Indeed, this disc is basically the follow-up to Apparatus, although marginally more conceptual. The thing is, I don't get off on it quite as much. This is good stuff for the most part, but it doesn't knock me out.

I like the use of diverse electronic influences, but the end product doesn't break out ahead of the pack. Better than average, to be sure, but with plenty of room for growth.

With a whine that falls somewhere between Alanis and Jewel, Holly McNarland works herself up into a full frenzy. Unlike last year's EP, the music here is competently executed. The songs move along at a nice pace and don't wallow in so much self-indulgent crap as before.

And way too much more. This puppy was produced to outperform the new Alanis album (you'll recognize plenty of the same cheap bullshit tricks), and who knows, it might even be better. That doesn't mean McNarland has come close to actually recording a good album.

Another one of those albums calculated for success. Hell, it might work, I mean, Tiffany sold more than 10 million albums, as did the execrable Ms. Morrisette. Don't ask me to like it. I can't get this thing out of the discer fast enough.

NOFX made its reputation on the road, but along the way the guys figured out how to craft some fine punk. This album is easily the band's most energetic since S&M Airlines, and I'd have to say this puppy is likely the band's best album, as well.

The formula is simple: Riff through most of the different sorts of punk (ska, hardcore, pop, etc.), with an eye toward screeching melodies (no one ever accused Fat Mike of really singing), with plenty of oozin' ahs. Oh, and don't forget the odd trumpet outbreak.

In all seriousness, it's pretty astonishing that a band that has been around as long as NOFX can still find the energy and inspiration to keep cranking out superior albums. And even as the punk bandwagon sinks into the mire, I can guarantee that NOFX will continue to pull in massive crowds.

Why? Go to a show and find out. These boys know how to work a crowd, and the songs are pretty damned great as well. This disc is but the latest exhibit in the massive pile of evidence. A classic album from one of the all-time greats.

And it's not like I'm kissing ass or anything. Really.

November 17 puts a metallic sheen over the techno-heavy industrial approach of James Cavalluzzo and Malhavoc, ending up with a sound that is both highly accessible and rather cheap-sounding.

Five years ago, the lack of warmth and breadth in sound was acceptable. In fact, it helped to move along the themes of isolation and despair propagated by most of the bands who utilized this sound. But for a guy like Neil Kernon to produce an album with this level of aural inadequacy seems absurd.

I don't think this album was done on the cheap, but that's what it sounds like. When a more pronounced gothic influence is present, as on "Creation", I think all this works better. But most of the album is just sorta redundant cheez metal riffage and mindless drum machine work. No sophistication at any point.

I liked this kinda thing five years ago. Now, it sounds dated and weak. The songs themselves are fairly well-written; it's just the execution that brings everybody down.

Something of an Earth Crisis side project, if I understood the note correctly. Certainly, the style is right along in that death metal-meets-hardcore sound that Earth Crisis does so well, but this disc sounds woefully underproduced, and the songs aren't terribly well-written, either.

Certainly, the band is at its best when it keeps the mixture moving. Lots of the songs move along at a turgid page, though, and the writers often succumb to the "multiple sea-change" theory. There's just so reason to shift tempos and melodic idea three, four or even five times in one three-minute song.

Straight edge extreme hardcore. Fascinating as a concept, I guess, but this execution doesn't work. Path of Resistance kicks out a few good songs ("Counter" chief among them), but most of the stuff is either over-written or underproduced. A real mess, which is really too bad.

Plying the funk-pop thing, sorta like a much lighter version of 311 or something. The mix is very odd, with the (rather flatly sung) vocals way above the music, and only the lead guitar and drums making any sort of impact at all.

The guys get some creds for plenty of attempts at humor, both musical and lyrical, but almost all of them fall flat, sounding a bit too contrived. A function of trying too hard, I think.

That theme keeps running through my mind. The songs are well-crafted, too much so, really. The band is wound up way too tight to make the humor work. There is a certain level of looseness needed to carry off the joke, and Savage Henry isn't able to get there.

The whole disc just sounds unnatural. Like the band doesn't really play like this live, but they thought this is how you're supposed to sound when you record. Hard to say, really. I just can sense this high level of unease. I don't know exactly where it's coming from, but there it is.

The strange thing is that Savage Henry prowls through the same forest as King Kong. One listen to each of those albums should make all this bumbling rambling make sense.

The second album I've reviewed in this issue that has been cranked through the Tom Lord-Alge machine (the Holly McNarland is the other), and, boy, is he the wrong guy to produce a blues singer from Louisiana.

Shepherd is an average guitar player and decent songwriter, but Noah Hunt is a pretty damned good singer. And he's given proper space. The problem is that the album has been produced like some arena rock thing, with no room for subtlety or grace.

The easiest place to hear this is on the cover of Dylan's "Everything is Broken". The original, from one of Dylan's best albums of the last 20 years, was produced by Don Was, who, like Alge, likes to punch things up. And the tune is a nice little shuffle. But Jerry Harrison (the producer) didn't leave much room for expression, and Lord-Alge cranked the mix up to levels so excessive it's hard to figure out that the song is actually a lament.

Noah Hunt is the star here, but this is an album that didn't have to be nearly so bad. The urban blues (which is what Shepherd plays, no matter how much he wants to play the country boy role) can sound great, but they need room to breathe. Instead, all life was drowned out by the men behind the knobs. A damned shame.

Much like Nerf Herder, these guys are much more cultural commentators than a pop band. They're competent (if somewhat uninspired) as far as the music goes. The lyrics are amusing but rather clunky. The end effect is a car wreck that's still damned funny. Kinda like NASCAR, I guess.

On the other hand, I simply can't get too mad at a band that leads off an album with a song called "Claire Danes Poster". The lyrics never seem to fit into the rather pedantic music, but hell, at least the stuff is legitimately funny.

An album that kids in 20 years might listen to and try and figure out just what the fuck the guys are talking about. Not unlike anything Dennis Miller has ever said.

It's just a shame that whenever Size 14 finally figures out how to write a decent hook, as with "Shane", the corresponding lyrics are so weak. The whole thing is maddening. Still, I gotta go find a Claire Danes poster now.

Alright, once and for all, repeat after me: an apostrophe doesn't denote the plural. Try it again and see how it feels. Okay, now we can talk about the band.

Lightly fuzzy, lilting pop with some of the most tone-deaf vocals I have ever heard. And there are two singers, both equally melodically-challenged. But since the songs are somewhat off-kilter observational bits, that works alright. Not in any commercial sense, of course, but as interesting music.

Now, the music is another story. The structure is basic, with lots of nice little touches. I'm sure the music was written first, and given the loose feel of the lyrics, that's probably a good thing. This is warped stuff (an odd thing to say about a pop album, really), and I like it.

There's nothing revolutionary going on. Just intriguing music. And that's enough for me.

Ooh, some pop folks who prefer the noisy, hooky style of Ff. That, of course, means the band bashes the hell out of the tunes, but always with an ear for good songsmithing.

After all the crap I've had to review this issue (I know, I shouldn't say that, but still), it's nice to hear a band that knows how to put together the complete package. This is solid pop music rusting beneath a noise veneer. Great stuff, mon frere.

This is adrenopop, with a nice dollop of distortion. The production has left the sound a bit grimy, which only adds to the fine sensation. The complete package.

Joyous rapture. Mindless ecstasy. I know, some of this is merely a response to the mess before, but honestly, Sweet Diesel is fucking great. That much I know.

Remember those heady days in the late 80s when bands like Testament and Exodus (and Faith No More, to a lesser extent) were put forth as the next big San Francisco metal band? Well, this disc brings it all back for me.

I really liked Testament. Sure, there are plenty of Metallica references, but hell, that's pretty much unavoidable. My own personal fave album is Practice What You Preach, which managed to combine the raw power of the band's two releases with a more melodic and commercial approach. And it featured the utterly silly (and yet, strangely compelling) tune, "The Ballad". If that wasn't a complete rip of "Fade to Black", well, I can't say.

The thing is, for all the metallic pomposity required of such hard rock studs, Testament always seemed to be giving the audience a wink as well. Take, for instance, the previously unreleased covers included on this disc: "Sails of Charon" and "Draw the Line". Yeah, the band showed its Aerosmith allegiance with a version of "Nobody's Fault" that did appear on an album, but still.

Testament is one of those bands that perfectly embodied a certain time in music. Yeah, the guys are still soldiering forth, but this collection features mostly stuff from the 80's albums, and that's the right way to go. The best way to put things is to say you had to have been there. Otherwise it makes no sense at all.

Alternately raucous and brooding punk. With that noisy melodic minimalist thing that the emo sorts like, though generally much more upbeat. Raggedy pop, I suppose.

The music surges and retreats throughout the album, like the tide. My God, there's someone out there who gives a shit about proper sequencing! I can't believe it. Everything about this album is appealing, from the first crashing chords to the deep, introspective moments on the interior.

But most importantly, good music has been properly shepherded. The production fits the songs perfectly, leaving the bright spots bright, and turning the lights down low when that is required. And finally, the proper sequencing of the songs. And album sounds completely different when songs are put in different orders, and this one was constructed perfectly.

Great stuff. Deep Elm is usually a sign of good things, and this disc is no exception. Amazing what attention to details can do for an album.

In case you missed it, Lookout released albums and singles this year from teh likes of the Mr. T Experience, Uranium 9 Volt, the Groovie Ghoulies and the Hi-Fives.

There's also a few tunes from discs which haven't yet been released (At least, I haven't heard them yet), but I assume all that will be rectified soon. Twenty-three tracks that tell part of the Lookout Records 1997 story.

Is there really anything else to say? Lookout has been around for almost forever, and its committment to up-and-coming punk bands (particularly those with a knack for hooks) is unparallelled. This disc offers simply more proof.

These Swedish popsters had a song on the Romeo + Juliet soundtrack (it's here as well), and from there the idea seems to be upward and onward. Oh, and if you're expecting stuff like the first part of "You and Me Song", well, you're gonna be disappointed.

Hyperkinetic stuff, with a mix that really pops the music out of the speakers without overwhelming the songs themselves. Generally extremely upbeat, The Wannadies midtempo numbers sound fast in relation to most other pop bands.

There's a wonderful reliance on the simplicity of the guitar. Every song is completely built around a riff (and most of the time a rather original one), and while the songs follow basic construction rules, they still manage to find a way to carve out their own niches.

It sometimes helps to observe a trend from afar. The Wannadies are obvious fans of Big Star (and even bigger ones of the Posies), but there are a few side glances that wouldn't occur to American bands. And I have to say, the production is awesome. Thick, full and bouncy, without succumbing to excess. An ace shot.