A couple Richmond bands joining up to slime out some messy-but-melodic punk. Goofy, fun and ever-so-crunchy.

Avail is, well, Avail, with a serious hardcore track, a mostly acoustic tune and a ripping take on "You May Be Right". All pleasantly amusing without any thought of tomorrow morning. Best not to think about this stuff too much.

(Young) Pioneers sound (as some of you know) something like a punk rawk version of U.S. Maple, with strangled vocals laid over lean, tuneful licks. Oh, and the odd bit of Vietnamese propaganda, thrown in mostly for laughs (I think). These tunes have a lot more going on then it sounds like at first. Dig in.

As I expected, some serious quality fare. More than enough to make me happy.

A nice evolution of sound this time out. Sure, ¡Carlos! is still trafficking in punk pop anthems, but I hear as much here from 7 Seconds and even some of that old-style Big Star stuff. Obviously, there are still some faint echoes of Superchunk, but this sond is much fuller and more complete.

The songs are much more thought-out and crafted than before, but all that attention hasn't stripped the raw greatness from the music. Joy and pain, the ecstasy and the agony, all that is amplified and not hindered by this attention to detail.

A true step forward. Even the production is much more assured. I'll admit that the sounds here are much more in step with current trends than the debut, but I'd like to think it's a happy coincidence. If not, well, then I guess I'm pleased the band moved forward.

A solid pop album that covers the bases and then some. Lots of creative work within the form here, plenty to explore. Tightened up, but still impressive.

A merging of Middle-Eastern and Asian pop music, all tripped together under electronic and r&b grooves, with the odd bursts of industrial guitar thrown in just to fuck with your hear. Something like Transglobal Underground, though much most convoluted, for better and worse.

The "Bajka", who is featured, sings her lyrics in English and sounds like a mix of Lisa Stansfield and Sade. An unusual combination with the world beat rhythms and backing music, to be sure. It's better than Janet Jackson, but I'm not convinced.

But Bajka trades off with other singers, who sing in a variety of tongues and over a wide assortment of underlying sounds. One of the strangest bits is "Blue World", which plys a basic blues groove with exotic instruments and vocals in a some Arabic tongue. Again, I'm not so sure it works, but it does make for arresting listening.

A unique disc. The end results are often less than enthralling, but I have to say I'm more than impressed with the wide array of music incorporated into this album. Keep taking chances.

As most of you know, this was the first post-Skinny Puppy project (released even before the last Skinny Puppy arrived). This first Download disc was full of throbbing and often incoherent rhythms, pulsating disturbances that generally drowned out any serious attempts at musical composition. As a form of musical deconstruction, I was impressed.

That less-commercial album came out on Cleopatra. This puppy is much more accessible. Compared to that first disc (I missed the one in-between; sorry), this stuff is positively ambient. That's not a terribly accurate description, though. This disc falls on the lighter side (soundwise) of electronic music. Not techno, not ambient, not industrial, but somewhere amongst that grouping.

And highly attractive, to boot. The rhythm experimentation continues, but in a more mellow form. This Download isn't out to run you down, just get inside your head. and I can get along with that just as easily.

Pleasant electronic music that still packs enough of a challenge to keep a demanding listener occupied. Creativity comes in all shapes and sounds.

My postal misadventures continue. It seems someone dropped a coke on this package, as the thing was covered in amber goo. While the envelope and note were pretty much torched, the disc itself was nicely wrapped and wasn't affected. Good show. As is the music, which strikes me as a gothic version of Dead World. Pile-driving beats, sonic sculptures for backing music and moderately ethereal vocals. A combination which works rather well.

All this is best realized in "Dissolution", which is 12 minutes of brilliant soundscape. A song, as such, never quite breaks out, but that's okay by me. Dream Into Dust likes to take chances, and I'll go out on a limb as well.

Brilliantly conceived and realized. This music is the result of a fertile imagination and tons of skill in the studio. Those aren't always found in combination, and so I'm thrilled to hear it here. Sublime.

Fusion, but not in the rock sense. Pop jazz, but not exactly in the Kenny G sense. Bill Evans doesn't push his playing or his music too hard, but he does manage to come up with songs with just enough inventiveness.

In particular, Evans relies on a variety of ideas from the rhythm section (whatever that might be), floating his saxophones (soprano, mostly) on top. It does bug me that this stuff sounds so... nice, I guess, but at least it's not cloying.

And finding a quality mellow sound is a pretty decent achievement. A lot of that comes from the instrumentation (lots of acoustic guitar, for example), but some of the credit certainly falls on Evans' shoulders.

On the better side of middle-of-the-road. Evans isn't out there taking huge chances, but he does what he does pretty damned well.

Truly snotty punk. Almost by definition, punk means attitude. These guys have gone above and beyond. It's grating and amusing at the same time.

Puerile is another word that comes immediately to mind. How could it not, when presented with songs like "Shitheel", "Motherfucker, Cheap Thumbsucker", "Pork Rinds & Yoohoo" and "I Egged the President." In good measure, this sort of thing can be quite amusing. When it gets out of hand, well, you get F.Y.P.

And if you can get past the lyrics, then there's no missing the "whiny white boy" vocal delivery. Just enough distortion to them to add a nasty nasal twang. Talk about annoying.

All that said, I still had fun. This is the sort of disc that will piss a lot of folks off, for many of the reasons I've already delineated. Those very same characteristics will be seen as virtues by some seriously crazy punk fans. Cool world, ain't it?

Effervescent pop done the loop way. All the catchiest hooks and beats, done over and over and over again. Reminds me a bit of that old pop psychedelia thing (My Bloody Valentine, etc.) except that these songs are mostly treading water.

Way too addictive for my sanity, too. My mind latches on to the drone and I simply keep going. Full-out frontal lobe field trip. There's something to be said for that, certainly. I think.

Pop loops. Until all minds melt. I'm sorry, but thinking about this is driving me batty. If I let go, all is well. Analysis is futile. Brain is jelly. Arglebargle.

More of that retro-techno feel. Komputer does give some of its songs fairly lush arrangements (relatively, anyway), but the sound is still quite sterile. The songs are catchy, if robotic, riffs on a variety of supposedly futuristic subjects, entwined in a sound that exists somewhere between Tangerine Dream and New Order.

Some songs, like "Valentina", incorporate more complex song structures and rhythms. Most of the tunes, however, are very basic. Beautiful in their sterility? Perhaps. If that's yer thang.

For me, it's all a bit banal. Judging from the artwork, perpetuating mundane subjects actually seems to be a goal of the band, and that's what I don't understand. It gets sorta maddening.

Especially since this is so well-executed. I guess I'm just at crossroads with the artsts' intent. Hey, if you're a fan of electronic lite, well, go for it.

Some guys in suburban Seattle who play music about, well, being guys in suburban Seattle. Emo, even. From Seattle. The bio sheet is pretty amusing, basically recognizing the absurdity of it all.

Now, the stuff has that demo sound (get a better engineer next time out, boys), but that doesn't cause too much of a problem. I mean, this is emo. Lo-fi personified. Musically, the band has the sound down. A little too precisely, really. Most good emo bands have a little something extra they bring to the table. That's not here, but these guys are young.

The lyrics are fairly good. Observations on the ultimate boredom that can only be achieved in the suburbs. That's why I'll never live there. These guys don't have much of a choice right now.

Competent musicianship and fairly inspired lyrics. Left in a Dream needs to write a lot more songs and really discover some way to break out of the "soundalike syndrome" that can be deadly in emo circles. It just takes time and work.

At the end of August, I got a package from these folks. The disc had been pilfered by someone involved in the U.S. Postal Service, and I called down to ask for another copy. When i didn't get one, I figured the folks had decided I was a moneygrubbing bastard out to rip them off. Not true, but I could certainly understand the suspicion.

Turns out, they just moved. So I now have the disc. And it answers the question "Just what kind of pop album would the original guitarist for Gwar record?" Messy is an easy answer, and that would also be correct. Steve Douglas and his wife Teresa share bass, guitar and vocal duties (that's togetherness!), slogging their way through an incongruous melange of pop chords, metal lead lines and a general deconstructionist attitude.

The vocals are nothing short of horrific, always out of tune and generally shouted rather than sung. I'm not even going into the subject matter. That cavalier attitude exactly what this stuff calls for. Log never seems to look back, fueling its marginal songs on a serious dose of adrenaline.

The more I listen, the more I understand. This is music that cannot be broken down into component parts, because then it loses all its charm. And the funny thing is, for all the ugliness, Log is impossible to dislike. Enough of a dose, and all defenses are rendered useless. Why fight it?

More stuff from one of my favorite micro labels (is that a term?). Marmoset plays a pleasantly noisy sort of pop music, often wandering off into tangential territory. This requires some extra effort on the part of the listener, of course, but as usual, the payoff is worth the pain.

The songs are built around the drums. Whatever the drummer is doing pretty much dictates the direction of the song. And as no two songs have the same rhythmic base, the set is good and diverse.

Now, at the times when the rhythms are close to basic rock stuff, the guitar does take something of a leadership role. And that might be the one problem with Marmoset: There is no cohesive factor, or at least, there's nothing that manages to hold the songs completely together. Each track keeps threatening to succumb to entropy, but still, all manage to finish still bound somewhat by the laws of physics. If barely.

Anarchic and free, my friends. Marmoset refuses to stick to any particular style or feel, and bully for that. I will note that this EP does contain nine songs, so there are plenty of points of departure for the potential fan. Pick one and fly away.

A peculiarly British form of rock. One that might be mistaken for emo, but the roots are all different. This music is the antithesis of punk, completely thought out and crafted over time. Much more like classical music than regular rock stuff.

And like an art movie, Mogwai revels in creating a mood. The songs don't necessarily have climaxes or even some minor form of resolution, but merely serve as a snapshot of emotion. A generally depressed feeling, most often, though bits of rage and joy do emerge as well.

The songs are long. Some longer than 10 minutes. But they speed by without much consideration as to time. Mogwai fully draws the listener in, and once there, refuses to allow release. Stuck, mostly for the better.

Immaculately built, beautifully presented. Music on a higher plane. Mogwai is one of those truly amazing bands that you hear only once in a great while.

A bashing, organ-laden take on the whole roots-rock ideal. Rock anthems with a bit of the ol' heart and soul. A bit too much, perhaps, but pleasant nonetheless.

Old Pike certainly does have an affinity for songs of great portent. These guys play tunes which have great arena potential. And the stuff is still quite listenable.

Think of a somewhat less-wry version of the Heartbreakers in the 80s. Old Pike hasn't quite found its vein of irony, but there are flashes of wit. The production sound is astonishingly full, almost a wall-of-sound at times. This rather obliterates whatever subtlety that exists in the songs. It also leaves the stuff sounding rather more important than it really is.

I'm not sure I like what these guys are trying to do, but they do it well enough. And hell, if someone wants to be a superstar, why piss on the dream?

Two more installments on the Skin Graft AC/DC tribute plan. And if two more disparate acts could be found to share one small slab of vinyl, I can't think of it.

Yes, that's Palace (with another somewhat new moniker) rambling through "Big Balls", turning the heavy blues piece into a very weird, wailing lament. Definitely over the top, but highly amusing nonetheless.

Zeni Geva pounds out a surprisingly rote version of "Let There Be Rock" (though the initial riff employed sounds a lot more like "You've Got Another Thing Coming" than anything AC/DC has played). Oh, once the verse kicks in it's 100 percent Zeni Geva, but I was still surprised by the straightness of the delivery.

Not quite as enthralling as the initial double 7", this puppy still keeps the whole project going strong. That Palace bit should really start some heads scratching when it hits the airwaves. Cool by me.

The Smiths comparison is obvious, though the Potatomen do not give in to either musical or emotional excess. Lawrence Hayes' vocals are emotive, but not overwrought. And there lies the important difference.

Still, this is echoes of a particular breed of late 70s and early 80s Britpop, the moody punk of early Cure and Smiths. The Potatomen don't sit around and merely replay the past, however. These songs update that classic feel with little touches. Some steel guitar here, some definite modern punk pop there.

The sound is exquisite, leaving the guitars somewhat flat but bringing out the drums to keep the songs upbeat. The songwriting falls nicely into form, with enough creative bits to keep surprising.

Well done, indeed. This full set is the best I've heard from the Potatomen yet. A very impressive album.

Many of my finest college memorias have a Rainmakers soundtrack playing behind them. One of the first nights out with my future wife, wild evenings when the pitchers and the music just kept flowing. Whenever the Rainmakers came to Columbia, they played everything they'd ever recorded and then some. Shows that lasted three or four hours. Awe-inspiring stuff.

Then they got dropped from Mercury (in the U.S., anyway), and Rich went off to play with Webb Wilder and others. Steve, Bob and Pat hung around the K.C. area, and I even caught some of the Friday acoustic shows at the now-defunct Shadow and a benefit they did in October 1992. A lifetime ago, if you ask me.

I haven't heard the Flirting with the Universe album that was released in Canada and Norway a couple years ago, so this is my first taste of "new" Rainmakers this decade. Bob is still writing about the failures of our culture, in particular here on society's treatment of women. The music is still clearly descended from the CCR swamp groove, but with much more variation than before.

And as an old fan, I don't like all of that experimentation. While the acoustic ballad "Remember Me By" is quite effective, the next track, "Did You See the Lightening" doesn't. That song combines the rhythm and basic riff from "Thirty Days" (off the third album) and grafts on a rootsy, sing-along chorus. That one falls dreadfully flat for me.

On the whole, though, this is a good album. Comparisons to my well-worn set of three Mercury albums from the eighties are silly. This is eight years down the line, and I've got to be honest: It's great to hear the guys again. The material is a bit more uneven, and the production leaves the sound much more sparse (the function of a limited budget, I assume), but the Rainmakers remain one of the most thoughtful, thought-provoking bands around. Good to hear that fire hasn't been quenched.

More of the arena-rocking rootsy stuff. Robyn has more of a Springsteen-type approach (his hoarse voice helps that connection a lot), though he's more inclined to grandiose statements than the Boss has been lately.

Catchy stuff, thickly produced to wring out every bit power. The most interesting part is the overt use of drum machines as the main rhythm provider. This seemingly incongruous element works very well with Robyn's roots-rock songwriting style. In fact, the machine saves the songs from falling into generic rocker stuff.

AOR heaven. I can hear echoes of Bruce Hornsby (without the piano, if you can work that out), though the lead guitar solos are definitely in the hard rock camp. All these strange pieces, when combined with Robyn's rasp, come together to create an attractive, if somewhat overblown, sound.

All the good parts of the 80s album rock revolution, with some 90s ideas tossed in. An intriguing mix.

Utter insanity. Not merely crazy, the sort of thing that would annoy all those Bush fans out there. I mean stuff that I, as a serious aficionado of all things wild, woolly and loopy, cannot get a handle on.

Sure, I can separate this into its looped parts. There is very little actual music in each song (some drums from time to time, though those are looped as well), relying mostly on strange vocal samples and monotonic vocals. And lots of extraneous noise.

I've read the lyric sheet a few times, and that makes less sense. So I take the opposite approach, zoning out and trying to grasp this disc by leaving my body and reaching toward the sound with my wraithlike, ghostly hands. That didn't work, either.

When it happens, I have to admit it. While I really like the weirdness inherent in this album, I can't make heads or tails of it. I find such confusion comforting, as it means my place in the world isn't set yet. But I think at this point I'm imposing my own set of deficiencies on this album. If you listen, perhaps what I'm saying will make sense. Hey, if you want something truly wild, Zeek Sheck is out there, waiting.

Nicely sludgy hardcore with some sampling on the edges. The singer is Kurt Stenzel, who also plays keyboards for Beyond-O-Matic. But there isn't much that these two bands share.

Sloppy to the extreme, Six and Violence hacks its way through songs that satirize everything from television to suburbia to the general fact that everyone grows older every day. Neither the music or the lyrics have much in the way of subtlety, but I'm generally satisfied with what I hear.

Think of a heavier version of Scatterbrain, with humor and general intellect a bit higher. I also hear musical echoes of Gwar, but again, the subject matter differentiates well enough. Six and Violence may not be venturing into any new territory, but at least something useful is being said.

A little too randomly chaotic to get everything across, Six and Violence does manage a decent turn as merry pranksters. Amusing, if nothing else.

Jason Molina is getting a bit more coherent. This EP was recorded right after a tour, and I think these songs benefited from some live workouts. The pieces are tighter and more effective. Don't worry; Molina is still wailing about despair and desolation. Even better than before.

The Palace comparisons are still very apparent, but Molina works his voice more than Will Oldham, finding a stronger and more direct tone (he's improved a lot in this area). The songs, too, are a bit more straightforward and easy to follow. In general, this is a plus. Spacing out is no longer a requirement for finding true access.

Before I go overboard in pronouncing Songs:Ohia the obvious successor to Garth Brooks, Let me assure folks that this is still extremely affected music. Acoustic country/folk stuff with the occasional backing band. And vocals that kinda wend their way into your subconscious.

Molina has made it somewhat easier for folks to dig Songs:Ohia, even while continuing down a unique musical road. This generosity should not go unpunished.

After a few albums with major label types, Three Mile Pilot returns to its home base. The esoteric yet atmospheric approach to pop music continues, as do the paths of experimentation that probably sealed the band's potential popular acclaim.

Unlike other punk-pop contemporaries of a relatively similar vintage (Jawbox, Treepeople, etc.), Three Mile Pilot likes to add sounds and ideas to its music, rather than strip the sound down. So there's plenty of organ, keyboards and other little bits used to fill out the sound. This reliance on keyboards leads to songs like "The Year of No Light", which has a real Supertramp feel. That such an approach ultimately works is only greater testament to the talent on display here.

Three Mile Pilot isn't afraid of any tempo or influence. The songs are fast and slow, with nods to seventies art rock and nineties punk. And plenty more. The band does employ something of a kitchen sink approach to its work, but the talent is sufficient to the ambition, resulting in resplendent displays of multi-flavored pop music.

Simply music of the highest order. Three Mile Pilot crafts pop as well as anyone around, and there's no mistaking its imprint. The wonders cease only when the disc leaves the tray.

Even in my days as a glam metal fan, I never got into TNT. Yeah, I might've tapped in through my affection for the European layered approach, but that didn't happen. This disc helps confirm my feelings.

It's too bad, because in the midst of some dreadfully silly songs are cool musical moments. Even on a cheap Warrant-style wanker like "Somebody Told You" there's a great drum line. The guitars are quite well-presented, but a little overly reliant on technical prowess to impress me.

This stuff is just dead cold. The production doesn't help, giving the guitars and drums very sharp edges and leaving a bit too much space that all the overdubbed vocals in the world can't help. The live stuff is fairly well-produced, though the arrangements of the songs are rather self-indulgent. Yes, that's almost a requirement, but still. And that stuff is five years old. Why not just the studio effort?

Kinda too bad, because the players are astonishingly proficient. The songs themselves sound so dated I really can't bear to listen. Like anything else, some glam metal has become timeless. But it didn't sound like this. It's music like this that caused the backlash.

Turner has been around. He's sung for Rainbow, Deep Purple, Yngwie Malmsteen, Fandango and on his own. He's got the ability to add some smoky soul to what otherwise might be faceless rock music.

And he can still sing. It's nice to hear him howl once again, but I wish he'd decided to do something other than an album of covers. And I wish his backing band had the ability to play something other than, well, faceless rock music.

Each and every one of the performances here, from "Unchained Melody" to "We're an American Band" to "Sunshine of Your Love", are most notable for Turner's earnest and impressive delivery and the equally impassive playing of the band. There's a wide range of styles represented in the songs on this album, but every song sounds like the next.

There's something magical about a working band. With a heart and a soul. No matter how talented the studio musicians are, it's awful hard to create a feeling in such a situation. Turner needs to get back on his own track and hash out some really great music with a regular band. Then the results might befit a singer of his stature.

Thirty-three tracks from 33 bands. A good number of the songs are taken straight from the bands' Skin Graft albums, but hell, as a label sampler, this is still most impressive.

Few labels have had the prescience or guts to release music of this caliber. As exemplified by U.S. Maple, Dazzling Killmen (whose former members are involved in quite a few SG bands), Zeni Geva, Yona-Kit and Space Streakings, the Skin Graft roster of releases is second to none. It's music regular folks hate, but that's exactly why it's so important. These folks take serious chances.

And while there have been some serious artistic messes along the way, this disc is ample proof of Skin Graft's place in the space-time continuum. The folks at the label call it Now Wave. They're riding that wave into the breaks. Taking risks is the only way to advance, and Skin Graft has provided one hell of a stage. One trip through this disc should make that perfectly clear.

Another trip through the organic ambient, that region of space where folks use electronic and exotic instruments to create unique soundscapes. And unlike many label compilations, this disc is not exclusive to City of Tribes artists, and most of the tracks here are previously unreleased.

The COT folks have immaculate taste in these here parts, picking the best of their roster (tracks from Stellamara, Trance Mission and Kenneth Newby albums) and combining those with, well, stuff they like. A top-notch compilation is the result.

If you're even the slightest bit interested in this side of the electronic universe, then this or other COT compilations will give you a great introduction. A new universe awaits.

A celebratory retrospective, taking a track from every Wordsound release, re-mixing most. I've been hooked up with these folks for about a year, and I've been terribly impressed. The releases are consistently creative and inventive, with an excellent ear for moving the whole concept of electronic music into a whole new realm.

As could be expected, the remixes on this set take large chances. This compulsion for reinventing the wheel does result in some tracks that don't quite live up to the originals, but with the bar as high as it is, that's not a big concern.

Within the two hours of music here lies a lifetime of ideas and emotions. Wordsound is merely the conduit for this traffic in dreams, but I'm overjoyed such a path exists. These artists go to the edge; it's great that there's a label who is only too happy to venture right along.

Lush, lush pop music with a heart of tin. Skins and drum machines are used interchangeably, often with the base rhythm track sounding a lot like a click more than a thump. The vocals are delivered in a varying sheen of distortion, and the bass and guitar are completely dulled.

Without such excesses the songs themselves would likely come across as saccharine, but this wretched excess in the booth saves the proceedings. So much that I dig it excessively, kinda like pork rinds after I've had a couple beers.

The self-conscious deconstruction of their music extends to the playing. On "Soft Polluted Blacks", for example, the acoustic guitar accompaniment can't keep a steady tempo at all. And again, that woeful inconsistency puts a fresh face on stuff that would otherwise be rather unpalatable.

Walking the edge of disaster, Wheat stays on the cool side. The difference between Sonic Youth and the Carpenters may seem like a gulf, but Wheat likes to hang out in that tiny corner of the world where they meet. One slip, though...