That would be the same roots as the Spin Doctors, with similar results. When the kicker is a catchy verse teamed up with a nice hook in the chorus, like, say, the title track, all is well. When the songs degenerate into syncopated symphonies of wanky excess (the more usual occurrence), it's like getting whacked on the head by Aerosmith playing the Grateful Dead.

I mean it. This stuff is way overblown, and only outstanding songwriting can save such a thing. Unfortunately, there's not much past "One by One". Even a nice, sorta bluesy ballad like "Miss Missbelieving" comes off as hackneyed and overplayed. Way, way too much. This stuff is heavy for the hell of it, or, more likely, because some guy in a suit heard that guitars were back.

I dunno. It's been a while since I heard an album that had one great song and then 11 that didn't come close. Takes me back to high school when I put out good, hard cash for cheesy albums after watching one cool video. After a while, I learned my lesson. Sounds like the merchandisers are at it again.

We Norteamericanos like to think our stories and myths are the only ones that matter. And with the octopus-like tentacles of Hollywood encircling the globe, there might even be a bit of objective truth to that. When we think of cowboys, we think of Doc Holliday the wild West. When we think of Cowboy music, we think of Gene Autry and western swing.

Argentina, one of the great beef and sheep producing countries of the world, has its own legends to contend with. Out on the vast plains of the pampas (which reach into the far southern reaches of Brazil), the gauchos reigned. Their macho code isn't far removed from the Marlboro Man ingrained in U.S. consciousness, but the music has a distinctively different cast.

Luiz Carlos Borges (accompanied by Grupo Alma) brings that music to life on his accordion and guitar. The songs are at once energetic and plaintive, filled with a sense of resignation that comes with watching your way of life slowly disappear.

That is what's happening, and you can hear it in the music. All the Latin rhythms in the world can't quite pull this music into a fully happy reel. Which is alright. Not mournful, not by a long shot, but somewhat blue. Entirely appropriate and expressive.

Electronic is an extremely vague term to lay on music, and even that general term doesn't quite cover Buffalo Daughter. The songs are assembled on a tight line, but the piece might be an acoustic guitar riff, some scratching, heavy fuzz or keyboard noodling. Often, all four (and more) at once.

The key is that the music works. It makes sense. It has something to say and says it in a most amusing fashion. The key here is that the final product sounds great. "Pastiche" is used in some of the notes, and I can't think of a better word. From many, one. One that certainly impresses.

This music is alive. Vital. Throbbing. Exciting. Imagine, say, a Beck album that sounded good when you weren't stoned. Buffalo Daughter has the rare knack of bringing the avant garde to a place where average folks might like to take a gander.

Big fun. This Japanese threesome knows how to craft fine music. I'm not even going to try and explain further. You simply must dig.

I've found David Chastain's solo work to be more adventurous and interesting than his most recent Chastain work. He only has to live up to his own ideas, instead of some preconceived notion of the group.

On this disc, he launches into an exploration of the wide range of sounds and emotions possible on acoustic guitars. He even tries his hand at some classical pieces. Some conclusions can be reached.

Chastain is a great rock guitarist. He is, at best, an average classical guitarist. I know, the playing is tough, but those fretting squeals shouldn't be there. Also, the production has left the guitar with that somewhat tinny sound that has characterized many recent big label acoustic bits. I think I first noticed it on the Tesla acoustic thing, but even Eric Clapton's Unplugged suffered from this unfortunate engineering.

The songs are good, and what the playing lacks in technique it makes up in passion. I've got to give Chastain credit for walking out along the ledge. He may slip from time to time, but he comes through this in relatively good shape.

Three-fourths of the Dentists, and guess what? Lots of bright, somewhat tortured (in the structure, that is) pop songs. With all the tricks and turns a good pop album needs.

You want a pure hook-driven song to blast as you drive around with the top down? Try "Turning to Gold", which simply shimmers. You want something a bit dirtier, with more of a bite? Well, "Trophy Wife" oughta satisfy that need.

Basically, the members of Coax obviously know how to crank out pop music, and they've taken the time to make this one the complete experience. Lay in down in splendor, indeed.

Truly, truly, truly. Oh, yeah, some might complain that this sounds too calculated. I'm not convinced. Too good, too impressive. And way too much fun.

The long-awaited new album from Dirty Three. With Steve Albini, the man himself, producing. Needless to say, when this arrived a while back (I saved the review for a time closer to the release date), I didn't hesitate to toss it in the discer.

Now, regular fans of the band might hear the opening strains and expect the usual leisurely stroll for three or four minutes, capped off by a wonderful thunderstorm at the end. Rousing climaxes being a band trademark and all. Well, that's not the pattern here. Oh, sure, the music picks up tempo and volume from time to time, but the songs are more flowing, moving up and down, but never thrashing about. Not unlike a journey at sea.

Hopelessly beautiful music, songs that celebrate the mysteries we all confront everyday. The ocean is a perfect metaphor for life. It is, of course, the birthplace of life on Earth, and it still holds most of the keys to our existence. Lots of room for contemplation, and Dirty Three takes its best shot.

Which, of course, means an aurally stunning album. The combination of guitar, violin (or viola) and drums (with the occasional piano) breaking through the silence barrier with stark melodies and rolling rhythms is now so distinctive I begin salivating at the very thought. Dirty Three is one of the most versatile and ingenious bands playing. Period. The music is magic. End transmission.

This 7" is part of a set with a cassette. This is a very limited release (500 copies), and so us press geeks only got the extras from the 7" run. Which is more than enough to make me understand how cool all this is.

The songs are based on the music of the TV series "The Prisoner". Of course, rendered here in an even more spooky, gothic form. Plenty of great soundscape effects, but the real treat is the creepy and foreboding feel of the music itself.

I haven't heard a 7" with this sort of sound (my copy may be an overrun, but it sounds pristine) in ages, if ever. The production is great, and even more important, the quality of the pressing is extremely high. Great care was taken on this puppy.

I can only imagine how cool the whole set would be. This takes me into another world.

The last flamenco album I got from Tinder, Los Activos, focused almost exclusively on the rhythmic center. Ea! takes the different tack, concentrating on the melodic and lyric sides of flamenco. The one connecting point is that both bands bring in many outside influences, from Latin rhythms (come home again) to Arabic melodic styles.

Ea! is much more expressive, working each song as tightly and completely as possible. The devotion is to the song and not the form, and that attention makes each song sing with vibrant power.

The lyrics are presented in Spanish and English, for those who worry about such things. Honestly, the presentation is such that there is an effect much like opera, where the emotion of the songs comes across even if the words don't quite make sense.

A somewhat folkier approach to flamenco than I've heard before. The playing is freer, even while technically precise. An odd contradiction that intensifies the music. Arresting fare.

A companion to Ensemble Georgika, the women's side of Georgian (that would be the former Soviet republic thereof) music. The 39 songs are listed by category (cradle songs, work songs, dirges, dance songs, etc.) rather than strict order. The liners are rather explicit and descriptive. All very educational.

The musical traditions which have influenced Georgian music (particularly singing, as this is an almost exclusively a cappella album) are many and varied. Russians to the north, Turks to the southwest, Persians to the southeast. Georgia combined those and other cultures into a style which is melodic, but still severe by our standards.

While unusual to the Western ear, these songs possess a power and a beauty unique to their origins. The liners particularly help bring a bit more light to this pivotal, yet largely unknown, part of the world.

A complete package. Intriguing music and enough information to make sense of it all. Perfectly completing the mission of education through music.

Another one of those bands that likes to graft a variety of sounds over its base sound. A good thing here, as Evenrude is, at heart, a funk-grunge band. Out of the same vein as, say, Sublime, but with better musicianship.

The songwriting itself isn't great (often enough, the lyrics are kinda forced into inconvenient rhythmic situations), though these guys do know how to properly sell an anthem (very important in this sorta music). Best of all, the songs bound about, with each differing significantly from the one that precedes it.

Great? Naw. But pretty amusing. Evenrude doesn't take itself too seriously, and so the music flows in an easy-going manner. A nice little hang out album.

And there's nothing wrong with that, is there?

The first four tracks are execrably recorded songs from 1979. The tunes are amusing enough, though I'm pretty sure the world could have done without a parody called "The Punks Are Alright".

The rest of the disc consists of a live show from 1990. The only original member left was singer Mickey DeSadist (Mike Grelecki), which probably explains why the vocals are so high in the mix.

My guess is that there's some attempt at humor in most of the songs. It's not that they're puerile; they're incomprehensible. I think I'm supposed to laugh, but I don't get the joke. The stuff isn't funny, and the music, while passable by punk standards, isn't terribly rousing, either.

Perhaps there is a reason to remember the Forgotten Rebels. This disc isn't it.

Editor's note: When people ask me if I've ever reviewed a well-known album, I always refer them to this one. I don't think I was wrong, exactly, but the promo I got didn't have the album cover. I don't think that would have changed my mind about the music, but maybe it would have tempered my feelings on its commercial possibilities. Still, even after all these years (and yes, watching the video) I really can't understand the appeal of "Torn." So be it.

Following the lead of such "visionaries" as Melissa Etheridge and Alanis (she's just the one name now, I understand), Natalie Imbruglia peppers nice acoustic shuffles with drum machines and a whole host of excessive guitars and keyboards.

Actually, that's probably her producer's fault. The songs themselves are fine, if somewhat uninspired. The thing that gets me is that every single song sounds programmed for maximum radio airplay. Almost every song starts slow, builds slowly and then crashes down in an orgiastic climax of crappy riffs. And the ones that don't go overboard never get going in the first place.

Monster smashes are rarely singlemindedly created. There has to be a smattering of inspiration, either in the writing or in the performance. Imbruglia's vocals are so disguised by the excessive production that it's hard to hear her sing, and the songs themselves are hardly amusing. Rock-by-numbers is an apt description.

Man, I hate it when labels try to cash in on a badly aging trend. This stuff isn't even selling anymore, so why crank it out? Imbruglia got this one shot, and her producer shot her in the face.

Part of the mellow side of electronic pop, Long Fin Killie has been cranking out these intensely ephemeral songs for a while. And lots of folks (relatively) seem to like it. I didn't like Valentino so much, but the more I listened, the more I kinda fell into the grooves.

Which is a definite requirement for digging this. The song lyrics are extremely obtuse, and I say that as a person with a wide range of tolerance for such things. The lyrics (well, vocals) kinda work as a rhythmic counterpoint as much as anything else. An interesting idea, one that I'm slowly warming up to.

There's still a part of me that keeps thinking, "This is art music for people who hate art music". Some kind of artistic joke, like Leaving Las Vegas. Still, as the disc wore on, I found myself wallowing in the beats more and more.

Creatively unusual or merely incoherent? I'm leaning toward the former, but that's not a conclusion. Amelia simply furthers the argument in my head.

Weel, awraht den. Some balls-out roots rock. Completely underplayed, in utter opposition to that Agents album I reviewed earlier. These songs crash on, one after the other, bleeding angst, not arrogance.

Tuneful, with just enough pompous hooks to craft a couple nice anthems. Mostly, though, the Lust Penguins prefer to fly through doors blind. Lotsa bashing for a band which utilizes a big wad of acoustic guitars. All the right moves.

Eeew, sorry about that. This band deserves better than that. Hey, the songs don't shoot for the moon, but they do a nice bit of work on the way. Sometimes, the basics are all you need. Straight-up cool music.

Vocals and lead guitar, playing off each other. Sure, there's a band, too, but the songs have this really unusual feel. At least until they hit the choruses, which are not nearly as good. Mateo is not a hookster.

The sparse, haunting verses are great, no matter how the rest of the songs kinda pork out. And some songs really don't really get past the verse, and I like those the best.

Mateo's voice is just raspy enough to impart a little character, and he's got some real power that he keeps under wraps most of the time, kicking out the jams only when he really needs to. He knows how to use his instruments.

Alright, I wish he could write a decent anthemic chorus. That would make this the real deal. As it is, Mateo has found a great sound. Who knows where he'll be with some more work.

The a-side has a real Nirvana feel, in structure and particularly the off-key, somewhat mumbled vocals. The song moves along at a decent pace and then collapses into a shouted sing-along. Really rough pop.

The flip, "Blackberry Jane('s Gone to L.A.)", is completely different. The lead guitar takes on the echo mantle, and the song itself is a dirge-like slog through some kind of heroin crash. At least, that's what it sounds like.

Two songs which show completely different sides of a band. I liked the flip much better, mostly because of the more original sound. There's definitely something here.

Throbbing bass, off-kilter guitar sound, some serious riffage and vocals that sound like they're run through some sort of p.a. Reminds me a bit of Season to Risk, though with a lot more crap on the edges.

Good crap, mind you. Lots of noisy touches that ensure a complex offering. Crunchy stuff, the sort that really clean out the ol' gizzard.

It doesn't exactly make sense, but then, it doesn't have to. Planquez is merely presenting this in the interests of making the Earth a better planet. The granola on top of my yogurt.

Ethereal, gothic rock. Janet Robbins likes to warble her voice, which can grate, but she does know how to put together some cool-sounding music.

Basically, guitar laid over rather assembled soundscape stuff. Oh, there's a sense of musical movement, but Robbins is deep into the sparser-populated regions of space. When she doesn't sing in such an affected style, the results can be quite arresting.

The production has left some of the power out (the vocals and lead guitar are mixed well above the rest, stuff that often is reduced to a muddle), and that's kinda a problem when a song calls for an ass-kicking moment. The sound, however, does a real nice job of setting the proper mood. These are songs of pain, struggle and exploration, and that is relayed quite well.

A good project. Robbins needs to trust her own voice a bit more, and certainly she and her producer need to find a way to bring the backing tracks out a bit more. But those are secondary to the artistry present.

How Jennifer and Neil ever got a major label deal is still a mystery to me. Who in their right mind thought this stuff would sell a million copies, anyway? So we find the Truxters back on Drag City, a label which much better appreciates the weirdness that abounds.

A continuation of the excessive and eclectic take on pop music that is a hallmark of Royal Trux. The songs range all over the place stylistically, but in general they're best enjoyed with the stereo cranked. This is loud music, stuff that makes the party if your friends are truly cool fucks.

Catchy, in a grimy, sleazy, cluttered way. Neil Hagerty hasn't changed much since his Pussy Galore days, and his one man band approach to the music has led to even more lunacy. Does it all make sense? A better question would be Is it supposed to make sense?

Nah, probably not. But I don't know of a band that makes so much of glorious nonsense. And for stuff that is close to incomprehensible at times, the tunes provide a great ride. Good to hear this band back where it belongs.

Yes, there was life before Nirvana for Dave Grohl. One of those lives was in a DC band called Scream, along with a few other local semi-luminaries. There's Franz and Pete Stahl from Wool (Franz is also a Foo Fighter from time to time). Kent Stax of the Suspects plays drums. Alright, on with the review.

Hardcore, and more hardcore. This reunion show recording is intended to be something of a greatest hits shot, I guess. The thing about it is the stuff isn't terribly good. Oh, there's plenty of energy and all that, but the songs aren't anything special. Just rote stuff, really.

And I don't know enough to say whether the problem is uninspired performance or mediocre songs. My guess is the latter. These guys sound like they're having a lot of fun.

When speaking of "classic" bands, history is almost always better than current events. That maxim holds here.

It's been a while since I've heard a band that hearkened back to 1992, when bands like Treepeople and Jawbox were taking pop music into hardcore territory. Yeah, this stuff is that good. Proof? The album was produced by J. Robbins (he once of the majestic Jawbox) and Martin Bisi (say no more!). The songs attack, spread out, and then set their teeth into your soft, meaty shoulder.

The first track didn't quite work for me, and so I was a bit concerned. But after that, well, pure bliss. While great bands like Polvo and Archers of Loaf have mutated this tradition, Set on Stun moves back into a more pure pop realm, populating its territory with lots of great lead guitar lines and manic rhythm work.

And the atonal hooks. Wondrous anti-anthems. Thrashingly gorgeous songs full of anger, pain and pathos. When life kicks you in the ass, it's time to kick back. And Set on Stun is the perfect mode of psychic transport.

Yes, okay, this is perhaps my favorite sound, the whole heavy, meandering pop thing. But these bastards are astonishingly adept at manipulating the form. Set on Stun takes me to levels of bliss I had forgotten about. I'm on my knees, begging for more. And that don't happen too often.

Yeah, another Cleopatra retro punk offering. At least this time, we're dealing with the genuine article. Sham 69 was a well-known Brit act at that all-important time, even if in retrospect you might wonder why.

Many of these songs are pretty decent, certainly much better than the recent reunion effort, The A Files, which was excreble. Most of the songs are at best pale Ramones imitations, though bits like "Borstal Breakout" do have appeal.

The best songs are in the middle of the disc, when the band hadn't yet begun to repeat itself, but they had learned the basic rudiments of songwriting and tuning instruments. There's some decent stuff to be mined there.

A worthwhile historical document. Sham 69 is not one of the greatest punk bands ever, but it wasn't not bad, either. This set shows all sides.

Basic pop, without bass on the two a-side tracks. Bouncy stuff that covers the bases with just a guitar, drums and echo-laden vocals.

Songs that sound a lot like the stuff Duotang (a Canadian bass-drum duo) does. Maybe the whole duo thing simply lends itself to loopy pop songs that require awesomely hooky riffs.

The flip, which includes some barely audible bass, is a much looser affair altogether. A far-flung meditative piece, with guitar lines stuck to a one-line shimmer. Hope that makes sense.

Unusual, almost exploding with creativity. Another is definitely in order.

AKA the further adventures of the Lords of Acid. Personally, I have been extremely disappointed by all LOA releases since that classic first album, and it's nice to hear Adams and Khan move on a bit.

Well, there's still a model growling a bit, but the predominant vocals are male. This is much more industrial metal than heavy house. Kinda like KMFDM meets Pantera meets the Lords of Acid, ranging through all the common and uncommon terrain.

The best moments are catchy, upbeat anthems like "Live My Life" or flat-out speed rushes like "Age of Corruption" (the latter reminds me of Bloodstar). Stuff that rolls out and pleases immediately. Most of the songs are horribly overwrought, with excessive guitar pyrotechnics and horribly sloppy songwriting. Indeed, this emphasis on mindfuck riffs completely obliterates some songs that otherwise had potential.

This rates slightly better than recent Lords of Acid, simply because about half the songs are at least listenable. Still, on the whole, this rates as a disappointment. That bums me out more than you might guess.

Poppy prog rock stuff, influenced by Styx and early 80s Yes. Lots of keyboards and acoustic guitars, but still awfully damned punchy. Every song is an anthem with some attempt at hooks.

Not too bad, as all that goes. The songs sound more like assembled pieces than cohesive arrangements, but at least the pieces themselves are pretty cool. Like many prog-type acts, the lyrics concern the mechanization of life and other similar techie philosophy.

The playing and production are quite good, which gives me some hope. The songs need more work to get the obvious seams worn off, but the rudiments are in place.

Whack off some of the over-the-top cheese (the keys do get out of hand from time to time), and Transit just might be somewhere. Hey, if accessible prog ever comes back in style, Transit should be perfectly positioned.

Editor's note: This release was a split 7" with Positive State. Since I missed that, I'm not changing the archive listing. And since I didn't like it much, I'm not too concerned.

Speaking of Scream and it's legendary status in D.C. parts, here's a band from the Maryland suburbs (now deceased) with two of their own songs and a Scream cover.

So it should come as no surprise that the Twenty Twos play raucous hardcore, with just enough melody to keep the chicks around. The originals ("Moment of Truth" and "Surrender") are catchy, but still rather generic. The Scream cover ("New Song") isn't much more interesting.

There's a reason this band isn't around any more. If this slab is any indication, it wasn't terribly good to begin with. Maybe it's just me. Somehow, I doubt it.

Alright, the title is hackneyed at best. The songs themselves are pretty cool bluesy rock wails. Lots of fat lead guitar and half-sung, half hollered female vocals flying out. I've heard a lot of this stuff over the ages, but Vicious Fish still manages to catch my ear.

The songs are written to the band's strenghths, which makes sense as Sally Leiber handles both the guitar and singing duties. There may be only three songs here, but they're arresting as hell. Songs of passion and power.

Proof that it doesn't matter how many folks have attempted a particular sound, it only matters if you have the talent to express yourself fully. Lieber and Vicious Fish rip out mighty chunks of greatness.

Editor's note: The title of this album is an oblique reference to the recording studio this band created using a stack of VCRs to create a multi-track taping system. The guys explained it to me at a show in Baltimore way back when. I didn't quite understand then, and I surely don't now. But anyone who records an album using multi-tracked VCRs is probably both brilliant and crazy.

Definite fans of the "more is more" concept. Each of the songs here is a wonderful pop gem overwashed by so much stuff (sometimes walls of distortion, pedal steel on one, generally lots of noisy overdubs) the end result is a breathless rush.

Despite the craziness, the Wallmen keep the music within the realms of reality. Sure, the sound goes beserker at times, but I never got lost. Just more and more curious as to what would happen next.

Bizarro pop gone extremely right. Juicy, inviting hooks almost deconstructed. Way too many tasty bits to be savored in just one listen. Far too much bliss to be properly described by me.

The high doesn't break until the disc finishes, and then depression set in until the repeat button gets hit. Highly recommended. In fact, this is required listening.

Simple, unadorned songs, some thoughtful lyrics and the occasional good hook. Mostly, though, the star is Wilhoite's voice. A voice which is not as expressive as it could be, but just breathy enough to do the trick.

Very basic songwriting, with a few nice bits from the producers booth (layering a guitar lick here, dropping in some organ, punching up the drums there). Songs of empowerment, each one telling a tale of how someone CAN get what they want. Even if what they want isn't quite what they had in mind.

Subtle, at least for a major release. The producers managed to avoid the "let's make a hit" mentality, sticking simply to what works. And make the star the star, of course.

One of those albums I hope hits it big (and when you work with a major label, well, that has to be an aim). I wouldn't mind hearing this stuff on the radio. Beats the shit out of what's there now.

Wilson's debut was a fine example of how jazz doesn't necessarily have to sound like jazz. He dabbled with a variety of ideas and sounds while still giving his sides plenty of room to shine themselves.

Wilson's a drummer, if you didn't know, but instead of peppering his albums with excessive drum breaks, he simply keeps time in inventive way, breaking out tastefully.

His own compositions are easy to identify, because Wilson doesn't limit himself to any sort of "official" jazz school. Now, Wilson is a very careful composer, but he allows his mind to wander into many areas which are a bit odd. The title track is based on the rhythms of an auctioneer (the introduction helps there), and Wilson in general likes to infuse his music with midwestern themes (there's a reason he calls his publisher "Grainfed Music").

As impressive as his first album. For a young guy, Wilson's adventurousness is impressive. He's not afraid to take a chance or ten. And his music is the ultimate beneficiary of this attitude.

I'm a bit behind the times here (this puppy has been out for almost a year), but I'm very happy to have finally gotten my mitts on the latest from what might very well be the greatest pop band in the world.

The Wrens's two albums, Silver and Secaucus, both on the expired Grass label, are a couple of the finest recordings I've ever heard. If you missed them somehow, dig them up. Trust me; you won't be disappointed.

The Wrens's greatest talent is the ability to shift gears without losing continuity. A wide variety of sounds makes up the canon, and it still all sounds like the Wrens. This EP is populated by more bashers (five out of the six tunes) than usual, but each song has a distinct personality and feel.

I'm simply left screaming for more. The Wrens have been kicking out awesome music for a while now, and the songwriting and playing have yet to decline. Oh, I'm mainlining this thing fer sure.

A cool sorta home recording, with lots of caustic comments broadcast on top of an amalgam of samples, drum machine beats and the odd instrumental interlude. Kinda like techno on peyote (before you puke).

Lots of discomfort, but you know the good stuff's coming, y'know? And I'll be damned if this guy didn't spend some tough time pretty near my old high school stomping grounds. He makes plenty of references to west Texas landmarks (I happened to be stuck in eastern New Mexico, which is about the same thing).

So there's this personal connection on top of the general weirdness. And don't misunderstand me: This stuff is definitely out there. Xark doesn't bother with explaining himself, he just goes off, again and again. Difficult to discern a point sometimes, but still amusing.

There's a reason people make records in their basements. It's so that the resulting music can conform to their pure vision. This one's pretty warped, but the trip is worth the price.