Ultra-sparse electronic pop. Some looping, but mostly very lean guitar and bass lines and almost skeletal beat work. A very new wavey feel, you know, like if OMD had been able to electronically goof with its vocals.

Amazing, really. Alien Crime Syndicate's "Just the facts" approach to songwriting (and production, particularly) is highly evocative of the pop of my childhood. I still have a comfortable cheese spot for stuff like this.

Just a couple of cool songs, really. Takes me back to 1982, with a new shine. After all, you have to get back to basics eventually.

Kinda like the 7" I reviewed last fall, cool instrumentals in a clunky emo style. Highly crafted; each note and chord progression has been fully thought out before presentation. Reminds me a bit of Pell Mell, though certainly more dissonant.

And reminds me a bit of the most recent Don Caballero album as well. Ativin has mixed its styles and influences well, issuing a sound all its own. Impressive, indeed.

The treats just keep on coming. Refusing to pound any single idea into the turf, Ativin modulates through a series of connected yet distinct songs. Wonderfully shaped and beautifully expressive, each piece is a work of art unto itself.

Coming together into an even more impressive whole. Yeah, I think this falls into a trend that is making some serious noise right now, but that's just fine with me. Immaculately crafted experimental rock instrumentals will never go out of style.

While I think a general re-issue of the Bauhaus catalog would be well worthwhile, this disc will turn on some folks who had no idea that Love and Rockets was the second installment in a musical family.

All the fan faves are here: "Bela Lugosi's Dead", the cover of "Ziggy Stardust", "The Passion of Lovers", "She's in Parties". All the stuff that I heard over and over again in college. While I don't actually own a single Bauhaus album, most of the stuff here has been burned into my brain.

Which isn't so bad, even if the music isn't quite as great as some folks like to think. Still, followers of the current resurgence of goth (or dark wave; whatever) culture would do well to look back at one of the originators of the sound. This disc will do that trick.

Nice to have some Bauhaus around the house. More bits and pieces from the real 80s retro music. You know, the stuff that still matters.

He's still cranking out the goods. I've never been particularly impressed by either Brodie's playing or his style, but I have to admit that he's proficient, if nothing else.

Here's the deal: Brodie can play a decent laid-back surf guitar. I'm not a big fan of pyrotechnics, mind you, but Brodie plays the slow licks with the same lack of passion that makes speedster runs just as dull. There's no soul here.

Three songs, all of which sound like pale echoes of Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet. Serviceable tuneage, but nothing that excites me.

As good a representation of the post-pop collage as I've heard since the last Chumbawamba album. Core likes to assemble its songs out of numerous incongruous pieces, swirling techno keyboard riffs, acoustic guitar riffs, synth strings and generally dance floor friendly beats into three-to-four minute masterpieces.

Core distinguishes itself by working the edges of this technique to the hilt. There's so much goofy mess floating about, it's a miracle that the songs come off at all, much less as well as they do. These are not simple songs with lots of stuff added on top. There's plenty of divergent lines cruising through the sound. But, you know, it does work.

With a final sound that has that "we're gonna sell a million records" feel to it. Anthemic, arrogant, pretentious and definitely attention-craving. Yeah, a mishmash of current pop hipness. See, it doesn't matter how trendy something is if it works. And like I said...

Brilliant? Well, maybe. Core propagates a brood of overblown throwaway pop symphonies. But when you hear one, you know you're gonna listen all the way through. That's a sign of something impressive, you know.

Drum 'n' bass, though not in the way that folks think nowadays. This Winnipeg duo plays astonishingly appealing pop music (somewhere between the Beach Boys and Big Star, if that makes any sense at all), overlaying some of the creepier lyrics around.

I'm not sure why hearing these guys always puts me on a high, particularly since I've taken an unusual interest in the band's poetic musings. Black humor, man, very black humor. Stuff so dark that the average person would just assume these guys are on the other side of insane.

This being the second great album from Duotang, I think it can be said that the boys know exactly what they're doing and that they do it very, very well, thankyouverymuch. And with only a couple instruments (with the odd organ or horns, but they're not around much), too. Amazing.

The sort of music which works its way under the skin and then festers for a while, insisting that it be played on a regular basis. Fine by me. And now I've got 12 new songs to suck on. More than fine. More like great. Insanely great, even.

Very much imbued into the ambient side of the trip-hop scene. Funky grooves, sultry vocals and a very nice sense of laid-back style. Not at all serious, but more contemplative and generally genial.

Just a nice to flow to it all. Plenty of nice organic touches (piano, clarinet and a wide array of other cool sounds) all swirled together in a swell natural setting. Yeah, this is highly assembled music, but the band's talent (this disc is self-produced and self-mixed) has crafted a great sound.

If you think you have an idea of what this sounds like, think again. As soon as I started to get a handle on what I was hearing, the folks (Christian Jones and Beth Custer) tossed out another brilliant snippet. That all of these little bits work so well together is simply amazing. I'm just kicking back, appreciating.

Settle in an expect to be wowed. This is an album that most anyone will find utterly amazing. Accessible and yet so textured even the most demanding fan will be won over. Highest praises.

Some relatively well-known musicians (who populate or once passed through Hagfish, the Reverend Horton Heat's band or Mess) decide to get together and play down and dirty stupid music.

Don't get me wrong: I like sleazy punk tunes as much as the next guy. The first song, "Sure As Shit", is about strippers. And the subject matter goes downhill from there.

Not a problem, really, if the music wasn't so derivative. I've heard this sound a thousand times, and so El Diablo comes off as just a cold rehash. Too bad, because if the guys had been a bit more witty this ZZ Top meets 7 Seconds sound would have been alrighty.

The Evaporators are great at packaging and injecting some hilarious stuff into the liners and such. And yet, so utterly incompetent when it comes to translating that sense of humor into funny music. More of the same: Throwaway pop punk music with lyrics that don't quite make to puerile.

It's so weird, because the rest of the package is rather witty and appealing. The musical part (which might be important to consider) is just awful. I know, I know, it doesn't make sense, but there it is.

Thee Goblins, or as they are known on four of these tracks, Thee Skablins are two guys who play organ and drums. Minimalist pseudo punk ramblings, as often as not without vocals. Thee Skablins add a guitar, a bass and a trombone, but oddly, the music stays about the same, the odd skankin' section not withstanding.

If I drank an awful lot, then maybe I would get a bit more into this. What it sounds like is some people who have been drinking too much and got it in their hands that they should be a band. That is a pretty funny concept, to be sure. The end result, of course, is bound to be dreadful. As it is here.

As with the other Evaporators long-player, there is a companion CD enclosed along with the vinyl. No extra charge. I don't know if this is another (funny) joke or a stab for the rejuvenation of the vinyl record. Anyway, it's there.

Amazing poetry, in both the lyrical and musical senses. Fischoff has a rather non-linear way of presenting his songs. The lyrics don't tumble out in pop song form, and the music is hardly normal.

The rhythm (and much of the melody in some songs) is provided by various forms of electronic disturbances. Not sharp, though, but dulled to dull thudding and whispering waves of interference. Most often there is a guitar (and sometimes an organ), but still nothing ordinary.

Haunting, no doubt about it. Music from another place, most likely another world. I don't even want to get inside Fischoff's head. But I'm happy to let his music talk to my brain.

The sort of album which spooks out those who aren't self-aware. This disc leads straight to the subconscious, and if you don't want to know what's lurking there, then you'd best stay on the safe side. The most dangerous (and rewarding) kind of music around.

I've been a fan of various sorts of metal for about 15 years, and I know a little bit about the subject. I've never heard of tribal metal. But hell, I'll take a gander anyway.

This disc doesn't help me out. Gnosis plays a kinda of European-influenced hardcore. Like if Black Flag was an Iron Maiden cover band (with someone whipping out the occasional Jethro Tull-style flute--or other wind instrument--solo). That's actually not too bad, when you think about it.

Unique, certainly. The songs themselves are generally a bit unfocused and need some tightening up (stray chords kinda crash into each other from time to time), but I like the idea. There is some work to do, definitely some gigging to as to understand how these songs work out live. But potential is high.

I'm still not entirely sure what tribal metal is, but Gnosis plays some intriguing music. It's not quite there, if you know what I mean, but I like the direction.

A DC-area punk band that seems to go through members pretty damned fast. The liners note two lineups, and the band picture features a guys who isn't on either list. Geez.

As for the music, it's perfectly well-mannered hack-and-slash motormouth punk. There are a few Californian references (bass lines which echo Pennywise, in particular), but most of the is right along the DC continuum. Pretty good, nothing terribly surprising.

No cheesy James Brown covers (reference to the title, folks), and for that we should probably be thankful. The Goons have a nice handle on slightly sloppy buzzsaw punk, and it would be a shame to get all messed up.

Enjoyable. Not particularly memorable, really, but a fun listen. Gets the blood flowing and the brain moving. And I'll not complain about that.

Brit press is always fun to read, and the most common comment about the first singles from this album was that Heyward, who is best known as the frontman for Haircut 100, had signed to Oasis's label (in Britain, both are signed to Creation). Oh, there's the odd mention of slavish devotion to the Beatles, and an occasional mention of brilliance, but all I really saw was the word "Oasis" written over and over again.

And this fixation on Beatles-style heavy pop production certainly does sound reminiscent of Oasis. Heyward, however, doesn't make the mistake of consciously cribbing. He just cranks out some fine power pop.

Well, this is a glorious pop album. It does sound a bit too much like the Beatles for my personal comfort, but still, Heyward does have a knack for the stuff. The songs are gorgeously arranged and simply bloom out of the speakers. Could give Semisonic a run for the title of pure pop album of the year, at least in commercial terms.

Yeah, even a skeptic like me can be bowled over by audacious pop tunes. I still think Heyward would do better trying to find a pop sound that isn't so Liverpudlian, but hell, as long as he's here I might as well enjoy it.

Here's a guy from the midwest (more specifically, Nebraska) who sings dreary songs, sometimes by himself and sometimes with a few friends. Sound like a familiar formula?

Sure, sure, but like the Ativin album (though a different sound), this rapidly blossoming field of sparsely produced vaguely folk-style artists is an idea I can easily embrace. Highly emotional fare which bares all, leaving the listener shattered at the conclusion. I mean, can you find something wrong with that?

I didn't think so. Joyner's playing is about as shaky as his singing, but what matters is the feeling the song conveys. The Secretly Canadian catalog (a truly impressive list) enclosed with the liners calls Joyner's stuff "the saddest and most inspiring records we've ever heard." I wouldn't go quite to that extreme, but nonetheless that description is on the right track.

I just got the new Patty Griffin album, and she torched herself with a full band. Her biggest attribute is her astonishingly expressive voice, a voice which rang true when sung over an acoustic guitar. Her new full-on electric band muted that passion. Joyner (probably more out of necessity than anything else, but still) doesn't make that mistake. This is all him. Period. And that's definitely more than enough.

Mixes can be remixed, and those remixes could be remixed, then the first remixes could be remixed with the second remixes to create a new strand of remixes which can be redone and evolved and devolved until its all gone too far without going anywhere at all. Welcome to the electronic experience.

If you're going to dive into the swarming pops and beats, it's always important to start with a good creator. Keoki is one. On this album, his mixes are revamped by Crystal Method, AK1200, Cirrus, Omar Santana, and others. Some of the remixes are better than the originals, and the whole album flows on a twisting, pulsing, vibrating wire that you cannot let go of once you touch it.

This is a good ride to go on if you enjoy the synthesized world. Don't forget, the brain commands the body through its electronic pulses, and nothing quite hits the spot like a good DJ. Or in this case remixes of a good DJ.

--Aaron Worley

Some nice political punk for a change. Real politics, even if the ideas are a bit convoluted and illogical. I mean, how much can you ask for, anyways?

What I really dig is the full-on use of lead guitar throughout. Chunky punk chords and a meandering lead. Pretty damned cool, really. And, well, the guys know how to write tight, fast, loud and angry songs.

The sound itself is a dirtier version of the ol' Bad Religion oozin' ah bit, though the singing is hardly on key. Again, not a problem. This is punk rock.

And in all the right ways, too. These guys have idea they want to get off their chests, and they can knock out some kick ass adrenaline junkie songs to boot. That's a combo I'll plunk down cash for any day. Time to turn up the volume just a bit more.

A set of songs from a Swedish pop outfit. The songs are presented in inverse order of age (the first track is the most recent, see). Basic pop ruminations, without really going anywhere in particular.

See, the guys do a nice job of presenting soul-inflected pop (there's a almost note-for-note Marshall Crenshaw cover included, if that gives you an idea), but I can't think of any reason to really give them a second thought. I mean, if they somehow sucked at something, that would at least be a handhold for me to latch onto.

But no. Leslies are mediocre songwriters and good players. Which makes the band just another generic pop outfit. I wish the songs had a bit more... you know, something. It's not here.

Woof! Aggro pop punk (a la Epitaph-era Offspring, muted through a Green Day filter), produced by Greg Hetson at West Beach. That there's a formula for some seriously cool music. Well, it could be disaster, but that's not the case at all.

The boys have an unerring pop ear and the desire to crank up the distortion in the guitars. Crunchy hooks which echo long after the songs are done. Four little pieces of joy, each one a gem. There's something seriously cool going on here.

Not knowing a damned thing about Limp, this bit of vinyl has elevated the band to a fairly high spot in my little chart of cool bands. In an era of increasingly boring and generic punk music. Limp proves here that there's always room for good songwriting and a kick-ass attitude.

Basic basic. Peppy punk with plenty of beef in the guitars. Songwriting which is good, if not particularly great, and anyway, when in a tight spot the band simply speeds up a notch. This only works with punk music, but that is the subject here.

Actually, the lyrics here are the most impressive part. Tending toward poetic and emotional (with the definite exceptions of the two covers, the Outfield's "Your Love" and "Crash", though at least the rendition of "Crash" is reasonably endearing).

The sound is pleasantly messy, with enough open space for the vocals in instruments to do the proper work. A step above generic punk, though not quite something special. Good, however, is still good.

More potential than anything. Loose Change needs to define its sound a bit better (and definitely do some work on the music writing end), but I can here plenty of impressive pieces.

The best part of a Skin Graft package is all the extra goodies which come along. Miss High Heel is a one-off project featuring members of the Flying Luttenbachers, Peach of Immortality, Lake of Dracula, To Live and Shave in L.A. and the Scissor Girls. A rather undisciplined approach to the generally unstructured sort of music those bands play.

There isn't enough coherence here to call the music "caterwauling". These folks have gotten together, made a hell of a lot of noise, and then artlessly edited and remixed the audio evidence. As you can tell, I'm absolutely knocked out.

That's right. Random acts of musical violence score high on the Jon-o-Meter, and That's pretty much the sole intent of Miss High Heel. Give the boys a chance to work out some inner tension, not to mention the stress of playing in extremely obscure and throttle-garde bands (you may also insert the Skin Graft "no-wave" genre at any time).

I'm not kidding about the sonic carnage. There's a lot of crap going on here, a true melange of bizarre and uncoordinated sounds. I dig it, see, because I'm one seriously disturbed motherfucker. Music like this causes mental damage in normal folks. Thank God I got weird early on.

Rather goofy and complex music, a messy sound, but one that has order, and not chaos, at its core. I was thinking Primus meets early Mr. Bungle crossed with some of that Skin Graft dosage, but these guys are from Minneapolis. Oh well. The description stands alright, anyway.

Somewhat undermixed, I think (or my ears might just be readjusting from the Miss High Heel, who knows?), with plenty of goofy bits hidden behind layers of tape hiss and other walls of distortion. Mooter (etc.) doesn't bother much with regular song structure. Some pieces are short, and some wander around for ages before finding the land of milk and honey.

The sort of thing that mothers everywhere call "very creative" while patting the kid on the head. Old folks without a clue as to what's going on, but they can recognize a spark of something. I'm not entirely sure what the trio is trying to accomplish, but it's more than intriguing.

Wonderfully wacko, without getting particularly over the top. Yeah, the songs themselves are a mess, but like I said, there is always an underlying structure, even if that is hard to recognize at first. Completely uncommercial, and I'm pretty sure that's where the band wants to be.

Techno, assembled nicely in the current electronic style. I have a feeling these folks would be just as happy cranking out purely sequenced stuff, but as long as cut-and-paste is the idea, well, why not give it a shot as well.

The strange roots of the band are best illustrated on "Itchy", which uses a basic funk guitar groove, whips out an old Prince-style drum track and then tosses in some techno bass and keyboard bits. It works, which is sorta surprising. I guess these folks know what they're doing.

This is the first single-band album I've gotten from the new Kk connection to the U.S., and it shows that the label hasn't lost its touch. Give people what they want, with a brand new shine. The Neon Judgement may still be a techno band at heart, but it proves itself more than able to riff through most of the wildly cascading electronic trends of the day.

My only complaint is that in trying to be all things for all people, The Neon Judgement doesn't establish its own sound particularly well. Very few electronic bands of any stripe do that. I'll settle for good music this time around.

Band leader Curt Victor Bryant's expressed purpose behind this disc is to incorporate traditional American Indian chants and rhythms into dance music. Thus, see, the New Tribe.

A good idea, I suppose. I mean, Gregorian chant and traditional Arabian songs have been adapted successfully. Why not give this a shot?

The problem is that there is very little use of any rhythm other than generic club beats, and while the chants work very well, the music behind them is so faceless that this music just doesn't sing. Of course, as mindless club music, it succeeds.

But I ask for more than that. This could be better. If Bryant had spent more time worrying about his modern music component, this disc might have been impressive. Right now, it sounds like a thousand other sets of club music.

A nice fusion trio, Billy Sheehan on bass, John Novello on keys and Dennis Chambers keeping time. Sheehan is up to his old "play guitar licks on a bass" trick (something which made most of his solo work interesting, if nothing else), and Novello spends most of his time (though not all) on a Hammond B-3, which gives a nice early 70s prog feel to the stuff.

The band runs through a cover of "Birdland" and also does a Chick Corea tune, "Hang Me Upside Down", with Corea himself sitting in on a Fender Rhodes. To be honest, though, I like the original fare better. Sheehan and Chambers have a natural interplay which produces a number of intriguing rhythm combinations. And when each player starts playing off the other two, the songs really take off.

Pyrotechnics of a soulful sort. Yeah, these guys can play fast and loud, but most of all they play well. With feeling and passion. In a jazz, as opposed to a prog, key, but I'm not gonna complain.

A showcase of skill and soulful interplay. Niacin delivers music that musicians and fans alike can appreciate.

These Canadian boys ride my kind of wave length. Heavy on bass and percussion, the rhythms thump and spill along as evidenced on the nine minute title track instrumental, but the lyrics are what sucks me in. Going nowhere, being an asshole, disappearing, and not being able to stop talking. That's just a taste of the internal madness oozing out in bouncy verses.

If you're one of those folks who contemplates too much about life to no avail, feel lost in a world that continually changes in the wrong ways, spend days stumbling to an unknown destination, or just like to listen to that sort of thing, you need to give this band a listen. They may even make you smile about being the strange person you are.

In case you didn't know, NOMEANSNO is the Hanson Brothers + 1, and they are waiting for your lost soul to latch on to their bumbling ride.

--Aaron Worley

You know, just what the title says. Perkins doesn't have the strongest voice (think of a higher-pitched and somewhat shaky Matthew Sweet) and his arrangements are somewhat stock. But out of the 20 songs on this disc, I can say I liked more than half.

It's just so earnest. Perkins is paying his heart out, and if his writing, playing or singing isn't perfect, it's easy to be entranced by the simple heart behind the songs. Basic, sure, but good nonetheless.

Rolling songs, just the sort of thing for a lazy afternoon with beer in hand. I don't think Perkins is going to set the world on fire or anything, but these songs are more than acceptable.

Charming. That's all. Can't complain about that one bit.

I'll be taking the sides one at a time. Pressure Point sounds a lot like a messier D.O.A. with a heart of oi. Two very sloppily played and produced songs. Decent, but nothing to get me terribly excited.

Another Bay-area band with its heart in London. Straight-ahead Brit-inflected pop punk. The songs are pretty good, but not quite to the great point. This is the second 7" I've heard from this band, and I don't detect any growth here. And the band definitely needs to work on some better material if it really wants to break out.

Young bands trying get along. Fair to middling fare, nothing more.

There are at least three mutations of the title scribbled all over the disc and casing, so I'm not sure if it's quite right. But then, we're talking about Zeek Sheck, who seems to revel in creating maddeningly curious music.

But as the nice press note says, there are actual songs here. Stuff makes sense, if you happen to like digging through all sorts of cacophonic mess. Which, of course, happens to be my job.

Lots of friends to help out, folks who are fairly well-known for a high level of musical ability. And a few who probably aren't. Once again, the contradictions of Sheck abound. Even so, the strong sense of rhythm (the bass and drums consistently drive the proceedings forward) keeps all of the madness on the right track.

Okay, this one makes sense to me. Tight rhythms and lots of loopiness besides. The sort of album I can really lock into a groove on. And while everything else may be going to pot, the groove is always there. Wow. This is a truly fine piece of work. Locate at all costs.

After opening with an odd little drum machine-dominated ditty, Shonen Knife kicks back into it's familiar bubble gum power pop mode. I mean, if you don't know Shonen Knife by now, then your head has definitely been in the sand. I mean, Microsoft picked the band's cover of the Carpenter's "Top of the World" (originally released on the If I Were a Carpenter tribute album) for a major ad campaign. That's pretty good, right?

Sure. And remember, this is the band which had a tribute album before it even had a major label deal in the U.S. Break out the cultware, alright.

But even past that, Shonen Knife has been cranking out this silly, amusing pop music for more than 15 years, and this album is as good (or bad, depending on your perspective) as any that have come before. The production is sharp, and the lyric subjects are as superficial as ever (hot chocolate, cookies, banana chips, etc.). Um, same old Knife.

The once-Presidents did a nice Beach Boys backing vocal stint on "Sushi Bar", but past that this is a cameo-free zone. And just as well. Shonen Knife sounds best when the sound is at its most basic. Simple joyous tunes. Like you knew they would be.

--Jon Worley

Little bundles of sugary sweet Shonen Knife sounds. These are the happy Japanese girls, happy to be singing, happy to be playing, happy to be happy. Nothing difficult about this pop trio, and they end the CD with a cover of the Monkees "Daydream Believer." That should explain how the songs go.

But I can't bring myself to downgrade these ladies. They've been doing this stuff for awhile now. I like the way they say hot chocolate, banana chips, and tasty history. The songs bounce, bubble, and pop in a way that makes me grin. I feel like I'm four years old with a pin wheel in my hand and ice cream smeared all over my face when I pop this on.

What can I say? It's a happy hour. Go into it with a child-like attitude, and you'll have a big smile on your face at the end. It beats the crap out of Barney, That's for sure.

--Aaron Worley

This comes on, and I get a little of a country-boy bluescore craving that only a Sin City Disciples show could cure. As Snubnose is on Sin City Records (an adjuct of Cold Front, but still) and this album was recorded in Lawrence, Kan., old home of the Sin City Disciples (who now record as Tenderloin, with a somewhat different lineup), I wondered about the connections.

But my admittedly meager search didn't turn up anything except silly coincidences. Whatever. Snubnose rips out some supreme punk-inflected rockabilly, with some smashing blues lead guitar lines draped on top.

Simple hollering and powerful riffage complete the package. Hey, this is an easy sound to assemble, but in order to make it sing, a band has to go at it without abandon. And I get the idea Snubnose never knew how to take it easy.

So we get to hear some great primal shouts, with a great beat (yes, you can dance to it). I'm still kinda confused by all the strange similarities, but hell, any album that sounds this good is fine by me.

When the first song on the record is a really damn good song, one has to wonder if the rest of the CD will live up to the beginning. "Mass Appeal Madness" is the tastiest piece of ska/rock on this disc, but it's not the only good thing about it. Other gems include "Pop Song (Green)" and "Makisupa Policeman."

The thing about Spring Heeled Jack is that it sounds like a ska band that used to be a rock band, but incorporated ska for the right reasons. The sound needed spice, and this was the way to do it. I keep flashing back to bands like Danger Danger and Steelheart from the late 80s. Crappy bands that had hit songs because they were (conveniently) able to craft one song to fit the glam rock of the time. I think SHJ is better than those bands, but every time I listen, these are the thoughts that race through my head.

Are we in the declining days of ska, where everyone plays a chink chink guitar rhythm so we know it's not a KISS rip-off band? Will we care about these late 90s days of music, or will this be the forgotten time of music--much like hair bands of the 80s are only remembered by the kids unlucky enough to be 16 and full of hormones at just the right moment to sing along to "32 Pennies?"

Only time will tell, I guess. One thing I can say about Spring Heeled Jack is that they are a powerful live band, and there are some really tasty cuts on this disc, even if I feel guilty about saying it.

--Matt Worley

It's rock and roll your mom and dad wouldn't mind you having. These San Diego natives throw in tastes of funk, hip hop, and a taste of hard core blended with the common rock flavor. Nothing in excess, nothing over the top, nothing frightening.

The music does twist enough to make each song stand on their own, so the tracks don't blend into a pile of stock rock beats. Having a good producer always helps in that regard.

While Mr. Funny Face won't take you to any place new, it has enough punch to merit a stroll down to the local music shop and giving it a listen. Not everyone wants to hang out on the ledge, so squat in the middle of the floor with lots of space around you and be soothed by some rock that won't hurt you. In fact, it even hugs you at the end with a Hawaiian traditional.

--Aaron Worley

Loopy. As in tape loopy. Strangulated Beatoffs specialize in the paranoia-inducing neverending mobius strip of tape. The various loops keep building on each other, but they don't vary. Just more and more and more and more and...

It's enough to spook a person into madness, really. Music for obsessive compulsives by obsessive compulsives. Yeah, so I have to admit I allowed myself to get in a wee bit of a trance and bliss out for, oh, say, a half-hour or so, but really now. I should've just gotten stoned or something.

Since music is my prime intoxicant, however, I'll have to settle for this form of suggestive inducement. Now, I'm not kidding about the madness part. If my wife listened to this album for more than a minute I'd have to go hide the knives. But if your mind is ordered a certain way, well, perhaps this will speak to you.

That's all I'm gonna say. Really. This is dangerous music. Only for those who have fallen off the edge. Or want to in the worst way possible.

And I thought the Strangulated Beatoffs album was disturbing. Well, at least I knew what was coming here. This purports to be 12 tracks from a forthcoming double disc titled The Wigmaker in Eighteenth-Century Williamsburg. How much of that I can trust is unknown. Now I will speak to the music. As such.

Also big loopers, To Live and Shave in L.A. takes the loops and other pieces of sound and severely distorts them. Whatever the stuff sounded like in the first place has been rendered into what you hear when you shift radio stations on the fly. Lots and lots of split-second pieces of sanity.

Oh, yes, it's easy to get lost in this stuff, too. Start wandering and thrashing out spots of "reality" from the carnage. Hey, they're talking about Larry King! Or maybe it was Stephen King. Shit, maybe it was the Lion King or Disney's same-sex partners policy. Quite honestly, I don't know anything at this moment. I'm pretty sure I hallucinated that Larry King bit. But whatever.

Like I said, I knew what I was getting into here. Severe sonic mutilation, with a side order of schizophrenia. Bitchen.

What happens when you throw a Middle Eastern influence in with DJ flavor? You create the Transglobal Underground. This is a solid sequel to Psychic Karaoke, and in many ways, the new release flows much better. They still have a plethora of instruments including violin, sitar, dhol, short wave radio, cimbalom, tabla, and drums, drums, drums.

This is one of those free flowing discs that will have you fading in and out on the rhythms but never quite letting the music leave your head. Straight up good grooves with an unconventional line up. I love it when people make music from a different starting point because the sounds will be different in a familiar way.

Good for setting a loose, smooth mood without all the pretentious snootiness of listening to distinctly different musical styles. Everyone can play in this one unless they're afraid of where the music might take them.

--Aaron Worley

A definite attempt at the whole "big rock" thing. Serious, angry anthems done in an overblown, but underproduced, style. And while I think the music is way, way too excessive, the somewhat primitive sound is quite appealing. Oh, the contradiction!

Not enough of one to make me really like this disc, though. Travis has a cool alto voice, and she sneers her way through most of the songs. When she isn't in full irony mode, you know she'll get there soon enough. The trick to making this music work is to pick and choose your moments. That and writing songs that aren't turgid rehashes of AOR days gone by.

But is it really that bad? Maybe not. This music simply doesn't speak to me. I've heard all of the assembled pieces far too many times to find this an original sound, and as much as I like the production job (a task performed by Ms. Travis herself), that doesn't make up for the songs themselves.

Music like this talks ships into sinking. Plip, plip, plop. I guess it is as bad as I thought. Which is kinda a bummer. But that's the way it is.

Like the cover says, a collection of drum and bass. Featuring the drum and bass poster boy, Roni Size. With lots more where that came from.

Size's track is excellent, as are most of the songs here. Lots of interesting experimentation with a form that could get dull in a hurry. I do wish the liners had more information (I have no idea if this stuff is previously released or remixes of old cuts or what), but I'll take the music as is.

Hey, if you've got a rhythm jones and need some cool beats for your next party, that's what drum and bass is all about. The core of electronic music, with very little in the way of couture. This collection serves up a nice set of sounds.

Back toward the end of the MCA days, I was a bit worried about the boys. But Negatron was a blast, and this album picks up where that left off.

Perhaps a bit more into the technical side of things once again (but more in a Nothingface kinda way), with more emphasis on straightforward songs. This is not as aggressive and imposing as Negatron, but what it lacks in venom it gains in style.

Lots and lots of extraneous noise. A real industrial feel to many of the songs (no wonder Slipdisc licensed this puppy). Voivod is not the sort of band to wallow in its past. Indeed, the once thing about the band I've always liked is its ability to face the future without flinching.

And so Voivod stands here, once again massaging its sound into a slightly newer arena. Still amazing, still trendsetting all these years down the road. This one is worth the cash.