One of the few bands that has not deserted the fine Buffalo death metal breeding grounds. You could not guess how many of those Floridian bands have upstate roots.

Judging by the response I have already received, you dig these fuckers. With good reason. The music is more than mere incoherent noise with scratching noises pretending to be vocals. No, there is a band here. The riffs are rather Slayer-esque at times, but the delivery is pure Baphomet.

A fine debut work that shows a real future for these boys.

You just gotta like a grunge-core band that thanks Prince in the liners. The songs are slow, rhythmic killers that keep building in intensity. I'm not sure exactly where the hard core connection comes in, but it is there. I could see these guys opening up for Fugazi or Naked Raygun. They're heavier, but… the attitude, I suppose.

Hard core certainly needs to be taken in directions other than the pop-leanings of Bad Religion or straight-out pop of Senator Flux (two of my favorite bands, by the way.) Bloodline have done that, and created a cool sound to boot. Kinda in the tradition of Helmet, but also different. You know you've heard it somewhere before, but it still kicks your ass - that's Bloodline.

Their last album, Sense, was a favorite of my ex-roommate Chris. Mostly because he and his once-and-future (don't ask) girlfriend speak Spanish to each other, and there was a song with Spanish lyrics on the album. Some people...

I liked the damn thing because it was really interesting to listen to. So is the new album. And I like the liner notes. For some unknown reason, they smell like day-old popcorn (a real delicacy, especially is sprinkled with chili pepper and garlic powder).

Oh, you want to know about the music? Okay, it is kinda mellow. But it is really good, not boring in the slightest. The arrangements are rather orchestral, with lots of different instruments taking the stage. To pass this off as arty bullshit would be a big mistake. So don't.

Here's some sugar for you. Kinda wandering on the heavy side of the glam movement of the last ten years, with Vince Neil on singing on steroids (you figure it out). Fun to listen to, but they try a little hard to please and craft their songs a little much.

A nice commercial-edged demo. If these guys would relax just a little and let their hair down, then things would flow better. Not bad as is, though.

Promise me you will read the rest of the review if I tell you these guys play instrumentals. Well, now that the cat is out of the bag, I'll give you the benefit of the doubt.

And you should give Kong the same. This is some of the most inventive music I've heard in a long time. The press on this compares these guys to Pink Floyd and Voivod. The Floyd haven't put out a decent album in a decade, so I wouldn't exactly call that charitable. As for Voivod, I suppose the creativity herein could be a link, but I choose to put Kong in their own league.

Wandering all over the loud universe, Kong will make you dance, thrash, moan, cry and wander aimlessly searching for meaning in a dead universe. And if you're so inclined, I'm sure sexual relations could be attempted as well. So turn it up and strap yourself in for a real ride.

If you did not groove on their recent ep, then you are a true Philistine. This is a full-length piece of work: seven songs, fifty minutes. So if you're not going to sit and listen to brilliance, go into your bedroom and jerk off to the new Firehouse record.

One of my reporters assured me this was better than the EP, but I was rather skeptical. I mean, the Symphonaire really created a new level for death metal, and how could they improve upon it?

Crank into the first (well, second after an instrumental into) song, "Sear Me." Nine minutes of sheer despair and rage. You can only sit there and say, "God-DAMN!"

Well, that's what I think, anyway. And the rest of the album keeps cranking just as well. A new standard has been set, there is no doubt. Let's see Morgoth, Atheist, Malevolent Creation or Pungent Stench top this one with their next albums. I dare you.

They're from Cleveland, home of the future rock and roll hall of fame shindig. My ex-roommate was from Cleveland, and he had never heard of these guys. His loss.

I thought this would be good from the moment I noticed it was an album to be played at 45, not unlike Husker Du's Metal Circus. Of course, when we played MC as a classic album, we played it at 33. And got calls remarking on how much better it sounded.

This is better at 45. Semi-funky riffola with (at times) wildly emotive vocals. You really have to listen to get what I'm talking about. So do it. You will develop a smile on your face.

Joe Satriani is without a doubt the most popular instrumental guitarist in the world. And one of the most imitated, as well. While some people see that as a way to break out of an artistic mold, Satriani keeps on keeping on.

This can be good or bad, depending on how you look at it. This album is as good as Surfing with the Alien or Flying in a Blue Dream (but still a little behind Not of this Earth, which ironically was originally marketed with a laudatory blurb from former student Steve Vai).

Actually, it is indistinguishable from his last two works. There is no singing here, but the playing is as tuneful and forceful as always. But with all of his technique and power, Joe Satriani has never made me go "Damn, that was really amazing." I know he can. Maybe next time.

If you've been on the Third Mind mailing list for the last year, you have heard all this. If you haven't, then this is a good introduction.

While not as exciting as the 26-track Epitaph compilation just released (I wouldn't mind reviewing that, either, hint, hint), this shows the artistic range of Third Mind. While all of the music is rooted in the techno-industrial craze, you might be surprised how diverse this movement really is. Don't be an idiot; listen to more than one genre of music, alright?

Do we really need another Seattle band attempting to define "The Sound of Fuck?" Probably not, but the public wants it, so who really gives a damn.

Yes, Roadracer's latest attempt to cash in on the Nirvana-Pearl Jam-Soundgarden-Alice in Chains-Queensryche-etc. craze is yet another very competent band. If only Willard had a song called "We Really Groove on the Melvins." Then I could stomach this better.

Slower-than-fuck at times, but definitely Seattle to the hilt. You're gonna succumb, so why not get it over with?