Live recordings taken from a European tour of Dutch Harbor, a documentary. Members of the ensemble include Will Oldham, Ken Vandermark, Edith Frost, Mick Turner and Jim White (there are 11 members overall) and David Grubbs and Rick Rizzo (not official members) also appeared on some of the tracks.

From the names of the folks, you might get an idea of what to expect. Brooding, haunting stuff, the sound of Dirty Three (not surprising, as White and Turner are 2/3 of that band) utterly deconstructed. If the movie is anywhere as bleak as this music, well, it should be just as compelling.

Most often, the members of the ensemble (usually five or six are playing on any one song) move around a central theme, passing the idea along in sort of a circle. There isn't so much the sense of a collective as a group of players. But that also makes the music that much more stark.

An interesting idea, putting together a band to play music for a movie tour. Not done very often these days. With music like this, though, perhaps it ought to happen a bit more.

Another example of the unusual side of the Chicago noise pop revolution. Conn gets friends like Dylan Posa, Thymme Jones, Sarah Allen, and Jim O'Rourke to back him up (the list goes on much longer, BTW). O'Rourke produced, of course. The music, well, the music is a bit eclectic.

Kinda like listening to the seventies through a horribly distorted filter. From Kiss cock rock to disco and everywhere in between. And that's just one song. Lots of asides, lots of idiosyncratic moments. Brilliant, undeniably.

But certainly weird. A word I generally hesitate to use, but hell, if this doesn't fit, I don't know what might. Conn's twisted notion of musical form and style is so utterly absorbing that I couldn't take my ears away. I kinda wanted to, from time to time, but I couldn't. Impossible to shake.

There are plenty of accessible points, but Conn switches gears so quickly (and facilely) that the average listener will certainly give up before the truth of the vision hits. Facing that truth, well, that's something even I don't want to do right now. Give me a couple days or something.

First Obituary, now Deicide. It's obvious a trend is on the downturn when the live albums start turning up. Recorded at the House of Blues in Chicago, the band takes many a trip down memory lane.

With a strangely small sound. The lack of bombast focuses attention on the playing, and despite some initial misgivings, I have to say that works out pretty well. This leaner Deicide sound really suits the band well. Too bad the studio efforts are often overblown.

Of course, no matter how good the playing, the fact remains that Deicide, Glen Benton in particular, doesn't write very good songs. They're mostly rote affairs, with obligatory double bass drum work and speed guitar flashes. And lots of songs about how God is the real son of a Bitch.

Better than I figured, though the band still has to play Deicide songs, after all. The crowd noise sounds piped up (remember that Scorpions live album? Geez.), but other than that I have to say this is the best-sounding Deicide album I've heard. That it's live apparently makes all the difference.

The DJ's contribution was mostly to smoothly mix in a variety of tracks. Stuff that sounds something like the electronic edge of acid jazz perhaps. I'm sure there's a name for it, and I'm just as sure that I'm completely out of the loop.

But whatever. These are smooth, mellow hip-hop gooves which quietly impress. Just because the stuff isn't in-yer-face doesn't mean there isn't some fine work goin' on. The disc slowly mutates around the sound, accessing different acts and songs while maintaining nicely.

Just hang-out sorta thing. Nothing particularly stunning, but plenty to approve of here. Nice little grooves which keep trippin' all the way to the end. I can dig, most certainly.

My discer didn't like this disc. The puppy kept skipping all over the place, no matter what I did. Not enough to call it a defect, but just enough to piss me off. The thing of it is, the music kept me listening, even when my machine failed me.

Nicely fuzzy pop, vocals of extreme falsetto and lots of little bells and whistles. I dug through the press, and it seems the band might be British. Though the contact info lists an Oklahoma address. I don't know why any Brits might live in such a dreadful place.

Okay, that personal prejudice aside, I'll get back to how damned much I liked this shit. Five cool songs, all reasonably similar and all reasonably amazing. It's bands like this that give pop a good name.

If eclectic pop stylings appeal to you, then search this thing out. I will attest to the greatness within. Hold me to it. This stuff is wonderful.

Disc one is the album, disc two contains a few remixes. Not the sort of sound you hear remixed very often. Fifty Tons of Black Terror specializes in the down home squall blues, heavy on the hollering and the distortion. And, also, horribly, horribly addictive.

Perhaps the meanest sort of music on the planet. Depressing, abusive and generally rude. The sky has been blacked out, iron cinders falling like rain. The world ended a couple months ago, and these guys are still plugging away, forestalling fate with every weapon at their disposal.

A gawdawful racket, but it was planned that way. These are not songs of tenderness and devotion. They are paeans to pain, suffering and the most foul ways of life known to mankind. Puking as an aphrodisiac. That sort of thing.

So, you know, it runs right down my alley. Gruesome music to be sure, but brutally sane. Sometimes, life has to be faced without any interference from makeup.

Dead-on straight-ahead uptempo punk, with a tendency for the catchy chorus. British (well, Welsh. At least, that's the address) guys who have been doing this for a while and obviously have a handle on the form. Nice to hear some professional anarchy.

Basic, yes. Four Letter Word does not surprise. This is right where it's supposed to be, with nothing diluted. Supremely executed, I might add, all the way from the tight playing to the great growler on vocals. Pub voiced, you might say. Just fuckin' right.

And if you're not gonna innovate, you might as well kick some ass. Four Letter Word does everything right, and usually much better that simply correct. Inspired is a word that comes to mind. The blood is flowing and the adrenaline is bubbling out of my pores. Highly combustible.

Very very very very very fine. Knowhutimean? I think so. The sort of music which inspired talentless kids to pick up instruments and start railing against the man. The best of times, indeed.

Once a year, a little Hurl package of joy comes into my mailbox. A little late this time, perhaps, but certainly worth every second of the wait. In case you haven't caught the band before, Hurl is one of the finest purveyors of that impossible to define "eclectic noise pop" (perhaps the worst such description I've ever penned) movement.

Intricately crafted guitar lines spinning and wheeling, crashing into the bass and drums. Oh, and the vocals, which are about as stream-of-consciousness as the music. A definite relation to emo, but not the same thing. Not at all. There is much more emphasis here on craft and style. The guitars glide and really aren't all that strident. The songs are just much more complex.

A long EP, perhaps (the six songs some in at more than 28 minutes), or a short LP. My Pal God went with the former appellation. In any case, fine work. The sound is even more accomplished than before (the more trips to the studio, the more you can implement your vision), and the songs more impressive.

Just another incremental improvement on an already solid foundation. Hurl has the vision, the talent and the obvious follow-through. A legend in the making? Possibly. All I can say is that I'm damned impressed.

Perhaps the best band name ever. I dunno. When I first heard of these guys a couple years back, I raved about the name for ages. Now I can finally hear some tunes. And they're not bad, either.

Up-the-gut punk, something of a sparser sound than Four Letter Word, but in the same basic style. Fast and furious, with just a few of those left coast oozin' ahs. To compare this sound to candy would be a fine idea. I think I'll do that.

Way too fun to turn off. The lines are delivered deadpan, but hell, how can you not like a song called "My Favorite Show Is 90210"? Silly and energetic. Good qualities, indeed.

It's amazing what some folks can do with two (yes, sometimes two) chords. A complete riot of sound, with a side of amusement. The band name is only the beginning.

Nineteen songs tracking in at less than 28 minutes. Yet another album by yer basic punk band. And, again, highly impressive. Kid Dynamite take a bit more of a hardcore approach to the riffage and singing, but basically, this is still uptempo sing-along punk. Lotsa shouting, lotsa attitude.

Short, sweet and dead on the point. Kid Dynamite isn't afraid to take on anyone, from authority figures to pop icons. All done with wit and style. These aren't cheap shots. They're reasoned and concise arguments.

Poetic, almost. And I don't say that too often, at least when writing about punk outfits. But the words to the lyrics here multiply upon each other, like good poetry. Brevity of words, breadth of message. That's the trick.

More smilage from these here parts. It's been ages since I heard so many good punk discs. Maybe it's contagious. Maybe I'm just blissed. Who knows? I can say I really dig this puppy. That's good enough for now.

The band styles itself as a new sort of soul act, claiming influences like Sly and the Family Stone, Parliament, Blind Melon (um...) and more. Very much a rock soul band, as the funk is always played straight.

I can think of worse things. And any band who chooses "Thank You (falletinme be mice elf again)" as the Sly cover isn't all bad. But doing a song like that brings on all sorts of unfortunate comparisons. Like...

The Sly version is a dynamic, flowing wonder, tossing off groove after groove as if such things were in unlimited supply. Left Undone, on the other hand, sticks to one beat and one groove throughout the whole song. Their cover sounds something like a funeral dirge.

The playing is fine, but I don't hear the soul. A prime example of white boy funk. Something's missing. It's not pigmentation, but the spirit of innovation and exploration just isn't present. Rote, but not much more.

Nicely fuzzy earnest roots rock. Just enough hooks to shake off the wanky guitar bits. The vocals are bit too affected for my taste, but they fit the style just fine.

A band, by the way, and not a man. I made the same mistake before checking out the liners. Don't know what it means, but hell, I generally don't worry about that stuff. I prefer to focus on the music.

And for the sort of involved, backbeat-laden fuzz rock the band plays, they do it well. I have noted on many occasions my general distaste for the stuff, but I can groove with Leon Milmore. There's enough soul here to keep my heart moving.

A nice car album. Turn up the volume and take down the roof. Well, maybe wait until spring. I'll leave that choice up to you.

I don't usually do catalog reviews, but when the band asks, well, I guess I'm a softie. This album was released in 1987, and really, it was a few years ahead of its time.

Very contemporary with what bands like Queensryche were doing then, and it's not hard to understand how this kind of got lost in the shuffle. Remember, this appeared in the Bon Jovi-Poison heydey.

The music is quite sophisticated, though the playing and singing don't always quite measure up. The production tries to mask some of the deficiencies with little tricks (harmonizing guitar lines, overdubbing vocals to a silly extent), but that only emphasizes the problems.

Still, a solid trip through the Eurometal style. Ambition is never a bad thing.

Released in 1988, the stuff here is even more Iron Maiden-influenced than the first album. More of a heavy, plodding sound, though, following the trends of the day a bit more.

While the production job from Terry Date is much better than the one on the first album, it still can't make up for the band's technical problems. Speed seems to clog up some of the fret work, and singer Joseph Comeau sounds out of his range whenever he reaches up near the treble range.

And yet, the overall effect is appealing. I like the basic ideas Liege Lord works with, and the performance difficulties aren't overwhelming. They're just a bit annoying.

Another workmanlike disc. Liege Lord never worked up to greatness, but that wasn't for lack of trying.

Trying to be a funky little rock band, Manute Soul doesn't really make its parts fit together terribly well. Often enough, the vocals and the music just don't match up. Either is good enough on its own, but they don't fit running at the same time.

I can hear attempts at the whole Spin Doctors groove thing, but Manute Soul can't decide whether to be excessively self-indulgent or go for the hooks. Pick one. Stick with it. Both just muddle the music.

There's some fine musicians in this band, and the singing is just fine. At some point, though, Manute Soul has to figure out just what it wants to do. Perhaps then it will be able to impress more.

Not your father's Marilllion (or your own, if you're like me and remember the band's short-lived U.S. fame in the mid 80s). Fish left in 1988, and as the band has soldiered on for 10 years, this edition of the band is actually the longer lasting.

Which is something like saying the recent reformation of the Buzzcocks has recorded more music and has been together longer than the original incarnation. The music is still prog-tinged pop (think late 70s Genesis or something), and it's reasonably good. Terribly self-important and excessive in the writing part, the overall effect is still appealing.

I don't like to hear people trying so damned hard. If you want to make music like this, don't leave the tags hanging out. Smooth some edges, use a little subterfuge. Don't make the music sound difficult. Marillion still hasn't quite got that notion down.

As pop music goes, this is decent. As Marillion music goes, well, I was hoping for a bit more. This is not an album to rekindle the fires of fans past.

Subtitled "The Cocteau Years Compilation," this set puts together Nelson's singles from his label (including the first "hit", "Do You Dream in Color?"), music recorded from 1980 to 1990.

Americans not quite so familiar with his work will be surprised to discover how much British new wave bands took from Nelson's approach to sound and songwriting. Cocteau was his own label, and along with his own stuff he released records from the likes of Flock of Seagulls.

But where most new wave bands eventually wandered back into the sentimental pop fold (leaving behind the brave new world of sharp synth sounds and eerie song subjects), Nelson instead forged forward, creating music which can hardly be categorized at all.

Which is probably the greatest joy of listening to this set. Nelson has never stopped searching for new ways to express himself. The music is vibrant and pulsating, impossible to put away. Music history, sitting right here.

Not surprisingly, this new collection of Nelson recordings (put to tape in 1996 and 1997) fully embraces all of the technology that is available. Nelson sounds like something of an electronica bluesman, his guitar work cut and intermixed with a wall of samples and sound snippets.

Disjointed and lush all at once. Nelson doesn't often leave his listeners feeling comfy. He likes to wander, and so this disc does, all over the reaches of his mind. Wherever he wants to go, he does, and the result is an album of almost unimaginable scope and imagination.

You don't even need to be tripping to get lost here. The immaculate production presents the illusion of some counteruniverse, where only Nelson's notions are the rule. Unconventional music for the demanding listener.

Overwhelming. Nelson takes in so much land with every stride that it is heard to keep up. Listening leaves me breathless. But it has to be done. Again. Very soon.

Some folks from Valpo who make pleasantly clunky music. Something Secretly Canadian might release, perhaps. Pop music of the lo-fi sort, with all the trimmings.

Orso generally relies on drones of one sort or another. Might be the bass. Might be the guitar. Might be, well, just about anything. Once the base is laid down, the rest of the song slowly appears on top. Kinda like a low tech ambient recording, except there is something resembling song construction here.

Oh, and a very nice place to be. A spot to sit and calmly contemplate purpose and drive. Orso never insists. It merely requests. And I'm happy to sit and listen. There's always something to keep me thinking.

Just loopy enough to fit into the "quirky" pile. Thought-provoking enough to truly impress. Too much here to fit into just a few sentences, surely.

It's kinda hard to resist a sultry-voice woman singing about l'amour in French (Is there any other language with l'amour? Dunno). And instead of wallowing in smoky lounge crap, Paris Combo draws from all the influences of the city, with Gypsy, Spanish, Mediterranean and jazz bits popping up here and there. Think of a wide-ranging, kitsch-less new jack swing band.

Sung in French. I can't really get over that. While French itself isn't nearly as romantic a language as some folks think, French singing is right up there. Makes me melt. And, of course, as the music is similarly entrancing, the disc just keeps impressing.

The trick to any seduction is to keep the mood serious, yet playful. Paris Combo knows this, and so it never settles for a simple, smoky sound. Nope, there's lots of lighter moments pitched in here as well, all at the right times. Keeping the mood just right.

Not really "world music", but just a superior European vision of a current American trend. Oh, I doubt the band gave any thought to such things, but since it's here, I've got to make references where I can. In any case, this is a wonderfully invigorating album.

A British three-piece which plays brilliant fuzzy power pop. The band appears as part of a glam (that's the Bowie sort of glam) band in the new flick "Velvet Goldmine", so you might get an idea of where they're coming from.

Frontman Brian Molko does have a Bowie-esque sort of delivery (though he sounds more like one of the faceless new wave singers of the early 80s), but those vocals work real well with the heavy, strident fuzz tones of the music. For all the production excess, Placebo plays straight-ahead pop. Basic, uptempo stuff. Basic, perhaps, but still amazing.

The disc just keeps rolling along. Sure, the first track (and lead single) "Pure Morning" might be a monster smash in a couple months, but don't let that deter you from delving into the rest. The album is solid all the way through, with plenty of wonderful excursions.

Sometimes a major label release is good. This one fits the bill. It's actually better than good. Great would be more like it. The future of pop is in good hands.

I've heard tons about the Promise Ring, and now I finally get to experience it in the flesh. Three songs, all basic pop from three very different angles.

"Tell Everyone We're Dead" has a definite emo feel to it. Slowly developing, but certainly a strong finisher. "Best Looking Boys" has a cool retro feel to it. I get a "Melt With You" vibe, though to be fair, it's a feel, not a question of riff appropriation. Nope, just the light feel of the guitars on the drums. An angelic pop song. Impossible to resist.

And lastly, "American Girl", which might be a deconstruction of a song previously recorded by the band (it's listed here as version 02). A moody, cloudy mutation which barely qualifies as a completed work. Daring and impressive.

Hey, there three songs knock me out. I'm out the door to find a record store and see what I've been missing. Later.

Another one of them Louisville combos. Loopy song constructions, an emphasis on the eclectic. More acoustic than electric. Haunting and powerful all at once.

Whenever pundits like me decide to give up on Louisville as a prime music location, an album like this shows up. Something that reinforces the strong tradition of iconoclastic rock bands from the city. And the core members, Tara Jane O'Neil and Cynthia Nelson, are authentic local luminaies. O'Neil is a member of the Sonora Pine, was in Rodan, and worked with Sebadoh, Come and Danielle Howle. Nelson is best known as part of the outstanding Ruby Falls.

Retsin isn't immediately grabbing, but more subversive, getting me where it counts, in the back of the head. I can't really classify this stuff much more. The guitar work is tortured, yet affecting. Lines don't always match up, but that doesn't matter. Not at the base of things, anyway.

So let this one rumble on past your conscious barriers, and after a few minutes you should tune into the real wavelengths of the music. Like those Magic Eye posters, except with music.

I've got this to say for the folks at Degy Management: They're consistent. All four bands they sent me fit loosely into that white boy funk/Dead again circle of stuff. Shaking Tree is the most interesting, and yet probably the most flawed of the bunch.

I really dig the vaguely bluegrass song constructions. The bass and guitars move around in very attractive ways. Some references to South African township jive, even. I can dig.

But the vocals are breathy and restrained. The music is alive ad full of joy, and the vocals are constraining. They don't fit. The lyrics aren't too bad, but the singing style just doesn't work for me at all.

Get someone else to sing. There's real potential in the music, but I simply can't countenance these vocals.

Um, I asked for it. When I reviewed Solus's latest release a couple issues back, I said I'd love to hear more. This is the band's 1996 release, a full-length. And proof that the band has been good for some time.

The same muscular riffage, the same attention to creative rhythms, the same sense of power and rage. I loved the three new songs I heard, and this disc is chock full of similar fare.

I'm really surprised that someone at a label hasn't noticed this before. I mean, this Slayer meets Sepultura sound (not too far from the heavier elements of Fear Factory, of course) sounds to me like the future of extreme metal. And no matter what you call this music, it's stuff of the highest quality.

Well, there's nothing much more for me to say. If you like a little heaviness in your life, you must check Solus out. I don't give such unqualified endorsements often, so be sure to leg this one out.

Droning, whirling, ethereal gothic pop. The backing musical tracks borrow from a variety of current electronic trends, but the vocals, sometime more processed than others, are definitely in that witchy way.

As long as that's not a problem (and it isn't for me, anyway), the effect is pretty good. Overall, the music has a very sparse and haunting feel. I'm guessing some of that is a result of production limitations, but most of it is likely intended. In any case, it works.

The mood is set, and it doesn't falter, even as the music takes some interesting side trips. As long as the vocals keep moaning, the music can move about a bit. In fact, I rather approve. Most tasteful in its experimentation.

A solid effort. A disc that drew me in slowly, and then kept me around. There's a lot more going on here than I hear in most goth discs. A worthy endeavor.

One of the more successful attempts to merge commercial and modern rock I've heard. A bit of the chintzy backbeat, vaguely poetic lyrics, guitars which swirl or jangle and a top layer of keyboards. Definitely aiming as mass appeal.

With enough hooks and wit to attract a few from the edgier side of the fence. Personally, I liked the recent Cracker album lots more, but this is in the same ballpark, soundwise. And Sweet William does it pretty well. I could hope for more inventive music, but accessibility does have its price.

The songs don't always trend to anthems, also a plus. Whenever I think the stuff might be getting too self-important (the swelling of the keyboards or organ is a hint there), the band undercuts that with deft irony in the lyrics or the music. I like that.

A little too easy for me, but decent stuff. Music for reformed alterna-rockers, folks who still look askance at stuff like Sheryl Crow or Blues Traveler.

Almost all the songs here are performed by the lead actor (Hugh Dillon, who in his real life sings for The Headstones) and Swamp Baby. There is a Ramones track and one song each from Teenage Head and Chris Spedding. Still, most of this is music from the film.

A film about a fictional punk band in Vancouver. This band (Hard Core Logo) sounds something like a cross between D.O.A. and the Humpers. My main quibble is that everyone knows that the "Vancouver sound", at least as far as punk goes, is characterized by massive bass. See Nomeansno and D.O.A. for a better explanation.

The Hard Core Logo music is a bit more generic, but certainly energetic. The other songs are basically filler. In fact, the Ramones track is a perfect melding of "Rock and Roll High School" and "Rockaway Beach", simply splicing the batchiest bits of each together and adding astonishingly retard lyrics.

Whatever. If I an find the movie, I'll check it out. It's got to be better than what's down at my local gigaplex.

Hardknocks is more a collective than a label, and the variety of sounds here attests to that. There isn't any cohesion to the sounds, and there's not supposed to be. This is compilation of bands who want to get their music out. Period.

And the quality of recording and music varies almost as much as the styles. I will say that much of this tends toward the heavier side of things (hardcore more than metal), but that simplification isn't entirely accurate. There is something here for most anyone, as long you like guitars.

It's always cool to wander through and listen to young bands trying things out. That's what this disc is all about.

Goodness, but that bass pops right out. Lots of funk-inflected bass and keyboards at the points of impact. Not a lot of guitar work, just enough to know it's there. Very pretentious stuff.

Yeah, these guys think they're really making a statement. That's the sound, anyway. And, well, it works, some of the time. I do wish there wasn't that sheen of arrogance, but sometimes you've got to work with what you've got.

And what I've got here is a rock band appropriating pieces of the current r&b scene. Sort of an attempt to re-create Ike and Tina Turner or Sly using today's rock and soul. Again, I like the idea. It's not quite seamless enough (and the forms don't mix as well as they used to, for that matter), but there are moments.

Not enough to make me cry out in joy, though. Just not enough passion in the delivery (which is my problem with latter-day r&b, for that matter). Warm is too disconnected from the songs. An intriguing attempt, though, anyway.