The sound (and band) which gave Alec Empire the means to start the label. For the uninitiated, heavily-distorted everything, gang vocals and guitars laid over simple, blazing beats. Highly aggro, highly addictive.

Pretty much taking off where the band left on Burn, Berlin, Burn, this disc is just a deeper exploration of the, well, digital hardcore sound. Good music for dancing, good music for blasting out of your car and scaring the locals.

Where ATR separates itself from the crowd is in its refusal to get noisy for noise's sake. There is always an ear to leaving a door accessible. Usually in the beat, but even the shouted vocals have a melodic component as well. The lyrics also say something. Sometimes, anyway.

Simply and truly, some of the most dangerous music around. Not just for what it says, but because it's so easily accessed by the mainstream. Once you get past the distortion sheen, there's an addictive sound which is impossible to get rid of, no matter how hard you try. Quite fine.

Sloppy riffage, shouted vocal harmonies and an irrepressible driving beat. Yeah, big NOFX influence. And so why not hook up with Fat Wreck and all the attendant connections.

With songs like "San Dimas High School Football Rules" and "My So Called Life", the Ataris excoriate pop culture even as the references flow freely. Unlike most bands with a NOFX jones (and there are a lot of them lately, aren't there?), though, the Ataris has fine senses of irony and humor. Not stupid, but a little more sophisticated than the norm.

And the off-hand lead vocal delivery is just right. The Ataris could certainly look a but further afield and find a their own sound, but this disc is certainly impressive nonetheless.

The first NOFX retread I've heard which actually is in the same league. There's a big wad of talent burning here. Hope the guys expand their sound some next time around.

Some former members of Godplow re-forming way up north. Definite emo-pop construction, and the guys have the basics down, with a bit more punch.

Before I forget, I love the jacket construction. Yeah, it's definitely on the inexpensive side, but still quite impressive. As for the music, well, it's perfectly good. But doesn't really break out from the fairly large pack.

And that's not to say the music is generic. Like I said, there is more emphasis on guitar power here than with most emo-pop, and that certainly lends an air of distinction to the songs. It's just that, well, The stuff doesn't knock me out. I like it okay. You know the feeling?

This one just didn't speak to me. I don't think there's anything particularly technical in my disapproval; just a vague sense. No spark for me. It happens.

A nice survey of punk sounds, rounded off with some of the more cogent and intelligent lyrics I've heard in a while. There's reams of cynicism ("Everything I Ever Wanted to Know About Genocide I Learned in the Third Grade" and "Jonathan Kozol Was Right..."), but a few ideas as well.

And while the music is nicely eclectic (as punk goes, anyways), it is the vocal presentation of those fine lyrics which really sets the band apart. The Broadways have something to say, and those ideas are communicated extremely well.

Long stuff, too, averaging nearly three minutes a song. My goodness. I didn't really notice the length until I punched up the totals. The punchy tunes just keep coming along, and I sure didn't want to impede their progress.

I don't know what it is, but I've heard lots of great punk in the last month or so. I mean, I'd gone almost a year thinking that punk might have played itself out (or, at least, that I had finally tired of the somewhat limited musical vision I'd been hearing). But hell, the Broadways have helped bring me back into the fold.

Eight songs, 26 minutes. Short LP, long EP? I dunno. Don't matter. The music does. Byron does the jangle thing, coloring it with some really cool acoustic lead guitar work.

More of a basic pop sound than a roots thing, despite the abundance of acoustic guitar. You know, like when Tom Petty does the Byrds. Actually, the more I think of it, there's something of a Petty groove going on here, and I'm not one to complain about such things.

Byron's lyrics are a bit tortured. He's obviously worked very hard on them, and it sounds like he forced some lines. Sometimes you've got to cut good stuff in order to make a song work. But such clumsy moments are fairly rare. Most songs skip and trip along quite well.

An easy listen (NOT easy listening). Byron ought to loosen up just a bit, but he's certainly got all the tools. A most impressive disc.

The "house band" for Asian Man (or, perhaps, the reason for the label's existence). Not unlike the situation with Bad Religion and Epitaph, say, 10 years ago. Musicwise, basic punk pop with a ska kicker in the rhythm section. Strictly speaking, not really ska (somewhere between Elvis Costello and later Madness), but tight, tuneful songs with some wry messages.

Yeah, plenty of it concerns life for Asians who have become Americans. Not a militant message, just a notion that folks are folks, without nearly as many differences as we seem to see.

And really, the songs are wonderful. Great hooks, and that light ska backbeat lending a mellow color. Big smiles, fine fare. Irresistible, really.

Hey, if this is the flagship act for Asian Man, it certainly carries the standard well. First rate all the way. Insightful, incisive and fun. Hard to argue with that.

For all of us who still worship at the Dazzling Killmen altar. I'm pretty sure there's some of you still out there. Colossamite is just another of that band's ever expanding diaspora. This is the first full-length, and there's plenty of wandering about.

Indeed, this stuff can hardly be called tight or even mildly cohesive. Just apocalyptic ramblings of the first order. More noise than before, with lots of tape loops, samples or whatever. Colossamite has definitely crossed over the threshold of soundscape creation.

But there are a few bits that might be called songs, even if that definition fits loosely. The only way to hear this disc is as a contiguous whole (most of the compositions extend across a number of tracks, so random is definitely out), and trust me, you won't be sorry you did.

Yeah, frontman John Sakes only knows the abyss, and Colossamite has a pretty good view from where it sits. I'll take the band's word for it, anyway.

Another release which lies somewhere between full-length and EP. Seven songs, 28 minutes. I know I shouldn't worry about these things (at least, that's what my analyst sez), but I do. Anyway, this is a Deep Elm release, so you might figure on some muscular emo.

And that's what's here. Cross My Heart lets the guitars truly wail and presents a powerful interpretation of the ever-evolving emo standard. The loopy songwriting style is in evidence here, and everything works. No surprises, just solid music.

Passion, man. That's here in droves. You know, it's called emo for a reason (I keep meaning not to repeat that word, and yet, I still do). The psychic urgency of the lyrics and riffage makes listening imperative. No choice. This stuff impels me to turn up the volume and contemplate.

The best music takes hold of the soul and doesn't let go. It doesn't have to be loud or driving. There's a hook which slowly snags itself on the heart, and once it pierces, escape is a futile dream. There is no catch-and-release program for great tuneage.

Two percussionists, a bass player and some electronic goodies. That there's a recipe which sounds well-suited to my tastes. Better be some serious rhythmic exploration, my friends.

Oh, and the joy rang out over the valley like a bitch in heat! Drumhead wanders into so many potentially untenable situations and escapes with such impressive ease. Yeah, this is experimental. Well out on the limb. Not only rhythmically, but also in terms of the overall sound.

At times the stuff is sharp and well-defined. Sometimes it's clouded under a few layers of mush. And, often enough, the sound lies somewhere in between. Always, always exactly what the music needed.

You know, this would have fit in well with the Wordsound crew. And it was recorded in Brooklyn (though Perishable is a Chicago concern). Whatever the geography involved, the music is the key. Astonishing and inventive. Can't be much more effusive than that.

Okay, imagine the Chipmunks as a twisted electronic noise outfit. With lots of toy instruments. A 10-minute introduction titled "Free Guitar Lessons for Animals", complete with a load of special animal friends. And a nearly 8-minute conclusion, "The Halloween Puppet Show".

Weird, silly, and completely warped. Strange in a bizarre way. Can I make this any more clear? This is one fucked-up disc. I'm laughing my ass off, though, and that kinda scares me.

The most disturbing thing is how nearly normal this sounds. If the average parent wasn't paying attention, they might think it was some Teletubbies spin-off. Of course, it's not.

One of the most remarkably crazy discs I've ever heard. The usual rules do not apply. Flossie and the Unicorns take insanity to a new and wondrous level. I digs, indeed.

Legends is Buddy Guy's club, situated a few blocks south of the Loop in Chicago. This set was recorded back in 1993, not long before Junior Wells passed away. The setting is simple: Guy on acoustic guitar, Wells on harp, both singing.

The two swing through a basic blues set, playing Muddy Waters, Willie Dixon, Jimmy Reed, Big Bill Broonzy and more. The songs are well-known; even a novice blues fan will recognize most of them. That's not the attraction. What has always characterized blues greats is their ability to find something new in the oldest and most oft-repeated songs.

And the sparse, acoustic sound only lends more power to the men performing. The sound of souls laid bare, with little electronic interference. While I'm thinking of it, I would like to commend whoever it was that set up the recording of Guy's guitar. Recently, a number of live acoustic guitar recordings have had a tinny sound. Guy's has a full, rich, enveloping feel. Simply outstanding.

Oh, their skills might have seen better days. But their souls were finally fully developed. The Guy and Wells tour through of the blues is a jaunt I'll take any day.

Thick and chunky punk rawk anthems. With plenty of musical and verbal humor. Kinda like...

Well, you read my take on the Ataris. Same deal. There is more than a passing NOFX influence, though I can also hear bits and snatches of Pennywise and (obviously, then) Bad Religion. And like the Ataris, Lagwagon does its heroes proud. Tight tunes with muscular hooks and scads of wit.

Oh, more bliss. The sorta punk I crave. Sweet and chewy, but with enough substance to satisfy. Kinda like if eating a Snickers left you feeling like you just ate a big ol' sub instead.

Well done, well done. Big wads of smiles from my corner. I'm still singing along in my head. And hitting repeat.

Ska-inflected hardcore. Somewhere between the Blue Meanies and Voodoo Glow Skulls. The horns are nicely desultory, but the skankin' doesn't merge very well with the more straightforward riffage.

The recording is strangely muted. Not a great job there. Plenty of stuff gets lost in the middle ranges. Still, and that's a big STILL, I really dig the wail of the horns over the hardcore. Makes up for a lot of the problems.

Link 80 is not particularly creative when it comes to songwriting. The structures are stock, though every once in a while there's a cool break (usually having something to do with ska) that eases up the action nicely. And like I said, I'm a sucker for bleary horns draped over loud guitars.

Link 80 hasn't quite figured out what it wants to do with its sound. Is it a ska band that plays fast and loud? A hardcore band which utilizes the odd skankin' groove? Just a bunch of guys who play music they like? Well, it sounds like the latter. I'd prefer a bit more cohesion and attention to detail, particularly with such simplistic music. But I'll satisfy myself with the band's intense energy and, of course, those bitchen horns.

Four tracks each from Mayall's last three albums, plus a new song and an outtake of "Fan the Flames". So, if you've got the recent albums, this just is not necessary.

Mayall's consistency is amazing. Some might even call it thickening concrete. He's still singing the blues much the same way he did when Eric Clapton was in his band more than 30 years ago.

I guess that's my problem. His voice has only gotten better (blues voices are like wine that way), but the production is slick, squeezing the soul out of many of these songs. I just like my blues in the stripped-down mode. Like, say, the Buddy Guy and Junior Wells disc that arrived in the same package as this album.

What's so maddening is that Mayall is never bad. He can be brilliant. But most of the time he's just wandering around in the middle, sounding strangely straight. His competency is unchallenged. I would, however, ask where the passion went.

Moebius is probably best known for his work with Cluster and Brian Eno. Conny Plank produced such acts as Kraftwerk, Devo, Ultravox and other acts of a previous electronic age. Mayo Thompson, of course, is the man behind the Red Krayola. They recorded this album in 1983.

Of course, no one wanted to release it back then. Even today, the sound is certainly out there. Sterile electronic music dripping and washing about, with generally spoken vocals. Hard to imagine rambling electronic pieces, with all the precision such endeavors usually require. But here it is.

Sane? Well, logical. But sane? Questionable. Some lovely noise, and truly unusual musical directions. Almost pop at times, but never all the way home that way. Intriguing and certainly maddening. Anyone who recognizes any of the names above the title should know what they're getting into here.

In a weird postscript, Plank died as a result of a South American tour undertaken by this trio. The album never did see the light of day. Until now. Finally, we can all hear the original product. As eclectic and adventurous as might be imagined. Fully worthy.

A little slab from the mighty Oneida. Highly eclectic pop musings, understated and sparsely produced. Certainly acclaimable.

I like the way the band undercuts its music with a variety of strange breaks and sound infusions. The music never comes from one direction; it sounds omnipresent. Overwhelming, despite the relatively weak sound.

But that sound is part of the deception. There is so much power in the musical ideas and the lyrics that to blast them out to the world would be a disservice. No, Oneida is much better when presented this way.

Seven inches of vinyl greatness. Oneida refuses to cut corners or be led into one. The expansive view of the potential of music that I hear here is enthralling. The sound of musical fertility.

A nice little bi-coastal project (SF and Brooklyn). An inventive array of sampled soundscapes and more traditional rock sounds. Once again, something that would be right at home on the Wordsound label. I dig it.

The music on top of (or, more accurately, within) the soundscapes bears some resemblance to noise pop, in a jazzy vein. Lots of guitar noodling, lots of interplay between the various instruments. An intoxicating feel.

Mostly languid, but with moments of fleeting aggressiveness. Oh, quite fine, indeed. Music which floats in and out of phase, teasing the subconscious with an array of sounds and ideas.

Tripping the body electric. Inviting and challenging all at once. Perfect for those field trips to the frontal lobes.

Still deep into drones, but still much more structured than Breathe As You Might. And in a good way. The songs are just as intense, but more introspective. I guess the renewed focus on coherence keeps things from getting too lost.

Oh, but there are some wonderful sounds. "Dark Cloud" is fairly reminiscent of the previous album, a song built around a fine bass groove and apocalyptic drum lines. Very cool.

Much of the rest hangs a bit further out. Like I said, more contemplative, and yet, tighter. In a way. Maybe it's just the streamlined sound (less extraneous noise, more attention to the details). Could be, I guess.

As darkly impressive as ever. Pineal Ventana remains outside even the fringe, but that's where truly innovative music can be had. And this band knows a lot about charting new courses.

I suppose this fits into the whole emo thing (it is on Deep Elm, which along with Crank! is probably the trendsetter in the movement). The guitar lines certainly fall that way. But the sound and song constructions are much more power pop. Mellow (but often loud) power pop. Is this making sense?

Probably not. What I mean to say is that the tempos are generally mid to slow, and even when they pick up (like on "You Own Personal Wedding"), the songs never quite kick into overdrive excess. Just nice poppy sound, with a stripped-down emo feel.

Yeah, this is pop, and it feels good. Just ease into it bit by bit, letting that gorgeously crafted sound bathe my skin. Ooh yeah. Let my head slip beneath the surface...

Just an amazingly comfortable disc. Nothing crazy or over the top. Just fine pop songs with somewhat dusty hooks. Real fine pop songs. Stuff which quietly demands complete subservience. Please sir, may I have another?

Bouncy punk pop, complete with horns. Not much in the way of ska, just nice, thick brass. I like that. Truly.

The songs have ace hooks, utilizing the horns to their fullest effect. In fact, the guitar and horns mix together at least as well as anything I've heard. This is a band which has spent the time to figure out its sound and what works within that.

Crafted, but not stilted. Pushover plays with a nice balance of skill and enthusiasm. There are moments when I with the band would kick out loose a bit more, but on the whole, everything works quite well.

Hail hail, well met. The next wave of ska isn't ska at all, but just the reintroduction of horns to rock music. Hey, it had to happen sometime (and, to be honest, Pushover isn't the first such band I've heard recently), and the sound is great. A refreshing burst.

Not the Red Krayola that we've heard in recent years. Well, yeah, it sorta is, but the sounds are somewhat different. Lately (in the past five years or so), Mayo Thompson's reformed Red Krayola has trafficked in eclectic pop, but for the most part, stuff that is recognizable as pop. This stuff can only be recognized as slightly controlled chaos.

I can't imagine sitting at a festival and listening to this racket. Now, I dig it in my house, when I'm somewhat prepared for the wild , semi-controlled feedback lines emanating from the guitar, but if I was sitting down at a folk festival in 1967, I might have the same reaction as some of the crowd (who can be heard quite clearly often enough) who wailed or hurled insults in response.

Self-indulgent is one easy way to put it. Particularly the first, 26-minute track on the first disc. The other two pieces on that disc, recorded without an audience, are more crafted (relatively, anyway) and do kinda resemble some of the latter-day Krayola work. Of course, the live (in front of an audience) pieces on the second disc are as chaotic as the first piece. Nothing like a few people to encourage "artistic experimentation". Or something like that.

A real trip. Seriously. Sitting around the casa, I like the more adventurous stuff, the self-indulgent exercises in sonic mayhem. But I sure wouldn't have liked it had I been in the audience. Just a temperament thing. These are jams to end all jams, in both the good and the bad senses. Oh, the humanity!

My goodness, these guys have been around so long they're almost venerable. It's been ages since I head anything from the boys (they've gone up and down the ladder in the intervening three years), but, you know, the formula is still intact.

If these guys weren't the progenitors of the Boston metalcore sound (distinctly different from the NYC school), they're pretty close. I hear a bit more songwriting and somewhat less power in the grooves (the songs sound a bit more calculated, that's what I'm saying). I'm not sure if I like it better, but it's pretty good, nonetheless.

I'll tell ya, the band looks old in the liner photo. And perhaps this is how the music ages. Just a bit more serious, a bit more contemplative. At least as introspective as this sound can get, which isn't much, really.

Fans will definitely eat this up, and while I'm not knocked out, I've got to say that this is a good album. I'll have to let the sound grow on me a bit (I still can't quite identify what it is that bugs me, but there's something odd somewhere), but that's not a bad thing. I'm just kinda amazed this album exists at all.

Shuggie is Andrew McKeag of Uncle Joe's Big Ol' Driver and some friends. He got fellow Seattle-type Kurt Bloch to work the knobs on three of the four songs here. Songs which pick up where U.J.B.O.D. left off.

Somewhere between the big-ass rock of the 70s and the big-ass Minneapolis punks of the 80s. Sung with sneering sincerity. Truly a mesmerizing thing.

The first two songs are from a forthcoming full-length, but the "b-sides" are the better tracks. A bit looser, a bit more carefree. And, yes, a bit more arrogantly presented. I mean, it takes a cock to rock, right? There you are.

I'm warmed up and ready for the big disc. I'll rip that package open as soon as I see it.

Hard-edged techno, produced by Sevren Ni-Arb (X Marks the Pedwalk, Hyperdex-1-Sect, etc.). And well, given the pedigree of the producer, the sound comes as no surprise.

Intense, upbeat (even for techno) and completely mesmerizing. The beat work is infectious and inventive (not an easy combo) and the songs are distinctive enough to help flesh out a fairly inclusive sound for the band.

Sometimes bands which try to bridge the gap between techno and industrial sounds simply graft incongruous elements together, neglecting to connect the dots. Shunt, however, does the right thing, finding pieces from those and other electronic movements and making those pieces work together. Result? Lush symphonies of intriguing sounds.

I'm impressed. The sound is great, and each song is given an individual refraction of that sound. The goods, right here.

The guys at Opulence sent me "the whole enchilada". Which included a thrift store blouse, an Archie-series TMNT comic, a couple Topps cards from the 1978 season and other assorted junk. Oh yeah, and this disc.

I'll bite on the humor, but let's get to the music, okay? Spite plays a brand of hardcore which can only be described as "southern-fried". You know, like Buzzov*en, Eyehategod and other bands based in the vast American Sun Belt. Apocalyptic riffage, nearly incoherent vocals (not that you really want to know what's being said, anyway), pile-driving drumming.

Spite doesn't quite have the power of the other bands I mentioned, though. Some of that is definitely a studio problem (I would have mixed the extremes a bit higher; this puppy is mired in the middle), but some of it is simply the way the band arranges its songs. There isn't the commitment to chaos and pain. Spite doesn't quite make it to the edge.

And so, it's a bit more of a generic offering. Oh, still amusing, certainly, but just not enough "oomph" to really move me. Up the amperage, boys.

The first was so successful, why not another? Interestingly, the tracks here focus more on real influences of 21st Circuitry's "cold wave" focus than the first set.

Like Sigue Sigue Sputnik, Eurythmics, Landscape and Depeche Mode. There are some truly goofy outings, like The Razor Skyline's take on "One Night in Bangkok" or Xorcist doing "1999" (that one's pretty damned cool, indeed).

Better than the first, both in song selection and in execution. I still think this sort of disc is kinda cheap, but hell, it does rate highly in the fun factor. Time to go bask in my youth some more.

Yet another one of those "introductory" sampler thingies. 21st Circuitry has a great stable of stuff (mostly licensed from Europe), and this set shows off some of the best. Xorcist, Hate Dept., Covenant, Unit:187, Hyperdex-1-Sect and plenty more.

All of these are previously unreleased (in the U.S., anyway) in these forms (there are a number of remixes, etc.), but honestly, if you're familiar with the label's fine array of acts, well, this is unnecessary. Of course, if you want to hear some really fine techno, 21st Circuitry is where it's at.

That's all, folks! Not much more to say about this one.

Not quite drum 'n' bass, this Chicago outfit does focus on those elements rather extensively. The beat exploration is stunning, and the accompanying electronic disturbances (mostly in the techno realm) help to flesh out the sound. A full fledged electronic riot.

This music will pump you up. Not in one of those cheap, meat-market dance club type ways. But more fully grasping your soul, taking hold and requiring your attention. The slightest hint will lead to complete immersion in this universe.

And a glorious one it is, with the aforementioned hyperactive rhythm section and the swirls of guitars and keyboards above. Power, that's what I'm talking about. Wod uses the technology to its full effect, pulsating sonic abuse into every pore.

I'm breathless. Worn out. Drained from my contact with this disc. Utterly and completely absorbing. An amazing album.

Dropping a little reggae and ska into the rock/funk fusion. World Trade generally focuses on "big" songs, anthemic in structure and important in topic. Fairly pretentious, even with the swinging horn section.

Too often, the band is stiff. Don't know if that's a function of the playing or songwriting (I really can't tell). The horns (trombones, saxophone and trumpet) add some nice color, but they are not the integral parts of the songs that they should be.

When the band lets the horns lead, the sound is smooth and loose. Otherwise, stuff is more clunky. The easiest thing to say is that it doesn't work. Not enough flow.

I like what the band is going for here. I think it needs to work out its kinks a bit. Interestingly, the live tracks (three of them) are much looser and sound better than the studio stuff. Perhaps World Trade just needs to translate its live feel to studio efforts. Another step in the learning process.

The band's last outing was a 17 1/2-minute single-track EP. This one is a 22-track, 69-minute effort. I guess the most obvious change is that You Fantastic is separating its sections instead of calling it one song.

The same three guys, making all sorts of noise. All dynamic ranges, all sorts of sound inputs (a lot of found sound, as usual), all sorts of moods and intensities. Living on the edge of defined sound.

Which is to say, if you're still not sure about that whole noise-jazz-etc. thing that the Skin Graft folks like to call the "Now Wave", well, get the hell out of town, now. This is not yer basic band. For example, the fourth track, "Subtraction", takes the rhythm element of a Brise-Glace 7" (You Fantastic members Thymme Jones and Darin Gray were also in Brise-Glace, and it's Jones's rhythm, anyway) and grafts some rather unusual pieces over it (including a bass line which sounds like something Darin might have played when he was with Dazzling Killmen). It helps to know these things, because then you might be able to make sense of it.

Maybe. I'm still getting there, myself. But I kinda like the challenge. You Fantastic demands a lot from its listeners. We're a masochistic bunch. But then, it helps to be a little crazy when you're listening to fare such as this.

This is actually the CD reissue of Sound and Fury, originally recorded and released some 16 years ago. There's also four extra tracks, one from a 1981 demo, two from a 1984 single and one 1993 recording.

Kinda like hearing How Could Hell Be Any Worse?... if you were used to No Control.

Very raw and messy. The recording itself is not in the best of shape, and the production leaves a lot to be desired on top of that. Still, there is an undeniable spirit and energy here which probably is enhanced by the primitive sound.

Oh, yeah, it sounds like 1982 punk. Always a nice faux nostalgic thing for me to hear (since, at the time, I was listening to Chicago and such). Oh, I'm not so sure the songs themselves or the recording could be called historic, but then, when a band survives this long, I guess it might as well.

Raucous and enervating. You want slick? It ain't here.