Almost all of these Cleopatra punk revival discs has been, um, kinda sad and pathetic. So it is a with a sense of irony, I suppose, that this album, by one of the lightest of the Brit punk lightweights, is actually one of the more energetic and enthusiastic of the bunch.

Now, I have no idea when these songs were recorded. Neither the liners nor the enclosed press noodlings mention such irrelevancies. Whatever. The recordings are nice and sharp, and the band is fiercely sloppy. The guitars are a bit metallic, so I'd venture to say this is from the 90s sometime, but who knows?

As long as you don't ask the Anti-Nowhere League to save the world, they fit the bill nicely. Peppy anthemic punk dispatched with delicious venom. I mean, you want more?

I was never one of those Blondie freaks. When Blondie was big, I was into showtunes (really). By the time I turned my attention turned to rock and roll, Blondie was gone. I knew a couple of songs, the big hits, and they were pretty cool. But I didn't go out of my way to acquire them. About three years ago I picked up the Best of Blondie on a used tape; I left it on the dash one afternoon in Florida. Oops.

I still haven't replaced it, though, see? And now I'm supposed to get all excited about a new Blondie record? When the best thing about Debbie Harry's solo career was... well, what was it? Anyway, I'm listening to this disc. And it's not bad. It sounds like old Blondie. A little ska, a little rock, a little disco, a little rap (Coolio guests), a little Eurotrash, a little... Toccatta and Fugue? Yep.

In other words, this Blondie album is just like all the others, though maybe a bit more consistent in the songwriting. Yes, it's generally synth-drenched pop which marginally incorporates all the divergent influences, but then, that's all Blondie ever was. And a lot of people bought those albums.

Now, don't kid yourself. Despite everything the marketing dolts will sell you, this is not an "alternative" album. Far from it. Blondie is about as establishment as it gets. But hey, the stuff's got a good beat and you can dance to it. And I can truthfully say that this album stacks up pretty well next to the "old" Blondie. Make your own judgments accordingly.

An unwieldy title, and even messier set. Well, just an enlarged version of those old-fashioned greatest hits albums. You know, the ones which included a few fucked-up "live" versions of great songs, just so you'd have to go back and buy all the albums anyway.

For those who don't know, Chrome sprung from the loins of Helios Creed and Damon Edge. Something of an industrial space juggernaut a good decade ahead of its time. Some really amazing stuff, at least until Creed took off to fulfill his own destiny.

And most of this set are those Creed and Edge recordings. Now, Edge died in 1995, and since then Creed has put together a new version of Chrome and begun touring as such. The first disc is the early stuff, and the second is the latter day live material. I think. The liners aren't particularly helpful. In any case, the live songs on the second disc match up well with the performances on the first.

In other words, even the live material is pretty good. I'd suggest going back and buying the albums themselves, mind you, but this set is a good introduction to the original space-industrial complex.

I didn't know CMC was trafficking in "new" bands. But hell, not only is Cutters made up of relative youngsters (compared to, say, Iron Maiden and Quiet Riot and such), but the music is pretty damned cool, too. A pleasant little anthemic groove metal gig. With lots of fine electronic snippets in the background.

The music keeps moving, and that's the trick. I'm not gonna say there's anything particularly substantial here, but hey, the stuff grabs nicely. Yes, there is a cheez factor, but it's my kinda cheez. All I can say about that.

Perhaps the best idea in the studio was to keep the sound on the mellow side. The songs move, and many fairly blaze, but the sound does not get edgy or sharp. The corners are rounded off, and while I generally don't like that, it works real well for Cutters.

Something new in the pop metal circus. Something that might even threaten to revive said trend in a serious way. Well, maybe not. But I liked it.

Perhaps better known as the keeper of the Galaxy Hut, a cool spot for finding music in D.C., Despard has also been playing herself for ages. The press page claims that she writes songs on a par with Patti Smith and Neil Young. Well, now, there's some shoes to fill.

Amazingly, though, she does alright. The Smith connection is easy to hear. Despard's voice is somewhat husky, and she does have a thing for somewhat messy guitar lines. But the real key is the writing, and Despard comes through. She has a knack for writing unflinchingly powerful songs which can't escape the brain, no matter what.

The trick, of course, is writing this stuff consistently. Despard has been working this material for eight years. It is brilliant and astonishing, but it's also one album. Still, as one album goes, this one is wonderful. Each song simply draws me in further. The end brings withdrawal.

It's just the new year, and already I think I've heard one of 1999's best. There isn't much more to say. Despard deserves klieg lights and champagne. Would that I could provide.

Ooh, a really cool fuzzbomb. The Downside Special slogs its way through some wondrous noise, always on the beat. Nothing like the blues as played by an almost-incoherently distorted guitar.

And I mean that, really. These songs are nice and tight, kinda like latter-day Laughing Hyenas. Maybe but not quite as addictive, but certainly as brutal. And when you work in noise, brutality is always a key.

The songs themselves shift from ramblers to up-and-up shitkickers, and the Downside Special pulls all off with equal ease. People with a vision and the talent to pull it off.

So don't call it retro-rock, or stuck in the 70s (or, more accurately, 60s). The Downside Special is right on time, blurring the distinctions between the blues, rock and noise. My advice is to read between the lines.

From Bloomington, and that twisted midwestern anti-country sound pervades. Somewhere between Dirty Three, Palace and Hurl, I'd say. Plenty of influences from the Jim O'Rourke and David Grubbs school of meticulously crafted pop, too. Only the vocals are just as you might expect: Slightly raspy and more than a little atonal. But of course, they fit right in.

Recorded with few mikes (I'm guessing here; there's a lot of room echo in the sound), the sound has a strangely claustrophobic, yet atmospheric sound. A wondrous achievement. Some might call it a cheap lo-fi ploy, but I just dig it.

The songs are poetic in music and in word. Each piece unfolds at its own pace, deliberately treading each step. Plenty of room for contemplation and interpretation. Hauntingly gorgeous is another way to put it.

Um, wow. Stunning and immediately astonishing. There's no way to avoid the shattering emotional impact of this disc. It will tear you, synapse from neuron.

Two guys, Adam Peters (he once of Echo and the Bunnymen) and Chris Brick (among other things, owner of trendy clothing stores), who simply make music. Categorizing these sounds is a futile enterprise. As this is two guys who make full-sounding music, though, there are plenty of overdubs and manipulations. But wandering from vague new wave to ponderous distortion assaults to sparsely arranged moody bits to some kind of strange western flamenco riffage, Family of God doesn't stop in the same place for long.

What it is is great. A complete journey through the minds of the creators. Each song has its own charms, and while they don't share a whole lot in the way of overt characteristics, the album flows together quite nicely.

Like I noted, there are plenty of little studio tricks and the like all through. Not clumsy, but wonderfully subtle . Try on the lengthy (12 1/2 minutes) track "The Observer Is Observed" for size. Ambient, Kraftwerk-influenced to be sure. But astonishingly creative in its use of everyday noodlings and beats.

By the way, this is not Christian rock. I didn't figure anyone reading anything on my site would get confused that way, but what the hell. I just looked at the press, which calls this cosmic disco for the millennium. Um, no. But it is a truly inventive and creative album, one which impresses and inspires. Well worth a thousand spins.

Just yer basic roots rock. Ragged vocals laid over a pretty mellow base. Perhaps that's a production issue. Can't quite tell. All very much by the book.

So there are dues songs, love songs, despair songs and, of course, drinking songs. Fitz manages to jump through all the hoops without sounding like some formula-conscious band. This stuff is written and played from the heart.

I do wish there was a bit more bite to the guitars. Even acoustic guitars can be more than mush. Most of the songs need a bit of a kick in the intensity department, and that's the easiest way I can figure to do that. Still, the songs themselves, while not overwhelming, are perfect representations of the style.

The somewhat light sound lends a generic air, one which is probably not in existence at live shows. Fitz probably needs to find a bit more of a "live" sound on the next disc. But keep the writing just where it is.

With a slogan like "The band always on the edge", Fringe has set its sights high. And while I wouldn't characterize the sound as edgy, it is unusual. Early 80s-style keyboards, highly distorted guitar and an always moving bass. A band out of time, really.

The general style is a vague form of commercial pop rock. Strange though, how a fairly cheesy ballad called "Love & Affection" can segue into such a quirky tune as "Grist for the Grind", which features an old-school rap sorta drum line (amongst assorted percussive effects).

Reminds me a lot of this east coast band Dunderhead, which I reviewed years ago. Goofy as hell, and without serious pretensions. Pretty cool, in other words.

On the edge? Probably not, But certainly one of the more creative pop bands I've heard in a while. Quite enjoyable, really.

Bright, acoustic guitar-flavored pop. Basic constructions, though admirably played. Garzone, a teacher at the American School of Music, has all the playing skills necessary. His somewhat thin voice isn't the best for this sound, but what he really needs is a dose of inspiration.

Or something. The songwriting is technically acceptable, but not particularly interesting. All the proper chords fall where you might expect, and even dissonant moments follow accepted theory. Rocking by numbers is great if you're in a cover band (which Garzone is), but it doesn't lend itself nearly as well to rock songwriting, which requires something unexpected, something spontaneous to really grab attention.

And I'll once again note that playing in a cover band is a great way to improve your chops (almost every decent musician has done an apprenticeship in at least once such outfit), but songs need to be played live a number of times to figure out what works. There are bits and pieces in each song which are good, but they are simply thrown together with a number of technically correct, but emotionally unsatisfying sequences.

Like I said, Garzone can play guitar. He's got a nice, easy feel, which is something those with technical prowess cannot always achieve. If he could only translate that achievement to his writing, he'd have something great.

Something of a re-working of the 0.01 album released on Fifth Colvmn three years back. As Fifth Colvmn is no more, that disc is out of print (and pretty damned hard to find; no one's taking it off my shelf, that's for sure). There are a number of tracks from that disc sitting right along side some newer stuff. The same core members, the same general technopop sound.

Which means it's not exactly yer usual Reconstriction offering. Very electronic, very sterile (though with a bit more guitar in the newer pieces). I liked that first disc, and this hybrid re-issue still does the boys justice.

The song structures are basic pop, with some attention to catchy choruses. Catchy is a relative term, but you can sing (or speak) along if you like. Again, this sounds like it was made in one of them "clean rooms".

And again, I dig it. Even fans of the first disc (all thousand or so of you out there) will find plenty here to get you going once more. A classy re-issue. I wish more were like this.

I'm always a bit suspicious when an artist refers to his star sign at the top of the bio. I dunno. Just seems a bit silly. Distracting, in any case, though as ever, judgment is reserved for the music. And while Aaron Henry's promo matter is a bit excessive, the music slides right in just fine.

He lists influences from Hendrix to Rakim (the latter is very apparent). This is old-school funk-laden rap, where the rhymes are full of ideas and the grooves are as creative as the wisdom. I guess I am getting to be an old fogie. This is what I think of when I think of hip-hop, so I'm only, what 15 years behind the times?

Well, not exactly. Henry has undated the old sound. The sound samples are smoother, and the music is constructed with a bit more grace. And, of course, the subject matter is up-to-date.

That's what I really like, rap which says something. Old-style gangsta stories are nice and all, but real skill is exhibited in making good music with a message. Aaron Henry has that down just fine.

Just in case you thought Cambodia focused only on loud, heavily conceptual music, here's Hilo: quiet, heavily conceptualized music. Long songs which take almost forever to work through. Perhaps this is the Mineral style of emo taken to its logical extreme.

Good fare, by the way. Every once in a while Hilo does break the dynamic barrier, with expected spectacular results. Like Greg Maddux says, it's not how fast you pitch, it's the changing of the speeds. Hilo is always intense, but the dynamic shifts really make the songs.

This isn't really emo, either. There are harmonies (well, Heavy Vegetable-style harmonies), and there is real singing. You know, expressive, melodic singing. Sometimes. Oh, hell, I'm fucking this all up.

Alright, since my brain seems to be in terminal lockdown: This is a good album. Might be a great album; I'll have to listen a few more times. I'll do that gladly. I think that says everything which needs to be said.

Remember what I said just a review ago about the normal Cambodia sound? Well, Keelhaul has that. Maybe a bit more straightforward, but still loud and intense. You know, that Black Sabbath meets Black Flag kinda sludge thing.

The music of pain, loss, agony and despair. I guess. I'm something of the opinion that Eyehategod and Buzzov*en got this right a few years ago, and most folks today can't quite touch that. This is moderately amusing, but nothing new or particularly original.

Just a lot of thrashing about (often at insanely slow speeds). I'm not getting old, am I?I hope not. But this just doesn't get me cranked in any way.

Still, it is loud and mean. There is always something to be said for that. Even if I really don't dig this particular sorbet.

The title is kinda right. This is regular rock and roll, basic roots rock riffage. Oddly, and certainly interestingly, Craig Kelley sounds like a glam metal singer (without the whine), in the same neck of the woods as Jon Bon Jovi.

The songs are meticulously written, with ruffles and flourishes in all the prescribed places. The playing is dead on. The recording is primitive enough to give a nice flavor, but really, there needs to be more songs like the title track, a fairly sloppily-played raver which doesn't adhere to convention. It's fun.

But too much of this is locked into a formula. No matter how impassioned the singing and playing are, many of the songs just don't leave any room to infuse a shining spirit.

As ever, there are moments. Many of these songs probably translate better live, and some more live work might have filed down the formulaic edges. I'm resorting to a tried and true formula myself here: These boys simply need to keep plugging away and getting better.

The 80s are back, but with a 90s sensibility. Kuscha (Hatami, but he prefers to stick to the first name) uses new wave-style vocals and rhythm tracks and merges them with some nice industrial guitar.

Songs of pain and despair, with all the trimmings. Sounds something like Pretty Hate Machine, except that there is that retro 80s thing going on. It's a nice flavor, really. Lightens up the load just a touch.

And that's enough. The songs are bouncy, not dirges, so there's some dancing pleasure with the angst. A good combo for working off the agony of life. Or something like that.

Well within the established confines of regular music, but a nice melange of styles. Kuscha isn't breaking new ground, but he turns the trick very nicely. I'm happy to ride along.

Once again, it's Marmoset. And once again, there is a multitude of short songs which don't necessarily share much in the way of a cohesive sound. Very short stuff, though. Twenty songs in less than 35 minutes. And about as many interpretations of a noisy pop sound as anyone might conceive.

Remember Chevy Heston? While Marmoset doesn't sound like that, it sounds like that. The basics here are very lo-fi, while Chevy Heston got into the technology a bit. But still, the affectation of a million sonic disguises is a similar trait.

And the other similar feature is that the stuff is routinely brilliant. Loony sometimes, introspective and perceptive other times, but generally trending toward greatness. Immediately arresting and entrancing, in any case.

So, yes, this is just a longer version of the Marmoset "style" found on the Hiddenforbidden EP. Which is to say folks who like their pop complicated would do well to dig this puppy up. There is something amazing beginning to flow through these veins.

The first track made me think I was in for some sort of slowed-up hardcore thing. But, really, Mr. Pink is simply a really loud, really messy pop band. Semi-atonal female vocals and excessive chord usage. With a full dose of anthemic pretension.

The more straightforward moments remind me of the band Whirlpool. Swirling guitars and unusual harmonies (well, teamed vocals, anyway). The more agitated and convoluted bits could be any hardcore band trying to figure out what the hell it's doing, anyway. Seven Year Bitch? Yeah, maybe, though Mr. Pink is a lot more coherent.

Definitely an unusual mix of styles. It doesn't work all the time. Particularly when the noises get faster and louder. But I'd always rather hear a band on the edge than a band which just sits in a shell and doesn't try at all. There's enough good moments here to take notice.

If you need any more proof that today's electronic artists owe at least as much to Public Enemy as Kraftwerk, you need only scope this disc out. High energy (but not hi-NRG, of course) electronic constructions, heavy on the samples. Very much a more sterile version of Chemical Brothers, without so much rhythm experimentation.

So, yes, this doesn't rate as highly with me. But then, little does. What Mucho Macho does is craft great dance songs in a fairly creative way. Generally using sounds rather than full samples (though there are a few interpolations listed in the credits), the songs are full of boundless energy, even if there doesn't seem to be much more point than motion for motion's sake.

And still very much a bridge between hip-hop and whatever it is you like to call today's electronic music. It's so easy to hear the influences here, and they fit together so seamlessly.

Fluff, sure, but a really, really fun sort of piffle. The kind of thing which makes evenings on the dance floor pass by quickly. And it's not bad for generally getting the blood going, either.

Speaking of your hip-hop/electronic fusion, Non-Aggression Pact is perhaps the prototype act. I reviewed the duo's first album almost five years ago (wow), and finally, part two arrives. If nothing else, it is everything as before, only more so.

The beats are thicker, the guitars heavier, the attitude turned way, way up. The samples are edgier, and they're used much more aggressively. The lyrics are even darker, touching not only the scourge of racism but the politics of sex and much more.

That's really the story here. The sound is thicker and fuller, the overall impact utterly devastating. This makes 9mm Grudge, one of the tougher albums I've heard, sound lightweight in comparison. Hey, if you're gonna wait five years to make a second album, it might as well be fucking great, right?

Yeah. That's the tale. A new rap-industrio complex, flourishing right before my ears. Something wonderful this way rips.

Sure, yer basic punk three-piece. That cranks out Night Ranger's "Don't Tell Me You Love Me" as the secret bonus track. A nice sense of humor, these boys have. Not quite as good as the Sloe's rave-up of "Careless Whisper", but pretty cool nonetheless.

Oh, but what about the actual album? Solid enough. Nominally tuneful uptempo hardcore pop (a la Bad Religion, without the crafted oozin' ahs), lyrics heavy on the sarcasm. So I'm satisfied.

A good use of three chord theory, nothing horribly derivative or dull. Combined with the band's wit and high energy level, an appealing sound. Maybe not superstar material yet, but more than enjoyable.

And so, another quality punk album has passed my desk. Guess I can't give up on the sound quite yet. Well, actually, I've barely been tempted. Where else these days can I bite into a pure pineal gland?

Some more of that "Dead again" roots rock, though with a definite prog influence. The guitar lines are more reminiscent of Rush or Yes than Blues Traveler. Still, the sound is hardly technical; it's smooth and warm.

A cool little combo of the sounds, if you ask me. Acoustic guitars take the edge off the prog lines, and the prog structures and harmonies keep the roots attitude from getting too self-indulgent. Yeah, I know, prog can get that way, but The Puddle Jumpers are simply writing pop songs in a vaguely unusual style.

I haven't heard anything quite like this before. I'm still not the biggest fan of the sounds involved, but they work much better together than I might have imagined. The songs are tightly crafted, honed gems, with subjects as often magical as everyday.

A whole new way of reinventing the 70s. One that I can sign on to right away. Creative musicians rechannel old ideas into new forms. Always a good idea.

Random is Jon Drukman. And with the Evil Teen label, you have an idea of what you're gonna get. Aggressive beat work, and after that, well, who knows?

The beat work is impressive, heavily syncopated and very stylish. There are some samples and a bit in the way of keyboards behind (of course, bass), but the key here is the rhythms. Personally, this stuff just knocks me out. Full-bore road straight to my core.

So if yer hopin' for some disco diva wailing away or for some grand musical statement, fergit it. Me, I'm happy with the beats. They rile me in all the right ways.

Which is the point, I do believe. Drukman has a handle on what works and what doesn't, and that makes Random an impressive project, indeed.

Another fuzzball from the kind folks at Cambodia. More of a Black Sabbath influence here, though the music does move along at times. Definitely what you might call "good bud" music, in any case.

And it works. Nothing particularly innovative or creative about this approach, but it's good enough to make an impact. Good tuneage for the afterglow.

Alright, alright, so the boys wallow in excess just a bit. Not egregiously, mind you, but just enough to provide that layer of comfortable cheez. Something nice to lie down on after a hard day's work.

Oh, yeah, all that and some seriously apocalyptic riffage. Lots of air guitar moments, if you don't watch yerself. But then, a little hair dancing can be a good thing.

Definite adherents to the Pantallica sound, Suicide Culture impresses more with its lyrics than the music. Oh, sure, the stuff is competently written and played, but it's not all that impressive. Very much a rehash.

But the ideas behind the words are something to check out. Sure, they're wallowing in the depths of angst and pain (you expect songs about the daisies in the field?), but this band expresses itself extremely well. Not high-brow, but simply well-written.

I sure wish the music was better. It's not bad, it's just kinda dull. Perhaps some more work will cure that part of the formula. Because that extra spark in the music could really push Suicide Culture to the top of the heap.

Presented by Miss Pussycat (procurer of that most strange Flossie album I reviewed not long ago), this set of tunes from New Orleans bands proves that weirdness exists just about everywhere.

With such artists as MC Trachiotomy, Larry Lamborghini and his Hate Brigade and Inky Blinky & the Kind Bros., well, I suppose you can guess what's coming. The names are only the beginning.

Oddly, the songs have plenty of access points. But once reeled in, there's no way out as the pieces spin out of control. Not silly, not inane, but certainly strange. Weird. Trending toward bizarre at times.

Thus, of course, a cool little mind trip. If you need to get rid of some annoying yuppies who have mistakenly happened upon your house, this might work better than serving chardonnay with steak. Unless they jump into the groove. Then you might be in trouble.

Most of the music is performed by John McEntire, but Tortoise, Sea and Cake, Polvo, Diagonah and Bundy K. Brown all add one song each. So you should know what's coming.

Inspired music which doesn't conform to any established norm, of course. McEntire's connection to Tortoise and Sea and Cake is well-established, and the other tracks meld in nicely. A cool set of complex, contemplative musical pieces. Not quite rock, not quite anything else, either.

Moody, for the most part, but that simply sends the neurons properly on their merry way. This is a soundtrack which maintains its focus, so it also works very well as a stand-alone album. And unless you happen to live in a center of culture, you're much more likely to see this disc than the movie for which the music was produced.

And, like I said, the music is more than worth the effort, movie or no. A fine exploration into the potential of musical expression. Got me spinning.

This sampler shows off BYO's impressive catalog (Big Daddy is the "alternative" wing of BYO, showing off swing, ska and other sounds). Bands like Bouncing Souls, SNFU and Hepcat have moved on to the Epitaph universe (and greater fame), and most everyone has heard of Royal Crown Revue (and its new label's vendetta against any band with "Royal Crown" in its name).

So, a quality sample for your hard-earned $4.99. Yeah, okay, this puppy is a year old at this point, but if you haven't climbed on with BYO yet, this should provide a decent entry point. I mean, if tracks from 7 Seconds, Jon Cougar Concentration Camp and Aztlan Underground don't get you going, I'm sorry.

Of course, this stuff is previously released. No need for fans to plunk down a fiver. But a pretty picture, in any case.

The final, epochal conclusion to one of the more inspired tribute sets in the history of music. Well, maybe that's overstating the case. But what the hell. On this set, Mount Shasta does in "Whole Lotta Rosie", Denison Kimball Trio does something called " Back in Blanc", Zeek Sheck checks in with "Wowy-The Love Song" (a take on, well, your guess is as good as mine) and Killdozer fittingly closes the cycle with "Let Me Put My Love Into You".

The Mount Shasta take is straightforward and raucous. A lot of fun, if nothing else. Good and messy. The Denison Kimball Trio deconstructs various AC/DC riffs, providing one of the more eerily astonishing moments in the series (right up there with Palace's howling of "Big Balls"). Really, the thing is damned spooky.

The Zeek Sheck (along with her Cloud People) contribution is a barely recognizable mish-mash. Of course, expecting any less would have been silly. It's the sort of song which gives children nightmares. But the simple masterstroke of the series was to leave Killdozer for last. And what a song. Just the sort of slow grind which the 'Dozer rode for years. This rendition simply makes me miss the guys that much more.

Add to these wondrous musical gifts another cool comic (continuing the series as well), and you've got a superlative package. I believe all these 7"s will be collected in a compilation CD someday, but personally, I'd suggest grabbing the vinyl. You don't want to wait.