Another slight line-up change, but the same songwriter, so the chock-full-of-nuts riffs and straightforward hooks still flow freely. Heavier than yer average punk-pop band, and more involved in every way.

In other words, how the shit was meant to be done in the first place. Jon Snodgrass may be using a formula of sorts (don't we all?), but he puts so much personal flair into his writing that the short bursts of energy flash forth with a radiant fury.

But not terribly self-righteous or even serious. Just when the songs sound like they might be getting a bit too full of themselves, they veer into fits of self-deprecating amusement. Or even the odd Social D fuzz-anthem. Nothing wrong with that.

Still one of the more impressive bands around, even among the glitterati of Ft. Collins, Colo. Dig it all, man.

The last of his Saratoga seasonal sequence. As long as Easter in Saratoga and other such bit of silliness don't come along. I'm betting they don't.

Much the same sort of bright, intricate sounds which populated the last Saratoga disc I reviewed. Broderick often has a feel which reminds me of Vince Guaraldi (the Peanuts music guy, if you don't know), partly because of his light touch on the piano and partly because of the way his bass lines walk around so much.

What I particularly like is the way Broderick paints winter as an active and joyous season, not the season of ice and death. I happen to like this season, and his compositions do justice to this wonderful time of the year. The sun never shines brighter than the morning after a big snow (and you don't have to sweat it out, either!). I get that feel from this disc.

Almost studiously anti-formal, Broderick does "commercial" jazz the right way, without sacrificing any of the skill and emotion of more adventurous composers. While perhaps not "literary," this is good stuff indeed, agreeable to the devotee and casual fan alike.

Much like Grief Society (which is my connection for this disc as well), Catcher is a British band that prefers to play a more Americanized sort of rock music. With something amiss, some defect in the genetic code which gives the band a distinctive feel.

'Cause this is fuzz-pop, pure and simple, but just a bit faster than I usually hear. And with the odd chord change (a little Clash-y, perhaps a little Cure-ific at times) that makes all the difference in the world.

Plus, unlike the American ideal (epitomized by the ALL sound propagated endlessly by Bill Stevenson and Stephen Egerton), the bass is way down in the mix here. That's a Britpop trademark, and the hybrid is quite stunning.

The sort of album which will make doctrinaire fans a bit queasy, I'm afraid, but which also excites me endlessly. I'll linger a while longer, thank you.

The book is a series of essays aimed at teenagers. Yes, another "How to grow up" book, though this one has the sense to tell kids to think for themselves and most importantly, trust themselves.

The accompanying CD has 20 songs from 20 bands. Some folks I've reviewed before (Three Finger Cowboy with one of my favorite songs of last year: "Kissed", Danielle Howle, the Veldt), a number that I haven't heard. There is a common strain to the music; all of the bands owe something or other to Big Star pop.

These days, that's like saying the grunge movement owed something to Skin Yard. But anyway. Within that broad classification, the bands manage to wander about quite a bit, or, as the author says, kicking out the poetry of self-discovery.

I never went for this sort of thing when I was younger (I used The Chocolate War as my manual for passage to adulthood, which is not a path I would recommend), but the book is well-written, and the philosophy cogent without pandering to "modern" conventions. The disc fits in right nicely. A right nice set.

Some of that gloriously fuzzed-out pop (you might swear the ghost of My Bloody Valentine was hanging out) that was so popular when I was in college a few years back. One interesting note: the band is from Nashville, and one of the members worked with a Christian recording artist as "there was a real lack of death metal bands to work with" at the time. I can tell you from experience that there were, in fact, quite a few. Nashville was (and may still be) the Christian death metal capital of the world.

Wow. That's a tangent. I'll stop now. Anyway, like I said, at times Duraluxe really travels through a time warp (at least in my head). Not derivative, mind you, just wallowing in a sound from a somewhat bygone era. Nothing wrong with that.

The sort of album which encourages the production of alpha brain waves (if they're still called that). Good zoning tunes. Not boring, but built for introspection. Prepare for a field trip to the frontal lobes, with or without chemical enhancement.

I didn't like this sorta stuff so much back then (you can read some of my 1991 and 1992 reviews and figure that out real quick). But my tastes have evolved, and so has the music. I am perfectly pleased with this disc.

Just yer typical band with a sax replacing the vocals. Well, it's a bit more complicated than that (imagine Iceburn playing pop music and you might begin to grasp the sound), but not really. While there is a bit of jazz theory in the compositions, this isn't jazz.

And no one asked it to be. Ear Goggles plays Ear Goggles music. A very fine sort of tuneage, stuff I really dig, even with only three songs to hear and a somewhat low mastering level on the cassette.

Ah, but what would a demo be without demo-quality production? I'm not gonna hold it against the guys. I can hear what they're doing, even if the sound isn't pristine. And what's going on is something else. Simple-sounding, but fairly complex. Just the sort of dichotomy which characterizes good music.

Sonic collages which occasionally make sense. A lot of found sound and other strange recordings pasted together and (sometimes) laid on top of pleasantly mutant electronic fare. Not really soundscapes; there isn't a coherent sonic vision at work. Which simply makes all the quirks that much more interesting.

Intriguing, certainly, and sometimes even astonishing. There's a lot of weirdness here (this from a person who prefers eccentricity, mind you), and it sees to get worse the longer the disc plays on. Best not to try and make sense of it.

Like I said, though, I don't think sense is the point. Eddie the Rat just might be a fairly pure expression of the chaos of our world. Or I might be thinking way too much about stuff like this again.

Ah, hell, that's what I'm (not) paid to do. Highly entertaining, if you like your brain bombarded with all sorts of ideas. I do, and I have to say that Eddie the Rat has one of the more stimulating approaches to sounds I've heard in a while.

Plenty of names I've seen before: David Berkman on piano, Matt Wilson on drums, Matt Balitsaris producing. Joel Frahm handles tenor and soprano saxophones, traveling through a number of moods in his compositions.

Along with a couple standards, you know, the usual arrangement. Frahm isn't particularly distinctive in his playing or his songwriting, though he sometimes comes up with some adventuresome rhythms in the pieces he pens.

The playing and sound are, of course, first rate. I do wish Frahm might inject a bit more of himself into the mix, particularly his own playing. He simply doesn't stand out, even when playing his own stuff.

In short, I want more from Frahm. He certainly can play with feel and emotion, but he doesn't inject his own personality into his playing often enough for my satisfaction. This is his album. It should sound like it.

Intense, mellow (in terms of decibel level; perhaps that isn't the right term) pop stuff. As with the seven-inch, I can detect a huge Smiths influence. Without the whining. Just the cool, shimmery guitar work and elliptic lyric ethic.

Six songs are better than two, and Garlands are easily able to maintain over the distance. Obviously, there is something of a retro feel to the stuff, but without being overly derivative. Kinda like the Potatomen, Garlands twist that early-80s Britpop sound (the stuff that wasn't particularly new wave) into something familiar yet different.

Even more so than the seven-inch, the sound on this puppy is great. The languid pacing of the songs is sharpened by the production, which keeps all of the instruments placed in the proper place. Everyone gets to say their piece without getting in the way of the others. It is actually harder to do that with this sort of music, and I'm impressed.

Well done, again. I simply get more impressed the more I hear from Garlands. Someone had better start paying attention, and soon.

Fans of the Go-Betweens (and the later works of the bands members) will find this a bit light. This disc is full of poppy pop. Not quite bubble gum, but not far away.

But it's an interesting historical document that way. This disc is the first in a series in which it's pretty easy to hear how the passage of time can mute enthusiasm and breed disenchantment. I know, the later stuff wasn't all gloom and doom, but it wasn't this puffy, either.

Recorded live to two track, which just emphasizes the peppy nature of the songs. The sound is very flat, that "old-timey" rock feel. And it does indeed work.

On its own, well, this disc isn't particularly impressive. But when taken in context of the career of the Go-Betweens (etc.), it does have its place. An interesting trip into the past.

"Goober Patrol are four drunks from Britain." I like short, succinct press like that. That and the label name mean punk music, done in a pleasantly sloppy format.

Lying somewhere between the anthemic pop of Lawnmower Deth and some sharper oi stuff. Goober Patrol likes to meander, an unusual pursuit in the punk realms, and thus the music is a bit more complex than you might expect. Kinda jokey, but serious often enough not to generalize.

Really, really sloppy in the playing. Or perhaps that's just the way it was recorded (hard to tell sometimes). In any case, a nice, loose feel to the tunes. More than makes me smile.

An interesting illustration of the complications involved in Goober Patrol. The band plays "Don't You Let Nobody Turn You Around" (the title is shortened on the disc), the old civil rights/protest song. They use the Steve Miller Band arrangement (which is pretty good). An English band playing an American protest song. A punk band essentially covering the Steve Miller Band. Well, okay then.

Giving up on the mock-horror shtick (for the most part), the Ghoulies concentrate here on kicking out power pop punk tunes. Okay, they may be based in Sacramento, but they have that East Bay feel down. Way down.

Easily the strongest album I've heard from these folks. The jokes are still there ("She Gets All the Girls", "Don't Make Me Kill You Again"), but the music is more polished. And in this case, that's a good thing.

Better production, more attention to the hooks, just more solid all the way around. This is one of those pop albums which takes hold and never lets up. Alright, alright, the Ramones did it first, but the Ghoulies take the sound for a nice spin.

I'm surprised. I figured this would be good. Not so. This is great. Tight from beginning to end, with a nice wit to boot. More than worth the kitsch.

I've reviewed a couple self-released efforts from these folks, and they just keep growing on me. All five tracks from the EP of a couple years back are here, with six more new songs. The U2 and P.I.L. influences are still there, but more than that, there is a still-growing disdain for making popular music.

What I mean by that is that IBB has the option in most songs here to take the edge off, to simplify some of its complicated constructs so that the "average" fan can dig it. This, of course, is a silly notion, and IBB quite correctly spurns it.

Instead, the songs roll along in weird ways, sometimes heading down roads I wouldn't go, but nonetheless impressing me. It is unusual that a band keeps heading to the edge as it matures, but that's perfectly fine with me.

Simply put, IBB can't be really categorized any more. There's too much going on, too much done in strange and wonderful ways. This band is precisely the reason why I never give up on someone after I dislike their first disc. Actually, I think it's safe to say I really disliked it. But I've grown, and the band has grown, and now I truly dig it.

You might call this stuff pop, but it's not, exactly. The press keeps referring to Paul K as a bluesman, and that's not quite right, exactly (though he does play a mean slide guitar). What is undeniable is that Paul K can write a song. Or two. Or a few.

Using storyteller mode, though much of the time the characters aren't as realized as the ideas. Nothing wrong with that, of course. Plenty of ways to gain access. And every song here is more than inviting.

I do with the acoustic guitar had been recorded a bit better (I hate that tinny whine that almost everyone gets these days), but that's really a minor quibble, especially considering what's really on display here: The ideas in the songs.

I'm not blown away, but this is the sort of album that sneaks up on you. You listen a few times, and you think you kinda like it. You listen a few more, and you're sure you do. The more you listen, the tighter it sets the hook. The best sort of addiction, really.

This sounds to me like Billy Idol with an industrial country bent. It's probably simply mechanized roots rock sung with a sneer. If that makes any sense at all.

Pretentious, even overbearing at times. Infectious, though, in the way that "big rock" has to be if it's gonna work. I mean, grandiose plans still have to leave an access point for the common freak. And while I think some of this stuff is way, way overblown, I gotta admit that it's got a nice feel.

The sort of band which is just begging for a major label contract. The kind of songs which have the potential to be played over and over on the radio. And still be good enough that folks won't be embarrassed to call themselves fans. Not precisely my cup of tea, but hell, I've got ears. I can tell you what just might go over the top.

I've used the word and prefix "over" a number of times here. That's by design. Hey, this is a rocket. Don't know if it will burn out before it reaches perigee (or is it apogee?), but hell, it's goin' somewhere.

Australian. Don't know why I said that, but that is where the band is from. An odd thing. "Thunder" sounds a lot like an Alanis Morrisette song, with a couple of very important differences. First, no drum machines. That fills out the sound. Second, the songs isn't written in a way that panders to the crowd. It retains its own identity. It sounds, well, good.

The flip has two songs (sung by one of the male members of the group). So while the musical constructions are similar, without the female vocals most of the previous associations I mentioned are null and void. This is simply quirky rock, heavy on the backbeat.

The songs were recorded back in 1996 (or, at least, written back then; the info is sketchy), and they sound like it. I wonder what the band is doing these days. Could be very interesting, indeed.

Guitar (mostly acoustic, but sometimes electric), bass, drums and cello. Crafted melodies, heartfelt lyrics. Not syrupy, though, but thoughtful and affecting.

Alright, so nearly every song is some sort of rumination on love and relationships and the weirdness of people caught in the throes. They work, simply because there's no pretense. Free verse (the lines don't necessarily rhyme and there isn't consistent meter) can do that for you.

Yes, it sounds so real, like I'm talking to the band. Just a conversation on a cloudy day, airing a few thoughts before heading back into the cave. Always a good pursuit.

More folks should use cello. It sounds so good here. In fact, the arrangements of these songs are quite good. The whole package is framed very nicely, in a most attractive and arresting way. Just sit and let it entrance.

There's a yellow sticker on the folder which held this disc. It reads: Warning! Contains sexually ambivalent lyrics. I knew right then this should at least be interesting. Turned out to be much more than that.

Paxton is the singer and the main songwriter. It is also the name of the band. They are separate entities, sort of. But why get caught up in group dynamics? This is a music review.

Self-conscious pop, with some great lyrical twists and turns. "Johnny and Joe" is a very cool reworking of "Jack and Diane", and throughout the disc the band is good enough to toss in just as many musical references as Paxton does with his lyrics.

Idiosyncratic to a fault (there are a couple really tortured songs here), but even the real messes are quite intriguing. For the most part, Paxton manages to make his points even while kicking out some fine, textured pop. A singular vision, one that must be heard in its entirety.

The third album from these boys, and it's easy to hear a bit of angst. Singer Scott Radinsky is better known in some circles as a pitcher (for the Cards, I think), which lends a strange irony to a song like "Working Class Whore", but hell, that's going a bit too far into the personal information file.

After all, the question really is "Does it work?" I get to answer that question 20-30 times ever two weeks. And once again, Pulley works for me. Oh yeah, sharply-produced (in that omni-present NOFX style), but still with an identifiable Pulley presence.

I do wish the sound was a bit more raw, but in general, this is simply another solid Pulley effort. The guys still haven't quite made it all the way to the top shelf, but they're more than worth hearing. Certainly never a disappointment.

Like I said, simply solid punk songs, with a bit more angst and a bit tighter production than usual. A fun ride, as ever.

Four remixes of the single, one each of an album track (see below) and the band's contribution to the CyberPunk Fiction project, "Girl You'll Be a Woman Soon".

The band's basic sound is gothic chilly industrial, but these remixes do a fine job of rearranging the sounds, finding their own paths. These are more reconstructions, coming up with almost completely different songs. Which, of course, is the best sort of remix.

There's a reason for this disc. These remixes take the basic Purr Machine idea and connect it to other nodes in the universe. Precisely what this sort of single is supposed to do.

Singer Betsy Martin was in Caterwaul (there's an oldie fer ya) and later Drumatic. Kevin Kipnis is probably best known for his work in Kommunity FX. Guitarist Kirk Hellie played in Pink Noise Test (as does the band's live drummer, who isn't on this disc).

Right. As Kipnis is the main songwriter and programmer, it shouldn't be too surprising that Purr Machine does recall his old band. Martin does have a nice, soaring wail, stronger than your average goth vocal.

The music itself borrows from a number influences, lending a more complete sound than many gothic industrial acts find. Yeah, it's electronic, and yeah, there's still a vaguely haunted feel, but within that, there's a full world to be explored. Purr Machine does.

More than pretty decent. This is one of the stronger albums of this sort I've heard, and I like this sound. When creative people actually succeed in what they're attempting, stuff like this happens.

One of the folks behind the Flossie and the Unicorns disc which thoroughly confused and entranced me. For the most part, the songs are organ riffs with drum machine backing. Though there is plenty of weirdness in the undertow.

And through all the madness, the stuff is strangely accessible. Easy beats, happy organ tones. Alright, there's still enough eccentricity left over to complete the pickling of Michael Jackson, but hell, why complain?

I won't do that. Nope. While strange, Quintron has his hands on the pulse of some sort of musical primal urge. The stuff is irresistible. Perhaps that's why he was on a soon-to-be-aired episode of Jenny Jones.

More likely, that particular side excursion was just another piece in the strange puzzle that is Quintron. Or something.

Calling Sick of It All stalwarts of the scene is easy. After all, these guys have been cranking out albums for ten years now. More tuneful than your average hardcore band, but certainly miles away from the more aggressive pop punk bands. A recipe for some sort of success, as SOIA has massed a sizable following throughout the years.

Not enough to justify a major-label deal, but who needs one? This album sounds just as good, and now the boys can start regaining whatever scene creds they lost when they signed the (relatively) big deal.

This disc? It's a SOIA disc, perhaps a bit more frenzied than recent fare, but nothing compared to the olden days. I've never been a huge fan, but I dig the vaguely melodic gang vocal choruses just like everyone else. Like I said, this is a SOIA disc. Period.

And that can hardly be a bad thing. Welcome back to the fold, guys. Back to folks who appreciate what you do. That's important, you know.

Basic rock with grunge pretensions. The sound itself is not thick in the middle, but the chords and vocal style sure do conform to type. An interesting idea, admittedly. I kinda like that part.

But the songwriting is too clumsy. The band never quite finds a groove, and in any case, the songs lurch from section to section without much in the way of decent transitions. It just sounds... awkward, I guess.

Again, though, the use of relatively distortion-free guitars in this anthemic grunge style is a pretty good idea. I don't know if it was intentional, but I like it. I wish the guys had done a bit more with the sound, that's all.

Competently played (better than that, really), but I just can't find the soul. The meaning behind the music. It sounds empty to be. A subjective judgment, to be sure. But that's what I hear.

Led by Mitchell Rasor and Chris Brokaw, which set off all sorts of warning bells (pinging impending joy) in my head. and I'm not disappointed. The sound here is a bit more upbeat and jangly than the last Rasor album I heard, but the off-kilter lyrical and musical approach to pop remains.

Introspective and yet exuberant. Four the tracks are instrumentals, a couple mere interludes, but the final track, "Night Window", is a gorgeous example of how two guitars alone can create something wondrous.

The rest of the disc is just an impressive. Rasor and Brokaw have hit upon a great collaboration. Whether this goes anywhere from here, or if it is just a stunning one-off, well, at we have the disc.

The more I hear of Rasor's work, by himself and with others, the more I need to hear more. Snares & Kites is just another amazing exploration of the pop form, in all its vagaries. Who says three chords are all you need?

The new album, which means the disc I reviewed a few months back qualifies as "the old album". Spite is still trolling the angry noise-sludge-pain grooves as best it can, and here, the band does it better.

Some of that can certainly be traced to better production, but more than that, the songwriting is paying much more attention to rhythmic coherence (no matter what the guitars are doing), which invariably leads to a tighter, more harsh sound.

The stuff has come together. Spite has found its sound, and the noise qualifies as glorious. Not so raw, but much more effective. I can feel the pain behind the riffage.

An altogether better album. Yes, some of that comes from general clean-up, but I'd say these guys just got a better handle on what they wanted to do. This time, the execution was impeccable.

Amazingly dark songs about love and other pains of life. Spottiswoode utilizes all sorts of cheesy pop cliches, but he invariably strips then down to their cores and inverts them, leaving behind some truly spooky stuff.

An obvious, easy reference point is Leonard Cohen. Spottiswood doesn't quite have that bass rasp down, but he's close. His minimalist approach to music and instrumentation also bears some resemblance.

As for the musings themselves (kinda the point of the whole affair, really), they aren't light. Not angry, but certainly disappointed with the way life has turned out. That the songs are written in character only makes them that much more poignant.

Not yer everyday album, but those of us with a dark side will partake with gusto. Some really amazing work here.

A couple months ago I got a fairly pleasant letter from Michael Jefry Stevens requesting that I spell his middle name properly. You can trust I won't make that mistake again. Anyway, this disc finds the piano-drums-bass trio augmented by Valery Ponomarev's trumpet (and related instruments).

As usual, kicking around some standards and original compositions. One of the things I've always liked about this group is the interplay between the band members. Even if one is off on a solo, the others are working to compliment, not just accompany, their mate. I was curious to see what the addition of a guest (especially one so prominent) would do.

It didn't change the group's dynamic, which is great. Ponomarev fits right in, taking his turns and providing support when necessary. He seems to share the other members' attitude toward creative reinvention. The sounds aren't strident or terribly dissonant, but this jazz band has a feel all its own. That's pretty rare.

As rare as the quality on this disc. The third SS&F album is just as great as the first two, perhaps even a smidge better with the addition of such a great trumpet sound. The sort of album which just might inspire a person to become a jazz fan.

"We're a guitar-powered pop band." You know, for as long as I've been doing this, I've never had anyone be so succinct. Well, of course, the letter goes on to drop a number of influences (nicely diverse, as any list which contains both Wilco and Todd Rundgren is likely to be), but I like that core description.

Of course, they sound most like another of the influences, Cheap Trick. And I mean that in a good way. I don't know that any band has been able to match Cheap Trick's mastery of the pop-rock form. And Ten Story Love doesn't. But these songs roll along very well, with some great riffage and nice, tight hooks.

The sort of band you know is great live. These songs sound like they've been worked out on more than a few stages (even if only three people were in the audience). The production sound is great, better than some major label albums I've heard. Raw enough to keep that essential ragged feeling, but sharp enough to bring everything into clarity.

Um, this is pretty damned good. If I had a label, I'd sign them. And you know I don't say that a lot. These guys are very good at what they do. I think I'm gonna listen to the disc all over again. And maybe a few times after that.