The liner notes are pretty cool. Bits and pieces of the mise-en-scene of a bar in Gonzales, Texas. I particularly liked the Falstaff bottle sitting on a shelf (amongst a ton of other debris). Unfortunately, just as much care was taken when recording this album.

And the reason that's a problem is that Andrews plays the blues. In that ever-popular Texas white boy style. The sorta thing which works real well live, and often comes off lifeless on disc. Like here.

The playing is great, and the songs are pretty good, but too often there is an extra overdub that just makes the music sound a bit stilted. Take "Just You and Me", a great little blooze-n-boogie tune. Which works real well until that one little extra lead guitar whine (added on top of the regular lead lick) which crops up about four bars before the chorus. What had been a real tight, live-sounding song all of a sudden whipsawed back into a studio creation. Ruined the whole effect.

Andrews can play pretty well. He can write these songs better than most. But there's too much craft and not enough soul here. My usual complaint for Texas blues, I know, but there it is. Andrews did not break the mold.

In my review of the first Black Heart Procession disc, I noted that the band sounded "strangely" like Three Mile Pilot. Not strange at all in reality, since two of the guys in the band are in TMP (as more than one knowledgeable reader informed me). Now, in these days of a mainstream backlash against "gothic" music in all forms (last week I heard someone refer to Black Sabbath as a "goth" band'; I guess old prejudices die hard), this disc arrives.

Of course, the Black Heart Procession is hardly goth. And it is unlikely that any overzealous blame-assigners even know the band exists, but still. This is TMP music somewhat recast in a more gloomy and eclectic universe. The reliance on unusual instrumentation (for rock music, anyway) is still around, lending a Nick Cave-meets-Mekons kind of feel to a lot of this. With a healthy dollop of TMP song structure.

Yeah, weird is one way to put it.

But the thing is, the songs work. The journey may be dark and seemingly endless, but no matter how strange and otherworldly the sounds may get (and trust me, you have no idea), the stuff holds together. This is cohesive, part of a rather astonishing whole.

I'm out of things to say, really. The first album was really, really good. Great in many places. This one is so far superior that I can't begin to describe its wonder. Suffice it to say most of the songs here are amazing, and then some are better than that.

More of what I heard on the first Epitaph studio disc. Hard-edge tuneful fare, with just a hint of reckless debonair. Unlike the live set, which was simply reckless. These guys have the potential to get snotty and stupid, but once again, on this disc their bad tendencies are turned into a positive undercurrent.

The songwriting is quite solid, with even more experimentation than I heard last time out. The willingness to try new things and the ability to meld those sounds together are two big reasons why the Bouncing Souls have such a committed fan base. I still wish they played better live.

Man, I'm just asking for trouble there. Whatever. The production here is solid, but not shiny. The talent and spirit of the band is on full display, and the producer didn't stand in the way. He did keep the boys under control, but that's about it.

Another fine set. These guys keep building on a solid rep, who knows where the progression will stop. I'm simply more impressed than ever.

Rather pretentiously assembled music. The songs utilize a number of different sound sources (the usual instruments plus samples and some odd and ends) in an attempt to really say something. Yes, this disc is full of serious statements.

And Chroma Key is successful, for the most part. The sound itself is hard to describe, though if you think of Sting's first album and just expand it exponentially, you might get a picture. The mood is generally somber, but the orchestrations are intricate and involved. I guess the style is somewhere in that pop realm, though it often veers into industrial territory.

And, like I said, pretentious as hell. That only means that the band has to make that arrogance pay off. It does, almost always. There are a couple clunker moments, but I'm highly impressed. There's something big going on here.

Yeah, it is a mainstream sorta project. The kind of thing that kids will go "whoa" when they hear. While I'm impressed, I'm not rapturous. Still, Chroma Key justifies its arrogance sound with a very solid album. The statement has been made.

Evans' shtick is doing Frank Sinatra. Even if Sinatra never actually recorded the songs Evans sings, he does a nice job of replicating Frank's style and phrasing. If that's your thing.

Here's the deal: Even if you're doing Sinatra, you're still a cover act. You're imitating the performance of another. And while that's sincerest form of flattery (not to mention a good way to make a buck), I'm still not that interested.

But putting those biases aside, I will note that Evans sounds about as much like Sinatra as Harry Connick Jr. did on his first couple albums, except that Evans is a much better singer (I know, not high praise, but still). The songs are very much arranged in the style of Nelson Riddle, who arranged most of Sinatra's best-known stuff from the fifties and early sixties. The band sounds good, if not particularly inspired.

For what this is, it's a good package. I'd rather hear the original, though if I was in Vegas and really wanted a dose of Sinatra (two unlikely premises, but still), I might stop by Evans' show. But that's about it. Cover acts still don't get me hard.

In the Fishtank is a series from the Dutch Konkurrent label. The idea is to give two bands two days to sit in a studio and see what they can work out. The label asks for about 20 minutes or so of completed music and then releases these improvisations to the world.

This is the first of the series to get released over here. And it sounds about like you'd expect: Highly technical, incredibly involved musical meanderings, with an amazing range of sonic fury displayed. Each side of these two highly creative bands is shown at one time or another, often in stark juxtaposition to what the other set of musicians might normally do at the time.

But, come on. Anyone who knows these two bands knows to expect the unexpected. It's not like these folks are used to holding ideas back or conforming to any sorts of musical norms. Their albums already sound like refined improvisations. Which is a pretty good thing.

As is this set. While I could have guessed the result, I had high expectations. This fulfills them. In every way. Really, really cool, in other words.

Produced by Chris Goss (once of Masters of Reality), with all the musical mayhem you might expect. A trio (or a quartet--the liners and the press notes do not agree), but these three guys are able to blast some truly impressive fare. Perfunctory playing, punctuated by off-the-wall noodlings and descants.

Kinda like if Black Sabbath was a prog band, but it only remembered that fact every once in a while. The vocals are utterly un-Ozzy-like. Actually, they sound a lot like Goss back in the MoR days. I'm pretty sure he does do a little singing now and again.

One of those albums which lurches and leans toward the impending apocalypse. You can see the end coming, but you can't do a damned thing about it. It is inexorable, you are utterly powerless. The fury and the wonderment pass through you. Not an entirely pleasant feeling.

But mostly. I can say I haven't ever heard anything quite like Fatso Jetson. That's always a good sign. Yes, it's definitely stoner rock (you know, like Sleep or Faith No More or something), but these boys have their own niche. And a fine one it is.

Obviously, Fifteen is still around making music. This one is a bit heavier-sounding than the other two discs I heard. More mainstream rock, less punk. Though the general construction is that pop-punk three chord ideal. And the vocals are still quavering and wavering.

The lyrics are much more overtly political than before. The roots were always there, but here, everything is out on the surface. Which makes the whole set hang together is bit better.

The heavy guitar sound is a bit disconcerting at times, though I guess that's just how the album came out. And, like I said, this disc holds together much better than the other Fifteen sets I've heard, so maybe the sound has something to do with that.

The best Fifteen album I've heard. Given what I've said before, well, that's not saying a lot, but honestly, I kinda liked this disc. Nothing earthshaking, but it sounds like the band has finally come together. Who knows?

No obscenities in that title. Just "Faster Than the World". Sorry to burst yer bubble. Other than that, this disc shows off what H2O does best: Combine some oozin' ahs with tight hardcore (more of late 80s NYC vintage than the more recent moshcore sound). And while the first two discs weren't bad, this one is easily the best of the set.

Effervescently powerful, an almost incomprehensibly difficult effect to conjure up. H2O breezes through these muscular songs with wit and flair, never stopping to take a breath. Well, I'm sure the live show is somewhat less frenetic, but the magic of the studio has created a heart-stopping set.

And that studio sound is important. The guitars are fairly free of distortion, allowing them to sound powerful even as the riffs pile up like used condoms on Broadway. Always, always, the vocals are placed on top, holding all the pieces together. Sing along, now.

And that's the thing. This is tough music, lifted up by incredibly catchy choruses. Wowsers. I can barely catch my wind.

Oh, my. This disc is bookended by 10-minute-plus songs (plus an 11-minute theme song). Yes, the label is a dead giveaway, but man, this is prog.

And extremely well executed. The playing is very good, the songs structurally sound. Rote at times, but certainly within specs. And despite being really, really longwinded at times, Ice Age is a good example of why people dig prog. Inventive and technically brilliant playing, tight (if convoluted) melodies and harmonies and a sense of greatness and, well, pomposity to the sound. This stuff sounds important.

I'm not so sure that it is, but hell, it's hard to slag on these guys. I do wish they varied from the ideal more than they do, but in general, the stuff is still quite impressive.

The sort of album which gives prog a good name. Self-indulgent? Of course. But that excess produces some fine moments. Ice Age tries to get as much of its vision into the sound, and for the most part, it's in there. A most impressive debut.

My review of the first set from these DC hardcore artisans would fit in here. Nothing has changed, everything is just as solid as before. Solid pop hardcore with just enough sloppy energy to keep the proceedings fun.

The songwriting really is the key, and Lickety Split always keeps the songs just loose enough. Nothing complicated, just powerful little songs with just enough hook to make an impression.

The sound is a bit of a problem. It varies wildly from song to song, sometimes very sharp and other times kinda muted. I know this is punk rock, but this part of the process could have been done better. Much better.

Still, the high quality of the songs and playing manage to break through any technical issues. Once again, more fun that I should have had. And there's nothing wrong with that.

The cover sorta sez it all. Semi-tuneful, sloppy, slurred, raucous punk rock. With something of a social conscience. What L.E.S. Stitches has is an immaculate sense of how to do this right.

I'm not saying this is all planned and plotted out. Hardly. But it comes together so nicely. Think of Rancid's straighter punk moments and add just a bit more of the N.Y.C. attitude and the formula is set. A time-honored, well-worn sound, but one that so few seem to be able to accomplish.

In other words, these boys found the groove. The songs and the performances work. There's nothing much else to it. I mean, I must have heard a hundred or more bands try to do this, but L.E.S. Stitches are as good as I've heard.

Oh, yeah. Play it loud. Real damned loud. Piss off your neighbors. Get a noise pollution ticket from the cops. Whatever. Just tap in and it's impossible to yank out.

Highly-crafted, extremely idiosyncratic fare. There's a vaguely funky rhythm guitar, a more straight-ahead lead guitar and a pile-driving bass and drums. With poppy vocals. Though each of those elements is subject to severe change at any given moment. Oh, man, this is one unusual band.

A lot of the press clippings wonder aloud why this band hasn't been signed. I can give that answer easily: It doesn't fit in anywhere.

And anyone who reads me regularly knows that means I'm really gonna dig the band. It's true: I like what these guys are trying to do. M. Headphone is working its ass off to carve its own niche. Sure, it's theirs by default, since no one else wants it, but still.

Advice time: If the boys want to get any time soon, they've gotta change. Get a bit more boring. Or, as an agent recently told me about my writing: "John Grisham does it this way; you should consider doing it this way, too." My response to that notion was to laugh my ass off and work on improving what I do within the notions of how I should do it.

Because if you do something in a very strange way for long enough, you get really, really good at it. And that's when the world starts accepting you on your own terms. Persistence and hard work are imperatives. That's my real advice here. Keep on keeping on, and once day the world will beat a path to M. Headphone's door.

It's kinda rare that reviews fit together this well, particularly when the originating labels are almost half a world apart. Mind Flux Funeral hails from just outside Chicago (though the label is near Portland), and it runs through much the same hardcore electronic terrain as ATR. MFF is at once more stark and somewhat more eclectic in its sound.

The beats, in particular, change tempo much more often. But there is rarely a hint of melody, simply hiss and percussive impact. The thing is, it works just about as well.

Perhaps just a touch of the ambient mixed in with the hardcore. An almost minuscule touch. Enough to provide a wonderful flavor. MFF has the sound down well enough to tweak it in many places, leaving a most impressive set of songs.

Tight and highly-regulated, but with plenty of side trips. Work of the highest order, with hints of even more greatness to come in the future.

Something of a one-man band with lots of friends helping out. Carl Johns is the main guy, and he spews out a wide variety of folk and country-tinged rants and wails. Some songs are just him, some are fully-orchestrated anthems. The versatility of the songwriting and his performances is impressive.

Alright, so he takes himself and the songs a tad too seriously. Johns seems to think he's making a big statement much of the time, and I don't think he quite gets there. But what does work is the way the various instruments work together to create the sound.

Yeah, the sound is really great. The lyrics can get a bit full of themselves, but the backing tunes are amazing. Meandering bits and pieces assembled on the spot (or so it sounds). That stuff is very cool.

And so I'm more than willing to forgive the odd pretentious lyric. And even those aren't so bad once I get used to Johns' regular style. The more I hear, the more I'm knocked out. Quite impressive, indeed.

The disc package is silk-screened (or otherwise painted or stenciled). The music is similarly done in a do-it-yerself style.

And wildly eclectic. The first track is a sterile piece which sounds something like extremely agitated dripping water. The second features acoustic guitar with lots of little gizmos flitting here and about. The third sounds something like the second, but not really. Does that make sense?

Of course not. Imagine something like the Magnetic Fields without vocals, but with a much more diverse musical style. Trippy, sure, but not so much to make you nod off. At least, not too quickly.

Utterly indescribable, really. Most attractive and intriguing, however. Panda Bear takes some simple building blocks and creates truly arresting conglomerations of sound. Out there, to be sure, but worth the trip.

Europeans playing that American glam metal thing. Which means there's a bit of a different rub. Just enough to be quite cool.

Listen; this is the stuff I grew up on, alright? I go back and listen, and sometimes I cringe. Most of the time, though, I don't. The funny thing is, I really can't come up with a reference here. The vocals are overdubbed into harmonies (kinda like Bon Jovi, though not nearly so much so), and the music itself is like a much more inspired Yngwie Malmsteen style.

Sing-along choruses and virtuoso (but not annoying) guitar solos. The keyboards are a definite European touch. This is somewhere between Accept and Tesla's first album, I guess. But with a whole new modern feel. I mean, I haven't heard something like this in ages, and I quite like it.

Everything comes back again eventually, and sometimes it comes back better. PC69 has the sound down, and it also does a great job of finding new niches. I'm in a rush right now, and that is always a good thing.

Britpop bands are notoriously eclectic. That's why very few of them have made it over here. Prolapse is so weird it hasn't even really conquered the U.K.

Refusing to stick to any one style (the first track is a take on trip-hop, the second as close to basic pop as the band gets, the third something of a psychedelic groove without the groove, etc.), Prolapse has managed to be successful enough to release albums every once in a while. You thought Mekons were eclectic? You find the Fall somewhat disconcerting? Don't even think of coming this way.

That said, this disc continues something of an evolution by the band toward a somewhat more cohesive sound. Yes, it is venturing dangerously close My Bloody Valentine (in some truly strange ways), but the ragged edges are beginning to smooth out a bit.

Taken individually, the songs are quite impressive. They don't make sense in an album. I mean, these songs could be sequenced any which way and they'd sound the same. But that's just Prolapse. And once again, I've got to say there's some really wild stuff here. If you want to wade through the chatter.

The dark side of ambient. Rubenstein incorporates a lot of organic debris within his sample patterns, creating a sound which is very much alive. The effect is quite impressive.

Not sterile at all. Rubenstein generally utilizes a simple melodic line (often with piano) in each of his pieces, fleshing out those ideas with whatever he can pull out of his bag of tricks and samples.

But this isn't gimmicky fare. Each part of these pieces is well thought out, and even the smallest chunk is readily absorbed by the whole. Nothing stands out; all forces are directed to the whole.

For an electronic project, this sounds amazingly analog. Rubenstein knows his computers so well, he can make them sound like regular instruments. The best use of technology I've heard in quite a while.

The album cover is utterly correct. Slotek plays music which sounds like it has been filtered underwater to some sort of marine community. The beats and bass lines are almost impossibly thick. In fact, nothing has a sharp edge. Slow, pulsating and utterly unavoidable.

Music from a sensory depravation tank. These are thoughts which fly though the mind when there is no conscious sensation available to the body. The heartbeat is omnipresent, it rules all. But between the beats, an eternity elapses. Slotek exploits that eternity to the hilt.

With all sorts of unusual sounds and musical bents. A good amount of middle-eastern stuff, plenty of hip-hop, soundscape pieces and pretty much everything else flies through at one time or another. It doesn't seem like that, as the beats are slow and deliberate. But when all is said and done, so much has passed that it is almost incomprehensible.

Whew. I've been waiting for a new Slotek disc for ages, and this still manages to blow me away. A communal disc, where cultures and ideas are shared and digested equally. Immerse yourself. You may not want to return.

Just yer basic deep in the Sabs power trio. Early Black Sabbath, that is, based on lean guitar lines and a relatively sparse sound. Perhaps not quite so polished (and when you consider what I'm talking about...), but what the hell.

Alright, this IS getting close to what I'd call a rip-off. Spirit Caravan doesn't really do anything but wallow in the sound. Hey, the songwriting is convincing (any of these songs could've been on Paranoid), but it's really not original.

The guys don't steal any riffs, but still, if there was a copyright on a particular sound, well, they'd be nailed. On the other hand, they do this so well, Black Sabbath might think about hiring them to do the actual playing at Ozzfest this summer.

Heh. Heh. Whatever. I'm entertained, but for no particularly good reason. If you really want to hear a band that channels the Sabs, this is as good as yer gonna get. Past that, well, yer gonna get a band that channels the Sabs.

Um, basic overproduced pop music. Moments remind me of Britpop bands like China Drum, though the glare is just a bit too much for my poor scorched retinas.

And then come songs like "Live Here Without You", which sound like Made-for MTV infomercials. Pop is best when it undercuts its inherent pretentiousness. Sponge amps it up, instead. Anthemitis everywhere.

Add to it the ultra-sharp, dreadfully effect-laden production. All the vocals are either overdubbed or echoed or something else. Where is the real voice? Good question. I can't find the band for the sound.

And it's too bad, because about half of these songs are quite good. I just can't stand everything that happens after the tune kicks in. I know, I know, that's what "the industry" is all about, and always has been, but I'm tired of it. And the songs aren't great enough to overcome the window dressing.

The third Uncle Tupelo album (March 19-20, 1992) was something of a return to folk roots and included a good number of banjo picking songs. Brendon Massei is from Missouri, and I know he knows that album. One of my favorites. What Massei does is play simple songs, him singing along with a banjo or acoustic guitar. His voice is a bit less raspy than Jay Farrar's, but I still get that feel.

But these are his songs, and Massei has put his stamp on everything here. Extremely personal and introspective pieces, the sort of thing which is immediately arresting. It is simply impossible to hit the stop button while this disc is playing.

The recording is perfect. A wonderfully full acoustic guitar sound (none of that nasty tinny sound which is way too prevalent), and Massei's own voice, with just a few overdubs at key points. Haunting is a good word.

Quite a set. Massei has worked hard at his picking and playing and singing and writing skills, and that's so easy to hear. Intimate and inviting, the perfect accompaniment for a meandering afternoon.

Thick, thick pop stuff. Plenty of reverb and distortion, but it's all in the background. What's up top are the vocals, and they convey songs of disappointment and distress as intensely as anything I've heard recently.

Solidly in the mid-tempo range, Swirlitbox plays the morose card so well, it's hard to escape from the feeling of impending doom which envelops the songs and the sound. I mean, if that's what the boys wanted, they sure got it.

And for all the extras, this still has the feel of a garage outfit. It's a simply wonderful sound, pure in its ragged glory. The band produced this, and it one of the more impressive jobs I've heard.

The complete package. Great songs, unabashedly intense playing and a most expressive sound. Pretty hard not to like this puppy. An awful lot. I'm guessing lots of folks are paying attention.

Grunge and industrial-influenced prog, though produced to an almost sterile degree. I like the way the band infuses the sound with plenty of outside influences. I just wish there was a bit more soul to the sound.

Feeling, I mean. The playing is wonderful in a technical sense, but it is not expressive. And the same with the singing. Paul Rarick has a great range, but his vocals are simply conveying words, not emotions.

Part of this, certainly, is the fault of the production. It is so tight that very little expressiveness could escape, if it was there in the first place. Yeah, I know, that's something of a prog ideal, but I don't have to like it. Just wish there was a bit more of a mood to this.

These guys get plenty of credit for trying to rework the prog songwriting style. The compositions work, often enough. It's just the way they're presented here that bothers me. Too staid, too rote. Too bad.

Just another label compilation, mostly featuring stuff from recent and upcoming releases. Of course, this is a Fat wreck compilation, which means the music is tasty and tuneful punk rawk.

There are unreleased tracks from No Use for a Name and Avail (and a NOFX tune that was previously available only on 7"). After that, just a track apiece from most of the Fat Wreck lineup. Which ain't bad.

A nice little mix tape. Okay, so they didn't use my favorite Ataris song ("My So-Called Life"), but I'll forgive them. This time.