Steeped in the essences of punk, adding an anthemic sheen to that modern-day Clash riffage that Rancid does so well, Anti-Flag kicks out some truly catchy stuff. Songs that anyone with a pulse will sing along with for years to come.

And yet sloppy enough to be ragged about the edges. Always the best way to present your finest punk foot forward. Crunchy and fulfilling.

The sound is very nice, sharp and solid. It's easy to hear every member of the band, and the group's ideas come through loud and clear.

I'm sorry I'm not particularly vociferous about this one. It's a great album. There's not a whole lot else to say. Sure, lots of people try to do this sound. But these boys from Pittsburgh do it about as well as I've heard in a while. More than worth a few listens.

There are points on the outer edges of noise pop where the music can get a bit too contemplative or fuzzy and simply turn into emo or plain noise. Ativin scrapes the lines of both, even while maintaining an even keel on the band sound itself. These boys are out for blood.

Though the music is much more of a slowly unfolding musicscape than anything else. Two guitar lines which meander and cross at odd moments, with the drums somehow keeping the whole somewhat together. Expansive and yet astonishingly introspective.

Only four songs, which is just enough to create quite a stir in my brain. Albini did the knob work, proving once again that few are better than he at putting innovative guitar musicks down on tape.

Entrancing is the word I've been scraping my mind to find. Terribly arrogant and far-reaching, but hell, Ativin makes everything pay off at wonderful odds. No shirkers, these craftsmen.

The disc has a decidedly understated sound, and the music follows suit. The whole set is fairly laid back, and the songs require a little getting used to before acceptance begins to follow.

One problem is that the title track (which comes first) is one of the weakest songs on the disc. I don't care what you call your album, but put a good song up front. The second song, "Poor Boy", would have been a nice way to kick off.

Big Meteor flits between electric and acoustic AOR/roots fare. The playing is very nice, and while the singing is somewhat less than enthusiastic, once you get used to the vocals, they're fine. The biggest problem with the disc is the mastering, which left the general levels quite flat and the volume low. I had to crank my stereo to hear this, and when I did, some of the parts seemed to have been flattened together.

The more I heard, the more I liked. Find a better lead-off, guys, and step out in your finery. A nice, easy bath.

No relation to the electronic Black Box, though the band is structured similarly. Two guys perform all the instruments, and a woman stands out front as the main vocalist. This, however, is introspective and sometimes intentionally clunky pop.

The songs do not have a flow. I don't think they're supposed to have one. It sounds to me like the whole notion here is to expose all of the pieces of craft. I'm not sure why. That's an odd notion. But, there it is.

The music is put together in such a just-so fashion, so precisely, that there's no way the less-than-smooth style is the result of incompetence. Nope. These folks want to sound like this, an off-kilter Velvet Underground (don't even get on me about that reference).

Pretty cool, if you can find the groove. Black Box Recorder doesn't leave too many hints, so getting inside the sound requires some serious work. And I don't know why I tried, but I seem to like this now. Though I'm not sure why. Strange and, well, strange. For those who like to work their brains.

BOAC is a member of Bay-area stalwarts the Earthlings (not to be confused with "Earthlings?"). The sound is straight out of the Native Tongue movement (De La Soul, Jungle Brothers, etc.), with more than a few modern flourishes. The lyrics have a free-style feel, and the tone is most definitely laid-back.

And highly creative. The backing music reminds me of some Wordsound stuff, beats which don't quite match up and samples which lend an air of unease to the project.

BOAC sounds a lot like Tony Gwynn (you know, the greatest baseball hitter of our generation), so I keep trying to shake that image. Not a problem, because there's plenty here to dig into and take my mind off that oddly incongruous notion.

The disc just flows along, with plenty of asides an odd notions. Probably a bit too eclectic for the average fan, but for those who like to scour the underground, BOAC has just the right flavor.

It wouldn't be too hard to accuse these guys of whipping out the usual strident "alternative" chords and playing for a major deal. But that would be really wrong. Chupa Cabra is way too nuanced to get boxed into that situation.

What I mean is that the band does follow something of the throb groove sound that is reasonably popular (something in the guitar, really), but there's a ton going on. The bass refuses to play things safe, and the drummer often enough has some auxiliary percussion clicking about as well.

Now, these songs do have that "I am important, damnit!" feel to them. An anthemic bent, to be sure. But, well, the band follows through. The songs are good. They do say something. They are impressive. There, um, is something important going on.

And all with a fine buzzsaw sound which leaves the ears ringing for a while after the assault. I'm afraid I haven't done a particularly good job of describing what all this sounds like, but sometimes the good stuff defies labels. Usually, the good stuff defies labels.

Lo-tech recording and even more basic songwriting. This is punk the way it was meant to be, methinks. Can it get more basic than this? Maybe, but not with the element of fucked up sound.

That's a compliment, folks, don't misunderstand me. Cleveland Bound Death Sentence makes music a real mess, but the rhythm never stops, and for some reason, my interest stays piqued.

Art? That's a million miles away. CBDS stands for all that is screwed up in the world, and its proper propagation. There is no reason to clean up this mess.

Nope, just let it fester and see what happens. Don't know what that might be, but it has to be interesting. And most certainly vital.

Some of that Jesus Lizard Chicago-style noisage, with a definite SoCal touch. I know, Rage is from the East Coast, but the mosh rap groove has been appropriated and updated by folks across the country.

The band is tight, and the songs are also tightly penned. At times I'm a bit concerned that nothing is really being said, but the music does sound reasonably good.

The modifiers are telling. Dama is good at what it does. But there isn't enough here to stand out in any particular way. Good, but kinda generic. I'm not hearing the fire of originality which would really kick me over the edge.

These boys are solid, though, no doubt. And maybe it's my jaded palate which is the problem here. Quite possible. Dama just doesn't get me off.

Also known as a vocalist for Faithless, Dido Armstrong wrote the songs for her first solo recording with her brother Rollo and the rest of Faithless. But instead of focusing on the beats, this disc keys solely on Dido's voice.

The music is somewhat more generic than Faithless (which isn't particularly inventive in its own right), but Dido's lush voice does make up for that shortcoming. Yeah, this is basic pop, somewhere between Abba and Sarah McLachlan, but a lot more interesting than, say, that Alanis Morrisette album you've already turned into an ashtray.

Just so we're clear here: Dido is not the "future of music" or even "the queen of trip hop". Indeed, while the backing music is generally electronic (though there is some acoustic guitar laying about), it's just faceless Eurotrash. Dido's voice, though, is one of those perfect pop instruments. She can make a bad song acceptable and a good song great. The effect is fizzy and fleeting, of course, but nonetheless enjoyable.

The sort of summer album which feels good in the sunshine. Don't ask for more, and Dido will probably pleasantly surprise.

Must be nice to live in New York and be able to call up Martin Bisi and get him to produce some of your songs. Of course, you've got to be pretty good. And the Distance Formula (sort of the house band for the label of the same name) is better than pretty good.

Somewhere on the noise-pop side of emo (though without a keel haul of distortion), or maybe that's the other way around. Reminds me a bit of the Regrets (you know, the latter-day Vitreous Humor). Not quite so involved, but close.

The lines are constantly in motion, occasionally coming together for some sort of cohesive chorus or something. Occasionally. Usually there is a nice feel of organized chaos to the sound. Every player has his role, but the band is only barely holding together at the center. Man, I like the way that works.

Four songs, all impressive. Involved music which lends itself to a casual listen. Yeah, I'm a sucker for this vein of stuff, but even so I'm knocked out. Yes, Bisi did his usual quality job. And the band did even more.

The note from the kind folks at Nihilist read "Tim Garrigan was in You Fantastic and Dazzling Killmen, so, you know..." And I thought I did. I expected something powerful, astonishing and ultimately haunting. That this is. But on an entirely different side of the sanity fence.

Kinda like if Roky Erickson knew how to play with the toys in a studio. Garrigan and pals rip off huge chunks of music, sometimes coherently and sometimes not. Garrigan messes with just about every piece of the recording though, twisting vocals or guitars or drums or samples or whathaveyou into a form which he, apparently, likes.

There is something pure about a recording like this. It's like the artist has utterly bared his soul. The pieces are so raw, so streamofconsciousness that nothing stands between them and the ears of the listener. While I'm sure many of these sounds required some serious effort, the music sounds almost untouched. Pristine. Bizarre, certainly, but still clear.

Alright, here goes. Garrigan was in You Fantastic and Dazzling Killmen, so, you know. That works about as well as all my drivel. Because even after hearing this, I can hardly say "I know." Words fail at times like this.

Brightly produced Bay-area blues. Now, if you don't recognize the name, that's because you're my age or younger. Gravenites wrote "One Toke Over the Line" and songs for a few other folks who had some hits back in the 60s and 70s. Famous folks. Huey Lewis drops some harp on a song here, and Sammy Hagar does some backing vocal and guitar work on a track.

So the guy's got some famous friends. Can he play? Are his songs any good? Fair questions, and right from the start Gravenites proves his mettle. The sharp horn backing adds a Stax feel to the rockin' blooze tunes, and Gravenites has the sort of raspy growl that blues singers would die to have.

Often humorous, without descending into parody or novelty status, the songs just roll through the night. This isn't hard core blues, of course, but nice fare for a warm evening. Gravenites has quite the feel for this sound.

Wonderfully written, well-performed and a load of fun to hear. No, Gravenites isn't the next anything. He doesn't seem to want to be. He'll just do some cool tunes, if that's alright with you.

Irish band, Frisco-area label, the sorta stuff I'd expect to hear from a band on the eastern side of the midwest. Not out of step with Hurl or that sort. There is the Irish accent on the vocals, but still. Meandering, subdued pop music with more than a little noise in the mix.

Vaguely atonal, too, in a vague way. I get the feeling I've heard these guys before, but I'm still happy to have this disc. Since I haven't come across Half Film in the past, I'll simply be happy with the deja vu.

The songs wind and roll along. They start and stop, not always at logical points. What I'm trying to say here is that this is the sort of band which will compliment the comfortable cheese epicenters of a good many people, even though they too have never come across this exact band before.

The more I look at this review, the more nebulous it seems. As I listen, my thoughts become more and more unfocused. I lose myself in the tuneage and have to struggle to return. I'd say that's a fair compliment.

A bit poppier and less punk than yer average Melted release, but damn, the quality and infectious nature are at least up to code. As soon as the first backbeat hit my ears, I was ready to jump around the room in joyous abandon.

No, really. These boys have such a fine fuzz-pop attack it's impossible to sit down when it's rolling. My disc had a bit of a manufacturing defect (something scratched out a piece of the second track), and when that hit I about freaked. Had to just skip to the next song. Bummed, but once "Lolita" kicked in, I was happy.

You know, people use the phrase "hi-octane" a lot. I don't go there very often, but hell, if there was a band that deserved such an appellation, the Heartdrops are it. Damn, man, this stuff blasts out a form of energy that even Stephen Hawking couldn't describe.

Yeah, I had a good time. A great time. Some truly fine songs and more than enough sonic aggression to get anyone through the night. Pop heaven is the next stop.

Langille's last album, a collaboration with Loren MazzaCane Connors (Langille is joined by Andrew Burnes and David Daniell on this disc), is the only Secretly Canadian album I haven't liked. There might be another one I didn't love, but I remember being bummed for weeks because I did not understand or dig The Enchanted Forest.

So when I got this disc, I resolved to work my butt off to develop an appreciation for Langille. I mean, so many other cool people liked Forest, there must be something wrong with my personal musicometer. But, after a lot of effort, I've gotta say I don't really like this one, either.

My general notion is that music has to work for me, or have a good point or in some other way grab some attention. Langille, instead, sings as though she's constantly on her dying breath. The lyrics are poetic, I suppose, but they don't move me. The music is interesting in the way it, too, sounds like it is about to fall away from the center like some galaxy which has lost touch with gravity. But nothing really happens with that. It's the perfect sonic description of an atom on the edge of entropy.

Alright, that is kinda cool. I don't dislike this disc, but it doesn't excite me, either. I tried, too, I tried damned hard. I'm not gonna apologize for the way I feel. That's just the way it goes.

Cool vocals oozing from the blooze, with riff-sharp music kicking in the background. Remind me a lot of Melissa Etheridge's first album (which, if you recall, was pretty good), though Maione has a better voice and a somewhat heavier approach to the tunes.

Three songs here, all mid-tempo rockers. But other than that, each is nicely distinct, showing a good range. If this is any indication, Maione has both the songwriting and the singing skills to really get somewhere.

As you might have inferred, this is fairly commercial fare. But of a good sort. Maione has a deft touch with both her lyrics and her music, and the voice is the sort most dream of having. I'm rather knocked out.

John Lee Hooker sits in on a couple, highlighting a fairly loose outing from Mayall. He sounds much less constrained than he has in recent days, and his band also has the feel of a liberated army.

Easily the best album I've heard from Mayall in years. The production has been tamed a notch, which also probably accounts for some of the improved sound. Simply put, this sounds like a blues album, not some acid hangover run through a blues grinder.

The special guests are nice (Hooker is still one of the most expressive and inventive guitarists in the world), but the highlight for me is hearing Mayall sound like he's actually enjoying himself. There's nothing stilted here, just some blues tinged with a piece of the rock.

I don't know what happened (though the switch in labels is telling), but it worked. Mayall sounds like a young cub once again, a man at ease with himself and his music. This album is loads of fun.

Alrighty then! If you thought my review of American Power (another Nihilist outfit) described some truly warped minds in full expression mode, well, here's Panicsville. Disjointed beat noodlings with all sorts of sampled and instrumental effects. Trust me: This does not make sense.

And there really is no way to find coherence. Once you let go, though, and simply sift through the madness, well, a semblance of order emerges. Semblance in the loosest sense of the word. After all, this is lunacy.

Strangely attractive lunacy, mind you, the sort of psychotic ramblings which can make for bestsellers in the book world. Books, of course, are things utilized by generally thoughtful people. Think of this as meta-fiction for the electronic set. Meta-electronics, perhaps.

Oh, what am I doing? Justifying the sheer madness which exists here? Well, I can do that in a heartbeat. But I really cannot explain it. Some things just have to be experienced, if only by the brave. If you dig this, then you may consider yourself a pioneer of the music underground.

When I say 5" vinyl, I mean it! This thing is, well, small. Very inventive packaging, which is what can be expected from Nihilist.

If you got through my review of the Nihilist full-length, then just apply it to their side of this slab. While possibly even a bit more lo-fi than what I heard before, it fits right into the psychotic electronic style I was expecting.

The John Wiese side is pure electronic noise in the finest tradition. This side rolls at 45 (the Panicsville is at 33), so the squelches and yelps burst past at a fair clip. Pretty cool.

Actually, the entire execution here is pretty cool. Weird, certainly, but quite impressive. I wish 5" vinyl held more sound.

The bio notes "the public's current disinterest in pop-rock music", something which I've have to heartily dispute (it seems all I've been hearing for a year or two is such stuff). But nevertheless, the notion that this band knows what it's doing in that arena is dead on.

In other words, the Pawn Rook Four can craft some fine hooks onto great riffage. Indeed, the guys have move range than your average eclectic pop outfit, utilizing a wide range of instrumentation and sound to create their pop symphonies.

And, of course, always keeping it light. Which is always the trick with pop music, to make it intense enough to garner interest but light enough to keep the toes tapping. The Pawn Rook Four balances those needs impeccably.

An all-around fine set. These boys deserve to get whatever attention comes their way. My ears are still begging for another hit.

One of the more inexplicable fascinations of my youth was the glam rock movement of the 70s (which, occasionally, also manifested itself in the glam rock movement of the 80s). Ross Phasor is firmly committed to the 70s version of glam. And it sounds glorious.

That is, if you dig stuff like Bowie, the Sweet, T. Rex and the like. With tinges of space rock thrown in fer the hell of it. This ain't no tribute, man, this is the real thing. Ross Phasor isn't processing; it's creating.

Wow, truly groovy guitar sounds and strangely dissonant vocal harmonies. Yes, it takes me back to my own youth in the 80s (when I was tied to this part of the 70s). And I won't apologize for that.

Neither does Ross Phasor. This isn't a rehash, like I've said. The music is as contemporary as anything else these days, just with its influence antennae tuned to a slightly shinier wavelength. Big ass fun on the main line.

The sort of soundscapes that I identify with Cold Meat Industry. Vast, ambitious and utterly engrossing. Sephiroth is Ulf Soderberg, and this is his first full-length under this name.

What sets Sephiroth apart is the use of sounds that he has taped from different parts of the world. Chants and noises are spliced, chopped up and then used here to provide truly spooky effects. When drums are used, they are sometimes from these recordings (I think), but even the electronic (or studio-recorded) beats here sound like they're from some ancient ritual.

All this put together with the highest degree of care. Lush and haunting sounds, the kind which easily steal minds away from the realities of this world. As this is a one-man project, Soderberg put it together himself, most impressively, I might add.

These pieces are amazing when they come in bits. Contemplating the entire project is almost impossible. The scope is so huge, so overwhelming, it... well, let's just say it's damned good. Astonishingly so, to be sure.

A truly primitive recording. Not muffled, but simply rather spotty. Which works when you're trying to play the spooky blues (with a touch of Kepone), as the Seven Hearts do.

The songs are somewhere in the Dead Bolt vein, though less jokey and more mean. And while I can't hear a lot of what's going on (the sound is just not there), what I can make out sounds cool enough.

The flip is a bit more disjointed, with a much more creative rhythm going on. That's the one that made me think of Kepone. Though there is also that blues element. I'm not sure these guys know exactly what they want out of their sound, and that may explain this slab.

Or maybe not. I can say that these guys are more than likely quite entertaining live. If they wander this way and I'm available, I'll mosey over and check them out.

Kinda like if Natalie Merchant sang for R.E.M. while the band played Edie Brickell. Does that make sense? Well, Sofa Kingdom straightens sound some of the hippie grooves that needed straightening and then added some nice dark and twisted overtones of its own. As for the other, singer Laura Kleffner sounds an awful lot like Merchant.

And she's adopted some of Merchant's style and phrasing, which is a bit much. That needs to change if the band wants to really establish its own identity. Kleffner has a fine voice; a great one, really. She just needs to find her own way of using it.

I actually dug many of the tunes, and considering that this isn't particularly my cup of tea, I think that's pretty impressive. All of the performances are good or better, and the production suits the sound very well. A quality set.

I just have to quibble a bit with the soundalike status of the vocals. There are a lot of bands playing this sound, and establishing an original feel is difficult. Sofa Kingdom has to walk that road.

Nicely spacey emo pop, meandering guitar and bass lines which converge at the most interesting points. And vocals which are generally processed in strange fashion. Reminds me a bit of Poster Children.

The vocals, that is. The music is a bit more out there, though if I stretch things they might also reminds me of that fine Champaign outfit. Mostly, though, I'm impressed by the unique way that Stereobate plays. This is odd fare.

And I like things that way. While Stereobate doesn't toe the straight and narrow, this path makes sense to me. The musical ramblings speak to me, inspiring my mind to fly away and ponder for a while.

Pretty cool, indeed. Only four songs, which leaves me a bit bummed. I could use some more.

I long ago lost track of band changes, but this incarnation includes Mike Muir and Mike Clark, and while Clark isn't an original member, he's been on most of the band's albums.

Actually, the lineup is so tenuous that there isn't even an official bass player. Ah, well, there is an album, so perhaps that ought to be the focus. And what's here does certainly hearken back to the day, or at least the mid-80s. The sound is sharper (better production, better playing), but the aggro style and buzzsaw guitar are true hardcore.

Which is somewhere that CBS/Sony/whatever wouldn't let the boys go very often. Suicidal become something of a metal band, and that didn't make any sense. Then there was the whole Infectious Grooves thing (which is still a going concern, I think), and well, Suicidal got even more muddled.

So, even if this isn't the greatest Suicidal album ever, it is a nice return. I will say I think the production just might be a bit too sharp, too good, for the feel that I think the guys wanted. Hardcore needs to be a little sloppy to really get some bite. This disc is clinical at times, but it's still awful nice to hear that whiny Muir growl again.

Further into the dub. Some Wordsound acts here, some folks like Bill Laswell, and some pals from around the world. The past few weeks I've been seeing some extremely well-deserved press on the whole Wordsound crew and the experience it kicks out, and this disc gives the reasons why.

Well, this is just the dub side of the works (or the "Crooklyn Dub Outernational" side, as the disc says), but it's more than impressive. What all the acts here show is that a genre or sound should be merely the starting point, not an all-inclusive and limiting structure.

See, this disc is all dub, and while there are elements that each track shares, often enough it would also be quite easy to say that no track sounds at all like another. The creativity is the thing, and this set has that. All that.

So don't think of this as merely another dub collection. This does come from the mighty Wordsound laboratories, after all, so you know the concoction is of the highest quality. Trust and ingest.

Along the same lines as the Spanglish 101 disc I reviewed a couple issues back. This is more pure metal (and yes, there is a Brujeria track), but the idea is to get Hispanic (or Latin, or whatever term you want to use) bands a showcase.

This disc is more metal, like I said, but also much more international in its scope. Bands from all over Central and South America as well as Europe. I do wish the liners were a bit more informative, but the music does a fine job of speaking for itself.

And if Spanglish intrigued you, then grab this puppy as well. There could be 20 of these things put out and that would still be scratching the surface. Music is universal, and different languages can't create a barrier. Not when the pull is so strong.

A most worthy set. The music is first rate, and that's the real key. Time to go exploring.