Three years? It's been three years since the last Arcwelder album? Bloody hell. I shoulda been bitching about that situation a couple of years ago so that this missal of pleasure would have arrived sooner. Alright, all joking aside, I'm very happy to report that indeed there is a new Arcwelder album, and that the band has spent the last three years updating its sound. Just a bit.

Oh, nothing to worry about, fair fans. The guitars are recorded a little cleaner than usual, and the vocals are also sharper. They are also sung a bit more (as opposed to sung-spoken) than before. And while this Minneapolis trio still hearkens back to the Husker Du days, this album is another step away from that rather pronounced influence.

If anything, the boys seem to have found the groove. As in, the cleaner sound seems to have yielded a tighter rhythm section and greater emphasis on all things percussive. Combined with hookier-than-usual choruses, the only way to interpret this is a move toward the pop side of things.

The dark side, of course. This is the band which proclaimed "Sing a little pop song and everybody loves you" in the song "Remember to Forget" some six-plus years ago. That love-hate relationship with the band's own existence is just one of the cool things about Arcwelder. Great albums don't hurt the reputation, either.

Fairly confident and self-possessed pop stuff. Funny how a little piano dropped in here and there can add a layer of pretension to any project. Anyway, Atomsmasher wends its own little idiosyncratic way, sometimes wailing and sometimes whimpering.

The boys have a nice range that way. In fact, the arrogance of the band (and the songwriting) is really what drives this project. The songs are written in such a way that if they aren't tossed off with selfish abandon, they wouldn't work. These bits need some posturing, and the band provides that nicely.

I'm not sure Atomsmasher quite makes good on its initial promises, but it comes close. The writing is solid and the playing even more so. The somewhat understated production sound keeps everything from getting overly pretentious, and that's a lifesaver here.

Quite the edge. This is a band with some serious goals, and with discs like this, well, I'm not gonna say it won't get there. Well done, guys.

Each band gets three songs, and away they go. Big'n has first shot, and doesn't pull any punches. For those who are curious, these might well be the last Big'n recordings, so if you want to play completist...

Ah, hell, but why not just sit back and bask in the raucous glory of the band. Noisy guitars, pile-driving drums and lots of extraneous sound. Nothing surprising here, which means, of course, that the tunes are a big load of whup-ass.

Oxes hails from Baltimore and plays a somewhat cleaned-up version of the same sound. The songs are just as disjointed, it's just that there's a tad less distortion coming from the guitar section. Just as crunchy, though, and it satisfies well.

A good pairing for an EP. Wish that there might have been more Big'n, but I'll make do with Neutrino and other current projects. As for Oxes, well, I'm hoping to hear much more.

Unlike some bands which make some strange claim to be playing "swing" music, Brother Weasel knows it's playing a modified version of the jump blues. The band's composition includes harp, tenor sax, guitar, drums and bass, with a little organ every once in a while. The songs are lengthy instrumentals, played in the familiar "pass the solo" jazz style.

When I say lengthy, I mean it. The songs average more than six-minutes-per, and none are shorter than five minutes. The soloing structure contributes to this, and it's that song construction which makes this decidedly non-swing music sound a lot more jazzy than most "swingers" today.

A timeless form and some timeless musings. It's pretty easy to get lost within the ramblings, and each solo has something to say. Music for kicking back and contemplating. This is stuff that stand up to rigorous listening.

Enjoyable, and honestly, more than that. Brother Weasel knows how to find, and keep, a mood.

Hey, I just reviewed the new Camber disc, and I was utterly knocked out. This split is with Kid Brother Collective, a band out of Flint, Mich.

A typical Camber song: Raucous, complex and completely involving. The guys just have a way of drawing folks into their sound. Me, in any case. "The Long Goodbye" is fabulous.

Kid Brother Collective's "Sketches of Spain" (not the jazz song) is somewhat more subdued, leading with a spare guitar line before bringing on the fuzz. In that way, it's a bit more by-the-book, but both the musical and lyrical ideas are intriguing. More than enough to make up for a somewhat generic emo song construction.

Two solid (hell, much better than that) pieces. A most worthy seven-inch.

I thought the last stuff I heard from these guys sounded a bit too calculated. Well, consider that problem solved. This album is loose and free, just enhancing the already-solid songwriting.

Now, this complex pop sound may be a bit too dense for some of today's pop heads, but I think the guys have really found a sound here. Sometimes my criticisms aren't founded. But these guys listened to what people much more influential than me said, and this time they obviously made a concerted effort to find a live sound in the studio.

Rough edges suit this sound quite well. And Catchpenny certainly has found a groove here. The guitar lines mesh easily, and the rhythm section drives the truck without grinding the gears.

Wow. This is a real improvement. The potential has really expanded. I'm definitely taking notice.

Pink & Black is Fat Wreck Chords' new imprint designed to showcase female-led bands. And for a splash, why not the first post-major label release from the Dance Hall Crashers?

For those unfamiliar (and given the level of ska awareness out there, my guess is there aren't many in that category), Dance Hall Crashers start with the vocals (tightly-written parts) and then add a basic guitar-drum-bass trio backing. The stripped-down style belies the lush vocal arrangements.

A nice dichotomy, one that would make the band attractive, even if the songs themselves were merely mediocre. That's not the case, though. Stripped of the major-label production excess sheen, Dance Hall Crashers really rip through these solid tunes. Probably the band's most immediately arresting disc ever.

At the top of its craft, let me be the first to say. This puppy just screams pure joy. Play it loud, and sing along. If you dare.

A band, by the way. Playing the songs of Ken Kunin (Kunin does the singing and plays guitar, too). Some of the pieces are from Kunin's solo album and from his previous band, Jet Jaguar. These are new recordings, I think. In any case, they are new to me.

But I wish they weren't. This stuff, something in that electronic-tinged California roots rock phase. Kunin has a knack for writing off-the-cuff choruses which wiggle straight into your head. They don't leave.

Not that I mind. Not in the least. These are great songs, heavy with cynicism but buoyed by moments of guarded optimism. I can identify with that approach to life. Maybe that's why I'm so knocked out by these songs.

Or maybe, just maybe, this stuff is really great. I've got enough objectivity to say that the latter is probably true. Davis Waits (or whatever it is Kunin is doing) plunks down a large set of incisive and insightful tunes. With just enough of a commercial edge to be attractive to the regular set. An altogether enrapturing set.

The album title says it all. Vaguely punk, all pop. Catchy little ditties with just enough bad-boy guitar to give the stuff an edge. Silly, of course, but you'll be to busy bouncing along to notice.

That's the thing here. Simplicity is the key, and the Flames don't add anything that would take away from the broth. There's no need to apologize for nice hooks and tasty riffage.

Basic basic, like I keep saying. There's nothing pretentious or calculated here. Just the bare bones of rock and roll. Bad boys done wrong by good girls (and good girls done wrong by bad boys). Doesn't get any simply than that.

Too fun to ignore. No, no analysis is necessary. The Flames are one of those cheesy pleasures which make smiling worthwhile. Not much more needs to be said.

Greg Ginn's been increasingly interested in technology (witness the advent of the Screw Radio internet show, etc.), and Gone has evolved that way as well.

The amusing titles are still a feature, of course. "Cut Your Hair, Drink Coors," "Rage Against Intelligence" and "Hip Castro Conservative" are but three of the choices. The sound is a sample-laden industrial backdrop, fronted by Ginn's still potent axework.

Indeed, if it weren't for the solos, some of these songs would be interchangeable. The factory-like background tuneage just doesn't really go anywhere. It kinda grinds in place. Yes, this highlights the guitar work, but it doesn't make for much of a meal in and of itself.

But many of the songs are better than faceless. No, they don't seem to have much to do with their amusing titles, but no one is making instrumentals like this these days, and that's worth something all by itself. Considering the talent, I think Gone could have done better. This does, however earn a passing grade.

Joyner has attracted a plethora of friends to fill out the sound on this disc. But even a full symphonic recording couldn't drown out the plaintive wails which characterize Joyner's songs. Note that I didn't say pathetic. Not at all. These are songs about losers and fools, has-beens and never-will-bes. You know, songs about you and me.

Which isn't to say that we're all a bunch of failures. Joyner's brilliance is shown in how he recognizes how our shortcomings make us more human. Indeed, perfection is boring. Joyner takes the time to celebrate our foibles.

And if the astonishing lyrics weren't enough, the fumbling, but essentially surefooted, musical compositions are equal to the task. There is a grandness in the jangly, soulful melodies, a feeling of comfort amongst the chaos. The pieces are deceptively simple; there is a life's worth of experience behind every sparse note.

This is an album to celebrate, not one to review. Joyner is one of a rare breed, a singer-songwriter who sings songs that really matter. Simple? Simply brilliant.

Extremely gritty industrio-blues. The guitar style is recognizable, but once a lo-tech drum machine and a few other effects have been added, there's very little "normal" sound left.

A rather strange set of noises, really. Lots of blues slide guitar work, lots of factory-style industrial beats. Log also howls a bit, but most of his vocal notions are walled behind the music.

This isn't yer average blues disc. In fact, there are more than a few folks who would would probably claim it ain't the blues whatsoever. I wouldn't go that far, but this does push the envelope more than a bit.

Abraisive, aggressive and generally crunchy, with some cool guitar train noises (my name for a certain sort of slide guitar) wailing through. Enjoyable, as long as your expectations are for the unusual.

Four guys working very hard trying to make an "important" rock record. Ambition is a good thing, but sometimes it's a good idea to be realistic. And while Matt's Altar almost has the lyric writing skills to make the grade. The music, however, is fairly pedantic.

It's that brooding, kinda kitschy sound. Somewhere in the Mother Love Bone universe, with a grunge-prog-pop feel. The style is fine; the music just doesn't really go anywhere. Not for lack of trying; the guys reach out to a variety of styles in trying to fill out their sound. The efforts just don't bear fruit.

The results are, unfortunately, generic. I can hear how hard the band is working, and come to think of it, that might be the problem. Perhaps if the sounds came together a bit more naturally, then they would work better. Perhaps if the band wasn't so naked in its ambition.

Ah, but woulda shoulda coulda. I applaud the effort, but it didn't work for me. I guess that has to be the final analysis.

Where to begin? This disc finishes up the Mekons' rarities set, and includes everything from a fresh recording of "Fancy" (regularly played during a 1993 tour) to a single from 1978. There is also an early recording of "Memphis, Egypt," the two untitled recordings from a 1995 single, an early collaboration with Kathy Acker and plenty more.

Somewhat less cohesive than the first disc, and really, this one is more for the completist. It does serve as a fair introduction to the vagaries of the Mekons, but that's not necessarily a comforting caress. Indeed, the songs careen about, appropriating a wild variety of styles (and almost as many levels of production values). Perfect for the choir, not so much to the visiting parishioner.

Indeed, the diversity and loose feel of this disc is yet another reason why Mekons deserve to be considered among the unknown (and, to borrow part of the title, unpopular) greats of rock and roll. True adventurers are rarely rewarded in their own times.

And that, perhaps better than anything else, sums up the story of the Mekons. Greatness outside of the mainstream means day jobs and scrounging for pint money. With a healthy side of almost reverential fandom. Not a bad life, really.

Eddy Sayer performs percussion and hybrid harp. Stephen Kent plays the didgeridoo and animal horns. And Kenneth Newby fills in the holes. And with the exception of the first song (which is merely an introduction to the album), the pieces are long, drawn-out and utterly stunning.

Organic soundscapes, the sort of thing that gets called "new age" but has nothing to do with Yanni. And, indeed, this is fine music for meditation. The sounds invite the mind to explore and seek out new spaces, to find new ideas. There is no hurry, but rather a steady impulse, the need to expand horizons.

In another sense, the songs sound connected. Tied to the earth, to the history which lies beneath our cities and our culture. A voice rising up from below, entreating us to pay a little more attention to where we are and where we are headed.

At least, that's where my mind went. This is the sort of disc which makes such mental jaunts a joy to perform. Actively search out the roots of these songs, and within yourself and the music you will find something unexpected. There's always more of you than you know.

A Lookout supergroup, if you will. Members of the Queers, Screeching Weasel, Squirtgun and the Riverdales come together to do what those bands do best. (sound of shoe dropping) Come on, folks. It's sugar-coated pop punk.

And it goes down so damned smoothly, too. Hooks spun from purest honey and three-chord symphonies that would make Beethoven proud. Don't believe me? Look at those band names in the first paragraph and then think again.

Yeah, it sounds all so free and easy, but it if was, then everyone would do it. That ease of delivery is just one of the joys engendered by this disc. Quite simply, this music will put a smile on the face of anyone who hears it.

That, by the way, is not hyperbole or exaggeration. It's simple, objective fact. I mean it. Discs like this come along only once or twice a year. Don't miss it.

Much tighter than the band's earlier Fat Possum outing, but don't take that to heart. That first album was one of the messiest discs I've ever heard. This one does adhere to some basic stylistic points, and there is an obvious effort to try and play certain notes at certain times. It retains the spirit and the, shall we say, verve of Souls on Fire though, making for a cool package.

The sound is a crunchy version of the rock and roll blues (more blues in the lead guitar than the rhythm section), and the songs borrow from a variety of stripped-down rock and roll traditions.

Like I said, the skill has improved even while the general looseness and feel remained. Takes the band from marginal to pretty damned good in one fell swoop.

I feel I need to make myself clear: The Neckbones kick out some seriously messed-up fare. Sloppy enough to be finger food, but not so bad as to require a shower afterward.

Silly, perhaps inane lyrics tossed off over generic beats, with some nice fuzz guitar meandering along at times. Oh, yeah, this is some strange stuff.

It's a one-man band sorta situation. This is certainly a singular vision. If more than one person worked on these songs, they would have come out so strangely. There would have been a bit more variety, though that probably would have made the sound somewhat more normal.

Intriguing, though I still haven't decided whether or not I really dig it. For all the inherent absurdity, each song does have something interesting flitting through it. Somewhere. Somehow.

But still, Random Karma plows through some of the more surreal territory I've heard in a while. I kept listening, mostly because of the rubbernecking factor (accidents are cool), though I must say I admire the vision. Even if I don't really share it.

Taking what can only be described as a classical approach, Red Stars Theory likes to posit a series of themes and variations in each song, adding some vocals almost as an afterthought. Certainly accessible to fans of bands like Seam or June of 44, but still well outside the mainstream consciousness.

The songs themselves sound like they flirt with abandoning consciousness at times. The pieces exist almost independently of each other, passing close to the center every once in a while and allowing their gravities to influence the song for a few seconds.

Complex and contemplative (Geez, I hope I've gotten that much across), with lots of points for cerebral access. Music like this encourages the mind to work in ways that it is not accustomed to doing. That, of course, is a compliment.

A disc like this puts me in a complimentary mood. There's so much wonderment floating past, I can only grab but a snatch or two. To be honest, I'm pretty happy with that small amount. I know there will be more.

Consummately crafted songs, each little bit placed just so. The playing is pristine, the singing dead on key. These folks are real professionals. What's missing is the passion.

And yet, there is passion. I can tell that singer Bryn cares about what she's singing, but too often her intensity comes off stilted. Is she holding something back, or can she not quite work up the emotion necessary? Hard to say.

The music itself is basic popular-style roots pop, replete with acoustic guitars and the odd sax. The production isn't too shiny; it really provides a nice base for the songs. The problem is that sometimes the playing is a bit too precise, too careful. 3rd Window needs to cut loose just a bit more, find a more personal feel.

Perhaps the studio got the band uptight. Perhaps these songs haven't had an extensive live workout. Don't know. There is talent here. I just wish the recording showed a bit more sparkle.

Jaunty fuzzpop punctuated by Katherine McElroy's casual vocals. She finds the pitch just fine, but she's not concerned with holding it for any length of time. Something of a conversational tone, really, and it gives Three Finger Cowboy an intimate feel, something like swapping stories over some beer.

Unlike the band's first disc on Daemon, which featured one amazing song ("Kissed") and then dropped off a bit (though still solidly above-average), this album is more consistent. While there isn't a song quite as immediately grabbing as "Kissed", there are a number of very good songs. The band is definitely finding its way.

The sound is deceptively simple. Fuzzpop, like I said, but a layered version. There are a few things going on behind the wall. Listen, and you'll find a few ideas waiting to be discovered. It's in this area that Three Finger Cowboy has really improved.

A better disc than the first, and I liked that one a lot. Three Finger Cowboy sounds like it has what it takes to really make a mark. The right sound at the right time. Now if folks will only pay attention.

Not much different than the disc I heard last year. The music comes on fast and furious, withstanding waves of fuzz and wails of distortion. Acid-washed rock that has been cleaned with punk rock stones.

And there's not much more to it than that, really. Dreadfully infectious, of course, but geez, it seems so simple. Though as I've observed many times in this issue alone, nothing could be further from the truth. Making such easy music is anything but.

Pounding, howling, hell, pleading for more, more, more. Tricky Woo has taken a simple formula and executed it to near perfection. In any case, I haven't heard this sound done so well in ages.

Simple pleasures can sometimes satisfy the best. With this disc, Tricky Woo proves that it can crank out this stuff almost at will. Would that it could be so. I'm hoping, anyway.

Not exactly a various artists outing, as Ron English wrote (or co-wrote) all the lyrics on these songs. He then recruited a number of bands and artists (from Daniel Johnston and Mojo Nixon to Phoebe Legere and Railroad Jerk). English produced many, but not all of these songs.

As you might have guessed, all the songs are ruminations of a sort on the whole notion of religion. Something of an idiosyncratic vision of a certain Second Coming. Thoughtful, but not reverent. Indeed, the loose sound of most songs lends a more "realistic" feel to the ideas.

And so, despite the rather disparate musical roots of the artists, the songs hold together with the strength of English's writing. Each song takes a different musical tack, but in the end, the songs still come together.

A refreshing (if somewhat sacrilegious) take on the mess that our country (and planet) has made of religion. Eloquent and engaging, which isn't exactly the easiest trick to turn.

The second cool seven-inch from Doom Nibbler reviewed in this issue. The Vehicle Birth does a tune called "Toronto," and The Wicked Farleys issue forth "How's my Driving?"

The Vehicle Birth keeps the sounds muted for the first half of their piece, though the playing is often intense. Ever-churning, "Toronto" blazes into a messy pile by the finish. A somewhat typical construction, I'll admit, but it works well here.

The Wicked Farleys, by contrast, open with a flourish and don't slow up. Some great strident rhythm guitar work drives the motion of the song (I'm not sure there's really a "lead guitar" anywhere). Did I mention that this is an instrumental? Yep. Top notch, too.

The second cool seven-inch from this label. Well, when you can tap into talent like this, it's not surprising that the stuff sounds good.