Fast and sloppy hardcore. The songs are rather silly, with odes to Attica and Salma Hayek, among many other topics. Tuneful? Um, nope.

Amusing? Well, in a blunt force kinda way. The Bar Feeders don't quite have the unfailing energy of a Zeke, but they're almost as messy. This isn't music for the faint-hearted. Indeed, if the tuneage doesn't getcha, the lyrics will.

Tasteless, tuneless and generally ragged. If it weren't for the crude humor, well, this wouldn't be worth much time at all. But see, that's the hook.

Alright, alright, even with the silly jokes this isn't exactly enlightened fare from any viewpoint. Still, it made me smile. There's always room for that somewhere.

Those of you who recognize the name will wonder: Is it new? Nope. As the liners say rather simply, Becker hasn't recorded anything since 1992 due to ALS. Perhaps best known as David Lee Roth's guitartist in the late 80s, on this disc Becker collects demos from 1987 to 1992.

Mostly snippets, though there are a few fully-formed songs as well. Actually, I kinda like the asides, where Becker really tries to expand his sound and range. "Jasin Street" is a nice little blues piece, and pieces like that impress more than, well, ones like the next track, "Beatle Grubs," which fall into the basic instrumental guitar sound as defined by Joe Satriani.

Picking through the bits isn't the easiest thing in the world, but that's obviously what Becker had in mind here. This isn't a finished album by any means; it's more a final clearing of the decks, an attempt to better define a legacy.

And what I sense more than anything is his potential. Not unlike Randy Rhoads, who was just beginning to expand his sound into something amazing when he was struck down, Becker's later recordings have so much more depth and heart. I know he doesn't want to hear it put this way, but the loss of his playing is a damned shame.

Actually, the Cheetahs are first up on the disc. I was just playing the alphabetical game. Anyway, the Streetwalkin Cheetahs are the punk side of this equation, ripping off huge chunks of riffage and infusing them with just the right amount of hooks. Most tasty.

Plenty of fun without getting stupid. The Cheetahs don't let the tempo slow, and that fine aggro attitude infuses the songs with a palpable energy. Quality, yes indeed.

The Bellrays have found a new sound since the last time I heard them. Lisa Kekaula's voice is as soulful as ever, but her band is much more into an acid rock/hippie metal sound (somewhere between Jefferson Airplane and Black Sabbath). If I didn't know this was the Bellrays, I couldn't have guessed it.

Perhaps, however, the band has found its niche. For the first time, the elements seem to come together well. Perhaps this Bellrays can make it work.

Back in the olden days when I was in college (somewhere around 10 years ago), my little college radio station got a 7" from a band called Bloody Mess & the Skabs. Fours songs, all "unplayable" by FCC standards. Lucky for us we had decreed that anything goes from 10 p.m. to 6 a.m. My shift, not coincidentally, was from 10 p.m. to 2 a.m. I often partook of a little ditty called "Cigarette on the Clit."

Strangely, my feminist girlfriend found the song somewhat less than annoying. Funny, to be certain. Anyway, the reason I bring this long tale up in that the "Bloody" in this band is most likely the same singer as the one who crooned with the Skabs. I might have guessed that with the cover of the Skabs "Empty" at the end of the disc, but the styles are similar as well.

That is, fast and abrasive hardcore with little to no letting up. The pressure just keeps building. The power is not in the guitars, which are rather lean, but in the way the rhythm section just keeps bashing out the beats. The singleminded task of grinding out songs works, at least at this level. Yeah, it's extremely Stoogish. Not a bad blueprint, if you ask me.

Not quite as, well, raunchy as the Skabs, this new Bloody outfit is as addictive as its last incarnation. More than worth checking out.

The loopy pop music of Buffalo Daughter is often maddeningly trippy. It's one thing to go off into another world. It's another to create one. This remix album smooths out a few of the edges and drops a further hip-hop sheen onto the theory.

And what a theory it is. Basically, Buffalo Daughter plays whatever the hell it wants to play. By splicing away a good chunk of the excess, these mixes create more recognizable songs. Though I think they also remove some of the charm as well.

But, see, that's what these things are all about. Experimentation and redefining the norm. Even if that norm is kinda out there to begin with.

Random bits of guitar squeegee, samples, electronic wheezing and plenty of distortion, all thrown together in moderately coherent fashion. Moderately meaning that it is possible to distinguish between songs, if not what's actually in them.

I know I'm in the utter minority here, but I really dig chaotic rumblings like this. Does Chikmountain make sense? C'mon, look at the band's name. Of course it doesn't.

And that's a lot of the point. There's noise galore, with just enough of a guiding hand to set the scene correctly. Chikmountain simply rumbles forth in a vaguely ominous tone, obivious to whatever else might be in the way.

The squalls are heavy and intense, but weathering the storm is the whole trick. I can't say that I heard any overarching intent, though as anyone knows that isn't necessary. I simply had a good time riding the waves.

Sorta unusual that the lead guy plays bass (and the occasional organ). And, really, the interesting parts of the songs aren't in the bass lines, either. Dechand trusts his sidemen, and they take great care with his songs.

Pieces which are somewhat rambling and chaotic in structure, but always emotionally satisfying. And since Dechand prefers to plumb the rich mine of human feelings, well, perhaps this approach is most appropriate.

Grand, desperate and sometimes both, these songs don't so much lurch as meander. Like someone trying to recover something lost. Or perhaps trying to find something they've never seen before.

The grand quest doesn't have a conclusion. That's really fitting. Dechand doesn't come to any conclusions or even a stopping point. He just simply allows the journey to continue. The right choice, certainly.

Some of you out there may know this already, but when you're an artist and someone likes you a whole lot, they'll pay for you to go somewhere really cool and just create. Ernesto Diaz-Infante got to spend a month in Wyoming as a guest of the Ucross Foundation. This disc has the compositions from his residency.

About a minute or two per day. If you're familiar at all with Diaz-Infante's work, you know that he uses a spare style on the piano, leaving plenty of space between his chords. Indeed, he often allows the previous notes to die off before moving on to the next structure. Not a whole lot of "straight" melodic work, just moody stuff.

Which works very well with what he saw in Wyoming. Panoramic landscapes, just beginning to come to life after winter. And so these pieces are somewhat more hopeful than what I'm used to from Diaz-Infante, but still utterly contemplative.

Certainly, these pieces require a certain patience. They are anything but uptempo and accessible. But even so, Diaz-Infante infuses his pieces with a certain fragile fragile warmth, allowing the humanity to flow through.

Here's how this one worked: Ernesto Diaz-Infante worked up a series of acoustic guitar pieces, taped them and sent them on to Chris Forsyth, who added his electric guitar musings.

And unlike Diaz-Infante's piano works, these songs are anything but neat. Both guitarists scrape at the strings and wail at the universe. Sounds a bit like Marc Ribot or Henry Kaiser in their most agitated moments.

While these pieces are more involved than what I'm used to from Diaz-Infante, the effect is just as haunting. The pieces sit just beneath the radar, touching an odd part of my subconscious. Somehow, they really make my skin crawl. I like that. A lot.

I think the other part that really gets to me is that the guitars are not generally complimentary. They're competing with each other, challenging the other to find a new way to express the ideas already exposed. This disc contains some seriously stunning work.

This is actually a 1996 EP, which predates the one I reviewed last year. And, contrary to whatever silliness I wrote in that review, these guys aren't British. They do live in Norman, Okla., and their sound resembles that of one of the few famous bands from that area, the Flaming Lips.

Throbbing, incandescent pop. Chunks of glory left all over the place, with plenty left to spare. The songs simply burst out of the speakers, wailing with desire. There's just no way I can resist stuff like this.

Mainstream it's not. But the ESP Allstars do know how to condense a few tunes into a single thick cord of distortion. Fiberoptic? I dunno. In any case the ESP Allstars are well worth searching out.

Epochal, atmospheric rock. There is an ambient, trancey feel to much of this, but the main instrument of torture seems to be a guitar. Apparently the live shows are more visual in nature (the liners don't list instruments; they list "music" or "visuals"). I can see how this would translate well to that.

Bubbling out of an alternate consciousness, Fascia's music quite often takes on the form of a brook. The lines cascade down a hill, catching rocks and bits of debris, finally depositing them in a languid pool.

The three-dimensional sound really helps to illustrate the music, perhaps even better than overt constructions might. Fascia often uses something of a drone construct, picking one melodic or rhythmic line and repeating it infinitely, finding meaning in the minor variations as it develops.

Sounds complicated? Well, it's not, really. That's why the stuff really connects. This is music that is easily accessed by the mind. It just slips in before the defenses are ready. Sneaky bastards, that.

Strangely retro-sounding industrial tuneage. Fornix sounds like a low-tech version of Chem Lab or Skrew (I know they're not exactly interchangeable, but that's what I'm trying to say). By low-tech I'm not talking about the production so much as the sound of the instruments and drum machines.

The song construction is right out of that era, however. Early 1990s Ministry is also a good reference point, though again with the caveat about the sound. Anyway, you get the idea, I hope.

What I don't hear is any way that Fornix really takes this sound much further. Yeah, the gothic metal industrial apocalypse is a lot of fun to ride, but it has been done. And while this is perfectly fine, it has been done better.

This is another of those cases where a band has done nothing wrong (there are no overt flaws, exactly). It's just that the spark of inspiration that I like to hear isn't here. Fornix just doesn't rise above the pack, that's all.

Peppy and pleasing pop punk. The Frownies do have a rough edge to the sound, but that's not the most distinctive element. At times, certain instruments simply drop off the map. Sometimes it's the bass, and every once in a while it's the guitar. The mix is just a bit inconsistent.

Though, hell, we are talking about punk rawk, after all, so what's with the bitching? I dunno. It just seemed so, well, obvious. Anyway, the songs do have another somewhat annoying trademark: The seeming need to shift gears almost incessantly. This is pop, no?

I guess. The energy level is high, and the hooks (as such) are reasonably good. When the band stays in pocket and latches on to a groove, the stuff is solid, sometimes even great.

That just doesn't happen enough, though. If yer gonna be pop, be pop. If yer gonna fuck around, fuck around. Doing both just doesn't work.

Corrode EP
(Gig Records)

If the Wedding Present ever were to trend emo... At least, singer Jonn Penny reminds me of David Gedge loads. That's not a bad thing, mind you. These shimmering anthems simply glisten with understated beauty.

And as I drive through the all-too-short disc, I begin to realize that this is an interesting cross between the more eclectic side of Brit pop and the Jawbox-Treepeople-Mineral American pop axis (um, I hope that makes sense).

The deal here is that Groundswell roughly crafts some gorgeous tunes. Each song tilts along a slightly different axis, allowing for a fully-rounded listening experience in just five songs. Not that I don't want to hear more, of course. Another cup, please.

---

A collection of b-sides and other hard-to-find material from these boys. The studio sound gives me a better idea of what the band is trying to do (I wasn't so sure after hearing the live disc). What it sounds like to me is Down By Law with a sharper sense of humor.

I'll take that in a second. Now, of course, the songs here don't hang as well together as they might on a regular album (we're talking about stuff recorded over a seven-year period), but they do alright.

Probably the best thing Hagfish does is stick to what it does best. These are great punk-pop tunes, and the band doesn't try to stretch them into something more. Fun, with just enough of a bite to lend an air of authenticity.

This is really a much better presentation of the band than the recent live album. I'm much more impressed now that I've heard this. Hagfish is indeed something worth having around.

The Return of Kill Dog E
(Wordsound)

This IS a rap album, but there's more beat experimentation here than on many Wordsound releases (and you know that's saying something). Scotty Hard deals the music and sound while letting a number of guests lay down the raps. And so it is hardly surprising that it's the tuneage that most impresses here.

The tales are from the city, and they're grittier than the stuff Charlton Heston bitches about. And while the raps can get tiresome sometimes, the backing beats never fail to inspire. Hard is a master of sound construction, taking beats and pieces from all over to craft his sonic sculptures.

It is this spectacular use of sound that just utterly overwhelms me. The songs convey a wealth of feeling and emotions even before the vocals hit the stage. The sheer quantity of creativity is stunning, and the quality knocks me out.

Yeah, yeah, I'm eternally knocked out by Wordsound stuff. There's no way around that. Scotty Hard gives me yet another excuse to spread the gospel about these folks. May they never compromise their ideals and artistic principles.

---

Good Luck Stranger
(self-released)

Roots rock with just a bit of a moody country tinge to the sound. Reminds me a little of Chris Cacavas in the way that the songs always seem to trend darker and darker. Oh, there's also something about the ultra-sharp songwriting, too. Harris does know what he's doing.

For example, even without the note in the liners, it's obvious that "Anthrax Blues" is a tribute to Johnny Cash. The piece perfectly imitates Cash's walking blues style without copping anything overtly. Harris certainly knows his way around a song.

And he's not too bad with the playing and producing, either. Harris has all the tools necessary for a wondrous career in music. All he needs is for a few folks with cash to pay attention.

One of the finest albums I've heard this year. I could run through a list of superlatives, but really, that won't serve any purpose. This music is timeless. I don't think I can say much more than that.

---

How dumb am I? I've been calling this guy Vitalij Ruprij for years. His last name begins with a K. Don't go looking now; I've fixed it in the old reviews. I just wanted to make sure I properly atoned for my sins.

Once again, this is over-the-top prog shredding, with Kuprij flailing away on the keyboards and piano with his usual verve and precision. He's got Tony Macalpine providing the guitars, so there's firepower coming from that direction as well.

What is surprising is how well all of this works. Yeah, it's pretentious and as often as not flashy for flash's sake. But I got caught up in the rush, simply craving another run. And to be perfectly honest, Kuprij has arranged his songs quite well. The flow ensures a cohesive mesh throughout each song.

Finally, the guy has put together an album I quite like. Of course, since I just figured out his name, I suppose that's appropriate. Anyways, color me impressed.

Lambert is a master of the feel-good blues. He doesn't cheese out his sound with studio excess, but instead prefers to infuse his songs with a soulful rawness. And whether he's taking inspiration from the Dead or Muddy Waters, the guitar work is pure Lambert.

The music here is based on the blues, but Lambert doesn't feel the need to be a traditionalist. I noted the Dead earlier, and Lambert is also influenced by a number of bands who merely dabbled in the blues. It's this willingness to play with all sorts of song constructions that keeps his songs sounding so vital.

By not adhering to any hidebound definition of what music "should" sound like, Lambert creates something new and unique. This guy works his ass off, playing 10-20 shows a month in Illinois, Indiana and Michigan. All that live work can be heard in the assured hand on his guitar. He knows what works and what doesn't.

Because, really, this is music that is best appreciated live. I only wish I lived up that way to catch a show. The discs are going to have to do for now. And boy, they do alright.

U Don't Know What Time It Is
(Ruf-Platinum)

Oh, my, but Trudy Lynn has quite the set of blues pipes. She can put moves on songs that most wouldn't even dream of attempting. Her voice simply shimmers throughout this album.

At times, the production plays a few too many tricks. When you've got a voice like Lynn's and players like Lucky Peterson and Bernard Allison, there isn't much need to dress up the sound. Most of the time, though, I've got no complaints.

Why complain with performances like those found here? Yeah, there's a good chunk of r&b infused into these blues, but this classic style, none of that tinny stuff that passes nowadays. Nope, Lynn simply keeps pouring on the soul, her voice lifting everything just that much higher.

Sure, this is aimed at a mainstream audience. It's Lynn's gift that keeps the album true to the blues as well. A wider audience doesn't necessarily ruin the music. Not stuff like this, in any case.

---

Operating in the concept of a band has Brian McMahon sounding as raucous as I've heard him. The music bounds about, and even in the more contemplative moments there is a goofy joy that just can't be repressed.

Barely 11 minutes of music here, and all of it bearing McMahon's trademark songwriting style. The vocals quaver and the guitar makes its own way (these, too, are McMahon hallmarks). Merely amazing, as usual.

Like I noted, this project is a bit more upbeat and energetic than recent McMahon outings. There is a palpable electricity in the songs, making them somewhat more viscerally stimulating than previous efforts. The brilliance is unchanged.

A second time around for the former UFO bandmates. The sides are somewhat less distinguished this time around, but in all ways this is much better. The songs refuse to give in to excess, and sometimes they even soar.

Phil Mogg is singing closer to his range, and while that's a bit lower than hard rock usually allows, it works better for this band. The writing is better all the way around. These songs actually have something of a classic to them, something that was missing from the first outing.

The production relies less on bombast and sounds like it trusts the music a bit better. You can't hide crap with sleight of hand, no matter how hard you try. The fact is, these songs deserve to stand on their own. They do it well.

I enjoyed this puppy, which is leaps and bounds above the first album. Yeah, the sound is dated, but Mogg Way does it well. Boy, I sure didn't expect that when I popped this puppy in the discer. That's why you always have to listen to the albums before writing the reviews.

Teaspoonful of Love EP
(Bombardier)

Rather mannered pop, with extremely tightly-written songs. Every piece is precisely set in place, but the sound is still fairly loose. While wound up securely, Moneyshot still packs an emotional punch.

In fact, this heavily-crafted approach probably is the best way to get these ideas across. There are some complex notions in the songs (both lyrically and musically), and setting up precise structures allows those ideas to form more fully.

And like I said, Moneyshot doesn't hold back. Sure, the music is somewhat strictured. That can't keep it from releasing a potent dose of energy to compliment the intellectual wonders. Fine, fine fare.

---

Punk rock hasn't heard such an epochal blast since Jello Biafra teamed up with D.O.A. for "Full Metal Jackoff." If you pick this puppy up, you may notice no track listing. There's only one, the 18-minute title track.

Punk doesn't normally react well to the symphonic treatment. And make no mistake: NOFX pulls all the stops out here. This is a blistering thrill ride through the dark side of society. No target is left standing, and at more than 150 bpm, the shots come fast and furious.

Not many bands would even think of attempting something like this. Even fewer could pull it off. Yeah, some will call it overblown, but I just can't agree. Not with these results. The merry pranksters have grown up. At least for now.

My mind is blown. I expected something great. I wasn't prepared for a once-a-career sort of effort. And when you stop to consider NOFX's place in the music pantheon, well, that's really something. Avoid at your eternal peril.

Jim O'Rourke might be the coolest guy on the planet. He produces some of the most innovative bands around and his many playing projects are always pushing the envelope of what rock music really is. Of course, he'd probably scoff at pretentious comments like that. and I'm pretty sure he'd bitch at the "rock music" bit. But still.

There's no doubt that O'Rourke can play a mean guitar. And piano. And drums. Plus he can attract guest like Darin Gray, Frank Nevin, Archer Prewitt, Rob Mazurek, Tim Barnes and Glenn Kotche. Just getting quality folks like that together pretty much ensures a solid recording. O'Rourke's skills make it much more than that.

The three pieces are remarkably similar and yet distinct. All feature stunning acoustic guitar work, but each travels its own way, be it pop, jazz or rock (again, this genrefication is going to get me in trouble). Twenty minutes that I want to live over and over again.

Lemon-Lime Room
(Jagjaguwar)

If this was just Parker Paul playing the piano, I'd be entranced. He has a bright touch on the keys and an intriguing way of putting together his songs.

But he sings, too! Most of the time he sings, anyway. Wry songs, full of pain and joy. Paul seems to enjoy poking fun at his personal foibles, and that only makes his work that much more endearing.

A major label would clean up some of the sloppy play, and certainly, Paul would be encouraged to sing a bit more precisely. But that would remove a good chunk of the human element. Paul isn't perfect. You can hear that not only in his lyrics, but his performance as well.

Astonishingly touching. The spell is woven quickly, and it's deadly. A couple minutes with Paul and all the rough edges melt into the whole. An amazing, beautiful journey into one man's soul.

---

The car crash metaphor is just as apt here as it was for the full-length. Planes Mistaken for Stars can create lush, rolling sounds and two steps later it can degenerate into rambunctious caterwauling.

I like that, myself.

Each piece here bleeds into the next, creating something of a singular thematic effect. And, truth be told the songs here are a bit more cohesive. In other words, lots more caterwauling than somnambulism. The band wouldn't be mistaken for artful craftsmanship, but in terms of emotional power, these boys are the tops.

Sometimes EPs are simply four to six songs put together. This one rings true from beginning to end. Almost as much a single statement as NOFX's "The Decline." Nearly as powerful as well.

Rave Un2 the Joy Fantastic
(Arista)

I don't have one of those handy files which allows one to truly represent the symbol, so I'll just have to be a philistine and call the man Prince. Since this is the first time I've had occasion to review an album by a member of my musical holy trinity (Frank Zappa, Neil Young and Prince), I'll have to work hard to keep my excitement down.

In case you wondered, the man is still pushing the envelope. On songs like "Undisputed," he splices together so many ideas that it's hard to imagine a more seamless pile of clutter around. No one can assimilate disparate ideas like Prince. He's an omnivorous musical chameleon, devouring all sorts of sounds and excreting entirely new elixirs.

And like most visionaries, he's got his winners and his clunkers. If you shelled out the bucks for Crystal Ball, you were probably surprised by the acoustic pop on the disc called The Truth. You also might have been surprised that it was so good. The pattern continues here. Even as Prince sounds more and more comfortable with slower, more contemplative pieces, his grasp on rockers seems to be slipping. In particular, the title track is horribly stilted.

But there are plenty of joys in this mixed bag as well. No masterpiece by any stretch of the imagine, Rave is still more than worth hearing. I've always marveled at his imagination, and that is still as fertile as ever. This didn't quite match up to my hopes, but it will suffice. Long ago I learned to accept the brilliant with the offal from Prince. Just the way it has to be.

---

Life Takes You Flying
(Earth Music-Cargo)

Lisa Sanders specializes in a form of music that seems to be fading from view. That whole folk rock-pop thing, in a very seventies style. Yeah, there are people like Sheryl Crow and Sarah McLachlan, but they're slicker and just have a slightly different feel.

Sanders has more of a timeless sound, which makes it even more difficult to describe. There's nothing distinctive here, just the solid songwriting and impassioned singing. Some might say that's enough.

And it is close. I will quibble a bit with the occasional heavy hand, mixing the acoustic guitars a bit high for my taste from time to time. Still, if this had been a major label, the bombast would be much worse.

A major label is Sanders' dream, and she certainly deserves a shot. She can write and she can sing. With the right push, she could easily fly.

---

Live Unforgiven World Tour
(Shrapnel)

You might ask, "Why?" It's a fair question. I suppose the easy answer is that MSG has fallen so out of favor that there isn't much to be found in stores outside of the used vinyl bins.

Two singers are used. Keith Slack handles most of the chores, but Kelly Keeling sings the songs from the latest MSG opus (where he is the singer). I don't understand, but I can say that Keeling belts the tunes out much better than Slack. I wish he'd been singing the whole show.

I still don't know why, though. Schenker can still rip off nice guitar solos, and his current band does better than simply run through the old war horses. There's some spirit in the sound.

That's all well and good, but still. The old stuff still impresses more. Maybe that's nostalgia speaking, but with MSG, that's all there is.

---

There's something to the notion that your vocals do not have to match up with your music. Seven Hearts don't bother much with the pretty things; the guitars warble in a sorta psychotic rockabilly style and the tempos don't let up. And then those gravelly, occasionally howling vocals. Oh, how they impress.

Perhaps the easiest way to describe would be if U. S. Maple had something of a rockabilly jones. This is raucous, noisy stuff, with plenty of energy to spare.

Perhaps my judgement of pretty is a bit off. Seven Hearts actually do work at craft a bit; songs like "Gypsy Moth" have definitely been worked over a few times. Still, to majority of the fare is nicely discordant. Randy enough to excite just about anyone.

If you like yer noise barely palatable, Seven Hearts should do the trick. There is a complex science behind the madness, and that lends to improved listening over time. More than adequate, and bordering on great.

Tie Down that Shiny Wave EP
(Grand Royal/Capitol)

A few hip-hop grooves overlaid by some retro-ish Manchester hooks. Candy for the ears, without all the filling. Any filling, really.

Which is hard to argue about, to be quite honest. There isn't much depth here, but the surface is so damned pretty I'm just about ready to forgive. None of the songs really skips far afield, but again, I'm not asking them to, either.

This isn't the future of music. Not by any stretch. But, damn, is it addictive. I'm about ready to bounce out of my skin. That's never a bad thing, my friends. Never look gorgeous pop in the mouth, and you'll live a happy life.

---

More Songs from the Mellow Struggle
(Secretly Canadian)

There's just something about fine rock and roll driven by lean guitar licks. The riffage is most fine, but the songs really sing when the lead guitar kicks in.

The album is somewhat made up of interconnected fragments, not unlike Chevy Heston albums. Taken apart, I'm not sure how well Swearing at Motorists would stand up. As a whole, well, it really works.

Almost like an engine that way. Think of each song as an integral system, with the parts of each tune serving as the individual pieces. You have to sit for a couple minutes, letting the ting warm up (there's even an opening theme which serves this purpose nicely), and then everything starts humming along nicely.

The title sorta says it all. This isn't aggro fare, though it certainly doesn't shy away from action, either. Basically, the album works extremely well. As an album. Which is the right way to listen in the first place.

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You're So Famous
(self-released)

Back in the day when there was a Double Deuce records, this is the sorta thing I'd get from that label. Rough-hewn riffage laid over a pop construction. A little bit moody, a little bit mad. Tuneful, in a ragged sorta way.

Actually, sometimes the hooks wallow in splendor. Tips Fourteens aren't afraid to pop out, nor are they afraid to let a deconstructive nature take its course. I like the way the album wiggles and waggles about.

Dirty enough to be interesting. I hate clean pop records; they don't make sense to me. Tips Fourteens have the right idea: keep it simple and don't worry about a few imperfections. In fact, those flaws are what makes the sound work.

I'd meander with these folks every day. I just like the way the songs sound. Sure, the odd profound moment flits by, but mostly I'm just enraptured by the surface sound. There's plenty here to behold.

---

Modern World
(Coldfront)

If you recall the Queers' album Don't Back Down, you might remember that about half the songs were definitely patterned after the Beach Boys. Travoltas (from the Netherlands or somewhere in Benelux, anyway) take that notion of tight harmony power punk pop about to the extreme.

And, boy, is it like cotton candy. So tasty that you can't pass it up. The hooks are pure pastry; they melt in your ears without leaving one bit of residue. For the pure pop fanatic, it probably doesn't get any better.

Marky Ramone did the knob work, and he's left a wonderful layered vocal sound that just can't be beat. Alright, this is something of a retread. When it's done this well, no one will complain.

It's all in the hooks with stuff like this, and Travoltas know how to knock them out. The blistering harmonies are piled one on top of the other until you think your ears will burst. But they don't, and bliss soon ensues. A big fat wad of fun.

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Anti-Hero 2XCD
(6X6-Platinum)

Ten bands, three songs apiece (well, one has two). The sounds wander all over the pop and punk regions (ESP Allstars, Puller and Sequoyah are three of the acts, if that helps), and they're rather inviting.

Not really a label sampler, and maybe that helps. The extensive times given each band is exemplary. There are plenty of chances to dig into a particular band's sound.

This approach is a good one, especially if this is basically an overgrown sampler. The music is top-notch and nicely varied. No dull moments here, only multiple entry points.

---

This has all the hallmarks of a cynical corporate ploy: Starbucks, BMG and the Sundance festival set up a faux coffeehouse at the festival and invited artists to play. Everyone from Lyle Lovett and Blondie to BR5-49 and Julia Darling played the joint.

Yes, this does sound something like a made-for-TV recording. The audiences seem to think that whooping is the most appripriate way to show their appreciation for everything from a nice performance to simply recognizing the tune. I like to call this the "MTV Unplugged" effect, and I do not like it one bit. Fuckers like these ruined "Tennessee Stud" on American Recordings.

Still, there are some fine performers who will benefit from this disc. Not unlike the Lilith Fair compilations, which mixed the popular (and generally insipid) with the lesser-known (and more often inspired), this disc allows some developing artists to take center stage.

So if you can get past Lisa Loeb and Jars of Clay to folks like Mike Younger and Shawn Mullins, well this disc will have done some good. Just don't buy this puppy in the BMG rack at the local Starbucks, okay?

Hypno-Punko
(Coldfront)

The concept: Hypno-Punko is a method by which punkers all across America might remove just about everything from their brains and be utterly brainwashed into the cult of punk. Or something like that.

That's pretty funny. The liners are pretty extensive on the subject, and they're a lot funnier than the music, which honestly gets grating after a bit. Joey Vindictive's vocals manage to put folks on edge about ten times faster than Jello Biafra's. That's an amazing trick.

The songs themselves are kinda amusing (as the liners note, "Accentuate the Positive" is altered somewhat from the Bing Crosby version), but most of the album is something of a takeoff on the whole Hypno-Punko idea, which is a funny for a while. Then the joke gets pretty lame.

Ah well, humor is where you find it. This isn't a serious album, and I imagine that Vindictives performances are pretty fun. Just don't drive the laughs into the ground, boys.

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Obviously, the Roadrunner gig didn't work out so well. Just when I thought the band was stepping out into its own territory. Of course, Go-Kart isn't a slouch organization. Maybe even a few more "street" creds.

In any case, the music continues to evolve into tighter and tighter balls of angst. VoD doesn't waste any energy on asides. Full force to the main thrusters, damn the torpedos!

Bringing the band even more into its own. This extreme hardcore sound is kinda hard to kick after an adrenaline rush like this, and VoD makes it even tougher to turn back. The album weaves its spell stronger as the it goes on, until by the end there's little option but to start over.

The disc seems a bit skimpy (a couple re-recorded tunes and a couple songs from a movie mixed in with the rest), but that's a sin only when the tuneage works. This does.

Long Day's Journey Into Night
(Surprise Truck)

Songs of wrenching pain, laid stark against a bare canvas. Wrenn often doesn't color his songs with much more than an acoustic guitar and his voice, and that is more than enough to unsettle even the most secure listener.

An agonizingly beautiful listen. Wrenn never lets his listeners get comfortable, but starts right in with the brutality of existence. And even when he deigns to allow a band to back him up, the oppression doesn't let up.

Wow. The writing is astonishingly assured and strong, and the production is likewise confident enough to let the music speak for itself. Stuff like this can break even a giant's back.

Even I had to pull back just a bit and not let myself get fully involved. I couldn't take the full brunt of the attack. This isn't harsh just to make an impression, however, and that's what is truly scary here. Wrenn has lived this. And he's gone through it. Again and again, it seems. That's the roughest shot of all.

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