Arab Strap has that clunky indie roots thing going on: Slowly turning bass, moody guitar (when there is guitar) and vaguely morose vocals. And then there's the drum machine.

It works so well, too. The beats point out the internal cohesion in the pieces, enhancing those ties without turning them into cliches. While often punchy, the songs are still meditative and moody.

Astonishingly well-executed. There are so many ways to take stuff like this over the edge. Too much reliance on the beats (or simply dull ones), longer songs, less focus in the songwriting... Arab Strap doesn't make any of these mistakes.

Nope, and so this disc is utterly riveting. It commands attention immediately and doesn't let go. Not that you'd want to be leaving any time soon anyway.

The full goods this time. And leaning a lot more toward a My Dying Bride line than I would have expected from the recent single. The songs are much more ... songlike, I guess. There is a heavy martial feel to many of them, and the cello mixed with keyboard also helps to send the sound that way.

An evolution, to be sure. But still, this isn't a rock band. It's the real goth, exploring extreme emotions with beautiful music drenched in excess. Well, that's not entirely right. The overkill only arrives at the climax, where it is needed to push the whole carriage into the abyss. A common technique, done uncommonly well by Arcana.

It's amazing how pretty a horror can be. These songs sing of fright as much as delight, but they all sound so otherworldly. That's what this band does to me; it transports me to strange reaches of my mind where I can run free for a while. Can't complain about that.

Arcana is one of the finest bands around (using the word "band" loosely). In terms of what it does, few (if any) do it better. This disc is just another step in its evolution. Who knows where the road leads? I don't care. I'll simply follow.

There's this strange situation that crops up about once every couple of issues. I've got to review an album where one of the performers is a label flack. In every case, it's a person I like (even if I don't know them well). Strangely, it seems most of these people are drummers. I wonder what that says about folks who work for indie labels?

Anyway, suffice it to say I've run into that situation again here. And once again, it's not a problem. Bangs are cool. Not sophisticated. Not glossy. But quite accomplished, particularly in the writing area. Sarah Utter's guitar work is also quite spectacular.

Just yer basic punk, with some great lead riffs and vocals that sound uncannily like the Go-Go's on speed. Tuneful, though still nicely rough around the edges. Infectious, most certainly.

A lot of fun, but don't dismiss Bangs are mere fluff. There's substance behind the adrenaline train. A most impressive set.

You know, in the coupla years that I wasn't getting much from the Victory camp, I forgot how cool extreme hardcore could be. Buzzsaw guitars, screamed vocals and big wad of aggro adrenaline. But that's only one side of Boysetsfire.

Not unlike the Queers' Don't Back Down, the songs on this disc seem almost schizophrenic. There are a number of extreme pieces, more than a few straight melodic hardcore pop (think Jawbox) and some stuff that fits nicely into a Naked Raygun or Pegboy box.

What ties the songs together is the quality. These are well-conceived, quite well-performed songs. No matter what sound Boysetsfire chooses, the songs always turn out right.

I usually like to encourage bands to pick a sound and stick with it. That's good career advice, anyway. On the other hand, when a band can morph through styles as impressively as Boysetsfire, well, I'm more inclined to let the boys work things out for themselves. It sounds like they've got a good handle on things already.

Thick chords, uptempo songs and lotsa tight harmonizin' (punk style), all wrapped around one cheap joke after another. Yeah, this is something of a typical Fat Wreck band, but you think I'm gonna complain?

When the first song is called "Everyone Is Telling Me I'll Never Win, If I Fall in Love With a Girl from Marin," I'd guess anyone could figure out where this was going to end up. The cheap humor is clever, and somewhat insiderish (it helps to know something about the East Bay punk scene), but if you've heard of Fat Wreck is, you pass the entrance exam.

Simply one fun song after another. Bracket differentiates itself from some other Fat Wreck bands by referencing a fairly broad range of rock sounds (all implanted nicely into the band's thick punk style), and that's more than enough to give this a thumbs up.

I mean, there are very few Fat Wreck bands I wouldn't recommend. I love this kinda sound, and Bracket does very well with it. Hard to bum out a guy who's smilin' as much as me.

There's just something infectious about what Calexico plays. Usually it's a country song in a Mexican groove, or perhaps a Parisian torch song done in western swing with mariachi-style trumpets in back. No matter what John Convertino and Joey Burns throw into the pot, it simmers out as a stew that can't be licked up fast enough.

Not that this is all happy music, mind you. There are cold, lonely nights out in the desert as well. But even so, the sound is irresistible. The disc just rollicks on and on, with the hope that the good times never end.

Those expecting some experimental byways won't be disappointed. There are a couple of lengthy mood pieces with plenty of space for interpretation. But even these are more than accessible to the more mainstream listener.

In short, Calexico seems to have effortlessly bridged the gap between avant-garde and commercially-appealing music. There's plenty here for fans of all stripes, without condescending to anyone. A most impressive achievement.

The trio is Bert Lams, Paul Richards and Hideyo Moriya. They get occasional help from Tony Levin on bass and Bill Janssen on sax. They play their own pieces and those of others--including Mussorgsky's "Pictures at an Exhibition," Ellington's "Caravan" and Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody." To say the trio has a wide repertoire is understanding the matter considerably.

While this live set falls prey to the "tin guitar" sound that seems to plague most recent high-quality acoustic guitar recordings, the sound is good enough to distinguish between the players. Their individual styles and tones are apparent. So I'm willing to overlook my other sound quibbles.

While obviously classically trained, the members prove themselves most proficient in adopting whatever style is necessary to play the song right. The rousing rendition of "Misirlou" is proof of that. Always technically precise, but also most expressive.

Sure, this is paradise for the guitarist's guitarist. The playing is exquisite. But there's just as much here for a casual fan, someone who likes to hear good music presented in a somewhat unusual format. You know, most songs weren't written for three guitars. But it works so well here, you'll be asking "why not?" when the disc runs dry.

There has been an increasing fixation on "old-school" punk, stuff that brings to mind the Stooges, New York Dolls, early Clash, etc. The Distillers take that ragged, shredded edge and drop just a hint of melody in the hooks. Enough to snag a few bites, anyway.

The Distillers have two things going for them. First, an attitude that simply pile-drives the songs into overdrive. Second, an inerring ear for exciting music. Okay, so both of those are somewhat broad categories. The fact remains that the music is somewhat sloppy and not always well-constructed. Yet it always remains infectious.

Not so much a brilliant reworking as a spectacular homage. The Distillers aren't breaking any new ground here. They're not taking this music anywhere it hasn't been. They're just giving it one hell of a brand new shine.

I hope this doesn't sound like I'm trying to rip on the band. Nothing could be further from the truth. What I'm trying to say is this is a real rip-snorter of an album. Even if it does wallow in the past a bit, the songs sure satisfy. A truly rollicking experience.

We've all been to Irish pubs. There's often a house band, playing "old" songs with that familiar Gaelic lilt. After about three songs the stuff truly gets old, and only the Guinness keeps you around.

Flogging Molly avoids this fate with superior musicianship and songwriting that brings in a bit more than "the old country." Indeed, this is probably more American roots than Irish, but the muddling of the cultures might be what caused the improvement.

Of course, neither the Pogues nor the Waterboys or the Saw Doctors play "straight" Irish music. There might be a point here to be taken. Anyway, Flogging Molly plays incessantly melodic and spirited music, stuff that is almost impossible to walk away from.

Did I mention that Steve Albini is the engineer on this puppy? Yep, he's branching out. The vocals are still a bit ragged, but that works for the raw tone that this band needs. You can't soften up music like this; you'd ruin it. Just let the energy flow.

Taking its guitar cues from emo, Garrison strikes out on a unique path. The songs are intricately-constructed anthems, almost like slo-mo power pop. Like I said, I haven't heard any band with a sound quite like this.

This is driving me nuts. I'm having a horrible time finding things to say about an album that I'm liking more with each song. It's strange, though. I'm finding it easier to say what Garrison isn't than what it is. Let's try again, okay?

The guitars are emo, both in the way they're played and the lines they follow. The bass and drums sound like they're playing pop songs, though definitely at a mid tempo. Each song tends to rise to an anthemic climax before receding.

But that doesn't quite explain how unusual Garrison sounds. I'm just not getting what I want to say across. Somehow the band manages to take some standard pieces and fashion them into something altogether different and surprising. Not quite emo, not quite pop and yet still strange. I dunno. I dug it. That'll have to suffice.

Some wonderfully noisy mayhem. 90 Day Men lead off (I'm just listing this in alphabetical order, because I'm a dork), sounding an awful lot like a somewhat more coherent and subdued U.S. Maple. The three songs aren't always in motion, but they're always going somewhere.

The guys sound like they're trying to explore the grimy underground. And as far as I can tell, they're succeeding. Whether lumbering or skipping along at a nice clip, these songs chip away at the footholds of conventional thinking.

Go Go Go Airheart gets six songs and just a bit more time. Its sound fits in well with 90 Day Men, though the songs have a somewhat lighter touch. Almost effervescent, really, in comparison.

But the depth is still there. While 90 Day Men come at music from underneath, Go Go Go Airheart swoops down from above. The intent and the mayhem produced is one and the same. Those who have a noise pop jones simply must prepare this solution immediately.

Guitar driven pop with a serious 80s feel. The drum machine and keyboards probably contribute to that. There is an overall weakness on the bass side of things (the keyboards only partly compensate), but he songs are tightly-written and well performed.

Tony Davies' voice has that vaguely robotic feel which works so well with this sound. There's something of a disconnect that occurs when he sings, and that adds nicely to the alienation factor.

The note from the band said that these are its least commercial songs. I'd say if the production values got a little higher (particularly on the low end), even these songs would be quite attractive to folks who are into the dark new wave stuff.

One glance at the liners and I was thinking that this had to have some taint of Refused on it. Sure enough, Dennis Lyxzen is the singer here and he also did the same with Refused. He put together this band, which includes plenty of survivors of Swedish punk bands, in an attempt to take the whole Refused thing further.

Certainly, this is different. Where Refused relied on jarring juxtaposition, the (I)NC slides its revolutionary thought through on a smooth tip. Not unlike a slicker version of the Delta 72. There is an underlying punk ethic at work here, but plenty of soul as well.

Indeed, this puppy has a downright warm sound. Inviting, almost, which is somewhat surprising considering what's being sung. I guess that would be the one jarring juxtaposition here.

Further? Yeah, but not toward the edge. This is a more inclusive set of songs, and that will probably disappoint some hardcore Refused fans. If you keep your mind open, though, you'll be pleasantly surprised at how into this music you can get.

Thick and punchy power pop, complete with throaty vocals and nice, fuzzy riffage. Brings to mind the more refined side of the Minneapolis sound, with some additions that might be called modernizing.

A real attractive sound, though perhaps somewhat faceless. Jasmine's Bleach has some really nice songs here, but they don't leap out off the disc. It's nice pop, and unfortunately there's an awful lot of that going around these days.

If the guys can find a more unique take on the sound, well, then I'd be real impressed. As it is, this is just another nice pop set. Not a bad thing at all, but nothing special.

Ditching the Supperbell Roundup moniker (and moving to Chicago), Brendon Massei has decided to step out under his own power. It's just him and his guitar (mostly) this time out, but the stars, as before, are the songs.

And that's not to say that Massei can't play. He can. In fact, he writes songs that compliment his excellent picking style. The songs often have a bleak lyrical tone, but somehow they end up sounding hopeful. No matter how much the past sucked, the future can't be worse. Or something like that.

I'm simplifying, and that's quite dangerous when talking about songs with power such as these. Massei's deft playing and singing can mask some of the harsher emotions (one of the things about Wil Oldham is that he wields his voice and guitar as emotive hammers, not instruments), but I think that ease of delivery also provides a quicker entry.

Or, to equivocate just a little bit more, there is more than one way to play heartfelt songs of despair. As before, I'm blown away. Anything I say can't begin to describe the totality of vision found on this disc.

So you're a little bored, and you decide to rework one of your old chestnuts. Then you ask some friends to do the same. Sounds like something someone like, say, Chicago might do. Ah, but this is Rachel's, the only band in the world I know of in the possessive without an object.

Right off, then, this isn't yer ordinary hack remix. Not at all. Rachel's simply plays a new arrangement of the piece. That this arrangement and recording are three years old means nothing. Listen to the story told by this gorgeous music and it will seem like not a day has passed since these sounds hit tape.

Matmos, on the other hand, is playing editing games, using the original recording and two live performances of the song. These boys take a full 18 minutes to explore the song, and the results are as unRachel's as can be. Or rather, this vision of the song (retitled "The Precise temperature of Darkness") sounds nothing like the original.

But then, that's what's required with projects like this. The Matmos take is as jumpy and jarring as the Rachel's is smooth and flowing. Eighteen minutes is a long time to take, but trust me, it's enthralling. The whole package is, really. Sometimes, hitting up the past can be a good thing.

Every college town has a soul/funk/ska band. In fact, there are at least five down here in my corner of the New South. Murfreesboro hails from Richmond, which is not exactly a big college town (though there are quite a few small ones situated there). But maybe the exposure to the music scene there helped to broaden the sound.

Because, in truth, these guys play rock and roll with horns. Yes, there are some skankin' grooves. There are some songs that bring to mind an Al Green arrangement. And God knows these boys would love to be compared the the P-funk. But that's not what they do.

Nope, it's just rock and roll with horns. With plenty of hands in the pot. The collective approach works pretty well, too. The songs generally stick to the straight and narrow, with tangents addressed from time to time. So the songs are well-built but not dull.

Just a bar band, really. A good one, to be sure. This disc has some nice songs, and as a whole it hangs together well. Nothing particularly astonishing, mind you, just good stuff. That is, of course, a high compliment.

These guys have been around almost forever. But ever since the move to Epitaph, New Bomb Turks have been making the best music of their careers. That trend doesn't change here.

Straightforward buzzsaw riffage, bounding skin pounding and vocals that whip off the sonic wave with abandon. Somewhere between punk and good ol' rawk. I've been blown away by every Epitaph album these guys have done. If anything, this release ups the ante just a bit more.

Mainly it's the frenetic attack that pervades just about every song. Not exactly explainable by nature. I mean, a couple of these guys are old enough for regular prostate examinations. And yet the concoctions keep getting faster, meaner and better.

Not unlike the solid journeyman pitcher who discovers his best stuff in his mid-30s and becomes unhittable (say, Randy Johnson), New Bomb Turks keep making a case to enter the pantheon of great rock bands. A couple more albums like this and I'll punch the ticket. With pleasure.

Way back in the early 90s, a band called Live took grunge and added a pop sheen to it. Those Not-Quite Amish Country boys sold an awful lot of records, at least until their pretensions overshadowed their talent.

A Perfect Circle tries for the same grungy dark pop sound, harkening back to, say, 1995. The sound is more grunge than pop, but the heavy echoes and sharp production do leave a bit of the goth in the mix.

My main issue with music like this is that it sounds much more important than it is. These guys toss in vaguely poetic lyrics that ultimately do not have the impact they need. There's a big facade, but not enough oomph to fill it up.

Plus, you know, there's the whole grunge thing. I'm tired of it. Most everyone is. A Perfect Circle doesn't really do anything with the sound. The throwback has no purpose. This stuff is competently executed, but I'm still trying to figure out why everyone is trying so hard with material like this.

No one creates new worlds out of whole cloth like Peter Andersson, the guy behind Raison D'Etre. What separates him from everyone else is the totality of his vision and his execution. The sound is so full, so textured that it takes but a second to be walking within it, experiencing an entirely new way of contemplating consciousness.

This set is somewhat less complicated than previous outings, but still just as involving. What Andersson has done is strip his soundscapes down to the bare bones, and then add just enough color to bring the first hints of dawn to the walls.

Oh yeah, this album lies deep in the dark. Astonishingly pretty at times, at any moment there is always the possibility of impending mortal terror. Not in the shrill, slasher style, but a more meaningful sort of fright. Such as when the world that you thought you knew has changed into something utterly strange and wonderful.

The thrill of meandering through these pieces cannot be overstated. There are so many cheesy ways to play music like this. There are few who can do it even half as well. Raison D'Etre is the real deal.

Just basic melodic hardcore, thankyouverymuch. Nothing particularly notable, either good or bad. Shaft writes songs of nice construction and energy, and the band plays them perfunctorily. I can feel the vibe coming off these guys, but strangely, it just isn't doing anything for me.

There are just no distinguishing marks. The guys can play, and the songs have no glaring flaws. There just isn't a spark, that something which would give Shaft a face in my mind.

And, thus, the lack of obvious mistakes becomes one in itself. Shaft isn't taking chances. This isn't "by numbers" or anything as dull as that, but neither does it sound inspired in any way.

Just alright. I don't know about you, but if my hardcore doesn't get me all worked up, I go elsewhere. Gotta find a fix somehow.

Tuneage from all three of their albums, a vaguely fuzzy live sound and, well, the fun of the Slackers. From the outset, this puppy sounds like a winner on paper.

And it works out pretty well. My only complaint is the MC, who also kicks in plenty of background vocals. There's too much of him too much of the time. Out-of-tune backing vocals do lend to a party atmosphere in the club, but I'm not so sure they help the recording.

Otherwise, though, the light mood and loose arrangements do keep the party alive. As recording artists, the Slackers are better in studio than live, I'd say, but this does the studio stuff justice. I'm sure I'd have a different opinion if I saw the shows in person.

On paper, this looked good. And that's how it turned out. Not overwhelmingly great, but certainly worth giving a listen. The quality songs alone are worth it.

There's a sticker on the front advertising Luther Allison as "special guest." He's around for one song. So Solberg had better be able to hold up his end of the bargain.

He does alright, particularly on the boogie pieces. Solberg knows how to put a groove in motion and keep it going. This may explain why his work on the slower songs isn't as solid.

For starters, the guy has a nice blues voice, but it's a bit reedy. He can't quite give the vocals all the despair they need. Also, his guitar playing is often workmanlike. That sort of thing can be disguised on a faster track. Not on a slow burn.

The track with Allison is good, mostly due to Allison's presence. Solberg is quite competent, but he doesn't quite have the charisma to pull off all the colors of the blues.

Polished punk (which means the boys aren't afraid to whip a little jangle 12-string or pedal steel into the sound), almost rock. Well, almost country punk rock, that's what this is.

In fact, the stuff works the best when it's soft. Or, more correctly, when it is carefully plotted out. Speedbuggy is that odd punk band that doesn't quite work when it kicks out the jams. I don't know if it's a comfort thing or what, but the midtempo pieces suit the boys better.

And that's most of the album, really. Oh, there are those who would call this some sort of sellout sound, and it sure is unusual. But the fact is the most radical elements of the sound are the parts that work the best.

It's good, particularly when the boys reach into the bag of roots. Strange? Only if you're doctrinaire. There's a certain part of me that thinks this sound is quite natural. Maybe it's just because Uncle Tupelo was the house band where I went to school.

I'll admit right up front that there's a family issue here. The guy behind Spinvoid is my wife's cousin. Got to get that out right up front. Just so you know.

That out of the way, I'm free to jump into the music. Basic trance beats, with one or two melodic lines carrying the water. The bass lines do not get terribly involved. In fact, most of the bass sound comes from the beats.

While there are some sampled vocals, they're used more as instruments than as singing. More effective that way, really. A nice way to add some texture to the sound.

Solidly conceived and produced, this somewhat minimal electronic project uses its sounds wisely. There's no need to overwhelm the listener if the lines are this creative. Not mainstream by any stretch of the imagination, Spinvoid's use of heavy beats with ambient structures (trance by one definition) does create some inviting pieces.

You might remember K-Tel as the pop schlock version of Time Life Records, collecting all those crappy disco songs you thought you'd never want to hear again.

But see, K-Tel was right! You do want to hear them again, it seems. Disco, disco all the time. Anyway, here's a collection of all that cool indie stuff that's on dead labels these days.

Bands like the Feelies, the Pastels, Squirrelbait, the Minutemen, Scrawl and more. Of course, there are those that survived to become (semi-)legendary: Husker Du, Dino Jr., the Meat Puppets, Mekons, Yo La Tengo and Black Flag.

It's a solid compilation of good songs. Plenty of hits ("Touch Me I'm Sick," "Black Coffee," "Ghosts of American Astronauts"), but they're still great songs as well. I'm betting there's three or four songs here you've been trying to find. I got some found, anyway. Yes, this is K-Tel. But pretty cool K-Tel, you've got to admit.

Twenty-three melodic punk bands contribute tracks to this, which I can only surmise is a "soundtrack" for the Porn Star clothing company. With bands like Blink 182, Good Riddance and the Ataris, well, there are plenty of reasons for checking this out.

I don't think this puppy is overloaded with unreleased tracks or anything. Actually, I'm not sure what the point is, past a cool mix tape.

It does work as that, though, so there's not much room fer bitching. Can't complain about a nice pile of bouncy, aggro tuneage.

Despite spending a ton of time on the road supporting her first solo disc (she came through Chapel Hill at least twice and maybe three times in the last years), Shannon Wright has a new disc. Not surprisingly, her time on the road seems to have had an influence on her new songs.

There is more of a noise pop construction to the pieces, replacing the somewhat more folky approach she used on that first album. What I'm saying is that Wright uses repetitive lines in the music, providing emphasis (when necessary) by slightly varying the theme in question.

This makes the songs more coherent and accessible. Wright didn't ramble much on her first album, but there's none of that here. The ideas are stripped bare and played with on a sparsely-decorated stage. These arrangements provide a direct line to Wright's thought patterns.

I really liked her first album, though I thought the songs were a bit too jumbled up when she played them live. I don't think the show I saw was one of her best, and those songs required an intense emotional performance to work well. These songs should wear better on the road without sacrificing any connection to the artist. This is a mind-shattering disc, exquisitely written and performed. Simply a must.