When a band has been playing a particular style for almost 20 years, it's forgivable if it settles into a formula. Especially when that formula works as well as it does for the ALL/Descendents machine.

Frenetic, crunchy pop music. Songs about love lost, personal politics, love lost, anything scatological, love lost and, well, love lost. For more than a decade critics have been calling this stuff caffeine-core or coffee-fueled punk or similar such things. I suppose that's reasonably accurate.

But what has always struck me about ALL is the way the guys write sad song after sad song and still manage to make each one sound like an optimistic anthem. Unlike the blues, which exaggerates the pain in the songs with the music, ALL counteracts its angry and hurt lyrics with unstoppably peppy tuneage.

It still works. I've got an entire shelf of my CD collection devoted to these guys, and I go to it often. This disc will fit in well. Is it the band's best? It's up there, though there is plenty of competition. Certainly worth a few hundred listens.

One of those bands that just had to grow on me. I'll be honest: I was puzzled by its last album. Being used to the "analog" musings of June of 44 and the like, the technical "digital" precision of Blonde Redhead sounded foreign to my ears. After a while (a good while), I finally figured out that the tight, hypnotic beats and lines were simply perfect trance-inducing conduits.

I'm still not convinced that this is the deepest music in the world. Blonde Redhead mixes dissonance with a strictly-imposed groove structure, and there's not a lot of room for extraneous exploration.

But does that make this shallow? Naw, not really. It just means that the music has more of a classical underpinning. At least in the way it was conceived. Where it falls short of that ideal is in truncating the variations, a la rock. At most, the songs kick through a couple cycles. Intriguing, but really asking for more.

Still and all, I gotta say I'm really starting to get into Blonde Redhead. I'd advise merely letting the effect hit. Deconstruction of the songs doesn't yield further pleasure. On their own, however, the songs here are quite moving.

This is the first Brando recording, preceding the one I reviewed a few months ago. The songs are a bit more straightforward, but they still hang together by the grooves and wander about from there.

That "fragile beauty" concept I talked about is still operative. Brando is not overwhelming in any way, instead preferring to subtly attack the listener. Many times, the key phrase is one that passed a few seconds before you recognize it, Realization comes with a rush of pleasure.

Yeah, I'm a sucker for this introspective "roots singer/songwriter" style of music. That doesn't entirely apply here, as Brando was a band with multiple songwriters, but fans of Songs:Ohia and Simon Joyner will certainly recognize where this stuff is coming from.

A quiet disc, one that impresses gradually. The superficial sounds are pleasing and intriguing, but it's what's inside that truly impresses. Rather fine.

Bright and punchy fare, kinda like what I was hearing from Deep Elm a couple years back. Not where emo seems to be today, but this is still a most effective sound.

Indeed, as an old Jawbox and Treepeople fan, I'm always happy when bands reach back into those astonishingly fertile fields for inspiration. Coletta does more than rehashing, putting a thicker sound on the low end. The choruses are just as raucous and pleasing as the rousing riffage.

I'd say Coletta ought to work a bit more on inventing its own sound. This isn't faceless, but it's somewhere in the muddle. Impressive, nonetheless. Quite worth the listen.

So imagine if Deadbolt utilized a cheap keyboard sound and dropped in vocalists that sound like the B-52s on X. I'm not even going to talk about the lyrics. When they make sense, they're dreadfully out there.

All of which, of course, makes this somewhat compelling. Not unlike your average car wreck, I suppose, but still, boring it's not. Daddy's Hands never gets dull.

Which is not to say that what's going on here is untrammeled brilliance. There are some nice moments (probably the last words the band members want connected to their work), and even some kooky little bits that work. But most of it is a bit too close to dada for comfort.

Weirdness without a point doesn't get me off. Perhaps there is a message within this madness, but I didn't divine it. Fun for kicks, but not much more.

The big question here: Can the Dance Hall Crashers sustain their vocal brilliance in a live setting? Well, that one is answered immediately in the affirmative. Not only that; the live arrangements take a little bit of sheen off the songs, which makes them even more warm and approachable.

Also, these arrangements are rather faster than the studio versions. There are 25 songs here in a bit less than 70 minutes, and the pace never slows down. Even the "witless banter" advertised on the cover zips by quickly.

So this serves not only as a cool live set, but a more-than-decent DHC compilation. Certainly it's a fine advertisement for the next show in your town. If this is any indication, the live is the best way to experience the band.

Few live albums are worth the time of day. This one is one of the best I've heard. Top quality all the way.

The "band" is Derek and Jason Richey, with a few friends. The music is loosely-constructed lo-fi beats and plenty of samples. Nothing particularly innovative in the rhythms, but lots of interesting things going on up top.

Jason did the beats and samples, and Derek did the guitars and singing. What's so interesting about the sampled work is the laid-back way in which Jason incorporates all of his sounds into the music. There's piano, trumpet and plenty of other instrumentation which just falls into the songs.

Derek's vocals do have something of a Jad Fair quality, though not as quivering. Certainly, they lend to the otherworldly sound of the project. That's the real trick. All of this is just on the other side of normal, and that lends an even more eerie quality to the songs.

Just on the other side of tomorrow. Or yesterday. Or something. This is the sort of project that improves its stature the more it is studied. Peel it away layer by layer and see what you can find.

Six songs in 30 minutes. An EP or short full-length? I go with EP. Could be wrong. Doesn't matter so much, really, because it's simply a pleasure to hear new songs from Despard.

The group is a trio, but that "change" in form had little effect on the songs themselves. Despard's voice is intimate and challenging. She is able to use her words to expose universal feelings. Sure, that's the goal of most songwriters. Despard just seems to have a natural gift that way.

The elegant, elegiac pieces tumble forth, each moving at deliberate speed but with full emotional impact. It is so rare to hear someone at the top of her game like this; I simply sit and marvel.

And hit repeat, of course. Despard is truly amazing. This short disc simply cements her position as one of the top singer/songwriters around. If you care about good music, this is simply a must.

Not kiwipop, if that's what you were expecting. The Drawing Room is one of those fine constructed sound bands, utilizing "real" noise, samples, instruments and vocals (though not many lyrics) to create a decidedly mechanized world.

Not so much conceptual as eternally driving, pushing forward with every distorted beat. The harsh, yet lush, sounds assault more than envelop, but they overwhelm just the same.

Quite a stark, unique sound. The Drawing Room paints no pretty pictures, but the sonic images are stunning nonetheless. Not for the faint of heart.

Very much in a Cold Meat Industry style, though not over-the-top in any sense. Cold and mean, though in a most inviting way. At least, my ears wish to return.

The contents of six singles and 11 live tracks tacked on. The results are about what you might expect from a Boston band that combines Clash-style punk with Beantown hardcore and the occasional Irish brogue.

In other words, some of the singles sound better than others (in terms of production value), and the live stuff is rather sloppy. Still, if the band has charmed in the past, then this set is certainly welcome.

Some of the singles tracks repeat in the live section, but then, this is intended as some sort of completist volume, so I suppose that's alright. Like I noted before, the live stuff is pretty rough, but that's just punk rawk.

Probably more of interest to the devoted fan than someone starting out, this collection is nonetheless more than worth the effort. Quite a few small gems hiding out here.

Another more "traditional" emo band from Congregation. Raucous bashing pitted around more contemplative moments. I told you this was traditional, didn't I?

Despite the rather familiar formula and sound, End Transmission manages to excite. The execution of this fare is simply dead on. At its purest, emo was intended to be a conduit for emotions, and when bands like this let everything loose, well, it's bound to work well.

Better than that, even. These boys have let fly with some serious angst, and it bounces off my walls well. Naw, the guys aren't breaking any new ground, but this is as fine an execution of this sound as I've heard in a while.

Breathtaking, really. End Transmission just doesn't let up. There's a big wad of power in these songs. Tap in and see where you end up when the disc finishes.

Three Japanese women. Don't think Shonen Knife. You'd be so far off the horizon would be beyond sight.

No, this isn't simple three-chord pop. Instead, it's inventive three-vocal harmony work. Sounds a lot like what Frank Zappa might do with Rogers and Hammerstein. If he spoke Japanese (about half of the songs are in English) and decided to leave the instrumentation to a minimum.

Strange, but in a serendipitous fashion. While unusual, Ex-Girl isn't at all off-putting. After a couple songs, the twists and turns begin to make more sense, and the overall vision of the pieces starts to become clear.

Extraordinarily beautiful, really. Ex-Girl sounds like nothing else I've ever heard. The three voices do things I didn't think were really possible. A true joyride.

But Floating Opera was never easy listening. Maybe I'm being a bit too literal with the title. It's happened before. And anyway, the title comes from a line in the first track

Five more songs from Richard Rebarber and his troupe of studio troubadours. Lori Allison (once of the Millions) and Heidi Ore (once of Mercy Rule) are back singing -- Allison takes on most of that burden --and the arrangements are as busy and complex as before.

"Timeless" gets bandied about an awful lot, but that's what these songs are. These pieces could be appended to the end of the last Floating Opera album and it would be impossible to tell that they were recorded years later. The other side of that description is also applicable. The style of the songs is such that they never fade. They're never out of step. They're simply gorgeous and terribly moving.

Once again, there's a cover ("I Can't Reach You"), and it fits right in with the original stuff. The arrangement is just as idiosyncratic and wonderful as the other pieces. No one makes music quite like this. Floating Opera will probably never get much mainstream attention, but it has created some of the great pop music of the last few years.

A couple of studio tracks and eight older songs recorded in the studios of WMBR in Cambridge, Mass. Solid, throaty punk tuneage with more power than attitude.

The live setting seems to have kept a good pace with the boys, who have a knack for pounding, tuneful songs. Nothing complicated, just the good stuff. The last track is a cover of "Mama Tried," which makes for an odd coincidence, as Merle Haggard's next album is coming out on Epitaph.

These guys may be from Boston, but they sound like good ol' punk boys. Not hicks, but just happy-go-lucky sorts who seem to stumble into something good more often than not. A fun disc, one that is very difficult to put away.

Some real nice rawkin' riffage, at least until the vocals show up and start singing about things like "cruel, damn hobbit love". The guys have a pretty good handle on a number of sounds, from rockabilly to white-boy funk (you know, NRBQ), but most of that is tasted in the intros. Once the songs truly begin, they simply degenerate into jokey vocals that are sung most earnestly.

So does that make this stuff a joke, or what? I honestly can't tell. The music is solid enough, and the vocals are definitely delivered earnestly. It's just so durned kooky.

My main beef is that the band seems to be able to find a nice groove, and then the singing changes all of that. Grinding the gears or something. The songwriting could use a bit more craft.

That probably would easy my discomfort with the lyrics. I mean, if the vocals fit with the music, then they can be singing just about anything. Even if it is hobbit love or Scrabble or whatever.

Ultra-tight melodic hardcore, a bit heavier than yer average Fat band. Still in the same school, of course.

Six songs that clock in at less than 15 minutes total. The buzzsaw attack doesn't let up, not too surprising as it was recorded at ALL's Blasting Room Studios in Ft. Collins. Those boys know how to key up a sound better than just about anyone.

Distinctive? Not really. But Good Riddance knows how to deliver the adrenaline straight to the main line. Tap right in and let it flow. And there's always more to use. A fine thing.

Tommy Guerrero takes pedestrian beats, adds perky bass lines and then some utterly transcendent guitar bits. Samples are scattered throughout like confetti, and then the entire melange is tossed up in the air. What comes down is this disc.

The beats are manufactured, but most of the rest of the sounds here are made on "real" instruments. Guerrero always infuses his songs with a warm feeling of belonging, a sense of place that most writers of any sort just can't attain.

And so, on a great laid back trip like "Pescadito" or a sultry little bossanova (I think that's right) bit like "Azucar," Guerrero makes sure that the listener can see what it is that he himself is seeing as he wrote the songs. These pieces paint pictures of a life, short sketches on an eclectic existence.

A lot of somethin', if you ask me. Guerrero's writing is impeccable, and he's recorded one of the most inviting albums I've heard in quite some time. Come in and sit a spell. Get comfy. You'll be here for a while.

Sort of a jazzy take on the electronic noise sound. The keyboard pulses rarely degenerate into distortion, but there's not much here in the way of traditional song construction. Rather, each piece seems to be set up around a particular rhythmic idea, and most of the song is then the reverberations of that key thought.

Kind of like variations on a theme, but not quite. This is a bit too scattered for that. Habacus Sucubah is simply throwing a lot of sound down onto a disc and seeing what sticks.

As you might expect, some of this really clicks. But the constant exploration means that the band never settles into a groove. Creative? Yep. Intriguing? You bet. Boring? Never. A challenge? Most certainly. I'm not entirely sure what to make of this, but I liked the workout.

These boys certainly have their hearts in the right places. Logos for Doctors Without Borders, Earth First and other organizations grace the liners. The songs, as well, are pointed cultural commentaries.

It's just too bad that the pedestrian hardcore riffage and Zoli Teglas' hoarsely operatic vocals sound strangely like a punk Iron Maiden homage. Ignite suffers in the comparison.

I'm not sure if it's just a case of a band more concerned with its stance than its art or merely misguided stylings. The underlying chords are definitely hardcore, but the songs sound more like 80s metal than anything else. But not the good stuff. The forced stuff. Bands that weren't quite fun enough to make it.

It's not that the guys can't play. Indeed, Teglas is quite the singer. But it's just so weird. I get visions of the Scorpions when the anthems kick out. And that's when I reach for my copy of Virgin Killer and flip this puppy out of the discer.

I have to say that, as a New Mexican for five years, I'm not sure what to make of the band's choice of monikers. What I can say is that it doesn't have much to do with the sound.

The band is built around the guitar playing of Gabriel Marin. He's good. He's young, and right now he seems to be in a 70s phase, heavy on the Sabbath. Helping to fulfill that notion are the Ozzy-esque vocals of Brian Anwar.

Now, the New Mexikans don't get all caught up in excess. These are tastefully-arranged pieces, heavy but also expressive. Derivative, too, but at least the boys seem to have picked some cool stuff to recycle. A band of the future? Quite possibly. I'd like to hear where these guys go in a couple of years.

With the possible exception of Nihilist (and its handmade cases and sleeves), no label packages albums as well as Vaccination. Not only is the art appealing and the structure inventive and functional, but the contents are quite well-written. The liners for this include a coupon for a "Catalog of German Bands I've Never Heard Of." And it's not a joke! At least, I think I'd actually get a catalog if I wrote the address.

I'm getting so far ahead and behind myself I've almost forgotten to review the music. Like most Vaccination bands, Ninewood plays complex, intense music. The rhythm section often slips into hypnotic grooves, while the lead bass (!!) takes care of the melodic duties.

From time to time, Angela Coon sings. But her voice and the lyrics are more pieces in the overall composition and not a focal point. The songs don't "dumb down" when the voices come in. And the vocals themselves are as well-conceived and performed as the instruments.

The sort of thing that might be classified as prog grunge if there was any distortion. But there's not, and this remarkably clean sound of two basses, drums and vocals is left to simply define itself as remarkable. Like just about every Vaccination band I've heard, Ninewood is utterly unique. In a really, really good way. This album is gleefully astonishing.

I met Willie Nininger while I was on vacation in England. He and Tim Wechgelaer (who sings and plays fiddle and mandolin on this disc) were playing in a pub where my wife and I were staying in Lyme Regis. Willie and Tim played mostly old American country songs, with some Paul Simon and James Taylor thrown in for good measure. A fine troubadour show in every sense of the word.

Nininger cemented his musical career by selling a few songs to the "Captain Kangaroo " show (amazing how those royalties last), and he's pretty much spent the last 25 years playing music, some of this and some of that. The songs here fit that folk rock meets Sesame Street sound. Easygoing, jokey fare that rolls along nicely.

The lyrics do tend toward the clever and sentimental, and those impulses do sometimes clash. Also, the jokes occasionally venture too far into backslapper territory. But most of this stuff is gentle, good fun, and the playing is simply wonderful. Nininger's strumming and picking sets a nice tone, but Wechgalaer's fiddle and mandolin really color the songs nicely. His touch is a treat to hear.

If you're looking for something edgy, you ought to have figured out by now that this is not your disc. But Nininger has a nice ear for a classic American sound (his live repertoire is impeccable), and this disc shows that off nicely. Oh, and there is a live version of one of his "Captain" songs. You just might recognize it.

I'm thinkin' NOFX may have finally hit its stride. Taking a step back from the thickly-produced, oozin-ah laden sound of the last decade or so, the boys first released the stunning The Decline EP last fall. Now this.

Don't let the completely absurd song titles fool you ("Take Two Placebos and Call Me Lame," "Clams Have Feelings Too (Actually They Don't)" and "Stranger than Fishin" are de rigeur). These songs are funny only in the darkest sense. The band with a broad (and I mean that in oh-so-many ways) sense of humor has decided that it has a few points to make after all.

Oh, I know, every album has had political and cultural comment, but it was often couched within some really funny jokes and a comfy punk-pop sound. This album sounds stark and empty compared to those efforts (really, the guys haven't been this stripped down since S&M Airlines), and the leaner, meaner feel extends to the lyrics. This stuff isn't easy to laugh off.

I'm not sure how these songs and The Decline will fit into the intimate party atmosphere that the band like to cultivate live. But that's a secondary concern. After lending sonic inspiration to such insipid acts as Blink 182, NOFX has stepped back and taken a big move forward. In case you were wondering, this is one of the greatest punk bands of all time. The legacy continues to grow.

Not to be confused with Oxes, Oxen is just yer basic power trio. Well, except that the vocals spin nicely in opposition to the drums, and the guitar and bass likewise also engage in intricate duels.

Which is not to say the guys eschew the groove in favor of "artistic exploration." Naw, the songs don't wig out. They kind of grind together, always in motion and always moving forward.

Oliver Sjahsam has something of a Michael Stipe timbre to his vocals, but he doesn't whine. He uses that quavering flaw to full effect, allowing it to flavor the music without becoming too much of a distraction. These guys sure do know how to compliment each other. This is one great team effort.

Some trios are able to find all of the good reasons to stick to a small group. Oxen is one of them. I think another element would disturb the delicate balance that is evidenced here. These guys know what they want, and they achieve it. This disc showcases a band in full bloom.

Edgy electronic beats propelling a moderate sonic attack. If this was a DHR act, the speakers would explode. There's a lot going on here, but it's all very controlled.

But oh, does it wander. There isn't much melody or noise lying on top of the beats, but every once in a while a few minimalist ideas flit past. Not enough to really flesh out any concepts, but certainly paths to wander.

Platzgumer doesn't really worry about connecting his ideas together. The dots are yours to join. Instead, he just throws up plenty of vaguely-associated thoughts and leaves it at that. Makes for more intriguing listening, to be sure.

I'm not utterly knocked out, but this does hold a few charms. Platzgumer isn't an easy listen, but there is plenty here to like. Just dig in anywhere.

Anyone who wonders exactly how it was that hardcore evolved into death metal should give this a listen. Just give the guitars a bit more sheen and generally amp up the production a notch and that's what the Posers are playing.

But this is still on the punk side of the fence, if only barely. The boys crank out some raucous angry protest tunes. These dudes are pissed, and the music reflects that.

Oh, the stuff does lighten up occasionally, but not much. In general, this is the music of rage, pure and simple. There's just not much else going on. Oh, I can feel the pain, but I don't quite reach empathy.

There's just nothing particularly interesting about what the Posers are doing or singing. People suck. Our guitars are loud. True, certainly. But not enough to fill an album.

There's always plenty of good reasons to hear a Queers album. First, the shit is funny. Even if nearly half the song titles on this disc contain some form of the word "fuck" and a couple more invoke "cunt," well, this stuff is pretty clever.

Kind of a symphony of obscenity, if you will. The tuneage is tuneful and peppy, though the production isn't quite as sharp as it has been in the past. That makes the songs a bit more difficult to love at first listen, but give the thing a couple spins. You'll come around.

Yes, the surfcore sound is still what Joe Queer and pals play, and it's still a whale of fun. Subtlety isn't what you'll find. Just big-ass shiteating grins.

This is the sort of thing that should get old real fast. But for some reason, I can't get enough of the Queers. This disc simply intensifies my addiction to pottymouthed punk pop. Not (entirely) a bad thing.

A long EP, but six songs clocking in at 26 minutes still fits that description. Sea of Green is another member of the Music Cartel's stoner rock stable. The riffage is straight out of the book of Iommi, but the song construction is a bit grungier.

Kinda like Alice in Chains meets Deep Purple, or something like that. Of course, when you think about it, Alice in Chains did meet Deep Purple, at least in a musical sense. Whatever. I think you get where I'm going here.

And, like most of the other TMC bands, Sea of Green is enjoyable. No new ground being broken, but at least all the bands can be distinguished from each other, and none of them suck.

I'm not really the prime market for this stuff, but even I smiled a bit. Don't go looking for a masterpiece and you just might be happy.

Part of the Native Tongue side of electronic stuff (if there even is such a thing). What I'm saying is that Sgt. Rock employs a trippy, bouncy feel with its beats 'n' bass, and whatever vocals or other noise laid on top just roll around happily.

Unlike, say, De La Soul, Sgt. Rock doesn't have much substance lying beneath its funky grooves. Just the grooves, ma'am, and not a thing else.

Oh, the fare is most awful fun, bounding about as it does. It is rather hard to sit still or frown while this stuff kicks out of the stereo. It's just that a minute after the disc shuts off, I don't miss it.

This is, however, the summer silly season. And that movie aphorism applies to music as well. Why not get a little goofy? Sgt. Rock will happily oblige.

Unlike most girl groups these days, Sit n' Spin isn't grounded entirely in punk. This is straight-up rock and roll, complete with guitar god licks and plenty of pretty snarls.

There are the requisite pop-punk moments, but even those are somewhat obscured by more traditional rock stylings. Songs like "Jaded" sound like Cub as played by a Rolling Stones (specializing in the early 70s period) cover band.

But Sit n' Spin is all Stones attitude, even when the music is not quite deep enough to warrant such posing. I applaud the intuition; these women have a very clear notion of where they want to be. It's just that this disc doesn't quite reach that point.

Even so, the stuff is enjoyable, if often not much more than piffle. Sit n' Spin should remove all of its pop-punk impulses; then it just might crank out a great batch of tuneage that would make the rock gods jizz.

A three-piece from Canton, Ohio, home of the pro football hall of fame, Sparechange00 cranks out one tuneful anthem after another, the sound just dirty enough to keep the boys honest.

'Cause the truth is, this stuff is awful infectious, and a sharp production job would have made these songs sound much too commercial. Sometimes it is something that simple that saves an album.

The other thing that keeps these boys from getting too slick is the seeming necessity to cram each song full of heavy riffage. See, once again, an impulse that I wholly applaud. These songs are like trains, chugging forward relentlessly and arriving at the station in full glory.

A nice amalgamation of recent punk trends, from pop to emo to hardcore and back again. Sparechange00 mixes and matches, assembling some of the better punk anthems I've heard in a couple years. Wholly addictive.

In case you're a true geek and you've always been wondering who the "L. Grey" was that co-wrote "Public Enemy #1" with Nikki Sixx, wonder no further. It's Lizzie Grey, who fronts Spiders & Snakes some 20 years after recording a demo (band name: London) with Sixx and Nigel Benjamin.

The style is quite similar to that first Crue outing, a mix of punk and glam sensibilities, though much heavier on the Mott than the Clash. It's a fun little trip, though it does sound more than a bit like a retread.

And Spiders & Snakes decided to record "Public Enemy #1." It's not that the song is worse than the Crue version, but Grey just doesn't quite have the inept audacity of Vince Neil needed to carry off such a silly song.

Probably most interesting to Crue fans is the inclusion of three songs from the demo that Grey, Sixx and Benjamin recorded back in 1980. The stuff is appallingly bad (and I'm not talking about the horrid condition of the recordings), but those overblown songs perfectly presage all of the dreck that Motley Crue would wander into some five years down the road. I'm now pretty sure that Sixx just got lucky back in 1982 and 1983. Everything since is right up his alley. Pretty sad.

The festival itself takes place at the end of June (6/22-6/25 to be exact), but this is the official compilation. One track each from 21 Athens, Ga., bands, all of whom I assume will be in attendance at the gathering.

Despite being the stomping grounds of folks like R.E.M., Indigo Girls, Matthew Sweet, Golden Palominos and plenty more, the Athens scene has remained astonishingly fertile since its "coming out" some 20 years ago. Daemon Records may be the best-known local label, but Ghostmeat has been putting out local stuff for five years. I looked at the catalog; it's impressive.

As is this compilation. These bands do not fall into one or two simple categories. These folks are professionals, in every good sense of the word. The people not only have a vision for their sounds, but they are (generally) able to pull of that sound in studio.

An enticing invitation to the festival. "Something for everyone" often means a piece of crap for every fool on the block. Not here. Sweetmeat for those who desire a piece.

I may have mentioned this compilation in my review of the Spinvoid disc last issue. So here it is: Two discs full of the finest electronic fare from the Richmond, Va., area.

No scraping the bottom of the barrel here. The discs are packed and the stuff is inventive and fun. Most of the tracks are uptempo, but even so they're balanced. This isn't mere club fare. There's plenty of exploration going on.

A solid set. I could have gone for a few more contemplative pieces rather than all the drum 'n' bass and other speedy styles. I know at least some of these acts are a little more versatile and creative than the tracks here show.

Ah, but that's petty carping. This is a more public-friendly set than I would craft, and it certainly jumps through all of the creativity hoops as well. That's why I don't run a record label. I'd never sell a damned thing.

How does a band stagger through 21 years of middling albums sales and countless line-up changes? Well, it helps to be one of the most-favored cult bands around. And, it doesn't hurt if the music is generally good and sometimes great.

The formula hasn't changed much. Fans of the band's early 80s output would probably recognize large chunks of these songs, though there are some modern touches (a more grinding style of riffage, in particular). But even those "modernizations" can't completely wipe away a style written in stone.

And these songs are good. Some, like the title track, are great. This isn't really a reunion (in fact, long-time drummer Abaddon abandoned the band just before this album was recorded), but just the next step.

A solid album from a band that is rarely too far off the mark. I did not expect to be impressed by this, but I sure am. No novelty here; these are the venomous goods.

I understand that Louise Post was just as much the bandleader of Veruca Salt as Nina Gordon. But come on. Pick another name. Call it a solo album (which is what Gordon has done). I don't care.

It's not even that this album sounds a lot different than previous Veruca Salt efforts. Or that Post's vocals are not unlike those of Gordon. Actually, it's more the opposite. For all the fanfare, this sounds like a rehash. Almost like Post has to defend her choice to keep the band name (which she most certainly does).

Right. So I got that off my chest. The album? Well, it sounds like old Veruca Salt, which I always thought was kinda fun but inconsequential. Same here. Post is an able writer and singer, but she hasn't put her own stamp on the band's sound. It's just the same-old same-old. Nice, but nothing astonishing.

Old fans will probably like this puppy the first couple of times through it. But I don't think it's gonna wear well. The older stuff, if not better, at least was a little more memorable. Workmanlike is fine, but not for an established band. Even if it is a brand new model.