I don't know whether or not the label has anything to do with the band Y&T, but judging by Alexandrakis' music, I'd say probably not.

The pieces themselves are meditations on the year that Alexandrakis spent battling Hodgkins disease. It was a successful battle, as the last few songs tend to indicate. The music is hardly straightforward. And it's not whiny or full of "woe is me" moments.

Rather, the pieces are composed in a collage style and threaded together. This reminds me a lot of Chevy Heston's later work, the stuff that really got out there (or, more specifically, in there). Exceedingly well put together.

Adventurous in all the good ways. Alexandrakis has an ear for dissonance; he manages to splice discordant moments into transcendent glory. Like I said, there isn't a straight line running through this album. Instead, there is a life. A soul, even. An achingly fragile and beautiful album.

Fairly basic modern metal. Could be Pantera. Could be... (insert name here). American Slang does this very well; these songs are all more than competent. In fact, they're superior to a lot of what's running around these days.

But what's missing is the face. I mean, this could be any number of bands. I don't hear anything here that distinguishes American Slang from the rest of the crowd (with the exception of the 12-sting ballad/anthem, which doesn't fit into today's metal scene).

Even the power ballad/anthem is executed extremely well. All three of these songs are first rate. American Slang just has to find something to make it stand out from the rest of the bands out there. The talent is in place.

These hardcore veterans from Richmond just keep coming. Vaguely tuneful, eternally powerful. Just about where I thought this would be.

The melodic elements set Avail apart from most hardcore outfits. These guys don't mind carrying a tune, if in a raggedy fashion. That the tunes are tightly-written and exceedingly infectious also may be taken as a given.

After a while, bands either ossify, reinvent themselves or simply refine a formula to near-perfection. Avail is in the latter category. Nothing new to report here, just that the boys are rocking with the usual intensity and flair.

What else is there to say? I mean, this is a fine Avail album. It seems like that might go without saying. But I just thought I'd mention it.

A good-looking woman with throaty vocals singing about getting out of control. Nothing wrong with that at all. Well, okay, maybe there are other considerations.

The music is straight out of the 80s, somewhere in that Loverboy/Night Ranger light hard rock territory, if that makes sense. Songs like these lit up Top 40 radio 15 years ago.

They don't any more, for plenty of reasons. My own take is that there are only so many ways to sing about the hard rockin' life while playing relatively tame music, and most of those were exhausted on Midnight Madness. Most of this kinda stuff was in a retread mode by the time Bryan Adams picked it up, and it's been quite a while since then.

Brock is a good singer, and she knows how to stick to her range. But the material needs to venture a little past the middle of the road. She's not taking chances here, unless you want to call playing an out-of-fashion style a chance. She needs to find an edge, a hook for people to catch on. There's just not enough here.

There's an awful fertile music scene that runs along I-64 from Richmond to Charlottesville. Rather eclectic, from electronic stuff to noise rock to punk to something like Clare Quilty.

I didn't characterize Clare Quilty, and that was intentional. I guess the easiest spot to drop the band would be modern Britpop (utilizing the same source material as the Fall, Blur, Elastica and other bands that generally wouldn't be grouped together), but even that is a bit too simple.

Basically, each of these songs has an iron-clad hook, ultra-tight rhythm section and the ringing vocals of Jenn Rhubright. The songs cycle through a wide variety of sounds, but this diversity never takes away from the delightful grooves at the center of it all.

Some albums inspire joy in my heart from the first note. This was one of those. Hard to be terribly objective when your body is screaming out with some sort of pre-orgasmic tension. Oh, yeah, by the way, I liked this.

I'm having this problem with my CD player. It's about 10 years old, and every fifth CD or so, it refuses to play the thing without skipping all to hell. Really pisses me off, particularly when something is obviously as good as this is.

Yeah, I have a backup plan. It's called my seven-year-old portable. So I've got that puppy cranked, and I'm finally able to take in this fine disc. Cross My Heart plays soulful emo. I think I said something like that a couple years ago when I reviewed the band's first disc. Happily, some things don't change.

And this style, swinging madly from screams to whispers, has kinda fallen out of favor. Even Cross My Heart has succumbed somewhat, tempering the dynamic shifts with a fuller production sound. And there are a couple of more modern emo pop pieces. But still, these guys are enough of a throwback to make me smile.

'Cause that was one of the things I really dug about the sound: The unfettered emotion. Oh, ragged pop is a wonderful thing, but there's something about the primal scream therapy of early emo that can't be replaced. Cross My Heart does a good job playing missing link. Great stuff.

Ernesto Diaz-Infante takes care of the acoustic guitar and some vague vocal work, and Jeff Kaiser does the rest, including manipulating samples from Diaz-Infante's Solus album.

When I say guitar, by the way, that's the whole guitar. Not just strings resonating. There's tightening and untightening the strings, rubbing the neck, thumping the body ... just about every noise that can be made with a guitar.

Kaiser does the same thing with his trumpet and flugelhorn. Yeah, sometimes they're "played" in a traditional sense. But there's a lot of "other" going on as well. The pieces themselves come together in the mind of the listener. They have to be assembled. Part of the experience is finding your own meaning.

I know, most folks find such exercises tiring. Not me. There's such exuberance, such a sense of serendipity here that I just can't put it down. Does it make sense? Not all the time. Not yet. But this puppy is primed for many more listens down the road.

Easy-flowing keyboard soul. Dr. Dan's fingers provide most of the action, and the songs follow from there. Think of mellow fusion with a soul twist, and you'd be in the right arena.

And while he's a technical whiz, it's the feel that really sells these tunes. The vocals, when they appear, really aren't necessary. And the rest of the band is just that, generally relegated to the back lines.

But, see, that doesn't really matter all that much. Dr. Dan spins so many grooves from his fingers that all of the other shortcomings kinda fade away. These songs are so much fun to hear, the nitty-gritty is an afterthought.

A simple pleasure, perhaps, even though the playing is anything but. Dr. Dan lays down the lines, and my ears follow. That is simple, indeed.

Another flavor of the month that didn't quite taste right in Roadrunner's mouth, Earth Crisis returns to the Victory fold, but this is not your father's (well, your older brother's, anyway) Earth Crisis.

The buzzsaw riffage has stepped back a couple notches in favor of an increased focus on the vocals. Vocals which are clearer and often spoken or sung (as opposed to shouted). Some of the singing brings to mind the gothic wail that Fear Factory introduced years back.

In fact, this whole album reminds me a bit too much of Fear Factory. I mean, Earth Crisis defined the extreme for five years. To step this way is to step backward. A long ways back.

You know, it's not even like it does this sound badly. Earth Crisis attacks this style with the same vehemence as before. It's just that I've heard it too many times already. Earth Crisis probably needed to evolve a bit in order to keep the fires burning. But the talent here is too huge to simply become a retread. Please guys, reconsider.

The same tuneful pop hardcore sound, with just a bit more attitude. Very much a raucous version of the Bad Religion sound. That's not a bad thing at all.

My main complaint about these guys' last album was that is was dull. Tame. Not very interesting. The changes are subtle, but here's the scoop: The guitars are just a little looser, the vocals a bit more ragged and the hooks just a little tighter. I'm not talking about quantum changes. Just small nudges that make all the difference.

Now, I'm not calling this one of the great punk albums of all time. It's merely pretty good. For a major-label punk release, it's damned good. Face to Face found its roots, and my ears are much happier for it.

Like I said, we're not talking about a punk revolution or anything. Just a fine effort by some seasoned vets. Nothing to sneeze at, my friends.

Not to be confused with Five Eight (reviewed below). This is 58. To add to the confusion, last issue I dismissed Nikki Sixx as a has been. This is his side project. And it's one hell of a lot more interesting than anything the Crüe has done in 15 years.

Sixx and David Darling (best known as Meredith Brooks' producer) split the bass and singing duties, Steve Gibb (son of Barry) plays guitar and Bucket Baker kicks in on drums. Basically, there's no reason this should be any good. And sometimes it's not. But every song is interesting.

There is a bit too much of that "modern rock" sheen to the stuff. I'm not talking about mechanical beats and samples; those are usually used to fine effect. Nope, I'm more concerned with the guitars and vocals, which are a bit too processed. This effect is multiplied when the song in question starts to lag.

The sound? Well, the press sez somewhere between Zooropa and Diamond Dogs. I'd say somewhere between On the Record (The Sweet) and Tin Machine (the first one). Both somewhat failed attempts to reenergize flagging careers, but engaging nonetheless.

The second band in this issue that uses the number five and the number eight. Though not the numerals. Very important distinction. Anyway, Five Eight burbles through disjointed and uneasy pop music. Uneasy in that there are lots more blue notes than you might expect. Folks who picked up the Parker Paul record a while back might know what I'm talking about.

But the intensity and drive more than makes up for any technical difficulties. Actually, I think that lassez-faire approach to tight tuneage is intentional. There's a lot of conceptual stuff going on here, and the lack of attention to specific notes kinda adds to the tension.

The disc just keeps lurching forward, picking up momentum as it rolls. Yeah, the sound can be unsettling, but that style often lends itself to more immediate immersion in the songs. It is easier to just loll about the ideas, addressing them slowly and intensely.

Packs a wallop, that's fer sure. Even if you can only dive into the first couple of layers, this should wipe you out. Quite the emotional load.

Some nice bash 'n' pop, with organ chaser. High-speed ravers, with just a little bit of the edge taken off. Kinda like a Long Island Iced Tea.

And like that wonderfully inebriating drink, there's a price to paid for too much quick pleasure. The songs flow so furiously that a hangover is almost guaranteed. I'm such a junkie for stuff like this, all I really say is that the Forty Fives sure can pack a groove.

Think of a little Love. Well, maybe a lotta Love. Not a bad band to emulate, though there are other influences. While in the same sonic range, this is not quite as good as the new Delta 72, but then, not much has been this year.

No, this is merely damned good. Probably not the most substantial of meals. But a great snack. Man, I love that organ. Just makes any day shine, you know?

Luke Holder has a band behind him for most of this outing, and so these songs have a more organic sound than the last disc I heard. Holder has also let go just a bit more, bringing a nice, loose sound to his ragged roots style.

In particular, the guitars are just slung out, and this approach colors the songs quite well. The emotion trumps anything that might have been gained by perfect playing. And anyway, the rumbling guitars compliment Holder's rough vocals perfectly.

The songs themselves are just like before, stories told in a shorthand that isn't always easy to decipher. I'm not saying the lyrics themselves are complicated; they're not. But the ideas that lie behind them don't always make themselves known immediately.

Altogether better than the first album I heard, and that wasn't bad at all. Holder knows how to write, how to play and how to sing. He sounds like, well, Luke Holder, which is often the toughest thing to learn. Just waiting on the acclaim.

This is generally not my sound. Easy-going pop music that is so hooky that it could, it should be syrupy. But it's not, somehow, and that's exactly why I loved J'Abandonne. This album is much more consistent than that effort. There's definitely something here.

I think part of the reason this works so well is that the band doesn't try to ape anyone in particular. The songs are polished jewels, but they're played as if they were just tossed off. That off-hand approach is what keeps the tuneage from getting icky.

So instead there's just gorgeous pop tunes played with abandon. The production is top-notch, lending a sheen when needed but also pulling back when more jangle is required. There are plenty of unexpected moments as well, which keeps the hooks on their toes.

The Hungry Mind Review does everything except play by the numbers. Instead, it cranks out some top-notch pop music. These guys are ready.

She's going for the big score here. Luciar has positioned herself dead in the middle of the modern female singer sound, somewhat less affected than Alanis but more complex than Madonna.

I throw those names out for a reason. While Luciar certainly has talent as a singer and producer, there is an element of calculation in the sound. She wants to hit it big, like I said. And this doesn't quite reach that mark.

It's not because she refuses to take chances. No, it's more that those chances aren't quite integrated seamlessly into this disc. Better for the artist, not so good for the commercial possibilities. And since this does not sound aimed at an "alternative" audience, I've gotta judge it as the "industry" might.

Still, she has the talent, skill (not the same thing) and looks to break over in a big way. This disc does show off her abilities. There's something special here. I'm not exactly sure what it will take for a break out.

The old joke about "we play both kinds of music: country and western" is pretty funny, but for the last 40 years or so there's been a lot more country than western swing.

Yeah, you can catch the Riders in the Sky on the radio, and there are some country acts that play a little swing, but very few that specialize in the stuff like the Lucky Stars.

The swing is tight, with some nice fiddle and steel guitar decorations. The production leaves this stuff sounding like it probably did back in the 40s and 50s (without the pops and scratches, of course): Light and lean. Of course, anything sounds spartan compared to today's country bombast.

The songs are modern, at least lyrically. They come off as nostalgic, perhaps, but not particularly dated. The Lucky Stars do have a knack for the sound and the ability to bring it into a new millennium. A whole lotta fun, done exceptionally well.

Feeling that it had been a while between records, Mad Caddies decided to whip out a short EP. Four original tracks and the obligatory Abba cover.

Mad Caddies kick out that loose, thick ska sound that works best at parties. Or, as the liners say, "try drinking a lot and listening again." Actually, this stuff is a lot of fun even before contemporary bladder exercises.

Worth putting out for any reason. Nothing spectacular, perhaps, but a nice little bundle of joy. Sure to chase the blues away.

A lot of people like Madball. The band has a significant following, and plenty of folks I know swear by the guys. The stuff has never quite worked for me.

And this comes as close as any album I've heard. The boys have added even more bits and pieces to the sound, making this as distinctive a generic hardcore sound as there is. Still, there's the "g" word.

Now, if I were in the mood for NYC metalcore, well, this might do the trick. But I'm not, and it doesn't. I've heard a lot of bands with this basic sound, and while Madball does distinguish itself a little better than in the past, it isn't taking the sound to a new level.

I've just never been attracted to this particular brand of aggro tension. Hard to say why, really, but that's the case. Madball is as good as I've heard do this sound, and this is the best I've heard from the band. So if your tendencies are on a different track than mine (and they probably are), perhaps that's the most telling sentence in this review.

Somewhere between modern rock and anglo pop, Minto 400 bashes out its tuneage. I really hate both of those monikers, by the way. They blow. The thing is, Mint 400 pays a sort of full-throated rock-pop music that is common, but uncommonly hard to describe.

Basically, the bass defines the grooves, the guitars generally rule and there's a lot of sound filling in the gaps. Distortion, looping, some cello, whatever works to flesh out the sound, y'know? And generally, it does work.

Mint 400 just pounds out song after song, each one following the same general pattern but managing to impress just the same. The reliance on the bass reminds me a bit of some of the Seattle pop bands of the early 90s (Gnome, My Name, etc.) but this has a sheen all its own.

Just gets better as the album rolls on. There's a lot to discover here, and one listen won't close the deal. A unique sound within a somewhat spent genre. Quite worth a few spins.

You know, if Mötley Crüe can still put out albums, why can't Michael Monroe? The real question is: If Michael Monroe can put out an album this solid, why can't the Crue?

Intertwined for eternity, the monster smash and the talented band seemingly obliterated in a smash-up. Monroe's output since Hanoi quit rocking has been up and down. But his brand of sax and harp-laced glam metal has always had the potential to really redefine the genre.

And here, Monroe really does manage to fuse the blues and glam into a terribly exciting machine. I kept waiting for the drop-off. This stuff is astonishingly solid. I haven't heard everything he's done the last 15 years, but damn, this beats what did hit my ears. Not even a close race.

"Self Destruction Blues" is a good enough reason to search this puppy out. But the stuff surrounding it is solid and occasionally spectacular as well. I'd be surprised if Axl's new G'N'R album turns out half as good. I wasn't expecting anything of this quality. Would that we all aged so well.

Here's a new schitck: Hardcore boys throwing on goth makeup and playing kinda spooky music. Horrorcore, if you will.

Soon enough, of course, the band shifts gears into overdrive and kinda forgets about the doom and gloom. Then it becomes just another call and response hardcore act. A good one, really, but kinda back into the run of the mill.

I kinda liked the idea of horrorcore. I wish the Nerve Agents would stick a little more to that concept. But they didn't. And what's left is lightly-produced hardcore. Some nice riffage and fine shouting, but I've heard that before.

Enjoyable, certainly, but a lot of potential left untapped. If the boys would stick to the spooky stuff a bit more, they'd sound much more original. I know, the temptation to kick out the jams is intense, but sometimes the sacrifice must be made.

A little blues, a little soul, a little rock and a nice dose of pop. Michael Nitro puts plenty of interesting sounds in his songs, and the playing is top-notch. For all the craft, though, there seems to be a spark missing.

Just that something that would kick these songs from workmanlike to really inspiring. The fault isn't in the preparation. Like I said, Nitro and his mates can play and the songs are careful to include lots of great elements. Perhaps too careful. There just isn't that loose feel that would really spin all those influences into a great stew.

Instead, it's just a little too easy to hear the individual parts. Nitro's voice is a little thin to carry this sort of music, and it sounds like he's working awfully hard to get where he's at.

Most of the parts are here; I really mean that. I would suggest that Nitro get another singer and that the band jam a bit longer on the songs before putting them on tape. Maybe that would erase the slightly stilted feel. Just a couple step away from something great.

I had a bad feeling when I first saw this puppy. While not astonished at the success of Monster Ballads, even when I was a big glam metal fan I didn't really dig the slow stuff. Alright, there was a two-year fixation on "Silent Night" back when I was 15. Maybe that got the stuff out of my system.

Anyway, Axel Rudi Pell has a knack for cranking out astonishingly formulaic ballads, stuff that Warrant wouldn't even consider recording. The lyrics are dreadful (repeated references to such tired themes as "the sad man," "starry eyes," etc.) and the music is turgid and mechanical.

I see that this album did well enough when it was released back in 1993 to warrant a The Ballads II. Maybe it's a niche thing. This collection just isn't that good.

This show was recorded at the Ritz in November 1986. Kinda the end of a real down period and the beginning of a new renaissance with the release of Blah Blah Blah. The band personnel certainly is impressive: Andy McCoy of Hanoi Rocks, Alvin Gibbs of UK Subs on bass, Paul Garristo of the Psychedelic Furs on Drums and Seamus Beaghen of Madness on keyboards.

A nice dose of Blah Blah Blah and plenty of other songs he co-wrote with David Bowie, including the song that Bowie made a smash, "China Girl." The band is in fine form, though the mix is a little muddy. In particular, McCoy's guitars get a little lost now and again.

The liners make the point that this show is important historically, and I figure that's probably right. This was the dawn of Pop's greatest commercial successes, and this is an early document of that resurgence.

In terms of quality, though, the sound is just middling. The performances are pretty good (though there are plenty of spots where someone or another gets a little sidetracked), and Pop's energy and daring is always a blast. Not for the casual fan, but certainly important for the serious aficionado.

Anyone remember the Circus of Power? Bass-heavy power rock with a serious groove jones. Quick Fix reminds me a lot of those boys, though perhaps with a little less bass.

That leaner sound hasn't taken away any of the power. Indeed, the emphasis on drums and guitar (more of an interplay, I suppose) tightens up the grooves, sewing each song up nicely.

Takes a lot of attitude to pull off this sound, and Quick Fix is all about that. These boys are seriously hung up on themselves. And that's the only way to sustain a 45-minute slow burn. No release, see, no way of letting the tension free. Just keep adding on.

Pretty damned fine. Not yer usual Boston fare, but originality is always a plus. Quick Fix is anything but; more of an addiction forming, actually.

Remember when "Bitch" became "Betsy" in an attempt to garner a wider following? Didn't work. Rockbitch (a band made up of six women and a guy) plays pretty much as close to nude as local laws allow (at least, that's what I can gather from the liner photos). Something about "we're trying to sell records here."

Whatever. The trick is the music, and at least this stuff is interesting. Sort of a metal-industrial complex, with lots of samples and loops and heavy guitar. I haven't heard anyone try this exact sound before, and often it actually works.

There are times when it just sounds like people fucking around. Directionless is probably a good way to put it. Most of the songs are nebulous at best, and when the center of gravity gives way completely there's not much to go on.

Still, the stuff is good enough to flog. And if the band's members are willing to bare all for the cause, well, I'm sure they should do alright. High art? Nah. But intriguing nonetheless.

A not particularly inspired title from what I figured was an already spent force. I mean, the best Saxon albums were pretty derivative, and I haven't heard anything from these guys in about 10 years (when they were already pretty damned old).

One old-fashioned Eurometal trick is to doll things up in keyboards and then crank out the power riffage. Saxon plays that right by the book. The vocals have been processed to achieve an Ozzy-esque quality, but this fare would be too pedestrian even for today's geriatric Ozzman.

It's immaculately played and produced. The sound is nice and thick. I mean, all of the elements are in place. The stuff just isn't that interesting. Entirely predictable for the most part, depressingly so at times. A couple times I was able to predict the riffage of a song based on the finish of the previous one.

I don't blame the guys for this calculation. Any way to sell a record is what it takes. In my book, Saxon was never a first-line act. That it has survived until today is amazing. Sure, that makes this album remarkable. Just not good.

The true western side of rockabilly. A little slide guitar, gruff and raspy vocals. And the feel of sitting around a campfire trading stories with some mean mothers.

And the Scotch Greens play the archetype for all its worth. There are songs about drinking, a song called "The Bitch," songs about riding the trail (and life) along. Just about covers the gambit, I think.

A lot of fun to hear. This sort of stuff can get silly, and the Scotch Greens do fall prey to some excessive use of western cliches, both musically and lyrically. But still; the disc just rolls along its mostly charming way.

A nice hangout disc. Very male and macho (moreso than just about anything I've heard in ages, but that's the way it has to be. Kinda brings the right colors to the palatte.

The prog side of modern pop. Taking the whole post-Slint sound and adding in arpeggios and tight playing. The singing, well, that's still deep in the shouts. But the guitar and bass, well, those are something else.

Those are the instruments that drive the sound. They bounce around and into each other with an astonishing amount of energy. The mystery is contained somewhere between those lines.

The pieces evolve slowly as the disc progresses, occasionally adding a new element here and there. By the time the final song comes along, Self-Evident has painted a musical picture that is utterly unique and impressive.

A real find. These songs are bursting with life, and they're performed almost to perfection. Sometimes the calculated and the emotive can mesh. This is a prime example.

Another band further down the emo road. The strident pop guitar work is here, but the choruses are fairly hooky. Even the verses rely on melody more than power.

The cumulative effect of these songs, however, is powerful. 764-HERO is in full command of its game, blasting holes here, there and wherever it wishes. These are solid songs delivered by a confident band.

The sound is also spot-on. Just a little distortion and reverb on the edges, lending enough of a rough edge to take some of the shine off the melodies. Gives the boys that much more oomph.

Wonderfully solid, approaching brilliance more often than not. This is one of those albums that sounds good the first listen and then gets better. The subtleties are such that even a multitude of spins won't wear away the charm.

Coming in from the kick-ass side of Neil Young, Silo the Huskie sure does bash it about. Like Eleventh Dream Day (also heavy Young-philes), these guys play in a rather reckless fashion, hoping that will give them a less calculated feel.

It works, of course. And while singer Brian Bariny does sound a lot like Young, the guitars are much more into Replacements territory. Some of you might remember the first Uncle Tupelo album. This sounds a little like that, except that instead of a tight, sparse production, Silo the Huskie has gone the other way.

Heavy distortion and other effects somewhat shadow the band and vocals, leaving a shroud hanging over the songs. That, too, works. Indeed, most of what the band does here is first rate.

Does it quite leap out of the shadow of the obvious influences? Nope. But Silo the Huskie comes close. I'm not sure what would kick this over the edge for me, but maybe one more little shade in the sound, something that would put a definitive stamp on the sound. For now, though, this is pretty damned good.

A real family act, mom and pop and son. Barbara Keith has a nice alto voice and a way with Angus Young-like riffage. It's all John and Doug Tibbles can do to keep up.

The songs veer from out-and-out bashers to the occasional introspective rock tune. Like early AC/DC, the sound is rooted in the blues. Never can get away.

And that adherence keeps the stuff moving along nicely. Complicated? Hardly. But just because a sound is fairly simple doesn¹t mean it's easy. In fact, sometimes the simple is the hardest to master.

But no worries here. The Stone Coyotes just blast through whatever comes their way. Not a thought about what might go wrong, this just fires hard and smooth. Always invigorating and often truly exciting.

Another one of those long EP/short LP things. Eight songs, 25 minutes... still an EP in my book. Lucky for me that Fat Wreck agrees. What isn't short in any way is the firepower. Strung Out plays a prog form of hardcore that kinda hard to describe.

You know, somewhere between Tool and the Refused. Hardcore, not metal (the guitars are fairly soft and without massive effects), but still with a fair amount of "mosh" in the riffage. These guys probably grew up jamming to Anthrax and Rollins in equal measure.

Jesus, that dates me. Whatever. There's a certain tunefulness to the vocals that doesn't quite fit the music. I likes it. Even when all hell is breaking loose, there's this hint of melody. One more thumb at convention.

Just a throbbing mess of wonderfulness. You can quote me on that, too.

I got this e-mail a few weeks ago asking if I wanted to hear some experimental electronic music from Germany. I'm sure you can imagine my reply. Two words, beginning with the letter "f" and ending with the letter "h".

So I've been waiting on this puppy for a bit, and now I've slotted it into the discer. There are three pieces, each segmented into movements or something. The liners don't really have any explanation, and even if they did, they'd probably be in German. Not much help.

What I can say is that the stuff is wonderfully experimental, playing with both beat and musical conventions. The pieces are built around unusual sounds, strange samples and some great imagination. Rather than sticking to any one style, Taureau rambles... a lot. But in this mellow, trippy, take some chances style, that's probably the only way to go.

My answer to the question is still "fuck yeah," by the way. I'll take sonic musings like this any day. Lotsa fun and even better, it put my mind in some strange places. You just can't find good drugs like that every day.

This is kinda like the usual DHR fare, except less cultured. Therios is really playing over-the-top death metal, but completely torching the recording. Distorting the vocals, underplaying the drums and dropping in the guitars at a strange pitch. Did I mention that this is also highly edited?

So it's electronic, by proxy anyway. It don't make sense. That's by intent, methinks. I have a feeling that Therios would love to be known as "out there."

And well, the stuff sure is. What I like about most DHR stuff is that the percussion and beats are generally intriguing. Therios is all about the distortion and vocals. At least, that's what is on top. The songs do have structure, but that's buried in the wail of noise.

A true mess. That is, of course, the aim of the band, so I figure victory has to be claimed on that point. Am I stoked? Well, strangely, I kept trying to divine more of the structure. And that didn't excite me. There's plenty of noise (in fact, be sure to turn down your stereo; this puppy just about shredded my speakers), sure to get plenty of rocks off. I remain only slightly amused.

David Pavkovic controls the drums and keyboards which lie at the heart of Toe. Yoko Noge provides the vocals. But these facts do nothing to describe the wonderful sonic journey this disc provides.

The drums might be termed tribal, but that's not right. Instead, they're expressive, doing much more than holding a beat. Rather, they provide much of the melody and delicate pacing of the songs. Noge's vocals, sweet one moment, rough and throaty the next, also span a wide gamut of sounds.

Toe also is happy to play trippy pop music, as on the appropriately-titled "Non-Variant." There are plenty of other asides, with friends sitting in and providing an impetus for the sonic departure.

The band just never quits trying. Despite the full range of styles, Toe has crafted a feel all its own. From the sounds of it, Toe never needed anyone's encouragement to go all out. This Variant is a wonderful experience.

Some nice melancholy pop music. Even when the band really amps up the jams, there's this sorta angry cloud hanging over stuff. The really heavy bass probably has a lot to do with that feel.

In fact, the rather pronounced guitar distortion at the more excitable moments also colors the joy. Tristan Psionic is pretty rambunctious, really, but these songs really don't fall into the joyful category.

What they do, however, is communicate in the language of today. That may sound like some weird backhanded compliment, but it's not. The pieces merely reflect a less than optimistic viewpoint. Works well.

The sound? Somewhere between Superchunk and Radiohead. These songs do their damnedest to fill in all the cracks. Tristan Psionic has put together an energetic downer of an album. I like that a lot.

A relatively short outing (probably about 10 minutes or so) from this, one of the more adventurous music minds around. The piece starts off with a chant, and then quickly mutates into modulated electronic disturbances.

Which sounds an awful lot like a chant, really. The noise slowly evolves out to almost white noise, and then slowly comes back in, finishing with the chant once again.

A simple idea executed extremely well. It may be short, but this tape sure is packed.

A foursome from Central Florida that sounds like it's trying really hard to make "important" pop music. With a few jokes thrown in.

The four songs here sound something like a cross between the B-52s and R.E.M., with a Britpop sheen falling over at times. The writing is a little uneven, though the songs all have a nice depth. There are times when the pieces run out of steam.

Basically, the songs could do with some live shows. I think Where's Moo would really benefit from a few more gigs. There's a nice core of talent here. It's just young and somewhat unrealized. I know, another one of those "keep working" reviews. Well, sometimes that's what's needed most.