Amen still reminds me of Bullet Lavolta. And I'm not complaining yet. Rhythmic, vaguely melodic sludge has quite an appeal. But like the band's first album, this disc is no rip-off. Amen takes the original notions and expands the theory.

And takes us on a breathtaking thrill ride. The attack is relentless, the sound even fuller than before. You might have thought that the move to the big leagues would have caused the folks to throttle back a notch or two. Think again.

See, metal is back in the big leagues. But unlike the late 80s, no one is trying to sell singles with the stuff. So ripsaw-edged tuneage like this is marketed for the kick ass sonic disruption that it is.

Yeah, the formula is pretty simple. And Amen makes it work. This is one of the most invigorating albums I've heard this year. Absolutely impossible to shut down. Just try to stay in your seat.

I haven't heard such solidly experimental electronic fare in a long time. Blackhouse does a lot more than just noodle at the margins of the moody electron cloud. Vocals are also treated as a element of construction, which adds a whole new dimension to the sound.

There's a strong sensation of walking into a haunted house, or perhaps the momentarily unused portion of a person's mind. Lots of dark spaces, and every step creates three echoes.

The effect is to unnerve, and it works most certainly. There's the ever-present sense of impending fright, but that moment never arrives. Instead, the skin is left electric and waiting, the mind an increasingly tense ball of nerves.

And that's something. Listen, this is a strange disc. It doesn't follow any of the accepted rules for creating an album. Even as a sort of gothic soundscape, Dreams Like These is outside the bounds of normalcy. I rather like that, myself.

Some French guys who really like 7 Seconds. Epitaph passed this one on to Victory. Maybe Brett's got too much on his plate. I dunno. This disc certainly doesn't lack for quality.

'Cause most tuneful hardcore owes a big debt to Kevin Seconds. No way around it. And Burning Heads doesn't go out of its way to imitate the masters. In fact I hear more in the way of Bad Religion (circa 1989) riffage here than anything else.

Which, again, is hard to avoid. What Burning Heads does is keep the energy level high. The spirit never flags. There's always another pick-me-up on the way. A tasty little adrenaline rush.

Which is what this music is all about anyway. If you want to make important points about politics and the way life sucks, be my guest. But don't bog down your music with ponderous ideas. Punch up those deep thoughts with slashing guitars. Like 7 Seconds. Like Bad Religion. Like NOFX. Like Burning Heads.

In case you were wondering, the ska thing has made it to Europe. It's ... weird to hear a singer with a German accent wailing over horn and keyboard-drenched skankin' beats.

But the Busters do have this style down. Maybe even a little too well. The playing is technically perfect, and that does drain out some of the soul.

A lot of it, really. Ska is a dirty style at its best, and in order to be done right the production has to let some of the sounds intermingle. The stew requires some simmering.

Hey, the songwriting is capable and sometimes wonderful. The arrangements, at their best, are reminiscent of the Pietasters and the Slackers, two bands who do know how to get down in the muck. The Busters should take a cue.

Just in case you were confused, Corporate Avenger is not a Christian band. At least, that's the way it appears when an album's got song titles like "The Bible Is Bullshit" and "Jesus Christ Homosexual."

I didn't want to lead anybody on. No, these guys rap like Cypress Hill over a crunchy industrio-metal complex. The music, however, isn't what's important here. These guys have a few things on their minds.

The simplistic accompaniments (which are generally growling throbs) provide a nice nest for the over-the-top lyrics. The delivery is great, and the whole sound comes together quite nicely.

The ideas may be extreme (at least in the eyes of some), but this is still a tasty mix. Corporate Avenger is a real blast of fresh air.

The copy of this disc I received had a record store price tag on it. I wonder if it was stolen...

Nah, not really. In any case, Boots Riley lays down some smooth rhymes, backed up by Pam the Funkstress (I kinda like that one). The soul is a lot closer to 1970 than 1999, though occasionally Pam gets a little too close to outright use on some of the lines, but most of the beats 'n' bass come together like a nicely mixed symphony.

Riley's technique is solid, if on the ordinary side. He's just hangin' most of the time, which puts more pressure on the rhymes to deliver. They do some of the time, though they, too, sometimes come off as merely ordinary.

Tales from the street, stuff that shines only when Riley's dry sense of humor comes through. I'm not saying the Coup needs to be a joke act, but it needs something distinctive. This is solid, but generally faceless.

The Drum Machine Technicians are DJ Cue and Eddie Def, but they will work together only on the fifth disc in this series. This is the first. Where Eddie Def takes on the DMT mantle and shows what he can do.

Eddie Def deals in dirty beats. He does everything possible to give his percussion unique sounds. There are a million ways to throw a beat, and a lot of them are present on this disc.

Anything past drum and bass work? Yeah. Generally there's some sort of song structure lying around each piece, whether it's merely soundscape or something a bit more formalized.

Lots of toys for club DJs, but this is intriguing listening on its own. Eddie Def has a way with the beats. He remakes them in his own images and gives them new life.

It's always interesting reading press notes that predict large fame and fortune for band, particularly when it doesn't work out. Elysian Fields recorded an EP and an LP for Radioactive in the mid 90s, and critics loved them. A few fans did, too.

Then Jennifer Charles and Oren Bloedow recorded an album with Steve Albini. Not surprisingly, the label didn't dig it. After some protracted name-calling, Elysian Fields found itself free again, at the cost of the Albini record (which is now owned by whoever holds the Radioactive catalog these days).

Thing is, this disc fulfills the promise. Charles' breathy chanteuse style is more entrancing than ever, and Bloedow's music is amazing in its own right. These songs trip and roll along in a leisurely fashion, not too concerned with how much emotional capital they're spending.

This album is a stunner. Well, duh. I coulda written that without hearing the thing. At least, that was my anticipation. The reality surpasses my high expectations. An album that will be played for a long, long time.

Obsessively produced (mostly) acoustic space musings. David Stoller is Exist, and he played all of the instruments and co-produced this album as well. He gives a thank you to the Flaming Lips, and it's easy to hear why. This is personal, edgy pop music with a heart bigger than the sun.

And it's so obviously the work of one person. The songs bound or lurch or bloom with such assuredness and delicacy, the sort of confidence and attention to detail that can only be accomplished by one or at most two people.

Stoller does use a vibrantly distorted electric guitar to great effect (the squalls often come down like rain), and he seems to have a natural feel for what instruments will work with each song. Sometimes acoustic guitar, sometimes piano, but always the right choice.

One advantage of working within a group is the ability to get a wider sense of the quality of work. But when your mind works this well, there's no need to call in more folks, people who just might want to dumb down the material. Exist works quite well as a solo project. This disc just sparkles.

The latest thing from Tobin Sprout (he once of Guided By Voices). What you might expect: Punchy, quirky pop songs that always have one more layer than you might expect.

See, everything sounds dead-on perfect. The harmonies are loosely tight, the lead guitar licks are lean but thick enough to be memorable and the lyrics are simple, but poetically so.

What I'm trying to say is that some folks know how to write songs, and Sprout is one of them. He also knows how to properly arrange his songs, putting the proper final spin on his thoughts. Often enough, there's a breakdown somewhere in the process. Not so with Eyesinweasel.

The sort of album that appeals to both mainstream and underground listeners. There's no cheese here, but the songs sound safe enough at first. Of course, what lies beneath is another story. That's where the real pleasure comes in.

If you ever wondered where hard techno went, then check out the chilly grooves from Fatal Blast Whip. Oh, these folks do revel in the "band sound" (the individual elements are mixed together into a somewhat muddy solution), but this is a fine example of gothic techno.

And aggressive stuff at that. Not content to wallow in the past, Fatal Blast Whip tosses in plenty of modern beat theory and uses the talents of all its members. I mentioned the "band sound." I really like it. It's nice to hear electronic music that sounds like it could be played on stage.

The usual sterile sound is lost, of course, but I don't miss it. Who says an electronic band has to make music that sounds like it was manufactured by a machine? There's just no need for everyone to hew that line.

A fine effort from some folks who know how to try out new things without sounding pretentious or scatterbrained. There are plenty of club-ready tunes here, the sort of thing I'd like to hear my next time on the floor.

Manic, fist-pumping hardcore that just doesn't let up. The Forgotten may be recycling riffage and spewing forth a cliche or two, but songs fly by so fast and furiously that its hard to notice.

Most of the time, anyway. This is an album for adrenaline junkies. Past that, well, I don't think the Forgotten is really trying to achieve anything grand here. Just the odd blistering song.

The sound is great, sharply-recorded but muddy in the mix. This adds to the heightening tension while still allowing scrutiny of the individual efforts. The playing is professional if not outstanding, but do you really care?

Of course not. The Forgotten is all about playing fast, hard and loud. Anything else is an afterthought. On that score, these boys are way ahead.

Just as the Exist album is one example of the one-man recording, 4th Ward is another. Mike Shannon has plenty of help, but he's the man behind every song. He plays easygoing rock music and spices it up with often wry lyrics.

Sentimentality runs high in this form, though Shannon usually keeps his pieces from getting too treacly. Part of that comes from his vocal delivery, which is reminiscent of Lou Reed's most commercial fare.

The arrangements are where he gets into a little trouble. In the effort to sound "professional," Shannon tries a little too hard. He fills out his sound to excess, often with mushy keyboards. "Really Tired" is a pretty cool song, but he closes it with some unnecessary electric piano sounds, which totally changes the character of the song.

Shannon has a good ear for lyrics. He's not much more than a journeyman songwriter when it comes to the music. At least, he takes very few chances with the sounds behind his vocals. A little more confidence there could lead to some really fine work.

Basic roots groove work, with a few side trips. Basic and somewhat faceless. Rich Hardesty throws some interesting punches in the song intros, but from there the music trends toward the generic.

Which is too bad, because the playing is surprisingly expressive and the lyrics often have something incisive to offer. But Hardesty insists on squeezing his voice into a rather small box. On the few occasions when he lets loose, he sounds great.

Most of the time, though, he tries to sing about an octave too high. Which works if you're trying really hard to sound like Dave Matthews rather than yourself.

While the execution is great, the sound is rather sterile and generic besides. Like I said, Hardesty has a few things to say, but his ideas get lost in the backwash of his music.

Jay Hooks plays the blues like a white man. That is, with a lot of rockin' firepower. When he's in the throes of a boogie wail or simply sliding down a shuffle, that works great. When he slows things up, well, he gets into trouble.

Because all those pyrotechnics have to go somewhere, and when the pieces slow down the only thing left standing is the guitar solo. And not a subtle one at that.

For the most part, though, Hooks sticks to the better parts of his repertoire. He seems to know that he's best equipped to play the brighter shades of the blues. And boy can he sling that guitar.

As long as he sticks to the boogie, Hooks is hard to beat. Generally, he does. There's an awful lot to like here, even with the occasional misstep. Hard not to smile.

The main rhythmic force for this pop band is a soft tapping, whether it comes from the high hat, guitar or bass. It's not too hard to imagine some geeky guy in glasses at the drums, bobbing his head from side to side.

But while the rhythmic conventions may be a bit dated, the melodic side of the band is quite modern. Overlaying that tapping is a series of lines generated by guitar, piano, horn or other means. These lines interact with each other, creating intricate patterns.

Such complexity gives the 60s pop base a complete overhaul. Often, the Impossible Shapes reminds me of Cerebral Corps, a one-man band that specialized in the layered pop sound. There's always something beneath the surface.

But you gotta let it come to you. The Impossible Shapes doesn't play the sorta music that lends itself well to immediate conclusions. This stuff is contemplative, and it rewards those who are patient.

Just straightforward pop rock, a two-person operation. This means machines instead of drums, which does lend something of a demo quality to the pieces. But the songs themselves, well, they sing.

Sometimes execution doesn't matter. And that's not to say that Tony and Robin Davies can't play or are terrible engineers. Quite the opposite. It's just that this doesn't sound quite like a band. But no worries; the quality is in ample supply.

Simply put, some folks get pop and others don't. Sometimes, a hook is just a hook and a catchy chorus is just that as well. The Davies understand that and are completely at ease with the form.

Now, would these songs sound better with a full band backing (or at least regular drums)? Absolutely. But the material is solid. As long as IIMB doesn't try to overreach, it should do well.

Reveling in the excess, King Black Acid indeed does love a long song. These spacey, distortion-laden pieces average almost 8 minutes per. Not that the average listener would notice.

See, there's a trick to making long songs seem shorter. I'm not entirely sure how it works, but the key is keeping a listener occupied. It's also important not to repeat yourself too many times. Neil Young accomplishes this with some great guitar solos. King Black Acid is a bit more structured, but still manages to stay focused.

The sound, of course, is lush and languid. Never hurried and never stark. The band is certainly reaching for something great, and I think it has stretched just far enough to make it.

There are so many too-long rock songs out there. Despite the length of the pieces here, King Black Acid hasn't added to the total. Rather, these long songs are just right. Take a dip in this and you'll want to bathe for some time to come.

Not many bands would think that AC/DC and Sonic Youth are a perfect fit. But Lucid Nation tears off a chunk of "Night Prowler PCH," slinging it out as natural as can be.

Tamra Spivey purrs, growls and struts her way through this disc, adding just enough attitude to pull off such an audacious stunt. The band has aimed high, and it's not quite good enough to pull it off. But when Spivey is singing (which is most of the time), it's easy to skim over the problems.

We're not talking about huge issues, either. It's just that the musicianship isn't astonishing. These are young players, and the fingers don't quite do what they oughta. Still, the flights of songwriting fancy (and Spivey's vocal range) more than make up for any technical deficiencies.

Young bands like this are rarely dull. Lucid Nation hasn't been around long enough to have its ambition stomped flat. I hope that doesn't happen. Boy, there's a whaleload of potential in this outfit. In a year or two, maybe something special will arrive.

There's something to be said for a band that utilizes full-time clarinet, viola and piano players in addition to somewhat more expected rock instruments. What that something is depends on your tolerance for musical exploration.

I won't say experimentation, because Movietone doesn't really vary far from accepted music theory. But this certainly isn't yer average indie rock platter, either. The musical and lyrical ideas are expressed poetically, and this roundabout way of presentation can be unsettling.

Unless, of course, you're already attuned to a similar wavelength. Nothing here, from the guitar lines to the lyrics, is quite what it seems. Every piece feeds into another, and entire thoughts are often folded within larger concepts as the songs progress. The "big picture" is never revealed; you have to see it for yourself.

Exquisitely recorded, this album sets sail and never returns to shore. And why should it? There are always new lands, and new idea, to explore. Just be sure to get on board.

Will Oldham, of course, is the man behind the Palace pantheon, and Rian Murphy's name graces countless albums as a contributor, a producer or (most often) both. Their names are at the top of the marquee of this short disc because of their direction and not just participation.

There are more guests on this EP than the number of minutes it lasts. The usual suspects, including Bill Callahan (Smog), Thymme Jones, David Grubbs, Edith Frost, Darin Gray, Archer Prewitt and (but of course) Jim O'Rourke.

Considering the huge number of artists involved, it's kind of amazing that these four songs sound so intimate. Goofy, even, at times. Murphy and Oldham have done their directing jobs well: This is a terrifically affecting disc. It plays much longer than its short duration.

I don't know who else could have captured so many thoughts and emotions in a 15-minute span. Sure, most folks in the know would have guessed this effort would be good. But the greatness present surpasses even my high expectations.

Nile is currently on tour with Cannibal Corpse, and that makes sense. This is just the next step in the evolutionary process started by the Tampa terrormeisters.

Which also means that these songs lack, um, style. The brutality is unquestionable, and the musicianship is pretty solid. But the songwriting lacks panache. There are interesting moments in the introductions and interludes, but these creative ideas aren't really incorporated into the songs themselves.

What I'm saying is these guys have no aspirations to become a Fear Factory (which isn't the worst thing in the world, mind you). Nile plays death metal, Nile plays it fast and Nile plays it loud. In fact, it plays this particular style pretty well. I just get bored when all of the songs tend to run together after a while. The thought "You might want to ease up on that double bass drum work sometimes" keeps running through my head.

But see, I'm a prissy death metal fan. Back in the day I scorned Cannibal Corpse and Deicide in favor of European bands like Morgoth and Edge of Sanity (when the latter was still a death metal band). So my lack of enthusiasm here shouldn't be a surprise. Nile puts on a solid show. The diehards should be impressed.

Remember back in the early 80s? When "industrial" meant bands like the Art of Noise and Einsturzende Neubauten? When electronic music could whipsaw from playful to serious in a moment's time and no one seemed to notice? Octant does, and it constructs its pop symphonies accordingly.

Imagine Stereolab with a lot more sonic construction in the background. Octant kicks off most songs with some kind of "industrial" sculpture and then grafts a kooky pop song over that skeleton.

And damn if it doesn't work. There are lots of different ideas rolling around here, and sometimes they don't get tied up. But that's okay. The songs are so unique and so much fun that I find it hard to bitch.

I've begun to expect big things when I get an Up Records CD, and Octant does the tradition proud. The creativity shown in the writing and the skill in the execution are both first rate. For all that ferment to craft a disc this addictively fun is just a bonus. Simply wonderful.

When you play a wide range of styles, maybe it is best to describe your sound in the album title. p.i.c does that, but even the 21 letters in that "word" don't quite get the feeling across. This is a party band playing party music.

Fun, not shallowness, is the order of the day. Indeed, the six players are always in motion, creating some wonderful sounds. The lines bounce around, but always in reference to the groove.

That's what p.i.c has done best: Dress up some really tasty grooves. Good-time music should facilitate getting down. No problems with that here. From the first downbeat it's apparent that p.i.c. knows what it's doing.

Just a big wad of fun. And with enough going on to keep me interested well past the first easy smile. If you wonder how it is that party tunes can also satisfy deeper needs, look no further than this disc.

Club fare, with all that implies. Basic dance anthems, with more than a little Indian influence creeping in. Gaz Reynolds knows how to flavor his sound well.

This is on the lighter side, in the same realm as the Pet Shop Boys. Reynolds, too, knows to how to spin nice pop hooks, but instead of using his musical versatility to pump up the vocals, he allows the opposite to happen. When he sings, the music trends generic.

Which is too bad, because Reynolds has a great feel for this sound. Most folks in this area start off with some dull beats and stale keyboard riffs. Reynolds does much better, but when he starts singing, he loses some of his advantage.

Still, this is an engaging album. Folks in clubs aren't terribly concerned with anything past beats and hooks, and Reynolds provides those. To escape the clubs, he's gonna have to work to fill out his sound. He's done all the hard stuff; this last bit should be a breeze.

Four guys from Northern Ireland who have lots on their mind. The songs are sung from a blue-collar point of view. In other words, they see the troubles as just another way the powerful have oppressed the workers.

Which is about as astute a reading of the situation as I've ever heard. The music is, well, pedestrian, but played with a lot of righteous anger. Sure, you've heard these riffs before. But Runnin' Riot has something to say, and it's almost always worth hearing.

Punk music has always been a great vehicle to explore political views. The thing is, most of the folks playing it are kids, and their philosophies aren't always well thought out. Runnin' Riot, on the other hand, has a great deal of insight into the human condition, and the lyrics express themselves eloquently.

Top notch. I suppose I could ask for a bit more originality in the music, but this is basic punk, after all. I was so knocked out by what the guys said that I just didn't worry about three-chord creativity. And anyway, the tunes work. So why complain?

Music in motion. SFT (Simon Fisher Turner and Robin Rimbaud) uses a number of electronic styles to paint something of a travelogue. The idea isn't so much to describe actual places, but places that should be.

Or, perhaps or accurately, places in the mind. This disc facilitates contemplation. It's very easy to get lost within the ideas and sounds of this disc. A bounding car commercial-style track can morph into a glorious landscape. You can hear the wind blowing through the trees.

Well, not exactly. This is a self-contained universe. You have to bring your own ideas and thoughts and let the music guide your personal painting. Actually, I preferred to use the image of a train ride, imagining what I was seeing as the cars rolled along a multitude of scenes.

As you can tell, I had a great ride. There are a couple of club anthems here along with the more meditative fare. A great slice of mind-bending material. The deftness with which SFT changes gears is astonishing. Nothing sounds forced. Just, well, natural.

Free-flowing, if not actually free, jazz. Todd Sickafoose plays bass, and like most bassist composers, he's careful to make the bass a more integral part of the group sound without dominating. After all, no matter how hard you try, the bass cannot sustain a melody part for very long without sounding rather out of place.

But what the bass can do is create counter rhythms and play off the guitar, sax and trombone. Oh, yeah, by the way, the instrumentation is basic ska, though these guys don't come anywhere near a skankin' groove.

No, Sickafoose has crafted a sound somewhere in that early 60s Miles Davis/John Coltrane axis. Cool, with some flights of fancy. Nothing particularly harsh or grating. Even the technical runs are presented with style, though not slurred and blurred into "smooth jazz" territory.

An engaging and exciting album. The surface may be calm, but there are plenty of sly undercurrents to ride. Don't underestimate these pieces; when the big man is on the bass there's always something going on down there.

Thick, thick, thick in the groove. Heavy bass, but more of an electronic heaviness than a hip hop fuzz. The real star here is the beats; the rhyming is passable but often not much more.

Still, the creativity surrounding the beats and music is awesome. While sticking to a basic hip-hop feel, Sunnmoonsekt drops in all sorts of fresh ideas. Unfortunately, the rhyming is rarely up to task. As innovative as the backing tracks are, the lyrical delivery is rather generic. It just falls flat.

Part of that problem is the material. The lyrics cover familiar ground: Boasts, the street, goofin', rhymin', etc. There's not much there to get excited about.

On the other hand, a lot of this disc sounds great. If the rhymes can catch up with the music, watch out.

Digging into the vaults, the Templars pull out some sessions with other oi boys (The West Side Boys, Asociale and Yesterday's Heroes) and then add some songs that were on the Oi! This is Dynamite! compilation.

The material is five or six years old, and some of the tracks (in particular the collaborations) sound absolutely horrible. I mean, the songs themselves are better than passable, but the quality of the tapes (and perhaps the recordings themselves) isn't that good.

Very much a catch-up set for real fans, but still with enough energy to captivate. A worthy run into the past.

Some more excellent cyber-edged hard techno. There are five songs and four remixes of the title track. Among all nine tracks (not counting the intro) there's a nice amount of differentiation. Hard to get bored, even with the remixes.

I know, the band doesn't have full control of how the remixes are going to sound, but still, the four creative new takes are good. As for Temple of the Times, it keeps the sound shaken up a bit.

Like I said, hard to get bored with this set. If you're in the mood for a little icy techno with a razor edge, this might be worth a taste.

Six great-sounding songs from this band which plays in the emo new wave. Power pop with just enough stridency to sound punk. Thick and juicy.

The songs themselves are tightly constructed and played with controlled abandon. Did I mention how good this sounds? Most band would kill to have such a lustrous, full sound.

And when combined with such solid writing and playing, well, this doesn't sound like yer average self-released product. These three guys know what they're doing, and they do it extremely well. No need to wait; Thistle is ready for a solid deal.

Chandler Travis isn't kidding about the "Philharmonic" moniker. The band is basic pop, but there's a small symphony orchestra in back. Travis takes full advantage of the extra players, crafting some really fine, quirky tunes.

The accordion, string bass and horns help give these songs a laid back feel. Often, those horns are arranged in a vague Dixieland style, lending an old-timey sheen. And then sometimes Travis and the band take off on a loopy tangent.

Tangents which include down 'n' dirty country ditties, a torch song or two and more. Despite all the pretty extras, Travis and his mates are raucous good ol' boys at heart. In fact, the lyrics can get a little crude at times.

The songs just sound so great. All of the guests are integrated nicely into the pieces, and the result is a wide-ranging but cohesive album. Few people have the audacity to try so many things at once, and even fewer manage to pull it off. Travis did both, gracing us with a stylish and intriguing album.

Singer Ron Hedley sounds a whole lot like Steve Winwood when he was with Spencer Davis. Not quite as soulful, perhaps, but close. The music is more reminiscent of Winwood's solo stuff in the 80s. More punchy, if you know what I mean.

Both songs here are just basic fare brightened up by Hedley's voice. The band is just fine, but it doesn't have anything exciting to play. The stuff sounds fine, but it's undistinguished.

It's not just the lack of edge that bugs me; II Big sounds like a whole lot of AOR bands from the early 80s (Huey Lewis and the News and that sorta thing). There's nothing wrong with that. The sound is just a bit generic for my taste. That's all.

Full-tilt hardcore, though produced with quite the metal edge. Union 13 has smoothed out some of the rough edges, but this well-honed attack is as vital as ever. No one can question the intensity here.

Unfortunately, that "smoothing out" I talked about has pushed the band toward the generic. Lyrically, the guys are still fighting the good fight (in English and Spanish), but too many of the songs share the same riffage.

Not an uncommon problem in the hardcore arena, and I think the guys are somewhat aware of the issue. I mean, the production here is really sharp, emphasizing the aggro whenever possible. Sure that keeps the levels pegged, but a little variety would help.

Solid, but not distinctive. I kinda liked the young Union 13 better. Yeah, they couldn't play as well, but that led to some interesting ideas. Here, the guys seem to have learned how to play the game. Too bad.

A German tribute to the Ramones. Not all of these are Ramones songs, either. Included is Motorhead's "R.A.M.O.N.E.S." (from 1916), Nina Hagen and Dee Dee Ramone singing "Lass' Mich in Ruhe", the Badtown Boys' "Dee Dee Took the Subway" and the Dirty Scums' "I Wanna See the Ramones".

There are also a few Ramones tunes translated into German or Finnish or what have you. That's pretty interesting. But what isn't as good are the run-through performances. I mean, almost all of these bands are monster Ramones fans. And these versions (even in different languages) don't sound terribly different that the originals.

But I've gotta give some creds for the inclusion of the songs about the Ramones. They're all fun, though most can be found elsewhere. In sum, this disc is about average when it comes to tributes. Amusing, but not vital.

Cue's is a record shop in San Francisco, but this disc features nationwide talent. While the vocal styles varied, one common trend is that these acts sure know how to lay down the grooves.

The production rules. These songs all sound great, and many of them feature sharp rhyming as well. A wealth of creativity flows from this disc. Whoever selected the tracks for this set did a great job. The songs are complimentary in styles, and the sequencing keeps everything moving right along.

Anyone interested in hearing some fresh new talent ought to pick up on this album. Sixteen tracks, and they're all good. Not a clunker in the bunch. Quality of the first order.

Well, these are popular songs played by punk bands. A lot of the recordings kinda blow. And some of the songs won't be particularly familiar to American audiences.

Do you really need to hear a punk band (in this case, Terrorgruppe) play "As Tears Go By"? I don't.

But if you do, this puppy is out there. Enjoy.

Twelve bands from the Bay Area. Cool pop rock, for the most part. Bands like Applesaucer, Red Planet and more.

Not unlike the Cue's compilation reviewed earlier, this set was expertly selected and sequenced. If you like thick, chewy pop songs with plenty of guitars, I think you'll find this stuff pretty hard to resist.

Compilations this good are hard to find. Usually there are way too many clunkers and the stuff doesn't quite fit together. Neither of those issues exist here. Just some cool tunes by bands who could use some exposure. Dig in.

The first track takes a few spoken-word cracks at the out-of-favor skacore sound. Which, of course, is what the Voodoo Glow Skulls play. And that's why these guys are still going strong: They can laugh at themselves.

Not to say that there aren't serious moments here. VGS is as good as anyone as making statements while wearing wry smiles. But the real treat is the way these guys belt out muscular skacore anthems. No one plays ska thicker than this. No one.

And the ska is never quite left behind. In other words, the boys don't cheese out. This album is at least as spirited as the last. I'm beginning to think I might have been a bit harsh with my words on Baile de los Locos. Maybe not. Albums like that simply show how good ones like this are.

Back in the groove, solid as ever. These guys have been doing this forever, and yet they still do it better than anyone else. Great stuff. Just like I expected.