In days past, this album would only see a European release. But Beggars Banquet has decided (correctly, I hope) that there is at least a limited market for some of its more Euro-centric albums and is dumping small quantities on the market over here.

As for Natacha Atlas (who is a person, a woman to be specific) proper, I'm not sure where the original songs end and the remixes take off. What I can say is that the songs here are a somewhat underground electronic take on Indian (as in the sub-continent) pop music. Not unlike Grotus in days gone by.

The remixes incorporate the lilting wails and highly syncopated drum beats with ease, and the result (not surprisingly) is truly intoxicating. These pieces burble with vitality and energy, and not one segment sounds out of place. Quite well done on all fronts.

I don't see how any self-respecting underground dance fan could pass something like this up. Yeah, kids have been creating sounds like this across the way for a while. But unless you do heavy trade in the import market, you've probably not heard this sound expressed quite in this way. Entrancing.

This is becoming something a trend: Lush, panoramic pop presented as some sort of apocalyptic vision. Or, in other words, the success of The Soft Bulletin has helped like-minded folks crawl out of their holes.

Immaculately crafted; almost too much so, really. The power of the arrangements is somewhat undercut by the band's almost slavish need to drop a little distortion into the mix from time to time. Really guys, it's not necessary.

Nope, just play the heavy pop game for all it's worth. I mean, that's what Black Bird Sky does best. This is a fairly mainstream take on the sound, but I'm not saying it's dull or anything. Just more the sorta thing lots of people will like. I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

A French version of "In Particular," an Italian version of "Hated Because of Great Qualities," A Serge Gainsbourg song ("Slogan"), a remix of "For the Damaged" (retitled "Four Damaged Lemons") and a little ditty called "Chi E E Non E" (I'm not getting all the accents right; oh well). Typical Blonde Redhead.

Which, I must admit, I'm appreciating more and more. I still think these folks are weird for weirdness' sake, but even so, I can dig it. I've given up worrying about why the band plays this stuff, and I'm now concentrating on the sounds themselves. A vast improvement in my appreciation technique, I think.

You've never heard the band before and want to know what it sounds like? Well, start with Stereolab and then run a 10k to the edge of sanity. That should pretty well cover it. Except that Blonde Redhead brings an awful lot to the table. Aw, hell, I'm not gonna worry about it here. This disc is for the fans. You know who you are.

Brian Fraser and Chris Palmatier. Brian deals with most percussion issues (electronic and otherwise) and Chris handles most of the guitar and keyboard work. Though that's not exclusive by any means. The boys also get some help from friends on a few tracks.

This disc presents a few new ways to look at old songs, whether simply different takes (say, without vocals) or remixes. Antimatter and jhno take care of the latter, and the former is a wordless version of "Northward Nimbus." Near as I can tell, the other five tracks are new.

What these guys do is play with the notions of electronic music. More particularly, they simply refuse acknowledge a line between "regular" and electronic music. The pieces have a wide range of sounds, from sterile to overpoweringly organic, and it's really pretty damned impossible to pigeonhole any of them.

Well, what can be said is that just about every song is terribly involving, drawing the listener in immediately and then taking that frontal lobe on an unpredictable journey. Pretty cool isn't even close. Brian and Chris do use musical vectors to great effect. Simply wonderful.

The latest Voodoo Glow Skulls album makes fun of the "death" of skacore. Still, it's odd that Victory would pick this time to dig into a bag of Bosstones-style fare.

Catch 22 is pleasant enough. There's nothing wrong with these party anthems (I'm speaking more of the sound than the lyrics, which are generally somewhat serious), but this sound has been done to death. And this album doesn't bring much new life to the table.

Everything is spot on: The playing, the horn arrangements, even the writing is dead solid. But there's no wrinkle here, no new idea to get excited about. Just pretty much the same old same old, even if it is done real well.

I feel kinda bad about this, but I just can't get excited here. It's not that the stuff is bad (no matter how much I say this I can't say it enough), but simply that I've heard it before. Lots. And so I've developed an immunity. Bummer.

Another step down the road for Don Caballero. The songwriting and playing get tighter, and the musical ideas simply grow larger. What was once a throbbing ball of fuzz is now a whirling gyroscope, flashing off into all directions and yet somehow always managing to right itself.

The ideas have become paramount. Don Caballero, over its last couple of albums, has wandered (vaguely) into the same territory as its labelmates in the Slint/Rodan/etc. progression (June of 44 comes immediately to mind, as it always does).

But these guys write muscular songs, even if the lines are distinct. The points of intersection still vibrate with an almost unspeakable intensity. Are three guys really making music this complex, involved and vital? Yep.

I expected greatness, and I got no less. Some bands get better with age. And some simply explode. I've always loved Don Caballero, and that devotion is rewarded ten times over with each new album.

Highly-processed Gothic pop. The production has left the sound somewhat sterile, and the writing doesn't really help out.

It's one thing to want to be Sisters of Mercy. It's another to utterly copy the sound. But to then strip that sound of whatever soul it had, leaving just the crinkly plastic wrapping, well, that doesn't make any sense to me.

Because that's what is going on here. There isn't much of an original thought in any of the writing or playing, and the production is just, well, dreadful. Goth shouldn't be tinny, and that's what this is. I understand a sparse sound, but that's not how these songs are written.

Some things just don't work for me. At its best, Dreadful Shadows is stealing. The worst? Well, you don't want to know.

DJ Cue takes on the DMT mantle on this, the second of five planned Drum Machine Technicians discs. The title, of course, is supposed to denote the explosive nature of Cue's beat work.

But these beats are more mood setters than floor burners. This disc sounds like it's been put together by a DJ who wants to take chances. The flow isn't there, and not all of the ideas work, but for sheer breadth of beat work, it's hard to do better than a disc like this.

Unfortunately, there's very little experimentation within each track. So while this is a great set for the practicing DJ, it's probably of less interest to the average beat junkie.

Nothing wrong with that, mind you. Just want to warn folks, you know. DJ Cue is a technician of the highest order. The beats here warrant attention.

The sort of lo-fi, low key folk-pop noodlings that seem to accumulate under the Drag City label. Not quite so idiosyncratic as Palace, but not so poppy as Smog (to dig into that Drag City for a couple of references).

The songs simply roll on and on, with seemingly just enough momentum to keep things in motion. In reality, of course, there's plenty of intensity to drive the motors. It's just the quiet kind.

Obviously, the lyrics tend toward the questioning and introspective. This sort of sound is driven by ultra-personal revelations and a general need to shock. "Did he really say that?" Yeah.

But Durdy Birdie doesn't play gotcha too often. Most of these songs simply explore the darker side of the mind. Pleasant? Not always. But certainly worth the ride.

David Dvorin not only utilizes modern digital recording technology to put together his pieces, he uses the unique opportunities afforded to further his compositional style.

First, there's the title track, a piece in six movements that's scattered throughout the disc. Dvorin uses samples as percussive elements, thematic anchors and even as structural supports of the melodies.

On another track, Dvorin flips his original melody around, playing both the original and the reversed on top of each other to create a truly spooky effect. The thing is, whether he's using guitar, banjo or a sample to anchor a song, there's always another shade to the sound.

The multi-leveled thought process behind this disc truly impresses me. The "simple" sounds are anything but, and the more intense moments bring together an impressive coalescence of ideas. A stunning set of pieces.

"Choke the chicken" country music. Curtains of distortion, a whaleload of punk attitude and astonishingly earnest singing. Reminds me a lot of Enormous Richard, a great St. Louis band back in the late 80s and early 90s.

The lyrics aren't terribly jokey, but they are laid back and often have a pretty lilt to them. The music simply refuses to be serious, though again the novelty factor is about zilch.

No, these songs just lurch forward in a two-step stagger, kinda like some of the Mekons' rootsier moments. The production is fairly crude, but all of the elements (at times the basic line-up is joined by violin, cello, accordion and more) blend well, even if the sonic effect carries with it something of a bludgeon.

Fun, though, and terribly involving. I found it impossible to sit still listening to this. There's just too much energy, joy and intensity to meekly slump in my chair. Nope, I had to get up and jump around the room a bit. Which is always a good sign.

The songs are segued together with outdoor ambient sounds (which sometimes also occur in the middle of the songs proper as well). The music itself is sort of a post-modern take on the Doors, an emphasis on poetry and poetic music. You know, I'm not exactly sure what "poetic music" means, either. But I'm sticking with it.

I kinda go the same way with the band. The songs are often mere fragments, thoughts flitting into space. Yes, they're connected by the segues, but perhaps they also connect to each other. Maybe the whole unifies some of the less-complete pieces.

Maybe. I've wended through this a couple of times, and I generally like it. Unfortunately, I'm not particularly able to express why. I think the music and the lyrics connect on more of a subconscious level. That and the kinda glam (you know, like T. Rex) sheen some of the songs take on. That I know I like.

Not so much fun as entrancing. I just have this compulsion to listen. One of these days I'll figure it out, I suppose, but for now I'll just hit repeat once again. Take care of the fix.

You know, when you use the Crimson Tide Drum Ensemble (I'm assuming that would be made up of Alabama band geeks) to help fill out the sound of a quirky fuzz-pop tune (by the name of "Embrace the Crimson Tide"), you're getting out on the edges of rational behavior. Especially when you're based in Athens, home of UGA and the Bulldogs.

Maybe I'm just taking this whole collegiate rivalry thing a bit too far. The songs themselves are quite cool, idiosyncratically unable to sound alike. Nope, each piece jumps off from a completely different promontory and lands in a new, verdant valley. Kinda hard to pin down a band sound that way, I know, but it sure makes for a fine album.

Particularly when the songs themselves work so well. No clunkers. Clunky, some of them, but with enough motion to set the hooks. The production is basic, kinda bass heavy (particularly on the fuzz tunes), but well within accepted parameters.

Britpop, except that these pieces are influences by the likes of Husker Du and Sonic Youth and folks like that (ahem). You know, just another cool Athens band. With a wonderfully wide-ranging musical scope and impressive ability. The sort of ingredients that make for a great disc.

A less than original title for the disc, and somewhat less than original hardcore inside. These boys usually record for Jade Tree, but are doing a one-off for Revelation.

Doesn't do it for me. There's plenty of energy, and some nice ragged harmonies behind the wall of distortion. But damn, guys, the high midtempo anthem has only been done about a million times. And you put five more on this disc. They're fine and all. They get the blood going. But they don't do much more.

Even the Ramones-y "E.X.P.L.O.S.I.O.N." doesn't raise the excitement level. Hey, it's loud, and there are a few hooks. Like loads of other bands. I just don't hear anything unique here. Adrenaline is fine, but I still like to switch veins now and again.

Tightly-woven songs that rely as much on strings as they do on guitars. There is a fair amount of noise as well, and the vocals certainly have a certain squall to them, but the strings hold the key to the sound, even though they exist on only three of nine songs.

Bands that like strings write song in certain ways, even reconstructed punk outfits like the Fire Show. How far from punk are we? Quite a ways. But there's an anarchic bent behind the songs here, a notion that music doesn't have to sound like anything in particular.

The pieces kinda bubble along, sometimes snarling and sometimes cooing. Ah, it's come to me! This reminds me of Jane's Addiction, circa Nothing Shocking. Vocal style (though not exactly sound) and the general need to really fuck with song construction are the main connections.

This album comes together about as well, too. The more songs I hear, the more the whole comes into focus. A cool idiosyncratic romp through whatever it means to be a band these days.

70s-style metal riffage combined with 80s-style heavy duty production. Sharp sounding tunes without much in the way of vocals.

Certainly, no lyrics were harmed in the making of this album. The Fucking Champs simply specialize in melodic metal tracks. Great guitar playing, outstanding crunchy riffola and an innate sense of how this stuff should really sound.

The style is vaguely Euro-metal, though there are some Van Halen-ish moments (though without the guitar pyrotechnics). The focus here is on the sound, not necessarily on the music itself. This stuff sounds amazing.

And that's my only quibble. The liners spend forever talking about the technical process behind the making of this album, and I can tell you that every bit of effort pays off. I do wish the songs themselves had a little flair to them. Just a little. Of course, that's not gonna keep me from cranking this one up a little louder the next time.

Finally, more stuff from these boys. I really dug the split they did with Errortype:11 earlier this year, and now there's more goodies. Power pop punk with muscular hooks and nicely marbled riffs.

Reminds me more than a bit of Judge Nothing, a great band from a few years back. Gameface is heavier. In fact, I'm amazed that these boys can create such catchy songs with this sound. So thick and yet so addictive.

When I get into a disc like this, I tend to bliss out rather than pay attention for the review. Sometimes (okay, most of the time), I love this job. And it's stuff like this that keeps me going. Heavy-duty pop, written with just enough wiggle room to lend a loose feel to the tightly-turned tuneage.

Um, sometimes people do just about everything right. Take Gameface. I haven't heard a bad song from these boys yet. This is like shooting crack straight into your heart. Trust me. Uncontrollable joy is unavoidable.

More goodies from Sweden. More Buzzcocks than Ramones, and messier than both. Indeed, the Hives seem to like making a mess of things, in the finest punk tradition, of course.

The guys play a very basic punk sound, kinda that stripped-down and ragged pop thing. The songs start simply and don't go anywhere from there. The treats have to be gleaned from the energy.

There is plenty of that. A nice bit of flair, too. I mean, this stuff is so simple that the cusp of distortion sound works really well. Adds some substance that's definitely needed.

A fun little set. Nothing outstanding, mind you, but a more than able distraction. I can just about guarantee a smile. That's always worth a listen.

Pretentious, idiosyncratic and almost maniacally controlled, Karate plays the sort of abstract rock that really pisses off most folks. Few bands approach the almost willful annoyance that Karate creates.

That's a compliment, by the way. I'm more than willing to accept the fact that I'm "one of those critics" who likes the weirdest stuff around and sneers at the everyday. My feeling is, if you've got a rocket in your pocket, then baby, you've got to let it roll.

Anyway, the pseudo lounge feel (a very clean and dull guitar sound, in particular) sands down some of the prog leanings, though the rather unorthodox songwriting really can't be changed. And it shouldn't. I like the way the lines intersect at strange angles, the stream of consciousness lyrics. The stuff that makes Karate truly original.

Why sound like somebody else? I've never understood why some folks slavishly imitate their idols. Karate has created something that it can properly call its own. There's not even a genre to drop this in. It simply is. It's more than alright, is what it is.

Crunchy fuzz rock, somewhere between Black Sabbath and the Stooges. A little closer to the Stooges, perhaps, since most of these songs have a nice tempo. Power, raw and undiluted.

Quality? I'm still pondering. The music is quite well-played. That's what drives this disc. The vocals (and the lyrics) are decent, but not particularly exciting. They kinda exist because this sorta music needs something up top (like singing).

The production is first rate, channeling the power into the right grooves. This puppy just pounds its way out of the speakers and never lets up. You can feel this thing all deep in your bones.

And if the singing had a bit more purpose, well, I'd be enthralled. As it is, I liked the album well enough. More than enough aggression to get the blood flowing nicely.

Folks call this alt. country? I dunno. That's kinda like calling Garth Brooks country. There are some rockabilly elements, but this is more classic country married to a rock and roll rhythm section. When it's country at all. Hmmm. Maybe I've got my definitions all screwed up.

In any case, Lou Ford (that is a band name, by the way, and not a person) sure does know how to sell its songs. A lot of these pieces are over-the-top Big Star-style pop songs, and the band is always just that little step off. Like you want them to be.

If you hit all the notes at all the right times, then there's no suspense, no drama. A blue note now and again keeps the listener honest. Lou Ford knows that perfect playing can lead to boring music. And these dreadfully honest songs are anything but dull.

Rock and roll is just the marriage of country and jump blues. Always has been. Lou Ford illustrates that simple fact in every song. An enthralling history lesson that sounds ultramodern. In other words, there's talent here.

Not many bands would devote two pages of their greatest hits disc to excerpts from fan mail. That's a nice touch. And when you've been around since forever (or at least 1987), to still care that much is impressive.

If you're paying attention, this compilation is a bit dated, with the last track coming from 1997. What's interesting is how little the band changed over time. The band name comes from a Killing Joke song, of course, but the sound is tres Sisters.

Most of the time Love Like Blood shows a good feel for the sound. You'd hope, since this is supposedly the band's best stuff. There are some interesting side trips, like the cover of "Heroes." But even there, Love Like Blood sticks too close to its idol.

Technically, this stuff is awfully good. But there isn't much here to distinguish the band from any number of other wannabes, other than the fact that Love Like Blood has had a deal for more than 10 years. Just not enough of a reason for me.

So I'm listening to this, and my immediate thought is: Damn, this sounds like Tim Elder! A combination of both the voice and the programming style of the drum machines. So I go up on JohnLudi.com and discover, indeed, this this is Tim Elder. Or, more accurately, Tim Elder is John Ludi. Well, I think his real name is something else again, but we'll stick with Ludi for now.

For those who missed my 1995 review of his Fashionable Angry disc, Ludi's voice is reminsicent of Peter Murphy, but with a rootsy thing going on. The music has progressed from the Minneapolis rock sound (as Ludi himself has moved from Minnesota to Chicago) to a more basic modern rock feel, but the writing is just as solid.

And that's what Ludi does well. He writes great songs. He's not the world's greatest singer (though his voice is interesting), and his drum machine still sounds like it's popping out of joint every once in a while. But the quality of the songs themselves is quite apparent. There's a depth and soul that most people miss.

I was bummed a couple years back when I noticed that Elder (okay, Ludi) had "closed" his Tim Elder personality (that's how he put it). Hey, as long as the music keeps coming, we're cool.

The instructions are to play this puppy at maximum volume. Alright, though it's pretty damned loud when it's soft, if you know what I mean.

Thick, throbbing grooves and pounding riffage, but the heart and soul of these pieces are pure pop. There are even great hooks hiding behind the wall of sound.

The recording was great. Only two people make up the Medea Connection, but this disc sounds like a full band. The songs just keep churning (and making my floor rumble--once the noise from the speakers caused my player skip!) and I just keep bobbing along.

Way, way too much fun. Once this train gets rolling, there's no stopping it. Sure, the pieces are simplistic, but that's why they work. Pure, undiluted power and shiny candy hooks. A great combination.

And now for something completely different. Some of the geezers out there might recall the work of John S. Hall (of King Missile) and Kramer (ace producer and Bongwater dude). Strange musical wanderings topped off by Hall's inimitable delivery of songs about circle jerks and other amusing situations.

Midget Handjob plys the same waters, though both the music and the voice are somewhat more normal. The subjects and the situations, however, are at least as unsettling.

These aren't so much songs as performances. The real star is the audaciousness of the lyrics, and I know that's something of a novelty. After a while, nothing's shocking, you know? But then, there's always the music in the background, a clamorous set of sax-driven pieces that have plenty to recommend all on their own.

No one's really trying to do anything like this these days. If for that and no other reason, Midget Handjob deserves kudos. Of course, there's a whole lot more. Dive in headfirst.

Eighteen songs, all recorded in an afternoon. Not only was the music improvised, the titles to the pieces were also crafted on the spot. Which explains the name of a song like "Waukesha all Praise to Thee."

Mrs. Fun is Connie Grauer on keyboards (including a bass line) and Kim Zick on drums. This is very much a jazz act, though thick enough in the grooves to appeal to the pop set without being stuck in that "smooth" category.

Grauer and Zick have been at it for years, so they know exactly how to play off each other. Their improvisations sound almost crafted, and there's rarely a time when the two are out of sync.

Either you get it or you don't. That's the whole story. If you can't dig two highly talented musicians exploring the edges of their sound, well, okay then. The rest of us are going to have a little fun.

These boys may hail from Long Island, but the sound is early 90s Bad Religion, without all the ultra-tight oozin' ahs. The songs do have a bit of the emo anthemic construction, but the chord progressons and bass lines are straight outta L.A.

Actually, I've always wondered what this music would sound like without the BR's technical precision. Turns out it's pretty good. The looser feel drops some emotion into the songs, though the hooks obviously don't set quite so deeply.

What does help the hooks is the emo. Not the same, of course, but that's okay. A bit more of an insistent, strident attack does the job. Gets the point across, anyway.

An invigorating romp. The twisting of styles works quite well, and the writing is first-rate. The enthusiastic playing shows off the songs in the best way possible. Top quality all the way around.

It's been a while. I kinda lost track of the guys after Neurosis moved over to Relapse, but let me say quickly that all is forgiven. I mean, it's hard to stay mad (especially when I wasn't) when the music comes in like this.

Neurosis has decided to leave the heavy-duty electronic noodlings to the Tribes of Neurot side project and is back where it started, creating long, rambling apocalyptic hardcore masterpieces.

Now, this is not to say that the production notions learned along the way have been forgotten. Not at all. The boys still use effects and noise and samples, but they've been integrated nicely into the churning, crushing pieces that are a Neurosis trademark.

Four songs clocking in at about 32 minutes. Man, this stuff sounds great! I was wondering if the guys would ever match Enemy of the Sun. They might have. No one makes music like this, and I'm not sure that anyone else could make music like this sound so great. All hail the masters!

A 1995 disc from Willie Nininger, the troubadour I met while drinking my way through the south of England in May. His letterhead reads simply "country-folk-rock" and that's about where he plys his songs.

At first listen, it might be easy to describe the sound with the title of the album. But the playing (especially from Tim Wechgelaer on fiddle and mandolin) is just exquisite, and these songs simply have too much earnest intensity to be dismissed as MOR.

Not to say that Nininger doesn't dig into his bag of sentiment once again. Of course he does. But the lyrics are incisive and hardly self-important, even on the "serious" songs. And when the mood picks up, the comments get sharper in a hurry (in all the good ways).

I know a lot of folks who have little patience for fare such as this. But Nininger is just another example of how it's impossible to dismiss an entire genre. His dedication to the craft alone is enough to recommend this disc. And that's just the beginning. He's never going to be world-renowned, but those who hear his stuff will probably treat him that way.

This visit to the geezer rock nursing home is brought to you by a severe case of 80s nostalgia. Jim Peterik not only wrote most of the big Survivor tunes, he also wrote stuff for 38 Special, Sammy Hagar and others. Take that however you like.

Anyway, he's surrounded himself with a bevy of folks who don't have anything better to do, including Dennis DeYoung (Styx), Kevin Cronin (REO), Don Barnes (38 Special), Kelly Keagy (Night Ranger) and, on one song, Tom Keifer (Cinderella) and Rick Nielsen and Bun E. Carlos (Cheap Trick). For some reason, he also kicks out a blues track with Buddy Guy.

But even that cover of "Vehicle" sounds a lot more like "The Search Is Over" than the 1970 Ides of March smash. The production is sharp, but come on; this is music for guys who pad around in elastic-waisted Dockers.

That's the thing. There's too much craftsmanship to say this blows. It doesn't. It's just that I quite liked listening to stuff like this in 1985 or so. And I'm really not in the mood to look back. Just the way it goes, I guess.

Think of this as simply an extension of last year's full length. The first track, "And Often Off Again," is the unscrambled version of "An Alarm Goes Off." The second track, "Our Nearest Neighbors," was also recorded at the same time as the album. There are also remixes of "Parts Per Million" and "Boring Ghosts."

Red Stars Theory is not only contemplative, it ruminates over even the smallest musical details. This might explain the presence of this EP. Apparently, a few things still needed to be said about the first album. These are, indeed, new thoughts, and they're about as intriguing as the ones that came before.

These guys require rapt attention from a listener. The challenge, at times, can be steep, but the rewards are immense. Get lost, and you just might get found.

Sometime last year, I was in a record shop. This really cool, loud music played. I knew the band, but couldn't think of it. Asked the clerk what it was, and he gave me ten minutes of a ran on how pissed off he was that the Refused had broken up.

Of course. No other hardcore band sounded anything like the Refused. Elements of noise, electronic manipulation and tight-wire politics fused together into a seamless sonic attack. Fucking brilliant is what it was.

So anyway, this 1998 EP (which includes a remix of "Refused Are Fucking Dead") must stand as a final will and testament. Needless to say, it performs the job with reckless and stunning abandon. More than appropriate, and more than adequate. Simply put, a must.

Fuzzy, almost to the point of grunge. But these are heartfelt garage pop songs, just with a little extra distortion in the guitars. The hooks? Solid, if a little flat. That probably comes from the emo wash the guys give the sound.

And so, what is Sinclaire trying to do? Take emo to the masses or present a stripped-down, fuzzy version of alt. pop? I still can't tell, and I've heard a bunch of songs from these guys by now.

The problem I'm having is that the stuff is pretty good. Not great, not horrible and not mediocre. Better-than-average, but still a little milquetoast. As if the title of the album wasn't so much sarcasm as subconscious intent.

What I'd really like to hear from Sinclaire is a focuses effort. I think the playing gets a little lost at times, and the songwriting certainly could be sharper. Like I said, these guys are pretty good. They could be much better than that.

David Chastain's latest group, and he's trying to sling the metallized blues. Kinda like a crunchier and heavier version of what ZZ Top's been selling for the last 15 years or so.

The playing is top-notch (did you expect less?), but I'm not so sure about the sound. The more traditional metal guitar sound just doesn't translate well into the blues. Put it this way: You can write a metal song based on a blues shuffle, but don't try to write a blues song based on metal guitar. It just sounds weird.

To be honest, the songwriting here is fairly faithful to the blues. At least, the guitar lines are authentic. The rhythm section, however, is straight up rock and roll. Which causes a few more translation problems.

Not at all bad, but some what miscast, I think. I don't think Chastain is pushing this as a straight blues album, but there's a bit too much of a "white guy blues" thing going on here to really get me excited. Can't complain about his guitar work, but after that the project just doesn't have much soul.

Unlike the band's previous effort, the songs on this album are rather more completed. The songs still have goofy titles like "Inadvertent Christmas Song" and "Dog with the Lampshade Head," though, and that cockeyed sense of reality pervades both the music and the lyrics.

Vocals that are often overdubbed in unison. Kinda creepy, really, though I did manage to get used to it after a while. Mostly, of course, because these songs are so warm and inviting that it's hard to stay outside for every long.

And even though the construction of the songs is a bit more coherent (most of the time), the stream-of-consciousness feeling still pervades. This disc channels inner thought processes, an intrusion that can be uncomfortable at times.

That's a good thing, to leave listeners unsettled. Swearing at Motorists has evolved, but it hasn't come close to cheesing out. The songs simply strike home that much faster.

Todd Tijerina knows the blues. From the first note he strikes on his guitar, it's apparent that something great is happening. Tijerina knows the blues can be hot, cool, happy, sad and just about everything in between. He can play shuffles, call and response, slow ballads and bright celebrations.

He shows off all those sounds and more here. Even more impressive, all of the songs on this disc are original. They're close enough to the classics to provide a frame of reference, but Tijerina's guitar playing and singing are all his own.

Now, he is from the Chicago area, and it's pretty apparent that Tijerina has picked up a few mannerisms from a number of area players. What he does is take those pieces and assemble them into his own, unique style. A fluid, yet sometimes fiery sound, Tijerina plays with an almost-incomprehensible intensity.

Laid back? Not here. Tijerina and his band charge hard, even in the slower numbers. Can't fault the guys for effort, and the results stack up in the positive column as well. One quality set of songs.

Unlike the other Oblivion releases I've reviewed in this issue, Umbra et Imago has its own sound. A snarling, gothic metal sound that stops a lot more than it starts.

When it gets going (which happens every once in a while), the result sounds a lot more like death metal (say, early Tiamat) than traditional goth rock. I'm not slagging; those are often the best moments.

But very few songs make it all the way through without giving way to some sort of break or narration or something else. I'm not about to rain on anyone's artistic parade, but incoherence for its own sake just doesn't do it for me.

Still, there's enough here to keep me interested. I truly had no idea what the album would sound like from song to song. Umbra et Imago didn't pull all the tricks off, mind you, but at least it's trying.

Big names play songs that Jimi Hendrix made famous. Michelle Shocked, Eric Gales, Vernon Reid, Walter Trout, Eric Burdon, Trudy Lynn, Taj Majal and more dip into the blues pocket for this tribute.

For the most part, the artists tack a different direction than Hendrix on these renditions. No one tries to replicate his guitar work. Rather, the artists seemed to want to tap into the spirit, not the sound, of Hendrix.

That's the best way to go with a collection like this. There was only one Jimi Hendrix. His writing, playing and singing has inspired just about every guitar player of note in the last 30 years. He can't be replicated. Bu he can be celebrated.

And so he is here. I certainly didn't expect to be moved anywhere near as much as I was. I've heard three previous Hendrix tributes, and none of them did anything for me. This one works. Extremely well.

Just what the title says. At least, these are goth dance tunes, and many of them are classics. Certainly, "Wasteland" (The Mission"). "Godstar" (Psychic TV), "Love Like Blood" (Killing Joke), "Bela Lugosi's Dead" (Bauhaus) and "The Weeping Song" (Nick Cave) qualify.

There's also quality stuff from Einsturzende Neubauten, Diamanda Galas, Alien Sex Fiend, Fields of the Nephilim, Type O Negative and more. Alright, so Oblivion did reserve a few spots for lesser talent from its own ranks, but not enough to get pissy about.

Nope, this is a pretty decent commercial goth sampler. Certainly, it provides a nice way of taking some first steps into a darker world. Pretty useful that way, I'd say.

A lot of the same bands as the Bowie tribute come together here. The one great move? Not attempting to present "This Corrosion." I mean, that would really be silly.

The reason the Bowie tribute sounded alright is because most of the bands sounded a lot more like Sisters. That's one reason this puppy doesn't fly so well. I mean, why hear similar, but lesser, versions of good songs?

I dunno. Buy the Sisters' greatest hits. That way you get to hear the superior originals. And, of course, "This Corrosion."

Uniformly better produced than the first set. Once again, I have to ask the question, do we really need a punk version of ELO's "Don't Bring Me Down?" Probably not. There is also the added translation problem in that many of these "chartbusters" never made it across the Atlantic. The designers didn't pay a whole lot of attention to detail (it's Don Henley, not Don Hanley, guys), which simply adds to my perception that this is a slap-dash affair.

Still, it is more enjoyable than the first edition. Whoever cranked these out did learn from the initial offering. That's always a good sign.

A collection of chilly industrial techno fare (what some once called the cold wave) from the Pacific Northwest (I'm counting Alaska and British Columbia in that designation). It's always a pleasure to hear something new from SMP (first track, even), and to tell the truth, most of the other tracks here lived up to that opening song.

There's always been a fertile electronic/industrial community in that part of the world. I've reviewed plenty of bands from up there, and not many of those are on this set. Just proves there's a lot more where the earlier good stuff came from.

A solid set from start to finish. This collection presents a bevy of talent, all worthy of more than a second listen. This is one of the few compilations that illuminates, and it does so brilliantly.

Well, about what you might guess. Goth industrial acts (the lighter side) play a few Bowie tracks. A natural, if you consider that Bowie has to be considered one of the prime influences of the sound.

Even so, most of the renditions here don't ape the originals. They do somewhat sound alike, with heavy echo effects on the guitars and the seemingly ever-present goth beat.

Ah, well, nothing's perfect. This tribute is enjoyable, even if it does get tiring after a few songs. Fodder for the dance floor, if nothing else. In small doses, this is pretty good.

Quite a while back I said some less than kind things about a W.O.O. album. I didn't think the folks were quite ready back in 1995. Perhaps I wasn't ready. It happens.

W.O.O. Revelator improvises. Wildly. Freely. And so no version of a song sounds even vaguely like another. For this disc, the band invited Ernesto Diaz-Infante and Pat Harman to sit in. Since that review, Chris Forsyth and his guitar wizardry has joined the group. That's a big help. Diaz-Infante and Harman also help to create a wonderful atmosphere for creative ferment. This is otherworldly-sounding fare.

Basically, no one else sounds like this. Not even W.O.O. Revelator, as the scene changes every night. But this intoxicating set of songs should be more than enough to encourage folks to see a show and become entranced in real life. Barring just, just plop this in the discer and revel.

A rather interesting chance of pace from the album I heard a couple years back. Rather than imbue each song with a sense of impending importance, Walkie Talkie has stepped back, sticking instead to basic pop gems. Simplification never sounded so good.

The same country and blues roots are present, but there's nothing over the top about these arrangements. The spotlight shines sharply on the writing, and the writing carries the day.

Whether acoustic or electric, Walkie Talkie's stripped-down approach and vastly clearer sound really impresses me this time out. The songs alight from the speakers and attack my ears with just enough intensity to bite. Having made a fine introduction, they trickle on in.

I heard potential in the last album. It's fulfilled here. Of course, now the band doesn't have a deal. Well, music like this just might change that. Certainly, these songs are more than worthy.