Craig Bennett has his heart set somewhere in England. He writes songs that evoke Nick Cave and other similarly moody--yet talky--artists. The feeling here is pure understatement, which means you've got to pay some attention.

Work does have its rewards. Bennett has a wry take on relationships. His lyrics have plenty of bite, but these aren't the songs of some disillusioned, heart-broken misanthrope. That's because Bennett is just as likely to turn the mirror on the characters in his songs (characters that are most likely him, at least from time to time). We all do silly (not to mention stupid) things, and we might as well get over it now.

Coming to the heart of these observations isn't easy, however. Bennett hardly writes shiny songs, and while his plodding melodies do carry some charm, they aren't instant crowd-pleasers. Repeat listens are necessary. And recommended. Highly recommended.

A nice, stripped-down sound. BluesBurners aren't the sort of band to tear down the house, but these easy-going pieces have a simple charm. There's nothing complicated, just good, basic slow boogie.

K.C. Caramillo has a fine blue voice. She doesn't worry about the pyrotechnics, instead focusing on keeping the songs in motion. And these aren't the sorts of songs that demand an over-the-top performance. Keep it in pocket. That's all.

That sound I mentioned is a real key to the success of this disc. It's full enough to provide a great canvas for the songs, but it doesn't get in the way of things or in any way interfere with the music.

Hey, this isn't the world's greatest blues album. BluesBurners can lay down a moderate boogie, though, and move the night along. Solid, if unspectacular.

Tuneful yet crunchy hardcore. Reminds me a lot of old (like, you know, old) Social D. Before those boys discovered the evils of the 12-string guitar. Short, pithy anthems that are high on energy and low on technique.

The melodies sometimes are more assumed than sung. But hell, the stuff doesn't slow down and get stuck in a ditch. Bonecrusher keeps the pedal down, and the songs follow in proper order.

The production quality varies from song to song, but most of the time it lends a thick feel. Bonecrusher needs a little power to go with the primitive hooks, and that's amply provided.

Anthems in their purest state. If this stuff gets cleaned up much more, it would probably become dreck. But right here, in this form, it's like rock candy. Maybe it's bad for you (maybe not), but it's just so damned tasty.

Daniel Christopherson is a guitar teacher. He operates things called the Zillion Guitar clinics. In the liners he has a page that's titled "Power chords are fun." Indeed they are. You can play most Judas Priest using the instructions on that page (trust me; I learned that much years ago).

I kinda like the idea of how Christopherson teaches guitar. He seems to emphasize the fun rather than strict technique. If you really want to get technical, I'm sure he can help. But why not teach kids (and adults) to have fun on the guitar?

Ah, well, that's the part of this endeavor that I like. Unfortunately, I've also got to say a few things about the music. Christopherson is a talented guitarist. But instrumental guitar albums are tough beasts to tame (Joe Satriani and Steve Vai have struggled mightily with the form), and Christopherson hasn't really done the job here. The songs are awash in keyboards that don't really add much, and the songs don't do much other than providing a platform for showing off his admirable skills.

But, hey, you've gotta play what you've gotta play. I can hear the talent, but I'm just not a big fan of this sort of project. Guitars can make wonderful sounds, but they aren't a substitute for a voice. And that's how these songs are set up, with the guitar taking up the vocal track. There's just not enough complexity. Oh well. Still gotta say, I like the idea behind this. Music should be fun.

Rolling, lush atmospheric goth synth symphonies occasionally combined with the aggression and drum breaks of black metal. A natural pairing, of course, but one that few really go after.

Now, unlike Cradle of Filth, this isn't death metal with gothic overtones. This is goth music with just a hint of the black metal. The intros and basic musical track are sweeping and gorgeous. The background vocals are generally of the common faux-operatic style, but the lead vocals are that nice death metal growl.

Really, this is a classy pairing of the two sounds. Extreme fans won't be satisfied, I'll tell you that. But goth fans intrigued by such mid-90s faves as Edge of Sanity should get excited by this.

Corvus Corax has created an entrancing sound. And by putting this album together as a triad of lengthy pieces (with one short interlude), it has emphasized some of the classical theory behind the music. A truly exciting disc.

Weird, eclectic rock influenced by the blues, folk, country and the kitchen sink. Kevin Coyne sings in the fashion of Randy Newman: That pinched, almost howling style. And his songs also are written along many of the same lines, with idiosyncratic lyrical tangents.

Generally optimistic , these songs rumble along, becoming more and more endearing. Coyne's voice, also, begins to materialize as a comfy, familiar entity. He's just sittin' back, telling a few stories.

The fairly sophisticated, yet restrained, production brings out the best in the songs. Indeed, this album doesn't sound so much like a music collection as a storyteller compilation. Not in the VH-1 sense, but in the sitting around the campfire sense.

Every once in a while Coyne goes for the home run. But he's a line-drive hitter. And a good one. Sit back, pop a beer, and listen to Coyne ramble. A good way to pass some time.

A wonderfully inventive and eclectic (you might think I'm using that word too much, but I'm not) band. Crazy Mary simply refuses to stick to any one particular style. Well, unless you want to say the band is reminiscent of the Mekons. That would be fair.

And a high compliment, as regular readers will note. Crazy Mary expresses lots of strange ideas in even more unconventional fashion. And yet, it's still rock and roll. From Venus, perhaps, or Mars, but the roots can be spotted.

With two principal songwriters, three singers (two male--the writers--and one female) the comparisons to the troupe-formerly-hailing-from-Leeds increase. The real trick to making this sort of music convincing is evoking a sense of vulnerability and fragility. As if we are really seeing inside the collective heart of the band.

Crazy Mary offers itself up on the altar of rock and roll. You can decide whether or not to proceed with the sacrifice. Personally, I've drawn my knife. I'm ready for more.

For those not wanting to buy the whole boxed set (the six-disc Rare Cult), there's this smaller collection. The songs aren't necessarily unknown. Many are outtakes, but there are some pieces even die-hard fans haven't heard before.

Alright, I can hear the jibes now. Who in the world would want six discs of rare Cult material? Well, not me. At least not before hearing this disc. I always though Ian Astbury, Billy Duffy and assorted pals had something of a bloated sound and approach. Tell the truth, they did, particularly later on.

But there are plenty of lean and tight rockers on this set as well. Indeed, there isn't a bad track on this disc. I assume there's plenty of mediocre stuff on the full oddities set (that's kinda the point of such things), but this single disc stands alone very well.

I surprised myself by linking this so much. Back when the Cult was a true going concern, I never really got into the band. I might have to reconsider my general dismissal. This is a more-than-solid set.

There's this thing about trios. For some reason, that grouping of players tends to encourage either freewheeling playing or ultra-tight arrangements. The best of these do both.

The Dickheads wail away without fear. And while sometimes it sounds like its members are on different planets, the songs never quite come apart. There's a central attracting force somewhere, and the boys adhere to it, if only slightly at times.

The production helps, as it's sharp enough to give each member his own space. That sonic room to roam might also be what ultimately ties the band sound together.

A joyful rush of pure pleasure. The Dickheads have an innate knack for creating solid, hooky songs that simply bound forth from the stereo. There's no way to accurately describe the energy that flows forth from this disc. It's astonishingly powerful. That's gonna have to do for now.

So the first sound from this album performed by the band Electramone is an acoustic guitar. What the hell does that say?

It's gonna be a bumpy ride. Electramone plays a really loud version of jangle rock, but that's not even the half of it. There's a mid-60s Stones feel, and plenty of Stooges in there as well. Power chords blasting all the way to hell.

I suppose the best way to describe the sound is post-garage. I mean, Electramode's members can write, play and sing, but they don't necessarily show off all those talents at the same time. This is a rough, ragged album (and the sound reflects that spirit nicely) that leaves little room for conventional niceties.

What there is room for is conventional acclaim. Electramone blasts a huge hole in the world of generic rock. A throbbing, reeling attack on the idea that rock only works when all emotion is stripped out of the sound. Simply blistering.

At first, I thought Enemy Mine might just be another extreme hardcore band. Well, a pretty good one. But still, nothing unusual like I generally expect from Up. That thought passed when the second song started.

Enemy Mine is an hardcore band, and on the extreme side as well. It also borrows heavily from the emo and noise rock movements, sliding non-linear melodic ideas and other concepts into the powerful riffage. Not unlike Snapcase, one of the great modern hardcore bands.

These guys, however, really stray from the formula. There's nothing "regular" about these songs. Indeed, just anything can happen, though Enemy Mine does a great job of keeping the "groove" (I use that term extremely loosely here) in pocket.

Not quite so technical as Refused, but a comparison can be made there as well. Enemy Mine wields its big stick with awesome authority. Sometimes, absolute power simply produces great music.

Loosely written, but tightly performed and produced, pop music. There's a reason Four Star Mary has had its music featured on "Buffy." This is prototypical "alternative" music, but in a good way (kinda like the show, or at least, that's what my TV-watching friends tell me).

I do wish the band would unbind itself just a bit. I mean, this album doesn't have the shine of a major label release, but the playing is that precise. And I think these songs need to breathe.

But man, they're good. The hooks are golden, and even though I think there a bit too much calculation from time to time, my head keeps bobbing along. Obviously, Four Star Mary knows how to crank out top-notch pop music.

I guess that should be my final judgment. Does the music move me? Sure. Will I care about it tomorrow? I dunno. Most pop music, even good stuff, has something of an ephemeral quality. A fine way to brighten a dark day, in any case.

Maybe you remember 1991. Anthrax released Persistence of Time and Queensryche released Empire within a couple weeks of each other. While those two albums appealed to wildly different fan bases, those of us programming college metal radio (all 100 of us or so) couldn't really decide which was better. They were both great.

I started off in the Queensryche camp, but soon I switched to Persistence. Gatlin sounds like it made the same decision. It plays a fairly technical form of metal, but with more of an Anthrax crunchiness. The songs are melodic, but powerful as well. Indeed, perhaps the best reference is Armored Saint (which is kinda where Anthrax has ended up, though in a lesser form).

And, honestly, it's pretty easy to hear plenty of references from a number of late 80s metal bands (mostly American bands who fell under the influence of Eurometal, if that makes sense). The production is sharp, befitting the high precision of the playing. The songs ring out nicely.

The commercial potential of this sound is negligible. Gatlin seems to recognize this and tries to tap into the rap/metal fusion on "Never Mind" with less than impressive results. But when the boys stick to their guns, the songs really click. No one may buy this, but Gatlin's got some great guns.

Branching out from more straightforward punk, Adeline kicks out this disc. The Influents wander around the whole roots/punk sound, vaguely reminiscent of Armchair Martian (though much poppier).

Indeed, some of these songs are just about as pure pop as you can get. Simple, to the point and often poignantly gorgeous. Indeed, where more punk pop is fairly sarcastic and snarky, the Influents are clever, but generally earnest almost to a fault. These boys are holding their hearts in their hands for the world to see.

But don't get the idea that this stuff drips with sentimentality or suffers in any way from this idealism. Not at all. Like I said, the stuff is clever. Astonishingly well-written at times, the songs are almost universally engaging.

The kind of album I almost never hear. Mature punk? Geez, that sounds like an oxymoronic mess. Won't work. Can't work. But see, it does. And when folks are able to take such a seemingly unworkable sound and make it sing, well, the results are almost always great. In this case, great is just the beginning.

Gene Land wants to be a country superstar. At least, that's what this album says. He covers a wide range styles, from pop ballads to traditional ravers and just about everything in between.

Land takes the good part of rock and roll (the energy and vitality) and merges that with the good parts of country (a fine pedal steel and a basic sense of storytelling). He applies those ideas to every song, no matter what style he's working with.

The sound is sharp and rich, and Land and his band are in fine form. The songs sparkle. They're all great examples of the wide variety of modern country music.

Did I mention Land's voice? It's strong, but not overwhelming, instrument. Which fits the stories he tells. While this album doesn't hold together very well because of all the sounds he tries out (imagine 38 Special, George Strait, Hank Williams Jr. and Marty Robbins recording as the same artist), I think he's more than made his case.

The Last Kind creates its backing tracks through the collage method (a la the Bomb Squad), but the rapping style is more modern. The mix is rather intoxicating.

What's also impressive (to me) is the political nature of the lyrics. The Last Kind is not only out to promote its revelations, but to spur a little revolution as well. A revolution of the mind, as opposed to one in the streets, but that approach is innovative and exciting.

But you don't have to pay attention to what's being rhymed if you don't want to. These songs sound great all by themselves. It's pretty rare to find similar levels of musical and lyrical sophistication on the same album, but here both impress.

Not the sort of album that burns up the charts, I guess, but it sure does blister the mind. The Last Kind seems more interested in advancing ideas than increasing personal fame. Hey, I'm all for that sort of sacrifice. I just wish it wasn't necessary.

Less then Jake still has the horns, but the sound is much more power pop than ska. Not that these boys ever really held up the skankin' end of "skacore," but still.

Thing is, this works better. Pop punk songs with horns kick ass. Particularly when the band can lock into hooks like these boys can. Okay, it's simple party music with a little cogent thought thrown into the mix. Got a problem with that?

Didn't think so. If you were worried that the boys might be skimping on the production costs (can't imagine why, really), don't. This is just as punchy as anything else the guys have put out. I mean, how much does it really cost to produce a punk record, anyway?

Have I ranted enough? Sorry. Must be that election wackiness or something. Anyways, this album won't change the world. But it might light up your next gathering of intimate (and not so intimate) friends.

These folks describe their music as "symphonic dark metal." These aren't romantic symphonies, however. They're baroque quartets and the like, as stark and striking as what My Dying Bride made its rep creating.

Indeed, Long Winter's Stare is much more stripped down, generally not incorporating much more than the basic guitar, drums, bass and keyboards. There are a few strings thrown in, but this is basically a band experience, with some cool vocal work.

Everything from grunts to an operatic wail. The dull, thick sound helps to foster a spooky, doom-laden feel to the songs. I think that's what the band wanted.

The songwriting gets a little clunky at times, but the mood pulls things through. A solid, heavy (oh-so-heavy) album. Play it loud and watch the books rumble off your shelves.

When folks talk about electronic music, they usually aren't talking about this kinda stuff. Magnetophone assembles its songs out of every sort of loop and sample imaginable. Except that the pieces don't sound like loops and samples. It just sounds like a band is sitting down and playing this stuff. Though I'm pretty sure that would be impossible.

Though, given the astonishing nature of the compositions, I guess anything's possible. These pieces ("songs" just doesn't seem to sound right) seem to resemble stream of consciousness thought. They're a little weird.

But awfully wonderful. While the stuff sounds like nothing you might find in the "organic" world, there is a warmness, something inviting about it. Just astonishingly cool. I could bathe in this all day and night.

File under "music that kicks ass." Don't bother with any other sort of category. Don't flinch and you'll find yourself hypnotized by the almost horizonless visions of the sounds. Really. I'm not exaggerating. Magnetophone has created some truly brilliant music.

Dropping hints of real funk into hooky groove rock, Munkafust manages to give this tired sound a little bit of a makeover. Part of it is the indefatigable energy of the band itself. And some of it comes in the writing.

Nothing complicated. These guys aren't particularly deep, and they're not blasting out intricately-crafted tunes. Rather, the boys just kinda do what seems to feel good to them.

I'm not terribly enamored of this sound. And I'm not overly knocked out by these guys. But they do make attractive music that borders on infectious from time to time. Quite competent and most enthusiastic. It's amazing what that can do for an album.

See, when people have fun making music that translates into a fun-sounding album. At least, it seemed to work here. Hey, these guys aren't going to change the world. Don't think I'd trust them with that. But for a little groove break between beers, well, I think Munkafust is more than qualified.

When the songs have titles like "You Can't Polish a Turd" and "Kill Your Parents, Eat Your Dog, Do Drugs," I think it's excusable to wonder just what the creators are on. Narcoleptics churn out a loud, distorted version of hardcore that might be called metal, or it might just be called modern proggy rock.

I hesitate to use this reference, but Narcoleptics are something of a shaggy Tool with a Bullet LaVolta personality. The same grand vision, but with a decidedly less scrupulously executed sound. The world is still falling apart, piece by piece. In fact, this vision is much darker.

By kinda dancing between the genre labels, Narcoleptics have created a nice niche. I've never heard a band that sound exactly like this. The chalk-on-board production gives each song a tight edge, but the writing leaves plenty of leeway.

Some wonderful aggression allied with fine playing. I found it rather hard to move on from here. This is one of those albums that sticks, no matter what else lies down the way.

Seven songs from a guy who seems to want to get into the pro songwriting game. The pieces bound about in the commercial pop universe. Most of the time Matthew Newbold exhibits a pleasant sense of humor. When he doesn't, the stuff can get awfully generic.

Take, for example, the second song, "Save Me." This sang has a vague Latin groove, one that's just about been lifted from "Livin' la Vida Loca." And it's not like that puppy was particularly "authentic."

But writing pop songs can be a noble undertaking. It's not my idea of heaven, but I'm not going to knock it. I know that the demo versions of these songs have to be performed in a basic way, so that the singer who will take one of them can find his or her own "voice" in the piece.

These songs, however, are regular enough that Newbold would do well to inject a little more personality. I think his future is in writing songs (he shows a fine grasp of craft, if not inspiration) and not performing. But with more work on both ends, who knows?

I mentioned in the Magnetoscope review that the music sounded utterly inhuman. That goes double for here, though the results are about 180 degrees from that puppy. The turn around does not, however, refer to quality.

It's just that instead of reflective, entrancing work, No Forcefield prefers a manic, crazed sound. Kinda like Atari Teenage Riot with less distortion and a lot more fun.

If I was a DJ at a dance club, this is the sort of thing I'd have going all night. Inventive beats and pieces with a whole lotta sweet stuff on top. The only word for this rich stew is infectious. I'm guessing the progenitors (which include members of Primus and El Stew) had a blast putting this together.

The main reason for that assumption is that I had so much fun listening. The complex, bubbling songs just can't be held down. There's a whole lot to appreciate, and trust me, the disc just gets better with time. Something truly wonderful.

The glowing review on the back of my promo disc compares Novembers Doom to the "big three" of Paradise Lost, My Dying Bride and Anathema. I'll go along with that, at least to say that Novembers Doom most reminds me of early Paradise Lost (before the boys started overproducing their albums).

But really, this band stands well on its own. Not many folks out there are crafting gorgeous doom symphonies (I'll use that word here), and even fewer are putting together such alluring ones. The trick, at least when using a thick sound, is to use power to make things pretty. A lot of folks don't seem to know how to do that. Novembers Doom does.

That thick sound is what keeps the album on the Paradise Lost side of the divide. There isn't a lot of emotion baring; instead, canvasses are painted with both strokes. And boy, are the results beautiful.

It's easy to get lost. The sound quickly enveloped and transported me to a new space. I rode along most willingly. I haven't heard stuff like this in ages. I'm so glad this came along.

Jaunty post-garage pop with lots of echo and reverb in the guitars. All that generally goes together, of course, but I just wanted to paint a complete picture. The songs are finely-cut gems played with abandon.

Not unlike Three Finger Cowboy, the vocals often wander around the intended notes. They work just as well. Precision isn't the goal here, and the wavering lends more of an emotional pop to the sound.

This stuff sounds like it was tossed off in less than an hour. But the craft beneath that rough veneer belies the work involved. Always make it sound effortless. Orange Beauties do that with aplomb.

The main intent with this disc is to illustrate the close relationship of love and pain. Ordo Rosarius Equilibrio (a slight name change) does this musically, lyrically and visually in the liners.

Not many industrial goth acts wield an acoustic guitar nearly so well. Combining that with throbbing beats and atmospheric backing sound is pretty much genius. And that's just the second song.

Indeed, each piece has a different sound and feel, but the theme remains the same. The vocals are generally delivered in as spoken word thoughts, sometimes overshadowed by the music and sometimes not.

A thoughtful and impressive set. Yeah, this is the sort of thing that the uninitiated should avoid. But if you're in the mood to really contemplate love, death, pain and (occasional) joy, crank this one up. Your mind will enjoy the ride.

Pat Spurgeon crafts instrumentals. He sings from time to time and lets Derek Richey add vocals on a couple of tracks, but mostly this is Spurgeon's guitar show. He generally sets the stage with an acoustic rhythm guitar, bass and drums, and then lets an electric guitar play out the melody.

That's not a set order or anything. Spurgeon does experiment with electronic beats and keyboards and whatever else he deems necessary to fill out the sound.

That's where an album like this differs so much from the "solo instrumental guitar" album. Spurgeon uses the guitar as just one piece in the puzzle. His focus is on the whole, and not on any one instrument.

Which is not to say that this is wholly satisfying. There are moments when the songs wallow in excess. But generally, Spurgeon's willingness to experiment makes these pieces shine. Idiosyncratic and a little obsessive, but never dull.

Four tight, harsh trips into the techno metal realms. Somewhere between Clay People and Fear Factory, I'd say, but more straightforward than both. Pile of Heads doesn't mess around.

Nope, these songs are born mean and they just get moreso. Now, the sound is kinda sparse at times, leaving a lot of space. That takes away from the power to some extent, but it also lets more of the vitrol reach the surface.

These guys have created a cool space for themselves. I've not heard a band this heavy dabble so much into the electronic pool. It's a good idea and these guys make it work. There's something here.

As the rather insightful liners noted, this could be a boxed set, as the full output of Pop Art could be held on three CDs. And maybe that's a nice thought for the future.

But this here is a fine portrait of a band that never came particularly close to making it (in a commercial sense). I mean, there's not even a mention in my old Trouser Press guides. That's all irrelevant, though. What's important is the music, and just like David Steinhart's current project (Smart Brown Handbag), these are classically-crafted pop gems.

Like Alex Chilton more than a decade earlier, Steinhart looked overseas for his inspiration (he wrote most of these songs with his brother Jeff). So there's a definite Smiths feel, but a bit more jaunty. Pop Art doesn't wallow in morose musings. Rather, these songs soar despite their minor key settings.

There's not a bad song here, and I'd guess there's quite a few more good ones in the tank. Perhaps there might be a boxed set one of these days. Until then, this collection stands as a wonderful portrait.

Willowy female vocals, a light take on the doom metal sound and long songs sculpted along classical lines. Altogether, Rain Fell Within has a rather unusual feel.

Basically, this might be too metal for goth fans and too goth for metal fans. There isn't the power at the bottom of the sound to really drive home the grinding doom. And the vocals are much more operatic than the rest of the band.

The thing is, I think that Rain Fell Within has really found something by sticking between the extremes. The sound isn't thin or underdeveloped; it merely doesn't conform to type. And that is hardly a sin.

Other nice touches include some great Eurometal-style lead guitar work and a generally unhurried approach to the songs. For those who like their music just a bit off normal, Rain Fell Within delivers. Fine work.

Stunning beat work, though the raps could use a bit of a charge. These pieces sound great, and the songs hold together quite well. The Slumplordz are more thoughtful than brutal, but there's plenty of attitude.

The basic sound is a modified dub, cranked up a bit but not sped up. The Slumplordz take their time, though the intensity is still high. Don't worry, everything still hits like it should.

The star is still the music, a really great mix of dub and other electronic ideas. The beat work here is just great, driving the raps to higher places than the ideas would reach by themselves. Both compliment each other, lending to the superior sound of this disc.

I still don't think these guys are world's greatest rappers. The lyrics are better than average, and the delivery fits the sound well-enough, but still, the stars are the hands that turned the knobs. For me, that's fine. This is a great disc to hear.

Using throbbing electronic sounds for the rhythm section and piano (or, occasionally, keyboards) for the melody, Rory Merritt Stitt has put together a rather dichotomous sound. Both sections tend toward the complex, increasing the business of the songs.

And, of course, Stitt writes dreadfully clever songs, lyrics that amuse and excoriate. The only thing you can count on is that everything is in motion all the time. Stitt rarely slows down to catch a breath (and even when he does, he's messing around).

Which is not to say that Stitt doesn't create beautiful and inspired music. He does. But this isn't music for enjoying; it's music for living. It demands attention and quickly worms its way into the subconscious.

It's rare to hear someone so accomplished. I'm not talking about simply self-released stuff; in general, there are few artists with such a complete vision and ability to put those concepts to tape. A wonderful revelation.

Fat Wreck continues collecting some of the Bay area's more accomplished punkers. Swingin' Utters have that great punk bar band feel (like, say, the Humpers or New Bomb Turks), though they do pay more than lip service to craft as well.

So the songs have a tossed off feel but ring out sharply. They're warped, goofy and fun, though generally not all three at once. Though fun is usually in the mix. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm rambling a bit much here.

It happens when my head bounces about like it's been for the past few minutes. I admit; this kinda stuff just sends my brain into some sort of terminal bliss. After a couple minutes I tend to lose track of reality. Generally, I find this to be a pleasurable occurrence.

So it is with the Swingin' Utters. Some folks just know how to crank out this great stuff. These boys do. Case closed. Gimme another beer.

A kinda rambling sorta band from San Francisco. I guess what I mean to say is that Telto's languid take on the groove sound (imagine if Don Caballero and the Cowboy Junkies got together to play Blues Traveler songs. I'm not kidding).

I think these folks really do have a thing for groove rock; it's just that they don't play it much. There's this almost subconscious feel thing going on, something that I have to ascribe to instinct rather than any solid piece of sound.

Another way to look at it is that Telto works very hard to not sound like anyone else. These songs lurch, stumble, roll and slip along, sometimes smoothly and sometimes not. I think that the way that works is largely instinctual, as well. Sounds good, anyways.

And just when I think I've almost got a handle on things, Telto goes and does something different. That's pretty much priceless. As long as these folks keep trying to best themselves, I have a feeling they'll be making good music.

Much more so than the first collection, this set from Cue's focuses on the DJs. These songs are DJ-driven, if not outright instrumentals. And like that first set, the beats here are absolutely divine.

That's pretty much the key to the set. A big boatload of slammin' beats, from the experimental to the secular, if you know what I mean. There's plenty here to enjoy, use and abuse.

Alright, so perhaps this one will appeal most to DJs. Any beat fan will find something here to get off on as well. Just keep cycling through; something you'll like is bound to show up sooner or later.

I don't know if this compilation is available in stores or if it's one of those radio/promo only deals. What it does do is drop a track from 15 releases, many of which have already been reviewed on this site.

And so if you're wondering what one of the premiere (mostly) British music labels foisted upon an unsuspecting American public this year, these songs will give you a good idea. A lot of great stuff (Mojave 3, Natacha Atlas, Tommy Guerrero, Sgt. Rock and Simon Fisher Turner among them) worth hearing.

Beggars Banquet is never afraid to take chances with its selections, and this disc shows off that tendency quite nicely. There's nothing new here, but more than enough good music to fill out the set.

The folks sent me a selection of music a while back (a couple years ago, maybe?), and I'm afraid I was less than complimentary. I usually have my reasons (generally they involve me not liking the music), but I pissed the folks off right good. I don't like to do that.

So you might understand by reticence and the generally careful way I'm gonna write this review. In general (though not universally) the music on this disc falls into that acoustic groove/post-hippie kinda sound, which really isn't my thing. Most of the songs are well-written (in terms of craft), and the sound is pretty good.

What I do find missing is that intangible something which pricks up my ears. Perhaps it's just that these are generally (though, once again, not universally) easy-going rock and country-rock songs. Even when the tempos pick up and the guitars start ringing out, I'm not terribly excited.

All that said, I'd like to emphasize from a technical standpoint, there are quite a few well-written pieces, and all of them are produced well as well. And not all of the songs fall into the categories that I've described. Hapi Skratch has done a pretty good job of presenting a diverse set. I really do wish that most of the music got me off just a little bit more.

Stray Records seems determined to give exposure to as many underground hip hop and rap acts as possible. Also, the label doesn't appear to be terribly concerned about sticking to any particular sound or style, though in general the rhymes here are positive.

Which doesn't mean these are a bunch of pie-in-the-sky dreamers or naive, sheltered scribblers. No, there's plenty of hard core thinking going on, but thought is the operative word. What is absent is posing. These artists are actually trying to say something rather than merely shock, scare or titillate.

Like most Stray projects, there's also an emphasis on the music as well as the rhymes. For the most part, these songs sound finished, not underproduced. I know, minimalism is a valid style, but there's a difference between doing things simply and not doing them at all.

Stray has done a fabulous job of collecting these pieces and then assembling them into this compilation. Instead of sounding thrown together, this disc has a great flow. A first-rate effort all the way around.

Kent Randell was in the fine UP (that's Upper Peninsula--Michigan) band manRay 19. His explanation of that's band's demise is as pathetic as any I've every read: "Our drummer stole the van, so I guess we broke up."

That sense of humor is extended to the name of his new project, which is hardly reggae (any more than anything else) or even particularly sex-obsessed. Instead, it's basically Randell making music with a wide variety of friends and in a wide variety of styles.

Randell does wander, and while he generally does stick to some sort of a noise pop/rock feel, he drops so many unusual ideas into the mix that it's hard to really classify this entire project.

Other than horrifically inventive. Randell's ideas don't always work, and even when they do they come in at such an odd angle that it's sometimes hard to approach them. Patience is the key in any such endeavor, and I think I'm going to find more and more that I like with each listen. There's an awful lot here to hear.

A nice little groove band that branches out into disco and some light funk if the mood hits it. Nothing particularly substantial, mind you, but fairly solid.

Decent writing, a production job that emphasizes the slightly whimsical tilt of the bands and energetic playing. All very nice, if not particularly exciting. At least to me. I've gotta say that this isn't really my style.

Still, Zyrah's Orange manages to throw enough ideas and tangents to keep the sound from becoming stultifyingly dull. In fact, the songs managed to engage me more than once, which is pretty impressive.

I like the fact that Zyrah's Orange likes to play around. While I don't hear anything spectacular going on, I don't have a lot to complain about, either. And considering the style being played here, that's saying something.