Thirty minutes of the same sort of whiplash rock that I heard on the "Rock and Roll" 7". Lots of haphazardly-played chords, a generally incoherent rhythm section and chaos everywhere.

In other words, the purest distillation of a certain breed of rock and roll. I get the sense that the Action Time actually spent more time working on this than the sound would indicate, but the spontaneous feel was worth the effort.

The songs don't always come together. Every chance the band takes isn't rewarded. Sometimes, that's how it goes. What can't be criticized is the electric sound these folks have created. It's simply impossible to quit listening.

And in the end, that's my final judgment. I couldn't stop the disc from spinning, even as the songs themselves careened off the cliff. Plug in and don't let go. There's a ride to be had here.

Ultra-catchy pop, with equal parts punk attitude and spacey keyboards. There's also this kinda odd prog feel that drops in and out without warning.

All of these things add up to make the confection even sweeter than it might have been originally conceived. The hooks soar incandescently, and the surprisingly complex music works its way in slowly.

There's even a cover of the old folk favorite "500 Miles" to totally trip up any potential genrefication. Bad Astronaut simply refuses to be tied to basic three-chord power pop.

That has left this album as not only instantly gripping, but deep enough to withstand excessive exposure. Ear candy is rarely this fulfilling.

Post-apocalyptic rumblings. At least, these folks are acting as if the apocalypse has already come to pass. Lots of songs about evil holy men, things lurking in the shadows, the general nastiness of society and the like.

There's also a number of weird jokes (say, a short monologue concerning Jean-Claude Van Damme) and plenty of strange musical burblings. Generally, the sound is out of the early 90s, when vaguely industrial, bass-heavy hard rock propagated by the likes of Course of Empire (though Bentmen aren't nearly so mechanized) was kinda popular.

The thing is, these folks do not stick to any program. They rage and wail and meander all over the place. I'm not complaining, mind you, I'm just trying to explain or something.

Not the strangest band in the world, but definitely on a different wavelength than most bands of its ilk. Bentmen have created their own universe, and they have to live in it. You, on the other hand, may enter at your own risk.

Pulsating electronic pop percussion, basic power guitar and smoky chanteuse vocals. Gosh, I think these folks are trying to hit it big.

And, well, they just might. These songs have the depth of the Bering Strait during the last ice age, but they're still addictive as hell. Each one carefully crafted so as to utterly enthrall on the first listen.

Now, a few spins down the line I might get a little bored. But right now? These songs have burned their way into my brain. That quick on the uptake, indeed.

I'm just gonna warn off the casual reader right now: Brain Transplant does not operate within the laws of physics. Sounds to me like the boys have invented themselves a few new rules.

Yep, right out on the experimental electronic frontier, this is. Enthralling, truly, if you can appreciate the unexpected. Brain Transplant has actually taken good care to create two fairly accessible tracks here. But you've still got to be in the mood.

Minimalist and spartan, yet still completely thrilling. Come to the edge, and then let go. Don't worry; there's plenty of us in limbo. We'll keep you insane.

Moving ever-further away from Dream Theater (in body and music), Kevin Moore's second effort as Chroma Key sounds much more assured. He's now comfortable in the prog-electronic universe (huge dollops of the Floyd, King Crimson and Aphex Twin), and his songs simply sing.

Now that he's settled his writing into this style, of course, Moore is taking fewer chances. But I think the trade-off is worth it; these much more understated songs have more than twice the power of the material on Dead Air for Radios.

Just when it sounds like Moore is getting a bit too settled, he veers in a slightly different direction. Nothing abrupt, nothing too angular, but a subtle shift in ideas. Given the atmospheric groove of the disc, that's more than fitting.

A much more satisfying album. Yeah, Moore has stepped away from the edge, but not enough to bring him into the mainstream. Rather, Chroma Key has simply feathered its nest with intriguing thoughts. Bed down and you'll hear what I mean.

"Demo" may not be the right tag. This is just Dale Collins and his guitar, recorded by himself at home. He says in his note that he plays to stay sane after teaching Spanish. Hey, anything to dull the pain.

Collins isn't what you'd call an accomplished player or singer. What he does have is a main line to the blues. Kinda like if Will Oldham started playing Muddy Waters and had Jim O'Rourke produce. An electrified version of the rural blues, with plenty of experimental tangents.

Anyway, Collins doesn't so much perform these songs as channel them. There's no way to separate him from the music. A sort of symbiotic bond has taken hold.

Absolutely gripping. I've never heard anyone quite like Collins. He's a natural. Not in terms of talent, like I mentioned. But he is the music, you know? Some folks are just born that way. Collins was born a blues man.

Don't know whether to file this under "Densmore" or "Silverhawk," though since Sam Densmore writes the songs, sings and plays guitar I figured I'd stick it in the Ds.

Four songs from a three-piece power pop outfit. Densmore writes lean songs. The sound isn't fuzzed out. The harmonies aren't layered. In other words, the writing had better be good, because there's nothing to cover up weaknesses.

The writing is good. Yes, it's right out of Big Star, and in a good way. Densmore doesn't go right for the jugular, but rather prefers to make small incisions. The sound may be somewhat slight, but the overall effect is anything but.

Imagine if the Delta 72 was based in Canada and a bit more on the pop side. Well, a lot more on the pop side. But as raucous as ever. The Dinner Is Ruined falls somewhere within those parameters.

These boys go more for 60s pop than 60s soul, but there is plenty of the latter as well. Not to mention nods to Springsteen and Sly Stone and other true gods. But even with all the meandering, The Dinner Is Ruined sticks to its sound.

Which is, to be honest, a muddy mess. It works for what these guys are trying to do, but seriously: Kids, don't try this as home.

Oh, go on ahead. This puppy is more than a case short of great, but it's a few tokes over the line from merely fun. I can hear that the band is enjoying itself immensely. It's kinda contagious. Smiles all around.

Geoff Farina wrote and performed everything on this disc, except for three songs where Josh Larue sat in. Farina speak-sings in the style of a tired lounge singer. He plays guitar (with a very flat tone) in a vaguely jazzy style. Not the easiest approach to assimilate.

Really, he's a beat poet without bongos. It's not like he's singing anthems, or even really singing much at all. He's reading poetry with a lilt, adding in some guitar and bass.

And that's cool. I'm not being snide, either. Farina has crafted a sound all his own, and once I got used to it, the stuff started to grow on me. Few people write lyrics the way Farina does. This isn't cheap poetry; it's the real thing. Good poetry, I mean.

Farina does have grand ambitions. You don't make music like this unless you want to create something big. I think he's done it. Anyway, I like the way the notes bend.

Fischoff has a voice that always seems to be on the verge of going away. The fragility of his singing is emphasized by the minimalist accompaniment (often just one or two instruments). This has the effect of making him sound like a sensitive guy.

To be fair, I think he is quite sensitive. Perceptive, to boot. Fischoff's halting singing brings most of the attention to his lyrics, which are dreadfully poetic. Image-laden and tightly structured, each song is like a little gem.

While he shares just about nothing with Geoff Farina (reviewed above), Fischoff operates in the same corner of the universe, dressing up poems with interesting, but unspectacular, music. It does take a while to get used to the presentation. But once there...

Yeah, it's more than a little alright. Fischoff's style is a little unusual. Strange, even. But he gets his points across. That's the true test.

Terry Garland's latest album. He's still playing the blues the way they were invented, on an acoustic guitar. Mark Wenner (of the Nighthawks) is also back blowing his harp, and Garland has a few other friends stop by from time to time.

The quality remains top-notch. Garland mixes in a few of his own compositions with classics (including "Stagger Lee," "Rollin' and Tumblin'" and "Nasty Boogie Woogie"), and once again his own songs measure up nicely.

Still and all, the star here is Garland's singing and guitar playing. He knows how to perform these songs, putting his own stamp on the standards. This isn't just a rehash; Garland gives the pieces a fresh breath or two.

Like the last album I heard, this one impresses greatly. If you think that the acoustic, rural blues just don't have the power of their city cousin, well, let Garland show you otherwise. He's got more than enough ammo to make his case.

Grief Society has a new album coming out soon. But first, the guys wanted to re-issue this EP from 1997. At this stage, the band was a bit more of a Britpop band than their last album showed.

Particularly in the choice of Manchester-style rhythms and the like. Plus that cool organ sound that never did quite make it over here. Still and all, these guys have a Love jones, and that American hard rock 'n' soul influence can be heard on this disc, if just a bit less than the last album I heard.

The standout here is "Small Town," the one song where all of the band's influences are cranked up tight and loud. The song explodes in a fury of sound and emotion. The rest of this disc is good, but there's a reason bands get better when they've been around for a bit. The guys figure out what works.

Yet another byway of the emo revolution. Her Flyaway Manner is three guys. Guitar, bass and drums. The sound is basic; the writing and playing is anything but.

This is astonishingly deliberate fare. The three players rarely mesh. Instead, the instruments wander around, daring listeners to put the pieces together. This approach is not tailored to the Musicland crowd.

And, indeed, it probably sounds awfully strident to those just now getting used to the emo/power pop merger. Her Flyaway Manner uses the minimalism of Mineral and fuses it with the practical fury of Jawbox. Most of the time, it works.

When it doesn't, of course, entire songs break down. But that's just growing pains. Her Flyaway Manner is really reaching for something here, and the goal is within reach. A little more work, a little more live playing, and this sound could really become something. One to keep an eye on, to be sure.

Rick Hertless sounds like a retro new traditionalist. Is that right? I keep forgetting what folks call George Strait. Anyway, there's plenty of pedal steel and fiddling and all the trimmings. The two songs are slick and very traditional in style. They have a timeless quality to them.

Now, Hertless only wrote one of them, so I'm guessing he's trying to make it as a performer. He's got a nice voice, one that has authentic expressiveness. Hertless doesn't have to pour on the twang. Just the right amount comes out.

Thoroughly enjoyable. Would that Nashville put out a lot more music like this. I can't gauge Hertless's commercial chances (I'm terrible at that sort of thing), but I can say I really like these two songs.

Okay, if Rick Hertless is a new traditionalist, then the Heygoods are real traditionalists. David and Katie Champagne (and friends) play around with rockabilly, western swing and torch. With just enough of a hillbilly shuffle to keep things moving along.

It's kinda interesting. Despite sounding wonderfully authentic (this is music that could easily have been floating around in the mid-to-late 50s), there's a modern attitude to the performances.

I can't quite put my finger on it. Maybe it's the intro to "Leroy" (David Champagne intones "'Leroy,' take two"), or maybe it's the way the Heygoods mix styles that never quite made it together. Indeed, their reading of "A Mess of the Blues" is a lot more rockabilly and blues than the original.

What good is history if you can't learn from it? The Heygoods have assimilated one hell of a cool sound. Their mix of originals and covers fit together seamlessly. A raucous and friendly set.

Three guys who sound like they're trying very hard to reinvent the whole power trio thing. There's a whole lot of 80s AOR in the writing, but the songs are played in an almost astonishing understated way. Imagine, say, 38 Special or Night Ranger without the loud guitars or hooks.

That sounds bad, doesn't it? Well, I don't mean it that way. Holmes likes to sing in a husky near-whisper, and the band doesn't ever really rock out. Um, I think I might be making things worse.

Well, the more I hear, the less I feel like correcting that problem. This is an interesting sound. I'll give the guys that. I haven't heard anyone even attempt something like this. Hootie and the Blowfish on Valium just isn't a career goal for most.

I don't want to be mean (once again, I'm afraid I've failed). Really. These guys are so earnest. They have put a lot of work into these songs, and there definitely is an audience (say, women in their 30s who still get moist when they hear Kelly Keagy croon "Sister Christian"). I guess I'm just not in that group.

Reminds a lot of a much heavier Urban Dance Squad. You've got your stoner rock riffage, scratches and sing-songy vocals. Pretty catchy much of the time. Which is probably the best way to judge this.

Because it's not intended to be the next great musical statement. This is fun music, stuff that's not terribly big on delivering messages. You know, the more I listen, the more I hear a good amount of Living Colour (though, once again, much heavier--this is the new millennium, after all).

Still and all, just an album full of smile-making party jams. For those fearful of the guitar excess, I will note that Johnny Wishbone does pull back often enough for a more conventional faux-funk attack. Though the big guitars almost always make their presence known.

Kinda the more laid-back approach to the rap-rock fusion. Johnny Wishbone won't change the world, but it should make a few people move. Nothing wrong with that.

Mid-tempo pop tunes with heavy harmonies. Miss Fortune throws in just about every studio trick possible (guitar effects, various keyboards--Moog, organ and more, slide guitar among them) trying to spice up the songs.

It doesn't work. At some point, the songs have to sing. They're three-chord symphonies, man, and there has to be a high point somewhere. It's not like Miss Fortune is even trying to be particularly moody. The stuff is just stuck in the same old rut.

And some of it is really pretty. There are references to Big Star, the High Llamas and many more, but these pieces rarely leave the ground. They sound like basic fare, but there's just no energy. Not all pop has to bright and happy (Gerald Collier is a genius at the tortured pop game), but Miss Fortune simply has no range. No up. No down. Just a muddle.

I can't get into it. The boys are doing everything right from a technical standpoint. It's just that the end result is rather less than enticing. Kinda like a sitcom starring Christina Applegate: It's pretty, but also pretty vacant.

The latest from the band formerly known as Thine Eyes. Well, parts of that band, anyway. And this disc fits right into the Thine Eyes tradition of astonishingly creative experimental electronic music.

What's most amazing about these songs is the sound itself. It's three-dimensional. The stuff is utterly artificial, but this album sounds like Tron looked. If you turn up the volume, there's an almost unreal depth to the noodlings.

Completely abstract, I'll grant you. No doubt ml requires a lot of patience and attention. But, man, it's so easy to get inside the sound here. Like walking through a forest. Except that it's not a forest, but rather piles of soundwaves.

I'm not coming back, and that's all there is to it. The universe created by this disc is so real (not to mention surreal) that I can't think of a reason to face reality again. At least not in the next few days. These frontal lobes are on extended holiday.

I received two albums from these guys (the other one will be reviewed next issue). Both are beautifully crafted packages, with hand-sewn liner notes and amazing artwork. The same goes for the music.

Baleful folk-country stuff, along the lines of Palace or Songs:Ohia. Extremely simple arrangements, truly gorgeous lyrics and playing. Kinda like Dirty Three with words sometimes.

I'm a little scattershot here, mostly because I'm so overwhelmed. Molasses has a way of immediately demanding attention, and I have to break away every once in a while to write, you know? Well, maybe you don't. But I'm afraid I'm just not able to properly describe the power of the music I'm hearing.

There's only one way to comprehend Molasses, and that's to experience the band for yourself. Sometimes the way to create an indelible impression is to say things plainly. That Molasses does, and the effect can be quite shattering. Hauntingly, achingly brilliant songs. An unforgettable album.

Raucous and rancorous, the one feature of Mumble and Peg that truly distinguishes the band is the sophisticated way these guys pronounce the doom of the world.

Really, these songs are anything but optimistic. But they sound so cool. What you've got is acoustic pop orchestrated by an array of electronic sounds. A nice counterpoint that does anything but detract from the dismal, desperate anthems themselves.

Music for the end of the world. Not as a celebration, but as a recognition of all the crap that has come before. A tapestry describing all the good reasons why humanity should go away once and for all, if you will.

That and a whole lot more. Like I said, Mumble and Peg populates its sound with all sorts of things, and each little piece adds to the dark beauty of its surroundings. I know I said something like this when I reviewed This Ungodly Hour, but geez, no one can create a sense of despair like Mumble and Peg. The mood is dank enough, but the dreary poetry of the lyrics just kicks the album into another dimension. I love this.

I love it when press people get defensive. I got an almost apologetic e-mail from Fat Wreck saying, in effect, "You may find a lot of our bands vapid, but these guys are deep." Well, like the writer of said e-mail, I find most Fat Wreck bands something other than vapid, but she did have a point: These guys aren't propagating the usual Fat Wreck power pop punk.

This is hardcore. Angry, vaguely tuneful (but just) and blistering. Take a song like "Ordinary People Do Fucked-Up Things When Fucked-Up Things Become Ordinary." The sort of obvious observation that somehow no one's really articulated in song before this. That's one way to display brilliance, folks.

There's a lot of that going around here. Bunches of hardcore bands talk politics. But not like these guys. There's an awareness and intelligence here that goes far beyond the usual libertarian punk screeds. Oh, there's a bit of that, but these songs are much more about society than just a few people.

I'll go along that e-mail I described earlier, at least in one way: This isn't the usual Fat Wreck sound. But the usual quality? Oh yeah. Propagandhi lives up to that standard easily. Hardcore that actually makes you think, rather than just make you angry at the man. It's always good to use your head now and again.

Well, really, there's only so much for me to say about Shipping News, and I've said most of it before. If you aren't familiar with the legend of Rodan (whose line-up is somewhat reconstituted here in smaller form with a new member), well, just understand that more than 10 years ago, a lot of great musicians lived in Louisville. Many of them moved to Chicago after a while.

But I'm still dancing around the point. These musicians (and the groups they were in, such as Slint and Rodan and many more) helped to kind of create and refine the abstract noise rock movement (including such byways as no wave) that is now centered (vaguely) around Chicago. I'm imparting all of this information, and yet somehow I think I'm not quite getting to the point.

If you didn't know, Jeff Mueller was a member of the now ex-June of 44 (not to mention Rodan) and fellow former Rodanite Jason Noble is a member of the currently functioning Rachel's. Those two first got together to write music for the radio show This American Life (which ought to be recommendation enough) and then recruited Kyle Crabtree to help fill out the sound.

And yet, I get the feeling I'm missing something. Oh, yeah! These guys are absolutely great! These are contemplative, involving songs of the highest order. Three guys who create amazing tonal portraits. I get lost as soon as I put on a disc from these boys. My mind just takes off and flies in new directions. I love this band. I have from the first second I heard it. So don't go looking for anything objective from me. I'm just blissing out in the corner.

Another bit from the strangely twisted pop world of Jason NeSmith (you might recall my review of Casper Fandango a couple issues back). He and someone named Don Condescending are the Shut-Ups. The production sound is dreadfully limited, but that seems to only have emphasized the goofy joy of the songs themselves.

Vocals that sound strangled (if not emasculated) in songs that rely on a single thin guitar or keyboard line. Imagine a minimalist version of the Fixx crossed with the Beach Boys or something. But like I said, it all works, no matter how silly.

And a lot of it is silly. Songs like "My Brother Gets All the Girls," "No One Understands My Guitar" and "I'm Still Living at Home" might help you understand the loony ironies that abound.

And even with the near-demo sound, the quality of the writing comes through. In fact, the primitive, simply production may be the best way to present material like this. Just put it out there and see what happens. What happened here was that I come away impressed once again.

One song from Strunken White, and two from Sorry About Dresden. The medium is emo. An early version of the form, if you will.

Strunken White's constant coloration reminds me a lot of Senator Flux's first album. Kinda half-spoken, half-shouted vocals blurted out over a roiling, bubbling bit of tuneage. Most agreeable to my constitution.

Sorry About Dresden is a bit more traditional, starting softly and slowly and then building to a nice burn. Both songs are well-crafted and tightly played. Kinda like they should be.

A solid slab. Takes me back a few years, and I'm not complaining. Just smiling.

Some bands are aptly named. The Sound of Rails plays music that, well, makes me think of diesel Santa Fe engines hauling huge loads of grain across the midwest. That a spent a good portion of my youth watching trains roll by probably helps me here.

For those not so blessed, the Sound of Rails has a Pell Mell feel to it, albeit in a midwestern dialect. The songs generally consist of a ringing guitar line as a melody that runs nicely over a slowly churning rhythm section. Elegant doesn't begin to describe this properly.

But that's alright. Maybe you're beginning to get the idea nonetheless. Just to throw you off, there are vocals now and again, but they're not a full-time concept. And in any case, the vocals don't replace the guitar work. They just add a few verbal thoughts to the mix.

Good thoughts, which goes for just about everything here. The Sound of Rails is hypnotic, indeed. Falling under a spell like this is always a pleasure.

The "rock star" in the band is Ken Stringfellow (he once of the Posies), but the real star is Chris Barber, who sings and wrote the songs. Stringfellow produced and played bass (and added a few keys). And not to leave out the third member, Sean Sippel plays drums and throws in a little sax for good measure.

As you might guess, though, this is shimmering pop music with a dark edge. Immaculately crafted fare, Barber never fails to also draw out more than enough emotion to keep interest high. This isn't some mere exhibition of hooks.

Though the hooks are pretty nice. Really nice, truth be told. Still, there's a lot more to Spiv than a vacant smile. The gears are spinning behind the wall of pop. And that's always a good thing.

Editor's Note: This album is now generally referred to as the first Animal Collective album.

Whereupon the experimental electronic musings of Panda Bear come into contact with a certain Avery Tare. The result is recognizable as pop music, if only barely.

What's much more obvious is the penchant of all involved to push the envelope of (possibly) accessible music. The casual listener might be confused by the substitution of distortion for a lead guitar lick or by the general lack of a discernible bass line.

But that sort of thing won't matter to the intrepid, the brave few who actually enjoy spelunking in a musical cavern such as this. Tare and Panda Bear (kinda weird how that rhymes) have concocted a stirring stew of noises, all vaguely put together in the same format as your favorite power pop songs.

Except, of course, this sounds nothing like that. I like the effort, though. Creativity like this is highly invigorating. However these folks come together, this album is proof that it was a very good idea, indeed.

Melodic hardcore as played by Japanese women. The sound remains the same. Tuneful enough to harbor sing-along choruses and fast enough to get the heart racing. That's pretty much right in the formula.

Thug Murder doesn't do a lot to distinguish itself from the pack. These songs are much too spirited to be tagged workmanlike, but there still isn't much originality here.

Even so, as the album wore on, I became more and more hooked. There is something about Thug Murder that does bring this band to the fore. I can't say what it is, but I'm a sucker for "it." The identity of "it" will have to remain a mystery, I guess.

Way too enjoyable, really. That's the whole ticket. Yeah, Thug Murder follows all the rules, but it just blisters the songbook. Some bands have that ephemeral "something." Thug Murder is one of them.

About the same as the last CD5 I heard from these folks. Keyboard and guitar-driven AOR rock, just like everybody loved back in the 80s. A little on the light side (with better harmonies), but right in that Huey Lewis groove.

Rock by numbers, with pretentiously silly lyrics. The songs have that bouncy bass line that drove a bunch of dances when I was in junior high.

Listen, I bought a lot this kinda stuff when I was a kid, and I have to say that II Big does the sound pretty well. It's fun after a few beers, I guess, but just not my regular cuppa.

This puppy plays at 33, and the grooves still take up most of the sides (side two does have two songs). V. Sirin really wanted to make the most of its slab of vinyl.

And why not? The folks have a cool way of mixing 70s pop with the stridencies of emo and the general loopiness of garage rock. Don't believe me? Yeah, it's all here. This is one unique set of circumstances, let me tell you.

Did I mention that the songs are rather long and disjointed? I guess when you mix and match as much as V. Sirin there are some compromises. The stuff kept my interest. I didn't look at my watch once.

Being a set of 11 singles and EPs that TKO put out in 1997 and 1998. If you never found these releases in the first place, well, see if this collection pricks up your ears.

Among the bands: One Man Army, Templars, the Truents, the Forgotten and Dropkick Murphys. The recording quality varies from band to band and sometimes even song to song. Not all of it is stellar, though much of it is.

More for the completist, I suppose, but there is plenty here to recommend the disc on its own merits. Lots of good songs and few fun covers. Can't ask for a whole lot more from a package like this.

The key to the Red Hot Chili Peppers has always been presentation. The songs themselves are utterly simple and often inane. It's just that the Peppers occasionally managed to spice up such mundane material by messing with tempos and generally getting a little hyper.

You might guess that I haven't been a fan in about 10 years. Even so, the problem with this tribute is that it rarely gets manic. The songs drag and they sound, well, ordinary.

I'm not sure that electronic is the way to go with this tribute. In any case, the arrangements didn't add any spice, and a lot of that is necessary to pull off a project like this.

Not just electro acoustic, but instrumental to boot. So what we have here is a set of Bon Jovi songs (heavier on the early days) rendered by guitars with heavy echo effects.

It's a unique idea, I'll say that. Also, in all fairness, it doesn't work. Not at all.

Bon Jovi's songs are about as simple as they come. Listen, I was a massive fan back in 1985. Loved the stuff so much I tried to get me a Jon Bon Jovi hairdo. Didn't work. Kinda like this album.

There just needs to be something more. The minimalist approach simply exposes the huge flaws in these songs. This is one of the nobler efforts I've ever heard in the tribute realm. But, man, try it again. Please.

Five more free jazzy improvisations from the W.O.O. Revelator core: Bonnie Kane, Ray Sage and Chris Forsythe. Different from the album I recently reviewed simply in that the folks are trying out new ideas. Otherwise...

Right. Much the same. If you kinda groove on riding free thought sound waves, then these folks have your magic carpet. It's kinda amazing the sounds that three people can come up with. There are no overdubs here, either. This is live to tape.

I get the idea that the band never plays the same song twice. Oh, the basic concepts might hang around, but these folks prefer improvisation to strict structure, and that's just the way it is.

Lucky for me, I dig the stuff. I like the float, and there's plenty here to keep me flying high. Is this earth-shattering, brain-smashing fare? All depends on your state of mind, my friend.

You know, about what it sounds like. A bunch of rockin' punk types from Atlanta got together to jam. A little MC5, a little Iggy and the Stooges, a little New York Dolls. You know, the good stuff.

Each song is a tightly-wound ball of explosive energy. Not only are these songs written in a blistering, bare-bones style, the band pounds them out with aggression and flair. These folks are having fun.

The sound? Ragged and hoarse. And I'm talking about the guitars. Of course, just about everything fits into that category. The X-Impossibles play like there's no tomorrow, and the production showcases that effort. This disc sounds like it was recorded live in one take.

And, actually, the cover of "What Love Is" was a one-take wonder. A nice way to finish off a rather irresistible album. Jump in anywhere; you'll be swept away. The X-Impossibles have come to conquer, and you know, they just might.

I don't always review albums in alphabetical order, but this issue I did. I gotta say, this is a real change of pace from the X-Impossibles. Richard Youngs plays piano and sings. One of the songs here is nearly 19 minutes long. Another is 22. There are only 3 songs (the third is a mere three minutes long).

The long songs unfold extremely slowly (in contrast, the short one is merely slow, and it sounds peppy in contrast). Here's the concept: Youngs plays a bit and sometimes sings. On the first song ("Warriors"), most of the playing is chords, which really drags the process out to my ears. That was a tough one.

But on the next two pieces Youngs plays melodies on the piano, and you just wouldn't believe how much of a difference that makes. He's a fairly accomplished player. Not so much with the singing (his voice is usually pitched into a scratchy falsetto). The singing does work at times, though.

Boy, Youngs demands a whole lot of patience. At first, I wasn't ready to give it. I mean, 19 minutes of whole note chords and wobbly singing? No matter that the lyrics were intriguing. Then I settled down and gathered myself. I can't say I'm a huge fan, but Youngs does have a style all his own, and it can be quite effective. He just takes a little getting used to, I suppose.