Kind of a throwback, at least these days. There aren't a lot of melodic hardcore bands trolling in these grungy, metalcore waters these days. Align does the sound proud, however, cranking out power anthem after power anthem.

Without sounding, you know, inane or something. There's a deft touch to the songs which keeps them from getting overwrought (and headed into Creed territory). Really, I shouldn't have even brought that reference up, because these boys are not settled into any sort of metal camp. They just like loud guitars and the occasional soaring chorus.

Nothing wrong with that. The production here is relatively light, allowing the vocals and guitars to exist in separate planes. That's one of the big reasons why Align doesn't come off as some sort of poser band. These guys have something to say.

And they say it well. There is a commercial edge in the way these songs are written, but the sound just doesn't have that excessive ring to it. Rather, the songs themselves are the stars. As they should be.

There's this thing going around called alt. country or something like it. Symptoms include understated production (if there are production values at all), baleful songs about how life would be much better if we all just slowed down and a general adherence to traditional country song construction, but with a bit more kick.

David Andrews has it, and he has it bad. His songs are dead center in the targets of the genre, and his writing has that workmanlike quality which some connoisseurs really dig. Me, of course, I prefer a more breezy approach. I don't want to hear you working.

But for the most part, these songs are satisfying, even if I find them a bit too generic. Most of the time I was able to call chord changes 10-15 seconds before they happened, and every once in a while I even predicted lyrics. Andrews does this well, but he needs to shake things up a bit.

Find a little piece of himself and let that flow through his tunes. These are fine, crafted songs with more than a little power. But anyone could have written and recorded them. Andrews needs to put his stamp on the music he loves. And by adding a few blue notes here and there, he can put that predictability to rest.

Bright yet contemplative pop music, with more than a few roots rumblings. Reminds me of the dBs, and not in a bad way. Astro Chicken has a way of shining these vaguely moody gems into real sparklers.

The roots part comes in on the slowest numbers, where the rhythm section echoes the simple power of Uncle Tupelo's early slow numbers. That and some nods to the Byrds.

Still, the feel is mostly in the soulful pop realm. Soulful in that these guys are really baring their feelings here. These songs pull no punches, and the lyric impact is ably assisted by wonderfully expressive music.

Astro Chicken rarely gets out of second gear, but this meditative feel really works for the guys. Or, perhaps I should say that the band makes this most difficult of sounds work exceptionally well. Very few can muster the artistic honesty to fully illustrate such works of quiet power. Sometimes, I think Astro Chicken can do that in its sleep.

Some new wave metal bands have jumped on the hip hop bandwagon, and a few have even embraced a form of the Fear Factory goth vocals. Few, however, have gone as whole hog as Biastfear, picking up a new singer who might well be much more at home wailing with Destiny's Child.

Crystal Moore sings and raps (kinda) along with the grinding Biastfear attack. And you know something? It works, particularly when Moore unwinds her formidable voice.

In fact, this album could use a more of Moore. When she's singing, the material just smokes. When she's rapping or standing on the sidelines, the stuff sounds a lot more mundane. Her voice combined with the music's rough edges really packs a wallop.

There's definitely something here. This idea worked. The songwriting needs to be tweaked a bit to take more full advantage of what the band has, but the big risk has been taken. It paid in full.

This band has one of the more appropriate names I've ever heard. The songs light pop, driven often enough by a bossa nova (or other vaguely Latin) beat and punctuated by the instrument of the beat movement--congas. Big ones, mind you, and not the little pipsqueaks you might be expecting.

The lyrics are sly, befitting the loungish feel perpetrated by the band. This is music for sitting back and enjoying, and it's real easy to do just that. There's nothing contrived or smarmy in the writing or the playing. The songs are dished out with a nice helping of style.

Most importantly, this is a live recording, which only increases the loose feel. In fact, there's a thousand ways for a band like this to really screw things up in the studio. The biggest mistake would be to somehow make this music into something that it isn't. Like loud, obnoxious or crude.

But rather, the live setting allows the Bossa Nova Beatniks to show off their smart, seductive songs in the best possible light. Nothing complicated here; just good music.

A full-length adventure from the electronic assault that is Brain Transplant. This time around, Chris Smentkowski gets a little help from Dave Stone on saxophone (though I challenge you to identify the sax when it actually appears). The sound is ragged and edgy, rather along the lines that have been established before.

Which is not to say that Brain Transplant is repeating itself. Hardly. There are some explorations into the three-dimensional sound that are just stunning. And the modulation and manipulation of the sax recordings are often breathtaking.

Not entirely a pleasant experience. This puppy rears right up and bites you on the ass. There's very little nice going on here. Maybe that's why it appealed to me.

Or perhaps I simply like adventurous, creative noise. Brain Transplant certainly fits that bill. This long player only cements the band's reputation in my mind. I can't wait to see what comes along next.

Just when I was starting to think of Brando as a trippy pop band, I get this. It's still trippy, but in the more conventional sense. This album is mastered for headphone use, with a deceptively full sound and soaring melodies driving the engine.

Um, yeah, there is a Flaming Lips thing going on. Old Lips, where the focus was on simple effects rather than excessive layering. Sure, there's plenty of the latter going on here, but this sounds more like a garage band trying to create a massive symphonic pop sound.

Just as a note: That's a really good way to do this. Brando's songs are just a bit off-kilter, and on this disc that off-balance sense is manifested in the sound construction. There are a lot of weird little things going on just beneath the radar. Probably why there's a note to use headphones or simply turn the sound way up.

This is a good place. A secret garden of smiles and whispered glances. Brando has found that spot where a fine band simple transcends what it has done before. This baby shimmers.

A big fatty of that thick, fuzzy punk-tinged rock. Buckfast Superbee thanks the likes of fluf, and while these boys aren¹t quite that accomplished, they do have a good handle on how to make this stuff jump.

Yeah, alright, at times the beats get a little too "up and down" for my taste (I'm always in favor of moving forward), but that is part of the sound. I can't complain to loudly there.

There are moments I wish the guys cranked up the sound just a bit or found that extra dose of power some other way. I just want to hear that extra bit of something that would really kick these songs into another gear. One more drum break, or tighter hooks or something else. Anything, really.

Solid, if unspectacular. Buckfast Superbee has learned its lessons; now it needs to figure out how to break the rules a little bit. There's nothing wrong with these songs In fact, many of them are quite good. But there's a spark missing. Maybe that will come with time.

A multiple contributor to the two most recent Songs for the Jetset collections, Death By Chocolate takes a loopy electronic approach to 60s pop psychedelia. And don't be put off by the lengthy song list on the back. Almost half of those "tunes" are strange little list monologues.

Perhaps those odd spoken-word bits can be better explained by the fact that Death By Chocolate is Angie Tillett. While I might have guessed that from the fairly minimalist approach to the sound, this in no way sounds like a stereotypical obsessive solo project.

Indeed, there's a playfulness that emanates from each song, a feeling of joy that is pretty hard to shake. This isn't mindless effervescence, mind you, but a more mature sort of happiness that comes from having been around the block a couple of times.

Throwback? Nope. Something altogether new and unique. Death By Chocolate does feel like something of a gimmick at first. But then the depth begins to make itself known. That's when the smiles really begin to show.

This is like the fifth album I've reviewed in the last 10 years with that same title. Oh well. At least this one has a picture of horses on the cover.

As for the tuneage, this one does fit into the Fat Wreck/Honest Don's stable of tuneful ,yet muscular, punk outfits. Diesel Boy combines NOFX's relatively strident verses with anthemic, hooky choruses.

And for all that, well, I'm left a little down. This just doesn't pick me up the way I'd like. The stuff is fine, but it just doesn't have that final piece to really set the band apart.

It's like I keep repeating myself, but sometimes this is just the case. Some music doesn't hit that special pleasure center, even though it's perfectly good. Not great, but good. That'll have to do for this one.

So what we've got here is a trio playing heavy, heavy hardcore. You know, in that Glazed Baby, Fudge Tunnel sorta way. Which, if you must know, is one of my favorite flavors of hardcore.

But the question is: Does Diesto measure up? Pretty much. The sound is much thicker than Fudge Tunnel (a band that generally liked a clean finish to separate the fuzz just a bit) and not quite so sludgy as Glazed Baby. There is movement here. Diesto doesn't just pummel the listener into submission.

There's not a whole lot of ferment here. Diesto takes a simple rhythmic idea, translates it into a lead riff and then heads out. Mostly for the better.

This style really hits its stride in the "spin cycle" mode, when all of the elements are churning and crashing into each other. Diesto is smart enough to throw in just enough of the ferment and then let the rest of the stuff move from there. A first-rate effort.

I wasn't so knocked out by an early Egon effort on a 7", but that just goes to show you how difficult it is to make a real judgment on a band from just a song or two. Because this Egon I rather like.

The pieces are punctuated by strident, almost martial drumming, but the other side of the band is almost maniacally understated. Remind me of Drunken Boat, and I still love that band.

Egon simply keeps working until the songs finally come together in a near frenzy. Standard old school emo construction there, though Egon gets wacky in a somewhat more loose way. There is an almost omnipresent meditative feel about these songs.

In the end, that contemplative nature is what sets Egon apart. Not only does it make the band sound thoughtful, it provides a welcome depth. An album that seductively invites repeat listens. It's worth that extra time.

Open-throttle full-bore punk rawk. Electric Frankenstein believes in two things: loud guitars and breakneck speed. Even the idle here would take the roof off yer average pretender.

The guitar sound is utterly heavy and would be ponderous if the songs didn't move at a fair clip. And, in fact, when things move toward a mid-tempo groove, I begin to wonder if the arteries are thickening up a bit too much.

But no, another song about dead people (just about every song here has at least a reference to life's release) comes on down the pike. And I resume the position, compelled to take as much of a beating as Electric Frankenstein is willing to dish out.

This is a bruising effort. These guys understand that you can't tame rock and roll, you can only ride it. This 12-cylinder attack rips off the brakes and just lets the spirit of youth fly free. The rush is, indeed, something else.

The Foxymorons are two guys who know their way around a jangly hook. Actually, David Dewese and Jerry James are familiar with more hooks than I can imagine. There are songs here that seem to have two or even three memorable melodies.

But because we're talking about two guys, the sound never gets terribly complicated. Just a pleasant stew of easygoing ideas. There's no pretense here, no attempt to make the next great album. Just a few songs that are eminently hummable.

That is a virtue, by the way. There's not a damned thing wrong with a song that sticks in your head for days. As long as it's a good song, that is, and the Foxymorons have an uncanny knack for writing amazingly gorgeous songs.

Almost like they're tossed off, but of course, they're not. This album is a fine example of the good use of craft. Make it sound easy. Make it sound almost mindless. Never mind the truth. Just give the folks a smile. Or ten.

There aren't many who would attempt a country blues record. Not necessarily torch spin on the jump blues, mind you (though there is some of that), but more of a western swing meets the rural blues. The way Gary Gerloff does it, you'd think this was a perfectly natural idea.

And, really, we are talking about two of the pure folk music forms of the 20th century, often played by groups of people who did live near each other. The thing is, for the most part these are Gerloff's songs. His reinventions of standards are the weakest link here, and they often sound like the Band trying to play the blues. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but his own pieces sound so much better.

Now that I think of it, of course, Dixieland (hardly a rural sound, but bear with me) provides a perfect bass line for two-step swing rhythms. And bluesy acoustic guitar shuffling fits right in with piano, organ or steel guitar. Gerloff achievement is in the way he weaves all of these "ancestral" sounds into something new and modern.

One of those albums that simply sounds timeless. It is, of course, and not just because of the breadth of music experience exhibited. Gerloff and friends breathe a colorful life into these songs. The full effect can't be fully described in a review. It must be heard.

So about halfway through the album the thought occurred to me: I ought to be writing something. Halfway through and I haven't dropped a word? I'm either enjoying myself or trying to figure out what might be the best constructive criticism I might offer a dreadful album.

With a set-up like that, you know the punchline. I'm knocked out. Will Hoge plays that kinda big punk rock, a sorta cleaned-up version of the Mats or Soul Asylum (before both became safe and overly sanitized). Grand songs that rollick by at a fast clip and actually have something to say.

Goddamn if the stuff doesn't sound great with the sound turned way, way up. I just kept cranking the knob on my stereo, and each time I still wanted more. Hoge is more textured than most folks who have his energy, and his songs are wonderfully complex maelstroms of thought and emotion.

Yes, there is a radio anthem here (and it's titled "Heartbreak Avenue"), the sort of thing that could help Hoge pull a Semisonic if he got a little major label interest. But most of the fare is just on the edgy side of the mainstream, kinda giving a best of both worlds feel. An album that just about everyone should be able to agree on, methinks.

Just what the title sez: Three new songs from Jindra. This set finds Jindra in a contemplative mood, the songs basically a voice and guitar.

Almost coffeehouse crooning, really. The singing is really stylized, almost a parody of rather expressive art singers. After a bit, though, the interplay between the guitar and the vocals becomes clearer. There's a playful quality, even as the lyrics take somewhat darker paths.

Something of an acquired taste. The songs don't have a lot of musical structure, but are mostly free-form meanderings. Sort of a poetic feel to everything. Can you dig it? That's the real question, and I've gotta say I'm on the fence here. My mind appreciates this a lot more than my heart.

Bounding, anthemic punk rawk from Australia. On the major label tip, so there's some bucks behind this. Luckily, the album doesn't really sound like that. There's a nice, gritty underbelly to these songs.

The apparent need to turn every song into a minor sing-along masterpiece does indicate some "industry" input, but once again, the songs are more than good enough to overcome any corporate attempts to "fix" the band.

A lot of fun, really, too light to really get all worked up about. Are these three guys the next anything? Probably not. They just play a few fun songs and make me smile. I can handle that.

Asking for more would be a problem. The Living End won't end world hunger or even convince Ariel Sharon that Arabs are people, too. Nope, all these guys do is rip off 14 pieces of musical joy. That's just fine with me.

Somewhere between Stereolab and the Wedding Present (though obviously with rather more normal lyrics), Manifold Splendour spins its seductively attractive web.

Veddy, veddy British, though the band is solidly Amurrcun. There's just this nice sheen of distortion washing over the Manchesterish rhythms that screams "Britpop."

And that feel is what drives me nuts here. Ten years ago, I hated stuff like this. Now I love it. So chalk this rave review up to good timing as much as anything else. The deal is, Manifold Splendour not only does the style well, it has written some songs that would sound great in any number of arrangements. The stuff is rock solid.

Too entrancing for its own good? Probably not. This is simply gorgeous music that shoots straight to the pleasure centers of my brain. Pretty, with plenty of backing substance. I'll dive in anytime.

Once again, the packaging is inventively gorgeous. Great care went into creating the cover, liners and even the pieces of paper that shield the disc itself. The same care went into creating the music.

Three songs, along with a lengthy intro that consists mainly of the sound of cathedral bells ringing. The three pieces are called waltzes, and they are played in 3/4 time. But these aren't dancing waltzes, because, as I mentioned in last issue's review, Molasses doesn't make normal music.

No, it takes bits and pieces of found sound (the bells, the sound of the Montreal subway, whatever) and uses that noise to decorate some rather abstract folk-country-roots music. The songs are something of a meditation on just that dichotoomy, how to appreciate the simple things while still remaining part of the real world. Again, images of Dirty Three dance in my head.

But Molasses is hardly stealing. Quite the contrary, the use of modern production techniques and rather old styles of music blend together seamlessly, creating an otherwordly sound. The kinda thing that almost demands introspection and a freeing of the conscious mind. Let yourself go, and visit the world of Molasses.

There's a song on this album called "Happy Happy Oi Oi." That pretty much sums up what's to be heard here. Jaunty, fresh oi presented with just enough of a sneer to keep things honest.

First-rate writing and good quality performances. Most bands skimp on one or the other, but Niblick Henbane has taken pains to make sure this is a top-notch outing.

Nothing complicated, I swear. The songs are bare bones oi, delivered with plenty of panache. Fine stuff that just leaps out of the speakers.

There's really not much more to say here. Niblick Henbane simply does oi proud. That's good enough for me.

Blue-collar punk that focuses on politics at least as much as music. Lots of anger, lots of angst. All put together with the expected sorta melodic buzzsaw attack.

The sentiments expressed aren't original or even eloquent, but they are sincere. The same goes for the music. The Pinkerton Thugs hardly break new ground, but I still stuck around for the energy.

Every once in a while something like the acoustic anthem "Youth" dropped along and made me sit up and take notice. Again, nothing spectacular in concept or execution, just a nice piece to break up the noise.

A little generic for my taste, but still, the Pinkerton Thugs have plenty of spirit. There's no doubting the intensity. Plenty of that to spare.

There comes a point where heavy metal meets space. Roachpowder takes the thick chords of stoner rock and just jams the songs into overdrive. These puppies move, man!

And there are quite a few nods to the cosmic wanderings of Hawkwind and Pink Floyd. These come without compromising one bit of the natural raw power of the sound. Kinda like what Cathedral tried to do in its latter days, except that Roachpowder doesn't clean up the sound at all.

So what's left is wonderfully heavy, dirty and always in motion. Roachpowder doesn't often break out of a mid-tempo feel, but it doesn't let these pieces lag, either. There's always a steady churn.

And, of course, the sheer simplicity of impossibly heavy piston-driven music. Enough to make just about anyone smile. Worked for me, anyways.

The Sea of Green doesn't vary much from the Black Sabbath formula. The usual stoner rock heavy riffage and echo-laden vocals wailing about something or other. The thing about it is, these guys really do this well.

Well enough to be a tribute band, except that these songs are original (except for a cover of the Floyd tune "Breathe"). This is, in truth, simply a rehash. There's nothing groundbreaking or even remotely new going on. And yet, I'm strangely attracted.

The allure comes in the posturing, the way Sea of Green says, "We know what we sound like and that's just the way it is." There's no pretense, no hiding the origins of the sound. Just a celebration of the primal desire to play some really heavy tuneage.

There are plenty of reasons to dislike these guys. They're playing an increasingly overexposed sort of music, they aren't particularly adventurous and, if you listen hard enough, I'm sure you can hear all sorts of minor thefts. Yet, with all of that, I can't deny the fact that I had fun listening to this puppy. Great driving music. If sheer joy means anything to you, perhaps this disc might be of interest.

A nice trio from England. These boys play some terrific power punk pop. Nothing complicated, nothing ambitious. Just bounding songs featuring a tasty hook or two.

And always in motion. Southport seems to have figured out that any minor songwriting problems can be greatly ameliorated by simply blitzing through any trouble spots. Get back to the hook as quickly as possible.

But there aren't too many writing breakdowns. The playing itself is ragged and energetic, about what this sound requires. Not too thick, but certainly not thin at all. As Goldilocks might say, "just right."

Depth? Well, I wouldn't go looking for a whole lot of that. Southport plays an easy sort of style that, while hardly mindless, doesn't require much thought to enjoy. Latch on to the adrenaline and enjoy the hooks. Anything after that is gravy.

Straw Dogs is a couple of guys playing earnest, folky roots rock. The songs are expertly crafted and the playing is spot-on. The harmonies, it should go without saying, are immaculate.

Like I said, David von Beck and Darren Smith put everything they've got into these songs. There's no lack of effort here. And that's what wins me over in the end.

Because this isn't one of those sounds that usually gets me revved up. Straw Dogs tightly control everything, which generally mutes the emotional impact of even the most intense songs. But the obvious hard work is enough to get me involved.

Still, I generally prefer it when bands are able to turn difficult music into brezy work. Nonetheless, I find it hard to get down on Straw Dogs. This is a first-rate rendition of the style.

Um, the title alone causes alarm bells to go off. And then the heavily-produced modern country sound kicks in (which reminds me mostly of mid 80s AOR stuff, strangely).

It doesn't get better. The song is intended to be some sort of "woman standing up for herself" piece, but the novelty shtick of the title (and much of the lyrics) is too much to take. I know this is just a demo to try and sell the song, but I just don't like the song.

Maybe some up-and-comer will need a cheap novelty piece to round out an album. I don't know. I just didn't like this song at all.

Jennifer Tefft has a big voice, and she's using it to sing fairly generic anthemic rock. Yes, Alanis and Melissa made big bucks with this kinda stuff, but both of their careers are in turnaround. So why do folks still try to play this sort of thing?

There are two options. First, there are those who honestly like the stuff. Second, there are those who think they can make money rehashing someone else's stuff. Tefft is definitely one of the first. How do I know? Every once in a while she sheds the mid-tempo cloak and really gets loud.

Not exactly Hammerbox loud, but more than enough to get me excited. "Control Freak" is a nicely rousing song. The difference isn't just the added aggression of the music. Tefft also sings with full-throated confidence, as opposed to her usual method of shackling her vocal cords.

I just wish that Tefft would put a little more energy into her other songs. She's got a fine voice, and when she uses it, she sounds great. These songs just don't provide a good enough showcase.

Seems like more and more Britpop bands are coming from America these days. The Tender Idols take large chunks of the Charlatans, T. Rex and Blur, generally spinning the sound into a downbeat cast.

And that's my one big complaint. The Tender Idols don't quite have the sonic depth to play moody music quite so much. Though they do give it a game try.

The songs themselves are well-written, though the arrangements need a bit more heft if they want to connect emotionally. Now, when the tempo picks up and the guitars come to the fore, well, the Tender Idols sail along fine.

It's just that the boys don't seem to want to play that game. They want to be taken as serious artists or something. This album doesn't quite have that much substance. The potential is there, but there's work to be done.

Slow, moody, intense fare. Tram manages to achieve a semi-western feel with some of the guitar effects (lots of echo, which brings to mind steel guitar), though I'd put the actual song construction in the realm of early 70s pop. Kinda like Burt Bacharach writing cowboy songs. That may sound silly (it's not), but the real key here is a single-minded focus on each song.

Intense is the word I'd like to drive home. A lot of bands try to create this deep, probing mood. Mostly because when its done well few types of music are anywhere near as affecting. Tram does it extremely well.

Again, I can't emphasize enough the importance the follow through. Tossing off slow and meditative material does everyone an injustice. Tram does this stuff right, crafting the songs with astonishing care and then making it all sound simple.

I know, I've already good things about Tram before, but by the sound of this disc, I'll be writing plenty more complimentary words in the future. Simply exquisite.

If yer gonna write a vampire rock opera, you might as well go all out. Write grand songs with big guitars and lots of broadly-drawn characters. Make the stuff sound like "Hair" meets Meatloaf. Well, in any case, that's what Thomas Kugler did.

And for all the cheese, this is fun. The recording is uneven (mostly in the vocals; the music generally sounds smashing), and that's a bummer. But generally, I'm amused.

I'm not going to go into plot details. That sort of close inquiry would really detract from the fun here. As a musical, "Evensong" is way too overwrought. But as a couple discs of overly grand 70s flashbacks, well, there's plenty here to love.

I'm probably not giving the rave Kugler and company wanted. To be honest, I wasn't wrapped up by the story at all. Dramatically, not much is going on. But the music has an intense charm all its own.

Terror Farmer is a Troma movie. And Go-Kart is a punk label. A match made in heaven, right?

Yeah, actually. And rather than kicking out a cheap label sampler, Go-Kart and Troma enlisted an A-list set of bands: Lunachicks, Bouncing Souls, NOFX, ALL, Girls Against Boys, Rocket from the Crypt, GWAR, Vandals, Parasites, Sick of It All and much, much more.

Twenty-three songs. Almost an hour of music. The soundtrack makes me want to see the movie. Should be a real rush.

This is the way to make a soundtrack. Good music, and lots of it. Yeah, most of the tunes can be found elsewhere. Don't matter. This is a fine mix tape, my friends.