It's been five years since I heard something from these guys, and the most amazing thing is that they haven't changed the sound a whole lot. This is punkish, vaguely "alternative" rawk, sorta (but not entirely) in the vein of late 80s Soul Asylum (which, for me, represents some of the finest rock ever).

American Standard is more crafted, and the sound here is cranked up a notch or two. Dave Smalley is one of the producers of note, and whether he had anything to do with it or not, the guitars in particular have that Egerton-Stevenson ALL thing going. Tight, sharp and expressive.

Here's the thing: The songs are written loosely and then played with precision. The final sound is clean, perhaps just a little too much so. Of course, I can't overlook that feeling of boundless joy that pervades, either.

Wondering if that ALL thing was intentional? Listen to "Adoring" and tell me otherwise. American Standard has cobbled together some great ideas and mixed them into a simmering stew. I'm not sure if all the ingredient have been fully cooked, but what's here is tasty enough.

Like many a punk band, Anti-Flag has a political agenda. Unlike many of those acts, however, these boys also craft energetic tunes to go with their polemics. And, if you're confused by any of the lyrics, each song has a helpful exegesis to make every nuance clear.

It is rare that a band so focused on getting its message across can also play such fun music. And I mean it. This stuff is great. Basic, three-chord fare, but punchy and full of life. The arrangements make the most of what's there.

What might that be? For starters, Anti-Flag varies its attack. There's a few buzzsaw riffs, a few lean lead guitar lines, some real nice drum breaks and the odd oi shout-along chorus. Nothing unusual or out of the ordinary, of course. Just the usual punk themes dolled up nicely.

Thoroughly enjoyable, and with a healthy dollop of political theory to boot. Yes, you can jam and think at the same time. Revolution rarely sounds this good.

One of the things I noticed during my English holiday last year was that Brits love just about everything American when it comes to music. Out in the counties, bands played country music--the old stuff, mostly--in the pubs. In London, the fixation on r&b (in all its forms) is as apparent as ever.

Black Box Recorder makes soul music. No new jack or none of that. More of a retro new wave take on Al Green or Marvin Gaye. With female vocals, of course. The effect isn't unlike that of Magnetic Fields, though these folks go for a much more lush sound.

Shimmeringly beautiful tunes. The sound of the vocals is more important than what is actually being said. Not to say that the lyrics are irrelevant, but the voices act as an extension of the music--something very few acts these days bother to craft.

Pretty. Very pretty. With just enough of a look back to trigger an almost imperceptible nostalgic response. Very clever, this Black Box Recorder. Time to hit repeat.

A couple guys from Kansas City give moody pop a slow burn. Vaguely atonal melodies and burbling riffage put together a collage in dribs and drabs. Oh, and did I mention the psychedelia? Plenty of that to go around, though it is run through a minimalist filter.

Spooky is the best way to describe this. Block Watch Captain rarely hits a straight note. Instead, there's a whole lot of noodling around what might be considered a central theme. If the guys actually expressed these thoughts in a straightforward manner, these songs would soar.

Instead, the stuff porpoises about, flying high one moment and crashing to earth the next. I think I like that better. Spacey, halting pop music with grand ambition ought to be undercut now and again.

And Block Watch Captain is just the group to do it. Alternately embracing and parodying "important" pop is a tough task, but these boys manage to do just that. Carefree at times and harrowing at others, The Golden Stations has the ring of truth.

It's all Chris Clark. And when I say that, I mean it's all Chris Clark. These songs have very little to do with each other except that they were all assembled by the same guy.

Assembled is the operative term here. Clark doesn't much care to stick around the same sound twice, and instead jumps wildly from song to song, crafting each from loads of samples or simply playing out a simply piano or keyboard line.

Now, after going though this a couple of times, things are getting clearer. The simpler, more basic pieces serve as intermissions. The denser, thicker, heavier throbbing electronic techno noise constructions are more regular songs. Though in any case, very few pieces seem to fit together at all.

Rather, this disc is the fruit of an astonishingly fertile mind. I don't know what Clark eats for breakfast, but man, this is some wonderfully twisted gunk. Whatever he tries to do (and to be fair, most of this stuff does fit somewhere in the ambient-techno-noise-funk universes) manages to speak most eloquently for itself. Creativity can be an amazing thing.

Years and years and years ago (okay, maybe only years and years ago), there was a band called Seam that played slow, introspective, somewhat psychedelic rock songs. Then Seam wised up and got hip to that Chicago noise thing and slowly moved out of its old apartment.

Coastal must've sublet the place. Back when Seam sounded like this, I didn't like the stuff. But now I'm older, wiser and just that much smarter. So now, I'm happy to say that the old Seam was pretty damned good, and so is this Coastal stuff.

But let's actually talk about Coastal, shall we? The songs are driven by a languid lead guitar line and organ tones, with male and female vocals (most often working together). The songs don't always go somewhere. Sometimes, they just wallow in the mood.

Even then, however, there's this yearning, this need to figure something out. I get the feeling that Coastal is slowly (alright, very slowly) pondering some of the bigger questions of the day. Like, why sit around and watch Springer when you could be making love? Okay, so that's not a topic discussed here. Not a problem. I just need to tap into this gentle groove a bit more and reconnect with my subconscious. Coastal helps a lot there.

Musings from the Mineral side of emo. Gift Anon has not one, but two lead guitars meandering about trying to establish some sort of pattern. Alright, sometimes there's a traditional lead/rhythm arrangement. But I kinda prefer the dual leads.

Mostly because songs like these are all about the lines. The paths taken by the guitars, other instruments and vocals. That's what's matters here. And Gift Anon doesn't skimp. There's a pleasing, complex meshwork in these tunes, with some unexpected points of intersection cropping up here and there.

I'm all in favor of stuff like this. Gift Anon doesn't really do anything unusual with the sound, but it sure knows what it's doing, period. Simple elements combining into complicated mixtures. That's why this kinda sound will always fall pleasantly on my ears.

Four blistering songs. Haymarket Riot delivers its emo punch with full force. The power and intensity of the sound, however, cannot take away from the textured arrangements and intelligent lyrics.

Indeed, the band's technical prowess is exceeded only by its ability to write and play utterly involving songs. There are a lot more sideways glances here than most emo types make. No matter. These songs stick together like glue.

A short burst of brilliance. I know, I've said nice things about these boys before, and I'm sure I will again. This too-short set is more than worthy.

Like Haymarket Riot, Hero of a Hundred Fights take a vaguely prog approach to emo. But where its labelmates still manages to tie up a nice (if loud) pop package, this band lets the lines run wild.

Not quite incoherent, but you can smell it from here. The songs sound like they're continually falling apart, though they never quite separate fully. I like that. A lot. Though at times I do wish there was a bit more of a nucleus at the center. Chaos is always interesting, but finding meaning in a mess can be a bitch.

Hero of a Hundred Fights succeeds, but barely. Just the tiniest bit of band consciousness would go a long ways. I wouldn't want to change the meandering, warbling style, but I do want to be able to discern what the boys are trying to say. I think I got it, but just a touch more tidiness wouldn't hurt.

This disc came in a plain white wrapper. Didn't know quite what to expect. In any case, I sure didn't expect anthemic blooze metal. It's pretty good, mind you. I'm not complaining. But I just wasn't expecting the aural assault, you know?

This is the sorta stuff that gets better the more it cheeses out. The more the guys sell the hooks, the more the guitars settle into predictable throttle modes, the more the blood gets moving.

Isabelle's Gift seems to know this. The songs never slow down or become turgid. Instead, they always seem to be upping the ante. Does the stuff get silly? Damn straight. And the band revels in the lunacy. That's the whole point!

High art? Hardly. But Isabelle's Gift has a knack for the heavy hook. As long as the pedal sticks close to the floor, these boys have wide spaces to roam. Play this as loud as you can take it.

You might have read my review of the Black Box Recorder earlier in the issue. Where I mention the merging of electronic styles and r&b. Kudu does the same thing, except from a different angle.

For starters, Kudu has more of a "street" feel. It sounds more American, probably because this is, indeed, an American act. But these songs simply sound more at home with the current r&b trends. The electronic beat work serves to emphasize the dissonance that's almost overwhelmed soul music these days.

Another way of saying Kudu is trip-hop without much of the hip-hop. The pretentious faux jazz grooves are a bit grating, but sometimes they work. At least, sometimes I can stand them. I was never much of an acid jazz fan.

Kudu's technical prowess (both instrumentally and vocally) is impressive. That ability sometimes comes together to make great songs. There are two or three here I really dig. I find the rest interesting, but strangely sterile. Is that intended? To some extent, it has to be. Intellectually, I can hear a lot going on. My heart says change the discer, however.

Ronnie Owens is old enough to remember when the blues (of all flavors) and country and western collided to jump start rock and roll. And he knows that long before anyone rocked around a clock the blues talked about good rockin' and rollin'.

Ronnie and the Grand Dukes harken back to the days when the blues and rock and country slipped and slid around each other. He played a wicked harp, and on about half the songs here he's got guitar help from Anson Funderburgh. There's no questioning the chops.

Or the spirit of the songs. Owens wrote most, and the ghost of those old days infuses the music and the playing. Low down and fun, comin' at the sound from the blues side, these boys just wear out these songs.

Not pure blues. Not pure anything. That's why Li'l Ronnie and the Dukes are able smoke like this. The important criterion is simply: Does this burn? Any other notions are extraneous.

Less ska-core than simply snotty punk with horns, the Mad Caddies have in any case created one hell of an irresistible sound. I mean, if this doesn't sound like party music to you then you're drinking enough.

And I say that because the boys know how to mix things up. Punk rock can get awfully dull if you stay the same. Mad Caddies do have a tendency to slide into the NOFX style of oozin-ahs, but the horns help out. Not to mention the utterly infectious hooks. You must sing along.

Right. See, there's no option. Each of these songs shows off different shades of punk. The versatility of the band is key. Yeah, the guys can play. No kidding. But there's no way to get bored with this album, and that's what helps to set it apart.

There's also the dry and biting sense of humor, the sharp and clean production and the general high quality of the writing. There's no such thing as a perfect punk album. That would be an oxymoron. But the Mad Caddies have angled their way toward the top of the pro heap. Craft and punk can walk hand in hand without losing the fun factor. Don't believe me? Take a listen here.

Hard rockin' alt. country. Janas Hoyt wrote these songs. She sang these songs. And she recruited plenty of friends to flesh out the Mary Janes's sound. Which part do I like best? Not a fair question.

The songs are earthy and full, drenched in energetic emotion. Sometimes the lyrics look back, but these songs are all about moving forward. Hoyt's voice has more of a 70s singer-songwriter quality than a country or folk feel, but it fits her writing style perfectly.

Different songs feature different instrumentation. There's violin on a number of tracks, and some accordion here and there. Simple flavors that enhance the main course. The production has left a punchy sound that brings out the kinetic qualities of Hoyt's songwriting. Perfect.

Utterly enjoyable. Great driving music, with enough soul to accompany a languid night under the stars as well. It's far too easy to fall in love with this album.

Um, yes, punk's looniest "supergroup" (a wonderful oxymoron to begin with, of course) is back, this time taking on songs from the 60s. So you get everything from "Sloop John B" to "Stand By Your Man." And then some stuff like "Wild World," from the early 70s that also fits in with the theme.

With the usual touches, such as four-part harmony on "Blowin' in the Wind" and the traditional Islamic greeting at the start of "Wild World" (think about it a minute...).

Alright, so the rendition of "My Boyfriend's Back" just can't touch Alice Donut's gay S&M take, but what can you do? Hard to touch a classic, though the boys give "I Only Want to Be With You," which has seen life as a hit for the Bay City Rollers and Kylie Minogue (not to mention Dusty Springfield's 1964 original), one more life as well. The version here tends more toward Dusty, which is the best move.

This album isn't quite as manic or delirious as Are a Drag, the album of (mostly) Broadway tunes the boys cranked out last time. Most of these songs started life as three-chord pop songs, and there isn't a whole lot a vaguely punkish rearrangement can do for them. Still, there's a whole lotta joy here. Big smiles.

Midnight Syndicate has a flair for the dramatic. So it only makes sense that the duo would finally put together a sort of "dark opera." Sort of because this is mainly instrumental fare, and what vocals exist are used as instruments rather than to convey lyrics.

But since these guys are practiced at the art of using music to create effect, that's no problem. The general plot of the story is apparent by the mood and colors of the songs, and the listener should feel free to add in the details as he or she wishes.

That's what I did, anyway. More fun, in a way. Also, that made me dig deeper into the stuff than I might have otherwise. It's a little easier to zone out and really get lost. And that's exactly what I did.

Compelling without getting overwrought. Just solid, spooky fare with a story to tell. Use it as the soundtrack for you next Halloween party. Or travel through this haunted house any time you like.

The mood, if you were curious, is glam rock. Take a good look at that cover photo. T. Rex all the way, baby. And boy, does this settle down nicely. Right in pocket, perfect for jangling.

Just the right amount of clunky jangle pop mixed in with the rough harmonies, bounding lead guitar and booming bass of glam. Songs about rock and roll, girls and rock and roll. Just what the doctor ordered.

This is hardly modern music. The name of the band is retro irony. Kinda like that. The songs are straight out of 1971 or 1972, with no apologies. And why should there be any?

A solid representation of the form. I love stuff like this. I could eat it all day every day for the rest of my life. Maybe it's the music of my soul or something and I have no control. Hard to say. What I do know is that I'm gonna play this puppy until I somehow manage to wear it out.

John Nitzinger has been around. Some of these songs are almost 30 years old. No problem with that. Nitzinger likes to play Texas-style rock-blues shuffles. No problem with that either. He's got an incendiary way of making his guitar scream. Again, no worries.

As long as he sticks to the shuffles and keeps his songs in motion, Nitzinger sounds pretty good. Great, on occasion. But when he slows things up and tries to play more traditional blues, all the bombast that works so well with the fast material just gets in the way.

And the problem is, Nitzinger seems to want to play that traditional stuff as much as the shuffles. So the good and the bad kinda cancel each other out. After a while, I just get a little tired.

I have to applaud a guy who tries out different ideas. But it's plain to hear that some things work better than others. Nitzinger needs to figure out what works best for him.

Also known as Scott Herren, PreFuse 73 takes a jazzy approach to the electronic collage style of hip hop. There are so many cuts and splices that it's much easier to approach the whole rather than each piece.

And that's what sampling is all about. Using just enough of the sound to get what you want, and not to take the listener on some nostalgia ride with the original.

Herren is a master at the editing board. Even with all of the manipulation and crafting, these songs have an organic feel. They're alive in their own right, and not just in some sterile electronic alternate universe. These are pieces that live and breathe the same air we do.

The sorta masterful beat work and groove building that's dreadfully hard to find. Herren, as PreFuse 73, has cobbled together a sound that is more addictive than crack. Albums like this prove that technology can never defeat creative genius, but rather enhance the ability of artists to challenge and grow.

Hawd koa punk rawk, with plenty of melody to help the medicine go down. Soaring anthems built on a relentless buzzsaw attack. That's more than a little cool.

Really, not much more complicated than that. Rise Against focuses on the personal more than the political, which simply raises the angst factor. Makes the songs that much more poignant.

I'm not kidding. There's an innocence to the ideas here. These guys are earnest. They haven't burnt out yet. When you get to be my age, well, that sorta thing can be refreshing. Good tuneage doesn't hurt, either.

Real good tuneage, mostly. And the energy level doesn't flag. This is what most people think of when you mention punk music. It's just done a little better than most. A true joy.

A long EP (six songs, almost 21 minutes), but that's what I'm calling it. I always like to get these housekeeping details out of the way. Right. On the to the tunes, which fit right in with Rollo Tomasi's Divot brethren.

This is a band, by the way. The style is somewhat convoluted emo hardcore, loud and meandering. Aggressive. Mean, sometimes. Compelling, always. In particular, the guitar lines are fat and expressive, reminding me more than a little of Jawbox.

On the dark side this trio rolls. Nothing complicated, though certainly complex. Just powerful rock and roll delivered with a deft touch. Hard to be heavy with a light foot, but Rollo Tomasi delivers. Delivers to all neighborhoods, I might add.

This album came out on Actionboy Records back in 1998. Even then, the sky Corvair had become something of a legend. The band began as a side project for members of Braid, Gauge and Cap'n Jazz in 1994. By early 1995, the band was no more.

But, considering that members of the Sky Corvair went on to play in such acts as Joan of Arc, Traluma and Haymarket Riot, well, it shouldn't be too surprising that the original pressing sold out. Thus this reissue.

Think back, if you will, to the heady days of early emo. Almost (though not quite) before the sound had a real name. Songs with intense dynamics, from the sound of pins dropping to mind-bending apocalyptic crashes. Long songs. Short songs. Songs that travel a great distance. And songs that go nowhere.

This album sounds like it could have be recorded tomorrow. Way ahead of its time, and yet also a document of a time that has passed. Most worthy of a spin or few. Sometimes "historic" recordings are kinda stilted or dull. And sometimes, as with this disc, they're anything but.

Not yer usual power blues rock trio. The Stone Coyotes prefer to boogie, with a healthy dollop of acid rock (the real thing) plopped in now and again. That this is a family band (dad Doug on drums, mom singing and playing guitar and piano and son John on bass--and some guitar) makes for an even more interesting dynamic.

No matter what the Stone Coyotes are playing at any given time, the songs move. Whether laying down pile-driving riffs on the autobiographical "First Lady of Rock" or tripping through Dolly Parton's "Jolene" (a song also popularized by Olivia Newton John way back when), the tight center drives the music forward.

Folks don't make music like this any more. I mean, these songs are big and loud and utterly human. This is a strange reference, but I remember on the first Tesla album there was this motto spelled out big in the liners: No machines! There's nothing mechanical or programmed about what this family does.

It may seem odd to call such raucous fare "organic," but that's how I hear this. And I really, really like it. The rhythm section bounds with joy and the rest of the song always follows. Fun? Undoubtedly. And a big ol' blast of fresh air to boot. Top notch.

Talk about split personalities. Theselah begins the album by taking a bit of Codeine, splicing in some of Galaxie 500-style rhythm guitar and then slipping in the elongated lead guitar lines of the mellower side of emo. Bringing down the house, indeed.

A couple songs down the line, Theselah grinds gears and plasters the speakers with walls of distortion and some stuff that was recorded in most inventive fashion. And then there are songs somewhere in between.

A song toward the end of the disc seems to sum up what Theselah is all about: "Take It Fast or Take It Slow." Yep. That's about it. Ringing throughout the disc is this really great production job that captures more echo and reverb than I thought possible. While the songwriting isn't exactly consistent, that sound pervades the album.

Thus saving Theselah from sounding like a rootless band. Much easier for a dolt like me to figure out what's going on here, besides music that sounds way too cool for words. I had some fun and worked my brain as well. Bravo.

Sort of an electronic soundscape opera. The music is sampled, looped and played, spinning a picture of a world not quite like ours. The vocals are minimalist and simple, spoken as much as sung. And yes, they do tell a story.

A journey. Between songs with vocals are "instrumental" tracks, fairly experimental in construction. They help transport the listener on a trail much like that of the protagonists.

I must say, those "instrumental" (I use the quotes because of the collage style of the sound, I guess) flights of creative fancy are much more satisfying than the simpler, less complex tracks with vocals. Tinsel can really leave the plane of the Earth. But generally not when someone's singing.

The dichotomy is a bit too much for me to overcome. Tinsel has obvious skill and talent, and large portions of this disc are inspirational. Even some of the songs with vocals work well, such as "Here I Was." Would that the rest of the vocal songs matched up as well with the impressive sound work.

As a warning to idiots like me who get confused easily, Trance to the Sun makes it clear that while plenty of effects were used to create the impressive sounds on this disc, no sampling or looping occurred. Good thing I saw that, or I'd have made a real fool of myself.

Because the sound here is most impressive. It's hard to imagine people playing what I'm hearing. Trance to the Sun trafficks in grand, soaring goth music, with blinding guitar lines and swooping keyboards. Oh, and the divine vocals wafting down as if angels on high had deigned to grace the land below with their presence.

You think I'm overdoing it, hunh? You think I'm being a bit too effusive in my praise? Take a listen for yourself, man. Crank the music up, let it wash over you for five or ten minutes and then tell me I'm mistaken. You won't be able to do it. It's albums like this that legitimize the entire goth movement in all its forms.

Truly. I don't excited like this very often. Not to this extent, anyway. Trance to the Sun not only knows the history of goth (as evidenced by a few sly passing references), the band members have a good idea of how to keep the sound modern and vital. Pretentious as hell. And well worth it.

A Rockville (Maryland) three-piece, Trial by Fire fuses a lot of 70s influences into a stripped down sound that avoids just about all the excesses of the time. The guitar playing is good, but not flashy. The singing is passable but hardly pyrotechnic. The drumming is, well, the drumming is bombastic. Hard to avoid that, I guess.

A guilty pleasure, really. Trial by Fire manages to impress by simply making songs like this sound pretty good without going nuts. Just solid, professional workmanship presented with a minimum of flash. The songs, too, don't really fly too far afield (though "Harmonic" does have some nice proggy moments).

Just yer basic hard rockin' three-piece. Nothing wrong with that. Now, I'm not going to be silly and proclaim Trial by Fire the next big thing. It's not. But that doesn't mean the boys don't have a few interesting things to say before the night is done.

Solid modern metal with just a touch of the glam--glam metal, that is. The high vocals may growl, but when they try to soar, they have that strained quality that worked well for loads of bands in the late 80s.

The music, too, is a bit more active than the usual grind. Velocity seems to have learned a little bit from Warrior Soul and Motley Crue (both old and more recent). Not the most distinguished fare, but it sure sounds good most of the time.

There are a lot of studio tricks here that seem to be trying to make this sound heavier than maybe it wants to be. Velocity plays the power game well, but so do a lot of bands. Perhaps a lighter touch might give these guys a more distinct sound.

Waterdown has a singer and a screamer. That's two vocal positions. They'd better be good. Well, if you read my review of the band's European EP, you'd know the boys can change styles on a dime and still sound great.

Same story here. Waterdown is as at ease with extreme hardcore as it is with anthemic melodies and any number of other vaguely punkish sounds. Most often, the boys mix more than two sounds into any one song.

These different styles are layered rather than segmented, so maybe Ingo will be screaming while Marcel sings a Pennywise sorta melody. The music underneath probably most resembles European deconstructionists like Refused. Not that that should come as any surprise.

Every song is a thrill ride, and the entire album was almost too much to take. Some folks just know how to make the music of tomorrow. Don't try to classify Waterdown. You can't. There's no way. Just call this disc fucking brilliant and be done with it.