Not many bands can claim to be utterly original. But Atombombpocketknife comes close. Yeah, it's real easy to hear all sorts of influences, from Jawbox and the Jesus Lizard and the Treepeople to the current crop of noise rockers like Shipping News and Don Caballero. Except that these folks don't sound anything like those bands.

Well, I overstate. But the synthesis of varied pieces is so complete, that while influences are fairly easy to pick out, they flit past at such a dizzying rate as to be almost indecipherable.

Right. So the fact that this is a band at the peak of its game oughta impress you a little. These folks know how make great music, and they've been knocking ideas around long enough to create their own spectacular brio. I've heard bits and pieces from this band for what seems like ages. This album simply confirms what I've always assumed.

That Atombombpocketknife is pretty damned good. And a little better than that, even. While each song is impressive on an individual basis, the pieces also spin together on the album in such a way as to create an even greater whole. Putting this on my list of the year's best is a no brainer. Even that doesn't do this justice. One listen and you'll know what I mean.

This disc is marked by a complete lack of subtlety, either musically or lyrically. This lends a real stream-of-consciousness feel to the pieces, and I kinda like that. I do, however, wish that I might have surprised at some point or another.

Once the setting for each song has been set (and I must say, some of those backdrops are pretty cool), it's real easy to predict where everything is going. Rather than building on their fairly creative foundations, the Beers just roll off the concrete flooring.

The production sound is dreadful, as low-fi as any demo I've heard in some time. It's almost as if the guys were going for a muddled, mushy sound. If they were, it was a mistake. A sharper job on the knobs might've helped here.

Man, I do wish some more effort had been spent developing these songs. Because there are good ideas dancing around here, but they generally just sit in a pool of nothing waiting for a catalyst. One that never arrives. Bummer.

Trippy pop with some hip-hop grooves. Not, I repeat, not trip hop. These are transcendental pop songs, stuff that deconstructs old formulas and rebuilds them according to newly discovered physical laws. They sound somewhat familiar, but there's always something weird at the center.

It's that disconcerting nucleus which really drives the songs. It's not just that Bisbee and friends sound odd. Bisbee's songwriting is almost a mosaic style, laying down shards of cliches in stunningly original ways.

And, well, it all sounds so good. The production has left a thick, but not exactly lush, sound. Just enough of an edge to properly show off these wonderful songs. The sorta sound Matthew Sweet often achieves. It's good.

The kinda album that ends before you notice. Certainly before I was ready to quit listening, anyways. These songs are immediately arresting, and there's so much going on that they should stand up for years to come. Really, really fine.

Richie Blackmore relies a lot more on traditional rock sounds on this, the latest Blackmore's Night album. The synth strings and flutes sound synthesized. Which takes this more toward the "rock goth" side of things. Not a bad thing, necessary. In a way, Blackmore and Candice Night sound a lot more at ease in this (somewhat) more traditional setting.

There are missteps. Right off the bat is a cover of "The Times They are a Changing." It's pretty, but also almost creepy. The thing is an anthem, of course, but the way its played here, well... let's just say the song doesn't do real well translated into a faux medieval setting.

Still, the relatively more modern sound generally works. Blackmore and Night have written another passel of fine songs. The performance is, to say the least, spot on and expressive.

Another pleasant trip down a side road. Blackmore and Night rarely make the common goth mistake of thinking these songs are deeper and more important than they are. There's a sense of fun here, and in the end, that's what makes this project a winner.

Subtitled a gothic drama in four acts, Holly's Song tells the story of a murder, a love, a death and a haunting. Indeed, sounds good and gothic to me.

It's the story, not the music, that is gothic. On the rare songs that are completely electrified, Blue sticks more to a thick, bluesy guitar that's rather reminiscent of Eric Clapton in the late 60s and early 70s. When generally acoustic, Blue sounds like any number of pretentious folk bands. When trying to sound spooky, Blue does appropriate a few goth touches, just enough to be truly haunting in quality.

The real question comes down to this: Which is more important, the story or the music? Blue answers the question unequivocally. The story. The music is often an afterthought. Hey, I understand, but you've gotta make the music work before you throw in the lyrics. If the tune is catchy or otherwise affecting, it will draw listeners in. If not, well, even the most poetic of lines will find a rocky purchase.

I like the story, both the way it's expressed and the theme. But I wish the songs presented that stuff better. There's a lot of good ideas here. They're just lost in mediocre tunes.

Technical extreme metal. Ultra-sharp production shows off these boys' chops. The playing is most impressive. And it doesn't take anything away from the visceral impact of the riffage.

I know I'm a little strange, but I always liked the first Pantera album the best. Just something about that clean, cutting style that got me off. The stuff that followed was okay (for an album or two, anyway), but it didn't have that cool sense of the groove.

Brick Bath doesn't groove much, but the clean lines of these songs are most attractive to me. Certainly, these boys know how to put together songs that hold together. No getting lost here.

And still a nicely-throttling experience. I dunno where everyone got the idea that a clean-yet-heavy guitar sound sucked. No such concerns here, and the result is one of the freshest, arresting metal albums I've heard this year. Brick Bath doesn't really go anywhere unexpected. The writing is solid, though, and the sounds sound great. Sometimes you don't need more than that.

Ooh, sounds like indie rock. You know, the stuff that crashed through from college radio into the mainstream for about two seconds in the late 80s. A reliance on the backbeat and excessively fuzzy lead guitar lines. Oh yeah, and a decidedly atonal singer.

Don't think I'm slaggin'. That's just the style. I'm simply describing. Indie rock had one thing going for it: An almost vicious energy. Even when the songs trend toward midtempo there's a live line somewhere.

Captain Jack carries on well enough. I mean, I've heard this stuff a thousand times before, and this trio is a bit faceless. Even when the guys branch out into a little ska or something, they don't really make much of an impression.

And that's my final take, really. Captain Jack is a pleasant enough band, the sorta thing I wouldn't mind hearing warm up for a national act at the local club. But the songs here just don't rise above that. Nothing wrong with simple aspirations, certainly. Captain Jack needs to find some distinctive qualities if it wants to really move forward.

The first couple of notes here pretty well settle the case. Converge plays a blistering form of extreme technical hardcore. Imagine the Refused cranking up the intensity a notch (and without the electronic experimentation).

Yeah, it is that fine. These songs just fly out at me, almost taking my head off in the process. Converge has no sense of propriety or balance. Even the relatively less manic pieces are mean as hell.

I must say, though, that I really got into the aggro songs. And that's most of the album. The production left a sheen of distortion (that also simply might be the way the guys play) but otherwise was very clean. All the better to hear each and every line as it crashes into another.

The kinda disc that leaves burn marks all over its listeners. But this is more than just a bursting ball of energy. Converge's writing and arranging leaves all kinds of depth. This is one of those albums that will provide visceral and intellectual pleasure for years to come.

If you're reading these reviews in order and just finished the Captain Jack one, Cubic Feet represents the next step in the indie rock "progression." In other words, three-chord pop with the life polished out of it.

I mean, these guys are tight. The hooks are decent, though often tossed off in such an off-handed manner that they fail to make much of an impression. The folks can sing and play, but the passion is strangely absent.

The kinda disc that makes me suspect these guys are pretty cool live. Just didn't translate. Sorta like the difference between the Meat Puppets albums on London and the live show. Night and day.

But I don't know about that for sure. All I can say is that this disc needs a real kick start somewhere, and I'm not hearin' it. All very nice. All rather nondescript. Gotta find a way to infuse a little life in here somewhere.

Prog bands generally do not have steady live gigs in the U.S. Too bad, really, because the technical nature of the music is probably best expressed live, where a band can fiddle a bit with the original work.

DFA is Italian, and this is its first U.S. show. The playing is top-notch, showing that these guys have taken the stage plenty of times in Europe. The stuff here is still rather detached from the audience (more than I would have expected, anyway), but there is still a feeling of improvisation from time to time.

The sound is studio quality. Not only do these guys know how to play live, their engineer did a first-rate job as well. So well, in fact that I think that was the reason behind the detached sound I noted earlier.

It sure does help to be a prog fan to really get into this disc. But if that's a passion of yours, DFA sure does have the chops. The songs are wide-ranging and exciting, and the performances here are great. Well worth searching out.

This is one of them "get the buzz out" kinda promo discs. Sometimes I review 'em, sometimes I don't. Depends on my mood. Thought I might kick a few thoughts out Gabe Dixon and friends.

First, I gotta tell you that it's nice to hear a rock band led by a piano player with a saxophone chaser. Yeah, I know all about Ben Folds Five, and there's a vague--very vague--resemblance at times. Mostly, though, this reminds me more of the whole Rufus Wainright phenomenon, though decidedly stripped down.

Still nicely manic, though. These three songs definitely did not do what I thought they would. There's a lot of twists and turns, but everything works out in the end. The full production sound convinces me that this is a major label recording. That so much creativity was allowed to bloom is a bit surprising. We'll see if this gets the push it deserves.

Apart from the gimmicky nature of the song subjects ("Dead-on Beauty," "Prey for Me," "Dead by Dawn," etc.), Electric Frankenstein rocks out in the style of the Stooges or early Kiss (with Gene singing, of course).

Rough, ragged and surprisingly tuneful. Once again, I find myself getting lost within the spell cast by the songs, no matter how silly the lyrics are. Some types of music are irresistible.

But that can be ruined in many ways. Electric Frankenstein takes great care to keep the sound fresh and, um, electric. These songs simply broke free from my stereo and have taken up residence in my house. They're kinda makin' a mess of things, of course, but what's life without a monster party every once in a while?

This kinda stuff could get painful quite quickly. Instead, these boys give that early punk sound a real infusion of life and style. Bliss is the result. Turn it up. And play it again. And again.

Jangle folk-pop featuring mostly acoustic guitar. With more than a few exceptions. If you hadn't guessed, this isn't really a soundtrack of any sort.

Rather, it's an impressionistic way of telling a story. Using all the tools at the hands of the musical artist. Elevenland (the band spells its name both ways) doesn't settle into a groove, but rather it approaches each song from a slightly different angle.

The songs don't quite stick to a single theme, either, but there are lots of film references--both lyrically and musically. Still, the band wanders down too many side alleys to really make this a concept album.

"Inspired by?" Nah, not even that much. The songs are somewhat crudely recorded, despite some of the special effects. But that is endearing more than anything else. And the songs are more than good enough to make their own impact. I'm not sure this quite accomplishes what the band wanted, but it's pretty good.

Insistent, lushly decorated acoustic guitar pop. Elza sounds like a lot of young women who want to "make it big" with their music. Her songwriting is good, no doubt about it. I just wish she hadn't added so many accouterments.

The excessive production (which the liners say she led, so I feel just fine pinning that on her) wipes out any originality the songs themselves had. Every piece is turned into a potential AAA anthem, and the album seems to run in place.

It is too bad, because I think these songs would have worked much better with just her guitar and voice. There are still some flaws, of course, but at least this would have sounded like "Elza" instead of "Elza who sounds a whole lot like a thousand other singers."

There's a fine line to walk between being too original (and thus not getting anyone to listen to you) and too copycat (where lots of people may listen, but they have no idea who you are).Elza erred on the side of the supposed mainstream desire. That may work. Who knows? I just wish I heard more of her.

Finisterre is an Italian prog band (complete with flute player), and just like the DFA album, this one was recorded live. Just down the road from me, in fact, at the ProgDay Festival in Chapel Hill, N.C., back in 1997.

And just like the DFA album, the sound is excellent. There weren't any crowd mikes, so whatever response that was recorded comes through the band's PA. Doesn't take away from the performance, though. That part is solid.

Finisterre (I'm guessing that means something akin to "End of the World" in Italian, but I'm getting there by way of French and Spanish, so maybe I'm way off) references some of the 70s heavyweights, particularly Yes and (duh) Jethro Tull, but it also takes from a variety of other sources. There's a delicate feel to many of these songs that is most engaging.

I have to say, live prog has a lot more emotion and character than most studio prog. Finisterre not only plays well, it performs well. The distinction is key. This distinctly subtle prog album is most intriguing.

Really hard to place. The Firebird Band doesn't stick to any one sound or idea, other than something that might be described (badly) as mechanized emo. There's a drum machine, see, and the song construction generally falls somewhere in the realms of emo.

But, see, that's a most general of statements. The simple fact is that these guys don't sound anything like anyone else. Often enough, they don't sound like themselves. There's a whole lotta experimentation going on, particularly on the electronic side of things. It doesn't work all the time, but I like it when bands take chances.

This review reminds me a lot of my first take on the band last fall. I still can't quite get a handle on what's going on. More than worth a listen, though. Music this challenging should never be overlooked.

It's always amazed me how many folks seem to love Half Japanese. Godboy plays the same sorta sloppy, minimalist pop. Not quite as raucous, though certainly just as technically inept.

Which is not to say these guys can't play. They can. Generally. But there's a lot of sloppiness in both the writing and the playing (and the production, for that matter). It is endearing. To a point.

Yeah, I guess I would like to hear the guys clean things up a little bit. Sometimes, there is such a thing as too much distortion. Especially when there's no good reason for it. And some of these hooks really could sparkle with a little work.

There are a lot of good ideas wandering around this disc. Sometimes, they come off. Often, though, they're lost in the haze. I can hear what the guys meant, but I'd rather they just did it. Know what I mean?

Subtitled "Parts II & III of 'The Kiss'," these two albums follow up Il Bacio. The Chicago Reader refers to this sound as "psychedelic roots-rock," which isn't a bad description. I think I'd simply lean more toward "heartland ferment," though I think that's more confusing than enlightening.

Basically, take a big handful of Neil Young and throw in a few pinches of the Flaming Lips. Piano-driven or acoustic Neil, mostly, on the first disc. And a good representation, too. Grandpa's Ghost gets right to the heart of the song and wallows around for a bit. Making sure that knife hits home, you see.

The second disc (Early Autumn Waltz...) is generally electric Neil. Gone to seed. All sorts of excess just about everywhere. Satisfying on a completely different level. Not better or worse, just decidedly different. And yet, it's not too hard to find a few points in common.

An utterly sprawling and ambitious project. Grandpa's Ghost goes way out on a limb, and the effort pretty much pays off. There's a lot of great stuff on these two discs, and when you put all the parts together, the whole is rather impressive as well.

Coby Batty and Paul Watson, with many friends. Finely tuneful roots rock and pop. From time to time the guys drift near James Taylor territory, but just as I begin to get concerned, they pull back into more tasteful realms once more.

Most often, though, the songs move toward the blues. Or a shuffle. Or some other non-rock sound. I like the way the duo incorporates all sorts of ideas into its relatively simple sound. Kinda how it's supposed to be done.

Many of these songs would qualify as "downers," I suppose, but the production keeps the sound light and airy. This doesn't undercut the material; it simply ensures that the stuff doesn't get dirgelike. In fact, the dichotomy actually reinforces the themes of the songs quite well.

In fact, most everything here focuses attention on the sharp and clever songwriting of Batty and Watson (who generally pen their songs separately). And when the stuff is this good, who am I to argue?

This would be Tommy Jay and a whole host of friends. Generally minimalist rock, often just a guitar and voice. And even when a semblance of a band backs him up, the sound is very thin.

Reminds me of a more coherent and much less mystical Roky Erickson. Everything is much more conventional. Somewhere along those 70s byways between BOC and America (I'm not joking about that, either).

But even so, I think the Erickson reference fits best. The songs all follow a similar style, though with the revolving cast of mates the sound changes almost constantly.

And that works just fine, as Jay's consistent songwriting (even though he teams up with many of his musical collaborators) keeps him on familiar ground. The big trick is to try new things without falling off the face of the earth. Jay accomplishes this tough task with seeming ease.

Ted Killian plays guitar. This is kinda like saying Miles Davis played trumpet, but hey. Killian's playing is fairly impressive, but it's what he does with it that's even more astonishing.

The songs on this album are constructed out of long and short bits of playing accompanied by various samples and loops. Reminiscent of some of Helios Creed's more experimental work, Killian's songs illustrate a world that is dark and tough, yet still capable of beauty.

And he takes his time painting his pictures. These songs are dense and complex, but hardly rushed. Contemplation is on the menu, but this is an active, forceful method of thinking. There's nothing dull about these ideas, no matter how abstract they might be.

What I hear most is a deliberate use of power. Despite all of the different crashing waves of sound, Killian remains in total control. These are his ideas, after all, and he makes sure each sound is where he wants it to be. And he does so with a light, and not overbearing, touch.

Ken Kunin was the songwriter for the band Davis Waits. Good songwriter, too. Understated anthemic rock songs with a rootsy feel. There's no oxymoron there, either. Not the way Kunin does it.

His is a commercial style of writing, and he utilizes decidedly mainstream sounds like synth strings--sometimes just a bit too much. Still, for all his slick skills and abilities, Kunin can't help but travel down a few side roads now and again. He just refuses to cheese out.

And I'm talking both about his writing, playing and production. This is the rare sort of album that should appeal to people who like music. Period. Edgy enough to attract idiots like me, and "safe" enough to perk up some interest along the AAA highway.

The thing is, I don't think he's calculating to any great extent. Some folks just have a sense of how to write fairly universal songs that happen to be really good. Kunin is one of them.

I'm always interested in hearing how the major labels are sanitizing underground sounds. But Lifer really isn't doing that. There's a very vague nod to extreme hardcore, but mostly this is more Rage lite than anything.

Which isn't horrible, but it's not particularly interesting. Yes, there are some samples and loops and something that sounds like scratching. But that doesn't make up for the astonishingly generic songwriting. I mean, there's just not much going on here.

Produced by Alex Lifeson, which either means Republic is gonna give this a push or that he was a bit bored while waiting to record another Rush album. Hard to say. I just can't hear anything on this album that even the dullest teenage could find original. One astonishingly ordinary album.

The album title doesn't lie. Recorded back in 1995, this disc features a number of original pieces and reworkings of "Take the A Train," "Stardust" and "Silent Night." As the liners say, "This release is WAY overdue..."

Like most good artists, Looney makes "A Train" and the other covers his own. He respects the originals without mawkishly copying some other famous arrangement. The songs are--for the most part--recognizable. But Looney's takes are most refreshing.

As for the originals, well, he's got a song called "Wander." Looney plays variations on a theme, but without being overly doctrinaire about it. Exploration is his stock and trade, but generally he doesn't get too far out ahead of the listener. There's always a reference point within reach.

Plenty of food for thought here, sure, but also some bright and invigorating moments as well. Looney has a style all his own, and he presents his ideas with panache.

The fairly lo-fi sound of the 7" is still in evidence. I guess these folks like that. The songs themselves sound a lot like sloppy Superchunk run through an emo filter. Obviously, not a huge shift in sound there.

The energy is most appealing, I'll admit. Lovesick comes on caterwauling and doesn't let up. That's most cool. The songs themselves are somewhat interchangeable, which is too bad. I wanted there to be more in them.

Not to be. I noted the rather muffled sound at the top, and I'll mention it once more. I think the band could do quite well with better engineering. I'm not talking about sharp, precise tracking. The mastering of this disc is so off I had to crank up my stereo just to hear it properly. And I'm going deaf. Not quite, anyway.

More depth. More distinct songs. In other words, I want more from Lovesick. What's here is fine. But I can hear so much more potential that I'm disappointed. I just don't like to hear a possibly great band sounding ordinary.

Picks up right where Bath left off. Maudlin of the Well is the most inventive and creative extreme metal band out there. The songs whipsaw from dreamy sunlit soundscapes to harsh noise and back again--without sounding forced or contrived.

There are gothic, hardcore, folk and even jazz elements to be found. And that's just the surface. The thing is, Maudlin of the Well isn't impressive because it has a lot of influences. The astonishing thing is how the group has incorporated all those thoughts into a completely coherent band sound.

These songs make sense. There's nothing jarring or out of place about anything that can be heard here. The almost orchestral arrangements are spot on. These songs are gorgeous. Almost unspeakably so. And I mean that in a traditional sense.

I'm not sure what else there is to say. Maudlin of the Well has such a amazingly good handle on its sound, I can't imagine another way to do it. Very few bands can create such a complete work, much less two. I'm utterly blown away.

Traditional alt. country. I guess that makes sense. Mark McKay has a solid foundation in country rock, and he's not afraid to take his music either way. Most often, however, he blends the styles seamlessly, creating music with hints of storm clouds on the horizon.

Raging torrents arrive infrequently, kinda like everyday life. McKay's easygoing vocal style holds these evocative songs together and tempers some of the darker elements of the music.

Not a restraint, of course, but just some balance. The sorta thing a talented songwriter likes to find in his work. Producer Ducky Carlisle gave the album a full, but relatively clean sound. Warm tones predominate, which tends to emphasize the darkness underneath.

Solid songwriting and a professional album. Not generic or dull in any way, though. McKay constantly challenges and surprises, and that makes this album a joy to hear.

Mr. Len drops the beats, and a bevy of guest MCs flows the rhymes. Which means I should pay more attention to what lies beneath. And so I shall.

The problem with multiple MCs is one of consistency. There's just no way to make these songs fit together in any seriously coherent fashion. Mr. Len doesn't worry too much about that, simply booming big beats over and over again.

The construction is creative, utilizing sound and music samples and seriously aggressive drum machines. Generally midtempo, all the better for insistently shouted verses and anthemic choruses. Not exactly militant, but verging on that style nonetheless.

Mr. Len's contribution to this album (it is his, after all) is wonderful. When he wants to do so, he can really spin out some great beats. I wish he'd tailored his songs a bit more to some of the MCs, though on songs like "Taco Day," everything comes together. Wish that more of the album was that seamless.

One of the many contributors to Tommy Jay's album, Nudge Squidfish ventures fairly heavily into that psychedelic pop sound that the Brian Jonestown Massacre pretty well perfected a few years back.

You know what I'm talking about. That lurching, wailing, fuzzy stuff that seems bent on reaching some far-off apocalypse. The songs are much more about the journey than on any particular highlight (like, say, solid hooks).

And the decidedly lo-fi sound helps to smooth the passage. Gives that vaguely "old-timey" feel to it (if its possible to say such a thing about music from less than 40 years ago) and a sense of otherworldliness. I do like that a lot.

A pleasant traveling companion. Nudge Squidfish doesn't seem to have the grandest of ambitions. He just plants some fine seeds and hopes that we stick around to watch them grow. Sounds like a plan.

It's really sorta amazing to think that one of the major underground music movements of the last 10 years came from Louisville. But think about it; between the various and sundry recordings perpetrated by members of Squirrelbait, Slint and Rodan and the bands they've influenced, there's a serious body of work. Tara Jane ONeil is one of those pioneers. She's got this new album here.

It's one of those "I'm just gonna give you a piece of everything I've learned so far" kinda albums. Obsessively written and recorded, In the Sun Lines is one of the greatest examples of what I tend to call "Chicago noise pop," even though, as I noted above, it came from Louisville.

ONeil uses an almost bewildering array of instruments and sounds, blending them together in ways that both jar and jell. She manages to use cacophony to create some of the most beautiful songs I've heard in a long while. This deft dichotomy is, I believe, what most practitioners of the sound are trying to achieve. ONeil is already there.

To be perfectly honest, just about every project ONeil has been involved with has been brilliant. Not merely good, but incandescently amazing. This album is no different, except that I think it really stands as her finest hour. She's not only defining herself, but confidently putting her compatriots on notice that the musical bar has risen another notch. It's unlikely there will be a better album this year.

Fluid, thick poppy rock music with utterly brilliant hooks. Petland bops around on bright beats and singing guitars, slinging harmonies like they were peanuts at the ballpark.

Almost Britpop in the way the folks mix up styles and ideas into a peppy brio. And please don't get the idea that all this is utterly superficial. Just the opposite. Petland's songs have so much depth that it's hard to imagine how everything got crammed into such an attractive shell.

Petland's biggest attribute is its multiple lead singers. Male and female, and more than two at that. The variety of voices adds yet another layer to this intoxicating brew. And the whole shebang is wrapped up in this cool retro 80s techno sheen, a sharp, thick sound that really presents these songs well.

Hard to find a weak point, really, except on the commercial side. I dunno if the big boys are looking for a band that sounds like this. Which is too bad. This is great music, stuff that with the proper push oughta be able to break out big. It's pretty rare to find this kind of quality in music so ready for the masses. I'm dumbstruck.

Back when Marshall Crenshaw got started, his straight-ahead rock and roll really shook things up. All of a sudden, people started thinking that maybe there would be a place for that sort of music in the middle of disco and punk and new wave and all that.

So it's fitting that Anthony Rapp does a Crenshaw piece here ("Lesson #1") and slings out basic rock and roll with some nice hooks. Of course, these days this sort of music has made a comeback, at least in the out here in the boondocks of the underground.

And Rapp's nicely-textured sound is most welcome. He can write songs pretty well, but he's just as comfortable using someone else's material and making it his own. There is a talent to that, you know.

Just as there's a talent to making good, solid music. Rapp knows how to sell a song, and he does so repeatedly here. This album is a lot of fun, a splash of cold water that cleanses my palate.

Thick, bouncy and hooky punk pop. The sorta stuff that almost always brings a smile to the hidden pophead in me. It sure does this time around.

River City High doesn't really vary from the formula. Three chords, shouted choruses (in tune) and easy-going lead guitar licks. The only trick is making those hooks stick.

They do. And everything else is secondary. Like the sound, which is properly thick and sharp at once. Helps to make the chords rebound off my walls and hit me with a slight return.

Yeah, basic basic. No surprise, nothing shocking. Just dead solid punk pop. River City High is a little faceless; that's how this sound works. As long as the hooks shine, the rest just doesn't matter. These puppies are on fire.

Bar-band Clash-style punk with a horns chaser. The River City Rebels are back in town, and they're in top form. This puppy starts fast and just keeps accelerating.

Perhaps the most important thing to do with music like this is to keep the tempo unflagging. The title of the album keeps coming up again and again; this album is something of a tribute to the life of a working rock and roll band. Plenty of dues songs and celebrations of hard work.

And the gang-vocal choruses really help drive these points home. The sound here is loose and open, allowing all sorts of extra noise to creep in. Good thing, too. Makes this a most friendly-sounding disc.

They came, they saw, they blistered. The River City Rebels have fulfilled their intentions about as well as possible. This album is pure ear candy, track after track of tasty punk anthems. Keep it up, boys.

Bits and pieces from five truly underground albums. Greg Segal is highly influenced by the heavy jam and prog bands of the early 70s (Deep Purple, ELP, etc.), but even back in the early 80s (these recordings date from 1984-1993) he showed a tendency to update his sound and try out new ideas.

As the album progresses (the songs are tracked in vague chronological order), Segal's explorations become more and more introspective. There's a lot more silence and contemplation in the pieces. More acoustic guitar and focus on the lyrics. And a more idiosyncratic approach to structure and rhythm.

For stuff recorded almost "on the run," these songs sound great. From the very beginning, Segal took great pains to ensure that his music sounded good. I don't think he paid a lot for the services of the studios, but he sure got more than his money's worth.

An interesting journey. It doesn't hold together well at all; this is the work of one person, but Segal evolved so much over the ten or so years represented here that the songs don't flow together particularly. Still, as a portrait of a man with many visions, it succeeds admirably.

Crunchy, poppy guitar rock. Brassy and slightly ragged female vocals. A real good formula, if you ask me. Slushpuppy certainly thinks so.

Too bad the songs just don't have a lot of life. They're not terrible, but they don't jump out at me, either. There's a certain faceless quality to the playing and the production, as if anyone could have done this. And since my copy doesn't have a picture of the band or anything, this seems to me to be very possible.

Slushpuppy is going for the major label bucks. That what it sounds like to me. I just wish it had settled on its own sound before trying to grab the brass ring.

Truly warped love songs and other observations. Spottiswoode (and plenty of enemies, if that's what he wants to call them) create a wonderfully textured album of dark pop songs.

Which isn't too surprising. This disc picks up where he left on his last album and just expands his wicked worldview on concentric circles. The eclectic arrangements and busy instrumentation ensure a sonic depth that illustrates the lyrics quite beautifully.

And while the themes may be on the mean side, the sound is gorgeous. Lilting, rambling, gamboling, as if on the pillowtops of clouds. This is one of the most sophisticated sounds I've heard on any album, particularly one independently produced. Though I think I said the same thing of the last Spottiswoode disc.

Well, see, it wasn't a fluke. This is amazing music, the kinda stuff that sticks in the mind long after the sound waves have moved on through the air. Intelligent songs played with style and care. A beautiful sound. What else do you want?

Another set of multi-movement works from this prog "supergroup." About what I expected, to be honest.

To be specific, I figured the pieces would be well-plotted, played exquisitely and produced with a clean, but not sterile, sound. And indeed, that's what this is. The prog purist would be most pleased.

And after that, well, the prog purist would be most pleased. This music isn't aimed at mainstream listeners and doesn't really try to connect with them. It is fun, which is a bit unusually considering the style, and the stuff sounds great, but I still don't see the kids lining up (unless, of course, they happen to be Dream Theater fans wondering what Mike Portnoy's doing on the side).

That, however, is hardly a damning statement. Transatlantic takes a classic sound and infuses it with life and character. This is fine prog, but it's not stilted or excessive. Rather, the technical touch is proficient yet light. Subtlety rules the day. Transatlantic has crafted another fine album.

Poppy rock tunes with a grounding in the groove. Kinda like the Spin Doctors with a more modern bent (some scratching and other sideshows). Nothing spectacular, but peppy and inventive nonetheless.

Definitely aimed at a commercial audience. Still, Vegas DeMilo does enough to keep me interested as well. For starters, each song is its own universe. While the band has defined its sound fairly well, the pieces don't all run together. The album moves along well.

And it sounds good, too. Not over the top, not excessively shiny, but just punchy enough to dress the songs up in their Sunday best. Which helps, trust me.

Because while Vegas DeMilo does better than most bands with commercial aspirations, there's still a vapidity at the core that isn't always overcome. Giving a push at the right moments makes it a lot easier to overlook such deficiencies. For what this is, I haven't heard its match in some time.

There is a certain tradition--I'd say it's European, but plenty of Americans have dabbled in it as well--of the "art song," pieces of music that are as much about the presentation as the music and singing themselves. Hector Zazou takes care of the sounds (with help from pals like Marc Ribot, Lisa Germano and many others) and Sandy Dillon does the singing.

And these are art songs, in a manner of speaking. The pieces themselves have an unusual sense of construction, and the subject matter is often a bit difficult to discern. Gotta think about it a bit, see.

The sound of the songs is exquisite. Zazou populates his canvas with a wide variety of sounds, and Dillon herself twists her voice into all sorts of shapes and sizes. Whispers, screams, growls, grunts, you name it. She does it.

Challenging fare, to say the least. Zazou and Dillon refuse to play it safe, and instead have recorded an album of uncompromising ideas. Dive in and find yourself immersed in another world.

I guess it's a cliche, but guys generally go for female singers with low, sultry voices. Especially the ones who can growl a bit. Madelin Zero can growl. Real well.

Her songs fall into the power pop category, though with more oomph than the stereotypical "chick rock" perpetrator. And she's not using heavier music to try and disguise vocal shortcomings. Zero can go from a whisper to a wail without losing any tone or flying off key. She's got the chops.

That goes for her writing as well. She's genuinely talented and worth hearing. Now she's just got to get lucky. That's the hardest job of all.