Among the influences Alyssa Cooper acknowledges in the liners are Bryan Ferry, Sarah Vaughn, PM Dawn and Paul Simon. Which is to say she likes to express herself in a wide variety of styles.

That in itself isn't unusual. But Alyssa actually has a command of the music. She's no dilettante, dressing up in skin-deep decorations. Rather, she has incorporated her diverse palette all the way to the center of the songs.

And what results is a pastiche of funky, worldly folk songs colored by jazz and hip-hop attitudes. The arrangements are complex, but the production is simple. All of the ideas and sounds blend together organically. It would have been easy to just punch up these pieces and turn them into anthems. But then we would have missed out on the magic. This is an assured set.

Recorded at their first U.S. show in nearly 20 years, the Angelic Upstarts crank out a solid set of late 70s Brit punk. Most appropriate, as that's when these guys got their start.

A quick glance at the liner photo. The guys look their age. But these songs are bashed out with enthusiasm, if not fury. We're not talking about one foot in the grave here.

As for the material, well, Angelic Upstarts aren't anything spectacular. But I have heard a couple of their songs covered by bands in recent times, so I guess the original records did have some renown. The third edition of the Trouser Press gives a vaguely favorable review.

Which is about where I sit. This set is a decent overview of the band, though I think the original recordings may have had a bit more spit in them. Certainly, the recording is of good quality and doesn't bother to clean up the requisite live mistakes. I like that. And I like the disc, even if it doesn't move me to tears.

Nominally a hip-hop outfit, Antipop Consortium is all about the propagation of techno beats. With a little rhyming on the side.

Both the beats and the rhyme slinging are creative and unusual. The feel is chilly and sterile, though strangely the overall effect is much warmer. Certainly, there's plenty for a mind to wrap around.

It's pretty rare that an experimental set like this can feel so inviting. Antipop Consortium hasn't taken the edge off its creativity, but merely allowed that inventiveness to flow into as many cracks as possible.

Back before electronica was electronica (back when it was more likely to be incorrectly dubbed "ambient" by some idiot like me--though, of course, the first Aphex Twin album was called Selected Ambient Works. Whatever.), there was Aphex Twin. More specifically, there was Richard D. James, who records as Aphex Twin and many other pseudonyms.

After releasing a couple albums with something of a commercial feel to them, this set seems to be setting the record straight. A typical song title is "orban eq trx 4." That one almost makes sense. Try your hand at deciphering "btoum-roumada."

The music is as scattershot as the spelling of the song titles. At times contemplative and other times as manic as a video game, it's really hard to pin down a true sound here. James not only changes feel constantly, he also incorporates "real" instruments into his electronic orchestra. Which, of course, is what he's been doing since forever.

Few Aphex Twin fans desire a simple, straightforward album. They're not going to be disappointed here. The songs may be a bit less complex in their instrumentation (the sound is generally stark--not at all lush), but the ideas are as vibrant as ever.

Armand Lencheck sticks to the basics. He plays the laid-back guitar-driven rockin' blues. And he does know how to play a smooth smolder.

No new ground is broken here. Lencheck is more than content to continue old traditions in his songwriting. An easy comparison is Stevie Ray Vaughn, at least in song construction. Lencheck doesn't really go for pyrotechnics.

He's got the flat tone of B.B. King, but he relies on more than picking. He has to, because for the most part he recorded these songs with just bass and drums backing him up. Keeps the sound simple and lets Lencheck's songs shine.

There's nothing complicated going on here. Lencheck doesn't strike out for a new blues frontier. He just puts a fine shine on what's lying around right now. Nothing wrong with that.

Stripped-down hardcore with plenty of aggro. I've been hearing more and more bands go for this sound (in a variety of ways), and I've got to say I like it a lot. Lets the mind create the power. Makes a stronger impression, if you ask me.

As Friends Rust throws in some tight harmonies in the choruses and wherever else appropriate. There's also some nice extreme guitar riffage slashing in here and there. It all works together. That's the key.

The songwriting is very tight and coherent. That's emphasized by the light hand in the studio. No one instrument takes control. This is a team effort, and every little piece has its place.

You might say this is a poppier form of hardcore. I suppose it is, although the aggression and intensity are both at the highest level. Just a bit more thoughtful, if you will. Sure worked for me.

The only thing I'm quite sure about here is that the person behind this music is Nate Ashley, the same guy whose Darling, I'm Your Devil really knocked me out. Oh yeah, this music is wildly brilliant as well.

Among the back stories behind this disc is that it was recorded in the 1970s for an Italian horror movie called Gli Amore Morti Benevolnza Ritormano, which may or may not translate as The Dead Lover's Benevolent Return (my Italian is on a par with my knowledge of golf). Now, Ashley isn't that old, so that's right out.

My guess is there's no such movie, but rather that Ashley decided it would be cool to write an album of romantic horror music. In his hands, it was a good idea. The songs here are impassioned, excessive and eccentric. Think The Godfather and Bram Stoker's Dracula meets A Fistful of Dollars. As interpreted by Ashley, of course.

It's precisely that cockeyed (though eminently assured) interpretation which holds these pieces together. I'm not entirely convinced that they perfectly illustrate a 70s Italian horror film, but they sure do evoke a time and place (say, Italy in the 70s). Did I just contradict myself? Maybe. Sometimes confusion is a good thing.

Power pop with a moody side. Even when the songs get nice and bouncy, BE insists on retaining a dark caul over the stuff. A sense of foreboding. As if what comes next just might be horrific.

I'm not talking about the music, now. I'm referring to the plot lines in the songs. The music colors them that way, you see. Takes a little talent and practice to be able to do things like that. BE knows how to craft some seriously intense songs.

Craft, however, is just the beginning. There is an emotional intensity that is just as impressive. Most bands master one or the other of those two elements. BE is pretty damned good at both.

And so it should come as no surprise that this album bring with it many smiles. Even if they are uneasy. I like music that challenges. BE doesn't seem to know how to make it any other way.

Another example of stoner rock with southern fried flavor. In the case of the Brought Low, the riffage is where that down home feel comes from. The songs are very much in the Sab style, with extended riffage punctuated by a sentence or two of vocals.

If you're unconvinced by this prospective marriage, think of bands like Agony Column. It worked then, and it works now. The whole point of stoner rock is to go over the top, and a little boogie helps take you there.

Plus, that kinda thing helps to move the songs along. They're still long and all (duh), but a little variety sure does add spice. The sound is crunchy but not overdone. Somewhere between early Sabbath and some good Muscle Shoals.

I got more into this the more I listened. I think the guys may even be better at the boogie than the stoner stuff, actually. But right now they're tryin' to play both worlds. Not badly, either.

Fully embracing the strident, anthemic tendencies of emo, burns.out.bright plays blistering songs full of angst and pain. The kinda stuff that appeals to those of us who never really want to forget what it's like to be young and confused.

Not in a stupid and condescending fashion, of course. These pieces are thoughtful and intense, unwilling to merely skim the surface. Rather, they head straight for the marrow, the substance. Which is precisely why listening to this album can be, at times, rather uncomfortable.

That disquiet serves the band well. Why play songs that are so vapid they evaporate before your ears have released them? No worries about that here. This is chili con carne, all the meat you want.

The blues ain't nothin' but a state of mind. At least, that's what the Chicken Hawks hope most people think. Because these fine people do play the blues. They play the hell out of them.

Some might say blues run screaming from these folks, but I won't. I'm all for folks who crash and wail and just tar and feather the blues. As long as the spirit is right. You gotta have that certain something.

Most of what the Chicken Hawks have is an unfailing belief that loads of energy will sell any song. The writing is crude, and the playing is rarely spectacular. The sound is raw, ragged and generally mean to boot. And that's a compliment.

One of them hard rockin' blues outfits that probably plays until the last patron has passed out. I've dug these folks in the past, and this album simply cements my liking. Quality? Maybe not. But what a rush!

Contemplative garage roots rock with many elements of linear noise pop construction. Another way to put it is that Cold Sides puts together a number of seemingly incompatible sounds to create something truly unique.

I may have to refine that convoluted description a bit. Cold Sides often uses a rolling, Dirty Three rhythm style (without the violin, of course) and then grafts raggedly catchy vocals over that. Then again, there are plenty of songs here that sound more like my initial description.

In terms of sound, the band has opted for a fairly clean, though not sharp, setting for its songs. There's plenty of space for the individual members to express themselves, though the sound is at its best when the band comes together and everything bleeds together.

If I had to guess, I think that Cold Sides probably considers itself an emo band, at least nominally. Shows how far that sound continues to evolve. As for these guys, well, they've amply proven their worth.

Combatdrug is a guy named Willy who likes to play with beats. With some insistent electronic stuff driving what melody is needed. Not much, to be quite honest.

The truth here is the beat work. Everything else is fine, but non-essential. The songs don't evolve much, but rather unfold. There's a continual sense of discovery as each song chugs along.

The production is somewhat crude, though the fairly high levels of distortion and the like simply provide a better canvas for the beats to shine. And when Combatdrug does deign to drop some real song construction, well, the results are amazing.

There's a high level of creativity behind this disc. You gotta love intensive beat work to be sure, but there's a ferment here that gets rather addictive. Tap in and discover for yourself.

I'm thinking I may have mentioned this before: I'm a dead sucker for complex instrumentals that are created when the various members of a band play different lines which occasionally intersect with each other. Del Rey does that.

I've tries to give a thousand names to this sound, and the problem is that while many bands play it, none do so the same way twice. Take June of 44. Not a bad album in the bunch those guys recorded. But each one was a fair departure from the previous one. Which brings me back to Del Rey.

These folks play in a meditatively whirling style, with each of the lines revolving (somewhat) around a very loosely defined center. The center is, most often, the drums. Though there are songs where the bass seems to be laying down the law, and there's at least one song where the guitar is in charge.

All that description, and yet all I can really say is that music like this turns on my brain. It's just the way the different pieces come together; in particular, the points of intersection. There's so much going on that I can play with the sounds all day in my head. Anyway, Del Rey inspired me to get a little wiggy on this review. That's gotta count for something.

Wander back with me ten or so years ago. Back when "industrial" or "techno" or "ambient" were the main forms of electronic music. At least, that's what we called them. Dial M would be at home in that era, combining heavy, funky beats (not quite hip-hop, not quite rock) with sample-driven songs.

Done with a light touch, mind you. A lot like later Die Warzau, if you ask me. There is a bit more of a techno touch on the keyboards, not to mention less of a reliance on jazz construction, but the sounds are fairly similar.

Dial M's skill shows in how well the samples are fused into songs. These aren't cludgy constructions; they're sophisticated compositions that are as toe-tapping as the beats.

A fun set, one that impresses almost as much s it invigorates. Dial M's light touch on the material puts a new spin on the sound, one that's most welcome to my ears. Hard to quibble with creativity such as this.

The usual three takes (original, clean and instrumental), a flip with a remix by XX and a single b-side--Dysfunctional Family's "Feelin da Highs." "Fondle 'Em Fossils" can be found on the Farewell Fondle 'Em collection, but "Feelin de Highs" is here alone.

"Fondle 'Em Fossils" is what it should be, a celebration of what the Fondle 'Em label has been. The original is slinky and smooth, while the remix is raw and bombastic. Both are a lot of fun. As for the Dysfunctional Family, well, it's a cool party track.

A good package, especially for those who like to delve into the corners of underground hip-hop.

Imagine if Kate Bush decided to go post-industrial. Annette Farrington combines densely-populated music and lyrics to create a stirring set of almost orchestral pieces.

Everything builds from the electronic drum and bass-driven rhythms. Whether it's her strong-yet-ethereal vocals or the wide variety of sounds that are gathered together, each element ties itself to the low end.

And the overall production sound is lush yet sharp. Full, but with enough space to allow a wide variety of sounds to color the songs. A real nice balance, if you ask me. The engineering is just as well thought out as every other element.

What I'm really trying to say is that Farrington and producer Anthony J. Resta have created a truly fine album. It's really hard to properly represent a wide variety of ideas (both musical and lyrical), but that's exactly what happened here. First class.

It's kinda weird. The Fire Show reminds me of some of the stranger experimental new wave bands of the early 80s. So vaguely, however, that I really can't find a true reference point. And anyway, these folks are playing regular instruments (augmented by various electronic gear, but that's not the focus). This is a "rock" band, after all.

Oh, hell, did I just tar these guys or what? I dunno. Thing is, the songs themselves are constructed in basic verse-chorus form. It's just that the musical lines within those segments often sound a lot more like noise pop or experimental electronic goo. All this with vocals that will probably annoy as much as excite.

There is a tinny, whiny quality to much of what the Fire Show does. I think that's where the retro feel comes from. The center is actually much more solid and coherent. It's just that sometimes the manic level really takes off.

I like that, myself. I like to hear bands reach a little out of their range and let the mood of the moment take over. It's even more interesting when it comes from a band that's as meticulously experimental as the Fire Show. I like the way these guys work. There's plenty to think about, but always plenty of pure enjoyment as well.

A song and two remixes. Hard to get much more basic than that. Flightcrank uses all of the electronic tools at its disposal, from drum machines and sample sequencers to modulated noise and other special effects.

Of course, there's a song here. Charli Tucker provides the sultry vocals which fit right into Leeroy Thornhill's (he once of Prodigy) dense musical constructions. Flightcrank takes just enough edge off underground sounds to clean up right nice.

The remixes are utterly different visions of the song, and honestly they only point out the greatness of Thornhill's original music. Would that I could have some more.

Terry Garland's vision of the blues is demanding. He's partial to the rural Delta blues, and on this album he sticks pretty much to himself and his guitar, using his foot to pound out the beats. He gets help from his usual set of friends, including the incomparable Mark Wenner on harp and a host of horn players.

As usual, the results are impressive. Whether he's howling or moaning, Garland achieves exactly the feel he desires. He's completely plugged into the spirit of the blues.

There are fewer originals on this set (merely half) than on previous albums of his I've heard, but as before, Garland's own compositions fit right in with the Muddy Waters, Johnny Winter and other classic tracks he's chosen to revive. It's impossible to tell them apart--except that you probably know the old songs.

Ah, but that's the job of an artist: To reinterpret the classics and make them relevant for today. Garland does so with reverence and skill. He knows exactly where to find the blues.

I wasn't quite sure what to make of Garrison's first album. I mean, is this stuff hardcore? Emo? Pop? Well, after listening to the new disc, I can tell you that the answer is yes.

Much like the Shades Apart's recent album (and to a lesser extent, Jimmyeatworld's as well), Garrison uses all of the skills and sounds at its disposal to create crunchy, tuneful anthems. The kinda stuff that's hard to dislike.

And I'm not just saying that. There are plenty of reasons why those who are a bit more doctrinaire than me would find reasons to pick this disc apart. Chief among the complaints would be some sort of "sell out" claim. Hey, just because I band records a sharp album and decides that it likes melody doesn't mean it's giving in to the man. Freedom of choice, man.

Sorry. Had to get that out. Garrison doesn't need a hack like me to apologize for its music. The stuff stands just fine on its own.

I get lots of e-mails from folks who want me to review their stuff. I've always told them to send it in. I don't review stuff off the web because my computer speakers suck. I always assume they have checked out A&A before they holler at me.

I don't think that happened here. Gregori is aiming straight at the 'N Sync and Backstreet Boys crowd. To my ears, these songs sound a lot like that stuff. Almost too much like it, although I think that may be the point. Because I've never been able to distinguish between any of the boy bands. I'm sure it's possible, mind you. I've just never taken the time.

The production here is a bit more primitive, but Gregori's voice sounds fine. The overdubs make him sound just like every other boy band out there. Is that good? Is that bad? I'm not the person to make that call.

Bounding (and pounding) metal. Gryp favors a lot of the Fear Factory institutions, including a truly rumbling bass line and the occasional falsetto vocal line. To that the guys add more melody and somewhat more traditional screechy guitars. Just enough to put a vaguely commercial sheen on the sound.

But not too much. The songs are tightly written and the intensity level never drops. The guitar sound is very sharp, almost cutting. That reduces the raw power but, again, is a little closer to a mainstream sound.

Gryp manages to balance things well. There's plenty of power, but it's thoughtfully applied. These four songs (plus a radio edit of "Left Behind") are dead solid. That's all I can ask for, anyway.

Finally, a full-length from these guys. I've long admired the way these guys integrate technical playing with the passion of emo. This disc only cements that appreciation.

Every little bit of this album was plotted in advance. And yet the sound is fresh and exciting. Haymarket Riot may know precisely what it's doing at every moment, but that doesn't mean the guys aren't able to rare back and rock when they want to.

It's those seeming contradictions that really give Haymarket Riots's music the energy it has. Of course, in reality there's no need for conflict between precise playing and emotion. It just usually works out that way. Not so here.

This album is the goods. Everything I hoped for and more. The sound is both raucous and refined. The writing is spot on. And the result is sheer bliss.

There's no doubting the power of these guys. Himsa blasts out extreme hardcore with astonishing ease. The riffage throbs and the lead guitars wail. Just the way things oughta be.

I will quibble a bit with the writing. I'm not hearing quite the range and inventiveness that I was hoping for, though the sheer aggro intensity of the songs is almost enough to tide me over.

A close call, that way. And it's hard to argue with a song like "Hellbent and Hammered," which is precisely the sort of song that gives this sound a good (and, you know, bad) name. I wish the other three songs lived up to that song. They're close. Real close. Himsa is just a step away.

Scratchy, sparse hip-hop beatwork enmeshed with minimalist electronica and vague singing. What I mean with that last part is that the singing pays lip service to melody and rhythm but generally floats in and out as needed.

Which puts this project somewhere in the experimental trip-hop realm, I suppose. The songs noodle around, burrowing here and there into my brain. The process is slow but certain. I will succumb.

Indeed, I must. Because the seemingly simple and lolling surface is a subterfuge for some sophisticated ideas that lie a bit beneath the surface. And it's that almost subconscious subtext that calls to me.

And I respond. Again, choice is not present in this matter. Hood slyly hypnotizes until all resistance has been melted away. Tricky how that happens, isn't it?

"Play loud, at dusk or night, at any speed..." You gotta love instructions like that. Instruction Shuttle is all about shifting modes of reality. A wide variety of sounds are woven through a cloud bank of lush keyboard chords.

Relaxing, if you happen to dig subconscious noise. What's on top (the keyboards) isn't particularly unusual. What pricks up my ear is all the stuff that dances in and out of the shadows. It's the motion of those noises that's really cool.

Indeed, intriguing at any speed. Instruction Set is a typical experimental electronic band. Which means it sounds like nothing else. Little surprises like this are what keep me reaching for the edge.

Different bands, same people. Prospekt is Andrew Danser, Harlan Campbell and Jay Murphy. Kalypso Lipstich is simply Campbell and Murphy. Prospekt is a meditative pop band with its toes dipping in the noise pool. Kalypso Lipstich is an organic electronic project.

The two songs are very similar in theoretical construction. They rise and fall in much the same way, and despite obvious differences in instrumentation are quite obviously created by the same people.

Both well done, I might add. These guys have creativity to spare, and they don't hesitate to put that inventiveness to work whenever possible. The two sides of this slab are more than enticing enough to demand a second helping.

Kreator was always one of the finest crunchy Eurometal bands around. Great riffage, tight rhythm work and just enough melody to provide a hint of color. The sorta thing that made for most enjoyable listening.

None of that has really changed. Indeed, this album could have been recorded ten years ago. The sound is just as fresh, the songs just as sharp as they were back then.

And if this is intended to be a nostalgia trip, well, it works. I would prefer to hear just a little bit of progression. Not that I want to hear the guys aping the latest Fear Factory clone; no need to be silly. But these are smart people. A little change is good.

I dunno. Maybe I'm just whining unnecessarily. This album is a lot of fun, even if in the end it's pretty interchangeable with any number of previous Kreator efforts. That in itself is an achievement. Though I have to admit, I always hope for a bit more than that.

The rhymes may flow in a cool and mellow fashion, but Labtekwon is anything but shy and restrained. The thought (behind the music as well as the lyrics) is strong and well-considered.

Slow, dirty grooves populate the beatwork. Lots of funk expressed in a meditative and restrained style. More than scratching, sampling and looping, there's some nice bass work going on as well.

Nothing shiny about these songs. Even the distortion has been refined to a dull roar. All that contributes to the cool feel of this album, and it's a perfect compliment to the rhymes.

Labtekwon sets the table and then piles the plates full of knowledge. Not a thing stands in the way of a proper feast. Dig in.

What a great album title. I'm surprised no one has used it yet. It kinda brings back memories of the early days of hip-hop. And so does Mike Ladd's work in general.

Like I noted in the 12" review, Ladd has a real commitment to tight, rhythmic enunciation and the playful elements of those pioneering days. What I couldn't hear as clearly on that small sample was Ladd's interest in experimental beat work and more esoteric sorts of rhyming.

And so this album veers from the light and jaunty toward the introspective and spacey. And then back again. And again. On this album, the beats predominate. There are a number of cool instrumentals, closing up with a poem (call it freestyle if you like). All done with style and grace. Ladd has an original ear, and he knows how to serve it.

Harkening back to real old school days, Mike Ladd populates his beats with the sounds of the 70s and 80s and raps with a smooth and assured rhythm.

The title track incorporates a lot of tinny keys and a goofy story. "The Worst Elements of Hip Hop" brings in vocoder and more Parliament-style funk. "Foxwood's" is simply a simple rhyme draped over bubbling bass.

All done with style, panache and wit. I know, the kids today will just think it's weak and has no bite. Perhaps these aren't gangsta tales of the hard life. But they are finely-crafted little gems. Nothing wrong with that.

Jim Lampos has a pretty simple formula. It's illustrated with his picture in the liners. There's Jim. And there's Jim's guitar. Nothing else is necessary.

Lampos writes songs that celebrate life. The good times, the bad times and even the middling ones in-between. And while this may sound like I'm being vague, actually it is quite unusual to find a person who can express himself so clearly on so many experiences.

Yeah, Lampos has a nice touch on his guitar. But the key here is his singing--and what he's singing about. His lyrics are plainspoken but still quite eloquent. Not exactly poetry, but not ham-handed prose, either. Just like I'm sitting back having a conversation with him.

Which is exactly what the whole singer-songwriter style is all about. The simplest form of musical communication. Person-to-person, with as little interference as possible. Lampos gets his messages across in a most impressive fashion.

One of the longer EPs I've come across. I mean, even though Lefty's Deceiver has only seven songs here, thirty minutes of music is almost always considered an album. But, well, the band calls this an EP. Ambitious boys, I guess.

I'll say. These jaunty songs are crafted with precision, landing the overall sound somewhere between noise pop and the emo side of minimalist pop. There's a lot of space between the sounds here, but the band's near manic fervor leads to an incongruously full feel nonetheless.

The disc babbles on a like brook, always finding a new rock to trip over and spill past. The motion never ceases. Not quite like clockwork; the rhythms are more organic than that. Pretty fine, all the way around.

About ten years ago, the concept of merging industrial dance music and hard rock really took hold. Lots of people took the sound in vaguely different directions, from the "digicore" embodied by the Reconstriction imprint to the "cold wave" espoused by 21st Circuitry. Lights Over Roswell isn't quite as heavy as, say, Clay People or 16 Volt, and it's not as techno-influenced as, say, Covenant.

More of a middle ground, I guess. With something of a modern sheen--sharper sound all around, really. Reminds me more than a little of KMFDM's dancier moments, the kinda stuff that can still get me on the floor to do some serious damage.

Fun, with a bite. I can't say as I think this sound is really making a comeback, but I was sure happy to wallow in the pool for a while. Lights Over Roswell sure does have a good feel for the style.

I'll admit it. I'm one of those folks who is completely mystified by the Grateful Dead-like fan base of Pearl Jam. Didn't think there was much of a musical connection, though I could see some philosophical similarities.

Liquid Daydream puts the musical side in perspective for me. The songs here are very much in the loping, anthemic style of Ten, but they incorporate groove stylings as much as grunge. What was once a puzzlement to me has become crystal clear.

These guys do what they do quite well. I think the sound is a wee bit too close to Pearl Jam for comfort (in particular, Matthais Sampson is way too Vedder-esque in his warblings), but if that sorta thing doesn't bother you too much, well, Liquid Daydream does put together a number of solid songs.

I would prefer that the band find its own sound, or at least refine these ideas into a somewhat more original form. The quality is good, but I just want to hear some newer ideas.

A long-time stalwart of the Atlanta scene, Gerard McHugh likes to skewer just about everything he sees. This disc takes on, well, regular life. With his band the Crafties and guests such as Amy Ray and Emily Saliers, these songs sound pleasant enough. Until the lyrics become clear.

I'm not trying to say that he doesn't have a point. McHugh's ripping dissection of popular culture and mores is truly funny. And apt. It's just that there's no let up. No chance for redemption.

Which is fine with for a cynical bastard like me. I can think for myself and find my own paths to salvation. Those who like to have a little help along the way may find McHugh's vision a bit uncompromising. Well, it is, and he's not gonna apologize for it, either.

As for the quality of the work, well, it sounds great. McHugh's been doing this a long time, and he knows exactly how long to craft and when to let things go. This stylishly roughshod album rambles on just the way it should, giving McHugh's ample lyrics talents room to roam. There lies the rub. Those who like a challenge will appreciate what he has to say.

Messyheads is John Connor. With just a little help on a couple of the songs. Connor compensates for the lack of a band by giving his guitar work (acoustic and electric) an electronic backdrop.

You know, drum machine, keyboards, bass, etc. Doesn't work quite as well as, say, early Magnetic Fields. It does, though, lend the stuff a vague early 80s post-new wave feel. Connor's pop songwriting certainly doesn't hurt that impression.

In terms of production values, these songs would have benefited from a bit more solid backing. On the other hand, Connor's writing is sharp and incisive. Messyheads is a project worth crafting further.

Danny Morris is stuck in the pop of the late 50s and early 60s. He borrows from Chuck Berry, Dick Dale and many more. What he doesn't do is make these sounds his own.

Which is not to denigrate his playing. Morris is a fine guitar player. Few could replicate the wide variety of sounds and feels that he does. I'm impressed by the way he's able to morph himself through such a variety of sounds.

And the production has given this disc a "modern oldies" sound. Basic recording techniques without many extravagances, but still much sharper than they could achieve in forty years ago. Just the way it ought be done, if you ask me.

I'd just like to hear more of Danny Morris. Yeah, these songs are written by him, but he's consciously working off of a variety of different models. And he changes the way he plays and even the way he sings to suit those styles. If he could bring all of those ideas into a more coherent personal sound, I'd be really impressed.

A long time ago (five or six locations ago as the A&A timeline runs), I reviewed a great album by Morsel. Noise Floor. Still one of my favorite albums. So you might surmise that I've got high hopes for this disc.

Fulfilled, though not in the way I expected. Morsel has evolved into a drum machine-driven noise rock band, though still fronted by Miriam Cabrera's most-inviting vocals.

The musical inventiveness and creative ferment is still present. The sounds aren't the same, but the ideas behind them are just as potent. Morsel is still creating songs around eternally-moving lines, finding significance in the chance intersections as much as the planned confluences.

A good album to hop in and drive. See where it takes you. I watched and listened as thought after thought crashed into each other, always creating something new and intriguing. Indeed, this disc is just the starting point. Your mind will do the rest.

Dirty beats. When I say that, I mean that these beats and shrouded in the mists of samples, loops and loads of electronic disturbances (distortion, reverb, you name it). And these beats don't have lengthy lifespans. Odd Nosdam has crammed 55 different explorations within the confines of this disc.

Which is also to say that coherence is not a virtue here. Thoughts flow in and out of phase by whim. The focus here is on the whole, and that's where all of these disparate parts begin to make sense.

Cause trying to figure out and explain every little bit here would bring even the most astute listener to the edge of insanity. Gotta step back. Take a look at the big picture. Give the brain (and music) a little room to roam.

That technique works. Once placed in a fuller perspective, Odd Nosdam's vision begins to take form. Just enough to give me the illusion of getting my head around all the ideas here. I know I'm fooling myself, but what the hell.

Nothing spectacular or unusual here, just solid pop music with all the trimmings. Ramona the Pest doesn't bother with conventions. I mean, one of the four songs here is the old nursery rhyme "Itsy Bitsy Spider."

Each song has a different mood and a different feel. And yet they're all connected sonically by Valerie Esway's strong and supple vocals. Whether the songs burn past or simply float on by, her voice is always right where it should be.

And the band as a whole does a fine job of putting these songs together in such a way as to make sense. Each piece is easily identifiable as a Ramona the Pest song. Which shows that this trio is right where it should be.

Ruby Vileos plys the vaguely experimental mellow rock trade. What sets the band apart are Ali Edwards's decidedly affected vocals. And while too much might be annoying, she seems to know exactly when to tone down the excess.

As for the music, the three members of the band don't get too crazy, but they always color the pieces with interesting decorations. Never overshadowing Edwards's voice, mind you, but just pinning a bow on the package.

Well-crafted, too. These songs have been refined to a sharp point without removing the emotional content. Tight, yes, but not stilted. The warm sound achieved in the studio makes this a most inviting album, indeed.

It took me a few songs to really get into this, but once I did I sure didn't want to finish. Ruby Vileos has a unique way of expressing itself. I hope more folks out there discover it.

I must admit, I wasn't really looking forward to reviewing this disc. Then I noticed that the guys covered "Court of the Crimson King." And then I read the liners, which read "All songs written by Saxon." I know, I know, such a complaint is nitpicking. But still.

Kinda emblematic of Saxon's entire career. Here's a band that's made a living (I assume) from recycling. The Saxon version of Eurometal is rarely exciting or invigorating, but it is consistent. You know what you're getting.

And if turgid riffage and guitar cliches rock your world, then Saxon will do the trick. I know there are plenty of Saxon freaks--some of them have written me protesting my review of last year's Metalhead. I'm glad the guys have such a truly devoted fan base.

I just wish those folks would figure out that there are better bands around. Saxon is generic to the extreme. Every once in a while a good song pops along--I'll happily give them credit there. But that doesn't happen often enough to get me excited. That's just the way it goes.

Not sure what to make of that title. I mean, most everyone know the history, right? Whatever. What I can say is this is right in the same vein of what Michael Schenker and his various bandmates over the years have played.

Solid, melodic rock with the occasional incendiary guitar solo (though Schenker does seem to have learned that faster isn't necessarily better). The songs are fine, but somewhat generic. Which is much the same complaint I've often had about his stuff.

The production values are solid. There isn't an overwhelming sense of ponderous pomposity (as, say, with recent Aerosmith), but rather a "same as it ever was" kinda feel.

Now, if you're still stuck in the 70s and think that thick riffage and midtempo rockers are still the rage, well, this probably would do you right. I find it a bit dull is all.

Something of a concept album on the Vietnam War. Apart from being somewhat behind the times there, the disc is classic Sodom.

The riffage churns with razor precision, Tom Angelripper's vocals growl and grumble and the songs themselves blast by with manic speed. Just like the old days.

Which is really my only complaint. I like heavy, technical stuff like this, and I like this disc. I do wish Sodom might try something else every once in a while, as otherwise albums can become somewhat interchangeable. Still, that's a minor quibble.

They haven't improved with age, but the boys in Sodom haven't let up, either. Another solid album for the files.

The title track features Slug, Rob Smith and Mike Ladd. The beats are slow but insistent, all the better for the rhymes laid on top of them. There's an interplay between the guest rappers (sometimes they're even running over each other) that is most impressive. The second track, "Left Behind," follows in the same vein. The intent is knowledge distribution, not bombastic braggadocio. The beats say "Take a chill and have a listen." Good idea.

A thoughtful pair of tunes, produced with consummate skill. The lyrics do matter. So pay attention.

The requisite "odds and ends" package, going all the way back to 1992. Singles, demos and some stranger material (including the "Theme from the Dukes of Hazzard").

Right. The stronger material comes on the old 7" songs. That stuff is polished and sounds, you know, complete. Some of the demos are interesting--some are great--but the sound quality isn't always great and some of the songs sound a little unfinished.

That's the fun of an album like this, hearing the process by which a band refines its work. And don't let anyone kid you. Punk music is punk music, but writing good punk songs requires hard work, lots of practice and even more editing.

And so hearing these songs in various stages along that path is certainly a treat. And since it's Tilt I'm examining, well, the added bonus is that there's always a good idea in every piece, even if it hasn't quite been buffed up to perfection. One for the fans, to be sure, but still more than worthwhile.

The advantage of releasing albums on your own label is that you are able to put out exactly the recording you created. The disadvantage is that there isn't much in the way of constructive criticism during the recording process.

Ipecac Records is Mike Patton's baby, and Tomahawk is his new band. He and pals Duane Denison, Kevin Rutmanis and John Stanier (past members of Jesus Lizard, Melvins and Helmet--among many other bands--respectively) got together and made some music.

Not as uniformly strange as, say, Mr. Bungle, but quaintly adventurous nonetheless. Patton's voice is one of the great ones in the past twenty years of rock, and for the most part Tomahawk takes advantage of that, giving him plenty of room to roam and growl. This does have the feel of latter-day Faith No More, though without the over-the-top excess.

And that's a good thing. I think there are a couple of clunkers here--experiments that don't quite pan out--but the vast majority of the stuff here is solid to great. Music for basking. Lay back and let it envelop you.

Sort of a compilation of the CD5s I've been reviewing for the past year or so. II Big plays that big 80s AOR game, somewhere between Steve Miller in his "Abracadabra" mode and Bruce Hornsby.

And if you like that kinda stuff, these guys play it well. The songwriting is by the book, but still good. Likewise, the playing is great. The members of II Big have playing in any number of bands over the years, and their skills cannot be questioned.

The sound is right in the groove, too. Takes me back 15-20 years. A lot of folks bought this stuff back then, and I'm sure plenty are still interested in it now. This disc is as good a representation of that era as I've heard.

Not my bag, but a fine set of songs nonetheless. II Big nails the time and place on the head. If you ever wondered what happened to rock and roll music, well, it's still around. Just have to look a bit.

Corporal Blossom is Layng Martine III, and he's put together perhaps the finest Christmas carol compilation since A Lump of Coal (still the gold standard for "alternative," yet traditional, recordings of carols).

The Corporal Blossom tracks (there are four) are assembled from a wide variety of previous recordings. So you get Bing Crosby, Louis Armstrong and many others singing "White Christmas." The other artists come at the songs from similarly inventive viewpoints, reinventing the pieces even while giving homage to them.

A few of the songs have been deconstructed a bit more than others, and certainly the collage style of most of these recordings can be a bit off-putting. Also, Lustmord's version of "Silent Night" is much more Simon and Garfunkel than Mormon Tabernacle Choir (if you've never heard the S&G, dig up a copy of Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme and throw on the last track. It'll give you a whole new appreciation for those boys).

Not the sort of album that would be welcome in the Cleaver household, of course. But for those who have a little tolerance for truly inventive (and not insulting in the slightest) renditions of old holiday favorites, this set should be a happy present.

Back in 1995, Bobbito Garcia started Fondle 'Em Records as a way to kick out some of the best New York underground hip hop. He's decided to hang up the label, but not before dropping this shout out.

A wide representation of the stuff Fondle 'Em has released over the last six years, including the track featured on the final 12" (reviewed in this issue), "Fondle 'Em Fossils."

The production quality is uneven, and certainly some of the tracks are stronger than others. Only makes sense. After all, when you're in the underground you're taking more chances. And sometimes those don't come off.

But most do. And this collection can blister at times. A worthy celebration, to be sure.

A compilation designed to celebrate punk music. I can't divine any further intention, really. Of course, that's as good a reason as any. Especially when you've got stuff from the Humpers, Darlington, Streetwalkin' Cheetahs, the Bell Rays and more.

Most of the bands here aren't R.A.F.R. bands. But all of the songs here are at least pretty cool. Some are real rippers. Even the covers have a solid edge. As a "mix tape" sorta set, this one really satisfies.

Good music is a great reason to put together an album. Why worry about ulterior motives when there are so many fine sounds to enjoy?

Perhaps the most inspired and loony tribute album of all time. Those familiar with Nihilist will be somewhat surprised to hear that this most unusual and "out there" of experimental electronic labels has decided to put together an album that, um, "celebrates" the B-52s.

Two whole discs of madness, with each track introduced by actual B-52s interview snippets. The artists here (including TV Pow, Panicsville, Brain Transplant, Cheer Accident and many more) range in styles from electronic pop to full-on digital hardcore and crazed electronic noise. Sometimes the original songs are recognizable. Sometimes they aren't.

Remember Alice Donut's deconstruction of "Only the Good Die Young?" Well, there's plenty of that going on here. This is probably not the kinda album fans of Cosmic Thing will be buying in droves.

Which is alright. Nihilist releases albums for the discerning electronic noise aficionado. Period. This album is for folks like me who can't get enough of the noodling. Oh, yeah, many of the pieces here are also great examples of post-modern deconstructionism, but that's really thinking too much. Better to sit back and enjoy.

Actually three tracks, including censored radio cuts. And when it comes to cussing, Y@k doesn't mess around. He slings four-letter words the way John Chapman sowed apple seeds.

But I'll give the guy credit: He's got a good flow. His rhymes are primitive and sometimes disjointed, but his delivery almost makes up for that shortcoming. As for the backing music, it's simple. Nothing spectacular. Just enough of the beats to keep Y@k in line.

On the whole a decent, if not spectacular effort. Y@k needs to work on his writing, if for no other reason than to avoid such a spectacular reliance on just a few words. But there's no denying that he's got a way of expressing his limited vocabulary with style.