Old Friends (short reviews of previously-reviewed artists):

Chris Barth leads his songs with an acoustic guitar. Well, that's generally where the melody starts out. He gets this astonishing ringing quality on the guitar sound, and then he starts to add any number of other instruments (piano, bass, melodia, electric guitar, organ, trumpet, accordion, whatever) until he's got his engine running. Then he starts to sing. Or he doesn't.

Not that that matters much. Barth is telling a story here, but his music is as evocative as his lyrics, and he emphasizes this by using his vocals more as an instrument rather than purveyor of philosophy. In other words, you gotta listen close.

That sort of forced intimacy works well. The listener (well, me) is brought into Barth's head quickly. Sure, it's an often disturbing exhibition. Should be. Barth has the courage to turn his head inside out and let all of us have a gander.

And so these songs exhibit strength and marked vulnerability, refreshing originality and cloying sentiment and more of all, a sense of Barth and the story he's trying to tell. Most affecting, I must say.

Some folks who ply the whole alt. country "thing" just want to play easy-rockin' roots music. Nothing wrong with that. I can dig it. But I more prefer what Big Breakfast tries to do, which is find its own way through the morass of folk, blues and other roots sounds brilliant American musicians have laid down on tape during the last 70 years or so.

And so no two songs on this album sound alike. There are a couple bluegrass-rock songs (really), a couple true blues tracks, a couple rockin' blooze tracks and even the odd folk groove shuffle. Reminds me a bit of what Ryan Adams and pals tried to do with Whiskeytown. Big Breakfast isn't quite that good (almost no one is, of course), but you'd be surprised how close these folks come.

Big Breakfast is best at the slow and mopey pieces. Unlike most bands, which tend to get sappy or overblown when the tempos slow down, these boys sound utterly sincere and convincing when they really get down. Strangely, the uptempo bits are what don't work as well.

Even then, however, the songs are at least witty, if not downright clever. Sure, this is a somewhat sloppy disc. Can't lie to you there. But I've found more than enough here to make me smile.

Every once in a while, I get a disc that reminds me of the old Britpop band Danny Wilson. I hated those guys at the time--this would be somewhere in the mid-80s--but don't you know, now that I'm older I've developed an appreciation for a reworking of the old Bacharachian complex soft-rock sound. Clapp himself claims to be aiming for some sort of Elton John/Todd Rundgren nexus. I'm not gonna disagree with that.

Add in just a touch of soul in the vocals--real soul, not overamped pyrotechnics--and you've got a good idea of what Allen Clapp does in the three songs on this disc. The writing here is impeccable, and the sound is gorgeous. Soft as a pillow and deep as a cistern.

And that's what's needed to do this sound up right. Clapp doesn't bring many new ideas to this game, but damn, he's just nailed the stuff. These three songs are simply glorious. I could float away.

Ah, yes, the band whose name I misspelled for years on end. I mean, I must've called these guys "Diagonah" is fifty different references. Trust me. Go into my archives. I bet I haven't cleaned all of them up yet.

Thing is, I love Dianogah. Really. Now that June of 44 has kicked off, these guys just might be my favorite band in the entire universe. You know I happen to be smitten with meandering instrumentals that give jazz/rock fusion a serious kick in the ass. Truth be told, I love to let my brain simply float along and take a break from the annoyance of reality. Dianogah is pretty much perfect for such excursions.

This album shows the boys in fine form. It's funny; I like the band so much I really can't make a serious judgment as to the quality of the album relative to other releases. I will say that the sound is more refined and somewhat less aggressive than I've heard in the past, but the writing is as assertive and intense as ever.

That's the key, really. The quality of an album lies in the grooves, in how moving the music is. That's it. And once again, Dianogah has entranced me. I lie under the sway of the music, and I must follow. Catch you on the other side.

El-P, one of the powers behind Def Jux, steps out on this disc and dares anyone to follow. This album is anything but a collection of singles. Rather, it is a complete thought expressed in 16 movements. The songs are self-reflexive, dropping references to each other throughout.

But that's not what's most impressive. What I like is that the music is as innovative as the rhymes. The songs have a serious flow, and El-P never drops out of the groove. He just keeps laying down the thick beats. Wonderfully complex and creative loops, powerful and throbbing or subtly subversive. It's easy to get lost simply within the tunes.

That wouldn't do justice to the rhymes, however. These are clever songs that turn societal conventions on their head. I wrote last month about "Stepfather Factory." That song is one of the more mundane ones here, in terms of concept and execution. I liked that song, but I wouldn't call it stellar. The rest of the album easily outshines the single. There is greatness here.

A frenzy that is concentrated and then allowed to explode from time to time, FantasticDamage is the best hip-hop album I've heard since Azeem's Craft Classics. To be perfectly honest, the creative ferment on this album is probably higher than anything since Fear of a Black Planet. The ideas, both musical and vocal, are packed so tightly into this album that it almost collapses under the weight of its own density. But that's not what happens. Rather, this disc takes that fuel and burns a course to a new star, writing its own legend as it blazes brightly across the sky.

Back in the day they called this kinda stuff sludge. Came out of Boston way back when, and then as it toured the nation it acquired a bit more of a rhythmic kick. Tempos sped up. Songs gained a little bit more complexity. I began to seriously like the stuff.

Hex Error hails from Atlanta, which is a long way from Boston. But the sound of the guitars is just as rough and thick as any sludge band I can remember from more than a decade ago. The intense focus on rhythmic interplay between guitar and drums (and every once in a while bass and drums) creates a blistering sound.

Magnifique, I must say. These three guys may deal noise full bore, but they really know how to put together their songs. There are subtle little touches here and there that show me Hex Error has the ability to keep up this high level of writing and playing for some time to come.

Yeah, okay, so it sure helps to play this loud. Duh. Thing is, there is plenty to appreciate at the lower dynamic levels as well. A first rate show all the way across the board.

Christine Kane has that fuzzy, slightly nasal voice that seems to fit modern folk music so well. She certainly writes her songs in such a way as to compliment the way she expresses herself. Which only makes sense.

Amazing how few people do that. Anyway, these pieces are often funny observational bits and statements, making this album a collection of characters as much as anything else. Kane pours herself into the songs, but I don't get the sense that she's singing about herself.

So she's got perspective to go along with perception. I heard an interview with Nick Lowe where he said that he had to find a new character for each song because there was no way he could be all the people he wrote about. Kane obviously feels the same way. And her descriptive powers don't end with the lyrics. Her guitar dances differently for each unique situation, adding even more color to the portrait.

Just the way this sort of music should be played, and Kane makes it sound effortless. I love it when an excess of craft results in an easygoing collection of tunes. Few can accomplish such a tough task, but Kane has here. A most inspiring set.

Knodel finally steps out on its own with a full-length recording. I've been waiting for this moment for some time. Ever since that awesome split with Emperor Penguin, I've been wondering what these folks might be doing. Now I know.

For you not in the know, Knodel applies a Kraftwerkian techno sheen to electronic-driven (but not fully electronic) pop. Kinda like if OMD listened to more Tangerine Dream. I don't know about you, but that sorta description gets me excited to an inordinate degree.

Ah, but this is about Knodel and the way it purveys its tunes. The melodies are simple and pretty. The beats are bubbly and addictive. As you might have figured out from what I've said already, these songs wouldn't have sounded terribly out of place 20 years ago. But there's just a hint of a modern cleverness, a few winks to the side, the sort of self-deprecation that was pretty well absent from the New Wave.

You know, like recording a strangely beautiful cover of Manowar's (that's right) "Kingdom Come." Anyone who could record that song this straight has a sense of humor that's right up my alley. Big smiles.

It had to happen someday. Now that Jetset has established itself as the darling of college radio (a well-deserved esconcement, I must say), established bands come calling to put their wares out under the TWA code.

Luna's lush, crafted pop sound has been imitated by many, but few artists have been able to find just the right mix of beauty and cleverness. This album finds the band in a somewhat more contemplative mood, but from the first note this album is recognizable as a Luna effort.

Some folks just know how to whip out relaxed, yet complex, pop songs. Luna has long proven its ability, and nothing here would make me question my previous view of the band. All told, a solid set.

And so what if this album isn't an artistic step forward. Luna has created high expectations for its work, and these songs more than fulfill them. You can ask for more if you like, but I'm just going to sit back and enjoy this album once again.

The success of Dog My Cat seems to have really opened up Harry Manx's creative juices. He digs even deeper into his bag of Indian influences, using his Mohan veena on more than half the songs here. And he works much harder to meld those influences into a traditional blues sound.

And so introducing "The Thrill is Gone" (one of only four covers on this album) with a short round from a raga and then blending that raga into B.B. King's classic lead picking sounds just about perfect.

What also works so well is Manx's acoustic setting for all these songs. His own writing is based as much in folk as it is in the rural blues--which only makes sense. And when he takes on a well-worn tune ("Thrill," say, or "Foxy Lady"), he makes it his own. In a most spectacular fashion.

For some people, success leads to sloth. For others, like Manx, it helps to fully refine an artistic vision. There's no one out there that sounds at all like Harry Manx, though I'm sure plenty of folks would love to be able to do what he does.

I'm beginning to think that the 80s ideal of "indie rock" is starting to manifest itself again. Metropolitan has that feel, though there's a definite emo sheen to the guitars and a restrained quality to the writing that is much more, um, modern (I guess).

It's just that these songs don't sound like they're working very hard. Sure, there's a little noodling here and there, but mostly the stuff is straightforward and basic. A little fuzz in the guitar. The occasional backbeat.

I dunno. That works for me. Nothing pretentious or overbearing, just solid songs performed with a minimum of flair. I have a feeling the three members of Metropolitan walk out on stage, play their songs and walk off. Workmanlike and impressively so.

Sometimes the music is enough. Like on this album. No need for any flash or hype. Metropolitan simply plays good music. That's all.

Five songs. Nearly forty minutes of music. If you guessed that My Education takes its time to get to the point, you'd be right.

The beauty, though, is in how this collective (which includes string and piano players) gets to the point. Ideas are stated and restated. They dance along a shimmering path, sometimes wandering into the grass and sometimes going a bit further afield. Nonetheless, every time the song ends right where it should.

Think Don Caballero meets Dirty Three and they go out for drinks with the Fucking Champs. Lots of noise, lots of pretty pictures and enough power to get the entire party to the moon and back. After listening, I think the reason the songs are so long is that it just takes a while for everything to percolate perfectly.

Which is how I hear this disc. There's nothing simple or easy about this music, but nonetheless it's accessible on first listen. Not a dumbing down, mind you, merely some outstanding writing and playing. The sound will ring for days in my ears.

Reminds me most of Molasses, that excellent post-roots outfit out of Montreal. Nina Nastasia takes haunting melodies that are most at home out on the lone prairie and then strips them down, making them even more effective and dramatic.

She then adds just the right amount of accompaniment. The right kind, as well. She's got a saw player. That sort of thing. So she's built these impressive, arched songs. She has to fill them somehow. And so she does, with poems mournful or just plain sad. This isn't exactly a pick-me-up disc. That's not the intent. Nastasia does have a few stories to tell, and she relates them with expert care.

Simply gorgeous music. Baleful at times, sure, but possessed of a terrible beauty, to be sure. The kinda songs that make a person tremble. Power, unblemished by any false steps.

Hard to imagine that such glorious pop music springs from the hands of just three people. Perhaps I'm just under the spell of Elisabeth Eickhoff's lush (yet slightly raspy) vocals. I dunno. They are fantastic.

But Nillah knows how to write songs around that fantastic feature, tuneful little ditties with hooks that grab immediately. Nice guitar riffage, too, though such an addition almost feels like an indulgence.

What is pop, though, if not an indulgence? Nillah keeps on giving and giving, stuffing me full with more reasons to fall in love with the band. And when I think I've had enough, there's something new rounding the bend.

Simple pleasures are hard to beat, and Nillah is chock full of 'em. Funny how so many bands work so hard to dress up something good and end up muddying the water. The stream of pop is crystal clear here, all ready for an early spring dip.

Somewhere between T. Rex and the Cult, Quick Fix lies in wait, ready to pounce. And when I reference Ian Astbury and pals, well, I'm talking about the good years, back before "Fire Woman" and flameout.

This kind of think and chunky glam rock is most attractive to my ears, especially when played with such panache and disdain. Disdain for themselves, their music and the listener. I know you may think this is a bad idea, but I've long believed that the greatest glam practitioners believed that the sound was beneath them. Didn't stop them from making the music, mind you. Just added a certain sneer to the stuff.

I could be all wet there, though I can tell you that while Quick Fix certainly enjoys playing this stuff, I get the feeling the boys think they could be "artistes" of the highest order. Fine by me, as long as the result is music like this.

Yes, you say, that's all fine, but is the stuff cheap and sleazy when it needs to be? Um, did you see the album cover? I think that should answer all of your concerns. Just grab this disc, plunk it in your machine and play it loud. Very loud.

Comprised of the team Odd Nosdam and Why?, Reaching Quiet is a suburban symphony in four parts. If you want to look at it that way. I do, so that's how I'm gonna talk about it.

As the liners say, this puppy was recorded back at the boys' ancestral homes after said artists dropped out of art school. I knew there was a reason for such self-indulgent, meandering stuff. These guys were mooching off their parents and goofing around.

That said, there's a whole lot of cool sounds here. You kinda have to mine for them; the songs are decidedly incoherent, and don't even ask about the album as a whole (there are a few themes, but they're stated and restated so unevenly as to be unrecognizable most of the time). Sometimes that's just how it goes.

The greatness here isn't in the finished project, but in the pieces. In general, this puppy sounds like it was made by a couple of guys too cool for school. Except... there are so many wonderful beats and sample constructions here that I really have to recommend it. Weird? Incomplete? An utter mess? Yep. And yet, most intriguing.

Ari Russo played guitar for Von, and now he steps out with his own CD. And I have to say, if there's guitar here, it's so MIDI-ed up as to be totally unrecognizable.

What this does sound like is Tangerine Dream. The 70s stuff, I mean, you know, the good times. Abstract, sterile electronic tunes that are too bubbly to ignore. Russo has a way of maintaining motion even when his melodies are just gestating. I like that.

Actually, I like most of what I hear here. These songs aren't terribly complicated or intense, but what few lines there are combine to create a complete, if sparsely-populated, universe. Bobble along and find out for yourself.

Sounds a lot like Urge Overkill's major label albums--punchy, crunchy, loud and tuneful. I liked those discs and wondered why the kiddies didn't go wild. But then, my favorite albums rarely sell more than 1,000 copies.

So maybe it's not such a good thing that I really like Stereo 360. Too bad. These boys know how to play power pop (perhaps that's why their web site is http://www.kingsofpop.com), and they do it very well.

It is very hard to carry through on a ragged edge and still manage to have gorgeous harmonies. Stereo 360 does it without blinking. Yes, this stuff is ready for the big leagues (the production is brassy, though not too glossy), but that doesn't mean it's dull. Just shined up for the masses. And I can't complain about the results.

My main problem with the "lounge" movement of the last few years is that most of the stuff consists of lazily written and played material. The best "easy listening" music is tightly crafted, as any student of Burt Bacharach or (yikes!) even Barry Manilow can tell you.

Stew works his ass off. Along with collaborator Heidi Rodewald, Stew artfully creates an easy-going, soulful jazz sound. His pieces are written in something of an art song style, and he gives them a winning soft sell, rounding off harsh edges and emphasizing the pleasant.

All that "easy" work on the surface is deceptive. Many of these songs were recorded live, but what's impressive is that there is little difference between the studio and club sounds. And the performances are similarly indistinguishable. That's what hard work can do for you.

Not nearly as simple as it sounds, this album contains plenty of exciting and dramatic moments. When folks aspire to recreate an authentic "lounge" sound, they should listen to this disc a hundred times. Because Stew gets it right. These are songs you will want to hear over and over again.

Remember the insistent anger of NOFX's brilliant EP The Decline? Strung Out replicates those tight, somewhat dissonant harmonies and throws in guitars that are even more strident and metallic. Pop punk goes protest.

There are a few winks here and there, of course. One band member thanks Vanilla Ice (for what, precisely, we are left to guess), and the La Femme Punkita design of those liners is pure fun. To be honest, I think any band with tinny electric piano (I don't think there's actually any organ) in the high end of the mix can't be all serious. But that's just me.

What I do know is that Strung Out has crafted an album that just can't be ignored. From the very start, this puppy blistered itself into my mind. Yeah, I know, I'm predisposed to like this kinda thing. Doesn't matter. I wouldn't be shooting jizz if I wasn't knocked out.

That good, indeed. Sometimes everything clicks. It sure did here. Hey, if I can overlook some seriously metal guitars in a punk band, everything else must be great. And it is. Strung Out has done itself proud.

So the thing about emo is that it is a decidedly simple punk form. At least, that's how most bands approach it. But when you consider that Jawbox and Treepeople certainly qualify as major influences--and when you think about bands like the Appleseed Cast--well, that theory just all goes to hell.

Which is fine. Taking Back Sunday is an emo band. Hard to say otherwise. But the guys throw so much into each song that any label is a tenuous one. There's plenty of power pop, complete with ragged-but-true harmonies. There's the standard unadorned guitar sound, though the lines that instrument creates are all over the map. And then there's the way the songs fall together in a loosely manic fashion.

Beautiful and crazy, sure, but utterly crafted. I just love it when a band can hide all the seams the way these guys do. Ideas flit to and fro, crashing into each other and creating entirely new thoughts. The definition of good music. And the lyric themes are just as strong.

Heartbreaking in its pure, gorgeous intent, this album extends the sound of emo. And that is never a bad thing. The potential here is immense; the present achievement is unbelievable. In the end, I'm rendered speechless.

Otis Taylor's White African is one of the great blues recordings of all time. His storytelling prowess is all but unmatched. His voice is a perfect, expressive rasp. His willingness to experiment with both vocal styles and musical forms is impressive. Any album of his is welcome in my house.

Anyway, that's how I felt after hearing just the one album. After just one listen to this disc, I sit in amazement, wondering just how it is Taylor hasn't been hailed as one of the greatest musicians of our time.

These songs transcend time and place. Yes, each is its own story, with specific plot and angle. But Taylor turns each one into a living lyric, with themes that will stand even after the particulars are forgotten. I haven't even begun to really discuss Taylor's use of guitar, banjo, harp and voice. He likes to create loops--loops that are played, not simply spliced together. He generally plays these cycles off of each other. Sometimes he has more than one loop on a single instrument. The collisions are mind-blowing.

No matter what sort of music you love, Otis Taylor plays music that you cannot ignore, music that will burn itself into your heart. Good music is good music, but brilliance like this is simply too awesome to hide behind a label. Someday Otis Taylor will get his due. I just want to be around to see that happen.

Old school old school country, if you know what I mean. Cindy Wolfe (songwriter and field general for the Tennessee Twin) has a penchant for somewhat cutesy clever lyrics, which can get a bit annoying. Thing is, these songs sound too damn good to get mad at for any length of time.

Almost a full-blown Texas swing orchestra, the Tennessee Twin features fiddle, pedal steel, accordion and mandolin in addition to the usual guitar, bass and drums. Wolfe writes some wonderful two-step melodies, and her arrangements are full and fun.

Sometimes she tries to say too much with her lyrics (or, more accurately, she tries to use too many words for the rhythm she's established), but most of the time she's dead on. And while the cleverness can grate, it's hard not to smile at a song like "Big Emo Eyes."

Or the rest of the album, for that matter. This puppy isn't perfect, but its ragged sincerity is refreshing. Exciting, even. Grab your best bolo and go out two-stepping tonight.

The songs on this album are inspired by various works of art. Paintings, to be more precise. And not just any paintings. Seurat. Pollock. Lichtenstein. Balthus. Some heavy hitters. And thus the title of the album.

Woodall's work is constructed of a variety of electronic sounds (many of which sound quite "real," in the sense that the general feeling is that the stuff has been recorded by an orchestra). He likes to take a theme (based on the painting in question, I assume) and give it a full workout.

I'm not familiar with all of these paintings, but the ones I know are reflected in Woodall's homages. He doesn't see them the way I do, of course, but that's not a problem. The fact that he's able to so completely express his interpretations through this music impresses the hell out of me.

And if you don't know any of the works, Woodall's music might inspire you to take a trip to New York (where almost all his influences hang) and check them out. His evocative sounds certainly make me want to give these paintings a fresh glance. And as for the music, all by itself, I can't say enough. Woodall's ability to make melodies not just sing, but speak, is impressive. Call it jazz, call it classical (in whatever sense you like), it doesn't matter. Woodall makes fine music.

Old Friends:

Armchair Martian Who Wants to Play Bass? (My Records)
The title is an inside joke; as usual, a parade of people not necessarily known for playing bass take up the four-string in support of Jon and Paul. The rough and ready roots punk rock (think early Uncle Tupelo and then turn up the distortion) is as satisfying as ever.

Loren Connors The Departing of a Dream (Family Vineyard)
Dropping the MazzaCane from his moniker, Connors is back with new recordings, including two reflecting directly on 9/11. His use of solo guitar in sonic construction is breathtaking. I think the weirder Connors gets, the better I like him.

Flogging Molly Drunken Lullabies (Side One Dummy)
Is it Flogging Molly or the Pogues? Well, these folks rock a little harder I guess, but the stuff is of similar quality. Pretty solid all the way through, with fine tin whistle and fiddle decorating the fuzzy guitar and bass.

NOFX 45 or 46 Songs that Weren't Good Enough to Go on Our Other Records (Fat Wreck Chords)
The title explains everything. This is the 7", b-sides, compilations and EP tracks collection for all those who never saw the original vinyl. Okay, so this set doesn't truly collect everything (Fat Mike sez he didn't want to piss off those who put out for the vinyl too much). No matter. There's a lot of fun to be had here.