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

I've been a fan of Bad Astronaut from the time I heard the band's first Honest Don's effort. But I always identified the boys with slick, catchy power pop. And I expected the best power pop album of the year when I popped open the package. The title is funny (in a nicely dumb way) and I figured this was going to be one big joyride.

It is. But there's a depth and texture to these songs that I wasn't expecting. This isn't just the power pop album of the year. It might be the album of the year, period. The effect is kinda like listening to old Flaming Lips and then popping in The Soft Bulletin. Okay, so many of these songs are still punchy and very, very poppy. Underneath that veneer of slick riffola lies a deep, old soul. And that's what blows me away.

The big change is that not all the songs are punky rave-ups. Joey Cape and the boys in the band (which includes two keyboard players, which should've told me something a while back) have put together some astonishingly beautiful songs to go with the disarmingly sweet ear candy. Most of these songs shift gears a few times, and the transitions are simply exquisite. There is nothing on this album that sounds out of place.

Another reference might be NOFX's The Decline, which was so blisteringly brilliant (and surprising in both its range and ambition) that it gave me a whole new set of reasons to love the band. Bad Astronaut has laid down the gauntlet here. The roots may be punk, but the music is simply timeless. If there is a better album this year, it's gonna have to be better than I can imagine.

Well-conceived, ambitious pop music. Pretty stuff that is enhanced by the presence of many guests playing horns, harmonica, keyboards and more.

The music is basic at its core. The Bird Circuit takes simple ideas and then gussies them up bit by bit. At no time do those "extras" get in the way of the fun, and in fact, the band seems to have taken great care to make sure that the proceedings never get too complicated.

And the sound hews to a surprisingly sparse feel. Almost folky at times, with plenty of emphasis on acoustic guitar and other "basic" sounds. And even when the window dressing is at its shiniest, the music still retains that spartan garb. Not exactly stark, but certainly loose.

Best of all, these guys never seem to repeat themselves. The album flies high and low, gearing up for a (restrained) power pop attack and then sliding down to almost nothing in the blink of an eye. That the Bird Circuit managed to keep its focus throughout is impressive. As are the songs themselves. Most engaging.

I'm gonna piss these boys off, but what the hell. The Distraction reminds me of nothing less than Motley Crue's first album. Well, with the exception that this stuff is straight punk, rather than moderately metallized punk.

The vocals have the same strangled squirrel sound that dogged Vince Neil until he found a producer who could make him sound (vaguely) like a singer. The guitars are just as basic and forthright. And the songs are straight line simple. Okay, so I could have mentioned, say, Iggy and the Stooges, but I thought bringing up the Crue would be a bit more eye-catching.

The production is a step above wretched, and that suits these down-n-dirty songs just fine. I've always been somewhat suspicious of self-consciously messy punk, but these boys make this stuff really groove. Who cares if they know how to record a sharp record but decided to be sloppy instead?

Nobody, not when the stuff is this much fun. Listen to it loud. Really damned loud. And then turn up the volume a notch or two. See what happens then.

Something of an abstract adventure into the spiritual subconscious. Eddie the Rat is a collective of people who play all sorts of instruments and make all manner of rackets. Calling this music abstract is probably accurate, but that doesn't really paint the full picture.

Part of the reason is that Eddie the Rat often uses a coherent line (generally in the bass, but sometimes guitar or percussion or something else) to hold the pieces together. Another reason is that the music is, itself, utterly compelling and instructive.

There are vocals, and sometimes they get in the way of really allowing the ideas to evolve completely. There's a beat sensibility to what lyrics exist (they really crop up on only a couple of songs), and that doesn't excite me. I'd rather hear the music explain what the lyrics can only hint at.

No matter. This journey of spiritual exploration is as breathtaking and exciting as any I've taken in some time. Eddie the Rat is constantly surprising and engaging. The musical avant-garde never sounded so appealing.

Traditional klezmer songs sung in the original languages (including Yiddish, Russian and more). That is pretty much the story here. Except that Golem really knows how to make these songs shine.

The band does mess around a bit with the forms. My guess is that the originals didn't contain all of the dissonant asides and sly modern references that Golem drops in as a matter of course. Precisely the sort of thing creative people do when working with traditional material.

Boy, does this stuff sound great. The band has a glowing energy, and the many players interact with each other most admirably. There's plenty of playful interplay, even between singers and the band. These folks are having a blast with this stuff.

Which is what sells Golem to me. Anyone can dig up old songs and play them. It takes a special group of people to breathe life into old works. This album sparkles with a fresh flavor. Absolutely invigorating.

Reminds me all at once of Treepeople and Nineteen Forty-Five. Basic indie rock, with lots of side trips available at no extra cost. The hooks are stellar, even if they hang ever-so-loosely.

Not unlike Nineteen Forty-Five, Good For You features a couple trying to make both a group and a relationship work. This album was five years in coming, and the relationship may not have survived. At least, that's what the press says.

Enough gossip. What counts is the music, and what I hear are lean lines, simple construction and plenty of extra treats. This puppy was cut and pasted together, but it sounds raucously stark. There's an undeniable power in these songs.

The musical origins of Good for You are quite pedestrian. But the writing and execution are stellar, leaving me searching for more compliments. Sometimes less is more, I guess.

Eric Friar has an, um, assertive way of singing. Actually, it's not singing as such but rather a sort of melodic speaking. Anyway, he may not be as terminally annoying as Fred Schneider, but damn, he's close.

Lucky for Friar that he's also a brilliant songwriter. He's also smart enough to pair his voice with the supple tones of Sherryl Branch. His pieces are more conceptual than actually realized songs, but boy, they sound cool.

Mostly guitars, drums and a drum machine. With some keyboard extras when necessary. When Friar and Branch really start cooking they remind me of Heavy Vegetable. Friar's idiosyncratic writing is nothing like Rob Crow's, but the two do share an appreciation of the coolness that dueling vocals can bring to a work.

This sounds nothing like anything I've heard before, and yet so many of the parts seem familiar to me. I guess that's another way to define great music.

There's this moment on Washingmachinemouth, a Pigface remix album from a long time ago, where the sound of the song completely fuzzes out into this dull roar. The drums are but pulses, the guitars curtains of distortion. It's a really great moment.

Inu-Yaroh is in that moment from beginning to end. And man, does it sound cool.

These are live recordings, which is pretty remarkable. You might think that it would be easy to set up a tres-muddy sound mix, but to do it in such a way as to allow the individual instruments to be heard distinctly is impressive. Often, that takes quite a bit of studio tweaking.

Abstract noise that really packs a punch. There's so much here to like that I can hardly begin to describe my ardor. Totally smitten am I.

Ultra-shiny power pop, complete with crunchy riffage and swaggering hooks. Labb isn't delicate, and it doesn't believe in subtlety. These songs pack a massive punch, and they sound much better with the volume cranked.

Which is not to say that this stuff is simple or mundane. Labb isn't afraid to ratchet back the sound now and again, but eventually every piece blooms into full fuzz.

The kinda stuff that either works well or not at all. Labb expended so much effort putting this together that there's the distinct possibility of staleness. Power pop is best crafted, but sometimes too much work can leave the tunes stilted. No problems with that here. The requisite energy and attitude is present.

Leaving me with an utterly satisfying disc in the stereo. Nothing more than that, but as any reader knows, good tight power pop does straight into my veins and flies right to my pleasure center. Big smiles.

Something of a Ween side project, Moistboyz is nothing more (or less) than a goofily sly metal put-on.

Not a joke. Decidedly not. These songs are packed full of silly lyrics, which are spewed out at breakneck speed over amusingly derivative drum-machine driven riffs. The songs are funny, but they're a total blast as well.

It helps to have lived a heavy metal childhood, but rather than putting down that whole scene, Moistboyz simply show how to do it right. These tunes are the opposite of ponderous or turgid. Each piece moves along quickly and never looks back. I mean, how many fuckin' Scorpions power ballads do you really want to hear?

Right. There's none of that here. If it weren't for the tinny drum machine at the center of rhythm section, this stuff could be passed off as the real thing. Well, at least until the lyrical content hit home. Moistboyz are loud, fast and fun. A real blast.

What is there to say about a band that uses a saw as one of its main instruments? Um, perhaps that the music is really damned cool.

Spooky, of course, as that's really the only emotion a saw can add to any work. Maybe that little whine might also evoke something of a dust devil on a dry dirt road, but these days very few folks even know what that is. Which makes that memory, um, spooky.

Add in some occasional cello to the mix and the songs veer toward Dirty Three territory. Which is hardly a bad thing. I suppose the clearest I can get is to say that Noahjohn plays some pleasantly whacked-out roots stuff.

Sometimes we're talking about actual songs, and sometimes the pieces are just fragments of an off-kilter imagination. I like both moods. The songs are quite well-written, but I really dig the more experimental stuff as well. The complete package, this one is.

There's always room for a tuneful, blistering punk album in my discer. One Man Army isn't the most aggressive band around, and there are more pleasantries than sneers on this disc. But see, OMA takes after the British punk tunesmiths of the late 70s and early 80s. Or, say, Naked Raygun. But I'm repeating myself (after a fashion).

Some of these songs measure up better than others. There are a couple sour notes here, I must admit. Still, I've got to confess to feeling this wave of nostalgia or something while listening. These guys aren't throwbacks without remorse, but rather simply folks who wear their influences on their sleeves.

The Kevin Army-engineered sound is modern--very little mush in there at all. This is a very sparse-sounding album. OMA is a trio, and there's not much in the way of distortion or overdubs to really fill in the spaces. Fine by me.

It's becoming a recurring theme of this issue, but basic needs are needs nonetheless. And while this album doesn't do anything spectacularly, it satisfies a few primal desires. No way I'm gonna complain about that.

The Paper Chase specializes in making noise dramatic. Sometimes this actually sounds like music. Sometimes it sounds like a really strange radio play. Sometimes it sounds like nothing you've ever heard before.

The thing is, this is a band effort, and the pieces here do seem to have been played straight to tape for the most part. That's impressive in its own part, but I think that "live" feel is also key to the astonishing emotional impact these pieces impart.

The first time I went through this album, I didn't dig it nearly as much as ctrl-alt-delete-u, which was a truly clever and bizarre album. I thought the pieces here were a bit too conventional. And then I listened again. And heard the rumblings beneath.

That first pass, I simply didn't listen. It's not that there's anything subliminal beneath the surface or anything. Only that these songs are a lot more complicated than I computed. No, in the final analysis, this album is more than worthy of my esteem. A warped little masterpiece.

The third album from these boys. Recorded at the increasingly renowned Red House Studios in Lawrence, Kan., the pieces here are grand is scope and sweeping in nature.

Emo for rock gods. I've liked previous RAW outings--a lot. But this album is simply head and shoulders above the rest. Not unlike labelmates (and Red House vets) Appleseed Cast, these boys are out to play music. Period.

And so while it might seem pretentious to include sax, xylophone or piano, these songs are fully orchestrated in that way. If a song calls for a little extra, the requisite fix is acquired. But this doesn't sound like a series of hodgepodges. Rather, this album is a collection of complete thoughts. Full expression is the key.

Pretty? Sometimes. Frightening? That, too. Utterly awe-inspiring? Yeah. Red Animal War has always been awfully damned good. The boys just put together their first truly great recording. Do not miss.

Jazzy noise musings with more than a hint of funk. To put it another way, Rolo Tomase uses about every means at its disposal to craft music that communicates some truly intriguing ideas.

And everything stems from that traditional drums, bass (upright) and guitar trio. There are some nice electronic bits here and there, but mostly this is about the cool things three guys can do when they're letting go of reality.

Trippy, pretty, sly, cool and outright strange at times. Rolo Tomase feels no compunction to actually stay within the lines. Whatever groove might have been established earlier in the song has very little influence over what transpires a couple of minutes later. Except that, in the end, all of the pieces fit together nicely.

See, there is a plan. And I'm not making a pun on the title of the album. I just mean that no matter how tangential some of the musings within these pieces may seem, the boys always seem to know where they're going. An inspiring set.

Rarely has grand music come from such understated arrangements. Saeta relies on acoustic guitar, piano and strings, and yet these songs have a power unmatched by the most ear-throttling bands.

Some credit, certainly, must go to Kramer. He provides Saeta with the perfect setting for its songs. But the bulk of the acclaim must go to those songs themselves, and by extension, the writers.

Sure, the lyrics are poetic. Moving, even. But the music is what drives everything. Deliberate and utterly without subtext, the simplicity of the arrangements is what, in the end, helps to underscore the complexity of what Saeta is trying to get across.

Simply beautiful songs. A pure pleasure to hear. Saeta isn't likely to become a buzz band or anything like that. These songs are too good, too real, for that to happen. Those in the know, however, will be eternally grateful for the experience.

A Scandinavian version of the Runaways. Perhaps you might prefer a Swedish Go-Gos. Whatever you want to call it, this foursome knows how to crank out tight licks and ragged, garagey hooks.

More Runaways than Go-Gos, but better produced than either. The sound is stripped down, but that only enhances the pedal-to-the-metal songwriting style. These tunes burn rubber and never look back.

Not yer typical Jetset signing, and to be honest I smell something of a need to catch up to a trend here. Maybe I'm all wet there, but while Sahara Hotnights are perfectly enjoyable (and even moreso on repeat listens), there's this "next big thing" kinda feel to the entire package.

That doesn't do justice to the band, which is quite simply four young women who know how to bash out songs in a most appealing fashion. Which is more than enough to bring a smile to my face.

The latest from Andrew McKeag and company. Not sure why Shuggie is out on its own at this point--the music is as good as it has ever been. And that includes McKeag's old outfit, Uncle Joe's Big O'l Driver.

Maybe it's because Shuggie insists on rehashing 70s-style southern-fried rock. Crunchier and more soulful than anything Lynyrd Skynyrd ever did (it's amazing what some well-placed organ will do that way), Shuggie has taken an archetypal sound and completely updated it.

The more I listen to this disc, the more I realize that the first Shuggie album was just a taste. A few years down the line, McKeag and pals have really figured out what they're doing with this sound. These songs sound like instant classics, still glistening from the morning dew.

A big wad of fun, with just enough substance to stave off any pangs of guilt. Sure, this sound is so far away from what's hot right now that it might as well reside in Greenland or something. There's only one thing I know: Good music is better than bad music. Period. And Shuggie's work is simply exceptional.

Idiosyncratic (mostly) acoustic pop musings. Dramatic as hell and just as affecting. Reminds me a lot of Gerald Collier, though Collier tends to get really loud when he makes a point, and Singer is more likely to be quiet. Also, Singer is rarely overtly mean. Still and all, there's a definite resemblance.

And that's a high compliment from me. I loved his last album, and this one runs down the same alley. Songs that immediately entrance and then continue to seduce until the final devastating chord.

One improvement is an acceptance that less is more. Singer makes sure that his arrangements don't get in the way of his writing. He lets his ideas float freely, without restraints, on a cloud of utterly gorgeous melodies.

It's funny. When I reviewed his last album, I said that Singer didn't really fit in well with the rest of the Deep Elm roster. But this album and the Red Animal War I reviewed in this issue compliment each other nicely. They're similar in the almost suffocating craft of their creators. And in both cases, that craft has resulted in a work of stunning brilliance. Breathtaking.

Not actually the final album from these conceptual hardcore pioneers, but if it were, this would certainly be a worthy farewell. Snapcase has set itself free from the bonds of traditional music and embarked on a voyage of discovery. And like the Refused and other greats, there are no limits.

Snapcase has always been one of the finest, most adventurous hardcore bands around. I've compared other bands to these boys, which in my mind is a supreme compliment. To say that I was expecting great things from this album is a serious understatement. I figured this puppy had to be positively incendiary.

And it is. The sonic assault is strident and clever, blistering and epochal. Some songs are grand palaces of wonder, others have the feel of a greasy street preacher. All have a sniff of greatness about them.

Snapcase really hasn't evolved much. Rather, it has continued to explore, refining old ideas by infusing them with new concepts. No other band sounds like Snapcase, because no other band could create an album quite like this. Why simply be original and experimental when you can make a monstrous statement as well? Got me. Snapcase has arrived once again. Maybe this time the world will be ready to receive the message.

Sonic Youth you know (I'm assuming). I.C.P. is a Dutch jazz outfit (not Kenny G kinda stuff, but the real thing) and the Ex is a legendary Dutch experimental hardcore band. Bits and pieces of these bands sat in for a day and created eight pieces, each named with only a Roman numeral.

Improvised (as are all Fishtank recordings), but still sounding surprisingly rehearsed, these pieces fall decidedly into the jazz camp. And more a traditional structured improvisation sound than straight free jazz. There are plenty of utterly whacked out moments, of course, but each piece has a center, something that no tangent is able to quite shake.

That, of course, is one criteria in judging music like this. To my ear, these collaborations are stellar adventures in the possibility of sound. Plenty of forays into the interstellar void, but always with a map of the road home. Exciting, as is nearly every Fishtank experience.

Once again recording under his own name (as opposed to Eyesinweasel or any of his other alter egos), Tobin Sprout has created another set of quirky and slyly engaging pop songs.

There's nothing particularly threatening about a Sprout song, but there's always something slightly askance. It might be the way he seems to throw his voice every once in a while. Or it might be that the guitar sounds like it's being strummed to death. Or maybe it's just an instrument that's not immediately identifiable.

These songs have been recorded with a deliberately muddy sound. Nothing excessive, just a slightly queasy muddle in the middle ranges. It lends these already unusual songs that much more of an otherwordly feel. I like it.

Sprout has a talent for writing songs that get under the skin. He doesn't put up a big front or come at the listener screaming. His talent is sneaking cool little ideas into what seem like innocuous tunes. Clever one, he is.

Some people use electronics to create pop music. Some use it to create entire new sonic universes. And some, like T.Raumschmiere, use electronics to create entirely new sorts of music.

It's not that the pieces aren't recognizable. The beats themselves are generally simple, and most of the little bits here and there are hardly revolutionary. What's special is how all of this is put together in a most fetching manner.

What I mean to say is that these most experimental of pieces are almost criminally accessible by the mainstream. If, say, a Madonna fan got a hold of some of William Orbit's stuff and liked it, said fan would probably salivate upon hearing this.

Not many can fly right off the edge of the world and then return bearing a resplendent cornucopia of gifts. But such is the skill shown on this album. Would that all techno fiends could come up with a disc even one-tenth as warm.

It's been more than half a decade since Secaucus, and I'm still jonesing hard. Sure, there was that one EP, but since then silence. I'd long given up hope for the Wrens, which just might have been the greatest pop band of the 90s, despite a relative paucity of recordings.

Now arrives this CD, with a promise of new Wrens in the near future (in addition to the three songs here). Well, this taste has totally electrified my soul. The dissonant tendencies are still balanced by some of the most amazing hooks around. These boys still know how to create completely original music of the highest order.

As for the Five Mod Four, well, that band's four pieces are solid, if much more basic in construction. Good stuff, but to be fair, just about anyone would be overshadowed by the Wrens. That the Five Mod Four's contribution makes as much of an impression as it does is impressive.

But the Wrens are what make this disc for me. Probably that's the way it is for most folks. Which is alright. A celebration is definitely in order.

Old Friends:

Avail Front Porch Stories (Fat Wreck Chords)
Another fine outing from these Richmond boys, who obviously know how to write thick and chewy punk tunes. Surprisingly tangy hooks on this one, like the boys dropped in some melody despite themselves. This one might sneak up on folks.

Brando Instantly Spaceships (Smokeylung-Recordhead-Mr. Whiggs)
Twelve pieces that were used in the decidedly indie movie that shares it's title with this effort. And then 12 more pieces from a much earlier period. The songs in the soundtrack stuff are quite good. The incidental music is a bit uneven. The old stuff is cool; kinda interesting to hear how Brando has evolved. A nice set.

The Forgotten Control Me (BYO)
Punchy, tuneful tunes. Plenty of political screeds, most of which are accompanied by some seriously catchy gang vocals. Not the greatest punk album of all time, but certainly one which rises well above the pack.

KMFDM featuring Pig Sturm & Drang Tour 2002 (Metropolis)
If you wondered whether KMFDM could play live, this disc ought to prove it to you. There are no studio add-ons to the strangely thin live sound. Probably more of a document for completists, nonetheless this disc does prove Sascha and pals are much more than a studio creation.