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

A set of recordings dating from the spring of 1999, between The End of the Ring Wars and Mare Vitalis. I loved that first album, but the second one really kicked my ass. I've often wondered how the growth occurred in the intervening year. This helps to fill in that gap.

A little. A grand, sweeping song like "E to W" fits in perfectly with what the band does today. Some of that sweep may have been added when these songs were spiffed up for this release (all vocals and a few other things were re-recorded last May)

Then there are a few more traditionally emo tracks. It's easy to hear where the band is going with its ideas, since I've heard all the greatness since. This set of songs is a wonderful example of a band just beginning to understand its potential. Not everything is great, but man, there are some achingly beautiful moments here.

And this stuff stands up on its own, without taking into consideration anything else these boys have done. No, it doesn't really stand up to the wonderment that is Low Level Owl, but hell, very little does. This set is merely very good. And that's not bad at all.

Atomic 7 is actually a trio, consisting of ex-Shadowy Man Brian Connelly on guitar, Clinton Ryder on double bass and Mike Andreosso on drums. As the press notes, the sound isn't much different than yer average SMOASP album.

Which is a most enticing sound, to be sure. While the majority of people may know the Shadowy Men best from their performance of the "Kids in the Hall" theme song, I always thought the boys put a sense of fun into surfin' rockabilly that most missed. Great chill out records.

Atomic 7 is a bit more upbeat, but the stripped-down sound and loose feel are exactly what I was hoping to hear. You may find it hard to believe, but these instrumentals say a whole lot more than most songs with lyrics.

Of course, any longtime fan probably guessed that. I'm happy to say that this lives up to my decidedly high expectations. Another one for the top shelf.

The thing I always liked about industrial goth pop is the way it blended new wave sensibilities with washes of guitars, chunky drum machines and pretty melodies. Perhaps the epitome of this sound for me was Big Electric Cat.

Bella Morte comes pretty close. If Andy Deane could hit his notes just a bit more often, I might give these folks the edge. Still, this album has a great sound. The writing is quite well done, and there's a lovely warmness to the chilly sound.

And don't think that I'm saying Deane can't sing. He can. It's just that sometimes he quavers a bit too much for my taste. A minor quibble, really. Most of the time, he's dead on.

Anyway, it's been a while since I've heard someone do this sound this well. Bella Morte balances its competing urges very well. This is one well-conceived and constructed disc.

Billed as a the sort of band that would appeal to fans of Slayer, etc. Kinda funny that the band's name is a parody of a soap opera, eh?

Well, the press is right. This reminds me of Slayer at its finest. Plenty of aggression, but without the overkill that permeated that band's early work. Think of some of the more astringent pieces from Seasons in the Abyss (for me, the greatest Slayer disc) and you begin to get the idea.

But hey man, these guys can play. The Blinding Light has at least as much in common with bands like Boysetsfire as it does with Slayer. A nice melding of the metal and extreme. The five songs here are a delicious taste. I'm ready for the full course.

Gorgeous post-apocalyptic pop music. Justin Connor is well-schooled in the art of songwriting. He also knows when too much is, well, too much.

So most of the songs here are nicely restrained. He's not exactly the most chipper person around, but these songs exude a kind of cheery melancholy that's hard to describe any other way.

I think I mentioned that the music is tragically beautiful. Songs for the end of the world--an end that you won't mind at all.

One of the great things about emo is the way that it has brought the piano back to rock and roll. Bands like Bon Jovi really wore out that tinny keyboard sound, and it's been a while since anyone really used the piano as the truly dynamic instrument that it is.

Okay, so Three Mile Pilot did (as does the Black Heart Procession). Bad Astronaut does as well. Maybe my whole premise there is out of whack. Whatever. Desert City Soundtrack has a dedicated piano (and organ) player to go along with the usual guitar, bass and drums, and these boys use the piano as well as anyone I've heard in some time.

It may seem odd that I'm focusing so much on one instrument, but it's the use of that one piece of the sound that really sets these boys apart. The writing is spectacular, I know, and the full production sound really rings when it's cooking just right. But I always come back to the piano.

Oh, yeah, this is emo in the same way that Appleseed Cast is emo. There is an offhand grandeur to the songs that fits that label, I guess, but mostly what this is is Desert City Soundtrack music. And now that I know what that means, I can say it is a very fine thing, indeed.

All the best British bands found their inspiration in American music. Dolour takes that one step further, playing American music based on Britpop which is, in fact, based on American music. Are you with me?

Not quite in the way that Big Star interpreted the British invasion, mind you, but the methods are probably parallel. Dolour most resembles Supergrass, I guess, though there is a certain Yankee optimism that manages to bleed through the pores of the band's cynical skin.

Reminds me a bit of the most recent Bad Astronaut album, though these songs are pretty much straight pop. There are a few interesting studio touches (piano here, cello there), but what rings true is the poppy goodness in the center.

Oh, did I mention that Dolour is, for the most part, Shane Tutmarc? The guy on the cover? He has a few friends who stop by to help out, but this is his deal. Pretty impressive. Not because this is a one-man show. This album is impressive because it's so damned good.

Four pieces, five players, fifty some odd minutes. Unlike most Public Eyesore releases, this puppy doesn't sound improvised. The music is most definitely avant garde, using "noise" (in this case, plucking, thwacking and scraping bows on strings, among other things) as well as traditionally cultivated sounds to illustrate the ideas of the composer.

You either really dig this music, or you sit around and say things like "turn that shit off." I'm in the former group, and my wife is in the latter. We're still happily married; disparate views of what constitutes music isn't a barrier to a good relationship. Still, this isn't the sort of album you toss in the discer for a blind date.

Looks like I'm dancing around here without saying much about this album. Well, I like it. I like the way the five members of the quintet play around with the music and each other. There is a very strong sense of the group in these pieces. That sense, and the composing, is what keeps these pieces woven tightly together.

Music of sonic exploration isn't for everyone. I know that. But if your tastes run to the avant garde (you know, as in classical and such), then this just might pique your interest. There are more than a few ideas here worth hearing once or twice.

The easiest thing to do would be to slot Fairburn Royals into alt. country. This catchall category seems to include anyone with even the slightest hint of folk melodies or slide guitar slinkiness. These boys do have a vague roots feel to their music, but I'm hesitant to constrain the sound here by giving it a label.

As I noted in my review of the band's self-released album (which appeared last May), the songs generally find two or three ways to deviate from a traditional sound of any type. The inventiveness is shown in many ways, from subtleties in the writing to studio sleight of hand. What is apparent is that Fairburn Royals has refined its approach even while increasing its search for cool music.

All that stuff about nonconformist views? It's true. But it's also quite possible to listen to this album and bask in the simple pleasures of pretty melodies and satisfying hooks. It's all in how you approach it. Me, I like to think about my music. And Fairburn Royals gives me plenty to ponder.

Imagine Blondie reincarnated as a Brit garage band. Lizzie Wood does a whale of a job playing catty sex kitten at the mic, and the boys in the band service her capably.

While plenty of the lyrics are clever, there's very little subtlety to this disc. Wood is into put downs, but her style is more Eddie Izzard than Oscar Wilde. Not necessarily a bad thing, mind you.

You've gotta dig the groove the folks lay down--it's got a veneer of faux sophistication laid over a slowly rotting core. A lot of folks will no doubt find this annoying, but what the hell. I'm a sucker for anything that satirizes continental condescension.

Oh yeah, a lot of this is a joke. I'm sure there are sincere moments, but they are few and far between. Mostly, this is just tasty trash. Just my style.

Two guys, Toru Yoneyama and Osam Kato, who generally play guitar. There are other noises (both also play keyboards from time to time, and Yoneyama is credited with "toys" as well), but most of the music to be found here resides somewhere between the dueling axes.

Perhaps I'm leaving an incorrect impression with that last statement. While the guitars certainly do play off each other (and in fact, the music is at its finest when both are playing their six-strings), the sound is hardly a metal meltdown. The sound is improvisational, with an interesting bluesy feel.

Know how some improvised music can be tedious because there's no structure? Not a problem here. Luvrokambo sets definite parameters for its songs, and the experimentation colors in between those lines.

What I like best is the way these guys can almost constantly surprise without simply throwing in the kitchen sink every piece. These boys are inventive without resorting to utterly unfettered structure. A most impressive sound, indeed.

The album's title may have something to do with the band's name, but in every way the Maginot Line plays distinctly American rock. Pretty much straight up emo, with a few progressive pop tendencies thrown in just for fun.

The verses are generally strident and almost atonal. The choruses are often multifaceted and utterly beautiful. I sure do like the way these songs are built piece by piece before exploding into splendor.

Indeed, it's that ultra-crafted writing style that gets to me most. These songs are simple joys to hear. And as much as it is obvious these guys worked dreadfully hard writing and arranging these songs, the energy level is quite high as well. There's no quit here.

A lot of fun for me. There's plenty of thought within these songs, but I'm exhilarated by the athletic pacing and tight writing. It's very hard to fuse those elements, but the Maginot Line makes it sound simple.

This might be better known as Saeta re-cast. Though I do have something of a chicken and egg question when it comes to all that. Anyway, Lesli Wood picks up a guitar and sings, while Matt Menovcik grabs a bass. Bob Smolenski puts away the cello (there's very little call for strings of any kind when you play a particularly bouncy form of bash 'n' pop) and lends a hand with the graphics. Hey, any help is always welcome.

Anyway, this is hardly tightly orchestrated stuff. The same care and diligence in the writing is obvious, but Ms. Led rocks. Loud. Fast. With all requisite attitude and energy.

There are a few touches which recall the "other" band. Each band member is playing a character (Lesli is Roxy, Matt is Clark, Peg Wood stands in as Violet and Steph Hasselman is Bootsy--even though she's the drummer and not the bassist), and the songs are astonishingly coherent and well-crafted for stuff played with such abandon.

Side project or no (and really, any project is the primary one at the time of recording, right?), Ms. Led is most worthy of further exploration. People who play such structured music as Saeta does don't always have the ability to let their hair down. Not a problem here. This disc is flat out fun.

Three guys from Chicago who want to play hardcore fuzz pop. Somewhere between Pegboy and Naked Raygun and early Afghan Whigs. Man, this stuff is thick. And it's so damned tasty.

For starters, there's Brent Larson's hoarse pipes, which lend a certain Archers of Loaf feel to these songs. And then there's the chunky way that the trio plugs out the music. Not sledgehammer-like, but more of a herky-jerky machine in effect.

The sound is thick, but it allows all three instruments (and Larson's vocals) to shine equally. There's enough space to lend some breathing room--but enough power to really kick these songs into another realm.

Adrenaline with a kick. The Motion is appropriately named. This disc never even begins to slow down. Tap in and ride the mainline.

It's not often that I totally punt on an album. I received an advance of this disc some time back, and it just didn't do a damned thing for me. Then I kept seeing all these rave reviews from people I respect, and I began to wonder. And so, when this disc (with liners and all that) arrived, I decided to give it another shot.

I'll admit it: I was wrong. This isn't a case of me deciding to go along with the flow. After all, I'm still convinced that Pavement is the most overrated band in the history of the word. But I was wrong about these guys. I blew it, plain and simple.

Which is not to say I don't understand why I didn't dig it first time out. The songs are built by swiftly-strummed acoustic guitars, a style that generally I can't stand. But I've been doing some listening to Robyn Hitchcock the last couple of weeks, and maybe that's what made this click with me. See, the key here are the lyrics. They're not merely clever. They're damned insightful as well.

And so when I popped this puppy in a second time, it worked. I forgave all the cramming of lyrics into tight spaces (melody and rhythm are often sacrificed, though not in an entirely unattractive fashion) and that infernal strumming, actually giving the stuff a chance to work. It does. Beautifully, really. There's a good reason why I'd miss an album like this, but I'm glad I didn't. Even if it took a do-over.

There once was a band called the Clash. Played sloppy, tuneful punk. Then it cleaned up and played tight, clean pop music. Lots of bands have tried to emulate that early Clash sound, but with the obvious exception of Rancid, few have managed to replicate the vitality of that stuff.

Pressure Point comes damned close. These guys have been making this music for quite a while, so they've certainly had plenty of time to figure out their sound.

The similarities are spooky. Pressure Point takes Phil Ochs' "Links on the Chain" and sets it to new music. And it sounds good. As does this album. There's a ragged, muscular feel to the stuff, just enough oomph in the guitars to really bring these songs to life.

Just the sort of raucous, politically aware punk album I've been jonesing for. Been a little while since I heard a disc with this sort of resonance. Bloody good fun, and more than a little substance to back that up.

Techno pop isn't supposed to be this warm and inviting. Pulse Programming takes all the chilly blips and bleeps of Tangerine Dream and Kraftwerk and then, somehow, fashions that icy music into a comfy easy chair sound.

Sure, the effect is even more attractive when there are vocals. Voices immediately humanize the sound. But even the instrumental passages here are strangely organic sounding. More like a babbling brook than bytes in a sequencer.

The melodies are delicate, and the keyboard washes sound more like floating clouds than black sheets of rain. Maybe that's the trick. The stuff has an ethereal intensity--it's impossible to put down, but still nothing here is intimidating or off-putting.

Rather, the disc opens its arms and envelops the listener. These songs wouldn't have worked with a traditionally chilly techno sound. But they take flight here.

Perhaps you remember the game of Snakes & Ladders. You keep trying to advance your piece to 100. You move up if you land on a ladder space. You fall back if you land on a snake space. In case you don't remember, the liner notes are a Snakes & Ladders game.

The important reference is 100. There are 100 songs here. In the space of 67 minutes. Well, perhaps songs is a bit presumptuous. There are 100 pieces, and they all run together. Funny thing is, if you hit random rather than listen in order, the album still makes sense.

Maybe because there's only so much sense that Slaw wants to make. These pieces are generally realized electronically--plenty of keyboards, processed vocals and assorted sampled noise. The sound is absolutely great, a wide-open and far-reaching feel that makes the pieces jump out from the speakers.

Trippy is also a fair description. This stuff is strange, but in a most congenial way. Can't imagine a live show, but who cares? What's here is damned impressive. And whenever you want a new perspective, just hit random. The blender is a great way to experience Slaw.

The last Theselah album I heard was all over the map. Not so this one. These are (mostly) soft pop tunes with a real undertow. Alright, so sometimes that sound is accomplished electronically and sometimes it's a band effort. The overall effect is the same.

And the production sound is just as impressive as I noted last time out. There's this ringing quality to the stuff that must be heard to be believed. As for the sentiments expressed, well, they're hardly sentimental. This is no docile kitty.

Just because a band plays sophisticated, urbane pop music doesn't mean that it is devoid of emotion or angst. Theselah simply lets everything hang out in the lyrics. Not the vocals, mind you. Generally, those are sung with the same smooth veneer as the music. The thoughts, however, are hardly tame.

Thoughtful is not a bad word. Even when it might be used to describe a rock band. Theselah makes its listeners think. It pokes and prods until some nerve gets plucked. Being the sneaky bastards they are, the band members often serve this wallop in an underhanded manner. All the more cool that way.

And I thought everyone worth doing (and plenty not) had gotten their own tribute album by now. But hey, a tribute to Kris Kristofferson? What a good idea. Most of his songs are better-known as recorded by the likes of Johnny Cash and Janis Joplin, and folks of my generation are as likely to know his as "that guy in the Amerika movie" as anything else.

But damn, man, he wrote some good stuff. Especially in the years from 1968 to 1973, which is when (with one obvious exception, "Shipwrecked in the Eighties") these songs were penned. And when you recruit folks like Calexico and Califone and Handsome Family and Radar Brothers, there's a good chance what results will not only be good, but interesting and varied as well.

The best tributes not only show off the fine works of the tributee (I think that's a word), but also puts those works in new and creative contexts. And while much of what's on this disc might be called country-rock, there's a lot that's certainly on the fringes of that appellation.

I don't often recommend tribute albums. This one is worthy. The songs are great and the performances are generally outstanding. This album not only celebrates an artist, it celebrates art in general as well. Well done.

Old Friends:

Damnation The Unholy Sounds of Damnation (R.A.F.R.)
Cheap 'n' sleazy rock and roll. Not exactly punk and not exactly metal, but rather a muscular fusion of the two. Think of early Crue--with a sense of humor. Indeed, most of the songs here are wry enough to bring a smile to the faces of the most jaded.

Jazzhole Circle of the Sun (Beave Music)
Not unlike Small Brown Handbag reviewed above in this issue, Jazzhole has been doing pretty much the same thing for some time--and doing it well. This latest trip down Smooth and Funky Way goes down just as easy as all the other discs I've heard from these folks. And once again, I can find no reason to complain about that.