When it comes to electronic music, everyone's got a theory. Some folks like to use the precision of digital music to more completely reflect real life. Others prefer to use the freedom of a blank canvas to create a entirely new reality.

Aalacho simply prefers to make cool pop music. Yeah, there are a few atmospherics here and there, but mostly this is about how to execute fine (if unconventional) melodies and bouncy beats.

Reminds me a bit of Die Warzau, circa "Funkopolis." Very playful--but also plenty adventurous. A nice balance between the two extremes, if you will. There is a bit of that German chilliness and some industrial-style fuzz, but don't let that throw you. This stuff is fun.

Walking this line is a seriously difficult feat. Aalacho (I'm hoping the name means something and just isn't a ploy to get shelved at the very beginning) trips through a wide variety of ideas, but it never forgets to bring a smile. Monster fun.

This is the sort of disc I would have overlooked in a busier month. Part of it, certainly, is the commercial sheen to the production. This stuff does sound like it was made for AAA radio.

But, see, December allows me a little more time to get used to what folks are doing. And Matt Bonner is working to say a lot with his lyrics--precisely the sort of approach I usually miss. The music is slinky (in a rootsy way), and Bonner croons in a decidedly Peter Gabrielian key, but there is substance beneath the glitter on top.

Bonner does cheese out in the bridges from time to time. There are very few really imaginative flights in the music. It's not rock by numbers, it's just fairly standard stuff. The lyrics, though, are insightful and occasionally haunting.

All of which is to say that every once in a while I like a little commercial cheese in my discer. Bonner does the mainstream thing quite well (though I have a feeling he's hearing from the suits that his music is a bit too "out there" for them), and he's certainly got something to say. Worth a spin.

Okay, so Coronet Blue sounds a lot like the Doors channeled through the Cult (Hard to imagine, right? Yeah...). Not exactly the most original sound. It's just that these guys do it so well.

You need just the right balance of attitude and actual musical awareness to really pull of a trick like this. Too much smarm and the stuff just bogs down in a sea of sliminess. Too much attention paid to the tunes and the songs get faceless real damned fast.

And neither happens here. The songs are loud and aggressive, but not over the top. There is plenty of swagger, but never at the expense of the riffage. Okay, so the boys aren't blazing any new trails. They just sound good where they are.

Not an overwhelming album, but damn, man, there's something that grabs me. Maybe I'm just a sucker for straight 4/4 drum licks and up-and-down riffola. It happens to the best of us.

I'm not a patient man. I am a fan of abstract music, but when it comes to pop music I much prefer getting hit over the head. Give me the hook, give it to me fast and keep beating me until my brain bleeds.

The Damnwells don't play that way. These boys work their way slowly into songs. Sometimes there really isn't a discernible hook until the piece is more than halfway done. And worst of all, the pieces are decidedly slow.

Of course, all of this is done with such immaculate precision that I have to choice but to praise it lavishly. I hate it when that happens. These folks are too good for their own, um good. And as a side note, despite the clever little bit in the liners about how six-song releases aren't necessarily EPs (preferring to call them poor man's releases, or pmr for short), I'm calling this puppy an EP. Sue me.

Another piece of the ongoing construct, this episode from the file of Eddie the Rat finds Pete Martin and friends in a most convivial mood.

The songs are decidedly noodly for abstract fare. I detect something of an unintentional nod to prog in the way the lines have been drawn in these compositions. These waves left me feeling that there was more substructure to these pieces than really exists.

Because, in actuality, this stuff is surprisingly adrift. That's not a bad thing; I kinda like meandering now and again. And I really like where these pieces wander. Whenever I think an idea has been exhausted, I'm always pleasantly surprised by new insight.

This is the sort of abstract experimental album that might well appeal to a more mainstream crowd. There's enough "normality" (whatever that means) to keep the easily distracted from wigging out. And those of us who like to set our minds free from time to time will set sail on this tidal wave of thought.

Three guys who like to play that whole noise pop fusion sorta thing (when I think of a better name I'll let you know). More Don Cab than June of 44, though this stuff rarely dips into the fuzz.

Rather, these boys let their music do all the talking. Literally. The sound is relatively clean and there are no vocals (that I heard, anyway). The instrumentation is impressive, as harmonica, xylophone (or some similar sort of thing), keyboards and more are played in most inventive ways.

With this kinda stuff, the most important thing is where the various musical lines intersect. The Feud rarely deviates very far from the established path, preferring to indulge in frenetic (though utterly controlled) interplay. The impressive thing is that these pieces sound like songs at all.

They do, though, and the sheer density of these songs is what propels them so completely into my consciousness. Not unlike Dianogah, the Feud takes simple ideas and replicates them so prolifically that the pieces seem always on the verge of collapse. They don't. And I'm just blown away.

Ringing, blissful, mid-tempo pop music. Hooks like honey, guitar tone of the gods. The sort of music that screams "spring afternoon in the park." Ah, if only the lyrics were always so pretty.

But do you really want shiny, happy music all the damned time? Hell no. And so For Against has crafted some really stunning pop songs with the occasional dark undertow. Just the way it should be, you know?

The songs are surprisingly long (the seven pieces here clock in at more than 37 minutes in total). Not exactly the formula for pop music, is it? Well, no matter. These pieces are constructed so skillfully that I didn't even notice their length. I just bobbed along in the surf.

Well-made, and played with plenty of intensity. That's important, because even supposedly "mellow" music needs some attention. The craft here is impressive;the end result even more so.

I suppose the chemical formula on the cover is putrescine. Maybe not; I don't think they use umlauts in chemistry. In any case, these boys play a fine sort of rambling extreme hardcore that reminds me a bit of Season to Risk.

But a bit more so in every way, really. This is hardcore, even if there are a few hints of melody, the rhythms get quite catchy from time to time and there are some bits played in 6/8 time (you know, with triplets--like Iron Maiden did all the time). In all, quite a nice mix of stuff.

Well-stirred and played with precise abandon. This is music of the apocalypse, and Putrescine can rail against the world as well as anyone. In fact, better than most. Screams in blue rarely sound so good.

The Shiners play a certain version of southern-fried roots music. There's banjo and there's lap steel and there are screaming electric guitars, too. The tag-team vocals of Wes and Jyl Freed add a nice spark of originality.

The more rockin' side of the Shiners reminds me of the Georgia Satellites. Which isn't necessarily a bad thing, though I always thought those boys were processed one notch too far. But then come songs like "Test Drive," a fine western swing number, and I'm impressed all over again.

Thing is, the Shiners bounce all over the road. I'm sure there are plenty of fans who wish the folks would crank it up a notch. I'd rather hear more fiddles and banjoes and such.

And I get enough of that to keep me happy. I do wish the Shiners would shed some of their polish, but that's not gonna happen. So I'll just have to appreciate this disc for the nice piece of work that it is.

Muscular, tuneful punk music. Almost enough shine to the guitars to shove these boys into the mainstream, but luckily producer Justin Koop keeps just the right edge on the sound.

Not many punk bands write songs for dueling guitars, but that's what we've got here. Often enough, both axemen are fighting it out for lead status. That's interesting, considering the general insistence of the rhythm section. These boys sure do know how to confound convention.

But even so, these songs are very simple. Three-chord pop at heart, with a nice, heavy punch in the gut. The kinda stuff that passes for emo these days, though I have a feeling Somehow Hollow is hoping to avoid that tag.

Good luck. And anyway, why not use it to sell a good record? There are some solid chops on display here. Some more work, and Somehow Hollow might be ready for a breakout. I hear real potential.

Spiv is mostly Chris Barber, with some serious help from producer Ken Stringfellow (he once of the Posies, etc.) and some friends. Barber prefers jaunty pop tunes, the kind that sound like old-timey rock and roll. Cleaned-up garage fare, I suppose.

And man, does he write some catchy tunes. Each of these songs is bound up in a rock-solid hook, and they're just as toe-tappingly refreshing as they are hummable. Purty nice.

Stringfellow keeps a light hand on the knobs, allowing plenty of space in the sound. There's not much fuzz, but rather plenty of room for the songs to make a good impression. I get the feeling that I can really hear inside Barber's mind. That's a nice job from the booth, folks.

But the star is Barber's writing. He's got a real knack for writing fluffy stuff, and he has a right to flaunt it. This disc is an effervescent piece of candy, but boy it sure goes down nice.

Ralph Kircher sounds like Robyn Hitchcock. He's got just the right amount of earnest whine in his voice. Sprawl, on the other hand, plays heavy pop music. Stuff that wails and moans in a most atmospheric way. The combination is pretty cool.

There are down moments, of course, times when the band chills out. At times like that, Kircher generally croons--losing his whine in the process. Soon enough, though, that little edge creeps back into his voice. I like it there.

Nothing spectacular going on. Just some good music. Sprawl doesn't go for the jugular, but it doesn't just sit on its ass, either. These songs are nicely crafted and played with restrained aggression. At times I'd like to hear a bit more, well, something in the writing. Maybe a bit more of a sense of adventure. Not a big deal. There's a fine comfortable cheese feel going on here.

I think I've pretty well summed this up. This puppy slipped in smooth and continued to satisfy long after its time was done. And there's not a damned thing wrong with that.

Tobin Sprout can take a straight pop hook and twist it so many times he's made a dreadlock by the time he's done with it.

That's a compliment, by the way.

Some folks find his lo-fi affectations either pretentious or silly. I like them, myself. As long as you're gonna screw with melody construction, you might as well noodle around in the booth as well. And when the results are as shimmeringly enchanting as this, well, I don't know how you can complain at all.

But then, there are those who are still convinced that Wayne Coyne still hasn't written a good song. I'll have no truck with Philistines. The simple truth is that Sprout is such as master of this form that he can almost will a song to work, no matter how odd it might be.

Thing is, for all the machinations in the background, these songs aren't all that weird. They're just not, um, normal. And that's definitely true. Greatness isn't normal. It's something that should always be appreciated.

Have I mentioned recently that I think the whole heavily-processed psychedelic sound as epitomized by latter-days My Bloody Valentine is making a comeback? I thought so. Anyway, Study of the Lifeless stand up to the bar for inspection.

These songs are long, and sometimes they plod. There are moments, I confess, that I think the songs just might come apart without all the heavy fuzz.

They don't, though, and that's pretty damned impressive. I kept waiting for a real clunker, but these folks are well-schooled in this sound. The songs themselves get a little faceless--they need a bit more life in them--but the sound carries the day.

There's a lot here to like. If Study of the Lifeless can find one or two more elements to add into its songs (and maybe take a step sideways from the Loveless sound, which it has aped mercilessly), then it could really take a big step forward. Even so, what's here is most intriguing.

Sean Woosley writes the songs and sings. He's got one of those great bar-band voices, and he really likes to try and expand his decidedly limited range. Thing is, the results are more charming than distressing.

And, indeed, the same goes for his writing. Mostly at home with jangle pop, Woosley tries to write all sorts of tunes. Luckily, his hooks are almost all jangle, and so there's always something earnest in the middle.

There's something great about a solid bar band. Every once in a while one of them hits it big, but mostly they play to an appreciative audience of twenty to one hundred. People look at each other and wonder why these guys aren't playing to thousands.

I can't answer that. But I know good music, and Woosley Band has crafted a disc full of it. There's nothing complicated or pretentious here, just tune after tune of solid songwriting and bang-up playing. The sorta album that is bound to leave a smile when it's finished.