Brain-pounding rock from the heart of Texas. Like a slightly upbeat Neurosis, to compare them to another AT band. But only a little.

This really kicked my butt upon first listen, and I cannot explain why. Sure, the riffage is great, and the sound all but sublime. I put my hands in front of my speakers and the hairs all stood on end, even at low volume. The bass is definitely pumped.

I still can't put my finger on it. I suppose a few more spins will help to solve this dilemma (damn).

First off: this is not a "metal" album. There isn't hint of metal on it. If all you listen to is metal, go slap the new Vince Neil CD in yer discer.

One could write a million words on their "Achey Rakey Heart" (which is a more country version than the original, despite some really wild guitar work), but I won't.

Many of you probably at least spun through the recent re-issue of Johns's first album on cd, and so you have an idea of what to expect. So you thought.

Quite simply an amazing assembly of sound. I haven't heard country music like this since Shockabilly (what a great band). Chadbourne and Johns focus more on acoustic instruments, but everything is flying off and yet still manages to return to the center.

Terror is a world where music like this doesn't exist. While you may not seg a lot of this into Disincarnate, there has to be a place for artists who create truly original sounds. And the songs are often really funny to boot.

Thrall is a set of three studio tracks. The first two sound just like the Danzig you know (and love, I assume). The third, "Trouble", is a cover of a song I think Elvis did first. I'm a little hazy on that particular part of rock history, but I know most of his early stuff was written by the team of Leiber and Stoller, who penned this thing.

The Live (Demonsweat, if you must) has four songs, all sounding amazingly like the studio stuff. The way live stuff gets cleaned up these days makes it sound like the studio track with crowd noise pumped in (and I think that's exactly what Vanilla Ice did on his last thing, like you care). Glenn always shouts, and there are signs of some overdubs. Oh well, that's the biz.

One of those discs that you wonder what the right speed is (at first). I eventually decided on 33 (hope that's right), and discovered the b-side ("Treasure Chest") has about the same structure as "Astronaut".

A weird melding of the pop psychedelia movement and grunge, I really don't get this. I wish I did, because there seems to be some message somewhere.

Maybe it's really supposed to be 45. That might explain a few things.

From the ashes of the completely underappreciated Olivelawn comes fluf. And good God, does this put new meaning into the word "rock".

Everything is cranked to eleven, and I still get the idea they're playing pop songs. This is the most incredible wall of distortion I've heard in quite sone time. Even though my stereo could be heard in the apartment building across the street, I insisted upon turning it up another notch when I heard what it was putting out.

Kinda like what Sugar might sound like if Bob Mould finally woke up and get into uppers (or vice versa). While it is more than trite and cliche rolled into one, the only honest reaction I have is: "This fuckin' rocks!"

When I think about it, I don't think a higher compliment exists.

Not two years ago a person stood up in a KCOU general meeting and said that punk (hard core, I can't remember exactly what the terminology was, but you get the drift) was a dead genre. At the time Fugazi was a real good band, I recall this person being forced to withstand a pretty stiff cookie pelting as a result of his remark.

The reason I say this is that I have heard more great punk music the past year than, well, ever. And this is D.C. stuff at its best. Side one is a blazing, intense piece of riffola. The flip turns all that on its ear, experimentation that works.

You know, they once said disco was dead. I can endure a little thumpa-thumpa-thumpa if I get to hear bands like this once or twice a day.

While on the brim of indie label-dom, Fiction squeaks in. And so I review this band, which sounds like an unfortunate Warrior Soul wanna-be.

Competent musicians and all, this is just rather unremarkable. It's alright to listen to, but like a snickers, I don't notice the meal.

And, of course, it is REAL commercial, but still heavy and all. Adequate if there was nothing else to play. But look on page two and find something else. Let KNAC and Z-Rock do this one.

I looked at the back of this package and saw four titles. And a little note that mentioned the disc ran 79 minutes. "This must surely be the longest EP in history," I thought.

As it turns out, there are 28 tracks, but they don't make much sense unless strung together in the groups the liners suggest. And they do string together anyway.

Like movements to symphonies (and the things are about that long), you can cut these up, but I wouldn't. Oh sure, your listeners might wonder, but this stuff is great! If you could do ten to fifteen minutes of Disembowelment at a stretch, no worries here.

Of course, Iceburn are more in the grunge side of things, but they have moved the genre into completely new territory. I loved their last disc (on Victory), and with the larger clout of Revelation, their hometown label, Iceburn should reach many more of you. DO NOT pass this up, thinking it looks too weird.

It is weird, but all of you thought Primus was a little weird a couple of years ago, and now look how many copies they can sell of a truly mediocre album. This is a great album! It deserves your support and devotion.

Certainly the most commercial thing C/Z has ever put out. This is pop-punk (I'm not going to use the term pop-core again because I understand it was used in Rolling Stone last month) at about its finest. Like the Goo-Goo Dolls with a little extra sludge and distortion.

From C/Z? Yep. And I like it a bunch. Sure it's catchy as all hell, but there is no law against a band writing a couple of songs with real hooks. Absolutely no apologies necessary here. This is plain 'ol kick ass punk rock 'n' roll (with the occasional guitar solo). Just like blueberry blintzes.

One of the nice things about listening to demos is sometimes people really are trying something new. Or, in the case of Nervewomb, trying everything.

I could list the various influences I hear in this, but I don't have the space. And all produced wonderfully. The only problem is that they try to cram all of these sounds into each song, which will tend to leave a listener with a bad case of whiplash.

Of course, they are trying, and I really like much of the sound here. I do wish they could stick to just a couple influences per song (and they do better on a couple, especially the real stylish "Edgewise"). Obviously some talent wandering around here.

Somewhere between Rollins and the Melvins these folks lie. The anger and lyrical harassment put them more on the Rollins side, I suppose, but as soon as one groove seems to play itself out, they whip out another.

This is not really original, but it sure is well done. A little seasoning and things could be rather nice.

Discordant guitars, rambling beats and a whole lotta yelling. I'm thinking maybe these folks belong on Shimmy Disc, but no, they do tighten up a bit.

I've been trying for a while now to find a psychic center of the album (a neat little trick if you can ever accomplish it). Dionne Warwick was tied up, so I decided to wing it.

I have no idea where this damn thing is coming from. It is glorious noise, with a somewhat repetitive rhythm section lending some continuity. But I still can't tell...

It is the rare album that completely stumps me. I really like this, but I don't know why. Maybe I should pop a beer. Sounds like a plan.

I think I may have reviewed this one before (editor's note: yes, in issue #31), but I'm too lazy to look and see. And anyway, all of you will have forgotten any dumb things I said earlier and focus on this thing.

This is not a new album. It is remixes of Fook songs. But not dancier versions of the originals. Instead, everything has been taken apart, and a few scraps arise from the heap and are making new music.

Most of this is rather mellow, which is an interesting way to take industrial music. I must say it works for me. If this is whoring a project for as much cash as possible, I'll pay every time.

I'll rephrase my characterization. Washingmachine Mouth is not a remix album; it is sounds of Fook revisited, in a whole new light.

A truly seminal band who called it quits over a year ago. This is their farewell, even though Cruz doesn't exactly admit that (though they are a little more forthcoming than previously).

While rather entertaining, I think it makes sense that SY quit before they became a cliche. Ben and Barrett are now in Gruntruck and Screaming Trees, respectively, pursuing careers in bank account stuffing. Jack Endino is, well, Jack Endino, and I'm sure Pat Pedersen is making good use of himself. (Sorry, I sure as hell don't know everything)

While an era is over (and Skin Yard has been for some time), we might as well celebrate what was, because this is pretty decent stuff.

There are a few truly weird bands out there. Slint is one of them. Or was. But no matter, as this was their first album, anyway.

I checked my Trouser Press to see what those dorks had to say about Slint. They listed Spiderland (a really great album), but the whole essay was spent savaging Tweez. Something about there not being any real songs or something.

Maybe not, but this is sure pretty fun stuff, nonetheless. Crashing guitars, almost overpowering bass and all sorts of great sounds make this a treat for eardrums tired of normal music.

Were this not a reissue, it would be on page 2. A real document (of what, I'm just not sure yet).

Apparently, Mr. Poindexter (lead singer of what SST says was a band named Poindexter Stewart) has now signed a major label contract to continue making stuff like this. The only question I have is why this project was started in the first place.

While "College Rock" is a pretty funny satire on the whole Morissey/Stipey brand of whiny pop (and the whole band situation), the rest of it comes off as rather incoherent noise. If you like that, you might dig this. Personally, I think whoever signed this guy should line up their A&R staff and start picking off the bastards at random until they get the idiot who lost them a lot of money.

You know, I think they should do that anyway.

I have wanted to like these guys forever. They are one of the few death metal bands with black members, and their lyrics are rather insightful.

Not that you could understand them as delivered. But I don't really care about that. After all, it's the style and all.

But the music is so mundane (if rather fast, even for death metal). I guess if pure brutality is the goal, Suffocation deliver with a vengeance. But I want more. And I think they will deliver, someday.

Part of a series of seven-inches which feature the artists of the ultra-great C/Z roster. Treepeople, Dirt Fishermen, Gnome and Alcohol Funnycar make up this set, and there is no disappointment in my camp.

Each band sounds a lot like their other work, with no real surprises. Of course, that means four great songs! (Note that I am rather loath to use exclamation points, so this one must mean something)

Some days I don't smile so easy (especially after getting pounded 8-2 by the Brewers). But it only took a few licks of the Treepeople's "Boiled Bird" to get the happy juices flowing. And I kept right on through the night.