Alfaro paints pictures of L.A. life, sometimes happy, sometimes sad. But even when his words get angry, his voice seems to quiver. Not on the verge of yelling, but on the edge of falling away completely.

Sort of an antithesis to the Eric Bogosian style of beating his audience to death, you have to pay attention to what Alfaro says. It takes a little work to really absorb this stuff, and it makes the appreciation that much more intense.

Nothing otherworldly, just a view on life. Sometimes that's a good thing to observe.

Combining one of the best tracks from Breaking Things and a couple of non-LP tracks. You know "Guilty", so I'll go on to the others.

The guitar is not as heavy on these tracks, giving them a "She's My Ex" kinda feel. Both are not the tightest lyrically, but the music seems a little more in place than some of the songs on the album. Neither is a "Can't Say" (perhaps the best song from the Percolator sessions that ended up as a b-side), but they aren't bad, either.

Heavy punk-pop, a la Treepeople, with different folks giving the vocals a shot.

These folk have a nice handle on what makes a hook, and they still manage to pack a bruising with the riffage.

Already starting to resurface following last year's major label San Diego buying spree, the scene there is producing even more cool bands. Contra Guerra is one to watch.

Their recent album was divertingly strange, but I wasn't sure if the folk could stick around long enough to prove to be really bizarre.

Well, this isn't the weirdest stuff I've ever heard, but it does bring to mind the most psychotic moments of Alice Donut, Engine Kid or Half Japanese.

Strident riffs, Squiggy-esque vocals and a lot of screaming punctuate the songs here. And don't forget to play it at 33, or you'll get The Chipmunks Go Grunge.

I've been waiting for this disc so long, I can't remember when I wasn't. No disappointment, either.

Gritty metal-industrial, like the last Optimum Wound Profile, only nastier.

This just keeps rolling in my brain, and I don't know how to stop the bleeding. I want to write accolades, but my reason circuit seems to have been snapped, and all I can put down is drivel.

Awestruck, I suppose.

Another good reason to check out their new full-length, although neither song here is on that fine effort. Both tracks are simple, to the point, crunchy punka rawka.

The flip side has the luck of a great title, "all the fuckers live in newport beach". I'm not exactly sure how the lyrics and the title are related, but then I've never been to Newport Beach.

If somehow these boys have escaped your attention (and by the playlists I've received, most of you have), there is no excuse. Capitulate or die.

One of my favorite things to do as a dj was to play spoken word stuff over cool instrumentals, from Pell Mell to Branford Marsalis to the Shadowy Men. New Alliance has put together a great series of spoken word sets, some with and some without background music.

This one is without, but the words are strong enough to do without accompaniment. Healy's physical voice is nothing special, but her mind's voice spins circles and circles of music in my mind as I try to grip her thought.

Not highbrow, but in their accessibility, her words speak to people who might not otherwise hear.

Nicely messy pop music, with a lot of noise and almost chanted vocals. Everything is going nowhere, and somehow it all begins to make sense. And then the needle lifts up.

The production is spotty, and I'm pretty sure it's intended that way. I'm not exactly sure what the artistic statement is, but at least the folks are trying for something. I'm listening...

From the cover, to the lyrics, to the vocal presentation, this just screams old school!

I know, it's kinda hard to believe but a scant year or two ago most death metal bands were hocking loogeys and making sure no one could make out what they were saying. Now that enunciation is not just a coming trend but a fact of life, it's a little refreshing to hear something so, well, Neanderthal.

I never really got into the silly stuff like this back then, but it does get me a little nostalgic. Oh, for the early days!

After being told all the promo copies had been served a couple of months ago, this arrives on my doorstep, no return address or press. And UPS to boot, so no postmark. But why look a gift horse in the mouth?

Why, indeed? This is a collection of singles originally intended to promote a Japanese tour. Unfortunately, the guys didn't clear it with their American record company. By the time everything was straightened out, the Rocket boys had signed to Interscope, and Cargo had to be quiet about releasing this nice collection.

Did I get that straight? Well, everybody's "next big thing" have a fine track record on the little vinyl, and they deserve everything they get from their major deal. I wish they had stayed on the indie side, but some people can sniff a payday a mile away. And if you won the lottery...

We in America have come up with a new sort of rock music that the hipsters call industrial. Oh yeah, it all goes back to Europeans like Kraftwerk and Einsturzende Neubauten, but who cares about them. Real industrial bands are Ministry, Nine Inch Nails and their ilk, right?

Um, no. We folk over here like to imagine a bleak existence and play dance music to shock us into a false depression. Meanwhile, over in eastern Europe, a lot of people are dying.

This is an album by a Croatian industrial outfit. The lyrics are bleak and cynical, the music no-nonsense. Okay, so Croatians may have it a little easier than the Bosnians, but that is a matter of timing, not intent. When everyone with a gun has decided to shot at whatever moves (and things are sorta like that), then your existence can't be much fun.

And that's what Transmisia reflects. A nasty, short and brutish life, one that might be taken away at any time. So whenever you start to feel sorry for yourself because you didn't get into Northwestern or whatever, listen to this. And understand.

Between Nuclear Blast and its American cousin Relapse, there are a ton of great bands. Twenty-one of them are found on this disc.

And a few new tracks, too. You'll be hearing the full Pungent Stench album soon, but enjoy "Fuck Bizarr" now. Yeah, there is the previously-released set, but even that is well-chosen. And it sure was nice of Matt, Bill and Co. to lend Dead World, Candiru and General Surgery, among others, to this set.

I think Corporate Death is a little stronger overall, but this is still a fine death metal compilation.

Poetry and minimalist jazz. Good poetry and good minimalist jazz. Pretty cool.

Vranich is an underground poetry legend. I was perusing an Andrei Codrescu book, and he related an evening in a Detroit bar with Vranich. A lot of beer passed through. Both of them are guys that seem like they would be good beer buddies.

Vranich's poetry has an internal rhythm that translates very well to the musical accompaniment. While sometimes the music can get annoying, it really brings out the best in Vranich. And that can be very, very good.