When putting together a band of this name, the urge to break out the cheez factor and make an album for silly tourists to buy might have been pretty big.

But the Caribbean Jazz Project does a nice job of walking the line between and amongst the various musical legacies its name implies. And while most of the rhythms (samba and others) are more South American than Caribbean in origin (to be really technical), quibbling gets you nowhere. Yeah, this is something your mom might like, but then, you might just dig it, too. The playing is great (particularly the sax and clarinet of Paquito D'Rivera) and while not terribly adventurous, the band still rips out quite a few nice moments.

Easy listening that's not annoying. I can dig that.

Flying in at a much heavier angle than previously attempted (maybe Burton Bell from Fear Factory, who did a significant amount of backing vocal work, had something to do with that), Clay People has crafted six songs that transcend any genre.

Much like the recent FLA album, Clay People has cranked everything towards the breaking point. While never strictly a techno band (Clay People has always used guitars and other tools of industry), this marks a whole new evolution in the band's sound. I like it a lot (could you guess?).

Personally, I just can't get enough of this death metal-techno-industrial revolution. I wouldn't want everyone to sound like this, but as it is a natural spot for Clay People to find, I won't complain. Perhaps this is best suited to a loud format, but adventurous MDs will find a spot for a project as good as this one. Strap it on.

Twenty shots of late 70's punk rawk in all its glory. County's band does its best to emulate the Dolls, but his/her amazingly atonal delivery pretty much has to be heard to be believed.

Well, it is tons of fun, anyway, The remix 12" was silly, but the real meat is here. If you somehow are still afflicted with a feeling for this stuff (and a lot of you are), then give Wayne/Jayne a shot. The transvestite gig is silly, but with the exception of songs like "Wonder Woman" and "Man Enough to Be a Woman", it usually doesn't get in the way of the music.

Not a vital retrospective, but certainly a worthy one.

As if I haven't said enough about Cub already. Well, perhaps that IS impossible.

The girls from Vancouver are back, with a heavier mix from the engineer helping to pump the sound up nicely. Still pop as all hell (and Cub does that as well as anyone), two originals and a cover.

The Potatomen follow the same formula (two of their own and a cover tossed in) and also keep to a successful personal formula.

The Buddy Holly tune is appropriate, as the Potatomen's version of punk pop has a distinct rockabilly inflection. Quite agreeable, really. Wonder if the guys are planning a tour with Hi Fi and the Roadburners any time soon (I'll be there!).

A great pairing; a great EP. Whoever thought this up deserves a beer. A good one, now; none of that St. Louis shit.

Subtitled "Angst for Fun and Profit". Elder also includes lots of warnings about stealing his songs and such. This might seem awful pretentious (and it really is, even if the notes are funny), but the music is definitely worth stealing.

Yeah, he has a rather tinny drum machine behind him, but Elder cranks out pop music a la Minneapolis (since he lives there, that makes sense) that has the energy and occasionally the riff concepts of 1984-era Replacements. Much cleaner though (I noted the drum machine earlier).

Really, this is just demo quality stuff production-wise. Of course, the songs are just great. Any punk band out there today could smash through the video wave by covering one of these songs. I like the lean sound and feel of this disc (and since that's kinda trendy anyway, it shouldn't hold Elder back at all), and as noted before, the songs are just amazing. Ten seconds in and you know you're listening to a genius songwriter. Genius don't happen often, my friends.

Sparsely-produced punk-tinged anthems. A serious attempt to replicate a Pearl Jam feel (without really ripping anything off) on the first song. It's not bad, but certainly undistinguished.

The flip ("Yellow") wanders the same road, with about the same result. I've heard many bands do this sort of thing better, and while Fuse (sorry I couldn't replicate the long vowel mark) is certainly passionate about this music, I just don't understand why.

Folks have been speaking of these boys in reverential terms since I was in college (some-yikes!-three and four years ago). Something about pop punk with a snarly attitude that makes those pretentious college radio types drool.

If that wasn't enough to get your attention, the material will. The title song (and the real reason for this project) is a hilarious rip through the whole concept of "Alternative Nation" and other oxymorons. The other two songs are short but still quite entertaining. And you get an "alternative" version of the alternative song, just to run the whole thing into the ground.

Not very subtle, but funny as hell.

EVERYONE reported that Rancid signed with a major label (most often mentioned: DGC). Like Newsweek and about a million kids on the Internet. So perhaps what happened was that someone sat down and explained to the boys just how the Offspring made (at least) twice as much cash sticking with Epitaph than the guys would have with major label royalty rates.

Whatever. This third installment in as many years (It was really just a little over two years ago that the first one came out, right?) cleans the music up just a bit more, but the stuff is just as cheap and bouncy as before.

Absolutely forgettable, but admittedly amusing. Rancid has yet to record an album that was as good as OpIvy, but I think if you took the best songs from these three, you'd be doing pretty good. If a song like "Roots Radicals" doesn't burn up MTV like the stuff from the last album, then I've lost my ear for the shit.

Complain all you want (this is so simple, a child could play it; whatever), you aren't the one who did it. Shut up. If Rancid makes a shitload of cash making slutty punk records, great. If you can do better, go on ahead and do it.

Edgy pop with enough of that famous D.C. rhythm concept to keep the kids a-moovin'. Of course, the Smoothies call the Chicago metroplex home. Well, they ARE on Southern...

Tight and catchy, this is. The sound never gets too carried away, but then I couldn't find a real mellow moment, either. A real fine job of keeping the mood. Wow, this is truly fun.

I keep listening, and I keep jumping up and down (which is bad for good typing technique). I expected this album to be good ("The Smoothies? They're really good, aren't they?" my fiancee exclaimed when I opened the package. I said yes), but I didn't expect this.

As usual, I cannot come close to writing a review that is worthy of this album. I don't have any way of responding in any sort of decent fashion.

Your basic jazz trio: two bald guys and a member of the Hair Club for Men (um, that's piano, bass and drums). The style is, well, jazz jazz.

Not contemporary or anything facile like that. At times cool, but the playing is always hot. Five tunes of their own, and six standards, with a style that carries over nicely throughout. These are not cheeseheads!

Well, they aren't (I sound defensive, eh?). The sparse sound really highlights the expressive playing of each member of the trio. No one has to shout to be heard, though there can be quite a din (particularly on Ellington's "Caravan").

A cool disc that is still a challenging listen. Nice trick.

Extremely lo-fi noodlings and odd sound bits. If there is a real song anywhere in here, I couldn't find it. As longtime readers know, this signifies a hit with Jon.

I can't imagine better music to freak out the kids at Halloween. This stuff is just wild and creepy all over. Most of the sound seems to be originating from a guitar, but it is sure hard to tell. There's a Sonic Youth cover, but it's so deconstructed all you get is one riff and truly mumbled vocals. Which is probably enough.

Talent? I don't know. But the vision is here, and I like it. Most of the civilized world will laugh. Let them.

Pop music destined to stay underground. Sure, Vodka pays lip service to the three-chord convention, but for starters, Jenny Wade's voice is far too harsh and wavering to gain mass acceptance. But then, the people who make M&Ms said that about E.T.

Anyway, if you picked up the wonderful King Jesus EP, you've heard three of the tunes on this disc, though I believe the versions here are newly recorded. And Vodka continues to play with minimal melodies, wild swings of distortion and strange uses of instruments to a good effect.

Yeah, this fits into that whole Pavement movement, I guess (like Pavement was the innovator, but let's not get me started on that band). But unlike many of the "let's wank around for forty minutes and call it an album" bands, Vodka really does write beautiful music, and despite all the extras (perhaps because of) the songs survive and glow with an added sort of sheen. I can't get enough Vodka.

Members of Truman's Water and Azalia Snail sitting around for three days playing whatever comes to mind. As you might expect, a lot of this is pretty weak.

But, surprisingly (I've never been a fan of "jamming" albums), there are some nicely coherent and tasteful moments as well. You just have to cut through the meandering and find them.

And, honestly, this is not presented as any sort of masterpiece, but just a sort of "we were here" disc. Fans of the two bands will probably listen to this after new albums come out to hear the genesis of some of those tunes. Others will just ingest and mellow. Whatever works.

A pop band in metal clothes. Whorgasm cranks out grungy riffola and attitude, but the whole package then gets filtered through this whole punk-pop veneer, and the songs are basic verse-chorus pieces that are much more tuneful (even "Scream Motherfucker") than your average Seattle outfit.

Also, Whorgasm doesn't slow up for anyone. This is a most original sound, and it bodes well for the upcoming album. They haven't had a single out on Bob Mould's label for nothing. A nice little set.

Dismemberment Plan
! advance cassette
(DeSoto-Southern)

Caterwauling amongst the same territory as Kepone, though altenately more vicious and melodic than that fine outfit. Leaves me breathless.