More an effort to make the tunes a little more club-ready than overhaul some fine goth. Just a few added beats here and there, with the songs laid over.

The production is just as lush as the album, and that keeps this project on the same high level. The songs aren't really improved (they were quite good to begin with), but they are punched up a little. Not a bad thing.

This is mostly for DJs, I think, as the original pieces just haven't been changed that much. Kids wearing Black No. 1 will just have to move a little faster on the floor.

Three albums and the guys still don't get it. Or maybe I don't. That is certainly a possibility.

The Blindside Blues Band plays syncopated beats so straight any notion of soul or emotion (or any other reason for playing that way) is lost. The essence of the blues is lost.

Sure the musical performances are fine, and the songs are written up to a decent standard. But the real test of the blues is feel, and in my book this band still hasn't found that. Indeed, I think these guys would be much more at home being heavy metal heroes if that paid anything these days.

If I got even the slightest hint that the Blindside Blues Band really felt the blues, then I could stand it. But once again, emotion is a no-show.

The keyboard style is straight out of the Doors, but luckily the guitar has more of an eighties feel. John Singleton's vocals kinda sound like Morrison, but I think that's more a result of the feel than real similarity.

And the music and lyrics are nowhere near as pretentious as the Doors. The tunes are fairly catchy, and loopy enough to keep me interested. A little more work and the band could really be on to a cool sound.

From the titles of the tunes ("Bitch Stole My Board", "Death at Mile Zero", etc.) you might think the music would be just a little more aggro.

But this is surf a la the Ventures, meek and mellow at times. Brodie sounds like he'd really like to get that Dick Dale sound, but he's not willing to go through the pain of playing tuned-up bass strings. So this sounds like... another surf band.

Not bad surf stuff, but I'll take Dale or Shadowy Men over these folks. Sure, this is nice stuff for a sunny day, but art it ain't. The trick is to play hard and still sound laid back. Brodie & Co. need to get the first part of that equation down.

His heart is in the right place, but for the most part Butcher can't overcome the white boy blues syndrome: keep it loud and no one will notice the lack of soul.

I know, that's kinda ironic, but Butcher has never been the most soulful guitarist in the world, and he just can't seem to find it for this set. He did right by writing all the songs on the album. They aren't bad at all, but he just doesn't have the right touch to bring them down to the blues.

Yes, bring down. The best blues is just a touch underproduced. This album is so slick kids could use it as a waterslide without the water. Butcher's playing is fine, but without much feeling. Perhaps that's the production, perhaps it's something else.

Hey, if you like Jeff Healey and all that stuff, then this is just fine. But if you live by a higher blues standard, then Butcher will just have to try again.

A religious instrumental guitar album? One that opens with a Motley Crue sample? Hell yes, I'm interested!

Byrd continues his anthemic daze, with lots of keyboards and other softening agents added in the spin cycle. Not bad, not completely boring.

But oddly uninspired. Byrd has a nice feel for the guitar, and he doesn't waste his time convincing folks he can play by whipping up and down the fretboard. His deal is songwriting, and he puts together some nice (loud) neo-classical stuff.

There is no diversity in the sound, which is a serious danger with instrumental work. Byrd needs to find some other sorts of musical inspiration to temper his current writing mode.

Eighteen song fragments coming in at just over a half hour. Chevy Heston moves well past its (Chevy Heston is the name of the band and also serves as the nom de plume of main songwriters Matt Martin and Chic Curtis) sometimes-cheesy previous disc with an effort that does its level best to discuss everything that is wrong with America.

The words "cock" and "pussy" frequent the "song" titles, and the subject matter is not pretty. The pieces just roll along, and the whole album is linked like one song. Yes, there is a concept going on.

Musically, Chevy Heston rolls all over the pop landscape, stopping to smell sweetness just once in a while. On this album, the band sticks with dissonance.

With real stunning results. If you can bear the stare, then dig into this disc. This stuff is intense and rather disturbing. Not where I thought Chevy Heston would be, but I'm happy to meet it there.

Yet another compilation of tunes from a punk band of another era. Oddly, I have yet to hear one that is without some merit. The Dogmatics keep the streak alive.

Based in Boston, the boys cranked out pop punk in a style a little less chaotic than the Replacements. Well, the Dogmatics weren't that talented, but the music is fun. And it helps to show how diverse the Boston punk community was ten to fifteen years ago.

Nothing stupendous, the Dogmatics were still worthy of this retrospective. Simple, fun music has its benefits. The Dogmatics knew all about that.

After listening to the 4-track sampler, I thought, "This is real accessible. Nothing like Skinny Puppy. Wow." I also wondered just when the discordance would kick in.

As it turns out, on the other tracks. cEVIN KEY, the late Dwayne Goettel, Philth and Mark Spybey (Dead Voices on Air among other things) are the nucleus of the band, and Genesis P. Orridge drops by now and again. The result is an odd conglomeration of ambient noise, industrial noise, really wild dance music and a bunch of other sounds a little too odd to really categorize.

All of which makes this a fine effort by the gang. Furnace could well have been a latter-day Skinny Puppy record, but Download serves these people well. Expect to be astonished and assaulted. Just a wondrous piece of work.

Above-average pyrotechnics ranging from funk to grunge to glam to fairly traditional scale work. Duane pulls out all the stops to try and make his album memorable.

And at times it is, particularly on tunes like "Purple Umbrella", where Duane shows a nice touch for song crafting. There are many moments that sound a lot like other instrumental guitar albums, but for a first effort, this is pretty good.

Duane shows a good chunk of potential, and if he keeps working, he just might really bust loose from the pack.

A cool compilation of 12 tunes previously available only on 7". I have about half this stuff, but it's nice to get my hands on the rest of the goodies.

fluf is one of the finest rock bands around today. You can't imagine what I'd give to see the boys in action.

Well, after all, I do have two of them...

Anyway, as is normal with 7" compilations, the tunes and performances are looser and rather more entertaining than a regular album. The band knows it has to make a statement in one song instead of ten, and the focus is much better.

Not a clunker in the bunch; included on this disc are 12 good reasons to fall in love with fluf. One of these days everyone else will notice, too.

Since I got the Cub album last February, Mint has kept the pipeline open, shlepping me the best in Canadian punk music every month or two. Haven't got anything to complain about. Yet.

And that stays the same. Gob are a little heavier and sloppier than the usual Mint act, but they appropriate some oozin aahs and end up with a sound somewhere near NOFX. Which is a good place to be, if you ask me.

The lyrics are mostly loopy, the choruses catchy and the fret-slinging fast and furious. If Gob resided in L.A. instead of Canada, the boys would probably have signed a contract on the famous hood of Mr. Brett's Volvo by now. Oh well, have to let Mint get the credit for discovering some real talent.

A very strong and fun disc. If Gob can move up from here, it will be a serious force for the future. Another fine bit from the Mint.

As usual, the production is cleaner than ever, and once again musical talent was considered in the hiring of crack studio personnel. And while really silly, this disc does have musical merit.

Compared to that first Metal Blade disc, Scumdogs of the Universe, this honestly doesn't sound like the same band. But even with the astonishing competency revealed on this album, the real reason for Gwar's existence is still the show.

And I feel a little silly reviewing something that most obviously used solely for the purpose of scamming cash. Pay whatever you need to see the show. Gwar albums are still a secondary concern.

Haze is the name of the singer and the name of the band. Just so you know.

And the band takes its fuzz-heavy space sound from the likes of the Floyd, Hawkwind and Bowie. Haze refuses to sing most of the time, preferring to whisper-squeak her vocals. God, is that really annoying.

The title track, a re-working of the old folk tune, totally twists the whole point of the song all around. Honestly, I liked the message of the original better.

These folk make all of this very dramatic and demand a lot of attention, but for no good reason. The music only occasionally gets interesting, and Haze herself seems far too self-absorbed to really sing a song in an interesting way. Final analysis: pitch in the wank pile.

Seattle's finest industrial technicians spew out a set of old demos, remixes and other stuff you haven't heard before.

Much of the fare isn't nearly as experimental as the recent album, but then, some of this stuff is three years old. It helps fill out a more complete portrait of this rather innovative outfit.

Mostly a set for fans only, those who haven't picked up on KsK could take a test drive with this. Plenty of stuff here to impress most anyone.

Claus Larsen cranks out another set of goth-flavored experimental techno masterpieces. If you thought samples and waves of keyboards (some sharp, some diffuse) were a dull combination, then you'd better give this a listen.

And, as his pseudonym implies, Larsen has an interest in the darker side of life, with nods to master and servant games and other such peccadilloes of human existence.

Well, sure, Leaether Strip is pretty mean sounding. That's the point. Techno with a serious attitude, and lots of naughty bits to boot. Larsen has created another wild ride for the electronic enthusiast.

This is the album Tony MacAlpine has been trying to make ever since he embarked on his rather impressive career.

Plenty of chances to show off his prodigious talent, songs that are catchy (in an anthemic sorta way) and a good diversity of material to keep us all interested.

He wails on his guitar in a way that usually offends me, but MacAlpine is simply too far in the groove on this disc. For whatever reason, everything clicked together. Even on the most Satriani-esque moments (like, say, "Time Table"), he manages to keep me impressed.

I've been waiting for MacAlpine to come up with a great album. Everyone knows he has the playing talent, and he has shown flashes of songwriting skill as well. All of the parts flow as one wonderful unit, and MacAlpine has his signature album. For instrumental guitar work, it doesn't get much better than this.

While hailing from the home of such roots-rock bands as Buffalo Tom, Louisville-based My Own Victim goes its own way, riffing through its own vision of the metalcore concept.

More of a Boston than New York sound, if you can glean that distinction. The rhythms are more grind than rap oriented. But for most, that's just quibbling.

Personally, I prefer Sam Black Church or Snapcase to My Own Victim, mostly because those bands have really stamped out their own ground. My Own Victim relies more on metal conventions at times than those acts (which is why Century Media is releasing this), but still the band is more generic than original. A little more work, boys.

The obvious lack of funds shows in the instrumentation: guitars, drum machine and keyboard. This was probably laid down late at night in rushed circumstances.

Phillips really mines the commercial pop territory, whipping out tunes that Huey Lewis or Bruce Hornsby could have written. Ten years ago, that would have been a great attribute, one worthy of loads of big label cash. Today, well, people are looking for something else.

He has a good grasp of the hook, though the crafting of certain chord progressions (particularly in the bridge sections of the songs) is painfully obvious and rather ordinary. Phillips works his ass off, but he needs that little something to really kick his songs into irresistible territory. Sure, plenty of folks have made careers on much less skill, but Phillips doesn't have major label marketing behind him. With that, well, who knows what might happen.

A Tampa all-star team, headed by Chris Barnes of Cannibal Corpse and Allen West of Obituary. Not exactly promising, in my eyes.

But Scott Burns, Scott Slagel and the boys kept the sound tight, and West wrote some really fine industrial guitar licks that Sepultura would love to get a hold of. Yeah, there's only so much you can do with Barnes' vocals, but even those are toned down and not nearly as silly as usual.

The obvious limitations are still around, but in general Six Feet Under cranks out a fun, if not terribly accomplished album. The riffs just keep grooving along (and groove is a really good term here). Six Feet Under almost challenges Cathedral for cool driving record of the year. The fact these boys came close shocks me. But I'm not afraid to admit it.

The a-side is one of the catchier tunes from the full-length reviewed (and raved about) in the last issue. If you missed that, then please understand that Stanley has a pleasantly noisy take on the whole post-punk pop kinda thing.

The flip, "Camel Toe", is more of the same, though possibly even a little more accessible. A great set of riffs with a killer bridge. If Stanley can keep this up, then its future seems to be limitless.

Completely mordant pop music with caterwauling violin, harmonica and sax laid over a traditional rock band. Kramer produces a few of the tracks, and some of his friends drop by to lend a hand (or a voice).

Utterly chaotic, Thundering Lizards must have decided early on to simply go with the flow. Let whatever happens happen. And that's not really a bad thing, either.

But the ultimate result is silly loopiness, and nothing more. The ride is fun, but just like a roller coaster, it comes to an end, and you either wonder just what it was you waited in line 45 minutes for, or you look at your pals and scream, "Let's do that fucker again!". Just a matter of personal preference.

With this 7" and one of the cooler tracks on the awesome Cognitive Mapping compilation (reviewed in this issue), Tractor Hips are all over.

And why not? The band sticks to instrumentals, but the inventiveness and creativity shown should keep the band from mining old shafts for years to come.

These are folks who are not afraid to try something new and wild, tackling the melodic and strident with aplomb.

What a find. This is positively not music for the masses, but it's right up my alley, and I'm glad to receive it.

Sharp and aggressive blues 'n' boogie, Travers cranks out some fine Eliminator-style music.

The guitar sound is really nice, sharp enough to show off some fine style, and rough enough to convey some real feeling. Travers has only been around forever, so obviously he knows what he's doing.

His voice is well-suited to the bluesy style, and while I would prefer a bit less bombast, there's enough boogie to keep me happy most of the time. I wouldn't call this traditional blues in any way, but Travers hits his mark right on the nose.

Friction is out of Chapel Hill, and most of this is college pop that sounds influenced by the likes of Superchunk and R.E.M. and other southeastern superstars. And many of the acts take off in rather cool directions.

A cool collection of 25 songs (with some odd interludes thrown in). Some of this goes out on the edge of pop reality, and for that I commend the compiler. Balls is a good thing to have when putting this sort of gig together.

Yeah, sure, old-timers and name-droppers will jump on the Kirk Ross & Chris Stamey track, at least until they notice the length (nice joke, folks). But there is plenty more to find whilst wading through the mire. A real treasure trove for the adventurous pop fan.

No, not K.K. Null and Zeni Geva and that sort of thing. Real fucking noise. Electronic disturbances. Overmodulation. Walls of feedback that put Arc to shame. That sort of thing.

Sure, those who got through the Namanax disc understand, but that's a limited audience. And this is one ambitious (and wonderfully illustrated) package. Who the fuck is going to guy this?

Sure, I know a couple of folks, and so do Matt and Bill, but this must be simply a labor of love. Perhaps the most radio unfriendly compilation every released, as anyone who plays this will be accused of simply going off the air. Sure, there is some cool work, but only a connoisseur will notice. And there aren't that many true noise freaks around.

But this one appreciates the effort. And just in time to scare the holy living shit out of the kids on Halloween.