Ai Phoenix’s album is slow, warm, and hypnotic. Those Scandinavian countries have been doing indie-pop way before we knew what it was here in America, and bands like Sigur Rós and the magnificent Office Building have built a bleak, beautiful landscape. Ai Phoenix brings that landscape to life. Songs like "We Think You Are Very Brave" start off slow and repetitive, the kind of stuff that white Buddhists meditate to, until three minutes later, when it’s the hardest groove you’ve ever heard and you’re ripping your neck out headbanging to it. Singer Mona Mork’s crooning vocals are breathy and strong. Her f’s and s’s linger on the microphone, and we picture a speakeasy on the edge of a river, a1950’s silver-grill mic, fondled by Mork’s velvet-gloved hands. I swear I’m not being poetic. I’m just being swept away, and in the world of Ai Phoenix, it’s an okay thing to be. — Matthue Roth

This import-only release on Spain's Acuarela Records is the third EP to go with two full-lengths for the The Album Leaf, a five-years running, solo side project of Tristeza guitarist Jimmy LaValle. Although also instrumental, and likely appealing to many of the same fans, the approach here differs from the jazz-inflected indie rock of Tristeza. "Gradual" is an apt descriptor throughout, the songs taking shape in slowly breaking sonic waves. Subtle electronic textures and warm drum ‘n’ bass beats are folded into melodic, building keys, bleeps, background washes, and occasionally LaValle’s delicately fingered electric guitar. Ambient but more than mere background music, Seal Beach fits nicely into the mellow end of the instrumental post/indie rock scene of artists like American Analog Set, whom LaValle toured with after the release of this EP last fall, and The Mercury Program. Recently cuddled into the Sub Pop family, a full-length from The Album Leaf is slated for early summer. Take some time until then to let this little gem soak in. The musical style seems perfectly suited to its five-track, twenty-five minute length—sufficient space to create an enveloping mood, yet concise enough to keep the beauty of each composition distinct. — Ryan Schmidt

It’s unfortunate you slobbering reader-monkeys don’t get press releases with your discs, because half of the listening experience with up-and-humping (or downward-dumping) indie groups is the way they perceive themselves. And I quote, "This four-piece outfit calls the Bay Area home, but their feet are not-so-firmly planted elsewhere. It’s somewhere higher up, in that mysterious, indefinable, swirling layer of the atmosphere where dreams live." Jesus. Then it cites Godspeed!You Black Emperor, Cocteau Twins, and My Bloody Valentine as their "compelling" mix of influences. So this Suzi Maclay, the singer, her daddy musta worked at a reverb plant, and brought it home free every night or somethin’, becuz they appear to think that totally coking out your sound with reverb produces the intensity of GSYBE, the Rosicrucian moon ritual of the C-Twins, and that metallic-tongue flavor of acid shellacked by MBV. This is like Shouting the Poetic Fallacies of High School Journalkeepers through a $12,000 Mr. Microphone. Well, until someone gives Enya a distortion pedal, Andalusia will have to do. — Dan Nelson

I was pretty interested when I heard this band featured Kira Roesler (oh she of legendary Black Flag alumni) on bass. I was also informed that there was a DC (think Ignition, Fugazi, Jawbox et al) influence at play here. Well all these things are very true. Approximation is a three-piece band from LA. They specialize in melodically atonal song structures and wear their influences well. Kira still manages to get in trademark bass licks that you may be familiar with if you’ve heard mid-period Black Flag or even records made by her and husband Mike Watt (fIREHOSE /Minutemen) under the name Dos. This record was recorded by Alex Newport (At the Drive In, Mars Volta, Locust, Sabians) and is all at once bright, punchy, and crushing. The guitarist and drummer are lesser known but all keep up quite well. The band really does sound like early to mid-‘90s post punk (think Jawbox/Giants Chair/Boy’s Life etc.) but I admit it does sound pretty fresh in spite of its leanings. Worth checking out. —Royce Seader

Adventurous and progressive hip hop may not be synonymous with record sales but 'adventurous' and 'progressive' rarely make good bunkmates with the mainstream anyway. Azeem is a deep brother with a pretty long history of heavy-handed articulations in his poetry. Listening to Mayhemystics is a journey that requires repeated listening to fully realize the scope of expression found here. While underground hip hop can be notoriously pretentious, there is something intrinsically human about this recording. The band Variable Unit anchors down the spiritual and metaphysical proceedings, providing a sonic palette of varying shades of soulful and moody rhythm. Bassoon, saxophone, and a nice array of jungle atmospherics are woven into the mix. This is compelling and sultry and funky listening. Very organic and surreal and dark and a long way from your parents rap music (Run DMC) or your grandparents rap (Gil-Scott/Last Poets). However the needle hits closer to your grandparents in terms of the overall vibe but I wouldn’t call this 'retro' by any stretch. This is the sound of now and Azeem does the Bay Area proud again. — Royce Seader

Don’t you ever get sick of hearing about the human condition? Let’s have more music that at least attempts universality, rather than a kind of ego overhead projector. As the name suggests, Blood & Time are bloody bodies stuck in time, and the minutes do drag. Unlike Michael Gira’s cathartic, ecstatic Angels of Light, B&T is lukewarm, not cold enough to be invigorating, nor hot enough to be cleansing. This disc may make you want to admire a giant fern. —Dan Nelson

Couched in caged faux-British accents, crunchy keyboard-and-cymbals breakdowns, and jammy guitar chords, Boyskout’s name has been mud around here ever since they left San Francisco for the more financially profitable waters of Brooklyn a few months ago. If there is any justice in New York, they’ll get discovered—their poppy mix of dream-pop, Britpop, and guitar-based dance music is queer-positive, radio-friendly, and catchy as hell—but we still hate them for leaving. The first cut, "Jesse James," starts off like a disco song and erupts into hot crooned lyrics over a bubble-gum keyboard. "Back to Bed" is cutesy and sly and campy and sexy. "Imaginary" does Joy Division like Joy Division never could. Buy a million of their records, because you’ll love the music, and Boyskout will see the sales reports and realize what a mistake it was to leave. — Matthue Roth

From 1986 until 1990, the Chatterbox was the best place to see hard rock, metal, and punk bands in the City. This was pre-Internet Valencia Street, when even the big-hair bands looked a little bit innocent, and you could see bands like NoFX and Green Day in a crowd with ten other people for like a dollar. Alfie Kulzick, the owner and bartender, flings stories of being a rock-‘n’-roll girl in SF that are too rowdy to ever sound sappy—like when rock legend Johnny Thunders inaugurated the place by spray painting his name across the ceiling.

There are two kinds of high school yearbooks, the boring ones and the exciting, forbidden ones, with I-want-you messages and handwritten stories of the craziest nights. This book reads like the best yearbook ever. If there’s any justice in this world, early photos of Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament from Pearl Jam, and Fat Mike from NoFX, will help sell this book on Ebay, but lucky for you, we live in San Francisco and you can actually find it. And you should. With the tepid bars in SF now, you don’t know when we’ll have a chance to rock out like this again. — Matthue Roth

Take Quintron, give him Propellerhead software, two arch, taunting female singers, and you’ve pretty much got Crack. The sound is like the drug: cheap, agitating, and infectious. Like the idea of having to do a hammy impersonation of yourself on national television for a shitload of money—it’s an opportunity you can’t refuse, but you risk permanent psychic mutation. Hard to call it sexy, but one imagines some kinky-ass situations going on with this soundtrack. Like most of what comes from the Tigerbeat 6 label, this CD from Crack is arty, jagged, computer-Cuisinart music. Neat, dissonant synth lines, stupid drum machines, and half-chanted, half-spoken somnambulist lyrics capture the shadowy tedium of urban life. Definitely a night-time record. Couldn’t tell ya what they think they’re up to, but Crack are adept at capturing the darkness, slapping some dance beats on top, and making it all feel... well... pretty kinky. With the exception of the delightfully prog title-track (which sounds like Pink Floyd doing a psychedelic sequence for a Ken Russell film), the record is pretty uniform: detached, deliberate, unapologetic. Blunt, ugly, and compelling. There was a time when I thought certain records were scary, and it excited me to deal in such cool, illicit substances. I put Crack in the same category. —Bill Heehan

Descendents  Cool To Be You
(Fat Wreck Chords; www.fatwreck.com)

Let's get educational here for a minute since we’re talking about a band that has a singer with a Ph.D. Ready? Good, because it’s time for some math. It’s 2004 and the band formed in 1978. Quick, how old is the band? If you said 26 you’d be correct and also capable of simple subtraction. Next lesson: history. In rock history, very few bands have this kind of longevity. Although the Descendents have had their share of internal changes and years between records, they must be doing something right to still be making records at this point. Believe me when I say, "They’re definitely doing something right." You hear it the first second the sound comes out of the speakers; it’s the truly classic, pop-punk sound we’ve all come to love. (If you don’t agree with the previous sentence—what’s wrong with you??!!). And then Milo’s voice! He must have been singing in class because I can’t begin to explain how he’s retained the sound and emotion that makes me feel 16 again. If you remember their older songs about food, farting, and love, they’ve topped it off here with songs about studying, shitting, and love. Bottom line—they’ve been around forever and that timeless, original sound coupled with humorous and passionate lyrics is still there. There are literally a million bands that have tried to ape this sound for a quarter of a century, but just like school, plagiarism gets you nowhere. Go for the real deal and take a refresher course with the professors of pop-punk. — John Perry

When you’re dancing, something shifts between about 100 and 110 beats per minute. "Sex Machine," "OPP," "So Whatcha Want" (all under 100 bpm) encourage utmost freakiness and grinding of backsides. But house music—who dances to this? It’s too fast, it’s a job, it has no syncopation, it’s a workout, it’s plain yogurt. House music totally discriminates against fat people who want to have a good time, dammit! Anyhoo, DJ Irene certainly must be "fearless" of the repercussions as it were of her brand (as in name brand) of house on the world of human reproduction. I hear Ecstasy kind of kills the libido anyway, hence music that would only get a rutting dog in the mood. And hence the pacifiers, now that I think of it. And even krautrock generally doesn’t re-frickin-peat this much, just a complete plateau of intensity. 31 guest DJs on this disc and none of them produce anything but the occasional oscillator wash and single-stroke snare roll. How is this different from some Make-U-Sweat-Dance-Party-$19.95-through-this-special-TV-offer type three-disc set? Please write care of this publication if you can explain this stuff. — Dan Nelson

Early Day Miners  The Sonograph EP
(Acuarela; www.acuareladiscos.com)

This group is definitely some guys sitting in wooden chairs, running slides over their guitars, bent over and drooling due to endless fascination with a sweet little series of notes, really hitting the strings with just the right pressure, actual nighttime crickets of June chittering out back in one song, silhouettes of pine trees, the whole thing. The record starts with an introspective harmonikay-ed, piana-ed folk song, and from there the pace slows and the perspective widens, becoming less verbally articulate and more atmospheric and intuitive, and by the closing "Misrach," is just sweet amplified maple sap. This music is all those little moments that are just perfect, the light a certain way, or the air rising and falling, the way a room looks with your eyes almost shut, the old wooden wagon in the middle of a field. Somebody said we look for immortality in the wrong direction: it’s in the past. Somehow, who knows how, this ambient-slowcore unit succeeds in catching the fireflies of the past in a jar and keeping them alive. —Dan Nelson

Slayer’s great and so is Mastodon—but does it need to get more extreme than Mastodon? Behind the gor-jus quadruple-gatefold sleeve of cracked glass-plate sepia photographs and under the interesting concept of the album—the relations of the creepazoid inhabitants of the "Dividia Estate"—this "extreme metal" group is another whiplash-fast, screaming bunch of great musicians playing insane parts based on 132-sided geometric figures or something. But you can’t make out a single word. What should we think when a group is described as "punishing but rewarding"? Let’s pretend I’m eight years old (the mental age of most people anyway). I’m being punished but rewarded. Have I been a good boy or a naughty boy? Would you rather watch a sleek panther take down a gazelle [metal] or do you want it to rip your throat out [extreme metal]? Or do you want four cyborg ox-machines to draw and quarter you [The End]? If the latter, The End is a great starter. — Dan Nelson

Evening   Other Victorians
(Lookout! Records; www.lookoutrecords.com)

Everyone in San Francisco has their fingers crossed for Evening to become the next Indie Big Thing, and you should too. Evening’s songs are tricky, trippy ballads that rock like rock songs. In the same way that Nick Drake deconstructed folk-rock with his sad intensity, Evening wreck rock with a sensibility that’s like Britpop laden with dreamy vocals, echoey guitars, and beats that change from math rock to dance beats in smooth, drippy segues. "Being is Automatic" begins in a slow drone and builds to a frenzy with voices and guitars fighting. "Breast Milk Saves 16 at Sea" sounds like an acoustic Super Mario Bros. theme at first, then convulses into a dark, droning mess of clicking guitars. The epic "A Given Time" closes the album in two parts, the first a dance-ready beat with a riffing guitar and high-hat cymbals, the second a lush piano ballad. — Matthue Roth

Remember back when these local lads used to play support gigs at the UC Berkeley student union, Bear's Lair, and Cybelle's Pizza? Of course not! It's been over a decade since they headlined at Woodstock and first wiggled their little heinies on MTV's "120 Minutes"; Billie Joe and Co. have since receded into the same brand of once-they-were-huge comfortability as, oh, say Huey Lewis or Foreigner, back in their day. Fans can still look forward to fun new albums from time to time, but the days of their super-indie punkadelic youth are now far, far behind them. Gone, but certainly not forgotten. You can get a sweet hit of nostalgia if you pick up the latest repackaged version of their first Lookout! LP and 7" releases, from circa 1989-90. The songs still sound as bratty and sassy and fresh as they did back then, particularly the much-beloved "Paper Lanterns," which played nonstop on KALX when the single came out. The big draw of this new edition is the non-music extras—old photos, handwritten lyric sheets, and some old video clips of the teenage trio playing at teeny little dives across the country. I couldn't get the videos to play on three different computers, though I'm sure they must be really cool. East Bay pop-punk in its purest form. —Lawrence Kay

There is nothing "happy" about these Seattle noisemakers, although there is humor to be found herein. Their brand of hardcore is in that early Helmet/Unsane vein. You know, grating, pummeling, and tonally bankrupt. Every now and then I need a dose of this kind of vile sickness. Harkonen are quite adept at finding a raw nerve and just flat out exercising it. Dancing is a mere five song EP. I’m not sure if I could take much more, and that’s saying a lot. The cover of Scratch Acid’s (pre-Jesus Lizard Austin art-punk outfit) "Cannibal" stands out, with probably some of the most hilarious matter-of-fact lyrics from David Yow’s acid-fried mind. Sample: "Hey! You’re eating my heart. Now stop eating my heart. Cannibal! Hey! You’re eating my stomach. Now stop eating my stomach. Cannibal!" These brilliant lyrics were recited (with Jimmy Stewart affectation) on my answering machine for about a week. You were lucky if you called me that week. — Royce Seader

The early Black Sabbath songbook has provided a blueprint for rock music for 30 plus years and you bet your sweet mushroom eatin’ ass that it’ll be around in some form or another for another 30 years. Why? Because its satisfying in a way that John Denver and the Carpenters weren’t. Why would you race a Dodge Hornet against a Pinto? Don’t be stupid. So yeah, HTSOAB are very capably playing in lineage with classic rock and revving it up for a new generation of rockers to groove to. There are some genius moments found on tracks like the opening "Ten Mountain High," and the band flexes its collective muscles on "Better You Then Me" and "Magnified Eye." Overall, an impressive debut from one of the latest Bay Area bands to throw their hats in the stoner rock ring. However it should be noted that these guys aren’t some spring chickens. Their resume includes Christ on Parade, Grinch, and A Minor Forest, amongst others. Better You Than Me will put a wallop on your home stereo. Pretty blasting stuff with great hooks and riffs. —Royce Seader

Escondida—"hidden"—is the unlikely title for this, Jolie Holland’s debut on Anti- Records, home to Nick Cave, Tom Waits, The Locust, and other high-profile, “underground” artists. What’s strange about the name is that Holland is much less “escondida” now than ever before, and her new album’s production reflects it. It’s probably just the inevitable process of increased interest in a developing artist: as his or her stature grows, so increases the number of ancillary concerns and opinions attached to the project.

Overall, Escondida is a good record. Though it lacks the breadth and patina of Catalpa (and, incidentally, Jolie’s live performances), it’s still a unique offering in a cultural landscape of limitless diversions. One hopes it will inspire new listeners to delve deeper and discover Catalpa. — Bill Heehan

Ever wonder what happens to old punks? The ones cited in the history books for being in a certain pivotal place in time that was perceived to be the "golden age" of punk rock? Well, in the case of Penelope Houston, she has matured considerably. She possesses an instantly angelic voice with considerable range. Miles apart from her previous noteworthy late-‘70s group, San Francisco’s legendary Avengers, Houston eventually positioned herself as more of a folky by the time of her debut solo LP in 1987, Birdboys, and has since garnered considerable critical acclaim. She remained dormant for years after her first album but became quite busy in the ‘90s releasing several albums that showcased her enormously catchy and quirky songwriting. Most recently she has been busy with her longtime collaborator, Pat Johnson, who lends support to her newest batch of songs found here on the Snap Shot EP. She is also joined by her backing band, The Maydays, capably maneuvering their way through the obscure cover songs chosen for this record. Songs by ‘60s popsters The Flying Machine, Shocking Blue (also covered by the likes of Nirvana), and Pentangle all get the Penelope Houston treatment. Styles range from bubble-gum pop to Americana to folk and are all perfectly arranged. What can I say? Houston is still relevant and still very beautiful. She has lived way past her roots and proven that she is more than the sum of her past achievements. Inspiring. — Royce Seader

Kilowatthours & The Rum Diary   split
(Substandard Records; www.substandard.com)

When the Kilowatthours went out on a tour from their home in Brooklyn, NY, they ran into a little trouble securing a gig in the Bay Area. Answering the call of a band in need, local faves The Rum Diary invited them to share a bill in one of Oakland’s warehouses. The show produced a friendship and a future collaboration was planned. The result is this 9-track split that has each band contributing four and a half songs. Listening to the bands side by side, it’s quite easy to hear why they would become such quick companions. The songs bleed into one another, creating the illusion that this album was an in-studio effort instead of a cross-country sharing of ideas. That being said, the collaboration track "{Ex}Change," sounds unlike anything else on the album and comes off as stripped down Silver Jews. Fans of either band will find the other to be sonically kindred, yet unique. —Steve Ford

Kraddy   Truth Has No Path
(Refiner Records; www.kraddyodaddy.com)

Truth Has No Path is the debut album from SF-based Kraddy, a.k.a. Matthew Kratz, but the sharp ear for carving out beats from a plethora of styles and his own superb production shows he’s done this in another life. After founding the Stress Collective in ’97 and throwing parties for three years, Kraddy went into a studio and shut the doors. He released tracks on pioneering breaks labels Muti and Bless Records. Paris and Mystik Journeymen used his production chops, and Bay Area’s Printz Dance Project and Capacitor theatre—tackling the future of humanity and modern video games—continued asking for Kraddy’s music.

Truth is a reflection of the past five years through the pan-generic land of breaks, hip hop, drum-and-bass, dub, and reggae. The result is a soulful, lush jungle of dark, thick, tweaked, ripped, hacked, crunchy, and too-many-to-list types of breaks that hold equally strong on the dance floor as they do in raw, dubby tracks, or in reflective, mystifying melodies. And finally (!) the far-too-rare ballsy bits of political commentary—in "New World Empire," Gore Vidal takes on 50 Cent. And while stylistic truth has no clear path on this album, there are traces of Tipper, King Tubby, Aphex Twin, Prefuse 73, and bold footprints of Kraddy’s mad, mad talent. —Kristina Rizga

By the time I caught wind of Leatherface they had been broken up for a few years. They were one of those bands achieving "legendary" cult status in the wake of their demise (particularly stateside). I had heard comparisons to some of my favorite classic punk bands (Husker Du, Stiff Little Fingers, etc.) and so they definitely sparked my curiosity. Add the fact that their albums were impossible to get for several years, finally hearing them was the equivalent of a tall glass of ice cold water after weeks in the desert. Yes, England’s Leatherface are worthy of the praise and comparisons to the aforementioned bands that inspired them, and throw in the oft-referenced Motorhead and Louis Armstrong for good measure. Dog Disco is the eighth full length in 15 years. Longevity for the sake of longevity shouldn’t allow for legendary status. The fact that singer Frankie Stubbs’ arresting sandpaper growl of a voice can still move the human spirit in the context of pure hardcore punk for 15 years does deserve that status. The time between their initial breakup in ‘93 and their re-grouping in ‘97 may well have strengthened this admittedly aging band. Dog Disco may be the best Leatherface record since their highly influential ‘92 album Mush. — Royce Seader

Courtney Love   America’s Sweetheart
(Virgin; www.virginrecords.com)

Hole used to be so dependably angry, as songs like "Retard Girl" guided us through junior high like a bible of angst. Then came the pop masterpiece of Celebrity Skin, where nothing was so clear. Not only was it okay to cry, but it was okay to sound catchy and beautiful. And Courtney did it with such flawless poise. Sweetheart is more of both. "Mono" is grating, moshy Hole, and "Almost Golden" is a shiny, overproduced tribute to when life was simple. Every syllable that comes out of Courtney’s mouth has purpose and force. Her most disjointed vocal comes on the most sparse, Celebrity Skin-like song, "Sunset Strip." Line by slurred line, we can hear her fall apart. As she slurs words together, we wonder, is she so wasted that the record company let her release this stuff? The tight drums pull in. Guitars soar. People are already having problems with the album, and they always will. It’s like a journal entry, and journals are hard to read—they’re bipolar, sloppy, and intensely personal. If you’re looking for problems, there are problems all over this CD. But it’s raw and hard and I love it. —Matthue Roth

The Mr. T Experience   Yesterday Rules
(Lookout! Records; www.lookoutrecords.com)

The granddaddy of the East Bay pop-punk scene, mad genius songwriter Dr. Frank has assembled a new edition of the MTX Starship—a tight, fluid band whose melodic chops match the wit and sparkle of Frank's latest set of twisted tunes. It's the first time in years Mr. T is officially a four-piece, with guitarist Ted Angel matching Frank lick for lick, and longtime ace drummer, Jym, holding down the rhythm with their versatile new bassist, Bobby J. Yesterday Rules shows the good Doctor still in top form, with songs that skillfully balance a moody pessimism with a deceptively simplistic playfulness. The searching spirituality of recent records has been scaled back, as has much of the musical experimentalism that bewildered some of his head-bobbing fan base. Nonetheless, this disc is as musically diverse as they come, with '60s-styled go-go riffs and Cheap Trick power chords lined up alongside good old 1-2-3-4 punk, lilting acoustic ditties, and even a whiff of country-rock. Above all, Dr. Frank remains a preeminent spokesman for today's contingent of irony-drenched, asocial, overeducated slackers, those of us who like to screen all our calls and stay in the apartment for days on end. Several songs promise to become classics, notably the sardonic "Jill," the jaunty "Institutionalized Misogyny," sing-along crowd pleasers like "Boxfriend Box" and "Fucked Up On Life," as well as the moodier, more personal songs such as "London." As ever, Frank's lyrics have more depth to them than you're likely to parse out in just one listen—that's why this catchy little disc will likely stay on "repeat" on numerous iPods for many months to come. — Lawrence Kay

Madelia   Everyday Underneath EP
(self-released; www.madelia.net)

Madelia’s 4-song EP is high drama awash in walls of guitars and stylish haircuts. Comparisons to The Cure are not without merit, as lead singer Bryan Bindloss cries out woeful lines of love, loss and lipstick femininity while the rest of the band back him up with standard shoegazer experiments in distortion.

While most of this EP seems to follow this the formula, the inal track, "The Compliment," provides proof positive the effect that Interpol’s as a resurrected Joy Division is having on the indie rock of today. However stylized, the post-post-punk character is consistent and interesting. The sound that this band intones is one that is still dear to our collective ear. — Steve Ford

Mirah   C’mon Miracle
(K; www.krecs.com)

Old Time Relijun   Lost Light
(K; www.krecs.com)

Behold the sensuality of K Records spouting up with two plates by Mirah and Old Time Relijun that are, respectively, a shoulder-squeeze and a punch in that spot next to your bicep. Mirah’s sweet sobulish voice coos and burbles over cello, samba drums, warm acoustic, delivering heart-truths in a sweet medium, kind of like giving your dog a worm-pill in a spoonful of peanut butter. OTR’s Arrington de Dionyso, on the other hand, howls like Jon Spencer would if he weren’t such a poseur. Dionyso seems to be screaming out for any spirit, deity, or force, that happens to be blowing by to join the kettle-drums and klang-klang and raise some holy hell. Mirah’s instrumentation is all around soft and thumpy and pizzicato and although the whole cute-and-gentle-girl voice kind of wears after a while, there are two songs on C’mon Miracle that are alone worth the price of admish. "Lost Light" is spooky like the whole Tupelo album, but in a way that sucks you in. Nick Cave’s God floods a town and out of the fleeing populace comes Elvis; Dionyso can’t wait for God to dump a lake on him and destroy his naked ass in ecstatic fashion. While Mirah humbly whispers her wish for a miracle, Old Time Relijun demands it and is meanwhile making their own. —Dan Nelson

MNO   MNO Sleeps - Marimba Sessions
(MNOmusic; www.mnomusic.com)

Oakland-based Micheal Emenau, a.k.a. MNO, is not your typical vibraphonist. A professional classical and jazz musician, he can hold it tight with symphony orchestras at Carnegie Hall and let his mallets loose in an improv furry with cutting-edge, experimental bands (Realistic, Lumin). Now after 10 years of recording and re-mixing electronic music in Japan and the U.S., he sounds just as comfortable making music on his laptop. Marimba Sessions is MNO’s independently-released, first solo album. The only source of all sound is a five-octave Japanese marimba. Combining his acoustic and electronic chops, MNO recorded marimba and then electronically tweaked it into shifting drones and pads. The deep, slow strokes of marimba resonate in the distant, lush pools of swirling, lingering ambient drones. The resulting melodies flow easily without hesitation or any expectations. The entire album evokes a sense of openness outside of any particular time or place that can erase the weight of everyday clutter. Surprisingly, it’s MNO’s computer processing that carves out the most meditative, calming sounds without any new-agey clichés. And the more you pay attention to each listen, the more lush and colorful layers subtly appear. — Kristina Rizga

Mother Superior    13 Violets
(Top Beat; listen.to/mothersuperior)

Probably more known as Henry Rollins’ newest band, Mother Superior are anything but a backup band. They are so completely full of surprises it’s really hard to say everything that I’d like to about the scope of this LA trio. Starting off with surf and Jayhawks-flavored harmonies and lurching into straight-up rock within the first minute of the opening track, "Head Hanging Low," is pretty arresting. The second track is full of tumultuous twists and turns going from soaring King Crimson moments into giant MC5 riffage. These guys are indeed an adventurous little band and race through Detroit garage and Motown soul lacing it all together with muscle-y riff rock—these guys can certainly hold it down. There is a sense that this band would have fit in well with the adventurous ‘80s SST Records scene alongside bands like Meat Puppets, fIREHOSE, and Dinosaur Jr. With such an overwhelming MC5 vibe, it’s no surprise that former MotorCity5 guitar slinger Wayne Kramer produced this disc. Its also worthy of mention that Mother Superior were the guest band on 2002’s Rise Above, the Black Flag tribute (and ensuing tour) that benefits the West Memphis 3. I’m sure that most everyone already knows about the plight of the three boys accused of murder who are the subject of Rise Above (and several documentaries and books). But if not I would very much encourage you visit www.wm3.org to learn about this unsettling legal case. Please do that and continue rocking. — Royce Seader

Mountaineers   Messy Century
(Mute Records; www.themountaineers.com)

Messy Century is an album so good that it should be amended to all lists of must have albums for 2003. Since you missed this one the first time around, let’s recap: A tight-knit trio from Wales spent their youth doing nothing in a town called Hope. As part of that doing nothing, the trio used to climb the local Hope Mountain to get stoned, hence the name. They also made music. And after traveling and going to art schools, the friends relocated their base of operation to Liverpool. The result is an album that has all the romantic wordplay of other North Country elctro-folkies with tinges of euro-trash vocoder disco. All this set to an opulence in simplicity that made another Liverpool band famous. Please, please take the time to listen to this album. You will have no regrets. —Steve Ford

Matt Nathanson   Beneath These Fireworks
(Universal)

I met Matt Nathanson the other day, in totally random circumstances, and was impressed by how unpretentious and normal he seemed—a very nice, funny, friendly guy. And a genuine San Francisco local, just some guy you'd see down at the laundromat, who lucked out and got a major label contract that has already led to songs getting placed on teen-oriented TV shows, and the like. This disc is packed with innocuous, mainstream melodic pop, and impassioned, Freedy Johnston-ish singer-songwriter lyrics; it's tailormade for drive-time on KFOG. My only complaint is that the album art doesn't capture his boyish charm, and makes him look a bit too somber. Anyway, Nathanson may be on his way to being the next Dave Matthews, but don't hold that against him: just remember that one time last year when your spin cycles stopped at the same time, and he let you use the dryer first. Now that's my kind of pop star! —Lawrence Kay

New Bomb Turks   Switchblade Tongues and Butter Knife Brains
(Gearhead; www.gearheadrecords.com)

Columbus, Ohio’s New Bomb Turks were probably the best garage rock group of the ‘90s. It seems that’s when they were most prolific, blowing away other similar minded bands with their superbly honed raunch-and-roll aesthetic. I’m sure that many would agree that The Hives’ crown would have fitted New Bomb Turks much more snugly. After several full-length LPs, assorted collections, and a long string of singles on labels as varied as Crypt, Engine, and Epitaph, the Turks have made themselves a staple in many a record collection. Most fans know these guys for their aforementioned vinyl output, but you know, they don’t make 45s that you can play in your compooter. This new collection of unreleased goodies also includes a trailer for the soon to be released New Bomb Turks DVD. At any rate, Switchblade Tongues will fit right in with all your early favorite NBT records like Destroy-Oh-Boy and Information Highway Revisited. They might surprise you this time around with an Aerosmith cover and a coupla Devil Dogs numbers, but don’t worry. This enhanced CD is classic Turks and will shake you the way only great rock-‘n’-roll can. Amen. — Royce Seader

Not Without Your Daughter   slower. sadder. gayer.
(self-released; www.notwithoutyourdaughter.com)

Gay indeed. And I don’t mean homosexual. Although they are homosexuals. Never thought I’d hear anything more flaccid than Belle and Sebastian, but... okay, not true, BS is pretty firm. Like tofu. Never thought I’d hear anything more limp than the Carpenters, but here it is. They’re easy to listen to and their lyrics are, to quote the PR, "very Gay [their caps]". They’re nice kids. Now go eat your tofu. — Dan Nelson

The Notwist   Different Cars and Trains
(Domino; www.dominorecordco.com)

Still buzzing, no doubt, from the critical and underground success of its stateside reissue of Neon Golden last year, Domino trots out a five-song remix EP from the German former punkers/avant-electro pop maestros. Included are three re-worked album tracks, two by band member Martin Gretschmann (a.k.a. Console), and one by a collaboration of buzz-worthy electronic glitchsters Four Tet and Manitoba.

Remixing seems a fine line difficult to tow correctly—how far, and in which direction, should one go in making good songs better? Here, at least, the artists themselves know best where to tread. — Ryan Schmidt

Onelinedrawing   The Volunteers
(Jade Tree; www.thevolunteers.net)

Perhaps best codified as an "honest" performer, Onelinedrawing (which is in fact former Far frontman Jonah Matranga) moves quietly across the country recording for friends and playing shows for devout fans. Depending heavily on a set of pipes that at times soothes with a tender frailty and at other times brings in tormented passion, it’s not surprising that several of these singer/songwriter tracks blister into full-on anthemic rock. What is surprising is how easily the lyrics on The Volunteers will suck you in. There’s plenty on this album that is almost painful to listen to for all the overtly personal dialogue, but then again, that’s the point. There’s no fiction here; no rock star screemo put-on, this is a guy and some friends and a laptop and the music they make together. This music is interpersonal, touching and real. — Steve Ford

Orquesta del Desierto   Dos
(Meteor City; www.meteorcity.com)

Do they put THC in the water down in Palm Desert? Because everything that comes out of this area is the epitome of stoner-rock. However, Orquesta puts a nice spin on things. Imagine taking various members responsible for Desert Sessions, giving them more than the usual two weeks to collaborate on a project, and limiting them to only acoustic guitars, then you’d have some idea of what’s going on with this CD. The end result is focused and beautiful songs without the sometimes unbearable weirdness of Desert Sessions. The sound is absolutely enormous and full. It’s like they incorporated every person within a 100-mile radius, sat them down around a campfire, gave them a guitar, and said "here, play these chords." Add in the soulful, rich voice of Pete Stahl (matched only by Mark Lanegan, in my opinion), let Stephen Brodsky of Cave In grab the mic on occasion, and you’re getting damn close to the final sound. The horns that are thrown in are the icing on the cake; it really gives this a Latin kind of flair. I would definitely classify this as some great desert-rock, but the finished product makes me think more of the empty borderlands around El Paso as opposed to the classic California sound. — John Perry

Pedro the Lion   Achilles' Heel
(Jade Tree; www.jadetree.com)

Pedro the Lion's David Bazan must have some disturbing dreams. Or at least we hope so. But delivered in his cleverly straightforward manner, the dark, detailed accounts of his characters' morose struggles and ultimate failures seem all too real. Resignation reigns, and from tragic moments to lifelong struggles, there are few happy endings. Musically, the album is largely mid-tempo, occasionally bouncy, consistently enjoyable indie rock. Less aggressive than 2002's Control, the low-fi keyboards and Pavement-like, fuzzy, discordant, chipper, and chiming guitars play effective opposite to the tales being spun. With a few lighthearted exceptions, Bazan's subtly charged vocals describe the misfortune of his character, which has an unsettling effect on the listener. Regardless, effort is useless, purpose lost, hope a misleading vision of the past. Artfully lacing casual details with stabbing one-liners, Bazan narrates his characters' suffocating realities with a grim frankness. Unsettled, we continue listening, nonetheless, for the music and a macabre curiosity as to how it might end. Happily? "My old man always swore that Hell would have no flame/just a front row seat to watch your true love pack her things/and drive away... " [and, fade album out]. Um, I guess not. — Ryan Schmidt

Probot   Probot
(Southern Lord; www.southernlord.com)

I was anticipating this monster for a long time. I’ll be honest, I’ve been a closet metal-head for over 15 years. I like metal. I was weaned on it. My own initiation into the world of metal mirrors that of Probot mastermind Dave Grohl. Initially coming from a hardcore background gets stifling. You seek new sounds. Within a couple of years of having discovered Minor Threat, Black Flag, and the like, the longhaired kids got me curious. I got into Voivod and St. Vitus and Sepultura and many of the other artists that make up Probot. This is Dave Grohl paying homage to the metal singers and their music that inspired him early on. The results are skull shattering. If nu-metal never made an impact on you and you yearn for metal done right (and still sounding fresh) or if you wonder what metal was before they affixed that retarded "nu" thing on it, please give Probot a spin. One of my favorite records of 2004 thus far!! Natch. — Royce Seader

Squarepusher   Ultravisitor
(Warp Record; www.warprecords.com)

If Music is One Rotted Note typifies Squarepusher’s jazz period, and if Go Plastic represents a diversion into the madness of his machines, then Ultravisitor is as close to a return to reality as we’ve seen in years. The bass has once again become central to his music, although in a more distilled fashion. The grinding assault and chopped beats that have composed his past albums give way to bass solos in a Baroque style, as if he is out to prove to everyone that there is more to the artist than visions of a jungle apocalypse.

The infusion of live audience sounds throughout the album reveals a desire by the artist to be known for his performance rather than his programming. — Steve Ford

Stereolab   Margerine Eclipse
(Elektra; www.stereolab.co.uk)

Blink-182   Blink-182
(Geffen; www.blink182.com)

Stereolab, providing vicarious European urbanity since nineteen-ninety-something. Dear readers, you’ve all heard Stereolab. And if you haven’t, like tangerine sherbet, you can imagine the flavor. Gelato is probably a more apt comparison, since I’ve been a hound lately (Shattuck one block south of University.) Krautrock, Chambord, Francoise Hardy, gelato, Steve Reich, yum! "Dots & Loops" is pistachio, "Cobra Phases..." is espresso, "Margerine Eclipse" is champagne, and "Random Noise Bursts..." is some sort of heavy chocolate. So this is my Stereolato hierarchy. Pistachio all the time. Chocolate and champagne gelato are lovely—once in a while. As smooth and uniform as champagne is, it has some surprises and comes at your tongue from different angles if you take your time licking it and don’t wolf it down like a Peanut Buster Parfait. Which it isn’t—but boy is it tasty! One gripe: the la dee da la la la las are overabundant, Laetitia, n’est-ce pas?

So I walked into FYE the other day and the pink and green graffiti cover screams, "Like, Buy Me! ‘kay?!" And I like totally pop it into the player in my Jetta, and totally flip-pa! Not really. But doesn’t it trip you out that millions of kids had that very experience and that, for some, Blink-182 is their favorite band? Well, a) whatever, it’s just music, get over it and b) this album’s songs don’t sound identical and c) what is there really to criticize this band for? Like Stereolab, you know what to expect, and your disgust equals delusion. The tunes, the lyrics, the playing, the arrangements: I couldn’t find any flaws that didn’t boil down to personal taste. Personally, this makes me cringe like a Goodwill Christmas sweater. The really disgusting thing, however, is what lurks behind bands like this. The radio and PR machines that make this stuff ubiquitous and bacterial. So okay, another gripe about Punk Rock 101 is merited: what’s with letting folks with cleft noses sing? — Dan Nelson

Total Shutdown   The Album
(Tigerbeat 6; www.tigerbeat6.com)

Answering machine balloon animal monkey chant! Styrofoam Soft Satan mudflap! Total Shutdown! Total Shutdown! Total Shutdown! Riff after panicked riff, these five sexy lads crank out and cram in. Bob Linder, Paul Costuros, Pete Nguyen, Matt Hartman, and Nate Denver have erected an unassailable monument to giddy testosterone. Head-fucking guitar work, thunderous bass, the thrashiest, trashiest drums this side of Walnut Creek, folded trumpet, cheap-o keyboards, and Linder’s unhinged vocal histrionics make for a punishing and hilarious onslaught. More jazz than anything else (I saw them play the same song twice at a show once, and the two versions bore only the vaguest skeletal resemblance to one another), T.S. are right up there with the Boredoms in the pantheon of weird-fucking-rock-music.

The final track, "Let’s Get Weird," says it all. Frantic bursts of pure anarchy peppered with quietly humming menace, The Album closes with a sweetly poignant keyboard melody. Conceptually, it’s the sonic equivalent of Bambi meets Godzilla, an endless back-and-forth between aggressor and innocent. I have no idea what the fuck Linder’s talking about, but I’m stalwartly convinced that it’s the purest form of something. As a bonus, the hidden track of backwards music at the very end is super-duper. Scratch patriot hovel! Total Shutdown! — Bill Heehan

Twerk   Living Vicariously Through Burnt Bread
(Mille Plateaux, www.audibleoddities.com)

Living Vicariously Through Burnt Bread is the fourth album from SF-based Shawn Hatfield, a.k.a. Twerk, and his first release on Frankfurt-based Mille Plateaux. The album retains some of the familiar Twerk-ian blend—microscopic techno beats and complex patterns of sound design and composition. But this latest release is a refreshing deviation into other corners of electronic sound. Twerk mixes raw, unedited field recordings in wilderness with a wide-ranging palette of digital noise. The result is an utterly beautiful, unique sound that coats a typically synthetic and digital vibe in warm, dubby overtones.

The "return to hokkaido" is a coup d’etat in the increasingly homogenized universe of electronic music. The tune is stripped down to raw field recordings outdoors. Instead of electronic clicks, there are steps sinking in the muddy soil. Crackling of a cricket loops with distant chirping of the birds, humming of a distant foghorn, and beating of the waves. The oscillating volume and silence between the edges of the noise creates a sense of a rhythm in this no-beat tune. The first two tracks are gorgeous webs of delicate clicks and cuts with layers of pulsating keyboard chords and complex matrices of subtle crackling, hissing, and field recordings. Club-goers might be disappointed with Burnt Bread, as it is less a dance record than a group dig that we perceive by standing still. But it’s a soothing treat for all modern urban beasts. And if this Twerk-ian blend sounds a notch too experimental, go out and make your own tracks. Twerk makes loads of software available for free downloads on his website. — Kristina Rizga

Unsane   Lambhouse Collection 1991-1998
(Relapse; www.relapse.com)

Probably one of the most intense and paralyzing in terms of their particular genre (noise rock), New York City’s Unsane were pretty revered by their fans and peers during their heyday. More atonal and grating than Helmet and more violent sounding than say, Tar or the Cows and debatably the Jesus Lizard, Unsane’s reputation grew for their vile album covers (hope you don’t mind the sight of blood... a lot of blood) and relentlessly fierce attack on the listening public. Lambhouse does the band justice by compiling some of the more memorable "musical" moments of their early Matador and Amrep releases up to their final days on Relapse. This 2-disc set also includes a DVD of live and video footage chronicling the band’s career. It does include the heavily MTV-rotated video for "Scrape," but what’s more interesting is the video made by celebrated NY underground photographer and filmmaker, Richard Kern. Unsane recently regrouped after a late ‘90s break-up, whereas singer/guitarist Chris Spencer went on to the similarly minded Cutthroats 9. Unsane is raw, unnerving, and abrasive. Warning: May be too intense for small children or animals. You might not want to play this around houseplants either. Me? I’ve always enjoyed a good dose of Unsane. I guess that’s what separates me from houseplants. — Royce Seader

Various Artists   Buddyhead Suicide
(Buddyhead; www.buddyhead.com)

Why do I have to review all the Buddyhead stuff that passes through the offices of Buzz magazine!?!??! Oh yeah, because their shit is funny and it rocks. This is the second label compilation in the past year that the terrorists at Buddyhead have unleashed on the general public. Like last years Gimme Skelter, Suicide has all your favorite Buddyhead bands and their friends like the doofus metal of Shat, the post-punk psychotic shakedown of Radio Vago, the patented panic rock of Icarus Line, and the homosexual finger-pointing, straight-edge antics of Gayrilla Biscuits. The two discs of cool music are interspersed with phone calls (compliments of Torture Device) to some very important people in the music industry. Important people like MTV’s Gideon Yago and the managers of super important bands like the Ataris and Hoobastank are just flat out harassed. I have to say that I found the phone calls mean-spirited and rude. These people are just trying to make a living in the very important music industry and should be treated with the utmost respect. The jobs that they do are very important to the world, maybe even the universe. It’s too bad that they find it necessary to pick on them. How would you like it if you were trying to take care of the affairs of Hoobastank and someone was just teasing you? Well for $10 you can get two CDs of rock and hijinks and find out how it feels. Personally, I feel pretty "Tenacious-De-e-e-e-e-e-elicious!!" (It’s a new Ben & Jerry's Ice Cream Flavor and it will make you fat like Jack & Kyle.) — Royce Seader

Various Artists   Zen CD: A Retrospective
(Ninja Tune; www.ninjatune.com)

It’s a bitter experience listening to Ninja Tune’s latest, Zen CD: A Retrospective. Back in my day, playing a new album by Ninja was fresh. Dancing in the sea of sweaty Amon Tobin fans during the recent stop in SF pushed me right into the thick of mainstream. Who would have guessed that the cross between jazz, hip-hop, drum-n-bass and house would become so popular?

It’s a sweet thought though that two DJs from a British pirate radio station—an ex-art teacher Jonathan More and a computer programmer Matt Black (both of Coldcut)—would build an indie giant with 34 genre-bending artists releasing close to 100 albums on Ninja Tune. It justifies the first "greatest hits" compilation with big tunes like Mr. Scruff’s "Get A Move On," DJ Food’s "Dark Lady," Amon Tobin’s "Sordid," and Kid Koala’s "Fender Bender." The main purpose though was an excuse to release a 3.5-hour DVD containing 35 never-seen-before videos. Ninja keeps racing forward with it’s VJamm software developed by Coldcut that allows videos to be scratched as sound. In fact, Ninja’s maxim now is "fuck dance let’s art." Allowing people to create for themselves is how Ninja plans to bring Zen to all people. Zen is great music, but if you have any old compilations, get the DVD. If you don’t know Ninja, this is the most stimulating crash course. — Kristina Rizga

The Wildhearts   Riff After Riff
(Gearhead; www.gearheadrecords.com)

Another brilliant signing by Mike Lavella to the long running and well respected Gearhead roster. How does he know all this good Eurotrash!?!? Who cares. The Wildhearts play infectious power-pop/pop-punk garage-sizzle/electro-shock sweetness. They are from Britain. Apparently they were signed to Warner Bros. in the early ‘90s, but escaped me as far as I can recall. I’m glad I found out about ‘em now. Better late than never. Riff After Riff is full of scorchers. Big AC/DC-style breakdowns and a near Bob Mould/Sugar-ish sense of songcraft. Sections of songs break free of rock and go into clear-cut metal territory. It’s a formula that works well in The Wildheart’s cannon. These guys could be huge. — Royce Seader

The Yellow Press   Summer Tour 2003 EP
(self-released; www.theyellowpress.net)

The new wave dance party currently in progress continues with The Yellow Press. Some synth, some peppy rhythms, songs to clap to from a band that’d be fun at a party. Not as good as Gang of Four, natch, but probably more fun. Does the lyric "I wanna see your ass on the ceiling/I think your boyfriend’s appealing" give you the gist? — Dan Nelson