Andrew Kenney’s biochem department might not have been too thrilled that their fresh young PhD student opted to take some time off a couple months ago to promote his band’s newest album. But the packed crowd at American Analog Set’s Bottom of the Hill show in July certainly was. Fronted by Kenney, the Austin-based group has over the years made a welcome transition from a slower drone reminiscent of Stereolab or Low into a tighter, poppier repertoire that culminated with 2001’s Know By Heart. This year finds Promise of Love following its snappy lead. As always, AAS is tastefully subdued even during rockier tunes like the title track or my picks for the album: the utterly addictive “Hard To Find” and “Fool Around.” The first and last tracks carry some of the length and experimentation of their old work on the Emperor Jones label. Overall, Promise of Love still carries the warmth and head-nodding meters of Know By Heart but doesn’t quite hold the same succinctness and bite throughout. Still, for AAS fans, this album will not disappoint. —Delphine Hwang

This is the sophomore album from Sweden’s stoner rock power-trio Blind Dog. One of the interesting things about Blind Dog is their unique melding of fuzzed out riff-rock and technically groovy metal. Being from Sweden might cause one to compare these guys to latter day death metal veterans Entombed (of whom I’m an unabashed fan), but here’s the difference: Entombed are first and foremost a metal band whereas Blind Dog more efficiently make the grooving retro-riff rock the main course. I’d say Blind Dog is like a photo negative of Entombed. Sporting the limber bass-lines of Tobias Nillson (also the vocalist), and the loose, calculated drumming of Thomas Elenvik, Blind Dog wields an enviable and dangerous rhythm section. Meanwhile, Joakim Thell is an exemplary guitar player, particularly in this genre. He brings the trademark fuzz and wah to the table but also possesses a rare sense of texture in his craft that is often lacking in the stoner rock medium. My only complaint is the often redundant gravely vocals that seem forced but still relent on standout tracks such as “Let It Go” and “Follow the Fools.” Capt. Dog Rides Again shows some sophisticated retro tuneage on par with their heroes Sabbath, Zeppelin, and blow a lot of other like-minded bands out of the water in terms of sheer musicianship. Blind Dog is bad ass. —Royce Seader

Sounding like Grandaddy’s slightly more unbalanced cousin, LA locals Boxing create some well-crafted melodies, but like a pretty young girl decked out in some odd fashion choices, Boxing can’t help but mess with tradition a little. The warbling vocal inflections, all-over-the-map squeaks, and unpredictable choice of chords for guitar and piano, keeps the listener on their toes, while tapping them all the while. After a single run through Way Down East, you’ll find by the second time through you’re already an addict. The core members and songwriting team of brothers, Josh and Seth Kasselman, are both well versed in the power of the minor chord, and they aren’t afraid to use it. But Boxing’s love for experimentation in the midst of pretty ditties is at all times inescapable, most prominently heard in “Calm The Quiet Jerks,” as a deranged flute flitters over the sounds of a manic typist. —Megan Gaynes

You can see in the first few lines of the opening song, “Sort It Out,” with its shockingly accurate description of coping with rejection through the use of a long list of hard drugs (though I wouldn’t know from personal experience), that this band walks a fine line between emotional honesty, amusing wit, and shock just for the hell of it. But it’s not just that. Their melodies are so recognizable that by the second song, one begins to suspect they’re listening to the world’s greatest ‘60s cover band. Only this isn’t a cover of the Stones, but the Caesars’ own original composition, “(I’m Gonna) Kick You Out,” as heard in some over-played but forgotten American commercial. 39 Minutes Of Bliss is a best-of collection of the Caesars’ many albums released in their native Sweden. Unfortunately, the backlash against the Scandinavian musical hub is already underway, when truly, the Caesars have cut a niche all their own, based on their talented reinterpretation of a far too often unimaginative genre. If only more music fans would take a long enough look to notice. —Megan Gaynes

I love a big fat tasty riff, man. It just does something special to me. Whenever I hear that perfect placement of progressions, I just wanna go fucking crazy. Right off the bat, Camarosmith grabs you by the balls and barely let go. These guys really remind me of the macho, bar rock bands I grew up with in the South and I guess I just can’t stay away from it. Camarosmith is on that simple and timeless formula of cranking it up and making it burly and badass. From the faux Black Sabbath CD cover (nodding at Sabotage) to the Iommi-inflected guitar tones, you can’t deny these guys are gonna give you what you want. While Camarosmith possess members of drunken Seattle thrash punkers Zeke, this band is less frantic and more in tune with the heavy riffage of the Sabbath/Kyuss formula. That’s not to say that if you liked Zeke that you’ll hate this—quite the contrary. It’s still the kind of bad ass rock you’ve come to appreciate from the Northwest, so dig in. Produced by Jack Endino. —Royce Seader

I hear from a lot of people that Cex used to be a creator of fairly interesting, instrumental electronic music. His most recent album, Being Ridden, collides acoustic guitars, clunky synths, programmed beats and, unfortunately, his graceless verbal non-flows. Rjyan Kidwell is a terrible rapper. The vocal aspect of this album is like spending 45 minutes talking with a melodramatic, self-important teenager who won't shut up about how great his sex life is. But you don't believe him. Cex sounds like a teenager because he is barely out of high school himself. Maybe if I was younger I would care about the stuff he's talking about. I hope not. While Kidwell fixates on sex, the music strikes me as a couple shades less erotic than They Might Be Giants. To Kidwell's credit, "Earth Shaking Event" criticizes indie rock and hip-hop break-up anthems in which some rock star who had his heart broken spits back his sorrow in the form of woman-hating lyrics. Instead, Cex declares that he broke up with his girlfriend and is glad that their lives ever crossed. Yeah, and that song sucks, too. If you've got a lot of time on your hands and you find a used copy of the instrumental version of this album in the discount bin, it's probably worth picking up. Otherwise, move ahead with your own busy and fascinating life. —Ben Bush

The Constantines are as adored by their Canadian countrymen as any decent enough band in their nation tends to be (i.e., a band that isn’t quite stellar receiving far more success and acclaim than their talent actually merits). Though the songs that make up the Night Time EP aren’t altogether bad or uninteresting, neither are they more than acceptably hip Memphis-driven alt-rock. Singer Bryan Webb is Greg Dulli mid-hairball (and I don’t mean 8-), and the melodies and instrumentation are all worthy enough of serving as background accompaniment to one’s daily chores, but that’s only a few spins before moving onto some, say, Caesars. Their cover of Talking Heads’ “More Songs About Buildings And Food,” retitled here as “Thank You For Sending Me An Angel,” sounds too similar to the original to warrant its being recorded. But it’s the final track, the ominous instrumental “Hotline Operator” and its repetitive chanting of the song’s title, gently ascending guitars and omnipresent synthesizers, is enough to make you stop for a moment and just listen. —Megan Gaynes

Most bands either get better or worse, right? Ever since Julian H. slayed his ‘80s wuss-pop with the mighty “Jehovakill,” he has not only been getting better, but transcendent. Now he’s figured out what rock is really for: opening your third ear. Rite Now is the third in a series of albums: Rite is breakbeat-based tracks and Rite 2 is four wah/Mellotron shag-fests. The album is comprised of four expansive tracks that shed verse-chorus-verse temporal burn-out in favor of mane-shaking turn-out. As the liner notes point out, “This is shamanic rock ‘n’ roll that sparks ecstasy and awareness through freak-out to the sweaty pagan teen inside everyone.” The opener, “Twilight of the Motherfuckers,” is a steroid-al (or rather Ephedral) Neu-esque assault that clears the foul city air for “Give the Poet Some,” which, how shall we say, should make every groin in the vicinity grind. “Supernatural Agencies” is a whiplash-inducer whose title is the only thing that can explain Kevlar’s mother-fucker of a 15-minute guitar-shred, alongside JC’s hypnotic bass and chanting. The on-the-two closer “Ephaedra” is just…(sigh)…a tongue in your ear. Like Sly Stone and James Brown, Julian Cope makes me go “duuuhhhh...gaaaahhhh…brbbrrrbb.” Like “There’s A Riot Goin’ On,” you simply don’t need a second opinion to tell you this is great. So just buy it. Now!! Go!!! —Dan Nelson

Former Heavy Vegetable/Thingy/Optigonally Yours member Rob Crow is on his second solo album in his ten year career. The aptly titled My Room Is A Mess is an assured state for a living space when an entire album has been recorded in it. The album’s eighteen tracks are as quirky and varied as one would expect of someone whose previous projects have made even Powerpuff Girls creator Craig McCracken a fan, but it’s Crow’s unfortunate love for the melodic inconsistencies of math rock that detract far too much from the positive aspects of his work. The rare moments when everything does flow is in the Michael Jackson-type boy-pop of “Never Alone,” the sci-fi death-metal fest, “Jedi Outcast,” and “Over The Summer,” a breezy yet poignant indie rock ballad. —Megan Gaynes

“It is the intent of Neurot Recordings to release some of the most interesting and inspired pieces of music that exist.” So reads the mission statement of the label founded by seminal East Bay mavericks Neurosis and Tribes of Neurot. Ambitious, indeed, but with over 25 releases in less than three years, the least one can say about NR is that they strive to hold up their end of the deal. Since digital recording has now enabled talented people to record without the limitations of prohibitive expense, the future culture of creative recording is taking shape. NR are the model for this movement.

Culper Ring is the collaboration of Amber Asylum’s Kris Force (violin and voice), Neurosis’ Steve Von Till (guitar, bass, synth, and voice), and SubArachnoid Space’s Mason Jones (guitar and voice). The product of three freeform improvisations over a period of four years, these eight tracks comprise a meditative, evocative journey in sound. The first time I listened to this CD, I was washing the dishes after dinner when someone came into the kitchen and turned on the lights. I suddenly asked them to turn them off again; the muted blue light of the East Bay dusk was much more appropriate for this music. It (along with the other recordings in this review) requires the listener to let go; to just let the music play. A river of musical sounds and effects drifts in and out of focus, punctuated by singing voices and whispered text. The final track is particularly compelling as its lush, full arrangement telescopes and collapses into boxy digital sounds and, finally, static. Sometimes mysterious, sometimes menacing, Culper Ring is highly original and capable of sublime beauty.

Edward’s Lament, by House of Low Culture (a.k.a. Aaron Turner and friends), clocks in at over an hour, and it’s a total immersion experience. Moving at a monolithic pace, these sub-nautical soundscapes are vast, otherworldly, and engulfing. There is a flavor of decay and impending doom throughout: the insect-harpy drone of the first track, low, sustained, and distorted guitar sounds, large, dark auditory specters, and even a suggestion of Ligeti’s multiple-dissonance choral music, are all colors in Turner’s murky palette. This is the soundtrack to a very dark film. And yet, for all the foreboding this description implies, Edward’s Lament is an inspired, intensely captivating sonic adventure. I especially enjoy the last track, which sounds like the crackly radio broadcast one might tune in while stationed alone at the bottom of the sea.

Sabers is Jeff Conaway and Charlie Hines. Though they’ve worked together for a decade, this CD marks their debut recording. Thick slabs of warm, droning feedback, bowed metal, elaborate drumbeats, and hypnotic loops pulsate and thud, weaving an elaborate world of texture. Exquisitely engineered by Martin Bisi, who has worked with Sonic Youth, Swans, John Zorn, and Keiji Haino, Specter is as complete an atmospheric adventure as one could hope for. The second track is brilliant: it begins with the sound of twittering birds, undercut by a slowly growing industrial growl. After nearly seven minutes, the piece finally crescendos into an epiphanic chorus of cymbals and drums, then dies down again to reveal the birds again. I won’t give away the rest of the surprises that Specter holds in store. Let’s just say that it, too, is excellent; a truly captivating listen.

I think perhaps the most remarkable thing about these new recordings from Neurot is that, although they share a common vision and aesthetic, they couldn’t be more different from one another. Praise is due to the label for defining their own culture on their own terms, and having the dedication to organize it so well for the rest of us. —Bill Heehan

Dropsy is an old term for “edema,” which denotes a swelling of the limbs caused by water retention. It causes people, basically, to look like vegetables. But unlike the disease, David Cooper has found a way to leak some of the immense amount of stuff, both poisonous and pleasant, which swells his modern mind. Through witty and arch lyrics, Cooper’s chocolate-shake vocals veer from a sharp rib-jab to perversion to sincerity with aplomb. The band is hecka tight (featuring, alas, too little of Cooper’s handy vibes chops) and have clearly been incubating in an oxygen-rich lounge somewhere in Hackensack, with the saxy Tom Griesser and drunk ‘bonist Tom Yoder taking young ladies and toothless geezers from the slick to the slimy, and just jazzing the hell out of the general populace. When you hear things like “Sheer force alone cannot chew the gum/of the fundamental hum” over a funky beat, what you’ve got is a group of Mensa fifth-graders in tuxedoes, and Dropsy does appeal to that need we all have for a laid-back Tom Jones. —Dan Nelson

Dysrhythmia   Pretest
(Relapse; www.relapse.com)

Steve Albini produced this record. In many ways, that’s all you need to know. Fans of his style (clear, transparent recordings of ultra-tight, forceful math-rock) will revel in this all-instrumental offering from talented Philadelphia prog-punk trio Dysrhythmia. Detractors will find this a quintessentially Albini-sounding record: super-punchy drums panned hard, snarly mid-rangy guitars, and crispy, overdriven bass played with a pick. So, is it good? The answer is yes, but probably only to a certain ear. Fans of bygone S.F. trio Gift Horse will dig this record. So will aficionados of the skate-jazz stylings of Don Caballero and Tommy Guerrero. The composition style possesses a whimsy I haven’t heard much since the early ‘90s—to call this “prog” is really a misnomer, as it hearkens back to Saccharine Trust and the many subterranean bands of their ilk. I have a peculiar nostalgia for those bands; Dysrhythmia sounds to me like the house band at a lounge bar where all the old art punks still hang out. Musically, it’s quite ambitious, but it sometimes risks becoming tedious—perpetual shifts in time signature can become a chore to listen to, as can noodly solos and the endless repetition of riffy musical ideas. In spite of these minor beefs, I’m pretty stoked that arty skate rock is making a comeback. Everything is perfectly executed, in what appear to be live takes with minimal overdubbed guitar solos. The music seems to exist for the sake of the band’s own gratification. As for the retro-prog-punk-skate-jazz thing, maybe it has something to do with the kind of records people make when there’s a Bush in the White House. —Bill Heehan

On their second EP, Bay Area’s The Ebb and Flow encompass many different styles in a short space and in the process they make it seem effortless. Formed a little over a year and a half ago, they have quickly become a band with its identity in place with a complex sound that is surprisingly palatable. With buoyant rhythms provided by drummer Sara Cassetti and vocals traded between keyboardist Roshy Kheshti and guitarist Sam Tsitrin (sounding eerily like My Dad is Dead’s Mark Edwards), what they create is simultaneously danceable and avante garde. Add trumpeter Jeff Jacobs and ex-Tom Waits saxophonist Ralph Carney and the sonic template gets a little jazzy and a whole lot more interesting. The Ebb and Flow has forged its own path, balancing drones and grooves, jazz and pop, and it fits them beautifully. —Mike Alexis

Eels   Shootenanny!
(DreamWorks; www.dreamworksrecords.com)

This would be the Roman numeral V in the long list of albums from the entity known as Eels, which for all intents and purposes is “E” (or Mark Oliver Everett) and an ever changing cast of musicians and collaborators. Past alumni include T-Bone Burnett, The Dust Brothers, Peter Buck (R.E.M.), Grant Lee Phillips (Grant Lee Buffalo), and long-time friend Lisa Germano (who appears on Shootenanny!). So what do you get when you have this kind of rock pedigree? A pretty sharp record from a pretty sharp guy. I’ve got a weakness in my record collection for the singer/songwriter who can tell the tale (and have it not sound like a snot-nosed high school diary entry. Dashboard Confessional springs to mind). E is a singer/songwriter with a few aces up his sleeve, exemplified on the melodic and noisy blues-stomp, the opening track “All In A Day’s Work,” to the alt-country leanings of “The Good Old Days” and out the door with the drifting and uplifting “Somebody Loves You.” Shootenanny! is all over the place, peppered with great rockers and radio singles—“Saturday Morning”—and the alternative synth-pop familiarity of “Love of the Loveless” sounding very much like earlier Eels hits. Shootenanny!’s formula has something for everyone. Even me. And I like nasty butt-rock. —Royce Seader

Where has the intelligence gone? It seems that all it takes to make a highly acclaimed, commercially successful album these days is a little self-depreciating introspection and some whiny vocals. And if that doesn't work then the old standby of a catchy hook and some male model guitarists will certainly suffice. Fortunately, there are some bands who still seek to make creative, intelligent music which pushes boundaries and challenges the assumptions of its audience. If this piques your interest, then "The Impossible Leap in One-Hundred Simple Steps," the newest offering from the Oakland-based trio From Monument to Masses, is worth taking a look at. Consider that Monument has made an album which stands up despite the virtual absence of vocals or fluffy, poppy choruses, and it becomes apparent that this band is worthy of very high praises indeed. Check out "Sharpshooter," an angry, eye-opening look at September 11th, as well as "Comrades and Friends," a call to arms for all those dissatisfied with the abuses of the Hegemony. A fervent blend of powerful bass lines, superb percussion and thoughtful, creative guitar riffs is topped off by a variety of socially and politically charged samples ranging from MIT linguist Noam Chomsky to Morpheus. Through the use of the samples, the band reveals a political astuteness which makes me want to like everything they do. However, it would be rash to say that this is an album without flaws. There is an unfocused aspect to some of the songs, and at times it tends to drag, meandering along rather than pushing forward into fresh territory. Still, if you are in the mood for some innovative music with a distinct intelligence, check out The Impossible Leap In One Hundred Simple Steps. —Max Nicholas-Fulmer

The sun flowing through curtains stirred by the breeze. Riding your bike down a tree-lined avenue. Water balloons, sparklers, and bubble wrap. An old Astrud Gilberto record playing on a Fisher-Price record player. Bar-b-qued zucchini, sangria, and pierogis. Wrestling your cousin on the lawn and giving him an affectionate flying elbow smash. This is the best description I can come up with for Giant Value’s second disc. GV’s easy-going wisdom shines through clever lyrics and hummable tunes. Since this came out, Vinnie’s tactful drumming, Dena’s Gibsonic finesse, and Bru’s bubbling bass and Farfisa action has had my head bobbing, mouth ooh-ing and aah-ing and la-la-la-ing, and much slapping of hands on dashboards. Throw your damned “Best of Bob Marley” no-woman-no-cry crap out the windah already and listen to this to be reminded that everything is eternally alright and beautiful. This is fun and thoughtful. This is the sound of two hands clapping. —Dan Nelson

Since 2001, Sacramento’s Jared Southard (vox/guitar), Andy Wagner (guitar/keys), Michael Bruce (bass), and Sam Coe (drums) have received acclaim for their debut, entitled Take the Scenic Route, and have been billed with groups like BRMC, The Church, Clinic, Brian Jonestown Massacre, Creeper Lagoon, The Warlocks, The Stratford 4, Eyes Adrift, Jonathan Richman, and Mike Watt. With Southard’s Sunny Day Real Estate-meets-Pink Floyd vocals gracing every track, the group’s second album, Elixir Vitae, may not pack an instant punch but can grow on you with each listen. Songs like “Swingin’ Sam” and “What My Friends Say” ooze that back door biker bar rock, while “Babies Made” and “Beaches of Tomorrow” provide mellower more psychedelic interludes. Sometimes their jams run unnecessarily long and become lost and uninteresting while sonic gems can be buried under walls of noise, but simpler songs like the slightly eerie “Looks of a Killer” and “Mama Said” showcase the band’s ability to unearth their talents a bit more. The band is currently touring the East Coast and will make a stop at the CMJ Festival in October. —Delphine Hwang

The punk rock super group is back for yet another round. In case you didn’t know, MFATGG contain members of NOFX, Lagwagon, Swingin’ Utters, and the Foo Fighters. Also they make funny music. Not in a Weird Al Yankovic sort of way either. MFATGG are a punk rock cover band. That’s funny, right? On Take A Break, The Gimme Gimmes tackle the very un-punk genre of R&B and give it that Warped Tour shred that’s perfect for the 16 and under set. However, I don’t suspect most of these younger boys and girls will recognize some of the tunes found here. From the Black Flag “Six Pack” intro on their cover of Seal’s “Crazy,” to the opening strains of the Sex Pistols’ “Pretty Vacant” kicking off the Vanessa William’s hit “Save the Best for Last,” it’s just a goof-fest all around. Somebody stop these guys before they make another record. Sometimes I play this CD at work and many folks (mostly older) recognize the songs and seem to get a real kick out of it. See? MFATGG are fun for kids of all ages. —Royce Seader

I hate Simon and Garfunkel. I hate The Monkees. I hate Herman’s Hermits. So why, why do I like the Moore Brothers? Watching them and their rapt audience live is like seeing kids ogle puppies frolicking through pink cotton balls in the window of a pet store. Blaaargghh!! But then there’s no denying the beauty of Cheech and Chong’s, I mean Thom and Greg’s voices. The Bros.’ second release thankfully has more instrumental meat and diversity than their nearly-acapella live shows, and mostly makes the tunes soothers without being snoozers. The highlights are the three-hitter “Tiny Bongs,” the kind of warm, giggly thing they do so well; the rockin’ (with a small “r”) “Salton Sea,” whose driving guitar and drums balance nicely with the vocals; and the surprising treat “Emotional Rollercoaster,” with its bubbling beats. Overall, the brothers’ dynamic finesse and unique arrangements shine on this disc. Remember the Bugs Bunny episode with the orange monster and the bottle of ether? This is unwholesome but fun music, so take a huff. —Dan Nelson

Nedelle is great. She’s so cool, I think she deserves her own genre. Let’s call it Calinova—a style of music that shamelessly incorporates every soft, groovy sound on earth into a seductive, lazy style that only comes from California. To give you some idea of what Calinova sounds like: Bart Davenport, Call and Response, and The Moore Brothers are all local practitioners. Rufus Wainwright is a contender. But Nedelle is at the top of the list. Blending nylon stringed guitars, piano, keyboards, violins, bossanova beats, a cheesy drum machine and her own exquisite shoo-wop backing harmonies into a delicious, warm-as-the-sun backdrop, Nedelle portrays herself as the precocious chanteuse she is. At 22 years old, she demonstrates significant star power as the songwriter, composer, singer, chief instrumentalist, and producer of this, her first CD. This Vacaville native must have had plenty of time in her youth to listen to some really good records, along with honing her own excellent skills as a musician. The songs are all about love, with Nedelle usually casting herself as the poor soul stricken with the curse of loving too much (“My Tendency” being the standout). The title track is also a favorite, kind of like Rickie Lee Jones singing over Marvin Gaye’s “Sexual Healing” from a space capsule: “I’m aware self-pity won’t make you appear, but you should take some notes on being sincere…” Perhaps the most surprising thing about this record is its brevity—none of the songs (save one) is beyond three minutes in length—but this fact only underscores Nedelle’s elegant economy and panache. It’s the secret weapon of Calinova-style music: it captivates you completely and then it’s gone, forcing you to hit the Play button again and again. Classic. —Bill Heehan

John O'Brien   Real Life
(self-released; www.johnobrienmusic.com)

John O’Brien is earnest. The device commonly used by singer-songwriters to convey this quality usually kinda bugs me—softly sung verses containing a lot of the words “I” and “me,” with sometimes even a courageous “fuck” thrown in to prove that the guy’s for real. While I do hear all of these things in O’Brien’s mild indie rock, I’ll also say that he’s proficient and quite talented—he plays most of the instruments himself (with the help of a few friends), and the results are convincing, hooky pop songs. The production style of the CD is in the radio-friendly S.F. indie vein (think John Vanderslice, Trackstar, and Death Cab for Cutie—plenty of Mellotron, acoustic guitar, compressed vocals and indie backbeats). Lyrically, O’Brien is pretty downbeat—lots of solitary, lovelorn epiphanies in the blue light of morning and that sort of thing. In spite of such mope-rocker poetry, I think his heart is in the right place. He’s as aware of his sensitive posturing as anyone else—on “Elvis’ Boys,” he throws down against the rockabilly tough-guy pose: “And these men, they try they fuck it up, they don’t know why it’s not working; and it’s a hipster rule to lose your heart and keep your cool, it’s not working for me.” On the mock-country “Bottle on the Table,” he equates the feeling of being in love with the halcyon buzz of Prozac, and wonders if he should up the dosage. Personally, I’d recommend against it, as too much Prozac just makes everything look, feel, and sound the same. I think that’s the thing about this record: O’Brien’s observations are quite cutting, and his writing idealistic and whimsical, but the edge is deliberately buried beneath layers of soft and non-confrontational production value. There may be some ironic artistry to this maneuver, but one has to wonder what John O’Brien’s Real Life is really, really like. —Bill Heehan

Rykarda Parasol   Here She Comes...
(Blood of the Young; www.shaketown.com)

Initially sounding like a peppy version of the Bad Seeds fronted by P.J. Harvey, comparisons of Rykarda Parasol to Nick Cave are inevitable. Dead lovers, whisky, love-as-narcotic-habit, thunder-and-lightning. RP’s deadpan vocals (the band is named for the singer) are backed by Josh Gibson’s appealingly loopy piano and organ, and generally spare instrumentation. Although her voice is alluring, its super-cool delivery undermines the emotion of her able lyrics, especially in “Lonesome Place,” about a woman’s lover who is lynched by klansmen: “They took me out to some lonesome place/They asked, ‘Do you believe in the great white race?” The most effective tune turns out to be a secret track after the sixth and last song, where Parasol’s wonderfully bored vocals recite a poem by Baudelaire about an opium den over a psychedelic wash of organ. These are engaging songs, and the passion that lies in wait in this ripening band will be something to hear when they let it loose. C’mon Rykarda, pull a Roxy Music on our asses! —Dan Nelson

Polysics   Neu
(Asian Man; www.asianmanrecords.com)

Japanese rock bands are often to us what American anglophile bands are to the Brits, a whole-hearted but naïve attempt to recreate what’s going on in another portion of the globe, sounding as far from what they’re trying to achieve as their geographic distance. Without doubt, the Polysics are an exception to this rule. The Tokyo three (Hiroyuki Hayashi doing vocals/guitar/programming, Kayo providing vocals/vocoder/synths and Junichi Sugai on drums) have the sort of charismatic insanity, technical precision and musical creativity to guarantee Neu to be one of the memorable releases of the year, and certainly should remain of permanent note in the ever-prolific world of experimental noise-rock. Canon-balling into a land peppered by Devo and Kraftwerk as much as Enon and Sonic Youth, while listening to Neu you can’t help but bounce off the walls with a smile on your face, your hair and make-up in joyous shambles. —Megan Gaynes

Poulain   For Passengers EP
(Fiddler Records; www.poulainmusic.com)

Miami native Isaac Lekach isn’t related to the wide-eyed cinematic elf Amelie Poulain. But he could be. In his video for “Completely Uninterrupted” from his latest EP For Passengers, the sensitive singer/songwriter of the lo-fi pop outfit confronts the lens with a dark, softly-fringed gaze, then looks down timid and wistful—much like his songs. Produced by Andy LeMaster (Azure Ray, Bright Eyes, Japancakes), the four tracks off For Passengers mumble and graze with innocent confessions of love and an unobtrusive wonder. Poulain is hard to pigeonhole, but easy to latch onto. With sparse upbeat meters, pensive moods, and instantly appealing melodies, fans of bands like Death Cab for Cutie or early Magnetic Fields might find something in Poulain familiar but not yet had. My only complaint about For Passengers is how it will leave you wanting for more. —Delphine Hwang

Relic   Lift Up Your Gates (of Hell)…The King of Glory Shall Come In
(self-released; www.relicscastle.com)

Relic’s press photos, which show them performing with like nine keyboards and a bazillion toms in a marble rotunda somewhere in full armor—I repeat, full armor—seriously raised my hopes for their “medieval rock.” Preparing to laugh, I also raised my fist. While Relic’s lyrics are derived from 14th to 16th century poetry, their music is a mélange of ‘70s prog, ‘80s metal, ‘90s riffage, and moldy madrigal. People, this brew sounds awful on paper, but tracks like “Dance of Death” and “St. Stephen & King Herod” find the lads capable of lopping the heads off invading Normans (and indie “rockers”) with synthesized strings, arpeggiatic guitar shrieks, bizarre vocal effects, and Rototoms. The real beauty of Relic is the feeling that they’ll do whatever the fuck they want, which includes (between slabs of riffage) a whistling solo over synthesized choir voices in “I Want Be an Angel.” Relic has the aesthetic and the chops of Rush (shudder) minus the joyless pretension. I’ve never had headcheese, but this must be what it’s like. —Dan Nelson

The Riverboats Gamblers   Something To Crow About
(Gearhead; www.gearheadrecords.com)

The one-sheet that came with this disc would have you thinking this band was the second coming of Nirvana. There’s certainly a healthy hype surrounding this rock-‘n’-roll quintet from Texas, but let’s talk about what’s going on with Something To Crow About. This is some super catchy garage rock, chock full of big choruses and attitude. I hear hints of The Hives, a dash of New Bomb Turks, and even the melodic sensibilities of Husker Du on songs like “Last to Know.” Are they the “next big thing?” Let’s not make assumptions. This garage rock thing might be starting to burn out, but Riverboat Gamblers have found a great formula. Mixing real guts and energy with great songwriting and impassioned delivery, these Texans can go places in this new world where The White Stripes and The Hives have kicked the doors in. I bet these guys put on one hell of a show. They have a great sound as well as a great label. Keep an eye on The Riverboat Gamblers. Keep an ear on ‘em too. Great debut from a promising new band. —Royce Seader

Sciflyer   Fair Weather Karma
(Clairecords; www.clairecords.com)

Sciflyer is exactly what one would expect of a band made up of devout Swervedriver fans with direct connections to Stratford 4 (singer/guitarist Steve Kennedy used to be in the band Estuary with S4’s Chris Streng). The church of shoegaze has been revived so much as of late, that it’s beginning to look as fresh and remarkable as yet another Lutheran church. But if some respectable, pretty guitar drones and fuzzed out (really, smudged out) vocals are what you’re seeking, Sciflyer will provide. Most of note is the quality of recording that sounds as if it did indeed come straight from that era, more than a decade back. This came from the band’s insistence on recording on a semi-vintage eight-track in their home garage, aided on the production side by Matt Piucci and Scott Solter (Tarantel, Stratford 4). Sciflyer can be commended on keeping the dream alive, as after listening to this I’ll be digging out my old Ride and MBV. —Megan Gaynes

Sixteen Horsepower   Olden
(Jetset; www.jetsetrecords.com)

Some bands need time to mature and find their way. Others start out great. Sixteen Horsepower fall into the latter category, as shown by this collection of demos and live performances from ’93 and ’94, shortly after the band’s formation in ’92 in Denver, Colo. In some ways, this is a Sixteen Horsepower more of my liking, their gothic country taking on a more immediate urgency, which seemed more stifled in their later recordings. Though most of these can be compared to later studio versions, Olden also includes two rare tracks: the previously unreleased “Train Serenade,” which weaves in a bit of haunted surf, and the previously rare b-side, the sensual hillbilly stomp, “Slow Guilt Trot.” —Megan Gaynes

The Stoned Messiahs   Amazon Sunrise
(Stoney Rock Records; www.thestoned.com)

There is nothing cool or hip about the Stoned Messiahs. The name itself should scare off anyone who has ever owned a Built to Spill 7”, and if you’re down with bands like Fischer Spooner, you have permission move on to the next review. Still here? OK, so they’re called the Stoned Messiahs and they have a song entitled, “Smoke A Lot Of Pot," and yet there are some rewarding moments found in this Hayward band’s DIY CDR, mainly because of its relentless attack and high quality of musicianship. The instrumental track, “Solitary Injustice”, showcases some serious rhythmic chops and tempo shifts, while on the prog-flavored “69420 B.C.”, the guitarist lays down a fast, solid, note-heavy riff that should not be dismissed as wanky stoner retro. If given half a chance, The Stoned Messiah’s unfashionable, slightly funky, heavy-rock sound, may impress more people than just Joe Satrianabees and Guitar Center clerks. —Mike Alexis

Various Artists   Amoeba Music Compilation Vol. IV
( Hip Hop Slam Records/Amoeba Music)

The majority, if not all, of the artists featured here probably don’t have their own section in the racks at Amoeba’s stores, but it’s not because Amoeba doesn’t care. They do. In an alternate musical landscape not dominated by vapid, soulless pop music, many of these obscure and unconventional artists would not only have their own plastic divider with their name on top, but also hungry music fans to find them in the endless rows of CDs. But for now there is Vol. IV of Amoeba’s fine compilation series. The two CDs play like a terrific freeform college radio show with many disparate styles standing side by side. The tracks bounce from dirty beats and sinister keys of Healamonster and Tarsier, to the fierce, clever wordplay of the Forest Fires Collective to…too much to mention here. It is commendable yet curious that Amoeba, the nation’s largest independent record store, would go through the trouble of making this CD. However considering that 24 of the 39 artists include members who are past or present Amoeba Records employees, it’s easy to see this CD as inevitable. That much talent should not be ignored. Amoeba did the digging for us and there is at least one new favorite artist here for everyone. —Mike Alexis

Various Artists   Kitestringing: The Prison Literature Project Benefit
(Versus Press/Substandard Records; www.substandard.com)

The Prison Literature Project sends nearly 2,000 books to prisoners nationwide, with the intent to provide prisoners with quality information. All sales from this compilation of 22 previously released tracks benefit the PLP. Artists featured are: Big in Japan, Tribe 8, The Plus Ones, American Steel, White Collar Crime, Jenny Toomey, The Atomiks, The Weakerthans, Low Water, The Aislers Set, The Rum Diary, The Specs, The Blank Fight, The Smugglers, The Dishes, Young People, Jeremy Gloff, ing, Chumbawamba, and Propaghandi. It also features spoken word performances by Noam Chomsky and Native American activist Ward Churchill. Though not a compilation of songs necessarily related to life in prison, the roster is a who’s-who of socially involved bands, and the project is a worthy cause. —Bill Heehan