Love Me Destroyer, a four-piece from Colorado, fall somewhere between Jawbox and Braid, with a little thrash thrown in. On The Things Around Us Burn, the songs are mostly protest music in the style of Guy Pizzicato, with a few love songs here and there. The band comes up with lots of menacing lead guitar parts; they've got the occasional wanky moment, but also throw in some good moments, too.

They're good at coming up with interesting details to decorate the songs. During the chorus of "Choked and Charmed," the lead part has strange-sounding harmonics that are really wild. On "F.U.I.Q.," the singers trade off vocals, which adds to the song. The rhythm guitar riff on "Color of the Grave" is simple but effective, and the way the singers alternate between singing melody and harmony vocals at the end is really cool.

Unfortunately, more of these moments do come off as wanky. "Bleed It Now" has some doubled lead guitars that lean towards the pop side of metal, while the guitars and melodies on "I Went to Las Vegas and "Kiss and Tell" smell strongly of hairspray, even with the guys shouting the whole time. "You'll Never Take Me Alive" has some doubled vocals and "oooh's," which may have been meant to be fun but are just annoying. To Love Me Destroyer's credit, they do keep the wankier stuff towards the second half of the album, but since that's also where most of the best songs are, it makes their judgement seem less sound.

There are some solid songs here, mind you -- "Color of the Grave," "You'll Never Take Me Alive," and "F.U.I.Q" are all strong songs all the way around. And even the ones that aren't as good still have some interesting details, whether good or bad. Love Me Destroyer is definintely a band with some potential. If they can come up with better songs to add their interesting details to, they'll have something solid. (Henry Mayer // 04/17/07)

Mabou plays instrumental rock heavily in the My Bloody Valentine vein. They experiment with various kinds of distortion and noise. Their record, Our Last Sleep is Our Final Awakening, is almost entirely instrumental. They play trance-inducing grooves, with drum beats that are very precise and groovy in a heavy rock kind of way. The music ranges from simple repeated riffs to actual songs, with lots of noise on top of everything.

The problem is that the noise, which is what they're most interested in here, starts to sound the same after a while. If there's enough to the song, then you don't mind, and the combination works. But the melodic parts of most of the songs aren't very interesting either -- they're not even melodic, they're just riffs. If there were melodies for the riffs to contrast with (either vocal or instrumental), that would be one thing, but it's just a bunch of riffs by themselves, and they get old.

The one decent song here is called "You're Like Lights in December"; it doesn't have much melody, but it does have dynamics and more variety than the other songs here. The keyboard parts here are pretty, particularly when the volume drops down. And when they get to the big guitar riff (which is big and snarling and really cool), they don't go on for too long at that level -- they bring the noise up in the background, which keeps things moving. And the bells at the beginning and end add nicely to the song. The song keeps changing, and that's what makes it work so well. If the rest of the songs here were as dynamic, the album might be better, but they're not.

Unfortunately, one song isn't enough to make an album. Or even an EP. What do you do when there's one song on a record that you might like? I guess that's what iTunes is for. (Henry Mayer // 04/12/07)

The Mains are nothing special, but for some reason, everything on The Higher You Get, The Higher You Get works perfectly together. Luckily, the guitar riffs don't sound like any band in particular, but rather are just what I'd expect from a rock band called "The Mains". Guitarists Foster Calhoun and Rich McCully do an excellent job of taking classic, overdriven guitar lines and campy, soft acoustic lines and playing them with the right amount of energy and flow to make a cohesive album.

The Higher You Get, The Higher You Get is a special product of rock and roll. As the press stuff says, "The Higher You Get is a triumph, the sound of a thousand lost weekends and an endless summer of love." Now, it's fine to make an album based on late-night clubs, all-night partying, and love lost and gained, but please, don't be so direct with it. Yes, rock and roll is kinda cliché, but don't hop on that bandwagon. The Higher You Get rocks out, but it's nothing earth-shattering. It's the rock that you heard in a sitcom background track -- I guess that's why I need my rock and roll...

To The Mains' advantage, the vocals fit perfectly over the instruments and add some nice touches to the base. I like the synthesizer on "Tonight," too -- if they're going to indulge in the rock and roll feel, they might as well go all the way with it. The lyrics are what I expected: "We're gonna' live, but we never will die." It's very rock 'n roll. "I believe in love, I believe on you / If you believe in me, that's all well ever need." It's a tad sappy, sure, but Foster Calhoun sings with enough heart to take it completely seriously -- more power to him. Lyrics and guitars aside, the drums sounded solid throughout the entire album and helped keep that rock-solid energy constant.

The Mains have energy, and plenty of it. Sometimes, it doesn't matter what someone plays as long as it's played with the right energy. The Mains are full of energy, and they have a story to tell. That's what it takes to put a decent album together, so congrats, Mains; you're doing all right. (SCR Staff // 04/12/07)

Mess Up the Mess is a hysterical faux-"riot grrl" band from D.C. whose jangly brand of "messcore" reminds me of a prison break from the kitten pound. The music's mostly in a Buzzcocks-cum-Pixies style, but the harpsichord/keyboard accompaniment truly completes the package of cyberpunk virtual attack. As far as D.C. grrl punk bands go, Mess Up the Mess is very nice. Listening to this album is like watching the Power Puff Girls -- sure, there's innuendo, but with the cheeky lyrics, sung by Jeanni, and relatively clean melody backing from the rest of the group, there's still a reasonably commercially appealing excitement. The great thing about this band is that the band members use it as an outlet to release their angst in a cheerful manner, which makes for a fun, refreshing dose of irony. (Alex Ross // 04/04/07)

Look no further than Morello's own interpretation of their musical styling to discover what their new album is all about: "Morello's debut release Twelve Ways to Breathe is the Irish-Italian answer to American fans who worship Emo/Screamo bands like Refused and The Used."

Yup, folks. That's pretty much it. If you like annoying, whiny emo songs that are half sung and half screamed at you -- then you'll like Morello just fine. (Brigitte Zabak // 04/17/07)

They just don't make 'em like this anymore (well, other than this CD, that is). With a tremendous range of musical styling, Motion Commmotion's newest self-titled EP presents a landscape of spectral talents. From the violin and clarinet to rocking bass guitar and drums, the songs on this album flow in a way that truly complements the EP form. Each song has its individual merit, but as a whole, this album ranks one of the most cohesive EPs I've heard so far in this millennium. Songs "BBC Sue" and "Commotion" frame the album with rushes of rock n' roll distorted guitar, but the meat of the EP lies in the melodic, introverted tracks sung by Emanuel Ayvas, who shares an often lugubrious-yet-sanguine style somewhere between Robert Smith from The Cure and Cinjun Tate of Remy Zero. The instrumentation provided by violinist James Wolf, bassist Elliot Stevenson, and clarinetist James Cuccinoto, all accomplished graduates from highly esteemed musical academies, provides interesting layers to Ayvas's exploratory lyrics, bringing the tracks into a harmoniously emotional ambience. Realistically, this band has the potential to be one of the powerhouses of the music world. Motion Commotion blends beauteous melodious qualities and an eclectic "indie" format with catchy, passionate, and sophisticated songs, despite the band having only been together for a brief amount of time. I look forward to seeing what they can accomplish in the future. (Alex Ross // 04/12/07)

I wouldn't have guessed it, I'll admit -- I never figured that NYC noiserockers Parts & Labor could top 2006's excellent Stay Afraid, much less do it so effortlessly. But here we are with Mapmaker, which truly lives up to its name; with this release, the band has charged off the edge of the musical map as we know it and are busy drawing the boundaries (such as they are) of their own little country, a utopian place where Hüsker Dü stands side-by-side with Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine.

While Stay Afraid was essentially a noise record with some almost-accidental bursts of anthemic brilliance, Mapmaker grabs hold of the promise of tracks like "A Great Divide" and "A Pleasant Stay" and channels all of Parts & Labor's considerable fury and power into it. The result is an album of roaring, urgent rock anthems that surge and crash on a sea of noisy electronics, guitar feedback, and propulsive, near-frantic drums. The songs on here are like rallying cries for some futuristic tribe of youthful rebels, practically demanding that you pump your fist in the air, stomp your feet on the cracked concrete sidewalk, and howl along. The lyrics evoke some kind of revolution, too, charting a course through a dystopian world where everyone thinks they're a celebrity, people do whatever they're told by the talking heads, and reckless leaders drag us through the muck and blood of war.

It's drummer Chris Weingarten's almost blast beat-like drumming that drives the pace on tracks like opener "Fractured Skies" or "Vision of Repair," while BJ Warshaw's bass comes thundering in overhead like a storm cloud and Dan Friel's guitar throws down the lightning. The guitars alternate between formless walls of melodic sound and spiraling, scraping lines that wind around the edges of the song itself, dodging in and among the electronics. Friel and Warshaw's fucked-up synths bubble and crunch, thick and chunky-sounding, and the two trade vocals that bring to mind Bob Mould at his bitterest, with a touch of Poster Children's Rick Valentin thrown in for good measure.

The Hüsker Dü tag, actually, is the hardest one to escape here. P&L sound like they're doing their damnedest to evoke New Day Rising on every damn song on Mapmaker, and in so doing get nearer to the Minneapolis trio's wall-of-noise aesthetic than anybody (and I mean anybody) else who's tried to fill Hart, Mould, and Norton's big shoes. With this album, there's no noise-for-noise's-sake, thank God, but rather, the band uses the noise, in all its skronking, screaming, blistering glory, and builds some absolutely gorgeous songs out of it. Which, in a way, is exactly what the Hüskers were all about.

The SST connection's given away, as well, by the inclusion of a Minutemen cover, "King of the Hill," which fits so perfectly it sounds like it could very well be a Parts & Labor song -- the only tell, really, is that the lyrics on most of the Frield/Warshaw/Weingarten-penned songs work better than D. Boon's (sorry, Minutemen lovers, but there you go). There's also an abiding love here for the old-school NY art-noise scene that spawned Sonic Youth and Swans, and some subtle nods to '90s indie-rock acts like Chavez, Slint, MBV, or Tortoise.

For their part, Parts & Labor succeed admirably at welding all those influences together (cracks, holes, jagged bits of metal, and all) into something wholly new. The more I listen to Mapmaker, the more convinced I am that no, I really haven't ever heard anything quite like this before. Despite owing a debt to the band's noisy forebears, this is new territory the band's exploring, one where there's beauty and hope lurking within the noise, and it leaves me drained, maybe a little shaky, but still exhilarated and in awe. (Jeremy Hart // 04/17/07)

Okay, so this is really weird. I'd heard of Ragged Hearts off and on for the past few years, so I picked up their debut full-length, Her Bright White Light, on a recent CD-buying binge, figuring I'd see what they were like. On the back cover, I see four disaffected folks in black, some w/tattoos and/or spiky hair. On their MySpace page, they cite the Stones, the Faces, the New York Dolls, D Generation, David Bowie, and the Replacements (among others, mind you; those were just the ones that really had me fooled at first). Plus, they've apparently got some kind of connection to Sylvain Sylvain and The Applicators, and three of the songs were recorded and produced by people who've worked with Dogs D'Amour, the Wildhearts, and, ah, Vixen.

Seeing all that, I figure, "Got it -- these guys are probably kinda raw, pretty glam-y rock, maybe with some blues thrown in. Hell, they've probably even got fake British accents or Noo Yawk sneers."

Um. No, not quite. What they are, really, is a country band, and not a bad one, at that. The album starts loud, with "Sure Felt Wild," a blast of rootsy, punkish rock reminiscent of Social Distortion or the 'Mats, but the band never really comes back to that level of loud rock during Her Bright White Light. Instead, Ragged Hearts veer off into occasional forays into pure-as-sugar power-pop, like on "The White Lady" (which brings to mind Cheap Trick), "The Absence," or cool, catchy "The Sense" (which has a more "British"/Kinks-y feel to it) or do what they do most on here: play down-home, soulful country songs with a touch of folk and a teeny hint of a British Invasion-era love of the blues.

Seriously, take a listen to the one-two punch of "Life and Times," which is slow and deliberate-sounding, and "Bad Man," where frontman/guitarist Corey Power and drummer Davey Jonez pull some really nice harmonies out of their musical hat, and tell me this ain't country. There's also "Leaving Bonnie," a gently poignant I'd-like-to-but-I-can't love song, jangly "The Absence," folky, minimal "Dance On Bailey," and "Sparkle and Shine," which even throws in some cool mandolin over a driving Hank Williams beat. All that from a band I had pegged as full on glam-rock.

Now for the important part -- labels and preconceptions aside, Her Bright White Light is a fine collection of well-written, well-played songs. "Sure Felt Wild" may be the only real burner on here, but most of the other tracks are knock-you-over good in their own right, particularly "The Sense," "Dance On Bailey," "Sparkle and Shine," and "Life and Times." (The only track I really don't like, actually, isn't even theirs; it's a cover of "Kings and Queens," penned back in the '80s by Dave Kusworth of the Jacobites...) I don't know how Ragged Hearts' love for glam and the Faces led 'em to where they are on Her Bright White Light, but I'm glad they got there somehow. (Jeremy Hart // 04/04/07)

I hate to damn with faint praise, but after repeated listens to the reissue of The Sleeping's 2004 album Believe What We Tell You, I'm afraid I have to -- I've got to confess that while the album's okay, I'm not sure it really merited reissuing.

I mean, yeah, it's great that the band's done well since (and I hear the followup, last year's Questions and Answers, is better), but I think this is best viewed as a prequel to the band's later successes, with all the caveats that entails. There's a lot of promise here, certainly; it's just that this really feels like the Long Island band was still taking its first fumbling steps towards what they wanted to eventually do.

There's the overall conceit of the album, for one thing -- Believe What We Tell You has little "broadcast" interludes/sounds scattered throughout, including an utterly pointless outro of sorts at the end with "tune out." The Sleeping were apparently going for some kind of deep message about media brainwashing, which is commendable, but not really news, if you know what I mean.

Then there's the stumbling, disjointed-ness of some of the tracks, notably "The Big Breakdown," Days 1 and 2, opener "Sunday Matinee (Reel To Real)," and "One Flight One Flame" (the latter two show up here both as a bonus demo tracks and in their final form, by the way, along with non-album track "Until The Night"). The music runs along the same lines as fellow post-emo rockers like Taking Back Sunday and Spitalfield, merging elements of alt-rock, hardcore, prog, and sweetly melodic rock into, ah, pretty much a big mess.

Which is the band's main problem, really; there are ways to mash up all these styles and make it sound tight and unified (see A Wilhelm Scream or Taking Back Sunday), but with Believe What We Tell You it seems pretty evident that The Sleeping hadn't yet hit upon 'em. Songs shift styles jarringly and with not much apparent reason beyond the fact that the band members themselves can switch styles at will. Doing that kind of thing is well and good, and these songs aren't really bad, per se, but simply bouncing between hardcore, screamo, and prog-rock all within the space of a minute doesn't necessarily make a song good.

As I hinted at above, there are some moments of promise on Believe What We Tell You, primarily on the album's title track, which is a lot more focused and less overreaching than most of its cohorts; it's got a nice, big, hooky chorus that I can't get out of my head, as well as the most direct assertion of the album's premise. There's also "If Your Heart Was Broken... You Would Be Dead," which lunges towards disaster with a bed of annoying "party scene" noise/voices but miraculously rescues things by inexorably stacking one layer of sound on top of another and then incorporating angry, shout-sung female vocals that make their way up from beneath the sound. It reminds me of a pre-classic rock fetish Anniversary, and that's a definite point in The Sleeping's favor. Oh, and I like the production trick at the end where it sounds like the tape is speeding up to infinity.

Beyond that, "Broadcast Silence" does well with a subtler, simpler tack than most of the other tracks here, and "15 on the Freeway" uses coolly atmospheric, Sparta-ish guitars floating through the vocals to add some variety to things. Come to think of it, there's nothing inherently wrong with this album as a whole, so long as you view it, again, as a prequel of sorts. I may not be putting it into heavy rotation on the iPod, but the hints of good things to come have me intrigued enough to want more. And that's no bad thing. (Jeremy Hart // 04/04/07)

Stemage bills itself as "Metroid Metal," and I have no freakin' idea what that means. It must be an inside joke, especially since Stemage is the creation of Grant Henry. Mr. Henry plays all the instruments, writes all the lyrics, and does all the singing. Music-wise, Strati wavers from math-rock to very average Buzz band rock to avant garde-ness that would make Buckethead proud. Since this is a one-man band, all the praise and criticism must be directed at one guy. Grant Henry obviously has a fertile and creative mind for music that few possess.

Three of the 11 tracks are instrumentals, and the tracks that do have vocal include long instrumental passages. The first track, "Star Ninety-Six," is an instrumental that sounds eerily like a Metallica song -- thankfully from when they were good. Henry also shows his guitar virtuoso admiration by imitating the duality of Paul Gilbert's pop star/shredder identity on "Fabulous Fabulist." Actually, all of the tracks sound great, musically. Each track seems to have its' own personality and complexity, from soft passages to very complex heaviness and then on to average-yet-still-engaging radio rock.

Where Strati takes a downturn is in the vocal department. The vocals go from bad emo to bad ballads to just plain bad. Grant Henry's voice drones so much that it should have a bomb strapped to it and be flying out over Iraq. Strati is like a great comic book with bad art or a great movie with Jessica Alba. One part's so great but the other part's so God-awful that it may render the other moot. What a conundrum. (Scott Whitt // 04/04/07)

You would have to ground a teenager and then lock him in his room with nothing but a laptop and some vintage Playboys to get music as outrageous, hormonally-charged, and wonderful as this. But Toof is no seventeen year-old wanker; he's a man named Trey D'Amico who lives in Austin and might be in jail right now, or so his blog seems to suggest.

Toof's Jennifer Love Handles is a tongue-in-cheek tribute to the era of big synths and big hair, with songs that are shamelessly and viciously danceable. The lyrics to "The Theme Song to Boobies" consist entirely of the following: "Bumblebees dissaprove / Tight sweaters, go-go boots / Bumblebees, Juicy Fruit / Tight sweaters, go-go boots." The words are nonsensical, lurid, and sticky enough to make the song an electroclash anthem of "We Will Rock You" proporitions. "Thinking About Me, Thinking About You" is a gentle explanation of tits and strap-ons over distorted Casio. "Marshmallow" is a slow, sweaty analog grind. Is Toof heavy metal, or is this electronica? I can't decide.

Whenever the Travis County court system is through with Toof, he'll find a happy following in fans of the electroclash revival, the kids who follow bands like Matik and The Klaxons to giant warehouse parties in Europe. (Annie Lin // 04/17/07)

Unsane are a very simple band: the NYC threesome have spent their entire career perfecting the heavily syncopated and quite catchy midtempo hardcore that they developed in the late '80s alongside Helmet and Rapeman. Unsane's devotion to the ideal of elegant, uncomplicated violence is clearly evident on Visqueen, which delivers several badass tracks, like opener "Against the Grain," follow-up "Last Man Standing," base-loader "This Stops at the River," or, god, cleanup hitter "Only Pain" -- it's a killer, isn't it? These songs rock; there's no better way to put it.

But Unsane is all rhythm; they've got no talent for leads, except as a sort of bonus rhythm, and even Chris Spencer's vocals are percussive. It's telling that Visqueen's weakest moments are the eight one-measure breaks given in "No One" to drummer Vinny Signorelli, a worthy rhythm player but an unimaginative soloist. To condemn the album solely for a lack of melody, though, is to beg the question of whether hardcore even needs melody. It's just as likely that it doesn't. After all, James Brown's famous funk formula was that every instrument should sound like drums, even the vocals, and, hardcore being arguably the funkiest kind of loud rock, it's difficult to pin down the reason why that philosophy doesn't work as well for Unsane. Perhaps it's merely that none of them had the good fortune to be born James Brown. (Daniel Joseph Mee // 04/12/07)