Just two words: "Loved it."

St. Louis-based Autovein's debut album, Bullets and Bruises, is the end result of a great many twists and turns of both bad record label timing and sheer fortitude in pushing forward to actually bring it about. Originally signed by Columbia Records in 2004, a restructuring at the recording giant in 2006 edged them out and eventually landed them, rather fortuitously, right in the lap of Denver-based Outlook Music, who finally got the first offering out of the can in early 2007. Ever since then, vocalist/guitarist Bryan Roach, bassist Zack Alexopulos, guitarist Chris Capaletti, and drummer Ben Miller have been racking up live shows supporting its release and have seen relative airwave successes from a couple of songs off the album. These tunes -- opening track "Bullet In An Angel" and mid-collection piece "Save Me" -- continue to be the forefront numbers spearheading this one-dozen-strong batch of largely Alternative Rock-sounding material.

As a whole, Bullets is a fantastic album. Autovein's strong suit, among many other qualities, is creative versatility within their choice of genre. There are a wide variety of musical influences readily apparent from close listening to the band's songs. Even though the lion's share of the cuts are moderate-to-hard examples of Alternative-based rock, there is hardly any song that doesn't also exhibit freely moving ranges that bring in some elements of progressive rock or even pop leanings. The dynamic extremes in this bundle are also quite notable. Not only are there louder and softer songs, but also a number of songs that punch-in volume-extremed passages within them. There're very few common denominators present that would ultimately characterize or classify the band concretely. For the most part, their overall style leans heavily toward the new millennium's melody-infused post-grunge attributes that now fuel a good many of the more mainstream alt-rock groups on the market today.

Another thing that I found fascinating about the set was its tendency toward resembling a "concept" album; haven't really seen much of that lately. Yes, there are "bullets" and "bruises" found throughout, in ever-referenced lyrical content pointing to topics surrounding the impassioned nature of a one-way-or-another wounded -- or wounding -- soul.

My personal dubs from the album are "Quitter" and "Useless." Both are set to rather unusual chorded-note flows, often with somewhat dischorded accenting, and along with their clever lyrics, they come off with some pretty hooky attraction. The latter track also stands out as an artistic odd-man-out in the set. Replace Roach's vocals with Ty Tabor and add acoustic strums in the milder portions, and this song would sound just like King's X, particularly the riff progression undergirding the whole thing. "Drowning" is also an excellent piece, combining some earlier post-grunge characteristics with almost punkishly repetitive, consistently pumping chord patterns. Another song worth noting for its sheer beauty is "Here With You." It's a very smooth, simple number, and a great break in the album's mostly hard-driven content, especially the way the group has combined some slow-dance features with slowly drawn-out legato vocal syncopation.

At this writing, Autovein is about halfway through the recording phase of a second album at Music Creek Studios, under the co-helm of good friend and producer James "Ziggy" Stull of Saucy Jack Recordings. Though they're presently being about as tight-lipped as a clam about the title, according to lead singer Bryan Roach the new material promises to be "a little less alternative and a little more anthemic." It'll be interesting to see just how far a field Autovein goes to intertwine its alt-based thematic structuring with neo-ballad building blocks. For now, I'm quite satisfied with the first prototype.

In the final analysis, if you like musical elements that weave their way around, periodically cherry-picking from styles like Nickelback, Nirvana, Bush, Green Day, or even the slightly breathy rasp utterances of Chris Cornell, then you'll probably like this album. (Bill Reed // 07/30/2008)

Cardinal Trait's latest release, You Already Know, signifies the next coming of Southern-based soft rock. With every track there's a show of talent, care, and an ability to cohesively carry a tune. With heard-before riffs and barely-there melodies, however, You Already Know falls leagues short in terms of originality. Throughout most of the tracks, the rock is soft, the melodies are underdeveloped, the rhythms are consistent, and the most emotion that can be conjured is simply one of agreeability. Overall, the album is a lethargic combination of simplified rock music and is for people who've ever wanted to hear what the love child of Matchbox Twenty, Ryan Cabrera, and 3 Doors Down would sound like. (Delia Ismail // 07/22/08)

Do you like bone-crushing double-kick bass drums? Do you like finger-blistering guitar solos? Then you're going to love Darkest Hour. They've just sewn up a new album, entitled Deliver Us, and this new addition to the band's catalogue does in fact deliver.

In 1995, this five-member death metal group originated in Washington, D.C., which explains why they're known for their anti-government/political messages. The blueprint for the band's sound is laid down right off the bat with lead-off track "Doomsayer (The Beginning Of The End)," which is tainted with lighting-speed solos, annihilating beats, and their over-the-top grunts/growls.

Ultimately, Darkest Hour has shown how ambitious they are about expanding their horizons since their last album, and I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot more from them in the near future.

[Darkest Hour is playing 7/17/08 at Warehouse Live, with At the Gates, Municipal Waste, Toxic Holocaust, & To Scale The Throne.] (Chris Reed // 07/11/2008)

I was listening to The Delta Block's A Sleeping Nation in the car when, in the middle of one of the songs, the CD started skipping. But I didn't realize it until maybe thirty seconds later, when I stared down at the display and noticed the track numbers going wonky. I left it skipping for a bit and listened to the clipped loop of noise, noting how eerily identical it sounded to a minute earlier, when the CD was playing fine. No wonder I didn't notice. Fast, abrasive, and indecipherable seem to be the common threads track by track.

When words are actually audible, it's clear they're attempting some sort of political commentary, but more often than not, the lyrics seem as elementary and ineffective ("Fuck you imperialists / Fuck me I'm a consumer whore" -- yawn). The overall impression, then, is a very one-dimensional politi-punk band who has settled for decent-at-best riffs and some weak jabs at the government. They'll have to do better than that if they want to get their message, whatever it is, across.

[The Delta Block is playing 8/1/08 at The White Swan.] (Marianne Do // 07/30/2008)

Flashback time, boys and girls: I'm a short, fat, four-eyed, thirteen-year-old kid who still listens to Nirvana and wears flannel. Life is good until some guys from Knoxville decide to light up a few cigarettes with twenty-dollar bills and play some inspired pop-rock about Ursa Major and having the feeling sucked out. It's the kind of music that the Beatles would have played if they had been influenced by Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. My adventures into power pop have begun. Five years and many bad CDs later, power pop's slipped to the back of my mind, but it seems I've come full circle with The Drawing Board's debut album, Clear to the Far Side of Way over Yonder.

The boys from Austin-via-L.A. seem to have gotten the formula right: a foundation of keyboards and efficient, to-the-point guitar riffs overlaying crisp vocal harmonies set to that familiar 4/4 time signature. It's really quite good. Clear to the Far Side of Way over Yonder starts with a spacey, 1950s sock-hop intro with "Clear to the Far Side" before officially starting it off "Something I Can't Have," a song that brought a huge smile to the face of this Superdrag fan. Lead singer Justin Tapp's finds the vocal sweet spot, mixing the right amount of edge without sounding forced and strained while making a few trips into falsetto-land and leaving before he comes off as whiny. The same can be said about "What about Me," which really could be a blueprint on how to write a great power-pop single. Songs like "It's a Lie," a slower acoustic rock song, and "Happy with You" keep you listening by slowing down the speed of the album.

My only complaint with the album is that some of their songs sound too much like someone else -- "Opposite of Home" is uncomfortably similar to Elliot Smith, while "Lose my Mind" reminds me too much of the Beatles. This might be an idiotic argument, like complaining my girlfriend looks too much like Jessica Alba, but you really feel that The Drawing Board could embrace the sound and progress it further or scrap it all together and create something new. Again, these are only minor complaints; when it's all said and done, this isn't just a great first full-length album, it's a great album. (Daniel Yuan // 07/22/08)

In a world where every punk rock fan can safely emote themselves into outer space by way of special effects and a synthesizer, Driver Side Impact reigns as kings of the world with their release The Very Air We Breathe. Although little vocal variety adorns each angst-ridden track, there are unique melodies, intricate riffs, and fantastic instrumental layers that are impossible to ignore. Overall, the production of this album exceeds musical boundaries and makes you want to cry, dance, or perhaps do both in a galaxy far far away. (Delia Ismail // 07/11/2008)

For me, after having been submerged in a whirlpool of repetitive lyrics and overdone production, Seattle-based musician Aaron English truly brings music to my ears. His latest release, The Marriage of the Sun and the Moon, successfully crosses musical genres with a result that is both explosive and intoxicating. Elbow-deep in a melodic pool of pop-rock, jazz and world beats, The Marriage of the Sun and the Moon effortlessly weaves around with catchy hooks and a passionate exuberance in every sung word. Each track, whether it be tinged with a Middle Eastern-sounding progression ("Like Smoke") or an achingly sweet, piano-laced love song ("Lovers In the Red Sky"), carries a truly deep, crisp and touching melody. With out a doubt, Aaron English's album is true to its name, optimistic without having to try, sad but not depressing, and mesmerizing yet with just enough variety to keep you wanting to hear more. (Delia Ismail // 07/30/2008)

Gallhammer is an all-girl black metal band from Tokyo patterned after Hellhammer and its psuedo-successor Celtic Frost. If that sentence alone does not make you at least check out their Myspace, then you have no backbone whatsoever. Ill Innocence is the girls' second full-length album, and lives up nicely to the legacy of their previous effort, Gloomy Lights.

Let's talk vocals, shall we? This album is written in a completely made-up dialect (which I call "Gallhammerian") that sounds like Japanese, English, and Klingon all at the same time. For those of you interested, the English translation is available for perusal with the CD. Composer, bassist, and lead vocalist Vivian Slaughter has the voice of a murdered nun, and that analogy fits quite well with the horrible things the CD insert tells me she's singing about. In fact, the whole musical approach is as distorted as a swarm of locusts, a Biblical plague in audio form carefully measured like an army march.

The album opens with "At the Onset of the Age of Despair," which lives up to its title. Serving as a wonderfully horrible prelude, it's a good choice of background music for suicide bombers and snuff-film makers. Still, it comes across as strangely melodic and indirectly complex and feels like an eight-minute version of World War II. The pace of the album picks up nicely with "Speed of Blood," and particularly with "Blind my Eyes," which features some absolutely awesome J-Pop backing vocals from drummer Risa Ripper. If gangrape had cheerleaders, "Blind my Eyes" would be the song they would set their state competition dance routine to.

Never at a loss for a change-up, "Delirium Daydream" is 1/3 pop ballad, 1/3 sludge metal, and 1/3 The Idiot by Iggy Pop. Gallhammer refuses to coast through the middle of the album and instead uses it to show the audience the band's more experimental side. And just when you thought it was safe, here comes the murder ballad "Ripper in the Gloom." Vivian, Risa, and guitarist Mika Penetrator hit a perfect dissonant rhythm in a bit of Jandek-style darkness for two-minutes before tossing it all aside in a sudden, frenzied speed metal race back to the status quo with "Killed by the Queen." Brief aside: the line "I was killed by a queen of killing" rivals Consortium of Genius's "Death to the Angel of Death" as the most metal line ever. End aside.

Ill Innocence is not crossover material. This is metal and nothing but, and occasionally that works against Gallhammer. "Song of Fall" is, as Pinhead put it, so exquisitely empty, and Vivian's bass sounds like a church bell at night until the zombies start clawing out of their graves. This is one of the few times when the sludge metal vocals work against them, however, as the two-line poem that makes up the lyrics is one of the most beautiful things I've ever read:

Fall in fall and dream in dream
I am in fear and eternal fall

It's funny how much an awkward translation can say, and it's a shame that Vivian tread her usual -- though awesome -- path and distorted a moment of pure poetry. Ironically, a softer vocal is used on the next track, "World to be Ashes," in between the hell screams.

The album ends on a more transcendental note, with the eight-and-a-half minute "SLOG" and the instrumental "Long Scary Dream." Both, though still unequivocally in the same dark and hopeless vein, do seem to promise some life among the ashes. "Long Scary Dream," in particular, is dominated by a long frightened moan in the mix, and the listener is ultimately drawn to the conclusion of a nightmare ended. Scarred by our inner demons, we are nonetheless alive. (Jef With One F // 07/03/08)

I have been sitting on this review for many months, really unable to get my head around Flesh and Spirits, the third album from The Gena Rowlands band, an ever-shifting project centered on singer and main songwriter Bob Massey. Not because there is anything inaccessible, difficult, or indifferent about the band (there isn't), but really trying to come up with a way to properly describe what is expressed on this album.

I don't think I have heard an album that sits at the crossroads of stream-of-consciousness and beat poetry quite like this one. The songs are constructed beautifully, with ample space for Massey's free, loungy singing style. "The joke I played on Washington" is especially strong, with a neat soaring chorus and flexi-verses, and "God And The Way Women Walk" is a wonderful love song, probably the most cohesive on the album. "These Windows on The World" and "Mercy" finish off the journey, "Windows" as a vocoder-based poem barely supported by light strings and pads, and "Mercy" a seeming lament on change and regret with a gospel-tinged refrain.

Every song is good, however, and the musicianship is especially top-notch. As difficult as it is to get a stable group to gel, the rotating roster of The Gena Rowlands Band is even more impressive; while I hear stylistic differences across the album, it is extremely cohesive, retaining a core sound while allowing each member to stretch within each song's elastic framework. (Andrew Perkins // 07/03/08)

First of all, there's really no need to read this review. Giant Princess isn't even selling this album; they're giving it away for free. You can download the whole thing with no jumping through hoops at the three links at the bottom of the review. Whether what I say about the recording entices you or repulses you, there is no excuse for not trying something freely given.

That being said, you might as well hear my thoughts while you wait for it to download. Giant Princess's self-titled debut recording is an exercise in all the wonderful things you can do with a bad recording of good songs, and I do mean a bad recording. The mix is a "mix" only in the loosest sense of the word, with the vocals all but unintelligible and the organ so far up front you might as well be sitting next to it. That's the total genius of the album. Just like the Pixies forced you to see through the haze of noise into the weird minds of Frank Black and Kim Deal, so are we pulled into the awesomely loose song style that makes up Giant Princess. When you pull the blues up to the red line and speed it up, this is what you get. It's an unstoppable journey of energy and insanity that makes me proud that we're both from Houston.

I do wish that some sort of lyric sheet was provided with the recording, because I have no idea what Collin Hedrick is saying. I can only assume that with titles like "zip zop wow" and "lifetime sexbrain" that it's either surrealistically genius or complete irrelevant. In fact, the complete lack of any information on how or why these songs exist only serves to further the belief that the album is being beamed in from some wonderful dimension where music didn't fall into decline.

More and more, I am becoming convinced that the world is actively hiding awesome music from the populace. Like slavemasters outlawing the teaching of reading and writing to slaves, the miasmic music industry is struggling at hundreds of thousands of kilowatts to convince us that 3 Doors Down and their ilk has anything at all relevant to say. Meanwhile, artists like Giant Princess have to scream themselves hoarse just to whisper the true evolution of rock and roll. They have to give away an album that twenty years ago you would have paid through the nose to own a special vinyl edition of.

Rough, amateur, and loud, I guarantee that Giant Princess is just what you need.

[Giant Princess is playing 7/15/08 at The Mink, with Sleepercar & Buxton.] (Jef With One F // 07/11/2008)

Hello Tokyo has achieved a small amount of fame for the single "Radio," produced by Wallflowers bassist Greg Richling. I personally think they should have taken the next baby step of an EP before trying a full-length album, though, because Sell the Stars is a trick, a sneak attack, and I can't decide if I hate them for it or not. It calls to mind Siouxsie and the Banshees' The Rapture not in style but in its shattered presentation.

Here's the skinny, puppies. The songs of Hello Tokyo have been featured on MTV's Real World and on Road Rules. Those are your warning signs right there. The entire approach to the first half of this album is desperately modern in the footsteps of Goldfrapp and No Doubt, though there is some real feeling in JohnE Cheeseburger's distinctly Spanish guitar. The entirety of the first half of the album, however, is depressingly radio and overproduced, though it does offer a subsistence helping of ethereal poetry. There's not so much a darkness as a duskness; a slope, not an edge. The whole approach, especially the title track, is hung on the hook of Kat Sugar Plum's voice, with most instrumental breaks failing to fill the space without her at all. And here to finish off the commercially perfect emptiness of the first act is your typical ballad "Hands to Hold." Why do they put the acoustic ballad in the middle of the album? It's as if they expect the listener to be so exhausted by the previous tracks that some kind of rest is essential. Well, sorry, but it's not.

Do you think I hate the album? I don't, and the reason why finally kicks in at track six. "The Affair" is the song that made me request this album for review in the first place and is really the reason you should buy it. I know now that if I had randomly selected any other track on Hello Tokyo's Myspace for perusal, I probably would have skipped reviewing it and gone on to another band, but here their approach is tried and true without being cliché. Effected-out verses and clean choruses and the same stuttering solos are still in the way of pure artistic orgasm, but in "The Affair" they're overshadowed by the unbelievably erotic pain of the lyrics and the image of bruised and bloody lips locked in an illicit kiss. The power and the passion help you climb up onto the equally palatable "Midnight Snack," which retains the kind of catty claws that only Artificial Joy Club used to be able to pull off.

The context set by "The Affair" utterly redefines what Hello Tokyo says in the first half of the album and completely turns it around. A never-miss set of homeruns takes Sell the Stars straight into the somewhat emotionally empty "Run to You" (here an actually necessary breath-catcher), which plays like a hastily-made resolution to not repeat the mistakes made in the previous two songs. A perfect trilogy of subtle beauties finish out what should have been a six-song EP.

In short, the first half of Sell the Stars is a bunch of commercial garbage for the modern MTV emo set, and it's barely worth the electricity used to power your stereo. The second half, starting at "The Affair," is a cycle of modern masterpieces that belong on any self-respecting disaffected person's CD shelf. It's a sexual soundtrack of crazy power. The differences between the two halves are as minute as they are unavoidable. I look forward to the evolution of Hello Tokyo's style. Clearly they have one finger on the pulse of America's musical wrist and one finger on the button supplying the painkillers that keep us from really seeing what's wrong with the world. I guess we'll see where they go from here. (Jef With One F // 07/11/2008)

I imagine living in Dallas would sort of be like living in an elevator. Nothing ever really happens there, everything seems to go by in a blur, and the entire city is a background. It's only fitting that a lot of the music made there sounds like nothing; or maybe it sounds like everything. One of those.

When I first listened to I Love Math's debut release, Getting To The Point Is Beside It, I was intrigued. Because some of the track titles are pretty interesting -- "Some Bridges are for Burning," "This is Something I Might Miss," "The Shape of the Sum" -- and that might make you want to listen, right? Well, I did. And from about the first minute of the second song ("Only Clowns are Scary"), I completely forgot there was even music playing. It was only upon a second listen, where I had to force myself to concentrate on what was going on, that I decided that this record needs work. It sounds very similar to early Mates of State (though there is no female lead) or, more presently, a male version of Au Revoir Simone or even Dallas' own Smile Smile.

The songs are pretty simple, and the lyrics -- see "I'm right on this, the world does not exist for you / If you're the center of the universe, then we're a mess" (on "Some Bridges are for Burning") or "Take this road, drive out of town / I can't focus now on what went down / Anger goes away" (from "Some People Get Away") -- seem a bit clichéd and overwrought for a group that has been receiving fairly stand-out reviews. That's not to say that the entire album is bad, or that it's entirely dull. There is some good to be taken away from it, and some hope that I Love Math has something in them that might make for a solid second release. "Volcanic Ash" is a fun, what seems like two-man production that sounds very similar to (another Dallas band) old-time Jackopierce, and "Josephine Street" is great, full of French overdubs and sounding like it could have come straight from the mouths of the Fruit Bats.

Getting To The Point Is Beside It is just okay; it's kind of there, kind of invisible. You probably won't remember you bought it unless you keep it on a constant loop in your stereo, but if you need something light that is good to read to, this CD would be perfect. (Brandon Hernsberger // 07/11/2008)

OK, now. Close your eyes really tight and try to imagine Alice Cooper performing periodically with keyboards. That's a pretty fair description of most of the material contained within the first self-released Jet Black Kiss album, Star Rock Lights. A functional nom de plume for musical artist Robert Liam of Los Angeles, Jet Black Kiss pours on the pseudonyms even further by referring to Liam on the album merely under the lone moniker of "Simon." Make no mistake about it, though: the whole thing boils down to just the one person who all-inclusively wrote, performed, and produced everything on this set from his personal studio in Southern California. Though Simon, as it were, is currently auditioning musicians to form a live stage act, this recorded collection represents his virtual take on what Jet Black Kiss will likely evolve into when it eventually takes on more literal, humanized elements.

The aforementioned comparison to Cooper and company might be a bit oversimplified, but not by too much. After hearing Simon sing throughout, I have to say that he's about the closest thing to a Vincent Furnier vocal deadringer that I've ever heard. Take away the lowest reaches of Alice's mumbled growls and add the periodic shrills of Mötley Crüe's Vince Neil, and you have a quasi-verbatim copy of Simon's vocal range and leanings.

By and large, the instrumental usage and musical arrangements fit pretty squarely within the hard rock-to-older-heavy-metal category. As far as rock styles are concerned, there's not really much new here. In fact, even though there are a few smatterings of progressive and post-punk properties sparingly doled out here and there, the lion's share of the tracks simply play on retroactive, well-established hard rock features developed over the last three decades or so. Star Rock Lights might have been a cutting edge candidate in the late '70s, but it's pretty standard fare today compared to the differing sub-genres and experimental content that are toyed around with in today's multi-directional music market. As such, the album is a good and pretty solid example of up-tempo, guitar-layered, fairly bombastic and rough-edged pieces, accompanied for the most part by gravelly-yet-melodious lead vocals.

Still, there are two definite areas where the songs depart markedly from traditional hard rock renderings. First, where the bottom and high ends are usually brought up in most mixes of this type, Simon has chosen to attenuate rather than accentuate these frequencies. The resulting sound is relatively flatter around the extremities; much less of the in-your-face, John Bonham drums or Doug Pinnick bass headbanging ambience one usually expects in such cases. If this was done by design, then as a byproduct it succeeds in enhancing the keyboard and other mids quite effectively. This observation segues into the second difference, where Simon creatively punches in keyboard synth-instrumentation to introduce a subtle symphonic fullness into the sonic landscape on several songs. Far less prominent in presence than bands like Evanescence or Styx, to be sure, the crafted effect of this slight nuance, along with the previously-stated mix qualities, comes off sounding either somewhat surreal or somewhat tinny, depending on your personal music taste and expectations. Now, don't get me wrong -- Jet Black Kiss is still going to get down and rock your socks off, just not to the overwhelmingly bass-pounding kickdrum degree of a lot of other bands in this same general category. If Simon isn't totally wedded to the idea of compressing all of the outer edges toward the middle, I would personally suggest that he make the bass heavier/hotter and highs just a tad crisper on his next recording project. It would give the recording a much more extreme, modern-sounding edge and feel to it, and any trade-offs might be well worth it.

A clear majority of the cuts on Star Rock Lights are just great rock songs, of the Alice Cooper, Mötley Crüe, Joan Jett-on-steroids ilk. My personal dubs from the collection are "She's An Alien," a dramatically-fused mixture of '70s heavy metal and glam rock influences, "A Road Called Psychosis," a synth-filled Cooper-esque rock anthem with dark lead guitar work, the monotonically-ranting title track, with its thoroughly punk-laden strains, repetitive and slightly dischording riff patterns, and pedal-to-the metal vocatives, and "The Secret Door," which invokes an on-the-beat vocal echo effect the likes of which I haven't heard since Brit-invasion experimentation. (Certainly more like The Blues Magoos or something here than Ozzy's "Crazy Train" FX or whatnot.)

Listeners who like their rock music hard and the vocals a bit on the gratingly-coarse-yet-melodic side will probably enjoy this album. Though currently available only via MP3 download, a CD version release is planned by mid-2008. All Alice Cooper fans really should check this stuff out. For now, just go to the appropriate site and click on that old download button. Uh-oh, please excuse me. I'm not playing the game right. I guess I should have prefaced all this by saying, "Simon says..." (Bill Reed // 07/03/08)

Paris, France's Jordan would be on Dischord Records if they were from D.C., but, being as it is, they're from France. It's always a surprise to get something this good that I did not order or know about to review. With their debut Back To The Gym, Kid!, Jordan kicks up some dust and with the right spark could easily be France's answer to At The Drive-In or Q And Not You. Produced in Montreal's Hotel 2 Tango by Howard Bilerman (Arcade Fire, Godspeed! You Black Emperor) and Brian Paulson (Beck, Slint, Mates of State, Superchunk), this E.P. is a really solid release from French label Motoneige Records. All six songs are standouts, and all I can really say that is wrong with the record is that it is too short. Hopefully we will hear more from these guys soon. (Rich Bailey // 07/03/08)

At this point, the only way that music can move forward is by becoming something other than what we think of as "music." While this may seem contradictory on the surface, it's a concept which has likely been seen (and heard) since man started making noise for purposes other than the purely utilitarian. Certainly, this concept has informed the major sonic milestones of what might be referred to as "popular music." Tchaikovsky's first piano concerto was roundly dismissed as being poorly composed and unplayable, so far did it push the limits of contemporary composition and performance; jazz threw the world of chamber music and cellos into an uproar with its smoky, sexy phrasing; jazz then went on to create its own micro-verse of tumult and tribulation, with each new movement prompting its progenitors to decry it as purposeless noise. Certainly, Rock & Roll can claim the honor of revolution, its first practitioners thought to be degenerates and dangerous to the general public. Since then, though, Rock & Roll has been the most consistent musical force in Western music, on the whole remaining relatively unchanged from those first brash chord changes.

Music these days seems to have reached critical mass and is just waiting to explode or, as is more likely the case, implode under the force of the vacuum it has become. Having apparently lost the rebellious and restless spirit that has driven musical innovation through the ages, bands are content to recast their golden idols, simply putting the same metal into slightly different molds. What results is easily confused with creativity, especially when you stumble across a band particularly skilled at this type of sonic metallurgy. Combining various and sundry signature elements from an admittedly large conglomerate of noteworthy artists, a talented practitioner can create alloys whose facets reflect a bit of everything in them, but none so much as to be brazen. What results is a piece of work which seems to shift to meet, if only slightly, the expectation and appreciation of just about anybody who hears it. It is passable.

The advantage of this is that nobody finds it truly objectionable, but this meager benefit is tempered by the fact that nobody finds it truly exhilarating. I long for the day to come when an entire generation of people gasps in collective horror at what their children are listening to, honestly and fervently believing it to be a force of corruption, mindless hedonism borne out in something only those willing to move forward will call "music." Until that day, the best we can hope for is a steady stream of middling non-efforts, palatable in their unwillingness to challenge, but never truly exciting. The emulsification of dissent.

Unfortunately for SoCal quasi-punkers Juhu Beach, their debut effort Scenes of Abandoned Industry is not revolution, but reiteration. Like most of the music coming out of the ever more dubiously titled "underground," these songs are fine. There's not really anything sonically displeasing among these four tracks and a "fuck you" snippet. Some of them are even interesting to listen to, albeit in a slightly innocuous fashion. I like the bands whose sounds they're fusing, namely early Modest Mouse, Pavement, and Built to Spill (the singer occasionally bears an eerie similarity to the ever-diffident Doug Martsch). I like the direction they're trying to take those influences, blending stop-start rhythms, sometimes screamy vocals, angular guitars, a contrarian sense of both melody and harmony, and a slight penchant for epic bombast that rides the ragged edge of tedium without falling over.

Clearly, these guys have talent, and I certainly don't mean to accuse them of complacency. Nobody sets out to create a mediocre record. I have no doubt that they're trying to think outside of the box. My recommendation: forget about the box; try thinking outside of something else, entirely. (Nick Hall // 07/03/08)

The Kindness Kind has an unusual sound. On their debut album, A Novel, they combine a sort of Strokes-style dance-pop with acoustic instruments, electronic loops, and classical instrumental lines. The group shows a lot of talent and potential, but unfortunately, they don't do that much with it.

The band's singer, Alessandra Rose, is both the band's secret weapon and Achilles heel. She brings a huge vocal style reminiscent of Karen O or Jana Hunter to the band, and that's something the band needs, but her singing is mostly flat. She sings in the same way for the entire album. Her voice is beautiful and powerful, and for a song or two, it works. Over the course of the whole album, though, she makes all the songs sound the same.

The songs are also not quite memorable. The best song here, "Quiet Words Are Quiet Words," is a pretty slow-burner but the rest, particularly the more energetic ones, are bland and unremarkable. The band itself comes up with some interesting ideas, like the rocking of "Climb in the Sun," the dissonant classical interlude in "Perfect," and the droning introduction to "Timeless," but all of this isn't enough to save the album.

For any band, having your own sound is valuable. And The Kindness Kind don't quite sound like anyone else. It's what you do with it, however, that counts, and at the important task -- songs -- they don't fare real well. Considering this is their first ablum, they've got time to work on that part. If they can start writing something more interesting, they might have something real here. Otherwise, they'll just be another pretty face. (Henry Mayer // 07/22/08)

From the Echo Park area of Los Angeles, Eric Layer brings us his self-produced cd, The Fall. There are ten tracks here, ranging in sound from The Mammas & The Papas to Layer's own complete inventions.

Right up front, it's important that listeners maintain a flower child, free-flow mentality in order to appreciate the psychedelic experimentation of this CD. The bottom line: it does not rock, so if you are looking for that, go elsewhere. That being said, the next thing you should know is that this disc will not stand up to a hi-fi bass setup, and the mids appear to be recorded too hot on some sound systems, although not all.

It should also be noted that there is beautiful guitar work here, and the vocals are light and delicate through most of the CD, with the unfortunate result that they're buried in the music. The song "Sheila" showcases Layer's voice best with the vocals further out in front of the music compared to other tracks.

Each song can be listened to time and again, with something new emerging every play; it's almost exhausting to try and encompass everything that is going on musically. "Karina" brings an interesting Indian influence to the table, and title track "The Fall" has a great '60s breezy sound that carries listeners along like water. I personally like "Stupid Dreams," which has the heaviest sound on the CD and the closest you get to being rocked; it has a nasty little gritty buildup with a tea kettle whistle and spacey guitar string sound effects throughout before dropping back and falling into a quiet lull for the rest of the song, which brings the album to an end -- sweet.

I do get the vague impression that this Eric Layer-written, performed, produced, mixed, and released album was made for...Eric Layer. And while you are metaphorically allowed in the car, without the aid of an alternative substance, you are not necessarily on the same trip. (Jamie Teague // 07/11/2008)

Did cartoon dog icon Droopy try to step back into the limelight via the British indie music scene? Where is E!'s True Hollywood Story on this momentous event? More importantly, how did a cartoon character manage to step into reality? Nope, false alarm -- it's just Little Name's debut album, How to Swim and Live. Liverpool's Lee Barker, aka Little Name, recently escaped eight years of panic-attack induced isolation with the help of his music. Sick of hearing the same old Britpop, Barker craved to create something better. It was his goal to have music with "greater themes, songs that said something about his life." Right...

How to Swim and Live features a mix of indie-pop, lounge music, and sad vocals that amuses me in ways that music shouldn't amuse people. "For the Attention Of" is really an inauspicious start, consisting of the dreadful sound of synthesized trumpets and nasally vocals overlaying electric guitars. Thankfully, Barker's voice opens up later on, allowing him to mutter unsympathetic lyrics about isolation and vulnerability or cheeky Morrissey-esque ripoffs. Songs like "Picked Out the Line" and "This Was Your Place of Birth" sound like the rejected lyrical scraps of Morrissey. Barker also does his best Morrissey impression in the miserable "Nobody Loves You," where Barker claims, "I always thought it was easier / to get away with murder / than to get through to you." Barker can't quite pull off Moz's ability to insult you while simultaneously making you love him, however. In fact, the more you listen to this CD, the less and less you like Barker.

It really feels as if Barker didn't know what he wanted to do here. So many of the songs lack a true introduction, none more obvious than "Tracy and I," which immediately makes you feel as if you've missed the first 15 seconds of the song. Even worse is the fact that everything sounds the same -- the same chord patterns and sometimes the same chord, as seen in "I Always See the Sun Rise" and "How to Swim and Live," two consecutive tracks that don't even transition into each other but share identical guitar parts and droning drum patterns. When you're not being attacked with monotony, you're being hit with the bland, synthesized sound of the fake orchestra. It just doesn't sound like he's trying. (Daniel Yuan // 07/11/2008)

I specifically requested Onebody by Los Doggies from the myriad CDs available for review under my cursor because they seemed, for lack of a better phrase, cuckoo for Coco Puffs. I have since amended my opinion. They are not insane, but they are certainly only minor acquaintances of normalcy.

A first listen through Onebody is going to bring on an inevitable comparison to great absurdist bands like The Presidents of the United States of America and They Might Be Giants. I believe, however, that the roots of Los Doggies grow in the soil of a jam-band orchard, in the shade of the giant Zappa Oaks, Grateful Dead Willows, and Electric Light Orchestra Pines. Essentially, they are standing on the forward slash of '60s pop/rock and using their vantage point to explore modern geek culture.

Case in point: "I Lost a Sai." Now, here we have a song that's only four lines long yet clocks in at well over six minutes. You have to go way back to 1990, when the first Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie was released to fully appreciate this track. After the turtles save April O'Neil in the first several minutes of the flick, we return to their sewer hideout, where Raphael laments that he lost a sai and thereby has revealed that ninjas inhabit New York City. The song takes his lines almost verbatim and lays them melodically over a Pink Floyd ambient dirge.

Based on that description, you might be tempted to write off Los Doggies as another vapid candy-band catering to the nerd demographic, but if you look just a little more closely at what's going on, you'll see that there's often something a little more. The last line of "I Lost a Sai" is "Master Splinter don't be upset / It's just the voices in your head." That line is not in the movie, and you have to wonder why they would include it if they were just trying to play Where's Waldo with the lyrics. It's the kind of sudden shift that turns a Weird Al record into The Wall, and Los Doggies pulls it off several times.

Though "I Lost a Sai" is very indicative of the kind of tracks you'll hear on Onebody -- and I think almost anyone would like the song -- it is also a measure of the album's flaws. It is extremely jam-heavy. Almost every track exceeds five minutes, and most of those minutes are filled with elaborate but somewhat repetitive instrumental breaks. Ultimately, it gives the album a fuzzy sense of focus, and the primarily comedic subject matter (a love song about the two Abobos from Double Dragon, for instance) doesn't help that. Sometimes the instrumental breaks are filled with lines unspoken, such as in "Tackleberry." Beating "I Lost a Sai" by a minute and with only one lyric ("Why did you have to die, Tackleberry?"), the fast-paced, Wagnerian song makes an action-revenge drama play in your head with a scientifically perfect progression of progressive guitar work. Mostly, though, the instrumental breaks serve as the elevator ride to the lingerie and lyric departments.

If you find yourself drawn to the madness of bands like Peelander-Z, the Billy Nayer Show, or the Consortium of Genius, you will like Los Doggies and Onebody. If you will settle for a jam with inside jokes, you'll like it, as well. I certainly did. (Jef With One F // 07/30/2008)

Timing plays a hand in every good thing, and bringing drummer Joe Shockley, and bassist John Tooker together with singer/guitarist Danny Ashe was no exception. Joe and John were in search of a lead singer when they happened across Danny, who already had a band called Marqui Adora. The men combined efforts with Ashe in 2004 to create a team with a serious talent for lyrics and layers.

Marqui Adora (mark-e uh-door-uh) hails from Miami's land of sun, yet maintains a chilled sound that would never equate with a tan line. The band's initial release, White Buildings is a tightly produced six-song offering that reveals a play-friendly dance and electronica landscape. These guys really know what they are doing in the studio, and the sound is not forced or over-manipulated. Ashe's melancholic indifference brings out the emotion of each song, and he knows exactly how to turn each word without the need to try too hard -- which is, by the way, one of the reasons White Buildings is so good.

The title track, where some of the bands' influences can be heard best, is a sweeping ballad reminiscent of U2 circa The Joshua Tree, with a bit of REM thrown in the mix. "Die in a Disco" will get stuck in your head for days, and "Empty," arguably the best track on the EP, was picked up by Nissan for its 2007 Sentra ad campaign. The band's influences range from Pink Floyd and Duran Duran to the Cure, yet Marqui Adora does not mimic, and as a result White Buildings is fresh and breathes with a life of its own.

With a wealth of veteran musical and technical knowledge -- and, of course, the addition of guitarist Howard Melnick -- Marqui Adora will be around for some time to come, and we definitely want more. (Jamie Teague // 07/22/08)

Joe Mathlete, I underestimated you. Yeah, I did, and it's damned embarrassing. How? Because I figured, stupidly, that any band that kinda-sorta made its name playing (admittedly entertaining) covers of people like My Bloody Valentine and sang songs about dehorned unicorns had to be pretty much a one-trick pony, not much worth paying attention to beyond the occasional chuckle (although yes, I do love the Marmaduke strips).

So, on the basis of absolutely zero evidence, I gave a too-busy shrug each time I had the opportunity to check out the spectacle that is The Mathletes. And like I said, it's damned embarrassing, not least of which because the brand-new-ish Mathletes' full-length, #$@% You and Your Cool, out on now-sadly-defunct Asaurus Records, is fucking brilliant. No lie -- one of the best damn pop albums I've heard in the last few years, and it gets released into the ether nearly dead right at the start, the last release of a dying label (it's apparently now only available at Sound Exchange or at shows), crafted by a shambling quasi-collective of Houston scenesters and musicians that ringmaster Joe Mathlete drags together as the need arises.

While Mathlete credits the album to The Mathletes, it's really a rotating all-star cast of Houston musicians, including all of Young Mammals (ex-The Dimes) and members of The Defenestration Unit, Lazy Horse, and Two Star Symphony, plus probably a few I've never heard of before. The full list of Mathletes past is as long as my arm and delves even deeper into the crazy-talented indie-pop side of Houston's music scene. (Hell, it even includes SCR contribs Justin Crane, Charlie Ebersbaker, & Anneli Chambliss.)

The "rotating cast" part of the thing makes perfect sense, really, if you look at it historically; call The Mathletes Houston's answer to the whole (overblown, but still shining at points) Elephant 6 thing. Except that the music also resembles The Dead Milkmen, The Flaming Lips, The Apples In Stereo, The Polyphonic Spree, Machine Go Boom, Casiotone For The Painfully Alone, The Mountain Goats, and TeenBeat heroes Eggs at various points. Although, um, about half of those "bands" are basically one genius-level songwriter doing his crazy, mind-blowing thing with random friends along for accompaniment. Kind of like The Mathletes. Whoa; I think I just accidentally furthered my point by trying to disprove it.

What I'm also trying to say, though, is that Cool hits a heck of a lot of indie-pop bases for me. Mathlete's (the guy, not the band) voice is high-pitched and delicate, but not twee or warbly, thank God, and it melds the best elements of Tim DeLaughter's smiling yelp, Jeff Mangum's nasal strangeness, and Wayne Coyne's fragile earnestness. And that latter bit, I think, is what makes Mathlete's songs so damn endearing -- he sounds so full-on serious about it, even when he's singing bitterly about being a unicorn without a horn who keeps getting mistaken for a horse ("Hornless Unicorn Anthem"), musing on the damage an asteroid hit could cause to our fair planet ("ASTEROID!!!"), or delivering a half-serious warning to not view High School as the best point of your life, after which it all goes downhill (it's not, and it shouldn't; "Will's Graduation Song").

My absolute favorite track here's got to be "Opening Number (Hollywood Version)," which sounds like it could be a piece from some very obscure (but awesome) nerd-rock musical -- all of a sudden, Joe Mathlete taking a temporary sabbatical up to Austin not too long ago to do quirky musical theater based on the music of Daniel Johnston (Speeding Motorcycle, staged this past spring at the Zach Scott Theater) makes a hell of a lot more sense. (Thankfully, he's back now, and Austin's loss is Houston's gain.) The jaunty horns, the Belle and Sebastian-esque vibe, the gentle, soft vocals; it all works together beautifully.

I don't mean to belittle the rest of the album, mind you, because there are incredible songs all over the place. "ASTEROID!!!," recorded live on KTRU, is appropriately noisy and raw, with the coolest drums imaginable (couresy of soon-to-be-gone Young Mammals drummer Iram Guerrero); squint a bit, and they like crazy, computer-produced drum & bass breakbeats. Opening track "Hornless Unicorn Anthem" comes off like driving Northern Soul at fist, a neo-psychedelic stomp complete with awesome organ, "That Stupid Grin On Your Face" manages to be simultaneously airy and fuzzy around the edges, with Mathlete's soft-as-felt vocals, gently insistent strings, and sublime marimbas (and it's about damn time marimbas became cool to incorporate into pop music again), and "Pinnochiobot Rock" is a roaring, anthemic song about robotic aspirations that Vampire Weekend would probably wish they'd come up with first, could they hear it.

Then there's album-ender "Clumsy Little Symphonies," which is Mathlete at his most (truthfully) autobiographical, a quiet, touching glimpse at the soul of a bedroom-pop maestro. On the one hand, Mathlete shrugs and stares at his feet, claiming that his "clumsy" songs aren't quite what he wants 'em to be, so he hides away in his room; on the other hand, though, he recognizes that it's what he does, declaring confidently that "I've done this since I was a kid / And I can keep it up 'til I'm a hundred and three," regardless of whether or not anybody's paying attention.

And in that, Joe and his crew represent one of the greatest things about music: you make it for yourself, first and foremost. Obviously, if you bother recording it and all that you do want it heard, sure, but to my mind the absolute best, most thrilling, most interesting music gets made by people who aren't entirely sure where it fits in or if people will really like it but feel compelled to do it anyway. Because it's all they know and all they need. Clumsy? No way; beautiful and sweet and quirky and wide-eyed, yeah, but #$@% You and Your Cool is as astonishly good as it is self-effacing.

[The Mathletes are playing 7/24/08 at Rudyard's, with The Misfires & Lazy Horse.] (Jeremy Hart // 07/22/08)