I recently caught Jennifer Gentle live at the Proletariat. They sound nothing like their albums, and this is maybe a good thing. Radiohead does this, as well, with arrangements for live shows that differ substantially from their recorded music. Frankly, I was blown away by the difference: I had been listening to The Midnight Room quite a bit, not so much because I had fallen in love with it, but really just trying to figure out what the hell it was.

The spiritual and songwriting core of Jennifer Gentle is Marco Fasolo, a hermit isolated in an abandoned schoolhouse in northern Italy, giving birth to a sound and songwriting sensibility that is nothing like you have probably heard. The Midnight Room sounds like, well, Munchkin music. Guitars play melody-following single-note riffs to reinforce the reverb-soaked pinched-nose vocals, jazzy drums follow along with echo-y, light fills, and myriad other instruments swoop in and out to create a dreamy lushness that is equal parts screwy and hypnotic. From the kazoo intro of "Mercury Blood" that devolves into almost '60s psychedelica (complete with meandering guitar noodles) to the atonal backyard percussion of "Granny's House" to the frightening march of "Telephone Ringing," Jennifer Gentle has managed to create a wholly unique sound that is both interesting and, frankly, a bit unnerving.

For all its strangeness, however, the songs are surprisingly listenable, feeling more like the soundtrack to a middle-of-the-night wacked-out late-'70s sci-fi television program (how about those hyphens?) you might find on the BBC than songs with any modern pop sensibility. Fasolo reveals more in his music with each listen, and the album continues to satisfy long after the shock wears off. Highly recommended. (Andrew Perkins // 10/18/07)

With a name that sounds like they should be either a ska band or a messy/chaotic noise band, on A Lesson in the Abuse of Information Technology Scranton's Menzingers instead manage to craft a decent little chunk of bright Bay Area-style pop-punk. The songs (and guitarist/singer Tom May's vocals) bring to mind Green Day back in their pre-MTV days, with a bit of a Rancid resemblance in the way band members May, drummer Joe Godino, guitarist/vocalist Greg Barnett, and bassist Eric Keen effortlessly incorporate their ska-punk roots (three out of the four used to play in a ska-punk outfit called Bob and the Sagets) into the pop-punk whole.

What with the crunchy-but-not-abrasive guitars, gang vocals, and yell-along choruses, Lesson makes me think of a ton of those old Lookout! bands, but the Menzingers here prove themselves to be smarter and more broad-minded than some of their predecessors, forgoing empty sloganeering for some interesting song-stories about family and war ("Sir Yes Sir," the WWII-themed "Cold Weather Gear" and "Clap Hands Two Guns") and odd neo-Luddite meditations on modern society ("No Ticket," "Even for an Eggshell"). They're surprisingly literate, writing one song based on an Edwin Arlington Robinson poem ("Richard Coury") and in another somehow tying Hamlet to our consumerism-obsessed culture ("Even for an Eggshell"), and hell, I can't hate a band that's brave enough to cover a Clash song ("Straight To Hell") and do it both reverently and well.

Be warned that the album's a soft sell -- a week or so after my first listen, I was totally blanking on what it sounded like. The second time through, though, I'd catch a stellar melody or chorus ("Sir Yes Sir," "Ave Maria," "Keychain") and go, "oh, yeah, I remember now; I liked that bit the first time..." It may not break a whole lot of new ground or knock you flat on your back, but it'll seep in around the edges, even still. (Jeremy Hart // 10/18/07)

First off, I've got to give Houston garage-rockers The Monocles credit for knowing which the absolutely perfect song to start with. While all of the band's brand-new 7" is good, A-side "Out of Your Mind" is downright excellent, a door-kicking blast of streetwise rawk that owes equal amounts to Spirit of '69-era streetpunk and bands like The Sonics or Gas Huffer (with a little surf-rock as a chaser, to boot). I'm still a little hazy on the lyrics, even after repeated listens, but that stomping, heroic lead-in has been stuck in my brain for days, proving harder to dislodge than even some of the insanely catchy kid-music my daughter listens to.

On the flip, "Tonight" is slower and more delicate, sort of like a less-peppy Hives track, but it runs into the same problem I seem to have with the Hives themselves: when the band slows things down, the energy just gets sucked out of the song. I know, I know -- playing fast is no substitute for a good song. Sometimes, though, it sure helps. Luckily, the Monocles pick the pace up again with the sharp Rocket from the Crypt-isms of "Darken Your Door" (love the frantic part at the end with the grunting) and after my feet catch the tempo again, the world seems right as rain once more.

[The Monocles are playing 11/21/07 at Rudyard's, with Born Liars, Welfare Mothers, & Black Black Gold.] (Jeremy Hart // 10/18/07)

"Thank you, Coldplay."

"You're welcome, No Second Troy."

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this Snow Patrol?" (Marc Hirsh // 10/18/07)

For their second album, Qui were ballsy enough to ask David Yow to join the band. They must have been extremely excited when he agreed -- Yow's such a strong presence that it couldn't not change the band. Bandmates Paul Christensen and Matt Cronk may be afraid of being overshadowed by Yow, but on the other hand, their first album went pretty much unnoticed, so they shouldn't feel too bad. On this new album, Love's Miracle (great name, by the way), they have something much more powerful going.

You could see why Yow might decide to join them -- Qui presents different challenges for him from the Jesus Lizard. Their sound is more complex: some songs are busy and metrically tricky enough that he can't do his regular thing. Qui also uses lots of harmonies, which is definitely a new thing for Yow. The guitar parts range from pure power chords to more dissonant, hammering sounds, balanced by some twisted chromatic lines. So this would be an interesting situtation for someone like him.

"Gash" is probably the song here that works the best on its own terms; the big riffs are balanced with more open moments where Yow can rant and rave. The other songs that work ("Belt," "Freeze," and "Today, Gestation") have a structure that's more in the traditional punk vein -- it's very effective, but not very different. The rest have different kinds of structures and some interesting moments but aren't fully formed, and Yow doesn't quite find anything interesting to add.

Qui's style of music makes it difficult for vocalists -- the guitar and drum parts are so big and odd that they take center stage -- so it's interesting getting to see Yow here where he isn't the focal point. If he's happy with his reduced singing time, these guys could have something really different that's as good as his Jesus Lizard stuff.

[Qui is playing 10/19/07 at Walter's on Washington, with Dizzy Pilot, & Rustler.] (Henry Mayer // 10/13/07)

The album art for subHuman, the latest album from ex-Depeche Mode man Alan Wilder's Recoil "project" after a six-year hiatus, is about as ill-suited to the music as it could possibly be. I mean, what are listeners supposed to expect when they see the blank, sleek parts of fashion mannequins sticking out of some kind of sports car or draped across shiny, clean home interiors, but some kind of slickly-produced dancepop, right?

What they get, though, is a whole different ballgame. With this disc Wilder has grafted dark, foreboding electronic ambience onto gritty, murky swamp-blues, and the result is impressive. The songs are like Louisiana swamp-blues filtered through a sampler and spat out the other side to land at a muddy crossroads where the Devil waits to barter for souls. Raw, dirty guitars slide in and around and Massive Attack-ish beats skitter across, while Wilder's main compatriot in crime, Austin-by-way-of-the-Atchafalaya-Basin bluesman Joe Richardson (who also happens to play all the guitars, it seems) shouts and grumbles.

Richardson's big, earthy blues-shouter vocals fit perfectly with the gritty guitars and (mostly) understated electronic parts -- the album may be Wilder's, but Richardson's the star, his voice and playing lifts subHuman above mere soundtrack and turns it into a bona-fide soul-shaking experience (although I have to say that the resemblance at times to Ry Cooder's soundtrack work isn't a bad thing). It's no accident that the best tracks on here are the ones that feature the bluesman the most prominently. Take "Prey," the album's first track and the one that establishes the blueprint for most of the rest; those guitars skate across the swamp muck, dodging in and around deep, dark keyboard trickery while Richardson spins a bloody tale of voodoo and murder.

"The Killing Ground" takes things in a more country-blues direction, melancholy and methodical 'til about a third of the way through, when it cranks up and turns into an electro-blues stomper. Oh, and the song's about Jesus being crucified, so there's that to keep things cheery. "5000 Years," for its part, is a grim warning of a song, admonishing the listener to heed history when it comes to war, hate, and fanaticism. The crunching, stomping rhythms bring to mind Mr. Bungle, switching out the scatalogical bits for samples of right-wing demagoguery and drilling soldiers.

The gears slip a bit on the more delicate, less bluesy tracks, but even then it works most of the time. "Allelujah" trades Richardson's rough growl for Carla Trevaskis's almost wordless, Dead Can Dance-esque vocals (just about all she says is "Allelujah" over and over again for most of the song), gliding over stark, whispery guitars for some Mezzanine-style murkiness. "Intruders," on the other hand, also goes for Massive Attack territory but doesn't incorporate enough variation in the beats or enough lyrics to really pull the song through (and no, it doesn't help that the track's 11-and-a-half minutes long). "99 To Life" misses the mark, as well, getting noisier and more explicitly "rock" but sounding scattered and chaotic, like a should've-been-lost Hendrix outtake.

Thankfully, the album closes with "Backslider," which is the perfect soundtrack to a restless, heat lightning-cracked Southern night like this one; when the thunder rolls across the sky, I can almost hear the hellhounds baying. Richardson rumbles his way through a story of an addict who fights his demons but doesn't truly want to win before the song crumbles to a mournful -- but not truly repentant -- finish of harmonica over fading guitars and metallic beats. (Jeremy Hart // 10/02/07)

Shangoband is a reggae group from Washington, DC. You'd think that being in Washington would give them no end of inspiration for songs, but unfortunately, inspiration can only take you so far. There are a few inspired moments on the record, but overall, it's lacking. Shangoband contains 19 relatively short (by reggae standards, anyway) tracks -- there isn't much pure grooving on the record. But since both their groove and their songs are somewhat shaky, they're probably doing us a favor. The vocal quality also varies depending on the song -- mostly it's fine, but there's one guy who sounds like Roy Orbison who's particularly bad (the singer, not Roy Orbison).

Lyrics seem to be their prime failing. There are a few decent melodies, but their exhortations are mostly tedious, which is the last thing exhortations should be. "Eyes Are On The Window" tries to expand on the old proverb, but the lyrics are so banal that it makes the melody less interesting -- and the melody itself isn't particularly strong, certainly not strong enough to support such trite lyrics.

Another problem the band has is the keyboard effects or samples or whatever that they're using. These get really irritating at times -- "Ban-Ga-Rang" has a decent melody (aided by the fact that you don't know what the guy's singing about), but they use this sample or keyboard accent periodically that gets irritating really fast. If this were indie-rock, the cheesy tinny keyboard sounds and samples would be de rigueur, but here it just sounds cheap. When they do it to the weak songs, it's punishing. "Sine" is already weak, but it's hurt by the effects they add (and finished off by the singing).

Their reggae is weak but not very bad. So you wouldn't expect that it could get as bad as it does on "My Party," an odd attempt at a lite-R&B song. The Roy Orbison guy sings on this one, and it's embarrassing from start to end. The song is about the singer being turned on by a woman's dancing, but the way he sings makes him sound like he's looking at his watch, not the woman. The melody is boring, the arrangement is predictable, and the lyrics are irritating. If you're going to sing a song about having fun, the rule is you've got to sound like you're having fun yourself. They don't. So whatever party he's talking about, I'm staying home.

There are a few songs like "Day and Night" and "Jah is On Your Side," where they get the balance right, but there just aren't enough of them. Hopefully they'll get better, or at least fire that one guy. (Henry Mayer // 10/13/07)

Try as I might, I can't dislike these guys. I've gotten a little tired of this whole style lately, just because it seems like every other damn disc I pick up does this same kind of Jimmy Eat World-style emo-pop -- impassioned, sensitive-guy vocals, crystalline harmonies, and roaring rawk (but not too raw) guitars. And yeah, the operative word here is "pop," for sure; heck, "Alive" even milks the bassline from "Stand by Me," for crying out loud. The lyrics are sincere, the voices are sweet, the arrangements are impeccable -- at its heart, A Different Light is just a flat-out well-done pop album, all gorgeous melody and swooning guitars.

And trust me, I know how bad this stuff can be -- even the sweetest, prettiest emo-pop stuff out there can get cloying in a hurry, and listening to some of it when I'm in a bad mood can make me grumpy and antisocial enough to want to go out and steal candy from toddlers or something. With Sherwood, though, I get the opposite effect; when I first put the CD on I felt sick and tired and worn-out, secretly hoping to make myself feel a little better by tearing into some hapless band of wannabe emo kids who sound less like Sunny Day and more like Gin Blossoms (and yep, that fits), but dang it, listening to this album makes me happy.

Seriously, tracks like "Song in My Head," "Middle of the Night," or "The Only Song" make the sun outside the big glass windows seem brighter, the clouds seem less oppressive off in the distance. It makes me feel that teeniest bit, well, innocent again, like when I was a kid and didn't have to worry about mortgages and busted sewage lines and massacres and rapists. Which is funny, because beneath the Jimmy Eat World-isms I'd swear I can hear a whole heck of a lot of mid-'80s pop, bands like The Outfield (esp. on "Middle of the Night"), The Call, Glass Tiger, Big Country, or The Church. Beyond the pure pop melodies Sherwood shares with those bands, they also had a sense of wide-eyed wonder, back before the whole world got jaded and cynical and you could still sing a song about being in love without making it self-referential and ironic.

Come to think of it, that's really a shame. How sad and boring have we all gotten when we all snicker in unison at a well-written, poppy, heart-on-a-sleeve love song? Have we really become a nation of self-hating hipsters? Catch me on a more cynical day, and I'd probably swear we already were, just a nation of critics ready and willing to snipe at anybody we can (and don't worry, I get that I'm feeding The Beast by doing my little critic thing, too). Today, though, after spinning A Different Light for most of the afternoon, I don't really give a shit. I just want to get out of this building and out into sunlight, to slap the CD into the car stereo and head the heck on home with a grin on my face.

[Sherwood is playing 10/3/07 at Warehouse Live, with The Academy Is..., Sleeping with Giants, Armor for Sleep, & The Rocket Summer.] (Jeremy Hart // 10/02/07)

You can't compare Sleeping in the Aviary to anyone, really. You could try, but by the time you explain yourself, a new song has started, and SitA sounds like something else. Oh, This Old Thing? is primarily a punk rock album, given to us in short bursts of uneven tempos and spastic vocals. The band changes the format here and there, however, with the occasional slurred ballad.

The album stands on the fringe of brilliance at some points. At other points, it comes across as typical post-hardcore meddling. Part of Sleeping in the Aviary's brilliance lies in the shortness of said songs. If you don't like a song, simply wait a minute or two, and it's finished. The two longest songs last a staggering three minutes. The album races by at about half an hour, give or take a song. And there are thirteen tracks, so you do the algebra.

"Love Song" and "Sign My Cast" are nearly identical in their executions. Both are sing-along drunk songs with drawn-out vocals and slower tempos. "Pop Song" says, "On the floor in Tennessee / You married me / I can't hate you but I can hate myself / How did I change you and your mind? / You were bored in New Orleans / You married me / If I saw you 'd walk you home / How did I change you and your mind?" and that's it, that's the song. The lyrics to "Maureen" are as follows: "Maureen doesn't like me anymore," repeated until the 33-second song is finished. "Another Girl" and "Gloworm" are the best songs on Oh, This Old Thing? by far. Then there's the Nivrana-esque "Getting Thin," the best-written song with the most lyrics of all the songs.

Some may find Elliott Kozel's vocals a bit grating and I don't blame them. They shine in "Only Son" and "Lanugo," however. It seems like he's taking what bands like the Hives and Jet are trying to do, only he does it much better. Elliott and the band know how to draw from their influences without mimicking them. Sometimes they sound like Nirvana, sometimes like the Buzzcocks, sometimes like something else. And that something else is pretty interesting and sublime. (No, not the band Sublime, the adjective sublime.)

Sometimes it's bitter, sometimes it's smarmy, but at the end of the album, who really cares? Might as well listen to it again; you'll have the time, I'm sure. (Stephen Conley // 10/18/07)

This CD made me want to punch myself in the face. There's nothing in this little piece of plastic that remotely resembles anything new. I've heard this speak/yell aggro-punk stuff before in countless previous bands -- Hot Water Music, Jawbreaker, etc. Honestly, I started laughing when the second song came on. I mean, I don't want to be a dick or anything, but these guys should probably go get a degree or something and hang it up. Hasn't Ohio suffered enough?

Anyway, the pamphlet that came with the CD instructs you to give it to someone else if you didn't like it. So I gave it to this homeless guy in front of my apartment. When I came home later that day, I saw him punching himself in the face. Then his buddy punched him in the face just on principle. Then I punched both of them in the face and we all started laughing. Then I shaved off my eyebrows and loudly proclaimed, "There is no God!" Whoa -- where am I? (David Hanrahan // 10/13/07)

Verona Grove's new EP of songs included on the recently released full length The Story Thought Over is pretty typical of recent releases in the modern radio-ready rock genre: it sounds great, great engineer, great mix, mastering, the songs are comprehensively written, perfectly arranged, bright, emotive...but on the whole, it's predictable and formulaic. That said, it's no different than ninety-five percent of the modern rock out there, so you have to take it for what it is, a solid, safe, "state of the market" release by a band (and a label) clearly interested in them making it in the music business. Nothing wrong with that, but it does make for pretty light listening.

"Everything You Dreamed" starts the EP strongly, with a clear vocal priming the listener for the Jimmy Eat World/American Hi-Fi basher that follows. "No Words To Say" is a nice mid-tempo rocker, with the typical quiet-verse-loud-chorus structure save for a sappy breakdown in the middle. Not bad, though, other than the lyrics being a bit light in the trunk (a reoccurring issue, but again, standard for the genre). "Revolution" is the most surprising song of the bunch, not only because it's a relatively strong ballad, but because I found myself humming "6th Avenue Heartache" by the Wallflowers over the verse chord progression. It also sounds like some pretty serious auto-tuning in the chorus; if not, I commend Tony Anders and Charlie Wilhelm, credited with vocal duty. Pop in a gratuitous drum loop between song sections and a nice swirling echo effect on the guitars, and you've got a ready-made radio hit. "Goodbye Surrender" seems to stretch Verona Grove's formula the most, with a cool '80s retro keyboard riff intro into a solid rocker to finish everything off.

Since I mentioned American Hi-Fi, by the way, I should also note that Jason Sutter, late of that band and Smashmouth, played all the drums on the album. Interesting, as the drumming is probably the most noticeably strong part of the band's sound. Overall, little urgency, pretty generic, but right in line with the current competition.

[Verona Grove is playing 10/25/07 at Verizon Wireless Theater, with Plain White T's & Cute Is What We Aim For.] (Andrew Perkins // 10/18/07)