Oxford Collapse has got to be one of the happiest bands out there. Everything about the band is upbeat -- from the happy vocals to the not-too-agressive guitar to the groovy drums. Even when the singer is shouting and the drums are pummeling, the band still doesn't sound intense. The band sums up their M.O. in the last song, which is called "I Hate Nobody."

On Bits, the band's fourth album, they've tightened up the songwriting. Gone are the extended experimental songs, and in their place is an album of standard pop-length songs. They can still write big indie-style anthems, though, coming across like My Bloody Valentine or a more pop-oriented Pavement a lot of the time.

Bits has some good songs. The best is "The Birthday Wars," a simple and efficient song with the dense feel and groovy drums of My Bloody Valentine and short harmonies at the end of the verses that kick the song up a notch. Another great soft-to-loud anthem is "Young Love Delivers," which provides a digest of young male life: "My love came back from Sweden / Brought me some bathroom reading." And the harmonies make the song even more amusing. "Electric Arc," which opens the album, is a cool, fast anthem with a nice guitar riff that complements the vocal. The one annoyance is that the production masks the sound of the album -- if the sound was a little grittier, the songs would sound more distinct from one another. As it is, some of the songs start to blend into one another.

The guys in Oxford Collapse should have a solid career before them. They have their own sound -- it's reminiscent of a lot of '80s and '90s college rock, but not like anyone in particular. Apparently they put more effort into the songcraft for this album, and it shows. Bits is a solid album with some really exciting songs. They should be proud. (Henry Mayer // 12/02/08)

After roughly five years of playing and performing together, Austin-based band Second Day Red has released a new bevy of engaging songs under the album heading Gallery of Strangers. Fronted by singer/songwriter Stephen Clarke, this five-piece group interacts marvelously with one another to unleash some very inviting and appealing material throughout. Brimming with acoustic guitar-based structuring and moderate-tempo rhythms, the additional backing of Drew Shafer on violin, Todd Wilson on keyboards, Roel Martinez on bass, and Frank Favacho on drums combines to deliver an extremely full, rich sound that immediately captivates listeners and masterfully compliments the sweeping dynamics created by Clarke's primary, chord-strummed laydowns.

Somewhat reminiscent of groups like the Dave Matthews Band or U2, Second Day Red invokes a solid alt-rock basis, upon which they build a variety of numbers dressed-up with creatively-injected runs and inter-marriages of keys and violin. The end result is a wonderful mixture of ear-catching melodies with emotionally-charged harmonies. Driven by the consistently-tight attacks of a pervasive bottom end and percussive treatment, the entire overall effect is further underscored by the gliding, yet sometimes syncopated, overtones of Clarke's stylish lead vocals.

As a singer, Clarke also possesses the unusual ability to jump back and forth between lows and falsettos like a Texas jackrabbit, sliding smoothly between straight-open and breathy releases. All this he accomplishes not only effortlessly, but also quite pleasingly. In fact, it would have to be these falsetto spikes that will probably best earmark the band's set-apart sound for future reference. Add to these features the smart and meaningful lyrics attached to most songs, and you have a pretty cool combination...one definitely deserving of a major listen.

My personal dubs from the album are "Something To Breathe," one of those bookin' kind of acoustic-driven beat-back tunes that makes you just want to put the car on cruise control and truck on down the highway, and "I've Been Out," a fantastic market-targeted song that wraps freely moving vocals and harmonies around prevailing guitar riffs and violin backing. "Phoenix Tonight," my personal favorite, paints lyrical traveling-destination metaphors against a sonic canvas of impassioned singing and steadily-moving instrumental interactions. "It's Up To You," another simple, yet earnest cut that begs for foot tapping, excellently plays off of a held-out, eight-beat chord change progression that gradually slides right into a relaxed, naturally-resolving chorus, all the while lyrically nudging the need for an initiated response; solicited, but not as yet received.

At a recent and somewhat rare outing in the Houston area, the band opened for Joe Bonamassa and gave locals a taste of their onstage presence. Frankly, it didn't take long to realize that they had something really special. They're all very talented musicians, sure, but they also know how to work a room, and they impressed a lot of people that night with the way they played directly into the audience with attention-grabbing forthrightness.

Churning out cut-after-cut from Gallery, they displayed a real proximity and empathy with listeners, almost a communal type of rapport that exults confidently from being on the same wavelength with the common interests of an audience, artistically inspiring differing emotive responses from each of the various styles and strains unveiled in successive songs. To put a fine point on it, Second Day Red is even more captivating in live performance than what comes across on their studio work...and that's actually saying a fair bit, mind you.

So, if you like mid-tempo alternative rock sans any hint of shocking sonic belts or layers of distortion, and your taste in music runs more in line with melodious, rhythmically acoustic-driven content that leans a tad more toward adult contemporary than harder fare, and you enjoy keyboards and violin as additive rather than mainstay elements, then you would do well to give Second Day Red a little test drive in the near future. If you're ever in Austin, you can catch them pretty regularly at Momo's, but you best hurry. I have a sneaking suspicion that a bigger spotlight just might be heading their way soon. (Bill Reed // 12/02/08)

It may sound crazy, but when I listen to power-pop/punk crew Something Fierce's new full-length, There Are No Answers, I feel like I'm getting a peek at the heart & soul of guitarist/singer Steven Garcia; everything's laid bare, raw and bleeding and heartfelt. And while it may make me a creepy-ass voyeur to admit it, it's great. There's no fake punk-rock posing here, that's for damn sure. Garcia and his cohorts bassist/singer Niki Sevven and drummer Andrew "Red Rocket" Keith pound away at their guitars and yell themselves (tunefully) hoarse not because it's cool or they want to make some cash, but because it's the way they know how to comprehend the world and make themselves heard.

So, in that sense, There Are No Answers lives up to its name. It's like a series of glimpses into the workings of Garcia's brain/heart, exposing all the doubts, uncertainties, questions, beliefs, the whole ball of wax. And in the end, no, there aren't any real concrete answers; there never are. That's the big trick of Life -- if somebody ever tells you they know the answers, they're probably trying to sell you something. This album's all the stuff we, all of us (me included), think and worry about all the freakin' time but never say, and it's all camouflaged in some of the coolest '70s UK power-pop-influenced punk rock you're likely to hear in this decade. Think Buzzcocks, think Stiff Little Fingers, think The Adverts, think Wreckless Eric, and then throw in some Ramones for good measure, and you'll have a pretty good idea of what these kids sound like.

The camouflage works brilliantly; take "Aliens" for an example. It's an odd, touching, self-deprecating sort of love song coated in a shell of fuzzy, thick-sounding guitar buzz and thumping rhythms, with a melodic guitar calling from behind the wall of distortion like a trumpet off in the distance, and it's all about declaring solidarity with a kindred "alien" soul. Companion song "Pretty Face" is similar, a morning-after musing on loving somebody with that same lonesome guitar calling out but with more laid-back, almost Bowie-ish vocals that come off as coolly detached and tender at the same time.

The band's conflicted, too, or at least Garcia is. On the one hand, there's the in-your-face, flag-waving challenge of "Hey Houston," where Something Fierce throws down the glove to the H-town scene to quit screwing around and engaging in petty bullshit and get serious about playing, recording, and being proud of the place, but on the other, there's the more personal "I Can't Tell," which is a resigned-sounding cry of discontent with the current state of life in this city. And weirdly, I totally, completely get that.

Despite the above, I have to admit that my personal favorite track is a song that's not all that introspective or philosophical. I've raved about "Teenage Ruins" before, I know, but fuck it, I'm gonna do it again: Best. Punk. Anthem. Ever. Raw and fiery, a big middle finger right in the face of the too-cool, too-hip poseurs, this song is everything I like about music in Houston distilled into just under four minutes of freight-train punk rawk. It's literally my H-town anthem; these days when I feel the need to demonstrate how fucking incredible bands in this city really are, "Teenage Ruins" is the song I whip out.

I should warn, by the way, that if you're a fan of the band, some of the song titles are going to look pretty familiar. "Teenage Ruins" and "On Your Own" (one of my fave "sleeper" SF tracks, I should note) were both on the Something Fierce/The Hangouts split-7" released a while back, "Aliens" and "Pretty Face" appeared previously under Garcia's Les Veines side project moniker, and "Hey Houston," "Why Can't I," and "Modern Girl" were all given away for free on the HoustonPunk.com site when it looked like the Modern Girl 7" wasn't going to ever see the light of day. (Thankfully, it now has, and the band's throwing in copies of the delayed vinyl release when you buy the Answers CD.)

Even knowing that I'd heard a large number of the songs on Answers, though, it doesn't feel like a quick-and-dirty collection of outtakes. The songs fit like this was the way they were meant to go, including the Les Veines tracks. Second-to-last song "Where You Goin Man" pulls things together even more, anthemic and wide-open, a Clash-esque story of reconnection with a long-gone friend who'd gone off the rails: "Did you kick the drugs? Did you make amends?" This time it's Garcia looking at somebody else from the outside, wondering what the hell went wrong and how they made it through. From either angle, There Are No Answers wins.

[Something Fierce is playing its CD release show 12/19/08 at Walter's on Washington, with Teenage Kicks.] (Jeremy Hart // 12/19/08)

Was it around 2003 when there was an explosion of bands reviving the '70s bluesy garage-pop thing? Well, the Starlite Desperation has that sound down to a T, and if they had released Take It Personally five years ago, they would have been at the forefront of that movement. Today, though, they just sound late, part of the remaining traces of a limp musical pulse that probably shouldn't have flourished as long as it did.

It's pretty difficult to get past the album's utter genericness. ÊThe obvious dirty riffs and handclaps on "Spirit Army" would have made the song a perfect substitute for the horribly overplayed Jet song on that iPod commercial with the spastic silhouette, and you'll swear you've heard the main hook to "My Favorite Place" before because slightly modified versions of it can be found just about anywhere.

The Starlite Desperation does find some redemption, however, in their creepier-sounding songs. The macabre punk-plucking of "My Violin" is intriguingly sinister, and "I Lost my Bees part 2" has sort of a dizzying effect, a perfect soundtrack to someone's downward spiral. The chaotic closer "Don't Wait Till After You Die" blends together sprawling, abrasive guitar and flat-out danceable bass lines into something genuinely admirable. ÊThough Take It Personally's high points aren't enough to enthusiastically recommend the album, the glimpses of substance should at least keep the band on people's radar. (Marianne Do // 12/19/08)

Tiger! Shit! Tiger! Tiger! moves fast. The Italian post-punk trio has been together for just over a year and already has an album to show for it. Be Yr Own Shit is their unimpressive debut, sounding like a senior thesis project at The Rapture School of Music. Whiny, abrasive yelping? Check. Discordant rhythm guitar? Check. Funky disco beat? Check plus. And on that note, I don't know whether or not the ironically-titled track "Insert Disco Beat Here" is supposed to be a playful acknowledgment of their own formulaic style, but it doesn't make the music any less banal.

Fine, credit where credit's due: T!S!T!T! keeps their beats consistently tight, and if you're in the mood for something loud and danceable, almost everything on the album fits the bill. Where the songs deviate, the results can be surprisingly pleasant. "Last Gang in Town" captures a kind of dreamy-sounding discordance, as does the attempt at something pretty-ish on "The Architects of Despair."

While there's nothing terrible about most of the songs that populate the album, the style has simply been overdone to death, and done much better at that. Unfortunately, Be Yr Own Shit is mostly noisy for the sake of noisy, and T!S!T!T! makes little effort to cover that up. (Marianne Do // 12/02/08)

Very rarely do you run a cross an album title that perfectly sums up your feelings about the music. The latest from Trapt, Only Through The Pain, though, fits the bill. The only way I was able to finish this review was to persevere though the pain. And let me tell you, there was lots and lots of pain involved in this process.

Pain is the band's third album and follows in the post-grunge, alt-rock, pop-metal vein of their previous releases. If that Wikipedia-inspired description doesn't help, the band plays a bunch of "sensitive/sad bastard" pop songs. The album consists of 11 songs, with all but one sounding exactly the same. Trapt follows a formula that seems to have been created in a boardroom.

The repetitive lyrical content is singer Chris Brown lamenting that he is sad because his lady is gone or dead or something. Every songs seem geared towards 12-year-olds who are trying to show how sensitive they are. The rhyming pattern in the "Wastleand" is so laughable you'd think the band wrote it in junior high. Generic guitar riffs accompany the words in a way that lulls you into a deep sleep, only to be woken by Brown's off-key singing.

As the album progresses, the numbers on the CD player slowly tick by in much the same way that the days on a calendar do for a prisoner. Then out of nowhere comes "Cover Up," the proverbial needle in the crappy haystack. The song breaks from its ball-less predecessors and shows some anger. Instead off crying over some girl, again, she is getting called out for being two-faced. Wait, is that the lone guitar solo on the album I hear? Yes, it is, and you wonder why they didn't do more. Sadly, the song seems to be the lone exception to the rule.

There was a period of time that the sensitive man was in vogue. If that guy was ever trapped in an iceberg and needed to be slowly eased back into modern society, then Trapt's collection of whiny, crybaby, pussy songs would make him feel right at home. (Scott Whitt // 12/02/08)

This one was somewhat of a surprise. Based on Austin band Ume's past releases and live show, I went into their new self-titled EP fully expecting to be knocked out of my chair by the sheer sonic force coming out of the speakers. They have a well-deserved reputation of being a heavy-ass band, the kind that rattles your fillings loose live and leaves you with your mouth wide open.

With Ume, though, their first release since 2005's Urgent Sea, the band appears to be more interested in introspection than in shredding the paint. The title of closing track "Pendulum" says it all, really -- the songs here tick back and forth, hypnotic and trance-inducing in a clockwatching type of way, particular on the aforementioned track, the beautiful "Sunshower," and "The Means," which incorporates a more sinister feel. Where Urgent Sea was a raw howl of frustration and pent-up rage, Ume is a measured, restrained meditation, the band standing and swaying while the instruments keep time and pull them (and you) down into the rabbit hole.

The tiger's not completely locked in its cage, of course. "East of Hercules" is a nicely brooding, straightforward rock track -- more straightforward than I'd expected it would be, actually -- with reverb-y guitars and thumping drums cradling singer/bassist Lauren Larson's half-sensual croon/roar. The song comes off like a sleepy-eyed Distillers, maybe, or one of Courtney Love's better, more focused, understated songs.

Then there's "The Conductor," which also mines some Courtney Love/Brody Dalle influence in its delivery but manages to be both more fiery and more melodic. It's the highlight of the EP, no question, not to mention one of the best female-voiced rock tracks I've heard since Veruca Salt's Eight Arms to Hold You. While Ume may be a new direction for the band, it doesn't feel so much like a random detour as a secret, beautifully transcendent side road that gets you to the same eventual destination.

[Ume is playing 12/19/08 at Rudyard's, with Linus Pauling Quartet & Red Leaves; free show!] (Jeremy Hart // 12/19/08)

Listening to XX Teens' debut album, Welcome to Goon Island, it's quite obvious that they're British. This five-man band of London college friends have crafted a collection of songs so delectable that you want to call your travel agent and book a trip to Goon Island yourself. The soirée kicks off with "The Way We Were," a song that will satisfy your inner Christopher Walken with its abundance of cowbell.

Bovine-inspired musical instruments aside, what makes this a good album is the band's willingness to do what they want. The songs change course more times than Oprah's weight loss. They channel Iggy Pop on "My Favorite Hat," and "Darlin" combines steel drums with big horns and James Brown's "Funky Drummer." The odd duck in this menagerie is "Sun Comes Up," a sitar-laden trip fest that feels more suited for a rave.

One peculiar aspect to Goon Island is that there are no choruses. The band has been able to circumvent the traditional song structure while still rockin' out. One other aspect that needs to be given credit is producer/engineer Ross Orton, who lets the band's frenetic sound come to life. He is also credited with the off-kilter drumming that punctuates each song. (Scott Whitt // 12/19/08)