We have friends who just had a baby girl--little Ellen. She's barely a month old but has had her life permanently colored already. I didn't have that much to do with it; I simply let this disc slide out of the house and into theirs for a few weeks. And every night as little Ellen went to sleep, she got to hear angels. Every kid should be so lucky as to start a life with this sound in their head.

-Mark Teppo
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Joan of Arc

Take "Zelda" and its sequel "Pleasure Isn't Simple," which are in fact a single song capriciously divided in two tracks. I'm not one to rag on angular guitar lines that go nowhere, or drumrolls that amount to nothing, but I've little patience with them here, where they're simply meant to punctuate Tim Kinsella's mutterings. This two-titled monster trudges along with the firm conviction that hapless noodling plus Kinsella's Mighty Words amount to riveting music. "Another Brick at The Gap," "Outside" and "(You) [I] Can Not See (You) [Me] as (I) [You]" are just as flat. Trying hard to seem heartfelt, the band sounds unsure its playing is even worth the trouble.

In fact, the album is so uninteresting that you're likely to notice only the good songs at first blush. "Your Impersonation This Morning of Me Last Night" is a taut though soft-spoken number that never quite resolves. Its conviction and energy alone would make this the album's standout, but for once the band's Pro Tools trickery pays off. The song trails off in a stirring wash of processed drums and Kinsella's voice on high reverb.

The epic "As Black Pants Make Cat Hairs Appear" and the rather plaintive "Knife Fights Again" are pleasant enough, though they seem to ramble on and on instead of developing. They deserve a kinder write-up, however, given the tricks the band pulls off. But I remain suspicious of having to listen very hard just to have something flattering to say. Should I really have to work twice as hard as the band? Don't think so.

-Edgar Ortega
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Living Daylights

One of the bands heading this revolution is Living Daylights--made up of Jessica Lurie on saxophone, Arnie Livingston on bass and Dale Fanning on drums--a trio whose pedigree is nearly impeccable. Lurie performs with the Billy Tipton Memorial Saxophone Quartet, and has worked with everyone from Booker T. Jones to Sleater-Kinney; Dale Fanning drummed for the Smithsonian Institute's Safarini in Transit: Music of African Immigrants and has received high marks from Modern Drummer; Arne Livingston's unique approach to the electric bass earned him a full-page feature from Bass Player recently. Together, these three create an eclectic and electric mix of sounds and inspirations that shimmer and groove with affection, immediately drawing the listener into its textured depths. Like Miles during his electric years, the spirit of jazz is there, but the way it's manifested and how the story is told is open to each player's individual interpretation; Living Daylights must be doing something right with their interpretation of the form as they boast a large and dedicated fanbase whose penchant for bootlegging has put numerous copies of their live shows in circulation. As well, here on their third release they are joined by Bill Frisell, whose contribution ups the ante and makes this album a delight--providing another reason to keep a watchful eye (and ear) on these three and the Seattle jazz scene.

-Craig Young
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Of the seven songs on Rock 'n' Roll Singer, Kozelek's first official solo album, four are covers. One is an unremarkable stroll through John Denver's "Around and Around," which he first did for the Take Me Home: A Tribute to John Denver album. The other three are Bon Scott-era AC/DC songs that Kozelek wrenches free from their hard rock structure to showcase a surprising emotional complexity. Kozelek exposes something beneath the surface bravado of the hard-rocking Aussies' "Bad Boy Boogie"; and when he wraps his tired, mournful pipes and folksy strum around "They said right and I said wrong / They said east and I said west / They said up and I said down," he seems outright perplexed by his own contrariness. It is no longer an ode to his badness, but an examination of his helplessness in the face of it. There are light touches of electric guitar on "Rock 'n' Roll Singer," another AC/DC cover, but overall this is primarily an acoustic album, devoid of the moody squalls of Neil Young-ish guitar that showed up on the last Red House Painters album, Songs for a Blue Guitar. In fact, one of the originals, "Find Me Ruben Olivares," wouldn't be out of place on a Townes Van Zandt record.

Throughout this CD, Kozelek's road-weary, wry voice propels the spare arrangements above crystalline plucks and trills of acoustic guitar; therefore it is fitting that the title Rock 'n' Roll Singer (while ironic) moves the emphasis away from the guitar, on the last album, to voice. On this effort, it is also significant that Kozelek avoids the mellow anguish that seemed to weigh in more and more heavily on each Painters project. Instead of heading further down Mark Eitzel Lane, he sounds almost breezy at times, as if his unshackled solo state suits him. Nevertheless, from someone who has penned such gorgeously pensive tunes as "Song for a Blue Guitar" and "Grace Cathedral Park" (from Red House Painters I, 1993), you'd expect something more. This CD, like the photograph that adorns its cover, is a sepia-toned mystery loaded with little thrills, but it's only a glimpse of possibility from a profoundly interesting singer/songwriter--who may be, by first hiding behind the Red House Painters moniker and then, as a "solo" artist, releasing a short album flooded with covers, trying to skirt that blasé "singer/songwriter" label.

-Erik Hage
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Mojave 3

This laid-back British group is something completely unique and idiosyncratic, however. They paint with the same light strokes as Scottish contemporaries Belle and Sebastian (another group constantly compared to Nick Drake), but whereas that group's delicate chamber pop possesses a distinctly UK quirkiness, Mojave 3 draw their myths from the flat dusty expanses of America. The formula is pretty much the same as their last album, 1998's Out of Tune--but then again, the band's emergence from early-'90s shoegazers Slowdive is enough of a transformation in the lifetime of any group of musicians. Nevertheless, there's a noticeable confidence that pushes this album slightly ahead of its predecessor. When the band finally breaks the spell of wistful sadness on track six, "Any Will Be Fine," the tune seems to lift off on euphoria, like a helium balloon. There's a few strums on the old acoustic, the absurdly simple sentiment "I love the sun and the highlights in your hair / They turn me on," then trumpets sail, Beach Boys-style harmonies swell and the track just takes off. Meanwhile, the electric banjo laced, rollicking sing-along "Return to Sender" sounds like Belle and Sebastian invited Wilco over for a campfire hootenanny. (I mean this in a good way.)

In fact, no matter how deep Mojave 3 dip into their well of sadness on Excuses for Travellers, it's all about coming out the other end feeling good. The woman in "My Life in Art" may have "left her home in a pickup truck" because of an abusive husband, but "the Kansas wind won't freeze her heart." The last track, "Got My Sunshine," (there are two bonus cuts after that on the U.S. release) makes it even simpler for you: "The sun came up today and it burned my blues away," a phrase so nice Neil sings it twice. If this is alt-country (that dreaded and nondescriptive term), then this is alt-country for the Prozac set. And, while Mojave 3 may have painted themselves into a corner with their formula, it's a nice little corner--and it's their own.

-Erik Hage
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Nickelback

-Steve Weatherholt
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Orphanage

Orphanage sound like a huge band and they are--six members with lots of guests. They combine gothic, industrial, symphonic metal and black metal with a strangely operatic quality. Orphanage blows me away. I'll sit nicely in the corner and eat my gruel if you let me listen one more time.

-Sabrina Haines
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I've been chewing down on bare electrical cables for months now in gleeful anticipation of the next ROHT release. During these last ten months while I've been lighting up my cerebral cortex with mouthfuls of household current, ROHT has been in the studio putting together a short album of new material. Not ones to shirk at objects that bite, they've been kind enough to send along a preview copy.

Here's a little history: I slagged their last album, mainly because I didn't get the joke with their press release. And it was a joke, an exercise in hyperbole that simply sailed right over my head. I have felt bad about that. I mean, it's not like I've never engaged in any willful exaggeration of my own. I was hoping that they would send me a copy of their new disc sans press release so that I could give a real honest listen without having my brain cluttered by those slick media-inspired words. I popped The Product of Indecision: Songs from Artistic Differences in the car one afternoon (to ensure that I couldn't get away from it) and prepared myself for the finger-gnawing, hot-wire-biting adventure.

It's not as bad as I expected. ROHT falls into that high-speed garage punk category. They've got a lot of energy and, apparently, a good sense of humor about themselves and about their music. I certainly won't take "Song for a Rock Critic" personally. It made me laugh and, by the end, I was singing along with the chorus. Which brings me to my one overwhelming criticism: the singing. Just off-key enough to be really grating. But that's part of the allure of garage punk. It's certainly not pretending to be opera.

I'm offering an upgrade on my impression of ROHT. They're the band playing in the waiting lounge outside of Hell. Judgement Day has come and gone. You're still a little surprised you've ended up down here and you're waiting to enter your endless torment of fire and perdition. The little sign over the door says, "Now serving 24." You've got number twenty-five. You've been waiting awhile already and you're starting to realize that you're going to be waiting a long time. The room is small. Barely large enough for you, a single chair, and the stacked speakers for the band. They've been playing full-throttle, nonstop, knobs-to-eleven since you arrived, and they show no sign of ever getting tired.

-Mark Teppo
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Soulfly

Primitive is the work of angry men and women from all over the globe. Darting back and forth between bone crushing metal and world music ambience, Soulfly and the guests come off as a WOMAD from hell. Their stunning live performance only enhances this as they tear things up live with more on stage than Slipknot. The thing that stands out here is diversity.

As far as metal goes these days it doesn't get much heavier than Soulfly. Just check out the list of guest vocalists from other bands that give Max a run for his money: Corey ("8") from Slipknot, Grady from Willhaven, Chino from the Deftones, the venerable Tom Araya from Slayer, and none other than Sean Lennon from his own bad self and Cibo Matto. Max holds his own, though, and shines bright as hell doing it. The opening sequence of "Back to the Primitive's" dissonant wall of guitars set against Max's growling "Back to the primitive, Fuck all your politics, We've got our life to live, The way we want to be" sets the stage for the rest of the record. Brutal and beautiful.

And I have to say that this record wouldn't have suffered a bit without the guests, but they do add an element to the record that is both fun and immensely entertaining. It supports the community feel and spirit that Soulfly strive for. Chino Moreno gives it up big time in "Pain." Corey ("8") comes off in rare form on "Jumpdafuckup" and will have all the Slipknot fans shitting their coveralls. Tom Araya just flat out fucks shit up in "Terrorist," and Sean Lennon shows why for a moment on the last Cibo Matto album there is a faint glitter of metal.

Soulfly pull out all the stops on Primitive and prove once and for all that they are here to stay. This new record has made me a new fan. Everything about it from the songs to the production are precision work. It's damn near flawless.

-Jeff Ashely
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Spineshank

Height of Callousness is quickly becoming one of my favorite albums this year. It is an amazing blend of melody, counterbalance, paranoia, chaos, and the scrutiny and breakdown of structure. All wrapped up in a package that will make your blood boil and your ears bleed. Once it sinks in and catches on (which is almost instantly), you'll think that you've caught yourself one of those cyber-viruses. Infected by nanobytes.

Spineshank take the formula of super-thick walls of metal (à la Slipknot) and run a Nine Inch Nails electronic pop filter to it. And it works like a charm...they come out sounding like neither, and all their own. The album begins by drop-kicking you with two raging tracks, "Asthmatic" and "Height of Callousness." Both songs kill for your attention. Then the melodic gets turned on with "Synthetic" and "New Disease." Don't take this the wrong way, but melody never sounded so fractured and jagged. This is were Spineshank really demonstrate their strengths as a band. Nu-metal infused with pure pop sensibilities earns this band a spot well ahead of the pile of peers they have. The album doesn't let up for a moment. "Cyanide 2600" with its completely psychotic techno vs. metal velocity will leave you short of breath. Just a prediction...this album is gonna make this band huge.

The way that Spineshank run between and seamlessly meld the two styles into such a cohesive album is helped out by an industrial strength team that includes GGGarth Richardson (Rage Against the Machine) on production and Scott Humphrey (Rob Zombie, Methods of Mayhem) on the mixer. What results is a nearly perfect album.

-Jeff Ashley
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Superheroes

Innocence, simplicity, truthfulness, puppy love--qualities that are sincerely pop--are found in seeing Juliana ("she lives here but it's way downtown"), hoping to be able to see her "just for a moment or two" ("Julianna"). Or getting excited about seeing someone you like at the beach on Sunday, only to have them tell you to leave, and that just making you want to hold them even more ("What's Going On"). Falling in love in a disco ("New Romantic Sound"), or even watching your loved one sleep in the middle of the night ("Calculating"). The average age of the band from the provincial town of Skive is 20 after all, not quite old enough to be a full-blown, jaded, screwed over and screwed up adult. In between, songs like "Miami," "Johnny and I," "Searching" and "Karate" add those other quintessential pop elements: pure energy, music to jump up and down to and at face value, songs to shut your brain off to and feel egotistically and narcissistically good to.

Instrumentally, Igloo is a testament to the sound that defines and ultimately is the Superheroes, a sound that is based on a healthy obsession of old analog equipment and the Human League's Dare album. Not by coincidence can the same synths listed on the sleeve of that album be found on Igloo's, and therefore not surprisingly is the harmonizing of singer Thomas Troelsen and Tanja Simonsen reminiscent of the League. And it is definitely not surprising that names such as Duran Duran, Depeche Mode and Kraftwerk come to mind since the Superheroes list all of these as influences. To further all this, the album--like its predecessor, Dancing Casanova--was recorded at the Swedish Tambourine Studio, a fully authentic 1970s studio consisting only of old analog equipment and a studio that has also seen the likes of The Cardigans and Saint Etienne.

Sure, the resemblance and obsession with '80s synth-pop is uncanny, but Igloo is still a piece of modern bubble gum "la la" pop brilliance. And its most redeeming trait is that Igloo captures those qualities of the human spirit that are timeless, universal and much needed in today's world: love, truth and the plain old basic need to feel incredibly good.

-Edna Gonzales
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Bill Horist
Songs from the Nerve Wheel
Unit Circle Rekkids

Links:
Szkieve
Bill Horist

Dimitri della Faille--the man behind Hushush records and Szkieve--finds a tone in the beginning of the second track of his disc, Des Germes de Quelque Chose, that is probably harmonically vibrating my liver so badly that I'm going to be dead before I finish this review. It's certainly making my center of balance all wobbly. (I have to admit that I have no idea what the latter half of that track sounds like. I tried three times. That's my limit.) The rest--oh shit! that tone is coming back in track three! and track four!--is definitely of the creeping death ambient variety. Interesting? Yes. Experimental? Definitely. Is the continued presence of that high-pitched tone bound to make me puke my guts across the room? Absolutely. Sometimes I'm just not physically cut out to walk the outer fringes.

Bill Horist heads for that tone in the first track of his second release, Songs from the Nerve Wheel, a collection of treated guitar landscapes. I'm diving for the remote and a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, but he's just teasing me--or I'm still in harmonic hell, stumbling around trying to find a door that never existed. Using items randomly lifted from the shelves at Home Depot, Bill inserts them in, around, and through his guitar as he crafts these delicately layered environments. Splintered chords and lost melodies cascade through echoing chambers of bleak wood and, elsewhere, radio waves sparkle and chirp over layers of slo-moan static. These aren't songs that you can wrap the active part of your brain around; these are songs meant to be slipped under your fingernails and allowed to work their way back to the nerve clusters in your elbows and at the base of your skull. Maybe that's what experimental is all about. Peeling back the dead layers of our tough, outer skins and touching our nerves--touching us where we can still feel--and watching how we respond.

-Mark Teppo
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Thievery Corporation

Their love of bossa nova, jazz, and dub has been extended to encompass forgotten film soundtracks and the summery sounds of Italian instrumental music of the late '60s. And space. Man, these songs have such huge spatial echoes booming through them. A great deal of what makes Thievery Corporation's blend of all these influences so damn delicious is that they just aren't in any hurry and each beat falls where it will in its own time. This is Zen downtempo: you take it at the pace it delivers itself and you don't rush it or yourself. You breathe in the space between the notes (where you will naturally if you just let yourself). You lament the ends of songs and find rapture in the opening melodies of the next. In short, you fall in love again and again. Ah, so many continents, so many influences, so much delight. All in the space of a sublime hour.

-Mark Teppo
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The Tremens

-Craig Young
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For the extreme metalhead this is a partial wet dream come true. The other part is having all the classic albums with all the great music. Earache has a good formula in place: Release bands that have excellent quality. They choose this over the quantity of the mass-produced, recorded and third-rate wonder-stuff that record labels call metal or new metal. Crap is a shorter name for them. These three CDs represent the "past, present and future of extreme music." Well, Earache has been on that blade edge for some time now and seem to know the sharpness of this path. Few labels can claim the number of extreme hits after extreme hits that Earache has poisoned our ears with. What you get here is 14 years of music that has changed--and continues to--the face of the edge of metal for years to come.

-Steve Weatherholt
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Xen Cuts Official Page

Too bad. The pinhole just became a gaping city block-sized mouth. Must have been a bomb. How big a bomb? Try three compact discs and 235 minutes of C4. What we have now is a crater big enough to swallow anyone within vicinity of the bass. Xen Cuts is two discs of new material, and a third of "missed, flipped and skipped" material that apparently accumulated after "xen" years of this business. If you haven't done the math yet, that's around 78 minutes per CD. Enough fresh rap and futurist sampling to blow you senseless and keep you busy for months.

Disc One: Much focus on the hip-hop here, with smacking rhymes from Dynamic Syncopation, T Love and the Quannum MCs. There's an infectious three-part (or is it four?) word tumble called "8pt Agenda" where The Herbaliser document their law and tradition in breathless fashion, and DJ Vadim's "Your Revolution" where we're endowed with the following: "Your revolution will not happen between these thighs / the real revolution ain't about booty size / the Versaces you buys / or the Lexus you drives [...] Your revolution will not be you killing me softly with Fugees / Your revolution ain't gonna knock me up without no ring and produce little future MCs / because that revolution will not happen between these thighs." (And that's probably the track that most effectively sums up the vibe of the entire compilation.)

Disc Two: A steaming three-gallon pot of trip-hop. Up, Bustle & Out swing the hips into motion early on their drum-infested "Los Lobos Cubanos (Snowboy's Batarumbaconga mix)". There's a point on Clifford Gilberto's "The 10th Victim" where Gilberto inverts the disco-wahp guitars and trumpet calls into a thumping vacuum that sucks you face first onto his greasy neon street...and you won't regret it for an instant. Here we find playful looped trumpets, bobbing bass, and the imagery of 007 driving the coast on his day off. Amon Tobin, present on all three discs, here supplies us with the pearl of his contributions, "Down & To the Left," where he gradually elaborates on a simple, catchy bassline and works his familiar magic to glorious results. Max & Harvey tone things down considerably by the end of the CD, where they minimize angelic murmurings and chamber strings just beneath a lovers' after-midnight beat.

Disc Three: There's no drop-off in quality here with the miscellaneous disc. Saul Williams' spiritual rap "Twice the First Time" calls to mind Southern cadence while supplying quality mouth percussion with 808 beats. Kid Koala contorts the trumpet into a moody creature that no one's ever met on "Drunk Trumpet." Hextatic take it upon themselves to reveal the virtues of Street Fighter II in a combative sample attack interestingly enough dubbed "Ninja Tune." Another powerful marching rap, this time by Roots Manuva on "Movements", and a thoughtful mating of a jazz trumpet quartet with Japanese flutes in "Channel 1 Suite" by The Cinematic Orchestra round out this puppy, and Xen Cuts comes to a close with an interesting hidden track that pays beautiful tribute to Ninja Tune's eastern "Xen" theme...as well as to Kung Fu's movie culture.

Wow. So much music, yet the listen is smooth and virtually painless. (Actually, it's downright inspiring.) Matador could learn a thing or two from these guys on how to put out a listenable compilation. Incidentally, Ninja Tune just signed a distribution deal with Quannum, home of such acts as DJ Shadow, Blackalicious and Lyrics Born. This label is the hub for much righteous hip-hop to come, folks. Boom.

-Al Cordray
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