Links:
Alice in Chains

To casual listeners who came to know Alice through their much tamer acoustic recordings, this live album thankfully presents a glimpse of the band in all their starkly electrifying glory. Songs from a handful of shows played at different junctures in the band's career make up the album, with the lion's share of the selections coming from the Dirt era. Fortunately, Facelift is represented by three of the most creepily menacing tracks in the band's entire catalog--"Bleed the Freak," "Man in the Box" and "Love, Hate, Love." The live version of the latter discovers an even darker dimension of despair, jealousy and revenge than the studio cut. Staley rises like the devil scorned, keening over Cantrell's gloomy phrasing and drummer Sean Kinney's meticulous snaps, rolls and cymbal dances. We're treated to a taste of Alice's warped humor on the mocking country-punk ditty "Queen of the Rodeo," which all jokes aside, is a loose, catchy number that showcases Staley's insanely rich tone and Cantrell's facile versatility. "A Little Bitter," the only other song not found on any of the band's three full-length releases, lives on the outskirts of the band's registered gloom trademark, with a verse featuring a prominent rolling bass line that plays on a feeling of urgency rather than foreboding. This is the work of bassist Mike Inez, who joined Alice after the recording of Dirt and stayed on through their last studio album and the taunting singles that coincided with the release of a box set. His influence is heard again on the bludgeoning "God Am"--originally released on Alice's eponymous third (and last full-length) album--as he busts forth with giant bellows that support Cantrell's severe rhythm figure, which threatens disjunction but never arrives there. One of the best choices made by the compilers of this slice of new history is to end it on a high note, Dirt's much overlooked "Dam That River." Recorded on July 3, 1996 in Kansas City, it's a double shot of Cantrell's classic chugging and snaking guitar and Staley's gritty, uncompromising vocals. Alice in Chains Live is a gem for the unfortunate souls who were never given the opportunity to see this hard rock phenomenon perform live, as it burned too brightly and relinquished its spirit after only a little over half a decade of thrilling music.

-Dan Cullity
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Links:
John Sellekaers

The Age of Terminal Irony opens its metallic jackboot dance with "Ghost Phalanx." The track whispers in, living up to its name, as the giant behemoths rise and form out of the toxic smoke which floods the underground pipelines of all industrialized cities. These mechanical monstrosities become solid and begin their rhythmic battery with their striking pistons and skull-crushing wheels (think the marching hammers from the movie version of Pink Floyd's The Wall redesigned by H. R. Giger). You become lost in this mechanical combat zone, scrambling from the relentless pounding of the machines. The nihilistic tones of "An Unexpected Guest" (the deliberate ding of an empty elevator opening its doors in an empty department store) and the shrill expiration of a chamber orchestra which haunts "Psychoville" offer little hope in this bleak, beat-blasted environment.

The remixers catch up these mechanical soundtracks and process them through organic filters, subtly changing their rigid natures into more fluid environments. Implant's version of "The Sniper Syndrome" becomes an assault of angry bees; their dark wings are a persistent drone and the plink of their angry stingers against the plate glass is an increasingly persistent prickling. Silk Saw turns the same track into a subterranean mix, a ravaging, cacophonous assault of moles beneath the earth. A home owner puts a stethoscope to the ground in his back yard and hears the chaotic rumbling of these blind creatures rushing and digging beneath him, their sharp incisors shrieking off stones and the fangs of other moles as they propel themselves through their tunnels. Takshaka builds a submarine soundtrack, floating sonar pings over the patient echo of the incessant tech-step beat or, at least, a three-quarters echo of it. Dryft adds a strain of stringed instruments to "The Sniper Syndrome" as they take the pace of the beats up several notches before handing the baton off to Imminent who splinters it all away with his touch of fractured noise. The Age of Terminal Irony dies with the orchestral swell of "Psychoville" mutated into the fading wail of a reed instrument.

-Mark Teppo
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Radical Noise
Plan-B
Hammer Muzic

Links:
Antisilence
Radical Noise

Antisilence could easily suffer from the straight-ahead approach to metal that makes much of the similiar music so lackluster, but their careful approach to the programming they add gives the sound an edge and presence that keeps your ears perked towards the stereo. Radical Noise just simply kick ass. Their hardcore/metal sound is not unlike Soulfly and, like their Brazilian brethren, their desire and interest in experimenting with their sound, such as on the brooding "Gone," add a dimension and intelligence that so many others lack these days. The songs shift from English to the band's native tongue on the album's unlisted closer--which, I assumimg here, is a take on a traditional Turkish folk song--is a nice diversion and one of the few times the annoying few minutes before the "secret" track is cued is worth the wait.

In the era of pre-packaged T.V. Dinner music, these two bands are not only deserving of your attention, they're rightfully demanding it. Check 'em out.

-Craig Young
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-Steve Weatherholt
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Should U2 be flattered or worried? "Slum Creeper" and "Love of Ivah" would definitely give the Irishmen a run for their money. The former opens with a swampy percussion loop, but soon Valle's crooning rings clear as crystal: "Outside the sideroom, please hurry / If they come, they'll come don't worry / You could be my Mother Mary / Hide behind my insecurities." And predictably, the song explodes right there. Wayne B. Magruder hammers out a straight beat and Valle's guitar goes into high overdrive.

Calla also seems to have brushed up on the ballad form. "Love of Ivah" may start with a menacing bass, but by the time the bridge rolls around you know this one's meant for those who brought their lighters to the stadium. Even Young God Records couldn't helped itself and described Valle's vocals as "sensuous" on a sticker attached to the album. I thought Valle's gravely whisper was rather sinister in the first album.

Admittedly, Calla's case is not as bad as this lets on. The uncharacteristic "Hover Over Nowhere" starts out easy enough, in a thick psychedelic haze, but turns dour toward the end. Valle's caustic guitar here, as well as in "Traffic Sound," is disarming. Somehow he makes it both purr and squeal at once. Meanwhile the rockabilly of "The Swarm" is like the rattle of a hurtling train. If Calla's debut was eerie and murky, its follow-up is supercharged and spasmodic, though also less consistent. Seems to me like Calla wanted to unculutter its sound, but often ended up sounding too straight forward.

-Edgar Ortega
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Links:
Cherry Poppin' Daddies

Somewhere along the way, the rest of the world remembered swing and the Daddies found themselves no longer tiny niche players with the release of their 1997 retrospective, Zoot Suit Riot. They're back with Soul Caddy, rolling into the 21st century with a ferociously polished sound. They do a couple of immaculately tight retro-swing numbers just to satisfy those casual listeners who've outgrown the staid sound of the Squirrel Nut Zippers and Royal Crown Revue but still hunger for that bobby socks, poofy skirt and polished floor sound. Then the infection starts with "God is a Spider," a hook of a song that belies the tortured narration. Or the tightly wound ballad of "Grand Mal" which, frankly, is the song I want to hear in my head when I'm checking out on the linoleum floor with my ticker stuttering to a stop. I know I've got a fever when "Bleeding Ceremony" makes me think fondly of all those old Cheap Trick records I had a kid while keeping me on my toes with references to Marat and Charles Foster Kane's lost sled. The beauty of the Cherry Poppin' Daddies (which becomes all the more evident when you reflect on their name awhile) is that Perry and the rest don't just deliver an evening of candy fluff dance floor nostalgia, they're children of the late 20th century, for chrissakes. They've got more up their sleeves than just a history lesson in swing and rockabilly. Now if they would just bring back "Flovilla Thatch vs. the Virile Garbage Man."

-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Children of Bodom

Follow the Reaper kicks ass from beginning to end. You'll lose all control of the accelerator while driving to this disc. There isn't a duff track on the entire disc--no filler, no ballads and no crap. This is a melodic metal milestone that you need to love. From the opening track to the closing cut, this rocks and is so melodic that you cannot resist the music. Tracks like "Follow the Reaper," "Bodom After Midnight," "Children of Decadence," "Mask of Sanity," "Caste of My Scythe," "Hate Me!" and "Kissing the Shadows" will make your ears mosh and throw your body into conniptions in the pit. The Bodom thing is thus: There was a serial killing at Lake Bodom that sounds reminiscent of many slasher flicks. So toss Clayman into lake, play hide and seek with the disc, jam Follow the Reaper into the boom box and start killing like a Freddy-Jason-Myers combo. Last one to the lake is a rotten egg...on the side of Tammy Faye's house.

-Sabrina Haines
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Links:
John Sellekaers

After a brief fade-in with drifting static and the stretched voices of lost children, Gone West picks up a sprightly banjo melody and layers it over a click-track perfect drum beat--a glitchy, wiggly rhythm that is strictly a digital creation. Sellekaers et al continue their recreations of a period long gone with "Jigsaw Motel," crafting the sounds of an empty one-street town, the wind blowing doors and shutters back against worn wooden walls, the dust crackling against bleached steps. And their twisting of the genre continues as ghostly choral voices more at home in a dark ambient release on Cold Meat Industry flow behind the peal of an old church bell and distant hurdy-gurdy melodies that you're sure you've heard under the garish lights of traveling carnivals weave around the pneumatic hiss of starship doors. Their vision of the American West has a spectral spookiness to it; it is Westworld brought to life--the cold face of Yul Brynner straight out of The Magnificent Seven with half of his robot visage showing.

As the lonely ode to solitary gunslinger's perpetually roaming exile of "Amongst the Stars" fades into the pop melody of "Afterlife (see you later)," it's time to bring up a wagon and a couple of pine boxes. A Small, Good Thing's Slim Westerns and Steve Roach and Roger King's Dust to Dust have been the unstoppable gang running this town for the last ten years. But they're in trouble now. John Sellekaers has just come over the hill with Gone West and the sun is gleaming off his twin six-shooters and shiny badge.

-Mark Teppo
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-Mark Teppo
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Links:
Diecast

The most addictive songs on Day of Reckoning are "Disrepair," "Singled Out," "Plague," "Exacting My Revenge," "Remember the Fallen," "Desensitized" and the awesome title track "Day of Reckoning." If after a couple of listens "Singled Out," "Plague," "Exacting My Revenge" and "Desensitized" aren't permanently attached to your eardrums, something is desperately wrong with you. You need help and perhaps beating your head with a sledgehammer until some sense is knocked into your pathetic brain will help. Diecast is so addictive that you will end up in rehab and you'll still be happily humming.

-Sabrina Haines
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His first full-length disc, Yellow Light, is a beautifully rich record sprinkled all over with delicate melodies that dart in and out of a rhythm section that could anchor a boat. Somebody is gonna call this folk rock, somebody is gonna call it alt-country, somebody is gonna call this singer-songwriter music. To try and make generalities like this would be an oversimplification. Yellow Light is all of this and much more. One of the more endearing elements about this record is Jon's damn near perfect pop sensibility and melancholy lyrics, all done with a subtle sense of humor that gives the impression the band is smiling.

This review would be incomplete if I didn't also say that Jon's musicianship is rivaled only by his production work with Tucker Martine. This is in some ways a musician's record; the sonic and spatial relationships are meticulously executed.

All of these things will set this record far apart from anything Jon is obviously going to be compared with. It's no wonder he has quickly become the darling of the independent radio scene here in Seattle.

-Jeff Ashley
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