With parents cramming commercial dreck like the Wiggles into kids’ ears these days, it’s quite easy to forget that children’s music wasn’t always indissociable with descriptors like "subpar" or "downright obnoxious." The enduring appeal of the great Sesame Street and Schoolhouse Rock recordings that graced the 70’s and 80’s are testament to this. Before either let fly a single note, however, there was Dimension 5 Records. Founded in 1963 by Canadian music pioneer Bruce Haack and educator and dance teacher Esther Nelson, Dimension 5 released eleven albums over the course of thirteen years purportedly targeting younger audiences. Purportedly, because while some of Haack and Nelson’s output was basic fare about dancing or the lives of ants, spiders, and catfish, they also branched out into more recondite subjects like meditation, astral projection, and ayurveda; issues that could be easily misconstrued as drug-induced hallucinations rather than exercises in intellect or imagination. Whatever the nature of their subject matter, one thing was beyond doubt; the music was damn fun. Dimension Mix is a collection of eighteen remixes culled from the Dimension 5 corpus, with part of the proceeds going to autism charities. It oscillates between space-age pop and (slightly) more standard rock and bluegrass numbers, all of which retain the boundless energy and sense of wide-eyed discovery that pervaded the originals. Beck kicks off the fun with the goofy optimism of “Funky L’il Song,” playfully switching his delivery from deadpan to falsetto to what I can only imagine is his best Michael McDonald impression. Stereolab follows with the bubble, whir, and hum of their own peculiar brand of electronica on “Mudra,” and Fantastic Plastic Machine blends “OK Robot” with other Haack tunes on “I’m Bruce” into an irresistibly dancey melange of manic neon sound. Apples in Stereo, Eels, and Irving contribute as well, as does longtime Haack collaborator Chris Kachulis, who adds “Listen,” an experimental synth-piece he co-wrote with Bruce Haack. But the album reaches its true apex with DJ Me DJ You’s “Soul Transportation,” five minutes of far-out space-funk introducing the otherworldliness of meditation that is as transcendental as its title suggests. There are no bad tracks here, though, only degrees of excellence. It’s that sustained excellence that begs the question: How criminal is it that Haack’s genius is still largely unrecognized? Almost twenty years after his death from heart failure, Haack’s name is still mired in relative obscurity, his records prized mainly by DJ’s, novelty collectors, and electronic music historians. The man deserves better than this. Here’s hoping that this album will aid his reputation as much as the autism charities it’s intended to benefit. [www.eeniemeenie.com]

Every now and then, you get a group that is completely unapologetic. The Magic Numbers is such a group, and they are as unapologetic for their light pop music as they are for their non-industry-standard appearance. (They refused to perform on a British TV show due to jokes the emcee made regarding their weight.) And why should they apologise anyway? Hmm? The first time I heard anything from or about this brother/sister, sister/brother act (Romeo and Michelle, Sean and Angela) from London, it was about this time last year, but you know how it works…UK band gains acclaim in their own country, and slowly they start making inroads to America about a year later. There is an obvious throwback to harmonic traditions the likes of Mamas and the Papas and CSN&Y, though admittedly it’s easier to connect them to the former due to the prevalence of female vocals. But regardless, the music is still folksy pop that recalls both influences. In the area of lyrics, The Magic Numbers are probably head and shoulders above the rest of this year’s crop of bands. With lines like, “I’m an honest mistake that you made / Did you mean to?” (“Love’s a Game”), “How many times must I stumble in drunk before you scold me / And why is it you have to turn out the light before you hold me” (“The Mule”), and “You always look like you have something else on your mind / When I try to tell you, you tell me ‘Nevermind’” (“I See You, You See Me”), it’s easy to find yourself somewhere in their words, either on the giving or the receiving end... One sidenote is that I enjoy the album much more through headphones over the stereo. It’s only with that sort of sonic concentration that you can pick apart the various and skillfully laid out layers that comprise each track. And just for the record, “Love’s a Game” is my favorite track, though I refuse to completely explain why. Suffice to say it’s the perfect torch song of unrequited and dying love. With bouncing harmonies and lilting choruses, The Magic Numbers is unarguably refreshing, sometimes delicate, and sweet, maybe even too sweet to swallow all at once, but I’d definitely recommend giving it a try if you’re feeling mellow and introspective. [www.themagicnumbers.net]

Popular music has long played a prominent part in the films of director Cameron Crowe. Who can forget John Cusack’s stereo serenade in Say Anything, a bus full of burned out rockers and groupies bonding over “Tiny Dancer” in Almost Famous or Tom Cruise racing down the streets of New York to Radiohead in Vanilla Sky? These scenes have left indelible impressions on moviegoers, and it’s hard to imagine these moments without the perfect piece of music that seemed to capture the spirit of the moment and the film. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that an album of songs Crowe handpicked to accompany his latest film, Elizabethtown, is a wonderfully romantic and inspired collection. The album possesses two important qualities necessary to make a great soundtrack. First, the music showcased here not only matches the spirit and theme of the film but serves to further the theme. As the film is about coping with life, death and love and is centered on a journey across America’s heartland, Crowe deftly matches the mood of the movie and the music. The songs contained provide a great blend of folk, rock and bluegrass and each song manages to feel like a landmark on a journey through the many faces of American music. Additionally, the music selected is an appropriate mix of familiar voices (that provide the comfort feel-good movies should) and exciting, newer artists (that enable the boldness such films should also inspire). The album features quality tracks by recognizable artists like Tom Petty, Elton John, Lindsey Buckingham and The Hollies, while containing mesmerizing cuts by newer performers like Helen Stellar and eastmountainsouth. Other highlights of the record include cuts by My Morning Jacket, Ryan Adams and the album’s standout, “Long Ride Home,” by Patty Griffin, whose vocal presence is reason enough to experience the soundtrack. Elizabethtown the movie received mixed reviews from critics and patrons. There’s no denying, however, Elizabethtown the soundtrack is an album of cinematic proportions. [www.elizabethtown.com]

I first heard about Death Cab For Cutie a year ago through the side project known as The Postal Service. I absolutely loved The Postal Service album so I tried out DCFC’s "The Photo Album”, and while I liked it, I didn’t love it and my exploration kid of stalled. But with the immense buzz surrounding this release, I decided to give it a listen and see what I might be missing. The first track (“Marching Bands Of Manhattan”) jumps up and grabbed me softly and immediately. The lyrics and melody struck a chord with me, and I was done from there. “Soul Meets Body” is the albums first single and video and is getting a decent amount of play through both media channels. It’s catchy and driven while still remaining timid, and it works on every level. The album is stellar from start to finish, but a few tracks stuck their heads above the crowd for me. “I Will Follow You Into The Dark” is a haunting, simple and sweet love song that breaks the band down to their bare essence. With just a guitar and a voice, the band removes any doubt that might exist about their skill and craftsmanship. After a trinity of up-tempo tunes, the band finishes off this release with what might be the strongest three tracks on the disc. “What Sarah Said” is an absolute masterpiece with a piano intro that lets you know straight from the start that you are in for something special. “What Sarah Said” is a truly heartfelt and solemn redefinition of what it means to love and to be loved. “Brothers On A Hotel Bed” and “Stable Song” continue with the more laid back mood and round out what is a near flawless record. This album just narrowly missed my top ten list for the year, and even listening to it now, I think I may have misjudged. Without a doubt Plans is a must-buy for the year and a great album from the first beat to the last. A lot of buzz and a lot or pressure can often times result in a sub-par record, but Death Cab For Cutie come out shining and playing from the mountain high. This is simply a great release. [www.deathcabforcutie.com]

I’m 27, so Bon Jovi is the music I grew up with. I remember listening to the "Keep The Faith” album on road trips with the family and cranking their greatest hits collection in college when I wanted a nostalgic moment of rock. So when I had a chance to review their latest effort I couldn’t wait to hear what the boys had been up to. Thankfully, the New Jersey darlings stick to what they do best: Pop rock anthems that remind me of the good old eighties and that are impossible not to sing along with. The title track and first single “Have A Nice Day” is vintage Bon Jovi that rings true with any old fan and has gained a decent amount of airplay. “I Want To Be Loved” immediately takes you back to “Livin On A Prayer” with its instrument effects. One listen to that track and you will know what I mean. What follows is a series of formulaic rock that is at once unoriginal but addicting. “Who Says You Can’t Go Home” is one of the highlights of the disc. In fact, it is so good they put it on there twice. The band explores a bit of new ground with the second version by featuring Jennifer Nettles of the country band Sugarland. Surprisingly, the track has become a minor hit with country radio, giving the boys a whole new audience never before tapped. Look, this disc isn’t reinventing rock, and it isn’t trying to propel Bon Jovi to multiple Grammys. It’s Bon Jovi doing what they do best these days, adult centered pop rock with great melodies and the unmistakable Jon Bon Jovi voice. If you go into the album knowing what to expect, you will love it, and if you are expecting art rock or something monumental, you will dismiss it. For me, this is a very solid pop rock album from an experienced group that knows what they do best and how to do it. Kudos boys! [www.bonjovi.com]

The boys of Bloc Party busted out of the indie scene and into the mainstream this past March when they released their much ballyhooed Silent Alarm album. It was a delightfully rebellious collection of polished songs that catapulted the band from its UK niche onto the soundtrack of The O.C. After an aggressive U.S. tour, Bloc Party has teamed up with an all-star cast – Nick Zinner of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, M83, Four Tet, Mogwai, Death From Above 1979 and Automato, to name a few – to issue a track-by-track remix of its breakout smash.

Infectious beats and ice cold dance grooves transform the album into a completely different animal that stands just fine on its own. “Helicopter” and “Positive Tension” are reborn as thumping discotheque anthems. “The Price of Gasoline,” as remixed by Automato, sprinkles a bit of electronica onto an already militant dance beat – a near perfect marriage of fat bass and heavy machinery. The super-synthesized second take of “Luno” by Death From Above 1979 is also destined for dance floor greatness.

Some of the remixes take more creative liberty than others – M83 replaces the percussion section in “The Pioneers” with strings and layers a thick sheet of echoing vocals over the entire track. Erol Alkan tears “She’s Hearing Voices” to shreds and rebuilds it from the bottom up, often stretching tiny clips of the original song like silly putty. But even the most deconstructed tracks still succeed in capturing the energy of the original recordings.

It’s a tall order to re-invent an album as sonically sophisticated as Silent Alarm, but this record gets it right. Purists will prefer the original, but they’ll find an excellent companion in the new one. [www.blocparty.com]

Simply put, Western Addiction is straight-ahead, no-fucking-nonsense hardcore. Not tight, girl jeans-wearing hardcore; not Champion hoodie-clad militant straight-edge hardcore. They're what Black Flag might be like if they had formed in 2005, and with the seminal LA-hardcore legends as a blueprint for its sound, Cognicide hits with as much intensity as Henry Rollins could have ever mustered. The San Francisco quartet, who all happen to be Fat Wreck Chord employees, found enough spare time to put together a brutally honest (and sonically brutal, too) throwback to the better, more pure days of hardcore. Don't get me wrong, though--listening to Cognicide is as important in the present as much as it would have been 25 years ago. Throughout the record, Western Addiction proves to rise above much of the dumbed-downed, machismo that's so overbearingly present in the scene. In between assaults on the political and cultural climate and more personal issues, singer/guitarist Jason Hall comes across as more literate and thoughtful than most of his counterparts, putting the group into a league of hardcore intellectuals with labelmates Strike Anywhere and Good Riddance. For music with balls and no bullshit, Cognicide is the best I've heard all year. Fervent, musically unrelenting, and truly smart, lyrically, Western Addiction brings the past into the present with extreme ease, and have constructed what I wish could be used as a building block for the all-too-often uninteresting and narrow-minded state of hardcore. [www.fatwreck.com]

I’ve never really been a fan of singing the beat of a song (“dah-dah-dah”); I’ve always thought, “What’s the point? I mean, don’t you have lyrics?” Well, Ben Lauren (vocals for No Address) disagrees with me, and his new CD, Time Doesn’t Notice, is a pretty good argument on his part. Along with his syllabic distortions (“I-yiy-yiy-yiy-yiy,” or what others might call warbling) and the aforementioned melodic repetitions, Ben Lauren makes a living out of riding the hook and occasionally telling a pretty good story. Yes, he seems to acknowledge, the lyrics are pretty generic stuff. But we shouldn’t let words get in the way of love, a subject that indefinable anyway, so let’s just enjoy the ride and not get so damn mellow. Screw the poetry: No Address relishes in the mundane observation of life. (“You’re always too proud/and when your heart starts breaking/a little bit of love is all you need”). When they make exceptions (as in the exceptional “Walk Away”), the basic lyrics become a safety-net chorus for wilder leaps into metaphors like “We coughed our love into the sun/the sea all bent right as we drown.” Maybe it’s the extra guitar (both Phil Moreton and Justin Long) that hits that chord, or maybe it’s just the absolute attention that Randy Lane (drums) and Bill Donaldson (bass) lavish on the beat itself that does it. Maybe it’s that the ordinary, if fired up, is more sustainable and physically tangible to an audience. Or maybe it’s a diversity of musical riffs that manage to stretch something very thin into a tightrope act (between Country and Rock) and then into a trampoline (the more up-tempo and energized acts). Whatever the reason, Time Doesn’t Notice is like the nice fling you have between romances. There’s no strings attached, no heady work to be done on your part, just good times and limited responsibility. [www.no-address.net]

The Bosch is a Virginia-based quartet—simple, catchy, and oddly unsigned. The latter part of that statement puzzles me, as Buy One, Get One, from its non-descript album cover and song titles, is the ultimate feel-good record: Humorous, often silly lyrics, smart horn arrangements, and thoughtful songwriting that’s neither trite nor too vintage for modern ears, and isn’t condescending—it’s fun. As multi-instrumentalists, The Bosch manage to vary their style from song to song, and often it’s not clear whether you’re listening to the same band as the record progresses. “Come On Phillie” is pure rock & roll, utilizing Andrew Raff’s saxophone talents for additional taste, and when he comes back in on “Metronome,” I’m hard-pressed to not be reminded of X-Ray Spex. “Matching Girlfriend” would blend in perfectly on a collaboration between the Mad Caddies and Reel Big Fish, as The Bosch proves they’re as ska-savvy as anyone else. They show this once more, with “Back to the Laboratory,” akin to the Aquabats on speed. Elsewhere, their melodic sensibilities shine through, as in the keyboard-laden 60s garage rock throwback of “Zombie Killer” and the surf-inspired instrumental “Napoleon Invades Russia.” Overall, The Bosch and Buy One, Get One won’t make you think, but that’s not their aim. They’re making witty, light-hearted tunes, and while there’s no artistic focus or underlying message, it’s a damn fun time. [www.boschcast.com]

Mortality as Home Entertainment, eh? Great title, you so-called rockers over at Small Towns Burn a Little Slower. I’ve never been more aware of my own mortality than listening to this CD. I felt the seconds (the minutes, the hours) bleeding away thanks to this indulgence in what must be called hard-ly rock. Not that I’d know: Every song sounds pretty much the same to me . . . perhaps my ears were bleeding too badly, and I just didn’t know. (Not from loudness—this is the tamest decibel of hard rock—but out of an effort to blockade the sound) A few good riffs do not a good CD make, especially when everything is sacrificed to what must be called a loquacious sound. The music is like that annoying friend who thinks he’s the life of the party and won’t shut up long enough for anything else to happen. A still life, perhaps: There’s no doubt that your small towns will burn slower if frozen as a pastiche. (One good spot on that painting worth mentioning, "Alias: The Bee Keeper." Not quite sure why it's called that, but there's a nice evocation of late-80's rock, and it's not all just huff-and-puff for posterity.) Even with innovative titles (“1970 Topps Burt Blyleven Rookie Card”), with nothing substantial behind them, they become the most irritating type of novelty (like a Tamagotchi). Thankfully, in this case, they are not a nationwide fad; I don’t have to pretend to like them. It’s not all negative though (believe me, I can give a zero): it’s just not distinguishable. Take a random sampling of Small Towns’s work (which again, is really just the overpowering music), and the most you can say about it is that it’s pretty consistent. (Not too long either, only about thirty-five minutes of dross.) But look, if it’s all one anyway—yawn—wake me when it’s over. [www.smalltownsburnalittleslower.com]

For Piebald fans, this package is a must. Killa Bros and Killa Bees, while centered more around the DVD disc, also includes a disc of b-sides and rarities, and when you put the two together, you come out with an essential--if you're a Piebald fan. If not, this really wouldn't excite you and isn't the best place to start if you've not heard the Boston-to California-back to Boston quartet comprised of an ex-hardcore drummer, and motorcycle enthusiast, a former subsitute teacher (or something along those lines), and a previous employee of Newbury Comics. Their bastardization of indie pop and rock, and Travis Shettel's colorful, off-key vocals, has made Piebald a favorite in many a crowd. Compiling demos from the last record All Ears, All Eyes, All the Time ("Part of Your Body is Made Out of Rock," Put Your Slippers on Instead," "All Sense is Lost"), and a slew of unreleased material. Of these, nothing is out Piebald's character; the songs are catchy and quirky, but the band does explore a little unknown territory. "The King" employs a harmonica to accompany a song that's more folksy than expected from the group, and "Waiting on the Rays" could have been written and recorded in a barn. As for the live DVD, it's pretty basic. You get up close and personal with the band, on and off stage. They're goofy guys, and the tour life makes for a good laugh. I will say, though, that you can see the band live and hang out with them for less than the DVD costs! But, like I said, for you Piebald fans, this is necessary. For you, I'd rate this a 5. For the rest of you, I'd give it a 3, as it's not groundbreaking or overly exciting, but it's still a good time. So, I'm taking the average, of those two...5 plus 3, divide by 2...4 is the score. [www.piebald.com]

Vheissu, the fourth studio album from Orange County quartet Thrice, is an exciting blend of visceral music and spiritually perceptive lyrics. Thrice’s style has often been compared to a host of emo and post-hardcore bands. While Vheissu does exhibit some of the tendencies of those genres, the album showcases an expansive sonic repertoire and proves the band has discovered a sound that transcends mere labels. One of the most distinguishing characteristics of the record is the diversity displayed in arranging and orchestrating each track. Along with producer Steve Osborne (Peter Gabriel, Placebo), the band cleverly and dynamically melds aggressive riffs with moments that are quieter and more introspective. While there are distinctly different sections in many of the songs, each composition retains a holistic feel. “Image of the Invisible” opens the album with earth-shaking intensity as frontman Dustin Kensrue is joined by his bandmates to create a vibrant choir that asserts, “We all were lost, now we are found/No one can stop us or slow us down.” As the album progresses, so does the sound to employ a variety of instruments and textures. Guitarist Teppei Teranishi opens “For Miles” with a haunting piano solo before the song evolves into an anthemic cry for sacrifice on behalf of others. “Like Moths to Flame”, another of the album’s highlights, uses Teranishi’s mix of dense riffs and arpeggiated chords to accentuate the track’s spiritual imagery. “Once again the bread and wine/But it seems the meanings may be deeper still this time,” Kensrue muses before pledging “I will follow you/Lay down my life.” Dabbling in a variety of styles, Thrice has created a musical atmosphere that allows elements of progressive and ambient rock to flourish without forsaking the heavy sound that first gained them attention. Each member of the group contributes excellently to the effort and makes Vheissu one of the more promising and prominent rock releases of the year. [www.thrice.net]

I didn’t want to be one of those people who appraised Weezer’s fifth and most recent album on its similarity (or lack thereof) to the standard set by the brilliance of their first two records. I’ve always attempted to allow my favorite artists to grow and change without chastising them for not being the same as they were years ago. With that said, Make Believe is still very disappointing. Is this record superior to the majority of rock albums released within the past year? Of course. Do I know Weezer is a more talented band than what this album exhibits? Most definitely. The album’s greatest flaws are glaring. I’m afraid it doesn’t take a Harvard education to know the talk box solos and elementary school rhymes of “Beverly Hills” leave much to be desired. Parody or not, “We are All on Drugs” is just plain painful to listen to. Listen a little harder, though, and you’ll discover the most deeply disappointing quality about Make Believe. Rivers Cuomo, whose lyrical irony resonated with those of us who grew up during the alternative rock boom of the middle 90’s, turns in a consistently underwhelming performance as poet. “My fashion sense is a little wack,” “My poor brain is gonna pop,” “You are such a blessing/And I won’t be messing with the one thing that brings light to all my darkness,” “There’s the pitch slow and straight/All I have to do is swing and I’m a hero/But I’m a zero” are but a few of the awkward phrases Mr. Cuomo attempts to turn. However, as I alluded to earlier, the situation is not completely dire. When the band is firing on all cylinders, they outclass almost all of the competition. “Perfect Situation” builds its groove with gradually increasing intensity and showcases Cuomo’s ability to craft a melody. “This is Such a Pity” accesses a pure, New Wave sound better than most bands from the New Wave period, and “The Other Way,” while inching closely to lyrical folly, marries sunny melody and backbeat to Cuomo’s trademark expressions of insecurity. I know better than to deride Make Believe for what it’s not, but unfortunately, I also know better than to accept the album as it is. [www.weezer.com]

J. Page's debut EP, Goodbye Chapel Hill, packs enough punch in 15 minutes to make your head pound for a few hours, but even for a punk band, this is not entirely a good thing. In their defense, it's tough for any band to sell itself in five songs. Even still, it doesn't require an approach that resembles a first-grader trying to get his classroom crush’s attention by giving her a noogie. That said, Goodbye Chapel Hill is one rough and sweaty ride. At its best, it’s an honest rock record that pays good tribute to its punk ancestors. The band plays its guts out, and its shortcomings clearly aren’t the result of any lack of effort. But J. Page is still an infant – the band is comprised of ex-members of The Scaries and As Friends Rust – and will undoubtedly develop more tact with age. So far though, it seems the 'grip it and rip it' approach suits them best. The opening track, “Unlucky at Cards,” is an earnest stampede in which they sound a lot like a horn-less version of the Mighty Mighty Bosstones (Singer Christopher Beckham passes for a poor man’s Dicky Barrett). Some of that energy carries into the alcohol anthems, “Beer Me Asswipe” and “Personal Space Invader,” but a bit of it gets lost in slightly moronic lyrics. Nevertheless, it’s all in good fun. Things only really dissolve when the band goes for the over-the-top emo route on the title song and on “Dying Staying Here.” Dangerous bands don’t pout – they rage, and the whining vocals completely dull the band’s edge on these two tracks. Michael Magarelli handles the singing on both of them, and the band would be better off if he got out of the way and left all the screaming to Beckham. In all, the guys from Gainesville really spilled their hearts on to this record. It would be a lot better if they didn’t make such a mess. [www.jpagerock.beetlenation.com]

I'd heard of Röyksopp for several years, but I hadn't really listened to them as anything more than random songs at clubs and in the background at parties. When The Understanding came up for review, I thought this would be my chance to check into it a little more. I am glad I did. The Norwegan due of Torbjörn Brundtland and Svein Berge burst onto the electronic scene with Melody A.M. in 2001 and haven't slowed down since in terms of acclaim. While most of the record is spot-on goodness, I find the "boy-band" sound of "49 Percent" slightly more than disturbing. Perhaps I could beg Röyksopp to not go there again? Hmm? But like I said, the majority of the record is a pleasure. Steady beats of "Sombre detune" are at once energizing and calming. The uplifting "Only this moment" will have you bopping along to its sugary sweet female vocals, courtesy of new vocalist Kate Havnevik. "Dead to the World" has a Brian Eno quality that sounds like a deep, soothing breath and is an absolute delight to the senses, while album closer "Tistesse globale" is like a modern, abbreviated "Für Elise." My favorite track is "Someone like me," an even-tempo'd torch song with breathy male vocals and light keyboards. Most of the music is light enough for a novice electronica fan to wrap their tastes around while there is enough meat on songs like "Alpha Male" to make serious fans of the genre happy. From perky, dancy-prancy to soothing and rhythmic, Röyksopp's The Understanding, while perhaps a little light when standing up against their first outing, is a worthy and tasty release when taken on its own that can be enjoyed almost anywhere and at almost anytime. [www.royksopp.com]

It’s fitting that the new Funeral for a Friend CD is called Hours. It’s also fitting that many of their songs contemplate the past. Fitting, that is, because as I listened to Hours, I could think only of how many hours were being wasted, that there honestly were only so many hours I could listen to the same electrical riffs, the same deadening monotonous melody, the same static vocals (be they wailing, screaming, banshee-ing, whatever). Funeral for a Friend aren’t incompetent (at least I hope not), they just seem content to settle. The songs “History” (one of the better tracks) and “Streetcar” have catchy melodies, but rather than conforming to series of chords and progressions like these (ones that are enjoyable), they piece together eleven disparate songs. The majority are hard rock, a few are alternative, and a bunch get stuck (which is to say, lost) somewhere in the middle. There’s just no voice, nothing—save perhaps the dismal scent of failure—to even identify this group as FFAF. Hours is a banal attempt to wax poetic in a medium not conducive to anything as casual or contemplative as waxing. Perhaps if they’d burned poetic, (an active verb is necessary in rock, as is an aggressive attitude, neither of which FFAF has), but no. Instead, they fall into guttural tongues (“The End of Nothing”) and an angry echo-and-repeat (“All the Rage”). And the lyrics make no sense, even when crystal clear: “It makes no sense/it makes no sense/it makes no sense at all.” What, exactly, we may never know: It doesn’t matter. The lyrics are second to the music and the music is second to just about anything. It’s just weak, even when frenetic, as if the music’s been eviscerated. And on the rare occasions they find a melody, there’s a swift shift, and then they’re mashing it like so much Play Doh. Whatever’s left to be salvaged becomes the hook, good or bad, and it repeats endlessly, stretching out already endless songs (by which I mean an interminable four minutes) with all the pleasure of nail on chalkboard. Only their slower and more alternative songs, like “Sonny,” show a real capability to at least be melodic, and even then, the poetics are still oblique and boorish. There are in fact twenty-four hours in a day, but to waste even a few on Hours would be foolish. Time’s precious; so’s money: It’s your own Funeral. [www.ffafmusic.com]

As a precursor to these opinions, I want to say that I haven't been thoroughly impressed by a new ska/punk release since Streetlight Manifesto's Everything Goes Numb, but that's been over two years ago, and as anyone who's been in college, two years sees your musical tastes change enormously. At least, it did for me, and maybe I'm too old (or jaded?) to really be impressed by Reel Big Fish anymore. On the other hand, everything that really made them what they were back in the days of "She Has a Girlfriend Now" and "Sell Out" is there. They're still catchy, absurdly silly, and sometimes so immature that it's annoying. The songs lack depth and intelligence, for the most part, but occasionally vocalist Aaron Barrett will let his wit slip out, and for that sole fact, a lot of the dumbness can be overlooked--you realize that these are adults, playing around, simply having a good time, but much of the time they're targeting kids in the pre-adult market, making them hard to swallow sometimes. We're Not Happy 'Til You're Not Happy is no different than those records you may have loved by them years ago (though I assure you it's a step above 2002's Cheer Up!), with songs about the hardships of a life spent making music ("Don't Start a Band," "One Hit Wonderful"), "Drinkin'," which has nothing on "Beer," and a handful of covers (Tracy Chapman's "Talkin' Bout a Revolution," Social Distortion's "Story of My Life," and one of my favorite Morrissey songs, "We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful," and I'm not sure if the old man would dig it.) Every track is super catchy and ultra-skankable, putting Southern California in the forefront of your mind. Yeah, it's a fun record, and Reel Big Fish has never tried to become anything more than a band with laughs and smiles on the agenda. Maybe they cater to the Warped Tour crowd, and they're not creating art; they're creating a good time. If you look at it this way, then We're Not Happy 'Til You're Not Happy hits the spot. [www.reelbigfish.com]

An 11 year stint as one of the most influential and important bands in the post-grunge era should have introduced you to Sleater-Kinney by now, as the femme-trio has released 7 critically-acclaimed records on three highly-respected independent labels. The Woods is their Sub Pop debut, and with the help of Dave Fridmann’s production, the group has discovered some power that was missing, at least in this way, from their other work. This album is rougher and heavier, but everything about the band that’s pulled in fans over the past decade is still intact. Pulling on classic rock influences and more experimentalism, The Woods is a showcase of ten, and it would be an understatement to say that Fridmann played an important role in the album’s birth. You may know him for his work with the last couple of Flaming Lips records, and he’s done as much for Sleater-Kinney as he’s done for anyone else. Not that they needed it, of course, but help never hurts. Every song is powerful and dense, as guitarists Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker take turns on the mic. Tucker’s tremendous vocal abilities often take center stage, especially on opener “The Fox” and “Jumpers,” two of the record’s finer offerings. The guitar interplay is more muscular than ever before, the songwriting is more finely-tuned, the lyrics, as good as ever. “Modern Girl” takes the cake as my favorite, as Brownstein belts out the vocals before drummer Janet Weiss lends some harmonica skills. “Entertain” is an assault on technology and television; “Let’s Call it Love” is about a relationship set to the stage of a boxing arena, with an 11 minute round. Whether you’re new to Sleater-Kinney or you’ve been a devoted fan over the past decade, The Woods is one of the strongest records of 2005, hands down. [www.subpop.com]

As the fifth installment from the Brit-pop all-stars, Road to Rouen is as easily listenable, eclectic, funky, and refreshing as anything else in the Supergrass catalog, and though the record consists of a mere nine tracks, new and old fans alike should be giddy about the record. “Tales of Endurance (Parts 4, 5 &6)” introduces the record with hints of near-orchestral composition, followed by “St. Petersburg,” the first single, which stands as one of the disc’s best—rhythmic, somber, mellow, and suited for rainy city nights. “Roxy” overstays its welcome at over six minutes, but “Coffee in the Pot” makes up for it, as a humorous instrumental that neither moves the album along nor serves any obvious purpose but keeps any pretension at bay. The title track is worth mentioning, rocking like a quirk-less XTC, and “Fin” is the disc’s farewell and by far the most elegant and ethereal of the set. There aren’t any hints of “Pumping on Your Stereo” or “Moving,” as the record is more linear and consistent than previous albums. They’re not popping about all over the place; the mood of the album is more settled and darker, and the songs fit together seamlessly. Without the hyper-pop, Supergrass pulls out another superb record, as infectious and unique as anything they’ve done. [www.supergrass.com]

First Light’s Freeze follows last year’s Cathedral as the second record from Raymond Raposa and Castanets. The cabin-friendly experimental folk/country music wouldn’t be too out of place on stage with Devendra Banhart or Will Oldham, but Raposa, as the other two, has his own agenda and his own ways of getting things done. Fellow Asthmatic Kitty label-mate and 2005 indie superstar Sufjan Stevens lends his talents to the album, as well as a slew of others. According to Raposa’s bio, he “traveled the US via Greyhound bus on and off for the next four years” after high school, and the on-the-road experiences are obvious in his lyrics, as well as in the music, which truly brings together the spirit of wandering and wondering American—Tom Waits isn’t an invalid comparison. Of 13 tracks, four are sub-minute interludes/postludes, which come in between each piece of sparse, folksy arrangements, with Raposa’s voice coming in at undeterminable intervals. Vocally, he’s similar to M. Ward, but the two are obviously different in technique, as Raposa focuses more on soundscapes than on simply writing a song. Often sounding archaic, First Light’s Freeze has its fair share of electronics, keys, and drum machines, but the backwoods element is always at the forefront of the onslaught. Creaky like a rusty barn door, beautiful and dreary like watching the moon rise on a mountaintop, First Light’s Freeze is exemplary of the atypical American spirit—the lonely travelers who hop trains and strum acoustic guitars for entertainment—but with a modern twist. Unique in most aspects, this record is essential for anyone who enjoys any of the other artists mentioned, and I fully endorse it if you’re looking for something different. [www.asthmatickitty.com]