In the past years, America has been flooded with an Irish punk revolution. Sometimes this is a good thing. Sometimes this is a bad thing. It seems that any putz with a tin whistle can join a punk trio and call it "irish punk," "gaelic punk" or (blegh) "shamrock-n-roll". Mix in a healthy smattering of overused stereotypes and fake accents and you've got yourself a green-beer-chugging, bagpipe-tootin' hit. A lot of people like this. For the rest of us, there are bands like The Tossers. The Tossers blends a refreshing fusion of Irish song, punk and folk on The Valley Of the Shadow Of Death that might sometimes bite, but never in a bad way. There's accordion and fiddle and harmony - it's a gorgeously played album. But even more impressive is the craftsmanship that's gone into creating these songs. Seven members strong, The Tossers plays to its strengths and creates melodies that can lull you to sleep or thump you right in the nose. Possibly the most memorable track on the album is their tribute to Ronnie Drew in the form of "Drinking In The Day," a song that shows off the trademark beauty of Irish poetry and song in one piece. Crafted by experts, these songs will make you smile and make you dance - Enjoy. [www.thetossers.com]

With an extended re-release of 2004’s Home for an Island, the political rockers known as The Exit are back; although it’s hard to look past the rehash to see the polish beneath. This is a passionate, hard-working and consistent group; re-recording their original EP was uncalled for. The re-mastered tracks have better production values, but since the lyrics are still at times muffled, such an overhaul was unnecessary. This version brings us no closer to the crackling energy of The Exit than the EP. And yet, they haven’t lost anything either. They’re still just as good as last year, singing their heartfelt plaints about war in long, trembling laments and dirges for the lost, in much the same way (though perhaps more and less subtly) as Green Day has begun to. Still, in their title track, The Exit speaks of a world “where rebels fly in on airplanes” and makes a positive conclusion that they “hear new beats, [they] hear new sounds.” So then, it’s disappointing that much of their year seems to have been spent rehashing the past, as if they were a musical representation of Democrats. And it’s disappointing that “Pressure Cooker,” one of three new songs, only manages to ask “Why don’t we say what we want to say?” all the whle remaining incredibly evasive despite the effusive and aggressive punctuations of “Attention!,” which call to mind our aimless military. It’s more disappointing when “Tell Me All Again,” the next song on the CD, reminds listeners that “Pressure Cooker” is just the palest shadow of The Exit’s potential. Thankfully, “The Sun Will Rise in Queens,” another new song, is progressive experimentation at its finest, replete with contemplative lyrics: “Just because you live, doesn’t mean you’re living now.” Rather than just driving forward—though they do cram quite a few syllables into each beat—The Exit warbles and plays with harmonic dissonance. That carefully considered chaos, like the harmonica-based lament of “Soldier” (“I see the war/I see the headlines/Fall from the sky/Just like the rain”) is a modern type of country/folk but still viscous enough to be hard rock. One only wishes to hear more of those short, sharp exhalations of breath that shift anticipation and tension into progressive thought (“Don’t Push” and “So Leave Then” are filled with them). Still, if they thought a year was necessary to solidify their strength and to grow internally before a true new release, it can be excused. For while the music may not be the most original or innovative, these are true thinkers with clear lyrics and great voices. These are songs that need to be heard. [www.theexitrock.com]

Whether as a member of the band Roxy Music, collaborator with heavyweights like U2, David Bowie and Talking Heads, or as an innovative pioneer in the realm of ambient music, Brian Eno has been significantly contributing to the popular music world for over thirty years. Recently, many of his seminal recordings have been re-released, as is the case with Music for Films, originally published in 1978. Music for Films is a collection of short, fragmentary pieces recorded with the cinematic landscape in mind. While Eno intended several of these instrumentals for use in specific films, many of the songs were only released on this album. Each of the tracks has its basis in electronic instruments, displaying Eno’s prowess as a writer and producer of ambient music. This is an album to be cherished by those who find beauty in the subtle details of artistic expression. Since all but one of the eighteen songs included are less than four minutes in length, each slight change in harmony and texture plays a large part in developing the thematic material of the piece. In this way, Music for Films is a modern day, electronic counterpart to the Impressionist composers of the early 20th century who emphasized atmosphere and mood over structure and form. Eno is most successful when he combines the hypnotic melodies of his synthesizer with traditional, organic instruments. On “From the same Hill”, he beautifully weaves arpeggiated acoustic guitar into his electronic landscape, and “Events in Dense Fog” benefits from the understated presence of a piano. Tracks like “Patrolling Wire Borders” and “Task Force” falter as they rely too heavily on harsh, robotic timbres. While Music for Films is a difficult album to recommend because of its unusual and sometimes temperamental blend of instruments and sounds, there is much beauty to be discovered throughout the album for those willing to wade through denser musical textures. This album would not be an ideal primer for those seeking to investigate ambient music but should be required listening for those already invested in the genre. [www.enoshop.co.uk]

More brash than gripping, Bullet Train to Vegas relentlessly pound through We Put Scissors Where Our Mouths Are with an energy that could have been better directed elsewhere. The music isn’t bad, per say, but it struck me as rather bland. One song jolts into the next, and you aren’t quite sure where in the album you are at any given time. What is constructed to be defiant and meaningful collapses like a balloon with its air let out. All you’re left with is a “Whoosh” as the band zooms on, flying through the air, empty balloon metaphor complete. And let’s get this out of the way: They sound most like At the Drive-In...with a Perry Farrell on vocals, perhaps. The core of my complaint is the content: Dark, abstract lyrics built on empty grandiosity. Missing, or at least un-accessible, is the undercurrent of meaning that makes this sort of music stand out. The good part? I’ve heard much worse. For lovers of the hardcore genre, I wouldn’t necessarily steer you away. Even I didn’t find the last track to be too bad. Shout along at the top of your lungs with these strangely unimportant anthems. Everyone else has been warned. [www.bullettraintovegas.com]

I was driving along in my Kia Sportage listening to Goat when…I realized I don’t own a Kia Sportage, and I had fallen asleep in front of my television again. For seriously wholesome and inoffensive music, Goat delivers some sweet moments. Number one of said moments is the introduction of banjo into several nicely layered songs - an enjoyable touch. The vocals are nice too, and the rhymes work well for the most part. Think laid-back summer day with a nice breeze, and you’re almost in the mood. I mentioned the music was pretty wholesome - but it falls short of preachy. Phew. Well, it seems there is always some sort of catch. In this case I must reference the all-too-common “second-half isn’t as good” clause. The beats are a little cornier. The lyrics are a little more questionable. In come the “macaroni and cheese” moments (please see song “Nothing”). This time, fortunately, the balance shifts more in favor of the positive. Mellow, and at times meaningful, Goat pulls All of My Friends off with a touch of class...and a wedge of cheese. [www.goatrocks.com]

Listening to Lords is like getting hit in the face with a rock and wanting more because the sound is catchy. Fast, raw, and intense, their Jade Tree debut has the guts and energy to keep their thrash-y, rock ‘n’ roll sound fresh and fun even if a tad familiar. Just under 20 minutes, Swords is a non-stop clash of flailing guitar riffs, throaty screams, and enough throttling drumbeats to make your head pound nails. The only breather comes when it’s all over, and then it needs to be repeated. No signs of 4/4 time anywhere on this thing, and it sounds like their playing hard enough to start fires. These Kentucky boys probably couldn’t part with their Allman Brothers records when they discovered Napalm Death too because Swords melds enough southern rock swagger to keep it from being another ride on the grindcore wagon. There are a slew of math-metal/punk bands out there, and it’s easy for Lords to get lost in the heap. Eschewing choruses for patchy time signatures is nothing new, but Lords pull it off dazzlingly well, and unlike a lot of bands, they know when the energy dies and the rage sounds fake—keeping it all short and to the point. Swords is worth a search though the pile. []

I remember picking up Relationship of Command shortly after its release--I wasn't sure what to call At the Drive-In. To a kid raised in a tiny, rural town in the Appalachian Mountains, music that wasn't on commercial radio or MTV wasn't readily found, and though I was aware of other music out there, it wasn't the easiest to obtain. I was just getting into Napster, and the closest record store was 25 miles away. All I knew was that At the Drive-In was unlike anything I'd heard, and though they're not one of my favorite bands today, I can't think of anyone in recent memory who can really stand up to the wonders they worked up over their too-short career. No one melded abstraction and chaos as well as At the Drive-In, all the while maintaining lots of melody, originality, and memorable songs. This Station is Non-Operational is an 18-track collection which excels as an overview of At the Drive-In and also includes a couple of stellar covers--The Smiths' "This Night Has Opened My Eyes" and Pink Floyd's "Take Up Thy Stethoscope and Walk." You're also now privileged to hear some of the tracks from out-of-print/hard to find 7" releases--we all know how daunting a task it is to round up everything by a band, and it's frustrating for us nerds to be missing something. "Autorelocator," Doorman's Placebo," "Rascuache," and "Incetardis" are all included, coming in off of split releases or, in the latter's case, an extra track from the "One Armed Scissor" single. The obligatory songs are here--for the most part. "One Armed Scissor," "Enfilade," "Chanbara," "Napoleon Solo," etc. Though, I'm confused by the omission of "Invalid Litter Dept." and "Starslight," as they're both two of the band's finer offerings and show the vast amount of growth in the band over the years. In fact, none of the songs from Acrobatic Tenement, save for "Initiation," are included. A note on the lack of "Invalid Litter Dept." though--the bonus DVD has the video! Redemption, to some extent. Yeah, they're not The Mars Volta, and I prefer them that way. I once heard someone say that these guys were the shape of punk to come that Refused was talking about, and I'd say that's pretty accurate. Unconventional, musically genius, and totally capable of doing the unexpected, At the Drive-In was one of the most important bands from the past decade, and this record is essential for neophytes and addicts alike. [www.fearlessrecords.com]

Ms. Heap said it best herself – “Why’d you have to be so cute? Make it impossible to ignore you.” Like her other project Frou Frou – which I never realized was not a solo project in itself until this album came out – it is that perfect movie score music. Hence why the Vocoder-heavy track “Hide and Seek” was featured prominently in the finale to the second season of The OC. She makes this beautifully layered electronic pop… the kind of stuff that must make Moby incredibly jealous. Word on the street is that Ms. Heap mortgaged her London home in order to finance Speak For Yourself (apparently the Garden State royalties were not as lucrative as she had hoped). But even in listening to the record, it is clear that she has a lot of herself invested in the record. While never known for simplistic production, the overall polish on these songs is Teflon smooth. Despite such over shine, Imogen is still able to pack an emotional punch in her voice, which has always been one of her strong points. This record may be Ms. Heap’s reach for the big time that has been building for some time. While I would certainly love to see her brand of pop on MTV, she may have to settle for movie soundtrack queen. This is just the smart and friendly music that seems to go over the heads of your average radio listener. [www.imogenheap.com]

Nouvelle Vage: French, meaning “New Wave;” the Portuguese term for Bossa Nova. Hence, the album/project of French producers Marc Collin and Olivier Libaux are Bossa Nova-style covers of new wave songs. Some will be instantly recognizable, such as Modern English “Melt With You,” The Cure “ A Forest,” Joy Division “Love will Tear Us Apart,” and Depeche Mode “Just Can’t Get Enough.” The songs are presented in a way not all that unlike the originals but jazzed up just enough to let them stand on their own. Unlike a lot of cover albums where the original songs are covered as a different genre, this doesn’t come across as cheesy as say, “Pop Goes Punk” or “Kidz Bop” or whatever else. The female vocalist on each track really strives to make the song her own. My one complaint would be the varying degrees of fake French accents, which really starts to wear on me by the end of the album. The semi-nasal tones of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” (pronounced without the “t”) are effective, while the sickly sweet vocals of “Marian” are not. The playful tone and somewhat loose delivery of “Too Drunk to Fuck” put it in my list of top all time cover songs. However, the unemotional spoken rendition of “Melt With You,” (an song already covered too many times to begin with) is just unimpressive and robs the song of its great melody. Perhaps the song to get the best Bossa Nova transition though is “A Forest.” Already a very rhythmically driven song, the shaker and off-beats feel very natural and add almost a primal element to the song along with subtle rain forest background sounds. For such fan of The Cure and new wave, like myself, this is very fitting tribute to what was once considered disposable music. [www.NouvellesVages.com]

If you’re in the mood for a good cry, David Gray’s latest release, Life in Slow Motion is a fitting sob soundtrack. That’s not to say it isn’t good. It’s just appropriately titled – this record is very long winded and mildly depressing. Gray goes for broke with the piano ballads on this one. He even weaves in some strings and horns here and there. And at times, he pulls it off nicely. The opening track, “Alibi,” starts with Gray crooning over a somber piano. He adds more instruments and vocal tracks piece by piece, and after about three minutes, the whole thing explodes. By the end of the song, he’s got an entire orchestra behind him. As impressive as the more heavily produced songs on the album are, Gray is at his best when he’s stripped down to the core. The strongest cut here, “Hospital Food,” features a simple upbeat melody driven by Gray’s acoustic guitar and haunting vocals. “Lately” is another track where he is able to communicate more clearly because there aren’t a million things going on at once. It is clear that Gray is a clever songwriter – though it is probably more obvious to him than anyone else. It appears he’s trying too hard on this record to prove just how far he can stretch himself. And even though some of his most embellished songs here hold up fairly well, his leanest tracks prove he is far better off when he sticks to the basics. [www.davidgray.com]

Video games are bigger and better than ever, and their soundtracks are starting to gain attention. Stubbs The Zombie is one such soundtrack. In Stubbs (the game), you play a zombie who goes on a rampage in 1950's America, and therein lies the key that makes this soundtrack such a joy. Joined under the common goal of covering classic doo-wop and rock & roll, thirteen indie and alternative artists work their magic to make this a pretty unforgettable album. Ben Kweller sets the album on the right course with a tightly harmonized cover of "Lollipop," and it doesn't stop there. Stubbs runs the gamet from the warm and sweet (Death Cab For Cutie's "Earth Angel" & Cake's "Strangers In The Night") to the stark and startling (The Dandy Warhols' "All I Have To Do Is Dream" & The Flaming Lips' "If I Only Had A Brain"). My only complaint is Phantom Planet's decision to play one of their own songs: "The Living Dead." While it seems appropriate to have such a song in a zombie game, the tune throws a monkey wrench into the gears of a 50's-styled album that would otherwise be thematically unified. Despite this minor setback, however, this is a solid soundtrack whether you like doo-wop or not. Hell - it's a solid soundtrack whether you play the game itself or not. [www.stubbsthezombie.com]

A collaborative effort, CoLAB’s idea was for the members of Lambchop & Hands off Cuba to work together recording music based off of each other’s previous recordings. Both Nashville-based, the EP stretches each group’s music but in natural ways that create something novel and subtly profound. CoLAB starts off with the album’s sole vocal track “Prepared,” a sort of Nick Cave/Michael Gira wandering pastoral that shows off Wagner’s touching and sincere. After a 30-second separating silence, “Blur” kicks in as a trip-hop orchestral piece that sounds like a less dark/more minimalistic folk version of Portishead. Sweeping string sections immerse the listener and carry them along atop a wave of ambient music. “Women” then takes the framework of the previous effort but throws in a jazzy and repetitive piano line that comes in and out between sparse and experimental digital wanderings. Rounding off the album is “Gus,” which mixes previous themes with a more full sound and upbeat tempo before deconstructing to closure. Like the silent and still moments of life, CoLAB finds a way to appreciate the simple things. It’s a soothing beat, a heartfelt sound, and the silence that’s contained between that make up the harmony of the world that surrounds us. Stripped and simple yet intricate and thought out, it’s as much about what it is as what it isn’t. [www.lambchop.net]

There’s something strangely comforting about winter. A favorite jacket, another blanket on the bed, and an excuse to stay in with a warm drink - the whole “weather frightful, fire delightful” mentality. It’s cold and lonely, but it’s cozy and secluded and on Ultimatum, the Long Winters live up to their season. The EP’s title track finds Roderick singing “My arms miss you, my hands miss you, the stars sing – I’ve got their song in my head” with a burning sincerity and passion that doesn’t sound the least forced or contrived. “Delicate Hands,” on the other hand, goes a little over the top, as would any other song that mentions “butter-rum candy.” However, the live tracks “Bride and Briddle” and an acoustic take on “Ultimatum” regain the intimacy with a stripped down feel, taking out production in favor of the warmth of a guitar and an earnest vocal. So despite its drawbacks, The Long Winters have created a warm and welcoming EP, complete with stoked fireplace and whipped cream topping. Which is really a good thing… considering winter’s just around the corner. [www.thelongwinters.com]

Nothing irritates me in the same way as making every band the lovechild of two established bands. Granted, the human brain perhaps best understands unknown and intangible concepts (such as music) in terms of comparison. Sure, Sugar in the Raw might sound like Katrina and the Waves meets Ted Leo + the Pharmacists, but it just seems lazy; there has to be another way to describe a band. That said She Wants Revenge is part Interpol and part Fisherspooner. I hate to say it like that, but I could swear some of these songs are Casey Spooner remixes of B-sides from Antics. The two members of the group, Justin and Adam state, “We just wanted to make a record that would make girls dance and cry.” Unfortunately I can’t say they really achieved either. The vocals are all too Ian Curtis/Paul Banks with a hint of David Bowie. The lyrics have the swagger and over-dramatics of any good self-indulgent hipster, seemingly half the songs being a “she said, he said” third person story of life on the Lower East Side. Overall, I think She Wants Revenge could be band I could really get into. I don’t dislike it now, even with its shoddy drum machine beats and general dark wave visions of grandeur. But who knows, this band could grow to fill that pesky albeit narrow gap between your Joy Division and Depeche Mode albums. [www.shewantsrevenge.com]

I’m sad to say that this is a posthumous review—Troubled Hubble met its demise earlier this year, with their final show on September 29th at the Chicago venue Schuba’s. Making Beds in a Burning House, unfortunately, is the last thing they’ll be remembered for, though it’s only a taste of what the band could have accomplished. Embarking on a musical pilgrimage that follows a road between those of No Knife and The Dismemberment Plan, Troubled Hubble was a force of quirky melodies, lyrics that could have been written in the bedroom of the average teenage-nobody, and an abundance of oddball hooks that would give Wayne Coyne something else to smile about. Chris Otepka paints an image of himself as a test-tube toting Darwin-ite—“I’m Pretty Sure I Can See Molecules,” with lines like “Chlorophyll and bits of rice/ice cold water and warmed up ice/fish eat plankton and plankton is/molecules as food for fish;” while far from typical, don’t feel out of place when backed by the grooves and chops from the other 75% of the quartet—the brothers Lanthum (Andrew on bass, Nate on drums) and Josh Miller on guitar. Otepka’s voice often seems self-contained, as though he could break out of this range if he cared to, but he doesn’t. “To Be Alive and Alone” finds him dwelling on the points in life when attempting a relationship becomes futile, as he tells us “We don't want love, we just want to be touched/Some just touch while others want love/Relationships are way too much/don't give me your heart because I've had enough,” and he does an “It’s the End of the World as We Know It”-type rant on “Ear Nose & Throat,” as he utilizes a variety of instruments/words/terms you can find in your doctor’s office for his prose. While it might not be the swan song fans had in mind, Making Beds in a Burning House won’t be viewed as a black spot on the band’s career—it’s solid and enjoyable, if not simply for Otepka’s science class nerd words—and as Troubled Hubble’s unplanned finale, this is what we’ve got left to remember them. [www.troubledhubble.com]

I’m not sure if any self-respecting metal head would consider Denver based Grace Gale a real Heavy Metal Band or if they’re merely hard rock. But for those of us who are not too sure what the difference is between speed, doom, thrash, grind core or any other myriad cores out there in metal world, suffice it to say that Grace Gale is some sort of goofy metal-oid. Sadly, there isn’t a girl named Grace Gale fronting the band—if one woman were doing the vocals on this record, it would be pretty impressive. But alas, Grace Gale (seemingly, the name is a homophone for gray scale) has two dude vocalists: The nearly intelligible, pleading-voiced and almost emo-like guy and the “scary-monster” voiced guy. Yup, emo-guy sets ‘em up, and scary-monster guy knocks ‘em down. The two weave their incongruous vocal stylings over a metallic mush covered in typical old-school metal guitar tendrils. Unfortunately, however, the band wails and wails, but the songs never seem to go anywhere. There are no catchy hooks to base their songs around, and the album’s nearly bassless mix robs their crescendos of any power. Lyrically, A Few Easy Steps To Secure Heli-Camel Safety is equally sophomoric, with high-school-poetry lyrics like, “Switchblade romance/This is your last chance/Lines laid down/Soothing sounds/Speeding car ride/No wonder we died/Roses and gasoline…” But at least Grace Gale doesn’t take themselves too seriously. To prove it, they’ve shoved in a bunch of wacky little moments between and within their songs, like cheerleader-sounding backing vocals; fragments of girls saying vaguely naughty things; and, lamely, even a clip from that Ben Stiller movie, Dodgeball, “Nobody makes me bleed my own blood!” Grace Gale isn’t completely without its charms, and if you’re just out of high school you’d be well within your rights to love these guys, but for those of us not in that particular scene, A Few Easy Steps To Secure Heli-Camel Safety is insufferable. [www.blackoutrecords.com]

I’m reminded of the old adage, just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should. I can’t help thinking that Boston’s Aberdeen City has jumped on the Radiohead/Interpol train and are hoping that there’s still some cash to be made off that sound even at this late date. That being said, it’s hard to come up with a specific complaint about this record: The lyrics are decent enough; although, they often wind up as tortured teen anthems in the end, like the opening track, "Another Seven Years," “…And they will stand all day to fight, fight, fight they’re fighting for nothing.” The band has masterfully constructed broody and often beautiful soundscapes, but even the most beautiful landscape loses its appeal when you’ve seen it all before. I get the feeling that these guys, all excellent musicians, are trying to simply make their own version of pretty, indie pop and hoping for a hit. That’s the problem. I wouldn’t be surprised if Aberdeen City becomes big on college radio. And maybe you’ll hear them in a grocery store one day. It just sounds a little too…um, accessible. Nothing was a risk on this album, neither lyrically, nor musically. Everything has been scientifically focus grouped to carry a big emotional wallop, but afterwards there’s a residual feeling that you’re a sucker. Have you ever secretly scolded yourself for having your heartstrings pulled by a Hallmark commercial? It’s kinda like that. The Freezing Atlantic is a little too much like everything else that’s out there. It is beautifully executed, but who cares when every song makes you feel like you’re in the final, emotional scene of an episode of the O.C. [www.aberdeenmusic.com]

The melody of “Extraordinary Machine” (the title track of Fiona Apple’s finally released third CD) is giddy: Bunnies hopping across a field. So is Fiona Apple’s voice, here a dusky dulcet, there a lithe falsetto, and yet always the perfect compliment to her music. She is that extraordinary machine: The type of carefree woman you’d expect to see splashing in puddles called music and at the same time, meticulous enough to isolate the one liquid chord able to send shivers up the spine. A musical prodigy, Fiona Apple knows enough about music to break most of the rules, flitting about with what can only be called mermaid fancy through a quicksilver sea of sound. In “Please Please Please,” she begs (playfully) for an end to melody and tries to escape from “what we know already/that will keep us steady...steady going nowhere.” Her solution is to experiment with the foundations of music, switching tempo, melody and voice with what could be called a mirror to our own erratic lives. These are abrupt shifts, yes, but never jarring; rather than resisting the mercurial flow of her own music, she immerses herself in this mishmash of melody. And far from swept away, she is radiant in this chaos, holding it all together by the skin of her tongue, the breath across her soft palette. Fresh, she sings, not steady: We have to allow ourselves to be carried away to get anywhere new. It’s in this fashion too that she’s able to make love songs fun again; although admittedly, with lyrics like “If I didn’t have to kill, kill, kill, kill, kill myself doing it/maybe I wouldn’t think so much of you,” this is a more modern love, the kind that unabashedly jabs at our flaws. Still, her wordplay (far exceeding that of any rapper and certainly more melodic) astounds. Each word elides, glides or jackhammers right into place, the perfect compliment for her keening sense of poetics. (“I’m either so sick in the head I need to be bled dry, to quit/or I just really used to love him/I sure hope that’s it.”) Yet for all her tinkering, Fiona Apple is never lost, and thanks to that, Extraordinary Machine gives us all the verve of life without once scrambling our nerve. [www.fiona-apple.com]

For a bluesman who has clearly earned himself a spot in the pantheon of guitar greats, Buddy Guy really doesn't need to be recording his albums by committee anymore. But it's something he's been doing for years -- two of his best selling albums to date, Damn Right I've Got the Blues and Feels Like Rain, featured the likes of Jeff Beck and Bonnie Raitt -- and it works for him. And unlike Carlos Santana, who has jammed with flavor of the week acts like Michelle Branch and Everlast on his collaborative albums, Guy almost always plucks legitimate blues artists who do little damage to his street cred. His latest effort, Bring Em In, is no different. Ironically, Santana appears on the album. Guy works best when he's paired with musicians who know how to share the spotlight. He hooks up seamlessly with Keith Richards on Keb Mo's "The Price You Gotta Pay" and with Tracy Chapman on a mellow take of Bill Withers' "Ain't No Sunshine." But Guy gets run over roughshod by Santana in their cover of the Screamin' Jay Hawkins classic, "I Put a Spell On You." Santana seems to forget that he's playing guitar on someone else's album. A duet with John Mayer, his touring partner this past spring, on Otis Redding's "Dreams to Remember" is also surprisingly enjoyable. Mayer would be well served to stick to playing the blues on his own albums – his work here confirms that he's wasted too much time and talent on the acoustic pop scene. The only real flop on the album is a cover of "Lay Lady Lay" with Anthony Hamilton and Robert Randolph that sounds like it was recorded for the soundtrack of a bad romantic comedy on the Lifetime channel. And in case you’re keeping score, Guy only performs one of his own songs (“What Kind Of Woman Is This) on the album -- but it’s damn good. The lack of original material actually makes the album a more accurate representation of his scatterbrained stage shows. He’s been known to kill entire concerts with 30-second snippets of other people’s tunes. In all, Guy deserves credit for a solid effort that's got some serious soul. It's just not the stuff of legends. [www.buddyguy.com]

Shoot the Moon: the Essential Collection features twenty-one recorded and live tracks which span Face to Face’s twelve year career and follows the band from independent label releases to a brief stint on A&M then back again to their indie label roots. Though Face to Face is truly beloved by fans, this collection—which features rare photographs and extensive liner notes—serves as a reminder of the very lateral movement of 'punk' in the last fifteen years. All of Face to Face’s career highlights are here represented, including “Disconnected,” “Pastel,” and “Ordinary.” The collection kicks off with a level of pop punk intensity that rarely varies, and vocalist Trevor Keith never wavers in the delivery of his slightly preachy and clichéd yet earnest and unquestionably sincere lyrics. It’s obvious that Shoot the Moon prefers to remember Face to Face in a certain way, and some career missteps, such as 2000’s Reactionary and the self-parodying, Ignorance is Bliss, were apparently not deemed an essential part of the band’s history. The result is a collection of songs that are all very similar that only repeat listenings will reveal any subtle nuances to the uninitiated. Formed in ‘the year that punk broke’—1991, Face to Face’s 80s hardcore roots are undeniable, and the band truthfully doesn’t add much musically to the pop punk formula of their forbears. Although, judging by the number of fans singing along on the live version of their most famous anthem, “Disconnected,” it is quite clear that these SoCal musicians and their somewhat hackneyed tales of alienation are a great comfort to their fans. Those listeners who were pissed off, alienated teenagers in the 1980s may want to Let Them Eat Jellybeans. [www.antagonistrecords.com]