With the current fuss over often tired, ultra-abrasive music that corners you over every hill, one often becomes numb, fearful and/or unable to accept change when something pleasant and amazingly diverse as Langhorne Slim comes along. It was such a refreshing change and release of self to hear music that took me to an uncommon landscape. The Electric Love Letter is a presentable piece of work that received my undivided attention. It's emotional without being whiny, star-quality entertainment, without the glitz, glamour, and red carpet. It features very cool harmonica skills and a medley of other instruments, like the accordion and the tuba, held together by a Slim’s raw, yet clever voice. The disc starts off with “My Future,” written by Willie Brown (Future Blues) and wrenches the heart on “Lord,” with ear-grabbing lyrics such as “A man’s heart is his own, and only he can break it/I’d start all over alone, if only I could take it” and the sweet-and-sour “Darling it’s a crime that you left me so cold/That I can’t trust myself with this Hell I am excepting.” Towards the end, it turns into an almost somber, melancholy note to the Higher Up. “One Sunday Morning” is an amusing track, but the kicker is a hidden, live track that is an incredible display of the artist’s capabilities to engross his audience totally. I found that the music of Love Letter is not only untiring, it and Slim have brought a novel concept for bluegrass music to the table for a younger generation. I am a rather huge fan of bluegrass, and I’m often agitated that I can’t find newer, younger artists willing to take on the genre, though it is a tricky area of music to skillfully play. If you find yourself thinking Slim’s voice a bit annoying, you must remember: you can’t have bluegrass without those twangy, unrefined vocals. It wouldn’t be as…tasteful. Moreover, in my opinion, the answer is yes, it is worthy of a good old-fashioned hoedown. [www.langhorneslim.com]

A lot of horribly wretched things came from the 80's: New-wave haircuts, colored leather jackets, and the bastardization of the synth. Now, used in the right way synths can be really cool, but when they aren't they can totally ruin songs. Nothing rips the soul out of a song like the plastic manufactured blips and bleeps of an inappropriately placed synth. That being said Phoenix's Alphabetical sounds like it could have come right out of 1984. Right smack dab in the middle of that whole plague of synth rock. Seriously this CD, or tape as the case would have been, wouldn't be out of place with any of that garbage. Jump into your DeLorean, set the time-capacitor back a couple decades and throw it right in there next to Thomas Dolby. With a bit of luck no one would ever even noticed that music had evolved over the last 20 years. Even the lyrics sound retro. Like they'd fit perfectly into some "coming of age movie," which is a bullcrap description of what is essentially a teenage love story. This content makes the songs even worse. Singing about love, being with someone, regrets, yada yada yada... but with a backing band that has been completely castrated by protools and big budget production. This is the stuff that robots put on when they turn down the lights and want to feel sexy. However, it's not all that horrible. Like most 80's bands worth their weight in hair spray, there are the radio singles. Tracks "Everything is Everything" and "(You Can't Blame it on) Anybody" are fun... in that same sort of shameful way that Kylie Minogue is fun. That's right Kylie Minogue is fun. I'll say it. [www.wearephoenix.com]

At the reggae-rock party, O.A.R. just wants to get in your pants, The Police left two hours ago because Sting was bored, and Bad Brains are outside whooping someone’s ass. The Exit are also there, but they’re playing it too cool for you to even notice. For the most part, mixing reggae with anything is a bad move; the results will largely sound watered down, and the term “wanna-be” will come to mind. The Exit avoids this by a wise use of the influence. Though it is noticeably present in each of Home for an Island’s ten tracks, it never goes beyond its best usage: a unique source of rhythm (as evidence, the steel drum card isn’t played until the eighth track and then only for a few bars). What makes up the rest of Home for an Island is indie-rock, punk, and emo. All are used equally at all times, which results in a very smooth and clean sound. “Don’t Push” starts with a delayed riff that is built upon throughout the track, “Back to the Rebels” builds from humble beginnings to a raucous finale, and “Soldier” simmers in acoustic bluesiness. The Exit are masters at keeping their influences under control, and Home for an Island is a solid record because of it. There is nothing here that sets you back in your chair in utter disbelief, but in time, its cool and easy accessibility should win you over. [www.some.com]

Funeral is one of those rare discs that really shouldn't be experienced outside of its entirety. It's not a concept album in that each song plays into the next and has a grand arcing storyline encompassing the entire thing, but every song contains a sort of forelorn sweetness to it that, without the context of each and every song, the entire meaning is lost. It'd be like reading a chapter from a book that works as its own vignette but really does nothing for character development. So what the hell does that mean? Basically it means that this album has a theme, and with a title like Funeral, it's not an intensely happy one. Fortunately, even though the band members experienced personal strife through the loss of loved ones, the album remains upbeat and completely enjoyable. The stories of lovers meeting in an underground tunnel ("Neighborhood #1 (Tunnels)"), a mischevious brother ("Neighborhood #2 (Laika)"), or a city with no power ("Neighborhood #3 (Power)") are executed with indie rock perfection - from the driving drums, the subtle xylophone, the layered vocals, to the droning keyboards, or sing-song chorus...it's all there. Funeral somehow manages to capture the feeling of distraction someone longs for when a disaster occurs. The stories of hopeful love, the frustration with lies, or the longing for quiet in the back seat of a car aren't necessarily all feelings everyone has experienced, but the arcing theme is there. My best bets are on this record showing up on many Best Of lists once 2004 wraps up. [www.arcadefire.com]

I recently saw Detachment Kit playing a show in New York where they announced that they were given the coveted prize of "Most Overrated Band" for the entire CMJ Music Fest. Funny way to start a show given that their French Kiss release Of This Blood is one of the better albums of the year. Sure, it's been out since May, and we're just now telling you about it, but that's not the point. The point is that the aggression and overall fevered frenzy of this record is not to be missed. Fortunately, the album is tracked out so that it's not simply divided into rock songs during the first half, slower restrained songs in the second half. Just when you're trying to recover from the frantic energy of "Ted The Electric," you hit the sweetest slow song on the album, "Ricochet." But soon enough you're dragged back into the fury with "Vanish or Vanquish." This ebb and flow carries you through the whole disc. A dark tone permeates every track on Of This Blood. This may not be too surprising of a thing to pull off with constant heavy guitar or murderous style vocals, but Detachment Kit is smarter than that. These are pop songs complete with a powerful chorus, subtle instrumentation that doesn't reveal itself completely the first time through, and a desperation in the vocals that is both sincere and serious. It is unfortunate that all my flattery for this album only adds to the possibility that the "Most Overrated" title may be true for you, the individual listener. It's a risk worth taking, though, because after quite a few listens and two intensely dedicated live performances, I feel priviledged to consider myself a fan. [www.detachmentkit.com]

It takes a spark to start a fire. Simple as it sounds, it’s true, and it holds in almost all aspects of life. Take your favorite album, for example, and look at why you love it. Chances are you can trace back to one moment where you heard a song, or you saw a concert, or something happened that made you give the album a chance or start to fall in love with it. The spark comes from different and sometimes weird places, and for me the fire came from a film that had drawn plenty of fire itself, Fahrenheit 9/11. I listened to this disc a couple times while at work, and nothing about it jumped up at me. Then at home one night, I saw a commercial for the DVD release of Fahrenheit, and I thought, “That song in the background is great! Why does it sound familiar though?” Then the spark went off to ignite the light bulb above my head, and we were off. I popped in the disc, and this time made sure I wasn’t distracted with work. What I found was a darn good little rock record. The album starts off with two of its best cuts in the first three songs. “One Said To The Other” and “Who’s Gonna Save Us?” (the song referred to above) are instantly catchy and hold up to repeated listening. What follows is a solid outing from a band who has struggled to really crack the US market. Hailing from Down Under, The Living End was an established act well before this release and had had a minor success here, but with MODERN ARTillery they have their best shot yet at gaining more. I had to box-in bands by comparing them to straightforward, but the label “Australian Green Day” seems to fit pretty well, a trio with punk roots whose polish in the studio help clear up the melody and lyrics, but also takes away some punk edge. Lead vocals take a jump into the forefront on this album, with crisp guitars and harmony mostly supporting and not over-shadowing the lead. “Jimmy,” “In The End,” “Rising Up From The Ashes,” and “The Room” headline what is a stellar meat of the album. This is one of those discs that, while a little too polished to be punk, and a little too gritty to be pop, rides a nice line between grit and gleam. Holding up to repeated listening is one of the biggest strengths of the disc, but the lack of anything really original keeps it from making the leap to a great album. Great for some toe tapping while in the car or at the office and a very good album from some veteran rockers. [www.thelivingend.com]

Ahhh…Forbidden Fruit. Good? Yes. But made all the better by the fact it is forbidden. It’s just a fact of life that we want the things we can’t have, and experiencing things we ought not to just makes them that much more exciting. In my early middle school years, my friends and I fulfilled this desire by hanging out at my neighbor’s house and listening to his Adam Sandler albums. They cracked us up to the point of tears, and listening to dick and fart jokes peppered with “F” bombs and expletives made it all the better. But in retrospect, I wonder which of the two really made those albums so great. Shhh…Don’t Tell is the first Sandler album I have listened to in at least five years, and while I have very found memories of Tollbooth Willie screaming at passing motorist, I was anxious to see how I would react now as a guy in his mid twenties. The disc is about two thirds skits and one third songs, with a handful of running jokes. The songs provide some laughs but tend to be the weaker aspect of the album. “The Amazing Willie Wanker” ponders the wonders of masturbation, while “Secret” explores pubic area grooming. You can rest assured you won’t find any world affairs of political issues being addressed here. Two running jokes/storylines thread the disc. Pibb is a character somewhere between an extreme sports addict and a drunken southern grandpa hopped up on moonshine, and is the focus of four skits documenting his adventures. All are funny but not side splitting. Gay Robot provides the other thread, popping up in three separate skits and providing one of the funny characters on the album. The only semi-serious moment is a tribute to Sandler’s dad on the album-ending “Stan The Man,” which is a funny but honoring tip of the hat to the old man. Of all the discs I have received recently to review, this one seems to be the one I pop in when I can’t think of anything else. It stands up to repeat listening, which is huge for a comedy album, but you won’t have to worry about controlling the laughter in your cubicle, which is not so good for a comedy album. The reason I don’t love this album is exactly the reason I would have in middle school; it is filled heavily with dirty adolescent humor. I love a good dick and fart joke as much as the next guy, but somewhere along the line I grew up, and Sandler’s humor did not. Next time around, hopefully Sandler will tackle something more serious or a little smarter in his inspiration. If you want to think about your jokes, this isn’t the album for you. But if you just want a few good chuckles and dirty humor that might take you back to being a young teenager, you'll probably be ok. Forbidden fruit never fails to satisfy no matter how much you eat it, but once it loses its restrictions, it loses some of its sweetness. [www.adamsandler.com]

Some bands get so big that they become a paradox. They are insanely popular and sell millions of records to millions of fans, yet they become such a striking point that an equal number of millions begin to hate their very existence. Such was the band Creed. However, in all the Creed hating that took place you rarely heard mention of anyone except lead singer Scott Stapp. The rest of the band escaped ridicule, and most of the public focused squarely on Stapp. So when Creed broke up, and the original line up basically then reformed (sans Stapp) with a new lead singer, it sparked interest to see if once the cancer was removed the body could live. So does Alter Bridge swim or sink? I have to say that for the most part it is the latter. I was familiar with the work of new front man Myles Kennedy from his former band, The Mayfield Four, because somewhere in my musical journey, they opened for a band I wanted to see, and I ended up with their album in my possession. I always though that he had good vocals without being amazing and that The Mayfield Four had a good sound without being amazing. Sadly, the results of fusing with Tremonti and crew are the same. This isn’t something I can picture people hating with Creed-like passion, but then I can’t see people getting passionate about it period. On the group's first release, One Day Remains, Tremonti steps up with some nice guitar solos but never enough so as to really stand out in front of the rest of the band. The first single, “Open Your Eyes,” grows on you enough to be catchy, but I can’t tell if this is because the song is good or just because I have been playing Madden 2005 everyday for a month. (It is featured as a background song on the EA game). The rest of the disc is peppered with some nice moments like “Broken Wings,” “Down To My Last,” and “Shed My Skin” (the albums strongest cut). The lyrics from Kennedy are not too far a shot from Stapp’s “religious without being Christian rock” writing, as the same themes and undertones that filled Creed records lie within each song on this disc. I am not going to beat this album up too much because it isn’t the worst thing I have ever heard; I just think it was rushed. It seemed like I heard about Creed breaking up, and two days later there was a release date for Alter Bridge. It would have been nice to see Tremonti venture out into a drastically different sound instead of basically changing the voice of the lead singer. Off post-Creed momentum alone, this album should sell pretty well, but if I were you, I would wait and see what else is out there. You won’t despise this record for being made, but you won’t feel an urge to listen to it either. In the end it is just… ummm.. blah. [www.alterbridge.com]

Artistic greatness doesn’t always mean financial greatness. This is the fundamental flaw of the music business in the eyes of most music connoisseurs. Long before I heard a single note of this album or of The Roots’ music, I had heard of them through numerous top ten lists and indie magazine reviews praising their genius style and beautiful flow. Of course, outside of the underground and sometimes a brief mention of them on MTV (not to play their video mind you, but just mention them), I hadn’t seen much of anything from them in the public eye. Hopefully, with this release and some help from a friend or two, things are soon to change. The Tipping Point came out as one of the most anticipated albums of the summer and with good reason. The huge success of Chappelle’s Show has led to some nice exposure for the band, as Chapelle has featured them as both musical guest and cameo guests on a few episodes of the show. That coupled with the newest fad of indie becoming the new mainstream sets The Roots at a prime point for jumping to the next level, but will the public finally take notice? If this album is any indication of things to come, surely they won’t be able to deny The Roots talent much longer. “Star/Pointro” immediately jumps out as a short course in Roots 101; at once flowing and catchy like radio rap, but coming in at 7:36 long, it is hardly in the mold of standard rap. The video for “Don’t Say Nuthin’” has garnered some MTV airplay and become arguably the bands biggest hit ever, but what makes this album great is not one stand out track but an album’s worth of them. A cohesive flow runs straight from one track to the next, making sure you never lose attention or interest in what is going on. The head bouncing of “Web” and the slow jam feel of “Somebody’s Gotta Do It” showcase the diversity the group is capable of. You get the feeling The Roots could make a jazz album, an R&B album, a rap album, or anything they wanted and succeed marvelously; that’s just how talented they are. Ending with a bonus track featuring none other than the aforementioned Dave Chappelle, The Tipping Point is a solid disc from start to finish. It might not go down as an all time great album, but it will surely be vying for a spot on numerous top ten lists when the year comes to an end. Let’s just hope that this time around, the independent media and music nuts aren’t the only ones who take notice. [www.theroots.com]

I pick various bands to review, and the majority of them are bands I’ve never taken note of before. Therefore, I’ve come to the conclusion that I have pretty awesome taste in music. Rarely am I ever grossly dissatisfied with my picks, and I’m always jamming on new bands I did not recognize prior to reviewing them. I pop in a CD, lower my prudence level and submerge myself in naïveté. Ah. That said, we have this band called Steriogram. And from first listen, I know Steriogram equals wake-up-and-smell-the-freakin’-coffee. These boys from down under, New Zealand to be exact, bring their Capitol Records debut loud, funky, and deliberate. Schmack (Yes. That’s the name of their album, people) is bubbling over with power-pop and cheery guitar riffs galore. At first listen, the rap-rock concept casts a shadow because the whole idea of combining rap and rock is the biggest disappointment, in my opinion, in the history of music—thanks, Aerosmith and Run-DMC. However, with the frequent vocals and all around great melody and rhythm, I was able to somewhat look passed the musical faux pas. “Looking for some brown sugar/In the hot chocolate” is now part of my new pick-up line and is also lyrics from the first track, “Roadtrip,” an ode to touring. When I sing the choruses, I get the sensation that I’m strutting down a city sidewalk; everyone stares at me, my 80’s shades covering my eyes; and my headphones are set to the maximum. I don’t care because I’m walkin’ and a talkin’ and a movin’ and a groovin’. “Walkie Talkie Man”—track two—sticks in your mind like gum in a kid’s hair. “Be Good To Me” is a handsome and compelling tune, but unfortunately, the rapping did not enhance the sentiment when the tune first opened. It only strained it, as if the rap forced it out its disposition. Take note, however, of the title track, “Schack!” and also “White Trash” (“You should see my new hairdo/I dyed it jet black/Oh well it’s short on the top/And it’s long in the back”. Another mullet reference…they’re back with a dark vengeance). This is the only time I’ve ever loved the element of rap in the song because I feel the song would definitely not be complete without it. The stand-out for me was “In the City,” starting off with that boss kick drum and a incredibly strong bass line—I’ve a rhythm-section romance, so to me it’s only necessary for the rhythm section to conquer and they do it up completely on this number. Schmack! is schmacked with goodness: happy, feel-good music, very nifty artwork (Did someone take the time to actually sew tiny, cloth instruments, mics, headphones, and amps, complete with buttons and very fine detailing? Amazing!), and since it’s what makes these boys so charming, they have slightly made me rethink my views on rapping while rocking—ok, maybe not, but they are one exception. In addition, the disc is enhanced with the making of and the video for “Walkie Talkie Man”. Give these righto lads a hand or two of applause. [www.steriogram.com]

The acoustic, violin-accompanied folk punk of Ghost Mice hasn't significantly changed since the recent Debt of the Dead, but that only means the band hasn't found a downward spiral. There are four new songs from Hannah (violin, vocals) and Chris (guitar, vocals) about their friendship, their hometown of Bloomington, Indiana, Chris' uncle's career in prison, and life on the road. The duo also includes their version of Woody Guthrie's "Pretty Boy Floyd". Defiance, Ohio plays in a similar vein to that of Ghost Mice, with a "fuller" sound--violin, guitar, drums, upright bass, banjo, and cello. It reminds me of early Against Me!...a little bit, anyway. Definitely an entertaining listen. They also do a nice take on the Gorilla Biscuits' classic "Things We Say" that, well, would probably give Civ a nice laugh. It's rare to find bands in the DIY scene as honest as these two, who are doing their best to keep album prices at five bucks or less and who won't hesitate to play backyards and basements. [www.plan-it-x.com]

There are long-standing jokes about our neighbors to the North, but I won’t get into them. If you’re Canadian, you’ve most likely been teased by some Americans at three or more points in your life, but in all reality, some of the most successful entertainers of our time have come from Canada: Queen of girl angst, Alanis Morissette; songbird Celine Dion; funnyman Mike Myers; and even Canada’s sweetheart, Avril. But ah...what a refreshing night it was back in 2002 when I discovered a little band by the name of The Constantines. They had just played SXSW with a band named Royal City. They made me feel that if Canada is wrong, I didn’t want to be right. Their latest gem (a self-titled release which was originally released in 2001, but is now available on Sub Pop) begs for the death of rock-n-roll and gives it in great quantity all at once. “This is a terminal condition,” they sing on the first track, “Arizona." And that it is. The Constantines tell stories with stimulating lyrics, time-signature stories told with a rock-n-roll stance. Bass lines drive as tough and straightforward as the guitars and drums that beat as steady as a heart in the chest. This music is constant, mellow, and thunderous in unison. The third tune, “Some Party,” picks up the pace and makes its presence known with a likable chorus and bass that is all too manifest. “Justice” is a slow, tantalizing tune, and the chorus is laid before us like an entrée of delicate, breathy vocals. Other tunes worthy of mentioning are “Seven A.M.,” a pained, yet lovely acoustic tune called “Saint You,” and “Steal This Sound.” Nevertheless, a problem did arise...a problem I didn’t notice on previous releases, like The Modern Sinner Nervous Man or Nighttime/Anytime It’s Alright, both available on Three Gut Records. The tunes of this self-titled record are a bit repetitive, sounding like the earlier tracks, though not with the lyrics—the lyrics are awesome and brilliant, as with other Constantines albums. This repetitiveness would put some off, but I assure you…if you let them, these tunes will grow on you like lichen on an old oak tree— from tip to toe. [www.constantines.ca]

I gave Longwave a glowing review when their major label debut, The Strangest Things, came out almost a year and a half ago. I absolutely loved the record with it's great vibe and feel. It was refreshing to hear a NYC band at the time that didn't sound like their counterparts, the Strokes, but instead pulled their influences from Radiohead and other Brit-pop, shoe-gazer bands. When I heard they were releasing an EP before their next album was completed, I was pretty excited about what I hoped the band would do on it. Unfortunately, Life Of The Party does not live up to those hopes. One can argue that it's just an experimental release before a full-length is released, but nothing will excuse the fact that Life Of The Party is a horribly boring collection of songs. I hate to say it, too, as I really really like Longwave. And I really wanted to give this a good review. But the root of the problem exists in the songs themselves. The opening title track definitely borders on experimental, at least in terms of normal Longwave compositions. It's nice and all, but just kinda bores you halfway through. The second track, "We're Not Gonna Crack," sounds like the band listened to "Transatlantic Drawl" by Radiohead and tried to mimic it note for note. The Radiohead song ends after 2 minutes, but unfortunately Longwave drags theirs out longer. "Here It Comes" is probably the EP's saviour. It sounds like your normal, typical Longwave song. And while it doesn't push any boundaries with experimentation, it's just so freakin' good that you can't ignore it. The rest of the CD is pretty much forgettable, except for the brilliant "There's A Fire," where lead singer/guitarist Steve really shows off his voice on a beautiful acoustic track. However, again, the track just drags on far too long.. Since the EP's release, Longwave has gone through some turmoil. Their drummer and bassist left abruptly just before a mini-tour and before recording their next record for RCA. Keeping that in mind, it may give you some excuse to try and appreciate the CD as one made during a tumultuous time for the band. However, one thing that can't be ignored is the quality of the songs, which is gravely lacking. Hopefully the full length they're working on will more than make up for this sub-par release. [www.longwavetheband.com]

Hardcore is now filling the role that rap did in the mid-nineties; its being mixed with the wrong things over and over again. And people are buying it. You could make a case that hardcore’s only true companion is metal by simply dropping a few names, ahem, Botch, The Dillinger Escape Plan and Converge. Where hardcore crosses metal’s more experimental side helps the pairing pay off, but this fact seems to be lost on 99.9% of the bands citing any of the above three as influences. Thirty Called Arson have both feet planted firmly in the other .1%. You’re Only a Rebel from the Waist Downward is a frighteningly precise blend of hardcore restlessness and metal’s darker leanings. The first ten tracks blow by in frenzied spurts (mostly under two minutes) of stop-start rhythms and swirling guitars covered with hardcore shouts and death metal growls. It plays like Dillinger’s Calculating Infinity with a slightly different vocal approach, so the degree of difficulty here is definitely high, but Thirty Called Arson have the skill and fearlessness to make it rewarding in its own right. This fearlessness is manifested in the seven and a half minute unofficial closer, “Have You Met My Friend Burns?,” an instrumental which stands in sharp contrast to the preceding quick hitters, more because of its use of melody than its sprawling length and pace. Nineteen empty tracks later, there is a hidden track filled with low-end feedback and screeching guitars that seems at first like a waste of time but really highlights the experimental streak that sets this album apart. You’re Only a Rebel from the Waist Downward would stand as a sign of good things to come, but unfortunately Thirty Called Arson called it quits in early 2004. A bummer for sure considering the potential they show here, but what they left behind is a compelling snapshot of a band that seemed to have things moving in the right direction. [www.thirtycalledarson.com]

Late one night, a garage rock band had just finished their set at some hole in the wall club and decided to go out for drinks. At the same time, an art-punk band just finished their set in an art gallery and also went for drinks. Very serendipitously they ended up at the same bar. The rockers mocked the art-students ‘cocktails’ while the art-students turned their noses up at the rockers ‘beers.’ Eventually the situation came to a head and the two bands were entwined in fatal battle, leaving exactly half of each band dead. Fortunately the remaining members decided to pick up the pieces and formed ‘This Moment in Black History.’ With equal parts rock'n'roll savagery and art school intellect, TMIBH has created a truly amazing debut album. So where do these new purveyors of cool chic rock come from? L.A.? New York? London? Nope… Cleveland, Ohio. TMIBH’s lead singer/synth man Christopher Kulcsar (CK1) brings a Datson-esque howl, but with touches of punk over pronunciation and drawl. This allows him to sound completely demented but also rather profound. Bass player Michael D’Amico provides some of the tightest driving bass lines you’ll ever her from someone on their freshman effort. Guitarist Buddy Akita throws thrash-art riffs with some really cool tinges of rock, and drummer Lamont Thomas gives the band a hardcore edge. The content varies from songs about girls and clubs on the one hand and robots and apathy on the other hand. My favorite song on the CD, "Paint Me a Picture," is a sort of Nada Surf’s "Popular" but barely crossing the one minute mark (1.18) and dealing with an artist who isn’t concerned as long as he and everyone he knows are alright. Midwesterncuttalistick came as a shock to me. I was expecting just a rock by numbers album, but what I got could very well be in my top 5 albums of the year. The depth TMIBH express on this CD is really promising, especially considering it’s their debut… and they’re from Cleveland of all places. [www.versioncityrecords.com]

Drawing comparisons to early Green Day, the Replacements, and the Descendents, the Ergs are obviously gonna be playing goofy pop-punk, and that's an easy way to pigeonhole the band. But then you would be overlooking all the other amazing influences the band cites in their bio (as well as in their sound)--Elvis Costello, the Minutemen, Black Flag, etc. Dork Rock Cork Rod showcases the Ergs' glistening capabilities to pen infectious song after infectious song without any signs of letting up. Bouncy verses with sing-along choruses blanket the record, with each member playing to the height of their potential. Fans of Lookout! Records should be loving this, but the Ergs effortlessly blend that style of pop-punk with power-pop, jazz, and rock & roll so much that any classification would be unfair. Songs like "A Very Pretty Song for a Very Special Young Lady Part 2," "Rod Argent," and "Running, Jumping, Standing Still" (and pretty much the entire album) are standard "girls, love and life" numbers, but the band, thankfully, rises far above any radio counterparts by sparing us the faux hearbroken close-to-tears vocals and keeping the fun intact. Dork Rock Cork Rod ends up being an excellent record, catering to a crowd spanning the spectrum of nerdiness, from lighthearted to heartbroken, and back again. [www.whoaohrecords.com]

Near incessant touring coupled with on and offstage antics, have made Planes Mistaken For Stars a household name in the punk rock scene. Recent tours with Cursive, the Ataris, Against Me!, and the Dillinger Escape Plan have only strengthened the band's grip on independent music, and Up In Them Guts takes that grip to a bone-crushing degree. Forever full of gloom and grime, Planes Mistaken For Stars' sound has reached new depths (a fitting term, I think, in their case), allowing themselves to be more musically controlled, belting out nearly discernible vocals, and acquiring an improved sense of songwriting. A musical melting pot, Planes Mistaken For Stars masters heavy rock & roll without a dull moment. The abrasive vocals and violent lyrics, a la Nick Cave, keep the band shrouded in blackness with nary a smile or glint of optimism. And, while not being excessively heavy, yet never soft enough for comfort, Up In Them Guts is a passionate display of harsh outlooks and whiskey-drenched daydreams. The music contains as many layers as a fat man's ideal birthday cake. Loud to faint but constantly powerful and absorbing, filled to the brim with crashing cymbals, power chords, and dirty guitar tones. In one word, I would call Planes Mistaken For Stars "rough" -- nothing about this band is polished; I bet they don't even bathe. They aren't catchy in the slightest. In fact, I doubt the majority of their fans were hooked at first. But this band grows on you, enormously, with each listen. As far as the album's finest moments, I couldn't really say, but for the review's sake, "A Six Inch Valley," "Belly Full of Hell," and "Say Not a Word" are my personal favorites. Up In Them Guts should prove to be the year's most nicotine and alcohol-driven flight to hell and back, and I'm leaving it at that. [www.pmfs.net]

The Libertines are probably as well-known for Pete Doherty’s onstage and offstage antics, drug battles and just plain freaky behavior as they are their music. In fact, I’d venture they are actually better known for those things in most circles. But hey, you gotta get a gimmick, and a maligned, strung-out singer is as good as anything, right? The band’s self-titled sophomore album starts out a tad sloppy really, with a bit of slurring and slobbering on the vocals, but it's not really enough to really hurt the overall effect. Slowly though, after the third song, things start to synch up a bit. The “La, la, la, la, la, la” chorus of “The Man Who Would Be King” is super catchy, and the rhythm is groovy, almost in a jam band sort of way but very together. Using a bit of rock-a-billy glam, “Narcissist” is fantastically infectious. Illustrating a pretty consistent comparison that can be made, “What Katie Did” is pure channeling of The Clash and contains the rather strange line “Since you said goodbye/Polka dots fill my eyes/And I don’t know why.” If you dig into the guts of these songs, the lyrics are really pretty telling. There is a lot of verbal tennis going on between notorious singer Doherty and the other part of the dynamic creative force, Carl Barat, and it’s at times quite a nasty game. In “Can’t Stand Me Now,” the men end up shouting the chorus back and forth at one another in clear animosity. One has to wonder if the cantankerous relationship between the two supplies the power of this band or merely exists independently. I mean, just imagine what could have happened if Hall & Oates had actually hated one another…but I digress. Look, when it comes down to it, there are a lot of records out this year that try to cover similar ground as The Libertines, but for sheer variety and manipulation of the recently overdone genre of retro-rock, this is a pretty cool album. [www.thelibertines.com]

Occasionally you come across a record that fits seamlessly into your life. Riot On An Empty Street, the second release from Norwegian duo Kings of Convenience is such a record. A modern, Nordic version of Simon and Garfunkel, Erlend Øye and Eirik Glambek Bøe have a sound that will get under your skin and seep into your subconscious with an ease that might take you by momentary surprise. The twelve tracks on this album are exquisitely arranged and feel so comfortable; you’ll swear that you’ve just been wrapped in a cozy sweater. The harmonies are perfect and both men play a variety of instruments, adding layer upon layer in the most organic fashion. There are horns, acoustic guitars, the occasional banjo and piano blended skillfully together. Ranging in tone from painfully melancholic to jubilantly silly, each track is a brilliant gem to be experienced again and again. It’s impossible to really find a track that I don’t like, but there are a couple that really deserve even more shameless praise. “I’d Rather Dance With You” is incredibly clever, and the accompanying video is positively grin-inducing. When Øye says “I’d rather dance with you than talk with you,” you immediately get that shy adolescent feeling of being at the school dance: Excited and terrified with expectation. At least if you’re dancing, there’s less chance of saying something wrong that might spoil the flirtation. My personal favorite track is “Sorry or Please,” a song that explores the question of whether the signs we think we see at the beginning of a potential relationship really mean what we hope they mean. “Your increasingly long embraces/Are they saying sorry or please/I don’t know what’s happening/Help me.” It’s an especially sweet song that deals simply with the blush of new romance. It’s rare that I can’t stop myself from having an all-out lovefest over a record, but I’m afraid I don’t have one critique or negative thing to say about Riot On An Empty Street. It’s a beautiful record, touching, fragile, clever and incredibly simple. Kings of Convenience are the breath of fresh, comforting air I needed on the cusp of this autumn. [www.kingsofconvenience.com]

Allen Epley, who I consider a king of Midwestern indie rock (he headed the long-extinct Shiner with vocal/guitar magic), tries to reposition himself on the throne with a new band and a new album. Formed shortly after the demise of aforementioned Shiner, The Life and Times seemed almost like a last-minute jam session but has spawned a stunning six-song EP, The Flat End of the Earth. Epley collaborates with Someday I’s John Meredith and Mike Myers (of The String and Return) for bass and drum duties respectively. The disc leads with “Raisin in the Sun,” the perfect sign that it’s going to be an interesting journey. Meredith sends his bass intermingling with Epley’s voice and delivers with ease. The tune “Houdini” seems a mournful nocturne, reminiscent of one who’s slept half his life away, with lyrics that sigh breathlessly. There are ooh’s and aah’s sung in silent wonder as if they are ghosts of that lost day. “Movies and Books” could quite possibly be the most exciting song on the disc, with instruments working together to build a rock monument and engraved with a chorus one catches quicker than a cold: “And I could complicate you/In ways you can’t relate to/And I could steal your halo/And keep it under my pillow”. Has Epley lost his lyrical flair? Hardly. The mood quickly changes when “Servo” and “Flat End of the Earth” arrive and wrap-up the album in all their gloomy wonder. The title track introduces itself with barely-there vocals, keys, and violin, but awakens with razorblade guitars backed by Myers’s measured and balanced drumming. He marches in like a drummer boy leading his troops to victory, Meredith intervenes with a rhythmic-divine and Epley’s voice floats assonantly. Then, it all erupts—swelling, cascading, and finally coming to rest in one hushed crash of the cymbal. Fin. Though two messengers have changed, the message remains the same. Eric Abert, of prog-rock princes Ring, Cicada from St. Louis, has filled bass duties, and drum responsibilities have been established with Stella Link’s Chris Metcalf. For their second release and first full-length, due out on the newly revived Desoto Records, The Times have decided not to employ the help of friend and producer J. Robbins (Jawbox, Burning Airlines, Challenger) due to time and budget constraints…and that’s just fine. Instead, they’ve decided to engineer, mix, and produce the album themselves, along with the enlisted skills of long-time friend and former Shiner bassist, Paul Malinowski. They will record at GWRR in mid-November. Also, look for TLAT on the much-anticipated Jawbox Tribute Compilation (featuring Actionslacks, Retisonic, and Colossal). Finally, this elusive bunch will be putting on the ritz this fall with five shows lined-up, bringing new and familiar tunes to cities throughout the Midwest. Children, Flat End of the Earth satisfies your auditory appetite. Some have discredited the band, going deaf and confused in all the comparing and contrasting to Epley’s old band. Lest we forget, this is a new band trying to find their niche and members whose visions are similar. If the tunes are reminiscent of The Egg, it’s only because, I feel, this is Epley’s and TLAT’s venture into the familiar unknown. But never fear…the king and his court are here. [www.thelifeandtimes.com]