Whereas the Tenacious D album uses pre-written skits to precede and give reference to the lyrics, the HBO episode skits are used only to fill in the empty space between live versions of the album songs; the story is merely there to accommodate the music, which brings in very little new, worthwhile material. The “pure-rock-energy,” the very soul of the duo, is completely lost when Jack and Kyle try to ‘act’ (how can you act as a character that is yourself?). These episodes fail, on all accounts, to capture the raw, impulsive Tenacious D power. The spontaneity and pragmatic appeal of ‘real-life people pretending to be Rock and Roll Gods’ gets buried beneath long-winded, boring narratives and repetitious recreations of album tracks you’ve also seen in the concert footage, music videos, TV appearances, and in all the behind-the-scenes documentaries (not to mention how many times you’ve listened to the album). Thankfully, the rest of the material is much more interesting. What is considered to be the bulk of The Complete Master Works, the Brixton Academy concert footage, is more of a stand-up comedy show than a rock-concert, since it’s just KJ and JB each with a microphone and an acoustic guitar. Tenacious D doesn’t need to have a full band line-up to rock-the-fuck-out, which is why I think they recorded mainly with acoustic guitars. The hilarious off-the-cuff swings at British culture, brotherly squabbles, and vocal solos make up for the lack of drums, bass, and keyboards. The highlight is seeing Jack Black play the worst guitar solo of all time during “Rock Your Socks Off.” The real gem of this DVD is the music video section, where SPUMCO (the Ren and Stimpy animation studio) conceives the perfect visual realization of “Fuck Her Gently,” Spike Jonze creates a charmingly epic video for “Wonderboy,” and David Grohl stars as Beelzebub in the clever “Tribute” video. The videos are so ridiculously well envisioned that I wish the whole DVD was one full-length video covering the entirety of the album. Even for those fans who revel in the lewd, profane humor of Tenacious D’s debut record may feel a bit aghast at the sheer level of obnoxious and unnecessary semen, shit, and unfunny sex-related jokes in the Short Films section. I’m sure that all of you new Jack Black fans, those hot off of the family-oriented School of Rock bandwagon, will LOVE having your wholesomeness shot in the back while you watch some of the most uninteresting, needlessly-disgusting “comedy” skits that I’ve ever had the displeasure of watching. I can deal with cock-pushups, hard-fucking, and Jack Black figuratively shooting his juice all over the goddamn place, but these “films” are just annoying and utterly shameless. Whether or not this is a purchase worth making is dependent on your tolerance for stupidity. In my opinion, the HBO episodes suck, but the concert footage is excellent. The music videos are fantastic, unfortunately there are only three. There’s certainly enough good stuff for psycho fans, but the casual fan will probably get turned off from the less than virtuous sections. It's a hard call to make. [www.tenaciousd.com]

With a new record comes a new sound; Cex relinquishes the rap/emcee image (evident on Tall, Dark and Handcuffed) and tries an entirely new set of vocal styles and lyrical approaches. Understandably, the transition from freestyle/verse to “traditional” singing has its hang-ups: the vocals sound a little amateur in the same manner that Trent Reznor sounds a little fake on Pretty Hate Machine. I say this because Maryland Mansions exhibits the exact same positive and negative qualities of the dated-but-much-respected Nine Inch Nails debut. On one side, both use highly electronic, modestly experimental production techniques and layered drum-machines, synthesizers, and extraneous sampling. The use of feedback, static, and distortion as instrumentation (classic NIN style) flaunts the production/experimentation-obsessive talent. On the other hand the lyrical themes are so exaggerated and trite that the record becomes very uninteresting; like Reznor, Cex is only a sporadic lyrical whiz. He may linger in a completely different musical genre than Reznor, but Cex still has that catchy “devil wants to fuck me in the back of his car” groove. (…speaking of lyrics) Even still, he pulls off a curiously resourceful eight-track twenty-five minute album; as a step away from the standard material, this album (almost a half-album) makes up in intensity and creativity what it lacks in time. Problems aside, this is a very intelligent (in execution and production, not so much in verse) record that proves if nothing else, that hip-hop has become much too generic and much too boring. [www.rjyan.com]

Seconds after pressing the play button on Forever Is Forgotten’s debut full-length I can tell I’ve head this all before. Yes, it blurs the line between metal and hardcore. Yes, it sends its sound through odd time signatures and unconventional song structures. Yes, the vocalist sounds like he’s gargling shards of broken glass. Essentially it’s a sound that results from slicing the Dillinger Escape Plan in half and mending it with Meshuggah or any of the countless other bands that have replicated their tech-metal blueprint. The Architecture Is Still Burning is not the premier example of this sound, but it’s also not on the lowest tier of talent. However, to be noticed in the overflowing populace of brutal, metallic musical artists, they will have to give up the already downtrodden formula and forge new territory. It may be a good thing that I neither like nor hate this album as it falls somewhere in between. But it also means that it made such a little impact on me that it isn’t even worth my time to decide. [www.foreverisforgotten.com]

We all know the Ramones. Most of us like the Ramones. They gave us the most easily digestible New York punk rock out there, and launched a million bands in their wake. Shesus is one of those bands. That being said, so were the Pixies, Pearl Jam and Green Day – some of whom added a lot to the Ramones formula (Pixies), some less (Green Day). Shesus added a bit less. Shesus sounds as if the Ramones borrowed Belinda Carlisle and Jane Wielden from the Go-Gos for a record. It’s fast, fun, slam-dancing goodness – but there is nothing groundbreaking here. The standout cut is by far “B-Side Radio,” which sounds leaps and bounds more progressive and interesting than anything else on the record. The David Bowie cover (“Hang Onto Yourself”) is a faster, sleazier version, but still drips of fun and enthusiasm. What is a bit frustrating about the record as a whole is that Shesus is trying really hard to no avail. They are obviously playing their hearts out and are pleading with us to listen, to love, to devour the record, but there isn’t enough there to devour. Their hearts are in the right place, and hopefully next time, so will their songwriting. [www.shesus.com]

The Smoking Popes' album Born To Quit might be one of my favorite albums, and that, combined with the fact that Duvall are signed to Asian Man Records (my favorite record label), forced me to listen to this album. Finding God was apparently the biggest reason that singer/songwriter Josh Caterer left the incredibly influential Smoking Popes, and he makes that transformation clear via lyrical content in Duvall. The band has had a few past releases, but this is their first full-length album. Not straying from the formula that he's known for, Caterer (along with his brother Eli, and drummer Rob Kellenberger) keeps churning out beauty. The band is pure melody, but in a very mature sense, and Caterer's voice is as angelic as it has ever been. Every track is memorable, slow to lose its charm, and you still get to hear some fine guitar work, too. The chorus to "Standing At The Door" is instantly memorable. The band even manages to work ol' Jesus into some of the lyrics without preaching or sounding... cheesy, for lack of a better word. Heard the song "True" by Spandau Ballet? I didn't realize I had until Duvall's version started playing. It's hard to pick out a highlight since every song is so good, but if you like one track on Volume And Density, you'll probably love the entire record. What else would you expect from a band that Steven Morrissey (yeah, that guy from The Smiths) called "the best band in the United States"? [www.asianmanrecords.com]

While not as pristine as on the first album, Maura Davis of Denali still undoubtedly remains one of the most talented female vocalists I’ve heard in years. The Instinct is more consistent in structure and tone than the previous album which encourages a more mature listening experience, but at the same time is the biggest drawback; the new method creates a more cathartic, pleasant atmosphere but lacks the electronic freedom and diversity of “Relief” and “Lose Me.” Thankfully, select rock-out-moments revitalize some of the rather soft, sleepy tracks and preserve the flow even to those people who have small attention spans (me). I won’t by any means deny the apparent sophomore jinx pressure, but I will affirm that even with a short-lived track list and some less than fantastic songs, The Instinct’s ethereal sound, mesmerizing vocals, and elegant production rivals musical titans like P.J. Harvey, Cat Power, and Beth Gibbon’s years with Portishead. If guitar-rock at trip-hop tempos with a slight taste of electronic overtones seem to interest you, I highly recommend you check out this album. [www.denalimusic.com]

Not satisfied with the last Reel Big Fish album? I can't say that I was. Have no fear, The Forces of Evil can fill that void in your skankin' heart. Fronted by Reel Big Fish leader Aaron Barrett and rounded off with members of Jefferies Fan Club, The Forces of Evil are one of the few bands helping to give the ska scene another good kick in its dying ass. Sounding obviously like an Orange County ska band, The Forces of Evil have crafted a catchy, bouncy, and sometimes pretty hilarious debut full-length. Many of these songs appear on the band's 2002 EP, buy the new versions sound better by far. The album is pretty straight ahead ska - fun, danceable, and the horns sound great. And, of course, Aaron Barrett's lyrics are as funny as anything he's written before. For example, the chorus of the album opening "Angry Anthem" ("Fuck all you motherfuckers, fuck you!"), as well as the last line of "Independent" ("I hate that stupid ho"). I can't forget to mention the band's rendition of Van Halen's "Dancing the Night Away", too. Friend or Foe? doesn't try to be anything it isn't, and all the band wants from you, the listener, is for you to have a few laughs and enjoy listening to something light and carefree. This won't turn you on to anything new, but if you like Reel Big Fish, the Mad Caddies, Mustard Plug or the like, you'll undoubtedly love this. [www.theforcesofevil-ska.com]

Having never come into contact with this band previously, it's hard to say that the name From Ashes Rise really grabbed me. Judging strictly by their name, this album would've been chucked into the same crapcore genre as, well, bands such as the similarly named From Autumn To Ashes. Thankfully, From Ashes Rise doesn't quite live up to that association. With Nightmares alone, it's easy to call this band overrated. Don't get me wrong, the album is enjoyable. But, it's not going to change your world. The record is basically straight-up hardcore/punk, with dualing guitars and brash vocals. While lyrics tend to be weak at some points, it doesn't really matter, because you can't understand them anyway. As well, the lack of energy in songs such as "On The Fray" or "The Inner Beast" kill the pacing of the set. Yet, when the band plays fast, hard, and pissed-off (see pretty much the rest of the album, but especially "Bloodlust"), that's when I can see where the fanboy love that this band has garnered arises from. Nightmares isn't exactly what it was portrayed to be, but is thoroughly enjoyable for a hardcore/punk album. If they haven't already, they'd be right at home touring with Jade Tree brethren Paint It Black. [www.jadetree.com]

By all means, this album should suck. I mean let's look at the evidence. Article A: Matt is good looking and young. Article B: Matt is a singer/songwriter. Article C: He is out of San Francisco. With all the current pretty boys passing themselves off as talented singer/songwriters with songs of corny love and frat-daddy antics, the evidence points towards a forgettable album. Unfortunately, in the court of music, you cannot out argue talent. Beneath These Fireworks opens with a short, but very sweet acoustic piece “Angel”, and then proceeds to hit stride with catchy pop song after catchy pop song. Nathanson's talent becomes quickly evident after only a few tracks. Being the world's greatest guitar player isn’t likely a title Matt is going to win anytime soon, and his songwriting is not going to outdo the Beatles with imagery or depth, but it does show it’s talent in another way - catchiness. The main subject of the album is, of course, love and relationships, but it avoids the pitfalls of being a sob story of heartache, or a sugar-coated, puppy-love album. Songs like “Little Victories”, “Suspended” and “Bent” eloquently balance the heartache with the joy. Staying pop without falling into the stereotypical mold of a pop singer/songwriter seems almost like a paradox, but somehow each song walks the line with skill. Some people are virtuosos at their instruments. Some of them write poetic lyrics, the depths of which will be explored for years. And then there are some that tell it with simple music and with a straightforward message, but they do it in a way you can’t help but like. Matt Nathanson is of course that kind of talent. In many ways a typical pop singer/songwriter album, but instantly and repeatedly endearing because of the catchy melodies and the talent with which the songs are put together. [www.mattnathanson.com]

When it came time to pick some new albums to review I did a little research. When YOB came up, I quickly found out that this album was classified under “stoner rock” and it simply had three tracks; one of 18 minutes, followed by one of 7 minutes, and ending with one of 23 minutes. Instantly, I knew I had to hear what this was all about. 48 minutes later, I am still not sure what that was all about. I have to admit that if I were stoned I would imagine this album would mellow me out and have me chillin' in a bean bag chair. Then again, if you are high, is it really that hard to do anyway? All three songs are free form flowing pieces of aural atmosphere. There are no verses, no bridges, no choruses in the universe they seek to create; just a sound. Now, not being stoned the album is rather directionless and dull. Let’s face it, a song over 7 minutes in length is not easy to pull off - and that is the shortest song on the entire album! There is nothing extremely bad on the album, and the playing is done with enough skill as to not warrant thrashing. It is just the length and repetitiveness that grinds away at the ears after a while. The lead singer’s voice provides one shouting point. A weird, sometimes high-pitched, sometimes growling, always unintelligible mix that blends well with the music, but not with the taste buds. YOB, I can’t say I am sorry to have ventured to explore your little planet, and if I were stoned I might be head banging right now, but after ten minutes I wanted to come back to Earth. [www.yobrock.com]

Since it is the new year and most magazines create what’s “in” and what’s “out” lists, I will add my two cents. IN: Lead singers sounding like Wayne Coyne OUT: Lead singers sounding like Lou Reed. Because sound is a classification device, The Thrills have an identity. Unfortunately, it’s not a terribly exciting one. Yes, the comparisons are all true. The Thrills sound like The Beach Boys, Ben Folds, and Grandaddy, thus qualifying for the “in” category. But comparisons are easy. Making a truly unique album that salutes your forefathers is not. Just ask The Thrills. So Much for the City attempts to mask The Thrills simple and highly repetitive lyrics behind 11 tracks of overlapping “ooh’s” and “ahh’s.” Apparently, The Thrills spent time soaking up the San Diego sun before recording this album. Each song is so light-hearted and translucent one would think this Irish band never saw the ocean before coming to America. However, Ireland is an island, and Dublin is on the coast. However, let’s give The Thrills the benefit of the doubt. It doesn’t rain as much in San Diego as it does in Dublin, so The Thrills have something celebrate. “Don’t Steal Our Sun” may just be their mantra. “Deckchairs & Cigarettes,” “Hollywood Kids,” and “Your Love is Like Las Vegas” metaphorically detail their American adventures. While their lyrics are spotty, and their (enter your favorite comparison here) sound is repetitious, the intentions of The Thrills are clear. They make San Diego sound like a happy-go-lucky, take off your shoes and catch a wave or an afternoon cocktail town. When slaving for the man has got me down, this might just be the album I want to hear. The sounds of The Thrills are perfect sound bytes for commercials sponsored by the San Diego Board of Tourism. [www.thethrills.com]

Alright boys and girls, time for a little rant. Tonight’s subject is (drum roll please) the infamous hidden track. First, a little history for you all. During the recording of Abbey Road the song “Her Majesty” was originally in between “Sun King” and “Polythene Pam” but Paul McCartney didn’t like it there and requested it be removed. The engineer took it out and simply stuck it on the very end of the tape, so as not to waste it or throw it away. In the meantime, a demo was made from that tape with “Her Majesty” unknowingly attached to the end of the album. The Beatles kind of thought “sure, why not?” and decided to leave the track attached. Thus, “Her Majesty” became the first hidden track in album history. Fast forward to current day and my how times have changed. The hidden track has turned from a nice surprise to thing of hatred for me. Why? It’s simple really. It has no point. Why bands put it on their album I do not know. To hide it from the label? Yeah right, like they don’t know it’s there. To make an artistic statement, or make the album unique? Not likely. To give their fans a nice surprise? Maybe, but at least do it with some taste. If you simply MUST add a hidden track to your album then that is all fine and good, but do it the right way. If the album has ten “real” tracks then simply put an eleventh track with the “hidden” song. DO NOT put in over five minutes of needless and annoying silence on track ten so that the hidden song begins at 11:34 on track ten. This is annoying! It just makes me hold down fast forward. An example of a particularly annoying situation in which this might happen: I might have a disc in the changer while friends are over to party or play dominoes, etc. The last track is selected randomly and then five minutes of silence occur in which everyone in the place is thinking, “Who turned off the stereo?” You can either sit and endure it, or find your way to the stereo and track forward. Either, of course, is an annoyance. Also, DO NOT follow the steps of Matchbook Romance. Stories & Alibis is a very listenable album. It isn’t great, but it is quite catchy when in the right mood and in the right places. Twelve tracks compose the album, and if it were that simple, this review might have been a little better or higher. But oh no, they decided to put in seventy one tracks of silence. That is right, SEVENTY ONE tracks! All of tracks 13-83 are an astounding 4.4 seconds long and each is pure silence. After that you think you would be rewarded right? Again, no. Track 84 is a three minute long craptacular track of noise. No melody, no lyrics, no instruments, no nothing; just some mindless spoken word type rambling and crappy noise that makes you want to kick in a speaker. My disgust of the album never seems to reach high enough a pinnacle when I am reminded of this fact. Why God? Why Matchbook Romance? WHY?!?!? [Five minutes later after cooling down…] In all fairness the album is catchy and decent. Particularly, the drumming is superb and blows through the speakers. Songs like “Playing For Keeps”, “Promises” and “Tiger Lily” make the album worth more than one listen, and as far as generic pop MTV teenage angst rock it is a stellar album. But seriously people, I can’t give it more than strictly an average score for such a heinous violation of the rules of good album making. Sorry folks. [www.matchbookromance.com]

The Black Keys are a guitar/drum duo attempting to revive garage rock. Comparisons to that other duo who is sweeping the nation will hence forth decease. Where the Black Keys separate themselves from the pack is in their soulful roots. They draw much more heavily on blues, and even some jazz, than any throwback band of the last few years. Listening to the album, I am reminded of an old music industry anecdote. When Tom Jones first tried to conquer America he was booking radio station appearances and got called by a very predominantly black radio station. Tom’s agent questioned why they wanted to invite Tom and in response they expressed their desire to meet the soulful singer. His agent kindly quipped, “You know Tom is white right?” The radio station just laughed and said “Yeah right! No white boy can sing like that!” Or so the story goes. Such is the case with The Black Keys, and they know it, tongue-in-cheek or not. The album cover for thickfreakness is a simple picture of a black hand dipping its fingers into a tin of very white cream. The colored hand making itself look white and the tin reading the band and album name. Listening to “Hard Row”, “Have Love Will Travel” and “If You See Me” you would never believe that voice belongs to a white, Jared Leto pretty, white boy. The album reads like a deep-South novel of sound. You can almost see the swamps and the sweat dripping from the guitar player’s forehead as they wail about lost love, the cruelty of life, and the mystery that is the blues. In these days of ProTools and studio magic, you can fake a lot on a record, but you can’t fake soul. There is no dial in the studio next to the treble and the bass that can inject pain and passion into a voice or into a sound. Part blues, part jazz, part rock, but all heartfelt. Theirs isn’t a sound that is going to make them radio stars or platinum artists, but it is the sound the will keep rock alive. The soul to make a guitar sound like it is weeping and make you feel like you just had your heart broken. The Black Keys have put together an enjoyable record that deserves its applause. [www.theblackkeys.com]

Straying from the typical four/five piece rock band dynamic always seems to make a band more mysterious. Most bands have a singer/rhythm guitar player, lead guitar, bass, and drums, but every now and then a band mixes it up. Maybe it is a guitar/drum duo like the White Stripes, or maybe they go in for two drummers or two bass players, or who knows what. In the case of Desert City Soundtrack it is the absence of guitar fronting the band in favor of piano. Interesting? Yes. But, the makings of a great band and a great album? Not really. Sure Ben Folds was the poster boy for modern day piano playing band leaders, but Desert City Soundtrack focuses on a bit harder and moodier fair than the brothers Five. Funeral Car grabs some attention from the get go with the very soothing, ethereal sounds of drum, bass and piano swaying like the ebb and flow of a relaxing bubble bath, but the soothing sounds go so far as to sometimes become background music, instead of the center of focus. Don’t get me wrong here, this is not easy listening. There are screaming vocals, and angst, and anger, and guitars, but it is the vein in which they are constructed that makes them soothing. Songs like “These Games We Play” and “Second Sickness” showcase the talent and potential of the band. The heavy piano influence sets the album apart in its underlying mood. What doesn’t set the album apart is the writing. The songs are well written and well put together, but that lack the un-teachable. They lack the spark that makes you remember a moment or a feeling, or makes the piece of music stick in your head. The lone short coming of the album is its forgettable-ness. The music is solid, the mood is well set, the production and talent is solid, and it is an enjoyable experience, but five minutes later you don’t find yourself remembering much about what you just heard. A good album and a good effort from a band with a sound that has nice potential to produce something epic, but just missing a secret ingredient. [www.desertcitysoundtrack.com]

Elbow’s Cast of Thousands is as subtly bloated with background synths and faint samples as Beck’s Sea Change, which is quite a feat considering that it is merely the band’s second full-length album. Even more remarkable is the sweepingly beautiful and surprisingly cohesive inclusion of, “a cast of thousands, including members of fellow Manchester bands Doves and Alfie, the London Community Gospel Choir, a string section and the entire crowd at Glastonbury, memorably singing ‘we still believe in love, so fuck you.” The album is an ambitious set of songs that are as musically pleasing and lyrically accomplished as they are intricate. Each song has a completely satisfying polish constructed from what seems like hundreds of tightly woven, but very quiet tracks. The sudden changes in instrumentation and density force your attention throughout the entire album, unlike the exceedingly lethargic Sea Change. You may think Cast of Thousands sounds like a typical brit-rock album at first listen, but if you lean your ear against your speakers you’ll hear an entire backdrop of clicks, taps, and scratches placed ever so gently behind the standard instruments, and it makes all the difference. If the strikingly vast atmosphere and visually intense lyrics don’t tantalize that brain of yours, I can’t imagine what will. It’s my album of the year for 2003 and I stand completely confident that anyone with an open mind will love this album. [www.elbow.co.uk]

I always find it funny when I read a two page review on an album and it never tells me if it is any good or not. I find myself educated about a bands influences, their history, what the name of their third grade teachers were, and what they had for lunch, but starkly ignorant on the album itself. “They sound like a witches brew of the Smashing Pumpkins and Led Zeppelin with a splash of Altered Beast days Matthew Sweet.” Ok, three different artists referenced in one sentence but what does that mean? The Smashing Pumpkins had good songs, and not so good songs, so that doesn’t tell me anything about the quality of the album. Pretentious reviews telling me of the albums uncanny similarity to a random unknown indie band even the elite haven’t heard of just serves to make me feel like an idiot. So let me save my words and save the crap and suspense and make it simple for you… this album is good. Very good. Tell Them Hi is the second full-length from the Los Angeles band Campfire Girls. Let’s not kid ourselves here; this is straight rock/pop. Opening with “Junkman,” the album demands immediate attention, but it is the following “Someday” which stands out and Bruce Lee kicks you in the ear. It's a catchy, straight-up rocker that will have you jackrabbit the repeat button before the first chorus is over. “Day Before” showcases a bit of the bands songwriting and a dash of life experience. Finally, the acoustic “Tragic End” wraps up a stellar and well packaged sophomore effort from a band that famously fell into the rock star life after their debut. Drugs and partying came in the way of music after their first album, Delongpre, was released. Thankfully, the boys pulled it together and washed off any scare of a sophomore jinx with a solid and very enjoyable album. A mini mocumentary Enhanced CD feature provides great insight into the band. Jokingly recalling their rise and fall and rise again history, the band doesn’t take itself too seriously and that is why they are refreshing. Much like the mocumentary guest-starring Taylor Hawkins’ band Foo Fighters, Campfire Girls are doing nothing more than making good ole rock’n’roll and having fun, and it shines through from track one to album's end. [www.campfiregirlsmusic.com]

Ah, the swan song. The last effort from a band before they break up, or someone passes, is always fuel for debate and a focus of interest. In the case of Johnny Cash, it can produce a brilliant cover (“Hurt”) and serve to introduce a legend to a whole new generation, while reminding the rest of us just how great an artist he was. For others, it can serve as a meaningless release of their going out with a whimper and not a bang. The interesting part of reviewing a swan song is in not letting it affect your review. Even if American IV was horrible, would it be easy or even possible to voice that opinion in Cash’s passing? If a band is horrible and so is their farewell effort, then do you pull punches, so as not to beat a dead horse? Well, no you don’t. If you are fair, you just assume the band is still together or the artist still alive and treat it like another release. So, Doosu’s Feng Shui finds its way to my desk. Hailing from the Dallas/Fort Worth area, they have been a household name around small Texas venues for years, but have failed to garner any widespread or national success. Calling it quits this past year to pursue other interests, the band leaves us with a rock album fitting of a goodbye with a tear or two, but not too many. Opening with the somewhat repetitive but catchy instrumental “Who’s It Gonna Be?”, Feng Shui sparks some interest to listen further. Tracks like “Heel Walker”, “Four Steps” and “In And Out” kind of flow by on first listen, but slowly grow to near sing-along status. The album ending “Sonny” eloquently wraps up the effort and ends the bands career with one of their stronger and more memorable songs. On whole, the album doesn’t make you scream “genius!”, but it does makes it very clear that musical ability and song quality were not the reasons the band is no more. It is safe to say that outside of their loyal Texas following, Doosu’s disappearance and last effort won’t mount a tremendously strong response. Still, it is always sad to see a band of nice guys who love making good music go the way of the buffalo. It was nice while it lasted boys. [www.doosu.com]

I really don't understand what everyone's beef with Ryan Adams is. When Gold came out, everyone really praised it and loved it. Then, both Rock & Roll and the Love Is Hell EPs were released, and it's become the norm to slag on Ryan (from Pitchfork to almost everyone I know). It's hard for me to believe my review of this will be as high and favorable as Rolling Stone (yikes!). I like Ryan Adams. There, I said it. From his country stuff on Heartbreaker, to the slick alt-country mainstream Gold, to the uninspired yet fun Rock & Roll (read my review of it if you don't believe me). But, I might go as far out on a limb to say I probably enjoy these EPs more than anything he's done. The songs that comprise these two releases are by far some of my favorite Ryan Adams compositions, because they are what he does best: whiny, sad, lonely, reflective, slow acoustic stuff. Maybe it speaks to me more. Maybe it feels like it's more genuine. Maybe it's because I think he is a genius when it comes to writing melodies on the slower stuff. Maybe it is just really great. For me personally, Part I is the better of the two. It has the haunting "Afraid Not Scared", the absolutely beautiful "This House Is Not For Sale", and a cover of Oasis' "Wonderwall" (which is surprisingly great). The second disc has the absolute stellar songs "I See Monsters" and "Hotel Chelsea Nights". It's almost sad that these great songs will become afterthoughts, since the record label almost rejected these two EPs in favor of Rock & Roll, when these are some of Adams' best works. Thankfully the releases have now seen the light of day, or everyone would still think Ryan Adams had no talent after Rock & Roll. [www.ryan-adams.com]

Abandoning the guitar driven noise-rock sound that made the Whip It On EP so enticing, The Raveonettes instead release a vintage garage-rock album more reminiscent of what The Beatles might sound like in 2003 than The Raveonette’s own previous recordings. Much like the apparent 60s rock influence, every single track on Chain Gang of Love is desperately simplified into single-minded melodies that never develop and only on one occasion break the media-friendly three-minute mark. While I do feel misled by the lack of actual “rock” and by the deceiving slogan “This is Whiplash Rock-N-Roll” plastered on the cover in gigantic lettering, this really isn’t a bad album once you familiarize yourself with the goofy gang persona and accompanying lyrics. For example: “Here comes the Love Gang/ two delinquents in love/ yeah, their love just won’t stop,” “The Chain Gang of Love/ wasting my time/ I’m just a prisoner of love,” and “Let’s go down where the hearts are all broken/ fix ‘em all in time.” For a band that’s obsessed with black leather, gangs, nightlife, and sex, it’s kind of counter-intuitive to be even more obsessed with love, right? Well, that is unless your intent is to play out a specific family-friendly image through your music, such as The Ravonette’s “Hollywood-Musical-gang” personality. Sure it’s charismatic, happy, sounds excellent, and sure it accomplishes the task of stylizing a content-free album, but just beware of what it isn’t: it isn’t “Rock,” it isn’t “Roll,” and it sure as hell isn’t “Whiplash.” Surely a considerable change from the previous Raveonette’s sound, this album indulges in short, simple, old-fashioned tunes about happy gangs falling in love; I enjoy it for what it is, but it still doesn’t feel like enough. [www.theraveonettes.com]

Waiting for Autumn is a mainstream rock band disguised as an independent band; that is to say that they have a modern radio-rock sound but are singed to an independent label. Included in this sound are the cliché guitar riffs, annoying lyrics, and obvious changeups of everything you’ll hear on your local, rock radio station. While the album may not sound that bad the first time you listen to it, after the second or third time it starts to become very studio-manufactured and frustratingly generic. The melodramatic vocals, which are intended to be a mix of hardcore and emo, are sometimes just a click below the annoying level of such heavyweight vocalists like Nickelback or Creed. It’s in the chorus sections that the problem lies; when crescendos hit and the electric guitars start jamming out that 4/4 riff, the implausible lyrics and uninteresting vocals become most vulnerable, most obvious. I’m not trying to say that they’re bad I just think that the vocals don’t apply well to an indie audience that appreciates distinctive style. [www.americanjealousy.com]