The Virginia underground music scene isn’t the strongest on the East Coast by any means, but it is ever-growing. Although Fairweather’s home is at least five hours from mine, I’m still proud to say that we’re both part of the commonwealth. 2001’s Equal Vision debut, If They Move… Kill Them, solidified a national fanbase, simultaneously garnering a lot of Through Being Cool-era Saves the Day comparisons. Last year’s EP, Alaska, showed a deep development in the band’s sound, and set high expectations for Lusitania. For the second time, Fairweather teamed up with producer J. Robbins, running the boards at the renowned Inner Ear Studios in Arlington, VA. Upon initial listening, it’s obvious that Fairweather has started to experiment more, and the songs aren’t as straight-forward as the band showed in the past. “Derivative Opener” is exactly what the name states. The title track was very impressive when I saw the band play it live, but now that I’ve given it a few more listens, “Lusitania” has its moments, but the daunting length of the song allows you to lose your focus. Honestly, this song wasn’t the only track in which I felt a yawn coming on. “Letter of Intent” kicks off with some of the familiar Fairweather energy, and the handclaps are a welcome addition. “The Treachery of Images” is a worthy cut, but nearly the last minute of the song gives you the idea that something big is going to happen — of course, the song just stops and kicks into the next track. “I Dread The Time When Your Mouth Begins To Call Me Hunter” is one of the more relaxed, and thankfully, shorter songs on Lusitania. Despite the well-penned lyrics, “We look for ghosts and that’s what we find / Will we bury who we loved or is the ground too cold to break?” the music itself just plods through its 3-minute, 47-second duration. And yes, it isone of the shorter songs. “Silent Jury” and “Mercer Island” are fair, but show nothing special. “Slow to Standing” is one of the disc’s finer moments, but still not up to the standards this band set in the past. “1195” is yet another boring instrumental track. And, by this point, it's basically screaming, "What’s the point?!" This is forgivable, though, once “Concrete Atlas” kicks in, which is one of the album’s highlights, as is “Burn Bridges, Keep Warm”, and then “Alaska” is definitely where Lusitania climaxes. Finally, “The Culling Song” tops the disc off with 10-plus minutes of gloom and the a cello adds nicely to the somberness. So, there you go, the whole album in a paragraph. Fairweather is a talented band, but Lusitania comes across as uninteresting. I'd argue most attention spans wouldn't endure this album. While, Fairweather has definitely matured, that maturity has taken a toll on the band's flair and their captivating energy is, hopefully, hibernating. In the end, the album is for the diehard fans, as the rest of us can wait for something else to sink our teeth into. [www.fairweatherva.com]

The sounds of Rooney are sugary sweetness to my ears. It's past midnight now, I'm tired as hell, but the upbeat energy and lush harmonies of this debut disc are forcing me to nod my head and sing along when I see fit. I'm going to go out on a limb and say that Rooney is the new Weezer. Granted, noone could ever replace the Weezer that put out the blue album, or the sacred Pinkerton, but Rooney fills the void of songs that are fun, sentimental, sincere, energetic, and pleasing to the ears thats missing from the current modern rock roster of artists. It's not overly-simple and and kitschy like any number of The ____ bands. It's certainly got no trace of rap-rock in it. It's not alt-country. It's not indie. It's just pure pop-rock, and it's good. True, it's a bit of a simple trick. Take a few chords, add a quirky keyboard part, throw in a fervent guitar solo, and mix with a load of harmonies. Fortunately, the equation gets mixed up ever so slightly throughout the album enough to where you don't feel like you're being smacked in the face with the same song. "Blueside", "If It Were Up To Me", and "Popstars" are a must listen if you're a fan of any sort of rock that brings about happiness, doesn't test your critical thinking skills, or attempts to induce crying. [www.rooney-band.com]

Gordon Downie was a member of the Tragically Hip. If this means nothing to you, as it means nothing to me, then you're in for a weird record. Maybe if I was familiar with the previous work involved here I could have known what to expect. However, I've listened to this album a countless number of times and I've no idea how to properly explain what it sounds like. First of all, you're going to have to give Mr. Downie's voice a few minutes to sink in before you really get used to it. It's not bad, but it's not exactly soothing either. Secondly, know that this album has no coherent theme beyond diversity. The first track "Into The Night" is a very quiet acoustic song, followed by the blistering "Figment" - which combines alot of guitars, big drums, and even the occasional horn. "Christmastime In Toronto" is more of a straightforward rock song with some keys leading things along. "Pascal's Submarine" is gospel-esque at times, "Steeplechase" is a dark and brooding one, "We're Hardcore" is brash and somewhat ridiculous. The album ends with two versions of the song "Pillform #2" and "Pillform #1" - though you'd never know if you weren't paying attention to the lyrics. If you're a Tragically Hip fan, this album will probably quench your thirst for a view at another side of Gordon Downie. If you're not a Tragically Hip fan but enjoy a diverse, somewhat obtuse, and yet occasionally bizarrely catchy mish-mash of songs this may be for you. If you don't fall into either of those categories, you may want to check it out just to experience the inability to properly describe it. [www.wienerart.net]

After my last run in with Dim Mak Records – which came in the form of the spastic jitters from Dance Disaster Movement – I never expected something from the label to elicit boredom and induce narcolepsy. But From Monument to Masses’ self-titled debut full-length, it’s neared those depths. The band borrows criminally from Godspeed You Black Emperor!, while never zeroing in on the Canadian collective’s sense of beauty, orchestral value or soul-searching moments of crescendos. Instead, From Monument to Masses play incredibly average and rudimentary instrumental indie-rock with spoken word bits randomly spattered throughout their album. They attempt to ascend to the emotional heights of, again, Godspeed or the thrilling lyric-less post-rock passages of Tortoise, but instead appear as mere imitators with neither the appropriate skill nor vision. However, From Monument to Masses have already released a follow-up to this post-rock fest of boredom, so hopefully this self-titled album is merely a starting point and not an ending one. [www.dimmak.com]

California's The Tyde have the retro-rock game on lockdown right now. Whereas most "the"-prefixed indie favorites pillage the late 70s for new-wave inspiration, The Tyde go back further, to the jangly, psych-country sounds of The Byrds, Beach Boys, and Gram Parsons. And guess what? It's F-R-E-S-H. Made up of Beachwood Sparks members (singer/guitarist Brent Rademaker, drummer Chris Gunst, and guitarist Dave Scher) and various other West Coast indie-pop luminaries, The Tyde craft track after track of sweet, vaguely smoked-out campfire jams. From the sun-baked melancholy of "Best Intentions" and "Breaking Up The Band" to the absolutely infectious "Crystal Canyons" and "Henry VIII" (which is just BEGGING to be used over the opening credits of a film or a clever Volkswagen commercial), nearly every track on the album is a keeper. At first, the familiar 12-string strums and classic melodies might seem overly simplistic. Yet with each listen, Twice's charms will steadilly grow on you until you have no other choice but to let their easygoing ways into your head. Definitely recommended. [www.thetyde.com]

What hath thou wrought, Jack White? In the wake of Stripe-ed success, it seems like EVERYBODY'S got the blues. Yet while Detroit's duotone twosome brought a media-ready aesthetic and a pop sensibility to the table, the Soledad Brothers are content to their rut. Their title comes from three convicted felons from the maximum-security cellblock at California's Soledad Prison, who retaliated for the murder of three black activists in the prison by killing a security guard. While the Soledad Brother's revolutionary namesake might imply an equal amount of fury on wax, the trio just fuzzes-out and gets their riff on. All... disc... long. Which isn't so bad in and of itself, but on an album that sounds recorded onto an old Edison roll, it gets to be a little much after track two. Recording qualms aside (I'm guessing they figured lo-fi taping equals authenticity, but whatever), the Bros electric blues simply doesn't go anywhere. Flashes of intrest pop up on occasion (particularly on "Teenage Heart Attack") but they are too few to save the effort as a whole. Granted, there's folks who'll dig on barely audible dirge blues that drags on and on (and ON); unless you happen to be one of them, the Soledad Brother's Live won't be making your "to buy" list any time soon. [www.soledadbrothers.com]

In the past, Armor For Sleep seemed to be headed for that "fatally generic, emo band to avoid" category. Yet, their new album, Dream To Make Believe, has been garnering a bit of buzz as in the past few months. After Equal Vision finally snared me with a track on a recent sampler, it seemed time to give this album some attention. While somewhat melancholy, a little spacy at times, and succumbing to the dreaded, for lack of a better term, “emo-pop” label, there is a somewhat definite resemblance to raw energy of Thursday that shines through on the album. Yet, Armor For Sleep carry their own with good flow, warm guitars, and engaging vocals. For examples of where the album climaxes, check out “My Town” and “The Wanderer’s Guild”. So, what's wrong with this album? First off, aimless introductory tracks have always seemed pointless - what really is the point of a 44-second instrumental introduction? And, despite the allure of the first half of the album, the songs become predictable and the vocal patterns grow stagnant. Nevertheless, despite the occasional setbacks, the entire album is very accessible, with no rough edges to kill the experience. It's good to see Equal Vision expand their roster to hold a band like Armor For Sleep. By combining melody with an energetic soundtrack, you could even forego the “emo-pop” and maybe just go with the equally dangerous “pop-core”. If that sounds alluring to you, Dream To Make Believe will be a nice addition to your collection. [www.armorforsleep.com]

Every now and then a musical genre seems to take the world by storm. One band breaks the wall down and the flood of imitators and wannabes comes flowing down in a flood of mediocrity. In the last few years that genre has been emo-punk-pop-mall-jams, or whatever the hell you want to call it. Once not to widely known, bands like Jimmy Eat World are now getting face time on MTV. To some bands it means success, but to others it means getting lost in the shuffle. The Exit, hailing from Boston via New York, come out the gate with their debut New Beat. On first listen you might check the liner notes a few times to make double sure that someone didn’t rename Jimmy Eat World and sign them to a new label. The disc, for the most part is pretty derivative. Pop punk with catchy little choruses and not much else to fill your headphones. I am sure with enough beers in my stomach and with the amplifiers turned up loud enough, I could probably enjoy doing the pogo to these guys, but I ain’t got no beer and my headphones only go up so high. The Exit brings energy and enthusiasm to their music, but that will only get you so far. A few bright moments pop up on tracks like “Trapped” and “Still Waiting”; with moments you can’t help but tap a foot to. If I were an A&R guy looking for the next MTV darlings, then The Exit’s phone would be ringing. Young and poppy, with charged guitars and punk attitudes make these guys prime to be the next mall punk poster boys. But the problem is I am not 13 and hanging out in front of Sears, and I need a little more from my music than the same old sound in a younger body. Don’t be surprised if you hear more from these guys in the future. With a few catchier tunes and a little time to build a following, they may very well be on tour with Blink-182 and making the TRL circuit, but for now they just sound a little too much like every other punk pop band out there to make any waves in the musical landscape. [www.theexitrock.com]

Billy Idol you better check up on some things. I know rockers get around, but I would check to see if you slipped one by the goalie with some girl. Frankly this lead singer has to be your son. Now, I have never met or seen Lillian Berlin perform, but I can’t help but think he must bust out the Elvis lip sneer and a clinched fist you are famous for. Why? Well, because he sounds like the second coming! From the opening of the first track, “Bombs Below” you can’t help but hear it in every word. Even the chorus screams “Billy!” as the band chants “Go! Go! Go!” and you almost instinctively keep going right into “Sweat! Sweat! Sweat!” All 80’s rock comparisons aside, Living Things debut EP Turn In Your Friends & Neighbors comes out with some expectations. When Steve Albini produces your EP, people are going to listen. Albini, famous for his work with groups such as Nirvana, Nine Inch Nails, and The Pixies, gives instant “cred” to any band looking to make it. But “cred” will only get you so far. All four songs that fill this EP are up-tempo rockers with a bit of a message. From the bands bio and the EP's liner notes it is obvious the band is taking a bit of a political or intelligent approach to their music. The bands biograhy rattles off a slew of indie-fied literature the lead singer has read and even the background of the band photo is the Declaration Of Independence. Opening track “Bombs Below” spits the protesting lyrics of “we’re gonna win the war, that’s what the kids are for” and they don’t turn back from there. Mostly in-your-face guitar-rock, Living Things is a picture perfect view of what you would imagine a New York, punk-rock-with-smarts band to be like, except they are from the midwest. Catchy riffs and rock attitude make them fun to listen to, but not a band to fall in love with. Overall a nice start to a career that shows some promise, but in the end it is just that… a start. [www.livingthingsmusic.com]

Sometimes it is unclear what someone means with his or her music. Are they trying to be artsy? Are they trying to be political? Are they trying to be funny? Sometimes half the mystery of an album is figuring out what they meant and what just happened to be. In walks Jeffrey Lewis, a cartoonist and a musician. Lewis approaches music with a DIY attitude, and a kind of “I am folk but not folk” swagger. The majority of the album is Lewis and his guitar singing out quirky tunes about everything from my own great state of Texas to how to kill horror movies monsters. Not an amazing songwriter, and not an amazing singer, just a comic book kind of guy who also likes to make some music. With a long title like It’s The Ones Who’ve Cracked That The Light Shines Through, it is hard to know what to expect when you pop the album in. The secret to the album is to not take it seriously and just enjoy. Songs like “Don’t Let The Record Label Take You Out To Lunch” serve as a comical yet serious warning to the slippery slope of opening your ears to your financial backers. Other odd titles fill the album, such as “If You Shoot The Head You Kill The Ghoul” and the album ending “You Don’t Have To Be A Scientist To Do Experiments On Your Own Heart”. The former is a catchy ditty you can’t help but sing along to and fall in love with. The later is tale of running away, not being scared, and learning that you can learn more from yourself than from anyone. It is quite easy to discard this album as crap, but to do that is a mistake. Quirky? Yes. Great songwriting or artistry? No. But just plain ole fun and sometimes funny? Always. This is a great album to just kind of put on in the background and relax to while you work or take a drive. It’s something different, and to me that is never a bad thing. [www.thejeffreylewissite.com]

Hailing from Ohio State this jam band has steadily grown a grassroots fanbase of Dave Matthews listening, hippy-music lovin', sandals-to-every-concert wearing, crowd of loyal fans. Their major-label debut, In Between Now And Then, features half new songs and half road-tested material that they've built their name on, and marks their attempt to jump into the upper echelon of adult contemporary, college rock. Now I am getting as tired as the next guy when it comes to all these collegiate, acoustic-rock bands, but I try to keep an open ear to almost anything. The immediate difference that pops up on this album is in its obvious reggae influence. The band brings to mind Sublime and Bob Marley as much as Dave Matthews at times. The album opening “Dareh Meyod” jumps out with an island beat that makes you want some kind of small, colorful umbrella in your glass. Ironically, the best parts of the album lie in the more unoriginal songs. “Risen”, “Right On Time”, and “Mr. Moon” make the album front heavy on traditional acoustic rockers, but they are done well enough to make you not care that they aren’t the most original in the world. When the band tries to bring in the saxophone and island influence is when the album starts to get bland and forced. “Revisited” and “Chariot” show admirable attempts at throwing a unique sound into the same old college rock, but fall a little flat. Without question this band will find some form of success. Whether that success will be as a national headliner or them retreating back to their safety zone as hippy-music festival, jam-band heroes, only time will tell. While In Between Now And Then marks a rather enjoyable album of laid back tunes, the sole problem lies in too much pseudo-rasta, island influence and not enough sticking to what works. But, the songs that do work hit quite well and might make it worth a spin or two at your next barbeque. [www.ofarevolution.com]

Alien Ant Farm have gone through a lot since they released their last album ANThology. Last summer the band wrecked their bus while on tour, killing their driver and putting frontman Dryden Mitchell in the hospital for 6 months with a broken neck. With the release of truANT, the band hopes to make their trimuphANT return. Alien Ant Farm have always been about groovy, rock songs with just enough hook and melody to make them radio ready. The success of their "Smooth Criminal" cover clearly propelled their last album up the charts, but this time around they are going to have to make it based on their songwriting skills alone. Do they cut it? Yes and no. The standout tracks: the unusual "Glow", which sounds more like a Jimmie's Chicken Shack, is a nice change of styles; the first single, "These Days," along with the album opener "1000 Days" are catchy as hell; and "Drifting Apart" is a strong track. Unfortunately, all of these songs are in the first half of the album, and it's around the mid-way point that the quality of the songs start to decline. The tracks "Never Meant", "Goodbye", and the closer "Hope" all seem weak after rocking out to the first half of the album. I think if the band had opted for a different track arrangement, then the strong songs may have carried the weaker ones for an overall tighter album. With the carefree attitude, undeniable talent, and determination Alien Ant Farm clearly possess, you really want to root for the band. However, with truANT they managed to fall short of any hopes for greatness, and instead leave an overall feeling of mediocrity. Maybe they would have been better off releasing an EP? [www.alientantfarm.com]

The Metarie release is more like a glorified single than a full EP from Brendan Benson, following up the low-key brilliance of his sublime Lapalco album. Featuring two versions of the title track, two b-sides, and a Paul McCartney and Wings cover, the disc's tracks offer up an auspicious introduction to new listeners, provide a little insight into Benson's creative process in the studio, and tide existing fans over (albeit briefly) until another full LP is in the can. While not the catchiest song on Lapalco (where it first apeared in demo form), "Metarie" distills the Brendon Benson essence into a single shot of pop majesty, where effortless, instantly familiar chord changes sound fresh and new at the same time. Like a slightly more chipper Elliott Smith, the track's bittersweet melody is enhanced by savvy, lushly organic production; the full band version that kicks off the disc is much better than the original "UK" version, but simply having the two cuts to compare offer a priceless glimpse into the songwriting mind, and an insight into how a song can be revised and tweaked until it reaches listeners as "finished." The rest of the EP is no slouch either, with the bluesy McCartney track standing out simply on it's infectious energy. While it would have been great to include more material (I'm sure the prolific Benson has miles of unreleased tape stockpiled at his home studio in Detroit where all of Lapalco was recorded), especially when the title cut appears twice. However, some new music is much, much better than none at all when it comes to Brendan Benson's work. [www.brendan-benson.com]

On their eponymous debut, A.R.E. Weapons attempt to do for post-punk/"electroclash" music what Andrew WK did for metal - ie, sing about life's simplest joys and challenges (fun, parents, drugs, etc) set to a backdrop of supercharged, keyboard-driven hard rock, taking "dumb" things REAL seriously and presumably free of irony. However, all the positive energy and anthemic catharsis of AWK's record has been replaced by paranoia, thug posturing, and an uncomfortable feeling that the whole thing is extremely calculated. Sonically, the disc is fairly catchy, in a store-soundtrack kind of way, but any non-superficial listen simply enhances that nagging flaw. Tracks like "Fuck You Pay Me" and "Street Gang," while not completely without charm, feel like an elaborate put on by affluent NYC hipsters more than anything else. No amount of clever, Suicide-styled guitar and lo-fi electronics can deflect attention away from the lyrical unbelievability for an extended period. It'd be easy to write A.R.E. Weapons off if the music wasn't so listenable, Marc Waterman's studio polish adds much to the proceedings. Yet by the time the children's chorus (!!!) comes in on the album closing "Hey World," any remaining shreds of credibility fly laughably out the window. Not the worst thing you could listen to, but by no means essential listening. [www.roughtradeamerica.com]

Ms. Phair has built a career on equal parts clever rock and lyrical shock, ever since tracks like "Fuck and Run" off her classic 90s debut Exile From Guyville. However, the swarm of controversy surrounding her latest, effort didn't have anything to do with the content (despite the best efforts of "Hot White Cum"). Liz Phair is an almost complete re-invetion, and certainly a re-introduction. It's been many years since Liz' alternative nation heyday, and she comes out the gate trading the cred of her lo-fi sound on indie label Matador for Capitol Records' big budget gloss - courtesy of ProTools and Avril-abbetting songwriters The Matrix - in a bid for mainstream success before hitting middle age. Instantly, old fans and rock critics (of which there was MUCH overlap, belive me) were sharpening their axes, declaring Liz Phair an "abomination" at best, and a "career-ending album" at worst; however, Phair asserts that it WASN'T a calculated appeal to a new generation of teen-pop fans, but a natural artistic progress. They're both right. The disc is a truly mixed bag. When it succeeds, both on the strengths of the Matrix' pop chops as well as a small-yet-still-permeable supply of Liz' own indie spark, the songs are some of the catchiest and most enjoyable I've heard in quite a while. The Liz Phair of old is evident in fine form on "Hot White Cum" and the touching, finely-crafted "Little Digger." As far as the new-school material is concerned, "Extraordinary" and "Why Can't I?" are filled with undeniable hooks that linger for days, and do a brilliant job of bringing a rockier edge to the mainstream pop single; "Why Can't I?" in particular benefits from Liz' actual (ie - NOT overprocessed and pitch-corrected, Britney-style) voice on the chorus, filling the catchy chorus with a degree of genuine longing and emotion not seen on most top-40 hits. However, when Liz Phair fails (as it too often does), the tragically excessive studio trickery, and glaringly dumbed down lyrics almost justify the initial rage surrounding the LP (on an album about maturity, she actually sings about "playing XBox" - WTF?!) Track after mediocre track frustrate with an annoyingly bright polish. In spite of it's shortcomings, however, you can't deny Liz Phair's charm - even when it's buried beneath layers of mainstream sludge. Hopefully, the next album will allow us all to write this off as the growing pains of a simple pre-mid-life crisis. [www.lizphair.com]

Why is it that the cute and bothered boys with the acoustic guitars sing about such boring things? Why must they harp on things like beauty and innocence without a shred of irony? They look so cuddly, bed-headed, and earnest, but when the open their mouths they end up sounding like Jacob Dylan looks next to his father: Prettier but stupider. It's sad really, when they are obviously talented and good people with a lot to offer. Yep, Franky Perez is one of the few, the proud, the pretty. Actually there are more Franky Perez's out there than I'd like to admit. When Perez gets snarly on Poor Man's Son, claiming to "face [his] demons eye to eye" ("Life on the Edge") he sounds like every Duncan Shiek-type that they play at resturants. You know- the kind you can eat to and feel vaguely American and un-bothered whilst you shove french fries in your mouth. It's such nontroublesome music, Poor Man's Son, that I could drive around and think about everything but the CD. It didn't make me sit up and take notice of it, didn't make me groove, didn't make me hate it. It was just a docent little disc. Songs like "Cold Hard Rain" are definitley spiritual, definitley blues toned, but it just makes me think of standing at the hostess stand at Tripp's, 'cause when Perez sings about loosing his mind and faith, he only sounds tired, not at all desperate as a "cold hard rain/ pounding on [one's] bones/... crooked when [one] is straight" would make them feel. The music's great, the voice is great, but the emotion is flatlined. I don't feel anything Franky Perez is saying. Even when he screams I'm sedate. Maybe he's a visionary that I am missing, but as far as I'm concerned, if you remind me of muzak then you're not really making music. [www.franky-perez.com]

Oh... Okay, they were on "Carrie II: The Rage" soundtrack. And their song "Buyer Beware (Vula)" I've heard on the radio... And "Falling Stars" is on the radio now too. See, as soon as I heard the vocals on Trailer Park Pam's self-titled (or Buyer Beware as the website says) CD, I knew they sounded familiar. Apparently not familar enough to remember. Following the fate of many of the 90's_alt sounding bands of today (hey, you come up with a catchier name), Trailer Park Pam are good, they have decent concepts behind their songs, and they are easy to listen to. But they don't stick out, preferring to float through your brain as fast as "Brimful of Ahsa" did, or anything by Spacehog. It came, it saw. You listened, you left. Trailer Park Pam have not left the 90's behind, and it shows. I could do without a tribute to "dead rock singers" ("Falling Stars") because, sadly enough, Oasis already did it and they did it with less crankiness. They do lovelorn pretty well ("Tell Me"), doing the requisite tossing and turning all night, wishing the other person's arms were around the speaker ("Buyer Beware (Vula)"), never getting used to the other person being gone ("Don't Write Me"), and looking at the stars as lovers ("Photo Memories"). But nothing unexpected. But the "you're too far away from me" was much cooler when Dire Straits made it phone sex. Quick capsule review: Decent music, soothing guitars, nice vocals, pretty bass lines, nothing you ain't heard before done just a trifle better. I think the band has lots of potential, but nothing prolific so far. Effort noted, try again. [www.trailerparkpam.net]

Funky violins. Rap-scat guitars. Slinky Cake-esque spoken lyrics. Boogie bass. If the bayou had a bastard child, it'd be S.R. Mahoney. He takes blues licks and makes them prance, he takes waltzes and throws snarly lyrics on top of them to make the "shoo-bops" less friendly ("Galore"), and you like it. It's like Wierd Al cloned his ability to imitate then fused it with a really talented bunch of musicians. Then Jimmy Buffet fed them cheeseburgers and everyone had a good time. It's almost as fun as animated strutting alley cats. The sweet- "we'll just curl up and hope we're never found"- and silly (we use a bird as a vehicle for narration) "Inside Job" is as lovely as it is eccentric, while the eccentric crown goes to "Set Pounds" which is a 22 second, sweeping ode to the ooh and the ahh. And everything gets really operatic, narrative, and cool in "Kindess?", where there's some genuine old-fashioned guitar lick playing going on. The only points I take off of Rhthym and Western is the jazzish-bloat cover of Bob Dylan's "Most of the Time," one of the most tender and crystalline songs the dude ever wrote. But kudos to the slide guitar. In short, Pinkeye d'Gekko has the best jump, jive, and wail I've heard on an album in a long time, so if you're into trumpets and saxaphones behind you, then you got it made with the gekko. [www.pinkeyedgekko.com]

I thought Victory Records was a lost cause, a label now buried in the shrapnel of the emo explosion. I feared they had abandoned the extremes of metal and hardcore for a Drive Thru Records-type of pop-punk and a Vagrant Records-sense of sentimental emo. But my worries were soon pummeled into nothingness by the machine gun quickness of Darkest Hour’s kick drum, the manic, guttural screams from their frontman and the ferocity released from their six strings. Darkest Hour are many things metal should be – extreme, technical, ferocious, dark – and everything it’s currently not. The ten brutal musical lashings that make up Hidden Hands of a Sadist Nation are charged with melodic death metal and dizzying hardcore song structures to form an album that definitely holds comparisons to other bands – namely Dillinger Escape Plan, Drowningman and Zao – but is a breath of fresh air to both Victory Records’ discography and the world of metal. Hidden Hands of a Sadist Nation is much too brutal to have in regular rotation – especially when no song on this disc is under four minutes – but Darkest Hour have carved an album that is metal – black, power and heavy – in every essence of the word. And for now – even though it’s not transgressing genres and breaking barriers – that’s more than enough. [www.darkesthour.com]

After reading through the K Word’s biography, my skepticism rose as my eyes zigzagged down their press release. Reason being, the K Word proudly proclaim their influence as both Tortoise and Fugazi. But as their sophomore release, the appropriately titled EP, skittered into my ears, the brooding post-rock of Tortoise and the slash-and-burn punk of Fugazi were pretty much the only two notable influences the surfaced on my mind, despite the worlds of difference between both bands. “Market Eight,” the K Word’s opening tune, is the heaviest and most kinetic track of the four on EP and it strikes into the exact median between indie-rock and post-hardcore. Seemingly to counteract the initial response to the EP’s material, the K Word quickly launch into an instrumental track that, yes, recalls Tortoise in more ways than one. However, the disc’s last two songs expand on the two different aesthetics presented while effectively filtering in prog tendencies that often appear more like Dredg songs than the genre’s usual algebraic leanings. Ultimately, the K Word are ambitious and striving toward even brighter musical paths, but haven’t exactly arrived there yet. Especially for only being the second EP released under their moniker, this disc finds the K Word crossing the intersection of punk and post-rock, and energy and progressiveness with laser guided precision. [www.thekword.com]