The MCD tale is - unfortunately – an all-too familiar one. Band comes out with a raw sound adding new flavors to past rock tradition; releases a scant few discs to a small yet rabid fanbase; and implodes almost as quickly as they appeared, just before their sound gains more mainstream acceptance. I have no doubt that the Murder City Devils would have been associated with the recent “new rock revival” were they around just a little bit longer. Their mix of old-school dirt (organs, a vaguely rockabilly aesthetic) and punk energy was wonderfully combustible, and it’s unfortunate that johnny-come-latelies reaped the rewards of press attention and increased exposure instead, simply by being at the right place at the right time. R.I.P. captures the band at their bittersweet peak, commemorating an entire farewell concert at the Showbox Theater in Seattle. The live recording is both blessing and curse; the extremely drunken mayhem (missed lyrics, flubbed notes, ‘tween-song rambles and shout-outs) might not convince virgin listeners of MCD’s greatness, but fans can appreciate the ragged live sound as more than apropos for a collection of tunes about busted hearts and broken faces. From “Rum to Whiskey” to “Press Gang,” the Devils thrash with conviction and more than a little bit of audible regret. A more-than-fine epitaph, R.I.P. stands as a testament to one of the more innovative and powerful groups of the late 90s. Hopefully, it will entice newbies to check out the band’s fine studio recordings like In Name and Blood; yet even if it only reminds existing fans of Murder City’s legacy, the disc can consider it’s job well-done. Nail that to the door. [www.subpop.com]

It’s kind of difficult to write up an extensive review of a four-track EP, so I’ll just try to run through what the band sounds like and whether or not it’s worth looking into. This EP is a prelude to an upcoming full album, set for release in the Fall with the production credits of Benjamin Rubin, who is also the bassist and electronics expert. Mudville sounds like a softened version of Portishead, which is to say that they lean towards being an electronica lounge act. Lead vocalist Marilyn Carino’s wailing singing isn’t quite as instantly attractive as Beth Gibbons, but it does sound promising. The surrounding music is gentle and delicate, though significantly less prominent, in both amplitude and vigor, than the vocals. When listened to with an attentive ear you can hear a lot of post-industrial synth layers in the background that seem to drown out completely when pitted against vocals, which makes me feel frustrated; casual listeners will most likely miss out on the full effect. Undoubtedly, the atmospheric nature of the music is intentional to the style of the band, though without something a tad more upfront they may get lost amongst the trip-hop scene. I’m interested in seeing whether or not Mudville can expand upon the somewhat unfulfilling sound, in my opinion, that they have for the upcoming album. I have no doubt that they can put out a good record. [www.mudvillemusic.com]

I always appreciate a musician that can break out of the modern “ten-to-thirteen track, three-to-four minutes each, guitar-bass-drum-vocal” album framework that is so prevalent these days; and I especially appreciate a musician that can breakaway from the standard single compact disc structure. The Flaming Lip’s monumental artistic achievement, Zaireeka (a four disc set that requires four separate stereos to listen to), stands as one of the few albums that have transcended the modern conception of a “music album.” Other bands have included booklets and supplemental DVD’s in an attempt to expand the listening experience, which don’t actually do much to surpass the contemporary music paradigm. Well, Kid Koala’s most recent release is a three hundred-page graphic novel (written and penciled by himself)/CD soundtrack (composed and produced by himself) combination called Nufonia Must Fall, that works pretty well at breaking the standard album format. The idea is that the soundtrack compliments the graphic novel, a listening/reading experience. Before purchasing, I assumed that I would enjoy the soundtrack (I’m a fan of Some of My Best Friends Are DJ’s) and that the graphic novel would be a generic comic-book-method of storytelling with messy artwork (A DJ that can draw? No way, right?). Wrong, very wrong. After my first read through I realized that I had gotten it completely backwards; the story is so well constructed that I feel privileged having the opportunity to read it. Having no printed words, Kid Koala relies on telling the story through sequential actions, exaggerated body movements, and symbols representing emotions, something that’s quite difficult to perfect. There are repetitious, twisting plot devices that only an experienced author could pull off, amongst a few cartoony but nonetheless important social parallels. The premise and characterization reminded me of Tim Burton’s "The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy & Other Stories.” The artwork is unique and consistently elegant. The minimal soundtrack (a sixteen minute mish-mash of robot-piano, jazzy turntablism, and other oddities) is a perfect combination to the story, though it runs way to short for anyone to finish the book. Here lies the problem with this project. The album is broken up into tracks that are meant to correspond with chapters of the book, but don’t unless you read really fast. Given the unique nature of this project, I expected more to come out of the reading/listening experience. A more demanding conjunction between the two media could have yielded a new technique for others to follow. While the project isn’t a complete success, the rare occurrence that a musician goes beyond single CD format merits this release extra leeway. I encourage everyone who enjoys a good story to pick this up, although it may be a little hard to find (I got my copy from Tower Records in Manhattan). Support non-traditional music projects. [www.kidkoala.com]

S.T.U.N. is influenced by Rage Against the Machine as Godsmack is influenced by Alice in Chains. S.T.U.N. isn’t a tribute band by any means, but it can’t completely stand-alone without the beams already in place built by previous, more significant bands. Unlike Godsmack, S.T.U.N. doesn’t progress beyond anything that Rage Against the Machine did, ironically enough because it doesn’t have as much energy. Regardless, hardcore Rage Against the Machine fans may find a quick fix in S.T.U.N. Those that seek a similar politically driven, rap/rock/alternative band may enjoy this album a lot, besides the fact that some of the songs sound like they were recorded in a closet. The lyrics are a combination of non-conformist-revolution concepts (“The only solution, That speaks for everyone, Stand up for the conclusion, Revolution“), corporate awareness (“Look what we're doing to the atmosphere… So the rich can make a dollar”), and a twist of Aldus Huxley’s A Brave New World (“Are you o.k.?, Am I really o.k.?, When everybody's got a drug, And everybody's got to lie”). This being said, the politics are pretty clear-cut, which makes me want something more complicated, lyrics worthy of deciphering perhaps; it seems a little too easy. For example, “The people that make the laws or rules for us they don’t give a fuck about us.” There isn’t anything evolutionary or revolutionary here in terms of lyrics, and since there isn’t anything fresh, the “revolution” message becomes diluted in normalcy. The same can be said for the sound. The production is pretty blown out in spots. The guitars carry a nasty crackling buzz that sounds intentionally placed in order to sound grittier (not another lo-fi band, please). Deliberately peaking your guitar audio is not a practical way to sound louder and more aggressive. It just makes it sound unprofessional, and when you have Sean Slade (Radiohead’s Pablo Honey, Sebadoh, Juliana Hatfield) producing your debut record there isn’t any reason it should sound this way. Just ask Alec Empire whether or not people like crackling-white-noise layered on top of songs. (60 Second Wipe Out was a total catastrophe because of this) Despite all the shortcomings, Evolution of Energy is not a bad record. It’s just not original in any way, shape, or form. As I said above, Rage Against the Machine fanatics might be interested in this album (they also sound influenced by The Pixies), but as for me I’m going to wait for the Zack De La Rocha solo album. If you’re aching for something energetic and original, go pick up a copy of Atari Teenage Riot’s Future of War.” There’s enough energy in that album to power a rocket to Mars. [www.stunmusic.com]

The first time I heard Diffuser was when they opened for one of my favorite bands back in 2001. On stage the band seemed really cohesive and rocked out pretty hard, even throwing in a couple funny covers and jams (most notably "We Can Work It Out"). After the show, I did shots of tequila with the lead singer, Tomas, and joked around about music and his band. It was a really nice time. The next day I bought their first CD and liked it quite a bit. Then Diffuser just fell off the face of the Earth; I kind of forgot about them until I saw their album at my doorstep to review. Anxiously, I popped it in; quickly, I was disappointed. I can't swallow much mall-punk and, sadly, thats what Diffuser has become. Long gone are the catchy-yet-clever hooks from their debut, Injury Loves Melody, and instead I was presented with the most uninspired 3-4 chord-change songs I've heard in a while. To my dismay they've also replaced two of the four band members. Does that have anything to do with the change in sound? I'm willing to bet it does. Most songs are the same tempo (save one track) and barely peak the three minute mark (save said song). Making The Grade sounds fiercely targeted at those suburban kids wearing Sum 41 and New Found Glory shirts that scour the mall making out with each other (no offense to you readers that may do this). It's bland, it's not exciting, and it's nothing I haven't heard before. I suppose it makes sense, though. After slightly disappointing sales of their first major label album, it seems normal for the band to totally change their sound in order to keep their record contract. It's just too bad they seem to have compromised so much of what was a pretty good indie-pop-rock sound to flat out emo-mall-power-pop crap. Maybe they'll make some money this time. [hollywoodrecords.go.com]

Brassy don't wanna take it easy, they wanna hit you hard. Well, that's what they said - I'm not making it up. They plan to make some kinder-funk DJ whacko blammo squeezy music. Laser Atari soundtrack. I can't do any better than onomateopia, because Brassy's music is so infectious, happy, and balls-out that you can have fun, full stop, to it. You groove ("Good to the B / B to the Y / Y to the E / Bye-bye" - "So Long Baby") , you wanna ride around carrying your attitude on your shoulder, because that's not hard to do with Brassy since they're so full of 'tude ("We make it sound so mmm / found it in the kitchen / followin' my nose / Where did you get that funk?" - "Where Did You Get That Funk?"). They still steal the show with their spunky mix of Beastie-esque rock sound blended with hard DJ bass and sampling (Check out "1-0-0" and "Dus'"). Brassy is the shiznit, and Gettin' Wise only cements that opinion. Only problem: Remember everything I said about Brassy in my review of Work It Out? Still stands. Because the band didn't really grow or expand on their previous sounds, their previous beats, or Muffin Spencer's previous lyrics. Sure, the new album's just as fun to listen to as Work It Out, and the vocals are produced a little bit more slick-ly, but the sound is the same without expanding. See, think on my wavelength: "Root Down" compared to "No Sleep 'Til Brooklyn" compared to "Remote Control" (Beastie Boys). Can you see the obvious growth spectrum between songs/albums? But the band maintained its signature sound and style but expanded upon it. Brassy hasn't done that. It's not sophomore slump; Brassy's still creative and sounds just as great as they did before, but the difference between albums isn't big enough for me. There's also too much spelling going on - Let's try a new lyrical approach. And cut down on call-and-response - We can see from the "Play Some D" on the bonus disc ("Play Some D" originally appeared on Work It Out) to the title track "Gettin' Wise" that there's some leap, but not much. The bonus disc, by they way, contains more funked-out, Stevie-Wonder-ish remixes by Tron Styler. They're pretty good, jazzy and cool. Maybe if they'd been the originals, I'd be happier. Anyway, Brassy made another album and it's pretty cool. It just sounds like Brassy. [www.brassy.com]

This is frat daddy rock. Let’s not kid ourselves people. We all come into these things with preconceptions. Not that we are always one for stereotypes, but certain bands do strike up images of beer guzzling frat boys who wouldn’t know truly good music if it paddled and hazed them into submission. Bands like, well… 3 Doors Down. There I said it. 3 Doors Down hit it big with the single “Kryptonite” and haven’t looked back. After a few singles it became pretty obvious that they were another band whose focus was monster riff, drunk sing-a-long, radio friendly, mass appeal rock, and so far they haven’t really swayed too far from the formula. All that being said, I popped in their latest offering, Away From The Sun and tried my best to listen with a blank slate. The album opens with the radio hit “When I’m Gone”, so it is hard to keep the slate clean trying to act like you are hearing a song for the first time, when you have heard it fifty million times on every radio station in the world. But then something weird happened. The title track came on and something came over me. The Greek alphabet maybe? Or maybe something else. Regardless, I found myself enjoying it. The album went on with a series of catchy, yet easily forgettable tracks radio A&R guys drool over. I put the album away and went on listening to my usual rotation. But like a college student attracted to cheap beer specials, I kept coming back. You know it is cheap, you know it isn’t the best in the world, but for some reason you keep buying it. I have no excuse, and I have no explanation, but one little song kept drawing me back. “Away From The Sun” wouldn’t get out of my head and I have been listening to it ever since. A downright well written and catchy rock anthem if ever there was one. I would listen to it five times in a row at points. I even found myself in a fast food drive through screaming the chorus into a friend’s voicemail. I, of course, was drunk and in line and eagerly awaiting greasy tacos (2 for $0.99. God bless you, Jack!). Then a funny thing happened. The more I put the disc in to hear that one song the more I would just let it play and listen and enjoy. Yes, it is nothing original. Yes, it is nothing great or artistic. It is radio rock and nothing more. But Lord help me it ain’t all that bad. [www.3doorsdown.com]

Respect. It isn’t an easy thing to earn. You have to put in time and hard work. It isn’t easy to earn in America when you are a band from across the pond, and it is even harder when your dad is a superstar legend of rock. Good luck, Fiction Plane, you will need it! Actually screw that, no you won’t. The band earned a little respect before their first note, when they stood up and said they would not sign a record contract unless it explicitly included a clause that prohibited the label from using their lead singer’s famous father's name in anyway to promote the band (FYI: His dad is Sting). The rest of their respect comes from their music. Right from the get go, Everything Will Never Be OK kicks off filled with sugary sweet punk-pop that 4 out of 5 dentists would not approve of. The second half of the album slows things down a bit but catchy choruses still fill the air. To spite the usual crappy lyrics associated with catchy riffs and pop overtones, the lyrical content of this album is one of its strong points. “Cigarette” does a brilliant job of taking a simple concept (“screw you, you only want me because my daddy’s rich”) and turning it into a great song, by not watering down the lyrics but rather relying on lyrical imagery to get the point across. “Hate” and “Soldier Machismo” highlight the rest of the disc, while the second, slower half of the album takes a little longer to grow on you. One thing is for sure; thanks to some nice genes, Joe Sumner is blessed with a powerful voice and a built in knack for music. Though what makes the album and band special is not resting on that, but rather using it to built a great album upon. This album has just enough sugar to attract a large audience, but also enough talent to get respect from even the most cynical indie music snobs - who me? It's worth a listen or two for everyone and surely a band that shows a lot of talent and maybe even more potential. [www.fictionplane.com]

Ever since I heard Jack Johnson's saltwater-saturated version of Jimmy Buffett's "Pirate Looks at 40" on the September Sessions Soundtrack, I was hooked on the laid-back surfer with pearls of wisdom swirled around in his gently culled oyster songs. Jack Johnson just makes you feel good. You don't have to be any certain "thing" or "way" to get what he's saying, and the music, mostly acoustic guitar backed by reggae-ish bass and drums, is so easy to vibe to. In short, it's like Sublime without the pogo and Bob Marley without the Rastafarian element: Simplicity. And, as the Quakers say, "'tis a gift to be simple / 'tis a gift to be free." Jack Johnson's album On and On is simple, free, and wholly gorgeous. Everyone else just needs to catch on. Hell, it's produced by Mario of Beastie Boys fame, yo. When you can incorporate the lyric "Hallelujah zig-zag nothing / Misery is on the loose / 'Cause people are lonley and only animals with fancy tools" ("The Horizon Has Been Defeated") without silliness, tell a story about the life of a delinquent ("Taylor") in a scat, semi-rap without pretentiousness, and make lovelorn desire an un-jaded boogie ("Tomorrow Morning"), you have accomplished something. Johnson's lyrics and melodies are like a bench swing on a Southern Summer porch - swaying, welcoming, warm, and moving. The whole album makes you happy: there's not a stinker in the bunch. And don't be worried - It's too earnest and real to be easy listening. With groovy, Roots-y songs like "Rodeo Clowns" keep Johnson's album from falling into adult contemporary, and his ease with shuffling guitar plicking make you want to move. In short: On and On is the album to take to the beach with you, because it'll put you in the mood for fun and sun, memories and the melancholy that can come from staring at everyone moving around, staring at the moving of the ocean waves. Even the lovesick can bask in "Cocoon" ("Mend your broken heart / And leave"). Even the cluttered headed can dwell on the anti-metropolis anthem "Traffic in the Sky." I cannot say anything negative about this album, I love it. Hopefully you will too. [www.jackjohnsonmusic.com]

When I write album reviews, I usually type them up with the album I'm reviewing playing in the background, just so anything I didn't hear in the car (Where I hear most of the albums I review) I can recall, or if I want to call attention to a particular lyrical phrase. Forgive me, then, if I seem a little hazy on Serart, whose self-titled album is so locked up and copyright protected that I cannot play it on my computer's CD player, and my family probably wouldn't want me to blare it out from our home stereo, nor do I want to quickly go boot up my laptop so I can hear the song in my room then run in here and post this review. Sorry. My family wouldn't want to hear Serj and Arto's collection of ethnic-sounding songs because they'd probably think that it was just a cluster-fuck mess of sound. Well, though that it may be on the first listen, you have to get past that. It's really a cacophony of greatness, living up to the album's pronouncment that it's a "visual anomalon", anomalon meaning a "newly discovered sub-atomic particle whose properties vary based on observation and locality." Yep - Outkast were close with "B.O.B.", but Serart blows them out of the water. Serart is an awesome, ear-splitting piece of work, with huge variety on instrumentation and cataclysmic sounds remniscient of everything from African tribes to dance club rythyms. "Narnia" is a sweet pulse, "Save the Blonde" is something to rock your whole soul with, and the best song on the album, "Devil's Wedding," is a swirling wheel of everything that makes for a good song. Bravo to Serart for creating one of the most unique and ingenious albums of the year. But why no more publicity behind System of a Down's frontman's project? I hope Serj Tankian's name alone will push this album onto kids so that they can at least hear something of what enlightenment sounds like. And why can't I hear it on my computer? (No, I'm about to go to London so I don't give a rat's arse about burning CD's - I just wanna hear the damn thing while I type!) Why can't I find this album at my local Media Play. The only thing that really pisses me off about this album is that I keep playing it for people, they go to buy a copy, and they can only find it an some obscure record store. Not that cool. But if you like choruses that go " Hey / Hey / Sat-tam-na / Leekay-leekay-tweedle-dee-bom-bom" ("Devil's Wedding" - and that's the closest I get) then you need to put in the extra time to find this album. It's truly definitive and ground-breaking, and you'll be glad to have your mind pried open by sound - Which doesn't happen that often. [www.serjicalstrike.com]

You know how it is when you gotta be sick, you're so nauseous that you cannot wait to be sick so you can feel better? That's how Betty Blowtorch sounds, like a really good puke feels. And I mean that in the most complimentary way - Last Call is dedicated to the memory of bass-player Bianca Butthole, whose life was cut short by a car crash, so I feel it best to continue the memorial by making sure to tell you as much about this pretty rad band as I can. Bianca's bass riffs are best seen on tracks like the unreleased demo "I Wanna Be On Epitaph" (it's a bratty blow at the label, yes) and "Shut Up and Fuck" (oh, do you really need to be told? It makes the Donna's "Take It Off" sound like a theme song for Playskool.) But the rest of the band is great (Blare N. Bitch, Judy Molish, and Sharon Needles, respectively) - One of the best and ballsy songs on this compilation-esque album is "Ode to Dickhead" ("My name is Dickhead / I ain't no inbred / I got a shaved head / Dick-head!") which is so prettily sung and live, acoustic on the radio... Prettily in the sense that the women of Betty Blowtorch are clearly grinning while singing. That's one of the best things about the album: These chicks seem like they're singing and screaming and pounding and shredding for the sheer joy of it. Their "cover" of Hole's "Teenage Whore" is great and snarly; it's a great postcard to Ms. Love. "Rock 'n Roll '85" is where bands today, girls or boys (no offense to Sleater-Kinney) need to get to in terms of bare-bones yelling. That's how it used to sound - You remember Mudhoney? These gals do. And the best part about them is their sense of humor - There are interview clips on the album, and the deflection of the goofy DJ's "So how'd you get so good at the tambourine?" question is deflected by the quick quip of "Oh, the Tambourine Institute of Technology - T.I.T." Some of it is kinda... crass? The assault on the ear drums can get a little redundant, the grittiness of these girls gets a little tired - Can I get some more melody somewhere? Even with the excellent guitar solos, more variety is needed (I kept feeling like "I'm Ugly and I Don't Know Why" is something I heard before - And I mean message and song), but otherwise Betty Blowtorch rocks. If you don't like loud, brash, screaming ladies with a lot to say and a lot to play, then don't bother with Betty Blowtorch. The rest of us get to enjoy some real grating joy in shrieks and shouts. Best thing I've heard since some of the stuff on the Bridge 9 label - Punkish yawp for the sake of yawp. Thanks Betty Blowtorch, for ressurecting the girl growl. Too bad nobody used it back up tween-pop in the corner. [www.foodchainrecords.com]

So, now that the press bonanza and the rampant UK craze have abated, it seems safe to tackle Fever To Tell with reasonably untainted ears. After hype built up this band, it's disheartening to unearth an overall hit-or-miss album. And what makes matters worse are the two, seemingly out of character songs that overshadow the rest of the record. Ok, sure, there's something sexy and alluring about Karen O's Chrissie Hynde meets Joan Jett meets PJ Harvey vocals. But, her rock swagger and feral screeches are only so charming before they eventually evolve into an annoying mess. It's acceptable in "Date With A Night", tolerable in "Man", but "Tick" is just too much; it isn't cute, it isn't empowering, it isn't cool. Sure, the aim of garage rock has never been to create a euphonious experience, but there comes a time when enough is enough. Indeed, the variable in the Yeah Yeah Yeahs equation seems to be Karen O, as Nick Zinner and Brian Chase only occasionally falter from their mission: providing a bluesy, crunchy, rhythmic foundation for Karen O to cavort and carry on with. The syncopated hits in "Man" pound as hard as full band and their springy rhythm throughout "Pin" completes the frivolity of Karen O's "bomp, bomp" chorus. For a two-member rhythm section, there's not much to complain about. So, the main problem with this album is introduced through the synth notes that open "Rich", and then reinforced with "Maps" and "Y Control", which are by far the highlights of this album. It's in the endearing melody ("Wait / They don't love you like I love you"), the rapid drone of the single guitar note, and the ambient, echoing tones giving way to distorted bursts that make "Maps" incredible - almost too uncharacteristic of this band. Then, "Y Control" is simply everything the Yeah Yeah Yeahs seemed they could be. While still retaining their inherent, unrefined elements they flirt with danceable beats and a dash more melody. With those two songs the Yeah Yeah Yeahs surpass not only the rest of their own album, but show that they have the ability to achieve a label greater than just "another garage rock band from New York City." Question is: do they realize this? [www.yeahyeahyeahs.com]

I’m not a math person, but I think Quintron can be best described by using an equation: The B-52s – guitar and Fred Schneider + light triggered drum machines + James Chance – saxophone + electroclash – elitist attitude + cheerleader backing vocals + lots and lots of organ + New Orleans = Quintron Armed with his Drum Buddy (the aforementioned light-triggered drum machine) and a slew of organs and analog synths, Quintron and his wife, Miss Pussycat, have come here to get you off your ass and on the dance floor. The tight, clean drum beats provided by the Drum Buddy are the perfect base for Mr. Q’s Korg and Miss P’s kitschy vocals. The songs incorporate both production value and sleaze, which when added to the drum machines and keyboards make a veritable gumbo of sonic ingredients. “Mud Bugs” is definitely the most intense and inspired of the record, with its horror movie screams and epic arrangement. The rest of the record focuses on dance-grooves accented with female “cheerleader” style vocals, and of course, Q’s organ, including “Teenage Antoinette” and “I’m Not Busy.” However, the album’s last track, “Organ Solo,” is actually anything but. It is a sonic mishmash of noise, by far the most sprawling, out-there track on the album, which lasts only about a minute. It is a strange way to end a record so based around strong grooves. However, it also serves to show that Quintron is capable of doing more than the dance-thing, and is akin to some of Q’s older material. Perhaps it’s a sign of things to come – or maybe it’s just a snapshot of an older day. [www.quintronandmisspussycat.com]

No matter what label might pop into your head while listening Finger Eleven, make sure it's not nü-metal. They hate that. Unfortunately for Finger Eleven, their new self-titled album, produced by Johnny K (Disturbed) and released through Creed's own Wind-Up Records, doesn't quite present them as the one-of-a-kind band they'd probably like to be. Finger Eleven is modern rock, no doubt. Somewhere between the Jacoby Shaddix fronted Papa Roach and Alien Ant Farm is where Finger Eleven dwells. While existing between two of the lesser evils in the modern rock game, their sound is still derivative of music that exists for no other reason than to be on the radio. Most of the songs are the standard verse-chorus-verse fare and tread no new ground. And despite wanting to distance themselves from nü-metal they so despise, the single, "Good Times", comes of like the monkey-rock expected out of bands like Disturbed. Yet, for perhaps a little nostalgia, Finger Eleven is laced with early-90's alternative rock influences, as "Complicated Questions" and the acoustic ballad "One Thing" would fit nicely on a Collective Soul album. You can't blame these guys - we all listened to it - it's just that Finger Eleven evidently haven't let go of the 90's rock heyday. But, let's not completely downplay an album reportedly 18-months in the making. "Absent Stars" shows off Finger Eleven's ability to pen a great tune. With a nice bounce in the verse, featuring some playoff between the guitar and bass, the song is a nice mid-album, mid-tempo rocker. "Conversations" comes back to the new-school Papa Roach and features a very memorable, bass-driven chorus. Finally, "Therapy", which shows off more fancy bass work from Sean Anderson, is the tightest song on the album. With its minor and desolate feel, the track builds and flows nicely, showing that Finger Eleven are in fact a band with the ability to challenge the second-rate comparisons they constantly attract. But, they just aren't quite there yet. [www.fingereleven.com]

It makes sense that two Englishmen from the Isle of Wight would make new music that sounds old. How? Well, what do two lifelong friends and musicians stuck on an isolated island do all day but study old records? As their biography states, Paul Butler and Aaron Fletcher, better known as A Band Of Bees, were simply allowed the opportunity to remove themselves from the money-hungry UK music scene. What I'm getting at is A Band Of Bees operate on that level where they actually enjoy making music, devoid of an urge to cash in on a trend. Their US debut, Sunshine Hit Me, is chock full of styles and evidently influenced by a lot of record digging. For an added touch of authenticity, Butler and Fletcher threw the samplers out the window and opted to record all instruments live. But, what takes the cake is that the duo recorded the album in a shed, in fact, "The Shed", their homemade studio located in the middle of a field for grazing sheep and cattle. Sunshine Hit Me opens with "Punchbag", a soulful romp replete with Rhodes organ and 70's horns. The second track, "Angryman", falls back on old-school funk, while "No Trophy" comes through like Jamaican reggae by way of The Beach Boys. And just when it doesn't seem like they could throw more styles in the pot, "Binnel Bay" flaunts some Tahitian influence through a wash of myriad percussive elements. Yet, the track that stands out the most is the cover of "A Minha Menina" by Os Muntates, a 60's Brazilian group that recombined many styles into their own. The track stands out because it's noticeably brighter than the rest, acting as part acoustic rave-up and part homage to a band that treaded similar ground nearly three decades ago. The track also acts to further contrast the progressively mellower mood the album takes in its latter half. Yet, the final track, a 70's-style, soul ballad, "Sky Holds The Sun", closes the album strong with its minimal-yet-catchy mantra ("I want to hold you like the sky holds the sun"). It would seem a schizophrenic set of songs such as Sunshine Hit Me wouldn't work, but it comes off without a hitch. The only thing wrong with the album is leaves us all guessing what A Band Of Bees will do next. If the US bonus track, "You Got To Leave", a British rocker with a Rolling Stones-esk chorus, is any indication of what's to come, then we have something completely different to look forward to. And I'm sure it will be great too. [www.astralwerks.com]

Whilst at my local independent music shoppe, I was engaged in a discussion with the proprietor about Steely Dan. He was raving about their latest album, Everything Must Go; I was saying how it was basically Two Against Nature, Pt. 2. He basically said that he agreed, no new ground was broken, but that Becker/Fagen had hit their stride, found their niche, and he’s just happy to be alive to have heard nine new Steely Dan songs. Steely Dan and Ween have a lot in common – both are based around two core members and a rotating cast of auxiliary musicians, both excel in the studio, and both have apparently hit their musical stride. However, Steely takes themselves a bit too seriously, Ween doesn’t take themselves seriously enough. Quebec is the third in a series of Ween records that all follow a similar formula. There is the drug song (“Zoloft”), the heavy and fast Ween-metal song (“It’s Gonna Be a Long Night”), a goofy, fun and totally unnecessary instrumental (“The Fucked Jam”), a faux children’s song (“So Many People in the Neighborhood”) and, when they cut the comedy and really try, a few really excellent songs, most especially “Chocolate Town.” There are a few new flourishes: Dean Ween has apparently purchased an electric sitar (“Tried and True,” “Transdermal Celebration”), Josh Freese, the ubiquitous session drummer for everyone these days, is present, and… well, there isn’t too much more new ground broken here. That doesn’t mean that this is a bad record – if you enjoy The Mollusk and White Pepper, you will love this album. If you’re looking for something new – well, sorry. [www.ween.com]

What do you get when you combine a nü-industrial sound, over the top flash and flair production, gothic tattoos, and a Dragon Ball Z haircut? You get Celldweller, a one-man band, who writes MTV theme songs (“Tough Enough 3”, “Extreme Challenge”, “How To Live Like A Rock Star”, and many more) and recently released a 69-minute self-titled album. This man goes by the name of Klayton. Originally the term Celldweller was Klayton’s producer nickname, until his 90’s industrial band Circle of Dust broke up and he went solo. When I say “flash and flair production,” I mean that this man uses as many audio gimmicks as any of your poppy-pop-pop Britney/*NSYNC bands. Here is a list: mandatory artistic industrial intro track, computer voice (used often), dance beats and house synths, digitization of the voice (like in The Matrix when Keanu has the silver mirror goop that crawls up his arm and into his mouth), autotune fiascos (as in that Cher song with the digitally pitch altered voice, also the Kid Rock ballad from his first record), cutting up of the voice (like in that Rob Zombie remix song on The Matrix sountrack), Rebirth (I’m almost positive on this one), mandatory fake record scratching on one track, mandatory acoustic ballad in the midst of industrial craziness, and the unsuccessful use of whale sounds. That’s right, whale sounds. Everything you could possibly expect from a man who has worked on such video games as Road Rash Jailbreak, Test Drive Off Road: Wide Open, and the not so well known film Python. The production is glossy, like a boy band, and the attention-grabbing gimmicks are abundant. The lyrics are as trite and fake as his image. For example: “I hear the sound of a heart, from the shadow in the dark,” “Take advantage of a malleable mind, been a weakened sucker boy without a spine,” “It’s better to be broken than to break,” and “One time my spine controlled by your small mind, so many reasons for what you justified (Don’t kill yourself).” Those are all from different songs. Note the repetitive use of “mind” and “spine”. All and all, I can see him picking up a small following of goth middle-schoolers who watch too much MTV and think tattoos of skin being sewn together are cool. As for me, the Dragon Ball Z haircut, the overly airbrushed pictures in the CD book, and pop-nü-industrial-dance songs make me want to vomit. [www.celldweller.com]

Atom and His Package has once again released an album that makes me feel like a little kid. I mean that’s pretty much what he’s all about, right? His witty, story-driven tunes revolve around being immature, rightfully accompanied by his kiddy 80’s-ish synthesizer. It’s his juvenile appeal that attracts fans all over the world; Atom, a one-man band plus synthesizer, has played shows from Japan to Israel. His first album, Making Love, was a collection of songs about nutrition, the metric system, a neurotic crush on Enya, and space-rides. I guess the question that remains is, does the new album deliver the same goofy, childish sentiment that so many people admire? Sadly, Atom has matured a bit and the new album tends to be a little arrogant, a little too political and not quite as funny as his other two. In “Dear Atom, You Do Not Want Children. Love Atom,” Atom sings about changes on the inside, and switches on the outside. In the “For Aliza, Whenever She May Sleep” he admits to being 26 years old, and sings, “take a break, lay down, take a breath, way down.” It’s not like getting old is a bad thing, it’s just that I really admire his trivial fun loving attitude, of which is less present in the new album. Granted, there are songs that made me giggle, “It’s the moustache, it’s the moustache, put it on the T.V. screen, it’ll make you feel better,” and songs that made me smile, “I am down-right amazed, at what I can destroy with a hammer,” but they’re more hit-or-miss than his past records. If you’re a huge Atom and His Package fan, you won’t be disappointed. The drums and synths are as shameless as ever (in a good way that is), and the guitar is far more rocking. I have a ton of respect for this man, but the album feels very average. I was really hoping for a return guest appearance from Lobster Mobster, Atom’s hilarious fictional band from Making Love; perhaps next time. [www.atomandhispackage.com]

Mixing two seemingly unrelated things together is a favorite past time of human beings: peanut butter and jelly, pro-athletes and rap, shoulder pads and women’s suits. This also applies for rock and roll. On Hey You. Yes You, Ben Lee, Australian singer/songwriter in the acoustic indie-pop vein, is paired with Gorillaz/Dr. Octagon producer/remix-er extraordinaire, Dan “The Automator” Nakamura. The mix seems odd at first, and the resulting collaboration is just what you’d expect from two talented, but very different, people pooling their resources - uneven. First, let’s go with the negatives. Many of these songs sound forced. The “dirty beats” Nakamura provides at times seem completely un-complimentary to the songs they back. On the ballad-y “Chills,” the repetitive beat does little to enhance the melancholy-love-song-to-be. “Music 4 the Young and Foolish” is a semi-pretentious attempt to show off Nakamura’s scratching and sampling skills, with a title so ridiculous you would think it came from a limpbizkit album. The album’s closing number, “Still on the Line,” features a distractingly annoying delayed drum hit during the verses that takes away from the beautiful vocals that should be in the foreground. That all being said, Lee and Nakamura shine quite a bit also. “Aftertaste” sounds like a more focused Gorillaz outtake, and is one of the more organic sounding tracks on the record. The introduction to “Dirty Mind” bears a striking resemblance to Lee’s former label mates the Beastie Boys during their Check Your Head period but grows into a very interesting, catchy track. “Shine” has a low-key charm that is unmatched throughout the record and bears more resemblance to Lee’s previous record, Breathing Tornados. However, the real highlight is “No Room to Bleed,” a track that blends Lee’s yearning voice and jubilant piano with Nakamura’s break beat seamlessly, proving that these two seemingly unlikely bedfellows can indeed work well together. [www.ben-lee.com]

I'm going to issue a challenge now to all the garage-rock bands that are popping up: you will not kick my ass in 13 minutes the way Read Yellow has. On this self-titled EP, Boston's amazing Read Yellow destroyed every conception I had about the whole garage-rock genre with just 4 songs, totaling only 13 minutes of music. I wouldn't be surprised if they did the same to you. With a pace just slower than At The Drive-In and an intensity far greater than anything the Hives have done, Read Yellow seem poised to be one of the best, most recognized outputs that Boston has given the music world since The Pixies. They have a crunch in their sound I haven't heard in a while. Their arrangements are extremely tight. I've seen Read Yellow bowl people over with a frenzied live show and, I have to admit, I was afraid this intensity wouldn't translate into the studio. Thankfully, they matched it perfectly. Not only that, they managed to get a clear, distinct sound for every instrument and vocal part, rather than having it all lost in white-noise like many typical lo-fi, garage-rock sensations. Almost all members list Fugazi as one of their influences and that's clearly evident once the opening track, the homonymous "Read Yellow", kicks in. "Fashion Fatale", the second track on the disc, is a perfect example of how to do this stuff the right way. You may have even seen the video for "The Association", the final track of the EP, rotating around MTV2's playlist. So not only has Read Yellow blown me away with their live performance, they've also destroyed every low expectation I had for this release. Run out and get this EP if you want something a bit more fun, refreshing, and far more crunching than a lot of the post-hardcore, garage-rock stuff out there. Oh, and if you see them live and they destroy you, don't let me hear you say I didn't warn you. [www.readyellow.com]