Botch - '061502'

A crucial band for any metal or hardcore lover, either as a musician or as a fan, Tacoma, Washington’s Botch was only able to release two full-lengths (plus a gajillion or so seven inches) in their near-decade run. Mathcore at its weirdly finest, Botch’s style, both intricate and powerful in equal measures, has proven hugely influential on modern hardcore since the band’s demise in 2002. But as good as Botch-inspired acts may be (then again, maybe not), nothing beats the original. Hydra Head Records is well aware of this, and has begun releasing a series of Botch delicacies. First came the rarities compilation, Unifying Themes Redux. Now, four-and-a-half years after its original recording comes 061502, a DVD/CD combo of the band’s final show at the Showbox in Seattle, Washington.

Opening the set is an audience member crying, “I’m a freak!,” followed by Botch rocking the hell out of “Saint Matthew Returns to the Womb,” from We Are the Romans. Although live recordings often offer a degraded version of a performance, the sound on 061502 holds up pretty well. Dave Knudson’s guitar shrilly slices through the mix while drummer Tim Latona pounds mercilessly. Though his voice is occasionally lost in the recording, vocalist Dave Verellen still dominates the audience, both those in attendance and watching at home. “C. Thomas Howell as the “Soul Man”” and “John Woo” are just as face meltingly brilliant in those regards. Later in the set comes the best version of B-52’s “Rock Lobster” ever.

While songs like “Japam” and “Thank God for the Worker Bees” clearly delight the crowd, the best part of the show is the sense of humor and camaraderie displayed by the four band mates with the crowd. Though small in the overall sense, it’s great to see how human these musical pioneers were/are. Verellen openly asks for hecklers while observing his own fatness. Bassist Brian Cook encourages a mix of solidarity and chaos from the crowd, saying, “Respect everyone around you… but just go ape shit.” All in attendance respectfully do so.

Some of the spontaneity of the live show is lost when playing back the recording of it. The thrill of surprise is gone when the set list is neatly printed on 061502’s packaging, along with the encore of “Man the Ramparts.” It’s kind of like watching Citizen Kane after hearing about “Rosebud,” Star Wars after Vader revealed he’s Luke’s father or The Matrix even though the sequels ruin the story. But just as fans of those films still watch anyway, the same holds true for this Botch live set. The extra features, though minimal, still lend the DVD a great deal of value.

Botch fans will love the commentary for the show. Self-deprecation rules the band’s analysis of their own finale, ripping into their abuse of strobe lights and drum fills. They even start a drinking game for each time someone in the band messes up. Everyone in the group is pretty freaking drunk by the end, by the way. The sarcasm also gets turned on just about every other band ever, from the gross imitators (“Hey, I really like this Norma Jean song”) to the fairly unrelated (“…and here come the claps… We started it, Green Day. Fuck you. We invented clapping.”).

Also included is the music video for “Saint Matthews Returns to the Womb.” The video’s oddly chromatic tinting of live footage is a nice enough addition. Finishing off the DVD is a bonus live show of five songs, recorded in Bellingham, Washington. The quality for these songs isn’t nearly as good, as it’s pretty hard to make out anything other than drums most of the time. But it’s still a cool lil add-on, allowing Botch fans to basically see a home video of their favorite band in action.

Overall, 061502 is a solid Botch release, honoring the band’s legacy while adding a little bit more on. Buy it for the video, keep it for the commentary.

Ill Ease - 'All Systems A-Go-Go!'

Screw bein’ serious; I and possibly, maybe, hopefully you, just wanna dance. I’m talking a silly little jig, preferably with some spinning thrown in. Said jig will last no more than five minutes because, honestly, I’m a bit out of shape. But for those gloriously stupid five minutes, I fully intend to pop in Ill Ease’s new album, All Systems A-Go-Go!. Then I will throw the cursed thing into the deepest, darkest nether regions of my closet.

Hailing from Brooklyn, New York and consisting of only one member, Elizabeth Sharp, Ill Ease is anything but what its name stands for. Rather, it/she is pretty easygoing, so much so that I’m not even sure how to write the band’s name. The front cover bills ‘em as “Ill Ease!”, the CD, “Ill Ease!!”, and iTunes and the spine of the CD case settle for just “Ill Ease.” Whatever. That’s just how she rolls, man.

The disc starts off with “Too Much Sucky (I Hate Drum Machines).” Sharp’s Brooklyn roots show right away. The fuzzy guitars, lo-fi recording, and ridiculously stupid lyrics all smack of “New York, 2001.” Coupling that with Sharp’s off-key, Kimya Dawson Lite voice makes for two strikes against the album within the first few seconds. But while “Too Much Sucky” lacks originality, it’s still a fun, rollicking number, albeit a tone deaf one. For the sake of preserving its silliness as much as possible, here’s a phonetic spelling of the song’s opening lines: “I hate drum machines. I hate drum mah-SHEEEEEENS!” Make sure you say that last part in a really high voice, now. Sharp’s criticisms of the pseudo-instrument start off practical, “They always keep the beat. They always stay on time.” Right on; it’s too perfect. I like my Ringo Starr off-kilter, clam-flammit. But after accusing drum machines of having “too much sucky and not enough fucky,” Sharp starts to get lazy, also claiming that drum machines are “always rhyming.” Then she cops the chorus from Devo’s “Whip It” for a whole verse. Righteous. Regardless, the loose playing and dance-tastic guitar work make the song an overall solid opener. It’s not brilliant, but at least it’s fun.

But after the absurd giddiness of “Too Much Sucky (I Hate Drum Machines),” the record settles for mimicking latter-day Sonic Youth. “New York No Wave” and “New York, London, Paris, Tokyo, Milan (It’s Worldwide! It’s Fashion Suicide!)" both breeze by with a Thurston Moore coolness, but unremarkably so.“Walking Pneumonia” tries to liven things up by using the word “fuck” a lot. It boasts a fairly basic guitar pattern and an insistence on telling most of the United States (plus D.C.) to fuck off. Florida gets fucked twice. It’s like listening to a 12-year-old boy write his first song in between practicing “Hot Cross Buns” and “Blitzkrieg Bop.”

After the lengthy “Power Turns Me On!”, which is half-song and half-a-shit-load-of-noise, and two remixes (“I Love Drum Machines (Napoleon III Remix)?!” Finally, a chance to experience the nostalgia of… like a half-hour ago…), All Systems A-Go-Go! mercifully ends. It apes Sonic Nurse well enough in parts, which is cool, but I already have that album. I don’t need another one. At least we can agree on drum machines sucking, though.

Palehorse - 'Amongst the Flock'

[Behold! This review almost got me blacklisted from Bridge Nine Records, whom called me a "brokeback mountaineer" at the time.]

Despite the huge differences between modern hardcore and, say, nu-metal, there’s still a fine line to be walked. Though the ‘core-attuned may claim otherwise, it’s just as easy to sound like Drowning Pool as it is Bane. Unfortunately, the Connecticut-based hardcore band Palehorse, though they aim for the latter, tends to come off with all of the grace and depth of the former. I’m not even talking good Drowning Pool, either (a la “Bodies.” Don’t act like you don’t know the words). I’m leaning more towards shitty Drowning Pool (Remember “Stand Up?” The one that went, “If you wanna stand up (stand up!)?”).

Palehorse’s latest album is called Amongst the Flock, and the title couldn’t be more accurate. It’s just more of the same XtoughXguyX posturing. Though the power of the opening instrumental track, “St. Louis,” is undeniable and chock full o’ muscular thrash goodness, the album quickly devolves into crap. “Announcing the birth of a new order UHHHHH!” goes the title track (that last part was a growl… or maybe a bowel movement. I’m not sure). Frontman Vinny Calandra reveals his Metallica roots with lines like “New world order/They plan to kill you” and “Corporate police state/Will be our life sentence.” While this ditty could prove to be like catnip to nihilistic, mall-punk types, it will be sure to grate on the nerves of others, as the song wears out its shtick halfway through its slightly-over-three-minute mark.

“Amongst the Flock” is just the first in a volley of paranoid ramblings about the fall of American ideals (or something like that). “The 33rd Degree” speaks of the “corrupt bullshit government/The course now set/Armageddon is here/Greed, lust – nothing left.” If only, man. If only. “1948” takes the scare tactics even further, singing about politicians and their lust for war, and the media’s obsessions with “West Nile or AIDS.”

There’s a popular sticker/shirt/postcard sold at Hot Topic that bears the phrase, “You laugh at me because I’m different. I laugh because you’re all the same.” That pretty much sums up another theme of Amongst the Flock. “They exist to please the crowd/I will never be one of them,” goes “Bleed the Sheep.” The third theme, self-loathing and just generally being pissed off (how very Limp Bizkit), flows throughout tracks like “Consuming Me” and “Last Place.”

There is one good thing about Palehorse, though. The band can serve as a litmus test of sorts at local shows. Anyone moshing, thrashing, or, uh… “no bones-ing” to the songs off of Amongst the Flock can pretty much be labeled as “the asshole who’ll mosh to anything.” Have fun donkey kicking chicks in the face, guys. I hope you don’t beat your wives like that 10 years from now.

Fake Problems - 'How Far Our Bodies Go'

[I just realized I never finished putting up my old reviews for Wonka Vision, City Paper, and such. So uh... here's some more oldies.]

If nothing else, Florida folk-punk band Fake Problems deserves credit for the quickest turnaround (in possibly) ever. You see, the first 23 seconds or so of the group’s full-length debut, How Far Our Bodies Go, suck. Hard. Frontman Chris Farren is not the strongest vocalist out there and, as he sings a call and response with a chorus over some strummed guitar on the album’s eponymous opener, he sounds like he’s trying to break free from the strangulated shackles of pre-pubescence (which is a dickhead way of saying he’s sort of out of his range). But after this false start, rest assured, How Far Our Bodies Go shifts up from “suck” to “dangerously awesome” for the remainder of its 36-minute running time.

From the second track (”Born & Raised”) to the closing thirteenth one (”Para Tur”), How Far Our Bodies Go serves up the best punk rock hoedown of 2007. Existing somewhere between Against Me! and Social Distortion, Fake Problems pick up and drop instruments like organ, fiddle, glockenspiel and horns on a whim, allowing the band to experiment with its songs without being restricted to any given instrumental style.

“Born & Raised,” in which main problem child Farren weighs joining the army versus going back to college, is furious and quick, but it still finds time to slip in some organ and background “boo-booo”s to sweeten the song. “Maestro of This Rebellious Symphony” switches out the organ for some fiddle and horn mix, and it’s just as delicious.

One of the beautiful things about what punk is (supposed to be), is that it is a genre open to experimentation and free association. Fake Problems do just that. You wanna hear a 30-second song about astronauts written for a strumstick? Check out “Astronaut.” You wanna hear a lovelorn, frenetic folk-punk tune segue into a “preprise” of another song that’s two tracks away for no reason? Put on the romper-stomper “Crest on the Chest.” In the mood for an epic album centerpiece? The triumphant tones of the five-minute “To Repel Ghosts” should more than suffice.

Basically, Fake Problems need to be popular; stat. How Far Our Bodies Go is one of the strongest releases, punk or otherwise, of 2007. It’s the kind of album that draws the listener in and demands he and/or she scream out every got-damned line. Be sure to come out for the band’s gig at Siren Records in Doylestown, PA on June 13th. Extra points if ya sing along.

No Torso - 'Several Brains'

In the liner notes to their full-length debut, A Guided Tour of Chicago, The Lawrence Arms wrote, “Without Mike Park, this world would suck.” They were pretty much right. Through his label, Asian Man Records, Park has released fine albums from such notable groups as Alkaline Trio, Big D and The Kids Table, and, of course, the Larry Arms. There’s one more group to add that catalog, and its name is No Torso. While the group’s Asian Man debut, Several Brains, does not match the quality of the other bands listed, it still stands as a solid ska release.

Musically, Several Brains is a refreshing mid-level ska album. It’s not perpetually punked out, nor is it stuffed with smoked-out reggae. Rather, it’s got a lil bit of both. Opening with “Fight the Blue Horizon,” which also recently appeared [At the time, it was summer 2007] on Asian Man’s rocktastic compilation Plea for Peace Volume 2, No Torso instantly grabs the listener’s attention with energetic guitar, horns, and drums. It’s a great song, but one which only hints at the band’s musical dexterity.

No Torso’s strongest suit is its jamming abilities. Tracks like “Hangman” and “Time Will Show” reveal the band’s knack for riding out some positive vibes. “Hangman” features some quality guitar playing from string slingers Martin Brostigen and Kristian Hamang. But it’s “Time Will Show” which allows the whole band to showoff. It clocks in at 3:42, and about three of those minutes consist of solos shared amongst each of the players. Bendik Brfnne’s sax splits time with Hans Friis’ trombone before a searing guitar solo brings things back into focus for some rockin’ and an “oi” chant.

But while the 11 tracks on Several Brains are sonically pleasing, they don’t always hold up lyrically. The most obvious song to pick on is “I’m Glad I'm Alive.” More than any other song, this is the one to promote smirks and quizzical looks. The lyrics exist more to fill space than to convey a message. Sample line: “I chew my corn flakes every day / So I’m sure I’m not dead on the way / To the mailbox where I take a rest.” Yet, despite this shortcoming, No Torso saw fit to include “I’m Glad Alive” on the album twice. That’s right, there’s “I’m Glad I’m Alive (Reggae)” and, six tracks later, “I’m Glad I’m Alive (Original).” It’s tempting to pass this off as the result of a language barrier (No Torso is from Norway), but that won’t make the tune any more interesting.

All the same, though, fans of third wave ska will have a good time with Several Brains. There are some great jams on this disc. No Torso is currently hunkered down and working on new material, so hopefully they’ll be able to expand on the promise of Several Brains with an even better ska release in the coming year.

Bonde do Role - 'With Lasers'

Let’s talk weird hybrids. Imagine Miami Sound Machine. Focus on the Latin funk rhythms. Now imagine punching Gloria Estefan in the face and putting British grime rapper M.I.A. in her stead. Now pour some electro-metal on, and wrap it all in an indecipherable layer of Portuguese. That’s a rough, working image of what one can expect to hear from Bonde Do Role’s full-length debut, With Lasers.

Consisting of MCs Pedro D’Eyrot and Marina Vello, plus DJ/MC Rodrigo Gorky, the Brazillian group Bonde Do Role have crafted a fun, but incredibly weird, record with With Lasers. Oddly danceable and sexual, With Lasers gets by on freakish beats and vocals, but little else. On the plus side, though, the cover art features Jesus Christ shooting lasers out of his eyes, which is super cool.

Listeners are thrown for a loop right away, thanks to the opening measures of “Dang do Zumbi,” in which metal guitar noodles and a doom-filled voice intones, “Death to your speakers” for 50 seconds. It’s kind of creepy, and totally defies everything written about Bonde Do Role in this article so far (So sorry if that’s a spoiler). After this intro ends though, “Dang do Zumbi” turns into a real Bonde track, with all of the group’s hallmarks: baile funk, MC interplay that skips across Portugese, Spanish, and English, electro-tinged metal guitar, and loads o’ fun.

Track two, “Solta O Frango,” is where the album draws more of a M.I.A.-like sound. Aurally, the two acts rely on a tinny, toy-like approach to crafting instrumentals, and M.I.A. and Vello’s vocals are similarly slurred and sexy. And like, M.I.A., Bonde Do Role serves up great dance party bombs.

Later album cuts show the band stretching out a little bit, like the walkin’ on sunshine pep of “Tieta” or the freaky sexual “Ah! Ah! Me gusta!”s of “Divine Gosa.” The band is well aware that their linguistic shifts aren’t the easiest to follow, so they give fans a break with a really easy chorus to memorize on “Office Boy”  “Bah-buh-bah-buh-bah, bah-buh-bah-buh-bah, bah-buh-bah-buh-bah-boy.” It’s catchy, and it works.

But while listeners can enjoy the bizarre freak-fun horns of “Gasolina” or the dance-gasm of “Divine Gosa,” there’s a certain point where everybody’s body is going to need a break. Thankfully, With Lasers ends mercifully at the half-hour mark. It’s just long enough to become slightly tiresome, but not enough to become annoying. Bonde Do Role is a solid South American baile funk dance indie techno metal pop band, and so unique that this sentence doesn’t even come close to describing the group’s sound.

Joy Electric - 'The Otherly Opus'

Hailing from sunny California, one man band Ronnie Martin has been turning out synthpop records under Joy Electric for over a decade. His latest, The Otherly Opus, out now on Tooth & Nail Records, is a run of the mill electronic affair.

Album opener “The Otherly Opus” dictates the agenda for the next 33 minutes, and it’s a bit of a mixed bag. On the plus side, Joy Electric does haunting synthpop songs well enough. On the negative side, well, there’s just not a lot of variety to be found in a collection of swirling, slow burning pseudo-dance numbers. On this introductory track, Martin keeps his hooks simple (the title is the chorus, repeated ad nauseum), and his beats are just as basic (4/4, bass on 1 and 3, snare on 2 and 4).

“Frivolity and Its Necessities” continues in the same vein, as do the eight tracks that follow it. But there’s something deceptively simple about them. These songs are legitimately haunting, in that their spooky hooks will linger around listeners’ heads for sometime, so much so that the work almost takes on a superior quality in thought over the actual listening process.

Sometimes the catchiness is due to saturation. The “whoas” on “The Ushering In of a Magical Era” are a tad excessive. The incessant repetition of the word “memory” in “The Memory of Alpha” is inane. But some tracks are touching, like the wistful “Write Your Last Paragraph,” have a gothic pop sensibility about them that will slowly bring listeners in. It’s not as a catchy or fun as, say, The Cure, but the interest is still there.

What would be great to hear from Joy Electric would be more songs like track seven, the brilliant rave-up “Red Will Dye These Snows of Silver.” Listeners who are willing to forgive this song’s lame title will find themselves enjoying some quality synthpop that’s equally heavy on both parts. Granted, the track repeats the album’s mistake of having just about every gosh darn song chant its title early on, but it’s still a fun track. Same goes for “(The Timbre) of the Timber Colony.”

The boon and bane of The Otherly Opus is that it goes by too smoothly. It does not challenge the listener, nor does it provide him and/or her with a whole lot to consider. It’s catchy, but not memorable. Listeners will remember the hooks, sure, but not the lyrics. Joy Electric has mastered the “otherly” quality of these songs, but the “opus” part is far from magnum.

Hoods - 'Ghetto Blaster'

In a genre like hardcore, it’s excruciatingly hard to do anything original (or fun). Whenever a band comes along to revolutionize the style, say a Gorilla Biscuits or a Botch, listeners take note. It’s exhilarating to hear a band take an old sound and give it a new life. But it is because of this same need to hear something new in hardcore than I am wicked pissed about the latest Hoods release, Ghetto Blaster, an album that I’d openly admit to enjoying.

Ghetto Blaster has two personalities going on. Half of the album is steeped in hardcore cliche - it’s a chest-beating sausage fest on tracks like “Ghetto Blaster” and “Can’t Stop the Game.” But then there’s the other half. The fun lovin’, giddily awesome half, showcased by tracks like “Willie Nelson and a Twelve Pack” and, especially, “Don’t Fight, Let’s Party Tonight.”

Let’s get the complaints out of the way. The eponymous album opener boasts a slew of stereotypical tough guy posturing. “As I walk through the valley of death / I fear no one / Because everyone’s dead / I trust this knife / It’s all I need by my side / MY GOD IS PAIN” goes the first chorus. Wow, buddy, see you in the trenches. Way to subvert the “us versus them” ethic of the genre by turning it into “me versus no one because I am tougher than motherfucking Clint Eastwood.”

In sharp contrast are tracks like “Don’t Fight, Let’s Party Tonight.” In a scene marked by violent factions, “Don’t Fight, Let’s Party Tonight” is a unitive anthem for the whole lot. Its message is simple, elegant, and right there in the title. The lyrics discuss picking up a couple of 40s, with the intent of using them to help fuel a party. But the members of Hoods are open-minded chaps. They know that not everyone in the hardcore scene digs alcohol. To this they say, “If you’re straight edge, don’t worry / Hey, I’ll buy you a Sprite.” It works for every form of sXe too, ’cause Sprite doesn’t have caffeine. That the song is a delicious bar rocker just sweetens the deal.

I can hem and haw about how Hoods have drunk a lil too much of the tough guy Kool Aid to whoever will listen; but ultimately, I have to give the guys props for putting out a tight package of metal-tinged ditties. The guitars have a dirty crunch, the drums are mighty muscular, and the vocals are abrasive yet decipherable (always a plus). At 22 minutes, Ghetto Blaster is a rapid fire face crusher and a total party record.

Velcro Stars - 'Hiroshima's Revenge'

Bands take note: Wicked sweet cover art might be all that stands between you and a potential fan base. Consider the Tennessee indie pop rock group Velcro Stars. As I tore through Wonka HQ’s disgustingly massive collection of death metal looking for records to review, I found Hiroshima’s Revenge. The packaging eschews the atypical plastic jewel case in favor of brown cardboard and a black, blue, and white paint job. The artwork, which depicts a massive being (God?!) throwing bombs at a skeleton, has a handmade, intimate quality to it. Included with the album is a folded pamphlet containing more tasty art, this time coupled with a poem. The fold-out features a military man dropping bananas that turn into bombs on cities before he slips on a peel labeled “Cinnimon Jews” and blows up. I have no idear what the hell it represents, but I am sort of (by which I mean not really) sure that the art isn’t anti-Semitic, so that’s cool.


But while Velcro Stars’ artwork is good enough to get their “feet” in my “door” (that sounds gross!), it’s their Pixies-tinged tunes that keep them in my heart. Opener “Same Every Day” delivers powered-up pop a la The Rentals and the aforementioned Boston rockers Pixies. “Here and now / We are young and proud,” sings the nasally group, and they certainly sound like it. The group quickly transcends these obvious comparisons,though, with the title track.

Musically laidback and lyrically melancholy, the song Hiroshima’s Revenge” has a Pavement-with-organ feel, but Velcro Stars are more than just a ’90s indie rock tribute band. They’re a solidly catchy pop band in their own right. Follow-up tracks “All That I Do” and “Not So Easy” serve up a double dose of sugary promises of fidelity to lovers, infectious and peppy. These songs and more make excellent use of horns and xylophone. The glut of extra instruments is never masturbatory; everything is complementary.

The only snag against Hiroshima’s Revenge is the running time. 48 minutes is just a little too long for this album, and the 15 songs presented here could’ve easily been in the 10 to 12 range to avoid sounding repetitive. But when later album cuts like “Pretense” do begin to sound redundant, the band switches lead vocalists from Shane to Rebekah Spresser. Pretty much everyone but drummer Andy Spore gets a little bit of mic time. Even though Hiroshima’s Revenge could stand for some editing, ultimately it is a good indie pop rock release. Frolicking and loose, Velcro Stars are a band to watch in 2007. [NOTE: This article is hella-old.]

The Winter Sounds - 'Porcelain Empire'

[NOTE: This ran a year ago. Michelle and I are even more obnoxiously cute now.]
My girlfriend, Michelle, and I reached our one year anniversary recently, and to celebrate, we went to see the mighty Bloc Party at the Tower Theater about a week ago as of this writing. The Macabees and The Noisettes (whom Dan Brian simply loves) were good, but it was the Party that got the er… um, “party started.” Jangley guitars swirled all around us as frontman Kele Okereke enchanted us with his British accent. So charming!

What my love of Bloc Party has to do with Athens, GA indie rock band The Winter Sounds is this – the TWS debut, Porcelain Empire, wants to be Bloc Party some of the time, and, coincidentally, that’s when it’s at its strongest. Sometimes, it wants to have a more dialed-down cool like Interpol, and that’s kind of neat too. But deep down, the secret shame of Porcelain Empire is that it wants to be The Killers circa Hot Fuss. This explanation is a round-about way of saying that Porcelain Empire is continually trying to be anthemic, and that, more often than not, it’s bland, dull, radio-fodder.

The record hits it creative peek right away – the album cover depicts a fire-breathing swan, and that’s awesome. Track one, “Windy City Nights,” is slightly less awesome, but just by a hair. It’s got that great New Romantic vibe that the kids have been diggin’ on these days, and a killer hook to boot. While admittedly hokey, the heights Patrick Keenan and his bandmates soar to during the chorus are ridiculously uplifting. The song’s blend of guitar, drums, and keyboard is hypnotic. In short, “Windy City Nights” is a great song.

After such a strong opening, though, Porcelain Empire just kind of… phones it in. “Gone to Save Mankind” ups the spastic post-punk ante, “A Call to Arms” proves that the band can jam out a lil bit, and “Poor Sailors” shifts the band’s dramatic element slightly with some violin, but mostly the record is new wave-y indie rock by numbers. The group claims to be influenced by “early ’70s underground rock, punk, anti-folk, chamber pop, and early-00’s indie rock,” but it’s hard to discern anything outside of that last attribution. By the time the second half of the record comes around, the swelling of each chorus, plaintive twinkling of each keyboard part, and the ethereal swirl of each guitar line becomes so predictable that there’s barely any reason to listen to the album at all.

Call It Arson - 'The Animal Strings Album'

The world could use more smolderingly political musical acts. Hailing from over yonder in Connecticut, rock act Call It Arson eschews a crap load of influences to create a wholly new sound. They fill the ’90s gap between Gin Blossoms and Sunny Day Real Estate; the band’s songs are sort of rocky, sort of folky, and mostly good. On top of all that is a lyrical approach that’s kind of Jackson Browne-y, kind of Minor Threat-y. Basically, Call It Arson is an awesome rock band with lyrics that are politically incisive while remaining vague enough to apply to a wide range of listeners. The band’s latest release, the EP The Animal Strings Album, showcases the band’s many influences.

Bookended by unplugged folk/country numbers, The Animal Strings Album opens with “Eliza.” The song’s chorus of singers and midtempo acoustic guitar has an instant campfire feel to it. That the track is about working up self-determination - as singer Ryan White recalls, “That I should start doing all of those things I’ve been singing about,” knowing that he’s, “stronger now from the spark/And I glow, maybe I’m already home,” just makes it an extra endearing anthem.

The cutting fuzz of James Downes’ electric guitar and the pounding power of session player Brian McOmber’s drums are thoroughly bombastic in an alt-rock way on the political second track, “The Unmanageable Superstate.” SDRE (err “The Fire Theft”) would be proud. White’s voice is just as compelling here as it is on “Eliza,” although the lyrics could use a bit of tweaking. Mark Twain once said that, “Patriotism is loving your country all the time and your government when it deserves it.” Call It Arson approximates that sentiment with lines like, “This is where I was born and I’m proud to call this mound of dirt that I live on my home/This is where I belong/With that pride I renounce all that my ‘leaders’ have done.” But other sections of the song, like the opening lines of “Fuck the poisonous food that you feed us/Fuck the pills that you push to cure resulting disease” could use some work. Profanity is a crutch that Call It Arson needs to drop ASAP. Props for the harmonica, though.

Tracks three and four, “Animal Strings” and “On the Run,” show more of the band’s range. “Animal Strings” morphs from a warbling Bright Eyes-esque number into a classic rock jam over the course of five minutes. “On the Run,” meanwhile, is a terse radio-ready pop rock tune.

The EP’s final two tracks are perhaps its strongest. The slightly-over-six-minutes “Places” is an epic piece of songwriting. It continues The Animal Strings Album’s theme of restlessness and traveling. Call It Arson’s emocore sensibilities poke through here, as White sings “I’ll do me damage all on my own if my presence is an issue then I’d rather just steer clear.” But at the same time, White distances himself from such sentiments, as he grows tired of “the same old song and dance: using pain and fear as romance.” Having graduated beyond emo self-loathing, Call It Arson proceed to rock the heck out, which is always appreciated.

The Animal Strings Album concludes with a second acoustic ditty, “Hoopin’ and Humpin.’” While the title’s visual image is far more graphic than I’m sure was intended, “Hoopin’ and Humpin’” is in fact a pleasant lil folk song about a tiny town called New London, combining old school bluegrass music with contemporary language. It’s sort of like if Woody Guthrie were 19 today, I guess.

Call It Arson’s The Animal Strings Album is a refreshing EP for music fans looking for something as emotive as, say, the Saddle Creek roster but with a tad bit more energy. Sure, there’s always Cursive, but, hey, feel free to branch out.

Our American Cousin - 'How's This for a Diploma?'

Hey, remember American Football? Kansas City natives Our American Cousin sure do. Their debut EP How’s This for a Diploma?, off of No Sleep Records, combines the instrumentals of AF/caP’n Jazz with a touch of Cute is What We Aim For-style vocals. It’s a good enough con deal, overall, mixing alternately dirge-y and squealing angular guitars with a bits of string arrangements here and there.

How’s This for a Diploma? starts off with the pseudo-indie/punk of “Ernesto Perez One. Ernesto Perez Two.” It pretty much sets the M.O. for the rest of the EP, as frontman Kurtis Viers screeches and thrashes his guitar around while the rest of the band does the same. It’s refreshingly dirtier than your average emo band these days.

While some may fault Our American Cousin for being too derivative, having plundered a lot of their tricks from the ’90s emo era, at least the group has figured out how to get dissonant and harsh without going the screamo/metalcore route. At the same time, though, the band could still use a bit of seasoning. Sample lyrics from “Ernesto Perez One. Ernesto Perez Two”: “Let’s keep each other sweet/Comets tell of the moonshine/And prove how deep our pockets are.” The group’s lyricism is sort of ethereal, sort of a high school poetry session. But, if the listener can step back from the corniness of those lines, he and/or she may just notice the simple yet elegant piano line gliding underneath of them.

Our American Cousin delivers more in the same vein of “Ernesto Perez One. Ernesto Perez Two.” with the EP’s other two tracks, “Think I May Have an Ego?” and “Lights Out (Sock Full of Batteries).” “Think I May Have an Ego?” rocks a multi-part vocal line for maximally weird effect while needling guitars, crashing cymbals, and a quaint lil organ line pop up throughout. The band’s solid sense of instrumentation is further complemented by Parker Viers’ cello playing in the track’s triumphant build-up. Remember, ya’ll: Cello + snare roll = epic x sweet.

“Lights Out (Sock Full of Batteries)” closes out the disc, and reveals Our American Cousin’s grasp of the ambient as well as the rocking. It quickly heads back towards OAC’s emo-rock comfort zone, though. It’s more of the same; not that that’s a complaint.

How’s This for a Diploma? shows a lot of promise for Our American Cousin. The group’s mix of rock with more classically-oriented instruments like cello and piano make for an enticing 14 minutes of indie/punk/emo. While the EP is by no means perfect, as the lyrics could use work and drummer Adam Park still needs to figure out if he wants to play loose or sloppy/behind the rest of the band, it is still a good start all the same. [NOTE: This band broke up soon after releasing this EP. Chumps.]

Pizzasaurus Rex - 'Traveling Today on Yesterday's Maps'

They say you can’t judge a book by its cover, but that doesn’t stop people from discarding bands based on their name alone - I’m sure your mother hates your Genital Hercules and Rotting Christ records without knowing what they actually sound like. But, sometimes, a band’s name works. Sometimes, it’s so mind-blowingly awesome, nay, jawesome that it acts like a lure for listeners. It just sucks ‘em right in. In this case, I’m talking about one such band, and their name is Pizzasaurus Rex. Sure, it kinda bites Cheesasaurus Rex’s style, much to Kraft’s chagrin, I’m sure, but c’mon. Pizza and rock and/or roll always make for fun times, regardless.

Pizzasaurus Rex has existed in one form or another for about five years now [NOTE: This article ran over a year ago.] After all that rockin’, these indie-punk vets finally got off their duffs and put out a CD, Traveling Today On Yesterday’s Maps. At nine tracks, the album showcases the band’s various influences. It’s mostly rollicking rock fun. But sometimes, like your average Domino’s pizza pie, things turn out a bit stale. Also, they might give you cramps and this weird vertigo sensation that just makes your stomach... nevermind.

Traveling Today On Yesterday’s Maps starts off with “Banana Phone.” While listeners may initially be disappointed over it not being a sweet post-rock Raffi cover, Pizzasaurus Rex quickly compensates by offering a delicious alternative. Alt-rock guitars and rough-yet-catchy vocals abound on this one. Vocalist Barker Gee, in additional to having an awesome name, makes for a great gruff frontman. There’s a strong old school college rock vibe here; Replacements fans should enjoy it. Track two, “Touch,” keeps up the same style with the same solid results. A bit of a Bruce Springsteen influence crops up on “Touch” as well; think of it as Paul Westerberg and The E Street Band.

But as good as Pizzasaurus Rex is at such a style, it seems as if the band can’t break out of that comfort zone with tripping up. The ballad-y “Drown” sinks under its own slow melancholy. By the time the song’s haunting piano coda sets in, listeners may already be comatose. The band tries another musical shift later on the disc with “Emily,” which sounds disturbingly like Rod Stewart. The acoustic guitars make it sound as if the band is shooting for their own “Maggie May,” but the world already has one of those. Luckily, the single-worthy “Into the Sunset” separates the two, injecting some much needed pep.

The band finally breaks out of its Replacements mold on “Harp Song” by turning up the Springsteen. The song’s 30-second intro of guitar and harmonica has the same ethereal quality as the Boss’ Nebraska. But when the song transitions into a more rock-oriented number, the shift is so incredibly catchy that no one can fault them for dropping the folkier angle altogether. “Harp Song” is another alt-rock gem waiting for a mix-tape. The song’s insistent chorus of “absence makes the heart grow fonder, don’t it?” and kickass guitar solo are moving in a “yay life” sort of way.

The album runs into trouble on its last two tracks, though. Now, “Puerto Rico” and “Kick Out the Bags” are both solid garage rockin’ tunes, but both cutout too early. I don’t mean that they lack something in terms of songwriting; I mean they literally just end early. The fadeout on “Puerto Rico” comes just a few seconds too soon. You have rocking and suddenly you don’t. Heck, “Kick Out the Bags” cuts out mid-jam. Both songs are good, but that just makes me hate them even more for blue balling me.

Overall, though, Traveling Today On Yesterday’s Maps is a good record. It’s slightly tossed off in spots - the sloppy production ruins the album’s conclusion - but that won’t stop you from head bobbin’ to “Into the Sunset” or “Harp Song.”

Various Artists - 'Brats on the Beat: Ramones for Kids'

It’s amazing that, for all of the hullabaloo about punk rock’s desire to act rebellious and “up the punx,” one of the genres originators, The Ramones, were acolytes of the classic pop song. Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, and Tommy wanted to be as sweet as The Bay City Rollers, but they sorta kinda maybe couldn’t play their instruments. Such lack of ability would cause most bands to suck mightily, but The Ramones’ unskilled style allowed them to tap into a sort of primal rock and/or roll spirit. The band could rock thoroughly, but all of their songs were covered in a sugary pop sheen. Ramones tunes were every bit as catchy as The Beatles' catalog, just sped up a few hundred RPMs. And just as kids from the last few generations can claim to have been raised on The Beatles (lucky whippersnappers!), so too could the same be said for The Ramones. Both bands crafted perfect, self-contained singles that continue to appeal to youngins’.

The kiddie appeal of The Ramones hasn’t gone unnoticed, as a few recent children’s albums have tried to Kidz Bop-ercize the work of those blessed pinheads. One such compilation is Brats on the Beat: Ramones for Kids (it’s a play on words! Yay!), from Go Kart Records. Where the barely intelligible Rockabye Baby!: Lullaby Renditions of The Ramones converted the tunes into incoherent crap designed to render infants comatose, Brats on the Beat plays it safe. Though the recordings are much cleaner, this compilation is pretty faithful to the original versions of the 12 songs collected here. But that proves to be just as big of a weakness. Brats on the Beat tones down The Ramones, and in so doing becomes ditties just as sterile as the Icelandic dance-pop of Lazy Town.

Jim Lindberg of Pennywise leads the family-friendly charge with an army of children on gang vox. But while he does “Blitzkrieg Bop” justice, the kids themselves aren’t alright. In fact, they suck. “Blitzkrieg Bop,” along with the rest of the album, is riddled with kids singing out of time, with school bells ringing sporadically. It’s cool for us adults to hear Matt Skiba and Tony Reflex “do it for the kids,” but the studio recordings they sing over are painfully processed. Also, the kids are fucking annoying.

There is one track where the “kids punk rock” formula works, though. Bouncing Soul and all-around good guy Greg Attonito leads the kids in a sloppy yet rollicking rendition of “Rock ‘N’ Roll Radio.” Extra props go to the boy who hams it up in the beginning with “Let’s rock all roll with The Ramooooooones.”

What really kills off Brats on the Beat is that parents could just as easily give their spawn a Ramones record. Sure, Brats on the Beat skips out on inappropriate songs like “Now I Wanna Sniff Some Glue” or its sequel, “Carbona, Not Glue,” but then again, so does Ramones Mania. Ramones Mania also boasts over twice as many tracks to boot. Sure, “responsible” parents might not want to play “Chinese Rock,” “Somebody Put Something in My Drink,” or “The KKK Took My Baby Away” in front of the young ones, but a lil editing on a CD-R should fix that.

Real Space Noise - 'Radio Method'

Consisting of studio vet Chan Blinman and his buddy Steve Ashburn, Real Space Noise lives up to its name - They make really spacey noise. Electronic and pretty, their full-length Radio Method combines rock and electronic flourishes. But what kills the album off is the duo’s reliance on Blinman’s old recording buddies from Face to Face/Viva Death, Trevor Keith and Scott Shiflett, for vocals on almost half of the album. That’s not to say that they do a bad job; on the contrary, Keith and Shiflett do a better job fronting their respective RSN tracks than Blinman himself. In doing so, Keith and Shiflett upstage the main band.

The album has four lead singers divided among 12 tracks. Blinman helms six, Keith three, Shiflett two, and alt-indie singer Monica Richards closes out the album on the final track, “Quietus.” Blinman himself does a decent job, although his faux-British singing grows old halfway through tracks like “The New Machine Age” or “Sky Collector.” The music, at least, is still solid.

Electro beats and new wave ambiance are the hallmark of Radio Method. Described by the band’s website as having “themes of man’s relationship with technology, reason and faith, and the broken promise of the future,” Radio Method adds on cold computer programmed instrumentals accordingly. It’s at least as decent as Orgy’s techno-paranoid piece Vapor Transmission but when compared to the king of industrial terror, Trent Reznor, Blinman’s beats and obsessions don’t compare. The music lacks anger. Pretty Hate Machine without the “hate” just isn’t all that compelling.

There is some hope offered in the form of Trevor Keith, though. Not hope in the lyrical sense, because Keith’s contributions are just as chock full o’ loathing and nihilism as Blinman’s stuff. Keith has got years of experience belting out hits, though; his work with Face to Face yielded such seminal punk albums as Big Choice and Face to Face. His experimental (for a punk band) FtF album, Ignorance is Bliss, revealed that Keith could do more than just play three chords in a circle over and over. The same can be said for his new band, Viva Death, of which Blinman is also a member. Viva Death could also be described as rock/electronic, so Keith and Blinman’s work here doesn’t stray too far from that so much as check out the flip side. Viva Death rocks; Real Space Noise tries to groove.

Keith only sings on three tracks (”A Pleasant Confinement,” “Are You Uncomfortable?” and “The Quickening”), but they’re all classy cuts that are good enough to raise this album’s score a whole notch. “A Pleasant Confinement” starts off with the best audio sample of the whole album (”So maybe the moon is made of green cheese”) and quickly establishes itself as the best song on the album with its punchy drumming and sharp pace.

Radio Method is a decent experimental music release from Blinman and Ashburn. But at times, it feels more like just an experiment, and not enough like fully developed music. Blinman’s got a ton of punk credentials from recording Face to Face, The Get Up Kids, and Senses Fail, plus from his work with Viva Death. Real Space Noise feels like an attempt to break out of that mold, and while his efforts are amicable, they are far from “great.”

Tard - 'Dining With the Lepers'

Those who miss Propagandhi's sense of humor displayed on their punk masterpiece How to Clean Everything might get some diminished returns from Tard's new album, Dining With the Lepers. But be warned; Tard is a poor man’s Propagandhi, lacking the political vision and satirical wit of those Canadian dudes. But at least they have the potty humor and NOFX-brand o’ punk rock down.

Dining With the Lepers is more or less bookended with its two best tracks, “Yer Head” and “Double Wide.” “Yer Head” has the early ’90s Fat Wreck sound down perfectly. Snotty vocals, tons of “whoas,” and a grinding guitar/bass combo form some quality pop punk in the tradition of Face to Face and The Descendents. The song takes a weird detour into skit-skat-y territory near the end, giving it an extra dash of infectiousness, if only for 30 more seconds. It’s a great opening track.

Given the bar the band sets for itself with the first track, it’s a wonder “Hey Kid” can keep up. It’s still pretty rollicking, but loaded with typical punk cliches. “Hey kid (whoa!), no one can tell you what to say. Hey kid (whoa!), no one can tell you to look that way,” go some of the song’s opening lines. It’s defiant, but in a cookie cutter way.

The song titles alone reveal the band’s Fat Wreck-Lite sound. Whereas Propagandhi wrote a song called “Stick The Fucking Flag Up Your Goddam Ass, You Sonofabitch,” Tard settles for briefer, but lesser, names. Titles like “Butt Whore” and “Anarchy Yeah!” are shorter and easier to write, but those characteristics can also be attributed to their song quality. “Anarchy Yeah!” boasts some great punk bass work from GW, but don’t quite meet the standards set by “Fat” Mike or Matt Riddle. These songs are good, but not great.

Punk has always been about conciseness, which Dining With the Lepers honors with its 10 songs clocking in at about 26 minutes. That works well; the lesser songs breeze by without being too painful and the good songs zip by so fast you want to press “rewind.” “Boiled Meat” tries to be funny (”My dick’s as soft as boiled meat!”), but its juvenile sentiments barely match “My Vagina,” let alone anything else. But the album does end on a high note, thanks to “Double Wide.”

“Double Wide” turns up the punk fervor a lil bit higher. Guitarist Dray’s shredding and GW vocals combine for the best Chris Hannah impersonation Dining With the Lepers has to offer. Though it’s good, “Double Wide” still serves as a reminder that, ultimately, you could always just pop in a Fat Wreck classic like Less Talk, More Rock or Don’t Turn Away.

Bleach03 - 'The Head That Controls Both Right and Left Sides Eats Meats and Slobbers Even Today'

A good band by any other name would rock just as hard. Such is the case with Bleach03. Originally just called Bleach, the Japanese noisecore trio had to resort to calling itself bleachmobile when first attempting to break into the U.S. due to a far less awesome Christian rock band from Kentucky who claimed dibs on the name first. As the band’s profile rose a bit, the -mobile part got dropped and -03 got added. I don’t know why, nor do I care. All that matters is that Bleach/bleachmobile/Bleach03 still rocks, as proven by the group’s latest release, The Head That Controls Both Right and Left Sides Eats Meats and Slobbers Even Today . Holy crap that’s a bitch to type out.

Fans of j-rock can expect more of the same from Bleach03’s new album, which isn’t a bad thing. However, Bleach03 is always best the first time around, because the group sounds like three bat shit insane Japanese girls fucking the shit out of Nirvana. The result is harsh, beautiful, and totally blindsiding.

There are some differences between The Head… and older releases like, say, the bleachmobile days of course. Bassist Miya’s four strings sound less thick and grungy and just a tad bit more funky. The production overall is much cleaner, but doesn’t tone down the band’s intensity whatsoever.

There’s a bit more diversity to be heard from Bleach03 now as well. Standout track “Torch” serves as a perfect example. A Cobain-esque dirty guitar line sullenly opens the song before turning all sorts of speed metal. Frontwoman Kanna actually sings beautifully throughout the song. Of course, there's also some shredding guitar and a militaristic bridge. All three members join in on tightly assembled vocals in a catchy, post-punk-y moment. Elsewhere, like on “Head Cleaner,” the group achieves a slight Pixies-esque alt-pop feel. Catchy but weird.

Bleach03 still takes the time to tear shit up, though. The title track utilizes Miya’s discordant howl over Kanna’s high pitched singing, while drummer Sayuri picks up and drops cut time beats on a whim. Grating in a good way, funky but powerful, The Head That Controls Both Right and Left Sides Eats Meats and Slobbers Even Today is a solid j-rock release and should appeal to curious fans of hardcore, metal, and grunge.

Verona Grove - 'The Verona Grove EP'

[NOTE: Here's another one from the archives, hence the dated intro.]

I recently attended The Early November’s farewell show at The Trocadero. As per usual, the TENors tore it up with succulent emo ditties like the romper-stomper “Every Night’s Another Story” and the tearful farewell “Never Coming Back,” and on top of that, frontman Ace Enders’ pops, the venerable Mr. Enders, crowd surfed, which is the only time I have condoned the act (thus far), so that was cool. But what struck me most were openers Melee and The Rocket Summer. Here were two bands that, while not sounding too similar, still managed to rip off the same band: Something Corporate.

Before going on hiatus in 2004, Something Corporate was arguably one of the best pop rock groups on the touring circuit, delivering fun musician- and showmanship every night, everywhere. Hearing the group’s lengthy, emotional “Konstantine” live was (and hopefully will continue to be?) a revelation. But just three years later, it’s dishearteningly easy to hear main SoCo songwriter Andrew McMahon’s style ripped off by adolescent pop bands. For further derivative evidence, pop in Verona Grove’s new self-titled EP.

Released as a preview for the group’s upcoming full-length, The Story Thought Over, the Verona Grove EP is another in a mercilessly painful line of SoClones. Three fourths of the disc blend Sugarcult-esque touches with McMahon-isms to form bland, overly spit shined songs about girls and failing and whatever. Track one, “Everything You Dreamed,” is an amicable opener, which is to say it’s nice and okay and not particularly anything worth talking about.

“No Words to Say” and “Revolution” drop the Sugarcult sound a bit for full on SoCo power ballad-dom, and it is incredibly hokey. With a hook slightly reminiscent of SoCo’s far superior “She Paints Me Blue,” “No Words to Say” is banal and mildly annoying. “Revolution” is just plain stupid. Sample lyric: “You think it’s okay to hide behind stars/Or run from moving cars.”

In truth, Verona Grove doesn’t pique interest until the closing song, “Goodbye Surrender.” It’s the only song that doesn’t cop a feel from the influences mentioned earlier. In the vein of All-American Rejects without being imitative of them, “Goodbye Surrender” is infectious, embarrassingly so considering who’s singing the song, but infectious nonetheless. Opening with more of a techno-esque dance feel, the song segues back into standard rock rhythms once the vocals start up, but wait for the hook. While still overproduced, it’s powerfully infectious. When the bass and guitar get out of the way of the drums and vocals for four measures before one final hoozah of a chorus at the 2:17 mark, it’s the greatest sound to be found on this EP.

Verona Grove still sucks, though.

Token Entry - 'The Re-Issues'

One of several unsung heroes of the NYC hardcore scene of the ’80s, Token Entry will hopefully get some its due thanks to the I Scream-issued The Re-Issues, a compilation of the group’s final two albums, Jaybird and Weight of the World. Consisting of 22 songs equaling about 55 minutes, The Re-Issues is an enthralling listen from start to finish. If nothing else, it’s great to hear the music that influenced your favorite musicians. After reading the album’s liner notes, with anecdotes provided by Civ of Gorilla Biscuits, Ray Cappo of Youth of Today, Toby Morse of H2O, and Bryan “Papillion” Kienlen of The Bouncing Souls (all important punk/hardcore bands in their own right), it’s obvious that Token Entry has had a more profound influence on hardcore than the average Silverstein fan might deduce.

The first half of this retrospective is Jaybird, a badass hardcore record. While Gorilla Biscuit’s “New Direction” may have surprised first-time listeners with its triumphant horn intro, Token Entry goes for the ridiculous with a twinkling of film score synth for Jaybird opener “The Fire.” But then the band kicks in. Bridging Minor Threat and early Bouncing Souls, “The Fire” is a damn fine old school hardcore song. Blistering and powerful, it sets the pace for what’s to come for the rest of Jaybird. From “Windows” to “Pink Things,” Token Entry lives up to the accolades its fans have heaped on by pummeling the fuck out of listeners’ eardrums with harsh skate-punk anthems (in a totally cool way. Honest). The drums are fierce; the guitars are so rapid fire that they have mere seconds to squeal out anything resembling a solo before soaring back into beautiful beatdown chug-itude.

There’s really only one minor complaint to be had on this first half of The Re-Issues. Like most ’80s hardcore records, Jaybird's lack of variety may cause listeners to zone out after a while. Nonetheless, Jaybird stands up as a staple of hardcore, regardless of scene or era. Closing track “BTBW,” a cover of “Born to Be Wild,” breaks out of the mold a bit with it’s sublimely weird acoustic intro, which is followed by more rocking.

“Sublimely weird” could almost describe Token Entry’s third and final album, Weight of the World, which makes up the second half of The Re-Issues. Almost. Branching out from traditional hardcore in favor of the funk rock of Faith No More and ’80s/early ’90s-era Red Hot Chili Peppers, Weight of the World gets points for experimenting while still leaving some skate-punk layers buried in the mix. But while the album isn’t as lyrically handicapped as the average Anthony Kiedis tune and the musicianship is more diversified and intricate, it’s still a ho-hum release. Weight of the World may be only two years younger than Jaybird, but it sounds far more dated. Hearing frontman Timmy Chunks rap-rock his way through songs like “Don’t Want to Go Back” is just too jarring. Weight of the World is good for a few listens, but it only has value because it was made by Token Entry. Jaybird, however, has value because it’s a great record.

Adam Franklin - 'Bolts of Melody'

Swervedriver may have burned out back ’99, but the band’s former frontman Adam Franklin has continued on. In between starting new bands like Toshack Highway and Setting Suns (with Interpol drummer Sam Fogarino. Righteous!), the duder somehow managed to also crank out a solo album. But it may be perhaps because of all these divergent ventures that said disc, Bolts of Melody, comes off a tad flat and uninspired.

Franklin walks a weird line between country rock and psychedelia, though, and when he’s on, he’s pretty on. Album opener “Seize the Day” is a quick-shot distillation of Franklin’s songwriting style – twangy, slurred, and ever so slightly eerie. Unfortunately, it’s also kind of a clunker, which is extra depressing given that it’s one of the peppiest tunes on Bolts of Melody. None of the songs manages to remain as concise as “Seize the Day,” save for a reprise of the song “Morning Rain,” but that doesn’t really count. Rather, the record just kind of meanders along pointlessly.

But there are some moments of glory to be found as well. Tracks three, four, and five, “Morning Rain,” “Song of Solomon,” and “Theme from LSD,” respectively, are tripped out slow burners. Swervedriver was always misclassified as shoegazer; but on these tunes, Franklin captures the ethereal mood of the genre without sounding derivative of it (r.e. – you can make out what few lyrics surface! Wowzers!). “Theme from LSD” drops vocals in favor of a five minute drugged out jam session, building on simple guitar-monies to provide a sexy musical romp.

The album begins to decline come track six, “Shining Somewhere,” though. From this marker, Franklin sounds like a lot of great acts, but that’s not the same thing as being a great act. The guitar work gets a little more atmospheric on “Shining Somewhere,” but in comparison to more recent rock acts like Autolux and The Raconteurs, Franklin is outclassed. “Birdsong (Moonshiner Version)” channels Nick Drake, but the lyrics are too inept to elicit the same emotional reaction something like Pink Moon would warrant.

On Bolts of Melody, Franklin is a jack of all trades, and a master of dull songwriting. He’s a fairly redundant lyricist, often repeating meaningless phrases (e.g. - “You said you’d find a way” on “Morning Rain,” “Shining somewhere” on, that’s right, “Shining Somewhere”) in lieu of conveying a fully fleshed out message. At least the album proves that Franklin can jam on occasion. However, the musical restraint he brings to Bolts of Melody keeps this release from being worth much.