Scenic – The Acid Gospel Experience (Hidden Agenda)
[Sedona, Arizona]
www.parasol.com

Scenic is one of the few instrumental bands whose name is a descriptive metaphor of their music. No recording in recent memory has the cinematic breadth of opener “Year of The Rat.” You can almost feel the scope of the Arizona desert (the quintet are from Sedona) panning across your field of vision as this musical postcard plays itself out. The furious drumming of Brock Wirtz (named after the popular sausage, no doubt) propels “Lightspeed” across the universe, accompanied by moog and synth effects from (ex-Savage Republicans) Bruce Licher and Robert Loveless and the occasional sitar embellishment from Mark Mastopietro. Loveless’ synth emulates the sound of wordless vocals and coupled with Licher’s fuzz-laden guitar riffs, the whole track sounds like a 21^st century update of an Ennio Morricone western soundtrack and would sit confortably alongside his work on Once Upon A Time in the West and The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly.

The sleepy title track moseys its way around your synapses on a smooth, velvety synth carptet with twangy guitars, loungy vibes, chamberlains, glockenspiels, kitchen sinks (no, just kidding) along for the magic carpet ride. Perfect head music for a stroll in the park, although I think the Catholic Church has expunged this gospel from recent editions of all the bibles I’ve checked out!

Septuagenerian Harold Budd, who’s recorded with the likes of Brian Eno, Andy (XTC) Partridge and Cocteau Twins provides a piano base for “Under A Wing” and if Moon and The Melodies is amongst your Top 5 Twins’ releases, you’ll love this. “Lunar Afternoon” (like “The Spheres,” a three-year-old track previously demoed on “The Spheres” EP) is as spacey as its name implies. Like a sci-fi soundtrack, this would be the perfect accompaniment to watching Fantastic Planet with the sound turned off.

James Brenner’s familiar five-note syncopated bass riff forms the backbone of “Skylight” (one of three tracks with “light” in the title), a fairly exact copy of “Heroine’s Theme” from Strawbs’ “Autumn” medley on Hero & Heroine, while “Lightcord” features another of Mastopietro’s sitar solos, but feels interrupted – like a prelude to a longer piece, and consequently ends too soon as if the band lost their direction, forgot where the song was supposed to go and just ended it.

The album’s closer and 19-minute centerpiece, “A Journey Through the Outer Reaches of Inner Space” begins with an ever-expanding pulse from the center of the ultraworld,  sets the controls for the heart of the sun, and then proceeds to enter the only point of entry into the future, thus combining The Orb, Pink Floyd, and Grimble Grumble into one incredible expanding mindfuck that will take several days and a few little colored pills to come down off of. Be sure to prepare your set and setting accordingly.

Fruit Bats - Mouthfuls (Sub Pop)
[Chicago, Illinois]
www.subpop.com

Sub Pop has spared no expense on the packaging of this second album from Chicago's Fruit Bats: the booklet feels like a piece of cheap construction paper with the credits stenciled on in microscopic, unreadable piss-yellow print and the disk itself simply displays the band name in large, white block letters. Probably set them back about 75 cents. Luckily, that frugality doesn't extend to the music housed within, which, from the opening, "Rainbow Sign" (a summery, whimsical pop tune with acoustic guitars, piano, vibes and Beach Boys-styled harmonies), through to the closing bouncy, toetapping, handclapping, singalong hoedown of "When U Love Somebody," (which is eerily similar to the Flaming Lips' "Turn It On," the last good thing they did before Wayne Coyne discovered Mantovani and turned into Ali MacGraw's brother in Goodbye Columbus) is a fairly consistent winner. "A Bit of Wind" (whose lyric, "It takes mouthfuls of Niagaras" provides the set with its title) repeats the opener's upbeat groove, with leader Eric Johnson pulling off a marvelous Brian Wilson vocal impersonation. I'd place it somewhere in the "Smiley Smile"/"Wild Honey" era. There's also a bit of Jim Rao's Orange Cake Mix filtering through the harmonies and lightweight electronics.

"Magic Hour" sounds like Norwegian pop kings, Dipsomaniacs with a tone deaf vocalist (strange how Johnson's skills fade in and out throughout the record) and "The Little Acorn" demonstrates everything that is wrong and worthless with the alt.country/Americana movement: aimless, boring, whining, and utterly forgettable. "Track Rabbits" begins like Lennon's "Oh My Love" and morphs into a softly orchestrated, wordless vocal harmony and is the most cinematic piece on the album. It suffers, however, from an air of incompleteness, as if the song faded out before it was finished.

"Union Blanket" has too many annoying percussive effects - it sounds like someone's typing in the recording studio, but there are vestiges of Olivia Tremor Control's "Green Typewriters" emanating from your speakers. "Lazy Eye" is a piano-based drunken singalong that has neither style nor substance to recommend it, although Songs: Ohia and Rivulets fans (obviously, I'm neither) may find it to their liking.

"Slipping through the Sensors" sounds like an old Wilco outtake (more like "Slipping One Past the Censors" if you ask me) or, perhaps a lost Jayhawks track.... In either case, it's very good - one of the album highlights. Finally, "Seaweed" is a sleepy, folky, acoustic winner: excuisite harmonies, a memorable melody, and it even drags out the banjo for a few rounds. Excellent when it's good, but awful when it's bad, there are enough of the former tracks to recommend you borrow a friend's copy, particularly if poppy, hook-laden country rock is your bag.

Erland Øye - Unrest (Astralwerks)
[Berlin, Germany]
www.astralwerks.com

One of the prime movers and shakers in the burgeoning Norwegian pop scene out of Bergen, Øye wrote and sang on the best tracks on the Røyksopp album ("Melody A.M.") and has released several albums through his Kings of Convenience project. This is his debut solo project, although it's actually a global collaboration with artists he met on a whirlwind trek around Europe (with a couple of stops in the northeast US) during fiscal 2002. As such, it joins the ranks of other duet albums, such as Marianne Faithfull's Kissin' Time in its attempt to double your pleasure...double your fun.

From the opening notes of "Ghost Trains" I thought someone stuck an old Yazoo album into the jewelcase. This is pure Vince Clarke electronica a la his work with Depeche mode, Yazoo, and Erasure. The mirrored, disco ball keeps swinging on "Sheltered Life," but Øye's cool, monotonic delivery may appeal more to fans of Roxy Music than Appliance or Saint Etienne. 

From the platform shoeshuffle of "Sudden Rush" (pure New Order with a percolating, rolling bassline) to the silly-but-catchy techno electro rap and funky, wibble-wobble Talking Heads/Tom Tom Club groove of "Prego Amore," the drum machine and synth heavy material fondly recalls 80s New Romantics and white disco and will be thoroughly enjoyed by nostalgic fans of Visage, Ultravox, Classix Nouveau and the more cerebral dance bands of that much-loved era, as well as the aforementioned work of Orange Cake Mix from one of the great 80s apologists, Jim Rao.

Not everything works: "Every Party Has A Winner and A Loser" is a nonsensical compilation of percussive tom toms, claps, bangs, stomps, poundings, and scratchy records that sounds like the CD is skipping...THIS is the party Mama told me not to come to. The remainder of the record heads downhill from there. After a promising start, "Unrest" is an embarrasing reminder of the excesses and everything that was wrong with the 80s' electronic dance movement: repetitive, nonsensical, unimaginative riffs that go nowhere and take too long getting there, dull rhymes, and, in the case of tracks like "Symptom of Disease," songs that verge on lousy cocktail lounge Bacharachian silliness. Only worth hearing for the first couple of songs. After that...Frisbeeville.

The Rubinoos - Crimes Against Music (Zip)
[Berkeley, California]
www.ziprecords.com

Over twenty-five years ago, while the rest of America's youth were in their garages banging out punk rock, junior highschool classmates Jon Rubin and Tommy Dunbar were busy inventing a more radio-friendly flavor of rock and roll, soon to be christened "power pop." They led Jon's namesakes through a couple of seminal albums, one of which featured the (presumably) tongue-in-cheek classic, "Rock and Roll Is Dead (And We Don't Care)." Now they're back three decades later, perhaps to atone for spreading blasphemous rumors, and along with the 10 Bloody Marys and 10 How's Your Fathers, their penance includes this revival of a baker's dozen classics and rarities from the rock and roll graveyard, and it's unfortunately apparent that they still don't care.

The band are no strangers to covers (in fact, their biggest hit was a cover of Tommy James and The Shondell's "I Think We're Alone Now" on their 1977 self-titled debut), and it's the older tracks that work best here, including American Breed's "Bend Me, Shape Me," Del Shannon's "Hat's Off To Larry," and The Sweet's "Little Willy." They're all straightforward, cleanshaven, shirt-and-tie renditions that have a certain kitschy charm to them. 

The power pop version of Flaming Groovies' "Shake Some Action" is another winner - writer Cyril Jordan even claims it's the best version of the song he's ever heard! It's one of the few tracks to recapture that 80s power pop sheen and would sit comfortably alongside your Greg Kihn, Dirty Looks, The Beat, and 20/20 records. And digging up the Rock 'N' Roll Dubble Bubble Trading Card Company of Philadelphia 19141's bubblegum classic, "Bubblegum Music" is a stroke of sheer genius that illustrates once and for all the close (i.e., skinny) ties between two of the most maligned (and, hence, two of my favorite) subgenres of rock, bubblegum and power pop.

The more obscure songs (like Polly Brown's "Up In A Puff Of Smoke" - and they don't get much obscurer than that) also score, because the listener doesn't have the original playing back in their head for comparison. They also seem to be the tracks that retain the freshness and pop excitement of the band's initial incarnation.

Unfortunately, the recent tracks (including The Eurythmics' "Thorn In My Side" and Elvis' "Pump It Up") fail to rise above Holiday Inn, revival circuit, loung act quality. The horn embellishments on several tracks don't help either, reducing the band to sounding like your typical wedding reception covers band. A horribly rushed "Brandy" (the Looking Glass one hit wonder) retains none of the soul, charm, or heartbreak of the original, and Lou Christie's "If My Car Could Only Talk" is given the full Four Seasons treatment, complete with stratospheric, crotch-tingling harmonies.

Jon says the head of their Japanese label suggested this project, and I can understand the Japanese sensibility of enjoying the kitschiness of American pop culture, so perhaps this will go down better over there and get them a free trip to the orient. However, fans on these shores will probably not get past the revival house quality of the performances, prooving the old adage also holds true in rock and roll: you can't go home again. Of course, if you need a band for your daughter's wedding....

The Virtues - Ruminate (Crying Bob/Zip)
[Stockholm, Sweden]
www.ziprecords.com
www.cryingbob.com

Another in the seemingly endless line of Swedish delights clamoring for your attention, Stockholm's Virtues (led by three guys named Per!) play radio-friendly, MOR rock that's a long way from the hyperkinetic Hives or psych-savvy Soundtracks of Our Lives. "New Years Resolution" is catchy, ballsy, and has a great hook; "Matchday" will get the "thumbs up" from fans of Mike Nesmith's post-Monkees project, First National Band; and lead single "Alarm Call" (the label's choice, not mine) is a heavily-produced, rousing scorcher - a fitting tribute to its namesake Welsh band. The set loses momentum halfway through when the band tosses several slow ballads into the mix ("Crackleware" and "Wrongdoer"), while "'Bout To Be Told" has a hint of early U2, with Per Bergkvist's voice emoting with typically over-the-top Bono histrionics. Unfortunately, he follows this up with the lukewarm Radiohead copycat, "Die Happy." Too bad the 'heads are a couple of years past their sell-by date, so apeing them no longer scores any hip brownie points.

"The Infidel" saves the day with an easygoing Todd Rundgren-meets-Dan Fogelberg, 70s singer/songwriter vibe about it that is easily the best thing on the album and definitely worth a couple of spins. So if The Hives' resurrection of the Stooge is still giving you headaches and the Soundtracks of Our Lives' obscure Brit-psych jukebox is too obscure for your tastes and you are in the mood for more mainstream Swedish rock, The Virtues offer a pleasant diversion.

Buzzcocks - Buzzcocks (Merge)
[Manchester, England]
www.mergerecords.com

After the embarrassingly awful "what-the-fuck-was-that?" stupidity of the Buzzkunst, Pete Shelley reunites with guitarist Steve Diggle for the 'cocks second studio reunion album, and it ranks up there with Singles Going Steady as one of their best. "Jerk" takes off like a house afire and then is completely derailed by a ridiculous drum solo at the break; the horns on "Keep On" add a crisp, Psychedelic Furs vibe; Steve Diggle mouths "Wake Up Call" and "Sick City Sometimes," and while his songs aren't as immediately hooky and catchy as Pete Shelley's, they often (as in "Harmony in My Head" and "Autonomy") boast melodies that sneak back into your head long after the song has ended, and always have GREAT guitar riffs. In fact, "Autonomy" may be the single greatest riff in their oeuvre.

Like the reformed Soft Boys from the same initial punk era, the presence of two gifted songwriters who haven't lost their sense of melody or abandoned their strengths (razor sharp guitars, driving pulsebeat rhythms) with pie-in-the-sky hopes of having a "hit" is a big plus, ensuring we won't be saddled with half an album of fillers.

I dare you to keep your feet still during "Friends," a pogo-friendly high ener-ener-energy plan in the true power punk style of other first division punk luminaries like 999 and The Lurkers. And the closing anthemic shouter "Useless" may be their best track since they reformed several years ago.

Without those silly two-second delays between tracks, the full-throttle assault continues unabated throughout, showing the band has clearly not lost a step in the 25+ years since their opening New Hormones salvo, Britain's first independently released punk EP ever.

Along with The Boys, Buzzcocks were the best of the old school punk bands that appealed to a wider audience by adding more melodic pop to their attack and on this, their 7th studio album, they prove once again to be at the top of their craft as one of the premiere pop/punk bands in operation today. A welcome return to past glories after a strong, but flawed previous album.

The Lazily Spun - The Lazily Spun (Camera Obscura)
[Manchester/Liverpool, England]
www.cameraobscura.com.au

Named for the type of webs weaved by spiders who were fed flies laced with LSD (they were said to have been "lazily spun"), this quartet has been honing their craft for nearly a decade (John (Stone Roses) Squire and Clint (Inspiral Carpets) Boon were early fans), although this is their official debut full length, following a 2x7" on Earworm ("Double B-Side EP") that gained airplay on John Peel's Radio 1 [U.K.] programme and a widely distributed demo tape recorded back in 1996. The album includes tracks from all phases of their career, from the lengthy, cotton-mouthed, esoteric and avant garde psychedelia of earlier tracks like "Blue Mask of Pan" and "Psurreality Psong" (featuring ex-members, guitarist Anshu Asthan and tabla player Sandeep Singh) to the more recent pop sheen, which benefits from founding guitarist/vocalist Matt Woolham's commendable songwriting skills.

After a slow beginning (although "New Kneads" sounds remarkably like an outtake from an early Matt Keating album), things pick up immeasurably on "Neither Dreaming," a mellow synth-driven mood enhancer highlighted by some tasty guitar licks from Juan Bercial-Velez. The intricate guitar interplay on "Cubic Zirconia Smile" - swirling acoustic from one speaker, southern-fried twang from the other recall the fine work of Quicksilver Messenger Service and Help Yourself or 80s guitar gods, Felt and The Chameleons. The punny name games continue on "Doziac Escapes" (an anagram for "zodiac?") and the song itself is a melting pot of styles, from medieval wyrdfolk a la Incredible String Band and Gryphon, to phased backward guitars, sitars, mellotrons, autoharp and assorted "weird Chinese shit" (as Anton Newcomb classifies his Brian Jonestown Massacre's ephemeral instrumentation). My beloved mellotron also graces "Halcyon Days," a navel-gazing, progy suite of moods and emotions, complete with the sound effect of a needle scratching across a record to wake you up if you get too far into your rumination. (The effect reminds me of a similar stunt from an earlier Camera Obscura release - Salamander's Birds of Appetite.)

The noisy fuzzfest, "Big Laughing Gym" borrows its title from a psychedelic mushroom ( Bardo Pond used the same mycological reference as the title of an early compilation album) and the track may intimate what the Bardos would sound like on 'shrooms. "Sea of Me" is a gentle, psychy folk ballad complete with the sound of a cool, bubbling brook running through it (or is that the sound of another bonghit?), and "Non-Ionic Surfactants" (dictionary, please!?!) is a tasty, hard-driving rocker in the style of Abunai!, Alchemysts, and, particularly, Lucky Bishops.

The 15-minute centerpiece, "Psurreality Psong" is psurely the track ffolks will be talking about in hushed, reverential tones at "Anniversary Party"-type gatherings amongst the underground cognoscenti. It's actually a pastiche of several tracks from Lazily Spun's demo tape that has previously made the rounds among collectors. As with most songs of this ilk, an altered state of consciousness will greatly improve its reception. Teetotalers and weed-wackers may find it boring and pretentious, but fans of Hapshash & The Coloured Coat, Cary Loren's Destroy All Monsters and Nightcrawlerz projects, The Imaginary Tapes, Olivia Tremor Control, and other remnants of the Elephant (6) graveyard may enjoy the clever cardboard cut-ups.

Things come to a heady close with Sumnall's "Blue Mask of Pan," which was actually the name of a brief side project he worked on during Lazily Spun's downtime. "Pan" closely approximates the sound of whales fucking with the TV on in the background, playing a soundtrack full of bells, whistles, sitars, tamboura, theremin, and moans and groans that will fascinate fans of White Noise, Buzzy Linhart's Seventh Sons (Frank's at 4 A.M. is essential listening) and Delia Derbyshire's work at the BBC Sound Effects Workshops.

Overall, a varied work that occasionally takes a kit(s)chen (out-of-)sync approach and tries too hard to please too many tastes at once. Not uncommon for debuts, particularly when recorded with different personnel over a three year period. But it scores more often than not and is recommended to the more discerning psych heads among our readers.

Various Artists - A Gift from A Garden To A Flower (Darla)
www.darla.com

The title of this tribute to Donovan is a reverse-logic reference to Don's double album of children's songs that included For Little Ones and Wear Your Love Like Heaven. If you are violently opposed to tribute albums, let me say up front that this joins I'm Your Fan (Leonard Cohen), Time Between (The Byrds), The Bridge (Neil Young) and Brittle Days (Nick Drake) as one of the Top 5 tribute albums I've heard. Unlike those other releases, most of these artists are not household names (and those that are are probably hiding behind pseudonyms for contractual reasons).This time, a nice cross-section of hits and obscurities keeps the proceedings moving at a generous clip - the boring quotient is amazingly low.

Most tracks deserve special mention, so let's start with Pas/Cal's "Oh Gosh," featuring a spot on Donovan impression that had my ears doing a double take (especially since the previous Donovan tribute album featured a greeting from the legend himself). It's a pleasant pop/psych offering, despite the disorienting vocals. The Phil Spector-ish wall-of-sound production gives My Morning Jacket's "Wear Your Love Like Heaven" a warm and fuzzy feeling; Photon Band's Art DuFria guested on Dipsomaniac's marvelous Stethoscopic Notion album a few years back and "To Sing For You" sounds like head 'maniac, Øyvind Holm is returning the favor. In any event, it's thoroughly enjoyable, from the swaying guitars down to the Lennon-esque nasally whine. The Orange Alabaster Mushroom imbibe the cult classic "Fat Angel" with sitars, loopy organ rides and wah-wah vocals approximating Tommy James & The Shondell's "I Am A Tangerine." If that's not enough to hook you, the lead singer sounds exactly like Robyn Hitchcock. This may top the Airplane for the definitive version of this track.

Jon DeRosa (aka Aarktica) dons his Pale Horse and Rider cap for a beautiful, romantically forlorn version of the obscure "There Is An Ocean" (originally on 73's forgettable Essence To Essence). Alsace Lorraine's breathy, sexy, sultry vocal on the equally obscure "Sadness" (from the lamentable 7-Tease) slides somewhere between Saint Etienne's Sarah Cracknell and the French yé-yé girls of the 60s (Francoise Hardy, Chantall Goya, Sylvie Vartan, France Gall, et.al.)

The small Michigan indie label, Le Grand Magistery is well represented by four artists. One of them, Scarboro Aquarium Club exhume “Divine Daze of Deathless Delight” from its shallow grave on Essence to Essence and I’m glad they did. Corey Schmidt sounds more like Bryan Ferry than Donovan, but the tablas, bells and swirling synths add up to another winner. “Jersey Thursday” is even more haunting than the original;  Vancouver’s Ashley Park begin “Widow with Shawl” in a rainstorm and end up in a groovy, psych-country pastiche a la Mojave 3 or Drugstore. I don’t know if Low Lights drew short straws to end up with “Catch the Wind,” but even Don himself has recorded several arrangements of what may be his finest track ever, and none of those could be improved upon (although everyone from Chet Atkins, Glen Campbell and Sammy Hagar to Flatt & Scruggs, Blues Project, Paul Revere & The Raiders and the 13^th Floor Elevators have tried), so, while this straightforward version of the arrangement off Don’s debut, What’s Been Did and What’s Been Hid is pleasant enough, it’s completely superfluous.

Screen Prints mercilessly butchers one of my Top 5 Donovan tracks, “Celeste,” sing it in the wrong key and about half a beat behind the song’s established melody, earning them immediate entry onto my shit list of “bands to avoid.” The Residents can get away with this – whoever’s hiding behind those screen prints can not.

Great Lakes, which has an Elephant 6 connection via the occasional (live shows) participation of former Elf Power bassist Bryan Helium digs “Teen Angel” out of the grave, smacks it around a few times and then sleepwalks all over it in a Prozac-induced haze; Watoo Watoo is a husband & wife duo from Paris - Pascale mispronounces “Jennifer Juniper” a few times and slips into her native tongue on the closing verses, but the track actually sounds more like Japanese cut-ups, Pop-Off Tuesday than yé-yé wannabe, Elinore Blake (aka, April March). On the other hand, Color Filter actually are from Japan, yet they chose to present “Hurdy Gurdy Man” like a 60s French soundtrack courtesy Francis Lai, although the cupie doll, Betty-Boop-on-helium vocals are more annoying than cute – consider this evidence that at least the compilers had a sense of humor.

The Blood Group scared me at first: that is, at first they were rap, then they were hip-hop, then they were tape manipulators and then, thankfully, Jessica B opened her mouth and out poured sweetness and light. Think of the femme vox on His Name Is Alive’s Livonia or the Rutkowski sisters tracks on the This Mortal Coil recordings to get an idea of what this Staten Island (NY) duo are all about. If they could only cut out that horrible intro….

Sweet Trip’s sacriligous video-arcade-through-a-bullhorn version of “Sunny Goodge Street” is an insult to the song, the artist and this otherwise sensational tribute and should have been replaced by the Iditarod’s perfect version of  “Lullabye of Spring” (which you’ll find on The River Nektar reissue on BlueSanct). For the definitive cover version of “Goodge Street,” seek out Judy Collins’ tribute (on Colors of the Day or In My Life).

So even if you are not intrigued by unknown artists covering hits and obscurities of one of our finest psychedelic poets, I think you will enjoy the variety of styles and reverential tweakings included herein. It truly is one of the finest albums of its type and is highly recommended.

The Deviants - Dr. Crow (Track)
[Los Angeles, California]
www.trackrecords.tv

Recent Deviants albums have served as dirtyass rocknroll backings for head Deviant Mick Farren's intoxicated pronouncements from on high (pun intended), and Dr. Crow is no different. This drunken, tequila-fueled, lost weekend of debauchery drags Concrete Blonde's Johnette Napolitano out of retirement to lend her bluesy wailing to "What Do You Want?" and the old chestnut, "You're Gonna Need Somebody on Your Bond," complete with updated lyrics from Farren:

"So give me a beer and then give me a shot
Then give me everything, all I ain't got
Because the ice is melting and there's nothing on TV
Who you gonna call? What doctor can you see?
You're gonna need somebody on your bond."

Imagine Captain Beefheart replacing Joe Cocker on the Mad Dogs and Englishmen tour and you'll have a front seat view of the messianic, bluesy ramblings going on here. The gauntlet is thrown, the stage is set, the drinks are poured, and it's all downhill from here on in as Farren parades us through a cast of characters that give the scum of the earth a bad name. We get "Murdering Officer" to introduce a boatload of drunken pirates of the Caribbean shouting "Yo ho ho" and raising more than a few bottles of rum; Andy Colquhoun weaves his magic spell around Farren's demented poetry on this and the marvelous "Taste the Blue," another ballsy tale of pain and destruction.

Farren introduces us to the lowdown dirtiest bunch of lagerlauts wallowing in their own piss and vomit, crawling around the gutters and sewers of no man's land in the "Song of the Hired Guns," with its catchy refrain, "What the fuck are we supposed to do now?" "Diabolo's Cadillac" is named after a drink Farren's bartender concocted at one of his favorite haunts in El Lay. The plot sounds like something out of one of his sci-fi novels about an alcoholic who prefers Hitler programs (on The History Channel) over 12-step programs.

Finally, an alcoholic's nighmare is conjured up via "A Long Dry Season," which plays out like one of those "books on tape" read by its author. Part Hammet, part Heinlein, Farren's "sci-fi noir" is better suited to the printed page than the spoken word piece presented here over a cacaphonous avant skronk from Colquhoun and guests Jack Lancaster (sax) and original Motorhead drummer, "Philthy Animal" Taylor.

Ultimately, a difficult album to absorb (what Deviants release isn't?), but one that will appeal to fans of Beefheart, Farren's sci-fi novels and non-fiction exposés and, perhaps, Jello Biafra's spoken word albums.

The Spectacular Fantastic - New Equations for the Simple Mind (Ionik)
[Cincinatti, Ohio]
www.ionikrecords.com

In this age of DIY recordings, one man bands are commonplace. From Nick (Bevis Frond) Saloman to Jim (Orange Cake Mix) Rao, homemade albums spew forth at an alarming rate. The Spectacular Fantastic is the latest entry, comprising the living room recordings of Mike Detmer. Obviously, the quality control is high - if you don't like they way a song turns out, you erase it and start over...no band meetings or fragile egos to accomodate. It can also be the downfall of these projects: another set of ears may offer constructive criticism.

In Detmer's case, his "hit" quotient is pretty high, mainly because a) he knows how to play his instruments, b) he doesn't write songs outside of his vocal range, and c) he's got a pleasant sense of melody that invites listeners to stick around to the closing notes. (Too bad overblown hype-ocondriacs like White Stripes, Strokes and Vines don't possess any of these attributes.)

Highlights on his second album include the stoney vibe of "Dream Song," the countrified, drunken, campfire singalong, "Why Did You Cry," the psych pop trappings of "Baby," the Bill (Smog) Callahan (himself a one man band)-meets-Neil Young hicksterisms of "It's Allright" and the lazy Sunday afternoon afterglow of the catchy "Spaceship" and closer, "Wings of Time."

Unfortunately, the more introspective, experimental tracks like "Wake Me Up" and the garagey, "Volunteers"-like noise of the hidden track fail to escape their pretensions and will unlikely impress anyone outside of Detmer's close circle of friends and relatives. But, overall, a smooth, sleepy, laidback groove is maintained throughout, making this a worthwhile purchase from the local used bin for alt.country, no depression, americana fans of Wilco, (Smog), Young, Jayhawks, et.al.

Faris Nourallah - I Love Faris (Western Vinyl)
[Dallas, Texas]
www.westernvinyl.com

Our next one man band project (told you they were as common as dirty underwear in a gym locker), Faris, we are told, doesn't get out much - he doesn't go to (or give) live gigs and he doesn't buy music to scope out the competition (despite the sentiment of the Pythonesque music hall closer, "I Like To Go To Parties"). Considering the shit that passes for "music" these days, it's a commendable stance that heads off accusations of "sounds like..." at the pass.

But the self-imposed exile only means that Faris can pull a Brian Wilson and stay hermetically sealed in his one-room apartment and listen to his old record collection and then impress us with his encyclopedic knowledge of the music of Ray Davies ("Brogadiccio" and "The Man in The Moon"), Paul McCartney (his one man band solo debut is all over "Let's Get Married") and more recent cantancorous, envelope pushers like Andy Partridge ("A Famous Life" is pure XTC).

Unlike Detmer, however, Nourallah's tunes tend toward the piano-based, singer/songwriter, introspective variety and anyone will tell you that navel-gazing can be boring - and listening to the sound of one man gazing can be excruciating. This is more than evident across the middle stretch of "The Road," "Denial," "Desire" (despite an attempt at slumber-rousing backward-masked vocals) and "Diamonds For Baby," which are all quite dull indeed. My advice to Faris is to get out more often. Then he'd realize this stuff is pretty old hat. For fans of "loner rock" artists like Songs: Ohia, Rivulets and Bright Eyes; others will need a healthy supply of no-doze.

Famous - Used (Blue Couch)
[New York City]
www.bluecouchrecords.com

The title of this NYC band’s sophomore effort refers to being taken advantage of (as detailed in the track “Use Me,”) not to the dreaded discard bin for unwanted CDs. A more expansive sound this time around should break the band out of the claustrophobic clubland gigs and poise them on the brink of arena superstardom. Nicking a page from The Cure’s “Why Can’t I Be You,” the opener “Wanna Be Like You” retains the same energized Cheap Trick riffs and power pop excitement from their self-titled debut (one of last year’s Top 5 albums of the year), while “Salvation” (a track that leader Ben Phillips performed live on my No Soap, Radio show exactly a year ago) benefits from a more completely realized arrangement and full-band treatment. (An acoustic demo version is also included, so listeners can A/B the track’s growth over a year from thought to expression.)

“Without You” is an unabashed, hard-drivin’, kickass rocker, while drummer Tommy Vinton wails like a man possessed with the spirit of Keith Moon-on-amphetamines (what a concept!) on “Everyone Smokes In Hell.” A live version of “Live Forever,” one of the best tracks on their debut is included and demonstrates two things: 1) the band are even more of a rocknroll juggernaut in front of an audience than they are in a recording studio, and 2) that while the catchier, hookier tracks from the debut don’t pop up with as much frequency on Used, Phillips has expanded his songwriting abilities to include more varied styles on tracks that rely more on the arrangements than on a memorable hook or chorus. That’s not to imply that Used is less accessible, but that the songs are maturer; that is, they develop slower and the arrangements are more complex – their success doesn’t hinge on ear-catching melodies.

The tender ballad “You Don’t See Me” also shows Phillips to be adept at stepping back and taking a few deep breaths and relaxing rather than constantly hitting the listener over the head with bombast. Finally, “Runaway,” a remake of a track from Phillips’ solo project (Ben Phillips Band’s Freak Like Me, which also included bassist Mark Damon), is all dressed up with a killer live sound that features some blistering guitar histrionics (also from Phillips).

So, no sophonmore jinx at work here, just a solid collection of rockers with a few tender moments tossed in for balance. The only disappointment once again is the album’s brevity (at half an hour, it easily could have been combined with the equally short 8-song debut onto a single disk), but that’s more the price of doing business in this cut-throat industry, where releasing music on an indie label can be a bankbook-busting proposition. But as any girl will tell you, it’s not the size that counts, but what you do with it and Famous have proven once again they are one of the best new bands in the business.

Pale Horse and Rider – These Are The New Good Times (Darla)
[Brooklyn, NY]
www.darla.com

Our third one-man-band project this month is also one of three concurrent projects from the prolific Jon De Rosa (Aarktica – see last month’s review of Pure Tone Audiometry – and Dead Leaves Rising – full length on Plow City – are the others). Like the Cowboy Junkies’ Trinity Sessions, this was recorded in a church (Sacred Heart in Duluth, Minnesota, the home town of producer Alan Sparhawk of snorecore minimalists, Low, who also recorded a live album in a church a few years back) and, blasphemous rumours aside, we get some of the best acoustics this side of the men’s room on a Joe Meek or Phil Spector record. As expected, there’s a laidback, comfortable warmth about the recordings, the combined result of the hallowed surroundings and DeRosa’s charming, mellow demeanor.

Sparhawk and his wife Mimi contribute their trademark angelic backing vocals to “Will We Be Blessed Someday?” and at times on this release, the vibe of the old Catholic folk mass is revived. Jon debuted this project with “I Come Here Every Night,” which originally appeared on the Silber Records release, “The Alcohol EPs,” and is re-recorded here (as Track 9 – the listing on the CD booklet screws up the track sequence) with lovely accompaniment on bells and banjo (Marc Gartmen). Jon also turns in a lovingly faithful rendition of “I Told Jesus Christ I Love Her” (written and originally performed on that same collection by Brian John Mitchell – Silber owner who also records as Remora).

The lengthy story in “Stars” is not for sufferers of attention deficit disorders: pay a close ear to the gentle ballad to reap its rewards; a good ear will also reveal the pun in “Aura Lee” (say it three times slow), a haunting love song with a memorable violin treatment courtesy Molly Sheridan. The short, relatively upbeat “Coney Island” lifts the album up from its otherwise dour surroundings (imagine crossing Red House Painters with Low and you’re in the ballpark – or should I say, the front pew) as does the closer, “Prettiest Girl I’ve Seen Tonight (So Far),” which combines a John Prine-quality swaying melody with a stereotypical lost my dog…shot my wife lyric. And the herky-jerky, tears in my beer, Waltzing Matilda studder step syncopation closely approximates our stumbling, bumbling lovers as they make their way out of the bar and across the parking lot to where Jon thinks he left his car. A fitting finale to a foam-filled (and fueled) evening at your local house of worship. Pass the plate – it’s time for a beer run.

The Iditarod and Sharron Kraus – Yuletide (Elsie and Jack)
[Providence, Rhode Island/Oxford, England]
(www.elsieandjackrecordings.com)

This third entry in the Iditarod’s annual series of Christmas presents for their fans benefits from the addition of Oxford folkie, Kraus. Her duets with Carin Wagner add a contrapuntal harmonic element that for the most part masks any of their individual vocal shortcomings, particularly on the vocal half of “Lyke Wake Dirge.” As on the Providence duo’s current studio effort on BlueSanct (the Ghost, the Cat, the Elf, and the Angel), Jeffrey Alexander adds lengthy, drony, avant garde interludes between tracks, initially serving as a pleasant sorbet to cleanse the aural pallette, but ultimately taking on an annoying, overlong life of their own (particularly across five minutes at the start of “Wintermute.”)

Sharron’s crystaline solo on “Gift” has an angelic Sandy Denny-filtered-through-Judy-Collins charm about it, and coupled with Jeffrey’s gently plucked acoustic backing is the album’s highlight. The between-track drone presents a clean slate for Carin to paint her solo on “Winter’s Spell.” Sharron's clarinet accompaniment adds a medieval, wyrdfolk vibe similar to the musical interludes performed by the travelling actors in Ingmar Bergman’s “Seventh Seal.” Swirling, winter winds and trudging footsteps form the segue into “Wintermute,” but it soon turns into experimental, fuzz guitar noodlings and becomes an exercise in “Waiting for Godot” as the listener wonders if they’ll ever get to hear the song itself. It’s either a classic definition of “filler” or simply an attempt to pad the EP to full-album length, but by the time “Wintermute” eventually arrives, it’s practically anti-climactic. However, it’s almost worth suffering through the "intro" to hear another lovely Kraus vocal.

In all, a frustrating release. The addition of Sharron Kraus would normally cause me to recommend this as one of the best in the series; however, that suggestion is sullied by some of the overlong and ultimately pointless inbetweenies. So, armed with your remote, I suggest you skip the bits between the bits and enjoy the songs themselves for about 25 minutes of cool Yule tunes that can be enjoyed at any time of the year.

The Baptist Generals – No Silver/No Gold (Sub Pop)
[Denton, Texas]
www.subpop.com

Opening with the excrutiatingly awful “Ay Distress,” wherein vocalist Chris Flemmons sounds like either he’s in the midst of a bloody bowel movement or someone just rammed a hot poker up his ass, this disaster goes straight downhill from there. Perhaps realizing the piece of shit he’s just dumped on us, he ends the “song” with a series of vitriolic, foul-mouthed epithets and tosses his guitar across the studio. Personally, I’d like to frisbee this silver beercoaster right after it.

With all of the talented artists out there whose records trickle across my desk in desperate attempts to share their musical vision with a wider audience, it’s an absolute criminal shame that this shit would actually be released, much less on a relatively major indie label.

Flemmons is tone-deaf; his songs have no rhythm or melody, the band can’t play their instruments, and I swear I’ve heard these guys in the back alleys and subways of NYC searching through the dumpsters for food or a warm bed for the evening. But then that’s an insult to Moondog and all the much more talented bums roaming the streets (without a recording contract, I might add).

There is absolutely nothing worth listening to on this release. Not only should you laugh at people who spend money on this dreck, but I would go one step further and suggest you lose their phone number and email address, because anyone who finds anything redeeming about this mess is no longer worthy of benefiting from your friendship.  Avoid with extreme prejudice unless you want the honor of owning the worst album of the century. My congratulations to Marianne Nowottny… she no longer heads my Top 10 list of the year’s worst albums. This even gives the White Stripes a run for their money in terms of sheer untalented incompetence.

The 88 – Kind of Light (EMK)
[Los Angeles, CA]

A prophetic title if ever there was one, the debut album from this El Lay quintet is exactly that: kind of light. If you recall Spacehog, the other Coast’s faux-glam Bowie wannabes (God, was “In the Meantime” really 8 years ago?!?), then these left coasters are right up your alley – think of them as Bolan-(kind of) lite, with a Kinks-(kind of) lite chaser (and nothing even close to resembling the ‘hogs one hit wonder). “Afterlife” opens up with some loungy vibes (thems xylophones to you and me) and ends up sounding like an old T.Rex B-side, while “Elbow Blues” is a spot-on impersonation of “Superman”-era Kinks. The problem , however, with these tracks (and, ultimately, the whole album) is that after an enticing beginning, they go on much too long and dissolve into bland, derivative AOR pap, er, pop. (But after all, this is El Lay, a city that hasn’t had an original rock and roll idea in its life – unless you want to count that ridiculous, high hair, heavy metal from skinny guys in spandex as a discernable genre.) Even “How Good It Can Be”’s “woo-woo” falsettos recall those silly Stones ballads with the similar backing vox (think of “Waiting on A Friend” and songs of that ilk).

I attribute this problem to two factors: the album was self-produced (an outside influence may have reined in the excesses) and all the songs were written by singer Keith Slettedahl. Perhaps, spreading the songwriting wealth around next time may break up the monotony and sameness of all the tracks. There are a couple of winners, though. The wall of sound production and sleepy, slow motion harmonies on the title track present a fairly accomplished psychedelic side to the band that should be explored further. Toss in a groovy light show and some stage smoke and you have the beginnings of a wild party. But, ultimately, the pleasant collection of confections desperately needs some variety. Like a wad of cotton candy, a sticky-sweet exterior sheen yields a lot of hot air and nothingness underneath. For undiscriminating fans of acoustic Bolan, late-period Kinks, The Sinceros and the aforementioned Spacehog.

All Girl Summer Fun Band – 2 (K)
[Portland, Oregon]
www.krecs.com

The boring, yet functionally titled sophmore effort from this equally aptly named combo is, to coin a phrase, “the perfect cure for the Summertime Blues.” These chipmunk-sounding cuties are Tuuli, Manda & The Marbles, Josie & The Pussycats and the Go-Go’s all rolled into fourteen blasts of fresh air – most under two minutes. The subject matter is also several notches above the typical sick-cow, love-scorned, teenage angst, with paeons to the late “Jason Lee:” “You're doing kickflips in my dreams;” requests for their boyfriends to buy them a cute “Grizzly Bear” to “roll around with in the yard” and songs about going speechless in front of a cute guy (“Inarticulation”). The gorgeous harmonies and somnambulist sway on the melancholic, downbeat “Daydreaming” transcends the cupie-doll genre and the synth swash on “Video Game Heart” is the perfect touch for this tale of love and jealousy, as is the vibratoed  surf-guitar opening to "Parallel Park," a location, not a driving maneuver.

It’s all presented with a high energy, teeny-boppers-on-estrogen-poppers flair that begs to be screaming from convertables everywhere this summer. Fans of Nikki and The Corvettes and girl group power pop unite! This summer’s soundtrack to your lives has arrived.

Second Story Man - Pins and Needles (Landmark)
[Lexington, Kentucky]
www.landmarkrecordings.com

This coed quartet may bring thought sof similar lineups like Throwing Muses, Lush and Heart Throbs to mind, but their debut is neither as syncopated as the Muses, nor as shoegazy as Lush and the songs are nowhere near as memorable as the Throbs, whose Cleopatra Grip may have been the best album of the 90s. The studio chatter that opens the album suggest the loose, laidback feeling with which it was recorded, imbueing some of the tracks with an accessable live feel that is refreshing.

Vocalists Carrie Newmayer and Kelly Scullin beautifully complement each other's harmonies ("You You You" and "Talk As Though" are sublime pop and the highlights here, almost approaching the Heart Throbs' genius); "Luck" has a surfy, instrumental backing, but demonstrates that the guys (Evan Bailey and Jeremy Irvin) should leave the vocal chores to the gals.

An untitled, wordless vocal interlude is pleasant, but unnecessary and "No Pioneers" heads in too many directions at once: first it's a soft-harmonied hum-along, but then it deteriorates into a wailing screamer. "Why Fire Burns" suffers from a pedantic lyric and a surprisingly flat and atonal vocal performance from the girls. The quirky, syncopated, aimless "Typewriter" ultimately seals the album's fate, signalling everything that went wrong with thsi promising debut. The song is a little too off-kilter to appeal to the mainstream indie crowd, and the band's indecisive direction will put off even the most adventurous listeners. Too often the group veers off into experimental whimsies and comes across like Joan of Arc with chick vocals. However, I must compliment "What A Find," an exercise in Phil Spector girl group harmonic bliss, but by then it's too little, too late.

A difficult album to get your head around; with a little more focus, the sophmore effort could be a killer.

Sixty Stories - Anthem Red (Smallman)
[Winnipeg, Manitoba]
www.smallmanrecords.com

This Canadian coed trio (two gals, a guy on drums and a gender-undecided computer on bleeps, blurps and blunders play aggressive, yet catchy rock in the style of Veruca Salt and Garbage. Jo Snyder's antagonistic, occasionally butchy vocal style is perfectly suited for the punky (red) anthems about teenaged pregnancies ("Jessica" and possibly "First Bell"), imaginary rocket trips to the moon ("Countdown"), and anorexia ("First Bell" and "Less of Me"), although it sometimes slips into a close approximation of Gilda Radner's Lubner character from "Saturday Night Live." Snyder is also the first person I've encountered who seems to have a knee fetish, be they skinny ("Second-hand Table & Chairs"), grass-stained ("First Bell") or shit-stained ("Jessica"). This is certainly the first album I've heard with three different songs about knees! (And I wonder if the band is superstitious about the number 8, as there is no track 8 on the disk or liner notes.)

The mostly Buzzcock-styled rockers work best; dropping the tempo several notches (as on "Constellations" and the interminably long seven-minute, "A Letter From Mom," an unsuccessful attempt at a tender ballad) only deflates the album's progress and comes across like stale hard rock. The vitriolic diatribe against a little inconvenience like a newborn infant is the most vile, pro-abortion lyric since the Pistols' "Bodies" or Graham Parker's "You Can't Be Too Strong."

 The radio-friendly ear candy of "Wet Cement" is the obvious choice for the lead single: it's the right length (3:00) and has very visual lyrics that are perfectly suited for an accompanying video which will have the teeny boppers over at MTVs "Total Request Live" hopping and bopping all day long.

Like The Donnas without the bubblegum and Garbage without the memorable hit singles, Sixty Stories are worth a few spins before being packed off to the used bins. The playing is strong and accomplished throughout and most of the songs have an accessable pop sheen to the punky underpinnings. Like Second Story Man, stronger, more memorable tunes next time out could turn Sixty Stories into a force to be reckoned with.

Pothole Skinny - Time Shapes the Forest Lake (Perhaps Transparent)

www.perhapstransparent.com

With former members of Tower Recordings, Elf Power, PG Six and Fable Factory in the ranks, this trio (Stephen Connolly, Scott Freyer and Frank Murphy) just may be the first wyrdfolk supergroup. Recorded in my home state (New Jersey), there are references to northwest NJ's premiere indie nightclub ("Kroghs' Whisper") and an old defunct rail line ("The Sussex Railroad Song"), but the music is universal and will appeal to avant-folk fans around the world. "Antique Gasoline" is a gentle folksong with a soft, quiet, sparse backing from initially an acoustic guitar which gradually builds in emotion and instrumentation to include harmonium, flute, harp, cello and gopichand. Comparisons with Ghost, Atman, Magic Carpathians, In Gowan Ring and Stone Breath are justified and the forlorn and mellow moods that are sustained throughout will appeal to fans of both the parent projects mentioned at the beginning as well as brooding folkies like Ben Chasney (Six Organs of Admittance), Fit & Limo, David Tibet (Current 93), and Martyn Bates (Eyeless in Gaza).

"Scroll of Westport Quay" is musical ambrosia composed for djembe, chimes, bodhran, udu and cello and continues the stoney vibe of becoming one with your easychair. If there is any downside at all, it is Connolly's effeminate vocals (which had me hunting through the credits trying to find out the name of the gal doing all the singing, although, to be fair, "she" may be uncredited) and the unintelligible use of field recordings that interrupts the smooth mood. This may, however, catch the ear of fans of Finnish avant wyrdfolksters, Kamielliset Ystevet and Origami Arktika. Others may want to jump to the next track at about the four minute mark.

Frank Murphy's sharp electric guitar scraping on "The Ernest Equinox" is another buzzkiller, as are the gutteral utterances which yield to asymmetrical, Magic Band-styled guitarrorisms. It's not for the faint of heart and, in such harsh contrast to the rest of the album, seems to have been recorded by an entirely different band. Another prime candidate for the "skip" button.

But decorum is restored on the beautiful instrumental "May-Gun Explosive Flower," an exercise in contrasts, from its oxymoronic title to the romantically flowing cello work of Kirsten McCord. Finally, the closing "When Morpheus Calls for Slumber" is another candidate for that mix tape you've been building of the best songs to fall asleep to. In fact, the lengthy coda, which continues for more than half of its three-and-a-half minute length is the epitome of the stereotypical "speaker hum." Sweat dreams are, indeed, made of this fine entry in the ever-widening wyrdfolk canon, and while this one emphasizes the first syllable, it is still recommended to fans of the aforementioned artists.

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