The first Bad Religion album I heard was No Control. It came out in the summer of 1989, and I plunked a needle down on "You" sometime that fall during one of my late-night shifts at KCOU, the University of Missouri college radio station. I'd never heard such arch, clever, melodic music played so fast. Kinda like a socio-political version of the Descendents with a lot more bite. Of course, if you understand that reference, you know exactly who Bad Religion is. Whatever.

By the time I graduated from college in May 1992, Bad Religion was my favorite band, bar none. That year, the boys released the last of their "classic" albums, Generator and re-issued all of their early works (save 1982's prog-punk fusion effort Into the Unknown) on one CD as Bad Religion 1980-85.

Then, as the movie said, punk broke. 1993's Recipe for Hate was released on Epitaph (the label owned and operated by original guitarist Brett Gurewitz). Atlantic signed the band to a deal and re-released that album under its own imprint. Gurewitz--who shared songwriting duties with singer Greg Graffin--quit after recording one album for Atlantic. Then followed a succession of increasingly shrill and uninteresting albums. The songs weren't that bad, but they did fit a most insightful Maximumrocknroll of the "American Jesus" single from Recipe for Hate: "A very Bad Religion-y song that sounds like a lot of other Bad Religion-y songs..." And, to tell the truth, "American Jesus" is the one standout song on that album.

I lost track of Bad Religion somewhere in there. I quit buying the band's albums (Atlantic has never sent me stuff to review) and I didn't feel bad about it. A couple years ago I heard that the boys reunited with Gurewitz and released a new album on Epitaph. I didn't buy that one, either. Gurewitz's sporadic musical output since he quit the band ranged from dull to gawdawful, and I just couldn't imagine that the boys would ever find the fire again. After all, these guys are ten years older than me. Punk ages worse than just about any other style of music.

Then came the war. As has been the case with a multitude of artists, the Bush II administration has served as a muse. About a month ago I was paging through the Target insert in a Sunday paper, and I noticed that the new Bad Religion album, The Empire Strikes First, was on sale for $7.

I figured, what the hell? So I dropped by Target, bought some diapers and picked up the new Bad Religion. I plunked that puppy into my CD player that night, and it has barely left my machine since. It's a rare day I don't give it a spin or two.

It's not so much that The Empire Strikes First is the band's best work. It's not. Suffer, No Control and Against the Grain remain the BR--and melodic hardcore punk, for that matter--gold standard. But, see, Bad Religion is no longer a punk band. For starters, the band didn't fire Gurewitz's replacement when Mr. Brett re-upped. Rather, the band simply soldiered on with three guitarists--a very rock thing to do. In addition, just about every song on this album has keyboards and drum programming. There are plenty of samples and other little studio tricks interwoven into the arrangements. The structure of the songs themselves owe as much to the prog fusion of Into the Unknown as to any the late 80s punk classics--though there are a number of songs here which strongly resemble certain 1980s BR tracks. But they work well; that way. In all, The Empire Strikes first is a classy remodeling job.

The key to the album's success is the tight focus on the lyrics. With a couple of notable exceptions, the songs are screeds against organized religion, God and the Prez. Looking back, I think what happened to the band in the 90s is that they tried to find the solution to any and every societal evil they saw. They forgot the message of their own song, "The Answer," which proclaims that there are no answers and that truth is relative. No such problems here. The anger is fiery and it is very much centered on one thing. And since the Prez has proclaimed himself the candidate of God, there's even less room for thematic fragmentation.

The Empire Strikes First is so stereotypically "liberal" (anti-Bush, anti-God, anti-capitalist) that there's no way Kerry or Edwards could endorse even such spot-on songs as "Let Them Eat War" or "Boot Stamping on a Human Face Forever" (an Orwellian reference, for those keeping score). Unfortunately, we'll continue to get campaign rallies that feature "Small Town" and other similarly milquetoast fare. Back in 1992, the Clinton campaign played "Small Town, "Don't Stop (Thinkin' About Tomorrow)" and "People Everyday" (that last one performed by the then-unknown Rembrandts) at every stop. For obvious reasons, Al Gore added "You Can Call Me Al" at his rallies.

If I were running against the Prez, I'd play NOFX's 15-minute punk symphony "The Decline" before every rally. By the end of that piece, those folks would be ready to go tear down the White House brick by brick. Fahrenheit 9/11 may be one angry piece of filmmaking, but two hours of celluloid simply can't match the fury and intensity of punk rock delivered with a righteous vengeance.

So it turns out I have to give the Prez some credit after all: He's inspired some of my favorite bands to turn out their best work in years. And in the grand scheme of things, there are few things any prez could do that are more important than that.

Jon Worley sent a mix tape of Dead Kennedys, Ice-T and Bad Religion songs to the Clinton campaign headquarters back in 1992. He never got a response, though he notes for the record that neither "California Uber Alles" nor "Cop Killer" has ever been played at a presidential rally of any stripe.