p.i.c
Hiphopunkfunkmamboska
(Riding Mower)
reviewed in issue #205, 9/18/00

When you play a wide range of styles, maybe it is best to describe your sound in the album title. p.i.c does that, but even the 21 letters in that "word" don't quite get the feeling across. This is a party band playing party music.

Fun, not shallowness, is the order of the day. Indeed, the six players are always in motion, creating some wonderful sounds. The lines bounce around, but always in reference to the groove.

That's what p.i.c has done best: Dress up some really tasty grooves. Good-time music should facilitate getting down. No problems with that here. From the first downbeat it's apparent that p.i.c. knows what it's doing.

Just a big wad of fun. And with enough going on to keep me interested well past the first easy smile. If you wonder how it is that party tunes can also satisfy deeper needs, look no further than this disc.

The first P.I.C album was called Hiphoppunkfunkmaboska, which was a loose way of describing precisely what it was that these folks try to do. Think Urban Dance Squad with soul and horns.

And groovier songs, too. The one band that I think of most when I hear these boys is Bootsauce, a brilliant soul-funk-metal combo that released a couple albums almost 15 years ago. No one really tries to make music this funky, this tight with both the bass and the guitar. Which probably explains why the mainstream just can't quite figure these boys out.

I know it's not the music. This stuff is goofy and seriously fun. The high time for a paella like this was probably thirty-five years ago when bands like Love and Sly and the Family Stone seamlessly fused guitar and the groove into a heavenly confection.

It's about time someone else figured out how to do it. Oh, sure, that whole acid jazz thing touched on the edges of this, but where that movement cheesed out the ideal, P.I.C dives right in and embraces all of the contradictions. That's why the music is so good.

P.O.S
Audition
(Rhymesayers)
reviewed in issue #272, March 2006

There are a few hip-hop labels out there that consistently impress, and Minneapolis's Rhymesayers is right up there. This second effort from P.O.S is kinda emblematic of everything that's right with hip-hip today.

Not many people would start an album with cello. And not just any cello, but aggressive, dissonant cello. And then P.O.S comes on and starts spinning his ideas. The first real track is called "Half-Cocked Concepts," and the album is just jammed with insightful and often refreshingly self-deprecating observations.

Yes, hip-hop can be politically and socially conscious and still sound great. P.O.S balances the need for superlative backing tracks (shifting from sly to bombastic and back again in the wink of an eye) and deft rhymes like few others I've heard. His first album was alright. This one might well become a classic.

It helps that he has some talented collaborators. The depth of the music here is astounding. And it probably is one of the things that might keep P.O.S from larger fame. I mean, popular music isn't supposed to be complicated, and there are so many ideas here I can't begin to count them. I guess it's time to remove the qualification in the last paragraph. This album has all the hallmarks of a classic. All it needs is time.

P:ano
Brigadoon
(Mint)
reviewed in issue #264, May 2005

More Canadian pop goofiness from the fine folks at Mint. P:ano isn't, in fact, riffing through the songs of the musical "Brigadoon." Yes, that would be a hoot, but this is so much dorkier. And let's not kid ourselves: Folks who like their pop music this involved are, indeed, dorks.

I've been a dork for as long as I can remember. And if that means I get to enjoy music like this, I can live that. P:ano tends to build its songs around rhythm elements--whether that is piano or drums or whatever. The melodies are often convoluted and a bit forced. I find that endearing, for some reason.

It's probably the breathless nature of the songs. Even though the sound is generally understated and somewhat "acoustic" in feel (if you know what I mean), the songs simply keep moving along. No dirges. Nothing like that.

Hell, any album that references both Half Japanese and New Order has to be kinda interesting, right? Well, this one is pretty durned intriguing. Weird, idiosyncratic...that and more. Exciting as hell? Oh yeah, that too. Sometimes it's very good to be a dork.

Mint is perhaps the finest pop label in the world. Being Canadian, it is a bit easier (and probably even more necessary) to embrace a wide variety of sounds. Still, anyone that can give a band like P:ano any real level of success is a winner in my book.

Minimalist pop played, by and large, with ukulele, bass clarinet, accordion and assorted percussion--a break from previous recordings which tended to incorporate every weird instrument under the sun--and sung in decidedly distracted fashion. Somehow, it's really damned pretty.

But this isn't the sort of thing that is likely to attract a lot of attention. Most of my friends (even the ones who really like interesting music) kinda shake their heads when they hear P:ano. They agree that there's something cool going on, but they can't bring themselves to get excited about it. Maybe if they hear "I Felt His Presents/Doing the Can Can" on this disc (which is something of a minor masterpiece) they'll change their mind.

Short, sweet and stellar. Probably not destined for mainstream acceptance. And thank God (whatever it might be) for that.

Paganizer
Promoting Total Death
(Forever Undergound)
reviewed in issue #220, 8/13/01

Boy, if there's a title out there that better describes a band, I haven't seen it. Paganizer is old school death metal, all distorted riffs and vocals, double bass drum pounding and general mayhem. With just enough songwriting to keep the proceedings vaguely coherent.

I don't think I mentioned some ripping lead guitar work. It's there too, though not omnipresent. I could use a little more of it, to be honest. Still, the brutality is fairly constant and rather invigorating. Sometimes the full-speed-ahead approach gets out of hand, but that's really nit-picking.

The sound is a little primitive. I think Paganizer would be better served by a more full mix. These guys don't need a whole lot of space between themselves. Maybe not Incantation heavy, but still, something more along those lines.

Even so, the most important thing here is the songwriting, and these boys know how to crank out some great riffage. The stuff doesn't get old or dull, it just lurches and leaps forward prodigiously. Rather impressive.

Page France
Come, I'm a Lion!
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #258, October 2004

Michael Nau is a young songwriter. Some of his songs do share a number of features, particularly in the vocal melodies. For me, that's something of a pleasant Half Japanese echo (though, to be fair, Nau and friends are much more musically adept). Some might find it aggravating. I can understand.

Not that I agree, of course. Nau's songs cut to the chase quickly. Even when he's waxing contemplative, there's really no mystery. And that's cool. His mind is imprinted upon every song here.

That's the key to the appreciation of one-man outfits. Yes, Nau recruited a number of friends to play on this album, but he's in charge. He edited and produced the album, and in the end, this is his vision alone. It's idiosyncratic as all get out, but that's the charm, as far as I'm concerned.

As for the name of the "band," well, I have no idea. Doesn't matter. The songs are the only thing I care about, and these are more than worthy of attention. I can't wait to hear how Nau's ear continues to progress.

The sort of intensely dreamy pop that I'm used to hearing from Deep Elm bands. Page France can take a long time to get to the point, but man, once the point is made you'll never forget it.

Kinda like the Comas that way, I suppose, though these folks are even more elliptical. I love the way the songs kind of wind their way around themselves. Sorta like the way R.E.M. songs did twenty years ago, except with a completely different feel, of course.

This is a very quiet album. Even when the songs get raucous, the feel is still intimate. Like being in the collective brain of the band or something. That's a pretty brilliant accomplishment, if you ask me.

One of those "sneak up on you" albums. I liked the first time I heard it, but now I like it a whole lot more. It simply takes a while to get attuned to the wavelengths here.

Pain
Pain
(Nuclear Blast America)
reviewed in issue #128, 2/17/97

Another Hypocrisy side project. This one is totally Peter Tagtgren, the group's frontman. Pain cranks out a stripped-down metal sound, one that incorporates industrial, death metal and black metal ideas into a maelstrom of agony.

Tagtgren doesn't skimp when it comes to sound. While the production leaves things a bit more raw than the typical Hypocrisy album, there are plenty of pieces thrown into the mix. Each track is quite distinct from any other. He's reaching out and helping create a whole new metal ideal.

This is precisely the sort of thing a metal fan can throw in the face of elitists who claim there is no musical growth or depth in metal today. Simply put, this is a master of music who is finally able to travel all the byroads his other projects haven't gone.

Hard to say much more. Tagtgren has created an awesome set of loud music songs. There's too much here to ignore.

Pain Teens
Stimulation Festival
(Trance Syndicate-Touch and Go)
reviewed in issue #14, 5/31/92

A typically Texan band - meaning no categorization possible. Wandering around fuzzy guitars and brutal percussion are true tales from the darkside: Jeff Dahmer, voodoo, that kind of thing.

An immensely listenable and throbbing album. More throbbing, but very good. To get a full sense of what I am talking about, you simply must listen. While the production sounds primitive, you soon realize that putting this (and their other) album (s) together was an almost Herculean task. One that should be applauded.

As I've noted many times before, Trance Syndicate puts out some of the finest loud stuff around. And no one in the "metal" community seems to notice.

Well, there should be more to a hard rock show than one type of music. Lord knows, the Pain Teens can't be typecast. Like a Texan version of Alice Donut, their songs swirl around a loose rhythmic core, with the occasional scream to get your attention.

It IS hypnotic, and not in the sleepy way. More of you should be on this music. There is more creativity and energy in one of this album than there ware on the last three releases from Seattle major label types.

Don't worry; just because the songs are different and interesting doesn't mean they don't rock out. Quite the contrary. Pain Teens will pound themselves into your subconscious. Maybe then you'll stop playing Stone Temple Pilots.

Palace Brothers
There is No One to Take Care of You
(Drag City)
reviewed in issue #36, 6/30/93

I saw these guys at KCOU's Springfest (the one with Big Star). I thought they sucked, to be honest. Of course, they were following up the Boorays, one of the best bands around, so maybe that had something to do with it. And I was trying to digest my barbecue anyway.

Still not very impressed, although the halting vocals and creepy country music translate a lot better on vinyl than on stage. If I were drunk, I think I would really get into this. But it's noon on a Saturday, so no such luck.

If you want folk-country mood music (what mood I don't know), dig into this. It does get interesting after a while.

Sparse. Real sparse. The press sheet is some sort of poetry (pretty cool), the music is an odd take on Neil Young's version of folk music. So you could call Palace Brothers unusual.

If you're familiar with the previous work, then you're somewhat ready. But the production for the most part leaves a lot of space between the instruments and voices and the microphone. It gets a weird result, but I like it. The songs themselves often don't have much construction on the surface. Well, compared to more traditional folk forms, anyway.

Again, it takes an effort to like this music right off. But that debt will be repaid many times over.

Whether going by the name Palace Brothers, Palace Music or just Palace, you know who this band is.

And still the same maddening country-ish ramblings that meander in all over the place. Over hill and dale, through the mulberry patch and down in the dell. And then someone gets shot.

The lyrics are alternately strangely poetic and jarring. This is not comfy sit-by-the-fire music. I'm not sure how anyone could relax with Palace Music on the stereo. But the music and lyrics are so cryptic at times, you can't help but think.

And it's that combination of unique lyrics and unique music that really makes Palace Music work. If one or the other even thought of trending toward the mainstream (or even coherence, really), then it would all fall apart. But Palace Music casts a spell, and it has worked throughout the recorded history of this band (no matter the name above the title).

You can't "get" it. But the journey is fraught with personal growth.

Much of non-LP work of the "band" is collected on this disc. Going by Palace Brothers, Palace Music and just plain Palace, these songs are further testament to the power that this musical collective based around the songwriting and singing of Will Oldham.

The songs are presented generally in order of recording, though that isn't an iron-clad rule. And hell, considering the number of different band names, why stick to any rules?

The only hard and fast proscription here is unadulterated pure music. Will Oldham and his various bandmates refuse to back down from any subject or musical sidetrip; indeed, Oldham's voice is the most soulful revelation in rock since Neil Young first howled for tape 30-some years ago.

That, of course, isn't a fair comparison. Young is, and always has been, a part of the musical mainstream, while Oldham toils in back rooms. Indeed, I saw Palace recently at a free show in Tampa. The band came on at about 12:30 a.m. with about a hundred people milling about the bar after another show had mostly cleared out. After three songs, the crowd had thinned to about 30, but those 30 were in rapt adoration. Oldham and mates seemed to enjoy themselves after the yuppie types left, and the show was a truly astonishing experience.

But not for the average person. Years ago, a Newsweek story proclaimed Palace Brothers to be the new face of country music. Of course, Garth Brooks is still destroying arenas with his Kiss Nation tours, and Palace is still rattling around the backroads, happy to be playing to any sort of audience. Perhaps all is well with the universe, after all.

Two more installments on the Skin Graft AC/DC tribute plan. And if two more disparate acts could be found to share one small slab of vinyl, I can't think of it.

Yes, that's Palace (with another somewhat new moniker) rambling through "Big Balls", turning the heavy blues piece into a very weird, wailing lament. Definitely over the top, but highly amusing nonetheless.

Zeni Geva pounds out a surprisingly rote version of "Let There Be Rock" (though the initial riff employed sounds a lot more like "You've Got Another Thing Coming" than anything AC/DC has played). Oh, once the verse kicks in it's 100 percent Zeni Geva, but I was still surprised by the straightness of the delivery.

Not quite as enthralling as the initial double 7", this puppy still keeps the whole project going strong. That Palace bit should really start some heads scratching when it hits the airwaves. Cool by me.

See also The Anomanon and Bonnie 'Prince' Billy.

The Paladins
Slippin' In
(Ruf-Platinum)
reviewed in issue #185, 7/26/99

How long have these guys been doing their three-piece old-time rock and roll thing? I don't, but I thought they'd been around forever when I saw them in Kansas City back in '92, so add a few years to that, anyway.

I knew the Paladins from their days on Alligator, and now they're on another blues label, even though they really don't play the blues. They shift easily from rockabilly to a zydeco shuffle to tight harmony and then on from there. And they sound as good as I remember.

About half the songs here are originals, and those are just as varied as the chestnuts they cover. No band back in the 50s would have played all these styles, but all of these sounds existed back then. And maybe it's that old-timey affection which keeps bringing the Paladins to blues labels. You got me.

As fun as this album is, the live show I saw was truly impressive. This disc doesn't quite catch the energy and abandon of a show, but it's easily the sharpest production job I've heard done on the boys. Takes me back and makes me happy for the future, all at once.

Pallbearers
Pallbearers
(Cargo)
reviewed in issue #38, 8/31/93

Sure is good music for a funeral. Organ, mellowness and just the right amount of guitar at moments.

And let's not forget the willowy, almost whispered vocals. The press compares them to Julee Cruise (bleah), but here they are at least an octave lower, giving them a nice contralto sound (look it up).

I could die to this.

Paloma
Harness My Zebras
(self-released)
reviewed in #164, 8/3/98

Some pretty goofy stuff. When stuck in a basic folk rock stage, Paloma is pretty ordinary. But on songs like the title track, the band really breaks into some unusual sounds

I've always liked the combination of acoustic guitar and drum machine, and the guys do some nice collage work. On other songs, an organ (or somesuch) accompanies the simple songs. Whenever the instrumentation gets unusual (a tambourine as the sole percussion piece, the organ, a glockenspiel and other odds and ends), the simplicity of the songs is undone. A greater depth can be seen.

But about half the time Paloma is satisfied playing basic stuff. It's not horrible, simply ordinary. Oh, I probably should mention that the songs are generally sung in English, even though the band is French. But I'm pretty sure that doesn't have much to do with anything else.

There are moments of transcendent inspiration here, and a few more monotonous interludes. If you like quietly intense music, this might turn the trick. Paloma is deceptively cool.

Palomar
All Things, Forests
(Misra)
reviewed in issue #285, May 2007

Ooh, give me shimmer pop. With a really keen dark edge. Palomar likes its melodies sweet and slightly complex, with the aforementioned shadings. There's often a vague sense of doom hanging over everything, though it never really materializes into anything specific.

But the tension is nice. It helps to assuage my guilt at falling in love with such gorgeous hooks. Damn, these folks build hooks into the verses as well as the choruses. It's an embarrassment of riches, but somehow it never becomes cheesy.

Quite the opposite, actually. The complexities underlying the music become clearer as the album goes along. A second listen reveals a whole lot more than the first. That's when you know you're on to something spectacular.

It's not a crime to make pretty music. But when you make pretty music with a soul, then you've really done something. Palomar did that, and all we have to do is listen.

Pan-Thy-Monium
III-Khaooos and Kon-Fus-Ion
(Relapse Underground)
reviewed in issue #103, 3/18/96

The final outing from this fine bunch of Swedes (whose ranks include Dan and Benny from Edge of Sanity). For the unwashed hordes who may be unfamiliar, Pan-Thy-Monium presents a vision of death metal untainted by convention or good taste.

Nope, these guys throw everything into the pot (plenty of Maiden, a few John-Zorn-esque hardcore jazz breaks and plenty of really messy keyboard work) and hope it comes out alright. Luckily, we are dealing some truly talented folk, and the truly epochal songs (coming in at 12, 14 and seven minutes, respectively) are wondrous musings of the dark variety.

Masturbatory as all get out, of course, but the excesses serve to make the whole stronger. There is a sense of purpose, and the extravagance stays within the necessary bounds of the musical concept.

And some truly amazing riffage. When the stuff gets going, the sound is awesome. You'll be hearing this stuff in your dreams (and certainly your nightmares).

Hey, how often have you heard a blazing death metal riff interrupted by a few toots of a sax, followed by a blazing set of dueling guitar and keyboard solos? And following that up with some pure sampled noise? Not for the squeamish or the doctrinaire, but aficionados of truly adventurous music will find pure bliss here.

See also Edge of Sanity and Nightingale.

Panda Bear.
Panda Bear.
(Soccer Star)
reviewed in issue #181, 5/3/99

The disc package is silk-screened (or otherwise painted or stenciled). The music is similarly done in a do-it-yerself style.

And wildly eclectic. The first track is a sterile piece which sounds something like extremely agitated dripping water. The second features acoustic guitar with lots of little gizmos flitting here and about. The third sounds something like the second, but not really. Does that make sense?

Of course not. Imagine something like the Magnetic Fields without vocals, but with a much more diverse musical style. Trippy, sure, but not so much to make you nod off. At least, not too quickly.

Utterly indescribable, really. Most attractive and intriguing, however. Panda Bear takes some simple building blocks and creates truly arresting conglomerations of sound. Out there, to be sure, but worth the trip.

Whereupon the experimental electronic musings of Panda Bear come into contact with a certain Avery Tare. The result is recognizable as pop music, if only barely.

What's much more obvious is the penchant of all involved to push the envelope of (possibly) accessible music. The casual listener might be confused by the substitution of distortion for a lead guitar lick or by the general lack of a discernible bass line.

But that sort of thing won't matter to the intrepid, the brave few who actually enjoy spelunking in a musical cavern such as this. Tare and Panda Bear (kinda weird how that rhymes) have concocted a stirring stew of noises, all vaguely put together in the same format as your favorite power pop songs.

Except, of course, this sounds nothing like that. I like the effort, though. Creativity like this is highly invigorating. However these folks come together, this album is proof that it was a very good idea, indeed.

Panel Donor
Panel Donor
(Lotuspool)
reviewed in issue #65, 10/31/94

Due to the success of Paw and a couple other bands, many music cognoscenti have dubbed Lawrence (KS) as the new Seattle. If that means the city has more than its share of pretentious grunge bands, then I'd agree.

Occasionally, though, an unpretentious grunge band sneaks through. I liked the Zoom album of a year ago (also on Lotuspool, though I think the band is now with Tim Kerr Recs.), and I like this disc, too.

Yes, the guitar and bass are pretty thick, but instead of banging such things on your head, the effect is more of a sixties psychedelic one. There is a "rogue" Moog that wanders in and out of the tunes. Sometimes it muddies, sometimes it enlightens. But always the effect is to improve the surroundings.

Panel Donor is not afraid of taking a convention and experimenting with its frontiers. Technically, I suppose it is a grunge band. But in name only. Panel Donor plays good music.

Somewhere in the pop universe. Lotuspool is a label out of Lawrence, Kansas (if you don't know), the place where such current experimental pop hipsters as Vitreous Humor reside. Panel Donor and the previously reviewed Bully Pulpit are the main troopers on the label, and that's a lineup that makes me drool.

The last Panel Donor album I heard was a little more grungy. This is still plenty loud and chaotic, but more in the current "emo-core" (as the Crank!sters call it) mode. I like this better. The guitars kinda plow all over the place, not worrying about conservation tillage or any real farming method. And Panel Donor reaps what it sows: a few somewhat together songs, and some really wild things as well. Good ditchweed, I suppose. If the band is really crafting this stuff, I'd be shocked, but what comes out is quite good.

Still, it takes folks with high tolerance for noise and new musical ideas to really groove on this. So, obviously, I'm ecstatic. Yeah, I think a little more time could have been spent editing some of the excesses down and punching the production up jut a bit. That would really have made this album great. But these results are nothing to scoff at at all.

Greg Panfile & Talk & Roll
Inferno
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #213, 3/12/01

Back in 1977, the Cambridge Ensemble wanted to stage Dante's Inferno. Greg Panfile started to write the thing, but then an actor quit and the idea went back on the table. Panfile kept writing until 1983. He gave up. Eleven years later, he picked up the pieces and started over, with something of a more general approach toward the concept of hell on earth, rather than below. Panfile and friends (known as Talk & Roll) finally finished the project 23 years after it began.

Right. So that's what we're talking about here. The music is wonderfully textured rock, flavored with accordion and (synth) horns and more. The lyrics fit in nicely with whatever path the music takes, with each making use of whatever theme Panfile has chosen for the piece.

That sounds obvious, I know, but so few writers seem to be able to make those connections work. On this album, just about every junction is seamless. Each song is distinct from the others, even while retaining the core thoughts of the overall work.

Ambitious and daring, Panfile's Inferno satisfies both musically and lyrically. If it took 23 years of seasoning to come up with an album like this, I'd say it was worth every day. Panfile and friends have spun a web that encompasses the world. It's easy to get stuck; you probably won't mind at all.

Panic
Epidemic
(Metal Blade)
reviewed in issue #2, 11/15/91

Yet another Seattle band with a recent release. Many programers have taken notice of this album, yet I must admit I gave it rather short shrift when I cruised through format at KCOU.

Listening to the album again, I have found many more songs that I like past their way-cool cover of "I Stole Your Love." Stuff like "Hypochondriac" and "Hellfire Club" really rocked my world.

If you missed this album the first time - find it. If you're playing it - keep it up. I wish I could.

Believe it or not, these guys are from Seattle. Of course, the only tangible way you can find a relation to that scene is in the relations between the bass and drums. Nice rhythm going on.

But for the most part this is your average metal. Not real exciting by my ears, but certainly worth a listen or few.

This has been done before, and better as well. And I really can't find any spark to light my hormones. No rushes here.

Panic Strikes a Chord
I Can See Electricity at the Proper Distance
(Anechoic)
reviewed in issue #210, 1/8/01

Why is it that bands with one member have these long names? Is there an insecurity or something? I guess so. I've always wanted to record under the name "My Teenage Throbbing Desire." Talk about pretentious and stupid. Makes Panic Strikes a Chord sound scintillatingly concise.

Jeremy Brightbill doesn't feel the need to stick to any prepared script. Rather, he bounces around and around, building songs on whatever foundation lay nearby. So there's little cohesion to the sound, though the ideas behind the music stay fairly constant.

What I mean is that Brightbill, like most who work in unitary bands, is horribly obsessive about every detail. The record sounds immaculately crafted because it was. And yet, once again because this is Brightbill's baby only, the songs have an almost creepy intimacy as well.

Brightbill would fit in well with many of the midwestern minimalist singer/songwriters who release stuff on Drag City or Secretly Canadian. He's that good. And, of course, he's that unusual. This is a real find.

In my last review (in January), I mentioned that Jeremy Brightbill (the man behind Panic Strikes a Chord) was unusual and talented. Add another word. Prolific.

Maybe he's been working on all this stuff for a long time and now he's got an outlet. I dunno. What I can say is that there's no dropoff in quality. Each song is an eccentric trip down one of the side alleys in Brightbill's mind, and rarely does one piece flow well into the next.

I kinda like the jarring sequencing myself. Brightbill's approach is minimalist in the sound, not in the breadth of his musical ideas. Some songs are him and a guitar, some include piano or some odd percussion. There's even a non-verbal (but sung) collection of harmony.

The whole makes sense. Each little piece can be confusing, but just let small stuff by. Brightbill's focus is on the big picture, so some of the songs are just fragments. That's cool. No need to be overbearing. Just make good music. That's pretty much what Panic Strikes a Chord does.

Panicsville
The Last Compulsory Exercise
(Nihilist)
reviewed in issue #150, 12/29/97

You know, backward masking is a bitch to decipher when all you've got is the CD. And Panicsville makes use of that and a whole host of other tricks on its way to creating one of the most grating, annoying and generally painful discs I've heard in ages.

That's a compliment, by the way.

Oh, yeah, this is another of the extra goodies that arrived in the Skin Graft box, stuff that is so far off the fringe it flies ahead of the expanding universe. Weird is an utter understatement. Tape loops heavy on the distortion, samples run every which way, throbbing electronic noise and a general lack of respect for the average music listener. All of this explains why it showed up in my mailbox.

I'm not going to make any grand claims of genius here. In fact, albums like this are one of the reasons I quit handing out ratings. There is no standard I can refer to in order to hand out a qualitative analysis on the basis of one to five. This is easily one of the strangest albums I've ever heard (I've gotten a lot of that this issue), and all I know is that I'll be listening to it for a long time to come.

My wife? I think she'd rather I used it as a coaster. It takes all kinds.

Alrighty then! If you thought my review of American Power (another Nihilist outfit) described some truly warped minds in full expression mode, well, here's Panicsville. Disjointed beat noodlings with all sorts of sampled and instrumental effects. Trust me: This does not make sense.

And there really is no way to find coherence. Once you let go, though, and simply sift through the madness, well, a semblance of order emerges. Semblance in the loosest sense of the word. After all, this is lunacy.

Strangely attractive lunacy, mind you, the sort of psychotic ramblings which can make for bestsellers in the book world. Books, of course, are things utilized by generally thoughtful people. Think of this as meta-fiction for the electronic set. Meta-electronics, perhaps.

Oh, what am I doing? Justifying the sheer madness which exists here? Well, I can do that in a heartbeat. But I really cannot explain it. Some things just have to be experienced, if only by the brave. If you dig this, then you may consider yourself a pioneer of the music underground.

When I say 5" vinyl, I mean it! This thing is, well, small. Very inventive packaging, which is what can be expected from Nihilist.

If you got through my review of the Nihilist full-length, then just apply it to their side of this slab. While possibly even a bit more lo-fi than what I heard before, it fits right into the psychotic electronic style I was expecting.

The John Wiese side is pure electronic noise in the finest tradition. This side rolls at 45 (the Panicsville is at 33), so the squelches and yelps burst past at a fair clip. Pretty cool.

Actually, the entire execution here is pretty cool. Weird, certainly, but quite impressive. I wish 5" vinyl held more sound.

If you've read the reviews of these two acts in the archives, you know that there is nothing expected. Not one thing. I drop the needle on Panicsville or Brain Transplant and I have no idea what will come out.

The Panicsville songs are fairly restrained, well-assembled collages of clicks and squeals. Nothing that will torch your speakers or anything, just some cool sounds.

The Brain Transplant songs are a bit more melodic, but just as experimental. The notes say the pieces were performed on demo software, which is pretty impressive (I've messed with some of that stuff and I haven't come up with anything nearly this cool).

Just a journey to the edges of electronic experimental music. The only expectation is a sense of wonder. This small slab comes through with that and more.

A lot to love here. Each artist gets a well-proportioned album side with which to play. Panicsville stays mostly within the "mad scientist" sound of burbling electronic chatter and other baubles (certainly a more active sound than that found on the 7").

But it's where the sound surprises that always marks a Panicsville project. Here it comes in the middle of its side, where there is some wonderful interplay between what suffices as a bass line and some upper-range "melodic" lines. Just another example of the Panicsville oeuvre, I guess.

The Rubber Cement side takes a more aggressively adventurous path Using much the same sort of electronic disturbance noise as Panicsville, Rubber Cement is more likely to use stark juxtaposition and worry less about, um, coherent structure.

The results are surprisingly similar. I mean, it's not like either of these artists is going to be mistaken for Sting. When you combine the wonderfully experimental fare on the vinyl with the handmade album cover, well, I can't think of a more welcome package in my house.

New Panicsville, a thought that always gets my panties in a bunch. I never know what to expect. Sometimes the sounds are utterly abstract, sometimes they're more ambient and sometimes there's even a melody. On its side of the slab, Panicsville dishes out three songs.

And each of those concepts is represented. The first piece is utterly ambient, an understated noise soundscape. Simply entrancing. The second song has almost a traditional construction, complete with melody and all. The third song, while still playing around with a keyboard, is much less structured. Most intriguing.

Inflatable Alterboys fills its side with one song, "Superior Twelve Inch Finger" (One of the greatest titles I've ever seen). It kinda sounds like the Panicsville, except instead of separating the three distinct approaches to electronic noise, everything gets thrown into a single pot.

Not like a mishmash, but more of a bouillabaisse. The pieces are distinct within the whole. There is a consistent rhythmic idea that travels throughout most of the piece, and everything else kinda hangs off those beats at odd angles. Truly wonderful. This piece of vinyl is everything I expected (I did have high hopes) and much more. Big smiles.

The album so brutal that it took three labels to release it. Well, maybe not, but still. This collaboration between two mostly one-man electronic noise masters (each hauls in some friends to help out now and again) is truly staggering.

Andy Ortmann (Panicsville) and E.W. Hagstrom (Cock E.S.P.) are two of the more inventive noise deconstructionists around. They like to take "normal" sounds and reduce them to feedback, distortion and crackle. Then they'll throw in something vaguely recognizable just to fuck with your head. Put the two of them together, and the results are cosmic.

Which isn't exactly what I expected. Often this sort of sonic chaos is best created by one person. If you keep adding cooks, the soup is reduced to burnt beef tips and dried onions. But Hagstrom and Ortmann are nicely restrained, and the pieces here retain the playfulness which characterizes much of their individual work.

It's supposed to be fun, goddamnit! And, truth be told, this album is a blast. Okay, so maybe 500 other people on this planet might agree with me (I'd be willing to go as far as an even thousand), but we know good noise when we hear it, and these two boys have created one fine stew. Hearty enough to eat with a spork.

Panicsville has gone through all sorts of lineups, but at this point it might as well be described as Andy Ortmann and friends. The friends this time out include Thymme Jones, Ben Capps, Jeremy Fisher and others--it's pretty obvious that Ortmann knows a lot of cool people.

And he makes some truly weird electronic music. If you don't know Panicsville, you haven't been reading A&A very long. Suffice it to say that the album cover (which, as near as I can tell, is a partially slaughtered cow), title and name of the record label ought to go a long ways to explaining just how close to the edge Ortmann likes to go.

But the cool thing about Panicsville, as opposed to many experimental electronic noise acts, is that the songs do have structure. They do have themes which are fairly easy to discern. You may not find these themes particularly attractive (duh), but Ortmann doesn't make appreciation of his work particularly difficult.

Once in the door, of course, a hall of terrors awaits. So be forewarned. This is a typical Panicsville release, which means that the sound changes radically from song to song, the ideas are powerful and the music highly challenging. If you can stay standing after this assault, you're ready for anything.

Panoply Academy Glee Club
Rah!
(Secretly Canadian)
released in issue #160, 6/1/98

Manic, strident pop songs (like a rustier version of Superchunk, perhaps) separated by some truly weird "found" music. Found all over the place and then spliced together into some intriguing sound bits.

Or the usual inspired, insanity-inducing fare from Secretly Canadian. When PAGC actually plays it straight, the music is anything but. The songs have very sparse arrangements and often meander into glorious tangents.

There's a rhythm to the songs and the soundscapes, though. A current which flows through the album, inviting me into the madness. Hypnotic and enticing, the various sorts of music eventually merge together to find a greater truth.

Or something like that, anyway. I got lost. Really lost. Didn't want to come back, either. Kinda spooky when you're on the outside looking in. This disc gets me there fast and then encourages me to deface the walls. Psychic vandalism can be a kick, you know.

Jonathan at Secretly Canadian always warns me before he sends out a disc. When he e-mailed with a message telling me to expect something new from the Panoply Academy Glee Club, well, I got a bit excited. Didn't have to clean up the desk or anything, but let's just say I began counting the days.

This is something of a departure from the last album, focusing more on a band sound and less on the effects. The songs are somewhat more coherent, but see, I've got to quit referencing that old effort and explain what's going on here.

Which is somewhat difficult. The Slint influence has always been obvious, but PAGC has its own warped take on eccentric rawk. The tunes have a lurching quality. It's not always apparent how the songs will get pulled out of the fire, but somehow they always are. Just returning to do a little more psychic damage.

So that finally, when the curtain falls, I'm simply left drained. Wanting more, but not sure whether or not I can survive another onslaught. This is the kind of stuff which involves all of the senses, dragging my mind to places it hadn't imagined (and isn't sure it wanted to, either). All in all, highly recommended.

I really don't understand why bands feel the need to kinda change their names. Yes, there might be some sort of band member switch, but if you were that insistent on a new moniker, why not get a totally new name?

This is a pointless argument. Particularly since music by Panoply Academy Glee Club or Panoply Academy Corps of Engineers or whatever is great stuff. This disc finds the band tightening up its song structures, and the resulting increase in coherence also brings with it more planned dissonance.

I guess another way of saying this is that the guys now know what they're doing. Or, at least, they're managing the chaos better. The tunes still sound a bit jumbled up, but that rumpled pop sound has glimmers of intent. There is a reason behind the raucous ruminations.

Name change or not, this is a fine disc. I've never been disappointed by a Panoply set, and quite honestly this one exceeds my expectations. An evolution in all the right directions.

Pansy Division
Wish I'd Taken Pictures
(Lookout)
reviewed in issue #99, 2/19/96

One of Pansy Division's main themes is that sex isn't political. But these guys have done more to create the impression that while gay sex may be physically different than straight sex, the emotional content is the same. And yes, everyone's normal.

It helps, of course, that the songs are catchy pop gems. Even on a bittersweet tune like "I Really Wanted You" (about a guy who chooses a girl instead), the music and lyrics are upbeat. None of that annoying Morrisey-like whining. Life is good, even when most of the people running for president love to call you a pervert.

I always try to separate the music from the lyrical content (I am a music critic, after all), but bands like Pansy Division don't let me do that. Certainly it is one of the best pop outfits of the last five years. And part of that pleasure is the content of the songs. Fun. Enjoying sexuality. And you don't have to be gay to tune into the vibe.

Never disappointing, Pansy Division fully satisfies this time out. A slab of joy, to be sure.

It's not quite "For Those About to Suck Cock...", but still. Pansy Division is back with three more aggressively homosexual anthems (and a little interlude by the name of "Two Way Ass". Just the sort of thing that sends Pat Robertson into a frenzy.

And this time out, I think the guys have worried a bit too much about the message and forgotten to keep the music top-notch. "I'm Gonna Be a Slut" is a fun raver, but the stuff goes downhill from there. The relatively epic b-side (clocking in at 4+ minutes), "Expiration Date" has the most interesting lyrics, but the music is dreadful.

I simply expect more. And I'm sure Pansy Division will provide that soon enough.

This one's directed at the great white north. Two versions of the title song (in English and French, of course--it wouldn't do to be shunned in a great city like Montreal), a cover of a Maow tune and a pleasant ditty concerning that dread affliction, hockey hair.

Unabashed and free, this single is much better than the recent one on Lookout (I assume, though, as Mint and Lookout have a deal going, that you can get this puppy in the States as well). Much more fun, really.

And fun is one of the band's main themes, so that seems only natural. Go with the flow and get on board. If you want to get offended, well, that's your own damned fault.

A compilation of recent singles and other oddities. Sure, there's some dreck here (this puppy is for completists, after all), but in general the quality.

From the unrestrained metal tribute single "For Those About to Suck Cock" (including remakes of Judas Priest and Kiss tunes) to the wackiness of "Manada", there's plenty here to enjoy.

Alright, so sometimes the agenda gets a bit ahead of the music ("Political Asshole" comes immediately to mind), but most of the time Pansy Division works the music as well as the philosophy. And, while I suppose it helps to be gay, even straight dorks like me can get off on this stuff.

Um, it's stuff from four Pansy Division singles and few other naughty bits thrown in for good measure. Good enough for me.

Pantera
The Great Southern Trendkill
(Eastwest-Atlantic)
reviewed in Money Whore issue #4, 5/27/96

Apart from being really tired of the whole Pantallica sound, the main reason I haven't gotten excited about a prospective Pantera release in ages (if I ever was, though I do remember really liking Cowboys from Hell) is that once you hear one song, the rest fall into place. Totally predictable.

Which is fine if you like this sorta thing. I guess. Anyway, like I noted, I'm tired of it. I can't figure out how Phil Anselmo can profess allegiance to such decent acts as Eyehategod and still put out stuff like this. Talent problems, I suppose.

The part about Cowboys that I dug so much was the industrial precision of the rhythm section. Like a clock. Since the trend has been toward sloppiness and distortion, Pantera hasn't approached that sound standard since. That's not the only problem, but it's a start.

The main problem is that the band has nothing new to say. That won't stop the fans from eating this up, but there's no reason for folks searching out cool new music to stop by this roadside attraction.

The Paper Chase
cntrl-alt-delete-u soundtrack
(Divot)
reviewed in issue #226, February 2002

It's a soundtrack, perhaps, but that's more of a concept than reality. It's kinda funny; the Paper Chase reminds me of early Brainiac. Lots of great melodies obscured by some extraordinary noise. Almost irresistible, really.

For a guy like me, anyway. John Congleton and friends bash and crash their way through these distorted anthems, studiously avoiding any possible moments of beauty and thus creating a certain level of gorgeous sound nonetheless.

The band insists this album must be listened to in its entirety to be properly appreciated. Lyrically, I can see the point. But each song is impressive in its own right, and the pieces do stand alone just fine. These works have the superficial trappings of tossed off bits of nonsense, but underneath lies the heart of a pop genius.

That's what I hear. These songs are rich, dramatic and involving. They soar into the stratosphere despite flying with clipped wings. I can't tell you how the band managed that trick. I can only tell you it did. Put this puppy on, give it a couple minutes and you'll be entranced just like me.

The Paper Chase specializes in making noise dramatic. Sometimes this actually sounds like music. Sometimes it sounds like a really strange radio play. Sometimes it sounds like nothing you've ever heard before.

The thing is, this is a band effort, and the pieces here do seem to have been played straight to tape for the most part. That's impressive in its own part, but I think that "live" feel is also key to the astonishing emotional impact these pieces impart.

The first time I went through this album, I didn't dig it nearly as much as ctrl-alt-delete-u, which was a truly clever and bizarre album. I thought the pieces here were a bit too conventional. And then I listened again. And heard the rumblings beneath.

That first pass, I simply didn't listen. It's not that there's anything subliminal beneath the surface or anything. Only that these songs are a lot more complicated than I computed. No, in the final analysis, this album is more than worthy of my esteem. A warped little masterpiece.

Perhaps the Paper Chase is the band everyone wishes they had. Appearing on yet another label (sort of; its previous Beatville releases came out on Southern in Europe), these imaginative boys toss off three unreleased tracks, one of their own and pieces by Jacques Brel and Roger Waters.

You know Roger Waters, at least, right? I have to say that I am only now beginning to understand the lengths to which the Paper Chase will go to try and reinvent that thing we all call music. I mean, the boys know melody. They know rhythm. They know how to play a plethora of instruments and make a myriad of intelligible sounds. And yet, often enough, they don't.

More specifically, the moments of clarity are separated by great expanses of freakish nonsense. Except that it's not nonsense at all. Which is why this stuff is, indeed, frighteningly brilliant. I don't claim to understand it all, but I can hear enough to know that the Paper Chase is on the trail of something truly astonishing.

Paradise Lost
As I Die CD5
(Metal Blade)
reviewed in issue #37, 7/31/93

Only one new track, really. They redo "Death Walks Behind You" and a live version of "Eternal" is included.

Fairly commercial death-doom. Like their last album: solid and unspectacular. The new track, "Rape of Virtue" reminds me a lot of latter day Slayer. Make of that what you will.

Perhaps a new album will draw them out of these doldrums. After all, the Benediction EP was pretty dreary, and their new album still drains my ears.

Let me say first off that this album should be the biggest thing to ever some out of the death metal community. It's not a death metal album by any stretch of the imagination, but at one time...

At one time I think these boys might have called a sound like this something akin to sell-out. I won't, because I think such terms are sorta silly. What we have here is a merging of latter-day White Zombie bombast with a few touches of that doom thing that has been coming back strong.

As tightly produced as any Bon Jovi album, this thing has massive commercial appeal. I see lots of Beavis and Butthead appearances and big sales. By the time they figure out where they are, Paradise Lost will never be able to claw themselves back to the underground.

Our loss is AOR's gain.

As someone recently said to me, "No one is doing this stuff except for My Dying Bride and Paradise Lost. And I can't listen to Paradise Lost these days."

Well, this album sounds a lot more like Type O Negative than My Dying Bride (and Type O actually goes for that "over the top" feel). Goth metal lite. Damn, I remember when this band was fucking great.

I can't even tell what Paradise Lost is going for here. A few nods to the old doom standard, and some steps toward 90s power metal (White Zombie, anyone?). Hell, you can't tell me that "The Last Time" isn't a goth pop tune with excessive guitars. Not a bad idea, mind you. The band simply doesn't execute, butchering whatever good ideas might have been behind the songs. A few years back, Paradise Lost helped establish one of the coolest sounds in music. I don't know where Draconian Times is going.

I know, I gave this an "average" review. I've gotta be fair. I put Paradise Lost up to a high standard. This is well below that, but certainly a better effort than at least half the bands out there. Any old Paradise Lost fan will be disappointed, but folks who dig Morbid Angel, Type O or stuff like that might be rather pleased.

With every Paradise Lost comes the mention of Gothic, which really did set the table for (better) bands like My Dying Bride and Edge of Sanity. Since then, Paradise Lost has been confused. Is it a metal band? A gothic pop band? A cheesy parody of either or both?

The albums have been pretty, but not terribly interesting. Lots of lush, overpowering chords and excessively ponderous arrangements. Nothing to move the sound along, nothing to make me take any notice.

Well, One Second is certainly a departure. It's the best Sisters of Mercy album I've heard this decade. Not that that's terribly bad or anything, but there's no way this can be considered a return to trendsetting form. First, this sound is fucking huge, both in the States and Europe. I mean, if the Bennigan's in St. Petersburg, Florida can sustain a goth night, then it has to be a serious trend.

And this music is more interesting than anything off the last couple PL albums. It's not original or innovative, but at least there is a sense of wryness that has been missing. A Paradise Lost album I might revisit from time to time, which is certainly better than anything released in recent years. A special note: For those who care, the bonus track is a Smiths cover.

Paralysis
Patrons of the Dark
(Grind Core)
reviewed in issue #36, 6/30/93

I can't explain why, but I really like this album. It could be the sparse production. It kinda reminds me of Pungent Stench, though not quite that accomplished.

For some reason I couldn't skip through this album or cut it off. I still marvel at that, because there isn't anything really startling or original. It just simply clicks with my brain.

Sometimes, I guess, it's better not to analyze something too much, but just enjoy the ride.

Paramaecium
Exhumed of the Earth
(R.E.X.)
reviewed in issue #67, 11/30/94

Or an orchestral death take on the Gospel. Jesus is born: "The uterine contractions are a source of pain/ The agonising passage through cervix dilating". Jesus is betrayed by Judas: "The traitor's kiss of love/ Was active malignity". Jesus arises: "There were strips of cloth/ Garments of death/ But no bodily remains".

As it turns out, every lyric is a paraphrase of a particular Bible verse (duly noted in the liners). Of course, the real nut is the music.

Paramaecium do a nice take on the current death/doom trend. The music is heavy, alternately grinding and melodic. While the songs last up to 17 minutes, nothing gets boring.

While not quite in the My Dying Bride or Anathema league, Paramaecium has talent and can put together great tunes. An enjoyable disc from beginning to end.

Parasites
Hang Up 7"
(Lookout)
reviewed in issue #129, 3/3/97

Awfully pop punk stuff. The Parasites craft cloying melodies and even sillier lyrics. I sure feel stupid for bouncing about a bit while listening, though I know that after a couple more listens I'll be sick of the stuff.

And that's the real problem. The Parasites write throwaway stuff, and I'm not one for excessive sweets. Some people I know can eat a whole cherry pie at one sitting and be raring to go. Me? I get constipated.

Good enough for what they do, the Parasites crank out three light-as-air pop tunes here. Nothing more and nothing less.

Something of a career retrospective, with a few new songs and some old ones "substantially remixed." The one thing that shines through is the band's ability to crank out some sweet hooks.

These boys sure do know how to work that pop punk thing. There's enough character to give the sound a face and enough power to keep the punksters interested.

Eighteen whole songs, too, and most of them are pretty durned good. Oh, there's a couple that I might have left off, but I guess if you're trying to be something of a completist then you've gotta have a little of everything. I won't question that stuff.

Is there anything past a good time here? Probably not. But why worry? Just kick back, sing along if you like and generally let the stuff wash over you. A smile will develop, I promise.

Paris Combo
Paris Combo
(Tinder)
reviewed in issue #171, 11/9/98

It's kinda hard to resist a sultry-voice woman singing about l'amour in French (Is there any other language with l'amour? Dunno). And instead of wallowing in smoky lounge crap, Paris Combo draws from all the influences of the city, with Gypsy, Spanish, Mediterranean and jazz bits popping up here and there. Think of a wide-ranging, kitsch-less new jack swing band.

Sung in French. I can't really get over that. While French itself isn't nearly as romantic a language as some folks think, French singing is right up there. Makes me melt. And, of course, as the music is similarly entrancing, the disc just keeps impressing.

The trick to any seduction is to keep the mood serious, yet playful. Paris Combo knows this, and so it never settles for a simple, smoky sound. Nope, there's lots of lighter moments pitched in here as well, all at the right times. Keeping the mood just right.

Not really "world music", but just a superior European vision of a current American trend. Oh, I doubt the band gave any thought to such things, but since it's here, I've got to make references where I can. In any case, this is a wonderfully invigorating album.

Parlor James
Dreadful Sorry EP
(Discovery)
reviewed in Money Whore issue #8, 8/26/96

Most of the time, this act is Ryan Hedgecock (once of Lone Justice) and Amy Allison (who I recognized from the Silos' RCA album, but also led the Maudlins and sang backup for They Might Be Giants and other folks). Six folky, kinda clunky songs.

A little overdramatic, considering the base of the material. The lyrics are kinda silly, and the music just doesn't quite support the strangeness it contrives. Now, whoever is slotting emphasis tracks obviously knows what's what. Because "Snow Dove" and "Cheater's World" are easily the best songs on the EP. The rest quickly approaches filler.

If Allison and Hedgecock can work more songs like "Snow Dove" into their album, then Parlor James just might have quite a future. And I know, EP releases like this are no way to judge a forthcoming album. So I look forward to a full-length, hoping for the best.

Parlour
Hives Fives EP
(Temporary Residence)
reviewed in issue #263, April 2005

Tim Furnish (The For Carnation, Aerial M, Crain) is still the main force, but this time out he's put together a seven-piece and he keeps the sound decidedly in "the real."

The funny thing is that the absence of major electronic appliances doesn't change the sound all that much. These songs are still playfully orchestral, with the sense of mirth and wonder that often inhabits Furnish's work.

Four songs are certainly not enough. But that's what we have right now. Another day, perhaps another Parlour album. Until then, we'll have to make do with this brief packet of bliss.

The Partisans
So Neat CD5
(TKO)
reviewed in issue #220, 8/13/01

Three songs in the style of the Clash--and not the same period of the Clash at that. "So Neat," the title track (if that's what it is), is a bit more ragged. "Classified Info" would fit in better with the more melodic later Clash, and "Hysteria" drops into some of the more experimental stuff from the end of the line.

In general, the songs are solidly written, and they don't ape the Clash so much as evoke the mood. In particular, "Hysteria" helps to define the Partisans on their own terms. It's a first class piece of work.

And the set as a whole is good. I hear lots of potential. The guys just have to work out all the details.

PASSAFIST
PASSAFIST
(R.E.X.)
reviewed in issue #49, 2/28/94

So you're jamming the Circle of Dust and wondering what R.E.X. is sending you next? Be on the lookout for PASSAFIST.

This is also from the industrial side, although certainly more loopy than CoD. The beats are a little more club-oriented, though the guitars are prevalent and this is one aggressive band.

The songs are rather catchy and textured. The Caruso brothers et. al. manage to cram a lot into their music. The production is just the slightest bit sloppy, taking just the brightest sheen off and giving this album an almost live feel. It sounds great.

If you got into the Vampire Rodents or some of the other Reconstriction stuff, PASSAFIST should more than satisfy. This is one cool disc.

The Pasties
Platonica
(Soapstar)
reviewed in issue #225, January 2002

Ooooh la la la! The disc starts off breathless, but this is no mere sonic rush of candy-coated pop. Rather, the Pasties have one hell of a come on, and they back that up with gorgeously-crafted pop gems. I shoulda known: The band thanks Jonathan Spottiswoode, one of the finest purveyors of twisted pop going these days.

The glitter on this disc is painted on by masters, not by some shaky Mary Kay representative. Garish at times, but that's the intent. I haven't heard a pop album this crafted--and this well-made, for that matter--in quite a while. The Pasties switch moods like Britney swaps Swatches, but there's always a reason. Every move makes sense.

And the real beauty is that I don't have to think about it. Sure, on an intellectual level I can appreciate the fine application of theory and hard work. But there's no need. This album succeeds admirably on an emotional level. It connects. Completely.

And when it comes right down to it, that's the final test for an album like this. Does it work? Does it elicit all of the feelings that it is calculated to produce? And does it create new tangents of thought?

Yes.

Patchouli
The Day We Let Go
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #216, 5/14/01

A long time ago, back in 1988 or something, I smelled patchouli for the first time. One of my good friends was wearing it. I didn't know that it was a perfume or anything like that, so I started going off about how it smelled like some cat pissed or something. My friend was good enough not to scream at me. A while later, someone else explained the situation to me. I felt bad, though not bad enough to apologize. I'm a jerk that way.

The reason I tell this story is that I still think patchouli smells like cat piss. So a duo that has not only decided to name their band after this scent but also taken the scent as their collective last name probably plays music I won't like. But that's not the case. I just wanted you to understand my natural initial aversion.

Bruce and Julie Patchouli play folk music, mostly with acoustic guitar accompaniment. There are, however a few other interesting pieces in the arrangements, and Patchouli takes great care to avoid dropping into the whiny or simply meandering sound that can plague a lot of lazy folk singers.

These folks aren't lazy. And the songs on this album are anything but muddled. The craft and care exhibited is impressive, and the performances are understated but still quite intense. Patchouli doesn't take any shortcuts, and a quality album like this is the result.

Path of Resistance
Path of Resistance
(Victory)
reviewed in issue #147, 11/10/97

Something of an Earth Crisis side project, if I understood the note correctly. Certainly, the style is right along in that death metal-meets-hardcore sound that Earth Crisis does so well, but this disc sounds woefully underproduced, and the songs aren't terribly well-written, either.

Certainly, the band is at its best when it keeps the mixture moving. Lots of the songs move along at a turgid page, though, and the writers often succumb to the "multiple sea-change" theory. There's just so reason to shift tempos and melodic idea three, four or even five times in one three-minute song.

Straight edge extreme hardcore. Fascinating as a concept, I guess, but this execution doesn't work. Path of Resistance kicks out a few good songs ("Counter" chief among them), but most of the stuff is either over-written or underproduced. A real mess, which is really too bad.

Deborah Patino
Nocturnal
(New Alliance)
reviewed in issue #72, 3/15/95

Spoken word from a survivor of the L.A. scene. You've probably never heard of her bands (Raszebrae, The Ringling Sisters and now Holy Water), but her stories sound very familiar.

Patino writes prose poems, free-form observations on the condition of the nation-state of Los Angeles: The jaded realities of growing up in suburban Los Angeles, the nasty realities of trying to "make it", the sordid details of everyday life. Patino tries to cover it all, and she does quite well when she is speaking from the third person.

I think her first person bits read very well, but she puts too much personal emphasis into them (I know, they're her stories, after all) to make them sound real. But overall, Patino paints accurate and moving portraits of some of the individuals she has passed by, makes all of us understand a little better why things are.

Frankie Paul
Live at Maritime Hall
(2B1)
reviewed in issue #177, 2/22/99

Dancehall reggae is one of those sorts of music which rarely translates well live. It's not quite like watching New Order "perform", but close. A lot of mechanical-sounding keyboards and drum machines, with the only outlets for human expression the vocals and bass line.

Also the reason the stuff can sound so damned good on a studio recording. Frankie Paul has been at the game for ages, and one of his trademarks is a fairly soulful delivery. When the material is good, he can sound great, even live.

But too many of the songs here are truncated medley versions or otherwise strangely arranged. His band is dreadfully stiff, and Paul seems to be struggling to find his groove.

He's got a great voice (always has), but this disc really doesn't do him (or it) justice.

Parker Paul
Lemon-Lime Room
(Jagjaguwar) reviewed in issue #192, 12/6/99

If this was just Parker Paul playing the piano, I'd be entranced. He has a bright touch on the keys and an intriguing way of putting together his songs.

But he sings, too! Most of the time he sings, anyway. Wry songs, full of pain and joy. Paul seems to enjoy poking fun at his personal foibles, and that only makes his work that much more endearing.

A major label would clean up some of the sloppy play, and certainly, Paul would be encouraged to sing a bit more precisely. But that would remove a good chunk of the human element. Paul isn't perfect. You can hear that not only in his lyrics, but his performance as well.

Astonishingly touching. The spell is woven quickly, and it's deadly. A couple minutes with Paul and all the rough edges melt into the whole. An amazing, beautiful journey into one man's soul.

Patient Zero
Seemingly So...
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #268, September 2005

Back in the "olden" days, we would have called this prog/hard rock/jam/whatever sort of pastiche "post metal" and been done with it. Patient Zero is a bit more melodic than, say, Mind Over Four, but we're still talking about the same ballpark.

I didn't know anyone was still trying to play this kinda thing. But I'm glad these guys are. Anthemic prog licks are really cool, especially when combined with some real sonic pounding. I suppose some folks would just call this "post-grunge" and be done with it, but there is a lot more going on here.

Not quite so whacked as Thought Industry (another great PM band), the keyboard and electronic elements are nonetheless similarly impressive. Patient Zero takes the time to create an atmosphere for each song, and then the piece progresses from that kernel of thought. It's a nice way to do things.

I suppose the clearest touchpoint for these boys is another old band called Last Crack. The leaps of melodic fancy and overall heightened sense of drama are about the same. I still listen to my Last Crack albums nearly 15 years after they were recorded, and I think these boys have some staying power that way, too.

Pattern Is Movement
Stowaway
(NFI)
reviewed in issue #268, September 2005

Lovely math-y stuff that always stays in motion, no matter how off-kilter. I particularly like the way the unusual melodic lines crash into the ever-shifting drumming. Cool effect.

That sort of devotion to stomach-wrenching rhythms does make this album a bit difficult for the novice, but that's just the way it goes. Some folks have what it takes, and the others hurl over the side of the boat.

Needless to say, the band picked out one hell of a name for itself. Pitch perfect, really. These songs evolve in unusual ways, but always according to some internal logic. One a piece is finished, I'm generally able to piece it together. Of course, I really like to do that sort of thing.

Music that makes you think. Hey, some of us really dig it. And since it appears that thinking just might be coming back into style on a national basis, maybe these boys are getting this album out at just the right time. Um, right. Still, I'm impressed.. There are plenty of nooks here for my brain to hide a while.

Brandon Patton
Should Confusion
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #250, February 2004

Patton has that "breathy vocals floating above neo-folk" sound down, even though Patton's conception of neo-folk is much more Beck than, say, Fairport Convention. And Patton isn't against letting loose and rocking out every now and again.

I like those louder moments best. That's when Patton sounds most at ease and where he also finds a space he can call his own. Which is not to say that the folkier stuff sucks; it doesn't. In fact, it compares well to Nick Drake and his ilk. But it's been done, and I just keep hearing dead people.

The production is impressive, making this album sound a lot fuller than your average one-man effort. Yeah, Patton has some help, but he does most of the heavy work here. Not that you could tell from the sound.

Just a nice, comfy set of songs. Patton refuses to tie himself to any one sound or idea, and I like that sense of adventure. That he generally succeeds is even more impressive.

Paul Newman
Machine Is Not Broken
(My Pal God)
reviewed in issue #195, 2/14/00

Along the same "hardcore filtered through Slint" sound that folks like Don Caballero do so well, Paul Newman (there is a member of the band by that name, though I think the name refers to the band and not him specifically) makes its mark with a double load (triple on one song) on the bass end.

Yes, one guitar and two basses. The result is a bit of a mush in that low end, but boy, is this stuff anchored! These songs have no where to run.

Which is not to say that they're turgid or at all slow-moving. On the contrary, Paul Newman keeps its songs in action just about all the time. There are moments where the disparate lines blend together for effect, but basically the pieces are allowed to percolate along at a good pace.

I've never quite heard a sound like this. Reminds me a bit of Duotang (the Canadian duo that consists of bass, keyboards and drums), but mostly because of the heavy bass sound. Paul Newman charts its own musical course, and it is one of discovery, to be sure. The intensity never wavers, leading to an album of uncommon brilliance.

Um, ten songs that haven't appeared on a Paul Newman album before. A couple 7"s, an EP and some compilation appearances. All featuring the groovy electro-noise pop noodlings that made the band (semi) famous.

I'd like to note here that Jon Solomon at MPG wrote "Aiding and Abetting" on the CD. I'm touched. I've never had a CD personalized for me before, and though I'd like to think that such a gesture wouldn't affect my appraisal of this disc, I'd be lying if I said that were true. So go out there and BUY this AWE-INSPIRING set from one of THE GREATEST BANDS in the history of the world. NOTHING ELSE YOU HEAR THIS YEAR will come even close to the EXPERIENCE of hearing this disc for yourself!

All silliness aside (said silliness inspired by the manically eclectic musings on this disc), this is a fine set of totally unconnected songs performed by one of the more inventive bands around. I expected something cool, and that's what arrived. There is, indeed, greatness within.

Pauls God
Music to Make You Stop Hurting Me
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #60, 8/15/94

There's this wanky bass sound that I always hate. And the songs tend toward the anthemic, which I also take as an evil sign. Well, the singer can't seem to decide if he wants to be Eddie Vedder or Chris Cornell and the songs are kinda pretentious. Recipe for disaster.

Which is why I cannot begin to fathom why Pauls God appeals to me. Maybe it's because the songs usually pull back right before cranking into full anthem form, or that the bass gets lost some of the time. The lyrics are still sorta silly, but after a couple of listens they become endearing.

Pave the Rocket
Taken In
(Deep Elm)
reviewed in issue #151, 1/19/98

Some good ol' midwestern boys take on the emo thing, slogging away like no tomorrow. And like the Regrets, the basic structure of each song is built upon stridently strummed two and three-string chords. Oh yeah, eventually the tunes get to a crashing chorus, but the focus is on the rhythm, an unyielding foundation which supports everything on top.

Don't get me wrong; unlike a lot of emo bands, Pave the Rocket is into tearing the roof off its song. These puppies rock, like I haven't heard in a while. There's power in them thar tunes, I say.

A welcome mutation in the emo gene. I've heard noise pop laid over the stuff, and Pave the Rocket slaps on some pure power pop. The band will probably end up more pop than punk, and if these songs are any indication, that's a great place for it to be.

Not necessarily happy music, but this disc gives me farm fuzzies all over anyway. Highly technical stuff played with sheer abandon. A tough combination to master, but Pave the Rocket has proven it's up to the task. Well alright, then.

Paved Country
Deconstructing Paradise
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #210, 1/8/01

What is new grows old once again. The whole "alt country" thing, kick-started back in the late 80s by such bands as Uncle Tupelo and the Jayhawks, generally gets back to the first major country rock movement of the late 60s and early 70s.

So it goes with Paved Country, which makes little pretense at making "modern" music and simply blasts away at the foundation laid down by the Byrds. Gorgeous harmonies, wry and insightful lyrics and the wonderful sound lead guitar supported by an organ.

The trick, then, lies in the writing. And here Paved Country comes through in a most winning way. These are songs of wistful memories, wrenching heartbreak and the occasional serendipitous surprise. All delivered with the voices of wisdom earned the hard way.

This album has timeless written all over it. Marjie Alonso and Sarah Mendelsohn have put together one of the best country rock bands I've heard. There's nothing shiny or ostentatious here. Just honest, hard-working tunes. Can't ask for more.

Pavement
Westing (by Musket and Sextant)
(Drag City-Touch and Go)
reviewed in issue #33, 4/30/93

I've been accused of hating Pavement. Not true, though I don't see them as the visionary messiahs who will lead us to the great alternative Ranch Apocalypse, either.

As with any Pavement, your appreciation of the band increases with your dosage. As the only mushrooms I've had recently were barbecued, I'm in no condition to review this.

They have been compared to the Velvet Underground, the Fall or both (really). They're the next...

I don't know. This is a compilation of old stuff. Okay.

Pawn Rook Four
Songs for a Romantic Evening
(Super 6)
reviewed in issue #184, 7/5/99

The bio notes "the public's current disinterest in pop-rock music", something which I've have to heartily dispute (it seems all I've been hearing for a year or two is such stuff). But nevertheless, the notion that this band knows what it's doing in that arena is dead on.

In other words, the Pawn Rook Four can craft some fine hooks onto great riffage. Indeed, the guys have move range than your average eclectic pop outfit, utilizing a wide range of instrumentation and sound to create their pop symphonies.

And, of course, always keeping it light. Which is always the trick with pop music, to make it intense enough to garner interest but light enough to keep the toes tapping. The Pawn Rook Four balances those needs impeccably.

An all-around fine set. These boys deserve to get whatever attention comes their way. My ears are still begging for another hit.

Paxton
Paxton
(Nemperor-Razor & Tie) reviewed in issue #178, 3/15/99

There's a yellow sticker on the folder which held this disc. It reads: Warning! Contains sexually ambivalent lyrics. I knew right then this should at least be interesting. Turned out to be much more than that.

Paxton is the singer and the main songwriter. It is also the name of the band. They are separate entities, sort of. But why get caught up in group dynamics? This is a music review.

Self-conscious pop, with some great lyrical twists and turns. "Johnny and Joe" is a very cool reworking of "Jack and Diane", and throughout the disc the band is good enough to toss in just as many musical references as Paxton does with his lyrics.

Idiosyncratic to a fault (there are a couple really tortured songs here), but even the real messes are quite intriguing. For the most part, Paxton manages to make his points even while kicking out some fine, textured pop. A singular vision, one that must be heard in its entirety.

The wit has grown even more sardonic, and the tunesmithing just a bit sharper. Paxton plays a deceptively mainstream pop game. The music is tightly-wound, the sort of thing the big boys would like. But then come the lyrics and the whole charade comes tumbling down.

Which is how everyone wants it, I think. Sometimes the intent seems more mean than wry, but again, I more than sympathize. I mean, that's kinda how I feel much of the time. Maybe I just identify with this stuff a bit too much. Maybe it's just great.

Probably both. This is the sorta thing you could play at an office party, at least until a line like "If I shoot you would your head hit the ground?" comes along. That's when you break out the big-ass smile.

The Payola Reserve
One Long Apology
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #273, April 2006

Have I ever mentioned how much I like Baltimore? It's right up there with Detroit. Really. I love those places. In any case, the Payola Reserve hails from the city that reads, and the folks have a heady mix of garage sensibilities and crafted songs that is almost criminal.

To play such delicate pieces with the raucous abandon I hear here is astounding. I know, a lot of that has to do with the production...but what counts is what I hear on the disc. And I hear something I haven't heard before.

The songs themselves are dense pockets of thought, but the enthusiastic readings (particularly on the slower songs) keep the top layer simple. Further listens will allow more of the sound to make itself known. But on all levels, these songs are impressive.

Some bands sound like they've been making good music forever. I hope the Payola Reserve lasts at least that long.

The PB Army
Inebriates, Equivocators and Mockers of the Devil Himself
(Sin Klub)
reviewed in issue #242, June 2003

Sin Klub has been chronicling the hard rock scene of the eastern Midwest (how's that for a geographic region?) for a long time. The PB Army is once of the coolest bands I've heard from these folks.

Cheese metal of the highest order, this stuff is loud and catchy. The songs are full of some of the most amusing wit I've heard in a while. And the punk-meets-glam metal guitar riffs are just outstanding. This stuff doesn't stand still for a second.

Imagine if Agony Column hooked up with Hanoi Rocks and then listened to a lot of Black Flag. Perhaps that combo is a bit too obtuse. No matter. Just know that heavy rock, glam and hardcore are present here, and they mix together in the most sublime ways.

Sure, this probably qualifies as a guilty pleasure. Still, I can't help but be impressed by how catchy these songs are. Heavy music isn't supposed to produce hook after hook. But that's what's here, and I'm not complaining.

PC69
Electrified
(Digital Dimension)
reviewed in issue #181, 5/3/99

Europeans playing that American glam metal thing. Which means there's a bit of a different rub. Just enough to be quite cool.

Listen; this is the stuff I grew up on, alright? I go back and listen, and sometimes I cringe. Most of the time, though, I don't. The funny thing is, I really can't come up with a reference here. The vocals are overdubbed into harmonies (kinda like Bon Jovi, though not nearly so much so), and the music itself is like a much more inspired Yngwie Malmsteen style.

Sing-along choruses and virtuoso (but not annoying) guitar solos. The keyboards are a definite European touch. This is somewhere between Accept and Tesla's first album, I guess. But with a whole new modern feel. I mean, I haven't heard something like this in ages, and I quite like it.

Everything comes back again eventually, and sometimes it comes back better. PC69 has the sound down, and it also does a great job of finding new niches. I'm in a rush right now, and that is always a good thing.

Peach of Immortality
Talking Heads '77
(Fifth Colvmn)
reviewed in issue #111, 6/10/96

Seventy-five minutes of noise noodlings, with Jared of Chemlab and a couple other friends. If you don't like this sort of thing, proceed to the next review.

Dedicated fans only, please. A lot of the noise is centered around a guitar, with lots of effects and distortion flying about in the midst of an unsettling silence. Quite honestly, most of you could make a good portion of this record by sitting down with a guitar and fucking around.

There is the other thirty percent or so which requires some other musical and recording talent (and probably some sort of chemical imbalance), and that kicks this over the edge into quality music stuff. No, your average Jane will run screaming. That's just what we want.

If most of the world came to believe this stuff was good music, then the musical pioneers would be folks like Richard Marx. You know, I only think of stupid things like that when listening to this sort of music. Inspirational or insipid, you decide.

Jack Pedler
Fairyland It Ain't
(Mutiny)
reviewed in issue #173, 12/14/98

Fuzzed out sludge rock. Stuff that moves, though, so maybe we can call that thin sludge. Or something. Imagine an AmRep band with uptempo songs and slick production. You know what I mean.

I'm not entirely sold. I like the sound, actually, but Pedler has a way of killing any positive motion in songs. He kills the grooves. Like he's hunting them down and has to obliterate them one by one. Almost inexplicable.

Maybe he's making a point with this carnage. I can't make it out if he is. The songs sound like clunkers from where I'm sitting. Pedler is really pissed off about a lot of things, but he doesn't have to wreck decent tuneage to get that idea across.

Search me. This one just doesn't make sense. That happens.

Pedro
You, Me & Everyone
(Mush)
reviewed in issue #291, November 2007

Pedro is James Rutledge. And James Rutledge likes to take criminally thrilling beats and infuse them with all sorts of flavor.

There's the general electronic flavor, the trippy rock flavor, the big beat flavor, the prog and pals flavor and more. Best of all, Rutledge doesn't confine himself to just one flavor per song. These pieces explode with a full variety of forceful and subtle sounds.

The overall sound is electronic. Rutledge leaves no doubt that these pieces are assembled. And I think that works. Some folks prefer a more organic feel, but Rutledge goes on so many extreme flights of fancy that he really can't hide where he's coming from.

Where he's coming from, of course, is the realm of musical polymath. There are so many ideas burbling around on this disc that only an inspired writer and master craftsman could slot them together in any sort of coherent context. Rutledge does better than that. He makes these songs sing.

Pee Shy
Who Let All the Monkeys Out
(Mercury)
reviewed in Money Whore issue #7, 7/29/96

Cindy Wheeler and Jenny Juristo have been cruising the Tampa scene for as long as I've been born (a bit of an overstatement, but not by much). After decades of trying, they land a big score and get a recording contract.

I got an advance for this about four months ago, and the tape was dreadful. The mix was terrible, and everything sounded completely out of tune. The disc rectifies some of those problems, but we're still stuck with Juristo and Wheeler's rambling, atonal, sing-song melodies (and out-of-tune accordion and clarinet licks). After about three minutes, this stuff gets terribly annoying.

While it may be cool these days to be a completely untalented musician who can whip catchy pop tunes out of your ass, Pee Shy gets all that mixed up. Wheeler and Juristo are fairly competent musicians who are playing like amateurs because that's the style. And these songs aren't anything like pop gems. Stuff like "Jason, I Thought I Saw a UFO" have certain novelty appeal, but not much more.

The word that keeps popping up is "dreary". Each song sounds a lot like the one that preceded it, except worse. I've never been impressed by folks who work this hard to be "alternative".

The Peels
The Peels
(Dim Mak)
reviewed in issue #262, March 2005

The press makes reference to a big pile of great albums by bands that happen to be fronted by women. Kinda pretentious and limiting at the same time. Though, I have to admit, there is something to all that, particularly the Pretenders reference.

This is edgy, punk-influenced rock. The guitars have a metallic sound (the Peels do want major exposure, after all), but the chord changes and song structures are still nicely punk. References to X aren't exactly off-target, either.

But the Peels is its own band. These songs aren't derivative of anyone, and Robyn Miller has her own distinctive growl (somewhere between Chrissie Hynde and Ann Wilson). This album starts out with a bang and just gets louder and more insistent.

That's what I like. That whole "take no prisoners" thing. The Peels are on a mission, and that mission is to rock. Period. Anything else that comes along is gravy. Let the riffage burn your brain and see how things develop from there.

Pegboy
Fore
(1/4 Stick-Touch and Go)
reviewed in issue #42, 10/31/93

Many folks I know refer to this as post-Naked Raygun, but that's just not fair. There is more than one member of this band, and only John Haggerty was in that band. Sure, there is this Chicago post-hard core sound roaming around, and sure, it sounds wonderful, but that characterization simply isn't true.

A friend of mine speaks of these folk in almost reverential terms. I forget where he saw them, but it served as religious services, or something like that.

Only four songs, and all four are very nice. Great, even. I love the sound Haggerty has gotten on his guitar. Just rough enough to tickle. Good description of the ep, really.

Anyone else remember when the only pop-punk band really active was Naked Raygun? Hell, it was only eight years ago. Then Bad Religion came back and Bret Gurewitz really got Epitaph going and then the whole Southern California thing… Well, soon there was plenty of company, and the original core of Naked Raygun had split.

Thus the first Pegboy EP, then album, four and three years ago, respectively. Perfectly stunning, winning over a ton of NR fans and many more. Reverential screeds plastered all over the world waiting for the next album.

After two years came the four tracks on Fore. Great tunes, where was the album?

Here it is, and it recalls Naked Raygun in full fury, and then some. John Haggerty and friends really should record some more. Three chords never sounded so good. No one could hope to do it better. Hopefully things won't take so long next time.

Kepone kicks off with "The Ghost", an amazingly powerful tune. The groove builds from the start and never quits until the tune flies out in a blaze of glory. More captivating than most of the last album, and one of the better songs I've heard all year. A real crowdpleaser.

Not to be outdone, Pegboy counters with "Dangermare". Still riding that "smells like rotting flesh, tastes like Naked Raygun" style that has worked all these years, Larry and the boys are simply having fun, destroying eardrums along the way.

A truly inspired pairing, and the bands pull it off with aplomb. Fans of the bands: this is a must! And if you have any pretensions of being a real punk fan, well, you'd better not miss out, either.

About fuckin' time, really. I've seen Pegboy twice since the last album, and I was beginning to wonder just what the hell was going on. Starting to sweat a serious jones for some new monster thick Chicago punk.

And that single with Kepone? Excellent (The awe-inspiring "Dangermare" is included here), but not nearly enough. And so I prepare myself for greatness, relegating all abandon to some black pit in the back of my mind.

It's Pegboy, and that's all I wanted to hear. Three chord monte all the way, complete with Larry's trademark howl. Yeah, there's no music progression or anything, but who the fuck wants Pegboy to change, anyway? This is awesome adrenaline-thrashing music that only gets better when you crank it past the limits of your speakers.

So I'm a completely unobjective fan. If you gotta problem with that, go talk to someone who loved the new U2 album. Get outta my face before I shove your nose into your brain.

I'm not fucking around here.

Peglegasus
Learning Curve
(self-released)
reviewed in issue #232, August 2002

Some thirty-odd years ago the 13th Floor Elevators roared out of Texas on a psychedelic blues rock spaceship. Roky Erickson is now revered as a saint (albeit a twisted one), but I've always wondered why more bands didn't really try to ply those fertile waters.

Peglegasus does. The lyrics and music are somewhat more coherent, but I'd say the intent is similar. These songs blaze through the same territory, and they shimmer almost as brightly.

In truth, the great thing about this album is the sound. The mix is just a bit muddy, and that goo allows the complex and pretty songs to come together just enough to make sense.

Great guitar-driven pop that takes the best of the Erickson ideal and adds in a few fine modern touches. Peglegasus makes music that sounds way too easy. Most impressive that way.

Peligro
Peligro
(Alternative Tentacles)
reviewed in issue #79, 6/30/95

As in D.H. from DK, though eschewing the drums for guitar now. Mostly extremely fast hardcore, with an oddly pop rendition of "King of the Road" thrown in for no apparent reason.

The tracks average about two minutes per, and I really couldn't handle much more. Even when Peligro comes up with an interesting musical idea (like on the metallic "Hellations from Hell"), the lyrics so retarded I try to laugh. But can't.

I wasn't expecting much, but this is definitely worse than that. Perhaps I can dig this as a joke, but I really don't think it is one.

Axel Rudi Pell
The Ballads
(Steamhammer-SPV)
reviewed in issue #201, 6/26/00

I had a bad feeling when I first saw this puppy. While not astonished at the success of Monster Ballads, even when I was a big glam metal fan I didn't really dig the slow stuff. Alright, there was a two-year fixation on "Silent Night" back when I was 15. Maybe that got the stuff out of my system.

Anyway, Axel Rudi Pell has a knack for cranking out astonishingly formulaic ballads, stuff that Warrant wouldn't even consider recording. The lyrics are dreadful (repeated references to such tired themes as "the sad man," "starry eyes," etc.) and the music is turgid and mechanical.

I see that this album did well enough when it was released back in 1993 to warrant a The Ballads II. Maybe it's a niche thing. This collection just isn't that good.

I always got a certain feeling while listening to Yngwie Malmsteen records. It was like he was toning down his playing to accommodate a singer, but in any case the vocals just made the music worse. And in any case, who cares if you're a great guitar player if your skill is almost all technical, without any touch?

Pell wields his axe like the metal god he wants to be, but his songs generally aren't that inspired. This is second-tier Eurometal. Oh, it's loads better than that Ballads collection I reviewed in the last issue. But it's also in the same as the Saxon album. Decent, accomplished, but not that interesting.

Part of that is the almost slavish devotion to tales of swords and sorcery, and not particularly inspiring ones at that. The music is solid, but thin. There's nothing past the surface. The best Eurometal bands know how to build depth. Pell doesn't appear to be able to do that.

Acceptable, but not exciting. I suppose if I was really, really in need of a Eurometal fix (and didn't have a nice backlog of stuff lying around), I might give this a few spins. But that's about it.

The latest effort from this guitar monster. This one packs a much harder punch and heads more into the gothic side of Eurometal. Moving more from Malmsteen toward late-era Edge of Sanity.

Johnny Gioelli's raspy vocals are vaguely reminiscent of Klaus Meine, and to further the comparison, the songs are constructed much more simply than before. That's a good thing.

The problem is that the songs are still really, really long. A song like "Voodoo Nights" (which really does sound like 1982-era Scorps) should have clocked in at four minutes, max. It's five and a half. Pell needed the time for another solo and another run at the chorus.

As far as I'm concerned, this is another improvement. Pell could use an editor, but he seems to have found some fire on this disc. Maybe he's finally figured out how to connect.

Pell Mell
Flow
(SST)
reviewed in issue #9, 3/15/92

While the cover and artwork looks like it was done by a rather confused magazine major who has just discovered sans-serif type, the music inside is anything but lost. Nor is it sterile, another concern of mine after seeing the cover. No, just rocking instrumentals, in somewhat the same vein as Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet, although these songs are longer.

Would it be an insult to call this pleasant music? I don't know. It just sounds so wonderful. Something inside me wants to reach out and hug the disc.

I know, I'm getting weird here, but the MD at KCOU who reviewed this for format said much the same thing. This is good (let's just say great) music. And that makes me very happy.

Penal Colony
5 Man Job
(Cleopatra)
reviewed in issue #71, 2/28/95

Mixed by such luminaires as FLA, T*H*D, Psychic TV, Spahn Ranch and Leaether Strip, the second disc from Penal Colony does have a nice schizophrenic appeal.

The base ideas for each song come from various movie and other spoken word samples, sparse industrial beats and the occasional guitar and keys. Each of the mixing agencies gives the songs different feelings (compare the FLA and Spahn Ranch versions of "Blue 9", for example).

At times a hint of gothic blackness creeps into the overall feel, but the music stays firmly in the experimental industrial warehouse. A fine second by folks who refuse to take the easy road.

Pennywise
Unknown Road
(Epitaph)
reviewed in issue #54, 5/15/94

Their first album was quickly recognized as genius at the station where I used to work. And here again are fast and tight hardcore pop tunes.

The references to the No Control/Against the Grain - era Bad Religion sound are obvious, but I'm certainly not going to complain. And adding to that wonderful core is a distinct Pennywise sense of irony and approach to melody.

Perhaps the brightest new light in pop punk around (up there with the Offspring, anyway), Pennywise have made the grade with their second album. Highly crankable.

Along with NOFX, Pennywise shares the title of "Ultimate Epitaph band". Catchy choruses, ripping riffs and hacking attacks on what passes for society today. And you still leave with a smile on your face.

Yeah, this is the music that made Epitaph the "cool" label for mainstream types who still dug the occasional pop-punk foray. And with its third release, Pennywise proves the end is nowhere in sight.

Actually, I'd put this a little above Unknown Road and perhaps even just a smidge better than the debut. But why split hairs? Pennywise is about as good as it gets in punk these days, and thankfully a good chunk of folks are starting to notice.

Yes, the formula was written by Bad Religion, but Pennywise is smart enough to write songs about the personal, rather than scientific, side of society. And the music is still a bit more stripped-down... not that you'd miss the influence or anything.

Same old Pennywise, same great Pennywise. As a friend of mine once asked of Green Day (when Kerplunk! came out), "When will these guys write a bad song?" Not yet, anyway.

The first album without bassist Jason Thirsk (who had been replaced before he died), to whom this album is dedicated. The net result is same old Pennywise, with possibly somewhat tighter songwriting.

Pennywise has always had to fight the tag of Bad Religion clone, but since many folks don't remember the BR glory days of No Control and Against the Grain, I wouldn't worry too much. Yes, this stuff copies the "full speed ahead, drop in a few oozin' ahs" formula, but the band does it exceptionally well, with sharper attention to lyrics than Bad Religion has had in years.

Actually, this album is more focused than any previous Pennywise effort. While the earlier albums would generally have a couple lag points, Full Circle cranks through all the bullshit, taking no prisoners. High octane, indeed.

The total package. Pennywise has always put out very good albums. This one is great. The difference is small but substantial.

Pentagram
Be Forewarned
(Peaceville-Fierce)
reviewed in issue #75, 4/30/95

Ripping into the well-torn flesh of Black Sabbath, Pentagram (once known as Sanctuary) adds flavor from other Brit metal bands (Priest, Maiden for starters) to fill out the sound.

Add just a dash of the currently hip death-doom sound, and the soup is ready to savor. While his voice is much thinner than Ozzy's, Bobby Liebling pretty much follows his phrasing style. This gets a little unnerving at times.

Pentagram doesn't do anything particularly original, but you cannot call the band a strict Sabbath rip-off. On the other hand, if these guys want to be known for their music, they will have to work a little harder at finding their own niche.

Good for starters. Now Pentagram has to evolve to survive the ever-expanding Sabbath sound-alike backlash.

People
People
(Relapse Underground)
reviewed in issue #65, 10/31/94
The disc says Israeli Disco Grind. And while I searched for a better description, I don't think there is one.

Wildly varying samples, with bare snippets of grindcore kinda holding things all together. And, thinking conceptually, the mishmash of samples is just a technologically advanced form of grindcore. I mean, at times sounds flash by so fast you might think the CD player is skipping. And then the roar returns.

Simply brilliant. My only complaint is that there are only four songs, and the whole disc doesn't quite run 12 minutes. Hopefully more will be on its way before we know it.

Pepe Deluxe
Super Sound
(Catskills-Emperor Norton)
reviewed in issue #210, 1/8/01

Three guys from Finland who have a decidedly unusual take on the whole concept of electronic music. Rather than focus on purely abstract ideas or create mindless dance anthems, these boys instead attend both schools of thought, spinning an addictive, yet thoughtful, web of sound.

Pepe Deluxe is a big fan of the whole 70s cheese sound, but instead of wallowing in the excess, these songs simply drop hints here and there. The pieces themselves keep up their itinerant wandering.

Indeed, this disc is a journey through the minds of some pretty creative folks. It's a big load of fun, but there's so much going on underneath. It's almost impossible to miss the depth of focus here. Not that you'd want to or anything.

And just when I think Pepe Deluxe might be ready to repeat itself, there's something new added to the mix. These guys didn't miss a thing. This album is immaculately conceived and crafted. Big smiles all around.

A Perfect Circle
Mer de Noms
(Virgin)
reviewed in issue #199, 5/8/00

Way back in the early 90s, a band called Live took grunge and added a pop sheen to it. Those Not-Quite Amish Country boys sold an awful lot of records, at least until their pretensions overshadowed their talent.

A Perfect Circle tries for the same grungy dark pop sound, harkening back to, say, 1995. The sound is more grunge than pop, but the heavy echoes and sharp production do leave a bit of the goth in the mix.

My main issue with music like this is that it sounds much more important than it is. These guys toss in vaguely poetic lyrics that ultimately do not have the impact they need. There's a big facade, but not enough oomph to fill it up.

Plus, you know, there's the whole grunge thing. I'm tired of it. Most everyone is. A Perfect Circle doesn't really do anything with the sound. The throwback has no purpose. This stuff is competently executed, but I'm still trying to figure out why everyone is trying so hard with material like this.