Rather scatterbrained death metal, with drums and guitars akimbo. The occasional violin is a nice touch, but it doesn't add a whole lot.

If you like the whole Autopsy thing, this should dump your butt back into the blender.

Faster than a speeding bullet, crazier than Ted Bundy ('member him?) and meaner than a veal farmer, At the Gates throw the tempo on cruise and head straight south.

Where its first effort was perhaps the first true dance-metal album, this goes a long way to becoming the first dance-death metal album. Yes, it should get club play out the ass, but just because you can dance to it doesn't mean aggression is lacking.

Fuck Godflesh. At this point, those guys can't get either the club or the metal things down, it seems. Where in their transformation they seemed to dull out, Bloodstar is sharp and piercing. Your listeners will like this, and so will the dance folk at your station.

In all the years rock music has been around, almost all the big male singers have had high voices, and almost all the women low voices. On the female side of history, Janis Joplin, Tina Turner, Stevie (don't call me Shelley) Nicks and Chrissie Hynde all come to mind, as does the Concrete Blonde singer whose name I have never learned to spell (and won't look up now because I could care less).

You listen to this and say, "Okay, they're from Seattle, but they sound cool." Uncle Jack's influence can be felt behind the knobs (actually, I bet they were slide pots) and there is this vague reference to northwest chord progressions.

That doesn't have to be a bad thing, and here the grunge pop thing works, especially with the vocals, which are pleasantly in the alto range (why do you think I talked about that stuff up there?). Sure, you're going to rip out the Treepeople disc and leave this one be for a moment. But after that passes, dig this up and find a great album.

Utterly lacking table manners (or even a bedside manner), this sloppy, disgusting (to most, anyway) trip through a psycho-scatophile's chunky dream reeks.

In my vernacular, read RAVE REVIEW. After all, Kiss has been a self-parody for at least ten years, so why not the real thing? The music is more in the New York Dolls vein, but the make-up is dead-on hilarious.

Okay, so the lyrics are retched at times, but that's the point. The liners say something crude and cliched about understanding and appreciating humor, so heed that advice. The innards are as appetizing as the cover.

A caveat: when I saw these fuckers open up for Gwar, they were by far the worst band I have ever seen on a stage. Even worse than L.A. Guns in their first show replacing Guns N' Roses as the opening act for Iron Maiden's Seventh Son tour.

This is a far cry from the past. There is a hell of a lot of noise, and not much of it interesting, innovative or even passable. Sometimes when I say an album feels like passing a stiff turd it's a compliment. Not here. This is like the nasty, bloody shit that pre-dates prostate surgery. Just a pain...

Drums, bass, keyboards (mostly piano) and these wild saxophone sounds. It ain't Christian, Edna. It sure ain't normal.

And thank God for small favors, as this is a truly fun album to imbibe. Completely impossible to describe, except that saxman Martin Fierro seems to have taken lessons from John Zorn and Ornette Coleman. Some of the sounds he creates...

The style seems to revolve around some twisted rockabilly groove, but then they wander out into uncharted territory. With stunning results. You may not listen to an album this strange again this year.

From what dark pit of hell this crawled I shall never know, but I will endeavor to keep it safe and unvanquished forever more.

Marketed as Motorhead meets the Ramones, for once the publicity couldn't be more correct.

If you like either of those bands, and don't mind that someone may have appropriated their sonic likenesses, then you should really groove on this. The songwriting is first-rate - lots of catchy ditties.

Like a smooth cream soda, this stuff is gone in a belch. But while it goes down, you can only think happy things, like remembering the last time you broke the state sodomy statute. Going down will get you twenty years out here, so maybe it's just safer to listen to the music.

While the majority of the RdB and industry attention seems to be on the other included release, the amazing Bloodstar album, don't pass this by. I have jammed this advance almost as many times as I have the Treepeople. If you told me I would really get into an album that features acoustic guitar, I would have told you if I never heard another Extreme song again it wouldn't be soon enough.

But this is a fine hybrid of jazz, pop, funk and metal, not to mention a real ear for the awesome anthem, something not really done well since mid-eighties Rush. These guys are young and damn talented, and I think "TBA" and "The Feeling" are my two favorite songs of the year (by far).

Um, this takes a little getting used to if you don't listen to a lot of different types of music, but it is really great. Produced by Dave Pinsky, who seems to be becoming the Jack Endino of the upper Midwest, these Wisconsin folks have an absolutely astonishing album.

Anytime a band lists a dulcimer player, I get interested. After all, no one in their right mind has played that thing in a couple of centuries.

They meander around the psychedelic sound, but manage to avoid that annoying Blur (pronounced "bleah") drone. And as you start to dig in, they really start to tear it up. If you only scan the first track, you might miss some real choice heavy pop tunes.

This is not your normal first effort. It's self-indulgent and presents a completely incoherent picture of the band. I like it.

Few legendary bands have the presence of mind to record their final show. Most don't realize their last show has passed until after the fact. And as chemical problems as often as not lead to splits, those last shows usually suck. I heard a tape of the last Husker Du show (I was studying that night; how was I to know?) in Columbia, and they were awful. Now, I saw what might have been the last ALL show in Lawrence last summer (it was the last of their tour and I don't know if they did any other one-offs before their recent split), and they were great. So who can tell?

Well, Thin White Rope got both right: they called their own demise beforehand and taped a fantastic show. Twenty-six songs, two CDs chock full o' fantastic music. Not every song from every album, but not too bad, either.

The liners say something about them sounding like goats. I prefer to think of them as a tuneful, country-ish Sonic Youth. This is not your typical loud music, but it is certainly enjoyable at high volume levels.

Great minimalist pop. These folks sure know how to craft a fine tune, all the while leaving a sheen of roughness that can serve but to endear them to listeners. Um, sorry about all the verbosity this issue. Back to the review.

Yes, Washington's best crop is not apples or grunge, it is fine pop music. From the Young Fresh Fellows to My Name (or most any other C/Z act, like Dirt Fishermen) to these folks (from Olympia), I can't think of better shit. If Superchunk could see their way clear to hopping a time machine and starting in Tacoma this picture might be complete.

Ten great originals and a slightly out-of-tune Paul Simon cover (which, while great, should NOT be overemphasized). More than enough to make any fool completely delirious with music envy.

I really didn't need the disc to do this review, but I'll gladly accept it. I've already inadvertently committed most of the lyrics to memory, a consequence of wearing my advance tape out. And I still want to keep flipping that thing. Over and over and over and...

The beauty of CD technology is that you can just hit "repeat". For those of you who don't know yet, Treepeople are the next goddamn huge independent pop band to beat America senseless. Wonderful melodies, often combined in the same song, wind their way around this masterpiece. No, your average R.E.M. fan won't get it, but that's the great thing. Treepeople don't sound like R.E.M., yet they carry on the alternative pop banner, with more interesting tunes and not a small amount of buzzsaw guitar.

To my way of thinking, anyone who even catches a note of this album (like the CD5 issued a month ago) will be instantly entranced. If not, you might as well go buy your gun in Virginia now before that new law is passed. If you don't enjoy this, you might as well start your new career as a seriously disturbed sniper.

Karl from Cargo in San Diego sent me this, admonishing me to look past similarities to other bands. He wrote "NONE of the members have long hair or wear flannel shirts."

Obviously touchy about something. Well, they sound like a San Diego band to me. And as you may have noticed from my rave for Rocket From the Crypt I have a healthy respect and worship for stuff from there.

These guys should have a disc out. That's all there is to it. Write them and play this bastard on the air. A lot.

Kirk out.

So it took a trip to a European label to get this released in the U.S. (Deaf being the euro-entity), the wait was well worth it.

I honestly didn't know Rhode Island was big enough to protect its citizens from monstrous music like this, but I've been wrong before. Not, however, when I say this is some great stuff.

The cover made me wince (kinda sophomoric and all), but the music is first-rate, covering all the major bases of traditional death metal. Not a lot of outside influences here, just solid up-yer-ass sound and solid riffwork. Quite worth a few listens.

After many attempts to get this out (the press lists this as re-released last October), finally most of you will be hearing this for the first time. Heavy technical doom-death metal with these occasional Uriah Heep-ish keyboards that kinda twist your mind at times.

Everything is very clean and sludgy (not quite an oxymoron; think of bits of clay slamming into each other). Rather nice psychodelic turn on the genre. This is not your everyday (or every night) death metal album. It slowly beats your brain into complete submission.

Morgana LeFay
Knowing Just As I advance cassette
(Black Mark-Cargo)

Karl said this was different from anything they have put out so far, and he's right. The proof? They cover "Razamanaz" fairly straight. Sounds like a harsher, trippier Accept to me.