I have waited my entire life to hear Jello croon "Ol' Mizzou!" Let's just say it's too bad KCOU (I mean, KEJJ) won't touch this album with a hot poker.

Whatever you think of Jello or Mojo, they have made careers out of lampooning the rich, famous and stupid. Sure, there are jibes at traditional targets God, Don Henley, "alternative" music, David Geffen and big business, but while both had seemed a little stale at times recently, they seem rejuvenated here.

And by the way, call them both "Reverend."

Like the single, the accompanying cover and liner art is immaculately presented (down to the Roy Orbison movie poster and statuette of Gorgeous George amongst the clutter on the back cover).

Yeah, it's mostly country-esque music, but that just adds to the fun. This is about the perfect tape to pop in the deck when your grandparents want to hear something relaxing... just wait until Jello's voice kicks in and their eyes roll to the backs of their heads.

The best drinking record of the year. And it's pretty good when you're sober, too.

When something's this tasteless, you just have to laugh. Or, at least, I do.

Blasphemous to even the most liberal Christian, offensive to even the most tolerant feminist (even those that find it funny), this package has something for everyone.

Add to it cheesy late Suicidal-type riffs and a pleasant rapid-fire delivery and you have a real winner. Just don't play it when mom comes to visit.

Something for everyone here. While they still have a lot of the adventurous spirit I really dug on their previous albums, this is a little more straightforward than those.

But even when they play it straight it kicks ass. These are great musicians who can evoke many moods (unusual among death metal bands) beyond mere anger and gloom.

I'm a sucker for quality, and Edge of Sanity come through once again. I could delineate how fine every part of this album is, but they best test is for you just to listen. These guys are head and shoulders above most of their peers, and it's obvious from the first song.

So you release two solo albums in a year, not to mention a group effort, and then what? Well, after taking a little time to make sure the record labels are running smoothly, you remix a few tracks from your solo albums.

The results are mixed; nice beats and reasonably good reproduction, but it does seem like the life of the songs has been sucked out. There was soul, and now this is soul-less. If that's the idea, alright. But I prefer a little feeling.

With all the industrial trendiness flying around, it certainly makes sense to crank out an instrumental guitar album that utilizes the occasional edgy drum machine.

Unfortunately, most of the time Housholder only manages to sound like a slightly studlier version Joe Satriani (without nuance). While this would be okay for a Satriani album, I suppose, we are supposed to be listening to Housholder.

Sure, the playing's great and the production is highly glossy and everything sounds just fine. I wish it had a few distinguishing marks, that's all.

With one you get Burl, the 1986 Killdozer ep. Why Burl? Well, on this album the boys reprise Jessi Colter's "Hot n' Nasty", and on Burl they did her one big hit, "I'm Not Lisa". Everything clear?

With Killdozer? I don't think so. Inventors of the "sludge-o-matic" sound over ten years ago, Killdozer disgusted listeners until 1990, when they decided to give up and try getting real lives.

Thankfully, it didn't take. Well, Billy decided he would rather get paid, so Paul Zagoras takes over on guitar, but everything is otherwise the same.

Unusual for the boys is the meticulous detail on the liners. Usually things are scratched out in handwriting worse than mine. No... not maturity!

Of course not. This is the gravel in your gullet to help digest all the crap that comes your way. Just eat like a chicken.

Headhunter. The label known for great San Diego post-punk bands. Right. So what's a great New York pop act doing here?

Note the similarities between the words "great" and "great" in the sentences above. And anyway, Morning Glories have a buttload of attractive distortion to send your way along with their tuneful ditties.

Completely randomly chaotic, sorta like a Yo La Tengo show, this makes for interesting listening. Okay, so if I was a commercial programmer I'd probably fade the feedback endings some of these songs have, but since I'm not, I'll just revel in the mess.

Morning Glories bloom in the spring (eeew, not a cliche!). But this is a pretty fine pollen machine.

A pleasant four-song outing from the boys. With the herky-jerky style going strong, you begin to wonder if the guys can even finish the song they're playing.

But, of course, they do, and by the time you're through it, you realize it was a hell of a fun time getting there.

I've never been able to properly dissect Mule's style, and I sure am not beginning to here. It's heavy, it moves and I love it. That's all.

Strangely addictive industrial hardcore. I mean, these guys are raw and mean, but there's no lack of intelligence. Instead of liners, there are icons with slogans (picture of a gun: it had no conscience).

Despite having a song titled "Mark 16:17", I have a feeling Rig won't be on the 700 Club any time soon. And they're probably rooting against Liberty University (Falwell's school) in the NCAAs (Um, sorry about that. No more gratuitous basketball references).

A lot of you like Therapy?, and this is right up that alley. A little less tuneful and a little more aggressive, but it packs a similar punch. A fine taste of the industry.

With a veritable industrial who's who helping out, you figure this might have a little more punch.

The vocals are strangely buried at times, but this booming bass just keeps emanating from some subterranean source.

And, at times, things really get kicking. In all, a very stripped down sound that makes more sense after a while. And by the time the final track rolled around, things started to make more sense.

Experimental enough to get me hard, bouncy enough to make me dance, Sister Machine Gun is rather good.

Rather commercial metal from Chicago. And the odd thing is, I like it.

I know I usually rail against this sort of thing, but for some reason Sphinx really appeal to me. Maybe it's because they have everything down.

Reminds me a little of the first Saigon Kick album, which I also really liked. Good harmonies, but not too cheesy, cool riffs that don't rip off anyone in particular and coherent, thoughtful lyrics.

I can't remember the last time I really got into something that sounds like this. It's been a long time. Don't skip over Sphinx. This is good shit.

How can you tell it's white boy blues? Two volumes: loud and louder. But after getting past that minor sticking point, Spinner does put together a decent album. His voice does have a bit of a metal rasp, but then that originally came from blues players, so things are just wandering in their circular way again.

While none of these songs really grab me by the balls and make me go ooh, yeah, none of them make me turn the damn thing off, either. I'll be honest: I've heard worse.

I know that doesn't seem like much of an endorsement, but Spinner needs to do a little roots research and broaden his base before he starts shooting for the stars.

Yes, this is the first SubPop album reviewed here. It's, I'm told, the first SubPop album marketed to metal.

Highly glossy punky stuff in cowboy hats (the hats are strictly for style). Everything is damned near perfect-just the right amount of sloppiness, good songs, rough-hewn vocals and a pounding beat. And the shit is loud, too.

It seems so perfect, I should dislike this album just for that, right?

Fuck, no! So this panders to my heart's desire and makes me want to find a pit (guess next week's Sepultura et. al. fest will have to do) and do some damage. Sounds like a plan.

Dead Fly Boy
Self-Titled Debut advance cassette
(Sector II-Futurist)

I can see Beavis & Butthead bobbing and weaving, going "this is cool." It is catchy, but I'm kinda tired of this particular guitar sound right now.