NEWSLETTER

WARREN G Regulate… G Funk Era Violator/RAL Now, being an East Coast native, it’s hard in these heady times for me to cop to liking an LA record. But damn if Warren G ain’t so fucking smooth that I can’t help it. I’ve never been out there, but I’ve heard the sun is always shining and they have palm trees and shit. I wonder what some of our harder NYC brethren might sound like if they were born in California. Like, have you heard Mobb Deep? They’re harder than hell. If they grew up surrounded by a bunch of greenery and UV rays, would they be all smooth like Warren G? I don’t know. I’m asking you. Nature or nurture? But I digress. This is Warren G’s review. The record is great, and he gets sexy rock props for sampling Michael McDonald on “Regulate.” I can see a long and storied career for this kid. He just needs to get album number two out asap. Strike while the iron is hot and all that. PEE-BO BRYSON MARY J. BLIGE My Life Uptown/MCA My Riot Grrrl friends babble about how Mary J. is some kind of feminist icon or something. But you know what? I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit on that. And I’m not even going to bother backing it up. Just: bullshit. CROTCH PIE DIGABLE PLANETS Blowout Comb Pendulum/EMI I’m glad that they dropped their jazz thing, because that was already feeling like a huge gimmick. But now they sort of just replaced bebop with this black-nationalism vibe. That’s cool in terms of the tracks—it’s made their music a lot, pardon the word, funkier. And that’s good. But I don’t know. From jazz cats to 70s-style Panthers in the span of two albums? It’s kind of on some drag-queen shit. Just do some raps, guys, it’s cool. You don’t need some big concept. But PS: I still think Ladybug is really hot. Is she a lez or not? A-1 LONG METHOD MAN Tical Def Jam 36 Chambers was the best rap album of last year, and this is basically that but with lots more Meth. The beats are still RZA, so you know it’s going to be really dark and dirty and really, really good when you’re stoned. This is the third-best rap album this year. If Nas and Biggie didn’t exist, it would get the top spot. BONG-SMOKING GOAT DA BRAT Funkdafied Sony/Chaos This is really empowering and yet troubling at the same time. On the one hand, we have a strong, practically butch woman paralleling the thug style of a male rapper, but from a woman’s perspective—in a sense deconstructing gender assumptions and illustrating feminist theorist Judith Butler’s theory of gender performativity. On the other hand, some might argue that it is not so much a deconstruction as a mere mimesis of the black-male stereotype, already a negative connotation to begin with and a surrender to the opposing and reductive forces of racism. We still have a long way to go to locate and struggle against the site of racial and sexual oppression and to hopefully one day displace hegemonic conventions. A WOMEN’S STUDIES MAJOR		NAS Illmatic Columbia All hail Nasty Nas, best lyricist of 1994, no contest, it’s a wrap, forget it. This is the kind of rap you can play for your English teacher and say, “See, Teach? Rap be poems, yo!” and he might even agree. Yet the sound of Illmatic manages to still be gritty as crushed crack vials under the soles of your Timberlands. Fuck, did that sound like some white-boy shit? I haven’t actually been to the ghetto yet. I did sort of drive over a ghetto, I think, on I-95 near Philly once. But yeah, I’ve never set foot in one. I’m hoping to change that soon. Maybe I can even try some of this crack stuff everyone is talking about. TODD ERICSON THE NOTORIOUS B.I.G. Ready to Die Bad Boy With this and Illmatic held up side by side, we just might see 1994 go down in history as the best year ever for New York rap. Looking at this fucking guy and then hearing the words that come out of him feels kind of weird. Like I expect him to be all wheezing and gasping like a dying fish, but then he brings forth the most perfect, flawless, natural rap delivery since… since forever, actually. I’m going to go ahead and say it: Biggie has the best voice in rap ever, and right now he is second in lyrics only to Nas. I can’t wait to see what this man is doing musically when he’s old and gray. It’s impossible for him to ever fall off. One thing, though: His producer guy needs to shut the fuck up and stick to twiddling knobs. What’s his name? Poofy? Piffy? Puffy? Whatever. Every time he whispers “Bad Boy, baby” while Biggie is in the middle of some amazing rhyme, I just want to puke. Don’t quit your day job, Ploopy. ROYL NEHOC BONE THUGS ~N~HARMONY Creepin on ah Come Up Ruthless/Epic I’m actually loving Bone Thugs’ weird-ass harmonizing-singing-rapping thing. It’s weird as hell, and that’s always good in my book. But rap from Ohio? Come on now. Next thing you know, southerners are going to think they can do this shit too. LUIGI N. COOLIO It Takes a Thief Tommy Boy/Warner Bros. Is there a cornier guy in rap than Coolio? I don’t think there is. Lyrics that say “it don’t matter if you’re white or black” belong in Michael Jackson videos, not on albums supposedly about the day-to-day life of a “gangster” rapper in Compton. If this guy’s going to get any sort of success he needs to ditch the stuff about crime being bad and get back to rapping about killing cops and hating Jews. Didn’t do Ice Cube any harm. XMAS ELF BEASTIE BOYS Ill Communication Grand Royal First of all, I could watch the “Sabotage” video a million times and never ever get sick of it. And second, there are a few too many noodling funk instrumentals on this album, but other than that the Beasties are untouchable—single-handedly making Jewish kids feel cool since ’86, and on behalf of my people, I thank them. What’s up with the weird Buddhist references on a couple of these songs, though? Not really looking to these guys for spiritual enlightenment. Let’s hope it’s just a passing fancy and they get back to shockin’ and rockin’ and not stoppin’ and tick-tockin’ and whatnot. MIXMASTER MORDECHAI

PORTISHEAD Dummy Go! Discs/London People from Bristol smoke more weed than all the Yardies in Brixton. If you want to know what it sounds like in their heads as they hang out in their dingy bedsits, talking about Roswell and whether or not Labour is going to win the next election in the UK (as if), then you should buy this, you total loser. RODDY STAPLE LUSCIOUS JACKSON Natural Ingredients Grand Royal		STEREOLAB Mars Audiac Quintet Elektra Two years ago these guys were putting out crazy, droning hypno-songs with old Situationist cartoons on the sleeves; last year they did a split with the all-time king of dark and heavy shit, Stephen Stapleton of Nurse With Wound; and now they’re apparently writing background music for the type of “vintage clothing” store that sells plastic chairs shaped like a hand. Say what you want about major labels, they’ve still got the best coke connections in town. HOWARD DUPREE
I thought these girls were supposed to be the female Beastie Boys, so what happened? They, like, don’t even rap on this. I liked the In Search of Manny EP, but I can only describe this as Neneh Cherry lite. It’s so light and smooth it could be a yogurt commercial. In fact, I foresee a long and fruitful future full of TV commercials and movie background music for Luscious Jackson. Talk about skills to pay the bills—snap! LI’L MEGGIE SNEED

INTO ANOTHER Ignaurus Revelation Buying this record was like being date-raped. I knew it would suck—the last two sucked—yet when I saw it on the shelf I robotically picked it up and bought it. Such is the hypnotic power that Revelation wields. Like a child molester beckoning from a dark alley, the label touts this kind of poser-rock crap being churned out by its former all-stars as “post-hardcore,” a logical musical and aesthetic progression for a kid who was x-ing up and diving off a stage not even a year ago. But what the fuck does this have to do with Underdog or Bold? It’s four grown men sprinkling glitter on their face and screeching like girls. There’s even a fairy on the cover, for crying out loud. I should have taken that as a warning. WALLY WINDMILLS DEADGUY Work Ethic Blackout If you were bummed to hear that Rorschach broke up, well, get over it, crustoid. The midget guitarist has now teamed up with the weird dude who sang for No Escape (the band on the other side of the Turning Point record, ha) and the result is totally sick brutality that tramples everything else. Some kid I know was trying to tell me the new Cradle of Filth was the craziest thing he ever heard and blah blah blah, but I played him these four songs and he got a haircut a week later. It’s like athlete’s-foot spray but it cures poser-ism! Best hardcore record this year by a mile—nothing I do in life will ever come close to this. JAMEY SHANAHAN GIRLS AGAINST BOYS Cruise Yourself Touch & Go Venus Luxure was a masterpiece, but this one pales in comparison. I guess the band started to believe all those British rock-press reviews about how “sexy” they are and so they’ve really gone to town on that aspect of their shtick. The cover is a close-up of an olive in a martini glass and that tells you all you need to know about how pretentious this is. Like anybody who goes to Girls Against Boys shows drinks anything other than warm beer out of plastic cups. STUART DAMMERS HOLE Live Through This DGC Did Kurt write this? Did Billy Corgan write this? Who gives a shit, because it sucks! It’s also kind of horrifying to think of all the dumb teenage girls wearing moth-eaten wedding dresses cutting themselves to what is essentially the sound of an old nanny goat coughing its guts up over riffs that sound like if Poison wrote their jams in minor key. HORTENCE MANORS SUNNY DAY REAL ESTATE Diary Sub Pop Good grief, if these guys got any more emo-core they’d have to start wearing eyeliner and dying their hair black. What the fuck happened to this kind of music to have it sound so pansy? Rites of Spring, bitch! The one consoling factor about this total crock of shit is that it’s so whiny and lame, the whole genre of emo is finally going to die because it can never get as lily-livered as this. Also, they should change their name to Mommy I Just Peed the Bed. LYNVAL KAMACHO GREEN DAY Dookie Geffen Enjoy the brief spell in the bullshit MTV limelight while you can, guys, because once you alienate your fan base by selling out to fucking Geffen there’s only so long you’re gonna last. I give it one more album before they’re dropped and begging to be let back on Lookout! By the way, I can’t even believe these guys got signed and Crimpshrine didn’t. Who’s next? Operation Ivy? NEVILLE PANTER UNWOUND New Plastic Ideas Kill Rock Stars The important thing to remember about Unwound is that they are not from Olympia. They are from Tumwater, which is right near Olympia. Have you been to Tumwater? It’s kind of weird and depressing. It isn’t majestic and beautiful and heavy. Unwound is sometimes weird and sometimes depressing but always majestic and beautiful and heavy, even (especially) when doing a seven-minute instrumental song. It sounds like a mess at first and then you hear that there’s a guitar melody and it’s like, oh wow, a melody. And then you hear that there’s a bass melody too and you go, whoa, a fucking bass melody! And then one day you realize that Sara Lund is the craziest, most nuanced and powerful punk drummer maybe ever and you go, holy shit, Unwound is my favorite band. New Plastic Ideas is their second record and it’s sort of grimmer and darker and harder than last year’s Fake Train, which was kind of grim too but also, I don’t know, “shimmery” or something. I know that sounds gay. Fuck you. Anyway, both their records rule and I hope they never break up. MATT JOHNS DRIVE LIKE JEHU Yank Crime Interscope Unlike some other “What were they thinking?” decisions made by major-label converts (Boredoms, Ween), Drive Like Jehu have now done their best work for a major—an album that delivers a degree of talent, inspiration, sonic relevance, and emotion previously unheard in hardcore, post-hardcore, or indie rock. At a time when shouty vocals by grown men is the hardest thing to pull off without seeming contrived, Rick Froberg’s screams are believably cathartic on top of Jehu’s mind-blowing instrumental interpretation of prog rock married to hardcore. ANDREW EARLES SICK OF IT ALL Scratch the Surface EastWest Everyone is talking about how SOIA sold out because this record is on a major label and they made a video that sometimes gets shown on Headbangers Ball. But does this sound like Weezer? No. Does it resemble Hootie and the Blowfish? Not fucking quite. That crap is designed and proved to constrict brain activity and keep kids docile and polite. Scratch the Surface, however, is an album that can never serve as background music for your frat party or family road trip—it takes no prisoners and makes no apologies. Slightly more overcooked in the studio than the classic Blood, Sweat and No Tears LP, sure—but when it’s reality vs. fantasy, the lines are clearly drawn and no one should have any doubt about where this band stands. DICK BREAKER WESTON A Real Life Story of Teenage Rebellion Gern Blandsten Somehow these guys wound up getting added on to a show I was at last week in this girl’s basement. I guess they were on tour from Wilkes-Barre or some similar hellhole and they had no place to play that day. But whatever, I pretty much watched them because they looked so pathetic I kind of felt bad. Most awkward dudes ever, dressed like retards, and their equipment was literally falling apart. But seriously? Best fucking show. My first time seeing a band I have never heard before and then driving home with their songs stuck in my head. Buy this record and file it right between your Descendents and Doc Hopper LPs, because a) that’s where it belongs and b) paying attention to the alphabet is not punk. FRANK RIZZO PAVEMENT Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain Matador Best record of 1994 so far. ’Nuff said. DICK SIMON SHELLAC At Action Park Touch & Go Shellac is Steve Albini with Bob Weston (Volcano Suns) on bass and Todd Trainer (Brick Layer Cake, Rifle Sport) on drums. Their collaboration is more organic, less claustrophobic, and friendlier to melody than Albini’s last band, Rapeman. How his guitar playing got scratchier AND catchier at the same time is the only hat trick here. Everything else seems to make good business and creative sense, including fewer instances of “Let me clarify that the band is named after a Japanese comic-book character” heard fumbling out of college DJs’ mouths or repeated eight times by the poor sap whose girlfriend beat him to the “R” section. ANDREW EARLES SEBADOH Bakesale Sub Pop Two or three albums ago, some might have been incredulous at the idea of Sebadoh eventually settling into entire albums of scrappy or turned-inside-out pop songs with massive hooks along with the occasional “challenging” number courtesy of a member other than Lou Barlow. In fact, the jelly-legged but absurdly loud Melvins/AmRep thud-pop of 1990’s Smash Your Head on the Punk Rock would sound ridiculous on this record, but whatever drove Sebadoh to write the handful of upbeat and simplistic power-pop-by-way-of-indie-rock songs on Bubble and Scrape has infected and dominated Bakesale. Awful cover, though. ANDREW EARLES GUIDED BY VOICES Bee Thousand Scat I thought this was just a bunch of aging REM fags from Ohio until I watched them power through 40 songs and three or four cases of beer in the space of maybe an hour. Imagine your drunkest male relation slurring his way through the Who’s greatest hits at karaoke night and remembering approximately none of it. Kind of hard to re-create the live experience on record, but if you can make your stereo shotgun a couple tallboys and run the output line through a high-end lyric forgetter, the album comes pretty close. BOBBY SPORTSY

STRIFE One Truth Victory If the new wave of straightedge bands is epitomized by Strife, then get me a candy necklace and give me a ride to the nearest rave. Apparently Strife took a running leap at the chasm between metal and hardcore, sadly plummeting to their deaths far out of reach of either one. One Truth also features 75 percent more gang vocals than your average Biohazard song and ends with a fantastically hideous acoustic jam so absurd that its sheer awfulness is its only link to the rest of the album. Imagine a pile of dogshit in the shape of a question mark and you pretty much have the idea. SPIN-KICK STEVE SLAYER Divine Intervention American Slayer without Dave Lombardo is like a Batman movie without Michael Keaton. It will never work. This band is over. DANIEL KETCH BIOHAZARD State of the World Address Warner Brothers Still riding an endorphin high from last year’s Judgment Night soundtrack, Biohazard seem dedicated full-time to legitimizing white dudes moshing to rap music. Previously only hinted at by the Anthrax/Public Enemy collaboration and Onyx “Slam” video, wigger-ism is now a full-fledged movement transforming white suburban guidos into Ebonics-speaking, tribal-tattoo-having, goatee-wearing Road Warrior extras who cascade violently against one another as part of a live studio audience. Next time you go to a hardcore show and a dude in a Bad Boy Club muscle shirt elbows you in the face and calls you a faggot, remember you have Biohazard to thank! SERGEI KRAVINOFF NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS Let Love In Mute I watched Nick Cave at Lollapalooza just to kill time before the Beastie Boys went on. His thing was kind of cool, and he was doing this whole gospel-preacher bit that the local goth chicks seemed to dig. I forgot about him after that, but I then liked the song from the Dumb and Dumber soundtrack so much that I figured I would give the album a shot. Cut to me sitting in my dad’s Mazda RX-7 in the Friendly’s parking lot blasting “Loverman,” and guess what? Those same goths walk up to my car and start talking to me like I’m down with them all of a sudden because of what I’m listening to. So I figure, fuck it, if it can get me laid I will buy every album this dude makes, you know? CONNER OBERST OASIS Definitely Maybe Creation These guys are like the heavy-metal Stone Roses or the sex Beatles. It sounds amazing when you’re off your tits on gin and tonics and cocaine at four in the morning. Is it just me or is literally everybody you know doing cocaine these days? ADRIAN MOLE UNSANE Total Destruction Atlantic Unsane replacing the sadly departed Charlie Ondras with the guy from Foetus… or Swans, or Live Skull, or Cop Shoot Cop, or wherever the hell he came from… is not nearly as bizarre as the idea of this band being contracted to make what is essentially a major-label record. Now consider that Total Destruction somehow increases the band’s off-the-charts creep-out potential by mixing in some unknown strain of weird, bastardized blues metal, not to mention Chris Spencer’s vocals going from the previous seagull-dying-in-a-hurricane to a new and thoroughly disturbing seagull-dying-outside-your-window effect. ANDREW EARLES JAWBREAKER 24 Hour Revenge Therapy Blackball I guess I am going to piss off the Berkeley crusties here but I’m glad that Jawbreaker keep using cleaner production. It means you can hear how super-duper catchy and hooky and radical the songs are. What do you want, every track to be covered in a shiny glaze of malt liquor, hand-rolled-cigarette ash, and freight-train axle grease? Come on. All you punks need to lighten up and take the ride. Jawbreaker are making better and better music every year and this album is their best so far. Maybe it will end up being their best ever. DANNY WOODS NEGLECT End It! We Bite I don’t understand how Neglect can make yet another record advocating suicide, since you would think the first one would do the trick and they would all follow through and blow their own brains out. Still, I’m glad they hung in there for another stab at it because this is some of the most hateful and misanthropic metal-core since Carnivore broke up and Life of Agony turned into “alternative” fruitcakes. If you go to Long Island and catch a Neglect show you will most likely not witness a suicide; however, you can observe the gradual chipping away at the soul and sanity of an otherwise placid suburban locale. Factor in the Busy Bee Mall and you’ll see the future is bleaker than you think. EDDIE REYES BOUNCING SOULS The Good, the Bad, and the Argyle Chunksaah Two years ago this band was basically a Red Hot Chili Peppers tribute act. Then out of nowhere they quit funking around and came out of the closet as real-life punk rockers, which was only surprising because they were so awesome at it. This CD contains the first two seven-inches from this new and improved incarnation of the Bouncing Souls, and every track is a melodic punk anthem that will compel even the angriest skinhead to hug-pogo a dreadlocked crusty. Full disclosure: I can’t afford a CD player yet so I don’t actually own this, but if you track down the original Argyle seven-inch it comes with a free patch. Hell yeah! JOHN WISDOM SOUNDGARDEN Superunknown A&M Yuck, I hate Soundgarden. Though—I can’t believe I’m going to admit this—I did kind of love that “Hunger Strike” song that Chris Cornell sang with Eddie Vedder a few years back. That’s a big ol’ guilty pleasure for me. I can’t wait until like 15 years from now when it’ll be retro and I can like it again, “ironically.” KELLY AMNER BRATMOBILE The Real Janelle Kill Rock Stars Pottymouth was way better, but this is still way awesome. I guess the only shortfall is that this time the songwriting comes off as deliberately juvenile as opposed to the first album, which is far more endearing due to its innocent, cute, and clumsy spontaneity. Despite this, zero bad songs here plus a Misfits cover—a cool surprise, especially from a Riot Grrrl band. Not sure where these ladies can go from here since this is not a style that lends itself well to “maturity” as such, but I’m definitely curious. They are playing this weekend at Thread Waxing Space with Blonde Redhead too—totally psyched, can’t wait! LI’L SASSY CUPCAKES WEEZER S/T Geffen I fucking hate myself for liking this. The fake-power-pop-nerd shtick, the obvious industry connections, ripping off the Feelies’ album cover, the fake-Beach-Boys-harmony gimmick, keeping Spike Jonze from making videos for better bands, that retarded sweater song, and the fact that they actually call it “The Sweater Song.” Honestly, I’ve got no defense here. I don’t know what’s happening, guys. I’m really sorry. JOEY GOLFREY JON SPENCER BLUES EXPLOSION Orange Matador Hooooly shit, is this band hot. It’s like, ugh. I mean, Extra Width was great, but somehow they made this album sound, like, I don’t know, BIGGER. It’s like Jon Spencer is yelling “Motherfucker!!” right into my very soul. And the drums… what the fuck, man. It’s huge. Listen to “Full Grown” and tell me I’m crazy. You can’t. You cannot tell me I’m crazy. That song is fucking filthy AND it has a theremin. This band works me up into such a tizzy I’m basically just panting at this point. Jon Spencer is sex on a stick. SHELLY BEAN DINOSAUR JR. Without a Sound Sire Without a Sound is what happens when J Mascis tries to write album No. 6 with his eggs thoroughly scrambled from a really bad year. Not only did the horrible experience of playing Lollapolooza ’93 send longtime drummer Murph packing, a much more devastating loss occurred when Mascis’s father passed away before writing was to commence on Without a Sound. Sure, the good-to-great Green Mind was followed by the “whelming” Where You Been, but whereas the latter sounds like an effort to be good, Without a Sound is phoned-in out of necessity and suffers greatly for it. ANDREW EARLES SLANT 6 Soda Pop*Rip Off Dischord This band is ruling DC right now. I guess they’re considered part of the Riot Grrrl scene, but they don’t sing about rape and they’re very deadpan, almost new-wavey. I saw them play at Thread Waxing Space recently and they were cold as ice. I didn’t see them smile once. It was awesome. MARJORY SHINGLES

MORRISSEY Vauxhall and I Parlophone With the release of his fourth album, Moz has hit the pinnacle of his career and the peak of his fame. The fact that “The More You Ignore Me, the Closer I Get” is No. 46 on the Billboard Top 100, right between “Linger” by the Cranberries and “Whoomp! (There It Is),” is just plain crazy. Morrissey is for freaks and outcasts, not mainstream America! Well, it doesn’t even matter, though, because in a recent interview, Morrissey stated that this is the last album he will ever make. He’s retiring. So soak it up, nerds, because you shan’t be hearing from him again. SANDY SHAWL SILVER JEWS Starlite Walker Drag City Look, I can appreciate the “rock ’n’ roll lifestyle” as much as the next guy, but putting scotch and penicillin on top of 50,000 beers is a recipe for craziness. JEFF DENSE THAT DOG S/T DGC Oh good, another sub-Muffs-level vanity project from some record producer’s rich daughter being marketed as “Riot Grrrl” to distract me from things I should actually be mad about. Thanks, establishment! Oooh, and they don’t capitalize their name. Take that, establishment! At least we’ll all have a chuckle five years from now when they’re playing “Dayenu” on the Chabad Passover telethon with Harry Dean Stanton and Bob Dylan’s son. BILLY MANTOOTH TORI AMOS Under the Pink Atlantic		JEFF BUCKLEY Grace Columbia This helps you get laid like you wouldn’t believe. I have literally hooked up with three different girls this month after copying this CD onto tape for them. Personally it doesn’t make me want to jump into a river with excitement or anything, but as far as my sex life goes, this guy has proved to be pure musical Rohypnol. PS: Mazzy Star also works. NIGEL THORNDYKE RODAN Rusty Quarterstick Ever have one of those nights down by the old railway trestle where the hurting just builds and builds until it all comes gushing out in a 15-minute-long, mixed-tempo flood of whiny, college-educated anguish? No? OK, good, me neither. I was just starting to get worried with all these terminally morose Kentuckian motherfuckers cropping up everywhere. Let a smile be your umbrella, y’all. THOMAS POORISH HELIUM Pirate Prude Matador This is the new band of Mary Timony, formerly of Autoclave, and wow, you know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything quite like it. What a weird yet likable voice she has—husky and high and monotone at the same time. She kind of sounds sleepy. Unlike Veruca Salt or that dog., who are too cutesy-girly for their own good, Helium is the perfect combo of girlness and feedbacky guitar awesomeness. She sings about fairies and kitties and vampires and she jokes about killing men all in the same breath and somehow it works. Between the vivid lyrics and the impressive guitar stylings, I feel like Helium could shape up to be a kind of Pavement for girls. Here’s hoping! LOUISE PARKER
My girlfriend listens to stuff like this and I usually try to tune it out and play Mortal Kombat 2 until it’s over. But the other day I couldn’t get the Sega to work and without any other sensory input my brain started to sync with this record, and I honestly have to say I really liked that “Cornflake Girl” song, plus the other one where she’s like “oooh-hooo” and “God something something.” You may say that makes me a fag, but my girlfriend says that when Tori plays live she gyrates on the bench like she’s getting herself off and stuff. So if liking that is gay, put a cock in my ass and call me Tom Hanks. JEAN-PAUL BEAUBIER

FLY ASHTRAY Tone Sensations of the Wondermen Shimmy Disc Tone Sensations blindsides with a previously unheard style of high-grade, believably weird noise pop that puts the Thinking Fellers’ Strangers of the Universe on the backburner. Letting this band or its masterpiece slip into irreversible obscurity would be a gross misjudgment and a whispered hint that mediocrity has won. ANDREW EARLES WEEN Chocolate and Cheese Elektra A polarizing band if there ever was one, Ween nonetheless deserve some respect for their continued use of big-label money to create what 95 percent of the population would hear as a complete head-fuck. Chocolate and Cheese is a Ween record, and that’s all some readers need to know. It’s no more commercial or normal than Pure Guava, and since I fall into the “pro-Ween” category, I would go so far as to say that Chocolate and Cheese skips backward over Pure Guava and approaches the greatness of The Pod. “Approaches”... I wrote “approaches.” ANDREW EARLES VARIOUS ARTISTS Pulp Fiction (Music from the Motion Picture) Geffen		SONIC YOUTH Experimental Jet Set, Trash and No Star DGC This is OK. Definitely not the best SY record ever, but I’m kind of more into Free Kitten these days anyway. Fun fact: I read that if you turn this album up real loud, you can hear Sister in its entirety underneath it. Unfortunately I can’t get my portable dual-cassette/CD boom box to go up high enough, so can someone please confirm this for me? SOPHIA COBBLER BECK Mellow Gold DGC Don’t hate on “Loser,” you fucking poser. It’s the catchiest song of the year and you know you love it. Of the three albums this little go-getter has put out in the past year, I much prefer all the weird shit on Stereopathetic Soulmanure (I’ve been putting “Satan Gave Me a Taco” on every mixtape I’ve made this year), but Mellow Gold is pretty good too, especially for a major label. Did you see him on 120 Minutes with Thurston Moore? Thurston asked him if his real name was Beck and in response he took off his shoe and sort of gently lobbed it across the room. Then the two of them executed the most spazzy high five in the history of high fives. C’mon, he’s a kook. People keep saying he’s a flash in the pan, and who knows? Just soak up the weirdness while you can. TOM FJORD

I’m a punk and punks don’t like Kool & the Gang, Urge Overkill, Al Green, or Ricky Nelson. But we do like surf music like the Revels, Dick Dale, the Tornados, and the Lively Ones. So you can see how I’m torn here. Is there any way to buy half a record? I wish we could just go through and somehow buy the tracks we liked from a record and not pay for the tracks we don’t like. I would even pay as much as 99 cents per track if there were a way for that to happen. Get on it, music-biz fat cats! A. MOON

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