Part 2698: We’ve just rolled into fall of aught-five, and on the 24^th it actually had a tinge of it in the air. Bringing the 42.6 of you up to date, the roofer returned for the eighth time in August and did some more "dirty" fixes, a.k.a. squirted more caulking about. And since then I haven’t seen any sign of more water coming down. Hallelujah!!! Made the big decision of who to hire replace all my windows – this winter I’m aiming to keep the frost on the outside where it belongs. Of course they took a big heap of money and then two weeks later sent a postcard – a *#@%^$ postcard – to inform me their behind schedule. And as my 6.2 acquaintances will tell you, I’ve done almost nothing to clean up the Game Room (what in others’ homes would be considered the living room) since I dumped all kinds of crap in heaping piles when I moved in two years ago.

Once I was finally finished with issue 5, part b, and finished all the mailings I went off on a week’s holiday, a.k.a. my double quadrennial trip to Scotland. Since I last roamed the streets of Glasgow they’ve been hit with some kind of neutron bomb that has wiped out every drop of God’s Finest Nectar, a.k.a. McEwan’s 80 /-, in that town and only left behind Tennent piss water. (I wouldn’t serve that crap to a cat, and I hate cats.) I must have traipsed through three dozen or more pubs and not found a single tap of G.F.N. On the one day I visited over in Edinburgh I did get to prove that it all wasn’t just another whopping delusion of mine and had one beautiful pint of G.F.N.

I am more than aware of what has gone on down on the Gulf Coast and other regions while I’ve been wallowing in my petty miseries.

With #5 now out of here, a few weeks break from thinking about it, and my little holiday, I’m feeling slightly enthused about getting into this one. But the odds are still 60/40 that this is the last "bastard offspring."

Part 2703: HMV UK’s web site announces that in October they’re killing off the 99p singles and quadrupling their shipping charges to the U.S. of A. Lots of anger ensues, but eventually the withdrawal symptoms ease up. Seems no one else is selling the 99p singles on the web either. A month or so later I figure keeping hold of my money might be a good thing.

Part 2708: They waited until winter had set in when having no windows all day means heating the great outdoors, before the installers finally showed up – after rescheduling three or four times. Watching windows being replaced is a bit liking watching sausage being made. It wasn’t a pretty sight but so far the slapped together stuff actually looks halfway decent. Can’t tell if it’s made any difference in my heating costs, what with this wacky winter we’ve been having in the Mid-Atlantic and the screwed up billing from last year.

Part 2712: Survived the holidays; didn’t do crap on this thing. Re-wired my pile of video junk and can now watch DVDs without rewiring the whole mess every time. Thus spent a bit of time working my way through some of the pile that’s accumulated: I’m four seasons behind on my Simpsons.

Part 2715: Made my second annual trip down to Chattanooga in the second week of the New Year. Hit the big rainstorm around Downingtown and the worst blinding fog I’ve ever been in as we sped down through Virginia. The next day though was gorgeous: sunny and 66. After getting settled into the usual, miserable Red Roof Inn we worked our way down to the brew pub downtown for some lovely pints and the one good meal I know I was going to have for the next three days. Then the gaming began. I was confronted by a whole slew of new 18xx editions and didn’t win a single game.

Part 2717: Even with the above it was very good time. And I returned to the hermitage in the best mood I’d had in months. Miraculously, it lasted a whole week more. So I finally forced myself to confront this issue, once again.

Part 2932: And then it was Summer solstice ‘06 – and once again no Stonehenge and Hawkwind. We actually had a real Spring for the first time in recent memory, almost six weeks of it, then after a week and a half of premature Summer we got another week and a half. It gave me impetus to finally open up the valve of my shower/tub to find the cause of, hopefully, my last remaining leak in the bathroom. It didn’t look anything like what the book said it should. It was all hard tubing so I had to get a plumber in and there went another $375, and ¼ of my water pressure, which was never great to begin with, but I think that’s the last puddle maker. Though I must be having olfactory delusions because I keep smelling water but can’t see any laying about.

Part 2935: Just when you think all is dry… Our week of constant spats of rain decided to increase to monsoon proportions early in the morning a week before the 4^th. Thus at 3:30 A.M I am woken up by the sound of water drops hitting the floor, in the hallway outside my bedroom door. This time it’s the upper roof. So now the misery of dealing with roofers start all over again.

Part 2958: Hired a different roofer who patched one gutter line and put a new silvercoat down, which probably should have been done at least a year ago, but I can only concentrate on one thing at a time. Another month and a half goes by and another monsoon strikes at 2:00 one morning. And once again I’m woken up by the drip, drip, drip of water hitting the floor and somewhere inside the walls. And every other day as it rains some more, marching into September, water continues to come in. So I get out the drill and saw and knife and start hacking at more walls. (My bathroom now has more holes than Pebble Beach.) And find I’m back being tortured by my lower roof. I’ve got one idea left, and if that doesn’t work I shoot the old roofer. And I don’t even want to get into the water fun that came in-between. No matter what anyone ever tells you about building up "equity" and "throwing your money away" on an apartment, don’t do it. Don’t buy that house!!!

The Final Public Part: As you’ll notice everything here is older than a crushed down toothpaste tube. It’s been a year since the last issue came out and by the time this gets edited (yes, there is some attempt at keeping me coherent by others), printed and distributed, many more moons will have gone by, making this, probably, Bird Day as you sit there on the throne rolling your eyes. You can kill some of the time needed by imagining the stiletto I’ll be repeatedly driving through this thing as the "bastard offspring" is finally put out of my misery.

ADDRESSES: Absolute Kosher, 1412 10^th St., Berkley, CA94710 /At Large, 43 Brook Green, London, W6 7EF, UK / Aufgeladen und Bereit, Daimlerstr. 68, Hamburg 22761, Germany / Dead Beat, PO Box 283, Los Angeles, CA 90078/ Get Hip, PO Box 666, Canonsburg, PA 15317/ www.highjackrecords.com / Kill Rock Stars, 120 NE State Ave., PMB #418, Olympia, WA 98501 / Laughing Outlaw, 8 Victoria St., Lewisham, NSW 2049, Australia / L’Age D’Or, PO Box 500403, Hamburg 22704, Germany / www.marchrecords.com / www.munster-records.com / NDN, PO Box 131471, The Woodlands, Texas 77393 / Parasol-Hidden Agenda-Bird Song, 303 W. Griggs St., Urbana, IL 61801 / Rainbow Quartz, 30 W. 63^rd St., #32N, New York, NY 10023 / www.revola.com / Sundazed, PO Box 85, Coxsackie, NY 12051 / http://us.v2music.com

HIGH DIALS War Of The Wakening Phantoms (Rainbow Quartz)

The ever shifting, shape changing wonders of Montreal tighten up the slack of New Direction by recapturing some of the Datsons’ neo-Mod DNA. With the constant reverb veneer and many guitar efx’s it shifts their place on our timeline to the mid-90s christening of Brit-Pop. But what elevates them above that crowd is a forceful rhythm section, (the now departed) Robb Surridge and Rishi Dhir, that pushes, prods and paces each song through to the end -- helped out with some understated mixing of the snare -- and the cohesion and fluidity of Trevor Anderson’s songwriting, not to mention their secret weapon, Dhir’s electric sitar, used judiciously.

A shining example of this is "Our Time Is Coming Soon." A rocker that opens with pounding beats and pulsing bass, thrashing chords and after 15 seconds of intro comes Anderson’s lilting, airy lead vocal closely supported by a second voice in harmony. The second segment – they don’t sound like verses and choruses as much as two choruses woven together – shifts down slightly in pace to a cadence beaten out on the drums that is accompanied by a ping-ponging of two high, syllabic backing vocals while Anderson’s vocal becomes a bit more throaty and similar to Mr. Weller circa All Mod Cons. At the quarter mark it shifts back into the first segment but instead of a human voice a lyrical sitar steps up to the front. At about the middle of the segment Anderson and company’s voices replace the sitar. Another shift into segment two, then just past halfway things drop down even more to a martial snare beat, pulsing bass notes and a hushed vocal. Things build back up from there with guitar slashes interspersed with a cascading keyboard appearing at the three-quarter mark. Then two different Anderson vocal phrases become overlapping and as the music continues to speed up and approach cacophony they get shortened to single words before the instruments totally takeover. The crescendo ends in a quick drum roll and a heaping climax. The song lasts for over five minutes, and we all know how my eyes roll at that. But all the shifting, weaving and acceleration makes the tune seem shorter than some three-minute ones I know.

Another rocker, sharply focused and riff-o-rama’d yet sprinkled with jangle is "Sick With The Old Fire." Overlaid with a high, haunting organ, Anderson’s vocals mostly stay in a hushed, breathy manner, resembling the most delicate moments of figurehead Ray Davies.

But the middle run of "Master The Clouds" through "Higher And Brighter" is the key segment of the album: a batch of varying, mid-tempo numbers with Anderson at his gentlest. The first is an extended, loping, Beatlesque marked by Robbie MacArthur’s echoey, vibrato’d guitar and overlapping backing vocals. "The Last Explorer" is a chiming ballad that opens with an acoustic guitar touched by a delay efx which is deployed in various ways throughout helping to create, along with a similar rhythm, a teasing memory of "Across The Universe." "The Drum" is an acoustic ditty led by a mixture of acoustic and electric guitars, a plinking banjo and brushed drums. The vocals are rawer here giving the tune a …Big Pink flavor which peaks in the bridge as a higher harmony vocal enters. More upbeat is "A River Haunting" which brings back the reverb, adds keyboards coatings and more of that British shimmer. The vocals are airy with a light harmony present. It brings to mind the Field Mice with a subtle rhythm section and a particularly lilting melody. But then at about the two-fifths mark it goes into an extended instrumental coda: first with picking acoustic guitar and electric piano, then in comes the bass along with fingersnaps accompaniment moving it in a Soulful direction, then a slowly building martial snare drum makes it self known until it all comes together in a modified verse reprise with a sax stepping in for the vocal as it runs into the fadeout. The last named tune of this segment has the same kind of vocal over a light, sprightly, pulsing, Feelies style rhythm with just a hint of the Kinks’ "Victoria" dropped in. But Anderson opens wide for the choruses releasing his inner Bob Pollard. Then MacArthur steps out front for the first half of the second verse with some sweet guitar leads. Anderson finishes it up, rides through another chorus and then smoothly extends it into a yearning, longing bridge from which the band canters the last 30 seconds out. The whole 2’45" is a true delight.

The album runs a hair over 60 minutes and purrs pretty well until the end. First there’s the eight-minute, plus, "Your Eyes Are a Door" with it’s digital beats, extra helping of reverb and redundancy. Its main saving grace is its sweet, Santo & Johnny guitar parts. And then the ending "Dust In The Sun" which layers various efx over its acoustic guitar voice base and lives up to its lyric by not doing more than chasing its tail.

QUARTER AFTER The Quarter After (Bird Song)

This is another combo that likes to indulge themselves a bit, with tracks that clock in at seven, nine and twelve minutes and only four out of ten at under four. Which is probably why, along with the its battery of efx, a mutual friend out west was surprised when I told him I liked this album. Led by the brothers Campanella, Robert and Dominic, with a rhythm section of David Koenig (bass) and Nelson Bragg (drums), all of them seem to have been intimately involved in the internecine L.A., fringe Pop-Rock scene of recent years (from various Rademaker brothers’ projects to Stew to Brian Jonestown Massacree to any number of I.P.O. type bands).

The sound is decidedly Byrdsian, with various chiming guitars amongst the efx, the Campanellas’ airy and dulcet voices, a seeming amalgamation of Clark, Crosby and McGuinn both individually and in harmony -- mucho harmonies -- and the lilting melodies. In the leadoff cut, the peppy "So Far To Fall," you can even spot flecks of "Why" winking in the distance. At least that is all true for most of the putative Side 1. On through the wah-wah/vibrato guitar driven "Your Side Is Mine," the bongo touched "Always Returning" with its rotating singular vocal and harmonized verses and its call-and-response constructed choruses, the mid-tempo lament "A Parting" featuring a trio of female backing vocalists and a keening lead guitar, and the first three minutes of the gauzy, alternating charging and delicate "Too Much To Think About" (after which, for the remaining nine, or so, minutes it concentrates on groove, sound and mood with the help of Mr. Massacree himself, Anton Newcombe, tinkering around with an Echoplex and snatches of whispers courtesy of Campanella père). Up to that point they’re all coruscating nuggets, semi-familiar and enchanting.

For most of the remaining that deflection does battle with their interest in melody. "Know Me When I’m Gone" is an elongated, rolling number, strewn with a liquid guitar. "Taken" is a brisk rocker whose first three minutes, along with the preceding, ringing "One Trip Later," melds in the intermediary point of Chronic Town era R.E.M., but for the next five, or so, minutes goes on a runout at varying tempos and densities, before finding the song again for the closing minute. Back a bit there is the atypical "Mirror To You" with it’s close harmony singing, acoustic guitar, understated pedal steel (courtesy of All Night Radio’s Dave Scher) and cantering, Countryish rhythm. The record ends where it started with the succulent, overt Byrdsian "Everything Again."

LEN PRICE 3 Chinese Burn (Laughing Outlaw)

A shiny new link in the chain that that is the Medway Sound. Rumored to be named in homage to Eric Goulden’s (a.k.a. Wreckless Eric) brief, honorary citizenship via the Len Bright Combo. This is a trio of guys who have kicked around the Delta for awhile. Their sound is a good bit sweeter than the Billy Childish lineage (though recorded in de rigueur mono), a bit scruffier than the Dentists (at the other end of the Medway spectum), which places them closest to Mr. Childish’s long time associate Bruce Brand’s late lamented (at least here at the hermitage) Kravin’ "A"s. Extra credit comes in the guise of 15 songs in a very succinct 30 minutes, and every one a saucy, ripping number.

The album leads off with their debut single, and raving stomp, "Christian In The Desert." It opens with a classic, thick Dave Davies riff that leads into your basic Medway lead vocal which gets sun kissed by stacked, backing vocals. It has a finely meshed 10 second pounding instrumental break with a barely hear it before its gone guitar solo and then a tom filled, bass undercoated, hushed vocal bridge for another 10 seconds before it barrels through to the end. The one cover finds them at their most Childish, a cut to the bone version of Link Wray’s "Comanche!"

The title track is an over-clocked slice of ‘78 Power-Pop, inlayed with sweeping harmonies and smash mouth drumming. "The Last Hotel" is a reverb filled, janglefest: a powdered sugar covered melody dripping with harmonies, capped magnificently with a preternatural, ‘65 Who inspired break. "Amsterdam," the tale of a sleazy trip to said city with a sound ripped right from 1980’s re-imagining of Swinging London and Ed Ball’s [Times] head.

There are two songs with hometown roots: "Chatham Town Spawns Devils" and "Medway Eye." The former is a full-on rocker with chugging riffs and a euphonious chorus. For local color it name checks terminally insane Victorian painter Richard Dadd. The latter number matches this one’s pace, while lifting a bit of "Psychotic Reaction" for its verses to create a fine slice of Freakbeat. Equally impressive is "Shirley Crabtree," an under one-and-a-half minute tale of an early ‘70s UK professional wrestler. All shimmy and shake with both some Beach Boys’ style and pre-Oi chanting backing vocals folded in.

The damn thing is just Prime, Grade A, Rock and Roll. Some have come close but I can’t think of one album with more thrills in the last year. It sucks that it took eight months for me to get my grubby hands on it after it’s release, and how easily I could have remained ignorant even of its existence for years.

MAINLINERS Bring On The Sweetlife (Get Hip)

One that has tried is this bunch from Sweden and their debut album, though not as succinctly. It’s part of another chain, the Swedish Garage-Rock one that stretches back to the early ‘8os and the Nomads, Backdoor Men thru the early Sinners and all their brethren on up to seeming onetime ghetto escapee flashes (at least here in the U.S. of A.) the Hives and Caesars.

The title track is a yearning, pleading, white boy R&B number. It buzzes and stomps and gets down on its James Brown’s knees. "Daughter Of Dimes" contrasts Robert Billing’s shredded, guttural vocal with flashes of a crystalline jangle of guitars, Stride-ish piano, layer of handclaps, gang/choral backing vocals all over a tight, pulsing rhythm. The number rises and falls, washing across you and burying you down so far that you never want to come up for air. In place of the proverbial kitchen sink they throw in a slash of a Chris Speddingesque Chuck Berry style electric guitar solo.

I mentioned the Sinners before because Mr. Billing, on certain songs, eerily resembles Sven Kohler’s intonation and color. No more so than on the marching, taut, mid-tempo rocker "The Lonely One." The guitar solo in the break casually weaves some magic while the rhythm section continues furrowing its trim groove.

"Ordinary Night" is a keening rocker with a touch of shimmer in the mode of early Mighty Lemon Drops or very early U2 (we’re talking first four 7"s). It’s given heft from pounding toms under the counterpoint guitars and some coloring percussion – various shakers and tambourine -- for propulsion all while Billing wails and whoops like he stepped out of a Pebbles comp. The following number, "Losin’ My Mind," is an early ‘70s, Stonesish ballad. It rides a simple beat with Billings’ pleadings riding the space between the low, rumbling bass and the high, peeling guitars. The album closes on the sweeping "Try To Bring Us Down." That number opens with an extended snare roll and distant guitars, once the drummer shifts to thwompin’, the bass rumbles in, the guitars shift to the foreground and they all march together with the force of an F2 tornado. Upon the entrance of the vocal the winds ease up and the guitars shimmer and liquefy. Slowly everything builds back up till the chorus blows it out. Rinse and repeat. The bridge answers Billings screams of the title phrase with just snare, that distant guitar figure topped by intermittent electric guitar strums twined to a bass note and a bit of prose. At the end lays a tightly focused escalation, a propulsive percussive shaker and a cleaner vocal repeating "We can on and on" and as it tops out with Billings back to his shreddedness the gang enters with backing vocals riding along to the end.

PETER BJORN AND JOHN Falling Out (Hidden Agenda)

Sweden’s Indie-Rock answer to Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich, without a Blaikley and Howard? A new datum on the vector that intersects mid-period Squeeze, Aztec Camera, Prefab Sprout and Miracle Mile?

I first met Bjorn Yttling -- bass player, owner of an armada of keyboards, songwriting contributor and producer of this outfit – right after the turn of the year into 2003 in Tuffnel Park in North London while on a brief trip with former THE BOB publisher, Greg Beaudoin. Bjorn was playing with one of the various other Swedish bands he provides keyboard-player-for-hire services to, in this case the Caesars. We chatted about this, that and the other Swedes I used to know but never hear from anymore, whom, of course, he really didn’t know. I handed him the current "bastard offspring" and he said "I play in this other band can I send you some stuff." I said "sure." (You know me, a man of few words.) That was the last I heard from him. Over two and half years go by and we meet again, on the occasion of another Caesars show, this time here in Philly, though ultimately aborted at the last moment. Of course, he has no memory of our previous encounter. (You would think that with all the multitudes that have cut off contact with me after they’ve met me in person that it would be a more memorable event, at least like seeing a car crash or the devil or something.)

In the meantime the good people at Parasol picked up this album for US release and I finally get to hear some of what never arrived. And it turns out that it is full of savory Indie-Pop tunes, some giddy, some forlorn, all marked with a certain 1980s Britishness that has been a trademark of a long line of Swedes (see the entire catalogs of the Snap and Soap labels). The sound of the record is a raw variegation of Indie imaginings of things like ‘60s Gold Star recordings (except for the final number, which I’ll get to later). Lead vocalist, and guitarist, Peter Morén has a strong, throaty, slightly raspy voice, familiar sounding along certain axes. In the opening cut, a jaunty mid-tempo rocker called "Far Away, By My Side," it rolls from a solid -- though a bit reverb drenched -- lilt through to a pealing, succulent falsetto. Meanwhile percussionist John Eriksson intertwines his kit and a tambourine with some programmed beats, countering the annoying regularity of just plain programmed drums yet maintains a constant force in order to keep the song marching along.

"It Beats Me Every Time" is a moody yet propulsive number strung with a liquid guitar that perks up in the chorus as the vocals rise in a yearning which are matched by the introduction of a glockenspiel. "Does It Mater Now?" is an epic ballad on slow boil, struck with a ringing, semi-familiar countermelody figure via guitar which is accompanied by a bit of chimes as the song head towards the end. At six-and-a-half minutes the mid-tempo "Big Black Coffin is overlong, but satisfies any residual nostalgia for the Ross (Malcolm) and Duffy (Dave) edition of Aztec Camera. To maybe compensate, immediately following Bjorn steps out front for the echo-laden, barely two-minute ditty, "Start Making Sense." Acoustic guitars, the glock again and heavily treated, distant vocals mark the verses which alternate with these instrumental passages of stacked natural and synthesized instruments that together emulate a mutant string section. That acts as an intriguing intro to the most Rock number here, a crackly, and cracking, taut, yet gauzy reinvention of the Concretes’ "Teen Love."

The semi-official closer, "Tailormade," slathers on the echo again, over a semi-Big Beat (courtesy on just a floor tom), sharp-edged handclaps, a plethora of keyboards, a hungering, yet controlled, lead vocal and an absolutely gorgeous chorus melody. The actual closer is "Goodbye, Again Or," a solo voice and guitar recording by Peter made on what sounds like an old Radio Shack cassette player. It’s a ramshackle, faded, yet intriguingly pretty little (not even two minutes) tune.

EUGENE KELLY Man Alive (Rev-Ola)

Twenty years on from those early days in Bellshill he stands under his own name. Following the trail, through the Vaselines, Captain America, Eugenius and the new path setting, one-off, Astro Chimp, Mr. Kelly has rounded off some edges and found an easier going pace, landing in the same late ‘60s, So. Cal. wonderland his landsleit Teenage Fanclub have called home sine the new millenium came. The opening song, "I’m Done With Drugs," lays it out with the line "done with noise, and all it brings, Sonic Youth, the Rites of Spring…" It’s a great opener: a mid-tempo rocker with jangled guitar(s), a swaying, rising chorus supercharged by flashing tambourine and a bit of handclaps, a bridge that’s spare, made from airy, stacked vocals, a touch of slide guitar, a tang of banjo, a whiff of sparkly keys, a dash of phased drums that’s anticipatory of the coming breakout soon to be led by a building drum roll. A truly smart, compelling three-minute Pop-Rock tune.

His backing band is sympathetic and dexterous. It’s comprised of multi-instrumentalist David McGowan and bassist Paul Smith, borrowed from Summer of Mars a.k.a Vera Cruise (and the former also from Thrum), and drummer Dave Gormley [AC Acoustics], with some other guests making appearances. Everyone contributes some backing vocals at points.

There are sixteen tunes on this disc. They range between mid-tempo rockers, like the above, and soft ballads. They all seem tied together by a longing, some regret and the occasional touch of melancholy. They have delectable melodies and solid, yet intricate, arrangements, from the noisiest band numbers to sparsest solo tune. The only complaint I can lodge about any of them is that "I Done Something Wrong" goes on a minute or so too long that its redundancy becomes overtly tedious.

But the rest just seeps further into you, play after play. "Stop The Press" is a rolling number whose verses seem to bear a slight imprint from Kelly’s time long ago kicking around with Evan Dando. But then there is an echoing vocal at the differentiating points of the verses that snaps you to attention. The choruses swell up, so endearing and with ease. Another snap is the bridge for which that old splayed, distorted guitar is whipped out reprising the chorus melody. The following number, "Ride The Dream Comet," gives a full, brief reign to the fuzz as it starts things off with one of those "You’re Gonna Miss Me"/"Gloria" riffs over a modified Garage-Rock groove. A tinkling keyboard and the entrance of Kelly’s subtle vocal produces a color shift into Curt Boettcher terrain. But counterbalancing that and keeping one corner always moored in Pebblesland is an almost buried harmonica. Continuing on, "Sinking Ship," built from banjo, acoustic guitar(s), simple bass lines, slivers of pedal steel and single & harmony voices, is a Folkish number from the sparsest section of the Burritos’ The Gilded Palace Of Sin. Further down "Dear John" reduces things even further to just vocal and acoustic guitar. In this singer-songwriterly ditty with quasi-biblical allusions Kelly takes a humorous swipe at corporate omnipresence, closing with another repeat of the last chorus line with a twist: "Destroy Starbucks Today, oh Starbucks today. And tomorrow, McDonalds." But the bulk here is somewhere near the seemingly breezy Pop-Rock of "The Healing Power Of Firewalking." Easygoing strumming and rolling rhythms, dulcet vocals and even sweeter choruses, with a differentiating twist, in this case a sonorous synth squeal popping up in the bridge. If this isn’t the first of these pamphlets you’ve read, you are marked as wanting this album. No matter how hard it is to find.

ISOBEL CAMPBELL & MARK LANEGAN Ballad of The

Broken Seas (V2)

(A note: On her recent tour over here in the U.S. of A., supporting this album, Campbell’s backing band contained three-quarters of the above band,

with Eugene taking the male vocals.)

It’s hard not to think of Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazelwood upon the first spin of this album. The timbres of neither correlate actually matches up – this duo has a greater differential -- but you have to feel that Lanegan’s spoken word vocal in the opening cut, "Deus Ibi Est" ("There God Is," taken from the Gregorian chant "Ubi Caritas et Amor," which is what Campbell is quoting from in the chorus), is a nod to Hazelwood’s penchant for narrative passages in his own records. But here the gender roles are switched, with Campbell being the major creative force: conceiving, writing & producing the majority of this album. Also the mood of this record seems more dolorous, though the arrangements and tempos might be producing a spurious inference.

The most seemingly upbeat number is "Honey Child What Can I Do." A mid-tempo, small rock combo duet, with brilliant, understated strings and harp, and a Duane Eddyish guitar solo in the bridge. The melody glides along with Campbell at her sweetest and Lanegan his most euphonic. The repeating runout is a bit long, but the guitar finger picking at the very end is a nice touch. Timeless, in that it could just as easily be something from 1968, or out of any dusty cabinet between then and now. "Black Mountain," the first of Campbell’s two solo numbers, is a reverbed soaked, repeating acoustic picking, quasi-British Folk ballad which seems to precariously balance between light and dark moods, though the brief cello solos are decidedly melancholy. While "The False Husband" seems to bifurcate them with Lanegan’s vocals, that Eddyish guitar and an underlying cello effecting a plaintive veneer while Campbell’s section is buoyant, matching her light airy vocal with an uplifting string synth. A bit past the halfway mark the two sections are fitted as overlays, with the synth being replaced by actual strings and a later introduction of chimes and horns, creating a subtle, contentious dialogue.

Carried over from the preceding EP is a cover of Hank William’s "Ramblin’ Man." The arrangement is bluesier than Hank’s. And while Lanegan assays the original lyric, at around the one-minute mark, Campbell comes in with a whisper of a vocal and a counterpoint melody carrying a lyric from the woman-to-whom-the-male-is-explaining-what’s-what-to’s point of view. Lanegan’s one creation here is the preceding number, "Revolver." It intros with that whisper, and starting with the deep rumbling drums leaks despair. A straight duet with harmonized vocals that never alleviate the sense of a dark fate ultimately to be revealed. Guitar player, Jimmy McCulloch [one-time Soup Dragon], contributes the ringing acoustic guitar and bongo led, bittersweet instrumental number "It’s Hard To Kill A Bad Thing." At around 1’20" the strings come in and heighten the sense of regret.

Everything here seems so exquisitely constructed. Even those parts that seem to be lacking in appeal, like the redundant aspects of "Dusty Wreath," have to be admired for their careful fabrication.

BARRACUDAS s/t (NDN)

My year long cataloging project has had me making contact with a few long-out-of-touch former friends. But I haven’t heard from Mr. Wills since the last time I was in London some years back, thus when this album hit the streets I got caught by surprise. Having been through their fair share of rhythm sections Messrs. Gluck and Wills have picked up one of their best here, with Frenchman-about-the-Big Smoke, Yan Quellien (batterie [see also Stripchords and Scoundrelles]) and Rob Coyne (bass et al. [scion of Kevin Coyne and onetime member of the mysterious Silver Chapter]). The big surprise is the return of Chris Wilson, onetime Flamin’ Groovie and Barracuda during the classic Mean Time and Endeavour To Persevere period. And this album is at least the equal of those. The sound is thicker than before, with many folds of reverb and echo, and the 12 string not as overt. From inside to out this is a meaty, vigorous slab of polycarbonate. Yes, you can hear the crags and creases of age in Messrs. Gluck and Wilson’s voices, but then have you looked in a mirror lately.

The album starts and finishes (in an extended version) with ""Poor White Trash" lyrically derived from Donald "Pee Wee" Gaskins’ "autobiography" The Final Truth. Musically it’s a pumping, subtly building, mid-tempo rocker with a swirl of guitars and Gluck’s lead vocal touched by an Iggyish veneer. "The Price You Pay" brings back that old time jangle and then starts gathering steam. Driving straight ahead, in comes stacks of backing vocals with the chorus. Then comes a flanged guitar that makes for a six-second bridge before another verse heads out of the chute. And finally the full frontal ending. "Don’t Ever Say It Can’t Be So" is a bit of change up for the boys, a Glam style stomper with a variety of bells, handclaps, a classic sing-a-long chorus and dollop of power chords. "Take A Walk" is a smash two minute number: slashing, chugging guitars, solid 4/4 beat, a striving lead vocal with some female backing (courtesy of one Samantha Horwill), a Ramonesoid "Hey" break and more bounce to the ounce. And in a throwback to their original Surf Beat incarnation (speaking of which, the latest EMI UK mid-line reissue of Drop Out With… includes one extra cut, "Gotta Get a Gun," from their post-album EMI demos that wasn’t on Through The Mysts Of Time for some reason) comes the putative album closer, the nostalgic, mid-tempo "Don’t Let That Feeling Go." It opens with a bit of that Spector Big Beat and strum. Gluck goes to an airier, Folk-Rock style vocal. A variety of keyboards color in the spaces. Coming out of the second chorus are prototypical, nonsense syllable vocal Surf harmonies with matching handclaps (which include contributions from the next generation of Wills, Vince and Madeline). And the whole thing is strung tautly along a series of martial snare rolls. The unofficial start of Summer brought the actual start of Summer this year and I’m having one of my very occasional pangs for the car I haven’t had in over eight years, just so I could go cruising out Route 31, once again, with this blasting out the windows.

SPARROW The Early Years (Absolute Kosher)

Query: When you were the drummer of your previous band yet it was named after you, what do you call your new project, of which you are the main vocalist and keyboard player (though you keep your in hand in and drum on a few numbers)?

This is the second Sparrow album. I’ve never heard the first one. But for this one Jason Zumpano has surrounded himself with a completely new selection of Vancouver layabouts: Lucy Brain [Young and Sexy], on additional vocals, Rob Calder [Sodastream & Salteens], on guitar and trumpet, Shane Neklen [Tennessee Twin & Awkward Stage] on bass, Megan Bradfield [Salteens], on cello, Kim Koch, on Violin and Josh Lindstrom [Battles & Precious Fathers], sharing the drumming load with Zumpano. He carries on from the band Zumpano an interest in Jimmy Webb. Mostly displayed through the arrangements of the strings and horn, and how they’re used to contribute to the rhythms as well as in coloring.

The most appealing numbers here tend to be the uptempo ones. For instance the title track. It enters on four bars of drums laying down the beat (one of the major drawbacks of these recordings is that Indie, hollow, ringing snare sound used pretty much throughout) and then the band joins with a pulsing rhythm. After another four bars Zumpano’s voice – airily toned, with stretched phrasing -- swoops in, picking up Ms. Brain ringing tones as accompaniment, and is off and running. The song scurries and rumbles along though a series of repeating figures until the instrumental bridge where the strings and horn come to the fore, building to an ever-increasing height. This transitions back into the scamper and another chorus, then through one more verse refrain as they give it a final kick towards the finish. Whereupon the horn and strings move back up front with the beat and guide the ending through its short fade. The following number, "Late Last Night," is a bit of a curiosity. A mid-tempo tune that with its piano, drums and bass intro and title majorly alludes to Rundgren’s "I Saw The Light. Haven’t worked out why. While the structure is such that the most melodic passages are those of a long (1’ 30") instrumental section in the middle, yet the choruses, a series of repetitious, rhythmic lines, are close to stultifying. "I Wouldn’t Mind" once more brings Ms. Brain to the fore in harmony with Zumpano. After a slight, lone electric piano intro the song moves, in ¾ time, like a gust has billowed its sail. The rhythm is bouncy and vocals have a matching singsong nature. At the 1’ 25" mark it shifts into a full-blown harmonized duet of both wordless syllables and lyrics that approaches the feel of a John and Michelle Phillips only Mamas & The Papas number (if there ever was such a thing). At 2’ it all halts, except for a plinking keyboard, which comes to be joined by melancholy strings and trumpet, then at 2’ 51" the rhythm section pummels in. Then at 3’ 15" once more turning on a dime we’re back to the duet, which shifts into another of the beginning segments, before running out the number. Yes a strange concoction but pretty magnificent.

There are only nine tunes here. None of that fill up a disc just because there’s 70 minutes of space available. Which brings us to the last number, "I’m Just Not There," which seems to me to most resemble a Zumpano (the band) cut – see "Wraparound Shades" – with its piano figure, elliptical verses and rising chorus with harmony. But here the strings are like the special sauce, with the violin also singing in the chorus and the sawing cello adding a nice dense texture to the bottom.

TIM O’REAGAN s/t (Lost Highway)

GOLDEN SMOG Another Fine Day (Lost Highway)

One time Leatherwood and longtime Jayhawk, Mr. O’Reagan comes from out behind his trap set. This set doesn’t have an actual title, but he wouldn’t have gone wrong if he had called it Lamentations. Over the whole LP hovers a yearning and gentle melancholia. Most of the tempos range from a walk to a canter. Only "Just Like You," a Dylanized, Beatlesque (does that equal Lou Reed of a certain era? or just Tom Petty?) number, approaches being a rocker with it’s 4/4 and electric guitars. The sound is general spacious and articulate with sweet melodies and lovely harmonies. He’s assisted by a coterie of Minneapolitans, including a batch of former and currently hibernating Jayhawks, but built on a one-man-band foundation.

It opens with "These Things," a spare lament that seems to roll in off the plains. It is intro’d by a soft, accordion-led orchestral flourish, then in strolls Mr. O’Reagan with his acoustic guitar and voice. The reverb amps up on the choruses bringing along some backing harmonies. The third verse is whistled then turned over to a strangulated electric guitar, both of which stick around till the end. The proceeding "Black & Blue" is a harmonica touched, mid-tempo Dylanesque number: melodious and rolling. With the third cut, River Bends," Mr. O’Reagan unleashes his "Emmylou" -- who because the credits are indistinct I’m guessing is one Wendy Lewis (a Minnesotan Country singer in her own right). The mournful steel guitar matches the sorrowfulness in the voices, and along with the gentle piano and picking forms the sweep of the song.

Over on side two, besides the first tune mention above, is the equally Beatles-touched "Girl/World" with its light, ringing acoustic/electric mixed backing, along with a little banjo plinking, and such sweetness. The last track on the CD, "Plaything," is a sparkly, succulent lament composed with a hint of Big Beat, shimmering backing harmonies and silvery keyboards. In a bit of a changeup – which is why I’m reviewing the vinyl (besides this general vinyl kick I’m been on this past year) – the last two tracks on the LP are "bonus tracks" not found on the CD. "She’s Probably Gonna Lie" is a slice of classic, rustic, Jayhawksian Pop-Rock. "This Town" is a stark, voice and guitar only number, Folkish yet with a full-throated wail.

In the meantime a number of O’Reagan’s compatriots return to the well again with the conglomeration known as Golden Smog. Starting out as a loose, freewheelin’ pickup band of sorts (see On Golden Smog), with the Jayhawks out in some limbo it seems to me that Louris and co. decided to get arty and serious. Even though Jeff Tweedy contributes to less than half then half the tunes on here, it seems that his interest of the last few years in noise and efx and coatings has been a bit contagious. "You Make It

Easy" with its omnipresent digital reverb, the title track with its scratches and treatments, the way drawn-out "Beautiful Mind" with all its space obliterated by noise, and the almost as long goulash that is "Gone." Since this is the work of people who have been developing their craft for a good while now there are still some beautiful nuggets found within the above.

But the real sweet nougat is found in the center. "Cure For This," featuring guest female vocalist Muni Canon, is a delicate, crystalline delight in Pop-Rock form. Dan Murphy’s "Hurricane" most fulfills that carefree, shaggy fun of my expectations of Golden Smog – a chuggin’, Pettyish rocker, with choral backing vocals and fuzz-out guitar, sweet solo and a big bottom. Likewise the lone cover here, a faithful rendition of the Kinks’ "Strangers," has a sitting around the back porch feel, though one with a piano and organ found on it. "Frying Pan Eyes" is a striking rocker mixing in bits of jangle, a pumpin’ rhythm, a shredding guitar, killer -- though more than vaguely familiar -- choruses and playful backing harmonies. They even throw in some studio chatter and noise as the song is reigned in to its end.

At the end of fall, aught-five, www.hmv.co.uk pulled the plug on my 99p seven-inch addiction. Now nothing is less than 1.99 and postage has quadrupled. So screw them!! Anyway, here are a couple of the last intriguing items I acquired.

Research is a two women, one guy combo from West Yorkshire, England. Low rent instrumentation, wavering, twee-pop vocals, male with sugary female backing and harmonies. Kind of like if Dan Treacy & Co. were into "Sunshine-Pop" (I really don't like that term, but havne’t a more accurate descriptor) and cheap keyboards instead of their Beatlesy Pysch-Pop. Or Lawrence’s next shift after Go-Kart Mozart. "The Way You Used To Smile" (At Large) just jiggles along with a cracked male lead vocal and girly backing "oh"s and "la"s, with the chorus weaving in a high female harmony. It’s simple, inventive and oh, so, crunchably sweet. "I Made A Promise" lifts the rhythm from "Heatwave" with just a ukulele (I think), simple snare & kick drum and one or two bass notes under a lovely soprano vocal. It’s a voice that you fall in love with, instantly. Thrown in for some left field action is a mouth harp solo. But it’s is the melding of the melody and that voice that produces a heartache so good. The other B-side track, "Hey! Tornado," returns the male lead vocal with just support by some ethereal keyboards and a bit of backing vocals to form a forlorn ballad.

Timid Tiger are a five-piece from Germany. They play an inflected, melodious Pop-Rock based in Indie origins. "Miss Murray" (L’Age D’Or),the A-side here, is a rhythmic, mid-tempo tune – somewhere around In It For the Money Supergrass – with a jaunty piano and a scraped lead vocal. While the rhythm keeps up its march the bridge shifts into harmonized quasi-falsettos and then flattens out with an even more prosaic return of the lead vocalist until the short instrumental transition back to the chorus. The whole thing is elevated just enough by an imparted sense of swing. The flip, "Kelly," is a swaying, easygoing piece of classic Pop-Rock. The melody is instantly familiar, maybe found on some They Might Be Giants "Greatest Hits" package. (note: the sleeve artwork is done by the way long musically missing-in-action Klaus Cornfield of Throw That Beat In The Garbage!.)

Now back to our few remaining benefactors. A good while back a second Fevers (not to be confused with the way more heralded the Fever) album, Love Always Wins, came out, but in the intervening period I must have pissed off Alien Snatch (like many before them) and thus remain to this day deprived. For some reason the folks at Get Hip didn’t pick up the album, from which the A-side is drawn, but released this single, "Don’t Tell Me It’s Wrong" b/w "He’s In Town." The A is, musically, a bit of a Mash-Up (to be oh so modern) of the Choir’s classic "It’s Cold Outside" and "Eve Of Destruction." It has the raw coolness of the former with a sweet, ragged lead vocal and some underdone backing vocals. There’s not much to the lyrics. "But it hits all my buttons Dick, I give it a 98!" The B is a cover of the old Goffin-King number (done originally by the Tokens, but best known by the Rockin’ Berries). It has the same piquant flavor, but is short one or two joules.

From our friends at Munster comes another Dirtbombs single. "Brand New Game" is an unreleased (at least as far as I can determine) Elliott Smith song. It’s a Garage-Rock groover that is given much power by the double drummer thing (which compensates, to a degree, for the Indie recordings style of same; I don’t know that the double bass thing adds anything) and contrast nicely with Mick Collins’ stark electric guitar sound. The verses develop a passionate tension, but the choruses don’t give the needed release. They seem clumsy. The little falsetto part going into the break is pretty cool and the drop-down segment leading out of it is a nice texture. The flip, "All My Friends Must Be Punished," is an original rocker. A bit noisier, higher revved riffs, but in contrast Collins’ vocal is softer, in a kind of speak-singing style yet it seems more melodic than that A-side.

When I was in Glasgow last year I met a gentleman from Germany who decided to get into the seven-inch game. He’s launched his label, Aufgeladen und Bereit, with two Second City outfits, Music and Movement and Future Pilot AKA. Both mix regular pop music instruments with digital contraptions. The former is led by Finlay Macdonald, formerly of the BMX Bandits, Speedboat and hired-hand of Teenage Fanclub. Here he is partnered with one Lorna Lyon. They started out as a duo, and that’s how they are found on this record, they’ve grown into a full band since. Anyway, "City Trains" is a mid-tempo lament, a harmonized duet with both voices taking on flatish demeanors over beatbox, swirling efx and acoustic guitar loops. The forlorn vocals do battle in a way with the song’s insistent beats. For the break everything drops out but those beats which get even more gated and are joined by treated or faux-handclaps. That rotates out for a spot of efx’d guitars and/or synth swirls, which itself moves out of the way for just the acoustic guitar and voices, before all the parts come together again. It ends peculiarly, with a brief return of the "handclaps" and then a drop-dead conclusion. For the B-side, "I Saw You," Ms. Lyon gets the spotlight to herself. It’s a bit of a rocker, concocted of pulsing beats, whistling synth and quasi-slide guitar loops with Ms. Lyon’s accusatory declamations riding on top. Future Pilot A.K.A. is a long running project of Sushil Dade, former Soup Dragon & BMX Bandit, in which various guest vocalists are dragooned. For this platter he’s got Stuart Murdoch and Sara Martin (of Belle & Sebastian) on the A-side’s "Eyes Of Love." It’s a slyly strange concoction. On top it’s a bubbly synth-pop number with Martin and Murdoch (sounding particularly Ray Daviesish) alternating on segments of the verses and coming together for the choruses. Underneath is a subtle ska rhythm. This blossoms more with the entrance of horns in the chorus along with some dub efx. Then in the bridge Murdoch (or it could even be Dade for all I know) attempts a bit of Toasting. After another chorus it hits full bloom in the instrumental runout. You can’t really help from breakng out in a smile. The other number on this side is "Lights Of The City." A shimmering Pop-Rock 1’50"ditty with a double tracked Karine Polwart (female singer-songwriter and onetime contributor to the Battlefield Band). The vocal only lasts for one verse with the chorus being just instrumental and then devolving down to just solo piano for an eleven-second bridge where upon it revs back up to full band for the runout though with Ms. Polwart never returning. On the flip is "Changes" in which Ms. Polwart gives support to one Rick Webster, of Glaswegian combo Unkle Bob. It is a jingling, jangling keyboard led tune that lives on the contrast between the brightness of those keys and the melancholia of the vocals, which is enhanced by the entrance of a pedal steel in the chorus. The melody is sweet and gentle.

Now to the archives: Munster has gathered Burning’s first two singles, from 1974 & 1975, into a double pak. They were a Glam/Boogie inflected Rock band out of Madrid. Their first A-side, "Estoy Ardiendo" ("I’m Burning") lifts the intro from "School’s Out" for its intro and reoccurring appearances, mixes in the "shoooopttt" bits from "Come Together" and rides a steady boogie groove through out. The chorus flashes more Alice Cooper with its group vocals (but then tags ‘em with a little psych/echo bit), and otherwise in its lead guitar runs. It’s of its time – I don’t think Wolfmother could concoct something so spot on – and lively. The flip is a cover of "Johnny B. Goode." Yeah, even then it was a bit of a hoary number, but they kept it focused and threw in sprinkles of this hockey rink organ for spice. Their second single was two originals, "Like A Shot" b/w "Rock N’ Roll." The former is a mid-tempo rocker that seems to bear the mark of Billion Dollar Babies. The latter is more uptempo and seems more contemporary in a way with its crossbreeding of Zeppelin and the Dolls, and its slurring vocals. The lyrics are pretty nonsensical but the song is a lot of fun.

And from our pals in Coxsackie comes a few more small platters ripped from the vaults. In North Carolina there was the Dylanized Counts IV. Sundazed has packaged their radical reworking (sounding kinda like Mouse & the Traps, minus the organ) of Willie Dixon’s "Spoonful" from their second single with two unreleased numbers: the original number "Discussion Of The Unorthodox Council," a convoluted mid-tempo workout and then Dylan’s own "It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue." The sleeve notes say they wanted to beat the Byrds to the punch. They didn’t, but both versions ended up lying in the vaults for some decades. It’s dutifully jangly and has some nice mouth organ work.

New York’s Groupies also try their hand at a Willie Dixon number, "Down In The Bottom." Recorded live, supposedly, while out in L.A. It reveals what seems to me an East Coast counterpart to Safe As Milk era Captain Beefheart and band. Not that singer Cooker sounds like the Captain but his voice is as cracked in its way, with the Blues a foundation for wherever the band ventures. The flip, an original called "You Changed Again," is a Garage inflected shuffle with some skewed guitar that reaches beyond its grasp for some pop elements but charms in the trying.

Lastly we have a replica edition of the International Submarine Band’s one-off single for Columbia, "Sum Up Broke" b/w "One Day Week," from 1966, made by the original East Coast line-up. The A-side is a scruffy Pop-Rock tune strung on a distorted, close-miked guitar riff with harmonized lead vocals and pacing tambourine. Sounds like a band from the bar down on the corner, a very cool band that you and your pals quaff pitchers of beer to every weekend. The B-side, a pumpin’ rocker, adds a rhythmic electric piano and flashes shards of squealing guitar with a more straight up Gram Parsons’ lead vocal and backing harmonies. You can get these numbers as part of the Sweetheart Of The Rodeo double disc set, but they’re really built for seven-inch.

Then there are the digital items. Fancey followed up their album (see last issue) a year later (which is now a year ago) with The Magical Summer EP (March). Even more so than on their album this EP finds them approaching that point in time (around 1974) when AM Soft Pop-Rock was meeting Disco – think Jigsaw’s "Sky High," though that was ‘75. The title track in particular runs out the synth strings, a tinkling electric piano, floating vocals that come together with upper register harmonies, mostly female, and of course that beat. What separates it from those Have A Nice Day comps you keep hidden under your bed is a homeyness to the overall sound. "Heaven’s Way" is similarly constructed, though with choral choruses (with which the song starts). Going back to the leadoff number, "Daytime Driver," we get more of a Rock beat with good tom action in the verses, while the vocals are in harmony they change to male/female counterpoint in the choruses. The bridge is a bit portentous with its Rock action: power chords over efx streams, and as a wink back it ends with a couple of gong hits. I don’t really know what to make it of it all, including the lyrics, but it brings a smile. The remaining track is "Blue Star," a pretty mid-tempo ballad where the girls waft, playing tag with Mr. Fancey’s earthbound tones for control of the melody, quite alluring in its shifts and turns.

Admittedly I hadn’t been paying attention to the Greenhornes for a few years until they happened to be on some bills I caught in the last year. Somewhere along the line they shrunk to a trio. East Grand Blues (V2), another item that has waited oh so patiently to catch my ear. Whether it’s because Brendan Benson produced this five-track set, or it was their inclination and thus made Benson a fitting choice, this is the band’s big Pop move. While the record starts out with the succulent, jangly, harmony-filled, Byrdsian "I’m Going Away," the overwhelming presence seems to me to be the Zombies – a bit heavier in sound, leaning towards their more R&B aspects, and minus the overt keyboard work, but the rhythms and phrasing and chords seem to echo down the decades. "Shelter Of Your Arms" is a moody ballad, imbued with pathos, that contrasts a big bottom with a translucent vocal tone. "At Night" is similarly styled, a bit more mid-tempo and imparted with efx. "Shine Like The Sun" is a soft ditty, rolled out of repetitive figures formed from sparse instrumentation and gentle vocals, all duly reverbed and bearing a Mersey Beat tint. The odd man out, to a degree, is the mid-tempo, Garage-Rock grinder "Pattern Skies." More in line with their reputation, even this has a solid, dulcet vocal from Craig Fox, but with the fuzzed guitars phased about, the pulsing bass holding the melody and five power beats snapping you to attention the choruses elevate the whole. (Though only lasting 2’ 11" sure doesn’t hurt.)

I went out to the southern edge of Kensington the other night to see the Acid House Kings and the affiliated Legends, and it struck me that for about 20 years the Swedes have been making it seem so easy to craft Indie-Pop. I don’t know if that’s because they come to it with a higher level of musical skill than practitioners from other territories when they start, or if it’s because they have powerful self-control when it comes to avoiding the inevitable excesses that creep up, or they just know their way around good melodies. It seems they’ve brought all those skills to their infatuation with its bastard offspring Brit-Pop. Its constituent parts are rarely unfamiliar yet they’re weaved together so agreeably that the tenth quenching goes down as smooth as the first.

A new one in the line is the Monotypes. I’ve not heard their album from a few years ago, but I got this four track EP (Hijack) -- I’m discounting the opening sound fragment that is more like an extended intro for the first number -- which just bounces, floats and rambles along so coolly. "Prez Rixon" is that first tune and is a peppy pop-rocker laced with (faux?) horns that lend a really nice texture to their basic guitar combo sound. The key is the chorus, which saltates as the lead singer Mike Szymanski and backing vocalist Erik Eriksson go call-and-response before coming together in harmony. "One Minute" is a piano led mid-tempo lament that rides the kind of rhythm that Oarses tends to favor, but the vocals remain restrained and the playing is firm while its McCartneyesque melody leads the way. The tom-powered, mid-tempo rocker "Dead Streets" dips into the same gene pool for its verses but wells up with a buoyant, rococo chorus part Turtles, part Pulp (circa Different Class) that washes away any sins. The final cut, "All That You Need," is just a brilliant Pop-Rock tune: driving rhythm, jangly guitars, shaker and piano coloring, breathy, subdued vocal that blossoms out in the choruses along with backing harmonies, a bridge that drops down to just voice and a resonant bass then as the band jumps in and builds things back up the ring of a triangle along with an acoustic guitar cuts through until the sweep of the chorus take us up again -- and all of it hugs the melody like a catsuit followed the form of Earth Kitt.

I’ve swore I’d get to this single before I put this miserable pamphlet in its grave. To set the context we’re going to revisit the bits and pieces of my life that on occasion have previously bubbled up here in the bastard offspring and, before that, in the old rag. I was born in Philly. But between fifth and sixth grade the family shipped out to New Jersey, some suburbs -- from Northeast Philly, which was then a kind of a suburb itself, but I was too young to recognize that at the time. This happened to be a suburb of Trenton -- Lawrence Township to be exact -- even then the area was like a donut with this ring of suburbs surrounding a miserable hole. The only good things about living in New Jersey, even from this distance, was that you got both Philly and New York City TV and Radio signals (back in the days before cable penetration reached us), and the drinking age was 18.

As was common across the Mid-Atlantic area back then, I used to buy most of my records from Korvettes. Like your Best Buy, Circuit City & Target today, they always had a couple of new records heavily discounted each week -- standard loss leader thing. In my Senior year of high school I found a tiny shop over in Ewing called Hole In The Wall, where I could pick up some of the stranger things I was hearing on WNEW-FM. I’m not even sure how I found out about this place, but I was now able to get the Bezerkley stuff I had been searching for.

Somehow I got myself into a university, and ended up back in Philly. One weekend my first term when I was visiting home I stopped over at Rider College (that was about a mile over from our house, and back in high school it was easy to crash some of their parties and get all the beer you could drink for 50 cent or such) and found they were having a party in the student center. There was a band on one side of the room. They were dressed in white lab coats and played in front of a painted backdrop of a brick wall with graffiti on it and the name Nobody Special in large letters. They played various British Invasion covers -- I mostly remember Kinks and Beatles. I had a couple of beers and when their set was done I headed on my way.

The school I went to has what’s called a Co-op Program, where you work some terms at a regular job, ostensibly in the field you’re studying, and they get you for five years worth of tuition. At the end of the Summer ‘77, between my Freshman and Sophomore years, I got a phone call from the school saying they had a job interview lined up for me for the Fall term at the Trenton office of the US Geological Service. So I found myself once again stuck in Mercer Co. longer than I cared to be. One day I saw a sign go up that they were hiring for a new Sam Goody’s opening up in the shopping center five blocks from the house. (They had also built a big mall a few miles down the road a couple of years beforehand and thus that Sam Goody’s wasn’t long for this world.) I got myself a part-time job there, nights and weekends to fill up time around the USGS job, plus a discount on records, even a few free, and some new stereo pieces.

One of the other people working there was a guy I recognized from Hole in the Wall, name of Casey. Turns out he was one of the owners. They had sold the store off to some others who drove the place into the ground. One night he tells me I should come over to this bar where some friends of his are playing; they’re called the Shades. I found the place, down a bit on Quaker Bridge Road, across from the fields where I had played some Winter Soccer two years before. I get myself a beer – to this day it doesn’t feel normal seeing a band without a glass or bottle in my hand – and find Casey. Turns out he’s "doing lights" and he introduces me to some of the guys in the band. After a little while I realize they’re the same guys I saw at Rider the year before. Over the next few months I saw them play a number of times, since they were at that club twice a week, and Sunday nights featured $1 pitchers (though they were these mini things that must of held only about 24 oz.) of Genesee Cream Ale.

Once I was back at school I started my brief career in radio and ended up spending many nights over the next three-and-a-half years in clubs (probably way too many nights considering my grades) around town. Soon the Shades started making their way down for the occasional gig in Philly. Like a lot of bands that had beginnings reaching back pre-1976 and started doing original material they got enveloped by the Punk scene, though they sounded nothing like the Ramones, Dead Boys, etc. Their sound had much more in common with other Anglo-centric bands soon to be tagged Power-Pop, like Artful Dodger, Off Broadway, Pezband and Shoes, though a bit more keyboard laden. Eventually they hooked up with the guy who owned the first Punk Rock club in town for management. Then these two guys who had a similar radio show to mine at the university next door, who decided to start a label and wanted to do a single with the Shades. Which is the platter that brings us to this feature: Are You My Angel? b/w "Hello Mr. Johnson" (Go Go 003).

Twenty years after I lost touch with any of them I made contact with Bob DeStefano (italics) -- singer/occasional keyboard player/main songwriter -- to relive the tale of the band and that single. Entreaties for contact info for some of the others went fallow.

The core of the band was two sets of brothers: Bob & Jack DeStefano and Bill & Scott Evans. Jack met Bill at the end of his third grade. I didn’t meet Scott until my third grade, a year later. Scott and I were in the same class, as were Jack and Bill. While Jack and Bill became very fast friends, Scott and I were more casual acquaintances. Jack and Bill actually formed a band in 6th grade, the name escapes me. Then, when Jack and Bill were 14, they formed another band. I started to become a bit interested in what they were doing about then, and would sometimes go their practices. They were trying to write their own music, even then, which I thought was pretty cool as I was writing songs by then as well. They continued with a new drummer for about a year and half until I was about 15. As is normal for both the DeStefanos and the Evans’s, no one ever actually came out and talked about anything important. I don’t know if I said something to Jack about needing a keyboard player (Jack was playing bass at the time) in the group, or if he asked me to play keyboards. I just recall that I never spoke to Bill or anyone else in the band. I remember asking Jack "are you sure it’s OK for me to join the group? What did Bill say?" Jack would say "it’s fine"‘ I also remember feeling a bit odd about turning up at Bill’s house with my brand new electric keyboard, ready for a rehearsal with people I’d never really said two words to. Jack had told me that Scott was also going to join the band as a bass player and that he, Jack, would be playing rhythm guitar from then on. Billy was actually singing lead at the time. He couldn’t sing worth a damn, but no one else had the intestines to sing in front of people. It was about 1973-74 time, and we started by learning a full set or two of covers. Mind you, we never thought to learn Top 40 stuff, or the stuff that other kids would know. We played the stuff we liked. MC5, Iggy, Roxy Music, Alice Cooper, Bowie, Dylan, the Move, etc.

The lead guitar position was forever a headache. We couldn’t find anyone who liked what we liked, fit in with us, and was good. Bill had become friends with Steve Bross at Steinert (a high school over in Hamilton Twp.) in 11th grade, Steve having a similar love of the Firesign Theatre. Steve had a friend who played drums called Obie, who was somewhat older then the rest of us. I recall saying to Jack and Bill, "we gotta get Bross and Obie in the band. Steve can play guitar and Obie’ll do what he does." This time, we actually did go, as a group, to Steve and ask him to join up.

We met George through Franny the K. (Kowalski who ended up playing keyboards in Alex Chilton’s band, which also had Chris Stamey on bass, for a while) He’d started hanging out with us, giving us his "take" on music. I, for one, was quite impressed with his talents, specifically as a pianist and also as a singer. His songwriting was hit and miss, but he was obviously a real talent. Anyway, when Obie quit, he must have found out some way, because he came over to Scott and Bill’s old home in Chesterfield and said "I have the answer to your drumming prayers."

Also, at this time, I had met and fallen in love with the Mumps. The Mumps were the first act that I saw that I loved totally. While Lance (Loud)’s was clearly no match for Joe’s, his overall stage presence was astounding. I felt that I could do better than Joe was doing -- using Lance as a barometer. Also remember that we were playing my songs. I wanted to sing them.

We thought of only one person to fill his shoes. We’d seen a band at Trenton State College Ratskellar called Shot in the Head about a year earlier. The amazing thing was that they shared almost their complete song book with us. And nobody was playing that stuff then: The Move, Bowie, MC5, etc. They had a fabulous guitarist who we now wanted to replace Steve. We phoned their agent in New Brunswick who told us the names of both of the Shot in the Head guitar players: Peter Tomlinson and Joe Hosey. (Both guys, at that time, worked for infamous importer/exporter Jem Records.) Unfortunately, he had only one phone number, that of Joe Hosey. So we called Joe and the rest is history. The interesting thing is that it was Peter that we wanted. Peter was the lead player, Joe only played rhythm. But after Joe came down to rehearsal and knew the songs, well, we couldn’t tell him "no" could we? Our first gig with the new band was in Washington D.C. opening for, of all people, the Mumps. After the show, we got thumbs up from Mump-dom, which gave us a great deal of confidence.

Bill did such a nice job with that one that we figured, let’s do this more often. The problem was that Bill turned out to be just as meticulous and time consuming when writing lyrics as I had been. And worse still, he would always get to a part of the song where he simply couldn’t think of anything -- at least nothing that he felt was good enough. But let me backtrack for a second. In order to rehearse my new compositions, the ones in which there were copious vocal harmonies, I had to write working lyrics. Later, when John (DeMarzo: soundman, producer of the single in question and compiler of 25-years-after-the-fact 21-track bootleg CD) started recording us with his TEAC 4 track, I would write a song with working lyrics in order to record it and play it for the fellows.

The putative A-side of the single that brought us here, "Are You My Angel?" is a mid-tempo number that starts with a forceful rhythm, a whirl of keyboards and a mournful sax line. The vocals carry the bulk of the melody -- high with a touch of strain, and harmonies even higher – riding on a dense backing of a variety of keyboards and interstitial guitar riffs. In the verses the vocals generally take on the solidity and a bit of the patterns of the beats. While in the choruses they go soft, lightly gliding while the backing vocals turn airier and wordless (angelic?).

The bridge arrives with a shift to a reedy, child-like vocal, briefly interrupted by these burly voices (see 10cc reference below) and a disjointed rhythm, while the drums build tension underneath. With the return of that reedy tone they build together into a repeat of the final line of the chorus. The song takes a kind of weird tack in its ending, with a reprise of the sax solo and then a petering out of everything, which is quickly cut off before completion by a tight backward masking fadeout.

A catchy, romantic Pop tune with its sense of yearning colliding with its expression of befuddlement. While not sounding like any particular song, this shifting structure and use of extra elements brings to mind Roy Wood’s songwriting on the first Move album.

About "Are You My Angel?" -- I can actually recall writing some of that song! I was going out with Casey Confoy’s (see intro) sister Karen (now my sister-in-law) at the time and I can recall working on this song on the out of tune piano at her mother’s home in Ewing Twp. I can remember rehearsing the song, prior to Bill’s having written any lyric, and having Scott and Joe sing "Gimme a donut" and "I also want some milk" in place of "waiting for something" and "we’re too drunk to care" which came later. I also remember Joe’s misunderstanding Bill’s lyric -- the bit where I sing "that you’re most inviting" -- and thinking I was singing "the Germans are fighting." I guess he thought it was a WWII epic. Musically, I was moving forward at the time. There are many individual influences. I recall that originally I had a lead guitar line where the sax later played. The "heaviness" of the first two chords and that guitar line were inspired by the Mumps, as was the syncopation in the "we’re too drunk to care" bit. It was a song called "Gimme Gimme." The sax was inspired not by Roxy Music but by the sax in "Baker Street" by Gerry Rafferty. I quite liked the fact that the verse was in two different keys, something I thought rather innovative for a pop song. The "Clothing Makes the Savior" vocal part was inspired by 10CC of all people. I liked the way that they were able, especially on their early records, to change the entire vocal inflection and feel during different musical phrases. I wanted the voices to sound almost automated and robot like, like a voice or schema imbedded in one’s mind from youth such as "you must succeed in everything you do in order to be of value."’

The flip, "Hello Mr. Johnson," is more of a straight up rocker. While not really topping 55, it has a driving nature. It begins with the machine gun rat-a-tat-tat of a snare. Then over a solid 4/4 rhythm the various keyboards and guitars work their way slowly down a scale – a move that reappears throughout. With a head of steam the lead vocal enters: a little gritty and dishing out an overabundance of words. The rhythm switches to a tom-led syncopation with the vocal following in its wake in the chorus. The transition to the bridge features a snippet of crowd noise from which, for its first half, the lead vocal turns softer and gentler with a bit of a McCartneyesque lilt. In its second half the vocal firms up and backing harmonies finally appear, briefly. (The lyrics of this segment seem really out of left field: "Back in Tokyo, there’s a running joke/Down in Singapore, there’s a fashion show-oo-ow…") The scale run leads back to a verse. After which the final chorus hits the "Hello Mr. Johnson, meet your audience" three times with the last being denuded of instrumentation and augmented by handclaps upon which it all ends. Mixed in underneath are specks of some Chuck Berry riffs and the tinkling of some Barrelhouse piano.

The things that really hook you are first the chorus syncopation, second the rush of words. And after the seventh play all the little bits, which are inadequately described in that last sentence in the paragraph above, start popping out at you. Such depth of arrangement while maintaining a focused song is something very rare today.

FUN AND GAMES Elephant Candy (Rev-Ola)

The Fun and Games were a six-piece band from Houston. This package includes their one album, for Uni, and the alternate singles mixes of the two drawn from it, plus one post-LP single. (Previously they had released a couple of singles under the name of the Fun and Games Commission for some smaller labels.) Uni hooked them up with songwriter/producer Gary Zekley (see Yellow Balloon & the Clique) – usually viewed as one of those West Coast Brian Wilson, Curt Boettcher, etc. layered vocal harmony guys – who took tight control providing the majority of songs as well as production.

There’s a kind of dichotomy in the material on display here, in that the two singles drawn from this 1969 album (and the band’s best known numbers), "Elephant Candy" and "The Grooviest Girl In The World," are these bright, upbeat numbers marked by the nasally, treated vocal, Vox (?) organ, simple, nonlinear lyrics, driving 4/4 rhythm and super sweet melodies of classic Bubblegum. While most of the other numbers are more low-key, melancholy-tinged with more intricate arrangements, both instrumentally and vocally, and comparatively more cohesive lyrics. More what you would expect at that point in time from the comparison mentioned above. So many of them are just lovely: "Topanga Canyon Road," "Something I Wrote" (written by bass player Joe Roman) and "The Way She Smiles" (written by Joe’s guitar & trumpet playing brother Rock, and seemingly risen from some alternate universe edition of Forever Changes) to just name a few. The odd men out, as it were, is the in-between, very Turtlesesque "Sadie" and the fuzz touched, more typically Garage-Rock though still echoing Love, cover of "It Must Have Been The Wind" -- taken from Houston contemporaries Glass Can. The other cover included is weirdly rearranged rendition of the Beach Boys’ "Don’t Worry Baby" with an a cappella (minus any bass) first verse, but after that it pretty much has a single voice vocal, it skips a verse (repeating the third one twice) and in the process denudes it of the car racing aspect of the lyrics, and adds a little something to the rhythm giving it a vaguely latin feel.

For their one post-LP single, "We," Zekley tried the more typical, L.A. session men, backing track under the band’s vocals. Another lovely song, with strings added in and Association-like backing vocals in the choruses. But it didn’t score either.

Why didn’t they hit, beyond a few locales, briefly? Just the vagaries of life, I guess. But now we have a second chance, without having to sell off all your Intel stock, to enjoy some great songs.

SONS OF CYRUS Monkey Business (Dead Beat)

This thing just proves to me how much I’ve lost touch with things in Scandinavia in my old age. Two of the four, Loco Lopez and Topi the Kat, who made up the Swedish band during the period this collection contains -- singles tracks and odds & sods from between 2000 and ’04 – are/were two-thirds of the Locomotions who appeared in issue 5B. This disc crams twenty tracks of scorching, driving, distortion lined Rock and Roll, derived from all four points on the Rock compass: Detroit’s MC5, Sydney’s Radio Birdman, Stockholm’s Nomads and somewhere lost in time outside London’s Nutmeg.

The track order is all a jumble chronology-wise, but the ride is all downhill at 150 kilometers per hour. Whether it’s their rampages through the Stones’ "Street Fighting Man," Mitch Ryder’s medley of "Devil With A Blue Dress On/Good Golly Miss Molly," the Nomads’ "The Fast Can’t Lose" and the Human Beinz’ rearrangement of "Nobody But Me" or originals like the shredding lead off cut "Tired Of This Time," their snappy, hopped up self-mythologic "Sons Of Cyrus," the piano augmented boogie "Didn’t Know" and the close as they get to a ballad, Heartbreakersish "Nothing Matters Any More" they lay it on the line. Strap yourself in and hit "play!"

DELTA 5 Singles & Sessions 1979-81 (Kill Rock Stars)

Part of the small, tight-knit Leeds Post-Punk contingent at the end of the seventies. The Delta 5 were particularly affiliated with the Mekons, with whom Ros had been playing bass (see "Where Were You?"), and the two other ladies, Bethan and Julz, having been inamoratas of a couple of them. The earliest version of the band included guitarist Jon Langford and drummer Simon Best (then Mekons soundman who went onto the Flowers after his move to Edinburg, and now heads up some biotech industry trade group). Recruited in from the Yorkshire band the Dead Beats as their replacements, respectively, were Allan Riggs and Kelvin Knight. (I think it’s purely a coincidence that that band had a song called "Julie’s New Boyfriend," but I could be wrong.)

Their sound was rudimentary and rhythm heavy – accentuated by the multiple basses – derived from Funk Disco, with the females’ declarative vocals on top, in groupings and singular. The recordings have a very dry sound, with the guitar bright yet brittle, and a certain spaciousness. (Considering the near omnipresent excesses of digital reverb foisted upon us so much these days, it’s a sound I’m quite nostalgic for.) They had a vigor and lack of obsequiousness. The songs remain compelling after al this time. And I particularly am still keen on the horn arrangements inserted into "Colour" that lend the bouncing basses and vocal chants a soulful bite.

The tracks compiled here include the three singles released by Rough Trade. Select others taken from various BBC sessions. (Though with this set only coming to 45 minutes one is left wondering why the truncation?) And there are three numbers from a live set in Berkeley in 1980. But there is nothing from their time on the Charisma subsidiary imprint Pre: a couple of singles (making the title a bit spurious) and one LP.

EMBROOKS 45s and High Times (Munster)

It seems like a blink but it actually was almost ten years, but now the Embrooks have bid the world adieu. As a good-bye present they leave us this double disc set. The first one collects their seven-inchers along with the odd cut (about one-third covers, like that of the Sorrows’ "No No No," in Italian, that appeared on the CD that accompanied the final issue of the our late progenitor), though some of them have appeared on an album too. Presented in chronological order -- of release, if not of recording – so to lay bare the arc of the band. On the earliest material, 4-track home recordings, their sound is a mix of jangly, Folk-Rock guitar, though overlaid with reverb and bits of vibrato, and rumbling Freakbeat rhythms. Coincidentally or not, as they started working with recordist Liam Watson the guitar slowly progresses to get thicker and dirtier, as well as the band tightening up more and more (see the rampage of "More Than Ever" (‘99), the kaleidoscopic "Jack" (‘01) and the lurching, wah-wah touched groover "A Note In The Drawer" (‘02).)

The second disc contains two live sets, in all their raw, naked glory. The first is a five song session done in ‘03 for WFMU’s Cherry Blossom Clinic show. The second captures them in Madrid in ‘04. It’s their own little bootleg. What it lacks in audio quality it makes up for passion and energy. And while they once actually played here in Philly, many of you probably never got the chance.

As to the future: Alessandro and Lois are busy with real life. While Mole has filled the hole with two bands, the Higher State (who already have their debut album out) and the Bloodhounds.