Features &
Interviews

Chocolate Weasel
DJ Cam
DJ Method One
DJ Stratus
DJ 3D
Dwindle
Ed Rush
Electronica
Frank Lloyd Wright's California
Ganger
Gapeseed
Her Space Holiday
Holiday Flyer
ICU
Jungle Defined
Kim Salmon
King Rhythm
Laika
Latin Playboys
Lounge Lizards
Mark Robinson
Mixtapes
Monochrome
Most Secret Method
Music Appreciation 101
Pressure Drop
Terrastock II
Third Eye Foundation

Habit Trail Turning Mid-Young/Let’s Go Writing 7”
At first I noticed one side of this was a quiet piece without drums while the other was a louder Sebadoh-ish rock song. Upon further listening the quiet side of acoustic guitar strumming and depressed boy vocals turns quite loud as a Big Muff illuminates the guitar into a smack laced mess ending in a lock groove - kinda cool. The other side, “Let’s Go Writing” continued to remind me of Pavement and Barlow & company - what with its 4/4 Ameri-indie rock drumming, upstart young male vocals and repetitive little lyrics. Not a bad first effort. (1st Woo 2633 Lincoln Blvd. #240, Santa Monica, CA 90405)

Hal Al Shedad Human Again 7”
Lying across the railroad tracks awaiting the Jonathan Fire*Eater rail line to crush them, this trio with an Atlanta PO Box kick and squirm fueled by a blinding rush of adrenaline to their every nerve. On one side of this single they mournfully address their panic in a somber half-awake dream state slurring their every word - too tired to attempt escape. The flip side is where you learn why they are so tired - the Hal al Shedad are kicking and screaming and writhing and wailing in a hurried, panicked, frenzied attempt to escape the ropes that bind them to the rail ties. Their stress is cathartic. Enjoy the pain in a voyeuristic peak into the lives of three strangers that record brilliant eem. (Buddy System/Troubleman Unlimited 16 Willow Street Bayonne, NJ 07002)

Half Film The Road to the Crater CD
The Only Direction is South 7"
We all enjoy people watching. Whether at a café or amusement park, our innate curiosities about the secret lives of those around us draw us to closely monitor strangers and friends alike. I enjoy watching people, by watching bands develop, or blossom, into something quite different from how they began or merely fine-tuning what they have done from the get-go. It has been about four years since I heard Half Film demos on a normal bias cassette sent to me from a friend in San Francisco. The description then and now is quite the same: Slow-mo-rock-band-to-watch. With their recently released CD (on Devil in the Woods) and new 7" (on AIP) hitting stereos around the globe, more people will be watching this bay-area trio. Whether or not you are a fan of Low, Red House Painters, Dart, Arab Strap, Bedhead (and the other slo-core bands they've been synonymous with in writers minds) Half Film stand alone as a noteworthy addition to your relaxed intimate listening sessions. Whether alone, or with someone that sets you at ease, Half Film's tenderness will awaken more than your sense of hearing turning a room full of strangers into a parade of those that care for you. Watch Half Film as they play. Watch them as they stare back with a familiar eye. You know one another despite never having been introduced. (Devil in the Woods POB 6217 Albany, CA 94706, AIP 1625 Oakwood Drive, San Mateo, CA 94403) – Keith York

Half Japanese Heaven Sent CD
What is essentially one song playing for over an hour, Heaven Sent isn’t at all what its description entails. Disallowing Jad Fair’s usual juvenile antics and nasally vocal hiccups, this is the most impressive sound I have heard this age-old collective (yet platform for an individual) perform. Buzzing lazily, yet poignantly, the hour-long track mutates like a growing organism with an all too brief life span. The play button restores life. Play god and play it often. As Rosencrantz and Guildenstern sat befuddled, confused as to the nature of things and their own identities, so too does Jad Fair & Co. They twist themselves into a frenzy of guitar drone, motorik rhythms (most of which bathed in a reverb wash) while Jad talks - rattling off ideas as if they come to him magically and instantly. Like Rosencrantz, Jad looks to his bandmates (and likely the studio crew) for solace and compassion as he riddles the wordplay in a stream of conscious path toward his (and their) own identity. Or lack thereof. The chance meeting of strangers and brothers alike are questioned here. Are they (we) heaven sent? Is Heaven Sent a chance encounter? Not if you paid for it at the cash register. The meaning of such a behavior is defined solely by the act, the context isn’t established until the listener sits through this expansive track and heralds a response. Likely a joyous one at that. (Trance Syndicate/Emperor Jones PO Box 49771 Austin, TX 78765)

Halo of Flies Music for Insect Minds CD
In a never ending search for the last two pieces of my Halo of Flies discography puzzle, it is a treat to have most of my vinyl collection of their output one CD. Spanning from ‘85 to ‘91, Halo of Flies was a huge influence on my formative years as a college radio DJ, and along with their other 50 fans, I lamented their passing after graduation. Mac (or Tim McLaughlin) continued on recording bands at the Amrep studios for a little while. Tom Hazelmyer went full bore into his record label, Amphetamine Reptile. Soon enough a couple of live documents were haphazardly released to document the half dozen or so shows this six-year old entity ever played. Though each 7” single stood on its own, hearing the breadth of Halo of Flies’ output in one sitting gives more meaning to the bit of diversity they employed in the 30+ songs they ever recorded. Some of these songs sound like twisted power pop akin to Blur’s “Song #2,” while others (including their cover versions) whack the white noise punk rock statuettes from their carefully placed mantels. Spitting egregiously at what “punk” has become, Halo of Flies will remain an important part of what could have been, a legacy of what once was - that is to say, before pop-punk bands and Epitaph Records were born. (Amphetamine Reptile 2645 1st Ave. S. Minneapolis, MN 55408)

Har Mar Superstar s/t CD
Funky R&B stylings catch the listener by surprise as Martin Tillman’s (a.k.a. Har Mar Superstar) electro-groovy anthems take center stage. Brother of Sean Tillman (a.k.a. Sean Na Na) and fellow St. Paul resident, Martin’s package of electro-boogie rivals the synth-pop of Land of the Loops, and Busy Signals but adds a great deal of white-boy (having listened to Prince growing up) funk to the equation. (Kill Rock Stars PMB 418 120 NE State Ave. Olympia, WA 98501) – Keith York

Harmony Rockets I’ve Got a Golden Ticket CD
Problems arise when one is both elated and disappointed within the same consumer product. Restaurants fancy our eyes with delicate balanced food layouts while the palette isn’t always treated with the same surprise our eyes are. Packaging and contents must be of equal merit and all contents must be worthwhile. These “ugly bags of mostly water” left their Mercury Rev identities (and culinary skills) behind them to find a new life in Harmony Rockets. That life breathes strangely disparate voices within this introductory 5-track disc. Three worthless versions of a Willie Wonka soundtrack item and two wonderful Vangelis covers oppose one another in purpose and intent - both on the creators’ and buyer’s side of the equation. “L’Apocalypse des Animaux” expresses everything a band should be: experimental, quiet, dark, brooding, receptive to the past and expressive of a unique talent. Within its fifteen minute span we learn more about the Harmony Rockets than in the rest of this 40 minute EP. The landscape is odd, skewed with beats, and foreboding analog & digital tones - quiet is the darkness. A debut is a strange place and time to have this happen. (No.6 PO Box 5037 NYC 10185)

Harmony Rockets I’ve Got a Golden Ticket CD
Silent classics. Figures set to motion in a dance of ellipses and spiraling body movements, twists and cradling of arms. Hauntingly familiar yet completely foreign, I hearken back to a time of futuristic movies with high ideals and surreal scenes and bizarre plots. Hovering spacecraft float loomingly amidst a gray black sky, the smoke casts haze pierced by searchlights as they probe the ground beneath. A distant sound, like that of a slowed-helicopter propeller, a building bass beat and cymbal work, and dissonant, bent slide guitar notes evoke visions of burning fields in sun-scorched Vietnam. Memories within memories. “L’Apocalypse des Aminaux” is my apocalypse now. There on my gunboat, soaked in sweat, I relive a life I dreamed of many times. The piece evolves somewhat, succumbing to a minimalist trance-like beat. waves of synth buzz back and forth from left channel to right channel, sounding like a swarm of mechanical bees. It closes with a solemn restatement of the theme, hauntingly familiar as it seeps from the pipes of a submerged organ, haunting because it evokes no images but of soot covered buildings and child beggars wearing tattered rags and fingertip-less gloves rummaging through rubbish for food. Familiar, because it sounds like something from time past, or maybe because I heard it played in a different text 13 long, beautifully spent minutes ago when the song started. (No.6 PO Box 5037 NYC 10185) - Steven M. Brydges

Hawick, Ninian / The SheBrews split 7”
Though Grimsey says “Scottish Rite Temple Stomp” will be released soon on CD, seekers of the most addictive pop songs should rush out and find this single in the interim. With a full compliment backing Heather McElhatton’s voice, this bubbling, spiraling pop song is of the finest ever recorded. While not straying too far from an amped-up Broadcast, Ninian Hawick has a fun jump up & dance feel that the 2nd wave of ska bands from the UK used to command. The She Brews are a side project of Legendary Jim Ruiz Group’s Jim Ruiz and wife Stephanie with Ninian Hawick’s Crozier on guitar. Dwarfed by the Ninian Hawick song, “Leave All Your Old Loves” is a somber little loungey pop song much like the aforementioned band’s Minty Fresh released album and their other side project (also released on Grimsey). (Grimsey PO Box 541 Stillwater, MN 55082)

Haywood Men Called him Mister CD
Upon the first song indexing, you will hear Haywood erupt with some of the most passionate playing and singing to hit any living room in a long while. With funky Dianogah tempos, and Ganger tempers, and emo/rock punch, the Haywood quartet hold surprises around each corner – such as their loungey pop antics that uproot you from your comfortable recliner and get you groovin'. For everyone and their ailing ear drums. (Self-Starter Foundation POB 1776 Horsham, PA 19044) – Keith York

Haywood Men Called Him Mister CD
Somehow the sounds of this are unbelievable. Ghosts of Flower and Wire flourish in the haunted halls of a house inhabited by Superchunk and Versus for the last umpteen years. The quiet of planchette gliding across Ouija board crushed with a flash of loud blood rushing through the heart. As songs, especially album opener “You Talk Twice,” form the listener gets that sense of someone standing next to them – a ghost perhaps. From the corner of your eye, you think you can see Haywood standing beside you instruments in hand. Close your eyes and your are stirring amongst sweaty club goers. Friendly spirits or poltergeists, you decide. (Self-Starter Foundation POB 1776 Horsham, PA 19044) – Keith York

Hefner Boxing Hefner CD
Hefner is back with a new collection of its hybrid sound. Cut from the stalks of Buzzocks (Howard DeVoto's vocals), Billy Bragg's passionate folk heroics, and the alchemy of Belle & Sebastian, Hefner's sound is uniquely engaging while sounding like an old friend. Boxing Hefner is a collection of previously released single tracks, unreleased songs, and previously-unreleased versions of songs recorded 1996-2000. Memorializing their rise to rabid fan appreciation, songwriter (and Londoner) Darren Hayman and crew collected tracks from BBC Radio One sessions and other recording sessions (including B&S producer Tony Doogan) to make up a cohesive album despite the songs not being recorded as a collection. For those "disaffected" youth out there and us adults that are never too far from an anxiety attack or nervous breakdown. (Beggars Banquet 580 Broadway Suite 1004, NYC 10012) – Keith York

Hefner The Fidelity Wars CD
After listening to this, my second outing with these Brits, I sit dazed in awe. Showcasing remarkable improvements in both songwriting and attitude, Hefner's latest album (a tribute to just being who they are) is stunning. Moving ever-closer to sitting on the throne at the right hand of (pop)god(s) (i.e. Oasis, Blur, Verve), Hefner's sense of melody and passion shines brightly through your speaker cones. Treading water in the wake of passing ship HMS Buzzcocks, and the solo career of helmer Howard DeVoto, Hefner heads toward a pleasantly-blinding horizon of sunglazed pop. (Too Pure/Beggars Banquet 580 Broadway Suite 1004, NYC 10012) – Keith York

Heidies Exit Ten CD
The sound of youth. High school antics underscored by Lookout!-stable record collections stained by all-ages venue sweat. T-shirts emblazoned with band names like Blink-182. Hair clips, backpacks and Airwalks® cruise the room heated by 100-watt bulbs, guitar amps, and teen hormones. The pimple-faced kids eat up the merchandise at the table in back. "Dad loaned us his van to get here" quips the cracking voice of the punk rock band member. Anarchist, anti-capitalism naiveté is evidently displayed by patches on jackets and shoulder bags. The kids need the punk rock energy. (Insurance Scam PO Box 145 Northville, MI 48167) - Keith York

Helen Love Does Your Heart Go Boom CD
Buzzsaw pop like Subway and 53rd & 3rd used to produce -- Helen Love stand strong, firmly entrenched in a fanclub appreciation for all things Ramones. Quick like hummingbird wings, these songs flutter rapidly in front of your face -- in quiet disbelief you wonder if the laws of physics should allow this sort of thing to happen. “Does Your Heart Go Boom” takes stabs at rock icons Bush and Manchester United all the while advertising Atari Teenage Riot breaking new ground in pop & roll - lyrics aside this song tickles your ribs until it comes to an end. “Put Your Foot on the Fuzzbox Baby” is the other bookend to the EP leaving you tired, stuttering in disbelief with a sucker firmly implanted in a smiling face. Cheers. (Che PO Box 653 London E18 2NX UK)

Helio Sequence Com Plex CD
Working diligently into the late night hours after closing up the music store, this Beaverton, OR duo (Brandon Summers on guitars and vocals, and Benjamin Weikel on drums, keys and vocals) have created quite a piece of work. With jangly Stone Roses guitar antics, a love for Beatlesesque pop songs, Flaming Lips psychedelia, and a charmed attraction to Stereolab keyboards, this duo is hard to pin down, and hard to get out of your mind. Not quite far from the Elephant 6 axis, closer in melody creation than geography to be exact, the Helio Sequence have recorded a rising phoenix and given it 9 different titles. (Cavity Search cavitysearchrecords.com) – Keith York

Helium The Magic City CD
Sexual. Your heart beat quickens. Your body warms as the hot blood pumps through it. Foreplay lasting for an hour or two. The winter weather frosting trees outside while a greenhouse-steam fogs up your home’s windows. Rising and falling like lovers intertwined, The Magic City rolls with the strength of thunder and the tenderness of newborns.
As you wade through the shelves of books in a vast library an attractive person in a tight fitting sweater brushes your arm as they pass by. You pull books from an eye-level shelf to peak at them one aisle over. They drop a book. You hand it to them with a smile, that brush-by never leaving your mind. As they head for your favorite section of the library your heart runs like a snare roll; knowing you have to follow.
The Magic City brushes up against Martha & the Muffins and Miaow on occasion, the keyboards and vocals jar your memory. Through rows and rows of books, shelves, desks, cubicles and people saying “sshhh,” you can find The Magic City. It’s sinister voice beckons. Mary Timony calls you by name. Your heart races. (Matador 625 Broadway NYC 10012)

Hello I'm A Truck s/t CD
Every so often a band falls in my lap that though I don't get 'em, the fact that their music baffles me keeps me listening. Pere Ubu used to perplex me. I was never quite sure if I liked 'em or not. Hello I'm a Truck, pull the 80s L.A. new wave carpet out from underneath the unsuspecting indie rock kids while sneering at their tight t-shirt frail shells. The Pro-Keds equipped dancing feet move Levis thrift shop corduroy legs in a white-man-no-rhythm dance that rival Cyndi Lauper's charm. Funky neo-country skewed pop songs swagger and swing like the record collection of a Rodney on the ROQ record shopper in '82-'83. Very LA chic. (Framed PO Box 49961 Austin, TX 78765) - Keith York

Hemlock Give Kids Candy CD
Bittersweet guitar rock songs that reminded me of the less-manic moments of Baboon. More mature than their debut or their earlier live shows, this post-Fishwife, post-Tanner combo are now (by default) one of the longer lasting bands in town. Though this record has its quiet, lonely boyfriend moments, much of the songs present white-boy-teen guitar rock that has much more creativity and emotional servitude than any Epitaph release. One of the label’s best releases to date. (Liquid Meat PO Box 460692 Escondido, CA 92046-0692)

Her Space Holiday Audio Astronomy 12"
I often get an interesting response (from strangers) when telling people that I have lived in San Diego all of my life. The usual response is culled from our tourism bureau's marketing tactics; San Diego as vacation destination. While I agree the temperate, near Mediterranean, climate boasts year-round vacation-worthy weather, it is the diversity of San Diego's topography that locals find addictive. Within this region, one can explore the coastal waterways and beaches, while in other areas, bikers, hikers and outdoor enthusiasts climb rock faces and navigate desert mud caves or fish the many lakes. While marketing forces determine much of the impressions outsiders have, it is we who live here that understand a different city altogether.
After stints with Indian Summer, Mohinder and Calm, Marc Bianchi has created a new regional dialect, Her Space Holiday. He understands his environment more so than us outsiders. What brochures may conclude short-sightedly (n black & white) as space rock, Marc's inside perspective writes a wholly opposing definition: he illustrates colorful, farther-reaching dimensions to this sound than words can describe. Guitar atmospherics, keyboard drones and found sounds mesh, forming a new textile of HSH design.
Oftentimes the reason for living in a region such as this, is the natural splendor that surrounds you. Even with years of appreciating the natural beauty that surrounds me, with HSH on my headphones, dusk at the beach garners an even higher level of emotive response. Lulling, ebbing tides of natural forces consistent enough to predict, pull you from the stresses of consumer-sheep life. Wherever you live, HSH can amplify the beauty that surrounds you: snowfall, wind swept corn fields, calm glassy lakes, or cocksure mature saguaro cacti display ecological simplicity and serenity. (Train Bridge PO Box 12595 Berkeley, CA 94712) - Keith York

Her Space Holiday Skyline 7"
Her Space Holiday Wish List 7"
The songwriting force that is Marc Bianchi of San Mateo, CA has now crossed the Pacific reaching two Japanese labels known for their releases by forward-thinking innovators in pop song craft. Marc (AKA Her Space Holiday) contiinues the vein of lonesome rock poetics about lost love, lost letters, and lost chances amidst life's other hurdles. Whether it be his heartstring pulling vocals, or the six-string bending and key drones that attract you, like the Field Mice and Trembling Blue Stars, it is the human frailty that draws us to writers like Marc. And now, the United States' GNP features Marc's personal explorations as trade relations with the mighty superpower—hopefully this will aid their ailing economy the same way it brings about a healthy psyche for those of us with turntables and a few extra dollars for import singles. Bless you. (Clover c/o C-Plus Roppongi Bldg. 4-11-4 Roppongi Minatoku Tokyo 1060032 Japan, Motorway 3-2-8 Shioyaki Ichikawa Chiba 2720114 Japan) – Keith York

Hi-Fives And A Whole Lotta You! CD
Allow me to start by praising the graphics that adorn this package. The illustrations and layout are impeccable and well-suited for the genre. Buzzcocks-like speedy guitar work, in a garage post-’60s Beat fashion play around a Mod (power pop) influence and a fondness for the SoCal surf guitar rock of a bygone era. All told this album wreaks of homages paid, of bills paid, of duty served and fun had. An extremely delightful romp into DIY teen America. Fun, quirky song statements and a couple of covers, most notably “Tainted Love,” make this a well-rounded reflection of who the Hi-Fives are. Punk rock can take a back seat to this affair. (Lookout PO Box 11374 Berkeley, CA 94712)

High Llamas Buzzle Bee CD
Sean O’Hagan and crew are at it again. Delivering the most delectable pop confections this side of Martin Denny’s vibes and Polynesian swank, the High Llamas push Stereolab’s flashy drone-pop into mid-century hi-fi bachelor pad tones. O’Hagan, who has made a name for himself as a self-made conductor at London’s Blackwing studios is responsible for much of Stereolab’s string and horn arrangements. Returning the favor we have ‘Lab veterans Anday Ramsay and Mary Hanson contributing to Buzzle Bee. Feeling as if “Yellow Submarine” belongs on the television screen, and I should be pouring cocktails donned with fruit ka-bobs and parasols, the latest Llamas disc pushes the boundaries on all Pet Sounds comparisons. They have indeed arrived. (Drag City/Duophonic POB 47687 Chicago, IL 60647) – Keith York

High Llamas Cold and Bouncy CD
Leaving in his wake, a comforting sense of longing, and a delight in being dreadfully lonely, Sean O’Hagan’s pop tapestries are tightly woven, little-known majesties of human invention. With nods to 50s exotica, Beach Boys melody, and Stereolab’s string arrangements, O’Hagan and Co. have ventured even further than previous efforts. Planting their flag in the ice of a slow moving pop iceberg, the High Llamas are sincere, yet demanding tour guides in a frigid climate absent of anything but shadow and light. Sparkling sunlight streams down upon these sixteen path choices, casting shadows on the graves of others who have dared the terrain and died trying. Cold and Bouncy is full of melodies that sparkle like ice crystals under the claws of explorers’ boots. Actually, each track glistens regardless of context, and absence of market research cares, because optimism and disappointment are at the root of every pop explorer’s needs. (V2 1540 Broadway NYC, NY 10036) - Keith York

Him Our Point of Departure CD
The cast is strong. The script is weighty while entertaining. The director is misunderstood by his audiences, while his peers launch accolades at the completion of every work. His (Doug Scharin of June of 44) latest foray into audio dramatics, Our Point of Departure, showcases the organic nature of his work melding rock, dub and jazz by pioneer sonic actors based on his keen sense of percussion. Casting Him with players with CVs containing The Boom (Carlo Cennamo on sax, keys, percussion), The Sorts (Fred Erskine on bass, trumpet, keys, guitar), June of 44 (Doug Scharin on drums, percussion and electronics), Sonora Pine (Sean Meadows also of June of 44 and Letter E on guitar) and Golden (Jon Theodore on percussion and keys), director Scharin has accomplished a highly evocative piece. As the stage lights brighten and the volume erupts, drop Playbill, any distracting thoughts, and your jaw to the sound. (Perishable POB 57-8804 Chicago, IL 60657) – Keith York

Hisam Technical Ecstasy CS
Despite the age of this workout (recorded July ‘98), Hisam kept the freshest breakbeats alive in cold storage. While in stasis, breaks from every good r&b, pop, jungle, and hip-hop track produced in the last two decades made its way into Hisam’s set. Broken, splintered, dissected, manicured, and delivered with deftly precise stylli manipulation, these funky breaks are ageless bounty. This 90-minute workout suffers a bit of fidelity loss (tape hiss at no extra charge) on the normal bias dubbing route, but is nonetheless worth checking into. (Funkshun Productions 407-657-7637)

Hoen, Sean Madigan The Atavan Tapes CD
While Dearborn, Michigan is known amongst the Terrastock set as a burgeoning hotbed of space rock (Windy & Carl, Füxa, Gravity Wax etc.), Sean Hoen’s acoustic psych-ward-filtered Americana is a pleasant surprise. While shopping at the same Detroit suburb record shops and hanging at the same café’s and diners with the drone kids, Hoen’s strategy employing six-string melancholy is a by-product of the same environment. With his associates adding bass, drums and piano on a few songs, The Atavan Tapes, aren’t numbingly dependent on Hoen’s guitar and lyrical stylings. Instead, the album clutches the listener with each listen, as people tend to do, Hoen reveals a little more of himself the more time you spend one on one with him. Mark Kozelek has a new peer. (Conquer the World POB40282 Reford, MI 48240, manager@bigcd.com, ionesco111@aol.com) – Keith York

Hoffman, Lauren Megiddo CD
Before you begin listening to this CD take out the lyric sheet. Even if you skim over the words you'll understand what's important here, it's the songwriting, stupid. Like few singer-songwriters these days Hoffman uses each song to tell a story. From the cynical "Rock Star" where Hoffman murmurs, "They put a shrine for you in Rolling Stone...I want to hold your kid and make love to your wife." to the dreamy "Cold And Gray" an ultimately sad tale of longing for the right man. Hats off to Hoffman, who also plays guitars, an important element throughout the album, as in the Buddy Holly-like backround riffs on "Hope You Don't Mind." The songs on Megiddo are generally harmony rich pop, with the few departures, such as "The Cannibal Ed" a scratchy, country western song that could fit just as well on a children's album. (Virgin Records) - Adolfo Guzman Lopez

Holiday Cafe Reggio CD
Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. New (recorded in May of ‘97) and old songs are the ingredients of this posthumous release, Holiday having played their final show this summer. Akin to the Weather Prophets’ mature intellectual brand of smooth pop songs, Cafe Reggio is like a Fall breeze blowing through your hair and across your face. With lots of horns, Holiday shed the indie-pop crown and move themselves into a higher level of popband strata along with the likes of tender-boys House of Love and Momus. Holding steadfast to a sixties Brit charm, the jangly guitars and soft boy vocals tease the listener into thinking the Magnetic Fields were signed to Creation in ‘87. (SpinArt PO Box 1798 NYC 10156-1798)

Holiday Flyer Blue Harvest CDEP
As this trio matures, the songs reach farther than even they ever imagined. They stretch like kittens awaking from naps. Strummy, glistening guitar lines lay foundations for structure and melody while drum-whisks caress our tired muscles. Relax, enjoy the massage. Katie Conley's words tickle as fingers run through your hair. Piano keys dance like the slight edge of fingernails crisscrossing your skin. Relax, enjoy the sound. While each of these six songs make my heart skip, every word, note and chord of "California" is heart wrenching pop perfection. This Blue Harvest artifact, surprises even I who have known them for years. Watching them grow is as proud an activity as I have participated in this lifetime. I love you, relaxed, massaged, calm. (Darla 625 Scott Street San Francisco, CA 94117) - Keith York

Holiday Flyer The Rainbow Confection CD
A sense of youthful innocence pervades this album. Visions of a young princess bounding down the staircase towards her prom date, her radiant glow setting the alcove ablaze in the color of honey, dance before my eyes as I listen to Holiday Flyer. Memories of drives taken down shaded roads just to feel and smell the cool air wafting in from the bays. The torment and anguish of the bitter silence inflicted at arms' length. Holiday Flyer plays as if they are the score to a scrapbook of my love life. The jangly guitar strums, soft harmonies and percussion of siblings Katie and John Conley are elevated by Verna Brock’s cello, piano or flute. Their voices may be heart stoppers, but Brock is the showstopper. Her buoyant, Charlie Brownlike piano melodies can make you giddy, while her sad, longing cello and flute can well tears the size of small children in yr eyes. The Conleys’ lyrics are almost childlike in their simplicity, yet still convey the emotional distress that lies at the root of (im?)mature relationships. Simple, because there is usually a simple resolution to love’s trials. A magnet on my mom’s refrigerator reads, “Anger is a response to a perceived injustice; to forgive another is really a gift to one’s self.” These songs are as frail as love itself. Prone to hurt, our players respond, then ask for forgiveness in songs filled with warm and loving touches. Worth noting is the spirit of 1950’s music this album recalls in its simple rhymes and playing, and of its warmth, tenderness and honesty. The pervading sense of innocence outlines and defines a simple, unalienable truth: Despite the adult aspects of mature relationships, the childlike and romantic fantasies of love and of being loved remain. We all want that picket fence. I will paint mine in Holiday Flyer’s colors. (Silver Girl PO Box 161024 San Diego, CA) - Steven M. Brydges

Holiday Flyer You Make Us Go CD
On their third album, following singles, and compilation contributions, the trio of John, Katie and Verna let loose more of their quiet spirits for the rest of the world to hear. For fans, the expected strummy summery pop highlighted by the Conley brother-sister vocal interplay is again present, while the other instrumentation added on their Rainbow Confection album extends its reach; piano, flute, cello, organ, bass and trombone make for a fuller, richer "band" sound – one that has escaped the frailty of their songs in the past. Album highlight is actually, rare for Holiday Flyer, a cover of a little known Sacramento duo's (Situation 5) song "Guts" which is likely the best song written since the death of Ian Curtis. A must-have for every member of your extended family, community, or network. (Darla 625 Scott St. #301 San Francisco, CA 94117) – Keith York

Holly Adams & DJ @Large Live From Bump! CS
Now married, the team of Mars FM/Groove Radio’s Holly Adams and DJ @Large (resident at Strange Fruit, God’s Kitchen, Bump!) spread their vibe with a live set each. Holly A’s Side A is comprised of a seamless mix of 4/4 party vibes. Dipping her hand in the record bag, Mrs. @Large has a knack for dubby, bouncy, vocal tracks with dancing piano keys and the sweetness of a solid-sugar pair of 1200s. @Large’s mix on the flip side reflects his latest foray into the record bins with giftpacks from the likes of Terraform, Exist Dance, Planet E as well as a cache of white labels in effect. Excercising his command of the 4-speed build, drop, and break, @Large is throwing strikes over the plate with effortless form. Pure funktion as the outfielders groove, hands in the air awaiting a flyball. (Bump! PO Box 7142 Santa Monica, CA 90406)

Holroyd, Bob Drumming Up A Storm CDEP/12”
Having been stunned by this track on the Traveler ’01 sampler (reviewed elsewhere), this remix EP (containing 4 versions of the track) was a welcome respite from current radio fare. With a distinctly tribal flare to the percussion, the original version (from Holroyd’s A Different Space disc) is placed in a wholly different context amidst remixes. dZihan & Kamien’s “Dub Mix” is quite substantial, as is Romanthony’s “Organic Mix” and Holroyd’s own remix that brings the EP to a close. Hearty dance floor rumblings and wonderfully melodic rain forest music. (Six Degrees POB 411347 San Francisco, CA 94141) - Keith York

Home Elf :: Gulf Bore Walts CD
One of the best parts of being “outta the loop” is hearing records like this and wondering what the publicity and promotions people say to the music press about bands like Home. I have no context in which to place this record - it landed in my lap courtesy of a friend and here I sit listening and writing, listening & interpreting and writing & contextualizing. I don’t proclaim to write well, or understand music more than any other half-witted mortal pop aficionado. I do like to explain myself, explain my understandings, my interpretations, my opinions. As this disc played itself in my driver, several notable things passed my ear - and for some reason I equated home with the nation of Sweden - don’t ask me why. I do not know where this band lives, resides, lived or vacationed - frankly, I haven’t a clue who these folks are - or for that matter were. I ponder to myself whether or not they are still an active “band.” Inadvertently, Home use some stylistic cues from Can (their pop songs), Pavement, Guided By Voices and Yo La Tengo - but then again that’s what’s on my mind - - you may hear otherwise. Funky clinking, key twiddling, cold difficult structural changes, heartfelt singing, and confidently mathematically intense rhythms drive this lumbering tourvanload of song ideas down the road. From one fan of rock music to another this was a pleasant surprise - I am not just blowing smoke up the collective butts of indierockdom either. (Jetset 67 Vestry St. #5C NYC 10013)

Honeyrider All Systems Go! CD
Summer’s Almost Gone 7”
Sparkling like champagne on the terrace of a summer cottage, Honeyrider allow for giddy optimism to overtake you like an alcohol tickle. Summertime anthems are what Honeyrider excels at. The boy next door with his guitar writes these songs with ease. Not giving it a second thought he leaves the US for Europe to record and perform his songs for the indie kids at the likes of King Tut’s Wah Wah Hut where we hear John Peel frequents... Honeyrider is the 60s summer pop explosion. (Damaged Goods PO Box 671 London E17 6NF)

Hood Home is Where it Hurts CD
Since marking their territory with Cabled Linear Action some years ago on Slumberland, the Hood contingent (Richard and Chris Adams) have spawned a vast array of releases as well as those connected to their many offspring (555 artists: Downpour, Empress, Famous Boyfriend, Remote Viewer). With Stewart Anderson (555 Records, Hulaboy, Boyracer, Steward) moving from Leeds to Philadelphia and Hood finding a new home (Aesthetics will be releasing their next full length in October 2001), one has to wonder aloud where this is all headed. While the sideprojects rushed headlong into more lo-fi electronica (made dysfunctional by fellow Leeds –ian Third Eye Foundation) Hood releases have been slower to immerse their fan, allowing their languid melodies to evolve over some 7 years of releases. Gentle flowing drones of withheld emotions, stories kept to themselves, and deep seated resent for fake facades, Hood manage to continue to capture their hearts on magnetic tape. Whether it be the lumbering drum machines or cloud-like guitar tones, Home is Where it Hurts is a perfect prescription. (Aesthetics POB 577286 Chicago, IL 60657, ken@aesthetics.com) – Keith York

Hood Structured Disasters CD
Ever since the limited release of Hood’s Cabled Linear Traction became the talk of the town, I have been following their sinister path closely. From singles to compilation appearances to their albums, Hood display a frenetic, almost panicked, display of paranoid guitar damaged pop some would say is only possible from such a UK lineage. Structured Disasters collects eighteen tracks of dissonant bliss from several other previous releases (first three singles and a flexi) while exclusively adding seven new songs to their library. At times haunting, Hood display a warped view of pop’s sad side. This sadness clearly discourages me from using the word “pop” in the same sentence as Hood, but amongst the diverse sounds of their songs many are melodic and memorable. Hood strangle guitar strings, strum chords, and whisper words into your ears while drums echo on the horizon of a new day. Like sitting in a house alone when you are 10 years old, every creak and noise that surrounds you is a potential haunting scare, a potential nightmare while wide awake - Hood create moods of dislocated relationships, abandonment, and desperate lovelorn moments for the heart-impaired. Throughout their many releases, this stands up to the now-legendary Cabled Linear Traction as a testament to growth, ambition and a keen sense of irony wrapped in a blanket of sound. Dinner music. (Happy Go Lucky PO Box 44342 Cleveland, OH 44144)

Hoover s/t CD
Songs born of electrical fires. Tense wires overhang our neighborhoods. The ominous utility company infrastructure frightens most away -- or the fear and anxiety is displaced in favor of another emotion. Other emotions breath the fire of guitar contortions. Electricity does not frighten Hoover. Evidenced by their regrouping to record this five-song EP, Hoover has mastered the art of turning electrical signals into songs. Hoover are the brave electricians wired on strife. Fuse-melting-heat burns the air with that ash-smelling acrid melted plastic burning smell that illustrates electrical fires. You awaken drenched in your own body's radiator coolant at the smell of the fire surrounding you. Hoover are on the stereo again. (Slowdime 2700-B N. Washington Blvd. Arlington, VA 22201) - Keith York

Hooverphonic A New Stereophonic Sound Spectacular CD
When crowded rooms heated with sweaty youth seem empty you know your heart has sunk to a new low. When your favorite restaurant tastes bland you realize the cause of this stems from a heated argument with a close friend. A lover perhaps that has left you standing at the dock watching the boat become a dot on a horizon lined with millions of other now-insignificant dots. Your heart leaps from your throat to your sleeve in slow motion as a question mark appears in your view floating at arms length. Magically, slowly, the floating punctuation mark staring you down reminds you of the acid you licked hours before. But why a question mark. Why should this of all things appear in front of me as I kiss good-bye another moment of perfection. Another relationship soured by her moving across state lines attempting to grasp a constantly exiting horizon. Rainbows don’t actually hover above pots of gold anyhow. Or do they? Quite possibly the bitter tastes that stagnate on your palette are the rainbow’s end.
Low end frequency rumble and spy film themes and grainy 16mm black & white student filmmaker ideas play out on a set of pre-manufactured ideas that academia hath wrought upon the sweaty youth. Pop songs are our only hope in life’s dimmest hour and Hooverphonic illustrate the night with streaks of downtempo lyrical freedom dancing behind a screen casting shadows. Shadows cast without words. It is stark yet inviting, this party of strangers. Dancing, writhing under the heat lamps the trip hop kids shrug off the cool. The low end bass rumble. The sine wave murmur. Your heart has sunk to a new low only to be caught in the wet palms of these Belgians. (Sony 550 Madison Ave. NYC 10022-3211)

Hooverphonic 2 Wicky 12”
After countless listens to the cassette dub of their debut album, this fine 12” came into my hands (thanks Katie!) and hit the 1200s with full force. Though Hooverphonic’s (formerly Hoover) album borrows cues from Portishead (as do Sneaker Pimps and Morcheeba), this is a jazzed up, drum ‘n’ bass-ed three track remix EP that reinvents the album’s “2 Wicky.” Emphasized are the Fender Rhodes sounding keyboards, the trumpet-like flying sample and lots of snares that are otherwise hidden in the album mix. Don’t forget the jazzy Adam F-ish breaks too! Sounding a lot like a Luke Vibert-ized start-from-scratch remix, all three “2 Wicky”’s on this slab are worthy of gettin’ one’s groove on to. (Columbia/Sony)

Hopewell “Stranger” b/w “Paranoid” and “Gravity” 7”
Hopewell open with a striding, anthemic march, built upon a short, persistent bassline and urgent strumming. Tandem vocals, nestled comfortably within the mix, shine optimistically before being overwhelmed in waves of fuzz and organ peals. An atmospheric swirler, the flipside hovers softly, performing occasional distortion sweeps to detect emotional responses. Guitars dress the sky in cloudy effects, providing a mood suitable for the singer’s pensive musings. A synth releases, sustains, then recalls portions of notes, while teapots whistle and tinklers tinkle in the surround sound. (Priapus 1723 Illinois St. Lawrence, KS 66044) - Steven M. Brydges

Hopewell Stranger 7”
I find the term space rock to be more of a conundrum than a genre title. Hopewell’s new a-side (follow up to a fine split with Windy & Carl) puts “The Rock” into space rock with flying bursts of guitar distortion. This single’s b-side harkens back to the quieter Michigan-style comatose spaciousness with a cover of Black Sabbath’s “Paranoid” and a more atmospheric track titled “Gravity (reprise).” Their version of “Paranoid” sounds like a soliloquy to someone rather than the guitar hero altar the original has been placed upon. Going back to the a-side again and again, I find myself lost in a shoegazer hailstorm of Marshall-stack crescendos and a fine song wrapped in a blanket of rock. (Priapus 1723 Illinois Lawrence, KS 66044)

Hopkins, JC Athens By Night CD
Mr. Hopkins, Barbara Manning and Greg Freeman (among others) put some shining moments together for their shiny little 5” disc release. Conjuring up memories of listening to Eleventh Dream Day, Mekons, and the Walkabouts, Athens By Night ran through its song order several times this afternoon as I recovered from a weekend with friends and family. After driving nearly one thousand miles around California I looked to Athens... for comfort, solace, peace and calm. What I got instead was music that left my head abuzz with thought toward the week ahead of me, the tasks to complete, the errands to run, and the impending dawn of Monday of the new week at my dayjob. The muted little trumpet blasts rose above all other sounds on this disc, despite some nice guitar playing and warm Americana of the songs’ vocals and melodies. Really desiring a disc full of drone to fill the room, so my thoughts could fall into the perfect order of an accountant’s ledger, JC Hopkins and company drove my thoughts to real things like the importance of friends and family. Music is hardly about songs’ static structures, instead it is the interactivity and affect they produce. Athens... changes with each listen. (Stickshift 2272 Deadrick St. Memphis, TN 38114)

Howie B Snatch CD
Despite the absence of watery reverb offered in most dub-influenced downtempo music, Snatch has an elegant, crisp allure. Snatch offers an after-hours suburban sensuality rarely heard. After helming many productions ("beat" oriented and otherwise), and running his Pussy Foot label (that deserves rival credit to MoWax), Howie B still finds the time to put his own massive digital sculptures to tape. While quiet and dripping with anticipatory tension, Snatch commands your attention while putting your spine 'n' hip frenzy on the shelf. Great for a late-night rumba. (Palm Pictures/Rykodisc 27 Congress St. Salem, MA 01970) - Keith York

Hulaboy As Tight as an Owl With the Hula Boy LP
Hulaboy Lucy EP 7"
Along with guests, Eric (of Hula Hoop) and Stewart (of Boyracer) display the last couple of years worth of tireless efforts in their two latest documents. Herein, we witness an expansive vision of what Hulaboy can do, of which is anything less than exceptional entertainment. Each song varies considerably as their construction via lo-fi mail correspondence (for both recording and song writing) would explain. Think about it, two friends thousands of miles apart writing and recording courtesy of the US Postal Service! What have they created this time around, you ask? A comprehensive, representative overview of good "pop"-ular music constructs and the good ol' Protestant Work Ethic.
80s new wave synths and drum machines fall away, overcome by strummy acoustic guitar songs, which in turn are cast aside by rock songs equal to the energy both member's alma maters have commanded. Songs about love, about staying in bed for days on end tip the scales of influence toward both Hula Hoop and Boyracer equally. Highly anticipated, and well worth the wait. (555 PO Box HP41 Leeds LS6 4XN UK, Turntable Friend c/o Ulrich Hoffman Willy-Brandt-Str. 15, 41352 Korschenbroich Germany) - Keith York

Hurl Not a Memory CD
Not wanting to rush into this, I listened to several other CDs the day this arrived and looked longingly across the room - Not a Memory laying amongst the torn envelope and miscellaneous papers on my desk. While the speakers blared punk rock derivations and hip hop lamentations I kept staring at this disc knowing it was only a matter of time until I would sit still and breathe in Hurl’s exhaled strength. Pittsburgh’s Hurl have been releasing singles for some time, and this is their third full length which from start to finish questions their relation to the singles that sit upstairs in my room somewhere between my Hula Hoop and Ida singles. Like many experiences, the first is rushed and forgettable almost just to get the inaugural launch out of the way. It is therefore the following cases of the same behavior that bear the fruits of connections - yes both sexually and musically. Hurl create softly melodic guitar rock textures by weaving rhythms and vocals around a tight core of near-math expertise and song writing craft. Reading in other magazines the comparisons to Slint others make I am so surprised how glum such a comparison like that is. Though Slint have their place, Hurl is creating something more mythic than Bitch Magnet did, that Seam did two years ago, and something even Low does on occasion - they create virginal space where the dramatic can unfold. The quiet, the dark, the lucid feel to all these songs, whether played softly or loudly on your stereo, exist in a vacuum - an untouched space without preconceptions of song structure and expectations for pop hooks. The songs stand up erect on their own as exemplary benchmarks for those that ape the quiet math styles of the midwest for decades to come.
(My Pal God PO Box 13335 Chicago, IL 60613)

Hurricane #1 s/t CD
I listened to this three times yesterday. Today, distant from the previous day’s listening experience, I laughed aloud reading Snackcake’s review of this album. Without copying verbatim their review, I must admit it was agreeable. Andy Bell formed Hurricane #1 following the demise of his former band, Ride. Some may say Hurricane #1 was born while Ride was still alive, some would also turn a cheek to this vacant attempt at continuing a legacy. While I disagree that the only reason, Snackcake disliked this was that they assumed a former member of Ride would create nothing short of brilliance, I also envision many hearing this for the first time not holding candles to Bell’s former fraternity will not judge it the same. If Kramer committed to a post-Seinfeld spinoff, most critics would lose sight that it is a new creation, instead easily crippling it with comparisons to what it could be in light of Michael Richards’ former brilliance. Hurricane #1 on its own is yet another addition to late-90s Britrock assemblages still trying to reawaken the first British invasion. They rock in a Rolling Stones way, an Oasis way, a Who way, a Verve way. (Sire 75 Rockefeller Plaza NYC 10019-6908)

Hyperspherian s/t CD
Hot-bed of rock ideology, the college town Lawrence, Kansas strikes again. Raising such luminaries as T*Shirt, Shower Trick, the Priapus label (Hopewell et al) and a host of others us foreigners have yet to detect, the earth moves around the sound of the analog synthesizer. Sounding at home if it were released on Darla, alongside like-minded folks Fingernail, Flow Chart (and the masses of used-guitar-shop hunters and collectors), Hyperspherian take root with the assemblage of instruments/technology: Rogue Moog, Prophet 2000, ARP Odyssey etc. and create a honky-tonk piano and string sound that pushes similar buttons as would members of Bardo Pond embracing the same sensibility, but sporting nicer trousers and smoking less weed. Reckless abandon with knob twiddling and a growing supply of empties being cast aside the mixing desk, Hyperspherian have created more than a mood, it's almost a new color, at least a shade or tint, in the Lawrence palette of contemporary rock 'n' roll. Cheers. (Ecto POB 1272 Lawrence, KS 66044) – Keith York

Hypnotic 23 & Marco Passarani Shape Changing CS
Crazy headache electro from another tag-team mixtape combo – in this case LA’s Hypnotic 23 and Marco Passarani from Italy’s Planet Rome. Combining trax released by Disko B, Djax, Reload, Rephlex and others,Hypnotic 23 rises to the occasion – the apocalypse as seen through the electro-kids’ eyes. Tweaked assemblages of analog riffage, broken drum breaks, and digitalia blow through the PA like a fierce wind whirling the acid-laced top-rockin’ crews around. A great combo mixer as pilot (023) and co-pilot (Passarani) show us that Europe ain’t as far behind as we pretend them to be. (bookings – hypnotic023@yahoo.com, 818.766.6969)