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

Paik Corridors CD
Pushing themselves to the limit and their sounds past the studio’s limiters, Paik follow up their Hugo Strange album with the stunning power of Corridors. Mining territory akin to Whorl and Henry’s Dress (albeit instrumental) the Detroit trio produce wave upon wave of distorted bass whollop pummeling your frame, cascading down slowly to your feet. Sticking to your shell like the sea’s sticky saline residue, Paik attach themselves firmly to your psyche. Like the ocean, Paik explores beauty of shape and form in walls of guitar wallop, while never letting your forget the dangers that lurk in cold temperatures, extreme depths, and the crushing powers of Mother Nature’s wave energy. Stark, dangerous yet majestic in form, Corridors will soothe you or crush your weary form. (Beyonder 2930 Cass Ave. Detroit, MI 48201, www.beyonderrecrods.com) - Keith York

Paine, Rob “Seeing Clear” CS
Within the quiet downtime resides explosive tension. Dub umbrella’d house trax mixed by the hands of Rob Paine, harbor the impulses of TNT while retaining a crisp conservative front. Rob’s faultless mixing and a unique choice of tracks, make “Seeing Clear” a focused strike on decks and four-four kidz alike...especially now that the rain has gone... (contact: Vurt Audio Recordings 215-735-3739, Bookings 215-552-8103)

Panacea Low Profile Darkness 2x12”
Four sides of unforgiving metallic snares and quick tempo techstep rhythms. Assuming this is a one man German operation, Panacea has command of his sampler and ideas on how to make the kids stir in their jackboots. “Reality RMX” has a ghostly “reality was very different” vocal sample that occasionally spooks the locals that start getting used his brand of jungle hyped up on a distortion cocktail (most notably on the low end). “Tron RMX” features brooding yet bouncy bass washes, cut-up gated mid-range snare rolls and creeping space noises. This track ignites images of mechano-humanoids dueling - crashing cymbals denote metal parts flying off the fighting alien chassis, crashing to the ground with bombastic thuds of the kick drum. While mixing “Hellbringer” someone got it in their head to push nearly all the tracks into the VU meter red zone save for the occasional Star Trek communicator synth lines. Monk-like chanting in the background, and the inquisitive “reaching out...” samples are merely two of the ingredients in what results in more of a sound collage than anything resembling dance music. The fourth side of four treats us to two differing drum ‘n’ bass explorations by our new found friend, “Untitled” and “Shiver.” The former track elicits some extremely low frequency bass crunch, almost unrecognizably distortion-soaked snares while mid-range bass bobs steadily along. As most of this LP features loud crashing noise, the last track “Shiver” is nearly danceable. Flying synths and Atari Teenage Riot snares fly by as if grand prix race cars were in the neighborhood. “Shiver” pushes manic spasm of a Skinny Puppy instrumental into hyper drive and dumps us off on a desolate moon of an unknown star system as it ends. Like a good high, it ends all too suddenly. (Chrome/Force Inc Untermainkai 30 60329 Frankfurt Germany)

Panama s/t CD
An unsuspecting package arrives at the doorstep. Wrapped in recycled packaging, the contents and/or the sender have been through a lot together. Small labels release baby bands on new formats and mail out more than they sell. The guitars tell stories of high hopes and tall cities. Tunes at home on discs by Kleenex Girl Wonder or All About Chad reside inside the jewel case that shines in the mid-day sun as one sets it in the open tray. Closed trays and closed eyes reveal a world of northeasterly urban angst-pop from youth growing up on their elder siblings' Nothing Painted Blue records. Delightfully inspired front porch doorstep giggles, bubbles and smiles. (Two Street Recordings, twostreet@altavista.net) – Keith York

Pan American 360 Business/360 Bypass CD
Mark Nelson's (Labradford) second side project album retains all of the exceptionally slow motion electronics (read: stripped down minimalist techno), and skunk-fueled dub processing found on the first Pan American album. 360 Business/360 Bypass is complimented by the assistance of Alan Sparhawk & Mimi Parker (Low), and Rob Mazurek (Isotope 217, Chicago Underground) as well as Casey Rice (Designer) mixing the whole ball o' wax together. What the listener retains after clarity returns to the smoke-filled room, is an eventful evening riding the rails traditionally separating analog and digital electronic music. An evening to remember for sure. (Kranky POB 578743 Chicago, IL 60657) – Keith York

Pan•American s/t CD
Pan•American might be better known to readers as Mark Nelson from Labradford, who cooked this up over the summer of ‘97. Be forewarned, this is not an album of Labradford outtakes. There are moments where it might be mistaken for one, but these moments are outweighed by Pan American’s musical identity. The opening measures of “Starts Friday” are familiar enough territory, but then the beats come in and you know that you’re listening to something else. There is much more emphasis on rhythm here, echoed drums and a sparseness that reminds of the best qualities of dub, its ability to remove sounds from a familiar context and turn them to their own use.

Interestingly, this dub atmosphere is sometimes at odds with the sorts of canned bossa nova beats that Nelson uses. Some of them sound like they’re lifted directly from that old organ sitting in your grandma’s knitting room. You know the one, with the candles and the cat sleeping on the bench that practically played itself. As much as Labradford plays with atmosphere and creating a sense of space with drones and sounds, Pan•American does the same with beats and echoes. Again, that’s probably the dub influence coming out. Rhythm here is much more an important part than ever with Labradford, which is one of the things that sets this work as distinct from theirs, even when you think you’ve heard a snippet of the music somewhere else. Another thing that’s interesting about this album is that Nelson isn’t stuck in the monotone world of 4:4, which so many electronic performers seem to sink into. There’s a lot more dynamic here than in lots of other electronic albums I've heard (none named, but I reviewed some of ‘em this issue. You can find the guilty parties yourself.)

This certainly isn’t my usual listening matter, but I think that it could grow on me without much effort at all (though “Tract” and its shifting beats might take some getting used to). Even for all of its rhythmic basis, there’s still a sense of longing to the music, which attracted me to the last Labradford album. It’s the product of a human artist expressing, instead of someone simply pushing the buttons on their 808. If you’re an electronica fan, then you might give this one a whirl, just to have a taste of something different. Fans of Labradford and the drone thing have a bone or two thrown to them, but by and large, this is a horse of a different color. (Kranky) - Matt Maxwell

Panel Donor Surprise Bath CD
Dive into the chlorinated backyard swimming pool. Open your eyes under water until they burn. Try to breathe in the water. Air-filled lungs force the body to the water's surface like a rocket. Calculated rhythms ebb and flow like irregular tides of a full moon. Cracked, seething guitar tones fracture the silence of unbearable temperatures of South American desert nights. The bass frequencies are humid. Hot. Steaming. Dehydration headaches crush your mood as the songs lumber along. Some are fast. Others slow. Forcing a hand deep into a hot sand dune your head spins on a memory of giddy diving board fun at the neighbor's summer pool party. The sun now stretches from one edge of the horizon to another, the white hot ball cracks the mud on the plane into fractured dinner plates. Inhale the hot air rising from the sand. Cough the dust from your lungs. Cling to the memory of 8-year olds calling out "Marco...Polo." The tenderness of childhood optimistic summers slams like a fiery car accident into the adult-fostered tension and stress of a long work day. Every day you struggle across the dry desert floor hoping for an oasis. As lizards and horny toads criss-cross at your feet, an oasis illusion flourishes ahead of you in the wavering curves of rising heat. The heat has a color. Panel Donor have color. A well-conceived oasis amongst bands spending as much time challenging us as they do themselves. (Sonic Bubblegum PO Box 35504 Brighton, MA 02135) - Keith York

Panoply Academy Corps. Of Engineers Concentus CD
Stump and Long Fin Killie had a couple of things in common: a spastic voice and a herky-jerkiness about them unheard of since the early-80s ramblings by Blurt. Well here we are years later, and somewhere between Bogshed and the Janitors, or between US Maple and Wire is the Panoply Academy (this time using the suffix Corps of Engineers). Concentus acting as a follow-up to their Rah!, We Defend, and 9.16.99 discs defines a maturity I would never have expected a couple years ago. Panoply Academy songs are steadier than before. While "steadier" is relative to the rest of their work, the guys have retained the psychotic episodes fans have come to love. If you can handle a rough buggy ride down a rut-ruined hardened-mud trail that is the Academy's trademark stutter, you are in for a treat. And Concentus being their most appealing disc to date, is the best place to test-drive their sound. (Secretly Canadian 1703 North Maple Street, Bloomington, IN 47404) – Keith York

Panoply Academy Glee ClubWhat We Defend CD
9/16/99 CD
Pulled taut, PAGC songs exhibit the confused strength of a testosterone-fueled teenager while confidently askew in a mature adult psyche of a psychotic (on outpatient status) filled to the brim on antidepressants. Both inside the studio and live (9/16/99 documents their last performance) PAGC push the same buttons pre-pubescent Trumans Water did years ago while displaying their early maturity in song deconstruction before an aging rocker could ressurect the concept album and become the artist they always wished they had been acknowledged for. Frantic at times, scarily sedate at others, What We Defend is the musical equivalent to the sense that Californians have about those MidWesterners living in the eye of seasonal hurricanes always keeping an eye on the horizon never sure when the next attack from God will come. (Secretly Canadian 1703 North Maple, Bloomington IN 47404, Liliel Copgn Trust POB 1881 Bloomington, IN 47402) – Keith York

Pansy Division More Lovin’ From Our Oven CD
A couple of San Franciscans have recently furthered their discography, marking this, their fifth full length album as a collection of singles, compilation tracks and unreleased versions of otherwise released songs. With their usual tenacity and gay wit in hand, Pansy Division rock us silly with cover tunes reinterpretations of ‘classics’ by the like of the Police, Kiss, Depeche Mode and Judas Priest. Once again a label finds the need to reissue singles that belong solely in the vinyl domain, by including the Manada, For Those About to Suck Cock, and Valentines Day singles - I should just give up on my soapbox since no one seems to be listening to me! If you are going to release a single then do it, if you are going to release a CD do it, but if releasing the single is only biding time until its eventual CD version reissue is born then why even fucking bother. A lot of good songs here, buy the singles. (Lookout PO Box 11374 Berkeley, CA 947112)

Paris_Texas So You Thing It's Hot Here CD
Ever wonder what that person dancing and rockin' out at the listening station was listening to? Raucous, upbeat, songs highly spirited in twenty-something optimism will do that to ya. Comfortable in their urgency, this Madison quintet snap like firecrackers through ten concussive 4/4 punkers. With ringing Buzzcocks guitars, the drums and bass tangle. Scott Sherpe's inimitable vocal style conjures images of a youthful Dylan or Iggy wearing tight black leather pants singing for a real honest to goodness garage band. I suppose comparing Paris_Texas to the Vue or Jonathan FireEater is more appropriate, but the emo-isms are a bit more important to these guys. Sputtering punk upstarts, these young men are, and with So You Thing It's Hot Here handy, you'll be the star at the listening station dance party. (Polyvinyl POB 1885 Danville, IL 61834) – Keith York

Park Ave. When Jamie Went to London CD
Infectious like a day-old crush on "the one" who glanced back. Lost amidst the clouds, Park Ave's tempo and melody linger like that face you can't escape. With every turn, every sideways glance, your heart skips like a stone on a placid pond reflecting only passing clouds until interrupted by the chemical fury, the sexual allure of the other. This new found "love" rekindles clammy palmed moments with records by Sleepyhead, Small Factory, Kicking Giant and early-80s OMD. Notably, Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst taps the skins and sings along with each member of the quintet: all of whom rejoice in innocence of crushes and pop songs. (http://www.urinine.com) - Keith York

Parker, William and...Creative Music Orchestra Sunrise in the Tone World CD
And I thought I listened to some weird stuff. I gotta tell you, these jazz guys put me in my place every time I try to give 'em a listen. William Parker's new release is no exception. This time he's brought a whole army of his friends with him, the list of members of the LHCMO (as I just dubbed it), being longer than Sasquatch's arm and twice as scary.
All kidding aside, I can't argue with the passion and quality of the album. I can understand why people are attracted to jazz (and I'm talking jazz here, folks, not the stuff that they package for adult listeners that sounds smooth and silky and utterly bereft of anything human: think Kenny G), even though I'm not particularly into it myself. The players here attack the compositions/improvisations here with a ferocity that I don't hear in a lot of music. They mean every single note, every single flutter and broken "rule" of polite music that comes out on the disc. Dizzying sax runs and percussions flail seemingly uncoordinatedly, but at the same moment, you can't imagine any other notes being played and fitting together the same way.
But make no mistake, this is jazz (debates as to its free or not freeness are for someone else; I’m plainly not qualified to enter into that). And this brings along with it all kinds of baggage, and yes, sound that will plainly turn some listeners off. Like I said, I'm not a big jazz fan the same way that I'm a "drone/rock" (goddamn labels, hate 'em) fan. It doesn't reach me the same way. And it's not supposed to. Parker and Company have other things to say, primarily about hope in a largely hopeless world, and there are moments when that comes across beautifully, horn notes reaching out high and bright over the scraping dirge that the orchestra conjures. This probably isn't the best place for people seeking an introduction into this world, which is truly as much its own as any other school of music that I can think of (but then, who am I to say that.)
The adventurous shouldn't turn up a pass at it, and jazz fans should probably seek it out. And anyone who fancies themselves a composer should stare at the centerfold of the booklet for a long, long time. Consider it an exercise in existential being if nothing else. (AUM Fidelity PO Box 170147 Brooklyn, NY 11217) - Matthew Maxwell

Parker, William & Hamid Drake Piercing the Veil CD
Piercing the Veil memorializes a spring recording session where William Parker’s bass notes (as well as other tones) danced with Hamid Drake’s percussive passion. This artifact, to be carried forward for decades to come, showcases the talents of both avant-jazz players (following their meeting as players in Peter Brotzmann’s Die Like a Dog) while the sum-of-the-parts is really a funnel cloud of ancient sands blowing across a windswept dune. With the heat of the desert sun present across the nine tracks, the Veil modifies your environment, lays a carpet down and charms your body like a cobra climbing from the basket that once was the human form you existed as. (AUM Fidelity POB 170147 Brooklyn, NY 11217, www.aumfidelity.com) – Keith York

Parker, William & The Little Huey Creative Music Orchestra Mayor of Punkville 2xCD
In jazz we hear the emotional range of a healthy community. In improvisation the players report the ills and wonders, the struggles and triumphs, the stories of the village inhabitants. Told one instrument at a time, the struggle for solos, the glee of the solos, the machers and schmoozers of the neighborhood tell stories and spread rumor. The 16-piece Little Huey Creative Music Orchestra under the guidance of William Parker distills the many-layered stories of our greatest city into a series of performances across two discs. In the recordings completed during Parker’s Tonic series last year, we hear the sounds of New York, the emotional range of a massive community. The listener pulls from Mayor of Punkville, angry cab drivers, gleeful airport-gate reunions, Wall Street’s ebb and flow, and the psychosis of the shopping cart set. At times it’s a big mess of hustle ‘n’ bustle just like New York City, while other tracks report the stillness of Central Park at dusk in the winter but the duration of Mayor of Punkville poetically represents the sex of the city. (AUM Fidelity POB 170147 Brooklyn, NY 11217) – Keith York

Pastels Illumination CD
Okay, so I own a ton of Pastels records - none of which display copyright dates more recent than 1990 (if at all). It has been a long time since I shook the hands of these old friends and as many reacquainting re-introductions go it has been awkward, memorable and frightfully surprising how much we have all changed. The Pastels have grown up yet retain their youthful grins, charm and optimism. Illumination is an amazing collection of this trio’s most recent conversations - their instruments being the voices that shout and whisper, that joke and catcall, that hiccup and cough, the voices of friends. They were punk pop songwriters before the genre tag was defaced by the Lookout stable. Stephen and Aggi from the get-go have created a stir amongst the anorak set, amidst a rising and falling Scottish pop scene, and did it all with a punker’s mean stare and simultaneously unadulterated smile. Come to think of it the last time I heard from these folks was courtesy of Black Tambourine’s “Throw Aggi Off the Bridge” where Pam lamented her inability to get close to Mr. Pastel with Aggi standing guard over him. I laughed. I may have laughed out loud. I still launch Up For A Bit and Truck Train Tractor on the turntable with great results - - hell all of my Pastels records are audio scrapbooks to many of my college episodes. They have followed me through a decade, I have missed them until this recent visit. Illumination is a reunion of sorts. One that will bind us together more solidly than ever before. (Up PO Box 21328 Seattle, WA 98111)

Paul Newman Frames Per Second CD
Societally, we continue fostering the cold embrace of digital technologies ranging from personal communications devices attached to our belt loops to the broadband networked infrastructure actively shrinking our planet into a global village. Lost amidst the 1s and 0s can be a sense of familiarity, of warmth, of humanity. As satellites whir information in mega-, giga- and terra- bits per second in low earth orbits we may lose touch with that which is ours, that which is most important - the touch of another. Paul Newman touches your skin, your eardrum, your soul. While mostly instrumental, Frames Per Second, is chock-full of tactile, skin-friendly motions and temperatures - the sources of which are rooms full of sound, sweat and self-aware ideas on how song translates emotions (for both players and audience members alike). Paul Newman is human. Quick-witted song structure changes that beg for a rewind are the signatures of this album; after all Paul Newman’s signature should be valued...right? These young upstarts emit heat and numbing chills as their Slint, and post-Slint ideas ebb and flow like tides of a sea of conversation between two lovers. Pain and comfort exist concurrently in these songs painted by guitarists and drummers; painted by young gifted record shoppers, students of humanity, young teens, and post-ers. Young, gifted and...digital. (Trance Syndicate PO Box 49771 Austin, TX 78765)

Paul Newman Machine Is Not Broken CD
Unsure of why such a big dry land mass like Texas would produce steamy, humid textural music like that of Bedhead, Windsor for the Derby or Paul Newman, I keep digging my heels in the dirt and listening as if preparing for an oncoming storm. As with their other releases, it seems Paul Newman revel in quick turnaround song writing, practice and recording as Machine Is Not Broken was somehow conceived and documented during a two week span. Gushing as I always do when it comes to Paul Newman (each of their Trance Syndicate releases are must-haves), I feel odd in saying I can't imagine what their music would be like if they all still lived near one another year 'round and spent months or years writing an album together. (My Pal God POB 13335 Chicago, IL 60613) – Keith York

Payne, Sean Mind Bender CD
Recoil in fear from the ferocity of war drumming. Battlefield explosions come in the form of snare and kick. Dig in mates, the bombing and strafing runs on the dancefloor are relentless. With little time for the weary to rest, the 4/4 percussion drives full speed ahead with the bottom-end torque of a tank battalion. Hard acid trance is Sean's weapon of choice, as the SoCal DJ mixes up the latest vinyl platters in an uncompromising party set. (Peak Performance 858.492.8891) – Keith York

Payne, Sean untitled CS
Stepping aside from the barbecue momentarily to mix heavy acidic trance, Sean effortlessly merges tweaking bass lines and synth washes together. Leaving the Mira Mesa, CA neighborhood, Sean’s been spinning around for a year and a half at his own as well as others’ parties (i.e. FreakMode, Stellar Grooves), already amassing a veteran’s skillz. Bouncy, at times happy, Sean’s mixer rocks the home stereo this (and any) weekend. In looking for trax at Equinox, or Higher Source, according Mr. Payne, “I’m looking for something groovy…I know right away when hearing a track that it’s gonna work…usually acid trance that has the sound of bending metal…” With soaring synth lines and the occasional anthem vocal line, Sean’s set is a guaranteed winner. Hire this gun. (Contact: 619-586-7881)

Peatmos Earl Gray Tea 7”
Sharing four members with Kactus, this quintet add the delightful twee vocals of miss Manami Kurusu to their acoustic guitar lo-fi pop treats. The track “Earl Gray Tea” is a strummy little quiet-pop masterpiece while “Mad Cow Disease” is a crazy little old skool K Records punker. Peatmos have since lost their little vocalist and may be recruiting a replacement, or just sticking to their guns with Kactus songs, who knows. Also check out their two contributions to the Pop Jingu compilation (discussed elsewhere). (Sonorama PO Box 25952 LA, CA 90025)

Pele Elephant CD
Succulent figures skin pulled taut as the insides ready to burst with a watery richness. Bite into Elephant's fruit and let the sounds run with gravity down the length of your body. Songs without vocals sing stories of relaxation on the shores of tepid pools. Watery sounds flow from fountains of instrumental rock and breathe away their lives in babbling brooks of melting snowcaps. These oceanographers-of-sound (Jon Mueller, Chris Rosenau, Matt Tennessen) swim alongside the listener capturing their every move, struggle for air and reach for the surface in synch with their fans, and through the exercise of leading us through their craft, command our attention with their thoughtful teachings, and infuse us with a sense of curiosity, a longing for more. The sugary wetness of wonderful summer watermelons and the dancing beauty of seahorse life are somehow connected inside this tale we call Elephant. It's a wonder they call these gifted talents "genius." (Sign Language POB 9 Puyallup, WA 98371) – Keith York

Pele The Nudes CD
For the fourth time in the last couple of years, an addition to my audio curriculum stands out for its ability to entertain as well as feed the intellect. Such a compact disc as textbook should refer to elitist vocabulary, incomprehensible graphs, charts and photographs of well-knowns that magically embody thousands of words. The Nudes, on the other hand, created by a trio of Milwaukee residents, is the result of a team teaching approach. Embracing instrumental rock textbooks, lesson plans supplied by decades of rock musicians, as well as the guiding principles of American classless commercial capitalism, only to quickly toss them aside and ask the student population what they really want. The Nudes: An organic bottom-up governance of sound allowing the listener to tug and pull at the lecture, the textbook, and the photographs of sailors kissing strange women in the middle of Times Square. Pele satisfies thirst for understanding the music we listen to and from it how we should grown and learn. (Polyvinyl POB 1885 Danville, IL 61834) – Keith York

Pele People Living With Animals CD
On the heels of their Teaching the History of Teaching Geography album, we find Pele working more magic in tighter movements; making bolder statements with less. Guitars, like tides, criss-cross the horizon as seagulls float above wave crests. The field of vision, and all that we can hear envelopes our surroundings until all that is earth is the music of Pele. Bold key strokes, like the foamy surf erupt as the percussive crashes ring the horizon dry of all other sound. Instrumental rock songs with nothing lacking, no verbage missing, no whiny complaints about political views or lost lovers. People Living is simply the product of imaginative minds behind instruments. Minds willing to take the static, take the heat, from parents and friends that don't "get it." Imaginations that colored outside of the lines as children now employ recording studio engineers and a booking agent color the interiors of our dwellings with their louder, bolder crayons. Four minds that care too much, or care too little, about us the listener—the consumer of their whimsy. Criticism is absent. It is only the emotion-led cognitions that we try to describe here and now. And that has changed forever in the wake of listening to just one Pele song. (Star Star POB 7762 Milwaukee, WI 53207) – Keith York

Pennsy's Electric Workhorses Songs 7"
Fire songs. Campfire songs. Songs of fire. Songs on fire. Song writer on fire? -- ways of describing a new solo outing by James Bertram (he of Red Stars Theory and Lync). With just enough reverb on his guitar, and enough "tinkling" in his piano, James' extracurricular song writing is now with us in a concrete media format. While not as pensive as Songs: Ohia, or as contemplative as Will Oldham's stuff, Pennsy's is an examination of- and exploration into, yet another creative mind with us today. Don't take it for granted none of us are gonna be here forever. (All City 2414 Medill Chicago, IL 60647) - Keith York

Perfume Tree Feeler CD
In a similar fashion as LA-based THC, Vancouver's Perfume Tree trio jump across electronic dance genres with ease by stringing the distinctly different songs together with a woman's breathy vocals. Stretched out in fields of mist like Cocteau Twins' Elizabeth Frazier, the vocals are incoherent assemblages of words forcing the melodic functions of a singer into more of a role as an instrument. Acid synth lines ebb and flow as each song positions itself around a fluttering beat (sometimes hovering around 90 BPM others well over 140...) which, like in "Flooded" sounds like two distinctly different tempos colliding with one another. Perfume Tree's mission is to sound downtempo, to sound organic, to sound Eastern influenced -- they sound really great despite the lack of memorable melodies, words, bass-lines and dance floor gitty-up and goers. Well endowed with a GusGus motivation, these Canadians meld beats, breaks, and washed out guitar passages to create environments rather than identifiable tracks. Feeler would work well as a mixed-CD allowing the tracks to intertwine at a DJ's discretion. As one would expect, my ears pricked up as the "Amen" break joined the fold. (World Domination 3575 Cahuenga Blvd. West #450 L.A., CA 90068) - Keith York

Phantom Surfers The Exciting Sounds of Model Road Racing CD
As expected the Surfers don’t disappoint. Raw Dick Dale reverbed guitars spill like champagne bursting from uncorked bottles at the finish line. In the Winner’s Circle, we cheer for the model road racing champions, ages 8 and up. Mixed with sounds of cheering audiences, cars being whisked down the track with electricity zooming through their chassis and kids with their thumbs on the controllers, the Phantom Surfers do their bay area rock ‘n’ roll rumble thing. With the requisite post-garage surf sound “Heys” we hear very few lyrics, but those that exist are precious. A good marketing gimmick would have seen this to be a vinyl-only release. Roll over Beethoven. (Lookout PO Box 11374 Berkeley, CA 94712)

Phelan, Patrick Songs of Patrick Phelan CD
Simply stated, Songs of is the solo debut of Patrick Phelan, guitarist for Richmond, VA's unparalleled collective. But with a bit more enterprising thought, about two dozen listens in the air-conditioned, flourescent light-lit environs of cubicle-land, and a strong desire to drink a pint of Guinness, there is a great deal more to say about this album. Strummy elegance opens up knee-jerk reactions like "country," "urban folk," or other adjectives and adverbs that denote seriousness, starkness, boldness, and yet hint at the calm, soothing textures. It's a bit like the best Momus song, or the most up-tempo offering by Low you can imagine. Songs of Patrick Phelan is likely the most appropriately named collection in history, as this is less a consumer-product version of Phelan's persona, and more a statement of who he is through song. Seeing that every record is about love and the lack thereof, Songs of is different: It's an album about a guy, like many of us, who has the ability to magically transform his thoughts into songs that touch us and remind us of what we really are. What we are you ask? We are songs of love. (JagJaguWar 1703 North Maple Street Bloomington, IN 47404) – Keith York

Philosopher's Stone Preparation CD
This one is another beastie altogether. According to the liner notes, Philosopher's Stone is comprised of Gareth Mitchell (currently playing with Amp), a guitar and some variety of tape machine. (A Philosopher's Stone,
by the way, is the alchemical name for a substance that allows one to transmute lead into gold; a neat trick. Not that this has anything to do with the album, of course, but it sounds really cool).
This album plays like fog, for the most part. Rather difficult to get your hands around it, and even when you do, you just find that you're not really holding onto anything. I'm not really familiar with Amp, so it'll be kinda useless for me to try and draw comparisons. There are, however, some nice, misty moments of looped guitar (that often sounds like something else entirely). Unfortunately, the mood is broken more than once by distorted timbres of an alien quality. I like distortion. I like FSA. I like the sounds that fuzz boxes make (especially when you get more than one of them in the chain).
This sound reaches right into my lizard brain and makes me want to smash. The stark beauty of the opening track ("through palisade trees") is matched a few other times on the album. But for every moment of beauty, there's a moment of this wrenching sound that makes me want to break furniture. Well, perhaps it isn't that bad, but the quiet/shrill "dynamic" of "places where the mind dies" doesn't do a thing for me. And I have to say that his voice doesn't really do much for me, either. It sounds very out of place, following melodies which don't seem to mesh with the instrumental backing. When Mitchell's voice takes the fore, I just want to skip the track, though he uses it to great effect in "treehouse," when he uses the voice loop as an instrument.
At first listen, I was almost ready to write this one off, but the moments that mar it are outweighed by the feeling that he evokes (one of being in a field of bare trees, sometime just before dawn and the mist obscures the ground around your feet, and you're cool, but not cold enough to want to leave). It would make a fabulous EP. Recommended for those who feel that repetition is just another form of change, provided you've got the finger on the remote so that when those mistaken moments of shrieking arise, you're ready for them. (Kranky Records PO Box 578743 Chicago, IL 60657) - Matt Maxwell

Photek Modus Operandi CD
Photek’s now-legendary string of self-released 12”s remain as staples in the ambient/intelligent drum ‘n’ bass diet. As he lunges forward, heading for horizons unknown, the man responsible for Modus Operandi drags electronic music genre limits kicking and screaming behind him. Photek is an innovator. With each new release he leaves the drum ‘n’ bass idioms further and further behind, creating a metallic mid-range spectrum of seven-minute drum break explorations that wreak havoc on room temperatures and emotional states. Photek is like a charcoal artist using one color to express himself; the high contrast of white paper and black lines builds tension and jars you with its cold frankness. Photek’s limitless imagination, and limited palette, is expressed in his manipulation of snare, cymbal, and hi-hat samples and sequences rather than the requisite explicit presentation of melodies. In these days far removed from the original “hardcore” days of late 80s rave techno, it is hard to imagine a healthy population of folks having survived - - along with LTJ Bukem, Photek is a rare commodity: one that has stood the tests of time as the blinding speed of dance music change passes - favoring fad over lasting innovation. We must cherish such resources the earth offers. (Astralwerks 104 West 29th, 4th Floor NYC 10001)

Photek Solaris CD
Wings outstretched, the shadow of drum ‘n’ bass pioneer Rupert Parkes covers more of the landscape than ever before. With a wingspan embracing house, minimalist techno, and DnB, Solaris is Parkes’ most diverse collection yet. Gone are the days of man-machine metronomic percussion antics on his self-released 12”s (up through his Hidden Camera disc) – in their place is a wider horizon, longer calendar, and far more questions left unanswered by the gifted hard-disk jockey. Growing ever more experimental with samples and groove structure the power of tracks like “Terminus”, “Halogen” and “Lost Blue Heaven” glorify Rupert’s recent relocation to London where all sounds can be found. Nodding to minimal techno with “Glamourama” and title track “Solaris,” Photek is reaching into a grab bag, audience had no clue he owned – something obviously to be explored on his upcoming stateside DJ tour. What will really shock the Photek fan is the partnership with vocalist Robert Owens (Fingers Inc.) producing fairly straight house tracks “Mine to Give” and “Can’t Come Down”. While most electronica geeks are single-minded in their genre of choice, Solaris offers several varying horizons. And for those birds hovering around Parke’s unique DnB output, “Junk” and “Infinity” will remind us of whence he came. (Astralwerks 104 West 29th St. 4th Floor, NYC 10001) – Keith York

Pigeonhed Flash Bulb Emergency Overflow Cavalcade of Remixes CD
The source of gold is usually a dingey, cold, wet shaft of earth smelling of the sweat and desperation of the miners living in its squalor. The nuggets, the fruit of the labor is all that matters. A couple of noteworthy drum ‘n’ bass nuggets mined by Dave Ruffy and Technical Itch lie within the ...Cavalcade of Remixes... While flexing and stretching and yawning in front of the mirror try your best Curtis Mayfield and James Brown impressions. Dance around in your shower towel. Flex. The DJ prepares his set list for the party. He mines, he flexes, he smells of anticipatory sweat. He showers twice while painstakingly digging through the vinyl. He wishes he had an LP version of this or at least a couple of 12”s embraced by the Technical Itch massive. Beats and vocals skip across tense water interrupting complacent waves forming crushing, stirring splashes in the backyards, forests and warehouses of this land. Instrumental versions flex your head around the song ideas. The squalor of the empty dance floor. The mutant beats scream from turntable stylists as shafts of light stream at hip level moving bodies casting shadows on kids in track suits and mask wearing identity hunters. The smiles the beats create are nuggets. Pigeonhed should kick some madness, some hard candy on the masses - since we now know they are capable of hiring others to bring it out in them. (Sub Pop PO Box 20645 Seattle, WA 98102)

Pigeonhed It’s Like the Man Said Remix CD
It has been so long since a multi-remix EP has come my way - quite possibly since the Pet Shop Boys and New Order were still “fresh.” Steve Fisk’s latest incarnation as Pigeonhed is mixed like salad greens through four different recipes (one of which is the album mix from “The Full Sentence” CD) and chefs trained and schooled in differing disciplines. It should be no surprise the hardstep “Technical Itch Mix” was the crowning jewel of this EP - creating a wide distance between the diverse MoWax sound of the EP’s other tracks. While few things are constant among the remixes, the “It’s Like the Man Said” vocal line permutates each different approach to the song. From its Nine Inch Nails-ish vocals, hip hop rhythms, trip hop mixing, James Brown bass lines, hard house kick drums and trancey bongos - the three different songs on this EP are about eclecticism & mixing and little about great song writing. Mr. Fisk has exhibited his talents in many forms over the last decade since his cassettes were available in the K mail-order catalog and his Pell Mell work - Pigeonhed is only one of his latest incarnations, and certainly far from his last. (Sub Pop PO Box 20645 Seattle, WA 98101)

Pike, Dave Bophead CD
Vibraphones, unlike xylophones exude the warmth akin an audiophile's love for vacuum-tube equipped electronic gear. Pike's warmth, or heat, is readily apparent as Bophead third-rails confidently. Not since the odd Herbie Mann, or Martin Denny album has the vibraphone "vibed". Not since Pike's debut over thirty years ago has his sound hit me with such confidence and maturity. Astute drum kit piloting by Lorca Hart creates the Bop environment as horns, piano and bass envelope the listener in the smoky finger-snapping barroom aesthetic. Writers write, painters paint, and thinkers think that jazz is American audio intellectualism -- Dave Pike would agree. As Anthony Wilson's tugs and pulls at his six string, pianists Jane Getz and Milcho Leviev swing and sway the hips and shoulders to the dance floor and easy chair. Deep-seated bass curtsies and bows to the sax commands while crisp cymbals shimmy like sun dancing on a lake's moving shoreline. Dave Pike has returned from hiatus, he's at his "peak". Hardbop, melodic bop, Bophead is Pike's Peak. (Ubiquity Jazz PO Box 192104 San Francisco, CA 94119) - Keith York

Pills Musicsoldia CD
Strangely, and with politically near-correct motives, a Parisian parrallels his struggle in electronica with that of the Native American. With Musicsoldia, Parisian, Anthony Sandor digs deep in a culture steeped in rhythms to find a parrallel, while exploring his role in the French new wave. While going off on industrial-guitar-band and dub-reggae tangents, much of Musicsoldia is hard-edged french dance music sharing some synth sounds with Clinton and Daft Punk while distancing himself from their brand of humor. Influences are worn on the sleeve as Pills covers KLF's "What Time is Love" and invites guests (Parliament's) MudBone and Lee Scratch Perry on vocals. (Wax Trax!/TVT 23 E. 4th St. NYC 10003) – Keith York

Pilot to Gunner Hit the Ground and Hum CD
Flying miles above the earth must be a lonely occupation. With only the team around you to remind you of earthbound humanity, one must entrust them with their life. As danger lurks behind every cloud bank and radar screen blip, the bond between the players grows tighter as mortality and the sense of duty exchange levels of priority. Guitarists, drummer and bassist exchange glances while embattling the audience on stage to gauge the level of effectiveness and commitment each participant is putting in. 110% effort is evidenced in the five-song Hit the Ground and Hum. Horizon cracking drum fireworks set the tone for unrelenting guitars and a tactical bass player that connects the dots. From Sonic Youth to Quicksand, the influences don't measure up because in war men will bare their souls, and that is what the energy on this disc is all about. (Me Too! 915 Cole Street #257 San Francisco, CA 94117) – Keith York

Pinback s/t CD
Rob Crow and Armistead Smith have rich resumés detailing prior accomplishments with other musical outfits, but their work together here as Pinback is the most notable yet. Sullen, soft-spoken pop songs crash silently, gently on the cold sandy beaches of your mind. The soundtrack to scrapbook perusing, and the joy of finding someone else's old photos in a heap of trash at a thrift store. History with your own narrative, life-stories told through your mind's narrator-voice and Pinback providing the soundtrack. (Ace Fu POB 3388 Hoboken, NJ 07030) – Keith York

Pinebender Things Are About to Get Weird CD
Once inside the 12.5 minute album opener "There's a Bag of Weights in the Back of My Car" you realize Pinebender is something extraordinary. Disavowing 60s psych, while retaining much of the power The Telescopes (circa "Perfect Needle") stirred up in the wake of Spacemen 3's "cool", Pinebender release Things Are About to Get Weird to the great unwashed. Strangled, entangled, disortion-soaked guitar-string hurricanes cut across the landscape of post-post-whatever with a 4/4 arena-rock drumkit, whose unrelenting energy keeps this disc from resting wearily until its spin-down. In Things Are About, there exists few moments of polite, civil tenderness, as in "Not How it Will Happen" and "The Depth of the Silence" when guitars soften and vocals converse with your synapses. While the remainder of the disc is composed of weighty rock, the strength of the songs is weighted on shapes balancing one another out, rather than relying on the bold strokes of volume: If Seam and Shellac could come to terms with each others skills, it may result in something nearly as brilliant as this. (OhioGold PO Box 25441 Chicago, IL 60625) – Keith York

Pinehurst Kids Viewmaster CD
Like a strung-together packet of firecrackers, the songs of Viewmaster explode in quick succession. Quick-footed 4/4 rock 'n' roll of the Superchunk variety is well established in the neighborhoods across the country but it seems only during the holidays do we break out the special equipment and rejoice with parades, and loud bangs. Like the tiny photographs of a ViewMaster itself, each song encapsulates time and place for a stereoscope to replay to solo onlookers. The Pinehurst Kids' snapshots are loud, vibrant and presentable year-round to in-laws, out-laws, and indie-rock kids from skate parks to Million Man marches across the land. (4 Alarm 660 West Lake Street Chicago, IL 60661) – Keith York

Pip Proud and Alastair Galbraith Me & Gus 7"
As a prelude to an Emperor Jones full length, these two songs re-introduce a late 60s Australian to the 7"-buying scene. With the help of Galbraith on violin, Pip spills his emotions on your kitchen floor without apologizing. Trying to juggle his kids, his guitar, and his matched set of emotional luggage (baggage), he trips and falls. He lay on your linoleum tile crying, apologizing for interrupting the comfort of your living space. Repeatedly you refuse to honor his words as he has only added something to your day. (Emperor Jones PO Box 49771 Austin, TX 78765) - Keith York

Planes Mistaken For Stars Knife in the Marathon CD
S/t CD
Suddenly appearing on my radar screen, to a bold bright light blazing with furious volume, I pay attention closely. With a scant fourteen songs between these discs, we really get to know Denver's Matt, Mike, Jamie, and Gared. Knife in the Marathon, or as they write it as one word KNIFEINTHEMARATHON is a turbulent firestorm of anxiety, fear and longing. The latter as evidenced in "Leaning from the Room", as the stormy vocal chords state exasperatingly "And you can be sure I'll be leaving half as fast as I came," leave the listener with a curious sense, one that will likely propel them to find the eight-song self-titled album on the same label. It seems more natural to start with the five-songer and dive into the eight-songer afterwards as it rides a calmer tide, yet with danger at every pulse beat. The self-titled album not only opens wider the emotional range of these young men, but stretches in tempo and song writing their capabilities of lulling us into false senses of security, and peacefulness as the guitars continue to roar and drums beat fiercely. What seems to take a band the entirety of their career to accomplish, the path across these songs displays a complex variance in intensity and maturity. I am captivated by one and scared of the other disc. (Deep Elm POB 1965 NYC 10156) – Keith York

Planetarium/Hopewell split-12"
Planetarium/Gang Wizard split-7"
Known only to a select few that have witnessed the majesty of their mininimalist drones, Planetarium have secured a devoted group of fans (the least of which is Mike and his Priapus label!) that treat them like their best-kept-secret. On the 7" they split a song with Mike Landucci's Gang Wizard project entitled "Wonderland." Before you flip over the little vinyl platter, Planetarium quietly murmur in a Labradford fashion the first movement of "Wonderland". Upon restarting the tone-arm for the second side (minimally stamped with a "G" for Gang Wizard), "Wonderland" begins anew but Landucci masturbating a six-string. Planetarium's hypnotic drone-pop is also evidenced on the split-12" as they cover The Church's "Lullaby" with half the instrumentation, yet stretching it out twice as long. Hardly a cover at all, the track does display the wonderful force that folks have secretly been tucking under their mattresses. Hopewell as always surprise and delight. Their track "Anathema" is standard psych damage along the lines of The Telescopes until their secret weapon is unleashed on the listener. In their using recycled studio tape, they utilized remnants of a gospel singer who had recorded on the tape previously. Recorded years apart from one another, Hopewell and "coincidental gospel" singer are mixed together to revolutionize the revolutionary rock already in progress. Well worth a spin. (Priapus c/o Mike Soderling 1723 Illinois, Lawrence, KS 66044) – Keith York

Plastilina Mosh Aquamosh CD
It used to be, in the early days of rock en español, that up-and-coming rock bands in Latin America would have to cut their first record in their home country. With this came all the technical limitations albeit oodles of
character and no other way out of cramped, inadequate studios but to let it all hang out. Nowadays though, most rock en español bands courted by major labels are carted away to "Los united" to record their debut album. For the Mexican rock band Plastilina Mosh ("plastilina" is a kind of Play-doh) this was no doubt a plus. The band seems to have picked up influences from the jazz clubs of New York to the non-stop mixing of West Coast DJ's. Working with Beck and Foo Fighters' old producers no doubt helped channel these influences. With a baseline reminiscent of The Doors' "Break on Through," Plastilina Mosh's "Ode to Mauricio Garces" pays a respectful and very cool tribute to the George Hamilton of 1960s Mexican cinema. It's a lounge-inspired and ultimately sad song, with guitar riffs and notes squeezed for everything they've got. "Aquamosh" the group's manifesto of sorts, turns out to be a microcosm of the album's mix and match attitude: French lyrics join synthesized ocean waves and birds splashed by military-like percussion layered by the ubiquitous 1970s funk organ. For the Spanish impaired and the pro-Proposition 227 listener, don't worry there's not a lot of Spanish here, the lyrics are secondary to the music. For the Trent Reznor fans, "Banano's Bar" delivers the goods alongside some acid-jazz inspired piano and vocal rapping. And that's what ultimately makes this a very listenable yet unfulfilling album, it's a fusion of proven styles which fail to show who Plastilina Mosh really is. However, it's unfair to expect a defined musical style so early on so we shouldn't and just enjoy. (Capitol) - Adolfo Guzman Lopez

Plush “No Education” b/w “Soaring and Boring” 7”
A much more minimal, but equally as confident affair as the other male singer-songwriter-ly records released on Flydaddy and SubPop over the past three years. Informally, plush means luxurious, but that definition depends on how you feel about pleather ottomans and velour v-necks. “No Education,” is a love song, true and through. Liam’s swooning croon soars above and around the wreckage that is his broken heart. Reverbed guitar and organ build upon minor chord scales, but never erupt. Instead, they hold back and reserve center stage for Liam’s singing. “Soaring and Boring,” is just boring. With it’s sad, lonely guy, hushed dramatics and piano accompaniment, the song wears like a not-so-fashionable pantsuit whose vinyl shine cast its reflection two decades into the future. This music doesn’t wear well, Liam, even in the ‘90s. Please return it to the Carpenter’s closet, where it (ahem) belongs. (Flydaddy PO Box 545 Newport, RI 02840) - Steven M. Brydges

Pocket Change Golden CD
Blistering guitar howl sets the stage in the initial moments of Golden's debut play on my stereo. Continuing song after song thereafter, the stereo fires the synapses getting endorphins rushing to the cortex and sending electric pulses to the air-guitar muscles. This Sacramento quartet (evidenced by the band photo including a Heckler t-shirt) gets into your musculature, inside your central nervous system, and shakes things up with a driving 4/4 set-up that started back in the dark ages when Hüsker Du was still recognized for their controlled fury. Worth its wait in gold. (Resurrection AD POB 763 Red Bank, NJ 07701) – Keith York

Poem Rocket Blue Chevy Impala 10”
If these folks were to break up prior to the release of their upcoming actual real full length (due out this Fall) “Blue Chevy Impala” could be a fine swan song to remember them by. My needle’s 45 RPM jaunt across this slab sings diligently of the thoughts of Poem Rocket. Sincere and darkly human, their mood swings are the focal point of literate journeys through coffee house discussions where caffeine is the only reason you can even open your mouth to speak to the beauty sitting across from you. Sandra sings for an amazing couple of minutes on “Pretty Baby” in which I lost myself staring at the last image I could dream up of her face as she sang on-stage nearly a year ago in a shitty Los Angeles bar. The star maps on the sleeve could replace the Poem Rocket logo easily as a more important symbol of their stellar craft. “Furry Evil Bird” and “Flight Manual” are their noise excursions for this release while “Contrail de l’Avion” could be a kind sibling of any Windy & Carl song. (Bear Records JAF Box 444 New York, NY 10116-0444, Carcrashh PO Box 392 Edgewater Lakewood, OH 44107))

Poem Rocket Infinite Retry on Parallel Time-Out CD
Whilst you sit in your armchair pondering what to watch on television tonight, there are stark, sinister anti-culture plots afoot. Conspiracies in favor of consumerism. Many of those that report such guises are themselves trapped within a societally-induced downward spiral equating their criticisms to the same cultural-currency value as individuals striking one another on Jerry Springer's programs. Huxley warned us of rapid consumption pushing us far away from serious contextual thought and practice and arguably, even love. Poem Rocket are reporters hardly constrained by the norms of rock culture: Yes, they harbor angst; Yes, they wield the instruments that propel a sonic force at your cortex.; Yes, they rock. Each song within Infinite Retry on Parallel Time-Out requires thoughtful discussion and debate. The album as a whole needs a semester's worth of lecture and exams and papers to get at it its composite pieces. It only takes one listen to regard it as valid.

Infinite Retry is significant. It is important.

"Virus" leads us into the album with key tinkling and dissonant guitar surges. What likens itself to a massive compliment to Durutti Column nastiness, "Virus"' antithetical song-opener glimmer pushes us into track two where Sandra Gardner's sweetness comes to fruition on "Box: Tallow, Felt and Ice." She waxes anthemic "So I tried to cover it...So I tried to drown it...Then I tried to freeze it..." One has to only hear her phrasings once to be bitten by her intoxicating voice. As the mid-range guitar squall opposes her emotive words, one gets lost in the dichotomy of color and black & white concurrent imagery.

Michael Peters' uttering "by the light of the soft explosion" tugs us into "Ka-Boom." Once inside this depiction of a monumental struggle between melodic yearnings and structure-inducing drumming, we grapple with indecisiveness: Is this not the most brilliant album ever created?

Usually disavowing the importance of lyrical content, I found myself enraptured with the beckoning instructions "detach ourselves" of "The Untitled Installation." Repeatedly I found myself mouthing its words "this is cheap labor, this is innovative architecture" along long stretches of rugged terrain in the neighboring rural rolling paths.

"Epicenter" magnetizes the air as each breath is pulled violently from your lungs as if they contained shards of broken metal. As each puff of air is exhaled, you grapple with the intensity of late 90s post-apocalypse Joy Division ferocity and melancholy. Brilliantly, honestly evocative. Sandra and Michael's voices call and claw at one another as the rhythm pummels those of us laying prone at the center-point between our speakers.

Cello and acoustic guitar strum allow us a respite before we dive headlong into the fight again. "She Reflects the Light" as with "Box..." showcases the elegant wonder that Ms. Gardner's voice resonates. Within Infinite Retry... multiple references to "she" or "her" inundate us with questions left unanswered from previous Poem Rocket releases. Whether it illustrates the feminine form or Sandra and Michael's relationship, the listener is left with more questions than answers. We wonder who SHE is. Is SHE one person, or the embodiment of all women?

"Bataille" is classic Poem Rocket. The urban struggle of surging bass and drum drone as the terse wire-like guitar-string strangling approaches like a thunderous rain cloud. The cloud illustrates more fright than actual harm.

Infinite Retry... closes with "The Backwards Climber." In an ecstatic fit of somber exhaustion, the trio display an appreciation for Syd Barrett's psych meanderings whilst creating one of the most evocative post-Twin Peaks songs-that-should-be-soundtracks I have heard. The concurrent evaluations of everything and nothing ("making nothing out of being....nothing, thinking nothing...") being at the root of many of our struggles is wonderfully, cinematically, engineered against back-masked residue and acoustic guitar ring.

It took everything out of me to listen, to think, and write about such a stunning end-product of Poem Rocket's craft. It is in this static, motionless state that I now hit the PLAY button once again to carry me through a tearful cradling of my yearnings to feel one with another. It is obvious that Sandra, Michael and Andrew have witnessed the epic results of realizing what being human means. I only imagine that listening to this has brought me closer to this realization myself. Yours, truly. (PCP PO Box 1689 NYC 10009) - Keith York

Poem Rocket The Universe Explained in Six Songs CD
For many reasons, progressivism and futurism bears it unwieldy fruit in America's urban centers. New York City, long held to be America's city, has given birth to the Velvet Underground, No Wave, Sonic Youth and many other imitating artists and forms over the last decades. Poem Rocket's third digital disc outing reinforces NYC as a breeding ground for experimental rock music with the same energy it continues to foster waiters and cocktail waitresses careers blossoming into actors on stage and screen. From the under-acclaimed years of "rock" in outfits like Gapeseed and Day For Night, the players in Poem Rocket deserve more attention, critical praise they deserve for their non-traditional sonic mayhem surrounding iron-clad melodic structures. Poem Rocket is devoted to continuing its mining of ugly black dirt -- soot that fills the urbanite lungs only to causing the street inhabitants, to cough out another masterful work of urban art. After all, it's New York. (Magic Eye POB 603033 Providence, RI 02906) – Keith York

Pøk Magazine 7” x 7” zine 76 pgs.
With its eighth issue and $2 admission price, Pok’s “Snow, Skate, Sound” mission tackles the Windy City’s underbelly of youth culture. Amidst well written interviews and reviews are some of the finest snow/skate action photographs laid out with care in QuarkXpress and Photoshop - and yes, on a Mac. Steve Brydges personalizes his crafty prose about music non-concrete in a steamer trunk of indie rock releases and documents the unwieldy C-Clamp in interview fashion. While the content is far superior to other zines of its kind, and the black & white print job is immaculate, I still gotta wonder why its not bigger - both literally and figuratively. (PO Box Acme, MI 49610)

Pole 3 CD
Despite recent tags of hum ‘n’ bass and heroin house, tracks by Pole and his (Stefan Betke) Berlin compatriots (Chain Reaction, Basic Channel imprint stable), 1, 2 and Burke’s latest outing the aptly titled 3, have more in common with dub than electronica. Borrowing from Sly & Robby, or Lee “Scratch” Perry’s fondness for muted smoky bass lines that hover around effects-disguised percussion, as well as Adrian Sherwood (Tackhead, Mark Stewart & Mafia, African Headcharge) production twists, Pole loves to linger around a melodic sequence rather than hit the dancefloor over the head with it. With the pace of a feet on a park stroll, the tempos and synth lines wash over the listener, the club kid, the ambient DJ, leaving little remaining – and after all, that is the methodical approach throughout the history of German minimalism (from art and architecture to modern-day techno), to leave us bare naked, our souls exposed for their delight. (Matador 625 Broadway 12th Floor NYC 10012) – Keith York

Poltz, Steven J. Answering Machine CD
After weeks of recording Poltz’s (Rugburns, solo artist friend of Jewel) outgoing message machine songs, Ted Tarris (CEO of Scam O Rama), finally admitted to his bootleg exercise. Unsure of how Poltz created such a huge body of emotional output (56 songs in total), I listened and listened again. Answering Machine wanders among topics like holidays to sex, to food, to love, coming back again to holidays – but these are much more than blues-drenched mini-cassette meanderings of a broken heart, they are a longitudinal psychologist’s couch-sitting with one man over a healthy span of time. Yeah it’s as lo-tech as decades-old Smithsonian collection recordings of hillbillies, but prior to his major-label fame, you can hear where his heart is as a songwriter with a guitar and lots of free time. (Scam O Rama 13446 Poway Rd. #321 Poway, CA 92064) – Keith York

Pope Smashers This is a Test 7”
Wild, disjointed noisepunk not far from some of the eem moments heard in the local San Diego cafeteria. Not evil like UOA, nor as mathematically calculating as the Great Unraveling, the Pope Smashers find their noisy rambunctious attitude in another distant urban sprawl - one in which their uniforms glisten under stage lights at all ages venues and cheers rain down at the end of their blistering set. Drained, sweaty and dirty the Pope Smashers leave the stage behind only to wander the streets for days not knowing how to recapture the moments they create while publicly performing their songs. As the guitar and drum barrages ring in your ears the next day, you may wonder how else beside their 7” you can recapture their contempt and bitterness that so enthralled you. (Sunney Sindicut Records 915 L Street #C-166 Sacramento, CA 95814)

Poppyseed Sandbox Dreams CD
Hitting the ball around in a Field of Dreams-like setting, the men of Poppyseed have Buffalo Tom and American Music Club on the boom-box. Gatorade refreshment, stolen bases, and camaraderie is evident on this sunny afternoon outing with friends. Pop songs like fly balls reach for the sky as weathered mitts handed down from older brothers catch the skyward-then-earthbound bounty with confidence. Who wins or loses is of no concern, the spirit of the game is connecting with people, and Poppyseed's music is born of those social outings. (Topaz 122 E. 25th St. 5th Floor, NYC 10010) – Keith York

Pop Unknown Summer Season Kills CD
Five songs. Five moods to capture. Not even a half-dozen chances to explain your reasoning, your rationale. With Summer Season Kills, Pop Unknown unleash an empassioned fury kept bottled up for far too long. Joining tightly together their explosive wit and loudly recorded thoughts, the guys have produced one hell of a musical document to witness. Thankfully you can enjoy it in the privacy of your home and the rest of your neighborhood doesn't have to witness the air-guitar and dancing-on-the-bed. Quality like one expects from the Deep Elm imprint. (Deep Elm POB 1965 NYC 10156) – Keith York

Portal July b/w Lost 7"
On the heels of his (Scott Sinfield's) debut release, a split single with Fridge on Earworm, is this lovely two-song single. One side has been described as "that washed out to sea feeling" which remarks upon the Cocteau Twins-ish guitar instrumental that winds and twists around your neural network. The flip side is a harmonic cloud hovering low above a land inhabited by a drum loop as if Trembling Blue Stars had been committed to a psych ward at the local VA hospital. A dreamy landscape from a rising star amongst the UK lost-rock labels. (Roisin POB 289 Swindon SN1 3UE UK) – Keith York

Porter, Robin Underground Velvet CS
With his residency at Spaced in Venice Beach, CA, this Brit has been rolling techno like thunder on Westside kids for a year now. Having been in the game for nearly a decade, Robin is selecting trax with a trained ear -- funky enough to get folks bumpin’, tweaked enough for an entertaining ride (for those in the know). Techno trax by Adam Beyer, Luke Slater, Carl Craig, Dave Angel, Cevin Fisher, Jeff Mills etc. set the tone, while Porter’s prestidigitation places a personalized stamp on the set. Makes you want head west and never come back. (Electric Kingdom/Immigrant Records 213-993-3321)

Poster Children International Read the Fucking Manual CD
Since buying Halo Records’ Light into Dark compilation back in ‘90 or ‘91, I have grown accustomed to the Poster Children’s approach to making rock music. Though their sound has changed a bit since then, (now calling themselves) Poster Children International have changed mostly in their marketability. The graphics on the last two albums have even taken on a 90s version of pop art (similar to a lot of techno compilations minus the look of digital imaging). The production and recording have evolved into (what appears to be) an expensive and extensive process that yields a sound similar to the last Hum and Toadies records. It is now debatable whether the Poster Children are getting better at a craft that distinguishes them from all the other “important” radio-ready rock acts (like Silverjet!) or just becoming a parody of themselves and their colleagues...I think that is for you folks to decide not me. What I would like to say is “Afterglow” (known to most consumers as “track 11”) is a really fine pop song. If I was me, and I am, I would probably scrape together the $600 to make a 7” with tracks 11 and 12 and give them to the band to sell out of the back of their van while playing pubs and all-ages venues across their midwestern weekend gigs. But then again I have heard they are no longer fans of the indie label 7” world. (Reprise Records, a Time Warner Company 3300 Warner Blvd. Burbank, CA 91505-4694)

Pram The Museum of Imaginary Animals CD
Having recently read a review tagging Pram as “for fans of Stereolab,” I spent a lot of time refuting any accuracy to such a tag. On about the twentieth listen, I found some truth to the statement, as I in fact love Stereolab and am captivated by The Museum of Imaginary Animals. Where the ‘lab create driving repetitive echoes through canyons of sheer cliffs, Pram hike meadows and sing of the wind. Closer in truth “for fans of Laika” may be more enabling for shoppers in the compact disc superstore. Everyone I have shared this with has been unable to shake the Bjork-like sing-song musings of Pram’s latest full-length. (Merge POB 1235 Chapel Hill, NC 27514) – Keith York

Prickly Velleity CD
Eleven years ago I dropped the needle on a Flying Nun-released single that, in hindsight, quite possibly changed my life. The Verlaines’ “Death in the Maiden” caused a stir in my dependence on explicit musics dependent on clichés of surrealism, high contrast sounds, and melodrama. Back then I thought Salvador Dali was essential to home decor; Test Dept and Throbbing Gristle records were light reading. I hadn’t thought kiwi-pop was necessary, vital, or even available to US record buyers. Velleity includes a cover of “Death and the Maiden”. Memories of placing a college radio stylus on a 7” pushed me down on the ground and tickled me.
Prickly introduced themselves to me about a year ago on a Cassiel-released single that still gets airplay in my dreams of running a pirate radio station here: meanwhile it fits well in my bedroom, dining room and living area. Velleity on the other hand just arrived and has already reaffirmed my love for Prickly - much the same way I adored Black Tambourine years back, the same way I dropped on my knees to the sounds of Henrys Dress. Prickly is a soft-spoken intricate little union between four people who have never visited my kitchen but seem welcome any time. Rumors abound on the internet about Prickly having broken up - but I really don’t care, as this document is a worthwhile byproduct to instill a legacy on the pop landscape. (Harriet PO Box 649 Cambridge, MA 02238)

Prickly Winded 7”
This found its way to the mailbox courtesy of the band. Thank you! One side of this is ever so fantastic - shimmering chime-y guitars with velvety smooth young femme vocals. Reminiscent of the Shapiros and Bright Colored Lights with a hint at the Shop Assistants when the guitars ring. “Funny Coleslaw” may strike an odd chord for a song title but the melody knocked one out of the park. (Cassiel Records c/o Prickly 63 Riverview Road Brighton, MA 02135)

Priggen, Spike The Very Thing That You Treasure CD
Priggen’s resume couches the Very Thing..’s sense of pop in a comforting mature context. Having formed the Hello Strangers; played with Dumptruck, Liquor Giants, Pussywillows, Schramms, and the Caroline Know; and now launching a solo effort on his own Volare imprint (Spike used to run #1 records), the songs contained herein are drenched in a mature jangle. Caught somewhere between a Bus Stop label pop combo, a DB Records 80s quirk, and the missing discography from Pop Narcotic, Very Thing..’s guitar-strummed elegance is a wonderful addition to an otherwise cloudy day. (The Volare Label, spikepriggen.com) – Keith York

Procedure 769 Lethal Dosage/Cyanide/The Chamber 12”
Three folks (G-Force, MC Manus, Juice) collaborated on this 3-track 12” - producing a split personality tech step/downbeat jungle product. The twin tracks on the b-side evoke more of a Wall of Sound spirit than other releases on Reinforced have - maybe a slower LTJ Bukem? The b-side tracks contain the requisite snare fight and good healthy breaks - but pale in comparison to the nightmarish Lethal Dosage. Similar to Squarepusher’s and Nico’s forays into dark jungle steeped in snares and knee deep in twisted bass punches, Procedure 769 elicit top notch focus on the craft. While not retaining a high velocity delivery as others have delved into lately, 769 produced a terrific 4/4 drum line with several completely quiet nobeat sections awaiting the return of the volcanic eruption of kick drums. Synth lines hover and dive bomb, twist and turn, mutate and squirm while the battle fatigue generated by the convoy of kick drumming pushes our tired feet forth. (Reinforced 386-387 Chapter Road Dollis Hill London NW2 5NQ)

Prodigy Present the Dirtchamber Sessions Volume One CD
From old school Sex Pistols rants to new school breaks courtesy of Propellor Heads, Meat Beat Manifesto and Prodigy themselves, the "band" set aside some time to make us a mixtape (well, a CD). Focussing mostly on mid-period hip-hop (LL Cool J, P.E., Cold Cut, DST, T-La-Rock etc.), the mix swings and sways often hitting a sour note (Janes Addiction, Charlatans). The Chemical Brothers did a similar "the greatest hits from our record collections" mixer ("Brothers Gonna Work it Out") that has much more staying power than Dirtchamber, but anyone that mixes Mark-the-45-King and The B-Boys ain't all bad (whether or not you can stomach Prodigy's formal studio output will wait for another review). (XL/Beggars Banquet 580 Broadway Suite #1004 NYC 10012) – Keith York

Promise Ring Nothing Feels Good CD
As you glide down the tranquil river dipping your oar into the waters you realize the strength of the force that carries you and your small boat across the landscape. Nature is quite powerful, though not always dramatic. Even the calm, smooth waters of the river that surrounds yields an immense amount of measurable energy. With each oar stroke you can feel the resistance. Songs by The Promise Ring have an analogous strength about them. Strong songs command your attention, they don’t shyly invite you to join in. Songs that poignantly ring your head draw your emotions and fill you with passion and inspiration are these. No one instrument’s voice crowds out another. Balance. Like small rapids in the near distance, each forthcoming song creates anticipation drawing you in closer and tighter until you are one with The Promise Ring. The packaging is award worthy, the production is invisible, the songs are brighter than balls of fire rising up from your palms at a breath’s distance. You have arrived, you have come home. At peace you rest with Nothing Feels Good because you have found that one person in your life that reminds you daily what a great gift being alive is. It is a scrapbook of songs by a young band such as this that greet you with open embraces and constantly support the peaks and valleys of daily living. (Jade Tree 2310 Kennwynn Road Wilmington, DE 19810)

Pry High Wire Act CD
“...Scott Greene’s barreling down the sidelines! He’s shedding tacklers! He’s at the ten...the five! Touchdown MSU! And the jocks go wild!” Wait. We’re supposed to be reviewing a record. Pry’s, to be exact. Oh well, the jocks still cheer. Those who live in glass houses...those who live within fists’ length of this New York- excuse me- Jersey (!) band shouldn’t openly criticize their work. I will, however, because I’m tough. Tough as nails. I’ve a jaw set in stone and buns of steel. But enough about me. Pry are four big, heavy, muscular fellas playing, big, heavy, muscular rock. Sounds remotely like Shiner, if Shiner lifted weights. With treated vocals and the production dials cued to Level $, Pry score enough alt-rock moves on this EP to turn more than a few heads of the Epitaph/Cast Iron Hike/Tool set. If all else fails, they can always grab the suckers by their scrawny necks and force them to their knees to give attention. (Some Records (via Nasty Little Man Publicity) 405 W. 14th St. #3, NYC 10014) - Steven M. Brydges

Psychic TV Allegory & Self: The Starlit Mire CD
How many people really care that Psychic TV still exist and find time to collect old songs together and release them as their “previously unreleased” album? “Godstar” IS a great song, one of the rare ones from this combo. Other than “Godstar” and its separate California Mix, this CD fails to give me a reason to suggest to any reader that it is a necessary reason to part with hard earned cash. What is the deal with writing “Bonus Tracks” on the back panel? If you buy a CD and it has 14 tracks, 12 through 14 can’t be “bonus” for any known reason. If this were on vinyl and the CD had extra tracks, I could understand an advertisement saying the CD’s selling point is that it has “bonus tracks” not found on the LP. But this is the CD I am holding in my hand that tells me that tracks 1-11 are all I paid for, but for being a smart consumer they treated me to 3 freebies. Give me a break. (Cleopatra 8726 S. Sepulveda Ste. D-82 Los Angeles, CA 90045)

Pulley 60 Cycle Hum CD
I rolled my eyes when I saw this package in the mail. Great! It's another Epitaph release. Who is this band going to sound like, Bad Religion, or Dag Nasty? If they’re creative, they will mix the best of both bands, creating an awesome blend of melodic punk rock(™)!! For some reason, however, this record is a little different. Not much, mind you, but enough that I don’t hate it, which, again, is a little different. For one thing, vocalist Scott Radinsky is one of my favorite baseball players. He currently pitches in short-relief for the Dodgers, and is very pro-active in the real skateboarding community. He gives something back to the sport (he built a skate park this year in CA), rather than just stealing from it and diminishing the sport’s luster with boorish antics and a defeatist attitude. From the promo-picture and the few live shots circulated of Pulley, one can immediately tell these guys have been around for a while, because they aren’t afraid to wear shorts in public. Kids, remember when yr older brother used to skate in shorts? Now, the new school wouldn’t be caught dead wearing anything but pants from Big and Tall skate shops. Whatever. Fashion is as fashionable does. All I know is butt sweat looks a hell of a lot better when it's soaked through a pair of shorts than through a pair of slacks. For Pulley’s sake, I will retrieve myself from this tangent, because what really matters to them is the music. For that, I admire Pulley. As for the music...well, you know what label they are on, so you should know what to expect. Chug-chug, vroom-vroom. But wait, there’s more. While the music is way more inventive within its medium than the rest of the flock, it rocks just as hard. And that’s a good thing. Now, excuse me while I strap on my Rector wrist-guards and ride my Chris Miller into the sunset. (Epitaph 2798 Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90026) - Steven M. Brydges

Pulse Programming Prelim CD
Afterglow is a magical feeling: The buzzing in your fingertips, the sweat, that isn't necessarily your own, that stains your skin, and the throbbing of your heart as blood pumps through an aerobically needy body. Eyes half-closed, a smile half-spread across your face, you lay silently for a moment against pillow, headboard and linen. Clouds begin to roll by your dilated pupils as samplers evoke a murky calm across your ear drum horizon. Atmospheric, and watery in delivery, Prelim is the soundtrack to the mood-stabilizing narcosis of watching fish in large tanks at a public aquarium. The elegance of bubbles, seaweed and color-rich tropical fish dazzle your senses as you touch the small of your companion's back. Blue lights illuminate the watery dance as the surface tension on the drop of lower-lip saliva expands before running the length of your chin. Your senses have exploded and your consciousness is clearer than ever, ready for the mind-expanding tones of Pulse Programming. Remember there's only a fraction of an inch between you and the watery dangers. (Aesthetics POB 577286 Chicago, IL 60657) – Keith York

Purkinje Shift Five for the Road and One for the Ditch CD
Like mice, the listener runs mazes of guitar, bass and drum constructed walls, searching for elusive packets of melody. Our cheese is improved understanding of the Purkinje roar. Requiring us between 5-10 minutes per run, the exercises of hunger are much more constructed around the nuances of the journey than the surprise endings of each tour. Feverishly, we mice grow accustomed to running the maze for entertainment and the lab-coat donning graduate students of math-rock (read: Don Caballero, Breadwinner) pull away from the psychological experiment and let us addictively respond to the maze-like roar. Afterall, we love cheese, and we love the Shift. (Samizdat 1716 McLendon Ave. Atlanta, GA 30307) – Keith York

Purple Ivy Shadows No Less the Trees than the Stars CD
Under & Ok CD
It has been years that I have been connecting with Providence, RI’s Purple Ivy Shadows through tapes in the mail, singles and live shows. I have connected with their music. That said, it is without hesitation I continue to applaud their subdued psychosis, sensitive guitar string paranoia and neurotic rhythms. Quiet disconcerting structures stretch like limbs akimbo across these two documents. They are warmth. Purple Ivy Shadows create a sense of discomfort that propels the listener forward into self-examination and pessimistic world views only to be embraced with a poetic noir-outlook as the document comes to a close. Novel-like in their complexity and value, these two discs insist you spend more time alone. (Slow River Shetland Park 27 Congress St. Salem, MA 01970)

Push Kings s/t CD
A huge fan of Track Star’s loaned me a Push Kings 7” on Chunk records about a year ago. Heralding it as better than Pavement, he handed it over for my weekend’s listen. I liked it. I was not so loose to make such concrete assertions about their importance in rock music. “Better than Pavement?” I kept asking myself as the disc spun at 45 revolutions per minute. No not better than Pavement’s best moments, certainly as good as their worst. That guy Eric from the Dambuilders produced this, their debut album, and released it on his own Sealed Fate imprint. Obviously Eric thinks very highly of the Push Kings...the jury is still out at my home address. What this self-titled album does though is tug at your arm, like a small child desiring parental attention, with it’s delicately balanced, trimmed and decorated pop songs. I found most of it enjoyable because it reminded me of some nice moments I have spent with other records by the likes of Colour Field, Squeeze, Haircut 100 and especially the Woodentop’s Wooden Foot Cops on the Highway. While not beating out Rolli and his Woodentops, the Push Kings do orchestrate some fine guitar pop while tipping their hat to Big Star and many others’ whose albums obviously reside in their collections. It always cracks me up that small labels (the size of mine) label releases the way they do - this is (Sealed Fate) SFR#201, as if there are 200 releases prior to this! Come on who are you kidding? Was that me just venting? Whoops. Geez. Sorry. No I am not sorry, I meant that. (Sealed Fate PO Box 9183 #120 Cambridge, MA 02139)

Push Kings Far Places CD
Push Kings Blowin' Up! 7"
Departing quickly from the scene of the crime that was their last album, The Push Kings have created something boldly revolutionary, if not merely evolutionary, in their path to stardom. Far Places examines the possibilities of guitar-dependent rock bred by Bostonians marrying the unlikely beat-girl from across the tracks. Big, funky beats and sampleadelic sweetness breathes a 70s disco funk groove without settling for trite kitschy sound-checking to get cred. An unlikely development from a band that used to sound like Pavement, then the Dambuilders fooling around with Apples! Far Places is our little slice of the '98 smart-set revolution. (Sealed Fate PO Box 9183 #120 Cambridge, MA 02139) - Keith York

Pussy Galore Sampler CD
Back when I was a youngin', 'bout the age of 17, I would record shop almost
daily, scouring the racks for the latest Pixies' remix. One of the memories of
those woebegone days was Pussy Galore, a name that would scream at me from its slot in the tape wall (we listened to tapes back in the mid-80s, you see...), all neon pink and trashy like an adult movie theater's marquee. Since I wasn't as hip to the way-out sounds as I am now, I shunned the Pussy Galore, thinking it to be some cheesy, raunchy metal band akin to Pussycat Trash or, I dunno...I really dunno. I was half-right. Pussy Galore were indeed trashy. They were most raunchy. However, musically, they were more Sonic Youth than Def Leppard. They were a neon-black soot-stain, ass-whoopin', bitch-slap-across-the-eardrums noise machine. Jaunty and disheveled, with brows furrowed and clothes rumpled to match, Pussy Galore predated heroine-chic. Then again, that might have had more to do with reality than a fashion statement, but I wouldn't put anything past these modsters. They were loud, dirty, ornery, and kicked up some of the best sonic mess you (or I, at the time) never heard. Noisy garage spit and sneer with a worn ghetto blaster's love for clarity. This sampler CD marks the pending re-release of 3 Pussy Galore albums originally released between 1987-1989. Now you too, can make up for my years of neglect. (Matador 625 Broadway NYC 10012) - Steven M. Brydges