REDEFINE MAGAZINE / music art social commentary / FIGHTING THE INDEPENDENT FIGHT

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We’re down to review any rock music you send our way, but let’s make it clear right now that we’re not here to do anyone favors unless they are well-deserved (or you bribe us extremely well... wait, what?) No matter how sweet your album artwork, how creative your band name, or how badass your styled hair, we’re here to review music. If its amazing, we’ll tell the world. If it’s the worst on the planet, you bet your buns that they will hear about that too.

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RUFIO
The Comfort of Home
Nitro Records

A

REVIEWED BY RYAN PANGILINAN.

On paper, California’s Rufio with its high-pitched, whiney vocals and its typical SoCal pop-punk sound never seemed like a good idea. But that’s on paper. Rufio’s 2001 debut, Perhaps, I Suppose, was easily one of the best pop-punk releases in the last ten years, and melded ripping metal guitar riffs with a well-structured pop sound. Their 2003 release, 1985, was the epitome of sophomore slump, as Rufio seemingly spent more time writing cool guitar riffs than good songs. Even the sound quality of the album itself lacked the powerful punch of their debut. So where can a band that’s been on both ends of the critical spectrum go?

With their latest release, The Comfort of Home, Rufio takes us back to the beginning. Perhaps their two-year absence has done them well, since their new offering far exceeds their past work.

With all the melody and shredding guitar parts of Perhaps, I Suppose, Rufio is able to step it up a notch or even two. The album’s opener, “Out of Control,” hits like a Foo Fighters song – it’s equally catchy and rocking. “A Simple Line,” a cautionary tale of the record industry and its cloned, label-created bands, is akin to Tom Petty’s “Into the Great Wide Open.” Even vocalist Scott Sellers seems to have taken into account his band’s role in the machine: “What happened to the melody? There is no bar/ So easy to imitate, perfectly/ Because thinking’s just too hard.” Regardless of whether their imitators will be here next year, Rufio’s latest disc is sure to secure these boys a place in rock music for some time. Welcome to your new home.

BETWEEN THE BURIED AND ME
Alaska
Vicitory Records

C

REVIEWED BY JOHN GILLANDERS.

The press release for this disc states: “Not since releases like Refused’s The Shape of Punk to Come and The Mars Volta’s Deloused in the Comatorium has the music world seen such an envelope-pushing group of musicians.” Let me be the first one to call bullshit on that. This disc really doesn’t sound much different from about a thousand other metalcore discs released this year.

Cookie monster vocals -- check. Shitloads of double bass pummeling -- check. Antiquated, constantly chugging riffage -- of course.

So, I guess the big innovation here is the fact that every now and then (about every fifteen minutes or so), they break into some super mellow 80s metal guitar wank-off shit. It’s like metalcore combined with Dream Theater! Sweeeeeeeeeeet! Oh wait, that’s kind of stupid.

The good news is that sometimes metal is all about chops and Between the Buried and Me’s cup of chops runneth over. I honestly didn’t think a lot of this was that bad at all. The first three tracks or so kind of beat the shit out of you, until you realize there’s not much variation. But I’m sure a lot of hardcore metalheads will totally dig this, nevermind that this is supposedly a concept disc about Alaska. The guys of Between the Buried and Me are pissed at Alaska. Weird.

ELLERY
Make Your Troubles Mine
Independent

B

REVIEWED BY GARON H. OVERLEY.

Ellery’s Make Your Troubles Mine reminds me of a Saturday night, no matter what you might experience or what feeling you might have on that night. Maybe you got a little too drunk and are in a state of reflection on the drive home. Maybe you just lost someone or just found someone new. This EP might as well have been titled, “Soundtrack To Your Saturday Night.”

Tasha and Justin Golden, the husband-wife duo that comprises Ellery, have crafted an impressive folk/pop record. Songs float in and out of sparse piano and acoustic guitar into full band compliments. Tasha Golden’s voice reminds me a little of Jewel’s, and I mean that in a very good way. Her ability to be soft yet loud is not something you will come across everyday. The piano and acoustic guitar work wonderfully together with neither instrument taking over. And to top all that, the songs are well-written and the lyrics are personal, yet abstract enough for anyone to be able to fit them into their own lives. This is a very impressive EP from a band that can only get better. If only Jewel should be so lucky.

POINTED STICKS
Perfect Youth
Sudden Death Records

B

REVIEWED BY RYAN PANGILINAN.

With all the 80s resurgence that’s going on, Canada’s Sudden Death Records is having its go at it by re-releasing a relatively obscure album by an equally obscure group.

According to their press sheet, Pointed Sticks, a Canadian trio, “… were a west coast phenomenon that burned white hot at times in their short career....” And after listening to Perfect Youth, I’m left with one question: Why the hell aren’t these guys on some Elvis Costello level of greatness?

From beginning to end, Perfect Youth is easily one of the best power-pop albums that Americans haven’t heard. Plus it solidifies my longtime suspicion that Canadians always have a leg up on the U.S. talent-wise. First they had Obscure Disorder, then Tegan and Sara, and now they’ve gone all back-to-the-future on us with Pointed Sticks.

Tracks like “No Use For You” and “American Songs” are very much nipping at the heels of such contemporaries as Costello and Husker Du. Although the album may get a little repetitive at times, you have to keep in mind that power-pop is about two things: consistency and cheesiness. How else did the Promise Ring manage to have such a lengthy career?

Anyway, save yourself from all those bands who are trying to copy 80s bands and 80s revival bands, and get yourself a piece of long forgotten musical history. From Canada no less.

USELESS ID
Redemption
Kung Fu Records

A

REVIEWED BY TYSON CANTRELL.

Forging tough like a pack of wild, drunken oxen through the Israeli desert, Useless ID loves singing punk rock in really good English. The band formed in 1994 in Israel in a hot camel rectum where The Vandals and Cock Sparer imports were the only thing to listen to. But then one day, No Use For A Name’s albums appeared, solidifying NUFAN as the ID’s main influence. I’m not being negative at all by saying this; I like the sound of this band. If you can remember Fat Wreck Chords’ first sampler, Fat Music For Fat People, than you have a good idea of how this band is. Throw Lag Wagon, Strung Out, Good Riddance, and 88 Fingers Louie into a meat grinder, and out comes Useless ID.

These guys aren’t serious – they just love to play, and you can tell. Their music has the aesthetic that made Tsunami Bomb and The Movielife’s earlier stuff so appealing. Yes I guess you could call it power pop, but without the nasally bullshit of commercial “poppy” sounding punk. I suggest you listen to this if you have an interest in the above bands. It put me in a happy mood with its fun, stripped-down attitude. The great riffs and choruses are the only thing that makes the even greater cheesy lyrics more accessible. My hat goes off to this band for keeping it real and staying positive in the car-bomb capital of the world.

VICTIM NATION
Too Late For That
Independent

B+

REVIEWED BY RAJ MAKWANA.

Thrashing around in your living room to a great record is worth the inevitable neck sprain, but these days, I waste too much Tylenol on pitiful wannabes. There’s a glut of sub-par punk bands out there and some might want to lump this band in with the anger-management menu most neo-punkers subscribe to. But Victim Nation is different – more akin to The Dead Kennedys and The Damned than the plethora of one-dimensional outfits currently being favored. This 13 track collection moves, and moves fast.

Singer/songwriter Clint Woods rigs the album with many trap doors, dropping you into unexpected places. His strong vox, catchy melodies, and vivid lyrics are displayed through-out the album. On “Sour,” he psychotically pleads “…I just may have forgotten to take my medicine/ Got one scar on each wrist/ For every day you’ve been away.” He’s not a screamer, but he forges through each song with a cynical confidence.

Two-guitar punk bands tend to be more about “my-part-is-faster-than-yours” than about dynamics. The distinctive styles of Clint Woods and lead guitarist Shane Traceski avoid all of that machoistic bickering. Woods’ solid cadences allow Traceski to sonically slither in and out of songs without making you feel like you’ve just tripped boarding a bus. Another dimension of Traceski’s punk-rock sensibilities come from his occasional and subtly Eastern-influenced drones, as found on “Al-Dente” and “Time To Go.” Most guitar leads are tedious – why insert a “break” in a 3 minute song? Traceski never overplays, but mints his parts to add to Woods’ melodies without losing the spontaneity that makes his own playing captivating. Drummer Matt Gramly further trenches into this record. He’s very difficult to “air-drum” to because he avoids the obvious fills exploited by lesser drummers. Paired with Dianne Bate’s solid bass guitar, the two allow Woods’ vocals and Traceski’s guitar the freedom to roam without meandering, and provide a shelter to their storm.

Occasionally a few tunes hang on the edge of escaping the band, but luckily, they never quite fall off. The mix could be tweaked to add more bass and guitar, as the strings sometimes get buried. Nevertheless, depth far beyond today’s typical fare exists in Too Late For That, and it’s well worth the listen. Just don’t forget to call your masseuse.

SYSTEM OF A DOWN
Mezmerize
Sony Records

B-

REVIEWED BY TYSON CANTRELL.

Mezmerize really threw me for a loop, just like the time I drank a cup of gas in my dad’s shop, thinking it was water. “Chop Suey” was a guilty pleasure to me back in the day, just like to every other person listening to the alternative station.

The truth is I thought that I might’ve been the wrong person to review this album. You see, when I think of System of a Down and other bands like Static X and Korn, the only people I can picture listening to it and enjoying it are the people back in my white trash hometown where ghetto-tweeker-quasi-redneck looking dudes and extreme moto-X dude bros were the only retards who dug the shit. I couldn’t stand those fucks; therefore, I labeled their music like I labeled them: Ghetto Cowboy Dance Party Mix… and no one wants to see or hear that.

This album is crazy, though. As soon as you think it is going to get slow, dreary and serious, it whips out something like the chorus from “Violent Pornography”: “Violent pornography, choking chicks and sodomy!” I know I could rock out to this shit hard at the local rock climbing competition with my bright yellow tits-out Bronco, but throwing it on when you’re driving across Wyoming’s ugly-ass face alone, without AC or weed, is like the ultimate suicide of the mind.

After listening to Mezmerize a couple of times, I thought it was trippy and funny, so I forced my girlfriend and roommate to listen to it. My girl has always had a crush on this band, so she was immediately sold after my raves of obnoxious burliness were thrown at her. However, Aaron, my roommate, is a hardcore bad ass guitar dude who only listens to bad ass shit with really good musicians like Pennywise, Thrice and AFI (yeah, figure that one out). He didn’t really say it, but I saw a little smile on his face, as well as heard a couple eye-widening sighs that he let off during the intense seconds of the guitarist Daron Malakian’s riveting, emancipating breakdowns and intros. Chances are that you’re going to be seeing a lot more pony-tailed fifty-something men looking young and hip in their Miatas, blasting this shit into every direction, trying to hype up the 18 year-old babes.

This band is as goofy-looking as their music sounds, but not as scary as the beard of the album’s producer, Rick Rubin. I can’t wait until Hypnotize comes out in November. I’ll be all over that shit.

LET GO
Mezmerize
The Militia Group

D

REVIEWED BY RYAN PANGILINAN.

You know, I hate press bios. They are the worst thing ever, and I should know; I used to write them. They over-hype the band by including glossy descriptions such as, “But what they’ve ended up with is an impressive blend of tight and powerful rock songs...” Not really, Let Go’s publicist. They also give props to their iPod in its usage for effects by calling it a “non-confrontational touring band member.” That’s right fellas, spare yourself the extra drama and use your cold machine in place of a living, breathing keyboard player who could spruce up your live show. If this press release wasn’t included (or at least a different one), I wouldn’t have had such high hopes. Unfortunately, by name dropping Jimmy Eat World, The Format, and Pollen, my hopes for Let Go reached the ceiling to my apartment. And what a let down Let Go is.

It’s apparent that these guys know how to write pop songs; each song is tight with sparkling production that all range from a little over the two minute mark, but barely reaching four. Tunes such as “No Drugs, No Alcohol” and “Almost, Always Maybe” have the kind of sincere catchy hooks that got fellow Arizonians Jimmy Eat World signed to a major, but that’s about it for the positive aspects of Let’s Go’s eponymous debut.

The album comes off to a very clunky start and to be honest, had I not been listening to this album while doing the dishes, I may have skipped over the gem that was “No Drugs.” “Bombs Away” is a palm-muted ditty that relies on a really lame melody that the Promise Ring rejected. The other tracks are trite and as dull as any other faceless power-pop band that has been signed in the wake of Weezer’s return to relevance or Fall Out Boy’s crack at Billboard success.

Quite frankly, Let Go, I’ve already heard your record and it was called Bleed American. Put that in your next press release.

SCIFLYER
The Age of Lovely, Intimate Things
Clairecords

B

REVIEWED BY ALLEN HUANG.

Sciflyer’s newest EP, The Age of Lovely, Intimate Things, clocks in at a hefty 31 minutes and owes greatly to seminal shoegaze bands like My Bloody Valentine and Swervedriver. The six tracks on this album are full of lush guitar tones, tight grooves, and ethereal vocals. But while most bands of this genre subscribe to the philosophy that "more is better," guitarist Steve Kennedy takes a more minimalist approach to the style. By layering jangle-pop guitars over the typical shoegaze song structure, Sciflyer is able to produce a sound that gives both styles a fresh new take.

The first songs on the EP are the best, epitomizing the blend of space-pop and shoegaze. Sounding like a fuzzed out version of a Doves single, "The Nation" gallops along with lively drums and layered guitars before running smack dab into a haze of fuzz and feedback. Kennedy’s soft baritone gives the song a sense of depth and dimension. It doesn’t really matter what he’s saying during the song, since I doubt that Sciflyer is trying to impress the audience with their lyrical prowess.

On the last track, "Never Come Down," Sciflyer attempts an epic 13 minute song, but ultimately doesn’t achieve much. You can argue that people who like shoegaze shouldn’t be disappointed in a 13 minutes fuzz-fest, but I’d argue that the song feels like a step backwards and doesn’t really fit in with the rest of the EP. The song lurches on in a slovenly manner, with few ideas surfacing throughout. Not nearly as interesting or exciting as the four tracks preceding it, "Never Come Down" is fortunate enough to be an early b-side of the band, and can be left as such.

Though not really groundbreaking or genre blasting in any way, The Age of Lovely, Intimate Things is a solid listen and interesting enough for a repeat play. Sciflyer craft their space-pop shoegaze (space-gaze perhaps?) sound expertly, and that’s 80% of the battle when it comes to this style of music.

THE NEMESIS THEORY
Eschatology
Independent

C

REVIEWED BY NATHAN JEFFREYS.

I opened my front door expecting nothing more than a sunny Seattle morning, and was greeted by a small, brown package resting sideways on my welcome mat. Devoid of all expectations, I ripped open the packaging to find Eschatology by The Nemesis Theory. No press release. No helpful information. Nothing. Having never heard of this band, I found myself even more in the dark than I was before opening the package.

The name of the album is Eschatology, a branch of theology focusing exclusively on death, judgment, and the future and eternal state of the soul. The album art is simple: black and white, with an image depicting a desperate, frail, and withered old man with his head cradled in his hands, as if pain and a killer headache were the only two things he knew.

The first thing to come in is a simple bass line, joined shortly by driving drum work and powerful vocals that swing freely from a whisper to a scream, from aggressive and driving to soft and emotional, and to many things in-between. The lyrics are almost always poetic, intelligent, and very well done. Nothing detracts, and everybody seems to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle. The bassist, guitarist, drummer, and singer are all equally strong and compliment each other in creating a beautiful equilibrium. More than anything else, the music truly seems to create the sense of struggle and desperation that the cover art suggests in a way that words cannot; it is a beautiful musical representation of man’s reaction to his own curse: mortality.

However, there are no instant classics. There are no songs that will become stuck in your brain for days after a single listen. But the songwriting is strong and, to truly appreciate this album, it must be listened to as exactly that: an album. Each song is merely a stroke of the painting that is Eschatology, and it is a painting that will grow on you like facial hair on a Jewish hippy. It gets better over time. It is to the world of music what wine is to alcohol, and because this is their first release, I am looking forward with utmost enthusiasm to what the aging process will bring in the future.

Although The Nemesis Theory has a great deal of room for improvement, they are a very strong and original group of musicians who, if they focus on and improve their strong points, will only continue getting better as time goes on. They are definitely worth checking out and, if I had to sum up Eschatology in one sentence, it would be this: What they intend to do, they do.

DEMONS AND WIZARDS
Touched By The Crimson King
Steamhammer

B-

REVIEWED BY TYSON CANTRELL.

If the world of Eternia was a real place and He-Man was there fighting evil with the power of Gray Skull on his Battle-Cat, this would be Skeletor and Beastman’s metal project. Skeletor, also known as John Schaffer, takes rhythm, lead, and acoustic duties while Beastman, Hans Kursch, showcases his angelic and sometimes rocking voice, which are in stark contrast to his grizzly appearance. While the band’s first album gained some critical acclaim, the touring and recording schedules of both members with their respective primary metal projects, Blind Guardian and Iced Earth, conflicted with the evolution of Demons and Wizards.

This album took a collective effort spanning five years to complete. The opener, “Touched By The Crimson King,” is a compelling melodrama with a sing-along chorus featuring Shera, princess of power. They even manage to throw in a cover of Led Zeppelin’s “Immigrant Song.” Guest-stars on this album include drummer Bobby Jarzombek and bass player Rubin Drake. The barbarian behind the operatic solos is the Morrisound studio owner Jim Morris, whose tricky fingers were slated to be “faster than a Battle-Cat on berry crack.” I guess Demons and Wizards are really popular in Europe and other faraway lands just like Eternia. It’s an alright album, I suppose – that is, if you play Dungeons and Dragons and have an uncanny appetite for not-so-dark metal.

I realize that I may have pissed off all you metal dudes and even my editor [Editor’s Note: less pissed off and more wondering if anyone else is a He-Man geek] with this wiseass review. Well, I’m sorry, but this shit is for kooks with boots and goofballs who wear “SHUT THE FUCK UP!” t-shirts and have flaming 8-ball tattoos. I’d better watch my back at the bar next time.

SAM CHAMPION
Slow Rewind
Razor & Tie

A

REVIEWED BY RYAN PANGILINAN.

Since Death Cab for Cutie was name-dropped in The O.C. and The Shins in Garden State, it seems as though every major label is attempting to cash in on the sudden mainstream acceptance of underground bands. Which brings us to Sam Champion, a band of young, goofy-looking fellows, none of whom are named Sam (and whether they’re champions or not is debatable).

Sam Champion’s debut, Slow Rewind, is a likable album that doesn’t come off like a manufactured piece of tripe (Click 5, anybody?). Singer Noah Chernin’s lazy voice meanders throughout the songs and is reminiscent of that drunk guy from The Strokes. But easy vocal comparisons aside, he’s quite good at what he does. In the Built to Spill-esque jam “Company Dance” he matter-of-factly states: “I can’t play guitar/ It doesn’t get better than this.” “Texas Song” is a southern style rock song that plays like a lost Lucero tune that was recently unearthed in a jukebox somewhere in the Mississippi. They recognize indie rock’s peak in the major media eye, by saying jokingly on “Now Look At Me”: “We go out of the mainstream and into the jungle.”

Sam Champion lifts from various inspirations and points of reference and is a band that’s not to be ignored. They may be one of the few truly honest -- if not very enjoyable -- bands that have released albums in the passing year. So while everybody is salivating for a new Postal Service record and Sub Pop is selling their songs to car companies, get back to some rocking roots and purchase Slow Rewind. It’s at least better than that new Ryan Adams album.

COCO ROSIE
Noah's Ark
Touch & Go Records

C-

REVIEWED BY ALLEN HUANG.

With the recent underground explosion of experimental folk gaining popularity and momentum, more and more acts have capitalized on the idea that music sounds better with a serving of the strange. Unfortunately, on CocoRosie’s newest album, Noah’s Ark, the Casady sisters abuse this theory by forcibly cramming gimmick after gimmick into songs that may have -- at one time -- resembled something tolerable and pleasant.

Each and every property of the album (production, lyrics, vocals, composition, etc.) is made as obtuse as possible. Not complex or intricate -- just obtuse. Lyrics paint jarring pictures without any real substance or purpose. The music, usually a Casio backbeat accompanied by poorly-recorded piano, is quaint at its best, and thoroughly irritating at its worst. The vocal melodies are typically non-existent, with the two sisters focusing on their respective vocal quirks rather than finding a real tune. The entire thing feels like Bianca and Sierra did the album on a dare.

Take, for instance, the song "Bear Hides and Buffalo," an ode to the two sisters’ Native American roots. The lyrics are at least on point if not effective, talking of canoes and bronze queens and whatnot. But while all of this is well and good, the Casady sisters found it utterly necessary to add neighing and meowing to the front of the mix. So while I’m trying to listen to this song, I’m bombarded by this completely ridiculous beat consisting of electronic snares and pre-recorded cats. I guess to some people the frequent use of Casio cats is pure genius.

The best tracks are the songs which are left to their own devices, rather than being sent through the ProTools mangler. The title track is a relative standout, featuring both sisters’ always unique, but rarely timbres, weaving in and out of chorus-verse structure with a subtle backbeat and solitary tones ringing out. There are some glitchy effects too, but they don’t dominate the song like in other tracks. The melody remains intact, and the lyrics aren’t as offensively trite as in the other songs. If only all the tracks were as self-restrained as "Noah’s Ark."

What CocoRosie does show on their second full-length is much promise, and a need for some editing. It’s admirable to see artists find success on their own terms, making music without compromise. But there’s also a duty to the listener, to make music that means something and has purpose, not simply as a platform for inane gimmickry and quirkiness for the sake of quirkiness. All this noodling around with "outdated production techniques" and "original textures" dilutes the songs in both melody and meaning. Noah’s Ark is a bloated mess, oversaturated with baseless sonic meandering and half-baked ideas. And in the end, this very embrace of artistic freedom may be the undoing of the entire movement.