THE KOFFIN KATS
Inhumane
Hairball 8 / Psychobilly Records

D

I’ve always had a friend or two in my social circle who was totally down with Rockabilly. Most of them have kept up with this subculture which seems to focus more on style than music - or anything else substantial, for that matter. What I’ve gathered is that rockabilly kids take a really, really long time to get ready to go out. The clothes must all be within the same time period, and don’t even get me started on the amount of time consumed into perfectly fashioning the hair.

Inhumane is a sonic collage of walking basslines, stripped down drums, and insane guitar riffs… and that’s about it. The main gimmick of the Koffin Kats is to write songs about blood, guts, zombies, and the macabre in general. Unfortunately, that schtick gets drowned out by the style of music that they play – not to mention that pretty much every song on the album sounds the same.

The idea that this band is a collision of The Misfits and Brian Setzer is just as ridiculous as their poorly made album cover, which depicts the band murdered and hunched around empty bottles and cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon. The reality for the Koffin Kats is that I really like my copies of Walk Among Us and Stray Cats, and I’d prefer to listen to them separately.

GOSPEL
The Moon Is A Dead World
Level Plane Records

A

The Moon Is A Dead World, Brooklyn-based Gospel’s latest full-length, combines the frenzied chaos of Drive Like Jehu with the musical complexity of The Mars Volta.

Guitarist Adam Dooling and keyboardist Jon Pastir unleash a relentless slew of driving, intertwined trance riffs filled out by the acrobatic bass lines of Sean Miller. This all provides a perfect canvas for Vinny Rosenbloom to lay down his best “King Crimson” on a meth-bender drum routine which pretty much doesn’t let up throughout the disc’s entirety. Even when the band slows down into some spacey jams, you can feel the tension building, knowing that just around the corner, they will pummel you anew.

Prog-Hardcore anyone? Some of these tracks navigate so many twists and turns in such a short period that four-minute songs can seem more like fifteen, which is a good thing. This band is incredibly talented, and there’s absolutely no getting around it. I would recommend this album to anyone who is a fan of insane musicianship and doesn’t necessarily crave pop-hooks or identifiable lyrics with their rock. The vocals are kind of tacked on as an afterthought here, but it’s probably for the best. That way, the listener has more time to focus on the band’s unbelievable chops. If you were a fan of the latest Mars Volta disc but didn’t quite think it rocked enough, go out and buy this as soon as possible. You will not be disappointed.

ASVA
Futurists of the Ocean
Web of Mimicry

B

REVIEWED BY JOHN GILLANDERS

One of the strangest trends in popular music these days is the fast propagation of self-proclaimed “doom-metal” bands. Even in the Pacific Northwest, the last couple of years has seen an influx of bands carrying the “doom” torch with the likes of Lesbian, Yob, Grey, and Black Noise Cannon playing higher profile gigs than ever before.

For those not in the know, “doom” occurs when metal bands forgo their traditional spastic, light speed assault in favor of sludgy simplicity and spacey repetition, leaving chronically stoned fans in a sort of dazed, hypnotic trance.

This is exactly the kind of response ASVA seems to be trying to elicit with their latest full-length, Futurists Against The Ocean. The band could be considered a doom super group, seeing how they include members of Mr. Bungle, SUNN 0))), Burning Witch, and Master Musicians of Bukkake.

With that in mind, this disc is pretty much exactly what you’d expect. It starts of with one slow motion riff that repeats for eight minutes or so. Then come the incoherent bass tones, subtle electronics, and whispers that go on for like twenty minutes and sound kind of like the background music to a horror movie. Just when you’re kind of getting bored, some female vocals kick in, and it gets even creepier. This is the kind of stuff I imagine they play at satanic orgies while fornicating in the blood of slain virgins. Definitely not for everyone, but fans of SUNN0))) and Earth will eat it up smiling.

SECRET LIVES OF THE FREEMASONS
This Was Built To Make You Dance (Here Is Your Revolution)
Astromagnetics

D

REVIEWED BY ALLEN HUANG

The debut album from this post-hardcore sextet from North Carolina has more words in its title than I care for. So, for my personal convenience, I will now refer to the Secret Lives of the Freemasons as BAND, and This Was Built to Make You Dance (Here is Your Revolution) as ALBUM.

BAND’s ALBUM is the same cookie-cutter swill that occupies 7/10ths of the "rock" quota that Clear Channel and MTV choose to play. Every song is some dude screaming about suffering and dying, and then some little harmonized guitar part kicks in over which the other singer sings in his emo-kid tenor about how his soul is broken in two. Throw in some kitschy production effects and some pretentious song naming, and you have yourself a clone along the lines of Thursday, Senses Fail, UnderOath, and Hawthorne Heigshtkjn (sorry I just kinda threw up in my mouth right there).

Do we really need another band like this? Especially one that prides… PRIDES itself on being overly pretentious? I mean, half the songs on the album have the word DANCE in them (one of them has dance in it three times). And man, you should see this press kit. The first entire paragraph rambles on about secret societies and how this band is dedicated to unraveling the secrets of the freemasons. It talks about how a friend died so they got into the secret mansion and formed a band or some stupid shit like that. Oh, and they named their tour van "Van Halen." I’m sorry, but that’s fucking atrocious.

Do yourself a favor and forget this band ever existed. The rest of the world will follow suit in few months.

SHERWOOD
Sing, But Keep Going
SideCho Records

C

REVIEWED BY RYAN PANGILINAN.

These days, it’s pretty easy to be a rock band. Everything is handed to you via sites like AbsolutePunk, MySpace, and PureVolume. The DIY ethic that was crafted by bands such as Minor Threat and Social Distortion are a far cry from kids who can upload their songs onto the internet within a matter of minutes. More than anything, however, I’m finding that the most important resource for finding new bands is “The O.C.”

Not unlike “Beverly Hills 90210” and “Dawson’s Creek,” “The O.C.” relies on contemporary radio hits to drive emotive storylines. The problem with this notion is that you have a bunch of bands forming and writing songs to fit the audio tapestry of “The O.C.”

Sherwood is the kind of band that would nicely fit as buffer music inbetween some Seth drama and a commercial for Burger King. They have songs that are melodically beautiful, such as the Ben Folds-inspired “The Last to Know” or the power-pop ditty, “The Town You Live In.” Yet, there’s something that’s oddly dull about their album Sing, but Keep Going.

It’s really not the fault of Sherwood, per se, but with bands such as Gratitude, The Pale, and Jimmy Eat World, it’s difficult to carve a name for yourself in pop-rock these days, and Sing, But Keep Going is like a record that has been played to death – only by a different band.

The saving grace for this album is the strength of the last five tracks. Had the band flipped the track listing or cut the previous eight songs to make a powerful EP, this album would’ve sounded a lot better.

Unfortunately, at the end of the day, we’re still left with some generic rock songs that will no doubt keep internet message boards a buzz and “O.C.” fans waiting for next week’s previews.

DRAYTON MICHAELS
Low Stress in the Deep End
K9 Son Music

C

REVIEWED BY GARON H. OVERLEY

These days, it seems that singer/songwriters are a dime a dozen. Almost everyone that you meet has a guitar and a story to tell. The problem seems to be that their influences range from Dave Matthews to John Mayer, with nothing in-between. Or even worse – conversations and interviews are littered with references to Nick Drake and Woody Guthrie, to which their music owes nothing. Trying to set your self apart and creating a distinctive voice is a very difficult thing to do.

On Low Stress in the Deep End, Drayton Michaels has found his unique voice with a fantastic range and a haunting delivery, but fails to do much with it. Michael’s songs seem to get buried behind his backing band, which give us an almost bubblegum type of “jazz pop.” The standout track on Low Stress is “Ghosts of Manhattan,” which features Michaels and a piano. This stripped-down approach works the best for Michaels, leaving his voice free to float around and explore its full range. But this is pretty much the only chance you get to hear Michaels in this way. Every other song gets buried behind the backing band and flirts its way around jam band territory.

Anyone who would have had the chance to see Michaels at one of his solo acoustic shows probably got a chance to see a great singer work his craft. Unfortunately, this album drags his songs down to a completely different level.

SLEATER-KINNEY
The Woods
Sub Pop Records

A-

REVIEWED BY ALLEN HUANG

Sleater-Kinney’s seventh full-length punctuates a period of changes for the veteran rockers. It’s their first album on Sub-Pop, after being one of the key artists on Kill Rock Stars for the majority of their careers. It’s also their first album since One Beat, one of the best records of 2002. One Beat, a decidedly poppier album, was Sleater-Kinney’s big chance to break through. However, Kill Rocks Stars sat on their hands in regards to the marketing of the record. No wonder they abandoned ship after that fiasco.

But it doesn’t seem like the girls in SK are going to make the same mistake twice. The Woods doesn’t cater to the ears of the masses. At first listen, many of the songs seem jarring and almost uncomfortably aggressive, but after a few repeated listens, the album’s true merit shines through. Assisted by Dave Fridmann and his gloriously chunky production (also heard on Flaming Lips and Mercury Rev albums), Sleater-Kinney explores "new" territory, such as the extended guitar solo in "What’s Mine is Yours" and the 11 minute fuzz-out in "Let’s Call It Love."

Let’s not be hasty, though. Sleater-Kinney is a punk band first and foremost, and they flex their aggro-chops on some superb compositions. The sure-fire hit "Entertain Me" is a scathing rebuttal to the last few albums of their career, while "Modern Girl" shows Sleater-Kinney doing what they do best: sticking up for the women in their own, smart little way.

But The Woods sounds the best when the two worlds collide, for instance, on the opening track, "The Fox." In this oblique fable of a song, Sleater-Kinney encapsulates exactly what they were going for with this whole psych-punk thing. The perfect balance of sheer wall-of-sound force and raw feminine power, "The Fox" alone is justification for listening to this album.

This entire album is brimming with both ferocity AND maturity – a balance rarely seen in the world of aging alterna-punks. Though sometimes long-winded, and sometimes a little too smart for their own good, Sleater-Kinney has taken the best parts of the riot-grrl movement and made it new. Sleater-Kinney’s latest statement is a strong one, and deserves to be heard.