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The Bobs I Brow Club (Rounder/Denon) A cappella pop with a fair bit more bite than the Prozac muzak of Bobby McFerrin. Same principle, on the surface: light, jazzy, innocuous. There is, however, a sharp and insightful edge to the farcical lyrics--on "Swingers" or "Bongwater Day," for instance. Clever, but the Bobs must beware. Here and there, they betray the same self-satisfied cuteness that makes Moxy Früvous so goddamned annoying. 6.5/10 (Rupert Bottenberg) Bardo Pond Lapsed (Matador) England's Spacemen 3 once called an album Taking Drugs (To Make Music to Take Drugs to), but Philadelphia's Bardo Pond have been more subtle in their titles (Amanita and Bufo Alvarius referred to strains of mushrooms and toads), and more slow in their trippy, hazy, lazy smashscapes. The best song here is the nine-minute "Flux," where a single descending guitar riff is soaked in feedback, propped up by distant cymbal crashes, punctuated by a bit of flute and repeated ad applauseum. Bravo. 7/10 (Chris Yurkiw)
In the mid-'80s, T.S.O.L.'s vocalist Jack Greggors was replaced for the rocker squeal of Joe Wood. The newer cock-rock sound brought tears to many punkers' eyes, who retreated back to their two original 1981 EPs (both reissued here). Jack's trademark yell served as the matrix for upcoming bands for years, but the lyrics from "Man and Machine" and "Property Is Theft" would always leave T.S.O.L. way above the rest of L.A.'s punk scene. This CD is worth a listen for historic value alone but more importantly, it FUCKING ROCKS, too. 9/10 (Johnson Cummins) Various Play (Sideburn/Crippled Dick Hot Wax!/Fusion III)
German drum & bass isn't a given, but something's endearing about some of these tracks: Minus 8's "Recently at the Opera," with its symphonic heaviosity is nothing any top cad in London would've made in the past three years. Same goes for Mas-P's vocal sample/crashy cymbals number "Not Enough Love." Almost all the rest here is, in fact, downtempo and not d&b at all. But the ride is smooth, and honestly, the gamier jungle bits work as a refreshing break from the serious inner-circle-ism of late London anyhow. 7/10 (Mireille Silcott)
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T.S.O.L. T.S.O.L. (Nitro)