DAEMIEN FROST
CORPUS DAEMO (ALPHA RELISH)

Not a person but a trio from Dublin. Daemien Frost have done split singles with both Melt Banana and Montana Joe, and those are certainly kindred souls, but I would also have to throw in names such as Don Cabellero and Dead Meadow when describing them. The energy is punk, the music is fairly experimental, as often landing in stoner rock territory as in avant garde noisescapes. On "In the League of the Amazons," they also demonstrate an ability to be tuneful, at least momentarily. Daemien Frost are a little more abrasive than your garden-variety post-rockers, but they're on the same page. "The Song Breaking Up" starts out subtle and beautiful, showing a mastery in the works of what Don Cab and Mogwai have done with guitars, bass, and drums. David Layde's guitar work goes from lovely, melodic scrapings to clean jazz licks and back into the maelstrom again. They enlist help from a horn player and an accordionist, but it's the domination of the crucial three instruments that makes Corpus Daemo work. A brief debut, but one with promise. (d.n.l)

Dallas Orbiter
Magnesium Fireflies (Princess Records)

Got 40 minutes or so to slap your headphones on and stare at the ceiling? Good, Dallas Orbiter is ready to hang out and give you something to do nothing to. These Minneapolis boys play an experimental brand of pop that goes down easy. The titular chorus from "Arise" is swooping, and its wall-of-sound throws enough at you to pin you down and make you catch your breath when it's all over. "Shoot the Lights Out" has sweet harmonies to finish off the skittering percussion and comes to a close before it drags on too long. More often than not, the band pushes their experimental musical ideas without getting lost. "73rd and Something" could have used some tightening -- a wiser choice would have been less wailing guitar and something else in the rhythm to anchor it down. Vocalist Mark Miller's delivery has a warble that doesn't always fit the music, and I can't help wonder if a bit more force would service the songs better. The 12+ minutes of "The Kids" loses some cohesiveness midway, but that's probably to be expected with such material. I can't be sure if its second half is simply a hidden track (with only a two-second pause between them), but I guess that's nature of extended jams: You can't tell what the heck is going on when the groove kicks into another gear. (Boon Sheridan)

DAMIEN JURADO & GATHERED IN SONG
I BREAK CHAIRS (SUB POP)

For the past half-decade, Seattle's Damien Jurado has made a series of sedate, melancholy, even morose folk/pop albums that seemed to chronicle his ongoing battle with depression. The anti-depressants must be having some effect; on his fifth album, I Break Chairs, he's discovered the joys of rocking out. "Paperwings," "Dancing," and "Birdcage," the trio of tunes that opens the record, ride in on a wave of crashing guitars, walloping drums, sharp hooks, and the most aggressive vocals of Jurado's career. "Big Deal," with its insistent refrain "It's like I told you," and the Moog-spiked "The Way You Look" deal crunchy power pop cards. The anthemic buildup of "Lose My Head" would enliven any moribund alt.rock radio station. Mind you, Jurado hasn't abandoned the downbeat character sketches for which he's known, as "Inevitable" and "Air Show Disaster" (written by drummer Josh Golden) demonstrate. And the feedback-ridden "Like Titanic" tells a typical Jurado story of disaffected young lovers. But there's an electric crispness, a vibrant rock 'n' roll intensity to I Break Chairs that he's scarcely displayed on previous slabs. Don't call Damien Jurado a folksinger any more. (Michael Toland)

DAMON AND NAOMI ON TOUR
WITH KURIHARA SONG TO THE SIREN: LIVE IN SAN SEBASTIAN (SUBPOP)

Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang have had a long and illustrious career in the world of the underground arts--in writing, editing, publishing, etc.--as well as their music. But to my ears, their 2000 collaborative album with Japanese psych-mystics Ghost was the high-water mark of their post-Galaxy 500 output. This new album is a live document from Damon and Naomi's subsequent tour with Ghost guitarist Michio Kurihara, and though, like so many sequels, it fails to completely recapture the magic of the original, you should make an effort to give it a home. The couple of times I've been able to catch Damon and Naomi live, their hushed, folk-based music has proven too easily drowned out by the audience chatter and bar traffic of a nightclub setting. So the immaculate sonic clarity of this disc is welcome indeed. Not surprisingly the set-list is composed mainly of songs from the Ghost album, though a couple of older numbers like "Eye of the Storm" and "New York City" are given spine-tingling live treatment. Kurihara's playing, in particular, is incredible throughout the record, his guitar arching weightlessly over the songs with cathedral-like grace. And the singing voices of both Damon and Naomi have never sounded stronger. From what I understand, this CD will come included with another disc featuring a video tour diary by Naomi for you to play on your DVD player. It's not included with my little promo disc, but from what I've heard through the grapevine it displays artistic skill in yet another medium. Show-offs. (Matt Murphy)

DAMONE
FROM THE ATTIC (RCA)

It's power pop as happy go lucky as driving really fast in a really fast car to the beach, or riding a cool BMX bike, or doing something totally tricked out on your skateboard in the mall parking lot. That's about the extent of what 17-year-old Noelle sings about in Waltham, Mass.-based foursome Damone. Oh, and she sings about love. Damone's debut CD, From the Attic, out now on RCA, is pretty light fare. But what's a better antidote to a long hot summer than fizzy, effervescent pop. The 11 under-three-minute songs were written mostly by guitarist Dave Pino when he was a doe-eyed teenager discovering that love isn't always grand. Songs about broken love, unrequited love, and unfaithful love were culled from about 80 tunes he wrote in 1996 when he labored at a Waltham carwash. Musically, the set is solidly formulaic, but that's not as bad as it sounds. Punchy verses are followed by salvos of power chords, screaming vocals and even an a few Van Halen-like guitar solos, which are titillating for their infrequency. Rolling Stone calls them a cross between Cheap Trick and Josie and the Pussycats. That seems to cheapen Cheap Trick a bit and bolster Josie's cred perhaps too much. Damone is what it is: a fun, cheery pop quartet that must be a helluva good time live. (John Stoehr)

DIANA DARBY
The Magdalene Laundries (DELMORE RECORDINGS)
The Magdalene Laundries subtly resonates like a secret whisper as personal as a dream, pleading with the listener to use headphones in quiet seclusion. I can’t think of any other recording so obviously intended for a private listening experience, deserving of complete attention by a very singular audience (and the fragile vocals could very easily get overwhelmed in the space of a room). Diana Darby’s devastatingly confessional poems of hardship and sadness augment the sparse instrumentation, performed and recorded by Darby on her 4-track (which eventually broke, ending the session). The production is honest, organic and pure, like an audio diary never meant to be heard by anyone other than the closest of friends. Highly recommended for a contemplative cool fall evening on a porch swing under the stars; otherwise (if the stars are not available) a comfy dark bedroom will do just fine. --Don Simpson

THE DAVENPORTS
HI-TECH LOWLIFE (MOTHER WEST)

This is the sophomore effort from The Davenports, which could more appropriately be considered a guest-musician-infused solo effort by Scott Klass (formerly with Smalltown Criers). Like his fellow Criers’ bandmate, Chris Collingsworth (Fountains of Wayne), Klass has a happy-go-lucky penchant for fashioning picture-perfect, perfect-pop. In terms of aural palette, producer Charles Newman (Flare, The Magnetic Fields) has helped Klass craft an album that falls somewhere between Jeff Lynne gloss, Beach Boys lilt, and They Might Be Giants quirkiness (indeed, Giants’ guitarist Dan Miller plays on the record). Klass’ lyrics are rich in colorful imagery and witty turns of phrase, and his melodies, harmonies and instrumentation are nothing short of charming. One of Hi-tech Lowlife’s most delightful vehicles is the way in which Klass drops a bevy of anonymous first names, as though he’s telling stories about an intimate circle of friends. Whether genuine or fictional is not so important as is the way it works to such great effect – in a fortunate, Ray Davies sort of way. In the title track, he sings about inviting “Mitch” over to watch a DVD porno, and all of the attendant elation and embarrassment it incurs. “Melissa Now” and the coy-but-gloomy “Eric Grey” follow, the latter of which is one of the CD’s strongest tracks, as is “Avery Girls,” which features a hazy-a-go-go bass line and square-wave guitars over a Beach Boys chorus, and – of course – the introduction of gal pals “Stoner-Jill,” “Melinda Mackie” (“the one with big feet”) and “Carolyn Crowell” (“has the curls”).” Dozens of additional personalities emerge, including “Annette O’Toole” (Peter’s daughter), and an enchanting amalgam of Ben Folds, Matthew Sweet, XTC’s Colin Moulding, Elliot Smith and Semisonic’s Dan Wilson, all of whom feel inclination to sneak subtly into Klass’ own golden voice. Part sincere, part smarty-pants, he can be bubbly without succumbing to bubblegum and pensive without excessive brooding. Don’t miss the closing bonus track, “Whore for the Holidays,” a gleeful expose on a workmate who drinks too much at office Christmas parties and ends up the victim of awkward love affairs. Wise in its lighthearted foolishness, Hi-Tech Lowlife immediately scratches the surface with catchy hooks and clever wordplay, but requires repeated listens to fully appreciate the depth of both its brains and its heart. (J.J. Benson)

Hard to believe political punk rock was ever this wet behind the ears. One re-listen to the live rendition here of one of the Kennedys' finest moments, "California Uber Alles," and its comparison of Golden State Governor Jerry Brown to the Fuhrer, in these brow-beaten Republican times shows you just how far down the right wing we've trod in 25 years. At the same time, the song's chilling description of 1984-style secret police coming for you, remind that Biafra and crew had a certain prescience that can't be denied. Musically, the band's crunchy rhythms and off-kilter surf guitars were spot-on on this March 1979 night, a year away from the band's recorded debut--Fresh Fruit for Rotting Vegetables. In fact, the version here of "Holiday in Cambodia," a scorching, textured behemoth, quickly takes its place among this group's finest moments. It’s the band's radical politics, of course, that pushed them to the forefront of the American punk conscience throughout the lion's share of the Reagan years. Manifesto in recent years has restored the band's catalog with quite a few archival releases, and this one, a pristine soundboard tape, captures their strangely menacing subterranean rhythms, slower than you remember them (cf. the unrecorded cut here, "Gaslight"), interpolating a version of West Coast punk before it devolved into codified hardcore sloganeering. There's plenty of political barbs as well, though I must say I was wholly unprepared for the Kennedys' relatively straight rendition of "Viva Las Vegas" at disc's end. This one's a memento for the punks who knew the scene needed political activism, and a belief system, as much as it needed righteous anger. (Luke Torn)

DEAD KENNEDYS
MUTINY ON THE BAY: DEAD KENNEDYS LIVE! FROM THE SAN FRANCISCO BAY AREA
(MANIFESTO)

The semi-resurgence of Dead Kennedys comes with political and ideological baggage. Fans of American punk have to decide whether they are on the side of ousted vocalist Jello Biafra or the reformed, litigious band. Then there is the issue of the touring ensemble without Biafra. Whatever your thought is on that, one fact is plain; through the clamor Manifesto is getting the DKs archive onto quality CD releases. This is vintage live material, so Jello is singing the vocals here and the band is in their prime and on the same side. The 13 songs on this album come from four different California gigs in 1982 and 1986. The sound quality is better than on many of the records these songs originate from, including all the biggies like "Kill the Poor", "Holiday in Cambodia," and "California Über Alles." (This is the first ever authorized, non-bootleg live Dead Kennedys album.) (Tom "Tearaway" Schulte)

DEAD MEADOW
GOT LIVE IF YOU WANT IT (THE COMMITTEE TO KEEP MUSIC EVIL)

For the past couple of years, D.C.-area trio Dead Meadow has been staking out a claim as the stoner rock band it's okay for indie kids to like. Smartly aligning itself with hip labels like Fugazi bassist Joe Lally's Tolotta and Brian Jonestown Massacre leader Anton Newcombe's Committee to Keep Music Evil (which, to top off its indie cred, is distributed by the much-beloved
Bomp!), guitarist Jason Simon, bassist Steve Killie, and drummer Mark Laughlin have plied their noisy trade during tours with the Massacre and Super Furry Animals, making it clear that flowing psychedelic metal is for people other than headbangers. (Ultracool indie label Matador must agree, as it recently signed the band.) It helps that Simon has the perfect indie rock nerd
voice rather than the usual macho growl; it's easier to seduce the indie geeks if you sound just like them. But Simon's singing isn't the point of Dead Meadow music; that would be his molasses-thick guitar and its interplay with Killie and Laughlin's grooves. The concert recording on Got Live If You Want It draws several songs from each of the trio's prior records, as well as
adding a couple of new items. High volume shoegazer grunge like "Sleepy Silver Door," "Beyond the Fields We Know," and "Green Sky Green Lake" stand up to any current heavy psych band working, even if the contrast between Simon's nasal vocal meanderings and his powerhouse riffs and melodic solos sounds a bit like Pee Wee Herman fronting Black Sabbath. (And no, that's not a cover of John Denver's "Rocky Mountain High"--it's an original.) Still, if you dig nodding your head slowly to the beat with your eyes closed while playing air guitar, Dead Meadow will be like a Blue Cheer tab on your tongue. (Michael Toland)

The Deadly Snakes
Porcella (In the Red)

On their fourth record, the Deadly Snakes shrug off the vestiges of their past as a garage band and emerge with something completely different. Recorded in rural Ontario, Porcella is a conscious effort to enter pop song territory with a n approach that embraces the full band's instrumental and songwriting skills. There is a tangible 60's Brit style present reminiscent of early Pink Floyd and Face to Face-era Kinks, but there are other places that almost venture into Lee Hazelwood territory in their poppishness. Other touchstones are the cabaret-worthy rock of American Music Club, Nick Cave, and Tindersticks. Porcella is often more intriguing than pleasing, but it seems to be the sound of a band evolving in a new and interesting direction. It will be cool to see what the Deadly Snakes come up with next. (Andy Smith)

DEATH OF MARAT
ALL EYES OPEN (STICKFIGURE)

Jean-Paul Marat was stabbed to death in the bath, where he spent much of his time due to a skin condition. Although the famous painting after which this Arizona trio is named features the unfortunate revolutionary in a relatively peaceful post-mortem state, All Eyes Open evokes his frantic final moments. Stuttering rhythms, pounding beats, rapid tempo shifts, and jagged, piercing guitars are Death of Marat's sonic signature. Consistently dark and menacing, often assaultive, this is how Fugazi might have sounded had they hung out at London's Batcave (the primal scene of goth) in the early 80s, rubbing shoulders with the Southern Death Cult and the Birthday Party. While Death of Marat's stabbing guitar noise and manic rhythmic rush owe much to the Birthday Party, their music lacks the vocal presence of someone like Nick Cave. His compelling, brilliantly comic "I stuck a six-inch gold blade in the head of a girl" histrionics added a dimension that made the Birthday Party so memorable; Death of Marat's drummer/singer Jef Wright sounds appropriately tormented but his thin vocals add only minor shading to the overall canvas of angst. Rock music is, of course, constantly engaged in recycling but there's nothing particularly vital or interesting in Death of Marat's gothic-hardcore hybrid to prevent it sounding mostly anachronistic. Like its namesake, this band is dead in the water. (Wilson Neate)

ARRINGTON DE DIONYSO AND THE OLD TIME RELIJUN
VARIETIES OF RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE (K / SECRETLY CANADIAN)

With a record title cribbed from William James, Old Time Relijun's own moniker seems to be just another gesture towards the hokum Americana so ubiquitous these days. That is, until one begins to listen to their music, at which point Arrington de Dionyso's habit of swooping from countertenor wail to Green Bullet growl in the space of a vowel formant cannot help but call to mind Don Van Vliet. The Captain Beefheart resonances are indeed palpable, but the music of Olympia-based Old Time Relijun bears more obvious traces of its roots in early 90s fried guitar rock. Varieties compiles tracks from the band's inception in 1995 and four-track experiments conducted by Arrington. While providing a window into the genuinely cracked musical minds of the co-Relijunists, this record also reveals the degree to which the musical materials at hand have become, so to speak, overdetermined. Agitated caterwauling, seasick, atonal guitar ostinatos, imagery straight out of Harmony Korine's Gummo--not exactly news in '95, and less so today. Prophetic in their anticipation of the vogue for raw American primitivism, Old Time Relijun negotiate, with a respectable success rate, the same problematic as all of their latter day fellow travelers-- balancing a decentered renewal of the wild musical heritage of America's vernacular traditions against the dangers of sliding into parody, nostalgia, minstrelsy. In the final analysis, the heroic strangeness of songs like "Telephone Call," which imagines an enchanted, bluesy marriage of hysterical Derek Bailey string bends and Ethel Merman-calibre vibrato warbling, cancels all debts and renders Varieties an essential volume in any library of bent loner rock. (Kurt Newman)

Mercan Dede
Su (Escondida)

The primary theme on this record by Turkish musician Mercan Dede is summed up by the translation of Su as the Turkish word for water. The recording was done entirely in Dede's living room in Istanbul, which overlooks the Bosphorus Straits that connect the Black and Mediterranean Seas and separate Europe from Asia. Dede also practices Sufi mysticism, and the record and its artwork are full of symbols which are all related to water. Not surprisingly, the music on Su swells and ebbs as it flows through its twelve droning and trance-inducing tracks creating a palpable sense of calm and peace. Yes, it is destined to be a favorite of massage therapists, but don't be surprised if you end up levitating above the table while it plays. (Andy Smith)

DEFAULT
THE FALLOUT (TVT)

True rock snobs will no doubt scorn Default's inexperience (two years on their resume), their simplicity (straight ahead grungy-sounding rock), their threadbare connections within the industry (Nickelback's Chad Kroeger gave them a leg up in 1999), their Canadianness (from Vancouver, B.C.). True rock snobs will have no difficulty pointing out that drummer Danny Craig is no Keith Moon, that guitarist Jeremy Hora is no J Mascis, that vocalist Dallas Smith is no Eddie Vedder, though, confidentially, in a dark alleyway, it'd be hard to tell the difference between them. As for newbie vocalist Smith, he'd never sung in front of anyone before he auditioned for the band--in fact, he claims to have only sung along to his car radio. True rock snobs do not suffer such things lightly. But then again, true rock snobs willingly quibble over cult-rock history frivolities, like which is the better incarnation of Van Halen--pre- or post-David Lee Roth? The fact is Default (né The Fallout) are one of a handful of emerging bands defining the sound of 21st century rock. Along with Nickelback, Creed, and Incubus, Default offers a style derivative of the best of Alice in Chains, Blind Melon, and Pearl Jam, whose early 90s producer (not coincidentally) is Default's current soundmaster, Rick Parashar. With 11 tracks of heavily textured guitar riffs and brooding, almost navel- gazing existential limboism (though that is, by default, the nature of the depressed grunge rock idiom), Default only ask to rock very hard and don't seem to be interested in much more than that. (John Stoehr)

GREY DE LISLE
THE GRACEFUL GHOST (SUGAR HILL)

Grey De Lisle must feel right at home at Sugar Hill Records with other bluegrass acts such as the Gibson Brothers. The Graceful Ghost is an intimate record with a haunting quality to the songs, almost like you’ve heard them before, but not quite sure where. De Lisle’s wistful voice communicates a longing, especially on "The Maple Tree," about a soldier heading for war. Recorded on antiquated equipment, the songs on Ghost are what I would imagine music sounding like generations ago. It’s clear the effect was intentional and the result is staggering in the way the record pulls you back to a time and place you can’t even be aware of. A mix of old-time gospel and mountain bluegrass, The Graceful Ghost is an example of what can happen when an ambitious idea is approached with the proper execution--a concept album that works just as planned. (Lance Looper)

The Demands
Play For You (Deep Eddy)

The Demands fit under the garage umbrella mainly by virtue of their love of vintage organ sounds and chunky guitar chords, but their sound does not really recall the 60's as much as it does the early 80's sound of bands like the Fleshtones. The first two tracks on Play For You are short toe-tappers, but "Running Out of Fools" heads off in a sort of a torchy soul direction. The last five tracks on the record are taken from a live performance the band did on Jersey City's influential WFMU radio station during June 2004 as well as an interview segment, and not surprisingly these tracks are raw but full of fire and energy. All in all, Play For You is kind of a mish-mash of styles, but it never fails to be fun, and that is as important as anything. (Andy Smith)

Demon's Claws
s/t (Dead Canary)

Listeners will have an immediate reaction to the Demon's Claws' self-titled debut just based on the production, which to put it nicely, sounds as if it's playing on a cheap cassette player at full volume in your neighbor's garage. However, after a couple of songs, the shambolic rootsy-garage rock of the Demon's Claws becomes eerie and other worldly, and the sound begins to make sense. One imagines that live the Demon's Claws are a loud, raucous bunch who sound as though they could be playing the soundtrack to a film version of Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian. Fans of both the Gun Club and the Jon Spencer Blues Explosion should be able to appreciate these four lads from Montreal. (Andy Smith)

JESSE DENATALE
SHANGRI-LA WEST (JACKPINE)

Close your eyes and it's almost like listening to the residential front porches in Woodstock circa 1972, where Van Morrison and members of the Band stop by to swap a few songs. Californian DeNatale has the voice of the gypsy songman, a bit of Van the Man, a bit of Willy DeVille, while his band fills in the grooves nicely with sympathetic folk/rock and R&B leanings. As for the songs, they're not always up to the standards of his heroes, though the epic "Angel Baby," one of those "power of music" songs, just about stands up to the test. No major ground is broken, but Shangri-La West is not a bad place to visit.

DAVE DERBY
EVEN FURTHER BEHIND (BADMAN RECORDING CO)

Even Further Behind bares absolutely no resemblance to its forbears (The Dambuilders, of which, Derby was lead and contributors Joan Wasser and Kevin March were also integral members). Gone are the days of My Bloody Valentine- and Pixies-influenced guitars and complex angular musical structures, giving way to an album of 1980s-style rock standards (or shall I say ÒballadsÓ). This is an album saturated with a whole lot of nothing special, simultaneously nothing offensive or necessarily bad (disregarding ÒEven Further Behind,Ó paradoxically the title track, which I just cannot stomach the lyrics). Despite what I say, there are probably a few thousand girls that will concurrently swoon at the sexy sound of Derby's breathy vocals, and as such, this feels like an album that could possibly fill the empty shoes left behind by Elliott Smith's all too premature departure; though, to be frank, it lacks the melancholic self-deprivation, the production values, and over-all songwriting skills of Smith. Keep in mind that these criticisms come from someone expecting, or at least hoping for, something more like the Dambuilders' noisy alt.rock landscapes. This album did renew my interest in the Dambuilders, though, enough to pull out their classic big label debut Encendedor, and enjoy every second of it. The Dambuilders pushed musical boundaries; Dave Derby's solo effort only regurgitates what's been done so many times before. (Don Simpson)

DETHOLZ!
Cast Out Devils!
self-released
Detholz! (pronounced "death holes") is another of the long-line of whip-smart, slightly angular indie rock bands coming out of Chicago. These guys use their collective fundamentalist Christian upbringing as a source of off-beat inspiration, and here's a guess that the ol' pastor might be pretty disturbed by the sounds this band makes. That's not to say that we're talking about Marilyn Manson here; the Detholz! guys are far too smart for that sort of lowest common denominator tripe. Instead they choose the wry, satirical course, which stingingly pokes fun at a number of topics, church included. All of this is set to a spunky backdrop of synths, guitars and danceable rhythms that brings to mind The Cars and Devo in its best moments with an overall sensation of wandering unknowingly into some wonderfully surreal discotheque. --Andy Smith

THE DEVLINS
CONSENT (NETTWERK AMERICA)

Irish brother band the Devlins returns with Consent, their third album in ten years. Even after a decade, the group stays the course set by its first album Drift. Colin and Peter Devlin maintain their introspective, alt.soul sound, with gently undulating rhythms, unfolding melodies, and a gauzy atmosphere. While this makes Consent captivating for longtime fans, it fails to present anything likely to win new converts. Songs like "There is a Light" and "Snowbirds" make a case for the band's artistic impulses when taken on their own, but a whole album of this kind of carefully crafted adult pop becomes, quite frankly, dull. It doesn't help that some of the best songs, like "People Still Believing," stretch out way past their optimum lengths. Even the occasional distortion on the guitars is played too mildly to make a difference. For some folks, of course, this is the perfect late-night rock album. For others, though, it barely qualifies as background noise. (Michael Toland)

JAMES LUTHER DICKINSON
Jungle Jim and the Voodoo Tiger
Memphis International Records
Twenty years elapsed between notorious producer/pianist/raconteur Jim Dickinson's first two solo albums, and against all odds, just over a year later, here's a welcome third addition to his legacy. Again, it's home recorded at Zebra Ranch, and features his sons Luther and Cody (lead guitars and drums), and their childhood bandmate Paul Taylor, along with some guests like guitarist Alvin Youngblood Hart and Jim Spake (Memphis Horns). As usual, Captain Memphis (as he once billed himself) completely eschews original material in favor of some choice overlooked songs, new and old. There's the inbred redneck boogie and gospel of "Red Neck, Blue Collar" and "Truck Drivin' Man," a bit of samba in "Samba de Orfeo," and the smoky, late nite honky tonk of "Violin Bums." Some of my favorites are the rollickin' "Hadacol Boogie," the great lost Eddie Hinton track "Can't Beat the Kid (Part 2)," Chuck Prophet's (ex-Green on Red guitarist, a favorite of Dickinson's) bluesy "Somewhere Down The Road," and the funky, horn-driven "Love Bone" (a '60s hit for Johnny Taylor). This is purely a work of love, done for no other reason than because the music is great, and Dickinson wanted to turn a few more people on to some great old and new lost songs. Add some of Luther's tastiest guitar playing, Dickinson's own trademark piano (Jerry Lee's got little on ol' Jimbo), and the pure joy that comes across in the grooves of this li'l disc (can we say 'grooves' when it ain't vinyl?), and you've got another unqualified winner. This one's a pure gift. And puttin' a Johnny Weismuller character in an album title? Pure Genius. When the Big Guy made Jim Dickinson, he didn't break the mold--he bronzed the fucker and put it out in the field past the barn to confuse the masses and enlighten the seekers.            www.zebraranch.com   --Kent H. Benjamin

SPENCER DICKINSON
The Man Who Lives For Love
Yep Roc
You don’t need to listen to Spencer Dickinson’s debut collaboration to recognize the spectacularly twisted possibilities contained within its jewel case. The very idea of assembling boho-king-of-the-art-punk-blues Jon Spencer, young blues turks Luther and Cody Dickinson of the North Mississippi All Stars, and their legitimately legendary producer/musician/godhead dad Jim Dickinson into an honest-to-Stax band sends theoretical shivers down one’s mudbone. The reality of the grouping is almost beyond description, as Spencer and the family Dickinson cook up an unrelenting blues feast that jaggedly weaves elements of Captain Beefheart’s skronk blues experimentation, Frank Zappa’s faithful and profane blues blurt, the MC5’s jazzy rock invention, the greasy traditionalism of R. L. Burnside and Junior Kimbrough, and the psychedelic explorations of countless boogie outfits from the seminal ’60s. In other words, the perfect synthesis of the project’s participants and their incredibly diverse and unique talents and experiences. Amazingly, The Man Who Lives For Love was issued five years ago exclusively in Japan and is just now getting its well-deserved domestic release with an additional seven tracks of rumbling, whacked out, refried art blues, including the 10-and-a-half minute rolling thunder closer, “I’m So Alone.” Spencer Dickinson's brazenly unstructured sound will instantly cauterize the wounds suffered from exposure to the overpolished Michelob Light blues of third generation blow dried guitar poodles. The burn means it’s working.     --Brian Baker

DIET
3438 EP (DIETMUSIC)

Not the usual Columbus band, but, as time goes on, it seems there is no usual Columbus band sound anymore. With bands such as Gaunt, Scrawl, and New Bomb Turks all fading into the past, the scene has diversified. There's nothing Midwest about Diet, who recorded this calling-card EP in Chicago last winter. They're more akin to the Notwist, Oneida, or any other band that combines guitar, electronics, and strong drumming into their approach. With a name like Diet, one would expect a lean sound, or short songs, but the three tracks here are rather dense and lengthy. "Antibiotics" is the jewel, rising from a bubble of sonic magma into a slowburn, guitar-driven piece of magic. Their moniker is, perhaps, more indicative of their collective skinniness. With much more material than this in their live set, the band's proper debut should be a minor revelation; that is, if they play down where they're from. Mums the word here! (d.n.l)

Mark Dignam
Box-Heart Man (Times Beach)

Mark Dignam is an Irish ex-pat currently based in Pittsburgh. He is a native of Dublin and emerged from one of that city's notoriously bleak housing estates (like the ones in The Commitments) to become a well-known figure on the city's famed Grafton Street where he kept company with the likes of future Frames' frontman Glen Hansard. On Box-Heart Man, Dignam delivers a collection of bittersweet, heartfelt songs in his expressive tenor voice. The sound is not unlike his former colleague Hansard's band, although Dignam's style is less dynamic and more acoustically focused. Fans of the signer/songwriter genre may find something to like in Box-Hearted Man, although rock fans may find it too sonically tame. (Andy Smith)

dios (malos)
s/t (STARTIME INTERNATIONAL)
So even though they must be sick of seeing this information in every review, dios (malos) was originally called dios, but in an act of complete absurdity the band was sued by elfin rock screamer Ronnie James Dio, who was apparently worried that this tuneful group from the South Bay area of Los Angeles was going to compromise his fame in the eyes of both of his current fans. Musically dios (malos) has a really cool sort of hazy, smoggy LA sound which effectively evokes the images of sprawling suburbs, glaring sunshine, and a true cultural melting pot. Still it has a healthy dose of retro influences, especially the Beatles-influenced songwriting and Forever Changes melancholy under its sunny exterior. --Andy Smith

DIRTY ON PURPOSE
Hallelujah Sirens
North Street Records
The name of Brooklyn's Dirty On Purpose may or may not be meant to be ironic, but it is. This record is a lush melodic gem of the lo-fi recorded variety that has no evidence of filth upon it, even when the guitarists step on the fuzz box. And unlike so many others trying to play this kind of low-key, pretty music, it never falls victim to preciousness. With well-written songs throughout its eleven tracks, Hallelujah Sirens is a balanced record with enough dynamics to keep it interesting and some intriguing instrumental passages to keep it from getting too predictable. So much lo-fi indie music ends up sounding suspiciously as though the band is hiding behind a pose to obscure either a lack of imagination and/or instrumental skill, but Dirty On Purpose shows why this sound works so well when it's done properly.--Andy Smith

THE DIRTY PROJECTORS
The Glad Fact
WESTERN VINYL

Here he goes again, that is Dave Longstreth's crooning and instrumentation you hear on The Glad Fact, marked up as the Dirty Projectors. His voice is unmistakable, with its groggy, ornamented, and slightly off key vibrato fleshing out wildly left of center lo-fi songs. A notoriously untraditional songwriter, this album speaks a great deal to Eastern structures, where the principal instrument is often the voice clawing up and slipping through octaves and all steps between. The lack of stern direction also takes cues from the East, especially "Off Science Hill", a track feeding off a continuous vibe, filled to the brim with embellishments and flavored with the occasional collision of notes. Mixing up the work are other numbers remarkably different including the light almost 70's soft rockish "My Offwhite Flag", the dreamy "Imaginary Love" and "Naked We Made It." Often compared to artists such as Devendra Banhart, Little Wings and the Microphones, The Dirty Projectors is keen on the subject of nature (especially if it involves two or three brown finches) and has a severely inventive sound, one that may need time to digest, but one that is not unlike sitting on a damp splintered park bench on a nice day. (Antonia Santangelo)

THE DIRTY PROJECTORS
New Attitude
Marriage Records
What is there to say about this record? It sounds like a guy with a keyboard and home studio making strange mish-mashes of sounds with seemingly random warbling vocals, more like the private recordings of some guy messing around at home than a cogent musical project. But it succeeds in being unique if nothing else. But the fact that this group (person?) has a national distro deal and has been touring colleges around the country is evidence of just how wide open the world of indie music is these days. --Andy Smith

DIVIT
BROADCASTER (NITRO RECORDS)

On Divit's first release for Nitro, the band trades much of its previous punk-rock stance for a more melodic, formula pop-punk sound. The result is catchy, pleasant, radio-friendly tunes that largely lack much real punch but will please a slightly different and perhaps considerably larger mainstream audience. While lead singer and guitarist Mike Leonardy's vocals fit the music well, his lyrics are less impressive. They are predictable, and the best way to describe them might be to quote one of the tracks here: "So Very Ordinary." Nevertheless, Broadcaster is sometimes fun, sometimes melancholy, and always an easy and pleasant listen. (Richard E. Glover, Jr.)

DIVORCEE
LOVESICK (HODRAKETA PUBLISHING)

Do you like those whiny European pop bands like Travis and Coldplay? I'll admit it ˆ I do, too. Fitting right in with them is the Minneapolis/St. Paul, Minnesota-based Divorcee. That's right ˆ Britpop from Minnesota. And it's quite good. Go figure. Divorcee's first effort, Lovesick, is emotional, textured, sometimes playful, and quite engaging. Opening track "Writer" and the title cut are the most radio-friendly songs, but far from the only quality efforts here. Lead singer Ryan Seitz's vocals both anchor and compliment the music well, and he also lends solid songwriting skills. From slow, sappy songs of longing to upbeat romps, this album just works. And it works in the way that only a band comfortable with itself can pull off, sounding confident and cohesive and avoiding sounding too purposely derivative of other popular artists. Seitz and his bandmates do sound lovesick. And they sound pretty good. (Richard E. Glover, Jr.)

Mike Doughty
Haughty Melodic (ATO)

I should've looked a little closer before I bought this. Sure, it was only three bucks used, but if I'd seen that the enemy, Dave Matthews, was on it, it would've dropped out of my hands as quick as a thug with cement shoes getting thrown into the East River sinks to the bottom. Having enjoyed Doughty's work with Soul Coughing somewhat, my hopes were raised when his self-released live album came to amuse me greatly several years ago. It was, in hindsight, mostly the comedic chit-chat between songs that I loved most. Here Doughty seems happy enough to polish up his style enough to fit in with the current adult contemptible radio format, smoothing out his quirks, and playing up certain things I never liked about him in the first place. It's a kind of dumbing-down and blanding-out to please the label boss, who makes an appearance on “Tremendous Brunettes.” I can't tell you what that song is like because I couldn't let my CD player's laser beam suffer the damage tracking Dave Matthews voice would cause it. Only “Busting Up a Starbucks” rises to Doughty's previous highs. It's only three dollars, but I'd really like it back, please! --d.n.l

DOPO YUME
TRUE ROMANCE (SELF-RELEASED)

This is the first full-length album from NYC-based five-piece Dopo Yume. Undeniably, it is stylishly conceived, hooky, and superbly textured. Accompanied by pulsing vintage synths, grinding guitars, and decadent disco beats, frontman Jordan Galland treats us to yet another healthy dose of fey-slash-suave disinterestedness reminiscent of Morrissey, Bryan Ferry, and, to a lesser extent, Bowie when he was a Young American. Dopo Yume glam up the Euro-trash angle, chronicling oh-so-fashionable escapades complete with expensive cocktails, exclusive late-night gatherings, and exceedingly gorgeous women. In this sense, they're blatantly similar to Duran Duran, save for the odd fact that they actually manage to sound almost nothing like them. Despite the gaggle of throwback influences, Dopo Yume actually come across as quite fresh (dare we say sexy?), and are granted additional high-society cred with guest appearances by Sean Lennon and Bijou Phillips. With any justice, the album's flirty opener, "Softcore" should prove an instant international dirty dance floor classic. "Miami" tells the tale of a no-strings fling, summing it up indelibly with the refrain, "Miami, Florida is only a trashy pink sunset on her t-shirt." "Brigitte Bardot" melds spooky new wave with post-punk histrionics and a never-ending string of timeless "ooh-la-las." In fact, the only nagging question surrounding the CD seems to be, "Is it actually true romance?" With one liners like, "baby, this is New York / I've got a lot of friends / even if they're only pretend / I think I like the nightlife," you have to wonder whether he's being ironic or simply offering ultra-cool commentary on the state of the state. Upon rare occasion, Galland comes across with considerable sincerity, crooning about his vulnerability, rosy ideals, and the inevitable heartbreak it engenders. More often, however, he spins tales of vacuous infatuation that are downright silly. If it's at all intended as parody, it lacks the kind of charismatic smarts to rise above the superficiality it seeks to ridicule. If not, then True Romance succeeds wildly as a perfect pop soundtrack in the most Warholian sense. And if that's the case, then Dopo Yume are indeed off to a dazzling start. (J.J. Benson)

Dr Pepper Family
Taco and Red Beans (Kinky Star)

The best known of the stable of excellent bands on the cool Ghent, Belgium-based Kinky Star label, the Dr Pepper Family has been making inroads into the American market with appearances in the past year at both South By Southwest and the CMJ Music Marathon. The trio, which formed nearly ten years ago while the band members were still in their teens, plays a style that effectively merges the raucousness and energy of the garage revival with the chunky, fuzzed-out guitars of early grunge stalwarts like Mudhoney and Sub Pop-era Nirvana. Their newest record Taco and Red Beans is a mature effort loaded with chugging, toe-tapping rhythms and solid songwriting. The opening track, "Wasteland" is immediately catchy and provides the perfect example of the band's basic style built around Sebastian Omerson's meaty guitar riffs. The second song, "Million $ Bill" is the true standout with great dynamics, another excellent chorus, and more melodic lift than much of the rest of the record. "Caught It, Found It" then explores a slower, darker side to the band's sound. The rest of the record (excluding couple of abstract experiments at the end) continues what the first three stellar songs establish with interesting, though less fully realized results. Of particular note is the strong "Spanish Guitars" which is a more ambitiously arranged track. Taco and Red Beans is certainly the perfect compliment to a night of Belgian beer sampling. (Andy Smith)

TAD DREIS
SOLITAIRE FOR TWO (HEDGEPIG)

A Jim Croce for the new millennium? Singer/songwriter Dreis seemingly lives on that cusp of folk/pop circa 1971, borne out of the magnificence of Simon and Garfunkel. With a sparkling acoustic guitar and a voice for the anglophiles, Dreis mines all the usual romantic themes, spicing things up with the occasional harmonica or harmony vocal. Lightweight, but likably so.

TAD DREIS
Play To Remember (SELF-RELEASED)
Like the curly-haired kid down the street who plays earnest guitar on his porch, Tad Dreis wants to enlighten even as personal romantic longing distracts. This is particularly true in the kooky “Driving To Georgetown” or when he finds pleasure in simple tasks like “Doing Your Dishes.” At his best, Dreis is a likeable wordsmith who sing-talks through his songs as sweetly as the doughnut crumbs he eats in the first cut (which pops up in a needless remix tacked on at the end). Nutritionally speaking, the Chapel Hill native’s coffee consumption is more alarming than even the “Talkin’ Construction Apocalypse Blues” he sings about, but the title track is a heartfelt keeper. – David Pyndus

DENNIS DRISCOLL
VOICES IN THE FOG (K)

On his third album of wide-eyed folk-pop, Dennis Driscoll rarely fails to charm with a generous 17-song outing. Jumping from rolling country-blues ("Sarah Jane, part II") to bleached out lo-fi pop ("Drive-In"), to lilting love ditties ("Little Old Me"), Driscoll delivers his songs with a sense of youthful innocence and naïve sincerity that make up for his lack of innovation. In a different era, many of these songs would probably have been lumped in with the anti-folk movement because of their slightly off-center romanticism, yet the sensibility with which he delivers many of these lovelorn lullabies places him with a more traditional camp than his peers. Much like Of Montreal's Kevin Barnes, the influence of throwback pop forms is evident in Driscoll's songwriting, with his melodies and lyrics being coated with a sense of nostalgia and pristine incorruptibility (and more than a little childishness). Still, Driscoll does well to mix and match the elements he's pulling from across genres and eras, whether drawing on psychedelic pop with the spooky theremin and minor key changes of "Moon Patrol" or the intricate acoustic guitar picking and falsetto croon of "You're Both Alone." And even though he employs perfect pop song structures, some of his writing suffers from over-sentimentality and a sense of being hurried, with some tracks emerging as rough song sketches instead of fully realized compositions. Still, those qualities ultimately do little to dilute the roughly hewn charisma of his presentation. To be sure, Driscoll does nothing even remotely groundbreaking, but he does everything well enough to endear him to careful listeners and earn himself a second listen. (Matt Fink)

There's no shortage of great female vocalists at the moment, but it takes a Heather Duby or Gemma Hayes or Beth Gibbons to make music that is as earnest and as musical as a Solid Air or as sophisticated as Kate Bush's brave excursions circa Hounds of Love. There's a world of difference between the work of these auspicious artists and that of the crop of radio-friendly singers such as Sarah McLachlan and the newly compromised Liz Phair. Duby smartly avoids anything overwrought, sickly sweet, or overtly commercial here. It's not that Duby doesn't have commercial inclinations; in fact "Three Miles" is a nicely upbeat pop piece with a mildly sweet center, and a piano part that begs comparison to Paul McCartney's "Jet" or Abba's "Waterloo." In general, there's a great sense of warmth in her voice, and it helps make her side of the river an inviting place to be. Duby has created a work of substance that, while not completely original, at least tries to be something of great quality. She succeeds in many ways. (d.n.l)

Dum Dog Run
s/t (Fuseic Music)

The monster guitar riffing grabs you from track one, "I Can't Stop It Now," and from then on, this thing just rocks like crazy. Defused of melancholia, slacker experimentalism, or emo pretentiousness, Dum Dog Run play basic meat-and-potatoes, power chord rock, descended from Cheap Trick, the Blackhearts, maybe even a little Redd Kross, with enlightening (sic) songs called "Mullet," "Psycho Girlfriend," and the fawning, heartbroken "Jennifer Aniston." Producer/singer/guitarist Rick Altizer, who released a pretty snazzy power pop record on NotLame a few years back, along with guitarist Jade Hanson, keeps the accelerator mashed down hard throughout, even as the band amps up the Cars' "Let's Go." By the time the band hits the wall at "Dreamer's Ball," which rattles along in territory not too far from Thin Lizzyland, you feel like your head's been hammered at for hours . . . in a good way. To say they don't make rock 'n' roll albums like this anymore is an understatement. --Luke Torn

Dumbwaiters
Musick (Fiani/Screw Music Forever)

Tampa, Florida's Dumbwaiters play a dense style of jagged post-punk that owes a debt to the darker-edged new wave bands of the late 70's/early 80's. The guitars are batter thick and supplemented by keyboard and synth seasonings reminiscent of Pere Ubu, while the wobbly almost dub bass brings early PiL to mind. When you add the powerhouse drum sound, all of the parts are there for Dumbwaiters to impress. However, the record stumbles initially with the track order as the opener "Wow" is a bit long and slow to hold the interest of a casual, objective listener, but the next two tracks "The Blow Up" and "Repeats/Version" are immediately engaging and show the band's strengths. Also solid is "Icons (Too Many People)" which again shows that Dumbwaiters shine brightest on the faster songs. Unfortunately, the second half of Musick strays too far into experimental territory and doesn't return. Instead of giving us more of their solid songwriting, they choose a more abstract and frankly self-indulgent route with lots of quasi-industrial noise and synthesizer noodling for the last five tracks. Some folks might dig it, but to these ears it is disappointing. More rocking and less experimentation makes Dumbwaiters a better band. (Andy Smith)

Van Duren
Open Secret (Pure Pop Planet Recordings)

If you were played this record and told it was the new Paul McCartney album, you'd call it a magnificent return to form, the best album he'd done in a long time. But instead it's only the third solo album by Memphis pop wizard Van Duren, the real follow-up to his '70s masterpieces, Are You Serious? and Idiot Optimism (the latter was issued last year on Lucky Seven Records; the former is scheduled for reissue soon). Over the past 30 years, Duren has performed and recorded more or less throughout, most recently in a band with another '70s Memphis pop vet, Tommy Hoehn. Van Duren is a master at heartfelt, supremely melodic pop songs. This record isn't really what I'd call power pop, but more nearly resembles McCartney's first solo album (with "Maybe I'm Amazed") and Emitt Rhodes' critically acclaimed debut. Open Secret is a baker's dozen of supremely crafted pop songs. My favorites are "Tell Me Everything," "Heart Trouble" (with an elegantly tasty use of French horn), and the title cut. A worthy addition to Duren's significant, if unjustly overlooked back catalog, and well worth checking out. --Kent H. Benjamin

DUMP
A GROWN-ASS MAN (SHRIMPER)

James McNew's role as bass player in Yo La Tengo requires him to be a musical omnivore, ready to swing from squalling guitar noise to gentle folk rock to free jazz at a moment's notice. And he also puts that versatility to vigorous work with Dump, his ongoing one-man project. A Grown-Ass Man is Dump's first collection of original material in a couple of years, and it tends several different gardens of solo sound. Rockier songs like "Basic Cable" and "Daily Affirmation" sound like they could be YLT demos circa May I Sing With Me, whereas quieter tracks like &