![](\"http:\/\/www.tipcommunications.com\/2002\/zodiac_mindwarp.jpg\")
\nZodiac Mindwarp & The Love Reaction<\/b>, “Rock Savage” (Abstract <\/p>\n
\t\t\t\tRANDOM STABBINGS & ARTLESS CRITIQUE \u2013 January 2006<\/big>
\nby Eric Saeger<\/b><\/p>\n
\n
\nZodiac Mindwarp & The Love Reaction<\/b>, “Rock Savage” (Abstract <\/p>\n
Sounds)
\nMedium-speed sleaze-metal so full of its double-Y self it can\u2019t <\/p>\n
help but succeed. AWOL from his <\/p>\n
writing\/cartooning\/psychiatric- ward-squatting pursuits, <\/p>\n
Zode brags on and on about booze, motorcycles and stealing your <\/p>\n
girlfriend in his best Sisters of Mercy-schooling drawl, under <\/p>\n
which his high-rent garage Mossad plays variations on AC\/DC riffs <\/p>\n
and howls like meth-shnockered werewolves (prettily, too, in <\/p>\n
\u201cNorthern Boy\u201d) \u2013 all systems nominal in other words. A sorely <\/p>\n
needed respite from rock\u2019s ongoing, seemingly incurable identity <\/p>\n
crisis. Order at Amazon.com<\/a><\/p>\n Mezklah<\/b>, “Spider Monkey” (Escuchalo Records) \n a 3 Stooges sense of doom riffing \u2013 trademark Boston scenesterism <\/p>\n that flips a pre-emptive screw-you to the big record labels before <\/p>\n they get a chance to sneer an ironic \u201cthis isn\u2019t indie enough, <\/p>\n man.\u201d Keeping with Paradise Club tradition, there are a few <\/p>\n minutes that rival the excitement of a potato-baking race, a clever <\/p>\n psy-op to weed out the posers. Order at CD Baby<\/a><\/p>\n <\/p>\n Subthunk<\/b>, \u201cYou Should\u2019ve Been Here Yesterday\u201d (Ureneely <\/p>\n Recordings) the thought of a band like this \u2013 crunchy, woozy, compressed <\/p>\n beat-box techno with a tilted-room 60s side, sung by Lisa Moore as <\/p>\n if she were mocking Dido sprawled on a couch laying down her lines <\/p>\n between swiffs off a five-dollar jug of zinfandel. The fact that <\/p>\n it\u2019s soundtrack-ready hasn\u2019t been lost on LA bloodsuckers \u2013 <\/p>\n previous material has been used as background hipness in <\/p>\n peer-pressure soaps Boston Legal and Six Feet Under. Order at CD Baby<\/a><\/p>\n Disturbed and using emo as a toothpick. Tightly constructed, very <\/p>\n heavy non-conformist nu-metal unafraid to go out on the thinnest of <\/p>\n limbs carrying an armload of cats, even going so far as to repaint <\/p>\n David Lee Roth as a jilted townie homeboy in \u201cCandystore.\u201d Order <\/p>\n at Tower Records<\/a><\/p>\n Michigan\u2019s Emileigh Rohn, posed on her album cover as an <\/p>\n anarchinatrix in paramilitary Gap gear, poorly accessorized with a <\/p>\n non-threatening doe-eyed stare. She\u2019s leveling a pistol at you in <\/p>\n the photo, which, it would stand to reason, is fair warning that <\/p>\n the listener is about to expose his or her ears to a tall glass of <\/p>\n buzz-and-boom kick-butt. Kickoff track \u201cEmbryonic,\u201d however, <\/p>\n skulks around packing naught but a load of stock goth tuneage and <\/p>\n Chuck E Cheese death fixation, after which it lays down with its <\/p>\n paws up expecting a vigorous belly rub for performing those <\/p>\n rudimentary tricks. The big picture isn\u2019t altogether awful, <\/p>\n though, and indeed much of it \u2013 the sexy trance of \u201cRewind\u201d most of <\/p>\n all \u2013 would fit the bill when the deejay is of an orgying mind. <\/p>\n What\u2019s not great are Rohn\u2019s tiresome flails at KMFDM-hardass <\/p>\n sentiments; although she\u2019d love to terrorize the countryside, her <\/p>\n strengths lie in cream-puff technopop. In the next life maybe. <\/p>\n Order at Amazon.com<\/a><\/p>\n Alif Tree<\/b>, “French Cuisine” (Compost Records) manga with static spitballs and synth-knob-diddling that parallels <\/p>\n a school bully pulling the wings off butterflies. Ravings include <\/p>\n the Sylvia Plath-esque piano\/bolero-guitar duel \u201cBelle\u201d and an <\/p>\n unwieldy 60s sci-fi philharmonic loop straight out of Fantastic <\/p>\n Voyage drowning in scratchy bust-a-beats in \u201cEnough.\u201d Order at CD Universe<\/a><\/p>\n Arms of Kismet<\/b>, \u201cCutting Room Rug\u201d (Wampus Records) and a Grateful Dead fetish for choo-choos (\u201cOutbound Train\u201d and <\/p>\n \u201cClover,\u201d a Jackass-age guided tour of the enchanted Rosedale <\/p>\n Clapton yammered about in \u201cCrossroads\u201d). Mark Doyon\u2019s mod-Dylan <\/p>\n posturing combined with some shock guitar not witnessed since Blue <\/p>\n Oyster Cult and a pervasive rock-opera theme leave this with not <\/p>\n much to dislike. This label is making very few mistakes. Order at <\/p>\n CD <\/p>\n Baby<\/a><\/p>\n Narcotic Lollipop<\/b>, “Rodent” (Bipolar Audio) Stromkern<\/b>, \u201cLight It Up\u201d (WTii Records) out of today\u2019s kraut-techno, urbania was a resource woefully <\/p>\n underemployed prior to the hip-hoppish ranting dotting this <\/p>\n follow-up to last year\u2019s widely applauded EP. Fleshed out nicely <\/p>\n with plenty-enough daredevil risks, a haunting piano layer <\/p>\n reminiscent of the main theme to Road to Perdition (\u201cForgiven\u201d) can <\/p>\n be found among assorted other goth and low-BPM accoutrements. <\/p>\n Order at Tower Records<\/a><\/p>\n Grimfist<\/b>, “10 Steps to Hell” (Candlelight Records) Grimfist’s sound would be identical to Metallica’s “Ride the <\/p>\n Lightning” were it not for the gravel-gargling black metal <\/p>\n expulsions of singer “Frediablo” (nudge). After subtracting one or <\/p>\n two points for old-hatness like that, the residuum’s good enough to <\/p>\n recommend over and above much of what was blapped into 2005\u2019s death <\/p>\n metal pot. The most striking (and original) innard is the pneumatic <\/p>\n drill riff that steers “Breed Apart,” and the Alice n <\/p>\n Chains-bamboozling “Separation of My Soul” isn’t a bad spiff <\/p>\n either. Order at <\/p>\n Amazon.com<\/a><\/p>\n Girls on Film<\/b>, “Danceteria” (Nativesun Records) Seagulls the excretions might have sounded like those of this <\/p>\n quartet of Tallahassee babes, dressed as Simple Minds video extras <\/p>\n in day-glo business-minis and Aquanet. Some salvageable retro-80s <\/p>\n treadmilling and an aww-how-cute attempt at refurbishing same with <\/p>\n novo-techno notwithstanding, the lack of guitar leaves the <\/p>\n structures flopping around bonelessly. Order at Bolt Thrower<\/b>, \u201cThose Once Loyal\u201d (Metal Blade <\/p>\n Records) England fortified with tightly controlled earthquakes of double <\/p>\n bass drumming and Karl Willetts\u2019 low-register Nephilim-like <\/p>\n growling. All of this sounds familiar, of course, but for the <\/p>\n unsinkable and ever-growing fan base that derives pleasure from the <\/p>\n new breed of calc and thrash, these guys probably sound as <\/p>\n different from everyone else as Cliff Richard from Sevendust. At <\/p>\n any rate, Bolt Thrower\u2019s level of energy isn\u2019t ruined by <\/p>\n unlistenable learners-permit jazz-prog nonsense, as is found all <\/p>\n too often within the indie-metal genre (\u201ccalc-metal\u201d bands being <\/p>\n the worst offenders, of course). Also greatly reduced is the Iron <\/p>\n Maiden factor, meaning there aren\u2019t a lot of self-important <\/p>\n zillion-layer guitar solos (although what soloing is offered is <\/p>\n quite good, up to and including the woofer-busting runs by bassist <\/p>\n Jo Bench). This isn\u2019t to infer that the record is dumbed down, but <\/p>\n simply what one would normally expect from a not-inept band <\/p>\n attempting a scholarly fusion of classic DIY punk and Sabbath-era <\/p>\n metal. Order from Metal Blade <\/p>\n Records<\/a><\/p>\n Ramona Silver<\/b>, “Intermission” (Tootsie Music) Katrina and the Waves AOR-philandering, all written very nicely <\/p>\n (Billboard says so) but a tad overly dependent on art-gimp <\/p>\n vegan-jazz guitar progressions meant to cover up weak bridges and <\/p>\n fait unaccompli choruses (few and far between on this 6-songer but <\/p>\n nevertheless demonstrative of a batting average that won\u2019t give <\/p>\n Sheryl Crow nightmares). Order at CD BABY<\/a>\n<\/p>\n \nEric is always seeking undiscovered and indie bands for review. <\/p>\n![](\"http:\/\/www.tipcommunications.com\/2002\/mezklah.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nBand-in-a-box electro hawking Greg Hernandez\u2019 guitar and Angel Garcia\u2019s Spanish rapping over drum \u2018n bass, urban-jungle cumbia and related beats. Emotive, raw and fun, the record is pure \u201964 Impala cruise with one quick duck into the phone booth at the title track for a costume-change into English-speaking nu-grunge pundits firing Hendrix wah-pedal at anything that moves. Order at CD Baby<\/a><\/p>\n
\nMascara<\/b>, \u201cSpell\u201d (Mr. Fibuli\u2019s Records)
\nInsolent barrage of Nick Cave dolt-core, felony theft of Queen and <\/p>\n
\nThe next generation\u2019s Quentin Tarantino would cartwheel for joy at <\/p>\n
\n![](\"http:\/\/www.tipcommunications.com\/2002\/audrey_horne.jpg\")
\nAudrey Horne<\/b>, “No Hay Banda” (Candlelight Records)
\nThrill to the spectacle of Audrey Horne making a quick snack out of <\/p>\n
\nChiasm<\/b>, \u201cRelapse\u201d (COP International Records)
\nA fair-to-middling techno sole-proprietorship, Chiasm spotlights <\/p>\n
\nFrench soundtrack go-to-guy Tree flogs his espresso-beatnik jazz <\/p>\n
\nToo-good-for-MTV dollop of Tom Petty cowpoke, Flaming Lips spunk <\/p>\n![](\"http:\/\/www.tipcommunications.com\/2002\/Narcotic_Lollipop.jpg\")
<\/p>\n
\nTwo-person operation reviving Lili Taylor\u2019s spittle-flecked \u201cJoe Lies\u201d concept from Say Anything, ie cataclysmic roots indie in which Strats and snare drums are flogged by a flea-bitten alpha wench looking to out-Exene Exene. The masterful production comes off like a beat box recording played over a 1962 Bell rotary telephone relayed through a toaster – or the first New York Dolls album, take your pick. Only departure from all the angel-dusted colic is \u201cMessy Men\u201d and its blobby guitar evoking Nirvana\u2019s \u201cCome
\nAs You Are.\u201d Fight the power, missy. Order at Bipolar Audio<\/a><\/p>\n
\nAlthough it isn\u2019t anomalous to catch strong whiffs of metal wafting <\/p>\n
\nPropagandized as a more middle of the road type metal operation, <\/p>\n![](\"http:\/\/www.tipcommunications.com\/2002\/girls_on_film.JPG\")
<\/p>\n
\nOr Soccer Moms Gone Wild. Had Alicia Bridges fronted Flock of <\/p>\n
\nTower Records<\/a><\/p>\n
\nThe Metal Blade beat goes on: angry-bees-nest thrash metal from <\/p>\n
\nFreshly showered neo-post-punk mating Liz Phair with servile <\/p>\n