Adam Bernstein is a man with a vision of the world, a guitar, a backup band, and some really really nerdy songs. The lyrics are right up there with GBV's Robert Pollard -- nonsensical quasi spiritual-falling-lifting-dreaming-and always twirling twirling twirling our way towards freedom. Vocally, Mr. Bernstein sounds like a 180-pound Kermit the Frog. As I listened to the disk, I got the sense that he had spent some time in the perlious paths of life, and now he's cleaned himself up and is swinging the pendulum all the way back to the otherside with sugary sweetness and happy things. The arrangements are cool and the musicianship is top notch, but damn if his voice isn't annoying. So there you have it. This isn't turning out to be a very nice review, but that's the gist of it. 

From his website I can see that he's been involved with some bands, played some gigs and has even posted an interview that makes some of his previous work sound pretty cool. Maybe Yo Mama Yo was just something he put out for kicks between his more political projects, who knows. But this release just didn't cut it for me. (FosterW)

It’s a good thing Big Surf named themselves what they did, because, as an instrumental surf rock band, there would be unanswered questions if they named themselves anything else. How would fans know they were about to hear pulse-increasing, drive-you-to-drink-another, guitar riff-oriented rock rather than a New Age soundscape? Oh. Word of mouth, I suppose. So, let my brief review serve as a clarion call: This Minnesota-based band has somehow tuned into the wavelengths of Dick Dale and his 1950’s-60’s cronies. Their musical arrangements have depth as well power. If you’re looking for multi-layered guitar music, which bring to mind 20-foot waves, and regimental drums that suggest the arrival of big kahunas, then listening to Big Surf will be paradise. (Vanessa Moore)

Bitter Chill is pretty cool. This trio pumps out catchy Kravitz-influenced groove-rock tunes that are listenable without sounding too familiar. Even the guitar solos (I miss guitar solos!) are well placed, timed, and competent. The singer gets a bit "David Lee Roth" at times, especially on the doubled-up, harmony-soaked choruses, but I won’t hold it against them. The song "Wasteland" showcases some creative nods to classic metal via sweetly crafted riff-based verses. "Liquid" is much of the same, but with a little psychedelia thrown in at the end. All in all a nice piece of rock. (Archie Rex)

I’ll say one thing for the guy/gal that designed the cover for this CD: it depicts perfectly what the listener is going to get. Picture a good looking lady in a sleeveless T-shirt lying supine, propped on her elbows as if picking herself up from being smacked down (perhaps literally) from another one of her romantic failures. “No Really I’m Fine,” is scrawled in a hasty cursive like a cartoon caption above her head, and the words “pain” and “love” are pasted in fading, dripping paint below her. Can you guess what kind of subject matter is tackled here? (Long sigh from reviewer here.) 

I will give Ms. Weiland some credit. In addition to having the same surname as one of my favorite novels and being a major babe, she is also a very respectable singer. I never expect much from the music I get to review, and Ms. Weiland’s voice, when she isn’t trying to be funky, is a pleasant surprise. But with songwriting that produces lyrics like, “He thinks it’s fighting, she thinks it’s talking” (from “Disagree”), and “Pain pain go away come again some other day” (from, you guessed it, “Pain Pain Go Away”), I just wanted to yawn. I got bored. Really fucking bored. I’m not sure who is more at fault, Weiland or her co-writer and guy-who-played-all-the-instruments-in-pre-production Rob Gironda. Their constant theme of love lost or disintegrating is written in such a ham-fisted fashion that if not the lazy boredom that was induced, I would have laughed really hard. In addition, the fantastic production of the CD is wasted on sterile, soulless music. For a musical effort claiming to be part “neo-soul,” this is not good. A cello came in on one of the songs to briefly snap me out of my stupor, but other than that, I wasn’t grabbed. It might be interesting to hear Ms. Weiland collaborate with some top-notch song-smiths. She’s got a voice and the looks that would certainly pack a place. (Mike Mitchelson)

The problem with rare gents like David Berkeley, who happens to be blessed with an amazingly great “folkish” singing voice, is that they can make any type of subject matter sound absolutely fucking beautiful. So, for example, Mr. Berkeley here could easily spin tales of cleaning his bathroom, cleaning his catbox, or participating in any number of equally mundane or horrifying events, and the listener would think they had just heard the musical equivalent of nirvana (state, not band). So you gotta be careful when listening to those rare few in Berkeley’s league – once you get past the seriously beautiful voice, is there anything left? In Berkeley’s case, it’s his lyrics that cement his esteemed stature in my opinion: earthy, warm, slightly skewed; this man can nail a feeling with his solid prose. “It’s a heart pour. It’s where is our perspective? What happens in the moment we’re waiting for? You know in the end we weigh every card we hold, and some are butterflies and some are rock n’ roll.” Slick. 

Visiting Berkeley’s website sheds a little light on Berkeley and this CD: “Berkeley headed west each year to work as a white-water rafting guide. He spent 5 summers pushing boats down the rivers of Idaho and Montana. The title of his debut CD, ‘The Confluence,’ is named after the confluence of the Salmon and Snake just southeast of the intersection of Oregon, Idaho and Washington.” And you know, the CD feels just like this description. The disc itself is tastefully produced – there’s a strong band accompanying Berkeley here, utilizing sounds from acoustic guitars, mandolins, cello, piano, flutes, and even a trombone – but the music remains what it should be – a gentle base to accompany and carry the solid lyrics, and Berkeley’s absolutely dynamite singing voice. Sooooo Top Honors. (Deneen Gannon)

The Volvo P1800 is one of the most underrated and underappreciated sports cars of the 1960s. Developed in an attempt to shake off a reputation for building stodgy commuter automobiles, the P1800 was a modest success, especially after being chosen as the car Roger Moore would drive for the '60s TV series "The Saint." While not a particularly fast, high-performance car, it was very stylish and an ideal choice for auto enthusiasts who wanted something unique and quick-looking even if they didn't plan on flooring it at top speed down the Autobahn. The largest engine available produced a mere 135 horsepower, but in such a small, light car it was more than adequate, and the later P1800 E model had fuel injection. Some 40,000 P1800s were produced from 1961 to 1972, and since the last one rolled off the assembly line these cars have garnered a well-deserved cult status as one of the rare offerings from a usually "safe" car company. There is a P1800 pictured on the cover of this CD and I figured since the music this band plays is unremarkable bog-standard Boredom Rock with a side dish of emopery, I'd review the car instead. It's a pretty cool car. I wish I had one. (Nate Patrin)

Why do singer/songwriters don band names? I feel quite duped by Gawker Slowdown, who is not a band, but a single white male hoping to swoon audiences with very boring and personal songs. Gawker gives us little to gawk at, but yes, he is in a constant state of slowing down. He plays guitar the way old people drive, and his singing invokes the dull, calm pain associated with slitting wrists in a tub of hot water. The lyrics are weird and I believe, purposefully stupid. I am hoping they make some sense to his insider, uneducated, beat-poet prophet Rastafarian friends, 'cause I have no idea what he's talking about. (Jacob Caravan)

The folks in Ghost Town Drive love their rock and roll and their cars and their chicks and their beer and they hate rap and pop and probably everything else not devoted to completely rocking into the night on a last-chance superfire hot rod muscle machine of kickass death and powermad pure rock fury infused with booze and pills and KICKING TOTALLY HEAVY ASS. At least, that's what I could gather from their bio. I suggest that if you want anything Ghost Town Drive-related to kick total heavy ass that you read their online press kit instead of listening to their music, because the CD sounds like a deranged chicken-decapitating sludge-garage-punk-stoner act instructed to keep it at a BTO level. There's moments where these guys sound like they could melt the metalflake paint off a supercharged custom baja dune buggy-modified VW Beetle and there are other points here and there where they do a fairly decent L.A. Woman-era Doors impersonation but other than that it feels like they're holding back, like they could explode and go nuts but don't really feel like doing so. Hey, guys, there's a hundred other garage bands out there that sound just like you only a lot catchier and a lot more furious and some of them are even from SWEDEN ferchrissakes so maybe you might want to bring a bit more feedback and some Iommi sludge and maybe turn up the bass up to Lemmy levels and BLOW UP PEOPLES STEREOS, DAMN IT. Just for half-assing it on this record, I'm gonna listen to some of that unglorious rap stuff instead. Ghost Town Drive, you're no Ghostface Killah. (Nate Patrin)

With some retooling, the Jamie Smith Band could be churning out some passable smooth, slow jazz. As it is now, they never quite commit to that direction. Seeming to have some capability in the jazz vein, I have no idea why they are gung ho on tagging themselves as "an Ambient Pop duo from Minneapolis, MN". Ambient Pop? Ambient Pop? Doesn't that sound like a character from Wilder's "Our Town"? ("There's Old Ambient Pop - he runs the livery stable down on Elmore Street.") 

There are a few promising - but not outstanding - elements sprinkled throughout their songs. "Conversation" and "Distraction" have some nice lead guitar moments. The keyboard-vibes on "Have To Go" sound good. The bass usually delivers some good bottom. What sabotages the whole mix is the overwhelming sameness of the near-whisper vocals. The very breathy Marilyn Monroe "Happy Birthday Mr.President" type. There's nothing wrong with a one trick pony if the trick is at least interesting, but due to the constant breathy-whisper vocals this is one pony that's begging for a last roundup at Elmer's. The writing is generally weak and that doesn't help the situation much. A refrain on one song ("Understand") is "dee-ah-ta-da-daa". The only thing more annoying than whispered lyrics is gibberish in like hushed tones. 

All things told and setting aside the ever-present breathy vocals, the music is best described as average. Not bad, but not much in the way of substance. As noted, I see more hope if they retooled or shelved the vocals and took a purely instrumental jazz road. (Luis Fiske)

Julianne Markavitch is a classical pianist and piano teacher who has sent to Demorama four CDs, each with a particular theme as the impetus behind the selection of these classical and popular standards. The first reviewed here is actually her best, for it is a collection of pop music that does not demand much by way of darkness and grit, qualities she unfortunately seems to lack. 

Her '99 release "Noel" is a non-threatening if overly mellow selection of classical-ized Christmas songs which may cause a sadness not usually sought-after by afficionados of Yuletide music. The arrangements she has selected are unusual and sometimes threaten to disguise the songs familiar melody in a barrage of notes. 

My personal favorite Christmas tune, "Ukranian Bell Carol" (or "Carol of the Bells") is in an arrangement by Tom Roed and manages to suck the fearsomeness out of a tune who's counter-melodies usually evoke an almost frantic excitement, an inducement to celebrate the season with awe-filled reverence. 

All in all it is an adequate collection, if a little lacking in energy and a lot lacking in good cheer, the qualities one usually finds in Holiday music. 

Good cheer being unnecessary for the songs in her '96 collection "Moonlight," we may expect a more appropriate use of melancholy herein, but we run into another weakness of Markavitch's. As a pianist she seems to lack a certain edge, a contemplation of the depths which we sorely miss in such brooding pieces as Beethoven's Adagio Sostenuto from the "Moonlight Sonata." She never seems to hit a certain volume in the piece, or to reach a level of suspense as she climbs up and down the keyboard rendering the arpeggios into mere exercises. This complaint becomes a common theme the further one listens. Her emotional palette does not seem to include much beyond mere sadness. Where there should be a slight bitterness or a sense of despair we are left feeling almost rushed, as if the music itself has been glossed over by the performer. Where is the darkness on this disc? "Moonlight" seems to be lit with an ordinary 40-watt bulb.

 In "Tempest," her 2000 release, she has selected pieces to capture the mood of a "storm or raging outburst." Here we expect to find some of the energy that has been missing from her previous work. But we are continually left hungering for some hint of anger, a simple emotion that fuels much of the compositions on this CD. The very human sense that one is being taunted by fate, mocked by ones human failings, tempted against ones own will: these are the motivations behind a tempest in the emotional sense. But Markavitch's performance seems untouched. One also yearns for a reprieve from her persistent use of the sustain pedal, a parlor trick which spreads mayonnaise over the image the composer is creating. During "Fantasie Impromptu" by Chopin, the lightning-fast notes are nearly concealed by the pedal, at times smeared together unrecognizably. The quiet moment in between is without passion, showing no hint of the "tempest" that preceded or follows it. 

In her latest CD, "Nocturne," copyright 2001, she seeks to express "the intimate mood of the evening," but with the plodding exactness of her interpretation of Bach's Prelude in B-flat Minor she begins the CD in a decidedly upright and alert way. A nagging sense that this pianist lacks a certain purposeful hesitation, a sense of place, assaults the listener. Bach's "Air for G-string," a piece which, when played with the proper deliberation can call to mind an almost unsettling yearning, is, in Markavitch's workmanlike style, a disappointment. 

As lovely as the selection of pieces she provides for us is, it cannot be ignored that a requisite sensitivity to them is just not present. All throughout these four CDs there is a technical proficiency which arm-wrestles the compositions to the ground, leaving the listener with the sense that Julianne Markavitch is proclaiming "Case closed!" at the end of each piece, and dusting off her hands. (Serena Vale)

These guys are from the heavier side of the tracks in Matchbox/Third Eye country; guitar licks and harmony vox galore. In fact, they sound like a 'roided-up Toad the Wet Sprocket much of the time. (Believe me, this is not a cut!) The sound is uniformly excellent and these snappy/catchy tunes could/would/should fit comfortably in many AOR formats. (SCIsadore)

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Introductory Rant: One wonders if the American Composers Forum, recipients of tax dollars through the National Endowment for the Arts, is aware that composition is usually thought to be the opposite of improvisation, which is what this CD by Metaphor is: "live ambient electronic improvisation." 

And one also wonders how one could "compose" such music if one did intend to stay true to the definition of composition so as to become eligible for tax dollars through a grant from the National Endowment for the Arts. I suppose this band may throw in some trained monkeys or other such performance-type stuff at their shows but God knows that pretty much anything, even crap in a can is considered eligible to receive tax dollars through the National Endowment of the Arts. 

And this is not crap by any means, it's just, well, ambient techno, which means: anything at all, set to a mellow electronic beat. 

At any rate whether this is considered intriguing ambient techno by ambient techno standards, it's important to keep in mind one thing: whether or not you eventually buy the CD, you have already paid for it. 

Well here's my review: This well-done, well-recorded ambient techno can be played at twice the speed on your CD player by holding down the FF button, for an equal amount of enjoyment than regular-speed -- nay, perhaps more enjoyment. (Serena Vale)

Non Thespian explains their name in a non-hubristic manner, stating: "The name is a direct reference to their own experiences, they refuse to act like one of the best hip hop groups this country has produced...they just are." 

As the first English hiphop group I've heard, they're not too bad. Four tracks were available for download. The first, "Stink Business" is okay. The flow of the lyrics is smooth and easy to follow. I can't really believe that a band trying to be hip would use "Born free, as free as the wind" anywhere in a song, but I'm just the reporter here. "Surplus Citizen" has that old-skool feeling, and "Monkey Metaphors" is just too cliche to be anything other than boring. The real shining track here is "Poisoned Chalice." There's a lot of great scratching - the turntablist really knows his stuff. The lyrics flow remarkably well, and I found myself bopping along with it. 

In general, Non Thespian is non-irritating. There's a lot of talent there. I'd like to see a little more originality, but at least it isn't a blatant rip off of every other hip hop band out there. (Melanie)

Crawling Tall is easily one of the most original things I’ve heard in my 42 years at Demorama. Original, and yet it’s a garbage can of influences: the cynicism of Lloyd Cole, sensibilities of Tom Waits, the fearlessness of early Springsteen, Neil Finn from when he really used to rock out, a little Marshall Crenshaw and Warren Zevon, and a vocal combination of Jeff Tweedy and Art Alexakis. Hofmann’s lyrics burrow into a rich and driving instrumentation. If I have any criticism at all, it’s that the lyrics occasionally get muddled in their own creativity. But that’s small potatoes, man, something that will surely be overcome by the immense talent that Hofmann obviously possesses. My guess is that Mr. Hofmann will probably, someday, end up in the situation that Wilco finds itself: critically acclaimed but not mainstream. But who cares. In the end, it’s the music that matters, and Hofmann has earned a prestigious spot in my permanent music collection. Top honors. By far. (Mike Mitchelson)

The disjointed and poorly recorded album, "Listen," by indie rock amateurs Refresh, is at best a good first effort from a band that needs a lot more practice. Their songwriting is somewhat original, which scores points, but the songs are horribly executed and just plain sloppy. 

The CD's liner notes inform me that "Listen" was recorded with "a band, a mic, a computer and a basement." It truly sounds that way: completely canned. This is a great album for anyone obsessed with the superiority of analog over digital. I cannot stress this enough: the recording quality it atrocious. And is that an electronic drum set I hear, it's hard to tell, but if it is, its not helping their overall sound. The drummer's rhythm and musical ideas are bad enough without the thin sound of computerized hits crapping up the mix. And food for thought for the vocalist: sit out a measure and take a breath. 

Listen? Request denied. (Jacob Caravan)

Drive by any skateboard park in suburbia and you'll hear it pumping from the pirated, burned-copy CDs in Honda Civic car stereos parked with their doors open for maxium sound blastage - underground speed metal...death metal...or maybe it's Nu metal. But it's metal of some vein and the pounding, horse vocals buried in layer upon layer of bass punches and speed scales will rape your virgin consciousness into catatonia. 

I know the how these kids feel...you want to hate, hurt or rage, but don't have the experience to do it. You need something to tap into these deep, dark places - to unleash the pain because your parents "suck and don't understand you." Well I have your answer - RisingFall, you muther fucker. Fucking RisingFall. If you're an angry teenager rolling a 1d20 against goblins on a regular basis (white males pay particular attention) and have mildly considered carving your forearm with a razor blade because you think "the system" is fucked (except video game industry of course), then Twin Cities metal band, RisingFall, is your key to emotional release. 

Rising Fall will assail your ass. You want musical independence? You think Metallica is your daddy's music? You think S.O.D should be played at Easter service? You want to be the kid with the badest shit in the CD player? Then quit reading this and download Rising Falls's 7:38 minute anthem, "In Black", punk -- "Turn the page unleashed from thine cage!" RisingFall pounds.

Rising Fall recently played the Minnesota Dark Arts Festival in November (all ages, three-day event) at The Lab in St. Paul - the infamous bar/club (once named Ryan's) serving as the nexus for metal and hard rock bands in the Twin Cities. If you're playing a regular gig at The Lab, you're either a G.G. Allen zealot or were one of the promised few that saw Slayer the last time they hacked their way through town. Well, RisingFall is a regular on The Lab's hardcore circuit so if you want a fuck-you show with a death metal finger up your ass, then go catch RisingFall after their next set and tell them Demorama sent ya. (Eric Thiegs)

One of the difficult things about the reviewer biz is trying to describe what it is a band sounds like. Sometimes, after jotting down some of the artists that they remind you of, you notice that they don’t sound so much like band X, but they make you feel like band X makes you feel, and the ones they do sound like don’t make you feel that way. 

That’s the deal with the Cincinnati based Rookie, so I’m not gonna name names for similar sounding bands as it would probably give you the wrong idea. The band lists Britney Spears and Slayer as similar artists, so I’m thinking they don’t care too much about the genre thing themselves, so let’s just say they are a rock band. 

They are a rock band that has a knack for nice pop hooks, and a style that comes across as natural and unforced. They’re fun. They have easy-to-relate-to lyric-dense songs that feel light and amiable. The lead singer has a voice well suited to what they are doing. They should be a blast live. For a band that had only been together for five months as of their posting on mp3.com, I have to say I’m very impressed. I hope to hear more from them. (Conrad Teves)

A well-recorded disc featuring Ruth Hammond’s gorgeous vocals, and frisky playing. Ruth is no bimbo, and she has plenty of chops. The songs are quite varied in style, but the instrumentation, including her own organ playing, never gets in the way of Hammond’s vocal talent. Three great backup singers increase the vocal vibe. If you are into a Rickie Lee Jones-meets-Eva Cassidy-with-70’s-instruments vibe, you’ll enjoy this. (Dylan Ritalyn)

Hell if I know what "metal" is now supposed to be. A mix of volume, distortion, attitude and more than a little guitar would seem to be a good starting point, and the Dames used these and more to create this "overview" of heavy music. I use overview because these tracks cover everything from amped up Rotten/Pistols-type raving, to Hetfield-ian growling, to Alice in Chains harmony gloom and much of what falls in between. Heavy and uncompromising, the sound quality is very good and the playing is solid. If this is your thing then this is your thing. And it came from Duluth! (SCIsadore)

Solid is what The Humbugs are. Solid lyrics, musicianship, and vocals. This being only the second release for this local act, it’s impressive. Sound-wise, think of recent Jayhawks (more rock, less country) with a Hammond organ. And when Kristen Marshall sings, the songs take on an instant Aimee Mann-ish quality with the sass of Chrissy Hynde. When Adam Marshall sings, well, it’s good, but a different mood entirely; everything slows down. On my second run-through, aside from “Average Fairy Tale” (a rollicking song about infidelity), the songs that stuck with me were the ones the chick sang. But, again, overall it’s a fine effort. I won’t be trying to sell this at Cheap-O anytime soon. (Mike Mitchelson)

Mansion, Cave, or Lobotomy is an intriguing and exciting album to say the least. Any release hailing from Indiana raises red warning flags in my mind, but this album was a pleasant surprise. Self described as "Schizophrenic Hillbillies," these boys must have some impressive record collections. Their influences and styles are all over the map. They touch Allman Brothers style classic rock on "Lotus," Ween like melodies on "Mind In Paradise," and display their hip-hop badges on "How Much Time." The band's versatility is definitely their biggest strength. Mansion, Cave, or Lobotomy is full of great songs that all could stand on their own. Another strength is how well the Infinite Path come together and compliment each other on their songs. This is evident on "Eye To Eye," "Rosarita" and the awesome "Burial Ground." Just as they are able to collaborate together, they can strip everything down to a simple acoustic guitar melody on "Remember The Future," which is one of their best songs. It is nice to hear something as refreshing and creative as this release. Hopefully the talented Infinite Path have great things to look forward to in their future. (Neal Mayerle)

Not being a fan of Hip-Hop, I’m going to try and give this as much of an unbiased review as possible. That being said, this isn’t that bad. "SG, Mr. Luna, MD, and the Incredible Zip" are four MC’s that kick off this comp with a self-titled track. They take a lot of pride in their respective area codes. Both Kansas City codes are proudly shouted several times. I find it strange that an area code would be something a person would strongly identify with, but whatever. I like MD most of the four…audible and creative rhymes (including a cool reference to Spike and Mike’s Sick and Twisted Animation festival) held my attention better than any of the others. My biggest issue on this track is that the chorus comes around a bit too much for my tastes. Upon listening to a few more tracks of this comp, I now understand that verse/chorus/verse/chorus/verse/chorus is pretty much the standard flowchart for Hip-Hop tunes. Would it hurt to put a bridge or breakdown in somewhere? Maybe I’m missing the point, and this certainly isn’t meant to be a critique of the entire Hip-Hop genre. Moving on…D-Day’s track "Before I Die" is a cold commentary on ghetto life and the frustration it brings to a man trying to make a better life for himself and his family. Desperation and demoralization are powerfully orated to the listener while the melancholy tone of the music helps convey the angst and hopelessness. There’s no glossy bad-boy image, just honesty, and even I can appreciate that. Finally, I listened to Nymflo’s "Follow Me (Metal Mix)," and was not impressed. This is a perfect example of the aforementioned bad-boy posturing. I just can’t take a song seriously when its entire purpose is glorifying violent stereotypes. He’s got a gun, he’s got a hot car, and treats his bitchiz like puppets. I couldn’t care less. I listened to snippets of a few other MP3’s from this comp and found that most tracks were either well executed socially conscious reflections, or bullshit posturing and ego stroking. I was also horrified to hear most of the beats generated by 2nd generation Casio keyboards. I’d rather listen to my old House of Pain tapes than some of these flat beats and robotic bleeps. If more Hip-Hop artists spent as much time on the beats and music as they do on the rhymes, I can’t help but think the final product would be a thousand times more interesting. Then again, maybe I’m missing the point. With so much emphasis on the MC, maybe the music isn’t even important. Too bad. (Archie Rex)

A common problem with a lot of bands that go with the double kick-drum thunder is that they often come across as too cheesy. This usually happens when they have acquired a shtick, rather than a style. Florida based Ze Bond Rocks has the opposite problem: they aren’t cheesy enough. This set of mp3s are just screaming for wankier guitars, big backing vocals and lead vocals that aren’t quite so deadpan. Face it: part of the appeal of metal of any flavor is the unabashed attitude, the unrestrained emotion, the occasional desire to scream. It’s an indulgence, and any attempt to hold back only comes across as a lack of conviction. Sheer bravado often makes an effective substitute for good taste in the “guilty pleasure” bands you’d prefer not to admit you like. 

Ze Bond Rocks note as similar artists Aerosmith and Nirvana: no way. Can’t hear it. As for sounding like Joan Jett, I can say they do only in the most superficial aspect of Lyn Ze Bond’s delivery, otherwise not really. Beats me where they want to go with this, but their basic sound is decent, if not remotely original, so at least they have something to work up from. They have, however, a lot of work to do before I’d call this good. (Conrad Teves)