Samiam, since 1989, has churned out music that stays constant in its tones and emotion, even though the common genre nomenclature has changed considerably. From punk to indie, indie to emo, from New Red Archives to Hopeless Records, Samiam has made heartfelt and thoughtful punk rock best suited to college radio airwaves. On their latest release, Whatever’s Got You Down, released six years after Astray, the band maintain their stride and continue to draw comparisons to Jawbreaker and Hot Water Music. The record, however, is at its best when they break those conventions, like the Hum-influenced “Come Home”, and at its worst with heavy-handed, dew-eyed mopefests like “Do You Want to Be Loved”. [www.gosamgo.com]

“Super-group” normally calls to mind over-inflated ego projects featuring Ted Nugent and that guy from Styx who can hit the high D in “Lady”. Die Hunns, with their newest record You Rot Me, tries to buck that image with an album full of punk rock braggadocio and genre-bending rock and roll. Featuring members of US Bombs, the Circle Jerks and Nashville Pussy, Die Hunns has become a swaggering tour of the American rock and roll landscape from the '60s to now, with punk rock attitude, rock riffing and R&B soul. Duane Peters and his aggravated snarl share vocalist duties with his wife Corey Parker mixing and (occasionally) matching through songs like “Mad Society” and “47th Street”. To prove to you they haven’t forgotten what brought him here, Peters also included in the album’s best song (“Rock N Roll Boulevard”) the line “I’m a retard/I’m a retard/why did it have to be so hard”. True wisdom. [www.diehunns.com]

Well, I went into listening to this album expecting to hate it, but it is far too average for any strong feelings to be involved. The music and vocals are so indistinguishable from so many metalcore bands that I'd have to be an expert in the field to make any recognition. A band trying to accomplish something revolutionary or "punk" should be noticeable: either come across like The Locust or An Albatross, releasing controlled bursts of noise to confuse and befuddle the listener, or be dumbfoundingly aggressive and beat them into submission, a la Converge or a veritable cornucopia of extreme metal from the early '90s, or late '90s sludgecore aggression such as Neurosis and Eyehategod. But a band like Freya is really just riding on the coattails of a retail movement with its formula. The singer sounds almost entirely derivative of countless other bands, riffs are good and catchy but sound very similar to too many others, and the drums keep the time, but don't do enough to stand out. The bassist shows up every now and then to remind you he has an active pickup bass. Tack on a lackluster, slightly-off cover of "War Pigs" (which was more ably covered by Faith No More ages ago) to end the album, and you have an extremely boring listen. [www.victoryrecords.com]

Seldom is a record’s name so literal in reference to its contents. In the case of Dustin O’Halloran’s Piano Solos, Vol. 2, however, the unimaginative title tells us everything about its style but nothing about its artistry. Recorded in Italy on a 1930s Swiss Sabel piano, O’Halloran (one half of Devics) has taken the influences of Chopin, Debussy and Beethoven and created an enigmatic jewel for any music follower. The tracks are bare, cozy and cinematic, and the imagery evoked evolves with each listen. Without properly named tracks, it should be digested in whole, as each piece beautifully complements the next with intimate, slow movement. Rarely does a musician have the ability to make such meaningful use out of the space he’s given. [www.dustonohalloran.com]

We’ve reached an interesting point in our cultural progression where we can now safely and successfully market a genre like hardcore noise rock, which doesn’t even feign artistic difficulty, but instead actively seeks to offend every basic human understanding of sensory pleasure. If bands like The Locust and Los Crudos opened up the door for atonal disgust and scathing gross-out hate in the '90s, the past few years have unlocked the chest for their ironic reincarnation, and now bands like Holy Molar can release ten minutes of free association screaming about fucking Pocahotass and decapitating door knobs over thick synthesizers and crashing drums, and call themselves a post-hardcore comedy side project. The noise on Cavity Search isn’t cathartic, and it isn’t some intense pathos, nor does it expand the boundaries of what this kind of music can respectably pull off. Its function here is solely to divide the already apprehensive indie rock community into two camps; the one that will adore the sardonic contempt of its cheeky non-jokes, and the other that won’t get them. And that isn’t to say that Holy Molar doesn’t have its place, or that there’s nothing redeeming about music that punishes you for listening to it. There’s a whole chorus of greasy haired potheads in Cannibal Corpse t-shirts to whom this review doesn’t even apply; noise rock was created for people who like noise. But if we’re going to pretend that a band called Holy Molar, which writes two minute songs called “You've Had More Kids Pulled out of That Thing than a Burning Orphanage,” and plays shows dressed in dentist costumes, is anything more than campy shtick for a generation obsessed with hip, we’re going to have to allow hardcore an artistic license it doesn’t really deserve. Ostensibly, Cavity Search is quick, trashy thrash rock, and it beats chairs against the wall like a psychotic mass killer in an interrogation room, but it doesn’t ever stop grinning, and for that I gave it two points. On the other hand, I can’t think of any use for this record other than as a cultural marker for a wretched sociological experiment; in ten years will Holy Molar be awful, or will they just be lame? [www.threeoneg.com]

Sometimes The Constantines sound like pussies. Sometimes Trent Reznor is bitchy and lame. Sometimes I want to rip barbed wire fences apart with my teeth. These Arms Are Snakes do away with all pretentions on Easter, pounding down 12 ominous, vengeful songs that burn slowly like a well-contemplated fury. It's a welcome if force-fed reminder that sometimes music doesn't need to do more than smash windows and make old people despise my generation. It's the same reason why I like The Fall so much. I mean, I live in Greenwich Village, and I hate Animal Collective, and I’m not a fucking vegan. Sometimes rock and roll should be like prizefighting. And when it is, These Arms Are Snakes are George fucking Foreman. [www.thesearmsaresnakes.org]

What do you do when you encounter genius? Alice B. Toklas, in her autobiography, written by Gertrude Stein, talked about the sparkle she saw in Gertrude's brooch and how she'd only met a few genuises. The best thing to do, however, is what one of Alexander The Great's teachers told him to do when he encountered his former student on the way to conquer the world: Alex The Great: "What can I do for you?" Plato or whoever: "Get out of my sunshine!" Some of my students said that back to me on a playground sometime after I'd told them the story in an earlier class. But that is what you should do. That's what Allen Ginsburg did when he first heard Bob Dylan on a record in Bolinas and he just kept right on doing it. So, are The Trucks genuises? Seems so to me, given what passes for most of the music floating down runways at the Grammys these days. The Trucks are like Devo with soul. Take a brief tour, then you decide. [www.thetrucks.net]

I only have one complaint about Paint It Black, which is a compilation of Rolling Stones covers. It doesn't have the Mick Jagger version of "Paint It Black" nor does it have the Eric Burdon version, so I can't compare and contrast like I used to in English class. Still, Burdon wins in my book. I mean when you have some of the greatest rock songs ever written and more than a few exceptional covers of the same, you can't go wrong. Stand outs: Aretha Franklin's version of "Jumpin' Jack Flash." When the Queen of Soul shouts: "Hallelujah!" at its end, you don't have to hear any more. Still there is St. Otis Redding's "Satisfaction," Bryan Ferry's "Sympathy For The Devil," Ike and Tina Turner's "Honky Tonk Woman" and so on. But the real true surprises are Grand Funk Railroad's "Gimme Shelter," (are their instruments really in tune or did I just go to too many Ted Nugent concerts?) and The Ramones' "Out Of Time." Hey, it's the Ramones, gabba, gabba hey! "DooDooDooDooDooDoo(Heartbreaker)," as done by the Quireboys, is as good as any "da doo ron ron" or "baby, baby, baby" out there. But my absolute favorite is the Doo Wop Street Corner Singing version of "Get Off My Cloud," by The Flying Pickets. That's a "gas, gas, gas" too. It's all worth the price of admission, except for one other carpe diem, Rod Stewart. But that's probably just me. [www.virginrecords.com]

So-Cal rockers Switchfoot have been delivering passionate, anthemic rock since their first album debuted in 1997, though their visibility has increased dramatically since the smash success of 2003’s The Beautiful Letdown. Both longtime and recent fans will be pleased to know the band strikes creative gold again with an album as intense and melodic as past efforts. Guitar-driven rockers such as the title track and “Awakening” combine with earnest ballads (“Yesterdays” and “Let Your Love Be Strong” are especially powerful cuts) to create an effort that is musically diverse without sacrificing consistency or quality. Jon Foreman’s vocal/lyrical gifts allow the band to address how the excesses of modern day America affect its citizens and what those citizens can do to affect change. Thus, Oh! Gravity is not only an album that sounds important, it also has something important to say. [www.switchfoot.com]

Taking Back Sunday’s third release Louder Now is a full-bodied album with a healthy dose of angst. Granted this album's sound is a little too consistent with what's become the band's trademark, which seems to take its cues from bands like Sunny Day Real Estate, and, perhaps the Foo Fighters. Adam Lazzara’s layered vocals stand out over rocking, semi-punk guitar, arena rock drumming and dirty bass lines. The shear aggression of this album comes packaged in a crunchy pop-punk shell and with gooey lyrics on the inside. Louder Now hits its pace early and keeps dishing it out at the same level, with the exception of the acoustic “Divine Intervention.” This version includes four live tracks and a DVD documentary with live footage. Catchy and infectious, TBS’ third album is little more than a solid road-trip album. [www.takingbacksunday.com]

Jazzy pop duo The Bird and the Bee deliver a well-wrought, if sometimes unbalanced debut album dressed in scintillating production, subtle electronics and Inara George’s buoyant, crystalline vocals. It’s a very light-hearted record, most of the time, sparkly and true to the album’s cover—blue skies and kids catching butterflies. But sometimes the record’s aim seems to become flustered, as on “Fucking Boyfriend,” where George shows an angrier side—a slight club cut that feels misplaced about being used. Greg Kurstin (who we assume is the bee to George’s bird) is the one-man music maker behind the sonically-stellar songs, a seemingly-latent talent of the music industry. “I’m a Broken Heart” is the overly melancholic standout of the record; it and a few others make this worth seeking out, but it shouldn’t be a priority. [www.bluenote.com]

Park's third (and subsequently last, after the band's recent break-up) album Building A Better _____ is a very solid alternative rock album that, had the band stuck it out, might have helped to push them into the major label market. Sadly, we may never know, but that doesn't keep us from enjoying their final effort. A lush alt-rock album with hints of math technicalities and pop sensibilties, Building is worth checking out if only for the vocal efforts of lead singer Ladd Mitchell. With standout tracks like "Mississippi Burning" and "La Amoureax," the record may not be musical groundbreaking, but it's definitely worth a listen. [www.parkmusic.com]

Field Music’s sophomore record finds the Sunderland trio exploring a more ambitiously musical side than the band’s eponymous debut, implementing ‘60s-influenced pop swathed in strings, vibraphone and stellar Beach Boys-y harmonies. The maturation of the band’s craft is comparable to Sunderland brethren The Futureheads; while the latter may be descendents of XTC’s Drums and Wires, Field Music finds itself suckling at Skylarking-era teats, engaging in a more subtle pop approach based in the art of song arrangement erudition than in over-the-top hooks. Consider Tones of Town to be one of England’s finest exports of 2007, though it’s a shame these boys probably won’t find the acclaim afforded to their less-qualified contemporaries. [www.field-music.co.uk]

As Explosions in the Sky's latest album All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone begins, we are greeted with an unfamiliar solitary distortion, eliciting a sense of uncertainty and apprehension. Just when the listener is comfortable with this distortion, it's as if the flood gates break, and all that Explosions in the Sky have, especially that shining guitar, comes washing over you to jar you from the pattern you expected. As the album progresses, EitS's style makes itself more apparent, with those sparse notes playfully building into beautifully layered crescendos until a climax of marching drums, crashing cymbals, and piercing (in the best possible way) guitars hits you right in the chest. For me, it all comes together on the epic third track (obviously arbitrary separations in the case of an EitS album), "It's Natural to Be Afraid". Explosions in the Sky take their time here, being their typical meanderin' selves. Unlike some post-rock bands nowadays, however, EitS's more deliberate times are nothing to simply fast forward through or a chore to listen to, the culmination of which is best appreciated in the context of its slower periods. In "It's Natural to be Afraid", there's this sense of a profound, yet beautiful sadness until an energy emerges that transforms it into a powerful feeling of desperation that pervades the entire song, truly showing it as the "masterpiece" of this album. All of a Sudden I Miss Everyone sets itself apart from EitS's other work in that while it still maintains their almost orchestral beauty of it's predecessors, it ensures that it all doesn't feel like a stale repetition by so skillfully merging reflection with intensity, energy with structure. [www.temporaryresidence.com]

I’m nonplussed by the fact that so few people know who Dr. Dog is—do you? Hell, I didn’t until the band’s wonderful racket woke me up (I was exhausted) between sets from Cold War Kids and Tapes ‘n Tapes at CMJ this past November. It’s appalling that the Philly DIYers don’t have their collective mug plastered across every indie rag and webmag across the interglobe. We All Belong is their fourth (I think) record, and channels The Band nearly as much as it does the Olivia Tremor Control and Guided By Voices. “Alaska” sounds like Robbie Robertson with a smooth soul band backing him, chiming in with exquisite harmonies; “Ain’t It Strange” could be the result of Wayne Coyne exploring his rootsy side. Packaged with a sense of humor (check the record’s liner notes for a cross-dressing George Washington cutout), Dr. Dog will be indelibly burned into the minds of anyone who happens upon them. [www.drdogmusic.com]

Wow, a new disc from Emerson, Lake and Palmer was unexpected. Oh wait. It’s The Decemberists. Easy mistake to make when throwing on their latest disc The Crane Wife. Wait, upon further review, it’s actually Placebo does ELP…with a tad of Waterboys thrown in for good measure...good if you like that sort of thing. While subtle beats and delicate, elaborate arrangements make the album moderately interesting from time to time, I have little use but for maybe two out of ten official tracks. This is not a good ratio. Been there, done that. [www.decemberists.com]

Portland’s purveyors of pastoral pop Sophe Lux take the theatrical approach of the Fiery Furnaces and max it out. The band—led by singer/songwriter Gwynneth Haynes—aims to channel a lot of ideas through Waking the Mystics, its second album. Those ideas, though, are often of the same strain that make undergrads feel superior to their less well-read peers; Dadaism, existentialism, Nietzsche and William Blake. Regardless, the musicality of the album is captivating enough so that the seemingly-pretentious garb of the lyrics becomes irrelevant. Haynes is an enchanting vocalist, cascading into a trilling falsetto from a plaintive lounge-jazz croon without a moment’s hesitation. The songs range from bizarre indie pop to carnie soundtrack fare and plenty of things in between. The regular off-kilter instruments line up and gleefully partake in the action—accordions, harpsichords, glockenspiel, and so on. Waking the Mystics is a strange, hypnotic visitation to a land inhabited by astute literary figures, psychotic philosophers and mindless freaks; in other words, figure the band as a Paris-via-Oregon experience. [www.sophelux.com]

Call them what you will: art rock, post-rock, post-punk, North Carolina’s The Nein is a band that revels in deconstructing the traditional rock and roll order and deviating from simply following the guitar/bass/drums norm. Incorporating all manners of white noise, electronic sounds and vocal samples, the band displays an adventurous creative spirit. The only significant fault to be found with Luxury is that at times (see, for example, “Decollage” and “Journalist 2”); the band seems to be experimenting for the sake of experimenting, without any benefit to the track. Songs like “Achilles Last Tape Solo”, “Ennio”, “Radical Chic” and “The Future Crumbles”, however, brim with a special energy and make up for missteps incurred along the way. The Nein is certainly a band to keep an eye on for the foreseeable future. [www.sonicunyon.com]

Inspired by an '80s horror film with a similar name, The Dead Will Walk, Dear is a bold debut from Richmond, VA act The National Lights. A song-by-song account of a lover driven to the brink (and beyond) of murder, the album's gothic tale is dark as night. As morbid as the story is, it’s delivered by the delicate voice of singer/songwriter Jacob Thomas Berns, which sounds initially out-of-place and overly isolated but becomes quite captivating. Supported by a soundtrack of acoustic guitar, piano, banjo, lap steel and organ, and offering fragments of the puzzle in each track, The National Lights have created a truly haunting, yet entertaining folk record. [www.thenationallights.com]

Thrice frontman Dustin Kensrue's solo side project, Please Come Home, is one of those rare instances where the side project stands out as a stark contrast to the artists normal gig (sorry Andrew McMahon). In this case, Kensrue's alt-country/folk project also proves to be quite an excellent album and allows the singer to not only show his softer side but also allow the listener a little glimpse into the depths of his mind. While his Thrice lyrics tend to be a little more abstract, the words he pens here are an exercise in simplicity, much like the album itself. Kensrue seems to be channeling a little of the Man in Black here, most noticeably on "Blood & Wine," which chugs along with Cash's signature style as Kensrue pulls out more soul than his Thrice vocals suggest. Even at only eight tracks, this is a very good album and leaves you wanting more from Kensrue. Good news: Thrice's new 4-disc LP is scheduled for a 2007 release. [dustinkensrue.com]