When a band’s second album is as decidedly dramatic a departure from their debut as Damiera’s sophomore release, you find yourself with two options. You can either focus on the noticeably absent musical elements that defined the band’s earlier work, or you can turn your attention to what’s new. Quiet Mouth Loud Hands will definitely be more accessible to your average listener, and could potentially introduce Damiera to a completely different audience than the fanatic bunch that took to their debut M(US)IC with such rabid enthusiasm. Once the initial shock of the new sound’s refusal to deliver on your expectations wears off, you might realize that you are holding a great album in your hands and celebrate it as a masterpiece. Or you might tune out for half an hour, until your iPod’s predictable alphabetic cycle takes you to Dillinger Escape Plan, waking you up with a heart attack. It’s really up to you.

So what’s missing?

Historically, Damiera have been a band that have walked the line between prog/math rock and punk/indie rock. Prog-heads might be turned off by the brevity and urgency of the songs, the blasts of punk energy, and the total absence of any metal influences or shredding guitar solos. At the same time, indie fans find themselves intimidated by the frantic dual-guitar interplay, the quirky and undanceable time signatures, and the perfectly-executed breakneck pull-off riffs. This time around, the band takes a very different approach, simplifying (though not completely abandoning) the virtuosic guitar acrobatics that characterized the first album. Gone is the all-out math frenzy of songs like “Flora: Yield,” a track that I am embarrassed to say I have been spotted air drumming to on my morning subway commute more than once.

So what’s new?

The focus of Quiet Mouth Loud Hands is less on relentless energy and manic guitar gymnastics, and more on the dynamics of each song as a whole. Every song has its own feel, with a diverse palette of influences and more complex arrangements. Lead singer Dave Raymond seems more comfortable with his voice this time around, lending it alternately to thick harmonies and punchy contrapuntal melodies, instead of just constantly yelping the highest note he could hit and burying it in the mix beneath multi-tracked guitars. The production makes use of a whole array of new layers and instrumentation, including digital handclaps, disco strings, distorted drums, and synth bass. “Teacher, Preacher” is vintage Michael Jackson, while the choruses to songs like “Blinding Sir Bluest” are so infectious, they almost leave you feeling guilty for enjoying them so much, like you ate ice cream for breakfast and the person in the cubicle next to you is eating grapes.

So what?

It’s hard to issue a definitive verdict for an album like Quiet Mouth Loud Hands. Tracks like “Nailbiter” and “Chromatica” incorporate elements of the first album, while “Trading Grins” sounds like an entirely new band. Anyone already familiar with Damiera will probably miss their old sound somewhat, but I can’t help wondering if I would evaluate these songs completely differently if it were the debut from a band I had just discovered. It might be the blueprint for this second incarnation of the band, or it might end up being merely a transitionary album between the old Damiera and something completely different, whatever might come next. Whichever the case, they get major points in my book for taking a risk and trying something new and yielding mixed results, and I will be faithfully tuning in to see what they come out with next. I always prefer that an album leave me scratching my head, rather than yawning.

Meshuggah played at Irving Plaza last night, and it was insane. These guys are just flawless technicians when it comes to their instruments, and it absolutely boggles my mind. But I’m getting a little bit ahead of myself, because part of the reason their performance had such an impact on me, was probably the stark contrast between them and the opening act. So let me start from there.

Hemlock took the stage at 8:00 and proceeded to bludgeon their way through about half an hour of mind-numbingly simple party-thrash, if such a thing exists. Their singer/bassist put more emphasis on making devil horns and pulling on his own dreadlocks, than he did on actually playing his instrument. I suppose it’s somewhat excusable, since the bass was mostly inaudible anyway, but I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who had grown tired of his antics by the time he insisted that 10 more people join the mosh pit, or when he started his own chant of “Hem-lock, hem-lock, hem-lock …” that no one felt like joining in on. It was fitting that the audience participation consisted of laughing in unison with the last song’s campy “ha-ha-ha-ha” riff, and holding up our middle fingers as prompted.

When Meshuggah came on around 9:00, there was no obnoxious stage banter, fist-pumping, or crowd-baiting. They just launched into their set at full throttle without an introduction of any kind. Their colossal 8-string guitars sounded monstrous yet crisp as they navigated the ridiculously technical rhythms of behemoth riffs. Lead vocalist Jens Kidman seemed to be suspended in water as he loomed out over the crowd, somehow managing to scream in time with the polyrhythmic insanity that was going on. These guys’ talent is other-worldly. I’m sure part of the crowd were a little confounded and unsure what to make of them, but the rest of us were in total awe.

Their setlist featured a few songs from their new album obZen, including the mind-bending “Bleed,” a 7-minute lesson in dexterity that must be drummer Tomas Haake’s double bass equivalent of doing 500 push-ups. The opening riff in that song feels like fast-revolving gears of a machine that has somehow learned to breathe, gradually inhaling and exhaling with the pitch bends. Jeff and I were discussing whether or not it would even be possible to pull off a song like that live, especially with the mechanical precision of the studio recording. Apparently it is possible after all.

I think Irving Plaza is an ideally-sized venue for Meshuggah. Their sound is too big for a cramped nightclub, but their surgical finesse would be totally lost in a stadium. The sound in there was perfect, and I don’t think any one of them missed a note. These guys reign supreme as the undisputed titans of the chaotic groove - a guitar apocalypse that’s somehow grounded with a steady backbeat. If you ever get a chance to check them out live, it is not to be missed. Seriously.

Also, apparently they were opening for Ministry last night. I don’t know, I left after Meshuggah’s metal lobotomy had sufficiently melted my brain and smeared it all over the inside of my skull like paste. Ahhhh.

Too many monophonic sine waves and glitchy electronic beats can rot your teeth. It’s with this in mind that the Age of Rockets balance out the sugary sweet studio gadgetry with healthy doses of acoustic instruments and live orchestrations on their new album Hannah. There’s a pizzicato string quartet interlude for every vintage synthesizer pad, a chorus of taiko drums for every digital handclap, and a gently-strummed acoustic guitar for every artificially-added vinyl pop. Most importantly, lead singer Andrew Futral’s emotional delivery provides an instant connection, stripping away any distance between the listener and the music that hipster-approved indie rock with laptop-generated 21st century beats might elicit.

If pressed to make a comparison, the overall sound on Hannah is somewhere between the orchestral soundscapes of Sigur Rós and the danceable electronica of The Postal Service. But attempting to define the genre of a band like the Age of Rockets is problematic, because it doesn’t say anything about the songs themselves. The limitations of any defined label would ultimately do a disservice to a band this sincere, or an album that refuses to be limited itself. Though bookended by the hushed tones of sweet lullabies (“What Story Down There Awaits Its End?” and “Stitches to Show Something’s Missing”), the eleven tracks on Hannah are dramatically loud just as often as they are dramatically soft.

One standout track early on is “Avada Kedavra,” which relentlessly pulses forward with only a whisper, gradually building and adding subtle textures. The layers blend together fluidly, building intensity while somehow completely restrained. The unforgettable refrain “the sky explodes” ends up predicting the ultimate release of the song, when the second chorus kicks in with live drums and a bed of lush strings underneath a sea of multi-tracked vocal harmonies to create a wall of sound. The explosive percussion cuts out just as abruptly as it entered a minute later, and the gorgeous strings linger for a moment, only to eventually abandon the ambient choir of vocals to be carried to the last cadence by a cavernous reverb.

Other songs achieve a similar emotional effect throughout, if somewhat unpredictability, with less of a pop sensibility. Songs like “H. Soft Escape” and “The End of Faith” abandon any type of standard hook-focused song format completely, but somehow still manage to get themselves stuck in your head. The epic “We Won’t Stop” cuts itself off halfway through the first chorus and gives way to a minute-long intermission of strings by themselves. The song eventually builds back up to a huge finale with crashing drums, spectacular harp flourishes, and thundering piano chords, before its gradual decay. Several times across the album’s eleven tracks, quirky compositional structures and odd time signatures punctuate the emotional impact of the songs without sounding out of place or distracting.

But for all the impeccable arrangements and studio wizardry, the main unifying element throughout is definitely Futral’s vocals, frequently doubled, but often layered much deeper to create an entire chorus. Smooth harmonies across multiple octaves whisper and breathe in and out of each other, interacting seamlessly with decidedly less organic sounds, like arpeggiated synthesizers and laser gun drum machines. It’s a delicate mix that is sustained across every song on the album, through the last shimmering rhodes chord. For anyone interested in quality music that they can feel an emotional connection to, I highly recommend this album. Whether you’re looking for a new soundtrack to your life, or if you just feel like listening to some infectious songs that won’t give you cavities, now is the Age of Rockets.

In the sometimes stale world of modern hardcore, Crime In Stereo Is Dead is as refreshing an album as it is inaccurately named. While full of the aggression and intensity one would expect of a release on Bridge Nine Records, the album is equally big on atmospheric soundscapes and buzzing electronics. Vocalist Kristian Hallbert sings in a breathy falsetto almost as much as he screams, balancing hushed whispers with primal screeching. The haunting bridge of “Third Atlantic” finds him pulling back to channel Nick Drake, only to squeeze one more shout-along chorus into the last 15 seconds of the song. So all this begs to question – is Crime In Stereo still a hardcore band?

Luckily I don’t pretend to be an authority on any genre of music, least of all hardcore, so I don’t intend to answer this question. When Crime In Stereo played at The Knitting Factory last week, I took the decidedly un-hardcore route and opted for the balcony to avoid the moshpit and the stage diving. From a safe distance, I studied the confused crowd as they struggled to understand this unfamiliar notion of melody and dynamic variation, a flock of teenagers desperately wanting to flail their limbs wildly but not finding in this music the requisite breakdowns to which they could do so. It’s a versatility that has allowed the band to tour with diverse acts like Brand New and Poison The Well alike, breaking the hardcore mold to find common ground with a wider range of fans.

No matter who the intended audience may be, Crime In Stereo Is Dead is an ambitious album, each of its 11 tracks determined to make an impact. The band has set out first and foremost to challenge themselves, not content to work within the limitations of a single genre. There are occasional moments where they falter however, like the somewhat light and insubstantial “Animal Pharm,” or the meandering pseudo-psychadelic vibe of “Orbiter.” But neither manages to detract from the intensity that is meticulously built throughout. Overall it is a solid album, the songs’ tight compositions never releasing the tension that propels you through its brief 35 minutes.

One standout track is the bleak “Small Skeletal,” which starts out with a quirky but somber melody over a pulsing rock beat. The verse gradually builds and gives way to an explosive dual-vocal chorus, in which visceral screams and an ambient falsetto create an unlikely call and response, punctuated by thundering half-time drums underneath. The second verse is all-out new wave, with a distorted bass carrying ping-pong muted guitars over a dance-rock beat to another frenzied chorus. By the time the bridge builds to the final climax of the song, the emotional impact is at once draining and exhilarating.

Other tracks experiment with atypical compositional structures, such as the mini-epic “…But You Are Vast,” a song with no repeating sections, that still somehow manages to feel completely unified in its own logic. Three or so minutes and several tempo changes after it began, the song comes to a conclusion that makes a kind of sense that can’t really be explained. It’s rare to come across an album as inspired and uncompromising as Crime In Stereo Is Dead. Full of energy but not formulaic, sincere but completely unpredictable, this is an album that will hit you hard but still stand up to repeat listens. I’m just hoping the album title proves to be ironic and they stick around long enough to build on the potential they’ve shown this time around.

So there’s this band called The Forms, and their new self-titled album is really good.  They have a decidedly simplistic indie/math vibe, with some cool dual-guitar interplay over quirky odd-time beats.  Sort of like a sullen Minus The Bear, but simultaneously stripped down and progged out.  I definitely recommend that everyone check out their album.

The thing is, Jeff and I saw them at Union Hall last night, and it was altogether very disappointing.  The show got started almost two hours late, and I was already in a bad mood from the subway struggle I had getting there, but I still think I was in a reasonably receptive state, ready to hear some good music.  Maybe my expectations were just to high.

When they eventually took the stage and frontman Alex Tween told the sound guy that they were ready to get started, drummer Matt Walsh interjected that they couldn’t begin until someone brought him drinks.  Once those drinks (one of which he would dump on his head later) were balanced on a guitar amp, they began their underwhelming half-hour set with “Red Gun,” my personal favorite.  Tween’s voice was much more tentative and unsure than on the album version, and the vocal harmonies were inconsistent and mushy.

The delicate dynamic balance of the album was also lost in the live versions of their songs, as the band rocked out almost every section in a droning monotone.  An ill-advised cover of Nirvana’s “All Apologies” in the middle of their set was dull and unnecessary.  Still, the band played tightly together, particularly solid bassist Jackson Kenny, despite Walsh’s sporadic over-playing and Tween’s shaky vocals.

It’s just hard to fathom how a band that clearly strives to be such perfectionists in the studio, could come across so sloppy and unpolished live.  Still, the venue was a cool place, and at least it’s the album versions of their songs that end up getting stuck in my head.  And you know, I’ve been pretty lucky with my live show experiences in New York thus far, so I can take the occasional disappointment.

Let’s be honest - it’s easy and it’s popular to gripe that music isn’t as good these days as it was when we were in high school. Most of the bands I listen to will probably never be all that fashionable or achieve the kind of mainstream success the White Stripes have, and that’s fine. I’ve grown to accept that. But what’s really frustrating is when a band that I’ve loved for years, releases an album that’s so average, it’s like a watered down version of their former selves. In a way, I would almost rather hear my musical idols release an EP of Abba covers, or even break up altogether, instead of gradually fading away with album after album of musical mediocrity. I’m talking about the kind of albums that you’ll download, or maybe even buy, scouring the tracks for some remnants of the band you once knew and loved, only to wish you’d spent the time listening to their back catalogue instead.

This month saw the release of several such CDs, all of them so-so. Jimmy Eat World came out with Chase This Light (October 16), a somewhat dull and overly polished record that might go down easier, if it weren’t so perfectly over-shadowed by their 1999 masterpiece Clarity. Thrice’s new album The Alchemy Index, Vols. 1-2 (October 16) is OK on its own, but it lacks the raw power and urgency of their more aggressive, earlier work. Likewise, Coheed And Cambria’s No World For Tomorrow (October 23) is expectedly clever and occasionally experimental in its prog noodling, but the passion and intensity of 2002’s Second Stage Turbine Blade is all but gone here. The new Armor For Sleep album, Smile For Them (October 30), is pretty good; I’m just not sure it warranted a review.

So I’ve decided instead to write up one of my favorite records of all time – Downward Is Heavenward, the fourth and final album from Champaign Illinois spacerockers Hum, released in 1998. Hum is perhaps best known for their signature “wall of sound” aesthetic, featuring two droning guitars, slowly crushing you beneath huge waves of layered distortion, while Matt Talbot’s soft voice floats delicately above it all. The dual guitars perpetually build on one another’s dissonance, shaping a sonic landscape of endless lingering suspensions that rarely resolve. Every sound on the album shimmers, from the epic wash of the cymbals to the background noise loops, meticulously generated from delay pedals and multi-effects processors.

Cryptic lyrics about space travel and time machines might serve to obscure the meaning, but underneath the sci-fi allegories and behind the intricately layered arrangements, lies a collection of 10 perfectly crafted love songs. In “Apollo,” the most stripped-down song on the album, Talbot is at his most vulnerable, softly repeating “I’m thinking of a number between everything and two,” while reverb-drenched guitars bounce off each other’s echoes in the distance. The space between lines creates a tension that he refuses to release until the final chord of the song, when he adds “it’s molecules of you,” almost as an afterthought. Every single track on the album is similarly constructed for an intense and moving experience.

Historically, it seems heavily distorted guitars are often employed to distance oneself from the music, to prevent an emotional connection. Yet with Downward Is Heavenward, Hum is somehow able to achieve the opposite effect, their songs sincere and vulnerable, without resorting to visceral screams or high-pitched emo whining. The chemistry between the four musicians is unmistakable, each instrument complementing the others to create a succinct and coherent whole. If you’re able to find the b-sides “Puppets” and “Aphids,” I highly recommend burning all 12 songs on one CD for a solid 62 minutes of transcendent spacerock. Although I wish the band hadn’t broken up 7 years ago, I’m grateful that we have yet to see a wave of imitators selling Hum knock-offs that serve only to cheapen the original, and I’m thankful that we will always have this album as a reminder of what truly great music is capable of achieving.

It’s tough being in a band sometimes, especially in New York City. The “scene” is so overly saturated with bands (some good, others not so good), and it can be overwhelming trying to differentiate the quality stuff from the seemingly endless supply of anonymous White Stripes clones. And from the musicians’ perspective, it’s pretty hard to convince people to come to a midnight show at a dive in Bushwick on a Tuesday night, where they have to pay $10 to wait through five other acts before you finally take the stage. There’s nothing worse than waiting for your friend’s band to play while a mediocre sort-of-ironic indie pop outfit stumbles through a 45-minute set and the cheapest beer is $6.

So if you’ve been to this site more than once before, you probably know that I’m in a band called Astronaut Down. We’re four not-so-hip guys with glasses who play progressive rock in a city where there seems to be a scene for every genre except progressive rock. And sure, there are times when it gets a little discouraging playing for seven people on a sticky-floored stage, but I still love it. I do, however, have to occasionally beg for support. This is where you come in. In case you have trouble deciding the best way to keep my dream alive, below are three great options to choose from, in no particular order.

Option One (the $10 option): Buy our CD.

Option Two (the $6 option): Come to our show Wednesday night. We’re playing at The Delancey at 10 pm.

Option Three (the $0 option): Vote for us daily in the Bodog Battle of the Bands.

Now don’t worry, you can of course elect to support us with two or even all three of the above options. And if all three of those are too much hassle, you can just download our music illegally and rock out to it on your own time. That’s cool too.

And hey, since we’re on the topic of supporting local musicians, some of my friends from college are in a band called Fire Flies, and they’re great. I saw them at Crash Mansion last night and they had the place packed. If you like smart, infectious pop music with lyrics about robots and aliens, or if you’re just looking for something new you can dance to, I highly recommend their new CD Two New Sciences.  It’s 45 minutes of pure bliss.  They recently won the 2007 Emergenza Festival, so they probably won’t be “unknown” for long, but at least this way you can feel cool saying you knew them a couple months before everyone else did.

When we last left Seattle’s indie superheroes Minus The Bear in 2005, they had just released the pseudo-self-titled Menos El Oso, a flawless math-pop album featuring perfectly tight compositions with tasteful guitar-tapping heroics set to danceable grooves. The album had such an impact, it even warranted a collection of remixes, Interpretaciones Del Oso, released in February. The writing was more complex and deliberate than their previous work, the songs more fully-realized with lush arrangements and catchy choruses.

The most striking change evident on their new album Planet Of Ice, is the loose and almost epic feel to the songs. The band is less concerned with formulaic structures and memorable hooks, and more focused on creating dense textures and soundscapes, trading in Menos El Oso’s pop sensibilities for prog unison lines, thick vocal layering, and even the occasional guitar solo. Replacement keyboardist Alex Rose adds a new dimension to their signature sound, whether filling the space with subtle rhodes layering or soaring 70s sawtooth synth pads.

Where the spirit of experimentation was contained to brief playful moments on Menos El Oso, here it is decidedly more overt. In the dreamy dance track “Knights,” what might otherwise be dismissed as a singular sour note on the guitar, is instead featured prominently, repeated several times and doubled at the octave, as if to tell the listener, “No, seriously, it’s not a mistake.” On the brooding epic “Dr. L’Ling,” it’s actually the tight vocal harmonies that ground the song and solidify the tonality, while dual guitar noodling and unison bends serve as accents, rather than the backbone of the song.

Side by side with the more experimental tracks are the catchy pop hooks we’ve come to expect from Minus The Bear. When vocalist Jake Snider sings “You must be an illusion, can I see through you?” on “When We Escape,” it’s a chorus you could listen to on loop indefinitely. The balance between infectious pop and meandering prog rock can’t be easy to achieve, but the band somehow manages to pull it off, making the jump between the shimmering disco of “Throwin’ Shapes” to the unabashed psychedelia of the nearly nine-minute “Lotus” without missing a beat.

I was fortunate enough to hear the song “Ice Monster” previewed on their last tour, and if that performance was any indication, this is definitely an album to be experienced live. In the end, Planet Of Ice will surely alienate a few fans, namely the ones who looked to the band for pleasant background party music, but that was never really what Minus The Bear was about. They’re clearly in their element this time around, and they’ve been doing this long enough to afford themselves the opportunity to make the album they want.

The perfect summer mix CD is one that you can blast in your car with the windows rolled down, without fear of a bittersweet piano ballad or a pretentious ambient noise interlude creeping in. The songs should all have the sort of energy to them that makes you want to drive 80 in a 30 zone, while still relishing the moments when you’re stopped at a red light, showing the guy in the adjacent lane just how much you’re rocking out. The songs should sound like sunshine, which is not to say that they should be about sunshine - there’s always the first Polyphonic Spree album for that. You should love the songs so completely, that you would volunteer to give your friends rides anywhere they want to go, just for an excuse to hear the CD again.

So perhaps trading in my set of car keys for an unlimited metrocard has rendered the summer mix CD irrelevant. But I think my summer still deserves a soundtrack, even if I’m limited to listening to it under headphones while I stand on a dark and humid subway platform, waiting for a crowded rush hour train. So here it is, in all its glory: the group of songs that will hopefully define my summer in one way or another. The music snob in me has tried to be diplomatic and acknowledge the occasional major label mainstream success, while still not overlooking a couple lesser known indie-punk outfits. Again, it’s all for the sake of maximum awesomeness.

01. Lifetime - Northbound Breakdown
To me, this song embodies all things summer. It’s incredibly fast, energetic, catchy, and totally singable, all in under two minutes.

02. Zebrahead - Someday
Zebrahead has always been the closest thing to hip-hop that I will willingly listen to. This song feels like a pool party, and it has such a bouncy vibe that it could convince the worst dancer in the room to shake their booty.

03. Alkaline Trio - Stupid Kid
This is one of those songs that is so simple, it somehow transcends reason and achieves an inexplicable genius. And the double-time third chorus just rocks.

04. Fall Out Boy - Of All The Gin Joints In All The World
I’ll be the first to admit that Fall Out Boy are (as a general rule) a lame band. But this song is downright infectious.

05. Saves The Day - Shoulder To The Wheel
It turns out driving and listening to songs on the radio are recurring lyrical themes in this mix. This song is great, and it reminds me of my freshman year of college. Anyone else? No? Just me? OK then.

06. The Lawrence Arms - Like A Record Player
There’s so much energy packed into this song’s two minutes, I could listen to it on repeat all day. When the tambourine kicks in on the second verse, it will have you jumping up and down, whether you’re in the privacy of your own home or applying for a boat loan at the bank.

07. Strung Out - Deville
Another really fast song that involves a car breaking down. The half-time bridge truly makes me long for a mosh pit, which is especially noteworthy, because mosh pits generally terrify me.

08. Green Day - Bab’s Uvula Who?
Green Day are at their best when they’re careening through two-minute songs armed with nothing but the same three chords and completely unintelligible lyrics. The guitar completely drowns out the vocals in this song, and it’s awesome.

09. New Found Glory - All About Her
New Found Glory are another band that’s so easy to hate, but tracks like this one are so catchy, their forays into nasal power-ballad territory are almost forgivable. After the first minute, you’ll be playing air guitar and air drumming at the same time.

10. The Ataris - San Dimas High School Football Rules
Songs with lyrics like “I just want you to know I have a major crush on you” can either be (a) amazing, or (b) amazingly terrible. Luckily this one is of the first category. Drums, guitar, bass, they’re all playing their hearts out, and it shows.

11. Less Than Jake - Sugar In Your Gas Tank
It’s only right that a summer mix should have at least one ska song, and this is the best one I know. At their finest, Less Than Jake are much more about attitude and energy than precision, and this song is no exception.

12. Homegrown - Tomorrow
Before they went on “indefinite hiatus,” Homegrown’s sunny Orange County disposition permeated so many great songs. This is but one of them.

13. Blink 182 - Dumpweed
After he ditched ska but before he embraced hip-hop, Travis Barker was an incredible drummer. And before Tom Delonge discovered delay pedals and started writing 6-minute songs about outer space, he wrote this gem, featuring what is pretty much the definitive pop/punk chorus.

14. Taking Back Sunday - You Know How I Do
Though arguably too “emo” for a summer compilation, Taking Back Sunday’s first album contained so much energy, the off-key warbling was more than made up for by sheer conviction.

15. Fenix Tx - Song For Everyone
One last song about driving. This one is deceptively simple in its perfect construction, and feels truly epic when it finally builds to the outro at the three-minute mark. The only downside is that when it finishes, and your morning commute is over, you’ll feel less like going to work and more like embarking on a grand adventure. But in the end you still have to go to work. Sorry, I’m still working on that.

My band’s new CD God’s Eye is now available for order!  Rock!

Also, there’s a $10 sale again at Threadless, in case you want to get a cool shirt to go with your cool new CD.  I like this one.

Not much else to report.  I had a Barry White song stuck in my head this morning.  That was weird.