A FINE FRENZY:
Opening with "Come on Come Out," a dreamy piano and snare combo with Sudol's ultra-smoky voice, she implores listeners to "Come on, come out, the weather is warm." If song lyrics ever inspired you to paint a mental picture, that's exactly what she has in mind for you: Watching the sky/You're watching a painting/Coming to life/Shifting and shaping
She may be a city girl, but outdoors with earth beneath her feet and nothing but sky for a ceiling is where she's happiest. Her world is a lushly forested, imaginative realm where minnows offer eternal youth to trout, hummingbirds hang out with coffee-drinking ants, and elephants share their peanuts with the lowly rat-all metaphors for an interconnected planet where people, animals and nature need each other for nurture and friendship.
Every song moves the album forward, with characters flitting in and life's commotion playing out like a 500-year old English stage production complete with love scenes and drama. With a clear beginning, a soaring middle and serene ending, One Cell... sounds both like an old-fashioned Dickens novel and cutting edge alternative rock at the same time.

FOO FIGHTERS:
Life and death. Joy and pain. Silly and serious. Distortion-drenched and hauntingly pretty. From their one-man-band beginnings to stadium rock stars of today, the Foo Fighters have always gleefully wallowed in those opposing lyrical, image and musical extremes.
With an album cover that harkens back to their self-titled 1995 debut, Echoes, Silence, Patience & Grace opens with "The Pretender," a song disguised as a ballad for 32 seconds until Taylor's muscular drumming jumps in to reveal it as one of those punky, alt-rock sing-along Foo songs like "Monkey Wrench" and "Breakout."
"Pretender" spills over into the acoustic finger-picking and soulful voice of Dave Grohl on "Let it Die," proof that Grohl has greatly improved as a real singer much like Metallica's James Hetfield did between the Kill 'Em All days and the band's St. Anger album. "In too deep and lost in time/why'd you have to go and let it die," shows Grohl as a lyricist exorcising past musical and personal demons. With the oh-so-soft acoustic opening and breathy vocals to its four-on-the-floor screaming last seconds, "Let it Die" vocally and musically shows the Zeppelin-like balance the band has always possessed - the ability to swing wildly and expertly from all-out grungy distortion to heartwarmingly soft and beautiful, often times within the confines of one four-minute song.
"Erase/Replace" reads like a rock & roll Haiku with its mostly non-rhyming lyrics and arena rock chorus. "Long Road to Ruin" offers itself up as a prime candidate for the album's second single and could have been the theme song for any number of those
campy, late 70s teen rebellion movies like the 1979 Matt Dillon debut "Over the Edge."

HENRY ROLLINS:
You'll never see Henry Rollins stumbling drunk on the celubu-wreck show TMZ, and you'll also never see him doing something - anything - half-assed. He's clearly the hardest-working, most focused man working in alternative Hollywood. Unlike most of his Thirty-Mile-Zone neighbors whose goals are fame and wealth at any cost, his main fuel and motivation to kick each day's ass is born of anger.
"I'm mad. I'm not mad at any one person. I don't kick dogs or throw rocks at cars," says Rollins. "It's kind of a healthy level of rage that courses through me at all times. Just a rage to live, to get up there and do it, to effect change in my country. I love America and I want to make it better, and you have to get in there and get your hands dirty to do it."

KASEY CHAMBERS:
While veering off in a new less traditional country path on Carnival, Kasey hasn't totally shunned her encyclopedic homage to Country's past masters on Carnival. She's got lyrics about feeling sad, living hard, playing cards, howlin' wolves and praising the Lord. Heck, she's even got a song about "living on the railroad." While there isn't a single acoustic guitar or barely an Outback twang to be heard on the record, that's not to say she's rocking out like AC/DC.
The electric arrangement on Carnival is not nearly as revolutionary as when Dylan went electric at Newport in '65, but it is a striking break from the sound on her previous, more stripped-down albums.
On the opening "Colour of a Carnival," Kasey sings about success, failure and struggling for redemption in an organic vocal mix of a child singing in Sunday school and a mom singing her baby to sleep. "Sign on the Door" continues her lyrical quest for redemption with "The Rain" coming in as a funky tale of a woman's triumph over facing "every habit that holds me" and "everything that scares me." Jazzy, wah wah tones fill the Jewel-ish "Light up a Candle" with the haunting, solemn duet "Hard Road" (with Powderfinger's Bernard Fanning) that is reminiscent of the best of Carole King and James Taylor.
Every song on Carnival seems like it has a subtle duel between inner demons and salvation. Unlike the autobiographical writing on prior albums, Kasey deliberately wrote the new songs from a more grown-up point of view, and sometimes from someone else's pain.

MERLE HAGGARD:
After weeks of playing email and phone tag with his PR people, I finally had a firm appointment to speak to Merle Haggard. Usually, they call the artist, and then me on three-way, or the artist calls me directly, but Jesus, they gave me his home number, and said to call Saturday morning at nine, California time. Cool. I got Merle Haggard's home phone number.
Like a scene from a movie, I noticed my pulse harmonizing with the second hand clock on my computer… I dialed, eager with anticipation to speak to one of my musical heroes.
Half expecting at least Mrs. Haggard to answer, I was almost speechless when Merle himself picked up the phone.
"Hi, is this Merle?" I asked, my voice quivering like a frightened schoolboy.
His voice was unmistakable - quiet, kind, smoky, and soft spoken. I knew it was Merle. I like a man that answers his own phone.
"Who may I ask is calling?" he said.
I introduced myself, and he said, "This is Merle," as if he even had to say that. I admire the hell out of Merle Haggard; I always have. He's one of those rare artists that can make my skin erupt in a warm fuzzy wave of goosebumps with just a simple note or a phrase in a song.
At 70 years old, he's exactly twice my age. He's twice as wrinkled as I am, with twice as much hair missing as I have, and far times the number of ups and downs I've had in my short life. It was in one of those many down times that Merle's music lifted me.
In the span of a few days about seven years ago, I lost my wife, my kids, my job, my house and my car. Life for me then seemed to plucked right out of one of those cliched Country & Western down-n-out songs where everything that can go wrong does go wrong. My worst nightmares had all come true, and the harder I tried to set everything back the way it was, it grew worse. Just knowing some other man had regrets and wishes to go back and "start all over" lessened my pain. "Wishing all these old things were new," he sang, and I felt better.

ZAKK WYLDE:
No other living guitarist is instantly recognizable in silhouette or from a single snippet of recorded guitar riffery. From the shadowy outline of him in bellbottom jeans and that swirling Les Paul paint job, to his trademark pinched-harmonics "Crazy Babies" sound, Zakk Wylde has been everywhere and done it all as Black Label Society's front man and metal's reigning bearded curmudgeon.
In the 19 years since winning the unknown guitarist's dream gig with Ozzy Osbourne at the virginal age of 20, Zakk has racked up every music and guitar player magazine "Best Of" award on the planet. From being dubbed "Riff Lord" and "Golden God" by music magazines and serving as an idol for every stomp box owning headbanger since the late '80s, it would seem a natural progression for Zakk to fall victim to believing his own hype. In the case of Zakk Wylde, now, that perception isn't necessarily reality.
Sure, even at 40 years old, it's all still there--the alcohol fueled badass attitude, the skulls and chains and Black Label Society biker-styled gear. But chisel down far enough beneath his gruff exterior and the mass-market image of Zakk, and you'll find a sentimental guy that has been married to his high school sweetheart since 1985.
Zakk is a proud father to three kids and daddy to a pack of Rottweilers. He likes relaxing to Elton John, The Eagles and Neil Young tunes. He's simply a guy from New Jersey with a job and a family and bills that just happens to be one of the most influential and admired guitarists in history.

BIG BRO. & THE HOLDING CO:
"Having Janis in the band was like going into battle with nuclear weapons when everybody else was using bows and arrows. We became liberated and empowered through her, and we'll have to live in the fallout for the rest of our lives."
There in lies the delicate position members of Big Brother have found themselves in since Joplin's death. How do they keep making music as Big Brother without exploiting their dearly departed singer? How could they carry on with any other singer besides Janis? But unlike their counterparts in The Doors, Big Brother was not completely founded in the image and persona of their deceased singer.
Joplin's life and spirit shined brightly and burned out too soon like all too many of the greats in rock music. The year of Joplin's death - 1970 - was also the year Jimi Hendrix died, and the same year Jim Morrison reached the end of his life. Janis' life has been chronicled in film, books and on countless albums and greatest hits packages, but it is the mythical, almost God-like legend she has acquired that will define her, fairly or not.
She has become one of those gone-but-not-forgotten rock stars that will forever be recognized by one name, along with Jimi, Sid, Keith and Jim and John. Her name for some has come to embody the wild and free spirit of the 60s. The time and place in which she lived her life helped elevate her to the Mount Olympus of rock stars.

TODD CAREY:
Todd Carey is one of those "up and coming" musicians garnering lots of industry buzz long before they do anything even close to their best work.
Watching Waiting, his second studio release, is a fine album for what it is: soft, safe, commercial pop music. Granted, the guy's got a way with pretty lyrical phrases, but it's the way he sings it with his passionless, unoffending voice that will have you reaching for the pause button on your cd player time and time again.
Here's a roadmap for artists like Todd with the musical talent but not necessarily the most distinctive or original voice: Do some livin' (well, a hell of a lotta livin'). That hard as nails, rock & roll, world weary kinda livin.' Fall in love, get cheated on, get divorced, followed by getting beaten up, arrested and/or molested. Drink and smoke and forego sleep and play hundreds of low paying shows for 12 people a night (counting the bartender, three waitresses and the weird drunken dancing fat guy). Lose your job and your house and spiral sadly downward until you find yourself teetering on the very brink of insanity, and then come back and try the vocals again.
You may come out looking and talking like you died a year ago and nobody had the decency to tell you (as in Keith Richards), but you'll no doubt have a voice filled with the passion and authenticity that this album is sorely lacking. Rock harder, write a lot darker, and for God sakes stop trying to sound like you're recording a Lifetime Television promo spot.

WILLIE NELSON:
Old Willie was a curious and perplexing figure as he sang his hits to that worshipful crowd. He wore plain black Levi's jeans, a black tee shirt and a pair of comfortable running shoes. The drunken cowboy next to me tossed Willie a Texas-sized black cowboy hat to wear, which he donned to complete his dark, casual ensemble. His trademark red braids were combed out that night to reveal a grandfatherly shade of gray and a shockingly long head of hair for a man of 66 years.
The cowboy turned to me and said, "That there is an American icon." In the course of the show, I came to see first hand the meaning of "icon" and could see why so many people young and old are so devoted to his music and his myth, so much so that some look at him with an almost spiritual reverence.
Willie's lived a long and rewarding life full of triumphs and trouble. I could see it in his eyes and hear it in his voice. Years of heartache and joy, good times and bad are etched into every wrinkle and line on his face and carved into every dent and scuff mark on his guitar, Trigger. His legions of loyal fans have lifted him up over the years to the point where he is part music star, party every-man and part savior. He certainly played the part on that Louisiana stage.
As he tossed out a medley of gospel songs to the thousands of followers and fans, he ended the show with Hank Williams' "I Saw the Light." His hand lifted up to the sky and his eyes stared toward the heavens. The Church of Willie was in full session, and their leader, a nearly 70 year-old country boy from Texas, was leading them to the Promised Land.

JEREMY TOBACK:
The mystical-meditating funky bass guru known as Jeremy Toback is back from semi-retirement with a stark but beautiful departure from his rock band roots.

In the 12 tracks of It's A Big World!, the bassist from legendary supergroup Brad has teamed up with singer/songwriter Renee Stahl to craft what they call "kids' music that adults could enjoy."

If you're a parent like me, you can commiserate in the misery that is kid's music: Purple prancing dinosaurs, irritating Wiggle-tunes and endless weird chants by purse-carrying day-glo creatures called Teletubbies that may or may not be sexually ambiguous British bears. Music for kids has never been made for or enjoyable by parents, until now.

LET'S GO SAILING:
There's an old saying, "You can't judge a book by its cover," and that is true for cds too. Sideways, the long-awaited debut from former Irving member Shana Levy, sat on my desk day in and day out, silently taunting, "Play me." For weeks I resisted, convinced it would be some goofy kids record.

I made that judgment based solely on the childlike cover art that looks like something you'd see splattered on the walls in the play area of a Gymboree store. I judged Sideways by its cover, and boy was I wrong. I'll be sending myself to the corner for a timeout later today.

LIGHTSNAKE PODCASTING KIT REVIEW:
I Googled "sound recorder time" hoping to find helpful tips from cybergeeks all across this great land telling others like myself how to circumvent that 60-second limit. All of the online posts I found said to ditch it and get a free one. I chose a recording program from Audacity. Within 10 seconds of installing Audacity, the green light on my Lightsnake mic was flashing (meaning I was "live"), and I proudly spoke the words, "I'm Kosmo Kramer, The ASSMAN!" I hit stop and play, and my borrowed words were repeated back to me. (And yes, my voice was high and whiny, sure to come in handy only if I'm ever cast as a one-line pretzel-eating extra in a Woody Allen movie.)

"Holy cow!" I exclaimed. I had just recorded my first audio snippet using the Lightsnake mic, now what do I do?

SWATI:
Do yourself a favor - get on www.youtube.com and search "Swati EPK." Click on the link and turn it up. You hear that sound - that sweet acoustic-electric psychedelia wafting out of your pc speakers? Tell me that's not the coolest sounding shit you've heard in years.

Swati, the one-name New York City native, plucks out the most eclectic blend of acoustic-electrified, mystic metal pop - a style certain to touch your very soul. Dr. Frankenstein himself couldn't create another Swati if he tried, even if he chopped up and sewed together an Indian Yogi, Sinead O'Connor and Joe Satriani.

THE COLOUR:
There aren't many bands out there - especially Los Angeles bands - that can put out a debut rock release as good as The Colour's Between Earth & Sky that won't leave you with the feeling that you'll never hear from them again. You know the kind of band: Critically acclaimed industry darlings that burst on the scene, then trail off into One Hit Wonder status once their sophomore release tanks in stores. In all of the gritty, melodic glory on every track within Between Earth & Sky, these four guys ain't headed to musical oblivion any time soon.

THE KIN:
From the opening swell of "Nowhere to Now Here," an Australian didgeridoo lurks just under the surface of Rise and Fall, signaling the arrival of brothers Isaac and Thorry Koren.

Dubbing themselves The Kin, the Koren brothers relocated to mega-huge New York City from the not-so-big town of Adelaide, Australia, to share their mellow harmonies and laid-back musical style with the rest of the world.

THE LIFT:
How does a band that's never released an album get their songs on TV shows including Fox's "Roswell," ABC's "Life As We Know It," the NBC mini series "The 70's," three MTV shows, the CW drama "Hidden Palms," and NBC's "ER?"

You move to Hollywood and schmooze it up like a networking rock & roll whore, that's how. Los Angeles' The Lift finally took time away from being the unofficial soundtrack band for half the shows on television and recorded their independent second album It Is What It Is.

BENJI ALLEN:
Down here in Texas, it's very nearly an official state law that you have to love God, The Cowboys, Momma, and country music.

If that's the rules in the Lone Star State, Benji's the most law abiding man in Texas.

MAX KEENE:
With a name that sounds like a James Bond nemesis and his movie-star good looks, singer/songwriter Maximillian Keene certainly seems ready-made to be a star in the slick, superficial world of Top 40 Pop music. It seems that way, but like many things in life, things aren't always what they seem.

Slip his Too album into your cd player, find a relaxing spot with somebody you love, and hit play. Instead of what you'd expect - the usual hip-shaking, pouty-lipped, TRL-style trendy pop music junk that's focused more on sex and tabloid headlines - Keene delivers the exact opposite of that; a sub-genre of music he calls "Alternative Americana."

MICHAEL HEATON:
With half his life spent as a working musician, Illinois-based singer/songwriter Michael Heaton looks back on where he's been almost as much as he looks forward to where he's going in life. His musical past is littered with punk bands, three-piece bands, coffee house acoustic gigs and cover bands, but his musical future hinges on his name and his music - a brand of music Heaton describes as a "bar vibe, kinda Tom Petty-ish Good Time Americana Rock & Roll. It's Blue Jean Rock."

Having just reached one of those milestone ages, Heaton says it "doesn't feel any different to me. I'm still running like crazy and doing my thing. I'm in my third decade as a working musician, and I don't feel like there's an ending or beginning to that number, it's just a passing number."

LED ZEPPELIN:
One video clip introduced by Kurt Loder blasted out of the tiny television speakers like a bolt of lightning shot from the very hand of God himself: It was approximately one minute of footage from "Dazed and Confused" from an unreleased Danish TV special Led Zeppelin filmed back in 1969.

It lasted just under 60 seconds, but it felt like an eternity for me. I sat on the tile floor of our living room, enraptured at the musical spectacle before me. Some skinny longhaired rock god I'd never heard of weilded a violin bow, smacking it up and down the neck of his day-glo painted Fender Telecaster like a dominatrix mercilessly whipping a submissive masochist. That minute-long, pseudo-erotic electric blues rock interlude was my first glimpse into the gloriously loud, bombastic, raunch-n-roll world of the mighty Led Zeppelin.

PETER FRAMPTON:
Peter Frampton is the perfect example of how a wildly successful young rock star can weather not one but two explosions of fame and come out of it alive, with sanity intact and as a far better musician and human being. To his four children, Peter Frampton is simply a father that provided them with a good solid upbringing while leaving home every now and then to play his music. To generations of rock music lovers, Frampton will forever be known as the pretty boy blonde, guitar-wielding God who sold a jillion copies of Frampton Comes Alive.

Now, at 57, Peter's flowing blonde mane has since given way to a closely cropped head of gray. With three grown children and an eleven-year-old daughter at home, Frampton is comfortable with his role in life as a revered rock star, former two-time teen idol, and doting Dad who helps his little girl with her homework.