01. Rose Colored World
02. Back From Normal
03. Made to Order
04. Intensive Care
05. Walls Don't Talk Back
06. Welcome to Poland
07. At the Ridge
08. Heracaine
Hear
Established in the mid-80s, an L.A three piece dubbed the Abecedarians created a stir for ear-to-the-ground types who fancied mystique-laden post punk with temperate psychedelic inclinations, not unlike local contemporaries Red Temple Spirits and Psi-Com.  The band brewed a dreamy, disciplined alchemy on such arcane slabs of wax as Eureka and Resin.  While the Abecedarians handiwork was nothing less than satisfactory, the only drawback to their records was the potential of them to lull you to sleep if you were say, behind the wheel on a lengthy, straightaway road or highway.  By the Clinton-era two thirds of the group, Chris Manecke and John Blake reconfigured their trippy, atmospheric aplomb into a decidedly linear indie-rock slant for First Men on the Sun's one-off 1995 album.   "Alternative" bandwagon jumping was hardly an option however, rather Manecke and Blake's intent was considerably more substantive.  Sonically, there's not much that you could term as wildly innovative here, but I'm honing in on traces of Love Battery, Rein Sanction, and to a lesser extent Screaming Trees.  These comparisons are likely more coincidental than anything, but just wanted to offer a measuring stick.  A solid record, and best of all, firsthand familiarity with Abecedarians isn't a prerequisite (but doesn't hurt either).
There's rockabilly, there's psychobilly...so why not chill-obilly?   Truth be told, London's Cowbell ain't peddling no gimmicky shtick, rather that pearl of said nomenclature is frequently applicable on Haunted Heart.  This boy (Jack Sandham) and girl (Wednesday Lyle) duo curtail the "dirty" aesthetic considerably stacked up against say, The Kills, but there's some discernible bite to the jacked-up bop of the vivacious title track, as well as the souped-up Americana kick of "Downlow."  In the grand scheme of things, Haunted Heart is hardly a record of extremes, rather Cowbell's pedigree heretofore has placed the emphasis on their garage credentials.  With an undercurrent of organ and a spicy guitar solo percolating through "Nothing But Trouble," I'm inclined to play along, but the tunes I've name-dropped thus far strike me as the exception, not the rule.  "Neon Blue" and "New Kinda Love," play up the duo's more refined angles, meshed with a telltale appreciation of the blues and '60 psych pop, respectively.  Elsewhere they cut the tension off at the knees entirely on the decidedly tamer "Something's Gotta Give" and the sax-laden closer, "No Wrong."  Make no mistake though, Cowbell aren't the second coming of the Carpenters...nor the White Stripes (albeit they're angling significantly closer to the latter).   Boasting nuanced aptitude and consistency, Haunted Hearts just might have you shouting, "more cowb--" Sorry, I couldn't resist!.  Pick up the album May 26 from Damaged Goods Records, Amazon and iTunes.
Last week when I talked up the new Sneetches anthology, Form of Play, I praised it for presenting a cross section of their entire career.  Well, almost anyway.  It didn't hit me at the time, but that compilation largely overlooked (if not flat out ignored) the band's first proper album, Lights Out! With...  As if it wasn't already obvious, here's that entire platter in question.  The only song that crosses over with Form of Play, is the lilting "Only For a Moment," appearing on Lights Out! in a slightly different incarnation.  How any Sneetches career spanning disk could omit a sublime ballad like "54 Hours" or the Brit Invasion marinated "I Need Someone" is...a mystery.  Any Sneetches record is an embarrassment of riches, and this one's no exception.
Where do you start with a band that had one foot in the '80s, and the other in the succeeding decade that gracefully managed to deflect the superficial trappings of either period?  Well, as bassist Alec Palao eloquently describes in From of Play's liner notes, you start by not selling truckloads of records, and ditto for packing droves into nightclubs to see your act.  Meet The Sneetches, a bygone San Francisco treat that never indulged in the flavor-of-the-moment whims of their mid-80s to nineties tenure, be it new wave, neo-psychodelic, grunge or otherwise.  In fact, no amount of peer pressure (if any existed at all) swayed the Sneetches to be anything other than ...themselves.