QueensrØche
Tribe

(Sanctuary)

Rating: 3.5

After losing founding guitarist Chris DeGarmo in 1998 and their long-time EMI label in 1997, QueensrØche has become a shadow of its former self, to say the least.

In their latest release, Tribe, the hard-rockers of the 1980s have considerably mellowed out.

Like me, if you were a bit disappointed with Metallica's turn after the Black album, then you'll understand my beef with Tribe.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of hard-hitting rock tracks like "Tribe (the title track)," "Blood and Open," and then of course there are songs like "Losing Myself," which sound like they'll be playing constantly on a classic rock radio station near you. But there's something missing. Something I thought I'd be hearing from QueensrØche, which just wasn't there. Or maybe it's something that was added, like in "Desert Dance," where some of the chorus is way too much like something out of a Linkin Park or Limp Bizkit track. It's like teaching an old band new tricks, and it just isn't appealing.

There is nothing soft about the new album however, and die-hard QueensrØche fans will be more than happy with the new album. The classic riffs haven't changed a bit and it's good to see that after 20-something years, QueensrØche is just as hard-core as ever. And don't expect this to be the last you've heard from them.

QueensrØche will be coming to the Rialto Theatre Sept. 16.

÷ Andrew Salvati

Black Rebel Motor Cycle Club
Take Them On On Your Own

(Virgin)

Sounds Like: Thudding psychedelic, cigarette-scented rock

Also see: The Stooges, The Verve, Folk Implosion

Rating: 5

A definitive album usually only pops up once or twice in a band's career. Rarely does it hit on the second album. BMRC has hit such a stride on their sophomore release.

The music has expanded into netherworld psychedelic spaces on this album. At first listen it could be mistaken for trip-happy Brits sneering at the monarchy, but the band actually resides in San Francisco, cringing at the president.

What you get on Take Them On is a full spectrum of laced out, bassed out, spaced out riffs and lyrics that sound like soundtracks for Oliver Stone conspiracy theories. The craftsmanship on this album is tenfold over their self-titled debut; and their debut was pretty damn good.

Although they dabble in psychedelica, don't mistake their music for sun-shiny days. These guys represent a gray sky accentuated by a chip on the shoulder of a wayward burnout. And they don't care how you feel about that. Which is why this is one more block in what the rock movement needs right now.

However, these underdogs probably won't get much press in popular music magazines. They're also not likely to show up rocking out in front of pre-pubescent fans in a corporate Times Square studio with a pseudo-ethnic, motorized mannequin named "Quddus" introducing them.

For people who enjoy glancing in the opposite direction of that stuff, this is a good time to be a music fan.

÷ Kevin Smith

See also: Stateside, Pavement

Rating: 4

Oregon's The Joggers are like some bizarre church choir that picked up guitars and decided to write quirky, spiraling ditties.

It's kind of hard to get a grasp on at first because they sound like a ton of bands that you've heard, but no one single band. This makes it very hard to categorize them.

Lead singer Ben Whitesides' high-pitched, nasal wail can border on obnoxious after too long, but it's hard to knock the pop sensibilities of these guys. Their pinpointed, quick riffs and loopy rhythms make every song on this album worth a listen, and that's saying a lot these days.

They're as radio-ready as The Strokes (inevitable comparison #117), but they hold onto an original texture that is often unheard of these days. For instance they bust out into barbershop quartet breakdowns every so often: less Polyphonic Spree, more "Hello My Baby." This makes for a novel trick, but luckily it's not something they transform into a gimmick.

Whitesides' can hit a different tone ("Loosen Up"), but more often he tends to whine his lyrics with a smirk. It tends to get repetitive by the end of the album, but listeners who enjoy Billy Corgan's delivery again and again should have no problem here.

If you don't feel like spending $12 to buy the album, you can get a taste of their live act at Club Congress, 311 E. Congress St., Tuesday night for $4.

÷ Kevin Smith