VARIOUS ARTISTS
Tributo
(Six Degrees)
**

Tributo is primarily a collection of remixes/interpretations of Suba, a Serbian-born producer whose first and final masterpiece of Brazilian electronica was called São Paulo Confessions. Suba died unexpectedly in late '99, just before completing production work on Bebel Gilberto's Tanto Tempo and a few days after the release of his only CD.

Like Kruder & Dorfmeister's The K&D Sessions or Thievery Corporation's Mirror Conspiracy, Suba's Confessions arrived in the world as a complete and perfect thing. Indeed, this is why Tributo fails: It can't improve upon the truth, or perfect what is already perfect. In general, remixes should be applied only on CDs that have failed miserably. A case in point: Mad Professor's dub remix of Massive Attack's second CD, Protection. Every song on Protection was unfinished, and Mad Professor's No Protection fulfilled all the promises that Massive Attack's effort failed to realize. Confessions is the end of an idea, a total object, and so should be left alone. CHARLES MUDEDE

THE BRATS
Criminal Guitar
(Rave Up Records)
***

Aside from recent young'uns finding '70s rock in vogue, the reason that the Brats were included in a "punk series" from Italian label Rave Up Records is beyond me. The band's Criminal Guitar disc is volume 23 of Rave Up's "American Lost Punk Rock Nuggets" series, and this one puts the band's live tracks and demos on disc. The Brats' Rick Rivets was a one-time guitarist for the New York Dolls, and his punk pretensions play little into this mid-'70s ROCK band's recordings.... Especially when, overall, they rock kind of Stateside glam-ish schlock, tho' sometimes they're like Kiss, and they occasionally swing into the honky-tonk swagger of the twins that once glimmered--mick 'n' keef, yo. Now, I ain't tryin' to boo-hoo no party, y'all--the Brats WERE a solid street rock 'n' roll band... which, sure, is kinda "punk," but there is little spite and no gobbing here. So if you're expecting killedbydeath revelations, well, DON'T--but if you have some room on the shelves for decent '70s rock, by all means hook this mofo! MIKE NIPPER

RADIOGRAM
All The Way Home
(Endearing Records)
***

With accordion and effected violin underscoring his cracked, wry voice, Radiogram frontman Ken Beattie bleats out the opening lines to "Self-Helpless," the opening track to the alt-country band's debut. It's the perfect beginning to an album that cherishes the small, fractured moments in fumbling relationships and faltering dreams. The lyrics play with received wisdom until they wrest something new from homely homilies. Trumpet, Dobro, and upright bass accent the more traditional country-folk structures, fleshing out the songs with rich textures. Guest singer Carolyn Marks adds lovely vocals to "Whisky In My Bed" as the accordion and strolling bass lines walk the song through its splendid ache. Shelley Campbell counterpoints Beattie's vocals with a warped lilt on half of the album's 10 songs, lifting "Summer Song Summer" into near-pop glory. Radiogram delights in loss, making it sound like a transitory place you can't help but pass through, so you may as well make the best of it. This act certainly does. NATE LIPPENS

FLY PAN AM
Ceux Qui Inventent N'Ont Jamais Vecu
(Constellation Records)
***

There are a few things to avoid after ingesting psychedelic drugs: brightly lit grocery stores, answering the phone, and looking in the mirror. To this list I'm adding "listening to Fly Pan Am"--not because the primary project of Godspeed You Black Emperor! guitarist Roger Tellier-Craig is bad, but because its mischievous personality is so schizo that listening to it in an altered state could deeply freak you out. Tellier-Craig and his fellow Montreal-based, experimental art punks work from a tape-based foundation of lushly detailed field recordings that echo Godspeed's creepy, atmospheric tendencies, but trick them out with dub-funk and malleted guitars, surgically precise drumming, and erratic, deliberately placed "skips" on the CD (a gimmick that initially seems as intelligent as repeatedly punching yourself in the arm, but eventually grows on you). Listen with caution. HANNAH LEVIN

THE RIFFS
Dead End Dream
(TKO Records)
****

The Riffs' brawny new ball-smacker, Dead End Dream, sounds like the gruff kind of punk that survives in the cracks between the gutter and the gutted alleyways. With an attitude of roachlike perseverance, their leather-clad rock rants against crooked cops and mourns the fallen street-punk troops who've rotted away with spikes in their arms. Basically, the Riffs are another throwback to the old school--Sex Pistols, the Dead Boys, and the Dictators--but they don't stumble straight into the recycle bin of rehashed rock.

The band uses the old formula to deliver swift, steel-toed kicks about dead-end streets and nihilistic hopelessness, forging enough of a sneer to show that these guys would never go down without giving someone a shiner. Dead's got lots of wily guitar work (a given, I think, if you're gonna call yourself the Riffs), catchy anthems for the going-nowhere-fast crowd, and a low-class, bust-shit-up demeanor that can rouse even the most jaded punk rocker into adrenalized action. JENNIFER MAERZ