THE OFFSPRING
Conspiracy of One
(Columbia)
*
*

Once, punk defined an attitude. This, however, was before most of the Offspring's fans were born. Now, it means four chords, lyrics that give the odd nod in the direction of social commentary, and MTV-friendly videos. There's nothing wrong with the spiky, mop-topped Offspring's sixth album: It delivers as reliably as my post-lady doesn't. There's nothing to write home about either (lucky, 'cause my post-lady doesn't deliver). There are lyrics dealing with the usual--love, regret, and the joys of pulling an ice-cold one from the fridge to share with your mates ("One Fine Day"). This is good, I guess, because it shows the Offspring are regular guys just like their following. The better songs are placed toward the start: like the irritating "Original Prankster" and "Million Miles Away." This is good, I guess, because all Yanks suffer from Attention Deficit, and can't concentrate on anything for longer than about 10 minutes. True revolutionaries don't make pop music. EVERETT TRUE

SMOG
'Neath the Puke Tree
(Drag City)
***1/2

Bill, Bill, Bill. How can you sound so melancholy and maudlin, create such gentle, flowing country melodies, and still not be like the luckiest guy in love ever. We know now that you have to be putting it on. Take this five-song EP, for example. (No, you can't. Hands off! It's mine!) "I Was a Stranger" (remixed from Red Apple Falls) sounds like Palace given an unhealthy dose of gaiety. "Your Sweet Entrance" wallows in a pool of its own tears. "A Jar of Sand" (remixed from Sewn to the Sky) is like Neil Young's "Helpless," only even more so. "Orion Obscured by Stars" continues the Dylan infatuation, and the fifth can remain a mystery to you gentle readers. It's always nice to retain a little mystery to life. I still reckon young Bill Callahan is a charlatan and fraud, though. Not that it matters. EVERETT TRUE

DESTROYER
Thief
(Cave Canem/Import)
*
**

I know how you Americans love to poke fun at Canada. Hey, I've been there and I don't blame you, but hold on. Here come Destroyer, from Vancouver. They're great. They clearly have been listening to groups such as Built to Spill, Pavement, and some Hunky Dory-era David Bowie, records I love to listen to as well. And usually I wouldn't recommend that my fellow record collectors make records themselves, but there's something about Destroyer's slightly flustered vocals, sung laconically and nasally over Telecaster and E-Bow, that makes me unable to resist them. This is fortunate. Why? Oh come on. I own Destroyer's cuddly third album, Thief, and it's chock full of wry songs like "M.E.R.C.I." and "The Way of Perpetual Roads." Singer Dan Bejar sometimes sounds like Malkmus' cheeky younger brother: Sometimes he's just so enthusiastic and sprightly, it almost hurts. A masochistic smile is playing on my lips even as I type these words. It's only rock. There's nothing wrong with it. EVERETT TRUE

MICHELLE ELEPHANT GUN
Gear Blues
(Alive)
**

Ever really want to like a record, but just don't? Usually, it's a situation with a friend's band that's really awful--like when you run into them on the street somewhere, and they know that you and the mutual friend were listening to the CD the night prior. It sucks, doesn't it? Well, I don't have any friends in common with the Michelle Elephant Gun, but this situation sucks, period. I truly wanted to like them, because I've heard so many great things about their live shows, and I had recently been disappointed by the new record from Eastern Youth, another "cool" Japanese band. All I can think of is years ago, when Zeni Geva, the Boredoms, and my personal favorites, the Bloodthirsty Butchers, were coming out of the amazing Japanese noise scene. Now it's just a bunch of straightforward rock that wouldn't make it through the front door of most clubs if they didn't happen to be from the mysterious East. Nothing mysterious here, just a rock band with a rock look. Big goddamn deal. MARK DUSTON

PEOPLE'S CHOICE
I Likes to Do It
Jamie/Guyden
****

The People's Choice? My God... what a choice! Dig, these fellas stomp HARD, organ-led SOUL with some heavy, HEAVY groove moves! Schweet. And there is, just a little... like, a tiny, slim wittle smidgen of a go-go feelin'... which is, by NO means swing-settin' it up to be bubblegum pop. I say so 'cause they're funky, but really ain't overly stuck in the "funque" way... and they been described too as "scat"... scat like jazz, NOT like poo, which means there some hoots 'n' hollers fit in for fittin's sake. Right, so with alla their Jamie 45s, PLUS seven unissued tracks, ain't no way this is gonna leave my deck for the next fuckin' month! MIKE NIPPER

THE INSULTS
Insults to Injury
Brain Transplant
*
***

This is how preview copies oughta come... on WAX: Like, they sent a LP! So, unheard, this got a "check plus"... BUT, that wasn't all... boss man sent a note on the back of an old show flyer (Dead Kennedys/Feederz/Black Flag/Insults)... check fuckin' PLUS! If only squaresville "publicists" had THESE kinda smarts, my sorry world of "reviewing" would be a cheerful place (sniff)... however, was there s'posed to be a missin' 45 outta the thoughtfully included Insults 45 picture sleeve?! Fine... now that alla y'all know how I been buttered... the Insults are cool killbydeaf-type punk... REAL '70s type punk, not "hardcore"... like, it's snotty, cynical, ROCKIN'... yes? FUCK yes... and add to that I to I is an entire LP of unreleased hoo-ha! MIKE NIPPER