Knowing Stu
Ingredient (Three-Song Demo)
Onstage, tireless scene-supporters Knowing Stu can come off as a bit generic — the P.A. tends to wash out the subtleties and highlight the big, anthemic alt-pop choruses. This hot-off-the-presses three-song introduction, on the other hand, turns the tables by making the obvious, familiar hooks secondary to the potential inherent in the quartet's slinky, simple verses and vocalist Tina Chapman's expressive yet on-point vocals. "Bleed Baby," which takes the most chances by dint of a sexy roadhouse vibe, is far and away the standout track; two chords, sweaty atmosphere, no waiting. The chorus, which most radio programmers would look to for the big grab, actually takes a back seat to the verses' hugely physical innuendo. Quasi-ballad "Called Out" aims for the mainstream but remains pretty good anyway, heh heh, due to its vaguely countrified buildups. "My Sorrow" takes an angsty, groovy route, and suffers a bit for its pandering. There's promise here, though, when the band tempers its commercial ambitions with a libidinous strut down the road less traveled. (www.knowingstu.com) 
Take These Eyes
If This Were a Battle Axe, It'd Be in Your Skull
Thanks to what seems like a million kids getting sick of hardcore and digging into the death metal section of their older brothers' collections, metalcore is starting to sound a lot like a cross between Iron Maiden and Bloodlet. And believe me, there's nothing wrong with that. It's a nice D.I.Y. backlash to, you know, Slipknot. But the problem is, extremely minor aesthetic nuances aside, a lot of this shit tends to sound the same. Clearwater's Take These Eyes are rad. Seriously, they are. This six-song disc is appropriately brutal, technical and cathartic. A smattering of harmony guitar leads-as-riffs, the killer breakdown of "My Heart is FFOOOO," and the schizoid rhythms of "Dusk Was the Hour of the Defeated" aside, however, their sound closely resembles that of a dozen other bands I've seen at the State Theatre or Orpheum over the last year and a half. It's occasionally more dissonant, dynamic and unpredictable than, say, The Black Dahlia Murder, but it's also less frenetic. As competent and exciting as they are, they're in real danger of becoming just another face in a crowded trend, as opposed to a band that stands out on the strength of its own identity. Not bad at all, just not strikingly original — and metal needs to be. (Significant Records, P.O. Box 642, Indian Rocks Beach, FL 33785)
The Plungers
Kinky Shoes
Were I to apply exactly the same criteria to The Plungers that I did to Take These Eyes, they would receive exactly the same rating. Objectively speaking, the bands are roughly analogous — The Plungers are tight, competent and entertaining, but offer little in the way of innovation with regard to their chosen genre, which is straight-up primal punk 'n' roll. But alas, or, more appropriately, hoo-fucking-ray, music isn't math or science or marketing, and this one's just much more my cup of tea. They're simple, sinuous, smart and obnoxious, with what feels just a tiny bit like a minimalist update of Rollins-era Black Flag (plus slacker disdain for self-indulgence/minus inexplicable rage and post-Sabbath pretense). It's the intangibles that really count, though, and this wiry, bladed punk rock is a lot like a slim-jim; it looks innocuous, but it's definitely got anti-social applications.
Magic Bullet Theory
Post Depressionism
Slightly above-average Adult Alternative from a talented group of musicians who obviously know their craft. They're not exactly blowing the speakers out, but they do know exactly how to turn in compelling tunes with more texture and dynamic ambition than the usual alt-pop fare. "Drone," the sleepy, spare "Worry About Me" and "Vintage Skyline" are standouts. Though vocalist Dustin Buchheister's precious affectation and conspicuously arty lyrics may strike some as a bit much, there's no denying the guy's got pipes. Plus, they get extra points for building their own studio, recording themselves, and coming out the other side with a great-sounding production. (www.magicbullettheory.net) 1/2
Shadcore
Waste Management
Hell yeah. St. Pete MC Shadcore juxtaposes big, straightforward beats and atmospheric synth hooks (mostly from producer Black Speed) with an eloquent, stylish flow. He's got a deep, killer voice, and could probably get away with copping Biggie's easygoing, luxurious hood-don pose, but prefers positivity without preaching. He loves the Burg, name-checking everything from the Maxi-Mall to BayWalk and Pink Streets, and isn't afraid to throw in hilariously idiosyncratic lines like "ever since I was knee-high to a french fry, I've had hip-hop in my system" and "I'm in demand, like my Mom's macaroni salad." It's never goofy, though, and nicely balances a laid-back block-party vibe with more intense undertones. Waste Management isn't flawless — the last quarter feels a bit like filler — and it's not exactly groundbreaking, but it's really good nonetheless, perfect for riding a late summer afternoon on into a party-night. (www.shadcore.com) 1/2
Blues Punks
Real Rock and Roll
The Blues Punks have a good reputation as a raucous live rave-up, but this six-song disc just doesn't cut it. For starters, the production is horrible — it's muddy, thin and distant, making every stereo it's played on sound like the bass is all the way on and the treble's completely off. Secondly, half the tunes are covers — by the usual classic-rock cover bands, at that: a bluesy deconstruction of "Jumpin' Jack Flash," a groovy, schizoid "Toys in the Attic" that includes bits of other songs (the worst thing here), and the old Willie Dixon chestnut "I Just Want to Make Love to You." The three originals aren't bad, but aren't completely distinguishable from any number of anonymous rock 'n' blues stompers. The best thing I can say is that everything is competently played, and would undoubtedly sound awesome in a smoky dive full of dancing women after about nine beers. (doc_lovett_1@hotmail.com)
R50
All Time Low
This veteran Bay area power-pop quartet has given itself a glammy makeover for its second release. The music hasn't changed much, however, except that it's gotten better. The band's combination of monster hooks and gritty, slightly twangy rock 'n' roll remains intact; it's a pleasure to encounter one of those rare local guitar groups who have their shit so down that they actually sound better on record than they do onstage. There's nary a misstep here — other than the slightly cheesy "Alive," with its cliched balladry and lyrical Cheap Trick cop, it's difficult to find fault with All Time Low, so I won't. A great effort. (www.R50rocks.com)
Jen Shamro
You Need It
Iconoclastic singer-songwriter Jen Shamro has always polarized local audiences. There are those who applaud her daringly unconventional approach to girl-with-guitar expression, and there are those who think she sucks. Her newest full-length is unlikely to inspire proponents of either opinion to rethink their respective positions. You Need It is full of what people familiar with Shamro's work expected it would be: her evocative spoken-sung lyric poetry, laid over her moody, idiosyncratic guitar work. Which is not to say that she's not evolving, or that she does spoken word or performance art as opposed to making music. Her voice is strong and evocative, wandering in and out of pitch and character and displaying nuances that are often lost in her live performances. Several of You Need It's better tracks are also accompanied by drums (courtesy of Phil Stanwick) — "Eight Books" and "Or Are You" provide highlights. Having said all that, however, fans of more, er, standard styles of music are undoubtedly going to consider Shamro's particular vein jarring, pretentious or even unlistenable. Personally, I found the disc interesting, and dug the four or five comparatively infectious tracks, but most of it went over my head. 1/2
Contact Scott Harrell at 813-739-4856, or at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in May 27 – Jun 2, 2004.