fIREHOSE. Ragin', Full On (SST, 1986)

"The enemy turns captain/ The captain turns civilian/ The lieutenant becomes casualty."

Most indie nerds know the story of fIREHOSE: Minutemen guitarist D. Boon died in a van accident in 1985, leaving his bandmates and best friends -- bassist Mike Watt and drummer George Hurley -- devastated and distraught. Into this period of mourning stepped Minutemen superfan Ed Crawford, a 22-year-old Ohio kid who called up Watt out of the blue and persuaded him to start making music again. Crawford trucked out to California, and fIREHOSE -- also featuring Hurley behind the kit -- was born.

From 1986 to 1993, fIREHOSE -- not to be confused with hairmetalers Firehouse -- flew the flannel on five LPs and a handful of EPs, first with the legendary SST label and then on major Columbia. Though not quite as visionary and viscerally exciting as the Minutemen, the trio were a bit more melodic, trading D. Boon's hyper-literate, hopped-up spazz-speak for Crawford's more traditional tenor. The group's debut, Ragin', Full On, is one of the best indie albums of the '80s, a startling statement of purpose and a triumphant return for Watt and Hurley, one of the most ferocious rhythm sections ever to mark time.

Even though fIREHOSE tended to emphasize more standard rock and folk structures over the Minutemen's aggressive jazz punk, they retained much of the Minutemen's energy and impact. Crawford was never an amazing guitarist, and his playing pales in comparison to the blinding virtuosity of Watt and Hurley, but he has an intuitive feel for melody and timing, playing off the bass and drums in a natural, lived-in way, owning the melodies and creating space for the rest of the band. Ragin', Full On works because it sounds improvised and precise all at once, with hooks to spare and an overarching sense of excitement and enthusiasm.

"Brave Captain" is as good an introduction as any band could ask for, an instant classic and one of the best tracks fIREHOSE would ever lay to tape. Crawford frantically strums out a jarring, two-chord electrified jangle on loan from Mission of Burma while Watt and Hurley straight kill the time signatures, keeping things wild-eyed and jumpy without sounding like showoff a-holes. "There are doubts in your abilities/ There's too many blanks in your analogies," declares Crawford in a plaintive wail, drums and bass cascading behind him.

Other album standouts include the scatterbrained "Under the Influence of Meat Puppets," the charging anthem "Chemical Wire," and the playful "Locked In," which moves from sparkling pop to thoughtful folkiness to breathless rawk in under three minutes. And when Crawford, Watt, and Hurley bring the mood down, as on the delicate, Spanish guitar-inflected "The Candle and the Flame," the achingly pretty "Things Could Turn Around," or the acoustic lament "This...," fIREHOSE still pack a wallop, emotional resonance making up for instrumental aggression.

When I was in high school, I had a dubbed tape with Baldo Rex's awe-inspiring Parilda Cilgen Elmas on one side and Ragin', Full On on the other. Needless to say, it was one of my favorites, and I listened to it weekly. To my youthful ears, Ragin', Full On represented DIY excellence, instrumental prowess, and indie cool. Listening to it today, it still sounds that way, a gleaming jewel of an LP and the sound of a band rising from the ashes of tragedy.

Ragin', Full-On - Firehose

Kings of Convenience. Riot On An Empty Street (Astralwerks, 2004)

“What is there to know?/ This is what it is/ You and me alone/ sheer simplicity.”

If you would have told me fifteen years ago that when I was 30 I would really dig a folk-pop duo from Norway, I might have kicked you in the shins with my combat boots. Fortunately now I’m older, hopefully wiser, and able to appreciate (some of) the Norwegians' music (if not their cuisine). Case in point: Bergen's Kings of Convenience.

Fronted by Erlend Oye (also solo recording artist and DJ extraordinaire) and his childhood pal Eirik Glambek Boye, Kings of Convenience first minced their way onto the festival scene in 1999 (after a short-lived turn during high school as Skog, Norwegian for "forest"). Their talent, perhaps combined with the revamp/re-moniker to the internationally friendly (certainly at least America/UK friendly) Kings of Convenience, landed them their first record deal.

2001 saw the release of Quiet Is The New Loud, a gorgeously understated record, lushly melodic and well worth checking out. Following that gem (and a delicious record of Quiet remixes, 2001's Versus), Riot on an Empty Street was released in 2004 to, well, maybe not fanfare, but it was certainly well-received and holds up, in this reviewer’s opinion, as one of the best records of that year.

For those of you who haven’t already heard Kings of Convenience, I can tell you that you already know Erlend Oye’s infectious voice (if you own a TV). He was the featured singer (with band Royksopp) in the hippest of the Geico caveman commercials. You know the one: airport, tennis racket, vintage carry-all, moving sidewalk, all very Wes Anderson. In fact, Oye sports a bit of a Wes Anderson-y look himself, with his ginormous Norwegian government-issue frames and unruly curls. Sigh. But I digress…

Riot on an Empty Street is everything that listeners loved about Quiet Is The New Loud, only more and better. From the first delicate opening chords of "Homesick," you'll be hooked. Channeling Simon & Garfunkel, their harmonies are indicative of their close friendship, reading and playing off each other like identical twins. "Misread" follows, with a mellow bossa nova beat and Astrud Gilberto feel, if a touch more melancholy, less sunshine and sand. "Cayman Islands" is a winsome song about vacationing and sometimes feeling more at home in strange places than in your own bed.

"Stay Out of Trouble" is a standout, the strings and chords gliding and practically leaping over the grim lyrics of a broken relationship: “So baby, what we’ve got has lately not been enough.” Then, on "Know-How," Oye and Boye bring in their secret weapon – Canadian indie chanteuse Feist. And this is 2004 Feist -- not the current overexposed, sorta insufferable diva Feist -- making her vocal contributions not only listenable but brilliant and indispensable.

"Sorry or Please" is a playful look at the early, awkward stage of romantic relationships (not as cheesy as it sounds). "Love is No Big Truth," "I’d Rather Dance With You," and "Live Long" bring the record’s blood pressure back up with dance-y beats a la a back-to-ours at Ibiza.

The party winds down for the last few tracks. "Surprise Ice" seems to be all about maintaining some sense of hope for the future in the darkness of Norwegian winter. "Gold In the Air of Summer" may just kill you with its sweet remembrance of an intoxicating trip to a summer house on the seashore: “Without giving anything away, you’ll find ships inside of bottles/ And the garden’s overgrown, the house is white but the paint is coming off…you’ll shine like gold in the air of summer.” "The Build-Up" is the last song on the record (and the second coming of Feist) and it sends you gently off into the sunset.

Kings of Convenience promise that they're working on a third LP, though they've been promising that since 2004. Erlend is busy with lots of side projects (Unrest is a great record, as is his DJ Kicks contribution), Eirik is busy with his own side-project Kommode, a band he formed with his old Skog-mates. A new Kings of Convenience record would be a welcome addition to this world, but if Riot On An Empty Street is the last we hear from the duo together, then at least they overshot the high note and went out on a transcendent one. -- Anneke Chy

Riot On An Empty Street - King...

Tsunami. Deep End (Simple Machines, 1993)

"Are we all something to envy, are we all something else?/ Are we all something to envy or are we more like a threat?"

Though lacking the distinctive styles and sounds of other pioneering DC indie labels like Dischord (tighty wound, chest-thumping post-punk) and Teenbeat (hand-crafted, Factory-inspired Europop), Simple Machines was a formidable outfit. Founded in 1990 by Jenny Toomey and Kristin Thomson, it managed to release its fair share of great indie rock and pop artifacts -- LPs and EPs by the likes of Autoclave, Ida, the Monorchid, Retsin, Scrawl, and others -- before shutting its doors for good in '98. Plus, Simple Machines was founded and run by two women, making the label -- which never let itself be pigeonholed as an imprint for "chick bands" -- unique in the guy-centric indie landscape of the '80s and '90s.

Lucky for us, Toomey and Thomson weren't content to simply found an outlet for great music; they were also compelled to make some pretty great sounds of their own via their band Tsunami. Featuring both Toomey and Thomson on guitars and vocals, Andrew Webster on bass, and John Parmer on drums, Tsunami released a handful of singles and four LPs between 1993 and 1997, representing some of the hookiest and endearingly enthusiastic material to come out of the DC scene of the Clinton era.

Tsunami specialized in a heavily melodic sound steeped in punchy rhythms and dueling guitars, featuring the soaring interplay of Toomey's and Thomson's vocal harmonies. Like Superchunk, another group of buzzing early '90s indie upstarts trading on good ideas, overflowing energy, and an ear for tart 'n' tangy melodies, Tsunami had a knack for marrying dissonance and tunefullnes. The twin guitar attack of Toomey and Thomson was built around walls of fuzzily distorted power chords and frantic strumming, the drums and bass hurriedly trying to ground the sound and keep things on the straight and narrow.

Tsunami's debut LP Deep End is Exhibit A as to why they were so great, 13 tracks worth of irresistibly catchy, winningly abrasive racket. The guitars stay thorny and twisted, the drums push forward with little pause, and the bass pins the melody to the floor even as the rest of the band threatens to get ahead of themselves. Furthermore, the singing is unerringly affecting, as Toomey and Thomson belt out the songs with a mixture of bravado, sexy insinuation, and accusatory bluster, anger and joy tumbling after themselves in each high-ceilinged verse and high-volume chorus.

Deep End's opening salvo "In A Name" bursts forward on overcaffeinated riffs and wailing vocals, the sound of clever kids highly stoked and easily distracted. When "Slugger" isn't pounding it's floating, buoyed by layered vocals and bouncy stringwork. The mid-tempo stalk of "Water's Edge" adds danger and darkness to the mix, menacing syncopation scrapping with snarling guitars as Toomey and Thomson wail, "She waits/ By the water's edge/ She searches/ For a sign of life," one of the album's spookiest tunes. The anti-anthem of "Genius of Crack" plays like narcotized Pixies-sized surf rock, a tribute to and mockery of Gen X stereotypes. "We're so slack, we come off like geniuses on crack/ And I'm sad to give up on the one thing I never had." Album closer "Stupid Like a Fox" could be a mission statement, thrashing and gliding by turns, hemmed in by vexed vocals and rushing rhythms.

To my mind, Tsunami have never gotten the respect they deserve. I remember discovering them in high school and being immediately smitten with their approach: ballsy chicks fronting a serrated sound, riot-grrrls who would never call themselves that, rocking un-self-consciously and awesomely. Tsunami remain largely unsung heroes, often overlooked in remembrances of the time but nevertheless boasting a catalog that more than stands up to scrutiny.

Deep End - Tsunami