Carousel corner.(THE MUSIC)

One of the original premises for this column was the notion of "one thing leading you to another," rather like a deejay intuitively spinning a song which complements or comments on its predecessor--Bill Goldsmith at radioparadise.com is a genius at this--why you chose particular discs to spin in your CD carousel changer. At best, it was a conceit; at worst, a flimsy vehicle for bad writing. The column then evolved into essays around particular genres or recurrent lyrical themes before settling into what it is today, a hash of rock'n'roll dotted with odd nods to bluegrass, jazz, a smidgeon of classical, and a handful of oldies. As you'll see from this issue's crazy quilt line-up, last issue's observations about Joe Strummer's Streetcore, "where planning is forgotten," seem to apply also to a certain writer's questionable habits. Nonetheless, as one ages, the lack of ideas neatly packaged with a pretty bow is less nettlesome than the doubt and uncertainty, the onrush to dominate knowledge, that so informed one's youth. Perhaps this is what the column was meant to be: a gaggle of Burma Shave couplets amid neon church advertisements and hand-lettered come-ons for cutrate tool repair--all leveled by the steely gaze of a duck-tailed greaser, a box of Marlboros rolled defiantly into his t-shirt's sleeve--a reflexive metaphor for its subject, rock'n'roll.

Mission of Burma, On Off On (Matador)

What does one say about a legendary punk band that hung up its thrash after one album, only to emerge from the gray woodwork 20 years later for their second? Does rage fade with age? Mission of Burma (Peter Prescott, drums; Clint Conley, bass; Roger Miller, guitars, keys; Bob Weston--replacing Martin Swope, electronica) debuted with 1982's seething Vs. (On) only to fade from view (Off) before reemerging with On Off On (On), apparently picking up where they left, er, off. Vs., like the output of Rage Against the Machine was thinking man's punk, lyrically smart and musically challenging, akin more to the dissonant tapestries of Sonic Youth or X than the shrieking headbanging of Fugazi or the Dead Kennedys. Geezers liked 'em cos their upthrust middle finger had meaning, dammit.

On Off On, though I think it would like to, doesn't really pick up where Vs. left off. Oh, there's plenty of thrashing around, real world impatience, and an awful lot of shouting--the sort of stuff you'd expect from a bunch of angry kids and is admirable in a bunch of fortysomethings. What Mission of Burma has, perhaps haphazardly, discovered is the way to avoid having to grow up--see R.E.M., Fogerty, and Knopfler below--not play at all. Cut one seminal, killer album and split. Drift back together twenty years later, and you can simply pick up where you left, er, off. The band's three songwriters have maintained their identities: Roger Miller favors layers of density, walls of dissonance punctuated by furious attacks of rhythm guitar, especially "Max Ernst's Dream," where hardcore San Francisco psychedelia meets hardcore punk. Peter Prescott favors vocals shouted very loudly over the pure trio--no tape loops, overdubbing, etc., the purest of punk offerings. Clint Conley remains the melodic lyricist. Indeed, their publishing arms are marvelously appropriate: Miller/ Fun World, Prescott/Blown Stack, Conley/Lambent.

If this were, say, 1981 or '82 when you relied on latter day punks to puncture pop's silly balloons, On Off On would be hailed as a triumph of searing, needle-in-your-eye affront to disco queens and pop weenies everywhere. The problem with the form-and just maybe Mission of Burma--is that grunge, ska, and hip-hop coopted punk, breaking it into regional pieces, if it weren't already a fairly loose agglomeration of regional ideas, but more importantly kept it young. The songs that succeed on On Off On are Conley's simply because they are songs, the genre having outgrown, no matter how "vital", Miller and Prescott. Ironically, the opposite is equally true: Mission of Burma grew up. On Off On is still good, if slightly retro.

Sahara Hotnights, Kiss and Tell (RCA)

The problem with being an "all-girl band" is that everyone's first impulse is to compare you with every other all-girl band, notably The Runaways, The GoGo's, Slater-Kinney, Luscious Jackson, The Bangles, Josie and the Pussycats, and so on. It's not enough to make good music or to simply play on your own terms--you gotta one-up the "competition" or at least pull even with history. This notion plagued The GoGo's, a pleasant enough band whose excellent songwriting made up for youthful musicianship, and The Bangles, a great band which suffered from untrue rumors that they didn't play their instruments. Swedish quartet Sahara Hotnights is Maria Andersson (guitar, vocals), Jennie Asplund (Guitar), Johanna Asplund (bass), and Josephine Forsman (drums). If you buy the flack, they all grew up literally occupying the four corners of the lone arterial in a remote Swedish village. And, folks, they can indeed play their instruments, write and perform their own material, and they don't sound a bit like any of the other all-girl bands.