Phish died and went to heaven and then recorded their trip!

That's right! Phish's latest, Joy, has a holiness about it. That band is in a very good place emotionally right now. Their latest album is has a "celebrate life" vibe to it that is very infectious.

Interesting thing to me about Phish is that, on the one hand, a lot of their material sounds like it comes straight out of the canon forged by The Grateful Dead and the Band. The guitarist sounds like a perfect fusion of Eric Clapton and Duane Allman. I swear I can't hear anything "new" about their sound, and yet they do not sound like a retro cover band. Their sound is not at all nostalgic. And when I turn on Phish, I don't feel like some old fogie enjoying old music disguised as new music. But when I listen to some of the latest garage rock bands on XM radio, I do. (Those people acid-tripped their way back to the 60s, it's quite remarkable). So what can possibly explain the phenomenon? It really is very, very curious . . .

Sondre Lerche and the problem with the singer-songwriter genre

Just listened to Sondre Lerche's latest, Heartbreak Radio. You know, it's a shame that Sondre can't consistently write catchy Europop hits as adorable as he is. This last album was very lovely, but I got bored. And I'm not even saying it's his fault. Pretty chords, pretty melodies, witty lyrics and stories I had no interest in because they were so darn pretty. But there's more: I finally realized why I have beef with the singer-songwriter genre.

What is the purpose of a beat?

The singer-songwriters use a beat as a means for keeping time, a way to keep everyone playing together and, in general, as a way to structure the music.

Boring.

Everyone knows a beat's sole reason for existing is to make you wanna dance or headbang or something. If it doesn't make you move, it's time to scrap that beat and make a new one.

Too many singer-songwriters waste their beats. Bad mistake! Bad mistake! I'll bet money on this: every great song has a great beat.

The Game . . . gangster rap that won't make you blush.

"Rap is just a white man's tour of the ghetto." If I hear that tired old adage one more time I'm gonna . . . admit that 99% of the time it's true. So, as a well-to-do white girl in the 'burbs, I must confess that I get a little touchy when I start hearing the musical equivalent of Gangsters blasting through my mustang's subwoofers. That said, I rarely unplug the 'pod because, well, I like my rap thuggish.

And that's what made the LAX Files such a great album. It oozed gansta glamour without the histrionics. The Game seems to be a fan of Contemporary R&B so the production generally consisted of cooing women and soulful keyboards. The gangster grit was all in the beats and the Game's voice and rapping. Being relatively unschooled in hip-hop, it's difficult for me to be terribly specific. I can only say that his album sounded tasteful. I'm looking forward to his next release . . .

Cobra Starship, Hot Mess: Experience your brains popping out of your ears!!

The best punches come on the sly. So, the next time you want to have at it, don't sock it to 'em with your brass knuckles like any other average Joe. Instead, lure the offender into your vehicle, secure the child safety locks, crank up the stereo to Cobra Starship, slam the doors shut . . . and no one gets out until every last freakin' fortissimo note of the album has boom-blasted that car up and down. Your friend will emerge from the vehicle in an altered state of consciousness . . . guaranteed!!

Ah, the glory of emo-inflected euro-pop (made in the U.S.A), belted out over pummeling club beats, distorted guitars, and blistering synths! This is music made with love and you'll get an ear-full of it! It will enthusiastically bowl you over! Kinda like my review!

In all seriousness, this was a "fun" album and it was worth hearing in its entirety once and left me with a handful of tracks worth hearing multiple times. My only complaint is that this band my suffer from Junior-Senior-itis. Lukewarm Junior-Senior fans will know what I'm talking about. It's the experience of turning on an album and thinking, "This is the best, catchiest stuff I've ever heard!" only to reach the end of the album gasping, "I can't take it anymore!" It may, however, leave others gasping, "Gimme more, I need a fix!"

Hence the title of my review . . .

For me, on too many of the tracks, it was as if they couldn't decide who should do what and when, so they were like, "Ah, heck. Let everybody play. Spank-my-but drums, buzzing bass, UFO-hovering synths, fuzzy guitars, whining vocalist, the choir, the guy playing the quirky organ stabs and triggering the siren samples . . . ready . . . set . . . GO!" MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY.

Actually, the arrangements weren't chaotic so much as they were over-enthusiastic. In terms of sound effects, this band had a lot they wanted to include on each track and aired on the side of trimming the tree as opposed to trimming it all down.

But I tend to feel that way about emo bands in general. The arrangements often sound noisy to me. If you really love the sound of Fall out Boy, for example, then you'll probably like this album. You'll likely give Cobra Starship two thumbs up for passion and energy.

You have been warned . . .