January 7, 2003

Ruins are an acquired taste. This is not to say the Japanese duo are necessarily good for you in the way certain vegetables or "intelligent dance music" are alleged to be. They take effort to appreciate, churning out abrupt changes and switching gears so jerkily that you have to actively invest in listening or give up altogether. Even if you do the former, you might not get anything out of the experience other than the realization that you do not really know how to play music.

This is nothing new to Ruins fans. In 1985 drummer Tatsuya Yoshida started the group, which now includes bassist Hisashi Sasaki. Early recordings were complex blasts of hardcore punk drenched in prog musicianship, a dense but flavorful combination similar to U.S. labelmates and compatriots the Boredoms (in the early '90s, Shimmy Disc issued albums by both bands). It is hard to define what the new Ruins have improved upon, aside from cleaner production. I can't tell if I have merely grown tired of prog's overemphasis on technique or if I just don't have the stomach for the goofy operatic vocals. The song titles and vocals sound like a made-up pidgin of German, Japanese, and opera that's closer to Klingon grunts than to the waif-whine of Sigur Rós. I don't think it's just a problem on my end though. Ruins' 1991 compilation Early Works: Live and Unreleased Tracks has force and voltage behind it, the sort of anthemic melodies and defiant triumph that two-piece progeny such as Hella and Lightning Bolt incorporate so well.

While Tzomborgha has its moments, it feels like that's all there is – a random sequencing of moments of release. It defies expectation to feel so distanced from this recording because seeing Ruins live is such a powerful and physical experience. They are like sonic hummingbirds with faster metabolisms, digesting beats and melodies and pooping them out before anyone else can even touch them. They delve into an uncharacteristic mellow jam midway through "Wanzhemvergg" with what sounds like a keyboard, some bass harmonics, and reverb-heavy falsetto scatting. Otherwise, it's a dense miasma of tech display salvaged by humor – check out "Black Sabbath Medley Reversible" for their modus operandi, breaking rock riffage into phonemic strings. Yoshida and Sasaki's linguistic and experimental bent is to push sounds until they break, reconstructing the fragments into druidic formations at which you, the listener, become the human sacrifice. (George Chen)

System of a Down
Steal This Album! (American/Columbia)

While other nu-metal bands wallow in tunes of self-loathing and pathos, Los Angeles group System of a Down direct their anger outward, coming off like a pissed-off sidewalk preacher, ranting through a bullhorn at the terrible state of the world. The system, if you will, is a downer.

And while System of a Down's idea of how to gain a toehold in metal may not sound like a sure shot to the top, their formula – a mix of metaphysical hard rock and fervent political mantras – has found an audience. Toxicity, the band's breakthrough 2001 release, sold more than two million copies. The album's songs of political corruption and greed were especially pertinent considering it debuted on the charts just prior to Sept. 11.

Referencing Abbie Hoffman's countercultural survival guide with its title, Steal This Album! continues Toxicity's complicated themes of war, global politics, and general systematic oppression. That's no surprise: many of its 16 tracks are left over from the recording of Toxicity, and the rest of the material is older, including previously unreleased songs dating as far back as 1995. Yet while some of the topics (advertising, corruption) smack of Protest 101, à la the worst of Rage Against the Machine, System of a Down's spiky guitar riffs and sudden time changes and singer Serj Tankian's trademark herky-jerky delivery make the material sound vibrant and unique – not like last year's leftovers.

With Tankian's fellow bearded iconoclast Rick Rubin behind the boards, you might think some of the band's subtle touches would get lost in the producer's trademark buzz-saw-through-a-wall style. But Rubin was mindful not to spackle over the group's stylistic nuances. A trailing yowl here ("Mr. Jack") or a reverberating cymbal there ("Ego Brain") is left intact.

Part of System of a Down's power probably stems from their status as all-Armenian metal dudes, looking in from the outside at the American entertainment-industrial complex. And though Tankian's lyrics are, on the whole, well thought-out, listening to him can sometimes be a trying experience, like waiting for a bus and standing next to a blathering, well-meaning crackpot. You may agree with the ranter's message, but there's only so much you can take before you start to wish he'd move to another corner. (Tony Hayes)

Manda and the Marbles
New Seduction (Go-Kart)

Just as No Doubt's Rock Steady was a better Blondie wanna-be than Debbie Harry and co. could muster for their own 1999 comeback, No Exit, Manda and the Marbles' New Seduction is the sorta good-time get-down that longtime listeners hoped the Go-Go's would record for their return, 2001's underwhelming God Bless the Go-Go's. It's not the first time Belinda Carlisle and her cohorts have been one-upped at their own game, though: like Josie Cotton's much-improved remake of "Johnny, Are You Queer?," the Marbles' third LP leaves skid marks on the Go-Go's hearts as they burn rubber past everything that band's done since "Head over Heels."

Last heard on Kill Rock Stars' double-disc Fields and Streams comp alongside acts such as Quasi and the Quails, Columbus, Ohio's Marbles churn out new wave whirligigs that sound like long-lost contributions to the 1983 cult-classic Valley Girl soundtrack. It's Cotton (who appears three times on that album, in fact) whom singer-bassist Manda most closely recalls as she ricochets her way through bouncy, fun-punk highlights "Dangerous," "Forget about the Day," and a cover of Holly and the Italians' "Wanna Go Home."