A musician has to suck it up to ride the rail without getting stuck in the past or running out of talent or gas. Finding someone who's still active after 15 years is rare – finding someone with ears, mind, and heart still open is little short of miraculous. I thought about that listening to Nocturne and Sans Soleil, two remarkable albums by Victor Krummenacher. When I met him years ago in his capacity as Bay Guardian art director, he was looking back at the aptly named Monks of Doom, his post-Camper Van Beethoven project, wondering if he would ever be a working musician again. The answer is obvious, and he's finally grown into the clothes he's been wanting to wear.

His first solo album, Bittersweet, had strong moments, but, after listening to his latest releases, the 2000 CD feels tentative, as if he were looking over his shoulder. Nocturne is a rich, psychedelic swirl that wraps itself around you and makes you spin with it, or retreats, sitting in the quiet just this side of gone, reminding you that nothing goes away. Both albums find Krummenacher brooding: his world is full of ache, frustration, and a trace of menace. Nocturne offers a thicker version of what Sans Soleil, a collection of demos and outtakes, strips down and serves up plain, no ribbon or wrapping paper. Victor Krummenacher plays a CD-release show Wed/15, Make-Out Room, S.F. (415) 647-2888. He joins a Monks of Doom reunion Oct. 23, Starry Plough, Berk. (510) 841-2082. Oct. 24, Bottom of the Hill, S.F. (415) 621-4455. (J.H. Tompkins)

The Mass
City of Dis (Monotreme)

The Mass are part of a community of bands that don't really sound alike but follow a common thread: they're all rhythmic, dynamic, and intense. This isn't coiffed hipster head-nod music or '80s dance-party revivalism. This is music with the power of punk and hardcore, the skill of prog and metal, and the pure soul and adventurous nature of jazz. This is music that will grab you by the lapels. The theme song for a talk show from hell. A score for a cartoon made by misanthropic speed freaks.

The Fucking Champs' Tim Green recorded City of Dis, the Mass's second release, and he did a great job. It sounds almost exactly like the fury the band, one of the Bay Area's best live acts, unleash onstage, with a single exception: the vocals are both powerful and discernible. There's also an element of danger to the recording, with just enough dissonance to jar the listener, before the pseudo-funky jazz breakdowns come in, carrying an air of menace, just beneath the jaunty rhythms.