ARCTIC MONKEYS

Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not

(Domino)

"Anticipation has a habit to set you up for disappointment." So opens Arctic Monkeys' Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not, the most buzzed-about debut by a British band since, well, whatever last captured the attention of that country's notoriously hype-happy music press. But the indie Sheffield quartet, whose members aren't even old enough to legally drink in the States, have real reason to feel overwhelmed by heightened expectations. Last fall their frenzied, hormone-fueled first single, "I Bet You Look Good on the Dancefloor," unexpectedly debuted at number one on the UK pop charts, resulting in enough "Next Big Thing" proclamations — not to mention enthusiastic endorsements from Mick Jagger and Chris Martin — to unnerve even a veteran act.

On the band's exhilarating full-length, however, Arctic Monkeys don't buckle under the pressure — they channel any nervous energy into urgent bursts of youthful exuberance. Over taut, wrist-pumping rock that recalls the Hives and the Libertines, vocalist-guitarist Alex Turner shouts about drunken fisticuffs, run-ins with the cops, and other late-night adventures in songs that never come off as an adolescent's immature rants. Rather, Turner's witty one-liners and surprisingly keen eye for narrative detail — in "Red Light Indicates Doors Are Secure," for instance, he insightfully describes a squabble over a taxi that turns violent — make for sly, even poignant commentary on England's working class and youth culture that's anything but a disappointment. In fact, if you're willing to take a band called Arctic Monkeys seriously, it's practically a revelation. (Jimmy Draper)

ARCTIC MONKEYS

Mar. 13, 8 p.m.

Great American Music Hall

859 O'Farrell, SF

Sold out

(415) 885-0750

P.O.D.

Testify

(Atlantic)

I don't know if I should really ever say this out loud, but P.O.D. actually make me miss Rage Against the Machine. For a while there, when alone in the car, I would search the dial for that song where the skinny guy says, "And now you do what they told ya" over and over. The guitars sounded great, the funk breaks worked, and I was, like, "Fuck it. Rage Against the Machine are good." Plus, they had a fairly subversive intent for a mainstream band.

I don't know if P.O.D. emerged at the exact second RATM disbanded, but they certainly picked up where Rage left off. They're just not dangerous in any way — in fact, they're Christians. P.O.D.'s aesthetic twist on rap metal has been the addition of reggae elements, an idea that has become more a part of their music with each release — to the point where Testify has so much reggae tossed in that it's kind of embarrassing. Aren't these dudes from Anaheim or something? Vocalist Sonny Sandoval sounds more like Black and Blue–era Mick Jagger — who sang like Al Jolson with a head injury — than someone who grew up in Jamaica. Is the appropriation of the Rasta patois legal? Is it racist? Sometimes I feel like it is. I guess it's OK because Sandoval is part Latino, and, really, there are plenty of people who aren't Jamaican who have put on the fake accent for effect. They're all idiots.

My real problem with Sandoval is, well, let me put it this way: Can people stop using "microphone check, microphone checka" as the goddamn chorus for songs? P.O.D. effectively crank the volume and make the guitars heavy so all can be forgiven, because in the end this music is for the kids. And they're just doing their job. (Mike McGuirk)

COPY

Mobius Beard

(Audio Dregs)

Twenty years ago, a gray plastic box the size of a toaster arrived in the United States via Japan. It sold like gangbusters and totally revolutionized the way a whole generation of kids experienced sound. Unlike the early Atari unit (with its occasional blip or thunk effects), the Nintendo Entertainment System used simple but dynamic melodies to create tension or revelry with a few notes. While arcades in the late '70s and early '80s generated an overwhelming hodgepodge of laserlike effects, Nintendo allowed kids to crank the volume in their living rooms, where each game's auditory nuances could be isolated and digested. It's safe to say that Portland, Ore.'s Marius Libman (a.k.a. Copy) came of age during that era, a time when nothing, except parental intervention, could distract from the engrossing sounds of Zelda or Mario Brothers. Those were the classic songs that make up the soundtrack to that digital childhood.

Yet while bands like the Advantage cover and inject new life into those playful ditties, Libman carefully siphons and channels those digital textures into his own intense sonic concoctions. Sure, he includes bass and guitar, but it's the synthesizers, beats, and various electronics that epitomize his compositional wizardry. "Just Expect" begins with a slow buzz, but builds as grooving keyboard melodies layer and repeat. Obviously, he's not the only guy with a laptop (his pals E*Rock and YACHT, plus Nintendophiles 8-bit, all share a penchant for technotronic soundscapes). But Libman can harness and meld digital sounds with the best of them. (Steven Leckart)

COPY

March 23

Call for time and price

Mighty

119 Utah, SF

(415) 626-7001