It's spring-cleaning time over at Casa de Fury. Better late than never, or so the warden tells me. While tidying up, I uncovered all sorts of neat stuff like a bullwhip, Christmas cards I forgot to mail (yay, stamps!), and your mom (she says to say "Hi"). In addition, I rediscovered a pile of CDs that had received more than a few rides on the ol' CD carousel for one reason or another. Here's a roundup.

Fannypack, So Stylistic (Tommy Boy)
Move ovah you tired-ass Williamsburg art-punk playas, Brooklyn's got a brand new bag. "Let's get famous!" cries the high-pitched voice on the intro to Fannypack's So Stylistic. And they have. From no-names to a New York Times feature, these three ghetto fabulous princesses – 17-year-old Jessibel, 16-year-old Belinda, and 21-year-old Cat (and two princes who write the songs) – are ready to take off. So Stylistic sounds like an inner-city cheerleading squad's warm-up music: lots of fast-breaking old-school beats and '80s-flavor dance gussied up with enough bubble-gum snapping attitude to hush Rosie Perez and jo mama. Fannypack's single "Cameltoe" is getting heavy radio rotation, but their charm doesn't stop with a song about a cooter-wedgie. "Parties, we get them started / So special but not retarded / Dig the groove I bring the shovel / If you wanna see me you better call Hubble," raps Belinda on "System Boomin," a track so juiced-up it makes J-Lo's booty look like a graham cracker. Check the scratching on "Sugar Daddy," the robotic synth humping on the title track, and the priceless sound clips between songs (see "Hippopotamus"). It's very possible that Fannypack will lead the sounds of summer 2003.

Liam Lynch, Fake Songs (S-Curve)
Liam Lynch is the discount version of Weird Al Yankovic. He writes mock songs in the style of eccentric artists like Bjork, David Bowie, the Pixies, the Talking Heads, etc. These songs are not quite clever and not quite funny if only because his fake songs are just a bit too convincing. The Bjork-style song really sounds like a Bjork song. Not funny. But the Pixies track is kinda funny. Then again, the real Pixies' songs are ludicrous, so how hard is it to make them even more so? Eh? Anyway, Lynch was the producer of the perverted puppet show on MTV, "Sifl and Olly," but recently hit the jackpot with his radio smash, the intentionally sloppy rock-metal ditty "The United States of Whatever." His album runs the gamut of styles, including a slurred acoustic song, "Still Wasted from the Party Last Night" and the "I'm a white guy doing gospel! Isn't that fucking hilarious?!" gospel song "Electrician's Day." It comes as zero surprise that Tenacious D's Jack Black has a cameo on Fake Songs. It was also no surprise to learn that Lynch is hard at work with Black on a Tenacious D movie. Like Tom Green and farting in the bathtub, Liam Lynch is stupidly hilarious for the first 10 minutes. And then you move on.

Stratford 4, Love & Distortion (JetSet)
There's one song on this album that renders the rest of it moot. "Telephone" is one of my favorite songs of the year. And it's over eight minutes long. And it's not rock 'n' roll. It's a slack, woozy tune that the band delivers like a drunk spilling his guts. But listening to this song is like being tucked into a warm little ball of tenderness because it ends with a glint of hope, and we like hope. The song's about a phone call that singer Chris Streng makes to his mom (Streng sings as both himself and his mom) in a sad, scratchy voice among a wash of drums and golden guitar scapes. He complains about his life, and she empathizes: "When I was 22, I was a lot like you." They talk about music. He tells her he's listening to Spacemen 3 and Primal Scream; she tells him not to forget about Dylan and the Stones, not to spend Saturdays alone, and offers her advice: "I'll say again and I've said it before, there's more to this life than the Stratford 4." Streng somehow captured the defeat felt by a young man who's trying to be independent yet still needs his mom. "She said 'There you're on your own, but you'll always have the telephone.'" Brilliant. For what it's worth, the rest of Love & Distortion is quite pretty, like a gentler My Bloody Valentine and less clamoring Oasis. The tunes are saturated in reverb and a skittish kind of grace, like a loveable chap with messy hair and good manners who loves to get high and loves his mom.

Deadly Snakes, Ode to Joy (In the Red)
Put on the Deadly Snakes' Ode to Joy, and you can almost smell Mick and Keith. Heavy on blast-off rock, horny garage, and enigmatic soul, these six Toronto dudes channel Van Morrison, the Kinks, and, as mentioned, most notably the Rolling Stones. The bulk of the album swaggers and swirls about, with a piano, trumpet, sax, and Wurlitzer in its pants. There are no real hooks, but the mania that comes from a gaggle of instruments erupting is memorable enough. From the knee-slappin' clap-along "Oh My Bride" to the frisky shimmy of "I Can't Sleep At Night," the Deadly Snakes kill with a steady stream of hot, impulsive rock 'n' roll.

Amazombies, Bitches & Stitches (Go Kart)
This is a punk-rock album that sounds like a punk-rock album. As in, this is three-chord power riffing and snare-happy drumming. The Amazombies are two chicks (singer-guitarist Kim Kelly and bassist-singer Noriko Kaji) and a dude (drummer Josh Kramer) from Seattle, equal parts sass and heart. The rabble-rousing hooks and knockout vocal harmonies stick to the walls they're hurled at. Bitches & Stitches is like a fusion of early Go-Go's punk, some Rancid, and the hyperactive yammering of riot-grrrl bands. But the Amazombies play fast and well. And you can sing along to songs about overcoming self-doubt, lame-ass people, and life's crummy moments. Bonus! I listen to this while wearing my Xena T-shirt.

Nada Surf, Let Go (Barsuk Records)
Whether they intentionally named their album after Avril Lavigne's multi-platinum debut remains to be told, but Los Angeles' Nada Surf need not wrestle for any kind of credibility. They already had their moment in the sun a few years ago with the MTV-pimped single "Popular." The band constantly gigged after their fall from TV graceland, often at clubs in New York that didn't even charge a cover. And so here we have Let Go, a tender pop album like the kind the Lemonheads used to make. Songs are pensively executed, bearing their soul from start to finish. Singer/guitarist Matthew Caws has an unremarkable voice, but it's steady and he delivers the lyrics with no eccentricities (rare in this day and age). The album is kinda flat yet earnest, appealing to the softie in (most of) us.

A.R.E. Weapons, A.R.E. Weapons (Rough Trade)
I don't hate A.R.E. Weapons. That much I know. Initially, I was a bit put off by their shtick. The two dudes in the band – Brain McPeck (who looks like Gerardo, remember him? The guy who sang "Rico Suave") and Matt McAuley – work the we're-not-cool-we're-so-fucking-cool attitude. (The official third member of the group is their manager, Paul Sevigny – actress Chloe's brother. Yeah, terrific.) Then there's Brain's evangelical singing and rapping about drugs, freaks, and being cool in a voice that alternately cracks and nods. A.R.E. Weapons' main offense – aside from a lead singer named "Brain" who looks like Gerardo – is they think they're being profound with their flaunted messages of brotherly love, awesomeness, or whateverinthehell. They're not. But the music itself grew on me enough so that I won't let myself dismiss this band. The songs' broken-off hunks of noise are thoroughly influenced by Suicide; creepy carousel-inspired synthesizer and jittery drum tracks weave in and out of the album. "Black Mercedes" is thrillingly slashed and acid-splashed, but then drifts off into an ethereal vacuum while "Changes" recalls Outkast's "Bombs Over Bagdhad." "Don't Be Scared" is a wily "fuck it all, let's get fucked up and love shit" anthem for all the addicts, whores, and mommy-loving nerds. "Life is meant to be awesome," declares Brain. On the last track, "Hey World," Brain implores parents not to be so hard on their kids when they fuck up and adds, "Hey world, this is a message to you, your kids are growing up with nothing to do and a bored kid is a dangerous kid."

Essential Logic, Fanfare in the Garden (Kill Rock Stars)
Laura Logic sure does blow. For reals. As a horn player, that is. The saxophonist, born Susan Whitby, and leader of Essential Logic – the avant-punk group of the late '70s – is some kind of whirling dervish when she gets her mouth going. She first received recognition as part of the British punk group X-Ray Specs, but then gained her identity when she was driven out of that band and formed Essential Logic. Like an orchid, Laura blossomed into something exotic. Kill Rock Stars put out a two-cd compilation, Fanfare in the Garden – Laura's dizzying musical exploration of a landscape somewhere between heaven, alleyways, and Sesame Street. Her voice lilts, whoops, and crawls more on disc one, and as such, the music is jauntier than later material. Songs like "Aerosol Burns" and "Popcorn Boy" highlight Laura's squealing and the bombastic rise and fall of harmonies. The music is brusque yet engaging; songs shiver and float to daring degrees, but they aren't jarring. Disc two is softer. It retains a funky, sexy strangeness, but the songs are more lustrous and Laura's voice is overtly dainty on tracks like "Love Eternal" and "Barbie Be Happy." The swirling keys on "Not Me" and the moving, piano-led "Marika" are surprising in their tenderness. The bounty of ingenuity on Fanfare in the Garden is something that is rarely presented to listeners today. Thar she blows! (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

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