Here are some recently released albums that I don't dislike. Some are even prone to giving me shivers of delight. And now, I must get back to the couch before I feel compelled to do something.

The Stills, Logic Will Break Your Heart (Vice)
The music and arrangements on the Stills' album are so damn beautiful – luminous guitars and crashing cymbals, like a thousand aluminum cans tumbling across glass ("Lola Stars and Stripes," "Love & Death," "Of Montreal"). At times, this four-piece from Montreal-now-Brooklyn recalls a blend of a headier Coldplay, a more rocking Cure, and a heavy helping of Interpol with their dark, dramatic modernism and nervous strumming. There's also some New Order shaking and swirling. Chilly synths and consistently catchy hooks are stretched across entire songs. Choruses bleed into the next verse, and you tag along. But singer Tim Fletcher's charisma factor needs a kick in the jewels before the Stills can really rule. His deep voice lags behind the lyrics, like a sluggish Robert Smith. Yet, it's somewhat magnetic, especially when he repeats "The giiiiirl wiiiiill schooooool yoooou," on "Gender Bomb." Granted, the Stills' music tends to stick to one path but that path is sprawling, scenic, and treacherous.

The Gits, Enter: The Conquering Chicken (Broken Rekids)
I hate that I'm driven to write this review. Any mention of the Gits means mentioning the rape and murder of their singer Mia Zapata, a diamond in the rough if ever there was one. It means mentioning that this quartet from Seattle was supremely talented, destined for tons more tours and fans. Here's where I say, "Mia was simply a lesser-known Patti Smith." It's a line I've used before, and am destined to use again. You should all be pissed because you were robbed. The Gits' debut, Frenching the Bully, is a hardcore punk masterpiece, but this disc, Enter: The Conquering Chicken, is more applicable to the rock-n-roll genre. The music isn't as fast or brutal, and won't scare pets or kill houseplants. Joe Spleen, Steve Moriarty, and Matt Dresdner are uninhibited and gifted players, and they shine on bruisers like "Beauty of the Rose" and "Drunks." But the focus remains Zapata's warbling scream. She gets so passionate that her pipes quiver with energy. She sizes herself up on songs about hard drinking and every-day struggles. She was a hard charger, with an emotional depth that resonates on songs like "Social Love." Viva Zapata.

Opti-Grab, Feed Ya Like a Lion, Make Ya Bounce Like a Bunny
I've been championing this NYC trio since I first saw them perform over a year ago. Since then, their nas-tay old-school hippity-hop and electro rump-shakin' tunes have earned them an army of fans. (They even opened for Blondie!) Their CD release party at Don Hill's in October was packed. Peeps was jumpin. Opti-Grab are currently nominated for the 2004 Diesel U Music program in the electronic category. And and and, they've been tapped to do a television commercial. Give it up for Rick Gradone (Fluffy), John Roberts (Flaco), and Tracy Murphy (T$ – that's "T-money" to those with no skillz). Their debut Feed Ya Like a Lion, Make Ya Bounce Like a Bunny fuses tiss-tiss-thump-thump beats with electro blip on tracks like "Parking Lot" and "Daddy." Spiked with T$'s seductive, deep rap-speak, Flaco's fast-talkin' rhymes, and Fluffy's piercing falsetto, this album is the shizznit. Seek out "Jersey Lover," a romantic ode to the boys and girls who stole hearts with their gelled hair and Camaro Z28s. Phone call for Opti-Grab: Missy Elliott's on line two. She wants lessons.

Toilet Boys, Live in London (Ozit Morpheus)
New York's pride glam-metal sleaze trophies, the Toilet Boys were hand-picked by the Red Hot Chili Peppers to open on the latter's Winter 2003 European tour. (I'm having improper visions of T Boy's singer Guy and Anthony Keidis... must... concentrate.) This live album was mostly recorded at the Garage in London. It's a snotty, prissy, heavy rocking and rollicking storm of mascara and sweat featuring classic tracks like "Rock N Roll Whore," "Ride," and "Party Starts Now," and it also includes a Ramones medley performed slowed down and nasty-ified. Security apparently tried to extinguish Guy and guitarist Sean during their pyrotechnic antics on "You Got It." You can hear Guy calling out one of the security guards, "This guy's an arse hole! Who's got a lighter?!" Ain't nothing gonna put out the Boys' fire. Smoke is still rising from Sean's and Rocket's guitars alongside the booming rhythm section of Eddie and Adam. These party warheads in tight pants just don't give a fark. And they look good, too.

Modey Lemon, Thunder and Lightening (Birdman)
If garage rock were schooled on speed metal and the Butthole Surfers, maybe we'd have more Modey Lemons. The goddamn fierce and brittle duo of Phil Boyd and Paul Quattrone rip spooky songs about crows and catacombs. "When you hear me howl in the midnight hour, it's the creatures of the dark that give me power," wails Boyd on title track. Thunder and Lightening is a constant jolt that you never become accustomed to. It feels thrillingly rushed, like guitarist-howler Boyd and drummer Quattrone are trying to get to the next note faster and faster. Their anxiety is so intense it could make your throat close up. If you're not headbanging, you're biting your nails or picking your skin. "Tongues (Everybody's Got One)" sounds like it was recorded in the depths of an aluminum toilet. The schizophrenic "Ants in My Hands" and gaping-chest-wound imagery in "Slow Death" leads me to believe someone must have slapped these guys around quite a lot in their youth for them to be so jumpy and hot under the collar. A Moog and other such keys scurry across guitar bombs like beetles over a dead animal. This is nightmare rock starring beasts, death, and madness. And to think garage was starting to fade on me.

Slumber Party, 3 (Kill Rock Stars)
The opening drum beats had me thinking I was about to hear "Be My Baby." Detroit's female quartet Slumber Party favors warm-toned '60s girl-groups and modern lo-fi kitsch. They're like fellow retro sweethearts All Girl Summer Fun Band, but wiser and less girlish, which makes singer Aliccia Berg sound kind of like a prim housewife longing for adventure. She's rather plaintively detached on "Your Friends" and when she sings "If there was a silver lining to this cloud we'd have found it by now" on "On-T.V." "New Trouble" brims with island-tinged guitar chimes as Berg warns "I'm in trouble baby," like Bonnie singing to her Clyde. She's figuring how much to say and how much to keep to herself. 3's easy flow is lush yet cynical and cold at times. Try the mildly rowdy "Behave" or "Black Heart Road" for a mosey-along western set in a malt shoppe.

Funeral for a Friend, Seven Ways to Scream Your Name (Ferret)
South of Wales got themselves a nu-metal band that's pimped as hardcore. The sorrowful singing and scraped, dry-heaved screaming is more P.O.D. and Papa Roach than Snapcase or Shutdown. Darting guitars and the rise and fall of melodies are fairly generic for the entirety of Seven Ways to Scream Your Name, though the band comes around on the last three tracks. "This Year's Most Open Heartbreak" starts off heavy and crushing, then flows into emo-core (which is what this band is really striving for), often flip-flopping back and forth. "Kiss and Makeup (All Bets Are Off)" finds a hooky balance between melody and brute force, while "Escape Artists Never Die" bounces and gets frisky. The Warped Tour will be knocking on the door of Funeral for a Friend before too long.

The Cougars, Nice, Nice (Go Kart)
The Cougars are the owners of the best song title of 2003: "Kelly Has Sweater Breasts." The debut from these eight (that's 8) bawdy Chicago mofos features irritating horns bleating through revved-up trash rock. My initial reaction was a weird one; Nice, Nice is like watching "The Love Boat" to a Slayer album. Singer Matthew Irie barfs scorched, unidentifiable lyrics that stick like soot and get scraped up by the cacophony. Nice, Nice propels itself with Moogs, brass, drumming, and hungry guitar attacks that shift pace during the songs but retain severity. Put a beer can in your mouth, a kazoo in your bum, and holler. If they figured out how to groove more, the Cougars would be unstoppable. Two maniacal, meth-fueled choice cuts are "She Can Wear Gold" and "Mustard Is Pissed."

Fireball Ministry, The Second Great Awakening (Nuclear Blast)
This Los Angeles quartet makes me want to drink mead from a stone goblet and headbang in a cemetery. On their third release, The Second Great Awakening, Fireball Ministry – the First Church of Rock N Roll – burn through landscapes of power chords courtesy of singer/guitarist James A. Rota II and guitarist Emily J. Burton. The rhythm section of bassist Janis Tanaka and drummer John Oreshnick makes a thing of hellbound beauty. Rota intones like a young Ozzy Osbourne on "The Sinner" and "Master of None." Fireball Ministry offer a coveted chance to flash the devil sign with not a drop of irony.