Local music that mattered

Nineteen-ninety-five in local music was a no-trend year that easily produced its share of good albums. The major-label feeding frenzy is more or less over (a lot of the bands who got signed up are now hanging on for dear life); the pop explosion is beginning to wane; and new sounds are springing up -- some highly promising (weird art-punk and goth permutations), some less so (Phish as an influence). Many of this year's best local releases weren't part of any wave of like-sounding bands; hence, there's more diversity in this round-up than in last year's, which was pop-heavy and headed by Come and Jennifer Trynin.

Ground rules: we've made our usual arbitrary decisions about what's "local" and what isn't, excluding the bands with substantial national recognition. (We initially considered restricting this list to indie-label releases but couldn't decide whether Matador still fits in that category.) Hence the Dambuilders, who are still building their national profile, qualified, but Throwing Muses and Buffalo Tom did not (otherwise, their respective releases University, on Sire, and Sleepy Eyed, on EastWest/Elektra, would have been shoo-ins) didn't. Nor did Letters to Cleo, despite the fact that their Wholesale Meats & Fish (Giant) was a substantially better album than Aurora Gory Alice but didn't get sales figures to match. And now, hit me with a drum roll and hand that envelope over . . .

Helium, The Dirt of Luck (Matador).With its disarming vocals, expressive guitars, and constantly surprising songwriting, this is a terrific pop album, but it's also something more. Frontwoman Mary Timony stares into a deep quicksand of rage, neurosis, and sexual confusion, but does so artfully and cathartically. Putting its more accessible material up front, the album builds surely to its peaks; and the series "Superball," "All the X's Have Wings," and "Oh the Wind And Rain" sounds to these ears as moving as anything released in rock this year.

Helium's first full-length CD finds their sound already evolved from the early days, with keyboards used extensively and the twisting guitar jams channeled into more concise structures. But there's much evidence of strong band chemistry -- all the more impressive since most of the album was made by two people, Timony and drummer Shawn King Devlin (occasional bassist Ash Bowie, also of Polvo, has since joined full-time). Timony's newfound confidence is also evident. She no longer has to sing off-key for effect, and although the trick of electronically doctoring her vocals is a familiar one by now, it works to good, dramatic effect. Whatever local trend they were part of, Helium have now staked out a territory very much their own.

The Upper Crust, Let Them Eat Rock (Upstart). Hey, I've got to like these guys -- or else they'll raise my rent. But seriously, folks, what we've got here is a quintessential Boston garage album that just happens to be hilarious. Their ability to get so many good songs out of one joke continues to boggle the mind, they put more work into dressing up for gigs than any band in town, and their manners are impeccable. Besides, you have to love 'em for getting in front of a family audience at last summer's Central Square street fair and performing "I Got My Ascot 'n' My Dickie."

Kustomized, The Battle for Space (Matador). For my money, this beats anything that frontman Peter Prescott did with Volcano Suns (all right, except maybe All Night Lotus Party). The basic idea hasn't changed, it's just become more outgoing. This is brainy punk that flashes a friendly, if twisted, grin. "33 1/3" gets away with quoting Grand Funk Railroad; and "The Day I Had Some Fun" is a rock anthem for people who thought they'd outgrown such things. The best track, however, is a sarcastic love song that goes unlisted at disc's end. The recent addition of Sugar drummer Malcolm Travis has made Kustomized that much more potent; the results will be heard on a new album next month.

The Dambuilders, Ruby Red (Atlantic). For a band that once defined local indiehood (and whose guitarist, Eric Masunaga, seems to produce every third demo tape released in town), the Dambuilders have a lot of classic-rock tricks up their sleeve. Take away the violin and the funny chord changes, and this sophomore major-label effort would be damn close to a traditional, fist-wavin' rock 'n' roll album. Their songs have become so good that they no longer need quirkifying, and they pull off an effective, irony-free love ballad in "Drive-By Kiss." And they've still got the violin and the funny chord changes.

Six Finger Satellite, Severe Exposure (Sub Pop). Some of rock's great uncharted territory is that opened by Can, Wire, and early PiL, simply because few bands have the guts or the ability to explore it. Six Finger Satellite is one of those exceptions, and they've hit on a creative sound after experimenting with raw punk and with synth-driven music. Picking and choosing from both worlds, they've come up with this innovative blast of bad temper that sounds liberating and -- dare we say it -- fun.

Roadsaw, $1,000,000, (Curve of the Earth). Metal with hooks and a sensa-yuma continues to be a rarity in town. Even bands that come on with the right attitude -- like Jocobono and the late Strip Mind -- tend to go for the bluster when songwriting time rolls around. Not so with Roadsaw, who are in it for the cheap thrills and provide them by the truckload. "Fancy Pants" qualifies as a minor classic, if only for lifting its guitar riff from "American Woman" and asking the musical question, "Is that a flag that you got wrapped around your ass?"

The Lyres, Those Lyres (Norton). No, there's no truth to the rumor that frontman Jeff "Monoman" Conolly just turned down an offer to front the Grateful Dead. I've lost track of whether the Lyres are in fashion or not this week, but I know that they still provide one of the longest-established, permanent floating good times in this town. You still have to see them live to get the full effect, but this disc solves the problem nicely by tacking on an album's worth of live material after the 11 studio tracks -- which are themselves the band's strongest batch in years, suffering only from the lack of any new originals from the tireless Conolly. But if you want three-chord wonders, they got 'em. You want local anthems, they've got one in the great Byrds obscurity "Boston." May the next 10 years provide many more local trends for Conolly and company to outlast.

Chevy Heston, Destroy (CherryDisc). Here it is, that long-rumored Quentin Tarantino/Guided by Voices collaboration -- or something like that. The only album released this year to include the line "the gluehead attendant stuck his dick in the tank so his buddy could inhale it," this is a disc that fucks with your head -- a jerky construction of half-finished pop/metal songs and grisly, totally inappropriate lyric scenarios. In short, their $500 LSD budget was well-spent.

Stranger Than Pretty, Flat World (Abducted Ear). If I were Claire Harding, I'd break the speed limit or rob a bank, because the woman can't seem to get arrested in this town. But she's long been as good as most of the other SFSSs (smart female singer/songwriters) on the circuit, and this overdue album proves it. Culling from three years' worth of demos, Harding and her revolving crew get alternately folky, grungy, and weird. But the constants are the emotional clout of her writing and the full-on intensity of her singing.

Anon (CVB) and The Wasted Years (Ace of Hearts). Here are two various-artist extravaganzas that manage to hold together in terms of style, mood, and musical quality. Anon is the second of CVB's AIDS-benefit compilations, a rich and rewarding set of fringe-rock exotica that introduces a castle full of bands, notably Turkish Delight and Lumen, who promise exciting things. The Wasted Years finds producer Rick Harte looking back in love and in anger, with a half-old/half-new collection that forms a semi-jaded look at the local underground experience as he continues to live it.

Bubbling Under: Smackmelon, Blue Hour (Relativity); Mistle Thrush, Silt (Bedazzled); Robin Lane, Catbird Seat (Ocean Music); Swank, The Swill of It All (Curve of the Earth); Tracy Bonham, The Liverpool Sessions (CherryDisc); Tracie Smart, Echoes in the Dark (Stone by Stone); and the usual raft of homemade Butterscott tapes.

-- Brett Milano