Listening Station: And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead, Peccadilloes, The Black Maria, M-83

Trail of Dead divides fans--and conquers

And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead

Worlds Apart

Over the past few years, America has gone from being the United States to the One Nation, Divisible. So, it's perhaps fitting that the new album by Austin rock rogues And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead occasionally explore some of the country's political, social and cultural discord.

However, it may not have been the band's objective to make what has quickly become its most divisive record. A quick survey of criticism online--sampled from both press and fans--suggests a love-it-or-hate-it verdict from anyone who's heard the record, with the intensity of the opinion in direct correlation with one's passion for the band. Furthermore, for once, the bombast surrounding a Trail of Dead album is louder than the bombast on it, which may come as a surprise to anyone familiar with the quintet.

If Trail of Dead is known for anything, it's unpredictable and often destructively chaotic live shows, an ideal format for its viscerally potent noise pop. But on Worlds Apart, it has developed a newfound appreciation for nuance and production value--a sticking point for those who have cherished the band's legacy thus far. However, there's something to be said for compositional lucidity and intelligible lyrics. Trail of Dead gets away with this by strategically shifting song dynamics enough to create the illusion of anarchy, and, more importantly, writing compelling material. Though its last album, 2002's Source Tags & Codes, showcased some of its best-ever tunes, its quality is not as consistent as on Worlds Apart, where tuneful anthems like "The Rest Will Follow" and "Caterwaul" are strong enough to be radio candidates, but aren't so melodic that they interrupt the album's flow.

Speaking of which, Trail of Dead albums aren't known for their cohesiveness, and this one is no exception. But judging by all the different song lengths (ranging from just over a minute to almost seven minutes) and types (both rockers and ballads, all of varying tempos), and the array of instrumentation (string sections, pianos, horns), the band opted for experimentation. Aside from a few underwhelming and occasionally precious numbers at the end, the ambition works to its favor. With Worlds Apart, Trail of Dead avoids shtick by thinking big and, ironically, preserves its credibility in the process.--Mike Prevatt

Peccadilloes

The Awful Truth

The highest compliment I can pay to The Awful Truth, the sophmore effort by Las Vegas punks the Peccadilloes, is that I stank like a dive bar after listening to it. Oh, this abstemious scribe has not had a drink nor set foot in an establishment serving it for at least 48 hours. Yet, as though in some punk rock version of the Fatima miracle, after one spin of this grimy little album, I magically manifested a full-bodied dive bar stench--that unmistakable aromatic blend of cigs, beer and puke--as though I'd spent the evening rolling around on the floor of the Double Down's bathroom.

Such is the miraculous power of The Awful Truth, a scrappy punk slab of bruising virtues that harken back to the days of the Germs, the Pistols, Crass--when precision happily took a back seat to urgency. There are James' gutter-born riffs splashing on you like mud from a punk-ass teenager's BMX bike, Jarrett's frantic, utilitarian drumming. But tying it all together with sociopathic snark are she-punk San-D's vocals--a breathy, well-seasoned gale that sounds like a 14-year-old with an ambitious smoking habit took singing lessons. Standouts: the gritty frolic of "Eat You Up" and high-revving "Peer Pleasure" Smell the magic indeed.--Andrew Kiraly

The Peccadilloes perform with the Pervz, Skorchamenza, the Lucky Stiffs and Absentminded at the Cooler Lounge tonight at 10 p.m. Info: 646-3009.

The Black Maria

Lead Us to Reason

Bitter angst. Heavy drums. Song titles like "Betrayal" and "The Lines We Cross." A dual guitar assault and frequent lack of melody. A tinge of goth-metal. Lyrics like "I have this overwhelming urge/ To suck in one good breath and scream/ There is no love left inside of me." Quick--name that screamo/metalcore band! Can't do it? Me neither. But I have a CD from Victory Records that claims to be the debut disc from The Black Maria, five guys from Canada who rock along the same lines as labelmates and sound-alikes Atreyu, Hawthorne Heights and Taking Back Sunday.

As it is in their chosen genre, there are few standout moments on Lead us to Reason. Chris Gray's vocals--equal parts `80s Brit-pop troubadour and modern post-punk shouting--ride along comfortably atop formulaic beats and chord changes. Bassist Mike De Eyre chips in an occasional keyboard note, further draining any enthusiasm from the band's sound.

The Black Maria would be well-served by kicking up the urgency a little, as they do on the aggressive "Rats In The Prison," and maintaining the simple balance of tension and bombast as is achieved perfectly on track three, "Organs." Otherwise, things are pretty dark here.--Brock Radke

M83

Before the Dawn Heals Us

Before the Dawn Heals Us--the latest creation by M83's one-man musical circus, Anthony Gonzalez--opens like an overambitious rock opera or Japanese anime gone terribly, terribly wrong. As drums, keyboards and choir build to a synthesized crescendo, an unidentified, vaguely Michael Jackson-sounding narrator declares, "Suddenly, a voice told me, `Keep on singing little boy. And raise your arms to the big black sky.'" Exactly what this means--and why it's followed by a Def Leppard-style drum fill--is never made clear, but thankfully, the rest of Before the Dawn Heals Us does not follow the song's lame metaphysical trajectory. The album does, however, wallow in this feigned grandeur, creating noisy space-rock panoramas that layer organic vocals over digital melodies--or vice versa. At its best, Before the Dawn Heals Us invokes the captivating musical tumult of Mogwai and Sonic Youth; at its worst, it sounds like a blend of ABBA and postmodern Viking opera.--Newt Briggs