After eight years, LA underground rock band Concrete Blonde reunites for their new album, Group Therapy. Singer/songwriter/bassist, Johnette Napolitano, heads the trio with guitarist Jim Mankey and drummer Harry Rushakoff. Their album, Bloodletting (released back in 1993), was their last before their breakup the following year. Bloodletting contains the group’s only top 20 hit, the ballad "Joey". Concrete Blonde first appeared in Los Angeles in the early ‘80s and have had a strong career since then, even though they never truly reached rock stardom.

I think the caption on the DVD says it all: "Heaven help us all when the Devil's Rain!" Someone knew that only a nonsensical, grammatically incorrect sentence could capture the brilliance of this film. The cast alone makes this film worth watching: Ernest Borgnine, Keenan Wynn, Ida Lupino, Tom Skerritt, William Shatner, Anton LaVey and John Travolta (in his very first film). Even Woody Chambliss is in this masterpiece of celluloid (you might remember Chambliss as Old Sergeant Pepper in the Beatles-inspired disco romp Sgt.

Scotland, PA is a retelling of Shakespeare's Macbeth. The twist? It is set in a mid-‘70s Pennsylvania burger shop. It starts off slow, but the second half of the movie picks up. The performances of Maura Tierney (ER, Liar, Liar) and Christopher Walken (Suicide Kings, Pulp Fiction) truly make this movie. First time writer/director Billy Morrissette wanted his parody of Shakespeare's Macbeth to reflect everyday life and everyday people.

The other day, I ran into an old friend. Naturally, the conversation lead to comics. I freely admit to being a "superhero" guy. My friend, however, grew up with tastes in other genres. He regularly visited with Jonah Hex and the Rawhide Kid when he wanted a Western fix. He ventured into foxholes with Sgt. Rock and Sgt. Fury. He thought Conan was the ultimate skull crusher and (after the first Star Wars movie was released) got into science fiction. There was something for both of us. Then, one day, the audiences for non-superhero genres left/grew up/died/ whatever.

Michael Moore, best known for his film and TV work (Roger & Me, TV Nation, and The Awful Truth), has just released his second book: Stupid White Men ...and Other Sorry Excuses for the State of the Nation. In the book, Moore discusses how President Bush Jr. stole the election, and with classic Michael Moore wit, gives the facts to back each accusation. This is one of the best books out right now. Moore's writing style is outstanding, and the knowledge you walk away with is priceless.

Seriously people, what the hell's going on in "the hood" these days? According to the horror section of my local Rent-and-Tan video store, it appears that the brothas are being overrun by the badass demons. First, there's Bones. The unflappable Snoop Dogg stars in this masterpiece as Jimmy Bones, a ‘70s style uber-pimp who's horribly murdered and buried in the basement of his house by some swarthy business partners. Fast-forward about 20 years later. A group of young entrepreneurs decide they're gonna buy dead Jimmy’s house and turn it into a nightclub.

Get ready, because this summer, Carson Daly and every weak-assed rock radio station will be shoving Earshot down your suckling piggy throats. Earshot gives us a well-rounded album of gut-churning, heartfelt, melodramatic songs. Heavier and considerably less annoying and whiny than Bush or Live, they fit in perfectly with every other band in heavy rotation on the so-called Music Television station and corporate playlist dominated radio. This isn’t to say that their album, Letting Go, is typical mid-twenties teen angst shit.

I haven't done a positive CD review in so long. Then vinnie brought me a disc I thought would end my slump. Promise Ring has been a favorite band of mine for some time. Until now. They failed me in the most disappointing way: they made “the album they always wanted to make.” You know the story: The band you once counted on to take you away from your miserable day, with album after album of great songs, has some sort of mid-life crisis and makes a "grown-up" record. AND IT SUCKS. And then they have the gall to expect you to be a loyal enough fan to swallow up their gunk.

I originally turned in a really lame review of Drunken Lullabies, where I made some bullshit comparison of Flogging Molly's sound to an army of enormous tanks manned by some of literature's greatest pen-wielding heroes. Fuck that. It's 12:30 at night. I'm proofreading all the content for our website before we set it loose upon you kids, and the last song on the album kicks in: "The Son Never Shines on Closed Doors". Seriously, if I had tear ducts, I'd be crying my Irish-looking non-Irish eyes out. It's gotta' be the saddest fucking thing I've ever heard.

What can be said about a Reverend Horton Heat show that hasn't been said a million times before? The man is tight. He's cocky, but he has reason to be-- he's good. Despite some disappointing albums as of late, his live shows never disappoint. The real test becomes whether his opening bands can keep up. The Streetwalkin' Cheetahs music is bar-grown, beer-fed rock 'n' roll. It isn't terrible, but it isn't original either. It's genius three minutes before you pass out, and at least entertaining when you're sober.