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Crack Money is a foul-mouthed Caucasian hip-hop quartet that gleefully blends music and comedy while crossing the line from juvenile to infantile. Most of the humor skits fall flat, but “Sound Check” and “da Romantic Gangsta” are laugh-out-loud funny, at least once. Similarly, the band's puerile songs, such as “I Wanna Touch Yo Butt,” “Poopin” and “ButtahFace Bitchez,” grow tiresome as they're overloaded with profanity and lasciviousness. There's a self-conscious irony at work throughout the disc as MCs Double Dee and Big Daddy Crack send up rap clichés, but 45 straight minutes of parody is just too much. C- Fire Alley are trying to bring back what hard rock music lost somewhere in the ’90s: melody. The riffs here — courtesy of guitarist Jack Schwarz — are big and chunky, but instead of getting by on guttural grunts, vocalist James Welch actually sings — imagine that. The band's lyrics are trite more often than not — as witnessed by song titles such as “Thick and Thin,” “Living for the Moment” and “Winner Takes It All” — but an underlying positivity makes them palatable. Fire Alley harks back to the glory days of arena rock without sounding slavishly retro, and that's no mean feat. B-
Grinding guitars and testosterone- charged vocals about overcoming various betrayals and the cold, cruel world have brought many bands to fame in the last several years, and the Furnace are charging full-speed down that well-worn path. David Armstrong's macho singing is strong, and the band's musicianship, um, burns brightly, but the Furnace isn't really offering anything new in an already-crowded genre. A souped-up cover of A Flock of Seagulls’ new wave schlock hit “I Ran” is terribly out of place, and by the time the Furnace changes gears to the pretty ballad “Say Goodbye,” it's too little, too late and the album is over. C- Psychostick Like comrades Crack Money, for whom they guest on a “Who's Yo Fatty?!?” track, Psychostick are a foul-mouthed Caucasian quartet blending comedy and music, in this case rap/rock. MTV comedian Tom Green appears to be a huge influence here as Psychostick makes up their own words (“Pluh”) and tries to elevate the mundane — beer, crotch itch, bad cars and laundry — to art. Occasionally, it works: “Fake My Own Death and Go Platinum” is spot on, and “Orgasm = Love” could be the anthem of playas everywhere. Overall, however, the toilet humor in these songs and sketches might appeal to a pimply junior high kid but grates terribly if you've matured beyond that age. C- The Sandrails Pleasant pop/rock trio the Sandrails’ five-song disc is not without flaws but holds much promise. Singer/guitarist David Levin's vibrant melodies deserve much better than the bland lyrics he gives them, but his vocals are crisp and clear. His instrumental work is even better, and each song is colored with a surplus of tasty guitar riffs and hooks. What's missing is attention to detail — such as correctly labeling the disc's running order on the back cover of the CD and choruses that consist of more than a repeated phrase. With just a little more fine-tuning in the shop, the Sandrails should be ready to win plenty of races. B- — by Thomas Bond, Get Out
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