Anthem arrives at a time when Florida's gregarious and fast-but-by-no-means-furious ska-punks Less Than Jake can safely be referred to as veterans of this peculiarly American genre. Nevertheless, in defiance of their relatively advancing years, Anthem is stuffed to the gills with accelerated (albeit formulaic) punk-pop songs addressing the trials and tribulations of dull part-time jobs, girl-trouble, leaving home and walking on the cracks in the pavement; an array of uniquely adolescent concerns that ought to sound rather imbecilic when shouted from the mouths of fully-grown men. So who's kidding whom? While there's plenty of pumped-up empathising with their teen audience-"Do you know how your insecurities are the same ones that are inside of me?" enquires the dating-game analysis of "Plastic Cup Politics"-there is the lingering suspicion that, musically and thematically speaking, Less Than Jake remain stuck in a state of arrested development. Songs with titles as enticing as "Best Wishes to Your Black Lung" and "Escape from the 'A' Bomb House"-both of which illustrate Less Than Jake's atypical penchant for Grant Hart-style drum-pummelling and breakneck-paced Dexys Midnight Runners-style brass-don't quite attain the imaginativeness of their titles, and the best number here is clearly a cover of Cheap Trick's "Surrender". However, many of Less Than Jake's similarly styled subordinates have grown far richer on far less accomplished work than this. And if there is such a thing as dues-paying justice, Anthem ought to sell by the lorry load. -Kevin Maidment.

He's been a cowboy and a pimp and an American bad-ass, but now Kid Rock is just plain Cocky: it's nice to know that fame, fortune and the envy of millions have allowed him to be the proper rock star he's always wanted to be. There's no real change from his breakthrough album Devil Without a Cause, then; Cocky is another hard-partying mix of hard rock and hip-hop, backed once again by his Twisted Brown Truckers (including DJ and star-in-his-own-right Uncle Kracker). If anything, the Kid's now taken his act farther South, mixing in the delta blues (no really, it's there in "Drunk in the Morning"), country music (realising, quite rightly, that one can never have too much pedal-steel guitar) and Dixie-fried rock (he even samples Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Freebird" on "You Never Met a Motherfucker Quite Like Me"). And, at times, the Kid even starts to act his age, though we all always knew he'd grow old disgracefully. So while for the most part the lyrics still follow the same themes (women, booze, money, his general greatness), there are glimpses of genuine introspection that leak through on songs such as "Picture" (with, of all people, Sheryl Crow) and "Lonely Load of Faith". It doesn't stick, though; once a Kid, always a Kid. Fortunately, there's nobody who does it better than him. -Robert Burrow.

Not since the days of the Clash and the MC5 has rock seen such political force as in the uncompromising debut from this American quartet. Expanding the hip-hop/metal style of bands such as the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Rage tap the spirits of vintage Black Sabbath and Led Zeppelin, coupled with hardcore punk intensity and Public Enemy-style grooves. "Bombtrack" opens the album with a shot of adrenaline and singer Zack de la Rocha's infuriated chorus of "Burn, burn, yes, you're gonna burn!" The intensity doesn't let up an inch on the militant "Killing In The Name" (with the inspiring chant, "Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me!"), the ultrafunky "Bullet In The Head," and the engrossing "Fistful Of Steel". Tom Morello combines time-honoured metal-guitar riffs with sounds that suggest a hip-hop scratcher over a rhythm section that simply takes no prisoners. Intelligent and aggressive, this is unimpeachably one of the best hard-rock records ever made. -James Rotondi.

Assuming former Nirvana drummer Dave Grohl dreads the thought of forever being known as "the guy from Kurt Cobain's band," the last thing he'd want to hear is that the debut album from his new band Foo Fighters sounds much like one from the deceased duke of grunge. Unfortunately, Nirvana comparisons are not only inevitable, they're bound to consume the dialogue surrounding his quartet entirely. Perhaps it was unavoidable osmosis: Grohl, Foo Fighters' lead singer-guitarist, wrote most of these tunes during breaks from beat-keeping for his former band leader. It's natural that Cobain's knack for balancing hard and fast with musical and melodic would wear off on Grohl, as well as on bandmates Pat Smear (who also played with Nirvana), William Goldsmith, and Nate Mendel (both of Seattle's Sunny Day Real Estate). Grohl even unveils vocal cords that tread lightly on Cobain's gorgeous growl. Of course, many Nirvana-wannabees have tried to capture Cobain & Co. 's teen spirit, and all failed; that Foo Fighters succeed in creating a powerful heavy rock album that's neither noisy nor stale is a measured accomplishment in its own right. So bask in the familiar neo-garage punk (a. k. a. [+]

Principally fêted for his film scores-of which Chariots Of Fire, Blade Runner and 1492: Conquest Of Paradise are the most noted-Vangelis was composing music for wildlife documentaries as far back as 1972. So it's little surprise that Oceanic began life as part of a film project about whales before waxing into an electro-symphonic poem about all things deep, aquatic and Aegean-blue in hue. At face value, a concept album about the ocean from a Greek keyboard maestro, who once almost joined Yes, sounds as ominous as a tidal-wave warning. But Oceanic is not, to the chagrin of long-standing fans, topographical prog-rock twiddle but cleansing New-Age navel-gazing hydro-hypnosis-and pure Greece travel-brochure-perusing therapy to boot. With tracks as titularly enticing as "Dreams Of Surf", "Siren's Whisper" and "Fields Of Coral" and the whole album awash with pleasurable synth-strings, harps, pianos and blissed-out Clannad-style choristry, Oceanic gently beckons a finger and says "Come on in, the water's lovely". -Kevin Maidment.

Sirens, industrial noise, and ultra-intense vocals from singer-programmer-guitarist Martin Cock kick off The War of Art's aptly titled opening cut, "A Violent Reaction", and from there this 16-cut debut from American Head Charge serves up more heavy nu-metal bolstered with intelligent, disturbing lyrics. Like Slipknot, Mudvayne, Slayer and other doomsayers, this seven-piece line-up's severe musical and lyrical take on modern society is more for moshing than humming, though songs like the surprisingly melodic and dynamic "Just So You Know", the spooky "Fall" and "Effigy 23" break up the grind of songs like "Seamless" and the pounding speed-metal onslaught of "Americ*** Evolving into Useless Psychic Garbage". Troubled teen types will likely worship AHC's deftly produced (by Rick Rubin), well-conceived and fully realised songs and approach. The attention and care AHC put into the songs is evident. -Katherine Turman.