The mood swings like a wrecking ball on the Deftones' fourth album -- this is metal that crushes, then soothes; collapses, then soars. Headbangers will find moments of extreme violence to savor on Deftones, but this Sacramento, California, quintet also bears traces of blissed-out bands such as My Bloody Valentine and AR Kane -- art rockers who took overdriven guitars to rapturous heights. Singer Chino Moreno sounds like he's conversing with a choir of voices inside his troubled skull. He's the most Dada of the new-metal screamers: sobbing, stoned and strangely sensual, when he isn't shredding his tonsils. The band brings the requisite brutality, but this album delivers chills when it creeps past the margins of modern post-Korn heavy music: the spooky spaghetti-western drones that hover like vultures over "Death Blow," the space-is-the-place liftoff of "Minerva" and the ambient doomscape "Lucky You," which might be worth an approving smirk from the Aphex Twin. Just when new metal seemed utterly played out, Deftones blows open the possibilities. (GREG KOT)

Live Birds of Pray (MCA)

Back when the world capital of rock was Seattle, this Pennsylvania quartet went multiplatinum, providing counterprogramming to grunge with bombastic anthems, spiritual consciousness and straight-faced lyrics about placentas falling to the floor. Times have changed, but Live haven't. Birds of Pray, their sixth album, sounds a lot like the previous five: Songs such as "Heaven" and "What Are We Fighting For?" build from quiet introductions to dynamic fist-pumping choruses. And if the audience's fists are more likely to be pumped in clubs than in arenas these days, that doesn't seem to bother the band. Ed Kowalczyk sings his lyrics with his usual tendon-bulging intensity -- not that there's really any other way to deliver a line like "I believe in the sanctity of dreams." (GAVIN EDWARDS)

Jesse Harris and the Ferdinandos The Secret Sun (Blue Thumb)

Since songwriter and guitarist Jesse Harris recently won the Song of the Year Grammy for his "Don't Know Why" on Norah Jones' Come Away With Me, his major-label debut is an automatic item for her fans. Others may consider the Linda Ronstadt phenomenon: Because she sought out prime songwriters in her glory years, Ronstadt's records helped launch exciting performers such as Warren Zevon. But Harris is more like another Ronstadt discovery, Karla Bonoff -- a mild, miniature version of the patron. The Secret Sun is tame, piano-bar country; it needs more of the slightly sour harmony hook of the title song or perfect, tiny crystals such as "If You Won't." Still, sensitive tone and romantic manner go a long way: Bonoff's albums are still in print after twenty-six years. (MILO MILES)

Rooney Rooney (Geffen/Interscope)

Before Rooney became the handle of an L.A. pop-rock band, it was the name of the perpetually red-faced principal from Ferris Bueller's Day Off. Rooney frontman Robert Carmine will blush someday, too, when he listens to his band's debut album and hears how cloningly close his melodies and delivery resemble those of Weezer. But whereas Rivers Cuomo's misanthropic undercurrent was compelling (for a while, anyway), Carmine comes off as seamlessly well-adjusted. "I'm unbreakable/There's no need for fragile stickers," he sings on "Daisy Duke." The band's performances are utterly competent yet numbingly risk-free. Surprise points must be awarded for "Shakin', " which shamelessly lifts its stuttering chorus from Eddie Money's 1983 hit of the same name. 1983? Most of Rooney were still in diapers then. They may yet mature. (PETER RELIC)

Righteous Boy I Sing Because of You (Future Farmer)

Having abandoned their infectious cotton-candy kitsch for a grimy industrial sound on 1998's Gran Turismo, the Cardigans currently find themselves without an American record deal. However, those still pining for the band's pastel-colored Swedish pop can turn to bass player Magnus Sveningsson's solo debut. Getting a belated domestic release, I Sing Because of You is a respectable throwback to the melancholic pop of the "Lovefool" days, incorporating twinkling vibraphones, tumbling organs and enchantingly frivolous lyrics. Sadly, his husky voice is a far cry from Nina Persson's timid purr and ends up tramping over the gentle melodies of songs like "View From a Satellite" and "I Made It Hard for You to Love Me." And on at least one track ("I Feel Apart") he sounds like he's trying out for a Depeche Mode cover band. But Sveningsson's singing aside, I Sing is better than the new Cardigans album currently gathering dust in the import bin. (AIDIN VAZIRI)

Starflyer 59 Old (Tooth & Nail)

For almost a decade indie rock singer-songwriter Jason Martin has been putting out music under the banner of Starflyer 59. He's experimented with influences from Brit pop to the Beach Boys, but his latest effort turns its ear to the classic rock he loved as a youth. On Old, Martin's depressed vocals combine with fat Seventies guitar leads and mellotron. It recalls everything from Golden Earring to David Gilmour, without completely abandoning Starflyer's shoegazey space rock. The album's ten downers borrow tones and riffs liberally from the celebrated decade of decadence, but Martin re-casts them in a dispassionate setting. The bombastic but not hedonistic Old may drive you to drink, but it ain't no party record. (TODD SPENCER)

Neil Michael Hagerty The Howling Hex (Drag City)

Like Nigel Tufnel in Spinal Tap, Neil Hagerty turns his amps up to eleven. And while the former Pussy Galore-Royal Trux showman might deny any sense of parody in his work, Hagerty's string-mangling and hoarse shouting could at least be construed as a further twisting, self-conscious feast on that ol' time rock & roll. How much this all excites you depends on how addicted you are to the primal excesses of the wah-wah pedal. With few spare exceptions (the keyboard-led "I Remember Old John Brown," the modestly subdued "White Sex"), Hagerty is practically glued to his. He uses it to smear up every genre he touches, from southern rock ("Carrier Dog") to beat-driven free jazz ("She Drove a Rusted Shed"), climaxing with the seven-plus minutes of "Creature Catcher," where the rambunctious guitarist proves that for him there is no such thing as a wrong note. (ROB O'CONNOR)

Sin Ropas Trickboxes on the Pony Line (Sad Robot)

Red Red Meat alumni Sin Ropas create mesmerizing sounds on their second album. This collection of beautiful, interweaving off-the-cuff riffs and slow-motion observations suggests a futuristic Appalachia. Tim Hurley, whose vocals range from low hum to glam falsetto, sings downbeat songs that build to ecstatic climaxes. The brilliant "Buried With the Footmen" layers psychedelic fuzz guitars and playful electronics like an update to "I Am the Walrus." There's nothing ingratiating enough to call pop on Trickboxes, but there's plenty of nice slowburners. (JOHN DUGAN)

(May 19, 2003)