The Coral are six young geezers from suburban Liverpool who have captured the eager hearts of Britain's musical cognoscenti. Their selling point is an eclecticism that evades Oasis-style overkill with compact songs that hop all over the place -- horn fills and Nuggets riffs, triangle and accordion, playful echo and stereo effects, varied harmonies that distract from the absence of a distinctive lead voice, rhythm shifts (natch), and a song called "Skeleton Key" that could literally have been inspired by Beefheartian New York undergrounders Skeleton Key. The band has a loosely Eastern European aura that recalls not Beatles-Floyd studio psychedelica but the Bay Area's famously eclectic Kaleidoscope, who imported the oud to rock with no discernible effect. Granted, the Coral's commercial grounding is much more solid, as on the barely bent pop songs "Dreaming of You" and "Waiting for the Heartaches." Whether it can be imported to the U.S. is another question. (ROBERT CHRISTGAU)

The Datsuns The Datsuns (V2)

With much of today's rock neutered by studio technology and committee-style production, who can blame these New Zealand pretty boys for pretending the last thirty years never happened? But at best, the Datsuns' debut merely pays deft tribute to late-Sixties fuzz merchants such as Blue Cheer, the MC5 and Grand Funk Railroad. The longhaired foursome energetically recycles that era's mammoth riffs, speed-boogie beats and pissed-off-cougar vocals, but adds nothing new or personal to the mix. The closest singer Dolf De Datsun comes to clever is when he compares his no-good lady to an effects pedal on "Harmonic Generator." Watching this museum piece come to life in a sweaty dive might make for an amusing night out. But on disc, why settle for a third-generation Xerox when the original documents still exist? (ROBERT CHERRY)

King Crimson The Power to Believe (Sanctuary)

King Crimson predicted the heavy terror of contemporary metal in "21st Century Schizoid Man," the first song on their 1969 debut, In the Court of the Crimson King. The Power to Believe, the first full-length Crimson studio album in three years, goes even further. It is the sound of apocalypse now. Guitarists Adrian Belew, Trey Gunn and Robert Fripp (Crimson's sole surviving original member) build black cathedrals of spired shriek and iron-block fuzz in "Level Five" and "Facts of Life"; drummer Pat Mastelotto's death-disco strut through "Dangerous Curves" stokes the guitars' bleak stutter. But this record is really about the faith that beats all darkness. The bells and electronics in "The Power to Believe II" cut through the paranoia with the clanging sunshine of Indonesian gamelan music as Belew, in a watery sigh, sings the album's core lyric: "She saved my life, in a manner of speaking/When she gave me back the power to believe." In the face of war, King Crimson make hopeful thunder. (DAVID FRICKE)

Warren Zanes Memory Girls (Dualtone)

Despite being one of the heralded bands of Eighties American indie rock, Boston's Del Fuegos didn't end up with the same historical cachet as the Replacements or R.E.M. Singer-songwriter Dan Zanes evolved into an acclaimed children's musician, while guitarist (and younger bro) Warren seemingly disappeared. Memory Girls finally clues us into what the harder-edged Peter Noone lookalike has been up to, musically, for the last twelve years. It's an excellent debut album, with tunes that incorporate everything from New Orleans instrumentation to folky ballads but mostly concentrate on an inspired, keyboard-heavy pop that falls somewhere between mid-Wilco and 1970s radio pop a la Todd Rundgren or early Elton John. "Everybody Loves You" opens things up with melodic talking pop (as opposed to talking blues); "If You Could Stay" samples from the Beatles' "It's Getting Better," building a new song around it; and "Where We Began" -- with its Spector/Wilson-esque glockenspiel chorus -- is as glorious a pop song about lost love as anyone's likely to record this year. (BILL HOLDSHIP)

Howe Gelb The Listener (Thrill Jockey)

Tucson's Howe Gelb has led a shifting lineup of Giant Sand members through the dusky attic of his mind for almost twenty years. An eccentric in a town that breeds them, Gelb's songs meander at a tortoise pace, all brushed drums and disjointed, breathy lyrics. On his third proper solo album, Gelb -- joined on half of the tracks by his new friends in the Danish buzz band Under Byen -- traveled to Aarhus, Denmark, to realize that home is where his art is. Continuing his shift from composing on guitar to piano, Gelb plays torch singer, whispering his vocals over cocktail piano and muted trumpet in "Jason's List," which, like the jaunty tango "Piango," draws you into an intimate, Latin-tinged cabaret jazz world. "The piano's stealin' Lou Reed licks/Licks he probably stole," Gelb murmurs on the orchestral lounge lizard tune "Felonious." Funny, because Gelb cops serious Reed attitude on one of his popiest tunes to date, "Lying There" ("All you had to do was lie there/But apparently that could be to much to ask or even try.") If Tom Waits popped a cough drop and moved to the desert, this is what he might sound like. (GIL KAUFMAN)

The Ataris So Long, Astoria (Columbia)

Neither angry nor offbeat, and offering not even the vaguest rendering of political thought, the Ataris are the embodiment of post-millennium punk rock. Forget disaffected youth -- this is the life soundtrack for all the dorks and losers who are perfectly content with their status. Call it emo if you prefer, but to the Ataris' credit, the indie vets steer clear of the standard "how to lose a girl in ten songs" formula on their major-label debut. And though the quest for more diverse themes leads singer Kris Roe to ponder the meaning of life, and even tackle the decidedly adult subject of fatherhood on "The Saddest Song," the Ataris avoid drowning So Long, Astoria in earnestness thanks in part to a punchy cover of Don Henley's "Boys of Summer." Of course, they also avoid virgin musical territory, but with competition like Good Charlotte and New Found Glory, how can the Ataris lose? (MIKE MAGNUSON)

Gigolo Aunts Pacific Ocean Blues (Q Division)

It isn't easy to be the Gigolo Aunts. Well into their second decade together, the band that named itself for a Syd Barrett song has weathered record label foibles, personnel changes and disheartening day jobs. All the while, they've watched cohorts like Letters to Cleo, Matthew Sweet, Fountains of Wayne and the Counting Crows achieve commercial success, while their own ebullient power pop records were ignored by most of America (though they've had some overseas success). It's cause for a bit of reflection on their latest release, Pacific Ocean Blues, but don't expect despair other than the kind lovelorn boys have been singing about forever. The Aunts relocated to Los Angeles to get in touch with their inner Dennis Wilson, and this album tempers their bouncing Boston pop with string arrangements ("Lay Your Weary Body Down") and poignant piano. A party rave-up ("Let Go!"), complete with horn section, even yields to a delicate ballad flavored by acoustic guitar and lap steel. The Aunts haven't lost touch with power pop's holy grail, though -- a bonus track at the end nods to Big Star with "Mod Lang"-inspired riffage. (MEREDITH OCHS)

Oleander Joyride (Sanctuary)

The Sacramento rock band's latest album leads with "Hands Off the Wheel," one of those perfect singles, aggressive, penetrating but catchy. Frontman Thomas Flowers introduces it with a psychedelic whisper that kicks into intensity for the boisterous groovy rock. His delivery is so convincing you think he's talking to you. Lyrically, Oleander focus on risk, danger, control and abandon. "Don't Break My Fall" is about recognizing and accepting the futility of a relationship, and the new-agey ballad "Rainy Day" comes right out and says "I wanna save the world/I wanna save my self." But while the vivid "Fountain and Vine" shows compassion for the homeless, there's no sympathy for the drug abuser of "30 60 90". Fitting with the title, Joyride, these are songs of pleasure and recklessness. (KAREN BLISS)

(March 4, 2003)