The Rubber Room column is a weekly look at recent and notable releases that don’t fall into the rubric of traditional reviews or reviewed material—namely 7”’s, 12”’s, 3” CDs, EPs, cassette-only, DVDs and MP3-only releases.

Ben Reynolds
Special Noises / Many Straight Creation
[Time Lag, 2005]

Ben Reynolds has suddenly become prolific, releasing a slew of albums on stellar imprints and joining Ashtray Navigations in the space of a year. “Special Noises” is his newest output, a fine piece of music finely packaged by Time Lag.

Aquatic is the relevant word here. Float in serene water, watching lost objects gliding down. Light-trails from phosphorescent jellyfish flutter by like elaborate kites, just as beautiful, just as innocent. Rusty music boxes on the muddy floor emit dying notes distorted by watery drones. Don’t drift, don’t sleep. Reynolds doesn’t want us to drown. Witness the tangled electronic scrapes of “Unlike the Star Flying, He’s Etched in Star.” Stay attentive, or drift into the damp dark, icy fingers of eerie distortion and distant animal-call processing wreck and ruin. Bear the piranhic feeding frenzies of “Smooth Brisks (Church of)” and be rewarded with the silver-finned tone dance of “Bloody Rubbish of Swleep.” Breathe deep and sink in deep with this one. Wear your headphones like a wet suit. Try not to come up for air.
[Bryan Berge]

Algebrassiere
Bip Malentendu
[Imvated, 2005]

If a band doesn’t give a fuck, how can I judge their release? The question sprang to mind often when listening to Algebrassiere’s Bip Malentendu. A companion question quickly followed: what if Algebrassiere is convincing me, through sheer instrumental brilliance and improvisational acumen, that they don’t give a fuck?

Crap or gold? That’s a crude dichotomy, but Algebrassiere appeals to your coarser side. Improv rawk thrusting with voyeuristic sexuality, bursting with in-jokes, and celebrating the basics of rock—heavy, insistent drumming and angry hidden riffs—Bip Malentendu is an album birthed by some buddies after a bleary-eyed session of 8-bit video games, late night TV, Mountain Dew, and a bongload (or ten).

Tossed-off vocals and looped Christian-conservative found sounds inspire some trippy synths and inspired bell-and-guitar breakdowns on the epic, eight-track-spanning “Psycho Mardelic Foogy Sude and Sweat Retreat.” The stiff Kraftwerk pulse of “Shaqattack” has no right being so funky, and it simply shouldn’t work with the mangled, mouth-over-the-mic vocals. But it does, more than a little, and it draws a guilty grin. Even the sludgy hip-hop beats and free-associative death-metal-and-Phil-Collins rants of “Death Collins” hit the mark.

If I wasn’t so hung up on quality—whatever that may be—I’d be damn pleased, if a little puzzled. Instead, I find myself wondering why. And what. And how, who, and where—information on the band is sparse. An entertaining, infuriating curiosity.
[Bryan Berge]

Rebecca Pronsky
The Early Hours EP
[Self-Released, 2005]

Rebecca Pronsky's learned how to write original songs and how to put her full voice to good use over a guitar band and how to use those roots influences subtly. What she hasn't learned to do yet is how to set herself apart. The Early Hours is the kind of EP you buy because you saw the singer in a coffee shop and it was pleasing and later you listen to it because you saw the singer in a coffee shop and it gives you a pleasing feeling (even if it's not a happy disc). Her band sets her apart from the girl-with-guitar genre you might anticipate, but they don't put her into her own niche. Until she figures out how to do that, she's going to be stuck selling her CDs in person.
[Justin Cober-Lake]

The Lucksmiths
The Chapter in Your Life Entitled San Francisco EP
[Matinee, 2005]

I'm hoping the Lucksmiths get full-scale recognition when they become the Rafael Palmeiro of the music world. Not the steroid-fibber, but the guy who's referred to so often as "one of the most underrated" that he can no longer be considered underrated. With this EP, the Lucksmiths continue to make the kind of pop that, when noticed, has to be appreciated. The three originals here all have catchy melodies and lyrics that envelope you in the Lucksmiths' reflective moods. "The Winter Proper" hints melodically at the Decemberists' "I Was Meant for the Stage" but with none of the affect. The bonus: a cover of the Bee Gee's "I Started a Joke," which is serviceable if undemanding, yet a nice twist for fans.
[Justin Cober-Lake]