04. The Bad Plus - These Are The Vistas

Some albums stand out because they make the listener forget they're listening to a specific genre. In this case, The Bad Plus engage listeners with such enthusiasm and humor that the fact that it's jazz is almost beside the point. All the influences are there - Monk, Mingus, Coltrane, among many - but you never get the feeling that these guys are trying to show off. It's not a display of chops but more of clever arrangements. Like Medeski, Martin, & Wood, this is a band who may technically fall under the jazz umbrella, but whose influences are much wider and prominent than most jazz albums showcase (where else can you see such disparate covers of things like Nirvana, Blondie, and electronics-guru Aphex Twin? And it all works.)

05. Tomahawk - Mit Gas

I was sad, but not very surprised at the demise of Faith No More. Mr. Bungle was clearly singer/weirdo Mike Patton's real baby, and Faith No More helped him pay the bills that the freak-out circus/noise/jazz/metal Mr. Bungle simply couldn't. What I was surprised by was the fact that Bungle didn't become Patton's main act - he had no main act, it turned out. Patton loaned himself out to whoever his interest turned to, guesting on more albums than I can name, none of which are particularly well-known but among the Patton-followers. His vaguely regular gig turned out more to be the noisy scream/gurgle fest of Fantomas than anything else . . . until Tomahawk emerged. Tomahawk is comprised of the odd pairing of Patton vocals and other weird items with former Jesus Lizard guitarist Duane Denison, former Helmet drummer John Stanier, and Melvins bassist Kevin Rutmanis - and it's exactly as heavy as you can imagine a pairing like this being. The band's sound is not entirely divorced from that of Faith No More - it's just more refined, heavier, and more obtuse. Not to mention entirely incapable of ever launching a world-wide anthem like "Epic." Deep and guteral, Tomahawk is a band led by the rhythm section and simply augmented by stabbing guitar and Patton's multi-octave vocalizing (he's as likely to sing lyrics as he is to squeal, grunt, groan, and riff - a dazzling array of tools he's developed, some of which are entirely natural (more than you'd realize, actually) and some of which are electronically altered. Maybe Mit Gas isn't quite as stunning as the slashing, aggressive debut, but even a diminished return for a band like this is more than welcome.