You’ve really got to hand it to And One’s Steve Naghavi. After all, the man has made a career out of basically rewriting and re-releasing the same three or four songs every year for the last decade and a half. Like the music industry’s most prolific remixer, Naghavi has navigated these waters so often he knows his own songs like the back of his hand. Of course, this also means he understands precisely which sound to tweak, which melody to pitch up or down and the exact range of each required cutoff sweep to exercise in the pursuit of re-perfection.

If other prominent electronic acts like Covenant, Apoptygma Berzerk and VNV Nation may be accused of sacrilege by their fans for the evolution of their sound, then these same fans must view And One as the Holy Grail of continuity and conviction. Naghavi clearly holds dear a very particular sound palette, one which he’s trained himself to wield like an expert painter, each swish of his brush creating broad strokes of vivid, vibrant color. The keyboard is Naghavi’s canvas, new romanticism his muse.

Over the years, Naghavi has surfed the waves of musical trends, effortlessly gliding from Depeche Mode-derivative synthpop to Syntec-styled EBM to hipster electroclash, each time not so much reinventing himself, but revalidating his work. While progress may be inevitable, it is not necessarily always unquestionable. In Naghavi’s case, the similarity of his work is more than just not fixing what isn’t broken; it’s a commitment to excellence in one’s field of work, however specialized it may be.

The Frontfeuer EP follows on the band’s latest full length, Bodypop, finally released earlier this year after a three year silence from the band. Both releases find Naghavi completely at ease in his craft, creating untouchable pop gems with an efficiency that is the envy of every artist out there. They may not appreciate the fruits of his labor, but the way in which his compositions seem to flow so easily and effortlessly from his fingertips gives the impression that Naghavi could do this stuff in his sleep. Each of the extended play’s five tracks could top club charts tomorrow without batting an eye... and that’s great work, if you can find it. Welcome back.

Clint Carney, the man behind Los Angeles-based electronic project System Syn, has a sort of affable, everyman persona that makes him incredibly easy to like. One finds them self actively wishing success upon his multiple artistic endeavors: in addition to his System Syn and Fake projects, Clint is also a painter and keyboardist/backup vocalist for Imperative Reaction. Perhaps it’s because there’s the innate realization inside all of us that nice guys rarely experience the full value of kindness and karma they have coming to them (which incidentally might explain the glut of enraged industrial acts out there). Sure, the underdog occasionally accomplishes the unthinkable, but such victories are too often fleeting... mutants of societal Darwinism.

As such, it’s not surprising that Carney’s efforts, however well intentioned, are often good, but never great. "The Mourning Ritual," an entertaining mix of neo-synthpop, futurepop and (marginally) ebm dance music, is no exception. As with his previous efforts, his vocal delivery and inflections here continue to be Peter Heppner-esque (Wolfsheim), emotional story telling that is honest and self-exploratory. While Carney may share Heppner’s penchant for dramatic vulnerability, he unfortunately cannot equal either the well known German vocalist’s tone or his range.

Take, for example, the self-affirming "Everything to Everyone," a pretty mid-tempo piece from the album’s first act. The orchestration is superb, soft kicks trot beneath a touching piano melody and synthesized strings, while Carney croons sarcastic, a slight but detectable semblance of Tom Shear-styled (Assemblage 23) self-doubt resonating in his voice. All of the pieces are there, but when the final puzzle is completed, there’s just something missing. The same could be said of "I Am Here," a heavier dance number in more of an EBM vein; or "Stillborn," on which we find Carney in a Ronan Harris (VNV Nation) stance, both in terms of sonic quality and presentation.

The second act of "The Mourning Ritual" is almost completely down tempo, with the exception of "Exit," and this bunched arrangement of slower tracks only serves to underscore Carney’s sub-star-quality vocal shortcomings. Carney clearly possesses talent as a songwriter and vocalist, as this album exhibits, but he’s missing that indefinable "it" factor that allows certain singers to strike chords in the listener’s heart as well as his ear. Nonetheless, to buy this album is to cast a vote in support of the little guy, the one whose dedication and sincerity easily qualify him for your respect and your dollar, so it’s strongly recommended.

The opening composition on Psyclon Nine’s third album, Crwn Thy Frnicatr, is the instrumental "Bellum In Abyssus" --- translated from Latin as "war in the bottomless pit" --- which itself begins with several seconds of silence. I’m sad to report that these precious seconds are the highlight of this misguided, mediocre release.

I realize that many might consider that a low blow, but I promise it’s no more so than the obvious kick to the balls P9’s front man and founder Nero (aka Marshall Carnage) must have taken to induce such an alto timbre, falsetto vocal effect. Listening to Nero’s rice paper-raspy, high pitched harangues of organized religion produces the same aural effect as a trapped cricket: the sound is at first disconcerting, then simply annoying until, finally, you wish it would just go away.

This is particularly bad for the band considering their more recent Black Metal posturing, which began on last year’s "INRI." Considering that so-called "real" Black Metal bands in Scandinavia have been rumored to eat each others brains (see: Mayhem) and convicted of killing their record label owners (see: Burzum)... well, let’s face it, a scrawny, spikey-haired kid from San Francisco isn’t scaring anybody.

P9’s chord progressions are predictable and lack the scary symphonics the Black Metal milieu demands. It’s not for lack of effort, as the band piles up dead body after dead body in the form of layers and layers of choruses, dynamic changes and rests, synth washes and samples on tracks like "Parasitic", "Flesh Harvest" and "Better Than Suicide." Still, the tinny tones of the vocal, delivered in rambling, run-on sequences, fail to convince the listener of any true imminent danger.

Nero’s real talent lies in his ability to create multi-tiered, eidolic ambiances, as on the short segue piece "The Room." It’s ten times more terrifying than the disappointment that was "Hostel," primarily because your mind curbs itself against the myriad horrors that could potentially be undertaken in such a ghastly place.

Yet, the problem with Crwn Thy Frnicatr is that we DO see what’s behind the door and, ultimately, it’s just a man in bad makeup, colored corn syrup dripping from his plastic fangs.

It is an uncomfortable yet simple truth that some bands cross the line into being too complex or intellectual to ever become really popular --- IDM legends Aphex Twin and Autechre notwithstanding --- as Dismantled's Gary Zon lamented to death recently on "Get It Through." The duo of vocalist/lyricist Frank Spinath and Martin Vorbrodt, collectively known as Seabound, have always precariously perched themselves at the edge of this line, almost as if to dare their fans to follow them across it. Vorbrodt's compositions maintain sufficient structure to be easy on the ears, but he swaths them in enough random sequences, sweeps and samples as to make them mazelike in progression. Nowhere before have Vorbrodt's pilgrimages on the piano been more diversionary or expansive in their evolution than on Double-Crosser.

Spinath, meanwhile, is tonally one of the better vocalists the scene can claim, but his penchant for verbal eccentricity has always held him back from achieving equal footing with his electro-pop compatriots Ronan Harris and Eskil Simonnson. Harris's reliance on metaphor and Simonnson's grandiose benevolence carry their own baggage, to be sure, but Spinath's demons seem altogether unique. When he's on ---such as in "Hooked," the band's greatest work to date, or as in "The Flight [Lux]" from his Edge of Dawn side-project --- Spinath has no peers. Left to his own devices, however, his vocal styling and lyricism can appear indecisive at best and, at worst, self-indulgent.

As the name might suggest, Double-Crosser's theme is one of abuse and deceit and the psychological downward spiral subjected upon one who's been betrayed. Spinath makes this clear from the first verse of "Scorch The Ground," wearing his heart (and lungs and kidney) on his sleeve as he revels in a cascade of resentment, malady and regret. The listener is already hooked, even as "The Promise" prophesizes an album of epic emotional investment set to pulsing percussion and bittersweet, melancholy melodies. The chorus is vintage Seabound, a robust representation of everything this duo does well.

But then, as good a representation of Spinath's experience as ever there could be, comes the big let down. "DoublePlusUngood" is moving enough, but manages somehow to sound too much like both "Masses"-era Depeche Mode and "Disintegration"-era The Cure at the same time. This sets up "Sapphire", on which we find Spinath sounding more than ever like Simonnson, who produced two tracks from the album. The balance of Double-Crosser meanders through too many down tempo and muddling compositions, all be them exquisite and engagingly atmospheric, for this reviewer's taste. What's more troubling is that, aside from the flashes of anger revealed in "Domination" and "Traitor", Spinath seems to become more dependent and disenchanted on each subsequent track, with no sign of absolution in sight. The eight-minute closer, "Breathe," ambiguously alludes to revelation, but for exactly what the outcome is, we're left wanting.

This is by no means a bad album. It is an imperfect and perhaps overly indulgent one, to which the band's fans are most probably willing to extend the benefit of the doubt. And truthfully, Seabound deserves it. Individualism and experimentation have to count for something in this scene, and in this world, and the band delivers up both in ample, if sometimes excessive, portions.

When Rexx Arkana sneers "these are the lies that we tell ourselves, the deep disappointment that we know so well" on Urban Audio Warfare 's leading "Children of Decay," he might as well be talking about the entire EBM movement over the last decade and a half. Once upon a time, rivetheads huffed and puffed (and stomped) their way through the scene like so many tyranosaurical Rexx-es, pun intended, laying claim to dance floors around the world, involving all in their rageful suffering. Then Wax Trax! released Psychosonik and like the dinosaurs before them, the gearboys vanished. Waves of wimpier techno, trance, synth- and futurepop ruled the world --- or at least the clubs --- until acts like :Wumpscut:, Suicide Commando and Hocico arrived to pierce the darkness with their beacons of angry electronics. Many heralded next-big-things followed, but too often thudded, their polished images and derivative musical incantations echoing like hollow whispers, to borrow from Rexx's other, better known Bruderschaft project.

On Urban Audio Warfare, FGFC820 may not break the mold, but they've surely dented the hell out of it. Their name is the only thing cryptic about this project, as their message rings loud and clear. Rexx and his DJ partner Dräcos, who contributed the best of the two dozen odd remixes on Bruderschaft's Forever EP, deliver face-pounding, riot-inducing beats, menacingly and unapologetically, in the form of 73 minutes of pure, hard EBM thunder.

On certain club smashes like "Martyrdom", "Society", "Perfect War", "Comatose" and "GBA", Rexx seethes distorted on the ideas of isolationism, nationalism, sacrilegiousness and the decay of modern civilization. If the subject matter sounds trite for the genre, it's no more cliché than human experience itself. After all, who hasn't ever felt angry, rejected or out-of-place in this world?

While they never quite abandon their traditional roots, it's clear that FGFC820 not only welcome change, but also advocate it, so long as a greater purpose may be served. "Existence" splinters off into a violent break beat style. "Anthem" drops the bass line in triplet form, while the instrumental "Resolution Number 5" can only be described as West Coast (the hip-hop connotation of the term) industrial.

Yet, nowhere on this record do FGFC820 forget where they came from or their reason for being here. Simply put, FGFC820 intend to cause damage of both the musical and intellectual sort and they are largely successful in achieving those goals on their debut release. If Urban Audio Warfare doesn't awaken the rivethead armies from their slumber, then perhaps they all really have deserted their posts.