By now our love of Mad Man Films is well documented, and even though they've supposedly moved the hell out of Allston, they're still our favorite Nick Cave/Tom Waits freaks. They write evasive melodies and eight minute songs that build but never go prog; like Big Black before them, they are not as good a funk band as they think they are, but make up for it by being really grim and noisy; completely unlike Big Black, their singer can actually -- when he wants, which isn't often -- sing real soul music.

The name Kevin Omen isn't chiseled on the Harvard Ave concrete the way it oughta be, but back in the '90s he was one of the unsung heroes of Allston rock: there was a time when he was best known for fronting Otis, but OTD's favorite incarnation was the Kevin Omen Signal, a jacknifing, honkytonk-noir roadhouse band that, in retrospect, might be the missing link between early Danzig, Hank III, and Blood Meridian

No, the big guns of MassMetal aren't on board -- no Killswitch Engage, no Shadows Fall, no Unearth -- but the 8th annual NEMHF, at the Palladium in Worcester April 28-30, has all the stuff we've come to expect: US debut of some weird Europowermetal we haven't heard of yet, old hardcore bands (or new hardcore bands that sound just like the old hardcore bands), plenty of deathy metalcore for the kids, and at least one band we thought we'd never see again yanked from our garage-thrash days

In most cities, when you mention the words "battle of the bands," musicians give you a look like you just backhanded their mother in public. Not in Boston, where the Emergenza Festival is spreading like a tumor, and where for the past 25 years and counting, "important" and "popular" bands from Mission of Burma to the Dresden Dolls have been dog-and-pony-showing in the Rock N Roll Rumble, an odd local tradition that's spawned its own lore and even its own curse

Since paper doesn't grow on trees and all, every little thing that we ever write in the fishwrap ends up being shorter than we want it to be. Take, for instance, Will Spitz's interview with Animal Collective's Avey Tare. There just wasn't space to include dude's musings about lazy-assed critics who lump AC in with freak-folk, or for a graf on how he spent his childhood listening to Cats and Wings.

Mike Patton's kept himself away from the pop charts since, oh, Faith No More's Commodores cover or so, but all along -- through all the Bungle/Fantomas/Tomahawk metalurgy, solo-voice noise, and occasional guest spots -- he's teased us with promises of a mass-market pop album. It was beginning to look like it'd be his Chinese Democracy, but we finally got an official Peeping Tom press release this morning from the Nasties, and .

Yeah, sure, there's a DFA remix album coming out, which contains almost nothing you didn't SLSK eight months ago. Don't get us wrong: it'll be nice to have it all in one folder. But for those of us who hang on James Murphy's every cowbell thwack, there's gigabytes of new shit afoot.

1. This one likely didn't make the remix-retrospective cut: a new 10-minute DFA remix of Tiga's "Far From Home," which has been making the rounds, and is available locally from our friends at Compound 440r, complete with MicL Ptvn's close-reading attention to detail, if you're into "reviews" and stuff.

We thought a few more YYYs songs might leak by now, but the Internet seems satiated by the same three that've been up for the last week or so -- even though none of the tracks singled out in SFJ's New Yorker preview have surfaced. Maybe everyone's too busy downloading the Flaming Lips record. Whatever.

A little birdie sent us this link a few days ago and begged us not to leak it until it got played on the air. In the meantime, of course, it spread like wildfire, and local radio jumped all over it. Despite the fact that it's three years old and may very well be the worst GNR song ever. Worse than "Madagascar" even.

Ok, it's bad enough that the Powers That Be deep-sixed Boston's own DJBC and the latest installment of his BEASTLES project. Now the big babies at the RIAA want you to buy both an ACTUAL copy of a CD and, if you want to put it on your iPod, a DIGTAL copy of the SAME FUCKING CD. This is insane -- even for an industry who's whole business model is based on selling people the same albums over and over and over again.

Oh, to be a misunderstood artist.

After firing out of the gates with their exceedingly violent punk-funk debut, Liars threw a wrench in the works. They ditched their rhythm section, released a concept album about witch trials that Spin called "unlistenable", then moved to Berlin and essentially became the new This Heat

Mittens wax nostalgic about AM-radio pop, but their sly, self-effacing worldplay, indie-pop bustle, and modest arrangements feel as new as your little sister’s Click 5 addiction. It helps that their pared-down approach stands firmly within a longstanding Boston tradition of jangle and melody that includes Papas Fritas, the Fly Seville, and drummer Nick Buni’s older brother Jim’s band, Buttercup.

Certified Bananas have new CD due soon and a gig tonight at Enormous Room with esteemed Canadian guests. Go ape.

Off topic, slightly: the new Haruki Murakami short story, "A Shinagawa Monkey," is certified bananas. Go read.

Everyone at Certified Bananas tonight should read Cami's story on Boston sneaker fiends