Carousel Corner.

"Got a message for you, Rudy ..."

-- The Specials

Rock, young as it is, has its share of circularity. Doo-wop, '60s BritPop, even -- shudder -- disco have enjoyed resurgences of popularity, revivals really, alternately praised and scourged. What's unique about ska is that a host of young West Coast bands have wrought its newest incarnation, from the Jamaican mento adaptation of American R&B (Desmond Dekker, Jimmy Cliff, The Skatalites, The Wailers, The Maytals) to the British punk/ska explosion of the late '70s (The Specials, The English Beat, Madness, UB40) to the third wave of the early '90s (The Toasters, The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Fishbone).

Ska's heritage is mixed. Originally drenched in ethnic machismo, proponents were "rude boys" for whom no public outrage was too small and who had no use for women -- except as sex objects. BritSka, while retaining the "rude boy" pose, used ska as a plea for racial harmony. The bands were boys-only and multiracial, the "two-tone" movement adopting black and white check as its motif. Unsubtly effective.

What has remained constant with ska, indeed all elemental rock, is its fierce, seething anger. Ska's reflection of racial bitterness and poverty in Jamaica, England, and later New York has been channeled into another rage outlet for the bottomless trough of L.A. punks. While hard core ska punks, or "skanks" decry the popularization of ska as opportunistic, young West Coast bands are producing music as melodic, noisy and dancable as any.

Smash Mouth, Fush Yu Mang (Interscope). Punk's sense of disconnection is no better expressed than in Smash Mouth's snippets of aimless lives careening from one event to the next, party to night club to drug deal -- repeat cycle. Amid life's daily frenzy, Fush Yu Mang drags out one deadly metaphor after another to describe the chance encounters and mistaken identities that pass for living in punk's self-destructive world of violence and lust. "Beer Goggles" capsulizes the notion of courting: "Here's my number on a cocktail napkin/Think about it like a loaded weapon/Cock the hammer and point that thing at me." Hearth and home is not much better -- a neighbor calls the landlord on a loose collection of housemates ("Heave-Ho") or a relationship sours: "You used to call me schnookums and shit like that/Now you're after me with a baseball bat" ("Pet Names"). A teen prostitute awaits her pimp in "Nervous in the Alley:" "Who said anything about a good life/This one's bad bad bad/Gonzo again -- just another entry to the never ending story/Wasted again -- I think you need a new best friend ... Nervous in the alley waiting for a fix/She ain't got no money just a couple of tricks."

Fush Yu Mang, pretty much a wall-to-wall bummer, has moments of humor: "Walkin' on the Sun" evokes '60s French and Italian soundtracks: a loping beat and cheesy Farfisa carry a trenchant indictment of their once-hippie parents. Yet, the energy that Steve Harwell (vocals), Greg Camp (guitar), Paul DeLisle (bass), and Kevin Coleman (drums) pour into each song is itself life affirming -- these guys can flat-out play. Speed punk, surf punk, ska, and deft touches of lounge dreck scream angrily, joyously throughout the disc. Camp's vocabulary is as diverse as any on the punk circuit since X's legendary Billy Zoom. And while Smash Mouth's lives are a mobius strip of infinite repetition, Fush Yu Mang concludes with a ska rave-up of War's "Why Can't We Be Friends."

Sublime (MCA). The best rock is Janus-faced: it nods to its forebears while carving out new territory. Sublime's "What I Got" starts by lifting the first 16 bars of "Lady Madonna": "Early in the mornin'/Risin' to the street/Light me up that cigarette/And I strap shoes on my feet/Got to find a reason/Reason things went wrong/Got to find a reason/why the money's all gone ..." The territory Brad Nowell staked out for himself melded the anger toward his wayward upbringing with the joy and hope of his newborn son. Nowell couldn't bring himself, however, to claim his territory ("Lovin' is what I've got ..."), succumbing to a heroin overdose before the disc was released.

Nowell's rage-engulfed, anarchic vision is uncompromising in its embrace of ska's rude boy pose: no outrage is too small; no woman is too innocent; no authority is bulletproof. Sublime's raw, unchained fury offers no alternatives to drugs, alcohol, raising hell, and rock'n'roll. It revels in street riots ("April 29, 1992 (Miami)"), the objectification of women ("Seed"), illegal drugs ("Get Ready"), and confrontations with the law ("Jailhouse"). Yet for all of the twistedness of the vision, its musical vocabulary is robust, complex, almost graceful in its stripped-down beauty. Sublime welds ska to punk without self-consciousness. The last ode to lawlessness, "Doin' Time," even quotes Gershwin's "Summertime" with nary a taste of irony. Nowell's struggle with his vision cost him his life, but not before producing this disturbing, conflicted album.

Reel Big Fish, Turn the Radio Off (Mojo). You're advised to be firmly seated before listening to this disc. 'Cos if you're not, you'll collapse after dancing wildly from start to finish. Reel Big Fish is a gaggle of irreverent kids who look like they're enjoying the hell out of making loud, fast ska. Turn the Radio Off is chock full of self-conscious "aw-shucks-we're-a-band" tunes ("Sell Out," "All I Want Is More," "Trendy") and stupid love songs ("She's Got a Girlfriend Now," "Beer," and the hilarious "Snoop Dog, Baby"). While L.A. punk may have given rebirth to ska, these guys are proud descendants of The Swingin' Medallions' "Another Shot of My Baby's Love" and frat parties everywhere. Anger? Rage? Forget it, let's have another brewski.

Reel Big Fish are driven by Andrew Gonzales's drums, Matt Wong's bass, and Aaron Barrett's guitar and vocals, complemented by a dynamite four-piece horn section (Travis Werts, Grant Barry, Scott Kloppenstein, and Dan Regan). They're not hard core -- hell, they're not even soft core. But they're a ton o' fun.

No Doubt, Tragic Kingdom (Interscope). Tragic Kingdom's cover art harkens back to Poco's eponymous second album and the lush groves of Orange County. Only this time the oranges have been attacked by fruit flies and the lone leafless tree is surrounded by thigh-high California brown-out. While the metaphor is intended to comment on the transience of SoCal culture in general and Orange County in particular, its parody inadvertently caroms and reflects on the band.

Not that No Doubt is a bad band or has succumbed to commercial exigencies. Despite its ska pedigree, Tragic Kingdom reflects the differences between the punk ethos of Long Beach and the San Gabriel Valley and the white bread, Disneyland comfort of Orange County. While arguably the best of the lot musically, lyrically Tragic Kingdom is tame. Vocalist Gwen Stefani cries and moans over lost loves, puppy loves, and the differences between real people and Ken and Barbie. Heavy.

Musically, Tragic Kingdom covers a host of styles. There's the requisite ska ("Spider-webs"), '80s L.A. rock ("World Go Round"), straight ahead rock ("Just a Girl"), and even -- shudder -- disco ("Since You've Been Gone"). Throughout, Stefani and bandmates Tom Dumont (guitar), Tony Kanal (bass), Adrian Young (drums), and Eric Stefani (keyboards) play with authority and skill. This is a fun album from a good, if not terribly challenging, band.

UB40, Guns in the Ghetto (Virgin). Originally a Birmingham street gang, UB40 took its monicker from the U.K.'s unemployment benefits application form. The band rose to superstardom in the '80s on the strength of rock steady hits like "Red, Red Wine," "Where Did I Go Wrong?," "If It Happens Again," and Ali Campbell's duets with Chrissie Hynde, "I Got You, Babe" and "Breakfast in Bed."

Ska's roots dictate melodic and lyric tension. Even while raising the sophistication of their sound, UB40 never lost those compulsive tendencies that gave their version of ska its own sense of urgency, culminating with 1988's eponymous UB40. Guns in the Ghetto is no slouch of an album, but neither is it a new apex for UB40. Oh, it retains ska's clipped rhythms, sharp, angular guitar and piano attacks, and the counter-melodic bass line. But there's a privacy to UB40's songwriting, a focus on the individual over the class, personal issues over social issues, a clash between the maturing rude boy and his past. Even throw-backs like the title song, "Friendly Fire," or "Always There" can't divert the band's attention from the fact that they've grown up, have families, and now have different foci for their lives.

In addition to Campbell's fine vocals, bassist Earl Falconer's dancing counter-melodies pervade Guns in the Ghetto. Sadly, the horn section which so dominated UB40, Geffrey Morgan, and Rat in the Kitchen is barely heard from -- a lone Herb Alpert/"Lonely Bull" trumpet punctuates "Lisa"'s fading chorus. Watching a band change as it matures can be an energizing or enervating experience. With UB40 one asks if growing up has cost the band its musical energy.

The Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Let's Face It (Mercury). For years the Bosstones have wowed oodles of concert going faithful with their spectacular show, incredibly tight musicianship, and delivering hand-over-fist fun. Yet, their infectious live show hasn't translated well on record, and their slow-but-steady sales have been disappointing. No more. Let's Face It crackles with provocative lyrics, snappy arrangements, and enough pure ska speed to make the punks sit up and take notice. Behind the bouncy beat, the Bosstones deliver one sobering thought after another. "Royal Oil" pours out ska's signature internal rhymes: "Royal Oil, come on bubble and boil/Stabs like a dagger, make you stagger/On the hot tin foil/Mind your mind or it will surely spoil/Then you sleep down in the soil" -- an anti-drug panegyric. The hit "The Impression that I Get" delivers with elemental honesty: "Have you ever been close to tragedy/Or been close to folks who have/Have you ever felt a pain so powerful/So heavy you collapse."

The disc's title tune takes up BritSka's homey theme: "It's so hard to face/That in this day and age/Somebody's race/Could trigger somebody's rage." The balance of the disc travels through ska's seamy back alleys: cocaine ("That Bug Bit Me"), booze ("Another Drinkin' Song), skinheads ("Numbered Days"), and random violence ("Break So Easily" and "Nevermind Me"). The Bosstones are more effective when they remember to put the horn section into the mix with the dirty, punky guitars, but that's a minor quibble. You're going to buy Let's Face It for the hit, but you'll listen to it because it delivers the real goods.

Sugar Ray, Floored (Lava/Atlantic). On first listen Sugar Ray is just another garage band with punk pretentions masking basic musicianship. On repeated listenings, however, Sugar Ray's musical depth emerges. Floored opens with "RPM," "Breathe," and "Anyone," fitting exemplars of classic, noisy speed punk. Mega-hit "Fly" is the only connection between this band and ska, emulating ska's minimalism and displaying an unusual sensitivity: "Love can make you hostage/Wanna do it again." "Speed Home California" parodies Lynyrd Skynyrd with an ear-splitting thrash. Even Adam Ant's "Stand and Deliver" is treated with breathless delirium. Floored is not for everybody, but if you like still like your rock wrapped in razor wire, this one's for you.

Skandalous All-Stars, Punk Steady (Shanachie). This column concentrates on L.A. ska/punk/skank, so the great body of New York ska punks is underepresented. New York ska in some ways behaves like '50s jazz -- while musicians play with one band or another, ad hoc groups are common, especially during jam sessions at after hours clubs. The Skandalous All-Stars are a conglomeration culled from members of Mephiskapheles, The Slackers, Ruder Than You, Agent 99, The Excalibur, Sic & Mad, Cocktaillica, and The Hurtin' Buckaroos -- among others. Punk Steady goes back to ska's Jamaican origins, where American R&B standards were adapted to mento's polyrhythms, offering remakes of "Anarchy in the U.K.," "I Wanna Be Sedated," "Because the Night," "One Way or Another," and "Rock the Casbah." While rightfully identifying with punk, this collection of skafreaks is musically closer to rock steady and BritSka than the hard core L.A. speed skank. Still, this disc, like all of the above, has earned one of Tipper Gore's "Parental Advisory" stickers -- the intro to "Living Dead" is a scream. There is less anger and more irreverance on Punk Steady, a grateful antidote to the deadly serious, apocalyptic visions from the Left Coast.

Azeem, Let Them Talk (Splash-U-Records). One nice thing about this biz is getting unsolicited CDs from dinky indie labels hyping acts which may have gotten enough, modest regional acclaim to get a CD made and distributed at gigs and to unassuming critics. Ahem. Mostly they're okay -- some are even mildly interesting. Every once in a very long while one will grab your attention. Azeem's Let Them Talk is a grabber.

I don't believe there's a "natural" sound on this disc save for the vocals: it's all sequenced. But if there is such a thing as sequenced ska, Azeem's found it. Azeem has an acceptable tenor, and his bandmate Lejewne, a lovely alto. The tunes are of the "first kind" variety: derivative and less than adventurous. But the production is excellent, the ambience likewise, and the music's whole is indeed greater than the sum of its parts. Splash-U-Records is at PO Box 22482, Seattle WA 98122.

The List: The lure of amber waves of grain is inexorable. Some artists manage to capture the "American Experience" by examining one of its microcosms. Others attempt to a paint visionary canvas of the broadest expanse. What's common among these discs, however, is their packaging: all come in cute-sexy carboard sleeves.

David Benoit, American Landscape (GRP). Seldom has a finer tribute to a deceased parent been produced. But this ambitious canvas is decidedly flat and two-dimensional -- a AAA roadmap that should have been a topographic relief.

Alison Brown Quartet, Out of the Blue (Compass). Finally Alison Brown gets to record on her own label -- and what a debut! "Newgrass" may be getting old, but this delectable set breathes, fairly pulsates, with vitality, shaking the cobwebs off a genre already creaky with age and tradition.

Bill Frisell, Nashville (Nonesuch). I only disagree with KWN's assessment of labelmate Robin Holcomb's vocals -- with the exception of Skeeter Davis's "End of the World" where she's clearly overmatched. Otherwise, Frisell has taken Nashville's provincial tendencies and exploded them into a universal panorama.

Jerry Garcia and David Grisman, Shady Grove (Acoustic Disc). It's not the age -- it's the mileage. And Garcia's voice on this set of folk standards shows the treadwear. Still, this collection of simple Appalachian songs, sea shanties, and expansionist reflections is as compelling as any. Grisman hints that Shady Grove is the first in a series. More.

Dave Grusin presents West Side Story (N2K Encoded Music). Grusin and producer Phil Ramone have transformed the Bernstein/Sondheim operetta into a big band jazz extravaganza -- so much so that the vocals by Jonathan Butler, Jon Secada, and Gloria Estefan seem weak by comparison. The Larry Kert/Carol Lawrence originals are livelier. But Bernstein's urbanscape is as gripping today as it was 40 years ago.

Robin Holcomb, Little Three (Nonesuch). The original review [No. 61] called Little Three "a tour de force of Americana." It still is.

E-mail: [e-mail]. Remember, the harder they come, the harder they fall.

-- KE