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From a plainspoken quartet, one of the year's best guitar records: Brendan Suppression obsessively repeats monosyllabic observations about TV and weekends and romantic blunders in a drinking-man's cadence unheard since the Screaming Blue Messiahs; and Eddy Current's crazed chords soar Byrds-like or surf Ventures- like out of melodic stomps that seem basic, but aren't. There's Tex-Mex bubblegum synth, a Stooges rip, and rhythmic twists reminiscent of '80s post-punks Pylon or the Embarrassment. Last line of album: "I don't wanna play no more."

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