What’s there to say about “The Bedlam in Goliath,” The Mars Volta’s fourth studio album?

p. It certainly rocks, yes. Harder than most things even. The grooves are tighter and more on-point than anything in their previous catalog, and the wild mix of styles is just as engaging — everything from Latin jazz and reggae to punk and prog rock. And Cedric Bixler-Zavala’s strained, maniacal vocals are as insane as ever.

p. All that seems expected, however, and maybe that’s why the album makes for such a natural, consistent listen — the band has rather successfully back-tracked on ‘Goliath,’ blowing right past their previous, down-right sloppy release “Amputechture” and getting back to its roots. “The Bedlam in Goliath,” the title referring to a spirit that purportedly spoke to several of the band members through a Ouija board, once more makes use of concept-driven lyrics as the album’s focal point.

p. This is, however, a concept album unlike anything else the band, or anyone really, has ever produced. Its lyrics are intended to work as a sort of reversal of the bad luck that’s cursed the band since its use of the board. Granted, such a claim is hardly a surprise, seeing as how the bandmates have been steeped in LSD culture for quite some time (the nature of their music certainly attests to this).

p. But, truth or not, it doesn’t hurt to give yourself up to the notion. The album comes strong out of the gate with “Aberinkula,” a classic Volta track employing every member of the band at full-force, overlaid by Bixler-Zavala’s haunted cries — “Am I the one you’re after?” and “Have you seen the living tired of their own shells?” The threat of the ominous “Goliath” is immediately present, and it never lets up a beat, easily making this the most fast-paced, furious Mars Volta album to date.

p. From there it’s onto “Metatron,” an eight-minute power-house filled to the brim with quick meter-changes and fret-burners, each guitar working feverishly throughout. And the guitar writing has never sounded so good — every line slides crisply in and out of the melodies, moving stylishly between transitions and diving head-long through solos. It’s a real testament to the musicianship, with each member contributing top-notch performances.

p. And it gets groovy too, with tracks like “Ilyena” and “Goliath,” in which the sharp yet mellow drumming and smooth bass lines make for a persistent Latin feel, though only before firing back to rip-roaring, psychadelic rock.

p. At times (and here’s the real kicker), it’s tough to even pin down most of it as distinctly “groovy” or “punk rock.” Rodriguez-Lopez’s song-writing, while novel for its manner of mixing styles, has matured into a truly unique sound, ironing out most of the kinks and over-embellishments from previous works. The band doesn’t shy away from solos, but doesn’t draw them out aimlessly either, and the instrumental breaks are brisk and refined, empowering Zavala’s vocals rather than dragging them down.

p. Simply put, nobody really sounds like The Mars Volta — and if anyone ever did, this album has truly set the bar. Be warned, however, as this release was not made for the timid or the faint of heart — not for the faint of anything really. The relentless tempos blaze on for more than eight and nine minutes at a time and, more often than not, fire-storm songs like the brief “Wax Simulacra” blast right into the next track without any sort of break. It’s all kinds of psychadelic hell, and it’s right in your face.

p. And, without ending on too big a downer, it’s a little on the long side, with 12 tracks clocking in at about 75 minutes. As far as epic scope and dramatic power go, it’s got nothing on the band’s flawless debut, “De-Loused in the Comatorium,” or even the ambience-laden carnage of “Frances the Mute.” But the fact remains that this is a solid production, through and through, and certainly worth a few sit-downs.

After a month in release, “There Will Be Blood” — a film with an whopping opening weekend box office rake of $300,000 — is finally picking up steam to barrel through awards season.

p. And it deserves it.

p. “I drink your milkshake. I drink it up.” I guess what I’m trying to do with this first quote is show you that, if you have not seen “There Will Be Blood,” you haven’t the slightest understanding of what it is, and even if you have, you have never seen anything like it.

p. Take, for example, the fact that Daniel Plainview, played tremendously by Daniel Day-Lewis (“Gangs of New York”), changes facial hair configurations over and over again in the first 20 minutes — and 15 years — of the film before he even utters a line.

p. Those first minutes are not easy on the audience. The score is a harsh whining of strings (appropriately composed by Radiohead guitarist Jonny Greenwood), reminiscent of a quartet cover of television fuzz.

p. This is the slow and desolate life of the oil miner in 1897 and the years following. And while the death and decay of solemn men mining oil may not seem much cause for celebration, it sets up a dark stillness from which the whole film explodes. There is a tension in these scenes that associates a pervading uncomfortable depravity with the discovery of oil — and it’s not by accident.
As Plainview begins to speak, the movie gains a quick sort of elegance; railroads and cars replace horses and long, injured walks across the California wilderness.

p. Plainview steps into this new state of the times with fervor. But his new clothes and office can’t hide the dark roots of his industry and his life. Forced to take care of a fellow miner’s son after his gruesome death in the well, he catapults through the ranks to become extravagantly powerful and wealthy by the film’s end.
Getting a tip about a veritable ocean of oil below New Boston, California, this story focuses on the power plays of big industry in a small town. It is Plainview vs. Eli Sunday, played by Paul Dano (“Little Miss Sunshine”). Plainview vs. the oil companies. Plainview vs. the train companies. Plainview vs. the land. Plainview vs. the townspeople. Plainview vs. humanity. And Plainview is a very successful man.

p. Plainview’s voice has a deep cadence to it, a rhythm that sucks the viewer’s perspective right out of them.This is the only explanation for how one can have an equal admiration for his savvy town-hall-style sales pitch — “You’ll believe me when I say I’m an oil man” — as his blatant refusal of his only son as “a bastard in a basket.” How else could you laugh when he makes a mockery of his own baptism, or when he later beats the whiny preacher Eli into the mud screaming, “I’m going to bury you Eli!” How else could an audience sit through all this evil enacted by one man and be so entertained? How else can we be completely entranced by the charm of a true-life sadist flourishing in the modernity of his time while suffering from it?

p. Not only is this a great film for Day-Lewis, but also quite an important film in the career of director Paul Thomas Anderson. After his early success with big ensemble casts (“Boogie Nights,” “Magnolia”), his last film, “Punch Drunk Love,” represented his first baby step away from his multi-layered Altman roots.

p. “There Will Be Blood,” on the other hand, represents a leap into the creative unknown. This sprawling film focuses almost as much on the harsh and gorgeous California landscape as it does on the dark interior of its characters. There’s no more quirky humor. No more lists of character plots. No three-hour talk-a-thons. Instead, there is a sparse historical epic with one of the most original plot arcs (if you can call it that) ever put to film.

p. Let me just put it this way: despite all the history and all the hype, “There Will Be Blood” is the best movie Anderson or Day-Lewis has ever made. I say this without regard to all the awards they already have for it (Golden Globes, Screen Actors Guild) and are likely to win (Academy Awards), and more because it makes this the most important time in either of their careers. And it’s wonderful to see them playing together so well.

Chris Walla’s second solo release, “Field Manual,” could actually be called a solo debut. His first effort was barely advertised and remains generally unknown to the general public.

p. That said, “Field Manual” isn’t half bad if you consider it a debut. There’s a wealth of material here for the casual listener and Death Cab for Cutie fan alike. As a sophomore release, however, it seems there is a certain spark that’s missing.

p. Just what that something is a bit hard to pin down. For those of you who don’t know Walla, he’s the brains behind Seattle-based indie-rock band Death Cab for Cutie — the other good thing to come out of the Pacific Northwest (grunge rock, anyone?) — and he’s easily one of the most innovative talents on the scene. He sports a God awful haircut and looks like he’s terrified of the light, but he makes up for it with clever, nuanced guitar-writing and an ear for musical texture.

p. What’s sorely missing from “Field Manual,” however, (and maybe these are the sentiments of a long-time Death Cab fan) are the wonderfully sappy lyrics of original front-man Ben Gibbard and the pained, embittered wail with which he sang them. Walla seems more concerned with filling this gap than seeking out his own voice, something that becomes more and more obvious with each successive track.

p. Nowhere is this more evident than on songs like “Sing Again,” which is also the closest the album comes to having a stand-out track. There’s an element of strange grandeur in it’s slow, Cure-like dance quality and the anthemic chanting of “sing again,” making for the bones of what could have been a great song. In the end, though, it still plays like it was made with Gibbard in mind, and Walla’s voice falls just a few notches short.

p. The same can be said of the preceding track, “The Score,” which starts off strangely enough — the opening riff sounds like it was pulled straight from a White Stripes song. It’s certainly entertaining though, and the maybe-deep, maybe-meaningless ambiguity of lines like, “We’ve armed a bear, why are we bullfighting?” adds a poetic gist that might even surpass the words of Gibbard.

p. Where the song goes wrong, however, is oddly enough the same place where it could’ve gone right: the riffs melt smoothly into a synth-layered groove, over which Walla cries “Now on the chase / Our colors are falling” before all too quickly jumping back to the opening segment. For a moment, it really feels like the album’s headed where it should’ve been in the first place — away from its flirtations with stale alt-rock and back to the bitter, grunge-inspired edge of Death Cab.

p. But sadly, that is not the case, and cannot be the case. All labels and expectations aside, the real question is how “Field Manual” stands on its own, without any notion of the lingering influence of guys like Gibbard or years of song-writing with Death Cab for Cutie. And the simple, sad truth is that it doesn’t fair well.

p. There are just better places to go for what this album does decently, and for what it does plain wrong, there’s really no use crying about. The churchy, ominous opening lines of the album, “All hail an imminent collapse,” comes just short of Elliot Smith, and the easy-going, acoustic twang of songs like “Everybody On” and “Our Plans, Collapsing” sounds like a duller version of Rilo Kiley.’

p. Harsh words, maybe. It is brief, however, if nothing else, though for all its brevity you’ll wish it had a little more. The final verdict: great ideas, poor execution. Best wait for Death Cab’s next one, due for release this May.

__2 out of 5 stars__

I heard of Thao Nguyen ’06 for the first time Tuesday. I heard Thao for the first time Tuesday. I realized what I’ve been missing out on for the first time Tuesday.

p. Thao, who comes from Northern Virginia, graduated from the College two years ago. Yesterday, my girlfriend told me how she remembers seeing Thao play countless Fridays @ 5 on the UC Terrace during our freshman year and how impressive she was, seemingly excited about the prospect of seeing a budding star before she became truly famous. Again, I realized what I’ve been missing.

p. And for me, a guy with a penchant for indie-rock leading ladies, that’s saying a lot. The genre has its fair share of talented front-women and solo stars — Jenny Lewis, Amy Millan and Feist to name a few. I’ve exalted them in the pages of this newspaper on more than one occasion, pouring my heart out to their music and beauty.

p. But Thao has eluded me — for whatever reason I cannot explain.

p. And oh what I’ve missed.

p. Thao with The Get Down Stay Down has just released its second LP, “We Brave Bee Stings and All,” its first for Kill Rock Stars (the label for which Elliott Smith became part and parcel).

p. Comparing the group’s sound to Feist and Cat Power and Lilith Fair is just too easy. The soft-sung, double-tracked, slightly affected vocals laid over a chorus of simple acoustic guitars and quietly-buzzing lead guitar lines of opening track “Beat (Health, Life and Fired)” easily mimics the musings of Thao’s contemporaries. Tracks like “Violet,” with it’s wavering, overly high-pitched melody, and “Yes, Soon and Soon,” with lyrics about love heart attacks, would fit in seemingly perfectly on Feist’s “The Reminder” next to “1234” or “Intuition.” But this immediate response, while positive, is one far too simple.

p. Thao sounds happy and content in every one of the beautiful, smooth, easy tracks on this record. “We Brave Bee Stings and All” values youth and innocence, the true beauty of life. Thao’s soprano carries the record’s nursery rhyme-inspired melodies and lyrics with suavity.

p. In some ways, ‘Bee Stings’ reminds the listener of the bright, sunny, California-pop sounds of bands like Phantom Planet and Rooney and mock-Californians The Thrills — except Thao does it well, more fairly mimicking the Beach Boys’ aesthetic to which modern ‘O.C.’-featured bands aspire. The album’s third track, “Big Kid Table,” may not have the power of a radio single, but it’s musical simplicity, mood and imagery evoke a vitality absent in so much emotionally charged music.

p. It’s not to say that Thao never deals in upsetting themes, it’s just to say that she always gives whatever she sings about the brightest musical outlook she can. And that makes albums like this so pleasant. Think Jack Johnson with a band and a soprano voice.

p. “Swimming Pools,” easily the standout best track on the album, may be the best indie track I’ve heard all year. The song’s quick-picked, layered guitars and banjos allow for a jaunty, upbeat, lively track, led by Thao’s fist-pumping vocals. With a refrain of “We brave bee stings and all / We don’t dive, we cannonball / We splash our eyes full of chemicals / Just so there’s none left for little girls” suggests Thao and the Get Down Stay Down’s championing of the young and innocent. The group makes itself out to be the protectors of childish dreams and sentiments, saving true happiness.

p. Thao is a talent I only wish I could have experienced while she was here. To consider that I could have watched her play in the middle of my campus for free instead of playing video games and watching “Anchorman” over and over hurts. Too often we take for granted the living, breathing art in its infancy we have right here on campus. Art that could become something great. It makes you wonder what you do on Fridays at 5 that’s more worthwhile.

__4 out of 5 stars__