**** "Booty traps!" "You mean booby traps?" "That's what I said!"
*** "Bay...bee...Ruth?"
** "Down here it's our time!"
* "Truffle shuffle"

HELLA
Hold Your Horse Is
(5 Rue Christine)
****

Excuse me--I can't write this review of Hella, because I'm too busy having multiple orgasms over their new record. Yes. This nine-song debut from two boys from Sacto playing monstrous, instrumental guitar and drums brings new meaning to the term "humping," 'cause I just came and I'm only on track three. Zach Hill, the fastest drummer ever, magically plays his kit as more of a melodic instrument than a rhythmic one, while Spencer Seim taps out aggressive melodies as a cadenced call to arms. Without vocals, they come up with a new way of talking, and the kids are shitting in their pants. If Alexander Scriabin was still alive, he'd be shitting in his pants, too, for that matter. The boys call it "punk classical," and that's what it is--the first, truly basement-classical record since Master of Puppets--only, instead of honking the horns of old Bach and Beethoven, Hella does it post-Ives, busting the instrumental knock-outs of the brave new world and giving the music geeks a headspin and a cream in our pantaloons. I think it's the best thing I've ever heard. All music has changed forever. JULIANNE SHEPHERD

ANDREW W.K.
I Get Wet
(Island)
***

I wish that Andrew W.K. would be my new butt rock boyfriend. Things are looking good for me, because I can't get anyone else to say that they think he's hot. Total morons. Andrew is the songwriter, singer, and keyboardist for his butt rock revisitation album, I Get Wet. The songs have '80s pep, power chords, and background dance beats--almost in the vein of Duran Duran, but include an obvious dose of animated irony (song titles: "It's Time To Party," "Party Hard," "Party Til You Puke") and punk intensity; a couple of songs are quite similar to Cheap Trick's Surrender--and yet manage to completely balls-out rock. I'm sooo in love. KATIE SHIMER

GO BACK SNOWBALL
Calling Zero
(Fading Captain Series)
**

I feel the need to type as quickly as possible, because odds are by the time I finish this review, Robert Pollard will have recorded anywhere from twelve to nineteen new records. Unquestionably indierock's most prolific songwriter and domestic beer drinker, Pollard somehow makes time in-between Guided by Voices records (and their excruciating four-hour concerts) to record a mind-numbing amount of solo projects. This time, he teams up with Mac McCaughan of Superchunk fame for a collaboration album consisting of recordings the two traded via the postal service. Although the concept seems great on paper, the end result is pretty lackluster. McCaughan's punky vocals are nowhere to be found, plus Pollard's songwriting is haphazard (more so than usual) and lacking that drunken confidence that makes GBV so great. CARMELO MARTINEZ