Based in New Jersey, My Chemical Romance is an alternative pop/rock and punk-pop band that has been compared to Thursday and, to a lesser degree, Cursive. Their name was inspired by author Irvine Welsh (of Trainspotting fame), and while many of their songs are loud, fast, hyper, and aggressive, My Chemical Romance's work also tends to be melodic and pop-minded. My Chemical Romance got started in the early 2000s, when lead singer Gerard Way and drummer Matt Pelissier decided to try writing some songs together. The first tune that Way and Pelissier -- who had been friends since high school -- came up with was called "Skylines and Turnstiles" (a post-9/11 song written after Way witnessed the Twin Towers fall while working at his animation job in New York City). Way and Pelissier both felt good about the song, and Way asked guitarist Ray Toro if he would be interested in working with them. My Chemical Romance's five-man lineup was complete when Way, Pelissier, and Toro joined forces with bassist Mikey Way (Gerard's little brother) and guitarist Frank Iero. With that lineup in place, the band started playing all around the Northeast Corridor and made plans to begin working on their first album.

In 2002, Eyeball Records (the New York-based indie for which Thursday had recorded) released My Chemical Romance's debut album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. The album was often compared to Thursday -- a comparison that, for various reasons, was inevitable and unavoidable. Both bands were from New Jersey, both had recorded for Eyeball, and both combined punk-pop's musical aggression with introspective, confessional lyrics. Plus, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love was produced by Thursday vocalist Geoff Rickly. But Thursday isn't their only influence; reviewers have cited the Smiths, Morrissey, the Cure, and the Misfits as influences, while the older Way has even cited British heavy metal icons Iron Maiden.

Lyrically, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love is as dark as it is introspective and cathartic; Way has been quoted as saying that the band's lyrics were a great way for him to deal with the problems he had been going through (which included severe depression, drug/alcohol abuse, and a serious illness in his family). The 2002 release included Way and Pelissier's first song, "Skylines and Turnstiles," and many of the album's other song titles were equally intriguing, including "Honey, This Mirror Isn't Big Enough for the Two of Us" and "Vampires Will Never Hurt You." In 2003, My Chemical Romance signed with Reprise/Warner Bros. and released the aggressively slick Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge one year later. Proving to be hugely popular, the album boasted several successful singles on commercial radio and MTV, including "I'm Not Okay (I Promise)," "Helena," and "The Ghost of You," as the album climbed the Billboard charts.

Amid their growing popularity, Pelissier departed from the band in mid-2004, and he was soon replaced on drums by Bob Bryar; they'd previously met while touring with the Used, as Bryar was doing sound for the Utah act. Relentless touring continued to increase their fanatical fan following; the band headlined dates with Alkaline Trio, scored an opening slot for Green Day, and shared bills with Story of the Year, Taking Back Sunday, and the Used, among many others. As My Chemical Romance prepared to enter the studio for their third album, they issued Life on the Murder Scene in March 2006. The CD and double-DVD package extensively documented practically everything MCR, including demos, music videos, live footage, interviews, and more; it sufficiently tied fans over until My Chemical Romance (now boasting a sober and bleach-haired Gerard Way) issued the darkly conceptual and highly ambitious The Black Parade that October. Anticipation for the album could barely be contained at the release of its grandiose first single, "Welcome to the Black Parade," whose elaborate accompanying video looked and sounded like the result of Tim Burton directing Queen. The record went platinum by early 2007.

The great thing about Garbage -- the thing that nobody wants to mention -- is that they are veterans, from frontwoman Shirley Manson to the three studio pros who play the instruments. They slogged through the trenches of alt-rock in the '80s, whether it was in the U.S. or the U.K., and they came together at the precise moment in the '90s when they could fashion modern-sounding music with a keen eye to the present and modern. They consciously picked up elements from shoegazing, trip-hop, and indie rock -- anything sonically interesting in the underground, crafting them together with skill and a keen commercial eye. On their third record, Beautiful Garbage, that's more evident than ever, from how they approximate contemporary R&B with the sultry "Androgyny," or the Minneapolis new wave bubblegum funk of "Cherry Lips (Go Baby Go!)," or the bluesy PJ Harvey strut of "Silence Is Golden." It's all the more evident because this has a shiny, sugary, unabashedly pop coating, an element that Garbage clearly revel in, as well as should the listener. This is every bit as enticingly postmodern as their other albums, and it sounds distinctly Garbage -- there are elements of My Bloody Valentine crashing up against Tricky, post-Madchester dance, jangle pop, goth stance, and classic pop -- but they seem less like magpies, more themselves, which means Beautiful Garbage is a more consistent record. It's unlikely to storm the charts like their first two records, especially since there aren't standout singles like on the earlier albums, but overall the record works better, perhaps their best album.

Three long years after the Deftones issued their self-titled album to puzzling reviews, the Sacramento quintet is back with Saturday Night Wrist, a recording that will further muddy the waters of categorization and expectation about who they are and what they're trying to do. After the breakthrough metallic-sounding Around the Fur, the band confounded critics and fans alike with the much softer and atmospherically adventurous White Pony. In 2003 they further transgressed the borderlines of all things boxed and tied with their self-titled album, which seemed to walk the line between rockist and "sensitive." But it's Saturday Night Wrist that fills out the portrait, bleeding though textures from one rock & roll type to another and coming up with something else altogether yet definitively "Deftones." The album began with a question and a small conflict in deciding on a producer. Already working with the hip Dan the Automator, after some internal drama the band decided on veteran Bob Ezrin. Ezrin pays off in a number of ways: these songs, as diverse as they are, are utterly disciplined sonically. They have all the tension and dynamic, all the immediacy of yore, but the mix is spacious, and Chino Moreno's vocals soar above it. That said, the vocals were produced by Far's Shaun Lopez. The wall of guitar sound walks a high wire between harder, more metallic rock and angular indie rock, winding them together. Check the opener -- and single -- "Hole in the Earth." It begins with a wall of feedback and thunderously distorted guitars accented by rim shots and cymbal fire before giving way to a skeletal six-string figure that seems barely able to support Moreno's singing, which combines the euphoria of a young, less pretentious Bono with the attack of, well, the Deftones. Guitars echo and whisper all along the backdrop while Moreno hovers there, until they crackle and spit to bring him back.

Popping muddy drums and distorted guitars introduce "Rapture," as Moreno gobs and screams the lyrics. Even here, the attack is straightforward as it turns and twists, all on sharp corners and rhythmic shifts. There are killer digital dub effects put into play on "Cherry Waves," giving the tune a bit of a blessed-out psychedelic effect as the band marries together the hookery of the vintage Smashing Pumpkins, the big chord riffs of Jane's Addiction, and U2's best shimmer while tossing in a bridge of eight bars from the Who's "Overture" from Tommy! It might have been a terrible mess, but it works beautifully. System of a Down's Serj Tankian helps out with additional vocals on "Mein," and Giant Drag's Annie Hardy helps out on "Pink Cellphone" (what a dumb title). The drippy space pop that is "Xerces" finds Moreno breathing a little too close to Billy Corgan for comfort on the verses. The gear-grinding guitars on "Rats!Rats!Rats!" are a welcome textural change, and the crunchy verse and refrain are downright nasty. The most straight-ahead rock attack comes on "KimDracula," with its bass throb and whiteout guitar riff; it pushes Moreno a little further outside the tune to come to terms with it. Ultimately, Saturday Night Wrist is satisfying, though it may take a few listens given all the changes in individual cuts that tend to blur together the first time or two through. To the faithful, the Deftones once again offer up their own brand of blast and croon. As for everyone else, there's plenty here to like, to argue with, and to be puzzled by .

While not exactly original, Unhallowed, the debut full-length from Detroit, MI, quintet the Black Dahlia Murder is a well-executed slice of melodic death/black metal in the tradition of Swedish masters Dissection and At the Gates. They've clearly studied those bands, as is reflected in the racing, dual-harmonized guitar riffs that form the foundation of this album, but then again, the riffs are at times a little too reminiscent of what many folks will have already heard on albums such as Storm of the Light's Bane and Slaughter of the Soul. The vocals are a little different, though, consisting of a high-pitched shriek that's complemented by a lower, more standard death metal growl. Also of note is the drumming, which is pretty swift, even by this genre's standards. This band has a lot of youthful energy and chops and has the potential to do something great if they can come up with something less imitative and more their own.

Ill Communication follows the blueprint of Check Your Head, accentuating it at some points, deepening it in others, but never expanding it beyond the boundaries of that record. As such, it's the first Beastie Boys album not to delve into new territory, but it's not fair to say that it finds the band coasting, since much of the album finds the group turning in muscular, vigorous music that fills out the black-and-white sketches that comprised Check Your Head. Much of the credit has to go to the group's renewed confidence in -- or at least renewed emphasis on -- their rhyming; there are still instrumentals (arguably, there are too many instrumentals), but the Beasties do push their words to the forefront, even on dense rockers like the album's signature tune, "Sabotage." But even those rhymes illustrate that the group is in the process of a great settling, relying more on old-school-styled rhyme schemes and word battles than the narratives and surreal fantasies that marked the high points on their first two albums. With this record, the Beasties confirm that there is indeed a signature Beastie Boys aesthetic (it's too far-ranging and restless to be pegged as a signature sound), with the group sticking to a blend of old school rap, pop culture, lo-fi funk, soulful jazz instrumentals, Latin rhythms, and punk, often seamlessly integrated into a rolling, pan-cultural, multi-cultural groove. The best moments of Ill Communication rank with the best music the Beasties have ever made, as well as the best pop music of the '90s, but unfortunately, it's uneven and rather front-loaded. The first half overflows with brilliant, imaginative variations on their aesthetic: the assured groove of "Sure Shot," the warped rap of "B-Boys Makin' With the Freak Freak," the relentless dirty funk of "Root Down," the monumental "Sabotage," and the sly "Get It Together," highlighted by a cameo from Q-Tip of A Tribe Called Quest. After that, the album seems to lose its sense of direction and momentum, even if individual moments are very good. Any record that can claim jams as funky and inventive as "Flute Loop" and "Do It," or instrumentals as breezy as "Ricky's Theme," is certainly better than its competition, but there are just enough moments that rank as obvious filler to slow its flow, and to keep it from standing proudly next to Check Your Head as a wholly successful record. Even if it is a little uneven, it still boasts more than its fair share of splendid, transcendent music, and it really only pales in comparison to the Beasties' trio of classic records. By any other measure, this is a near-masterpiece, and it is surely a highlight of '90s alternative pop/rock.