On the fourth day of my most recent peyote blackout, I started thinking, "You know, compilation records are a lot like hardline, extremist, balls- to- the- walls communism." Think about it. Both eventually lead to mile- long lines for toilet paper that's rougher than cheap beef jerky, both result in state- owned methods of mass production, and both can cause children to roam shoeless through empty, dismal streets in search of a dirty shirt to eat.

Still, communism and compilation albums aren't all fun and sun. They both have a serious downside, namely that they're both good ideas that get completely fucked up when attempted in real life. In theory, what could be better than a rockin' compilation album? I mean, you've got 15 or 20 bands, all on one record, coming together in the common cause of making dope- ass music. You get all new music, unreleased songs from bands you dig and bands that are just like the bands you dig. This should be an easy one, right? These are the albums you should steal if you can't buy 'em, right?

Uh... that's what you think until you actually lay down $20 for Bootyshakers '99: Da Gold Card Playas Edition and realize what a fucking crock these albums are. Instead of working in universal unity like the musical lovefests they're all hyped to be, the albums actually become the dumping grounds for every half- assed track and retarded b-side a band has laying around the studio. Really- no band wants to be associated with them. They just go into a rented studio, sing their song with the enthusiasm of a lazy hooker, eat from the catering wagon, collect their checks, and go home. In the meantime, the fat, greasy men at the record company use the profits from the album to push another boy band along the path to pre-pubescent glory and massive drug addiction. In a sentence: compilation albums are the work of the devil.

Then along comes a new compilation album, sauntering out of the west like a mysterious stranger bearing no name-- a compilation album that helps a brother to keep faith in the record biz. Oh, Merge is an example of what a compilation album would be a perfect world: 19 straight- from- the- gut songs made by some of the best bands under Mac McCaughan's wiry wing.

Featuring such underground music machines as Superchunk, Rocket From the Crypt, Neutral Milk Hotel, and the Magnetic Fields (as well as lesser known bands like Guv'ner, the Rock*A*Teens and Lambchop), Oh, Merge offers its eager listener the whole rainbow of the current underground scene, from fast neo-punk to soft soundscape fuzziness.

Yet, with all this to love, the record also has its down sides. Merge does little to stray from the unwritten comp album rule that the comp can't be packed wall- to- wall with stellar material. Nope, Oh, Merge is quite varied in terms of quality. With 19 bands touching on around 30 genres, not everything is going to be brilliant. However, the album's highlights are some of the best tracks in recent rock.

Of course, the bad tracks suck pretty hard, and listening to them is about as pleasant as shoving a cold soupspoon up your ass-- luckily such tracks are few and far between. Even with all the killer music, the best thing that can be said about this album is that the people on this record actually give a shit about what they're doing, which is pretty uncommon in a world where Wolfie actually has a fanbase. It would be almost heartwarming if I didn't know that Bootyshakers 2000 is less than a month away. But hell, if the boys and girls (read: adults) at Merge did this well with a compilation album, maybe we should have them give that whole communism thing a shot as well. With a bunch of talented, slacker indie kids in charge of the Marxist party, I'm sure we could have food riots started in no time.

-Steven Byrd