There's something in the air. A musical renaissance perhaps. It seems that albums as a whole have gotten good again, that recording catastrophes are becoming more the exception than the rule. Yes, I know the magic will be transitory, that the time is soon coming where my stacks of discs to review will once again resemble a grueling tower of unspeakable miseries rather than the glorious wellsprings of sound they have recently been. But while the mystical strain sweeps in its bounty, I will revel in its rewards, especially when they involve heroes who have fallen from grace in years past.

Screeching Weasel, since their reintroduction in 1996 after a two- year hiatus, have had difficulty recapturing the spark which formerly procured for them one of the most highly venerated spaces in the pop- punk community. Emo represents the band's closest approximation to its former glories since their reemergence.

Lest those untrained in the ironic edge of Ben Weasel think he has "sold out" and actually jumped onto the emo bandwagon, be not afraid! You'll find no clean channel ballads on this puppy, unless you count the beginning of the band's intentionally massacred rendition of the Cranberries' "Linger." No, rather than melodramatic warbling, Screeching Weasel hit you straight with the only tools they've ever deemed necessary-– three chords, distortion, nasally vocals, and a constant attempt to emulate their masters, the Ramones.

The only thing "emo" about this album (and let's not forget how this industry- abused buzzword is thrown around like a hot potato at a pajama party) is the almost confessional style of its lyrics. Ben's attitude, perhaps even more so than before, is direct, frank, and unswerving. On the album's first track, "Acknowledge," he spews forth a powerful life- affirming resolve: "I am alive/ I am here/ I am now/ I acknowledge the fact of my life." Just three songs later, in "The Scene," he reveals his resistance to career- long attacks on his punk credibility: "I am through following your truth/ I'm making my own rules/ My own world/ My own rules." This chap's barbaric yawp is a force to be reckoned with.

The raw intensity of the album is fitfully matched by the album's production. According to liner notes provided by Ben Weasel himself, the recording session went as follows: "Run through the tune a few times, record it live... no punch-ins-– just comping four tracks... music coming through the studio speakers while I held the mic and belted 'em out." Punk rock in its truest form. Yet, the result is more effective in some cases than others. One of the great appeals of the band's strongest album, My Brain Hurts, is the incessant use of group choruses, harmonies, and overall vocal hi-jinx. These embellishments are virtually absent from Emo, probably as a result of not wanting to tamper too much with the original recording. Nonetheless, this spontaneous approach yields a spirit that a more clinical treatment of the material may have destroyed.

Ben says of Emo: "It's the best record I've ever played on; best tunes I've written." Though I don't agree with the extremity of his statements, I am quick to recognize the superiority of his station in judging the worth of these songs. Unconcerned with outside judgments anyway, Ben reminds us, "This is for the people who get it." I think he may be surprised by how many people actually do.

-Kevin Ruggeri