Last time I broke up with a girl (because she turned out to be a man), I scrubbed myself with Clorox and subjected myself to the standard 14 days of Smiths listening. "Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now" has such poignancy when, well, you're miserable. Well, as it happens, Morrissey has endorsed the Smoking Popes' Destination Failure as no less than his "Favorite American Band." You know what that means.

Need me to spell it out? Okay. Heart on thy sleeve, guts on thy floor, sincere lyrics borne of breakup and longing. Rock- solid instrumental arrangements that compliment the balsa- wood voice of Josh Caterer. My hands are trembling as I consider lighting the ceremonial pyre of Smiths tapes and replace it with Destination Failure. Misery in the '90s? Hemmorhoids on my lips? Either way, it hurts when I smile.

-James P. Wisdom