Some bands inspire such devoted followings that pretty much anything they release will sell. Japanese b-side compilations, tossed off covers, experimental side projects-- for certain artists, the core audience will always be there, no matter how past their prime the bands may get.

The Swirlies apparently think they belong in this lucky elite, despite the fact their original singer, Seana Carmody, left the band in 1995. This isn't even considering that her replacement has since come and gone, and that the band has all but abandoned its shoegazer roots. Damon Andy Rob Ron: The Yes Girls compiles four "cassingles" the Swirlies released between 1998 and 2000 as part of their Sneaky Flute Empire project. This record should pound the final nail in the coffin of whatever buyer momentum the Swirlies have managed to hang on to.

I'm sure Damon Tutunjian is still capable of writing a decent song now and then, but The Yes Girls finds him not making much effort to do so. Everything here was recorded to four-track, but even better production couldn't salvage "Jack Buckey's Theme," an acoustic ballad about an ornery deer. (That's right.) And the Swirlies' attempts at lo-fi electronic-rock fusion are no more appealing. Although vintage synthesizers seem to be all the rage as of late, five Casios and assorted other keyboards are deployed on this album without adding hipness or charm. The band's liberal use of preprogrammed rhythms might seem amusing for a second or two, but try enduring it for an entire record. My money says you can't.

At its best, The Yes Girls sounds like demo versions of songs awaiting actual studio time. "Subway (C&W;)" might be an enjoyably morbid synth-pop track, but it can't quite transcend the poor recording or its unnecessarily slow pace. "Indian Ocean Nosedive" is the only song that evokes the passion of early '90s Swirlies. That keyboard fixation still weighs it down, but the track also features the dreamy guitar sound that characterized the band in the old days, and is easily the most fully developed, enjoyable moment of the record. "Pony" serves as a passable dark ballad for its first two minutes; then, a disturbing woodwind section-- possibly the sneaky flutes-- takes over.

Every band, no matter how talented, has its off days. Making the distinction between what should and should not be released is crucial. Songs including a lengthy recorder solo are usually better kept in rehearsal, along with anything involving plodding keyboard noodling for five straight minutes. And don't even get me started on the spoken tracks that bookend the album-- they aren't funny. In fact, they're barely audible.

I know the Swirlies will never return to the glory of their Slumberland Records incarnation. I just hope they show a bit more discretion before opting to release another full-length. In return, I promise not to let my 10th grade pre-school-themed rock opera see the light of day, no matter how famous I become. That is, unless the fans demand it.

-Meg Zamula