A compilation is a compilation is a compilation. There's just no getting around it. The definition varies but retains a universal shape. Flashes of promise (never quite brilliance) are flanked by a girth of mediocrity. A handful of names you know and love are surrounded by handful that you simply know, and more that are completely foreign. And even those worth recognizing often contribute songs that couldn't live up to standards for that split 7".

In the grand scheme of things, compilations are best filed under necessary evils. And while ridiculously contrived major movie soundtracks packed with cross-marketed hits have become a favorite scapegoat over the past few years, indie compilations are really no less insidious. This didn't occur to me until recently when a friend with an upstart label decided to make a compilation his first priority before his own band's already completed full-length. Outside of the noble implicit purpose of giving exposure to several bands at once, compilations rarely serve a cause greater than the label's own vanity.

In the case of Transmission One: Tea at the Palaz of Hoon, the apparent vanity at stake is the Temporary Autonomous Zone, a short-lived venue started by a few young entrepreneurs in New London, Connecticut. As a sort of tribute to its two years as a New England tourstop for a number of indie luminaries, this collection compiles enough contributions to warrant a two-disc set. Considering the paltry reasoning behind the bulk of these countless, ubiquitous compilations, this isn't such a bad thing to celebrate with a gathering of artists.

But it doesn't stop there. Apparently, the Temporary Autonomous Zone was more-- so much more-- than just a music venue. And its founders intend to prove this by including with the two discs a massive booklet published by Cosmodemonic Telegraph's sister company, Hozomeen Press. Amidst an extensive collage of photos, flyers and names, one searches these liners for a solid indication of what exactly it was that made the venue so remarkable. The closest one comes is a bizarre essay by the Make-Up's Ian Svenonius, and each disc's opening track of spoken word by Hakim Bey, titled "Tong Aesthetics."

An early highlight on Disc One comes from 33.3, but as tasty a morsel as it is in the moment, it's long forgetten a couple tracks later. By then, you're trying to endure the Bevis Frond's attempt at vocal harmonies or Moe Tucker's disturbing big snare sound. After another dozen detours into nearly every tinny micro-genre imaginable, the first disc comes down with a contribution from the much debated Bright Eyes. If you can get past the title, "It's Cool, We Still Can Be Friends," without wanting to slap boy genius Conor Oberst, then the song might not provide such an uneasy listen. At least, not at first. By the time the track reaches its nauseating climax, however, Oberst's sobbing lyric, "Gonna get some whiskey and get real fuckin' drunk," you might be wondering if the Temporary Autonomous Zone was shut down for serving to minors. Thankfully, the disc ends on a sweeter note with more capable acoustic seething by the One A.M. Radio.

The individual tracks on the second disc stand out far more, but take, at best, a marginal step up in quality. Ted Leo provides a rousing solo performance that thankfully transcends the oh-so-clever title, "You Always Hate the One You Love." Then, the Positive-Negative Men turn up with "Broadcast Electricity," which sounds exactly like what you might expect from the band's name and song title. Harvey Sid Fisher's cute "F-word!" is a fun escape from the earnestness of the surrounding tracks, but would be much more at home somewhere with a morning zoo crew. Elf Power boldly calls into question your love of the sound of a distorted acoustic guitar, and maybe even your entire wasted life as an Elephant 6 completist.

Finally, Disc Two's halfway point payoff comes out of leftfield from a band unpromisingly called V for Vendetta, with an enjoyable slice of crisp drums, a single guitar, and deadpan female vocals. It's not any kind of mindblow, but refreshing nonetheless that the first impressive rhythm section to appear twenty-some songs into the set is comprised of one woman. "Providence is a Very Small Town" clicks and clacks around for a few invigorating minutes and is ultimately, like the compilation's other highlights, barely memorable after the moment passes. The Century Project pulls out some ambitious production tricks on the neat, but underwhelming, "Goodbye," which sounds suspiciously like the band was initially promised the coveted closing track of the compilation. Instead, that honor goes to Two Dollar Guitar, who turn in a clunky, cartoonish rendition of Red Foley's "Blood on the Saddle" from their otherwise excellent Insound Tour Support EP.

Despite all the pretension, the only real pitfalls of Tea at the Palaz of Hoon are the same ones that plague other compilations. Except it's doubled. That's twice the disappointing appearances by old favorites, along with twice the grating efforts of people you've rightfully never heard of. And all it really proves is that in two short years, these guys made a lot of friends. And maybe that indie artists are as eager to see their name in ink as anyone else.

-Al Shipley