He's a hulking specimen of a man, and I've called him friend for a long, long time. Of Dave's many joys and foibles, few have confounded me like his obsession with 7" indie rock singles. Sure, he's digging into the roots of new bands as he pores over the long boxes at Repo Records, and he was talking about Green Day when I thought they were eco- core, but he never actually listens to them. He carefully files them away in plastic sleeves, in his meticulously catalogued and organized collection of hundreds of seven- inchers. I couldn't understand this past the obsessive baseball- card aspect, that is, until I got my greasy tentacles on the Smoking Popes' 91-98 collection.

Mine eyes hath seen the light from thine asshole, Honorable David! This, my third review of records by the Popes, looks to be the last, as they have apparently disbanded, leaving two full- lengths on Capitol Records and a number of obscure seven- inchers. A-ha! Seven- inchers, you say! Why, yes! Y'see, odiferous reader, 91-98 is a collection drawn from four of the band's most substantial singles and their first LP (previously released on Johann's Face), Get Fired. These 23 songs are thoughtfully organized chronologically and segmented into separate tracks for your listening pleasure.

And, listening pleasure is what you get. No better oeuvre could be imagined, for 91-98 is a chronicle of the transformation of the Smoking Popes from relatively middle- of- the- road Dag Nasty- ish punk to the unique pop- punk entity that they became before splitting up. In the beginning, Josh Caterer's vocals were buried beneath a roar of frenetic guitars, but over time, Caterer's voice developed and earned a more dominant spot in the mix.

Likewise, the other two Caterer brothers, Eli and Matt (on guitar and bass, respectively), seemed to tame their instruments as they drew near the end of the road, leaning toward more nuanced, flowing, less jagged arrangements. Mike Felumlee beats the skins with abandon, earning the comment "I like the drums" from not one, but two of my hippie friends, and everybody knows hippies know drums better than anybody. Don't get me wrong, the Popes' early material is pure energy; "Sandra," an ode to no other than Sandra Bernhard sticks in your head long after you've turned the music off, the tempo changes in "Writing a Letter" make me spooze, and "Breaking" is undiluted angst in its rawest form.

As the disc wears on, initiated fans will recognize earlier versions of "Let's Hear It for Love" and "Can't Find It," in all their lesser- produced glory. Josh gets up close and personal with some of the most gut- wrenchingly honest breakup/ get- together lyrics penned since the Smiths broke up, all as you watch the guys' instrumental skill and confidence skyrocket. It's a rare album that lets you hear nearly the whole career of a short- lived band as it transforms, but 91-98 does it right. This is a must- have for fans, and highly recommendable for anyone who can dig watching the transformation from something special into... something... even more special... yeah.

-James P. Wisdom