Last Friday night some friends from the school paper came over for a good old- fashioned bitch session called to order by my pal's breakup with his girlfriend the day before, another pal's roommate problems, and the two Ds I got on two geology exams in one week. Much alcohol was consumed and many weird movies were watched, and gratuitous recreational narcotics were ingested. I put on Pass The Dutchie, and everyone paused from their brain- cell destruction long enough to comment, "This is cool, man. What is it?" It was all very jolly.

Today, I played the EP again and to my profound displeasure it wasn't half as good as I remembered. Then I recalled the first time I saw them in concert: shortly before we entered the auditorium, we headed out to my partner's car and hotboxed it like no cramped space had been hotboxed before. I made the connection between that night and Friday's revelry, and Buck-O-Nine's spot on the bitchin' scale dropped at a rapid rate. Not a good sign.

Best known for their single "My Town" (a right good tune), the septet barely steers clear of the cliched, formulaic Wal-Mart ska annoyance of No Doubt and Save Ferris. I'm surprised they don't have an obnoxious- windbag lead singer and a useless guy who does nothing but dance. The guitars have more presence here than on previous outings, but they're starting to sound like 311 on a panful of freshly- cooked crack. It's lively, yes, but the ska craze is as old and tired as President Clinton is horny. So, if you don't mind, I've gotta go pass this Dutchie to my local used record store.

-Susan Moll