I walked up to the counter at Reckless with my CD and plopped it before the indifferent clerk. He was wearing a faded Bastro shirt. His hair swirled from his scalp in calculatedly haphazard opal waves. I coughed. The clerk continued to draw mustaches on faces in Spin with a Sharpie. I coughed again.

"Can I help you," the clerk asked without taking his eyes off the Hitler 'stache he'd stroked above Fiona Apple's swollen lips.

"Um, yes," I said, sliding the CD across the counter.

"Man, can you believe this bullshit," he asked, gesturing to the Spin while violently flipping through the pages. "They're so out of touch."

"Well," I replied, "It's Spin."

"They should be covering shit like Joan of Arc."

"Actually, I think they were in last month's..."

"Check out these top records of the Nineties," he interrupted, "Spin seems to think that Nirvana is the greatest band of our generation. But, hey, what's come out of Nirvana? The Foo Fighters, Sweet 75, a corpse, and a widow who would have remained thankfully anonymous without her husband's void. How about the Pixies? Surely they were one of the greatest bands of modern times. What about that new Breeders album? I've got some copies of Pistolero I'd like to sell you. And let's not even talk about 'Kicked in the Taco.' So who else do you have?"

"Fugazi," I enthusiatically replied with my index finger raised.

"Fugazi? They're cool. But there's not much crossover potential there. Their staunch independence and modesty wouldn't allow such a title as 'Best Band of the '90s.' Plus, Eddie Vedder would probably answer the same way, and I can't agree with him. How about the Flaming Lips?"

"No way, man. Eight words: 'She Don't Use Jelly' at the Peach Pit."

"Pavement?"

"Wowee Zowee."

"Radiohead?"

"'Anyone Can Play Guitar.'"

"Really, how many bands have released 100% quality material and spawned off into second generation spores of potentially greater bands," he asked. "Have you even heard Heatmiser? Heatmiser's three albums, Dead Air, Cop and Speeder, and Mic City Sons, make a solid trilogy of tight punches and aching melodies. They make that Promise Ring record you're holding look a little weak. Since then Elliott Smith has skyrocketed into an Oscar night balladeer with the keys to the Beatles secrets. Sam Coomes pumps out crunchy, pessimistic pop songs of bouncy despair in Quasi. Now Neil Gust-- he was the main guy in Heatmiser-- he's got this new band, No.2. It's pretty much just like Heatmiser, but better with improved melodies, vocals, textures, production. It has that incredibly crisp Heatmiser-y production, thanks to Tony Lash and Elliott Smith. The guitars are thick, yet distinct. It just, like, undulates man. Head swaying rock and roll. Gust's sliding hooks sound smoother than ever. There's even some keyboard on there. I know you're thinking, like, everybody's got keyboards these days, but No. 2 uses them in such subtle ways, you'll swear it's just like babies sighing or something."

"Hmm."

"Elliott Smith and Sam Coomes show up on the record too. How can this shit just not rock? This might be the most melodic group of songwriters in America. It's like Elliott Smith's records with balls. The whispery vocals, the heart- breaking choruses, the shifting chords-- it's all there, but like loud."

"I see."

"It just sounds mature. You know what I'm saying? Mature. This isn't some 20 year- old kid from Champaign screaming about his girl. Although I do wish Neil Gust would let loose every once and a while. Yet, it's that dynamic between quiet melodies and in- your- face guitar that makes this shit work. This guy looks worn and beautiful. It's tight, man. 'Nobody's Satisfied' sounds like classic R.E.M. rubbing up against a mid-'90s Jawbox. It's just rock and roll, man. It just blows away that Promise Ring record you're holding, man."

"Actually, I want to trade this in."

"You one of them record reviewers?"

"Sort of."

"Man, you gotta check out this review of No. 2 at this Pitchfork website."

"Actually, I wrote that, man."

"Fuck, dude, you look like some prep-ass college kid. That review was cool. How do you come up with that shit?"

"Mostly, I just carry around hand- held tape recorders and record conversations I have in the real world."

"Far out."

-Brent DiCrescenzo