Actually, they're staring at the stars, not gazing at their shoes. Go ahead. Look down. What do you see? Yep. Stars. Disorienting? Juno just managed to boost your sorry ass to space.

There's something so picayune about one- guitar bands. And sure, two guitars is nice, but flaccid. They can play off each other, dance, jab, parry, rock in unison, etc. But is it really enough? Now, three guitars-- that's where it's at. While all those other meager two- guitar bands plink away in garages, Juno adds that wonderful extra digit, the third guitar-- the opposable thumb of rock and roll. Now all the other bands can do is watch from the ground and be eaten by lions while Juno swings and climbs through the branches, making fists, building tools to evolve, and occasionally throwing feces at all those who oppose them. With three guitars Juno has volume, and I don't mean in the decibel sense. Although just to rub it in, they have that, too.

Let's see what other bands have three guitars these days, shall we? Radiohead. They're doing pretty well for themselves. Critics love to erroneously throw around the shallow moniker of "the American Radiohead"-- a title that holds less water than a Saharan Bedouin's bladder on a steady diet of potato chips. But with all sincerity, I'm here to tell you that Juno are the Radiohead of punk rock.

This is the Way It Goes and Goes and Goes opens with a somnambulist's tired mumble over flumes of swirling guitar and typewriter percussion that brings to mind Rodan slo-mo crashing into My Bloody Valentine in bubbling, soft explosions. Things excellerate quickly on "Rodeo Programmers," a searing rocker that stabs hot guitars at your chest as Arlie Carstens sneers great lines like, "I've got a time- bomb lost inside my chest" as if he has two little Bob Moulds shoved up his nostrils. "Leave A Clean Camp and a Dead Fire" begins in a crescendoing Cure-ish swell before blowing the dam open. Similarly, "January Arms" floats on chiming, cherubic melodies before a jagged riff brings in the Saturn 5- sized rock.

Dangerous and beautiful like Liz Hurley sitting on an A-Bomb during a La Jolla sunset, Juno swoop down on angel's wings before ripping them off and hurling them at your throat. As you can tell by the number of times I've used the words "guitar" in this review, this album will take off a layer of skin before caressing you in lotion. Guitar.

-Brent DiCrescenzo