Reverend Leon's Revival calls to those who believe that the Sabbath day should be reserved for peace, quiet, and reflection...in order to recover from Saturday night's hedonism and the inevitable hangover. The Revival offers a wicked, campy combination of sin and salvation that hasn't been seen since the days of Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard and Jim and Tammy Bakker. Lots of Denver roots rockers profess a fervent love for the Lord; the difference here is that the gospel, rock and soul of the Revival is actually fronted by Paul Ramsey, a real, live preacher man.


Picking up influences from My Bloody Valentine and Swervedriver, Bright Channel plays the kind of music that was once called "shoegazer": melodic guitars buried under thick, swirling drones of digital effects and noise. Echoes swell and static rattles throughout every song, sounding for all the world like an orchestra of Hoover Uprights plugged into a wall of amplifiers. Underneath all the volume, though, are dark, elegant compositions on par with Joy Division or Sonic Youth. Bright Channel's music may sound like a vacuum cleaner, but it sure doesn't suck.


Think Denver's twang torch-bearers can't cut it next to those of, say, Texas? Pardner, soak up a set by the Dalharts and see the error of your ways. Singer Les Cooper and his mates are the best of Colorado's kingly country crop, a honky-tonk/Western-swing act that can rule alongside the best from any of America's roadhouses. Cooper's crooning, the mastery of steel-guitarist Tim Whitlock and pianist Mark Richardson, and the band's ranch-hand-solid rhythm section play rollicking, seasoned country of the finest grade.


Faster than a nose-diving stock quote, able to leap plummeting interest rates without crying like a diaper baby, the Alan Greenspan Project sounds like the last of the big spenders. In fact, you can have 'em for a song.


Lancer Lounge
As novel as it is to see a jukebox full of Nick Drake and Modest Mouse, sometimes you just want to go to a bar and drown your coolness in a steady stream of bottled Bud and sweet classic rock. When that feeling hits, the Lancer is your oasis. Decorated like the wood-paneled den of one of your dad's bowling buddies, you can almost hear the hemi blocks and smell the Hamburger Helper as hit after hit keeps rolling out of the jukebox: The Eagles' "Lying Eyes," Journey's "Separate Ways," Kansas's "Wayward Son." Every once in a while, someone feels the need to program an entire Kid Rock disc, but that's just all the more reason to put in another three bucks and punch up some Foghat and CCR.


Don's Club Tavern
Sarah McGill
In the era of digital boxes networked into 100,000-song libraries, mood is half the battle, and sadly, some places just don't have that good jukebox vibe. But the beer-soaked, retro aura at Don's is a perfect match for the music in its box, with discs ranging from the Beatles' "Abbey Road" to Tom Waits's "Closing Time" to "The Essential Patsy Cline." The nicotine-stained ambience is further bolstered by nice helpings of barroom standards (Johnny Cash, Hank Williams, John Lee Hooker) alongside side dishes of 21st-century hip-hop (Outkast, Eminem) and the greatest hits of assorted departed icons (Cobain, Marley, Joplin, Hendrix, Gaye). If you can't find five songs you want to play here, you aren't trying.


Electronic alchemists Resurrector and Patch enlist an impressive crew of Denver and Boulder-based artists -- Apostle, Wailer B., Elon, Stero Lion, Vill, Totter Todd, and DJ Hot Daddi 36-0 -- to create a shamanistic wall of hip-hop dubtronica that aims to topple the foundations of modern-day Babylon. The analog mix of illbient bass sounds comes courtesy of some of the best technicians in the business, L.A.-based Scott Wolfe and Brian Gardner, who helped engineer that classic Death Row sound. So warmongers, take note: Both the crew's raps and the manifesto accompanying the record offer up prescriptions for survival and victory in a tension-filled time.


The Czars have long specialized in dreamy, abstract, melancholic music, and the inspiration for their album titles over the years seems to come from an equally surreal place. Now comes further proof that the Czars are simply playing with us: Witness the lighthearted wordplay of X Would Rather Listen to Y Than Suffer Through a Whole C of Z's. Whether it's with their album titles or their music itself, the Czars always keep us guessing.


After a few years of toiling in the music shadows, Dixie transplant John Davis has finally treated the local music consciousness with his unique take on American roots music. Dreams of the Lost Tribe is a lush, layered masterpiece of deep-fried Americana that's equal parts Flannery O'Connor, deep-bottom blues and Tin Pan Alley treasure. Chock-full of imagery, emotion and fresh language, this debut is a commanding stunner.


David Eugene Edwards is the grandson of a Nazarene preacher, and like a chip off the old block (or in this case, brimstone) he offers up his solo debut side project Wovenhand. The presentation sounds as though it has gathered some dust, probably because it is largely derivative of his band 16 Horsepower. But Wovenhand's message -- like the call of a street-corner doomsday prophet -- is hard to ignore.


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