Joey and the Ramones turned the basic rock-and-roll tune into a higher art form by stuffing it full of volume and speed, and maintaining a lyrical simplicity that allowed immediate possession by the listener. Pick any Ramones song, and I guarantee you can sing along by the chorus, if not sooner, even if you've never heard the tune before.

On this solo disc, Joey takes it a step further by being subtly playful with the material and his voice. The former is most evident in "Maria Bartiromo," a love song directed at the CNBC stock-market analyst. As he begs to know what's happening on Wall Street, or with Yahoo or AOL, he sings, "I wanna know," tipping his hand that he's got a love jones for the girl, adding, "I watch her every night, she's really outta sight." A love song for a TV anchor? The pathos of the mundane.

He is playful with his voice as well on "Spirit in My House," with those Queens, NY pipes of his wobbling and wavering ever so slightly in a spooky fashion, or on "Mr. Punchy," where he intros with a '50s-ish "La-la-la-ooh-ooh." The nuances are subtle, but he'll crack you up and make you smile. Slowing things down, there's also a ballad, "Searching for Something," but for the most part, it's all straight-ahead rock and roll.

Listening to the disc repeatedly might bring on a sense of sadness, but Joey's humor and the solid material bring you right back up. On "I Got Knocked Down (But I'll Get Up)," he sings, "Sitting in a hospital bed, I want my life, it really sucks," the mental image of Joey stuck in a hospital bed hits home, and you keep thinking, man, he's gone. Yet, at the same time, your foot is pounding time on the floor, your head is bobbing, and you're smiling like a loon, just so happy that this disc came out. And as he closes with "Don't Worry About Me," though it's a love song, you can't help feeling that there was some sort of prescience on his part, or that he's winking at you from beyond.

No doubt you'll endure conflicting emotions while hearing Joey Ramone one final time. You'll think back to the first time you saw the band, and then to the last. You'll reflect on the impact the Ramones had on rock music, and for the diehard fans, it is a tough listen, but extremely gratifying as well. There's a simplicity to the music, a naivete or innocence that masks what a master of the three-chord song Joey really was. There's also a wicked sense of humor and irony at play in the disc, in the choice of the opening cut, to the title track that closes the disc, to the other nine tunes sandwiched between. For fans of Joey, this is a must have, and for those looking for really good, strike that, positively great rock and roll, it belongs in your home as well. On a related note, East 2nd Street and the Bowery should soon be renamed Joey Ramone Place, and the Ramones will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, March 18. Gabba gabba hey.

Most of the time, all three guitarists are simply chording (albeit quickly and heavily), with the resulting sound thick, but mostly one-dimensional. Though the occasional lead will dot a song here and there, there's not a lot of flashy fretwork, but then again, this style of music doesn't really demand it.

Vocals, on the other hand, are harmonically layered in choruses, almost Queen-like at times, as on "Epiphany," where they're laid on thicker than a Rodgers and Hammerstein musical. The song also departs from the requisite non-stop chaotic approach of many of the other tunes, switching from minor key to major key inflections, verging on operatic in nature. A number like "Bored and Extremely Dangerous" maintains the breakneck pace that fans have grown accustomed to, fast and brief, yet again, heavy with vocals.

And in that respect, Bad Religion seem to want to redirect the course of California punk, as many claim they did way back when they sprung onto the scene. Not content to just speed merrily along, they appear to graft Beach Boy vocal harmonies into their songs, giving them, or the choruses at least, and anthem-like quality.

For fans of California punk, this disc will become a prized addition to the collection. And it's a hoot to listen to, blazing by as it does. Bad Religion might have helped the birth of West Coast punk, and as the genre barrels into its teens and twenties, they might be revising its definition with this album. They've been at it long enough to understand what works and what doesn't. And The Process of Belief definitely works.

Though the production is polished, the songs themselves are chaotic, frenzied, and explosive. Chuck Ragan's vocals are raw and ragged, like he spent the night sleeping on the sidewalk in the rain. And it's not just a screaming thing, as on the beginning of "A Clear Line," where his gruff voice pains its way quietly along the soundscape.

Perhaps most interesting though is the interplay of guitar work between Ragan and Chris Wollard. Though they do share pounding chords in spots, often they are doing different things at the same time, stacking single note runs against a vamp, holding octaves against ascending and descending lines. At times, there's a looseness that reminds you of old Television or Tom Verlaine numbers. On top of the mayhem (or underneath it), bassist Jason Black and drummer George Rebelo enact a similar interplay while setting the time and rhythm.

Coupled with wild music and vocals are lyrics that, um, are kind of stream of consciousness in nature, touching on relationships, religion, and life. The offbeat lyrical style is evident in "Call It Trashing," where Ragan sings, "Something react with a shake and a bang to resurrect a dead beat, rhythm of a slant and a pose of chivalry that's far from its best, so overrated, so bits and pieces, accelerated, and so deceiving." Uh, check please? It's clear from that snippet of lyrics that in a punk vein, Hot Water Music reside a bit further down the arty and poetic side of the street.

Yet that vagueness serves to make the disc more attractive, as you try to figure out just what the hell is going on. It's not simple sing-along anthems delivered here, but weirder stuff. Kind of makes you wonder what's in the water supply down in Gainesville.

The sound is intriguing indeed. The lyrics, while out there, don't require a master's degree in poetry to decipher; yet neither are they simple slogans and catch phrases. And the band members, well, though they all play disparate pieces, they manage to mesh the songs together quite well. There may not be a load of danceable stuff here, but Hot Water Music have created a thinking man's disc that rewards those who look deep into it.

From the intro, "Cocky," where gunshots fire off and slowly turn into a beat that kicks off the second number, Fieldy seems to want to live up to the title (although what a rock-and-roll gangster does I'm not sure – deal in black-market guitars? Sell picks and strings to school children?). As for the music on this disc, the grooves are all there, fit for headphones or booming out of the car speakers. From slow throbbing numbers to the more up-tempo stuff, chances are, you'd never guess it was Korn's bassist, nor would the music sound out of place in the clubs or on the radio stations that play the heavier hip-hop stuff.

Where it falls short, or at least proves a letdown, is lyrically, where songs extol the virtues of pot, or where misogynist attitudes denigrate women shamelessly. On "Are You Talkin' to Me," for example, Fieldy raps: "I'm gonna stay high till the day that I die, smokin' on the ganja, smokin' when I wanna," and so forth. Fieldy doesn't appear to be shooting for role-model status, and that's a shame, given the grooves of the music he establishes.

There are a few guests on the disc, which seems to be customary among hip-hop albums, and which also validates Fieldy's excursion into the hip-hop arena. While Korn's frontman Jonathan shows up on the track "Just for Now," you'll also find Tre from the Pharcyde on "Sugar Coated," and RBX on "Do What You Feel." Cameos are limited, but as Fieldy notes, "I just didn't want to overdo it this time."

Also interspersed between tracks are 20-second bits that patch together songs, and those can get a bit annoying. But, overall, Fieldy has made a decent disc, in terms of separation from the Korn sound, and moving from bassist to frontman rapper. Where the disc fails to provide enjoyment, again, is lyrically (though blunt smoking teens and hip-hop fans will most likely find praise). Touting the glory of pot or rapping that "your bitch is a whore, and that's coming from a friend" only attempts to capitalize on the gangster culture where the macho attitude is glorified, drugs are requisite, and women are all second class. Ah well, c'est la vie.