Bad Religion - The L.A. BAND that was a catalyst of the Eighties punk revival - have re-formed to record The Process of Belief, fourteen throttling songs...

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Bad Religion - The L.A. BAND that was a catalyst of the Eighties punk revival - have re-formed to record The Process of Belief, fourteen throttling songs designed to remind Sum 41's worshippers about the oft-neglected cerebral side of punk. Working that old, reliable combination of buzz-saw guitars and shouted, instantly memorable melodies, the songwriting team of singer Greg Graffin and guitarist Brett Gurewitz strives to jolt listeners into awareness of the world around them, covering classic punk ground about the voided-out values of consumer culture and the numbness of the age. Their songs may not be elegant -many adhere to the same hyperfast tempo and rely on too-familiar guitar riffage. But the best of them compress provocative ideas about self-esteem, fate and personal responsibility into brash, blistering, exceedingly tuneful polemics: "Supersonic," for example, uses pure delirious speed to lament the frenzy of modern urban life. When things get overwhelming, Graffin sings in the chorus, there's always the quintessential punk response: "I just accelerate into oblivion."

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God--however you choose (or not) to define that term--bless Bad Religion. In an era when too many demand unquestioning loyalty to the status quo, the...

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God--however you choose (or not) to define that term--bless Bad Religion. In an era when too many demand unquestioning loyalty to the status quo, the veteran L.A. band provides a by turns muscular, melodic and melancholy guide to challenging the norm and making your own rules.
OK, right--that's pretty much what these guys have been doing throughout their 20-year recording career. But they've got a bit more spring in their step on "Process," perhaps because of the first appearance of original guitarist-songwriter Brett Gurewitz since 1994's "Stranger Than Fiction," or maybe because the group, which moved to Atlantic Records that same year, has returned to Gurewitz's fiercely indie Epitaph label.
Speaking partly as if addressing a select few who can understand the message, and partly as if anyone who really listens can get it, the band tears through 14 tracks in 36 minutes. Guitars mesh with pell-mell assurance as the players veer from the singsong one-two punk of "Supersonic" and "Destined for Nothing" to the breathless tirades "Prove It" and "Materialist" to the angular anthem "Epiphany" and the goth-pop ballad Broken."
"You might not think there's any wisdom in a ... punk rock song," taunts the environmentally minded "Kyoto Now!" Au contraire, messieurs. There is quite a bit.

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