Having wound up their previous record contract, New Found Glory have taken advantage of their newfound freedom to pair with renowned hardcore label Bridge Nine for this two-disc package. The US five-piece have always been a pop-punk group, but the band membersā€™ background in the hardcore scene has occasionally shone through in their songs. The new partnership sees the band focus on that side of their music: the six-track Tip Of The Iceberg EP is recognisably NFG, but with a heavy edge highlighted by gang vocals ā€“ particularly on the 90-second title track ā€“ and fierce drums (Dig My Own Grave).

After three solid originals, the band pay tribute to some of the melodic hardcore bands that have influenced them, completing the EP with three great cover songs ā€“ Gorilla Biscuitsā€™ No Reason Why, Shelterā€™s Here We Go and Lifetimeā€™s Cut The Tension. These versions are all faithful to the original recordings, and actually improve Here We Go in my book; Jordan Pundikā€™s trademark vocals sound more passionate than Ray Cappo did on the original.

But thatā€™s not all: the package also includes a second, 12-track disc by NFGā€™s alter egos, International Superheroes Of Hardcore, called Takinā€™ It Ova. ISOH contains the same members as NFG but features Pundik on guitar and guitarist Chad Gilbert on lead vocals. This incarnation of the band plays straight-up melodic hardcore with a ridiculous sense of humour. The music is circle-pit-worthy, but the lyrics tackle subjects like clean substitutes for profanity and the importance of wearing seat belts. While light-hearted, itā€™s hard to tell if Madballā€™s Got Our Back is actually a joke ā€“ after all, Gilbert did produce the new H20 comeback record.

Itā€™s a short affair ā€“ the two discs combined barely come to half an hour ā€“ but itā€™s up there with Catalyst as one of the best things theyā€™ve ever done.

Owen Heitmann

Goldfingerā€™s self-titled 1996 debut album spawned the era-defining ska-punk single Here In Your Bedroom, but the band switched tack when the third-wave ska revival crashed, almost completely forsaking any ska influence on releases after 1997ā€™s Hang Ups, with increasingly diminishing returns.

With Hello Destiny, however, Goldfinger have promised a revival of their heyday, complete with the return of early guitarist Charlie Paulson and cover art that mimics that of their debut ā€“ the album even ends with a quote from Mable, a song off the self-titled.

With this in mind, things begin promisingly with the pop-punk of One More Time (even if frontman John Feldmann doesnā€™t realise that the uber-polished style heā€™s used as a producer with acts such Hilary Duff doesnā€™t actually suit his own band all that well) and Get Up, a horn-infused ska ditty that makes you wonder why they ever abandoned the genre. Goodbye is punchy, and the classic Goldfinger reggae-ska of If Iā€™m Not Right finds Feldmann appropriately singing, ā€?Iā€™m the guy from way back whenā€¯.

With the flavourless War, however, proceedings start to go downhill. Bury Me is forgettable, the best thing that can be said about the Paulson-sung hardcore thrasher Not Amused is that itā€™s short, and by Handjobs For Jesus (a screamo-influenced track featuring Bert McCracken which bizarrely switches to country gospel) it seems like ā€?going back to their rootsā€¯ was just a marketing claim to erase memories of 2005ā€™s poorly performing Disconnection Notice. In fact, winsome How Do You Do It is the only cut that makes it worth listening to the second half of the album.

The lacklustre results shouldnā€™t be a surprise: Goldfinger have been on a downward spiral for years. Itā€™s just the signs that this could have been a return to form that make it hurt. If this is Destiny, letā€™s hear it for free will.

Owen Heitmann

Punk Goes Crunk is without doubt the most hilarious concept of the Punk Goes… compilation series so far, and I don’t expect anyone will buy it expecting more than a novelty or an ironic party album. Good: if you take either your punk or your crunk too seriously, stay away, because this collection isnā€™t really much of either ā€“ itā€™s mostly indie and pop-punk bands covering popular hip hop, rap and urban tracks.

Thereā€™s no consistent approach to the source material: some bands rework their chosen target in their own style (The Maine and All Time Low remake Akonā€™s I Wanna Love You and Rihannaā€™s Umbrella, respectively, as sugary slices of pop-punk, while The Devil Wears Prada do Big Tymersā€™ Still Fly as metalcore), some take it as a challenge to see how closely they can replicate the original (mainly Emanuelā€™s take on Purple Ribbon All-Starsā€™ Kryptonite), some opt for the middle ground (the guitars-and-beats approach of Forever The Sickest Kids on Men In Black, My American Heartā€™s California Love), others take a comedic approach (Lil Jonā€™s Put Yo Hood Up ā€“ incidentally the only track to originally really qualify as ā€?crunkā€¯ ā€“ is performed by Set Your Goals as if Yoda was rapping, Say Anythingā€™s reading of Olā€™ Dirty Bastardā€™s Got Your Money has an affected, near-spoken vocal delivery), and then thereā€™s a few completely out-of-the-blue left turns (Hot Rod Circuitā€™s bluesy version of Snoop Doggā€™s Gin And Juice, The Secret Handshake deciding Skee-Loā€™s mid ā€™90s hip hop single I Wish should be done as vocodered electropop).

Fans of the cover bands involved are likely to take to this more kindly than fans of the original tracks, but even so thereā€™s a fair few duds ā€“ while thereā€™s plenty of gimmicky fun, the only bands that offer repeated listening pleasure are The Maine, The Devil Wears Prada, Person Lā€™s respectful version of The Roots & Cody Chesnuttā€™s The Seed (2.0), and New Found Glory, who close the compilation with a mellow, guitar-based version of Arrested Developmentā€™s Tennessee.

Owen Heitmann

How on earth did this get released? Iā€™ve heard enough live b-sides and bootlegs from pop-punk band Fall Out Boy to verify that Patrick Stump can actually sing live, but you wouldnā€™t know it from this recording, where he spends most of the running time sounding like he couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.

No one expects live songs to sound exactly like their studio counterparts (itā€™s both pointless and often impossible), but vocals aside, this whole recording sounds horrible. The playing is sloppy, and the mix is murky and bass-heavy, particularly on recent tracks such as Thriller. Older songs, like Tell That Mick He Just Made My List of Things To Do Today, translate best to this recording, possibly because they were written when Fall Out Boy used to be a real band and not overproduced studio puppets.

**** Live In Phoenix is also available on DVD, which pretty much makes this CD superfluous ā€“ not only are many of the bandā€™s fans most interested in watching bassist Pete Wentz, but the CD version excises five songs from the gig (three FOB originals and partial covers of Akonā€™s Donā€™t Matter and Timbalandā€™s One And Only). To add insult to injury, the CD sleeve still includes credits for these songs, as if rubbing in the fact that theyā€™re not present.

Disappointing even to fans, this is utterly inessential for anything except proving that Wentz needs to be kept away from the microphone at all costs (witness his screams on set closer Saturday).

Owen Heitmann

By the time a bandā€™s eighth full-length studio album rolls around, itā€™s usually less a case of wondering what it will sound like and more a matter of whether it will live up to previous releases. No Use For A Name are no exception to the rule, and this album finds them continuing to deliver the trademark melodic skate punk that the bandā€™s various lineups have honed over the past 20-odd years. The good news for fans is that theyā€™re pretty much at the top of their game, bouncing back into form after 2005ā€™s disappointing Keep Them Confused.

Biggest Lie breaks the ice with an incredible pace and is loaded with guitar solos; Pacific Standard Time, The Dregs Of Sobriety and I Want To Be Wrong are likewise full of rapid drums, big guitar melodies and vocal harmonies. Although the formula grows stale on a couple of track, for instance Under The Garden, variety comes with the memorably choppy Domino, rhythm-driven The Trumpet Player, and restrained Yours To Destroy.

However, itā€™s the acoustic Sleeping Between Trucks and jangly Kill The Rich (which both recall singer/guitarist Tony Slyā€™s solo split with Lagwagonā€™s Joey Cape) and the genuinely surprising piano ballad Ontario that most successfully rejuvenate the record and make it a pleasure to keep listening. The presence of such well-written diversions just makes the skate punk energy of tracks like the addictive The Feel Good Song of The Year shine all the brighter.

Slyā€™s vocal delivery has been a weakness to me in the past, sometimes sounding more focussed on harmony than passion. But I may be in the minority there, and in any case the songs and performances on offer here are strong enough to redeem him.

Owen Heitmann