Originally formed from the ashes of The Leaves in 2004 by singer/multi-instrumentalist/ board expert D.J. Kukielka, and now featuring the mighty musical talents of New Congress member Manuel Guzman on bass, Centurions/ Spikedriver skinman Tim Hovanetz and razor-sharp axeman T.J. Shaffer on guitars, this band has undergone a spectacular metamorphosis and incorporated new members to forge a truly unique sound that nearly defies categorization.

But filing the album you’re holding in your hands right now under “Electronica,” “New Age Alternative” or even “Modern Rock” would be a grievous error. A more suitable tag, if there even is one—this music is both hauntingly familiar and wonderfully strange all at once, like running into your doppelganger in a foreign city or falling asleep during a blizzard and waking to a bright, sunny summer day—for Hojas Rojas might be: “Working class electronica-augmented guitar swoon-rock.”

The group’s latest studio effort, KillMeILoveYou (released on Tom Feldmann’s local Magnolia Recording Co. label), defies such easy genre-placement, though. Alternately a howling, spitting, careening beast on the loose and a gentle, half-drunk bar-stool philosopher, the record courageously batters down the walls dividing club music, roadhouse raunch and sugary pop, leaving an indelible imprint on even the most jaded listener.

Already a popular act on the Minneapolis scene (especially at the West Bank’s rock central—The 400 Bar), the band has labored tirelessly over the past six months, honing their stage show, writing new material and working with lauded producer Mark Stockert to complete the 13 tracks whirling dizzily around in your player and your skull. And what a combo! The album literally bounces from one extreme to the next at the drop of a hat—from tender, teasing ballads like “I Hope It Snows,” which brings to mind the warm, fuzzy alt-pop of Teenage Fanclub, to sonically-aroused, keyboard-driven rabble-rousers like “Sunbeam,” dreamy, wasted-love anti-anthems like “Spiderkiller” and quirky, Pink Floyd-ian sound collages like “Rainfall.”

True, there are hints of that Wayne Coyne-inspired experimentation here, but there are also musical nods to a wide variety of artists—a quick spin recalls the half-stoned, cock-eyed swagger of English pub rockers The Faces, the delightfully twisted blues raunch of The White Stripes, the bone-rattling yowl of Sonic Youth, the brittle, pain-wracked longing of Steve Forbert, latter-period Johnny Thunders, Brian Wilson-era Beach Boys, Built To Spill, Moby and, of course, Pink Floyd.

Hojas Rojas proudly bare their souls here, and with inspirations and influences of that caliber—as well as years of combined stage experience and a genuine, heartfelt love of uplifting, honest rock, pop and folk—there’s simply no telling just how far this truly one-of-a-kind outfit will go. Check ‘em out for yourself at www.hojasrojas.com or www.myspace.com/hojasrojas. For a live taste of these killer tracks, check out HR at the following venues: Aug. 12 at the Theatre Garage/Sin City’s 7, 1900 Lyndale Ave., Mpls or on Aug. 23 at the Fine Line, 318 First Ave. N., Mpls. Rock on, people!

ALSO CHECK OUT: The Mad Ripple, Sink And/Or Swim: Featuring beloved local music scribe Jim Walsh (ya can check out an in-depth interview with the man himself right here in the pages of last week’s Pulse!) and a host of equally-revered Twin Cities musicians, this album (like Hojas Rojas) points its noogy lil’ head right at the walls that divide all that’s good an’ right in this world, takes aim and runs willy-nilly straight on into ‘em. KA-BLOOEY!! Yowza! I’m also highly impressed that it equally blew away my 37-year-old girlfriend, her pre-teen son and daughter, my 17-year-old son, and my 60-something-year-old ma. Talk about cross-generational! That, to me, speaks volumes about Jim, his songwriting talent and the power of his music. My fave cut from this batch is a little ditty called “Now It’s June,” featuring Mr. Walsh on vocals and guitar and Son Volt co-founder Jim Boquist on keys. A soft-spoken, hummable, lost-summer-nights ballad, it simultaneously recalls the squishy angst of Elliot Smith and the driving, high-lonesome emotional plea of the late, great Nick Drake.

Through his early days with Laughingstock, his time at the Pi-Press, and his tenure with CP, Walsh was—and continues to be—one of the Twin Cities’ most ferocious and righteous local music supporters, and this song encapsulates in 2:17 every battered, beat-to-shit acoustic night, every sorry, loveable ‘Mats moment, every bruised Bloody Mary morning, and every wasted, bibulous summer romp you, me and Jim have ever dove into and rode out of. A true local insta-classic, and one that should grace every shit-giving music lover’s collection, every area club juke, and the shelves of every mom-and-pop record shop this man has supported over the past 25 years. BUY THIS ALBUM!! TheMadRipple.com.

That’s it for me this week, folks—tune in again next time out for more local, national and international CD reviews, and make sure you get up offa your sweaty, rash-covered Minnesota arses and hit a local gig this week—somewhere, sometime, somebody is gonna be playin’ a song live that’s gonna knock you out, bowl you over and change your life. It’ll either make ya wanna buy a new album or write and record one yourself. Word. Until we meet again—make yer own damn news.

If you have local music news/gigs/events/CDs you’d like to see listed in this space, or you’d just like to create your own funky mad ripple over the ‘net, send replies to: Tmygunn77764@yahoo.com. ||