Turntable CDs?

Yes, friends, the CD plays on a turntable. If you take Lint's 12-song disc Cold Scene (on Plumb), place the little rubber washer in the center hole and stick it face-up on your record player, and if your table doesn't rebel and go into "reject" mode, you can hear a song that's not on the disc proper. (The opposite side of the disc plays like a regular CD.) This technical marvel was accomplished through a mix of modern technology, precise scientific engineering, and the band's willingness to glue 2000 flexidiscs onto as many CDs.

"It took more work than anything else on the album," admits drummer Chris Cassell. "It was hard enough to find rubber washers that were the right size; we got them out of one of my dad's hardware catalogues." But Lint had tried a different weird idea on each of their three, one-sided singles -- two had stenciled designs on the back; the other had a random used-bin single glued to the flipside -- and needed to top that somehow. "We just like doing things that haven't been done. The guy at the pressing plant does thousands of CDs a year, and he'd never heard of a CD that played on turntables." Once he agreed to cut a flexidisc of the necessary size, another problem turned up. Such a flexi couldn't hold more than 55 seconds of music. So Lint scrapped the song they'd been planning to use and went home and wrote a much shorter one. "Some people hate it, but there's a few who think it's the best thing on the album."

Beyond the packaging, what's most interesting about Lint is that they don't have a regular singer. So the CD uses various guests, most from the noisier side of town, including Denise Monahan (Milkmoney); Seana Carmody (Swirlies/Syrup USA); Ayal Naor, Christian Negrette, and Mona Elliott (all ex-Spore); and Meaghan McLaughlin (Bloodletter). The songs are likewise tailored to the personality of the singers (each writes his or her own lyrics), so the settings on the disc range from noise purge (on "Too Few," delivered by McLaughlin and her sister Kate) to almost-pop ("Fifth Floor," where male and female singers rehash a relationship from different perspectives) to semi-acoustic to fun weirdness ("Puppenstuben," sung by Carmody in German).

The rotating cast has also kept Lint from many live shows -- they've done fewer than a dozen gigs in the past two years -- but Elliott and a singer known as TC have both joined as permanent members to support the album. "We'll probably play out in another couple of months," Cassell says. "We haven't done anything logical that a band is supposed to do, so this is no exception."

Yes, there's a certain element of put-on with this band. Everyone who plays on the CD is credited under a fake name, and with a fake photo as well. (Guitarist Brooke Fletcher is identified as Reed Precoda and represented by a truly goofy photo of singer Steve Forbert.) They've also stolen the CD graphics from various sources -- instead of a photo of Elliott and Negrette, there's one of the Carpenters -- and the Plum label logo is simply a mid-'60s Decca label with their name stripped in. Which makes you wonder what will happen if the copyright folks ever get wind of Lint. "It doesn't bother us," says Cassell. "If we get big enough that they start coming after us, so much the better."

Here I am trying to find a nice way of telling Cheri Knight that I really like her new solo album (The Knitter, on ESD) even though I never had much use for her former band. So, I suggest, would you agree that your album at least came out more rocking than anything you did with the Blood Oranges?

"Don't know about that," she ponders. "It's not really that different to me. I always wrote songs like the ones on my album, but maybe you never heard them with the Blood Oranges. The only problem with that band is that we had three distinct personalities who were always sparring with each other. That led to the inconsistencies live, sometimes we may have been stepping on our own feet. But if you listen to The Crying Tree [the band's last album], my songs on there were pretty rocking."

Still, The Knitter shows a vocal charm and songwriting reach that was often buried in the Blood Oranges, a local outfit who were well ahead of the country-rock trend. Although the band enjoyed a few on-target nights, they also had laid-back tendencies that overwhelmed too many of the shows I saw. Knight's solo debut has a more even mix, alternating Blood Orange-like tracks (the Appalachian-sounding "Wishing Well") with more straightforward, guitar-driven honky-tonkers. Even on the songs that don't click ("Last Barn Dance" has a melody that threatens to turn into "Take It to the Limit" at any moment) Knight displays a pure and unforced singing voice that fits the long-suffering rural romantics she portrays in the lyrics.

Many of the songs, she says, were written for the third album that the Blood Oranges never made; the band fell apart quietly when member Mark Spencer got a gig touring with Lisa Loeb. "We never did a farewell show, which was probably a good thing. We probably would have gotten too drunk to play and it would have been a mess." Knight moved to western Massachusetts after a time in New York, where she linked up with the notable folks who play on her album: former Del Lords guitarist Eric Ambel and ex-dB's drummer Will Rigby, joined by Northampton popster Ray Mason on bass (Knight has since returned to playing the bass herself). So far she's played only one Boston gig as a soloist, and the Middle East was sold out that night -- but for the Bags reunion downstairs rather than for her largely overlooked show upstairs. "That didn't bother me, it's just the way it goes. With the Blood Oranges we probably cleared enough rooms for 10 bands."

Her next recording project is likely to get more attention: Rig Rock Deluxe, the latest project by the truck-obsessed Diesel Only label. This one will be distributed by Rounder/Upstart and will feature a stellar guest cast -- among them Nick Lowe, Buck Owens, Kelly Willis, and the Bottle Rockets. Although Knight admits to being "the only geek on the album ("I can hear people saying, `Cheri Knight, who the hell's that?' "), she's also the one with firsthand knowledge of trucking. Her "Wagon of Clay" is "a sappy love song, basically. I'm married to a trucker, so I didn't have to go very far for inspiration. He moves dry materials and things that potters use. I have a more realistic view of the subject. Someone like Junior Brown has all these funny songs about trucking. But when my husband has to leave during a New England winter and there's 20 inches of snow on the ground, there's a less poetic side."

Pansy Division aside, how many bands would proudly sum themselves up as "a rock band that sings about boys?" That would be Juicy, whose second album, Olive Juicy (say that to someone you like if you don't get the pun), was released on Slow River last week. They're a cuddly outfit who quote an entire Dorothy Parker poem in their press kit, credit themselves by first name only (Kendall on guitar, Jenn on bass, Meggan on drums), and proudly admit they couldn't play their instruments before putting the band together.

That much was evident on their first album, For the Ladies (also Slow River), but they take a few steps forward on the new one. For one thing, Kendall points out that she's learned to play barre chords; for another, their sound has taken on a likable, low-key quality that recalls Tsumani's early days. Except that Tsunami never trashed their hip credentials by covering a Don Henley song ("Boys of Summer") with no apparent irony -- any song with "boys" in the title is, apparently, welcome.

"If that makes us a girlie band, I don't necessarily think it's a dis," says Kendall by phone from New York. "I wanted to be a writer before I started playing music. You write about what you know about, so my songs are always about failed relationships. Something like `Sometimes I Smoke' is about smoking and drinking because you think you're having fun meeting someone, but in the end it's just another depressed guy you're attracted to. That's what I learn now that I'm out of college, the kind of mistakes I make in relationships; and that's what I want to write songs about. Our next album isn't going to be like the Cranberries writing about Bosnia."

It should be noted that Kendall and Jenn (who in real life is former Phoenix graphic designer Jennifer Levin) were as popular as anyone when they lived in Boston; they edited the music fanzine Buzz, and their first gig, played on Kendall's apartment roof in Allston, drew friends from Helium, the Flying Nuns, and other happening bands. After that they landed a track on the Warners compilation The Indie Rock Guide to Dating, and Kendall points out that the band are no longer just a goof. "We know we've only been playing for a couple of years, but my attitude to this has totally changed; I find it incredibly fulfilling to play an instrument now. We're still the same dorky girls we always were, but now we get better gigs."

Has their lack of boyfriends been remedied by playing in a band? "Not yet," sighs Kendall. "But Jenn is pretty much the heartthrob in the band. It's only lately that we've had boys at the shows that we recognize from other shows. But as far male groupies, it just doesn't happen."

COMING UP