So I guess it's Autumn at this point. Gone are the carefree days of summer with their summeriness-- pick-up volleyball games and sunburns and screaming kids and stinging insects and whatnot. Days are getting shorter, college kids are honing their testbook theft schemes, and miller moths are beginning to invade. All around the world, squirrels and chipmunks are frittering away the last autumn ever, gathering nuts and nesting material to sustain them past New Millennium's Eve and through the Eternal Winter which will soon descend upon us all.

If you're anything like me, Autumn is the time when your will to rock begins to ebb, just a little bit. It's a time to wax all introspective and shit-- to watch some leaves falling and to think about your own mortality. The weeds grow in your bay laurel's pot, the world refuses to behave in the clean and orderly fashion described by mathematics, and the universe's possibly inevitable heat- death descend upon us. Autumn is the sad, slowish song that makes all the punks quit moshing for a second and lean against each other, panting and sweaty and just a little bit wistful.

It's a good time for Julie Doiron's latest EP. I mean, if it were still summer and somebody put on , well, that would pretty much be the end of the barbecue, wouldn't it? You'd grab your beer and your corn- on- the- cob and wander off down the block, looking for some more rockin' company. But now there's a chill in the air, and we're sitting out on the front stoop, and we're willing to tolerate-- hell, even welcome-- a little bit of sparse acoustic songstress action while we polish off the keg in relative silence and watch the grill smoke itself out.