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The arrival of mail is constant. Like Newman, the befuddled mailman from "Seinfeld," I sometimes get frustrated when the mountain of manila envelopes threatens to cause bodily harm by avalanche. To paraphrase singer John Doe, there are CDs, CDs and more CDs, and too many (censored) bands.

But sometimes, there's gold to be unearthed in the stacks that pile up on the desk.

Some of the better nuggets of the past few weeks:

"Monkey on a Chain Gang" and "Tantilla" (Rhino Records), House of Freaks. If House of Freaks were releasing albums now, they'd be called derivative. But in the late 1980s, Bryan Harvey and Johnny Hott created the primer for all the guitar-and-drum duos, from the Black Keys to the White Stripes, that is a sub-genre of rock today.

The reissues -- limited-edition runs of 2,500 -- of "Monkey on a Chain Gang" and especially "Tantilla" are testaments to a band that should have been mentioned in the same breath with REM, the dBs and other musicians who had an affinity for showcasing their Southern heritage.

While "Monkey on a Chain Gang" is notable for Hott's kinetic percussion and Harvey's keen songwriting, "Tantilla" is a true gem. Released in 1989, it's a concept album that touches upon issues of race ("White Folks Blood"), Southern guilt ("Birds of Prey"), the Civil War ("Big Houses") and religion ("The Righteous Will Fall"). It's a cerebral, intelligent work that retains a primal intimacy even though Harvey and Hott added keyboards to flesh out the sound. The music ranges from punk-flavored anthems to blues to bluegrass, sometimes with a single tune.

Overlooked then but now given new life, it's no exaggeration to call "Tantilla" one of best albums of the past 20 years.

"The Best of Soundstage, Season 1" (WTTW DVD), various artists. From 1974 through 1985, "Soundstage" was the hippest show on PBS, showcasing acts ranging from Bob Dylan to Benny Goodman. After an 18-year absence, the program returned last year, and the DVD of the return season is spectacularly filmed and recorded in 5.1 sound. Most of the performances are worthwhile, with highlights including John Hiatt and the Goners' "Baby Blue," Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers' rousing "Refugee," and a stirring, near-poetic reading of "I Think It's Going to Rain Today" by Randy Newman.

But why two songs by the nondescript Peter Cetera when Lucinda Williams, Raul Malo, Sonic Youth and Dar Williams get just a single tune? Fortunately with DVDs, it's easy to skip the average (Michael McDonald, Travis Tritt) and get to the good stuff, notably Tori Amos' "A Sorta Fairy Tale" and Malo's "Let It Be Me."

"Radioactivity" (Morrow, $23.95) by Bill Fitzhugh. Anyone who grew up in the 1970s listening to freeform, progressive radio on WYDD-FM in Pittsburgh will enjoy "Radioactivity," a novel by author Bill Fitzhugh. Set at a contemporary classic-rock station in a small Mississippi town, it's an engaging look at what radio used to be and the vanilla sludge it's become. Characters argue about what constitutes classic rock, debating the merits of Cat Stevens, Bob Dylan before he went electric, Carole King and Joni Mitchell ("... she's a folkie. Hell, she's one of their leaders").

Fitzhugh, a former DJ who grew up in Mississippi, clearly knows his music, referencing tracks such as "Blackmail" by Robert Palmer, "Beauty Queen" by Roxy Music and Chi Coltrane's "Thunder and Lightning."

He also takes no delight in skewering radio giants -- hmm, wonder what Clear Signal Radio Corp. stands for -- and deftly uses his love of music to buttress a mystery tale about a missing DJ, blackmail, arson and scandal in the Deep South.

Capsule reviews

"You Are the Quarry" (Attack Records), Morrissey. No one has ever been better at navel-gazing, woe-is-me Brit-rock than Morrissey. But since his alliance with guitarist Johnny Marr in the Smiths ended in 1987, his solo output has been uneven. That doesn't change on "You Are the Quarry," his first album of new material in seven years.

"Quarry" peaks with wonderfully Morrissey-centric songs as "The World Is Full of Crashing Bores," "I Have Forgiven Jesus" and "How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?," and ebbs when he looks beyond his own circle of misery. Politics aside, "America Is Not the World" sounds forced and contrived, with curious references to Estonia and hamburgers even as he allows that he loves the country.

"Irish Blood, English Heart" fares a bit better, although it's hard to imagine anyone taking time to dream of a time when the English are sick to death of Labour and Tories/and spit upon the name Oliver Cromwell. But Morrissey does, and these strange phrases are part and parcel of his guitar-oriented melancholia floating over washes of synthesized strings. Rainy-day music, indeed. Two and 1/2 stars.

"Baptism" (Virgin Records), Lenny Kravitz. From "I'm the Minister of Rock 'n' Roll" to "I Don't Want to Be a Star," the first two tracks on Lenny Kravitz's "Baptism," there's no small amount of inconsistency. How can Kravitz assume to "save your soul" in the former while eschewing the mantle of stardom in the latter?

It doesn't matter. "Baptism" is a very good rock 'n' roll record, perhaps Kravitz's best effort at assimilating all his influences into a sound that is purely Lenny, even as part of the fun is connecting the dots. "California" perfectly blends a driving Keith Richards riff with a very Raspberries chorus, and the "Takin' Care of Business" guitar line of "Flash" turns pure Stones when David Sanborn's sax sweetly mimics Bobby Keys. Lennon's "Mind Games" eerily echoes through "What Did I Do With My Life?" while "Sistamamalover" sounds like Sly Stone meeting David Bowie during the "Young Americans" sessions.

Consider it retro, or, more harshly, derivative. But Kravitz does it so well, it really doesn't matter who he's channeling, even if it's actually himself. Three and 1/2 stars.

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