There's a bright side to the Bush empire's propensity for aggression, corruption, and disregard for standard interpretations of the Constitution: Musicians are finding no shortage of inspiration to create some of the most powerful songs since the Vietnam era.  Our current crises have also roiled and roused Ulster County artist Michael Truckpile, né Michael Wilcock, of The Kiss Ups. Wilcock has created a solo work of staggering depth and impressive craftsmanship. It's also a hell of a lot of fun.

Through 13 cuts, Truckpile asks the tough questions: Who am I? And how can I fix this screwed-up world? The musical responses are alternately angry, bittersweet, fearful, and hopeful. Such self-examination risks sounding self-absorbed. But Truckpile's observations are sound, and his compositions are unnervingly personal and effortlessly tuneful. While his protest songs seem to offer more pith than his love songs, Truckpile's CD continues to reward upon repeated listenings. www.artoftheunderground.com.

Brothers Chris and Pat Bradley have stepped into an anomalous musical laboratory to concoct a schizoid blend of experimental rock. Here are a few ingredients you might find in their beaker: Frank Zappa, Quentin Tarantino, graveyard dirt, Radiohead, crystal meth, Robert Smith, Eddie Haskel, 3-D glasses, Pink Floyd, Mr. Bungle, a bikini, The Jazz Butcher, Marty Feldman's eyeballs, and way too much coffee. The result is a blend of surf, jazz, lounge, rockabilly, goth, psychedelica, metal, trip-hop, techno, and some uncategorizable soundscapes of dementia. Voted best local band by Hudson Valley magazine in 2003, these Syracuse siblings touch upon topics such as necrophilia, terrorism, and sprinklers, yet a juxtaposition of head-wound instrumentals encourage the listener to formulate his or her own terrible tales.

Auricular Peculiar is JCSK's fifth release and was recorded in Accord and Chicago. It seems a bit more focused than previous efforts, Cleavage (2002) and the self-titled debut (2000), yet the novelty never ceases. Each CD—and each song—is completely surreal and nonpareil, each a fantastical work of art that would fare well in thrift stores, asylums, and the living rooms of the musically enlightened nationwide. If you're feeling a bit twisted or paranoid, dare to let this wobble your tympanic membrane. www.junecleaverandthesteakknives.com.

A big, brashy crash of indy swing and natural strings infuse Merenda's Election Day, creating a grand argument for free speech in these anal-retentive Bush II years.

Merenda's music is a big frothy Mulligan mix of this, that, and all things in-between. He makes such wildly abandoned tunes as the raving "She Smokes Pot!," the Blonde-on-Blondely ironic "Independence Hall" ("I got busted smoking pot outside Independence Hall"), and the ingenious lyricism of "I'm God" (where the protagonist, God, is trying to impress a rather unimpressionable blonde) essential listening—if not for the desert isle, then for right now, breaking the chokehold the majors and their pissant radio and Internet streaming cronies have on our auditory systems. And speaking of Blonde On Blonde, check out the rollicking barrel-house of the "Bob Dylan's 115th Dream" tribute/rip, "Tahoe."

No one will ever mistake Merenda for Josh Grobin, but who cares. When he ends this great disc with the sing-along confession "All Wrecked Up" ("I'm ready to corrupt when I'm all wrecked up"), all I can say is Amen! www.michaelmerenda.com.