In a weekend fraught with poor decisions, this was by far the worst: I agreed to meet up with a few alumni friends at the college we graduated from last year. We ended up sitting around in once-familiar (now unfamiliar) campus houses, without even a buzz to speak of. While in one of these houses, I actually resorted to watching TV. VH1 was offering their, ahem, definitive list of the 100 Greatest Bands of Hard Rock, complete with James Hetfield and Henry Rollins, among others, waxing critical about the historical significance of second-rate tripe like Alice in Chains and Stone Temple Pilots.

While I was nicely surprised by some inclusions-- Fugazi (#95), the Pixies (#81), Hüsker Dü (#68), and Jane's Addiction (#35), for instance-- I was mostly appalled. Like I didn't see it coming. First, there was the problem of order. Mötley Crüe are #29, while the Rolling Stones were covered only briefly at #67. Good one! There was also a noticeable lack of coherent determining criteria. Judging by their list, I'd guess the editors at VH1 consider the Red Hot Chili Peppers (#30) and Foo Fighters (#72) "hard rock," but not David Bowie. There were, of course, countless other omissions, particularly in the area of punk. New York Dolls, the Stooges, and the Sex Pistols appear at numbers 60, 27 and 12, respectively. But Wire, Gang of Four, and Television-- all left out.

And left out in favor whom? I've already mentioned four poor choices, and there are plenty more. Korn (#53), anyone? Looking down the list, it becomes apparent that VH1 really means "heavy metal" when it says "hard rock": Iron Maiden (#24), Pantera (#45), the Scorpions (#46), Slayer (#50), Megadeth (#69), Ratt (#79)-- and that's just a few. But people, please. Do I really need to continue after Ratt? Okay, one more: Quiet Riot (#100).

The way some critics have drooled over Cave In's second true full-length, Jupiter, you'd think the band would be destined to make this list when VH1 revises it in 2010. Some company this Boston four-piece would have. But, in all seriousness, they'd fit right in-- from their music all the way down to their pomposity: visiting their website, you'll be met by a Shockwave Flash intro that reads, "The future of music is on Jupiter. Perception will be altered. Preconceptions will be shattered. Jupiter has landed." I believe Damon Albarn said it all with his timeless phrase, "Woo-hoo."

I wish I could tell you what the site says after that, but it's so graphics-heavy that it ground my computer to a halt. Now replace "site" with "album," and "my computer" with "my brain": this is how I responded to Jupiter. The album might betray fans of Cave In's earlier albums, 1999's Beyond Hypothermia (a collection of various sessions) and Until Your Heart Stops. Their metal roots are still apparent, but their new sound will, uh, shatter preconceptions. Their last release, the Creative Eclipses EP, hinted at this development, but only now have Cave In fully suffused their music with heavy prog and space-rock flourishes.

Admittedly, the opening title track isn't much of a departure. "Jupiter" rips open with some standard chunky riffs while frontman Steve Brodsky gives it his trademark high-school talent show best with lines like, "The metronome is wrong again/ My heart has surely gone and skipped a beat." Only with the vocal mirroring of a Middle Eastern-style guitar lick does it become apparent that things are different this time around. The next track, "In the Stream of Commerce," straddles the line. The chorus remains derivative hard rock, stuffed with present-day Weilandisms, but the verse offers lofty, reverberated guitar stylings and even a hackneyed falsetto. We all know who also sounds like this, so I'm not going to say the R-word. (Rush; #28)

Jupiter moves further away from its metal leanings as it progresses. The seven-minute "Big Riff" contains just that, along with some guttural, "I'm going to eat your children" vocals, but, as suggested by its length, there's plenty of heads-down string-picking. During these moments, Cave In resemble a directionless version of Hum. Meanwhile, "Innuendo and Out the Other" is like a long, drawn out version of "Black Hole Sun" with no chorus; the nine-minute "Requiem" is more self-indulgent, um, post-metal-- only longer; "Decay of the Delay" is an angular, if overly consistent instrumental. And the closer, "New Moon," moves from an acoustic opening to a raucous, metal climax. Which, as you know, has never been done before.

If you still have a soft spot for heavy metal, but can't bring yourself to dig up those old Def Leppard (#31) records, Jupiter's just what you've been searching for. It's metal without the guilt; in other words, it's arty metal-- which is why some critics have embraced it (this, by the way, is also why Queens of the Stone Age have received so much undeserved press). But Jupiter actually makes me yearn for those old Leppard records, if only to hear the real thing.

-Ryan Kearney