Irrelevance is the bane of anyone in the performing arts, especially if the performer held at least a modicum of significance at one point. Whether you're a band praying that your fan base of 20 years prior will come out to see your reunion tour, or a washed-up actress portraying Victim #3 in some B-grade horror flick just to keep your name in the public eye -- fairly soon, probably when the money runs out, you're going to have to come to terms with the fact that "your public" hath forsook you for Third Eye Blind, or that Catherine Zeta-Jones is playing the roles you would have been perfect for in 1975.

Then what do you do? Do you fold up your tent and call it a day, career, whatever? Or do you attempt to redefine yourself in one last shot at pertinence?

1998's version of Sub Pop Records might soon by facing this very question, if Jonathan Poneman, Bruce Pavitt and company haven't read the writing on the wall already. Today's Sub Pop is a different creature from that of 5, 8, 10 years ago. Back then, the label was the paragon of indie cred; it had a focus and it was important. Granted, they had a Murderer's Row of Nirvana, Soundgarden, and Mudhoney; in their stead today are ... Les Thugs, Six Finger Satellite and Heroic Doses?

Let's be fair: Sub Pop's talent roster isn't devoid of, as its name implies, talent. The Pernice Brothers (featured here last month) and the Spinanes are, in a word, glorious. No Depressionites who are tired of the banality of much of today's alt-country will find Mike Ireland and Holler refreshing. And while his solo work pales when placed next to his band's recent catalog, Mark Lanegan of the Screaming Trees can still produce stirring, almost haunting music when he's not battling chemical demons (see "The River Rise" on his solo record Whiskey For The Holy Ghost and the "Hype!" soundtrack.)

That said, Sound:CHECK is a tale of two discs. The first disc is peppered with modest, restrained melodies (Pernice Brothers' "Overcome By Happiness" and "Clear Spot" are two of the most graceful tunes you won't hear this year) and an air of quiet gloom; Lanegan's "Last One In The World" and the Spinanes' "Greetings From The Sugar Lick" will make you long for that lover you wish you'd never given up. And Damon and Naomi's "Turn Of The Century" is a sparse, beautiful ballad that only deepens that longing feeling, the perfect accompaniment to a chilly, candlelit December night.

Just as the first disc could be subtitled "A Soundtrack For Spending A Rainy Afternoon Curled Up On The Couch Drinking Irish Coffee," the second disc could just as easily be labeled "Music For People With Outdated Musical Tastes And Otherwise Empty Lives." The term "turgid" doesn't begin to describe the thread of vapidity coarsing through the 13 songs here. The best of this sorry lot, The Jesus And Mary Chain's "I Love Rock "n" Roll," (no, not *that* one), might be good for a turn as an MTV Buzz Clip before being tossed onto the scrap heap with the rest of the throwaways here.

Where to start? Elevator To Hell's "Backteeth" is sludge rock at its most generic: mix one repetitive, downtuned riff, an agonizingly slow backbeat, and mumbled lyrics without a hint of melodicism. All of this would have been good for a five-record deal in 1990, but today, such frippery is cliched. If grunge isn't dead yet, these guys are trying their damnedest to kill it. 10 Minute Warning's "Is This The Way?" might be passable as a Motorhead outtake from 1916, save for the replacement of a charismatic, growling Lemmy figure with a white-bread, tuneless vocalist. And the Heroic Doses are as unmemorable and insipid as anything clogging FM radio these days; to their credit, they spare the listenrer of actual vocals, choosing instead to inflict ennui with either forgettable prog-metal instrumentals ("Crystals") or rudderless, seemingly random noise ("Ollie Oxen Free"), thereby guaranteeing virtually no airplay on all but the most desperate of community radio stations. Les Thugs ... gODHEADSILO ... Murder City Devils ... who the hell is running this label, the interns?

Creatively speaking, if Disc Two of this set is any indication, Sub Pop is in big trouble. While no one at the label is in danger of going hungry, thanks to the clever deal Pavitt and Poneman made with Nirvana and DGC Records before the release of Nevermind (and maybe the problem lies therein), the looming menace of artistic bankruptcy (the worst kind of poverty for musicians and labels alike) threatens to doom Sub Pop to irrelevancy. Disc One, however, proves that the label can still be responsible for bringing meaningful music to those seeking it. Does Sub Pop have a direction in mind, or will it continue its schizophrenic path? Moreover, by the time they figure it out, will anyone care?

--Brandon Grimes