e’re not saying we’re cooler than you are, but we here at Stylus, we likes the very newest music. In fact, there’s probably a game of in-staff one-upsmanship going on right now at a pub near you. Look into it; they’ll be the ones with scarves far cleaner than their faces. But we realize that we can’t share a pint with everyone, every week, and that we should really take these discussions to a wider forum. So we’ve begun our newest column here at Stylus, The Agenda. Each week on Monday, you can count on us to tell about all our new faves—our writers will moan about anything even remotely related to music that has them all lathered and ripe (shows, singles, EPs, MySpace-finds, clubs, obscure website-sold full-lengths, etc.). Feel free to pick and choose and let us know if you think we’ve missed something. Enjoy.

Foals
Foals are an odd one. Their concussive attack, dorky demeanor, stop-start dynamics, and technical proficiency mark them out as post-Fugazi math-rock kidz, but they're ones who've decided that playing to ten people (none of them girls) in a pub's upstairs room for beer money isn't for them. Instead they've swapped the red medicine for white powder, roped in a bloke on an inaudible Korg, and are now playing support slots to cringe-inducing New Rave groups for twenty people (three girls) in Hoxton bars.

The music on their MySpace page takes the faltering first steps of the baby animal they're named after, but they hit their stride live—their circular whump is a Rodan-you-can-dance-to. Let's hope their hefty swing survives the cash-infusion from Warner.
[Patrick McNally]

Hot Snack
The ugly and confused MySpace page points towards the idea that Hot Snack might be stoners with too much time on their hands—and no coherent direction to their lives. So does the music. Good thing, too. Hot Snack reside somewhere in the cruel ground 'twixt the bloody minded post-Postcard blocs of gtr scratch practiced by the semi-forgotten likes of the Dog Faced Hermans and The Stretchheads and the dressing-up box faux-ethnology of the Sun City Girls. The dead-eyed creepiness and cold sweat they display live keeps them a hairs-breadth the right side of complacent wacksterism. In other words, exactly where they need to be.
[Patrick McNally]

The Whitest Kids U' Know
And now for something (mostly) non-musical: Fuse TV recently signed NYC comedy troupe The Whitest Kids U' Know to do their thing between “Pants Off Dance Off” and “Steven’s Untitled Rock Show.” Rough gig, guys. But something tells us they’re up for it: on their recently released debut self-titled CD, we found ourselves…well…laughing. Yeah, we know. We thought the comedy album was dead, too. The group, though, smartly keeps the skits short and the punchlines fresh: “Let's Wake Up the Neighbors”’ll hit close to home for anyone living in Brooklyn, the Hitler rap is actually pretty well-researched, and “Special Ops Whispering” gives us hope that they’ll offer up a strong challenge to MTV’s “Human Giant.”
[Charles Merwin]