New Jersey, known in some circles as the Armpit of America, has produced its share of bad smells and bad hair, but nothing as bad ass as the Bouncing Souls. This band is singular in its drive, stamina and singalong songs that incite audiences to climb over each other in lemminglike fashion.

Starting out as four best friends in suburbia, the Bouncing Souls hung out together after school playing music and finding a collective voice. Bass player Bryan Kienlen describes the results this way: "The music is full of life and expresses the joy and pain of being alive. It's a got a good beat and you can dance to it."

Asked about the group's influences, Kienlen cites pop icons ranging from Johnny Cash to Bruce Springsteen to the Ramones. In particular, the Ramones' simple song structures and subculture stance gave the Bouncing Souls a clear and desirable avenue of expression. Reflecting on the band's 20-year career, however, Kienlen offers a different comparison.

"We've become sort of an institution in New Jersey," he says. "It's like a micro version of Bruce Springsteen."

Consciously or not, the Bouncing Souls have been one of New Jersey's greatest supporters and landmark scene-creators. And that's without the benefit of mainstream media interest. "The Souls have always been a band that's flown just under the mainstream radar," says Kienlen. "There's a glory to being underground, and that's a feeling we and our fans share. There's a deep appreciation people feel for our 'keeping it real.' "

The band's DIY ethic has been a thread throughout its career. Instead of waiting to be discovered, the Bouncing Souls played every basement they could break into and any backyard that would have them. After they failed to generate any record-company interest, they started their own label, Chunksaah Records. Taking their self-produced records on tour, they beat Middle America over the head with their relentless concert schedule until young audiences embraced the music. It didn't take long, and it's lasted far longer than many had predicted, spilling over to other continents.

When bands from the States were coming to Europe in droves 15 years ago, many of them were from California. The Bouncing Souls were part of that wave, but got so tired of being asked if they were from the Golden State that they penned a song providing a succinct answer: "East Coast Fuck You."

Now that coastal pride has waned and the band has been across the ocean 17 times, they're inclined to take a broader view. "At this point we're more citizens of the world, because we're always on the road," Kienlen says.

With their latest release, The Gold Record, the Bouncing Souls send the seasoned listener through the Wayback Machine to places that simultaneously spurned and connected disaffected teenagers with the outside world — the living room, the garage, the basement, the kitchen, the backyard and fireside acoustic jams.

It calls to mind one of the band's landmark records, Maniacal Laughter, which had a simple, folksy punk appeal. After 22 albums, the Bouncing Souls seem happy to return to that familiar homespun sound and sensation.

Perhaps the common denominator was the recording environment and the band members' proximity to one another. They wrote and recorded the songs for The Gold Record at longtime friend and manager Kate Hiltz's house in New Jersey, fueled in part by her brand of home cooking.