A fan once told By Divine Right's Jose Contreras that all bands eventually live up to their name.

The singer-guitarist found that strange until he realized his local trio -- who adopted their name as a self-conscious joke -- "were always in the right place at the right time, and everything was happening for a reason."

By Divine Right continued to live up to their name recently when their second long-player, All Hail Discordia, caught the ears of local indie label Squirtgun Records.

The altruistic label agreed to put out the disc with no strings attached.

"It's incredible," says Contreras, who launches the disc tonight at the Rivoli with drummer Mark Goldstein and bassist Cam Bull.

"Squirtgun realized we needed the help. They like the music, they'll put it out without the burden of a contract. People like that make me believe in God."

It should come as no surprise that a band called By Divine Right would put their trust in a higher power.

The band started by accident in the late '80s as Foam Yoda, when an, er, herbally-guided Contreras stumbled across his own prolific knack for songwriting. The then-teenage singer was going to call his first tape By Divine Right "because I didn't want to take responsibility for the songs."

His attitude has changed.

"The music is simpler now," says Contreras. "It's a process of feeling more and more comfortable with what I'm doing."

That's reflected on All Hail Discordia. The album is focussed but dreamy, splicing short, sweet songs with murky overdubs and lyrics that often deal with the paranormal.

"Before, everything was very disparate," Contreras says about By Divine Right's past work. "About a year ago, we decided, 'Let's get it together.' I had a clear idea of what to do.

"I didn't want to keep saying meaningless things," he adds. "I started thinking about the idea of manifesting your own reality. There's this Bob Marley tune where he sings, 'I rule my destiny.' I think people are magical, and he was casting a spell on his life.

"I'm sick of what's on the radio now. People don't know what they're doing to themselves and the world by singing about confusion and negativity as opposed to trying to come up with something sincere.

"On an artsy-fartsy level: It's been done. Confusion was essential to the people who inspired me -- John Lennon, David Bowie, Lou Reed. But clarity is essential to me."

DIG THE NEW BOMBS: The New Bomb Turks pride themselves on their outsider status.

Seven-year veterans of the U.S. punk scene, the Columbus, Ohio, quartet even stand out among the suntanned, Southern Californian bands that dominate the roster at their label, Epitaph, where they released last year's Scared Straight.

"We don't think music should exist mainly as background music for a sport like skateboarding or snowboarding," says singer Eric Davidson, fighting a bad cold and resting up for tonight's show at the Opera House with excellent locals Danko Jones and El Speedo.

"The pop-punk kids don't seem to get us because of that. Then again," he adds wryly, "the straight-edge kids don't like us because we drink beer, the trash-punkers don't like us because we have good production on our albums, and the garage punks don't think we ham it up enough with flashy costumes and stuff."

If The New Bomb Turks don't go to any of the approved punk rock extremes, they do commit various transgressions like employing piano, horn sections, and Davidson's Gene Vincent-meets-Iggy Pop swagger. Therein lies their charm.

"You can't expect to connect with an audience by just staring at your shoes," says the singer. "I don't buy that put-on detachment. I'm all for punk angst. I just think it should be real."