In 1991, with both offshoot groups disbanded, the original Dictators reformed (with Del-Lords drummer Frank Funaro, later spelled by Wild Kingdom skinsman J.P. "Thunderbolt" Patterson) and set out on tour, something they have done with increasing dedication, geographic reach and consistency ever since. A decade later, after reissuing a couple of catalog items, they hatched a new studio album, D.F.F.D. (Dictators Forever, Forever Dictators). Far from being the needless afterbirth of middle-aged punks attempting to elbow their way back into a kids' game, this tower of power recapitulates everything the band has ever done and elevates it with clever writing, blistering but clean production and rejuvenated fervor in the playing and vocals. This is pop punk for grownups, with worldly lyrics that may leave younger listeners in the cultural dark. Wisely, the Dix don't pretend to be anything they're not -- it takes a lot of old-school brio to ask "Who Will Save Rock and Roll?" (as opposed to the postmodern question of why anyone should) -- but that doesn't keep them from being both contemporary and true to their legacy. As on previous albums, the songs paraphrase ancestors, drop names and roll out New York City spirit in spades. Set to singalong fist-in-the-air melodies and against Ross's furious squalling, Shernoff's lyrics analyze life ("Pussy and Money," co-written by David Roter), worship music ("The Savage Beat"), ask questions ("What's Up With That?"), make tall claims ("I Am Right") and establish tall myths ("In the Presence of a New God"). Quite a feat.