I'VE GOT THIS CRAZY FEELING SINCE I KNOW I REMEMBER WHEN BUT NOW I'M SURE I'M OLD AND I'M PURE COMIN AROUND THIS HAPPENED AGAIN WAKE UP YOU MIRACLE DUMB BELL IT'S TIME TO FALL OUT THE WINDOW WITH ME
Saturday, January 31, 2015
Wednesday, January 28, 2015
OBNOX
Boogalou Reed LP
The Juke That Sat By The Door 12” EP
First things first -- if you haven’t partaken of the scathing satire that is 1973 “blaxxxploitation” (not really at all) classic The Spook Who Sat By The Door, then correct that pronto. Great flick, with a soundtrack by Herbie Hancock. Bim throws out a lot of hidden references amongst all the punny titles, so it’s worth paying attention beyond the quick laugh. Bim also loves his radio, so the fuzzbanger on the A is “All Hail The Deejay,” followed by the stoned-to-the-bone “Sit Yo Ass Down.” On the flip, “(Do) The Clap” sounds like an early Oblivians tune pan-seared with another few layers of grime, garlic and scuzz. That ain’t fuzz on your needle, holmes, that’s a dance party happening beneath the planet’s crust.
I know this has become a common refrain, but Obnox’s brand new LP Boogalou Reed might just be his best yet. Like last year’s much-heralded Louder Space, Boogalou was recorded and mastered for maximum damage. The bass detonations on “Slaughter Culture” are positively subatomic. I would kill to hear these breaking up from a clown-ish car stereo system in the hood or a similarly clowny rave party in the woods. Right before that beast of a cut, Obnox slips in what is my favorite song of this young year, and will surely near the top eleven months from now. “Cynthia Piper At The Gates Of Dawn” connects with me on all levels: cascading amounts of fuzz, an unstoppable chorus (echoed later appropriately in “Marinol”), and it’s about smoking grass (a personal Top 5 life activity) with one of my favorite people in all of Cuyahoga County, Ms. Piper. Cynthia is an old-school head and has seen more cool bands than any one of us. Any time I booked a show in Cleveland, if Cynthia was there, I knew it was worth it. “Cynthia Piper…” also encapsulates one of the things that makes Obnox great -- Bim’s knack for using the people and places around him as inspiration. It’s already well-documented about Bim’s employment of local Clevo (and Columbo) musicians to help him achieve his vision. Why fake a guitar solo when you can get Fuzzhead maestro Bill Weita to play it better and weirder? Need some beats? Plenty of hip-hop crews in the 216. Does this cut need some fucked-up sonic steroids pumped into it? Adam Smith’s got yr back. At a loss for what this song could be about? Make it about a friend, tell the truth while injecting a larger than life aspect. And speaking of things Bim knows quite well, after the bomb-blasts of “Slaughter Culture,” we get “Too Punk Shakur,” perhaps the most melodic and straight-ahead Obnox punk song yet. There’s no question that, at least sonically, “Too Punk” is a loveletter to Gaunt and New Bomb Turks. It’s got a Turks vocal line coupled with in-the-red Gaunt basement damage. Accordingly, it makes me feel like a teenager again.
Four songs in, and we’re talking Record of the Year material here. The title cut solidifies something I’ve been toying with -- when Obnox does these unclassifiable beat/fuzz jams, almost like a (gulp) garage rock/trip-hop hybrid, he’s getting to a similar space as the Beastie Boys circa Check Your Head. Think about it: “So Whatcha Want” could be on an Obnox record and you'd just be all, “Yo this jam is sick.” Hell, there’s even a second here and there that sounds like Tricky (fo' real). But on “Situation,” the real influence is classic ‘70s soul, cozy blanket of noise added gratis. First side closes out with a version of “Ohio” that Crazy Horse probably wouldn’t even touch. Although side two yields fewer highlights, there is no dip in quality. Juke’s “All Hail The DJ” gets cleaned up slightly and the whole mess collapses into “Protopipe,” an “LA Blues”-style freak-out. Super duper record, and only the first of three (3) 'Nox full-lengths of 2015 A.D.
http://www.chunklet.com/
http://12xu.net/
'Used Kids’ 7”
A multi-part epic about a fine record store situated in a town called Columbus, Ohio. For the strange year-plus I lived in Cowtown, I used to sell records to the Cheater Slicks’ Tom Shannon for food. I always felt like he was giving me the “poor bastard” eye. Aye. I used to find great shit there on the cheap too. Everyone did. One time, Jerry Wick lent me a shitty Chuck Eddy book (“Here, read this, it’ll piss you off”) and when I brought it back, I found out it wasn’t even his. “Typical Wick,” was what Ron House said. Bim cut his teeth in this milieu and he has thrown everything he learned in Columbus basements and attics into Obnox. It’s the secret ingredient. Two parts Cleveland, one part Columbus. Or maybe the other way around. This record was recorded in Cleveland (ye olde Black Eye) and mixed in Columbus. The guest musicians are Ohio vets (Fuzzheads and Pere Ubus and mores) and there’s an adorable pic of young Lamont on the cover. Not sold yet? The music is a dense fug of guitars, sax and abused drums. Bim calls it “child psych.” New genres are born every day. [12XU]
Corrupt Free Enterprise 2xLP
Obnox
is on a tear. Based on Corrupt Free
Enterprise, ‘Nox’s ninth and most ambitious joint to date, Lamont “Bim”
Thomas -- who, for all intents and purposes, is Obnox -- is just getting warmed up. From a foundation of dirt-level
garage punk, Thomas sculpts deep cuts out of blown-out beats, redline guitar
damage, and sneering yet soulful singing, like if your local gospel choir was
raised on a steady diet of The Pagans and Back
From the Grave comps. “Ciara” soars, “When Will I See You” aches, Cheater
Slicks cover “Ghost” points to a key influence, while “Deep in the Dusk” is
like a Rust Belt Freestyle Fellowship. Obnox is on fire, and you’d be wise to
look toward the light.
[1-2-X-U]
originally appeared in High Times mag
[1-2-X-U]
originally appeared in High Times mag
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
SCENE & HERD
X__X
CELLULAR CHAOS
ANDERSON/CHASE/HOFFMAN trio SEDIMENT CLUB
CELLULAR CHAOS
ANDERSON/CHASE/HOFFMAN trio SEDIMENT CLUB
@ Cake Shop
Thursday, Dec 4th
Thursday, Dec 4th
Van Gogh never got his due; while he was alive, at least. Neither did William Blake. Poe died penniless. There was a time when it seemed that one John D. Morton was destined to follow in such tragic footsteps. Following his muse for the last forty-odd years has led Morton down some dark alleys, but score one for the freaks -- and maybe the internet -- because, against all odds, Morton, professional artist and shit-stirrer, is finally getting his due. The man hasn’t met a convention he hasn’t mocked, or a rule he hasn’t kicked in the ribs til it broke. If they handed out MacArthur Genius grants for misanthropy, Morton would be short-listed.
Morton’s main claim to fame is his mid-’70s Cleveland band of nihilistic rock n’ roll lowlifes, electric eels. The eels plied their trade surrounded by post-industrial strife, the crumbling landscape providing inspiration -- and a reason to get the hell out. But before Morton pulled up stakes for New York City, he made one more attempt to give Cleveland the soundtrack it deserved. X__X terrorized the city’s punk scene with a smart and muscular take on no wave, which Morton had already prefigured with the eels. X__X were more “musical” than the eels, as evidenced by their two singles, collected, along with unreleased and live material, on this year’s essential XStickyFingersX (Ektro). This past Thursday, X__X played the Cake Shop and proved, beyond a doubt, that you’re never too old to smash yer art into yer punk and vice versa.
The set started off a bit shaky, but after a too-quiet run-through of “You’re Full of Shit,” guitars were turned up to their proper volume and the band roared to life. Grinding versions of art-puke classics like “No Nonsense,” “A.” and “No No” followed, hammered out with conviction by Morton’s cohorts -- original member Andrew Klimek, Rocket From the Tombs’ Craig Bell and drummer Matt Harris. At one point, Morton whipped out an electric saw and used it to systematically sever a length of bamboo. Why? Why the hell not? The band crashed back into their set as if it had been a tuning break. Speaking of tuning, Morton’s other obscuro Clevo outfit, Johnny & The Dicks, didn’t bother, as they posed in rock-out freeze-frames while a friend snapped photos. Prescient as ever, it seems Morton invented “vogue-ing” years before Madonna. A reprise of “No Non cents” had the crowd howling for more, and during the set-ending anti-anthem “Cleveland Sucks,” even Morton, high priest of fuck you, couldn’t suppress a smile.
Due to a rip in the time/space continuum, your correspondent missed the first two acts of an all-around excellent bill, but we did manage to catch spazz experts Cellular Chaos. Conducted by the tireless, irrepressible Weasel Walter and finding a voice within the charismatic Admiral Grey, Cellular Chaos flirts with no wave shred, but just as often reaches an MX-80 Sound level of density. Invigorating stuff.
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DEVO
@ Best Buy Theater
6/19/14
Some forty-odd years ago, the men known as Devo began concocting their strange music in a moldy basement in Akron, Ohio. A little over twenty years ago these early experiments were made available to the listening public via the Hardcore Devo collections. Reissued last year by Superior Viaduct, the two volumes of pre-Warners Bros. Devo have been rightfully hailed as visionary examples of prime proto-punk. To honor recently passed founding member Bob Mothersbaugh (aka Bob2) and raise money for his family, Devo decided to embark upon a ten city tour performing, for the first time ever, the material from their gestational years of 1974 to 1977. As show time approached, you had to wonder – did the aging spuds still have it? Would they be able to do justice to the freakish, funhouse nature of their initial incarnation?
Any lingering doubts were laid to rest immediately as the foursome emerged from an ingenious backdrop mimicking the cinderblock confines of a dank Akron basement, and launched into the malfunctioning robot lament of “Mechanical Man.” There was to be no skimping on the weirdness as the run of “Auto Modown,” “Space Girl Blues,” and “Baby Talkin’ Bitches” demonstrated. As if the last forty years had transpired in the blink of an eye, Devo slipped back into these songs with great ease, shedding their commercial skin and reveling in the primordial ooze of their founding years. It was striking how effortlessly Devo dusted off these old, musty tunes and thrust them into a hyper-modern, movie palace-esque venue like Best Buy Theater. While still retaining their quirky lurch and mad scientist synth blurts, these songs were heavy, and thrillingly alive. Ace drummer Josh Freese is likely one of the few humans alive who could replace the late Alan Meyers, and his powerful, precise touch added a weighty bottom to the devolved mutant funk of songs like “I Been Refused” and “Midget.” Of course, the bizarre, decidedly non-PC lyrics of a song such as “Bamboo Bimbo” still perplex and amuse in equal measures. Bassist and noted ham Jerry Casale seemed to particularly relish glimpses into his own twisted, young mind. Except now there are several generations of weirdos to laugh along with him.
And then the suits came out. Forgoing the iconic yellow hazmat suits and flowerpot domes, the quartet donned “Akron janitorial wear” and bank robber masks. As the previously nondescript basement set split apart into a dazzling yet tasteful lighting backdrop, Devo delved into the songs that established them as one of the great pop-art groups. Their genius take on the Stones’ “Satisfaction,” early hit “Be Stiff,” debut album kickstarter “Uncontrollable Urge” and the slow burn of “Gut Feeling” contrasted perfectly with lesser known tracks like “Soo Bawls,” “Ono” and “Fountain of Filth.” To the packed crowd, they might as well all have been number one hits as the band whipped the Devo-tees into a lather with official anthem “Jocko Homo.”
After creepy mascot Booji Boy waddled out and serenaded the audience to the warped tones of “U Got Me Bugged,” Devo ended the nearly ninety minute set by dedicating “Clockout” to the late Bob2. Since the band seemed to have as much of a blast as the gathered faithful, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of these old chestnuts found their way into the regular Devo set. Bob, Alan, General Boy and Rod Rooter would be proud.
6/19/14
Some forty-odd years ago, the men known as Devo began concocting their strange music in a moldy basement in Akron, Ohio. A little over twenty years ago these early experiments were made available to the listening public via the Hardcore Devo collections. Reissued last year by Superior Viaduct, the two volumes of pre-Warners Bros. Devo have been rightfully hailed as visionary examples of prime proto-punk. To honor recently passed founding member Bob Mothersbaugh (aka Bob2) and raise money for his family, Devo decided to embark upon a ten city tour performing, for the first time ever, the material from their gestational years of 1974 to 1977. As show time approached, you had to wonder – did the aging spuds still have it? Would they be able to do justice to the freakish, funhouse nature of their initial incarnation?
Any lingering doubts were laid to rest immediately as the foursome emerged from an ingenious backdrop mimicking the cinderblock confines of a dank Akron basement, and launched into the malfunctioning robot lament of “Mechanical Man.” There was to be no skimping on the weirdness as the run of “Auto Modown,” “Space Girl Blues,” and “Baby Talkin’ Bitches” demonstrated. As if the last forty years had transpired in the blink of an eye, Devo slipped back into these songs with great ease, shedding their commercial skin and reveling in the primordial ooze of their founding years. It was striking how effortlessly Devo dusted off these old, musty tunes and thrust them into a hyper-modern, movie palace-esque venue like Best Buy Theater. While still retaining their quirky lurch and mad scientist synth blurts, these songs were heavy, and thrillingly alive. Ace drummer Josh Freese is likely one of the few humans alive who could replace the late Alan Meyers, and his powerful, precise touch added a weighty bottom to the devolved mutant funk of songs like “I Been Refused” and “Midget.” Of course, the bizarre, decidedly non-PC lyrics of a song such as “Bamboo Bimbo” still perplex and amuse in equal measures. Bassist and noted ham Jerry Casale seemed to particularly relish glimpses into his own twisted, young mind. Except now there are several generations of weirdos to laugh along with him.
And then the suits came out. Forgoing the iconic yellow hazmat suits and flowerpot domes, the quartet donned “Akron janitorial wear” and bank robber masks. As the previously nondescript basement set split apart into a dazzling yet tasteful lighting backdrop, Devo delved into the songs that established them as one of the great pop-art groups. Their genius take on the Stones’ “Satisfaction,” early hit “Be Stiff,” debut album kickstarter “Uncontrollable Urge” and the slow burn of “Gut Feeling” contrasted perfectly with lesser known tracks like “Soo Bawls,” “Ono” and “Fountain of Filth.” To the packed crowd, they might as well all have been number one hits as the band whipped the Devo-tees into a lather with official anthem “Jocko Homo.”
After creepy mascot Booji Boy waddled out and serenaded the audience to the warped tones of “U Got Me Bugged,” Devo ended the nearly ninety minute set by dedicating “Clockout” to the late Bob2. Since the band seemed to have as much of a blast as the gathered faithful, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of these old chestnuts found their way into the regular Devo set. Bob, Alan, General Boy and Rod Rooter would be proud.
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MUSIC BLUES
ICE BALLOONS
CALL OF THE WILD
@ Union Pool
Tuesday, January 13th
Under the seemingly innocuous name of “Music Blues,” three of the city’s finest craftsman of loud n’ heavy sonic demolition occasionally gather together to grind out their frustrations through the miracle of amplification. The power trio formed to bring bassist Stephen Tanner’s Things Haven’t Gone Well (Thrill Jockey) album to lurching life. You may know Stephen from his time with kings of slo-mo power-sludge Harvey Milk, or perhaps you’ve sampled his mouth-watering fried chicken at The Commodore (or the original Pies n’ Thighs). In either capacity, the man shows an abundance of skill, and he made a smart decisions in recruiting his bandmates (Tanner performs all instruments on the album). Just to make sure his band, in addition to crushing your skull, could cook you under the table, Tanner nabbed James Beard Award-winning pastry chef Brooks Headley to smash the skins. You may also know Headley from bands such as Universal Order of Armageddon, Born Against, and Wrangler Brutes. Finally, with Ben Greenberg (Hubble/Uniform/Pygmy Shrews) on guitar, it’s clear that Music Blues is a part-time band consisting of full-time dudes. Yet, the band is casual; Tanner seems unsure of his role as leader, which is kind of charming. After an (intentionally?) awkward beginning, the band roared to life as it navigated what seems like Tanner’s brain in riff form. Much like Harvey Milk, Music Blues deal in molten riffs with long pauses and gaps of near-silence between notes (which were conveniently written on the floor of the stage for the musicians). As the oddly-shaped off-time riffs pile on top of each other, you find yourself sucked into Tanner’s weird head-space. It’s not an unpleasant sensation, especially when Greenberg starts peeling off harmonic bends and brief flashes of solo shred.
Occupying the middle slot, Ice Balloons presented an entertaining spectacle. Warped visuals were projected onto the band as the fly-masked singer fronted a pulverizing rhythm section over which all manner of electronic noise was spread liberally; they even have a keytar. At their most aggressive, Ice Balloons brought to mind ‘90s greats like Brainiac, Six Finger Satellite and even Cows. Halfway through the set, they calmed down a bit and played some weird hybrid of surf rock and spastic new wave. Suffice to say, you should probably book Ice Balloons to liven up your next loft party.
Opening the show, Call Of The Wild brought their usual combustible mix of punk and metal. Basically, Call Of The Wild is the band that Crispin Glover’s character in River’s Edge should be blasting out of his souped-up Volkswagen Beetle. Hurry your ass!
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So Percussion feat. Man Forever
Battle Trance
@ Judson Church
1/9/15
Battle Trance
@ Judson Church
1/9/15
Winter Jazzfest is a sprawling three-day festival that occurs at multiple venues throughout Manhattan’s Greenwich Village. While traditional forms are represented in abundance, the festival is careful to incorporate a selection of acts from the outer regions of avant-jazz and improvised music. The Saturday night showcase set by So Percussion, featuring Man Forever, at Judson Church was a perfect example of the Jazzfest’s adventurous programming.
Before the percussion-based ensemble took the stage, Travis Laplante’s Battle Trance stilled the audience with their Palace of Wind composition. Comprised of four saxophonists, Battle Trance utilize extended breathing techniques to weave an undulating tapestry of overlapping tones that stretch out and occasionally snap, erupting in squawks, barks and even mimicking unruly flatulence at times. The set was a nice counterpoint to the impending rhythmic display.
After a brief intermission, the four members of So Percussion came out and sat down at their homemade tabletop guitar stations. To call these constructions guitars isn’t quite correct, and they certainly aren’t played as such, but each one is plugged into a Fender Twin amp, so there is still a link to rock music. The quartet performed a composition that consisted of the musicians bowing and striking their lapsteel-like instruments in synchronicity, conjuring gamelan-like textures that at times echoed Tortoise-style post-rock while the louder moments harkened back to Glenn Branca’s massed-guitar orchestras.
The second part of the set featured local drummer/composer John Colpitts aka Kid Millions, longtime skinsman of Brooklyn fixtures Oneida, and a fearless musician willing to tackle any playing situation. Colpitts and So Percussion collaborated on last year’s excellent Ryonen (Thrill Jockey), an album that somehow achieves a glacial beauty amidst its flurry of percussion. On this night, the group, with an expanded line-up of drummers, performed the title composition. The piece began with almost African rhythms, introduced forceful, hammering blasts, and eventually settled into what can only be described as a landscape of drums. Despite the seven different percussionists on stage, the piece never felt busy or fussy. It’s not easy to be satisfied hitting one drum for twenty minutes, that’s why it’s best to leave it to the professionals.
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THE THURSTON MOORE BAND
11/12/2014
@ The Marlin Room at Webster Hall
@ The Marlin Room at Webster Hall
There was an interesting dichotomy at Manhattan’s Webster Hall last Thursday night. In the main room, NYC indie faves Parquet Courts headlined a sold-out show that was the culmination of a productive and triumphant year, while in the more intimate setting of the Marlin Room, longtime Sonic Youth leader Thurston Moore played with his eponymously-named band. Since time immemorial, the young have always devoured the old, but the eternally floppy-haired Moore is still the world’s oldest teenager, and he can make a guitar shriek with the best of them. Although this performance was a bit light on such moments, it still provided some insights into Moore’s newest project.
Featuring material from his most recent album, with the seemingly rom-com-inspired title of The Best Day (Matador), Moore’s seasoned vets gave the songs heft, channeling ballsy rock more than any avant tendencies. It was nice to see My Bloody Valentine bassist Deb Googe in a different setting, laying down a thick bottom end with local Ryan Sawyer on drums. Youth drummer Steve Shelley plays on the album, but on this night he was head-nodding approvingly from the audience. With the presence of Lee Ranaldo as well, there was a possibility of some SY nuggets, but Moore stuck to the program of his recent efforts, except for an encore of “Ono Soul,” a college radio hit from his first solo album, 1995’s Psychic Hearts.
While lacking Sonic Youth’s combustible chemistry, Moore’s band makes up for it with fluid guitar lines that occasionally erupt into hard rock riffing. Pedal-hopping instead of string-abusing, Moore engaged in call-and-response sparring with British guitarist James Sedwards, as on the propulsive mantra “Forevermore.” The chugging “Detonation” was dedicated to Chelsea Manning and recalled past Youth screeds like “Youth Against Fascism.” Twisty rockers like “Germs Burn” and the title track seemed to satisfy the crowd’s desire for classic Thurston moves, but the billowing, Polvo-esque instrumental “Grace Lake” proved to be the highlight of the evening. Although he may have tempered his sonic terrorism of old just a smidge, Moore can still hold his own with today’s youth.
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COSMIC PSYCHOS
PAMPERS
CALL OF THE WILD
This past weekend, the three-man Australian wrecking crew known as the Cosmic Psychos steam-rolled their way through the city with consecutive shows at the Cake Shop. Friday night was a certified rager, a top-to-bottom killer bill of beer-guzzling rock n’ roll, right in the heart of the increasingly douche-oriented Lower East Side. The Psychos made their name back in an era when the LES still provided a sense of grit and threat, and they are touring the US in celebration of thirty years of blowing eardrums and mooning audiences. A new documentary about these hard-livin’ Aussies, Blokes You Can Trust, fills you in on the nitty-gritty, and Goner Records is issuing their initial run of records -- Down on the Farm (1985), Cosmic Psychos (1987) and Go the Hack (1989). In this business, stick around long enough, and someone is bound to make a movie about you. Friday night, Cosmic Psychos unleashed a nonstop barrage of fan favorites like “Lost Cause,” “Custom Credit,” “Pub” and “Hooray Fuck.” Singer/bassist Ross Knight dedicated “I’m Up, You’re Out” to “the cunt who tried to take my farm.” The raucous set ended on a ridiculous note with the sarcastic wish fulfillment of “David Lee Roth” (“I want long golden locks/I want a great big 20-inch cock”). The Cosmic Psychos may not be able to execute mid-air splits like Mr. Roth, but they had no problem splitting heads open with their Stoogeoid pummel on Friday night. Next stop: Gonerfest, where they’ll team up with old mates Mudhoney for dual headlining nights.
@ Cake Shop
9/22/13
9/22/13
This past weekend, the three-man Australian wrecking crew known as the Cosmic Psychos steam-rolled their way through the city with consecutive shows at the Cake Shop. Friday night was a certified rager, a top-to-bottom killer bill of beer-guzzling rock n’ roll, right in the heart of the increasingly douche-oriented Lower East Side. The Psychos made their name back in an era when the LES still provided a sense of grit and threat, and they are touring the US in celebration of thirty years of blowing eardrums and mooning audiences. A new documentary about these hard-livin’ Aussies, Blokes You Can Trust, fills you in on the nitty-gritty, and Goner Records is issuing their initial run of records -- Down on the Farm (1985), Cosmic Psychos (1987) and Go the Hack (1989). In this business, stick around long enough, and someone is bound to make a movie about you. Friday night, Cosmic Psychos unleashed a nonstop barrage of fan favorites like “Lost Cause,” “Custom Credit,” “Pub” and “Hooray Fuck.” Singer/bassist Ross Knight dedicated “I’m Up, You’re Out” to “the cunt who tried to take my farm.” The raucous set ended on a ridiculous note with the sarcastic wish fulfillment of “David Lee Roth” (“I want long golden locks/I want a great big 20-inch cock”). The Cosmic Psychos may not be able to execute mid-air splits like Mr. Roth, but they had no problem splitting heads open with their Stoogeoid pummel on Friday night. Next stop: Gonerfest, where they’ll team up with old mates Mudhoney for dual headlining nights.
Before the burly men from Down Under graced the stage, the
surly dudes in local outfit Pampers strafed the crowd with their nasty garage
spew -- the nervous tics of Devo sifted through the blown-amp aesthetic of
prime Oblivians. In case you hadn’t heard, sci-fi love song “Purple Brain” was
the jam of the summer. Pampers’ debut album on the In The Red Records is
imminent.
Leading off the night was Brooklyn power-trio Call of the
Wild, a perfect foil to the following bands. Guitarist Johnny Coolati solos
like a demon, burning his way through the muscular throb of the rhythm section.
Call of the Wild is probably the closest thing Brooklyn is gonna get to Thin
Lizzy; pure hard rock, emphasis on both words. They sweat, you sweat, everyone
goes home happy.
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KING KHAN & THE SHRINES
RED MASS
VOMIT SQUAD
@ Music Hall of Williamsburg
Saturday, June 7th
Red Mass followed with a genre-defying mix that seamlessly blended garage rock, mutant disco, heavy riffing, bursts of free improv noise, and impressive soloing by leader Roy Vucino. The head-spinning set ended with Vucino smashing his guitar in ecstasy or rage, both key elements of Red Mass’ raison d’etre. The crowd responded with approval, hootin’ and hollerin’ for more.
Enter Mr. Khan and his ragged band of troubadours – a nine-piece group that functions like a juke-joint version of Sun Ra’s Arkestra. Khan is a consummate showman, unafraid to get down n’ dirty, like some sort of demented cross between GG Allin and a tent revival preacher. He led the band through old favorites and selections from their most recent album Idle No More on Merge Records. Cuts like “Born To Die” and “Bite My Tongue” got everyone moving, but it’s Khan’s special brand of stage banter that really loosens the crowd up. A lady in the upper levels was even moved to discard her pants and let it all hang out. The Shrines have that kind of effect people, and far be it for anyone to tell other folks how to have a good time. It was Saturday night, the band was rockin’, and everyone was having fun.
Local punk quartet In School opened the show with a clutch of DC hardcore-indebted stompers like “Conquest” and “Apocryphal Scum” from their Praxis of Hate 7”. Ending with a cool take on what’s become a virtual punk standard, The Urinals’ “I’m A Bug,” these ladies did a nice job of transferring their basement/loft-dwelling hardcore punk to a bigger venue like Bowery. The much-hyped Big Ups occupied the middle spot, and, while showing some promising moves, failed to fully deliver the goods. Spazzy singer Joe Galaragga has a good punk scream and plenty of nervous energy, but his band drops the ball at times. Their second song was a weak Jesus Lizard imitation by a freshly-showered high school band – not a good look. Big Ups is better when they are operating from a Dischord Records template, echoing latter-day post-hardcore heroes like At The Drive In. Galaragga’s urgent, motormouthed delivery on a track like “Goes Black” is dampened somewhat by the guitarist’s got-a-gift-certificate-to-Sam-Ash-for-Christmas guitar tone. Big Ups shows promise, but, based on the pedestrian “Wool,” I get the feeling they need a year or so of serious roadwork before they can truly provide the catharsis their audience craves.
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GOOD THROB
LA MISMA
PRIESTS
EXIT ORDER
NUCLEAR SPRING
LA MISMA
PRIESTS
EXIT ORDER
NUCLEAR SPRING
@ Death By Audio
Saturday, April 5th
Saturday, April 5th
This past Saturday at Death By Audio, a diverse bill of touring
and local bands played to a house packed with all stripes of the punk rock
rainbow represented. Perfectly mirroring the bands, all of which are
female-fronted and –dominated, there were a lot of ladies in attendance.
Unfortunately, we missed locals Nuclear Spring, but suffice to say that if you have ever put Crimpshrine on a mixtape or own the Blatz/Filth split, you should make it a priority to see them. Boston’s Exit Order tore through a set of clench-fisted hardcore punk led by the assertive presence of singer Anna. Priests have played their fair share of NYC shows of late, but they were off their game on this night. Equipment problems and long pauses stalled any momentum the Washington, D.C. band was able to muster, although they did manage to close with a decent version of their most bracing track, “Radiation."
For their first show in the US, London’s Good Throb
justified their small-scale hype with a tense and fun set of poke-in-the-eye
punk featuring songs from their brand-new Fuck
Off album. Singer KY Ellie has a classic British snarl that cuts through
the band’s spikey post-punk. The jagged “Acid House” recalls Erase Errata while
the minute-long screed of “Double White Denim” is Wire stripped of all archness
and going direct for the throat. Good Throb are an exciting band, partly
because of their lack of pretense.
Local quartet La Misma closed out the night,
and none of their recorded material prepared me for their stomping pogo-punk. I
can’t say I can understand the singer’s Portuguese lyrics, but her high-pitched
yammering paired with an occasional guttural utterance gives the band a unique
focal point. She bounced around the stage while the band raged behind her like
Nog Watt’s long-lost sisters. La Misma are an appealing blend of obscure
influences and just good ol’ fashioned ripping punk rock. Unfortunately, we missed locals Nuclear Spring, but suffice to say that if you have ever put Crimpshrine on a mixtape or own the Blatz/Filth split, you should make it a priority to see them. Boston’s Exit Order tore through a set of clench-fisted hardcore punk led by the assertive presence of singer Anna. Priests have played their fair share of NYC shows of late, but they were off their game on this night. Equipment problems and long pauses stalled any momentum the Washington, D.C. band was able to muster, although they did manage to close with a decent version of their most bracing track, “Radiation."
---------------------------------------------------------
KING KHAN & THE SHRINES
RED MASS
VOMIT SQUAD
@ Music Hall of Williamsburg
Saturday, June 7th
It was a family affair this past Saturday at the Music Hall
of Williamsburg. International rock n’ soul collective King Khan & The
Shrines headlined an excellent triple bill that mined the deep reservoirs of
Montreal’s fertile underground scene. As Arish Khan leads his Shrines to the
promised land, he’s also bringing old friends and co-conspirators along with
him. Tourmates Red Mass and Vomit Squad feature former members of The
Spaceshits, Les Sexareenos and CPC Gangbangs – Montreal legends all.
Vomit Squad opened the show by ripping through a set of
snotty punk as singer Richard Ritalin hopped around and contorted himself into
poses that conveyed his paranoid rants as effectively as his adenoidal, Doc
Dart-like vocals.
Red Mass followed with a genre-defying mix that seamlessly blended garage rock, mutant disco, heavy riffing, bursts of free improv noise, and impressive soloing by leader Roy Vucino. The head-spinning set ended with Vucino smashing his guitar in ecstasy or rage, both key elements of Red Mass’ raison d’etre. The crowd responded with approval, hootin’ and hollerin’ for more.
Enter Mr. Khan and his ragged band of troubadours – a nine-piece group that functions like a juke-joint version of Sun Ra’s Arkestra. Khan is a consummate showman, unafraid to get down n’ dirty, like some sort of demented cross between GG Allin and a tent revival preacher. He led the band through old favorites and selections from their most recent album Idle No More on Merge Records. Cuts like “Born To Die” and “Bite My Tongue” got everyone moving, but it’s Khan’s special brand of stage banter that really loosens the crowd up. A lady in the upper levels was even moved to discard her pants and let it all hang out. The Shrines have that kind of effect people, and far be it for anyone to tell other folks how to have a good time. It was Saturday night, the band was rockin’, and everyone was having fun.
-----------------------------------------------------------
FUCKED UP
BIG UPS
IN SCHOOL
BIG UPS
IN SCHOOL
@ Bowery Ballroom
Friday, June 6th
Friday, June 6th
Toronto institution, the six piece rock unit known as Fucked
Up, were in town last Friday celebrating the release of their latest magnum
opus, Glass Boys (Matador). Truth be
told, I lost track of Fucked Up after their first opus, Hidden World, so I’m not overly familiar with their subsequent
opuses (opii? nope. Opera). But, to
their credit, Fucked Up always bring the noise in their live incarnation
(except the one time the singer had to go to the hospital after smashing a lightbulb
on his face during the first song). On record, frontman Damien Abraham’s
one-note bellow is a liability, but on-stage his good-natured fury is an asset.
With his ever-present basketball shorts and bare-chested demeanor, Abraham
comes off like the world’s most pissed off teddy bear. The crowd loves him, and
when he makes his way onto the floor of the sold-out Bowery Ballroom, the
people embrace him, literally and figuratively. There is an undeniable anthemic
aspect to Fucked Up’s music, which, despite their epic song lengths and endless
bag of riffs, reminds me of Avail shows back in the ‘90s. Everyone from punks
to squares to the hardcore faithful would go to those shows, and even a grump
like me couldn’t ignore the explosion of energy generated by the subsequent dissolution
of the band/audience dynamic. Like any good hardcore show, there is no difference
between the two. On the strength of Jonah Falco’s muscular drumming, the chugging
guitars, and Abraham’s sweat and record-nerd between-song banter, Fucked Up put
on a pretty good show for a bunch of aging hardcore kids. They closed the set
with a spirited run through of fan favorite “Police.”
Local punk quartet In School opened the show with a clutch of DC hardcore-indebted stompers like “Conquest” and “Apocryphal Scum” from their Praxis of Hate 7”. Ending with a cool take on what’s become a virtual punk standard, The Urinals’ “I’m A Bug,” these ladies did a nice job of transferring their basement/loft-dwelling hardcore punk to a bigger venue like Bowery. The much-hyped Big Ups occupied the middle spot, and, while showing some promising moves, failed to fully deliver the goods. Spazzy singer Joe Galaragga has a good punk scream and plenty of nervous energy, but his band drops the ball at times. Their second song was a weak Jesus Lizard imitation by a freshly-showered high school band – not a good look. Big Ups is better when they are operating from a Dischord Records template, echoing latter-day post-hardcore heroes like At The Drive In. Galaragga’s urgent, motormouthed delivery on a track like “Goes Black” is dampened somewhat by the guitarist’s got-a-gift-certificate-to-Sam-Ash-for-Christmas guitar tone. Big Ups shows promise, but, based on the pedestrian “Wool,” I get the feeling they need a year or so of serious roadwork before they can truly provide the catharsis their audience craves.
The above -- along w/ photos -- originally appeared at cmj.com
Labels:
Cake Shop,
Call of the Wild,
Cellular Chaos,
Fucked Up,
Good Throb,
John Morton,
Kid Millions,
King Khan,
La Misma,
Man Forever,
Music Blues,
Pampers,
Priests,
Red Mass,
So Percussion,
Thurston Moore,
X__X
Sunday, January 25, 2015
simply titled: "RECORD REVIEWS"
SINGLES
Ausmuteants
‘Stale White Boys Playing Stale Black Music’ 7”
While
the world has been going apeshit for these new wave goofballs from Down
Under, I’ve been on the sidelines, a bit nonplussed. Maybe I’m just a
killjoy, but their Devo-derived smart-aleck punk has only provided a few
highlights, but, let’s be honest -- I’m not really their demographic. I
gotta say though, when “Who’s The Narc’ quickly jumps into a
well-executed Kinks-style horn run and then proceeds to wave-out on the
best early ‘80s post-disco groove I’ve heard in awhile, well shit, it’s
almost like I’m a kid watching MTV again. Duran Duran would’ve stolen
that bit, no doubt. And I probably would’ve danced along in my living
room. Both songs on the B-side could be retroactively slotted onto an
airing of Rodney on the Roq and no one would bat a glittered eyelash. I
think these Aussie mutants have converted me. [Easter Bilby; http://easterbilbyrecords.bigcartel.com/
Exorcisms 7”
Blues-punk shuffle from a trio of Los Angelenos. “Love Gone Bad” plays it too straight for me, echoing a thousand standards before. “Two With Half” picks up the speed and the boogie and could probably get a barful of drunks smashing a few glasses and picking a few fights.
[self-released; https://exorcisms.bandcamp.com/
Exorcisms 7”
Blues-punk shuffle from a trio of Los Angelenos. “Love Gone Bad” plays it too straight for me, echoing a thousand standards before. “Two With Half” picks up the speed and the boogie and could probably get a barful of drunks smashing a few glasses and picking a few fights.
[self-released; https://exorcisms.bandcamp.com/
Ghetto Ghouls 7”
Played
with these dudes down in their hometown of Austin,Texass. They had a
hyperactive, angular edge to their nominally garage-punk thing, and it
worked quite well. This single’s a bit slim on material -- I could’ve
actually done with another 30 seconds or so of “Plastic Violence” -- but
brevity seems in short supply lately, so we’ll give em the benefit.
“Things” has an appealing sort of pummel to it, but I kept waiting for
the song to leap into something that would clarify or contrast, but
alas…. [12XU; http://12xu.net/]
Lucha Eterna Asceroso EP
Label head (and sometime Obnox skin-pounder) RR fronts this gnarly hardcore outfit, screaming away en espanol. Closest translation I could come up with for the title was “nasty, gross, disgusting,” which describes this fast n’ dirty attack as well as anything. I hear some Brazilian hardcore, maybe even some Italian, but for all I know, it’s pure Swede. Fuck, this shit gets confusing. But wait, look, they end with a cover of The Guns’ “I’m Not Right,” so now we’re back in territory I know well. “Is it the way I act? WHAT ACT!”
[Saucepan; https://saucepanrecords.bandcamp.com/ ]Nots "Fix"/"Modern" 7”
These
gals turned quite a few heads this year, and with good reason -- they
rip through classic-sounding KBD punk-wave with equal parts sneer/smile.
Nots ended 2014 on a high note with their fine debut LP, which was made
with their current quartet line-up. This single from earlier in the
year is the last with the original trio and it’s a spirited run-thru of a
pair of solid, snotty punkers. It’s a fact that women are making most
of the best and freshest punk nowadays, and Nots are another girl-gang
ready to slash your face. Get down and get with it. [Goner; http://www.goner-records.com/]
The Pen Test 7”
Two
young men from Minneapolis indulging a serious Kraftwerk fixation, and
can you blame them? Kraftwerk is the shit -- you know it, I know it,
they know it. OK, then. The untitled A-side hits the pleasure centers
quite nicely -- bubbling synths, a metronomic kick-drum, washes of
melody swooping in and out of the mix. Somewhere, Ralf und Florian are
smiling. (If they do smile, it’s not quite clear). The B-side is less
successful, incidental music from a soundtrack with a vague John
Carpenter vibe. Meh, as your kids say. True to form, the album-length
format is where The Pen Text excel, and fortunately for you, Moniker
recently released such an artifact. Pick it up for some fahn fahn fahn. [Moniker; http://www.moniker-records.com/]
Rema Rema
“International Scale”/”Short Stories” 7”
“International Scale”/”Short Stories” 7”
Beyond
excellent archive recording from short-lived but much-revered art-punk
elder gods Rema(-)Rema. “International Scale” packs serious bass wallop
and guitar squeal and is of a piece with their lone release, the Wheel In The Roses 12”.
“Short Stories” is from the OG line-up back in ‘78,
not-quite-there-yet, but you can see where they’re headed.
Lovingly-packaged with a graphic sense that retains the EP's aesthetic, the single came with copies of UK zine Defiant Pose,
which also features an extended interview and breakdown of just who and
what Rema Rema exactly was. Both reading and listening material are
essential for anyone who has ever been a fan of the churning rhythms and
cynical POV of Rema Rema.
[Inflammable Material; http://feelitrecords.bigcartel.com/product/defiant-pose-8-w-rema-rema-7]
[Inflammable Material; http://feelitrecords.bigcartel.com/product/defiant-pose-8-w-rema-rema-7]
Official MT Stamp of Approval
Strummy,
slummy Brisbane band that finds itself swimming alongside The Clean,
that elusive guppy of lo-fi bliss-pop. Three songs of hooks hanging on
lines, ready for your eager mouth. Chomp, gulp, it’s good.
[Tenth Court; https://tenthcourt.bandcamp.com/]
[Tenth Court; https://tenthcourt.bandcamp.com/]
Tropical Trash ‘Think Back Kick A Beer’ 7”
Although this record came out last year, it’s nice to see that these skewed Louisville rockers are still kickin’, and thinkin’, and backin’. TT thrash around without genre constraints, mainly looking to raise a racket, with the occasional off-map path followed. The A-side filters through a few breakneck noise rock motifs, leaning more on the riff-as-such than earlier efforts. It’s fast, borderline hardcore. As I noted in a previous review, Tropical Trash remind me of forgotten ‘90s greats Pitchblende, and “Ritual Bath” is uncanny in its resemblance. Aggressive, nerdy and noisy, maybe it’s time for a full length?
[Sophomore Lounge; http://sophomoreloungerecords.com/home.html]
Xetas 7”
Sharp Austin rock untethered to any specific genre, or micro-scene. Tough, driving and anthemic, “The Silence” is the sort of song that would once have been played to death on college radio; it actually reminds me of a little-known and underappreciated ‘00s Cleveland band called Sounder. Tempering the anger a bit, “The Knife” channels the supercharged Superchunk side of the coin and comes up a corker with a chorus that I can picture a packed basement of young ‘uns screaming along with.
[12XU; http://12xu.net/
FULL LENGTHS
15-60-75 The Numbers
Band
Jimmy Bell’s Still in Town LP
Ohio-centric label Exit Stencil Recordings steps up and reissues this lost classic on vinyl for the first time since it’s initial 1976 release. In Northeast Ohio, The Numbers Band are legends, renowned for rollicking live shows, dense with extended jams and percolating rhythms. This six-song set, recorded live in 1975 while opening for Bob Marley and The Wailers at legendary Cleveland venue The Agora, shows off The Numbers Band’s strengths – muscular, economical but unpredictable vamping on traditional blues motifs. The seven-piece band (including Chrissie Hynde’s bro Terry on sax) was a nexus where the dominant strains of ‘70s music collided; elements of rock, blues, jazz and funk get tossed in, and it all comes off so naturally, it’s a wonder more bands have been unable to emulate its peaks. While there are antecedents in groups like the Hampton Grease Band and even some of Captain Beefheart’s catalog, a song like “Narrow Road” most closely resembles Tony Williams Lifetime; a jazz/rock hybrid that appears loose, yet is so rhythmically tight, your ass and brain are in complete agreement -- shut up and get limber. There are also brief flashes of the kind of epic guitar-dueling that would make Television’s impending Marquee Moon so striking. “Thief” brings to mind a dream collab of The James Gang and Can, but “Jimmy Bell” is the album’s cornerstone, a song that holds the set in place. A fluid, ever-moving full-band take on Cat Iron’s blues classic, “Jimmy Bell” is ten glorious minutes of gyrating rhythms and locked-in guitar soloing. Few groups have managed to be so accessible while taking their audience on a journey to parts unknown. If this seminal set isn’t enough for you, Exit Stencil unearthed three bonus tracks to fill out this double-LP labor of love. A stripped-down version of “Who Do You Love?” is the best front-porch jam session you’ve belatedly been invited to, while “Drive” provides more guitar fireworks and avant-garage churn that didn’t go unnoticed by the likes of Pere Ubu and Devo. This may be a bitter pill to swallow for some, but Jimmy Bell’s Still in Town is exactly what I’ve always wished The Grateful Dead sounded like – psychedelic boogie rock for the masses.
Jimmy Bell’s Still in Town LP
Ohio-centric label Exit Stencil Recordings steps up and reissues this lost classic on vinyl for the first time since it’s initial 1976 release. In Northeast Ohio, The Numbers Band are legends, renowned for rollicking live shows, dense with extended jams and percolating rhythms. This six-song set, recorded live in 1975 while opening for Bob Marley and The Wailers at legendary Cleveland venue The Agora, shows off The Numbers Band’s strengths – muscular, economical but unpredictable vamping on traditional blues motifs. The seven-piece band (including Chrissie Hynde’s bro Terry on sax) was a nexus where the dominant strains of ‘70s music collided; elements of rock, blues, jazz and funk get tossed in, and it all comes off so naturally, it’s a wonder more bands have been unable to emulate its peaks. While there are antecedents in groups like the Hampton Grease Band and even some of Captain Beefheart’s catalog, a song like “Narrow Road” most closely resembles Tony Williams Lifetime; a jazz/rock hybrid that appears loose, yet is so rhythmically tight, your ass and brain are in complete agreement -- shut up and get limber. There are also brief flashes of the kind of epic guitar-dueling that would make Television’s impending Marquee Moon so striking. “Thief” brings to mind a dream collab of The James Gang and Can, but “Jimmy Bell” is the album’s cornerstone, a song that holds the set in place. A fluid, ever-moving full-band take on Cat Iron’s blues classic, “Jimmy Bell” is ten glorious minutes of gyrating rhythms and locked-in guitar soloing. Few groups have managed to be so accessible while taking their audience on a journey to parts unknown. If this seminal set isn’t enough for you, Exit Stencil unearthed three bonus tracks to fill out this double-LP labor of love. A stripped-down version of “Who Do You Love?” is the best front-porch jam session you’ve belatedly been invited to, while “Drive” provides more guitar fireworks and avant-garage churn that didn’t go unnoticed by the likes of Pere Ubu and Devo. This may be a bitter pill to swallow for some, but Jimmy Bell’s Still in Town is exactly what I’ve always wished The Grateful Dead sounded like – psychedelic boogie rock for the masses.
[Exit Stencil Recordings; http://exitstencil.org/]
originally appeared in High Times mag
originally appeared in High Times mag
The American Jobs
Carne Levare LP
Carne Levare LP
Another
curve ball from Savage Quality. The American Jobs are a dark and
lounge-y bunch, sounding for all the world like the house
band of the Black Lodge in Twin Peaks. Mainman Nathan Reynolds possesses a deep croon that dips down past
Bryan Ferry and comes up Andrew Eldritch, lending American Jobs a
gothic feel, but leave the black lipstick at home because this party has
long been over. Consequently, my favorite song on here is probably the
pitch-black “Velvet, Moss And Flies.” I know I throw out a lot of
references to semi-obscure shit (deal with it - that’s how I found out
about this crap and I didn’t even have THE INTERNET (!!!) to help me), BUT here’s one for the books and it is entirely
appropriate -- Dark Arts. A great deal of Carne Lavare (“meat wash,” I googled it for you) has the same late night, exotic, sensual crawl as Dark Arts’ A Long Way From Brigadoon
(recorded and released by one Stevus Albini). (That sentence had three
sets of parentheses in it. What has become of us?) It’s 3:50 in the
afternoon and it would be obvious to even a blind man that this is far
too early in the day to be slowly swaying about my apartment to American
Jobs. But maybe you wake n’ bake to Leonard Cohen and Dead Can Dance,
so if that’s the case, I’ve got your new favorite record right here.
[Savage Quality; http://www.savagequalityrecordings.com/]
Charlie Tweddle
Fantastic Greatest Hits 2xLP
Fantastic Greatest Hits 2xLP
Beautifully-packaged
double set collecting outsider country hero Charlie Tweddle’s
acid-limned vision of reality. If you’re familiar with Mighty
Mouth’s Midnite Plowboy (best title), then you’ve only heard the man’s more recent material. Fantastic
reproduces his sought-after self-released 1974 album along with an
extra record of more early crackpot action. The first side of the previously-released album is raw documentation of Tweddle singing over minimal
accompaniment, while in between the songs field recordings of his farm are
spliced in. At times, especially when songs are suddenly interrupted, it
sounds like a chilled-out Hasil Adkins produced by Guided By Voices. As
you listen to the album, you start to wonder about ol’ Charlie -- are
the aliens coming for him? Is that what these songs are? Transmissions
sent out to his home planet? Perhaps the reason none of the songs have titles is because they are unable to be translated from their native,
off-world tongue. Charlie’s just havin’ a sit on his porch, strumming
his guitar, and waiting for outer space to come scoop him up again. On
the flip, he’s given up playing songs and decides to document his
surroundings, as terra-based as you can get. Beneath the din of the
nighttime owls and frogs, you can hear a band sawing away in the
distance. Occasionally, Charlie dicks around on guitar and practices his
whistling and singing. By the end of the side, Charlie has walked back
into the house and he starts a song, only to shovel a shit-ton of dirt
on top of it. I can almost see the confused looks on his friends’ faces
as they spun their weird buddy’s rural headfuck of an album. The extra
LP is more of the same c&w musique concrete.
Heck, I think I like it even more than the album proper. Pick up a couple
‘cubes, put this rekkid on, and gaze up at the stars. You might just be
surprised at who’s lookin’ back.
[Mighty Mouth-Ever/Never; http://www.almostreadyrecords.com/mmm.htm - http://evernever.bigcartel.com/]
Coitus Int.
s/t LP
Bunkerpop’s 2011 faithful reissue of Coitus Int.’s Dead Excitement EP
is, in this writer’s humble oh-pinion, one of thee most crucial
products of The Golden Age of The Reissue (post-CD version). If you are
ignorant, go to Discogs, or the record store, and un-ignorantize
yourself. You can thank me by avoiding me on the street. Now, a few
years later, Bunkerpop continues in the interruption (Coitus 2: The
Interruption Continues) cataloguing with the debut album. While not
quite as crackingly post-punk as the 7”, the LP finds Coitus slowing
down and getting gloomier, glacial, and almost-goth. Perfecting a form
of non-guitar-dominated death rock, and still strongly influenced by
PiL, Coitus Int. come out with trench-digging bass and
so-sullen-they’re-aggressive vocals. Lines like “Two milligrams taken by
mistake/are just enough to throw myself out of the window” are pushed
out in a sort of breathless hush. The disgust is palpable. “To Avoid The
Pressure” is like Killing Joke running on empty -- all the impending doom
is there, but the band doesn’t even have the will to try to escape, that would just be
postponing the inevitable. “The Threat” is an Edgar Allen Poe story come
to life in a dour Belgian band’s imagining, ticking clock counting
down, paralysis and dread. The band speeds up at the end, but only
because it’s sprinting full tilt into the arms of death. “Shrill Screams”
features the hilarious lyrics “Shrill screams/the noises of Paris/they
say the French are emotional.” The humor is dark as a starless night.
The half-speed Joy Division of “My Ideal Man” is followed by the
existential despair of “At The Edge of Triumph,” which could just as
well be Coitus Int.’s theme song. I’m not sure any other band has ever
crept closer to Samuel Beckett’s brutal, hermetic universe than these
miserable sonsabitches. The lyrics to “Tourist Ghetto” are keen
observations and dynamic truths writ small. You should buy this record
so you can read them off the lyric sheet and so Bunkerpop can continue
to put out more unjustly overlooked musics. s/t LP
[Bunkerpop; http://bunkerpop.bigcartel.com/product/bp-003-coitus-int-lp]
Coma In Algiers Happy Forever LP
Fourth album, but first for me, by this Austin, Tex-Mex six-piece (whoa put that thing away,
pardner!). The first side of this platter gives off distinct DC vibes,
particularly latter-day Dischord standard-bearers Black Eyes. It’s there
in the blistering-hardcore-to-meandering-indie of “95” or the expansive
textures of “Sexual Beings,” although there’s no mistaking “Freeland’”s
ecstatic, Trumans Water-esque flailing. But the second side is where
things really start to get interesting. The heavy and lumbering
“Swansea” is followed by the fractured noise rock of “Extol” and “Let’s
Get Married.” “Meaty Gums” is melodic and frantic like the Yah Mos
covering Archers of Loaf. “No Human Contact” sets up a “Who likes
Godflesh more” contest with fellow locals Burnt Skull while the
sing-songy “Leipzig” sounds like a stalker ode penned by Cows. A
slightly schizophrenic, but satisfying, listen.
[A Wicked Company; https://awickedcompanyrecords.bandcamp.com/]
Cuntz
Here Come The Real Boys LP
Here Come The Real Boys LP
Of course you should fucking buy this. You haven't already? Screw you, chico. I booked this tour. These guys played this tour. What did you do? You could at least show some contrition by buying this record, you sonofabitch.
[Chunklet; chunklet.com]
Death Comet Crew
Ghost Among The Crew LP
Back in the early ‘80s, New York City’s Death Comet Crew
helped invent the future. Not many people outside of their downtown axis
noticed, but that didn’t stop DCC’s polyglot approach from having an impact.
It’s hard to imagine the industrial-strength hip-hop of El-P, much less Public
Enemy’s Bomb Squad, without the blueprint provided by Death Comet. Dedicated to
MC and muse Rammellzee, the Crew picks up where it left off, fusing 808 beats,
radio detritus, turntable scratching, and sampling that favors grit and texture
over Pro Tools perfection. There is a cinematic sweep to Ghost Among The Crew, encompassing sci-fi spy soundtracks,
immersive set pieces and dystopian club bangers. Don’t call it retrofuturistic,
this is music for the present.
[Diagonal; http://diagonal-records.com/]
originally appeared in High Times mag
[Diagonal; http://diagonal-records.com/]
originally appeared in High Times mag
Dreamsalon
Soft Stab LP
Soft Stab LP
On
their second full-length, Seattle trio Dreamsalon transition from good
to great. Perhaps you are familiar with their pedigree: A Frames n’
Intelligence n’ Factums n’ Evening Meetings n’ etc. We’re talking the
best of the best of PNW post-punk outfits. Such knowledge might give you
an idea of the angle Dreamsalon is sliding next to you at, but they’re
still gonna hit on you in a whole new way. “Walking Past My Dreams”
hinges on a Wire-like bassline and that’s a good marker for what kind of
territory we’re in here. This is small-batch, organic post-punk made
with care by seasoned vets. Put that on a sticker, slap it on the front
of the record and sell this sucker at Whole Foods. Dreamsalon’s songs are
full of tension and release (see “Animal”), but the amount of space they
give to each instrument imparts a sense of grace to the material. But
Dreamsalon is hip and with it and they can still get down. “Don’t Feel
Like Walkin’” is a bad-trip Oh Sees, pressuring the vocal FX and
heavily-’verbed guitars into a swirling, sweltering steam cloud. The
majority of Dreamsalon’s songs deal with the everyday, the bullshit
struggle of hauling your carcass to work and putting up with idiots and
assholes. The band is the release valve. For some inexplicable
reason, anti-anthem “Vacuum” -- which features the lyrics “I spend my
life in a vacuum/don’t wanna die in a vacuum” -- was left off the LP
proper, but it’s on the download, so let your fingers do the walking.
There’s a delicate balance between inevitable resignation and uneasy
triumph on the album. Hell, it’s even there in the title -- Soft Stab --
what’s next, a tender explosion? Side two gives itself over to
extended, moody, bass-heavy explorations like “Exit Specialist” and
“Laugh.” Excellent record by excellent folks.
[Dragnet/Sweet Rot; https://dragnetrecords.wordpress.com/ - http://www.sweetrotrecords.com/]
Gravel Samwidge
Medicinal Requirements 12” EP
Medicinal Requirements 12” EP
Swashbuckling
Hobo finally hooks a winner, and the art doesn’t even suck!
Gravel Samwidge is a Brisbane concern with Matt Kennedy from Kitchen’s
Floor on guitar. The style is noise rock, but these guys write pretty
good songs. “Nervepowder” has a cool needling riff that would be right
at home on an AmRep rec. “Rock God” nails classic Aussie swamp without
going overboard on the dramatics. Effective use of samples and
electronic flourishes add a wacked-out mad scientist vibe to the
instrumental “Get Your Shit Together.” The second side feels a little
more generic, but still does the trick well enough. Next record could be
a real hole-plunger.
[Swashbuckling Hobo; http://www.swashbucklinghobo.com/
[Swashbuckling Hobo; http://www.swashbucklinghobo.com/
Ipps
Everything Is Real LP
The members of Ipps have all done time in some of Columbus, Ohio’s finest bands of this still-young millenium. We’re talking Necropolis, Unholy Two, Guinea Worms, El Jesus De Magico and more. Led by the husband-and-wife team of Emily and Bo Davis, Ipps hark back to the sound Cowtown made its name on. Namely -- noisy, scruffy indie rock that isn’t afraid to get weird, nor wear its heart on its sleeve. Back in the ‘80s these Ipps would’ve shared new wave hot dogs with Yo La Tengo. “Yr. Thick” sounds like a lost track from Dig Yourself and that’s still a high (street) compliment. “Goawa” takes on a Sonic Youth slow burn before the inevitable rave-up followed by the meltdown. Classic shit. As Times New Viking proved almost a decade (?!) ago, this sound will never die, and long may its drunken flame burn.
[Superdreamer;http://www.superdreamerrecordsmain.com/]
Everything Is Real LP
The members of Ipps have all done time in some of Columbus, Ohio’s finest bands of this still-young millenium. We’re talking Necropolis, Unholy Two, Guinea Worms, El Jesus De Magico and more. Led by the husband-and-wife team of Emily and Bo Davis, Ipps hark back to the sound Cowtown made its name on. Namely -- noisy, scruffy indie rock that isn’t afraid to get weird, nor wear its heart on its sleeve. Back in the ‘80s these Ipps would’ve shared new wave hot dogs with Yo La Tengo. “Yr. Thick” sounds like a lost track from Dig Yourself and that’s still a high (street) compliment. “Goawa” takes on a Sonic Youth slow burn before the inevitable rave-up followed by the meltdown. Classic shit. As Times New Viking proved almost a decade (?!) ago, this sound will never die, and long may its drunken flame burn.
[Superdreamer;http://www.superdreamerrecordsmain.com/]
kim ki o
Bir, Iki… LP
Bir, Iki… LP
Bir, Iki… is
a collection of recordings by Turkish duo, kim ki o. For the most part,
kim ki o play pleasant, slightly dark bedroom wave. I’m reminded of
recent groups like Offset:Spectacles, Hot & Cold and taking it back a
bit further, Young Marble Giants. Unfortunately, these ladies are
lacking the tension in those bands. It’s too easy to lean on the drum
machine and it ends up anchoring these songs in place. The last song on
side one “Gezegenin Adi Dunya” is moderately successful, melding
distorted bass to a nice keyboard melody, as is side two’s closer “Ne
Yapsam Anlarsin?” but it’s too little too late. I like minimalist and
spare, but these songs just feel threadbare -- you can see the bones
poking through. S-S usually has a knack for finding far-flung purveyors
of interesting and weird musics, but this time the sounds just don’t
provoke.
[S-S; http://s-srecords.tumblr.com/]
[S-S; http://s-srecords.tumblr.com/]
Miami Dolphins
Becky LP
Becky LP
Now
here’s an FPE product I can get down with. The Dolphins are a spry and
powerful ensemble that would have been right at home on the Skin Graft
roster, and to an aging punk spazz, that’s practically Proust-ian.
Shorty, Mt. Shasta, Melt-Banana, Scissor Girls et al. A contemporary act
would be Cellular Chaos, a band that links several generations of freak
rock. Miami Dolphins hit tornado mode a lot, and its fun to listen to
them cycle through their furious riffs with abandon. But they can pull
it back as well, such as on “Pucker Upper,” which shows off singer
Beth’s acrobatic, slightly operatic vocals. When the Dolphins aren’t
engaging in total destruction, there is an almost Beefheart-ian quality
to their scrabble, landing them in same wild zoo with Guerilla Toss,
and, taking it back a few decades, Ron Johnson bands like Badgewearer or
Dawson. You might be thinking Deerhoof on “Citrus.” But enough with the trainspotting (a terrible vice), the Miami Dolphins score a touchdown with Becky. After you’re finished groaning, order this album from
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/].
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/].
Mishka Shubaly
Coward’s Path LP
Coward’s Path LP
Coward’s Path
is a solo album by successful author and former member of Fresh Kills
and Beat The Devil, Mishka Shubaly. It’s an understated affair, mostly consisting of
tales of misery and woe. They have a name for this style and it’s called
“sad bastard” and Shubaly nails it pretty good. “New Jersey Valentine’s
Day Orphan Blues” has got all the trappings of a Tom Waits song, minus
the sandpaper vocals. That being said, no one is gonna mistake Shubaly
for an American Idol
contestant. His voice is a bit shaky at times, but the hard-bitten
lyrics make up for it. At times, the music is not far from Greg Ashley’s
solo work, although lacking Ashley’s attention to detail and sonic
depth. But if you need a sympathetic companion for your downward slide
into oblivion, Shubaly’s got your back.
[Invisible Hands; http://www.mishkashubaly.com/]
[Invisible Hands; http://www.mishkashubaly.com/]
Musk
s/t LP
s/t LP
{disclaimer: the following was originally written for promotional purposes -- take it with a grain of (a)salt, if you must}
Sex. Sweat. Dirt. Danger.
At first glance, Musk’s debut album, brought to you by Holy
Mountain, may seem to be a bit of a departure for the noted psychedelic label.
Yet both band and label are primarily interested in one thing – transcendence,
by any means necessary. Although Musk may find their particular transcendence
in junkyards and peepshow booths, this does not render it any less ecstatic. Or
potent.
Toxic. Intoxicant. Inhale.
Inhalant.
Musk is a pulp novel made flesh. A ticking time-bomb set to
explode. Frontman Rob Fletcher is the drifter with a dark past and a
hair-trigger temper. He growls, spits, shrieks, retches and even occasionally
sings as the band attack their instruments behind him. While the rhythm section pounds out the songs with brute force, Chris Owen’s guitar bleeds
reverb all over the damn place, as if his amp itself has been stabbed. (Dave
Davies, what have ye wrought?) Owen’s leads have a sickly twang, coming at you
like flying shards of broken glass from a punched-out mirror. With Oakland, California as its home base, perhaps
it’s not
surprising how ruthlessly Musk harness the sound of violence for their
own
purposes. Permanently disgruntled, the fellas in Musk - vets from bands
like Tractor Sex Fatality, Killer's Kiss and Slicing Grandpa -- were
looking to weld their mutual love of down n’ dirty rock n’ roll to
sheet-metal
sonics. They have succeeded in spades. On their debut full-length, the
members of
Musk dig their own graves, and then gleefully jump in. The album kicks off with “Grandier,” a burner that recalls
the glory days of Cows and their warped take on the blues. “Funny Feeling” is
pure spaghetti western punk, except Musk brought six-shooters to this food
fight. That ain’t sauce, boss, that’s blood. The psychotronic splatter
continues with a vicious run-through of Chrome Cranks’ classic “Drag House,”
followed by “Slow Bummer,” which echoes, via deadly reverb-spray and murderous
intention, The Scientists, one of the godfathers of this swamp-cum-alley rat
sound. “Last Stand Rot Soft” is a come-on that might as well be a
pact with Satan -- skulking and slinking around the corners, looking for kicks,
and a lady to ride shotgun on a one-way trip to oblivion. The guitars sound
genuinely pained, as if they are in their death-throes, each dying twitch
captured perfectly by ace producer Chris Woodhouse (Mayyors/Karate Party). “Devil’s Hand” brings things back around
to a twisted sort of garage punk reminiscent of unheralded greats like The
Beguiled or Necessary Evils, but Owen’s guitar still sounds like helicopter
blades -- a ghetto bird cruising the Oakland skyline searching for dangerous
men on the loose. “Trashroof” trades in for an almost Beefheartian lurch, and
would certainly serve a David Lynch movie better’n some Nine Inch Ninnies
claptrap. “Combat Shock II” is an ode to Fletcher’s dual spirit animals – ‘80s
hellions Pussy Galore and low-budget high-kill-count midnight movies. There is
no question that “Knuckle Dust” is the soundtrack to a no-holds-barred street
fight, and there is no doubt that around the time everything blooms into a
cloud of feedback and noise – well, that’s when somebody gets knocked out cold.
Speaking of cold, “Black Ice” closes the album with a shuddering finality. In a world of endless digital permutations -- a world in
which art is merely a facsimile of its own past -- Musk are like the VHS tape
to the masses’ USB stick. The latter is plastic and disposable, while the former
favors grit, texture and sports a certain lasting appeal.
Musk. Designed to hurt, built to last.
[Holy Mountain; http://www.holymountain.com/]
Musk. Designed to hurt, built to last.
[Holy Mountain; http://www.holymountain.com/]
Nicole Mitchell’s Black Earth Ensemble Intergalactic Beings 2xLP
Well,
this one threw me for a loop and proved the old adage of not judging
books, or LPs, by their covers. This looks for all the world to be a
late ‘90s hip-hop album, like something, say, Heiroglyphics would have
put out. Some kinda post-conscious rap thing with bad alien art. Imagine
my surprise when I slapped it on and was greeted by sawing violins,
free jazz drumming and various woodwind instruments making their case
above the fray. Huh. Apparently this double LP is a composition by
Nicole Mitchell that was commissioned by Chicago’s MOCA. Recorded live,
the music is performed by a nine-piece group, including Jeff Parker of
Tortoise. It certainly reminds me of classic large ensemble jazz records
of the late ‘60s. So it is like conscious hip-hop, just an earlier
version. If you see this in the record store, don’t think you’re doing
them a favor by putting it back in the rap section, do yourself a favor
by purchasing it.
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/]
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/]
Nones
Midwestern Family Values LP
Midwestern Family Values LP
Man,
the cover to this LP is ugly. I know it’s supposed to be ugly, but this
is an album you don’t want to see peering back at you from yr stacks or
racks. Nones are a Chicago band who deal in mildly weird punk that I
can’t help but think is like the Alice Donut of current times, but, in
accordance with current climes, they’re not nearly as freaky and out-there.
The album has its moments (esp. on side two), and I bet they’re a hoot
live, but Nones fail to connect with this discontented former
midwesterner.
[Hozac; http://hozacrecords.com/]
Parkay Quarts
Content Nausea LP
Sapat
A Posthuman Guide to the Advent Calendar Origins of the Peep Show LP
[Siltbreeze; http://siltbreezerecords.com/]
[Upset The Rhythm; http://www.upsettherhythm.co.uk/]
Ultrathin
s/t LP
Unholy Two
Talk About Hardcore LP
Wow, I am completely shocked. Flabbergasted, even. This total 180 by Columbus OH skummfucccs Unholey Too is, suffice to say, very unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. I mean, who doesn’t like rockin’ Bloc Party-esque bangers mixed up with the occasional stab at a Wilco-style confessional? You didn’t think Lutzko had it in him, but that’s where you’re fuckin’ wrong, pal. Dude’s an artist. He probably liked The Chameleons before you’d ever even heard of Wax Idols. He’s not just a haircut, y’know. Or a drug problem. He’s a human being doing human being things. Like having his heart broken and just wanting to dance all night. Shake that ass, Chris, shake it til the sun comes up.
[12XU; www.12xu.net]
Zigtebra
The Brave LP
[Hozac; http://hozacrecords.com/]
Parkay Quarts
Content Nausea LP
It’s been interesting to watch the rise of New York City’s Parquet Courts
(and all of their various guises, of which this “Parkay Quarts” is
one). I knew they were on to something when my fortysomething cousin
called me from Colorado and asked, “Do you know this band with this song
where they mention your neighborhood? I really like it.” He’d heard Stoned and Starving (from their breakthrough 2013 album Light Up Gold) on satellite radio, and the song immediately clicked, as it had for thousands of previous listeners.
Parquet Courts have emerged as the standard-bearers for Brooklyn indie rock, but don’t fault them for their unfortunate timing. As Brooklyn reduces itself to a parody and multiple multinationals trip over themselves in a frenzy to capitalize on this latest brand, there are several car service fleets-worth of self-deluded artists to ship out on a garbage barge first. The Courts are smart and never pretend otherwise. Unlike the Strokes, you will not find a drop of faux-rock ‘n’ roll swagger in Parquet Courts’ walk. Similarly, they make an indie limelight like Vampire Weekend look clumsy and lazy. Following this year’s acclaimed Sunbathing Animal, Content Nausea is their second full-length of the year, even as a collaborative album with sludgy Brooklyn collective PC Worship waits in the wings. Brittle, spare yet maximalist in sound, Content Nausea is mostly successful, with a few key missteps. The title track is a surge of forward motion as singer/guitarist Andrew Savage catalogs the myriad ways this modern world brings him down. A refusal to consent in the form of a breathless rant, Content Nausea furthers the band’s oblique take on the Minutemen. A cover of 13th Floor Elevators’ Slide Machine aims for bleary-eyed, but here the Courts’ lack of accumulated years shows through. Their angles are still too sharp to fit comfortably into these well-worn threads. Pretty Machines, on the other hand, plays to their strengths—arch, nervous pop that slyly references Brian Eno’s early ’70s rock era. Psycho Structures and The Map find PC’s core duo of Savage and Austin Brown delving into home-recorded synth-damage. Unfortunately, after these triumphs, comes an ill-advised cover of These Boots Are Made For Walking. Oft-covered, seldom well, it’s the kind of standard of which the world does not need more versions. Strictly free download promo material, lads. As if to quickly scrub off that bad idea, the Courts blast through Insufferable, another of their Tyvek-indebted smartbombs. Uncast Shadow Of A Southern Myth, a six-plus minute story of a song, is an ambitious conclusion that once again proves Parquet Courts—or whatever their moniker mood—can handle their own high expectations.
[What's Your Rupture?]
Parquet Courts have emerged as the standard-bearers for Brooklyn indie rock, but don’t fault them for their unfortunate timing. As Brooklyn reduces itself to a parody and multiple multinationals trip over themselves in a frenzy to capitalize on this latest brand, there are several car service fleets-worth of self-deluded artists to ship out on a garbage barge first. The Courts are smart and never pretend otherwise. Unlike the Strokes, you will not find a drop of faux-rock ‘n’ roll swagger in Parquet Courts’ walk. Similarly, they make an indie limelight like Vampire Weekend look clumsy and lazy. Following this year’s acclaimed Sunbathing Animal, Content Nausea is their second full-length of the year, even as a collaborative album with sludgy Brooklyn collective PC Worship waits in the wings. Brittle, spare yet maximalist in sound, Content Nausea is mostly successful, with a few key missteps. The title track is a surge of forward motion as singer/guitarist Andrew Savage catalogs the myriad ways this modern world brings him down. A refusal to consent in the form of a breathless rant, Content Nausea furthers the band’s oblique take on the Minutemen. A cover of 13th Floor Elevators’ Slide Machine aims for bleary-eyed, but here the Courts’ lack of accumulated years shows through. Their angles are still too sharp to fit comfortably into these well-worn threads. Pretty Machines, on the other hand, plays to their strengths—arch, nervous pop that slyly references Brian Eno’s early ’70s rock era. Psycho Structures and The Map find PC’s core duo of Savage and Austin Brown delving into home-recorded synth-damage. Unfortunately, after these triumphs, comes an ill-advised cover of These Boots Are Made For Walking. Oft-covered, seldom well, it’s the kind of standard of which the world does not need more versions. Strictly free download promo material, lads. As if to quickly scrub off that bad idea, the Courts blast through Insufferable, another of their Tyvek-indebted smartbombs. Uncast Shadow Of A Southern Myth, a six-plus minute story of a song, is an ambitious conclusion that once again proves Parquet Courts—or whatever their moniker mood—can handle their own high expectations.
[What's Your Rupture?]
Real Regular s/t LP
Like some extra-devolved clone of spliced DNA from Sockeye, Drunks With Guns and Flipper, Real Reg must’ve came out of the petri dish that was sitting in the sun. Clevo, Ohio is a nexus of down syndrome punk (apologies to d/s readers -sensitive ed.) and Real Regular exemplify this pedigree with the glee of a drooling moron. At least Sockeye had living in Stow as an excuse, what’s these guys’ damage? Oh, right, The Black Eye. Anyway, Sauce boss Richard pounds away as the Bad Noids singer whines, spits, mewls and bleats tales of disease and dis-ease and dickcheese. It’s strange hearing someone who wasn’t even alive yet while it was a “thing,” singing songs about GRIDS (two of ‘em!). GRIDS is to AIDS as Rocket From The Tombs is to punk. “I’m Handsome” is strip-mall electric eels. What the fuck does that mean? It means it’s good. The last track is a long dissertation on being a weirdo and it sounds like No Trend got turned into the Muppets, and in case you were still wondering, that is also a good thing.
[Saucepan; https://saucepanrecords.bandcamp.com/]Sapat
A Posthuman Guide to the Advent Calendar Origins of the Peep Show LP
I
was, and still am, rather fond of Sapat’s debut LP on Siltbreeze,
released way back in 2007 (that’s “way back” now? - ed.). A fine
distillation of kosmische Americana and folked-up kraut moves, Mortise and Tenon
might just be one of the best US psych-rock full lengths of the last
decade. Since then, this Louisville-based collective has been mostly
silent. Sure, the participants have continued in other excellent
projects (such as Phantom Family Halo and Tropical Trash), but I long
had put aside any thoughts of a follow-up. Lo and behold, seven years
later -- four of which were spent intermittently recording -- local stalwart Sophomore
Lounge gives us a glimpse of what the on/off group has been dabbling
with. “Arson Lieder I/Our S(u)(o)n Leader” kicks it off with a slight
return to the psychedelic hillbilly angle of their initial 7”, but the
call-and-response male/female vocals imbue the ragtag mountain-jazz with
a theatrical air. It some ways, it sounds like a loose-limbed Cerebus
Shoal, so you can be assured that Sapat could care less about what you
-- or the general sub-underground -- think is cool. The rest of the
first side gets lost in a fog-shrouded forest and it’s not an unpleasant
situation. On side two opener, “Charlie Brown Italian Drug
Song/Vietnam,” Sapat accesses spiritual forebears Gong and their
galavanting gang of freaks. It opens with big, swiping horn patterns and
then settles into a drifting, spaced-out middle section with
otherworldly voices calling out to the cosmos. Here is Sapat at its
best, embracing the spaceways, summoning Yeti
spirits with a rarely-heard ease. “Rock Face” is the too-long comedown; twelve minutes of steam being released. Could’ve used a little
more pressure building, personally, but for the most part, Sapat has
acquitted themselves well here. Old fans will be pleased, and potential
ones should pay attention.
[Sophomore Lounge; http://sophomoreloungerecords.com/home.html]
Shoes This High
Straight To Hell LP
This is manna to me. Straight from the fuckin’ heavens and continuing on down until it reaches the bottom of hell. Pure and sharp, like a block of cheddar full of razor blades, Shoes This High are one “those” bands for yours truly. Essentially, perfect. Sound, aesthetic, execution, intent, passion, snot, and loads of rule-chucking. Since first falling in serious love with this phenomenal live show a few years ago via an Axeman’s blog, Siltbreeze answered my faithless prayers (see the blood-letting exorcism of “Christian Song”) and bestowed a remastered and resequenced (by Jared Phillips from TNV/Counter Intuits) disc of sorely-needed Shoes spite upon this undeserving planet (there’s even more material via the d/l so get on it, chum). Singer S. Brent Hayward’s desperate yelp gives me the same gooseflesh as Dave Wiley of The Consumers. His anger and intelligence are the focal point of STH. The songs veer between Fall-like angled jaunts (“Stuk,” “Sop Pong” ) and hammering fits (“Cretin Time,” “Scab”). “Mental Whiff” approaches Gordons-level dissonance and intensity. “Tunnel Vision” opens side two and it is a punk classic if there ever was one. Stealing and inverting the riff from The Enemy’s “Pull Down The Shades,” Hayward is in transcendental form here. “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHERE I GO/AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE CLOTHES THAT I WEAR/I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYTHING…..TUNNEL VISION!.......I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHAT YOU THINK/AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYTHING….TUNNEL VISION!” When Hayward starts moaning then screaming “Oh yeah” in perfect high-anxiety pitch, you better believe I am in full agreement. As evidenced by needling cuts like “Tic Toc” and “Menace,” Shoes This High exude obsession and paranoia, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Straight To Hell LP
[Siltbreeze; http://siltbreezerecords.com/]
Total Control
Typical System LP
Total Control’s Henge Beat was a tour de’ force of future-shock post-punk. On Typical System, the Melbourne-based band’s follow-up, the paranoid urgency remains -- “Systematic Fuck” and “Two Less Jacks” are satisfyingly jagged blasts -- but the album throbs to an electronic pulse. “Glass” and “Flesh War” are stellar examples of the icy yet sensuous new wave on which Gary Numan based a career, and John Foxx-era Ultravox perfected. “Black Spring” reaches back even further, gradually accruing layers of sound overtop a Neu!-style motorik groove. After the group comes to rest during the Stereloab-meets-Cluster chill-out of “The Ferryman,” Total Control closes the album with "Safety Net," a dose of elegant and majestic synth-pop.
[Iron Lung; http://lifeironlungdeath.blogspot.com/]
originally appeared in High Times mag
Trash Kit
Confidence LP
Knotty,
fleet-footed, tangled, dive-bombing -- London’s Trash Kit owns these
descriptions with ease, engaging in the sort of fluid playing that can
only come from many hours in the practice room, but also a preternatural
bond that cannot be taught, and verges on the telepathic. Leaning less
towards the shrill excitement of The Slits, Trash Kit sound most like
ESG, with diamond-sharp guitar replacing layers of polyrhythm.
Throughout the album, Trash Kit raise their collective voice in joyous
harmony. The pointillist guitar approaches late-period Don Caballero and
the more buoyant, tropical-flavored lines echo early Abe Vigoda. While
Trash Kit’s music is comprised of constant push-pull, the album as a
whole possesses no peak, no swell and fade between the tracks
themselves. “Cinema” features some lovely melodies being tossed back and
forth by the bass and guitar, and the band is certainly comfortable
with space and silence. While individual songs may be hard to recall,
Trash Kit’s obsessively tumbling and frantic music puts you in a unique
frame of mind, your brain performing mental flips and follies as the
band slips in and around, parrying and jousting, pricking and poking. Typical System LP
Total Control’s Henge Beat was a tour de’ force of future-shock post-punk. On Typical System, the Melbourne-based band’s follow-up, the paranoid urgency remains -- “Systematic Fuck” and “Two Less Jacks” are satisfyingly jagged blasts -- but the album throbs to an electronic pulse. “Glass” and “Flesh War” are stellar examples of the icy yet sensuous new wave on which Gary Numan based a career, and John Foxx-era Ultravox perfected. “Black Spring” reaches back even further, gradually accruing layers of sound overtop a Neu!-style motorik groove. After the group comes to rest during the Stereloab-meets-Cluster chill-out of “The Ferryman,” Total Control closes the album with "Safety Net," a dose of elegant and majestic synth-pop.
[Iron Lung; http://lifeironlungdeath.blogspot.com/]
originally appeared in High Times mag
Trash Kit
Confidence LP
[Upset The Rhythm; http://www.upsettherhythm.co.uk/]
Ultrathin
s/t LP
{disclaimer: the following was written for promotional purposes but I stand by all observations contained below}
Montreal’s Ultrathin have been hammering out their distinct
take on psychedelic punk for more than a few years now. A single, a tape, a
series of killer shows with bands like Soupcans and PyPy; Ultrathin hasn’t been
idle. But now, with their debut LP courtesy of Bruised Tongue, the ‘thin have
finally broken the surface. Ultrathin is stepping towards the light, so to
speak, and have dropped one of the year’s finest displays of frustrated punk
and bad-acid psych. Opener “White Walls” establishes the Ultrathin template –
head-down rhythmic drive led by drummer Matthew Wilson as bassist Mark Fragua’s
desperate vocals fight to be heard above Shaun Anderson’s corrosive guitar
mangling. “Got A Feeling” focuses these elements into a blistering punk attack.
“I Wanna Know” transitions effortlessly from mid-tempo burn to a ride off into
the sunset, sparks trailing everywhere. I’m sure you can figure out what “Scum
With A Badge” is about, and while “Discharge” ain’t d-beat, it’s still punk as
fuck. So’s their cover of the Pagans’ “Real World.” “Whac-A-Mole” shows off
Ultrathin’s snotty garage roots, which feels almost pleasant after the annihilating
meltdown of “Out From the Cold.” In case you still had any doubts, “In My Mind”
will erase them, closing out the album with a Spacemen 3-like intensity.
[Bruised Tongue; http://bruisedtongue.com/wordpress/
[Bruised Tongue; http://bruisedtongue.com/wordpress/
Unholy Two
Talk About Hardcore LP
[12XU; www.12xu.net]
White Murder
s/t LP
After
a slew of killer 7”s, a few cool videos and tons of excellent live
notices, LA’s White Murder dropped this short n’ sweet platter on us
(the way to my heart is a 45 rpm 12”; got that ladies?). These ten songs
are less aggressive than the single sides -- not that Mike D’Amico’s
driving, melodic (trademark) bass lines are any less driving or melodic.
The duel vocals by Hannah H. and Mary Animal (both also of Jail
Weddings) are the focal point, employing what sounds like spiteful
harmony. “Baby Boy” is about bad girls and fingering good girls with
drumsticks. Unless I’m reading that wrong. Either way, somebody’s
getting fucked. “Mirrors” is the anti-”I’ll Be Your Mirror,” telling you
to deal with your own shit, ain’t no reflection gonna save your ass.
[Razorcake/Recess; http://www.razorcake.org/razorcake-records]s/t LP
Zigtebra
The Brave LP
Part
of a package FPE graciously sent yours truly, Zigtebra is, to put it
mildly, definitely not for me. Not just in the sense that I don’t care
for it (I don’t), but I honestly feel like this music is for, and of, a
generation that I have very little commonalities with. Well, outside the
general malaise and formless anger of 21st century America, that is.
Wait, scratch that, there is zero rage here, only cupcakes and
marshmallows and ticklefights. I’m not proud of it, but I witnessed the
rise of Brooklyn’s own Matt & Kim from a close vantage point, and
while it didn’t necessarily surprise me, I’m still left puzzled by their
brief extreme borough popularity. That’s disingenuous. I know exactly
why they appealed to a horde of grown children, I just don't want to
admit it. They had an undeniable infectious energy live, but it was much
like getting excited for recess at school. Sure, it was better than
algebra, but the high vanished soon after being herded back into the
classroom. Zigtebra are a similar guy/gal duo, and while their songs are
of a piece with M&K and maybe...Tune-Yards?.... they are lacking
the romper room-style rambunctiousness. This album is like hearing a
couple of indie nerds fall in love, and if that sounds like your cup of
tea, by all means, put the kettle on.
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/ ]
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/ ]
CASSETTES
Doberman
s/t x2
A few guys in Lafayette, Indiana get the itch to throb out with their knobs out, and the results are goshdarn groovy. The first tape -- which we’ll call Spring -- is a slowly yawning chasm that eventually swallows you whole. Old-school power electronics collide with long-form drone and as the first side winds down, the drone emerges triumphant and the sonic negation is recast as psychedelic and transcendent. But, wait, the sounds of construction bring it back to earth, dumping you face-first into a bucket of nails. Oh well, can’t live in the clouds forever, junior. Other side is the endless sift through the detritus, the bone-numbing slog to nowhere. Pack a lunch, you’ll need it. Summer is the new tape and the addition of evil, subliminal vocals bring Suicide into the frame, giving the swell of sound a focus. The flip is more explicitly Throbbing Gristle in nature, as soiled voice manipulations of prerecorded narration fought to be heard above a steaming morass of attack and decay.
[Castle Bravo; https://castlebravotapes.bandcamp.com/ ]
Drose/Murderedman split
Tour tape by two of Ohio’s best and heaviest with, what I believe, is exclusive material. Drose are unjustly overlooked at this point. Sure, they’re a bit inscrutable, but that’s what you want out of this nearly monk-like approach to such brutal and austere music. Here they are a tad less metal, almost no wave, but still very much in the Drose vein of space/smash/space/soar/smash/space. “A Flame” is like a day in the salt mines. Are you ready for the future? Drose are a no-brainer for Swans fans, so what’s Pitchfork waiting for? Murderedman continue with their high-voltage blend of noise/rock that isn’t afraid to sing into its toothbrush in front of the mirror(s).
(Soundesign; www.polarenvy.com ]
Expert Alterations
s/t
Excellent Baltimore group who are mining the rich vein of smart-guy spiky pop in the tradition of the best C86 groups and NZ heroes like The Chills or any number of Shayne Carter bands. There’s even a smattering of Bona Dish here and there. Repeated listens of “Midnight Garden” led my mind into tricking me into thinking it was a Monochrome Set cover. It’s that good of a song. Five winners here, and I would expect to see more of this band in 2015. Apparently they are on their third pressing of this cassette, so grab it while you can.
[self-released; https://expertalterations.bandcamp.com/ ]
Fat Vegan Music To Eat Tofu To cass
Fat Vegan makes the rest of the Saucepan roster look like genii. Here’s where Sockeye really makes their influence felt. Who hasn’t rocked out to Toughskins on occasion though? Whatever, go slob on Hard Skin’s knob a little more, eh? Fat Vegan are singing about meat, fava beans, Public Square and pupusas (Richard’s specialty). Culinarycore -- they’ll cut you with that chef’s knife right before they julienne some carrots to stuff into their burger cuz even vegetables taste good if there’s meat involved.
[Saucepan; https://saucepanrecords.bandcamp.com/]Qwanqwa
Volume One
FPE is really showing off the breadth of their label here with a fine collection of music by this Ethiopian band which features an American violinist. These cats play crazy instruments like the krar, a bowl-shaped lyre, which, when amplified, sounds like some trippy-ass guitar fingering. The three songs on the first side are particularly killer. I’m not hugely knowledgeable about the bevy of music recently made available of African rock-type bands (these guys are less rock than some), but I’ve heard enough to know that this stands up quite well. It’s not blazing like Group Inerane and other Tuareg bands, but they build up quite a head of steam at points. There is common ground here with Erkin Koray as the strings are often engaged in that woozy dance he did so well. Shit, for all I know this band is like the Headhunters of Addis Ababa. One thing I do know is that I dig it.
[FPE; www.mixcloud.com/qwanqwaband ]
Sex Tide/Bloody Show split
Superhero-style team-up between two sets of Columbus rockers; recorded/mixed/mastered at the same house. Sex Tide bash out eight songs of Pussy Galore-indebted basement thrashings, walking familiar ground but with gusto. Some of the cuts from their A Wicked Company 12” are repeated including that one with the “You Only Live Twice” riff. Not only do I really like Bloody Show’s name, I also really like the people behind it. I played with them just a few months ago and they delivered a solid set. The raw recording doesn’t do their hard rock swagger justice -- Bloody Show isn’t really a punk band per se, they are more in the mold of a Sonic’s Rendezvous Band or some other gang of ‘70s proto-punks. Shit, they’re nearly bonehead crunching all over this motherfucker. With titles like “Gendernaut,” “Magic Negro” and “Anonymous Cock,” you know Bloody Show ain’t fuckin around. They end it with a cool cover of Modern Lovers’ “She Cracked.” This tape equals mission accomplished -- I’m now looking forward to hearing more Bloody Show with a bigger, better recording. [self-released; https://bloodyshow.bandcamp.com/album/sex-tide-bloody-show ]
Team Ugly
Meat Prize
Cassette collecting two previous EPs by this Auckland (that’s in New Zealand -geo ed.) band. “Why Won’t Anybody Have Sex With Me” is a question we have all asked ourselves at some (or many) points in our lives and Team Ugly really wants to know. The pent-up sexual frustration is made manifest in the herky-jerky (see what I did there) punk Team Ugly traffic in. “No More Dry Nights” eh? Somebody needs to tell these guys that sounding like the Fire Engines doesn’t get you laid most anywhere on the globe. And yes, it is fucking bullshit. But the woman singing on some of these tracks provides some contrast and gives me hope for these fellas yet. [self-released; https://team-ugly.bandcamp.com/ ]
WACSAC
The Four Seasons
String Quartets
Ambitious music from FPE honcho and former Fat Day-ist Matt Pakulski. Four Seasons is a composition for orchestra, for chrissakes. Hey pal, Mute Tremors ain’t the friggin’ New York Times! It’s kind of a shame that these works are relegated to cassette, but that’s the hard truth of these lean fossil-fueled times. Although much (all?) of The Four Seasons was created on a computer, it still would benefit from the higher fidelity. The sounds themselves can be a bit jarring, as some are more obviously artificial than others. I prefer side two’s more stately air. String Quartets is better, less shrill and perhaps more soundtrack-like in execution. Matt seems to have gotten a better handle on the software, because the sounds are damn near natural. It’s quite pleasant. String Quartets is some Sunday morning reading the Arts section shit, and I mean that as a compliment.
[FPE; see all up & down the page]
Zigtebra
The Pink Line
See the review of the Zigtebra LP above. Now, you’d probably think I hate this. But actually, it’s not so bad. The duo is much more lo-fi here in a classic indie stylee. Zigtebra throw their horseshoe a lot closer to the K Records marker on this cassette and that’s a spot I can sit in for awhile.
[FPE; see above & above & etc]
Labels:
12XU,
Ausmuteants,
Bunkerpop,
Coitus Int. Musk,
Easter Bilby,
FPE,
Goner Records,
Nots,
Obnox,
Parquet Courts,
Rema Rema,
S-S,
Sapat,
Shoes This High,
Sophomore Lounge,
Trash Kit,
Ultrathin,
Unholy Two,
White Murder
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