Archive for 'Reviews'

Reviews – January 2024

Adulkt Life There Is No Desire LP (Jabs / Our Voltage)
Adulkt Life are the hottest typoed band this side of Wooden Shjips, and I was eager to check them out following so many rave reviews of their 2020 debut album. Huggy Bear’s Chris Rowley is at the helm here, and seeing as Adulkt Life have been described as post-punk, I was expecting something in the Huggy Bear fashion: scrappy and punk-centric, with plenty of treble, dance-y drum beats and skeletal guitar work, let’s say. Adulkt Life check none of those boxes! Much to my surprise, this group opts for a pensive, brooding attitude, with thick guitars more in line with mainstream alt-emo than anything Gravity ever released. And rather than delivering any sort of sassed-up sing-along vocal, Rowley sounds weary and kind of unintentionally creepy, like he’s moaning his lyrics to you through the ductwork from a separate room. Not at all what I expected! Even an upbeat rocker like “Future Cops” feels more in line with Thursday or Sparta than anything I’d associate with “UK post-punk”, which I suppose is refreshing in its unexpectedness even if it wouldn’t necessarily be my first choice. So many bands fall into their predetermined genre roles, especially as they get older, but it’s clear that Adulkt Life are not interested in fulfilling anyone’s expectations other than their own.

Pierre Bastien & Michel Banabila Baba Soirée LP (Pingipung)
Been seeing a few of these dream-team experimental pairings lately – Anla Courtis and Vomir, for example – and now this one featuring French junk-drawer electronicist Pierre Bastien and Dutch new-age experimentalist Michel Banabila. Both of these guys have LPs on my shelves already, and while the playfully unhinged manner of Bastien’s work might not immediately seem compatible with Banabila’s soothing fourth-world atmospheres, the sonic consensus they’ve reached here is lush, sensual and strange. As expected, there’s really no telling who is doing what… a rickety rhythm box might be Bastien’s, and a looped didgeridoo might’ve been pulled from Banabila’s closet, but their cohesion is surprisingly consistent throughout, and never bogged down by too many ingredients at the same time. Samplers, synths, loops, horns, flutes, percussive instruments and at least one guitar (“Roto Motor (Erbil Mix)”), there’s just a cornucopia of instrumentation here, most of which is performed in exploratory or non-traditional ways. Even their unlikeliest of instrumental combinations work well here, a testament to the keen ears these guys have developed over their many decades in the game. Much of Baba Soirée can call to mind the self-guided wonder of Ghédalia Tazartès and the alternate realms of Jon Hassell, but Bastien and Banabila were peers of those guys, traversing similar sonic territories of unknown origin at roughly the same time. Nice to see that they’re still out there in the thick of it, teaming up, and at the top of their respective games, no less.

Carrier Fathom 12″ (Felt)
A simultaneously hypnotizing / brutalizing affair here from Alexander Lewis in his Carrier guise. You might remember Lewis from his Blackest Ever Black album a decade ago, and while that remains a solid entry in the noise-infected industrial-techno realm, Fathom is exponentially more vigorous. Opener “Fathom” is the one, a cascading assault of greyscale breakbeats unlike many other. Somehow it doesn’t feel like the cut-up drill-n-bass of Venetian Snares and the like, but rather the serpentine techno of T++ or Surgeon with newfound superpowers, even at its extreme speed. If Silent Servant simmers, “Fathom” is a rolling boil! “The Cusp” cools off a bit, but that same sense of rapid movement is there… it pulls off the trick of being so fast that your brain can simply follow along at half- or quarter-time, the internal “rhythm” appropriate for a relaxed head-bob. “Markers” brings an imposing low-end to the forefront, and “Trooper” plays with pitch, but the general approach is the same throughout: a precise frenzy of thuds, slaps and snaps. The tracks move horizontally but the sounds themselves are constantly shifting and changing shape, providing a similar presentation to time-lapse videos of massive ant colonies at work. Really impressive, aggressive techno for both mind and body (your soul will have to find nourishment elsewhere).

Dank Goblins Fruity Cigars LP (Iron Lung)
Iron Lung knows what’s up: when some of the West Bay’s power-violence pioneers want to release an album of trunk music, you get the record-pressing plant on the phone immediately! You might recognize DJ Eons One from his time in the legendary Spazz and Frank Marchi from the (to me, even more) legendary Agents Of Satan, and with the help of a couple friends they put together this dank-heavy instrumental full-length. No hardcore here, just stoned-to-the-bone bass-lines, laid-back drum loops and trippy samples, a universally-appreciable form of hip-hop meant to be blasted from cars (preferably a fully tinted Crown Victoria) with smoke pouring out of the cracked windows. DJ Eons has been at it for more than a minute, mostly relegating his home-cooked grooves to small-run tapes and tracks for friends, so it’s nice to get a full collection here, heady boom-bap instrumentals that, in another world, could easily accommodate bars from Nas or Ghostface. As an LP, it’s a beautiful thing, but I don’t think Fruity Cigars will have reached its final form until I have a burned/scratched CD-r copy with the name tagged in Sharpie, blasting from an old Jetta, upgraded rims more expensive than the car itself, idling in a convenience store parking lot across from my high school. That’s how I first listened to Spazz and Agents Of Satan, after all.

Equipment Pointed Ankh Downtown! LP (Torn Light)
Like a true krautrock troupe from the ’70s, Louisville’s Equipment Pointed Ankh deliver a second top-quality full-length in under a year, this following their standout From Inside The House. It’s rare that I mentally memorize instrumental music, but as I’ve been spinning From Inside The House enough to unintentionally do so, it’s nice to have this new platter, as gloriously zonked as From Inside if perhaps a bit more playful overall. They’ve got some seriously merry melodies happening here, tracks that sound like the last Blues Control album if it was bent into the form of a Sid and Marty Krofft TV theme. These instrumentals are vivid and probing, lots of keys being tickled, resonant surfaces getting thwacked and strings plucked. Reminds me of the candy aisle in the way that so many vibrant color combinations are competing for your eye’s attention, but in a way that feels exciting and fun, not sickening (that feeling is reserved for post candy-consumption). There’s a bit of a post-punky dance element to some of these tracks as well: see the hypno-throb of “Olympics IV” or the show-stealing funk of “Steppers’ Block”, which calls to mind an evening collision of Stevie Wonder and Conny Plank at the craft service table. As previously proven, Equipment Pointed Ankh wield their impressive chops in the name of light-hearted exploration, one of the few groups who can reasonably pump out two excellent albums a year, each with their own rich rewards.

Gob Psychic How Can Anyone Be So Lucky? 12″ (Le Cèpe / Beast)
The rambunctious six-song twelve-inch debut from Danish garage-punks Gob Psychic has me remembering what it was like when Amdi Petersen’s Armé showed up and immediately became the best “old-school” hardcore-punk band back in 2000 or whatever. Only in this case, instead of making us Americans look bad, Gob Psychic put together a bouncy EP to rival the best of Australia’s garage-y post-punk scene, bands like Ausmuteants, Alien Nosejob, R.M.F.C. and the like. How Can Anyone Be So Lucky? isn’t speedy so much as lively; while surely recorded in a studio setting, I can only image how much Gob Psychic bopped around while playing these songs, headphones falling off and cords tangling into knots. Their singer has a vibrant sneer, and he recites his lyrics in the manner that Johnny Rotten shouted his “England’s dreaming!” line, drawn out and full of bite. They manage to play their songs tightly without feeling remotely professional about it, a good part of that due to the singer’s wobbly delivery, at times hitting the anthemic qualities that Shame and Fat White Family seek out while still sounding punk, not “indie” or whatever. What’s not to like?

Golpe Assuefazione Quotidiana 7″ (Beach Impediment)
Props to Italy’s Golpe for bringing hardcore to the masses in 2023… I must’ve seen at least a hundred different flyers with their name on it in the last year, floating around in my various digital dwelling holes. If the live members of Golpe somehow managed to not get Covid like a dozen times thus far, they need to release their vitamin intake regimen so the rest of us can follow suit. Anyway, this five-song seven-inch is a blast of meaty fast-core, presumably influenced by the popular contemporary set of influences (Poison Idea, Discharge, Hoax’s “Down”, pogo drumming) in a way not entirely dissimilar to Warthog, S.H.I.T. and Electric Chair. The d-beat is prominent but not all-encompassing, with riffs and breakdowns that allow the pit to move both sideways as well as counterclockwise. I was wondering if Golpe might sound overtly Italian – y’know, maybe some of that sweet Wretched / Indigesti sauce – but their sound, as fashionable as it is, could really come from anywhere on the globe right now, from Trenton, NJ to Timbuktu. Apparently all the instruments are played by one Tadzio Pederzolli, and while the proliferation of the hardcore-punk solo-project is certainly a sign of the times, so is writing raging songs and playing them proficiently, of which Pederzolli is also guilty.

Gruuel Elite Controller / Softness On The Other Side 7″ (Deviations)
Gruuel’s debut seven-inch is still warm and we’ve already got this tasty follow-up! Now expanded to the trio of Beau Wanzer, James Vinciguerra and Tarquin Manek (whose new solo album as Static Cleaner Lost Reward I need to check out), these two songs offer a more dynamic approach to warped post-punk dub. “Elite Controller” chugs along zombie-like, the dubby bass-line and mechanically-clattering rhythm held together with tape while the manipulated vocals (must be Vinciguerra again) sounds like Gollum if he were an Elf On The Shelf (do they have that miserable thing in Australia?). “Softness On The Other Side” is ear-deep in the quicksand, Wanzer’s rhythms taking a backseat to the various clarinets, synths and noises, an imp-like swarm around the unexpectedly measured spoken-word vocals. The first Gruuel single was primitive and gross, whereas this one is flamboyant and vivid, rambling down candy-colored hills as opposed to chained away in a greyscale cellar. Both singles are great, but this one’s my instant fave; imaginative tunes from three minds that don’t think the way the rest of us do.

The Haxan Cloak N/Y 12″ (Archaic Devies)
The Haxan Cloak was a strong competitor in the 2012 Industrial Techno Olympics, poised for some sort of industry success outside the realm of little websites like this one. I’m not sure what happened – maybe he became a star and I had no idea? – but whatever the case, he now returns to putting out records, even if it’s simply this one-song clear-vinyl twelve-inch. “N/Y” is very cool though, kind of Lebron James-like in that it’s physically larger than most of the competition yet lithe and fast; a real all-star prospect. The jackhammer techno ballistics of Kerridge and Objekt are working hot and fast here, with an HD sound design befitting Ben Frost at his most butch. If I never heard any music before and someone explained moshing to me, I’d assume it would mostly be done to tracks like this, particularly during the overloaded crescendo complete with body-blows, air-raid sirens and fiery crackle. If four minutes of music for like twenty bucks (plus shipping) is something you can justify, this might be the way you’d want to spend it.

John Heaven Nouminimal 12″ (Public Possession)
Love a good techno record with the guy’s face unflatteringly large on the cover, a true Aphex-ism that never goes out of style. Mr. Heaven here is from Barcelona, and he’s a lively DJ whose own productions are in the Perlon school of minimalist tech-house: playful and bright with a subtle subversiveness running through it all. Extremely minimal by design, these tracks primarily consist of synthesized drum-machines – electronic snaps, clicks, thuds, kicks and cracks – with repeated spoken phrases throughout. Simple to the point where it’s almost silly, Nouminimal makes a strong case that melody isn’t necessary so long as the beat is wound-up tight and there’s a memorable vocal moment or two. Reminds me of Errorsmith’s mischievous approach to tech-house, or perhaps the seventeenth minute of a Ricardo Villalobos edit, long after the melodic leads and synths have left the club. Glorious, ridiculous club music, particularly as the breathy vocals of “El Baile Sensual” get progressively more delirious. I wonder if DJ Hell would ever play this, or if the conflict of interest is too strong.

The Hell The Hell 12″ (Not For The Weak)
Indestructible Cleveland hardcore debut from The Hell, featuring members of at least a couple other Cleveland hardcore bands (Woodstock ’99, Cruelster and that general gang of goofballs). Whereas I usually associate Cleveland hardcore (and Cleveland punk-related music in general) with outrageous humor both zany and deadpan, The Hell play it pretty straightforward, from the humble grid on the album cover to their overall sound and style. It’s all ripping first-wave hardcore, in league with Necros, Government Issue, Circle Jerks, Germs and the like, bands whose t-shirts adorned skateboarding miscreants in small towns and big cities across the United States in those seminal early ’80s. No moshy breakdowns, no gang vocals, just classic American hardcore-punk (with punk and hardcore equally represented), not even the faintest trace of metal or new-wave. Even though it’s clearly authentic, no-frills stuff, I kept waiting for there to be some hidden punchline or gag, just from the nature of the people performing it, but the gag seems to be that there’s no gag, just aggro pant-splitting punk. No need to be overtly wacky when lyrics like “you failed your whole life but now you’ve found your place / a toilet bowl of power and a badge that you embrace” make their intentions perfectly clear.

Michel Henritzi Flowers Of Romance LP (Bruit Direct)
Look back through the last few decades of harsh avant-garde music and you might find Michel Henritzi lurking nearby: collaborating with Junko, Kathy Acker, Tetuzi Akiyama as well as a member of noise action-unit Nox. He clearly enjoys collaboration, but Flowers Of Romance spotlights Henritzi by his lonesome, armed with a lap-steel and various effects with which to process it. The album comes in the form of two side-long live pieces, each one full of squealing feedback, physical aggression, faint traces of rhythm and hypnotic drift, like garbage cans on their sides rolling back and forth in the wind. He even shreds a bit on the second side, his mean-mugging slide splitting the difference between Macronympha and White Zombie. Harsh throughout, Flowers Of Romance is in constant motion, both hands active and probably a foot or two clicking down on the various effects-pedals that help render such a sick and muddied sound. Sewer Surfin’ might’ve made for a more appropriate title, but I can’t deny anyone a little Public Image Ltd. appropriation.

Hulubalang Bunyi Bunyi Tumbal LP (Drowned By Locals)
Hard not to get a little excited by the discovery of the Drowned By Locals label. First of all, that incredible name, along with the fact that it’s doling out otherwise-unheard experimental electronics, and based in Jordan, no less? We’ve already got one to watch, and this LP from Indonesia’s Hulubalang is a great place for us (or maybe just me) to start. Hulubalang is one Aditya Surya Taruna (aka half of Gabber Modus Operandi) and while his group is cool, Bunyi Bunyi Tumbal is even more to my liking, a desperate and unfriendly album of razor-sharp electronics, heavy synths and fiendish rhythms. These tracks are as imposing and impenetrable as one of those giant modern video-game bosses whose only weak spot is a tiny flashing red light that opens up every thirty seconds. These tracks recall the serpentine beats of Vessel’s Punish, Honey, Emptyset at their most hostile and Tzusing’s sword-sharpening avant EBM, all with the jump-scare production of early Arca. Should maybe come as no surprise then that Taruna actually provided beats for Björk (and joined her on tour in Japan), though Bunyi Bunyi Tumbal allows for only the faintest cracks of light through its granite/steel/rainforest composite exterior. Any sense of melody or uplifting inspiration would’ve been immediately killed and eaten in Hulubalang’s world.

Lexicon Poison Head 7″ (Iron Lung)
Seattle doesn’t have an abundance of great hardcore-punk bands, but when it does, they’re always particularly gnarly. Take Lexicon, for instance, who snarl like chained dogs, or at least behave like they are being yanked by tight collars choking their throats. They’ve got a sound that isn’t particularly hard to find these days – burly d-beat hardcore with noise-not-music aesthetics – but there’s something about this particular suite of songs that does it for me. The drums go hard without overextending themselves, like there’s still some sort of a rugged American aspect to these tunes, and while the guitar is a filthy buzzsaw cutting through septic pipes, the overall sound is as heavy as Public Acid or Quarantine. The vocalist is in full-on scalded demon mode (“demon” being one of the more underrated genders), which certainly fits the overall vibe, a realm where punks have been replaced by winged skeletons. Crasher-crust excellence for sure – even though I’ve heard the chord progression to b-side closer “Zero Sum Game” countless times before, Lexicon spruce it up with flashes of napalm guitar and a plodding insistence, a harsh admonition that it’s your choice, peace or annihilation.

Mattin Seize The Means Of Complexity LP (Xing)
Ever the sonic provocateur, Mattin’s newest solo piece is a difficult listen, even by his uncompromising standards. Seize The Means Of Complexity is a stark album, one that does a fine job of examining the experience of living in 2023; it’s probably better utilized as a time capsule for future generations to dissect than you or me to sit and listen to right now. Across two twenty-minute sides, there are long stretches of chattering electronic interference and gut-soothing bass tones, and equally long stretches of chopped-up pop detritus. Familiar (yet warped) bits of Taylor Swift, Shakira and Soulja Boy songs cascade forward, as if you’re stuck in an infinite TikTok scroll with a battery at one percent that never shuts down. For many noise artists through the years, inflicting pain upon the listener has been a stated goal, and I can’t think of a better way to accomplish that right now than the sounds of a soul-sucking digital-pop slideshow (at least until noise artists start harnessing those secret CIA noise cannons that cause vision loss and evacuated bowels). Honestly, when the clips of pop-music surrender to the void of choppy arhythmic noise for a few minutes in the middle of the second side, it’s a relief. Only Mattin could offer harsh electronics as a welcome respite to whatever else he’s serving up.

Money Money 12″ (Beach Impediment)
Authentic bad vibes emanating from this twelve-inch by Texas’s Money – I’m afraid if I leave it around the house long enough, someone’s pet will die, or I’ll start having sleep paralysis or something. They’re a hardcore band who apparently revel in the darker elements – drugs, mostly – seemingly aware of their eventual downfall but giggling in the reaper’s face anyway. Their music takes a similar stance, each song feeling like it has the potential to be someone’s final ride. The drums are a steady, potent d-beat (fills are rare), the guitars behave like blackened thrash and the vocalist, mostly obscured by the sonic muck surrounding him, barks like a wounded hound. Money collects both a demo and a cassette EP (originally packaged in a sealed plastic bag – just like drugs!), the latter tracks taking on black-metal motifs with the bottled violence of hardcore. I suppose metal guys could dig it, but Money’s whole atmosphere isn’t necrowolves howling from frostbitten cliffs, it’s about surviving the streets, or at least glorifying the terror they can entail. I like Money in hardcore mode, but their metallic stuff is even more fun – “No Cut” hits especially hard, like Exodus if they only listened to Framtid for inspiration. I know what’s good for me, so I won’t be messing with Texas anytime soon!

Multiplex Segway Cops 12″ (Not For The Weak)
Bremen’s Multiplex pack a dose of levity with their fiery squat-punk style. After all, when the tables finally turn, even the Paul Blarts of the world will get marched off a cliff with the rest of the pigs. Multiplex have a ragged sound to go with their anti-authority sentiment, classically crusty and pogo-laden in that typical modern way, all with shout-along choruses and plenty of energy. The dual-gendered vocals remind me of Fleas N’ Lice, or at least the general punk demeanor of Profane Existence’s Skuld Releases counterpart… I’m already picturing a German crowd mingling in faded black band-shirts (with disintegrated armpits), cooking a giant vat of vegan stew before the gig. It’s gross, but you get used to it! Songs like “Cyberpunk” and “Bored Society” are perfect for sloshing around after the dinner, elbowing your new best friend in chest as you angle your way to the front. Good news, Klaus is hitching a train early tomorrow morning, so there’s an empty bunk in the communal sleeping area! Stay as long as you like.

Bill Nace / Emily Robb split LP (Open Mouth)
This split LP between Philly Phavorites Bill Nace and Emily Robb is an impressive memento of their June 2022 tour. Recorded earlier that year, they both contribute side-long pieces showcasing their instrument du jour. In Bill Nace’s case, it’s the taishōgoto, a sort of Japanese spin on the pedal-steel, a laptop stringed instrument that, in Nace’s hands, unleashes cascades of harmonic fuzz. This is apparently his first publicly-available recording of the taishōgoto, and it’s glorious, like Kevin Shields endlessly riffing on Terry Riley’s In C, or Oren Ambarchi trying to hit a thousand notes per minute. I realize it’s only his first recorded attempt, but it already feels kind of definitive, at least from a solo taishōgoto perspective. Emily Robb is a red-blooded guitarist, and stretches her legs out mightily here, on what might be my favorite track I’ve heard from her yet! Over a humming loop, she extends and hyperextends her blues scales, like Les Rallizes on the last spaceship to Mars. I haven’t seen video, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she fashioned her guitar neck into a pretzel by the time the tape ran out here. Might be hard to believe that anyone would grant their most inspired material to a split LP in this day and age, but this one right here is a prized document of Philadelphia’s finest string-slingers. Vigorously recommended!

Nina Harker Nina Harker LP (Aguirre / El Muelle 1931 / La République Des Granges / Animal Biscuit / All Night Flight / Be Coq)
Nina Harker arrived on the scene and immediately claimed the title of “freakiest French duo”, a status they maintain with this, their second self-titled vinyl full-length. A lot of weird music comes through these pages – weird in all sorts of ways, too – but Nina Harker truly manage to sound like no one else. I wonder if they even sound like themselves? There are elements of DIY post-punk, what with drum machines, effected voices and errant noise, but there’s also plenty of classical acoustic guitar, soft keys, sung vocals and a ghostly folk presence. It’s really the way in which Nina Harker combine these elements that is so unique: there’s no telling where any track will go, so idiosyncratic and mercurial is their song-craft. Opener “Le Pont à Voiles” is a good example, as they pair repetitive European acoustic guitar with cut-up tapes of squealing humans, resulting in something that sounds like Devendra Banhart choking on his own vomit. The track then takes a soft turn to chanson, leading into the next track, “De Dos Il Fuit”, which sounds like Lolina experimenting with a trance dial-tone. As separate tracks, they’re charmingly fascinating, but taken as a whole, Nina Harker unspools like a loony art-house masterpiece, full of little girls in corpse-paint, pianos floating in the open sea and poodles chainsmoking cigarettes. Oui oui!

Onyon Last Days On Earth LP (Trouble In Mind)
Last Days On Earth opens with a series of wrong notes, an excellent first impression for Germany’s Onyon. They’ve got that morose floor-tom post-punk thing happening, as disaffected and over-it as the countless many who came before. And while I appreciate the guitar/synth playing, particularly just how off or out of tune it sounds, the songs themselves are pretty average for the course. Onyon certainly sound like a new band (they are) as well as a first band (I have no idea), and while I love bands comprised of people who are still figuring out their instruments, Onyon’s songwriting is plain and predictable, two traits that leave me weary when it comes to a genre where really, you can do whatever you want at any skill level. Not bad by any means – if you like plodding, primitive post-punk guitar rock, it’s exactly what they do – but I suppose at this stage in my life as a listener, I need it to do more than simply exist for me to purposely put it on more than once or twice. I hate writing reviews like this, because I bid no ill will to Onyon, who are surely fine people having fun playing in a band, but what am I supposed to do, heap praise onto every record out of an obligation to be nice? My loyalty lies with you, dear reader!

Ovef Ow Vs. The Worm LP (What’s For Breakfast? / Oort Cloud)
Got a good first impression from Chicago’s Ovef Ow – the bold, airbrushed cover art was striking, and the band name, looking as if “Oxbow” degraded over time, was appealingly irksome. I’m sad to report then that the music is, well, just okay. They’ve got a dance-y post-punk thing going, though the energy is never bursting and the songs lack the hooks necessary to make this sound jump out of the speakers and into your heart. Feels like they’ve got a lot of ideas – there are slow songs, weird metallic guitar tones, vocal harmonies, airy synths – but it never quite comes together for me. I’m picking up on moves and motifs reminiscent of Sweeping Promises, Priests, Mocket and Yeah Yeah Yeahs even, but you might be disappointed if you picked up Vs. The Worm expecting a lively mixture of those four. Maybe they’ll hook me in next time, or they’ll simply lean into the potential obnoxiousness that comes with their band name (which, according to their Bandcamp, rhymes with “Whoa, Jeff, Wow!”) and their next record will lean into some sort of terrifying amalgam of Fat Worm Of Error and Teenage Jesus. Wouldn’t that be something!

Paint It Black Famine 12″ (Revelation)
No matter how far Revelation Records might wander from New York City circa 1988, there’s something about that yellow R-in-a-star logo that can never be tarnished; it looks particularly nice slapped on the back of the furious and sincere hardcore of Philadelphia lifers Paint It Black here in the mid 2020s, too. Paint It Black has long been Dan Yemin’s most aggro band, he of Lifetime and Kid Dynamite fame, though his trademarked aggravated tunefulness runs through Famine, even as he tries to bite your head off. These songs push and pull in the way that great emotive hardcore does, music that doesn’t cater to moshing and diving so much as it tries to shake the listener into action, or at least some form of movement. I’m certain that multiple people have found themselves slammed in the pit at a Paint It Black show without realizing how they got there, so commanding is Dr. Dan’s oratory presence. As is the case with their earlier material (which somehow spans twenty years now!), there are some fist-in-the-air sing-alongs (“Safe” being the immediate standout), though I’m struck by the overall quality and strength of Yemin’s lyrics throughout. I don’t think I paid close attention before – maybe he’s always been this good – but his words here are consistently righteous, insightful, vulnerable and empowering, and they get there in novel and eloquent ways, far from the corny platitudes found in many “good guy” hardcore bands. Yemin would rather blow up the White House than be the president, which is why he’s getting my vote.

Parking Lot My Life Is A Mess LP (Phantom)
There’s been a certain strain of garage-punk in recent years that pushes self-deprecation to new levels, a sense of “isn’t it interesting that I’m a deplorable loser?” as if recognition of this sorry state of affairs is of itself noteworthy. I mean, Sub Pop made those LOSER shirts decades ago, Beck’s breakthrough hit is due for its thirtieth anniversary this year… it’s a tale as old as time at this point, and German group Parking Lot are adding to the ketchup-stained, couch-sleeping genre with My Life Is A Mess. I assumed this particular fascination with personal failure was an American thing, but I can understand its universal appeal, especially as a general lyrical motif to accompany an indie-punk sound, even as it’s not what I’m overly interested in hearing. Parking Lot’s style is garage-y and agile in a way I’d align with Vintage Crop and early Parquet Courts… a little Ty Segall when they get particularly rowdy (“Chicken Wings”) and a little Cake when they try to get funky (“Elevator Man”). It’s hard to feel sympathetic to songs about trying and failing to buy beer, or the first-person narrator of “Old Piece Of Shit” who eats potato chips and farts, but I get the impression that Parking Lot aims for these cheap laughs over anything more substantial.

Zach Rowden No Middle Without The Beginning LP (Torn Light)
Some real cabin-in-the-woods noise here from Zach Rowden, the handy instrumentalist you may know from Crazy Doberman or Tongue Depressor. These two sides are full of repetitive creaks, (super)natural groans and blistering distortion, very much in the tape-loop domain of Aaron Dilloway. The first side simmers a bit, and I have to wonder if Rowden isn’t running a bow across some strings, as the corroded, half-limping loops recall Samara Lubelski’s work given a proper cheese-grating. The b-side gets a little more traditional in the realm of slow-building chopped-up noise textures. Each side clocks in somewhere under twenty minutes, which is a nice length for stretching out into the rotten stew that Rowden has stirred up, oddly hypnotic for how car-crashingly Merzbow-esque some of these sounds can be. Fans of Rowden’s other projects will surely enjoy him out on his own here, whittling away a mean old pile of metallic splinters in some isolated shed.

Secretors Comparing Missile Size Vol. 1 7″ (Roachleg)
“The unofficial Roachleg house band” drop their first hard piece of wax, appropriately on that very label, and if you’re expecting anything less than corpse-chugging hardcore-punk miscreancy, you better get your head checked! Perhaps a side band of sorts, Secretors features personnel from Warthog, Urchin, Institute & Glue, though I get the impression that Secretors have been playing more shows than the rest of them as of late. I certainly need to catch them myself, as this is the kind of renegade hardcore I need in my life, as burly as it is uncompromising. The specter of early, metallic-influenced Japanese hardcore looms throughout, with hints of the earliest Nightmare and Bastard material, though Secretors doesn’t come across like a surface-level tribute. It seems more that they understood the best possible sounds for a hardcore EP titled Comparing Missile Size Vol. 1 and they assembled it perfectly, powerful yet constantly at the mercy of chaos. Six songs, all perfect little prayers for the hasty passing of the mass-murderers that try to pass themselves off as “world leaders”.

Spllit Infinite Hatch LP (Feel It)
New Orleans post-punkers Spllit took a different approach from the rest of the pack on their debut, egg-punky but open to extramural ideas, and this sophomore follow-up pushes things outward in a way that I find particularly appealing. These songs are constantly on the move, as quick to stop-start as Pig Destroyer or Botch, except Spllit utilize DEVO-esque synth zoinks and Deerhoof-ish guitar licks instead of metallic grind. Infinite Hatch brings oddly-angled funk and Addied dance-punk in and out of focus, calling to mind the whizz-bang approach of Guerilla Toss and the art-nerd attitude of Suburban Lawns. At first, it’s almost disorienting how quickly these songs shift, but after a few listens I find myself able to make some sense of it all, even if it’s the unexpected five-second cow-punk bridge in “Growth Hacking”, the detuned xylophone of “Shine Sheen” or the “hidden MIDI” within “Bevy Slew”. They’re clearly talented musicians, but it seems that Spllit went particularly wild with the digital recording methods available to them on this one, much to the listener’s benefit. Sometimes sonic adventuring leads you to a dead-end, but Spllit discovered a variety of gloriously weird new paths here, as playfully disconcerting as the two Ls in their name.

The Sundae Painters Sundae Painters LP (Leather Jacket)
Some of my friends could probably write biographies of the New Zealand indie-rock underground, so deep is their knowledge and appreciation, whereas it still feels vast and unwieldy to me, a person who is probably more invested in DIY music than whoever’s in front of you in line for coffee. I kinda just dip in at random, obsessing over certain bands and straight-up whiffing on others, but one thing I do know is that one can’t go wrong with the late, beloved Hamish Kilgour. He was in The Clean of course, among many other celebrated/unknown acts, and he played in this new-ish group, The Sundae Painters, alongside members of Toy Love, The Bats and Tall Dwarfs. Consistency has always been one of this scene’s honorable qualities, and Sundae Painters comes correct with that signature New Zealand strum. This time, however, these players stretch their legs on motorik drum beats and a downright kraut-y churn, songs conjured out of the ether rather than rigidly assembled. This loose fit works well for their scrappy jangling, with guitars given the chance to solo (and they do) and vocalist Kaye Woodward getting downright groovy at times – is that sitar in the opening cut “Hollow Way”? It’s the kind of record that might lead my mind to play tricks on me, this spiritual possession of Agitation Free and Guru Guru in some “farm shed in the South Island” as their bio explains.

Thollem | Riley | Cline The Light Is Real LP (Other Minds)
There’s something about old weirdos that I find particularly inspiring: clear evidence that you don’t have to shrink into quiet mellowness as an artist, even as you enter the age of Medicare and Social Security. The eternal Terry Riley joins up here with the mononymous Thollem and Nels Cline, and my god it’s tied with Nina Harker for weirdest record of the month. I guess it’s mostly Thollem and Riley at the helm here, both of whom are busy making a consistent babbling-brook of mouth noises. Pure unbridled gibberish, and multiple overlaying tracks of it! The vocals are gloriously ridiculous, as if Riley and Thollem are competing in a contest to see who can make the other laugh first with neither side giving in. Cline adds some very soft guitar touches throughout, occasionally lingering on a melody or scrabbling out some light improvisations, and combined with the lively vocalizing, The Light Is Real feels quite otherworldly at times, the first side sounding like a couple grumpy gods arguing in their holy language, the second side more like the snores of their passed-out angels after a particularly raucous bacchanal. It’s inspired improv at the outer limits, a testament to the liveliness of these eternal eccentrics.

Tojo Yamamoto 山​本​東​条 10″ (Forbidden Place)
Most bands, if they’re lucky, have one or two interesting aspects to their existence, and yet here’s Tojo Yamamoto racking up the notable details: they’re a wrestling-themed, blown-out rock band featuring members of Nine Pound Hammer and ZZ Top! Yes, that ZZ Top, as if there could ever be more than one. Elwood Francis replaced Dusty Hill after he passed, and he handles guitar duties on Tojo Yamamoto’s debut. Musically, this is blown-out, grooving noise-rock in the Am Rep tradition, not too far from The Hammer Party (or the more locked-in riffage of Landed) and Cows. It’s not excessively noisy, but the primitive, laid-back riffing and caustic guitar tones are all redolent of the traditional noise-rock formula, punk rock’s greasy, sluggish offspring. Larry Joe Treadway is a capable vocalist and deserving of his two first names, sounding like he’s crashed at least one car that he was able to walk away from without a scratch. All that, and the lyrics are mostly referencing various old-timey bad-ass wrestlers, the guys whose Dark Side Of The Ring episodes were more about shooting pistols at bloodthirsty fans than wasting away on pills. If none of these various attributes strike you as intriguing, well you must be a far more sophisticated person than I.

Violent Change Starcastle LP (Sloth Mate)
My favorite psych-rock group named after a Minor Threat song returns with LP number four, perhaps their most refined and comprehensible yet. On previous records, Violent Change boggled my mind with their recording fidelity, mixed in such wild ways that it became a defining quality of the band. One guitar would be in your face, the other out the door, the drums sound like wet paper except for the ride cymbal… it could be so superbly confusing and disorienting at times. I could also understand it turning off any but the most intrepid of listeners, though, and I feel like Starcastle does a fine job of splitting the difference between psych-pop pleasures and avant home-taper experimentation. Recorded between January 2017 and January 2023, Violent Change give us the best of their past few years, with moody, low-lit psych numbers, power-pop jangle and deep-fried synths/tapes. The one-two combo of “Conduction Wire” (tensely tuneful post-punk) and “Batman” (American Tapes-styled harsh collage) is particularly alluring. Starcastle calls to mind The Olivia Tremor Control, The Scrotum Poles and The Lavender Flu at times, all groups who reached their psych-pop outcomes through uncommonly warped means, though Violent Change’s casual crusade against indie-rock decency is entirely their own.

Wet Dip Smell Of Money LP (Feel It)
Cool confrontational debut album here from Austin’s Wet Dip, a trio of two sisters (Sylvia and Erica Rodriguez) and Daniel Doyle, guitar and bass swapped between members. The group seems interested in punk as a means of direct communication, a shout-in-the-face inches from the crowd, not propped up on a stage. Their disregard for “the way things are done” leads to some interesting decisions, as certain songs are noisy post-punk with a vocal sneer, whereas others allow for long periods of Sylvia Rodriguez’s softly-sung acapella vocals. Anything seems to go, and go it does! I’m most intrigued by the loosely-structured bash-fests: “Finale” and “Train Wreck” remind me of the gleeful patience-testing of Psycho Sin, both songs reliant upon stick-clicks and first-attempt guitar noise. With Wet Dip, it’s no guarantee that all three members will be playing their instruments at the same time, and even if they are, the chance of them all playing the same melody or rhythm is unlikely. How about a rendition of The Pixies’ “Silver” played in the style of Cyanamid, except with sweetly-sung vocals? You’ve got it here! Wet Dip don’t think twice about blowing up the rulebook, and if you don’t find it at least a little refreshing, it may be worth examining your allegiance to hardcore-punk orthodoxy.

XpoemsX / Photon Band The Birth & Death Of The Historical Buddha LP (Jabs / Easy Subculture)
Two cool split LPs in the same month?? A guy could get used to this! This one comes from the heady pastoral enclave of Eric DeJesus and his Easy Subculture freedom squad, an extremely DIY imprint he’s run from various Northeastern dwellings over the course of like, four decades now? And yet if you saw him, you’d swear he’s a newly-turned thirty year-old himself… such is the youthful effect of staying punk. XpoemsX is DeJesus himself looping a couple acoustic/electric guitars alongside some spoken word in his trademark “red-wine emo” style. It’s soft, hypnotic and heartfelt, as if the guitars of Ash Ra Tempel, Spiritualized and Nagisa Nite were finely ground into a smokeable powder distributed in certain copies of the Breathing Walker demo. I was expecting Photon Band to immediately bring the hammer down with their long-running downtown garage-psych, but was pleasantly surprised by the looser, stranger moves they’re sharing here. They’re incredibly breezy and lugubrious here, with some fuzz-mangled guitar, interstitial vocals and tender psych-folk songwriting, all bouncing off each other like little bacterium in a petri dish. Very “home recorded” sounding in the best of ways, the sort of thing Blackbean & Plancenta would’ve begged to release back in 1997. (I’d say it sounds like something Darla Records would’ve released back then too, but that’s actually the case, seeing as Photon Band released four albums with the label.) I love Photon Band in this messy presentation, what sounds like various tapes being popped in and out of a dusty deck to reveal a band in constant conversation with itself. So nice that after all these years, these life-long friends and collaborators can get together for such a fresh and vibrant split.

Reviews – December 2023

Blue Dolphin Robert’s Lafitte LP (Post Present Medium / Cleta Patra)
Post Present Medium does a great job of highlighting not only art-minded experimental stuff but down n’ dirty punk as well; I like it best when they find artists who manage to integrate both. I was curious to see that they released this recent-yet-posthumous collection of recordings from Austin’s Blue Dolphin, then, particularly as the group featured personnel from some of my modern-punk favorites: CCTV (gone way too soon!), Mystic Inane and Chronophage. Theirs is an unpolished form of greasy punk, toeing the line between pranksterish hardcore, antagonistic post-punk and even some accidental rockabilly when the mood strikes. I’m reminded of the Dicks, not only from the shared residency but the sly lampooning of cowboy culture, as well as Fang, particularly in the way that both bands often seem completely disinterested in the songs they’re playing. In the case of Blue Dolphin, the drummer just kinda picks a basic beat and sticks with it, more or less overlooking any fills or changes, with guitarist and bassist loosely cycling through their parts and a singer chattering over top. These songs often feel embryonic or unfinished, more like messing around with friends in the practice space than a final product, a sensation that is amplified by the coarse recording. Nothing beats playing music with your friends for the sole purpose of playing music with your friends, but as an outside listener, Blue Dolphin come in second to the members’ other fantastic projects, some of my favorite punk of the ’10s.

Bruce Falkian Bruce Falkian LP (Antinote)
Since the beginning, French electronic music has presented its own tweaked perspective, prone to dark or deadpan humor seeping out of its sweaty pores. Mr. Oizo comes to mind as one of the highlights of outlandishly devious French music, as does DJ Zaltan’s Antinote label, which seems to delight in eclectic, gleeful electronic music as much as good-natured trolling. This new Bruce Falkian project certainly continues that thread, weaving the rough-edged tropical funk of the Principe label with the half-speed skank of labelmates Front De Cadeaux, all with what is my favorite cover art of the month. “Venezia Bienale” calls to mind early MIA rendered in a cough-syrup haze; “First Communion” moves with the unfriendly electro pulse of Crack: We Are Rock. It’s edgy without trying too hard to be edgy, perhaps coming from the sense that Bruce Falkian doesn’t seem particularly interested in selling themselves or hitting any obvious genre signifiers for quick and easy success. Their premise is staunchly weird and uninviting – “Each Step” is like an Instagram story of celebrities fighting with each other, surely by design – but it’s that mix of confusing, unfriendly joking-around, zonked-out electro-house sleaze and euphoric genre-clash that makes Bruce Falkian so appealing.

Cherry Cheeks Second LP LP (Total Punk)
“Portland punk” conjures images of indignant spikes n’ leather d-beat devils in my mind, but Cherry Cheeks exist in a musical realm far from the toxic-dystopian alleys where you’d find Lebenden Toten and Blood Spit Nights lurking. Theirs is egg-punk with a big silly grin, where the lightly-fried guitar tone meets baseball-stadium organ, tambourines, space-laser synths and Little Richard leads, all of which sound like they were played by big puffy Mickey Mouse gloves instead of human hands. It’s at least a little queer and proudly deviant from the mainstream (“DATA” has kind of a Bobby Soxx vibe), yet you could probably let Second LP (great title!) rip at a five year-old’s birthday party and no one would mind (certainly not the sugared-up children). “Bunny Does Ice” sounds like if Home Blitz wrote the theme song for a Cartoon Network show, for example, but you can play it back multiple times without diminished enjoyment. There’s no shortage of this basic style, so even though it’s always the key, in this case it’s especially important to write memorable songs rather than simply fill up the space with an identifiable punk aesthetic. Cherry Cheeks are up to that task: “Pure Power” channels Joan Jett in a DEVO energy dome fronting a band comprised of Heathcliff the Cat and friends. Its dying Casio lead is quick to lodge itself in the listener’s brain, or at least the empty space where a brain would normally be.

Citric Dummies Zen And The Arcade Of Beating Your Ass LP (Feel It)
The only thing better than a parody album title is two parodies in the same album title! In case there are any non-punks reading this, I can clarify that this Minneapolis trio are referencing Hüsker Dü and Nine Shocks Terror with their newest here, and they make it plenty funny in the process. While I’m sure they appreciate both groups, neither seems to hold a strong sonic presence in these songs, which are melodic speed-punk of a particularly fine caliber. Citric Dummies execute their poppy garage riffs with the menace of hardcore, in a way that recalls the first Dwarves records, a real sweet spot if you can get it. Unrelenting even by punk standards! And while all three members are credited with vocals, one of these guys belts out pitch-perfect, irony-free, Danzig-circa-’81 melodic lines with ease – please, go check “On Display” and tell me it’s not the perfect melding of Walk Among Us and Homostupids. I’m smitten with those Misfits-y moments, but I’m just as excited by the tracks that sound more like The Dead Boys, The Briefs and The Reatards (in various sped-up and/or cleaned-up forms). The ‘Dummies could sing total BS and I’d probably still hitch a ride, but they go for the kill with their lyrics too – I’ll let you imagine how the words to songs with the titles “Being Male Is Embarrassing”, “I’m Gonna Kill Myself (At The Co-op)” and “My True Love Is Depression” go. Or you could do the smart thing and include Zen And The Arcade in your weekly Feel It order.

Ryan Davis & The Roadhouse Band Dancing On The Edge 2xLP (Sophomore Lounge)
On his solo-ish debut, Ryan Davis sounds like he could talk his way out of anything, even when caught red-handed with his pants down. We’re talking Matthew McConaughey-level charm here, but instead of making a million dollars selling speculative real-estate futures, he’s chosen the life of a humble musician, previously fronting the indie-country act State Champion and currently as a member of the fantastic Equipment Pointed Ankh, whose members act (at least in part) as his Roadhouse Band. Their songs serve as warm, comfortable seating for Davis’s endless one-liners and quotable turns-of-phrase; for as many lyrics as he’s written (and there sure are a lot), the quality is stunningly high, filled with amusing quips, disarming tenderness and universal truth delivered as rib-tickling punchline. Much like the songs, his voice is plain and palatable, all of it working together as rootsy, indie Americana, a fine-tuned delivery system for his endless ruminations. David Berman’s mind by way of Townes Van Zandt’s heart. Packaged in a hefty gatefold sleeve with obligatory lyric sheet, Dancing On The Edge is prepared to take on the life of a sturdy old friend.

Del Paxton Auto Locator LP (Topshelf)
Someone associated with Del Paxton sent a letter along with this record, preemptively suggesting it probably won’t be “my thing”. Well, if that was a clever reverse-psychology ploy, it worked, because I do in fact dig it! If I’m going to allow any band an extra side of self-deprecation, it’s one that sounds a whole heck of a lot like Braid, from a town where the weather is miserable more than half the year. Who better than Buffalo’s Del Paxton, then? They’ve got that sort of diagonal emo-riffing down pat, with stutter-step drums, active fingers on the bass frets, a satisfying quiet/loud dynamic and a singer who whines without being annoying or off-key. The Braid similarities are palpable, but Auto Locator reminds me of The Jazz June and Rainer Maria as well, if a bit more rowdy, alongside probably a million other bands who came out since 2002 (which is when I more or less stopped spending much time seeking out new practitioners of this sound). I was blessed with an abundance of local bands who nailed this style (go look up Merring on Bandcamp and The William Tell Routine on Discogs if you want to mimic my post-Y2K emo journey), but I’ll passively (and occasionally actively) appreciate this sort of sound probably until the day I die. It feels inevitable that distant-future twenty-somethings will continue to play charming, articulate post-hardcore emo-pop long after I’m gone, Del Paxton another twinkling star in that ever-expanding galaxy.

Emptyset Ash 12″ (Subtext)
No, that’s not a bulldozer collapsing the foundation of your home, it’s a new Emptyset record! Experimental electronics don’t get more brutal than this Bristolian duo, even as they kind of drifted towards high-brow academic experimentalism over the last few years. It happens to the best of us, and while I appreciated the eerie oppressive hum of their site-specific installation recordings, it’s so good to hear Ash, a new six-track EP of Emptyset at their most unrelenting and oppressive. If you haven’t heard them before, this is a great place to start, as it distills the nature of the project – crackling industrial body blows, deployed with machine-like intensity at rigorous, speaker-popping levels. “Ember”, for example, sounds like an automotive fabrication line at full productivity, giant hammers puncturing sheets of steel with vicious precision. If Transformers ever has a robot MMA scene, Michael Bay would be crazy not to enlist Emptyset for the appropriate sound design, that’s for sure. These six tracks are quick – I would’ve been happy if each ran for double the length – but I can’t deny that the EP’s brevity adds to its overall impact. Next week when I’m wondering how I developed all these weird bruises, please remind me that I was listening to Ash.

Evil Sword Basket Fever LP (Magic Pictures)
What’s that racket coming from the kitchen? Sounds like the plumber fighting off a mischievous gang of clowns, but it’s actually the newest release from Philadelphia’s Evil Sword. Besides the bass-guitar, this duo utilizes everything but traditional rock instrumentation, conjuring a rambunctious form of modern no-wave with theater-kid tendencies. Vocalist Kate Ferencz has the unsettling confidence of a young Lydia Lunch, completely at ease with Ben Furgal’s bass-lines, which can shift from disjointed or indignant to circus-like and ostentatious. With the addition of a near-constant burbling of whistles, metal clanks, bells and scrapes, the album can come across like a No New York that existed within the Looney Tunes cartoon universe, or perhaps Kathy Acker’s maniacal prose translated into a sonic format. With such a musical arrangement, Evil Sword could easily fall into the self-fulfilling position of free-improv, but Basket Fever is fully song-based, complete with choruses, call-and-response sing-alongs and repeated musical phrasing. Some of these are practically punk songs, though performed on clarinet, bass and junk percussion, which is perhaps the punkest way they could be played, now that you mention it.

Feeling Figures Migration Magic LP (K / Perennial)
Migration Magic is the debut full-length from Montreal’s Feeling Figures, and it’s taking me back! Not in any sort of forced retro-nostalgia way, but because their music hits a recognizable sweet spot: the mid ’90s underground where the sounds of pop-punk, indie-rock and grunge commingled freely, acting as a staunch refutation of the mainstream. It’s almost funny to think about how fiercely punks cared about protecting the underground back then – is it even possible to “sell out” in 2023, and if so, would anyone even care if you did? – but the sound of Feeling Figures takes me back there, where playing your own handmade songs, recording them in the only available lo-fi manner, playing almost exclusively local shows and making fun of Green Day somewhere along the way were their own reward. Some of these songs bounce or zag in ways that remind me of two ’00s faves, The Thermals and Times New Viking, but more than anything it’s that “unambitious fun local band” vibe happening here that sticks out, inspired by groups like The Vaselines, The Muffs, Eric’s Trip, The Cannanes, Go Sailor… whatever band’s CD you happened to pick up at the time based on its cover art. Feeling Figures feels like the type of group that will be incredibly important to an incredibly small number of people, among them whoever decided to send $2.50 PPD in the mail (cash only!) for a copy of their demo cassette as listed in the Maximumrocknroll classifieds. Mom, can you come pick me up? Grandpa is reminiscing about being a teenage punk in the ’90s again!

Filth Is Eternal Find Out LP (MNRK Heavy)
“Filth Is Eternal” isn’t only what I exclaim when I spill sauce on my shirt, it’s also a newish Seattle band! Theirs is an agreeable mixture of noise-rock, hardcore, crust-punk and metal, all with kind of a pro-tude delivery and presentation. I guess part of my suspicion there comes from the label, “MNRK Heavy”, which judging from its roster of weird Judas Priest and Black Label Society releases seems more business-minded and strategic than, you know, anything Ebullition would carry, not that trying to financially succeed at what you’re doing is always inappropriate. (Just mostly.) Musically, things hurry by, structured with the rapid-fire complexity of metal-core though the riffs themselves are far closer to KEN Mode and Cavity than Botch and Converge, if we want to split those hairs. All of it is wrangled by the capable snarl of vocalist Lis Di Angelo (who, to her credit, also plays in the all-female Megadeth cover band Pegadeth). I dunno, absolutely nothing wrong with Find Out, but there’s nothing that really makes it stand out either, except for the sense that there’s some sort of business-minded presence behind it, the same nagging feeling you might’ve gotten when listening to Trash Talk in 2012. A song like “Body Void” provides a good example, as it sounds one step away from radio-ready nu-metal and is equipped with a song title comprised of underground goth/metal/hardcore signifiers so generic that I’m almost certain a band with the same name already exists. (Editor’s note: I just checked, and yup, a new Body Void album came out on Prosthetic Records earlier this year!)

Flaer Preludes LP (Odda Recordings)
I know, I know, you’re all going through mellow acoustic-ambient piano field-recording album withdrawal, having only had a half dozen or so new ones last month. Fear not, here’s another! It comes care of painter-musician Realf Heygate, straight outta “his family home in rural Leicestershire”. And what do you know, he layers patient and ponderous cello, piano and acoustic guitar over recordings of school-children, room sounds, active weather and the local flora and fauna. It’s becoming as formalized of a genre as minimal techno or grindcore, this rural isolation instrumentalism, and yet as much as I want to tell Flaer that he’s too late, that the doors are closed and no one else is getting in, Preludes is such a charmer that I can’t help but quietly slip him through a cracked-open door. It’s probably because he’s quite good at this, particularly on the musical end of things, his guitars recalling ’90s art-leaning emo (think Very Secretary or Lucky Jeremy) in a pleasantly familiar way, with piano closer to Nils Frahm than Graham Lambkin. This is traditional music first, aesthetic second, which is one of only a couple ways a new one of these projects will stay afloat – you’re gonna need to have some musical expertise, or at least some intriguing technique, to make the sounds of rickety floorboards and your grandmother’s piano stand out. Lucky for Flaer (and listeners of Flaer), he does.

Sam Gendel & Marcella Cytrynowicz Audiobook LP (Psychic Hotline)
The ever-busy Sam Gendel drops his second album of 2023 (and last, unless he squeaks out another in December, which is certainly possible). This one is billed as a collaboration with Marcella Cytrynowicz, the older sister of Antonia Cytrynowicz with whom Gendel already released a collaborative album (and who I believe is his partner; more than I care to personally know about this guy but alas), though the elder Cytrynowicz contributes art, not music, to this appealing package. The music is all Gendel, and as his playing has stretched out in various funky directions over the last few years, Audiobook displays the experimental saxophonist at his focused best. Here, his alto saxophone is colorfully warped over sparse synth triggers, pads and keys. It’s far too busy to be filed under “drone”, though these tracks are as softly calming as the best of them, sometimes leaning into the warped R&B modulations of L’Rain and/or the playful brainiac styles of Tortoise. It feels very modern, very LA, like you’d expect to hear these songs in a TikTok video of James Blake making espresso on a $5,000 La Marzocco, or Alex G and Justin Timberlake hanging out at Erewhon… but in a good way! There’s definitely a vibe at play here, perhaps an annoying one to some, but if you simply sit back and enjoy these freaky instrumentals – from the frantic and anxious compositions to the stubbornly chilled-out interludes – the pleasure to be had is nearly endless.

Gub Gub LP (Sophomore Lounge)
Beau Wanzer wins again with yet another righteous collaboration, this time with fellow Chicagoan Alex Barnett (AKA Champagne Mirrors). Wanzer never fails in the design department either, as the cover of Gub could be the basis for a short piece of horror fiction, a reptilian hand escaping from the puddle of spilled “Gub”, whatever that might be. I recognize the name as Pigface’s first album, and while the sounds of this record do not immediately recall aggressive ’90s Wax Trax industrial, the hometown connection can’t be denied. These tracks, while still as deliriously slow and torqued as any given Wanzer production, are far less filthy than I’m used to hearing from him, far more “something goes wrong at the lonely interstellar docking station” than his usual “sewer tunnel chamber of terrors” vibe. Maybe that’s Barnett’s doing? A few of these cuts actually remind me of instrumentals Kool Keith would’ve wrapped over back in his Dr. Octagon and Analog Brothers days: slow, queasy, irritable and vaguely alien in nature. I tend to like Wanzer at his most polluted, but the oxygen-deprived dread of a track like “Gub 3” comes across like an AI Wolf Eyes in the best of ways.

Helpful People Brokenblossom Threats LP (Tall Texan)
All praise to the underground labels out there who not only put out cool records but also inform us about cool projects we would’ve otherwise never known existed. Perhaps you’re like me, a solid Glenn Donaldson fan who somehow missed that he had a new charming indie duo going with Carly Putnam (of Art Museums and The Mantles; presumably no relation to Seth). I may be fast approaching my personal quota of shambolic low-energy Bay Area twee, but Helpful People are more on the blissful-yet-sturdy indie-pop side of the street, a sound that, much like dessert, I always have room for. Putnam sings clearly and firmly over stripped-down drums, warm bass and guitars that, you guessed it, flutter and chime in that time-tested, ever-popular indie-shoegaze fashion. It seems like these folks have an endless wellspring of songs like this ready to go at a moment’s notice, as if Donaldson could write the first side of his next album in the time it takes him to ride the bus to the practice space, but it all feels more fresh and immediate because of it, rather than over-labored or tossed-off. And thanks to Tall Texan, not only am I aware of Helpful People, I can solemnly sway to “Bugs From Below” anytime I want.

JJ Band Live I Kungsten 12″ (Discreet Music)
Following great full-length releases from his group Monokultur in 2021 and JJulius in 2022, Mr. Ulius takes a quick lil victory lap here on this new four-track EP, spaced out nicely on big 45 RPM twelve-inch grooves. He’s a trickster, so don’t let the title fool you as it did me – this isn’t actually a live record from what I can tell, though it is indeed a full four-piece band. These songs are dapper and lively, the two b-side cuts in particular exhibiting a limber energy adjoined to sweeping melancholic guitar-work… reminds me of one of those great early ’80s Joy Division rip-off groups who grew into their own unique new-wave styles. Shoegaze without being so damned formal about it, maybe even a little grungy in that ’90s 4AD version of it, all delivered with JJ Ulius’s unique sense of timing and performance. The opening slow-dance “500 Spänn” is probably my least favorite cut here, whereas the amusingly-titled “U2” is my favorite, sounding like The Primitives playing Orange Juice in a Swedish noise basement. Is it too late to change my name to Mattias and see if they need an auxiliary tambourine player?

Neon Leon 1979-84 Singles Collection LP (HoZac)
It’s comforting to know that, for as much as I’ve dedicated my life to seeking out underground rock music of the late ’70s and early ’80s, I’ll never come close to knowing all that’s out there. New York City alone has such an abundance of the stuff, which is why I’m excusing myself for having been previously unaware of Neon Leon, a mover-shaker in the prime era of Max’s Kansas City, CBGB’s and the Chelsea Hotel. He released an album in 1983, but this is a collection of his various singles from the previous years, all of which immediately bring to life the sound of that era, one where The Rolling Stones hung out with actual punks, Debbie Harry flirted with Paul Shaffer, reggae was infatuating the hipster cognoscenti and new-wave was just starting to evolve into a recognizable thing. Neon Leon’s music fits right in, very Johnny Thunders-ish yet smooth enough to connect with audiences who loved to rock but weren’t fully sold on the whole “punk” thing. There’s a blues song, a few proto-new-wave bops and plenty of party rockers, all delivered with Neon Leon’s commanding voice. Crazy to think there was a time where you could just run around the big city, trying not to get stabbed while hopping between clubs where Survivor and DEVO performed in equal measure; now I’ve got a new soundtrack for that irresistible daydream.

Omnibadger Famous Guitar Licks Vol. III LP (Cruel Nature)
Back in the pre-digital age, Omnibadger would’ve been giving off strong “private-press weirdo” vibes, but nowadays it’s more of a “Bandcamp obscurity” sensation. This British group (or sole guy?) makes music with proudly limited appeal, but one way or another found a vinyl home on Cruel Nature, skipping right to their third volume for their first public release. Omnibadger sticks with a primal and noisy style, one of overly-affected guitars and pounding percussion. The guitar rumbles, reverberates and drones more than it riffs, and with the sparse Crash Worship-style drumming, it gives what would otherwise be a hovering grey cloud some sense of motion. Make it long enough through this album and eventually you’ll hear some screaming over the din, though it feels incidental, like a by-product of the heavy noise rather than a predetermined vocal accompaniment. But wait, is that a headbanging electro-punk song at the end of side one? The whole thing makes me think of a nonexistent CD-R by Bill Nace and Dylan Nyoukis, still fresh with Sharpie ink and limited to less than a dozen, or an unearthed Sightings demo from one of their earliest sessions. That’s the era between private-press vinyl and Bandcamp, the Y2K CD-R underground, and it left us too soon, even if there are artists like Omnibadger whose music carries on that sonic legacy.

Optic Sink Glass Blocks LP (Feel It)
Like a black hole, Feel It Records eventually pulls all worthwhile underground punk-related music into its orbit one way or another; Memphis’s Optic Sink are a recent acquisition, having released their debut on Goner. Everyone is into everything these days, of course, but Glass Blocks makes a little more sense on Feel It than Goner, I suppose, as the group’s garage-rock roots are less evident than ever before. This album is more about rhythm, funky synth tricks and post-punk hooks, in similar spirit to Dark Day, Fad Gadget and DAF to name but a few. “Summertime Rain” is one of my favorites here, which squares off a couple electronic rhythms, a one-string electric guitar lead and a persistent background burble – throw in Natalie Hoffmann’s disaffected vocals and it almost feels like they should be signed to Dais instead, opening a leg of Adult.’s next tour. It’s not a shiny, professionalized album though – there’s still a sense of punks exploring the gear-room here, perhaps reminiscent of the first Naked On The Vague album (which I hold so dear). Punks are terrible at dancing to this stuff, so watching their audience flail about is the cross that Optic Sink has to bear.

Paranoid S.C.U.M. 12″ (Beach Impediment)
The Sorry State email newsletter is crucial punk reading – even if it’s ultimately coming from a place of commerce, the love they demonstrate for music is undeniable and sincere. So, if you’re like me and you read it every week, you’re probably used to being bludgeoned by months of ads for Sweden’s Paranoid. It’s like the Diesel Queens in ’90s Maximumrocknroll, a group whose constant advertised presence psychically wore me down, so I didn’t peep Paranoid until Beach Impediment dropped this new EP. These Swedes clearly wish they were Japanese, from the kanji song titles, OBI strip and design (as well as mastering by Ippei Suda in Osaka), which, when this overt, can get a little weird depending on how much leeway you personally feel is reasonable for the co-opting of foreign aesthetics by any given hardcore punks. Musically, the heavy-yet-noisy d-beat hardcore comes as no surprise, clearly aping the legends of the genre that we all know and love and staying within those boundaries. As a sound, this EP is sharp and serviceable, but there’s never been more Japanese- / Swedish-sounding d-beat hardcore to choose from than there is right now in late 2023, so unless you demand a constant flow of new fabrications of the genre, S.C.U.M. might hit as good, not great. It was apparently released as a seven-inch in Sweden earlier this year, and I have to say, the b-side etching of this twelve-inch slab might be my favorite vinyl etching I’ve seen in forever: artist Oik Wasfuk contributes a truly staggering design of serpents, weapons, and, you know it, one very gnarly skull.

Quade Nacre LP (AD 93)
AD 93 always has its ears open for the newest new things brewing in the digital underground, unafraid to throw an unexpected artist in the mix. If it works, it works, and this album from Quade is a glorious surprise. For one, this Bristol-based four-piece are basically a “rock” group, or maybe they aren’t a rock group, but they really aren’t a techno project in even the most tenuous sense, so it’s already an unusual fit for AD 93. Maybe it’s the ever-creeping influence of Moin, infecting the British electronic scene with a post-hardcore fever, but Quade have assembled an entirely novel vision of post-rock. Their sound veers in traditionally psychedelic and folk realms, gathering threads of safe-space drone, krautrock jamming and acoustic black-magic and braiding them together. Imagine a psych-rock version of Dirty Three, or Godspeed You! Black Emperor jamming with Loop, or if Shackleton’s mysterious rhythmic constructions were performed in the style of Slint, Agitation Free and Comus. Quade make a variety of musical connections that weren’t there before, and they do so with ease, even if I get the sense that they labored over every sonic detail, from the warm reverberations of the synth to the booming live drums. A magnificent debut, and another friendly reminder that I need to check out every single thing AD 93 releases on the slight possibility of a gem like Nacre slipping past.

Quarantine Exile LP (Damage United / La Vida Es Un Mus)
Ominously forming mere months before 2020’s Covid outbreak, Philadelphia’s Quarantine follow their debut full-length with their bone-crushing sophomore effort, Exile. They’re a band designed to rage at the highest possible caliber, featuring all-around good guy Will McAndrew (also of Poison Ruïn), Jeff Poleon on bass, top American hardcore drummer Chris Ulsh, and the monstrous presence of Jack “Jock” Barrett on vocals. As a Philly native, I had to wonder where he came from, and my intel came back with reports that he is a revered vegan chef, perhaps the most prestigious of punk occupations. (Poleon is no culinary slouch himself, as peddler of beloved local vegan-donut chain Dottie’s Donuts!) Anyway, it goes to show that these are no part-time lightweights, and their music rampages accordingly. I swear the songs average out to longer lengths than that of their debut, but they never feel bloated or over-reaching; any “songwriting growth” is purely in service of authentic hardcore-punk. Blessedly, Quarantine still sound like Mob 47 playing Autistic Behavior and State Of Fear songs at twice the speed, covering a wide range of brutal hardcore styles (a little Talk Is Poison here, a little Hoax there) stamped with their own unique recipe. The first time I ever ate Dottie’s Donuts, they were serving booze-soaked “margarita donuts” out of a laundry basket(?) at a DIY punk show, and while that memory will probably remain the most righteous association I have with Poleon, Exile comes awfully close to topping it.

Rejekts Manmade Hell 7″ (No Norms)
I feel like that Vince McMahon meme while perusing this EP: the band is called Rejects… but they spell it “Rejekts”… and there’s a skeleton on the cover… wearing a leather jacket… torturing another skeleton in some capitalist machinery?? Truly, what else do you need on this planet. S’pose I should actually listen to it as well, and it’s anticipated conclusion: this Boston hardcore-punk group is A-OK. They play hardcore-punk that leans on the punk aspect, recalling not only Minor Threat (check the riffage in “Manmade Hell”) but also the first-wave boots n’ braces UK punk that seduced Minor Threat way back when. It’s tough but not too tough, more like the crazy little guy known for disrespecting authority than any sort of big bruiser meathead contingent, and even when they slow it down (“Violence”) it hits that street-punk / hardcore sweet spot. There’s simply no way each these guys don’t have at least a dozen Necros and Negative Approach songs memorized by heart… that’s the kinda ‘core we’re dealing with here. Plus, I appreciate the singer’s commitment to wearing big glasses – you just know they’ve gotten smashed off his face at least a couple times now during live shows, but for the best punks, style has always taken precedence over safety.

Theee Retail Simps Rubble 7″ (Goodbye Boozy)
I’ve heard some of you talking, saying stuff like “hmm, these Retail Simps seem like cool rock n’ roll maniacs, but aren’t they actually kind of clever people? Don’t some of them listen to Stockhausen and Fairport Convention instead of KISS and Electric Eels? Is this whole belligerent garage-rock thing kind of an ironic put-on?” Well I say to you, oh noble doubters, that tha ‘Simps are coming correct with the most authentic of dumbo garage-rock co-signs, that of the world famous Goodbye Boozy label. You don’t get one of these flimsy, low-quantity forty-fives on this notorious Italian label by being smart, that’s for sure! It all but guarantees that these guys got kicked out of high school, or whatever the Canadian equivalent of high school is. “Rubble” is particularly gruesome, reveling in its overt lo-fi quality with a guitar that never stops soloing and a singer that never stops screaming, the song that gives the bar owner no choice but to pull the plug. Great stuff! The b-side, unfortunately, is a John Cage-inspired take on… just kidding! It’s a gobbly piss-take of “Jumping Jack Flash” re-titled “Jumpin Jack Off”. Maybe once upon a time these guys had some sort of adroitness about them but any brain cells within a mile radius of this single are at risk.

R.M.F.C. Club Gits LP (Urge / Anti Fade)
As egg-punk continues to dominate the nerdy, anti-machismo, art-inclined side of underground punk, it has expanded and solidified as a (relatively-speaking) popular style. Usually that includes a goofy, larger-than-life irreverence: see the on-stage props of Uranium Club and the massive paper-maché finger puppets of Snooper, inspired not only musically by DEVO but by their creation of a bizarro aesthetic world unto themselves as well. Sydney’s R.M.F.C., however, take a different tact, as their entire existence seems to be predicated on the magic of the guitar and the transcendent riffs they’ve created. They’re fully in service of the guitar here, with no room for pranks, crude drawings, gags or even any overt personality – the guitar of singer-songwriter (and drummer?) Buz Clatworthy eclipses any other aspect of the group. And by god, it’s the best egg-punk I’ve heard since Coneheads bestowed it upon us! Clatworthy’s riffs are immaculate, frantic yet precise, downright genius… I have to wonder if he was raised on Eddy Current and Mozart exclusively, as there’s no other explanation for his idiosyncratic riffs. “Access” appeared on an earlier single and remains his masterwork, but tracks like “Spectrum”, New Diversion” and “Human State” operate on the same elite stratum, not bearing the alluring level of identity as Buzzcocks and Wire but dare-I-say as technically dazzling. Most seriously recommended!

The Serfs Half Eaten By Dogs LP (Trouble In Mind)
Another unflinching dispatch from the Cincinnati underground, mysteriously not released by Feel It somehow. Also mysteriously, The Serfs, who share personnel with The Drin, Crime Of Passing and Motorbike, operate in a sinister electronic dance format, even if you know they’re punk rockers first and foremost. Nothing wrong with punks throwing on a little eyeliner and dancing at goth night, though, and The Serfs are a capable soundtrack for such a moonlit evening. Their music has ties to Chris & Cosey, Cabaret Voltaire and modern counterparts like Cold Showers and High-Functioning Flesh, though I can’t help but hear their ties to punk rock buried in there too, even when there isn’t a guitar in sight. Reminds me a bit of the harsh electro new-wave acts that Subterranean would promote back in the early ’80s, or some of Total Control’s forays into full-on electro-wave, two styles I find highly appealing. Unlike the many cold-wave groups who want to affect you via their own absolute disaffection, The Serfs have some bite, not quite the snarl of Skinny Puppy but somewhere close. If there isn’t at least one Serf with a severe chunky goth mullet, send them to their local tarot-reading stylist ASAP!

Sextile Push LP (Sacred Bones)
Hadn’t checked in with Sacred Bones in what feels like quite some time… it felt like much of the actual music was becoming secondary to promotional special limited-edition collector’s club celebrity-worship nonsense, you know? There’s too many killer bands out there for me to get excited over like, Jim Jarmusch’s cousin’s documentary soundtrack being reissued on ten colors of vinyl. But that’s just me! And here I am, checking out a band called Sextile, from LA, who seem to put in an extensive amount of effort for their look and presentation. I could’ve gone on my merry-hating-way without them, but I’m truly glad I checked out Push, because it’s actually fantastic American electro-punk that commands a wild party atmosphere. This is absolutely the type of band I want to see posing in fancy sex outfits with each other! Their songs are quick and potent, reveling in the same sweaty debauchery as Atari Teenage Riot and Lords Of Acid, enhanced by the heft of acid-techno and the danceable trashiness of electroclash. There’s something magic about a band whose fans dress up to go see, and Sextile certainly have that aura, that their music offers an ecstatic, dirty and participatory portal into something exciting and urgent. “Contortion” is a righteous opener, but “LA DJ” might be my favorite, a talking-techno cut that sounds like something I’d hear in a Seth Troxler set once the clothes are starting to come off. I started off an ignorant hater and now I’m planning my outfit for the next time Sextile come to town!

Something Is Waiting Absolutely LP (Learning Curve)
Chicago is the most creative noise-rock metropolis, right? I feel like there are more weird, one-of-a-kind underground rock acts that have called the Windy City their home than any other American city – for better or worse, of course – and you can add Something Is Waiting to that teetering stack. I can’t tell if this group is confusingly appealing or simply confusing, though more and more I crave the sense that the music I’m listening to doesn’t make sense, if only because so many bands out there make the most obvious sense all of the time. Something Is Waiting apparently used to be a five-piece, now shrunk to a studio-based trio, playing a creeping form of nu-metal sleaze-rock, I’ll call it? Imagine if Buckcherry and Limp Bizkit collided on the highway, had the blatant misogyny knocked out of them and only Dimebag Darrell’s tablature from which to craft their songs. (I’ll go on record as a Buckcherry fan (DM me for a deep-cuts playlist) and disinterested in Limp Bizkit, lest this be interpreted purely as diss.) It’s groove-oriented post-hardcore with a glammy boot-cut flair, geared more for someone that looks like Johnny Depp than a member of Turnstile, though anything is possible. You’d think if FM rock radio had its finger on any sort of underground pulse, they’d stick “Unholy Alliance” inside a Velvet Revolver / Tool / Disturbed rock block, but nah, we get stuck with stupid Dirty Honey and The Struts instead.

Subsonics Subsonics LP (Slovenly)
Did you know about Subsonics? I certainly didn’t, though this Atlanta trio has apparently been rocking since the early ’90s through and including this very moment right now. Slovenly recently reissued their first two albums on vinyl for the first time (Subsonics being their debut), and I dunno, if you’re not familiar, I can’t blame you if you’re already thinking that this is probably some rightfully-unheralded generic garage-punk group taking up more space in the universe. I had my prejudices just looking at the cover and band name, but shame on me, because this debut is nothing less than incredible! They play a very direct form of blues-informed garage-rock, but do it with such fine distinction here that I can’t believe no one turned me onto them sooner. The bass and drums lock into fundamental patterns, but guitarist/vocalist Clay Reed elevates these songs through his outrageous guitar performance and classically-snotty vocal delivery. He plays so fast, it’s ridiculous – his guitar is going sometimes three times as fast as the rest of the band, and as it’s electrified but undistorted, it sounds absolutely crazy. Subsonics feel like the missing link between The Victims, Jon Spencer, The Starlite Desperation and The Strokes, coming from the same Nuggets/Velvets ancestry but writing outrageous classics with the ease of tagging a bathroom stall with a Sharpie. I thought I’d heard all the classic garage-rock I’d ever need, but now I can’t live without “It’s A Long Way Suzy To New York City” and “Do You Think I’m A Junky?”. Are they still this good? Do I dare find out??

Sunwatchers Music Is Victory Over Time LP (Trouble In Mind)
Sunwatchers seem to answer the question of “what if prog-rock prioritized feeling good over virtuosic feats of talent?”, and this newest one is a particularly pleasant trip, like walking into a surprise party filled with friends you haven’t seen in years. They’re mostly instrumental (there’s at least one or two group yells), a holy trio of guitar/bass/drums with a fourth auxiliary member (sax, keys and vibraphone), and they comfortably balance the strenuousness of their music with a sense of unfiltered joy. They’re versatile, too: opener “World People” is feeding me Mahavishnu Orchestra vibes, but “Foams” features the majestic, non-Western guitar soloing I’d associate with the Bishop brothers, whereas “Tumulus” hypnotizes with a very Natural Information Society-sounding sax loop. It’s all in that sort of mysteriously-spiritual / experimental-rock camp, I suppose, but there’s plenty of open space within those confines for Sunwatchers to try most anything without losing their internal script. They certainly seem capable of pulling anything off, like they could back up Terry Riley or Rosali Middleman at a moment’s notice with equal aplomb, though these dazzling instrumentals are headliner-material no matter who else is on the bill.

Surveillance Less Than One, More Than Zero LP (Celluloid Lunch / Various Palatial)
Halifax looks like a hip coastal city in reasonable proximity to other hip coastal cities, but man, it’s out there! Montreal is closest and it’s what, twelve hours by car?? That unique sense of sophistication slash isolation is palpable in the songs of Surveillance, a scrappy four-piece rock band who tackle their angsty guitar songs with maturity and commitment. Their music has a mid SST / early Twisted Village feel, like a pre-Nirvana alt-grunge sound with punk and college-rock as equally functional antecedents. Cool guitar leads, aggressively mid-tempo songwriting and vocals from a couple members, Rachel Fry’s impassioned delivery calling to (my) mind Tanya Donelly and Sandra Barrett in Major Stars. The whole thing feels impassioned really, especially when checking out the insert, which has a picture of a house captioned “the house” and a brief passage explaining that the group has “grown together, lived together, and died together”, giving the impression these four spent a whole lot of time hashing it out in their own private zone, making their songs as best as they possibly could because there’s clearly no other reward awaiting them. I hope they haven’t actually died together! Surveillance clearly don’t need us, but we might need them a little bit.