Ammo Web Of Lies / Death Won’t Even Satisfy LP (Wallride)
When I came up, “Jersey hardcore” was defined by Floorpunch, 97a and Ensign, long after it meant Chronic Sick and Fatal Rage, but it seems to have come back around again now with bands like Ammo loitering in the Garden State’s various QuickChek parking lots. On their debut record, they do a lot of different things, all of them falling comfortably under the blanket of anti-social hardcore. Some tracks recall the sloppy, fireworks-in-the-pit belligerence of Nine Shocks Terror and Gas Rag, whereas other cuts interpret Poison Idea’s steamroller fury or the riotous thrash of early COC and Suicidal. “Slam Slam Slam” sounds like fellow Jerseyans Tear It Up covering Ill Repute, for example, and I swear there’s a sonic kinship with What Happens Next? (the vocals, drumming and riffs?) that I’m not used to hearing in our age of noisy d-beat and blackened oom-pah hardcore dominance. It’s pretty refreshing, honestly, the way that Ammo sounds very much like a Jersey hardcore band, on par with Public Disturbance and The Worst (and certainly the aforementioned Tear It Up), probably socially as well as musically. (The record also arrives replete with a title that feels philosophically aligned with Jersey’s greatest punk export of all time, Cyanamid, in Death Won’t Even Satisfy.) The one thing the rest of the world can agree on is that New Jersey sucks, which breeds a certain defiance among not only its commuter traffic but its rowdy punks as well, beautifully displayed here.
The Art Gray Noizz Quintet The Art Gray Noizz Quintet LP (Bang!)
Does New York City qualify as a swamp? I’d say it fits the description in more ways than one, which explains why the boozy swamp-rock of The Art Gray Noizz Quintet manages to thrive on that tiny slab of land. Featuring Stuart Gray of none other than Lubricated Goat, his menacing neanderthalic thud continues out of the ’90s and into the future care of his capable quintet. The noise-rock predilections of Lubricated Goat are still in effect, but injected with a garage-y twang, resulting in a sort of sludge-rock Cramps that staggers back and forth. Many songs follow Cramps-ian tropes of schlock horror and drug-induced paranoia/despair too, as likely to invoke the Creature From The Black Lagoon and Godzilla as brutal cops and hangovers. Whereas many noise-rockers seem content to hide their actual personalities behind walls of blown-out fuzz, Gray is a proud carnival barker, his gnarly croak coming across like the bridge troll that swallowed the opening band. As far as stanky garage-noise is concerned, this quintet is the real deal, and if you don’t believe me, go ahead and google their bassist, “Skeleton Boy”, I’ll wait!
Baby? Baby Laugh / Baby Cry LP (Post Present Medium)
Long unsatisfied with playing aggressive DIY hardcore alone, Max Nordile and Erin Allen have found time outside of their shared band Violence Creeps to call this new project “Baby?”, that’s right, Baby with a question mark. Nordile is a relentless creator – I bet he made the crusty collage on the cover (editor’s note: he did) – and Allen is a willing co-conspirator, decorum be damned. Baby Laugh / Baby Cry kinda disassembles the connective structures of (loosely) punk and (even looser) hardcore, improvising their way through various bouts of anxiety, antagonism, meltdowns and tomfoolery. If you can call these songs, you can call anything songs, but that’s part of the fun, peeping in on these two and their idea of annoying fun. Reminds me of something that would’ve crawled out of the Blackbean And Placenta Tape Club back in like 1998, like a more no-wavey Gang Wizard, or perhaps the soundtrack recording of the John Gavanti play, which was also pretty no-wavey in a “leave no audience member undisturbed” sorta way. Horns honk like geese who know you’ve got a stash of Wonderbread in your backpack, and the songs themselves splatter to the ground all over, as if Nordile tried to pull the tablecloth from under a pile of Preening songs (one of his many bands) and it ended up smashing to pieces. More like Baby! if you ask me.
Michael J. Blood As Is 2xLP (Blood)
Nice deep dose of British house here from Michael J. Blood (probably not their real name), following a busy run of tapes over the past two years. Blood appears to be tight with Rat Heart (hell, there’s a good chance he is Rat Heart) and the rest of that mysterious Boomkat techno crew, and while Rat Heart’s records have been fun if not as mind-blowing as the hype that preceded them, As Is is an undeniably rich and funky affair. These tracks sound as though they’re manipulated in real time, closer to the patio of one of Omar S’s Conant Gardens parties than the cold interface of a Macbook, and they groove all over the place. I’m reminded of Shake Shakir’s inventiveness as well; Blood works with a wide variety of electronic sounds here, delving deep into his synths far from the basic presets (or somehow making those basic presets sound fresh and new). Arpeggios are catchy but weird (check “GMT” for a particularly fun stop-and-go synth loop), and the focus seems to be on freshness and energy, not emotion or precision. Reminds me of Galcher Lustwerk at his most playful too, moving out of the darkened corner of a club and into a colorful streetscape filled with weirdos, shops and motion. For as long as this album is, it never sags – an always impressive techno feat – and it’s already fitting to be my go-to summertime techno long-player (though I’m ready to welcome the competition).
Crime Of Passing Crime Of Passing LP (Feel It)
Minor silly gripe: what’s the deal with all these goth-y punk / synth-wave bands popping off these days where the band is a bunch of guys in their basic street clothes alongside a femme singer in over-the-top skimpy fetishwear? Off the top of my head, Starcrawler, NIIS and Pixel Grip (as well as many I’m forgetting right now) all seem to fit the bill. There’s at least one of these bands on every fest these days, and my issue is not with the singers but the musicians that back them up – why can’t you also wear a PVC thong, Pleaser platforms and fishnet stockings if your singer is going full bondage model every night? Make it happen guys! Special Interest gets it right, but of course they don’t have a bunch of uptight dudes backing the singer… but I’ve already digressed far enough. Cincinnati’s Crime Of Passing do a similar thing in the photos of the band I’ve seen, but their release is care of the top punk label in town, so maybe the rhythm section is just waiting for their advance to clear before purchasing their respective latex tops and leather harnesses. They play an energetic-yet-morose strain of spooky post-punk, replete with Peter Hook bass-lines, smoke-machine synths and guitars that both chime and scrape, the sort of thing I’d associate with Dais more than any label who ever released a Bad Noids record. It’s not a sound that always gets my blood pumping, generally speaking, and while I am unbothered to sit and jam Crime Of Passing, the vocals are kinda low in the mix and the songs themselves don’t linger, at least by my estimation. If their singer wore comfortable sweats from Target on stage and the rest of the band wore Borat thongs, maybe I’d hear it in a different light.
CTM Babygirl LP (Posh Isolation)
Can we just say it? Posh Isolation is one trendy-ass label. Now, I’m unsure how much of it has been them starting the trends versus them following the trends, but their timeline arc from blackened hardcore to industrial noise to techno to sound-collage ambient and now arts-council-friendly experimental new-age pop is almost an identical match to the prevailing underground trends since the label’s inception in 2009. It’s even evident in many of the label’s artists – heck, labelhead Loke Rahbek’s musical career shares the same trendy trajectory – but of course, Posh Isolation has picked up new artists along the way, growing outward as well as upward. And perhaps most importantly when it comes down to it, I enjoy a whole lot of it! This new release from Danish cellist, singer and composer CTM (aka Cæcilie Trier Musik) is right on time for 2022, combining formal classical musical forms, cut-up trip-hop beats, pop vocals, weird sounds and meditative drones in a manner that is sounding more and more familiar every day. Sounds are looped at odd angles, ambient melodies are reflective like the surface of a pond, and CTM’s vocals are hushed and chill, casual yet confident. I suppose I dig it, especially if I try to place myself in as much of a social vacuum as possible while listening, taking in the abstract songwriting and sounds at face value. But in the context of what everyone else is doing, particularly on labels like PAN and Hyperdub, CTM becomes less distinctive and more another person making the same hyper-contemporary sounds I’m hearing everywhere else, for better or worse.
Delco MF’s EP 7″ (MF)
The rise of Delco in the cultural consciousness seemed to begin with John Sharkey’s relentless lauding following Dark Blue’s emergence, exponentially increase with HBO’s Mare Of Easttown and now perhaps reach its zenith with the debut seven-inch from Delco MF’s, which I can only assume doesn’t stand for anything you can sound out loud in front of your grandma. It’s apparently the solo work of Jim Shomo, who plays in Dark Thoughts and tirelessly books all the cool punk shows here in Philadelphia, and boy did he let ‘er rip! He’s also a member of Loose Nukes and EP is much closer to their form of explosive hardcore, though Delco MF’s practically break the knob off while turning it up to ten. The guitars are flailing, the drumming is extremely questionable, and I’m reminded of screwball classics like Neos and Koro and, perhaps most of all, the pre-Pennywise band Con 800, whose 1982 demo (“reissued” on vinyl in 2012) is a real mindblower if you haven’t already peeped. Delco MF’s end their furious debut with “MF Stomp”, the only track over a minute and a refreshing pit exercise before they kick into one final burst of speedcore mania. Apparently they’re a live band now too, so I’m already practicing my Delco accent for their gig in the hopes that they don’t mistake me for an uppity Bucks County resident.
The Dogs John Rock 7″ (Last Laugh)
Last Laugh keep the reissues of classic punk singles flowing, this one mercifully not simultaneously and unrelatedly released by an entirely different label. The Dogs’ Slash Your Face is inarguably one of the best Killed By Death singles of all time (arguably the best), one of those records that cost $400 before every rare punk record cost $400. Last Laugh reissued that one in 2017, and now they’ve taken care of the first single by The Dogs, originally released in 1976 before punk rock clobbered the world. “John Rock” is a fairly standard blues progression given a street-tough workup by The Dogs, a song more remarkable for what was to come than what it is, but for archival sake, I’ll do the twist to “John Rock” any day of the week save for Monday. “Younger Point Of View” is less teen-garage and more hard rockin’, reminding me of mid-period Blue Cheer, truly devoted to rock n’ rolls various powers, from healing to destructive. Great drumming and the band’s all locked in, even on the “dahh dah dah” closing outro, providing ample evidence that Detroit’s The Dogs had plenty to offer. The archival live photo on the back cover also has me wondering, who was the first rocker dude to wear a mesh shirt on stage? Probably didn’t happen until the ’70s, right? Who knows, maybe it was this guy!
Earthen Sea Ghost Poems LP (Kranky)
The thing about punk is that you generally get worse at it the longer you do it, whereas those who create abstract experimental music often end up finding their true voices later in life. That seems to be the case with Jacob Long’s Earthen Sea project, originally formed from an ashy dub-techno and now, while still kind of that, bursting with its own distinct palette of sounds and colors. 2019’s Grass And Trees really established his signature trippy, meditative style, and he further distinguishes it this time around. Crackles, clicks and snaps (and what very well might be the sound of velcro being quickly pulled apart) follow repetitive but unintuitive patterns across a gauzy field of cushy drones and rich melodic chords, resulting in a softly soothing gravitational pull not unlike low tide or a hammock in the breeze. There’s a strong Pop Ambient feel to the synthetic melodies at play here, which, when paired with the snappy and ever-present percussion, reminds me of Eli Keszler at his most contemplative. Rain-streaked windowpanes give way to rainbows somewhere in the distance, and if you think you might smell weed, allow me to confirm that that’s definitely what you’re sniffing. Truly beautiful music happening here, delicate and strong.
K. Freund Hunter On The Wing LP (Last Resort)
You getting sick of these collage-based ambient field-recording jazz-piano records yet? I feel like I can see that over-saturation point in the distance, but for now it’s an aesthetic I continue to appreciate, particularly when done as engagingly as K. Freund’s Hunter On The Wing. Mr. Freund is part of the Last Resort gang, alongside artists like G.S. Schray, Aqueduct Ensemble and Lemon Quartet, loose-knit groups of apparent Ohioan origin yet consistently released by this London-based label (and always in colorful, attractively-designed covers). I’d say this is a solo record, but Freund is joined by G.S. Schray, Linda Lejsovka and Natalie Pillsbury here, all of whom doing who knows what, as is the case with semi-scrutable music such as this. Dusty piano is played live or sampled into loops, field recordings provide some sort of reality-based time-stamping, horns and voices wander in and out like roommates passing through the living room on the way to the fridge. Very much aligned with Félicia Atkinson, Claire Rousay, Martin Brugger, Sasha Vinogradova & Alina Anufrienko, Jefre Cantu-Ledesma (and so on and so forth), but there’s something about the way Freund makes it sound like a duet between R2D2 and a baby grand piano that I find immensely soothing. His is an active form of ambient, richly expressive and dare-I-say fun, and while this particular style is quickly reaching max capacity, for now he can stay.
Girlsperm The Muse Ascends LP (Thrilling Living)
It’s a rare and special thing when punks in their 40s (and up) keep playing punk music without “maturing”. Girlsperm are as slopped-out and scraggly as the bands their members played in decades earlier, but not in an intentional, self-aware form of amateurism. As someone who managed to avoid learning how to play the guitar while still playing in bands for a quarter of a century, I feel a personal affinity towards Girlsperm. And while a lack of technical chops can lead to some uninspired playing in its own right, Girlsperm are bursting with flavor here, stomping and splashing and cutting through these minimal post-punk songs, both guitars (no bass!) seemingly doinked one string at a time in a way that reminds me of a stripped-down Arab On Radar or that glorious live EP from Foams. The most distinctive aspect of Girlsperm’s musical approach are their vocals, which are deployed more often in simultaneous shout-alongs than solo lines. It really makes Girlsperm feel like a tight-knit unit in the way that their lyrics are consistently shouted in unison, that they are all fully on the same page with every aspect of their sound and style. Much like the early Dischord bands, Girlsperm seem to be the kind of band where they would have to break up before replacing any single member, more proof that punk is meant for friends, not business.
Lewsberg In Your Hands LP (12XU)
Three albums in, one could easily say “meet the new Lewsberg, same as the old Lewsberg”, and while they wouldn’t be wrong (just a little reductive), Lewsberg found their lane early on and continue to investigate its possibilities here. If you’re not familiar, The Velvet Underground’s “Pale Blue Eyes” is seemingly the entirety of Lewsberg’s influences, and yet they manipulate and maneuver through multiple variations of that sound in a way that I find deeply satisfying. It’s like, all skateboards are basically the same, but some people are doing 360 flips onto vertical cobblestones with theirs while others just push around and coast, you know? Lewsberg are erudite but approachable, and their dedication to repetitive song patterns is hypnotic and charming, the sort of thing that could easily become maddening or overly pretentious in lesser hands. For fans of the other two records, I’d note that Lewsberg play with mood and time a bit more here (see the b-side’s “All Things” and “All Things (Continued)”), and hone their narrative lyrics to an even sharper point, but the general vibe remains undoubtedly the same. I wouldn’t think I’d need three Lewsberg albums if you described their sound to me, but here I am already cherishing In Your Hands alongside the other two.
Maraudeur Puissance 4 LP (Feel It)
Feel It’s tentacles continue to spread across the globe, this time snatching up German post-punkers Maraudeur for an American pressing of their newest (and otherwise self-released) full-length. On their Bruit Direct debut, Maraudeur reminded me of first-wave post-punk acts like Delta 5, Liliput and Wire, but on Puissance 4 I’m hearing a closer sonic relation to the Y2K dance-punk revival, if you’re willing to split some hairs with me. Maraudeur works uneasily-funky bass-lines around wiry guitars, bloopy keyboards and steady drumming in a manner redolent of Erase Errata, Numbers and The Scissor Girls, all with semi-spoken vocals as disaffected as they are tuneful. Kind of a classic style and execution, but one that feels endearing and alive, particularly when the songs are crafted as fun and slanted as these. Some of these melodies and riffs sound like they might’ve been written by playing normal progressions while holding the guitar upside down, intuitive to the ear but also weird and reversed; it’s like writing a word backwards and reading the backwards version, then reversing the recording to hear what the actual words “should” sound like. Post-punk is best when it toys with all sonic dimensions, properties and tailoring, and Maraudeur are keeping that tradition alive with flair and style.
Rick Myers Obstacle 79: Memory Is Current LP (Open Mouth)
If there’s a continual thread running through Open Mouth’s discography, it’s not a sonic one so much as a conceptual one. Each release comes charged with its own distinctive perspective, thought or intent, often out on the edge of experimental music where the music is actually some sort of experiment, not “experimental” as genre tag with customary signifiers. Case in point is this pleasant new head-scratcher from British artist/musician Rick Myers, who obtained a player piano and manipulated its rolls in a manner that obstructs the spaces between notes in an effort to “dislodge time”. Now I can’t say I visited the dinosaurs or aliens while listening, but the effect of his preparation results in an enchanting and unhurried piece, with unexpected clusters of notes arriving like scattered fireworks against a nighttime landscape. In a second movement, he stretches the piano at its seams, conjuring a long squealing drone that has more in common with extended violin punishment than any tickled ivories. And in an interesting twist, Myers actually speaks between his pieces, directly explaining his process, which of course becomes part of the very piece itself. Pressed on vinyl as thick as a plate, Obstacle 79 is practically begging for some other sonic adventurer to use it as the base of their own experiment, forever pushing ideas and sound onward.
Mystery Girl / Mononegatives split 7″ (Feral Kid / Brain Slash)
No need to adjust your browser, this isn’t a Terminal Boredom post from 2006 or a MRR ad from 1995, this is an actual new punk rock split 7″ in the year of our Lord 2022! It’s antiquated and financially irresponsible and I wish more bands would snub their nose at digital music whatever and just go back to this sort of thing, social media engagement be damned. It also helps that these two bands work well as a pair, taking melodic punk in their own directions. Albany’s Mystery Girl play classic, rock n’ roll-y punk, “Loveline” coming from a patch of land between Exploding Hearts and White Reaper and “Tumble With Me” a Hollywood Brats cover played very true to the original, the sort of song you expect to hear in the bathroom of the Whisky when David Lee Roth pops out of a bathroom stall with coke all over his nose. Ontario’s Mononegatives run through their three tunes on the nail-biting side of punk, twitching through an Adderall binge with new-wave synth, spastic drumming and doubled vocals that have me thinking of Whatever Brains covering Pere Ubu, or something that would pass for that on Halloween. Maybe it’s still the early 2000s up there on the Northeastern Canadian/American border? I should probably visit more often.
The Neuros (Baby) Don’t 7″ (Shipping Steel)
Five releases in and Melbourne’s Shipping Steel has made their mission statement clear: rough n’ tumble working-class punk rock, free of ornamentation and experimentation. The Neuros make that perfectly clear with their debut three-track EP, from the guitar-riff / kick-drum intro of “(Baby) Don’t” to the final ring out of “Are You Talking To Me?”. You’ve heard these riffs before, and you’ll hear these riffs again, as this is time-tested garage-inspired punk that goes back to The Dead Boys and The Damned and will hopefully continue far into the future. For now, it’s nice to hear The Neuros’s take on it, with vocalist Freya squeaking the ends of her lines in a playfully threatening manner and the rest of the band chugging tightly and dutifully behind. Kind of hard to have much to say about a record like this, so traditional and satisfactory as it is; it’d be like coming up with fresh critical insight on a charbroiled hamburger, possible but outside of my personal abilities. So if you needed more streetwise no-frills Aussie punk, The Neuros are out there for you.
No Knuckle No Knuckle LP (House Of Tomothy)
It was only last year that Sorry State released a seven-inch by Portland’s Gimmick, and I’m not sure if they’re an ongoing concern, but three of their members are currently playing in No Knuckle, which of course is a great move if you don’t want to have to go through the discomfort of kicking someone out. “Uhh, yeah, umm well the three of us are doing this other band now, but yeah, no, you’re still in the first band…” Of course, I have no idea the circumstances and they could all be best friends for life, but what’s more fun than imagining drama among bands you’ve never personally met or know anything about? Whatever the case, No Knuckle have debuted on the cool House Of Tomothy label, particularly cool in that it might be the only DIY label around today that seems to have its own self-contained home studio where all of its releases are recorded. That’s the case here, and No Knuckle are decidedly different than Gimmick, playing a no-wavey sort of post-punk that keeps things catchy and cool. It’s giving me big Gang Of Four vibes, a touch of the Midwestern herky-jerk of Dow Jones & The Industrials and a vocalist who sounds like a young Chris Thomson and goes all out, sputtering and smooth-talking like he’s trying to sneak into the Mudd Club without paying. A lotta dance-y post-punk passes through these pages, but No Knuckle seem particularly fresh and invigorated, like they’re truly thrilled to play with the form and make it their own.
Lilly Palmer We Control 12″ (Drumcode)
This hefty dose of main-room techno is just the energizer I needed! Turns out I’m not the only one, seeing as I pulled up her Instagram and discovered that she is probably the only artist I’ll be reviewing this month (or year) to carry a cool million followers on the social media platform. I’m sure there are a few intertwining reasons for that, but the four tracks on We Control are massive, intuitive techno cuts with all the builds and drops you’d hope to hear while searching for your friends in a massive dancehall filled with smoke and lights. Her technique reminds me of Boysnoize and Planetary Assault Systems, tracks that race in a straight line with physical bass-lines, vaguely industrial synth stabs and ice-cold vocal hooks (see “We Control” for her effective and simple utilization). Once the deep-sea sonar hits in “Plasma”, I don’t care how many dishes are in the sink in front of me, I’m instantly transported to Panorama Bar, five vodka sodas deep and unable to keep my arms from raising above my head in some sort of victory dance. Thank you Miss Palmer!
Pyrex Touch / Conditioner 7″ (Filth Pot)
I had incorrectly presumed that the manner of scrappy punk bands naming themselves after household consumer products had waned, but here’s Brooklyn’s Pyrex and their inaugural release for Portland, OR’s Filth Pot Records. They’ve got a fairly common noise-punk sound going on here, raging through a small handful of chords on “Touch” in a back-and-forth manner akin to artists as varied in popularity and fidelity as The New Flesh and Fresh Meat, Metz and Idles. Kind of a muddy sound here, but muddy is often the aim, and it certainly adds a claustrophobia to what already sounds like a small, unventilated room. “Conditioner” maintains the mood but replaces the groove with a petulant stomp, reminiscent of Lamps care of the loud echo-y vocals, total lack of funkiness and deeply frustrated demeanor. Not really a standout, but I dig bands who do records like this, particularly when they’re released on a DIY label with an awkwardly-cut paper sleeve, stamped(?) center labels and clearly a lot of personally-involved passion. When you do it yourself, you don’t gotta listen to nobody, not even me!
Rose Mercie ¿Kieres Agua? LP (Celluloid Lunch / Jelodanti)
I love bands who come across not merely as a collection of people playing the same songs together but a righteous gang, a group who shares deep personal connections and a likeminded artistic focus or what have you. That definitely seems to be the case with Rose Mercie, as the French quartet were all down to appear nude on the cover, proudly inhabiting their bodies and collectively daring the viewer to try and find fault with their freedom. That’s a commitment I appreciate, and that sort of headstrong attitude is on display in their music as well, albeit in a subdued, chilled-out way. They play melodic yet skeletal post-punk indie, fairly rudimentary in approach and style. I’m occasionally reminded of some of Priests’ earlier material, or Grass Widow on quaaludes, but with more of a mystical/communal approach – maybe it’s in the keyboards or the ominously cyclical drumming? Songs are in French, English and Spanish, and at least a couple members (if not all of them) contribute vocals, enhancing their collective power. Rose Mercie are content to glide through these songs, throwing dark shawls over the lampshade and vamping like those pics of Kate Bush in a bat costume, a natural and sincere form of spooky behavior.
Sewer Election & Charmaine Lee Navigation I Inre Och Yttre Landskap LP (Förlag För Fri Musik)
Even for the red-hot Förlag För Fri Musik label, this new international collab LP was a particularly blink-and-miss-it affair, but I managed to secure myself a secondary-market copy like any good fan of sour ambient noise. Sewer Election is half of my favorite Swedish noise duo, Neutral, and Charmaine Lee is a hotly-tipped vocal-noise improvisor born in Australia and based in New York City, a pairing as classically cool and insalubrious as cigarettes and coffee. Sewer Election’s lo-fi, low-energy, (s)low-motion murk seems to anchor the proceedings, or at least it sounds most like his oeuvre, with damaged tape noise, ancient radio interference and wind-swept inhospitable tundras slowly morphing over time. Sounds a lot like a rusty submarine sending distress signals from deep in a tarpit, in the best of ways. Lee eventually makes her presence felt as a vocalist, and it’s a keen addition, her voice disturbingly inhuman, its familiar tones abused and heightened in what is developing into her own signature style. Strong American Tapes vibes throughout, like an unmarked Birth Refusal CD-r you couldn’t find a listing for on Discogs, or that great one-sided Miscarriage twelve-inch with its combination of caustic tones and vocal trash compaction. If you can’t find a copy of Navigation I Inre Och Yttre Landskap for under forty bucks, do yourself a favor and pick up that Miscarriage record, as copies of that one float around for under ten!
Parrish Smith Light, Cruel & Vain 2xLP (Dekmantel)
As producers continue to sound more and more like each other, thank goodness Parrish Smith is still creeping through the clubs and putting in work at the studio to bring us the outlandish monstrosity that is Light, Cruel & Vain. If there are other records coming out sound like this, I haven’t heard them! Smith combines electro, hip-hop, nu-metal, post-punk and grunge in a pretty unholy and minimalist combination, an iconoclastic goth achievement that follows no scripts. If that mix of styles is preemptively freaking you out, that’s understandable – I might be a little scared too – but his unique spin on heavy club music is fascinating and potent. Imagine Amnesia Scanner, Ghostemane and Adam X starting a band together, all corpse-paint and latex and smoke machines on full blast, resulting in a highly futuristic sound that feels popular and timely for goth clubs ten to twenty years from now, after society has really crumbled. Or, picture L.I.E.S. getting exclusive Hot Topic distribution and needing a record to connect the elder industrial-techno hipsters to the delinquent teens who possess elaborate makeup routines, switchblades, ennui and vaguely threatening auras, because Light, Cruel & Vain is the one-of-a-kind record ready to bridge that gap. Parrish Smith’s goth music breaks all the rules and I’m wondering if the world is ready for it just yet.
Stacks Love And Language LP (Knekelhuis)
Bandcamp commenter James Cox says “Stacks are hot. Kate Bush is suddenly popular again. This is pretty similar to “Hounds of Love” era Bush.” I’d say he’s right on two points! Stacks’ beautiful Love And Language album certainly exists in that same Kate Bush / Stranger Things / emo-retro-synth expanded universe, but this Belgian duo is far more refined than anything that might find itself marketed as Funkopop collectibles. They’ve got a sensual romance thing going deep in these tracks, like if Enigma had beautifully-sung lyrics instead of sampled Gregorian chants, or if Portable went fully downtempo after a soul-shaking heartbreak. This is synth-pop on a bleary 3 AM awake-in-bed tip, searching through the club in a futile attempt to find your lover who already left. The songs are pretty slow, and heavy on synthesized pianos and keys… these tunes could easily translate on acoustic instrumentation but instead are deployed with subtle grace and rich electronic textures. The singing is almost church-like, delivered so earnestly that it’s easy to forget how irony- and sarcasm-poisoned we all are, though Choir Boy has prepared me for the relatively calmer voices of Stacks. In many ways, there’s a similar feel to my favorite synth-pop Swedes Kite, though Kite present themselves in booming ostentation, and Stacks are far more low-key, not breaking a single sweat through the entirety of this record. Knekelhuis favors artists who fully inhabit their own individual worlds, Stacks being the most recent one to do it.
System Exclusive System Exclusive LP (Castle Face)
Is it possible to be a punker in a relationship with another punker and not eventually put together a synth-pop project?? It’s like the steps of romance are first date, sex, move in together, get a dog, start a synth-pop project, post engagement photos on Instagram. It might sound like I’m hating but I swear I’m not, it’s just amusing how frequently this is the case, and it appears to be the case with Los Angeles’s System Exclusive, featuring Ari Blaisdell of Lower Self and Matt Jones of Male Gaze. And just as the VHS-throwback album graphics would lead one to believe, this album is retro-synth-centric, complimented by live drums, guitars and Blaisdell’s commanding voice. It’s a tough time to make a fresh and compelling statement with New Order-style arpeggios and disco-punk drums, so unless you’ve been asleep for the past twenty-five years, the sounds of System Exclusive are familiar and average, a passing grade without honors. Good for them, though, and I mean that sincerely! Sure beats axe-throwing, brunch and Sunday football as collective American hobbies, but let the record state that if I ever make a record with my girlfriend, it’s gonna sound like Sete Star Sept, not The Kills meets Flock Of Seagulls.
Zusammen Clark Earlier LP (Bruit Direct Disques)
I’m so accustomed to being swerved by Bruit Direct that their recent forays into somewhat traditional guitar-pop are nearly as disorienting as their wacko experimental releases. As I listen to the smooth pop sounds of Zusammen Clark, I keep wondering when its congenial demeanor will be torn off in a flurry of noise edits, grotesque experimentalism or something equally user-unfriendly, but nope, Zusammen Clark are a sunshiney French indie-pop group offering nothing more than upbeat melodies, chiming guitars and relatable singing. Belle & Sebastian are probably a pretty close sonic relation (particularly notable when Zusammen Clark whip out the horn arrangements), as are Bruit Direct labelmates City Band and Thigh Master, though Zusammen Clark are surely the most polished of the Bruit Direct bunch. A song like “Animals & Evidence” recalls the communal fun of Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci, and when they follow it with the sophisticated pop of “Rest Position”, it’s like a fresh slice of tiramisu following hearty chunks of baguette and cheese. Back when young people still loved happy guitars, I could see this sort of thing gaining the attention of Matador, Merge or spinART, but now it’s mostly the territory of visionary sub-underground labels such as Bruit Direct. The kids don’t know what they’re missing!
KWALK compilation LP (Wah Wah Wino)
A compilation album with an unlisted “mixtape” format isn’t my first choice for a record, but seeing as the Wah Wah Wino crew is responsible for some of my favorite unclassifiable music of the past few years, I couldn’t resist. Featuring contributions from Wino lifers like Morgan Buckley, Olmo Devin and Davy Kehoe alongside presumed aliases like Sli Town Crier and Mr. & Ms. Kwalker, KWALK plays out like a pleasantly bent dream, moving swiftly from church bells and children playing to warped synths, buzzing noise and hysterical looping. Since day one, the Wino crew’s musical tastes have been omnivorous, and this one plays out like a modern corollary to the Nurse With Wound list, a fascinating mix where anything is possible, musical or otherwise. Case in point, they open the set with the tail-end of a live Alvarius B. performance (the cantankerous solo guise of Sun City Girls’ Alan Bishop), upon which they quickly overlay a completely warped saxophone performance by Piero Bittolo Bon (as recorded by the always fascinating Rabih Beaini). Just a wealth of weird and engaging nonsense happening here and I’m thrilled to bear witness.
Ô – A Tribute To Ô Paon And Geneviève Castrée compilation 2xLP (Ô Paon)
The love has poured from so many places following the untimely passing of artist and musician Geneviève Castrée. Her husband Phil Elvrum has explored his grief so sharply and unflinchingly that I’m straight-up scared to listen to some of his records that reflect upon it, and now there is this double LP compilation of friends, co-conspirators and admirers of the late Castrée in tribute. Not that any two tragedies are comparable, but records are, and this one reminds me of the In Memory Of Jason double LP compilation from the ’90s, though instead of documenting the pre-screamo emotive DIY hardcore landscape of its time, this one puts its fingers on the many intersections of ambient/metal/indie/lo-fi/folk/noise, mostly with a rustic and handspun point of view. Haunting, ethereal, touching (and frequently French) songs come from familiar artists like Thou, Nadja, Karl Blau and Mount Eerie, alongside the unexpected metalcore of Cloud Rat and the kraut-sludge-shoegaze(!) of New Issue to name a couple. Lots of different sounds are explored, though the mood is mostly introspective and respectful, with occasional flairs for the mystical… owners of more than one healing crystal will find much to appreciate here. Similar to my experiences listening to In Memory Of Jason and pouring through its accompanying booklet, I find myself touched by the diverse community of artists who surrounded Castrée and joined together to mourn her loss and celebrate her life.
Síntomas De Techno: Ondas Electrónicas Subterráneas Desde Perú (1985-1991) compilation LP (Buh)
When it comes to archival compilations, there are those that essentially act as mixtapes, offering a selection of previously-released tracks in an effort to define a scene or era, and those that truly excavate the trenches of music that even obsessive collectors had been unable to discover otherwise. Síntomas De Techno is the latter, which should come as no surprise to those familiar with the prior output of Peruvian label Buh Records, a true champion of the forgotten or missed, particularly from their nation and surrounding countries. What blows me away here is the quality, sourced from various demos and private archival recordings that never had the chance to exist on vinyl (or tape, or compact disc) in their time. How were there this many cool EBM, synth-wave and industrial projects happening in Peru in the mid to late ’80s? Disidentes open the album with a gnarly locomotive slam strongly redolent of Esplendor Geometrico, and from there we are treated to moody synth-wave ala Trisomie 21, robotic tension in the spirit of Metal Urbain and so forth. I’m strongly reminded of the Bippp compilation, in both general aesthetic and consistent level of quality. The biggest difference is that the people who made Bippp had old singles to dig through, whereas I can barely imagine the ground-level hustle the Buh crew put in to make Síntomas De Techno a reality. Inspiring on many levels!
Damn! Here’s a random and unfortunate punk-reissue coincidence: Feral Kid and Last Laugh reissued the same obscure punk EP independently of each other at basically the exact same time! Unfortunate for the labels, that is, seeing as I’m sure they both put in plenty of effort, time and money to make it happen (each of whom, it’s my understanding, were in direct contact with either family or surviving members of the band, independently of each other), and some other label went and did the exact same thing. Not unfortunate for us connoisseurs of extraordinary classic punk music, though, as original copies of Go Commercial!‘s 1981 Killer Sheep Records release command horror prices, and these songs deserve a wider audience than the papered collector elite. Hailing from Florida, “Antler Joe & The Accidents” certainly sounds like it’s the name of a joke band, but these songs are obnoxious-teen punk rock from the top shelf, on par with The Authorities, The Lewd, Nervous Eaters and The Eat. “Dogshit” is my pick, but the party-rock vibes of “Who Needs A Woman Like You”, alongside its gratuitous saxophone soloing, is a gift to the ears as well. I’m not sure if Antler Joe is one of the surviving members of the group or not, but I cannot imagine he envisioned two boutique labels eagerly reissuing his rude punk songs some 41 years after hitting the studio. Annoying his neighbors and “everyone in Ft. Myers” was probably satisfying enough. Both reissues are true to the original with cover art, lyric insert and sonic quality, so you can’t go wrong with either, you can only go wrong without.
New Valentina Magaletti alert! Under the Avvitagalli name, she’s teamed up with Pino Montecalvo for a deep suite of exploratory improv, and Magaletti’s seal of quality remains firmly intact. Unlike her varied other projects that focus on rhythmic churn or complexity, the percussion here is free and unrestrained, used more for color and shape than structural integrity, or sometimes not utilized at all in favor of anti-musical motifs. It helps that the pair seem to have a wild variety of instruments at their disposal: alongside drums and keyboards, these two dabble with marimbas, keys, voice, piano, tapes and radio, and usually utilize only a small handful of sonic elements per track (most of which are fairly short, between one and three minutes). The results end up sounding like This Heat improvising for the FMP label, or one of those early ’80s Igloo Records releases I’ve never heard because no YouTube clips exist and I can’t bring myself to pay $150 on Discogs to find out. (That might be the biggest stretch of a musical comparison I’ve ever laid down in these pages, but I refuse to be silenced.) The second side of the album is inhabited entirely by “The Last Shiny Bones Of The Duno Ghost”, a richly psychedelic offering that switches modes throughout – the haunted grand piano is a nice touch, surrounded by scratchy field recordings, looped samples of previous lives, and Magaletti’s unmistakable percussive vocabulary. Great stuff all around.
What is it about the name “Barry” that’s ripe for artistic incorporation? There’s the HBO show, there’s this charmingly queer indie-pop group out of London, and if there were to be a Barry cereal or a Barry fashion line, I’d probably enjoy those too. This quick two-song single is some serious fun in the sun – don’t let the somewhat intimidating title of “Neolithic Homosex” fool you, this song is as cheery and upbeat as The Vaselines on bank holiday. Groovy bassline, chant-along chorus (which is also the song title), it reminds me that pop-conscious underground rock n’ roll is a timeless, glorious thing. “No More Boys” is quaint and equally charming, right in line for fans of Go Sailor, Jonathan Richman, K Records and The Reds, Pinks And Purples, crisp indie-pop that’s as simplistic and homespun as it is satisfying. And if this somehow wasn’t appealing enough, the record comes with a crossword puzzle insert and a self-directed band interview complete with the Barry folks answering all the questions you were too shy to ask. 
Discreet Music is responsible for some incredibly great, incredibly weird Swedish music, but Gustaf Dicksson’s Blod project might be the strangest of them all. Rather than pursuing increasingly familiar combinations of noise, folk and field recordings, his releases starkly ruminate on specific themes or concepts, focused on presenting a concise idea or memory of one. That’s what made 2020’s Tusen Bitar such a distinguished slab of bucolic loner folk, and now Blod has changed his focus once more with Pilgrimssånger, which goes deep into, uhh, “Swedish Christian parish culture”. I’m not picking up any irony or pointed criticism toward the Christian church here, so much as a spirited exercise of playing church-y music and singing church-y songs. I’d say Blod succeeds on that level, but on the less universal level of “is this something I personally enjoy listening to”, it falls short. I dunno, I went to church as a kid and was bored by its ridiculous pointlessness and alternating standing/sitting/kneeling, so perhaps I’m not the target audience for a Swedish guy with fairly rudimentary singing abilities ruminating on his favorite hymns with acoustic campfire accompaniment. Pilgrimssånger definitely sounds like hippies playing church songs inside some quaint little Swedish church (maybe with a Swedish Santa passing out candy acorns to smiling children or however they do it over there), but it’s a record I’d rather think about than sit and listen to again.
To the staunch purists who continue to pine for Ceremony’s purely hardcore era, I have news for you: Crisis Man exists! They seem to be an on-again, off-again hardcore band featuring Ross Farrar (of Ceremony) on vocals alongside friends from Acrylics and Smirk, and if you ever wished Ceremony followed Rohnert Park in a stridently hardcore-punk direction, Asleep In America is just the ticket. I fancy myself a big Rohnert Park fan, and while this is very much the work of a different band and set of songwriters, Farrar’s voice is at its perfect mix of gravelly/nasally, almost kinda fake-British if I wasn’t aware that this is simply how he’s pretty much always sounded. The songs he gets to sing on here are great, very by-the-books but full of an infectious energy and enthusiasm, feeling like they mean it more than many full-time hardcore bands. Maybe that’s part of the fun, that they get together as Crisis Man only once in a while, and when they do, it’s a wild and fun treat to play together versus the obligatory thing they do every week? Knowing the ways in which Acrylics and Smirk have managed to craft dynamic and inventive hardcore/punk songs, this doesn’t come as much of a surprise, but the thrill of hearing it is particularly strong in the combined form of Crisis Man.
More Melbourne punk from Feel It in the form of an increasingly-rare seven-inch single, teamed up with Melbourne’s Spoilsport for convenient global distribution. I hadn’t heard Delivery before, but it seems they’re fairly new, a post-pandemic group who must’ve had adequate time to formulate their sound as these two songs are winners right out of the gate. “Personal Effects” is a boozy strut down main street, sauntering ever forward on very-cool guitars, effortless drums and, in its boldest move, a horn section hook. Feels akin to Rik & The Pigs, Parquet Courts, Suburban Lawns, hell maybe even buzzbin all-stars Wet Leg… a brightly-colored new-wave post-punk tune that has a personality you want to be around. “The Topic” is far more agitated, squirming in its chair with an even more demented horn/synth(?) stab that keeps on attacking – I’m picturing Liliput having a mellow band practice while Voodoo Glow Skulls are banging on the shared wall. Cool tunes indeed, the sorta thing that feels in-step with today’s trends without obviously aping any specific one thing. There’s surely an album already in the works (what Aussie punk band doesn’t make it to a full-length?) and I’m eager to hear how they follow this one up. 
I’ve been assured that Montreal’s Celluloid Lunch is “not becoming a reissue label”, and while I appreciate the sworn oath, I kinda don’t mind if they’ve got more proto-punk gold to unearth like The D-Vices! Recorded in 1980, this single predates The D-Vices evolution in becoming a band called American Devices, and while I can assure you I’ve never heard of them either, I’m going to correct that on the strength of these two tunes. “Adequate” is a cool-as-ice punk rock groove, as hearty as The Voidoids and The Heartbreakers but with better odds of their diploma coming from an art school as opposed to the School of Hard Knocks. Great vocals that wander around, played slick and loose the way it should be. “Modern Boy” brings a little funk too, with some lively guitar abuse and a taunting, sarcastic vocal, the sort of band you see on stage and can’t decide whether you want to make out with them or throw your beer at their heads. Kind of like The Rotters or Vom in that regard, a disinterested punk antagonism that hits a real sweet spot in my ears. If Celluloid Lunch are sitting on more D-Vices archival recordings, it’s downright impolite to not release those too. 
Paul Frunzi is a Pacific Northwest musician who’s worked with Lake and Mount Eerie in the past, but Ever Ending Kicks is his baby. Small is the group’s fourth album in ten years, a relaxed schedule that comes across as a beloved pet project rather than an attempt at indie-rock “making it”. This is some severely hushed, soft and perhaps-wimpy indie-pop, so unyielding in its tweeness that a pair of horn-rimmed glasses materialized on my face as I listened. I’m reminded a bit of Eric Chenaux’s recent Say Laura album in the way that fleece-soft melodies bubble up to the surface alongside hints of modern R&B, electronic music and an immaculately alto voice, but Ever Ending Kicks play it a bit straighter than Chenaux, working with a traditional bass/guitar/drums lineup even if they make a solid point of absolutely never rocking out. Kinda close to Death Cab For Cutie and Pedro The Lion as well, but I could see Death Cab existing in the same solar system as Agnostic Front, whereas Ever Ending Kicks are galaxies away. As you might’ve surmised, not really the sort of music I spend much time with, but I have no qualms with tender, muted, emo-inflected post-rock pop (phew) such as this, and can certainly see the appeal for bookish types who are thoughtful about their emotions and openly celebrate their friends with homemade cards and warm hugs. For me, I still barely grunt my acknowledgement towards friends when we meet up, so hopefully Small will help me along the way.
Wow, record of the month right here! This new Gaia Tones twelve-inch is precisely how I want to glide into the warmer months, on a blissed-out and deeply reflective sonic excursion through the humid mist and golden rays of sun. Gaia Tones are a British duo, and this is their fifth EP on their self-titled imprint, and it’s a doozy. The a-side track (they both appear to be named “Dream”, that is if they technically have any names at all) is a wide-sweeping dub with loose percussive limbs, airy tones and a meditative headspace. Imagine if one of those hypnotic, perpetual grooves off the Natural Information Society’s Mandatory Reality was given a proper dub washing, its instrumentation drifting away without fully disintegrating. I swear one of the recurrent sounds on this cut is a wooden boat calmly knocking against the dock, and this track offers a similar sense of calm contemplation and natural beauty. The b-side cut finds a more solid rhythmic footing, with a raw bass pulse, skittering percussion and echoed vocal snippets, and it’s the perfect foil to the meandering delicacy of the a-side. Imagine one of Graham Dunning’s mechanical techno devices joined by Robert Ashley for a record on Demdike Stare’s label and you’re close, or Earthen Sea as remixed by Beatrice Dillon and you might even be closer, but Gaia Tones’ Dream surpasses mere recommended-if-you-like comparisons. Not to be missed!
Oh, so you’re telling me your girlfriend is really impressed by you? Well did you record a full-length album with her little sister?? Sam Gendel is out here making the rest of us devoted partners look lazy, as in his seemingly round-the-clock recording schedule he found the space to make Live A Little, an album of electronics, synths, sax and guitar accompanied by the voice of his girlfriend’s eleven-year-old sister, Antonia Cytrynowicz. I feel like I still haven’t fully digested Gendel’s massive Fresh Bread from last year, but I couldn’t resist picking up Live A Little; much like the rest of his records, it’s a fresh lil stunner. Amazingly, these aren’t improvisations or rough sketches so much as actual songs, with Cytronowicz singing her sweet lyrics over low-key beats, plucked strings, melodic synths, digital squiggles and Gendel’s ebullient sax, both dry and heavily processed. Cytronowicz apparently isn’t a singer, but you could’ve fooled me, as her voice is emotive and tuneful (and kinda sorta Björk-ish?), following her own melodic path as only children can do. If you want a quick taste, I’d direct you to “Wondering, Waiting”, a cute and inviting coffeehouse groove that’ll shoo away any approaching storm clouds, though I’d imagine you’ll want to hear more than that.
With the reassessment and canonization of The Shadow Ring in the last decade or so, much of the spotlight has fell on presumed bandleader Graham Lambkin. Understandably so, but Tim Goss was a crucial partner in the group as well, and his recent-ish work as Call Back The Giants has made it clear what a singular and confounding artist he is in his own right. And now, we’ve got the first album under his own name, and it’s a doozy! These are some deep, deep explorations of the synth, but not in the traditional “cosmic” or “industrial” methods. Goss’s songs are rigidly structured and richly melodic, and they offer a strange feeling of domestic unease, weird narratives that remain unresolved or travel in-between realities. Maybe I’d liken it to Idea Fire Company with a beating human heart? Unlike Idea Fire Company, Goss’s vocals do occasionally appear, as if they’ve wandered in off the wrong bus. It often feels like watching a movie of monsters and witches battling, only to have the camera pan and reveal that they’re actually just plastic toys being handled by children in a basement den. It can get pretty groggy, but there are enough lights twinkling through Goss’s fog to maintain a sense of groundedness throughout. I suppose this is all my fancy way of saying this is some supremely weird synth music, not particularly in tune with anything else happening out there, and highly worth checking out.
Each time I peep a record on The Trilogy Tapes, I wonder why I don’t seek out this label more often… they’ve got a varied stylistic imprint, guided more by a restlessness of spirit (yet always in the electronic domain) than any particular sub-genre allegiance. This new one from Kiki Kudo is a fresh splash of skin toner to the face, two lengthy tracks (twelve and fifteen minutes each, respectively) that offer a contemplative sandbar between the churning ocean waves of techno and post-dubstep-whatever. “Plotlined” is richly melodic and quick-moving, riding a stutter-step beat across a kaleidoscope of chimes and warm melodic pitch. It has me envisioning Upsammy remixing “E2-E4”, or the sort of thing you accidentally stumble upon on a random NTS show and realize it’s what your life has always been missing. “Space Planar” takes the flip, and it’s slower to reveal itself; opening with a twitchy rhythm and only the slight semblance of other keyboards at play, I’m thinking of Dopplereffekt’s more esoteric tracks, as its clinical aesthetic feels like robots making love in an abandoned airport terminal, which is always a nice place for avant techno to land. The bleeps and bloops arrive about halfway in, followed by some chattering digital maracas and some ingeniously intricate thumping, little sonic rewards for those willing to stick with Kudo’s enigmatic style. Restless, gripping music that is somehow well-suited to calm self-reflection, such is its curious bliss.
Wild to think that back in the ’00s, I would’ve struggled to name more than a couple sincerely-great Pittsburgh hardcore bands, and now it seems like one in three great new hardcore bands is based out of the Steel City. Go figure! It’s a beautifully ugly town – I think you can still smoke in bars there, for example – so it makes sense that, with hardcore’s de-localized sonic trends, it’s the perfect breeding ground for burly and unrepentant hardcore-punk such as Living World. They’ve got a rugged sound ripe for Iron Lung’s picking, playing anxiety-riddled hardcore akin to classics like United Mutation, Die Kreuzen and Poison Idea, but with a slightly metallic Euro edge that reminds me of S.H.I.T. and Warthog, too. The distorted vocals add to the off-kilter vibe, resulting in the type of band I’d expect to read a tantalizing description of in a Puszone column in a 1984 issue of Thrasher. EP closer “Ubuntu” is my favorite of the bunch, which opens with a verbal tirade in the spirit of Crucifix before descending into unhinged hardcore slop that sounds like Siege re-interpreting the first Snuky Tate EP. 
So I might be getting part of this wrong (it was initially explained to me while I was driving and I keep my focus on the road), but back in 2017 David Nance recorded an album at home in Omaha and then shelved it, as a slicker re-recording of the same songs came out in the form of the Trouble In Mind full-length Peaced And Slightly Pulverized. Years later, with all the dust settled, Petty Bunco is shedding light on that initial recording, released with the understandably-confusing title of Pulverized And Slightly Peaced. A diligent reviewer would probably spend some time with that Trouble In Mind release and take notes comparing the two, but I’ve only got so many hours in the day I can set aside for any given rock n’ roller, and honestly I can’t see how slicker studio versions of these songs would offer me a higher form of enjoyment than what Nance is throwing down here. I know he has a million releases out at this point (and I’ve only heard a small handful), but this recording goes a long way to explain why so many cool underground rock labels have been clamoring for a piece of the action. He’s not doing any one thing here so much as leaving his Midwestern mark across a wide swath of rock’s holiest paths: charming indie-rock, zippy garage-rock, zoned-out psych (the sprawling b-side encompassing “Amethyst”), loose Americana, even a little nervous proto-punk action for good measure. He clearly knows his Stooges and Neil Young records, but they’re merely the start of Nance’s conversation, not a stylistic dead-end. Can we get a Change.org petition going to team him up with the equally-beloved guitar impresario whose name his is often confused with, Bill Nace, for the duo record of the year? I think we’re ready.
Surely I’m not the only one who sees that band name and immediately thinks Op Ivy, right? It’s such a pleasant association for me that I was willing to allow ÖPNV a little ska-punk if they wanted, but this Berlin post-punk group clearly have no interest in any form of skanking. Theirs is a very sour and ostentatious form of robotic post-punk, delightfully free from guitars or any sort of traditional rock behavior. Rather, Deutsch Funk Revolte is equal parts disturbed and disturbing, minimal and unhinged, very much in the tradition of Nervous Gender, Kosmonautentraum, Palais Schaumburg and Cabaret Voltaire. Most songs are comprised of thuddy drumming, dubby bass, electronic bleeps/squelches and vocals acting as a disaffected tour guide to the proceedings. Pretty classic conceit, but it’s a style I personally relish, especially when performed with as much artful grit as ÖPNV display here. They’re willing to try interesting things with the form (unusual bass-lines, playful dub properties and so on) without feeling either too musical or polished. If they’re not already friends with Lavender Hex, a similarly (if further out-there) experimental dub-minded post-punk group from Berlin, they out to consider sending a congenial DM and making that connection.
Static Age has been a reliable source for provocative punk and punk-related music over the last few years – Berlin’s answer to La Vida Es Un Mus, let’s say – and seeing as I still haven’t gotten the metallic taste of that Urin single out of my mouth, I figured I’d check out Vienna’s Pitva and their full-length debut. Pitva do that funny thing that I really enjoy, which is when a band doesn’t simply use their own name as the title, they actually go ahead and put “self titled” or “S/T” on the cover. Gloriously unnecessary! Pitva aren’t remotely as hardcore-sounding as Urin, but they are certainly filthy and wretched all the same – this is music that sounds like it remained undisturbed in a dingy attic for years, covered in dust, and now that it’s been discovered it’s going to possess you all the way to hell. Reminds me of the first Iceage album were it completely devoid of tunefulness, Trop Tard’s 1988 album played at double speed, and Rudimentary Peni if they fully embraced the haunted-house vibe while writing the simplest songs they could muster. Feeble, noisy songs that would snap under any stress but are still more unsettling and menacing than any given mosh-core band in hockey jerseys. 
Is it weird that of all the strains of underground punk to currently exist, anarcho-crust seems to be having a collective moment of creative greatness? Straw Man Army, Tower 7 and Horrendous 3D sound nothing alike, but they come to represent a similar outlook on the usefulness of punk in our current era, and I’m adding Portland’s Rigorous Institution to the list as well. I dug their debut EP, but Cainsmarsh is even better, a righteous, unique form of fog-enshrouded stench-core that goes all out for its entirety. It’s a darkly dramatic album, reveling in anguish and misery, presented as a fantasy epic but based firmly in reality. The riffs are purposely plodding and dour, synths thicken the atmosphere, and the vocalist doesn’t sound like a human being so much as an ancient wizard, gleefully foretelling our collective doom with a wave of his knotted staff. My description sounds a little cosplay-friendly, I’m sure, but this album hits so good, and makes me wonder how mad Southern Lord is to not have a band as authentically, boldly crust-metal as Rigorous Institution on their roster. If the Cryptkeeper had a guest column in Maximumrocknroll, I’m certain he’d sing the praises of Cainsmarch, and if I ever get to witness this band perform “Laughter” live, I’m gonna push-pit so hard that my hair entangles into the crust-punk’s next to me, a veritable rat-king of punk aggression. Just you wait!
Sweet young Skids ain’t Skids no more: this Melbourne rock unit has changed their name from The Skids to Skid City, in case you were under the misunderstanding that they played rock music with the suburbs in mind. Following a couple singles, their formula has mostly stayed the same, which is boots-on-the-ground, hard-rockin’ garage-punk with minimal frills. Don’t even expect much in the way of guitar solos, and there isn’t a keyboard in sight; Skid City churn out tune after tune of driving, gruff rock music in the vein of Turbonegro, Murder City Devils and Cosmic Psychos. Makes me imagine a non-existent timeline wherein Headache Records existed during CBGB’s first wave of underground rock. The energy is there, but not in an unrestrained way, as this music is better suited to sitting at a bar and occasionally pumping a fist than circle pits and stage dives. From the sound of vocalist Zeke’s voice, he’s too run down and strained to do much more than stand in place anyway, so gravelly is his tone. I don’t care how many techno producers in floppy pastel shirts Australia produces, it’s a rock n’ roll country first and foremost and Skid City have located their sliver of land within it.
It’s been about a year since Chicago’s Spread Joy established their high-energy post-punk with their debut, and now they’ve returned (maybe a dozen shows later) with II, continuing right where they left off. “Dancy post-punk” has been a crowded field since James Murphy first DJed a Liquid Liquid twelve-inch in 2001, which makes it a particularly tricky style to distinguish oneself within, and if Spread Joy hadn’t fully done so after their appreciable debut, II firmly establishes their top American standing. The drums carve their own little initials into each song, a commendable mix of taut and spicy; the bass is a constant flurry of funk and groove; the guitar understands it’s the least important part (which is often the hardest part, knowing guitarists), and the singer is an absolute loon, shaming all the singers who have half as much fun in front of a mic. Some songs lean heavily in a Contortions anti-groove, others flail like some of Lumpy Records’ dancier offerings, and at least two songs nod pretty distinctly towards Blur’s “Song 2”, a nice little curveball of catchiness in an otherwise strictly-underground affair. Most importantly for this style, Spread Joy sound like they’re truly being themselves and having a ball in the process, really embracing their chosen moniker in a time when it seems like everything is being spread besides joy. It’s appreciated! 
Kind of ironic that when I’m listening to records on a broken, off-time turntable, I hate it, but when I’m listening to records that sound like they’re being played on a broken, off-time turntable, I love it! Case in point is this album from The Submissives (aka Montreal’s Deb Edison), who apparently recorded and produced Wanna Be Your Thing all on her lonesome. File under shambolic, K Records-indebted indie-pop, but I’ll be damned if Edison’s guitars aren’t gloriously out of whack, vacillating between in-tune and out-of-tune often in the same singular chord that’s struck. Brilliant! The guitars (both strummed and tickled) are sour-sweet throughout, as if they stepped in buckets of The Velvet Underground, The Shaggs and Tori Kudo and tracked them all over the carpet. Transport Sarah Mary Chadwick to the Fuck Off Records scene of Instant Automatons and The Door & The Window and it might result in a similarly pleasing DIY pop confection as Wanna Be Your Thing. I can’t tell if The Submissives are unhinged or sincere or horny or taking the piss, and it’s therein that the magic lies. Every time I start grumbling about solo projects usurping the focus from multi-membered bands, a record like this comes along to make me realize some artists are best left to themselves, wild and uncompromised. 
Back when the AD 93 label was calling itself Whities, I was scooping up every new release with enthusiasm and wonderment, but somewhere after the name change to AD 93 I found myself drifting… the creative, wandering minds the label had gravitated towards often were a little too esoteric or high-minded for my tastes. Gimme the inventive and straight-up catchy beats, you know? I never stopped respecting the label, though, and maybe there’s some re-investigation to be done, as this new collaboration between the London producers TSVI and Loraine James is a pleasing display of sonic contrasts. I can’t rightly say who is contributing what, but across these five tracks, languid melodic keys and uplifting ambient drift are pelted with scattershot snippets of jungle rhythms and IDM beats, resulting in a sort of sunshower effect – the beats scuff you up a bit, but the weather conditions are so optimal that it feels like a perk rather than punishment. Their minds shift from the choral, Jay Glass Dubs-esque “Awaiting” to the unfocused techno thwop of “Eternal” with ease, and as a listener I’m right there with them. The effervescence found within 053 is a constant, no matter which beats (if any) are deployed, with an almost new-age sort of presence (sans the yoga pants or herbal tea). You know how some of those bougie botanical probiotic seltzers are crap, and some are actually worth the exorbitant price tag? 053 is worth every penny.
Upstate New York, Connecticut, western Massachusetts.. they just sit around playing guitar all day up there, don’t they? I love big cities, but the idea of having some crusty barn to set up all your gear with your friends and leisurely hammer away at rock music sounds pretty darn appealing. Valley Of Weights are one such project, apparently hailing from upstate New York and featuring personnel from groups like Burnt Hills, Sky Furrows and even a Vatican Commando! They decided to enter the underground conversation with a debut double LP, full of loosely scripted rock songs and deeper forays into improvised psych-rock burnouts. Pretty straightforward and by-the-books, and certainly age-appropriate (Gen Z they ain’t), like the type of upstanding local band that gets to open for Mission Of Burma, Dinosaur Jr or Mudhoney once or twice a year. No wild freakouts, no unlikely combination of effects pedals or uncommon percussive devices, just moderately energetic, ’90s style indie-rock that cuts to the core of the matter. We could all be so lucky to find ourselves in Valley Of Weights’ shoes someday.
For as much as I profess to love Ricardo Villalobos (once every evening before bed as I stare into my bathroom mirror), I am sheepish to admit that it’s been a couple years since I seriously peeped any of his newer records. He kinda lost me after Empirical House, or perhaps I felt I had already such a staggering wealth of his material to lose myself in, but I saw that he had this new double EP with Samuel Rohrer (not their first collaborative effort, apparently) and decided to check back in. I was prepared for some richly refracted soundscaping and technologically-advanced processing with rhythms beyond the cognitive powers of my feeble brain, but much to my delight, these four side-long tracks are glitchy and minimal tech-house straight out of Villalobos’s early ’00s playbook. Not bad! Tiny warm-sounding drum machines cycle forward, and the slightest and subtlest shards of electronic interference, synthetic manipulations and indeterminate effects grow in the cracks. At a distance, it’s mostly repetitive skeletal rhythms and electronic gurgling, but if you dare lean over the edge into these tracks, there’s a rich world of activity and color to be enjoyed, much like a drop of pond water under a classroom microscope. Thrilling to know Villalobos and friends are still out there making the music they are compelled to make, trends or cultural shifts be damned. I love it.
Who said Germans have no sense of humor? I’ve been keeping an eye out for Niklas Wandt ever since his fantastic collab with Wolf Müller dropped in 2018, and this new four-track EP with a dumb pun for a title seemed like the perfect place to check in. His taste in dance music is clearly omnivorous, as these tracks run the gamut of lighthearted dance music, from vocodered sleaze-pop to sunshine-y stepping house and cosmic, retro electro. While kind of all over the place, it never feels like he’s reaching too far, or losing sight of the ultimate goal: an infectious eternal groove to shake butts and elevate minds. “Im Verborgenen” is probably my favorite cut of the bunch, and also the slowest, grinding hard on an EBM groove with lasers firing from all angles and deadpan German vocals. Considering the glaring dearth of in-person parties, social events and general good vibes of recent times, it’s reassuring to be kissed with Wandt’s playful and expansive dance tracks, honoring a world where communal fun and ebullient grooves are granted top priority.
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