David Bales Ringing Fields LP (no label)
David Bales is a guitarist, and he’s offering up some solo guitar compositions the proper way: on a self-financed, self-released vinyl album with a picture of trees on the cover. The album is sub-titled Meditations, Rituals, Dances, And Love Songs, though I get the feeling that the various intentions of these songs are personal to Bales in a way the rest of us won’t understand. (Still, I wouldn’t mind watching him dance a little.) In proud private-press fashion, Bales provides a detailed explanation as to the where, why and how of his music on the back cover. He wrote and recorded these pieces following a health scare, a universal human misfortune that inspired no fewer than thirteen different tunings in his music. Acoustic and electric guitars were used, both handpicked in a post-Fahey fashion. I’m picking up more wintry ECM vibes than autumnal Folkways vibes – it’s those high strings that Bales lingers in, melodies that I’d imagine would rank high on the Spotify Wrapped of crows in snowy fields. Some tracks are more enchanting than others – “Before I Became You” is appealing in its beckoning sadness – but the full album should allow you the time to brew one incredibly robust cup of tea and consume it. I’m not suggesting you opt for some pre-packaged Twinings, though – I’m talking various pieces of bark, hand-ground spices and dried leaves solemnly mulled to leave a dark brown ring inside your mug.

The Bug Burials / Mud 12″ (Relapse)
The relationship between The Bug and Relapse Records is my own personal Travis Kelce / Taylor Swift affair. What do you think The Bug and Relapse talk about when they’re out together?? Does Relapse just smile and nod when The Bug talks about dancehall sound-system culture? Does The Bug suffer in quiet resentment when Relapse insists on playing Red Fang in the car? Whatever the case, they’ve been working together for a while now, resulting in some of the ugliest bass music around (last year’s Machines I-V boxset is straight-up gobsmacking), speaker cones going screwface as The Bug pushes his sound to its physical limits. This new EP is another imposing statement, with choice guest vocals in typical Bug fashion. “Bury Dem” features Logan over a slow-motion chug so heavy as to imply goriness, a real crime-scene of a beat with Logan haranguing as heartless mob-boss. “Deep In A Mud” refuses to be upstaged, with Magugu spitting over a beat so prehistoric, murky and pressurized that only one of those horrifying hydrothermal-vent microorganisms could possibly survive within it – “Deep In A Mud” indeed. Both tracks are paired with their dub versions for added disorientation, to the point where the lack of an obvious warning label aimed toward those experiencing pregnancy or heart conditions seems like a legal liability Relapse should’ve considered. They need to book The Bug at the next Beer & Metal fest though, if only to have a sea of craft IPAs exploding in unison in the hands of a few hundred tattooed beardo metalheads. No refunds!

Carnivorous Bells Beacons In Limbo LP (Human Headstone Presents)
Philadelphia’s ragingest aesthetes return for their third album, continuing the creative tear they’ve been on since their inception. You don’t normally get a rock quartet where each member is deeply committed to their specific craft, and that’s okay – maybe even for the best, in a lot of cases – but it’s a real thrill to encounter the work that Carnivorous Bells put in, from the creepily telepathic rhythmic interplay and David Vassalotti’s striking guitar lines to not only the words and yowls of Matthew Adis but the distinct touch of his artwork as well. These are continued themes since Carnivorous Bells first arrived, but on Beacons In Limbo the band engages further with turmoil, unease and opacity, stretching songs out like ghosts departing corpses. In that way, they’ve shifted ever so slightly further from their hardcore-punk backgrounds towards a poisonous form of art-rock in league with Sun City Girls at their operational peak (Torch Of The Mystics and Dawn Of The Devi, let’s say), though there are no traces of sarcasm or tomfoolery here. Vassalotti’s playing in particular is adventurous and inspired, often conjuring images of Omar Khorshid and East Bay Ray dueling at moonlight. Like the rest of the band, he relies on his own melodic ingenuity to make it pop – there really aren’t many / any unusual effects happening here, as if they could plug into anyone’s borrowed gear and still sound the same. Adis, traditionally (and elsewhere still) a hardcore vocalist, continues to be pushed by his bandmates to re-imagine what it means to scream and shout. There’s occasional double-tracked spoken-word, certain staccato phrases that have me thinking of Cedric Bixler circa In/Casino/Out, and my personal favorite moment, when he shape-shifts into a bloodstained vulture on “Unsaid” through the line “surface does not protest the ailing tide”. It’s grisly, but I can’t look away!

Carrier The Fan Dance 7″ (Modern Love)
Across four EPs, Guy Alexander Brewer’s Carrier project has made an impact on whatever you wanna call the post-techno scene, where the reverberations of established styles (minimal techno, industrial, dubstep, noise, glitch, jungle) are chased out of their comfort zones. Carrier is a hard beast to classify, which is not only fun for music dorks who love to classify things (present company excluded… I hope?), it’s exciting as hell to listen to. This new EP on Modern Love’s ambitious seven-inch single series is another winner. “The Fan Dance” is the first Carrier track to link up a vocal, this one coming from Gavsborg of the mighty Equiknoxx. Over an electric twitch and a single reverberant bass string, Gavsborg repeats “I’m sexy when I’m mad, I’m sexy when I’m moody” with deadpan intonation, and by the time you realize you can probably shake your ass to it, the beat drops and it sounds like someone urinating in a metal bucket. Might be Carrier’s finest work yet! The b-side is an instrumental dub, and kind of unnecessary considering I can’t imagine a situation where I wouldn’t want to hear Gavsborg’s sensational vocal, though it does offer a chance to reflect further upon Carrier’s meticulous sound design, a dancehall beat stripped down to its ligaments, as frightening yet beautiful as a shark giving birth.

Cheater Slicks Live At CBGB’s 02.28.92 LP (Almost Ready / Morbid Web)
Late February, 1992: Nirvana’s Nevermind has been out for six months, quickly ushering hair-metal into an adult-living facility and introducing moshing and Flipper to every teenage child in America… and Cheater Slicks are out there playing CBGB’s to a small assemblage of downtown NYC dirtbags on a Friday night. They were a relatively new band at the time, yet their trashy garage-rock denizens were already too hardened and jaded to care about Nirvana or Winger or anything that wasn’t the cigarette in their hand. In that way, Cheater Slicks have embodied independent rock n’ roll for as long as Sub Pop has existed, unwavering in their burning-wire-scented garage-punk through to the present day. The fidelity of their studio recordings often matches the quality of a hand-held recording, so in that way it makes sense that there is such an abundance of live Cheater Slicks material available. I count three live albums already out there, and it seems that Almost Ready and Morbid Web have something like three or four more in the pipeline (including this one), treating Cheater Slicks like the garage-rock Grateful Dead, which maybe they kinda are. It’s a noble pursuit, and I’m having fun spinning Live At CBGB’s, as the guitars are particularly spirited, ripped and torn in a manner on par with Steve Turner and Larissa Stolarchuk, both of whom surely had at least one chance Cheater Slicks encounter in their days. Maybe I’ll meet them someday before I pass on, too – seems pretty clear that Cheater Slicks will outlive us all at this point.

Cruelster Make Them Wonder Why LP (Convulse)
If we’re looking at Instagram handles as official confirmation, it would seem that Cruelster (AKA “Creulster”) are the musical focus of the Cleveland gentlemen who also comprise Perverts Again (and separately play in all sorts of other acts, like The Hell, The Carp, Piss Me Off and Knowso). They’ve been trying to make us wonder why for a few years now, and have finally memorialized it with their first official full-length since 2018 (back when Lumpy Records was still in business). For those of us cool enough to eagerly anticipate Make Them Wonder Why, our patience is rewarded with a wealth of material to enjoy. That’s sonically and visually, as the album packs in twenty-one tracks and comes with a squint-worthy lyric sheet and four-panel color poster, plus a thick OBI strip and an atlas(?) that I haven’t seen in person (but am willing to trade big for). They’ve always been a fun punk band, willing to play the fool for the sake of a good joke, though the funniest joke of all is that Cruelster is actually better at hardcore than the majority of brown-haired white-men playing it in the US today. There’s a lot to love here, including what is far and away the best song this group of friends has ever written, “Jerks” – the main riff is the perfect amount of complicated, like a Negative Approach graduate study, but the chorus busts into this enormous smiley Dropkick Murphys-styled shout-along that no one could’ve seen coming. There’s a great music video for it (which I recommend watching more than once), and there are various other Murphys-isms throughout Make Them Wonder Why for their entertainment as well as ours. Mercifully, they put the disgruntled-straight-man freestyle-rap YouTube clip at the very end of the record – they clearly aimed to punish us with that one, and mission accomplished, guys.

Jordan Darby Dangerous & Holy Memories In The Very Theater Of Salvation LP (Hissing Objects)
Someone more prestigious than myself needs to chart the musical history of Jordan Darby in rigorous detail, as his discography is full of entertaining twists and turns. Even though he willingly disregards any form of spotlight, he’s due. His ’00s hardcore band Dry Rot insisted on doing things their own way no matter if no one else understood, and while I’ll save the rest of the historical account for the aforementioned non-existent prestigious biographer, we are now blessed with two new solo offerings on his Hissing Objects label. I’ll highlight Dangerous & Holy Memories In The Very Theater Of Salvation, as it’s the more approachable of the two, a tender, acoustic-driven singer-songwriter record with a rich melodic complexity and appropriately ponderous lyrical themes. While by no means a precise sonic equivalency, I’ll bring up the names Robbie Basho, Richard Bishop and Jeremy Enigk here, three other American-original guitarists who arrived in editions of one. Darby’s playing reveals a comparable knack for mastering the guitar with his own specific intents, and his lyrics are direct while reaching for the profound, a plainsong delivery of ecstatic religious fervor. Be forewarned: you might end up believing in God, or even loving him (err, excuse me, “Him”), if you listen on repeat. Darby’s other album, Follow Me Up, has the superior cover art, but exhibits entirely different behavior with tweaked n’ layered guitar noodling to spring the most outré of Systematics recordings reworked for a Glands Of External Secretion jamboree to my mind. And wait, both albums are apparently free, you just have to write him and ask for copies? I’m telling you, Sasha Frere-Jones and Jim Ruland and Jessica Hopper, this biography is going to blow minds.

Dark Thoughts Highway To The End LP (Stupid Bag / Drunken Sailor)
Philadelphia’s finest (phinest?) purveyors of leather-jacket pop-punk do one thing, and they do it so well that you’ll never want them to learn a second thing. Highway To The End is Dark Thoughts’ fourth full-length and the second to graphically reduce a classic Ramones album cover, which is surely no coincidence considering their sound. Guitarist / vocalist Jim Shomo enunciates like a proud Joey Ramone acolyte, mushmouthing his vowels to perfection (check out how he says the word “mirror” in “Bubble’s Gonna Burst”, for example). You could easily look to Green Day’s “Burnout” as another cornerstone of Dark Thoughts’ aesthetic, which is great news for fans of excellent punk rock, particularly as the time of decrying Green Day’s sellout status has long since passed. The upbeat melodic bop of “Sparkling Water” recalls The Queers’ at the peak of their pop-punk powers, and I hope that the lack of obscure references clues you in to how easily-beloved the music of Dark Thoughts is, no matter what stage of your personal punk-rock journey you’re on. Dark Thoughts aren’t dead, millionaires or cop-supporters, though – they’re actual punks writing about their own crumbling world and giving you plenty of reason to pogo about it, with hooks that take longer to dissipate than the weed in your system that’s bound to show up on your employment-mandated drug test next week. Go ahead, get fired for being an idiot! Dark Thoughts have been there too.

Dart Speed Days LP (SPHC)
Are there any hardcore-punk labels left out there who haven’t put out a metal record by now? It’s the forbidden fruit, this fantasy land of flame-engulfed skeleton-monsters, long hair and pointy Jackson guitars, that punks find increasingly irresistible for some reason – maybe real-life has gotten too heavy? So here’s SPHC delivering the full-length debut from Finnish hessians Dart, which arrives with an iron-on band-logo patch in a showing of a band that understands its audience. They play an increasingly-typical form of Venom / Hellhammer-derived speed-metal, though to Dart’s credit, they play it a hair or two faster than mostly everyone else, and with the occasional Boston-esque organ flourish. File it next to Total Hell, Witchtrial and a bunch of others whose names I’ve promptly forgotten. In an effort to not be a total hater, let me make it clear that this form of music is as glorious and righteous as a fast-break slam-dunk, it’s just that I am finding diminishing home-listening returns from many of its newer practitioners, who seem more comfortable upholding the standard traditions than breaking out into anything fresh and inspiring. That recent Manat LP was cool in how ugly and possessed it sounds, and while more of a hard-rock affair, I could listen to my Hällas records on repeat, for example! And if I find myself Oulu, Finland on a wintry night, I’d hope that Dart would let me into the humble tavern they are rocking to hell, though I understand if I’ve just blown my chance.

Fan Club Stimulation E.P. 7″ (Feel It)
Seattle’s Lysol are no more – the group now goes by the name of Fan Club. I don’t know the specific details behind the switch, though it feels safe to say that punks are ill-equipped to skirmish with Big Air Freshener and its many corporate tendrils. Regardless of moniker, this group ripped it up when I saw them in their hometown last year, and this new EP is a fierce consolidation of their manic punk rock sound, five songs that Tokyo Drift on by. The riff technique and recording fidelity both veer towards the garage side of the spectrum, though Fan Club do the right thing by playing these songs way too fast. It’s like they’re going at it with the same intensity as their Olympia neighbors Physique, a physical crasher-crust approach applied to a songwriting sensibility in league with The Saints and Dead Boys. That gives the proceedings an accidental first-wave-hardcore vibe akin to Middle Class’s Out Of Vogue, but tighter and more streamlined and less teenaged overall. That said, the singer of this band also walloped someone in the crowd with a mic stand during their first song and continued to complain about the audience’s lack of physical response through their set’s duration, so don’t expect any pleasantries or proper manners from this crew. Had I been standing in the wrong place, it could’ve easily been my skull that was thumped.

Gino & The Goons Gino & The Goons LP (Slovenly)
This, the sixth(?) full-length from unkillable Florida garage-punk troop Gino & The Goons, offers an intimate look at the group’s gear on the cover, featuring an indoor-sunglasses-wearing Gino standing proud in a shirt that appears to have been swiped from the victim of a fatal stabbing. This group always kinda felt like the nameless dirtbags that Charles Bronson would waste in a pool-hall halfway through one of his Death Wishes, bringing that sort of low-level scum energy that fits the group’s primal garage-punk well. Even if one of The Goons decided to snitch, they’re still about five layers below anyone with any actual responsibility in the criminal organization. As you can tell, I could fantasize about these guys for quite some time – their Stooges riffing, combined with mid-tempo and unschooled drumming, makes any sort of cold alcoholic beverage slightly more meaningful, even if it’s a (clearly right-wing) can of Surfside. I have a penchant for rock songs about guitars, and will happily add “My Guitar Almost Killed Me” to the running playlist that exists only in my head. As an album, not necessarily essential, but as a cultural aesthetic, integral to my personal well-being.

Hannah Holland Last Exit On Bethnal LP (Prah)
London DJ / producer Hannah Holland clearly had a tremendous time with Last Exit On Bethnal, the resulting soundtrack for Lydia Garnett’s film of the same name. Both were crafted as “unapologetically for dykes”, bursting with dark and sensual visions of a mythic nightlife where the sleaze has no limit and the border between pleasure and pain dissolves. Holland approached the task with some appropriately hard-hitting electro, full of sex-club bass-lines, John Carpenter-esque tension, propulsive mid-tempo rhythms and the requisite sampled whips / chains / laughter. The Dominatrix doesn’t sleep tonight, she hangs out in a back alley revving her motorbike (which runs on the spilled blood of her male adversaries). As is common for a soundtrack, these tracks feel aesthetically unified but offer different emotional qualities – I haven’t seen the film, but I can picture “Coming Up” sequenced against a moment of conflict or chaos. Even that paranoid track can’t help but evolve into a throbbing groove of its own, as Holland clearly respects the mission with Garnett to honor underground queer cinema with music that refuses to be sanitized or edited to fit the mainstream gaze. It’s almost a shame that Bandcamp doesn’t request age-verification – you should only be able to access this album by walking up to a neon-lit video-store counter and asking the slimy clerk to buzz you into the smut-cave in back.

Infinity Quartet Infinity Quartet LP (Förlag För Fri Musik)
Managed to sneak in my order for this one mere hours before that stupid-ass tariff-based mail stoppage took effect. It’s an appropriate album for the moment, as Infinity Quartet whip up a wild maelstrom of noise guaranteed to obliterate any earthly concern, or really, any thoughts at all. The quartet are a bit of a Förlag För Fri Musik showcase, featuring Erik Nystrand (Capers), Dan Johansson (Sewer Election), Per Palmqvist (Slow Exit) and David Valleryd (Schakalens Bror) in free-noise blowout mode: electronics, guitar, drums. The room is nice and boomy, sounding like a vacant music hall where one of those early live FMP performances would’ve taken place, and they absolutely destroy in a manner akin to Borbetomagus, Hair Police and Hanatarash. I’m also reminded of that excellent recent-ish double LP from Wasteland Jazz Ensemble, as both groups take the basic concept of full-throttle free-jazz and pursue it via the harshest possible noise sonics. It’s glorious, but the drums really steal the show here… they’re frequently granted space for extended solos which are somehow just as blown-out and corrosive as the harsh electronics. Not sure who was behind the kit, considering I know Valleryd as a guitarist and the other three dudes are known for their table-top noise effects… maybe it’s Johansson? If he ever finds his way into a ‘real’ band, my thoughts and prayers go out to the other members in their efforts to keep up.

Isolationsgemeinschaft Start. Stop. Zurück. LP (Phantom)
Start. Stop. Zurück. is the third album from the extremely German duo of Isolationsgemeinschaft, all of which have been reviewed in these pages (I’m menacingly diligent when it comes to cold-wave). If you told me this group hatched out of a large egg filled with dry ice, sent via time-portal from 1983, I would have no choice to believe you, as their classic cold-wave synth-pop offers few signs that it was created in our current century, let alone decade. Much like their other albums, this one stays the course with no deviation in style and theme, though certainly some deviation of a dark personal nature. For as long as I’ve been going to clubs, goth-wave has been huge, but it somehow feels even bigger than ever, thanks to the younger generations adding Boy Harsher and Molchat Doma tracks to their eyeliner-application TikToks and the widespread availability and affordability of black vinyl PVC clothing (though don’t blame me if that $8.99 pair of pants gives you a rash). Isolationsgemeinschaft don’t seem to have anything particularly new to add to the aesthetic conversation, though I’ll cop to only Google translating a couple of their songs (sung in their native German for added dourness). The people crave content, though, and if you’re wearing out your Void Vision and Xeno & Oaklander records (not to mention your OMD, Human League and Visage classics), there’s nothing preventing you from adding Start. Stop. Zurück. to the stack.

Al Karpenter Greatest Heads LP (Night School)
Basque artist / musician / conceptualist Mattin has a number of useful skills, but I’d like to point out one aspect that isn’t often acknowledged: he is so good at getting people to release his crazy-ass material. Some of his sonic concepts are outrageously unpleasant to experience – I dare you to spend a weekend listening only to Seize The Means Of Complexity and Expanding Concert (Lisboa 2019 – 2023) – yet there always seems to be some punk label, art foundation or noise collective ready to print and sell (or try to sell) his newest offering. That includes Al Karpenter, who is a person named Al Karpenter who’s also part of a band called Al Karpenter (y’know, like Alice Cooper). Mattin has been a crucial element within Karpenter’s work, from contributing guitar and drums to the band’s earliest garage-punk material through to the present day’s deeply unhinged Greatest Heads, released by the reputable Night School label (or, as their logo puts it, NIGSCH HTOOL). One could turn to that label for the finest in underground electronic post-punk and its various relations, so Greatest Heads might come as a shock to fans of Frankie Rose and Molly Nilsson. These songs are fully deconstructed and rearranged with a giddy disregard for cohesion – it’s like a factory-fresh sedan taken apart piece by piece, the various parts stacked in a rickety pile. Certain moments remind me of Sudden Infant’s penchant for unsettling sonic shocks, but then there’s the asthmatic party beat of “Mundo Chabola”, and the ASMR folk of “A Brand New Astraphobia”… we have no choice but to classify Al Karpenter under “unclassifiable”.

Jonathan Kirby This Is Your Song 7″ (Soft Rock For Hard Times)
Jonathan Kirby’s “This Is Your Song” arrives fourth in the Soft Rock For Hard Times series, also its first original composition. They’re not running a charity over there – your freshly-written tune has to stack up against the private-press soft-rock greats for the SRFHT crew to take notice, but one spin of “This Is Your Song” is all it takes to get your arm-hair standing up straight, so captivating is Kirby’s unguarded, after-hours emotion. The story as I understand it is that Kirby wrote and recorded the song late into the night (with his aging dad sleeping in the next room) after meeting a special someone, and you can hear that precious optimism in his rocky vocal melody, which rides alongside a trusty bossa-nova pulse and supple, understated keys. It shares the simmering atmosphere of Schoenherz’s “Sultry Nights”, splayed out on a bearskin rug, all shirts unbuttoned. Call me crazy but Devin Dare’s “Dusk Mix” on the b-side might actually best the original, Dare swapping out the drum machine for a tasteful trip-hop trap-kit, bass-guitar and enthusiastic backing vocals from Vivienne, resulting in an adult-alternative pop groove that could’ve made the jump from Ninja Tune to MTV had it came out in 1998. If coffee shops with big lumpy brown couches and offbeat local art all over the walls still existed, they’d be playing “This Is Your Song” and baristas would be falling in love with each other all over the place.

Jessy Lanza Slapped By My Life 12″ (Hyperdub)
Jessy Lanza wrote “Slapped By My Life” in response to her husband’s chemotherapy treatment, though you wouldn’t know that from listening. Co-produced by Pearson Sound, it’s a fizzy club track ready to peak with confetti cannons and multiple bachelorette parties colliding together. After all, Lanza’s always been a bit more sophisticated than your typical main-stage pop vocalist, but not at the sacrifice of taking big swings in the name of universal satisfaction. The drum programming is fast and intricate, and she maintains her composure even when pogoing on those “miss you when you go (go go go go)” lines, but could Flo Rida bring it into one of his live shows without distressing his middle-of-the-mall audience? He certainly could. I could’ve gone for a couple more tracks like it, but the b-side only offers an “Essential Mix” of the original, chopping up the vocal and maintaining the drums’ frenzied approach in a manner that reminds me of the equally stylishly-modern Cowgirl Clue. Apparently Lanza’s husband loved the track, but how could he not? Laughter as medicine is overrated; a killer beat with a sweetly sighing vocal melody is homeopathic bliss.

Shutaro Noguchi & The Roadhouse Band On The Run LP (Sophomore Lounge / Feeding Tube)
Wait a minute… it’s Shutaro Noguchi with the Roadhouse Band, not Ryan Davis?? Imagine if The E Street Band followed up Live 1975/85 with Max Weinberg on lead vocals, because that seems to be what’s happening here, with Ryan Davis not only complicit in this decision but also as a participating member of The Roadhouse Band. It’s weird to witness an artistic community governed by friendship instead of commerce, isn’t it? Noguchi is clearly the captain of the ship this time around, performing his own original material alongside songs written by Roadhouser Axel Cooper, and taking the Roadhouse Band in a significantly different direction than Davis. Billed as his “farewell” album (Noguchi returned to Japan after twenty years living in these wretched United States), the vibe is communal and convivial, with plenty of lush keys and melodic interplay, a big band with no sharp edges but plenty of places to comfortably lounge. Noguchi’s pop sensibility is retro-chic, music for living rooms with conversation pits, Sottsass ice buckets and Jacobsen Egg chairs, copious piles of coleslaw and Jello served on primary-color plastic trays. These tracks easily get away from Noguchi, with extended exploratory city-pop and psychedelic-lounge fusions, though they’re all relayed with his loving seal of approval. If I ever move out of this country, can I get The Roadhouse Band to back me up too??

No Peeling No Peeling 7″ (Feel It)
Feel It has enough colorful zany punk bands on its roster to fully populate a children’s television network at this point. Like Artificial Go and Self Improvement, No Peeling also feature bouncy femme vocals with a British accent, though unlike those other two, No Peeling actually reside over there in the UK (Nottingham, to be precise). They go pretty hard on this seven-song debut EP: you wouldn’t be wrong for filing it under Suburban Lawns-inspired egg-punk, though their manic energy, oddball synth bloops and abrupt endings point to wilder, woolier zones. The synths are distorto 8-bit in a way that reminds me of Neon Hunk, and now that you’re reading me saying it, try to make it through all of this self-titled EP without thinking of Melt Banana at least once. Even with those scratchy, sniffy predilections, there’s a pop tunefulness to the vocals and a holographic-print new-wave penchant for hooks that even the most scatterbrained rhythmic change can’t refute. “Can I Pet That Dog?” deserves the splendidly crappy-on-purpose music video made for it – it’s the hit – but I’m just as drawn to “Bank Holiday”, which blends the mania of a crowded tube station with the thrill of avoiding tides of jellyfish at the beach. Pretty sure the vocalist rhymes something with “Sephora” on that one, though it whizzes by in under a minute, and if you were able to focus on any one element of No Peeling’s maximal glo-wave, I’d love to know how you did it.

Nourished By Time The Passionate Ones LP (XL)
Can we agree that Baltimore rules? I dunno what it is exactly, because lots of places have that gritty “underdog spirit” happening, but Baltimore has always treated me right through the years (except for that one bodega where I asked for a Snickers only to see multiple mice playing around in the bulletproof plastic wall from which it was procured), with an extremely high per-capita rate of thrillingly singular artists. John Waters is the city’s icon that’s printed on their promotional mugs and t-shirts, you know? Anyway, that’s a long-winded intro to get you hyped for Nourished By Time, a new Baltimore artist whose big-time XL album is doing wonders for my soul. I like that it’s basically just one guy (Marcus Brown), but he has a grammatically awkward beatdown-hardcore-style band name (like Result Of Choice or Pain Of Truth), and his songs are unabashedly new jack swing updated for today’s Fader-friendly audiences who listen to acid trance, Japanese city-pop and kraut-rock with equal enthusiasm. Nourished By Time fits into pop R&B (and house, and electro, and Mount Kimbie-esque post-punk), but with a free-wheeling style, mostly in service to Brown’s stand-out vocals. He switches like every tenth vowel to a British accent, otherwise tending to enunciate with his tongue down in a style somewhere between RuPaul and Eddie Vedder, with the amazing ability to hit every note directly on its head. He’s a star! Maybe Autre Ne Veut is a good comparison, ie. sideways R&B that is catchy as all hell, only Brown’s voice is remarkably excellent, not just remarkably strange. “Max Potential” and “Automatic Love” are huge tunes, plus he’s got the charisma to flip a song called “Idiot In The Park” into a heartstring-tugger full of its own weird prismatic beauty. Love it I love it I do!

Marianne Nowottny Marzanna LP (Abaton Book Company)
Of all the records reviewed this month, Marianne Nowottny’s Marzanna is the lucky odd one out, though I get the impression she’s perfectly comfortable with not fitting in. If I’m understanding things right, “Marzanna” is Marianne Nowottny’s alter-ego, but it’s also the album title, and an alter-ego that… covers songs by David Bowie, Billie Holiday, The Beatles and Kate Bush. Oh, and Einstürzende Neubauten and Klaus Nomi, too. See what I mean? This has all the markings of a pop-obsessed kook who doesn’t play by the rules, whose self-finagled records either get dumped in a thrift store and forgotten for all eternity or dumped in a thrift store and discovered decades later, becoming highly-coveted collector’s items in the process. In that way, I’d file Marzanna next to Jandek and Lewis, but also next to Kevin Koplar (see April’s reviews) or anyone in one of those “American Idol Weird Contestants & Auditions” YouTube videos, fans of popular music whose personal artistic interpretations will never be taken seriously by the corporate mainstream. Her overly emotive vocal delivery and dramatic musical arrangements fits the likes of Kate Bush and David Bowie’s mystical presences, though I could just as easily picture Marzanna on The Gong Show, Rip Taylor making a funny face as Faye Dunaway gongs her off. It’s an album of determination and self-belief, and no matter who listens or doesn’t, Nowottny succeeded the moment she released Marzanna (and Marzanna) unto the world.

Nuke Watch Grave New World LP (Post Present Medium)
“Nuke Watch’s new album, Grave New World, is their tenth since beginning the project in 2020.” When you’re hot, you’re hot, I suppose, as the duo of Chris Hontos and Aaron Anderson have located a Wolf Eyes-circa-2008 prolificness with their project of abstracted fourth-world improvisations. This new album shares the title of everyone’s least favorite Discharge record, and it’s broken into nine individual tracks, though I often miss when one ends and another begins. Perhaps I’m not listening too hard, but it’s also probably because of the nature of the music itself: a dizzying, hallucinatory flow of pitched percussion and wind instruments (both organic and MIDI) performing unexplained jazz-fusion experiments. From the effects processing, familiar sounds frequently morph into the uncanny, giving me visions of Marshall Allen playing his EVI while seated atop a pink elephant strutting across one of Saturn’s rings. I appreciate when they go a little mellower, like the jazzy, Sam Gendel-esque “Time Against Mind”, though Nuke Watch seem to be at their peak when caught up in cascades of sound from all angles, an aesthetic approach (if not genre match) that reminds me of Edan’s brilliant Echo Party. Easily the most fun you’ll have awaiting mutually-assured destruction all year.

Ramleh Hyper Vigilance 2xLP (Sleeping Giant Glossolalia)
Kinda feel like Sleeping Giant should start a “Legends” series, what with that recent Bastard Noise split LP and now this newest full-length from UK industrial-noise pioneers Ramleh. It doesn’t seem that Ramleh have ever really “broken up” since their early ’80s inception, but they do like to take reasonable breaks, which I respect. Hyper Vigilance is the group in technologically-enhanced power-trio mode, with Stuart Dennison on drums, Gary Mundy on guitar and Anthony Di Franco on bass and synth, the latter two sharing vocal duties. With a crisp studio recording – even the harsher sonics that open “New National Anthem” are more soothing than grating – the trio look towards greying skies on these thunderous goth-rock epics. If it wasn’t for the persistent martial drumming and lack of startling spoken-word samples, I could be convinced that I’m hearing some unreleased Godspeed You! Black Emperor at times. There’s no break in Ramleh’s ominous atmosphere, that’s for sure – you turn the corner past one crumbling cement building only to be met with a post-punk dust-cloud charging straight for you. These tracks are long, which allow for moments of relative tranquility amidst surging build-ups and frightening climaxes, long stretches of instrumental extrapolating and staunch, militaristic chanting, forebodingly occult in a secular way. I can’t say you’ll feel particularly hopeful about the future of our world after listening to all four sides here, but there’s a good chance you might feel newly cleansed, a goth-industrial Ice Bucket Challenge of the soul.

Sacrifice Tears LP (Bitter Lake Recordings)
Bitter Lake Recordings reissued Sacrifice’s Total Steel in an elegant vinyl pressing back in 2020, and now the same treatment has been given to the Japanese metal band’s final album, Tears, originally a CD-only release from 1992. When it comes to reissue labels that dig deep into the annals of barely-known and unheralded underground music, I like to extend some grace when it comes to judging the music against the well-known and celebrated. Those K2 reissues that Bitter Lake just did sound great, for example, but the context helps makes them intriguing documents. Sacrifice’s Tears, on the other hand, requires no explanation or in-depth frame of reference to enjoy – this is bulldozer, moshworthy thrash metal operating at peak levels. I find myself frequently reminded of Iron Age’s modern classic The Sleeping Eye in the way that the riffs crush with restrained complexity, as if they all took a big swig of Cro-Mags-brand protein enhancer before sitting down to write. You get the sense that each member could physically crush their respective instrument in their bare hands, but instead of doing so, they simply flex hard on tracks like “Broken Heroes”, a memorable highlight of Tears. Even the faster, upbeat songs are heavy in a way that can’t be fabricated, like Attacker and Destruction if they actually attacked and destructed. Don’t look at yourself in the mirror if you’ve only listened to Tears once – it’s gonna take a few spins for those physical gains to start showing.

Snarewaves DIY 7″ flexi (no label)
Less than ever is needed to be a band – just like those AI-slop producers from Bangladesh who manage to upload thousands of Facebook videos per day through outdated flip-phones, Snarewaves has found a low-performance, high-yield method with their particular brand of egg-punk. Take for instance this white plastic sheet, which bears the grooves of four Snarewaves songs on one side. You could also get to know the group by logging onto the official Snarewaves website, which features a unique smiley-face cursor, a website hit-counter and multiple band logos, unclickable and apparently just there to admire. Visually, it hearkens back to a pre-social-media / pre-politicized form of internet brain-rot, a peaceful time of pointless personal websites overloaded with browser-crashing animated GIFs. Sonically, it sounds like a Coneheads side-project if you muted everything but the guitar (which you cranked all the way up), with vocals and snare-drum bleeding low through the four-track mix. The riffs are speedy and interesting enough to stand on their own, which is good because it is practically as guitar-centered a record as Phase 3: Thrones And Dominions, just on the exact opposite end of the drug spectrum. It buzzes by in a jiff, which is wise as a full album of these subtle variations on a theme may demoralize the listener. By themselves, these four songs are as rejuvenating as a handful of jalapẽno-flavored pop-rocks.

Splizz Splizz 12″ (Phantom)
If you want to hear some deeply unhappy post-punk, why not go straight to the source: Berlin! Splizz are new and ready to keep your frown upside-down with their head-bobbing death-rock. They go the chorus-pedal route, opting out of traditional distortion in favor of queasy chords, cymbal-averse / tom-heavy drumming and a singer who sounds like a drowned woman who recently crawled out of her watery grave only to terrorize the local townsfolk who previously ignored her desperate pleas. Imagine The Cure on Zickzack in 1982, but with any of the intriguing or idiosyncratic angles that might imply sanded down into typical genre fare, right down to the eyeliner (applied at a traditional forty-five degree angle). Considering the vast quantity of music that’s currently being pumped out that sounds like this, there has to be a significant audience eager to receive it, but my tolerance for unexceptional gothy post-punk acts started low and hasn’t gotten any higher. Maybe I just need to hang out with different people. At the very least, Splizz could’ve amused me by calling the album Energie or Athletico Splizz 80 but I had to come up with those all by myself. I realize fun is probably not the point here, but then what is?

Steröid Chainmail Commandos LP (Crypt Of The Wizard)
I hate to be the one to share the news… egg-punk and NWOBHM have mated. Scientists weren’t certain it was possible, what with their different reproductive biologies, but Steröid is living proof of this illicit union. Yet another solo-project-turned-live-band, Steröid is the spawn of one Gordo Blackers – he used to play in Gee Tee, and if I’m understanding it correctly, there’s some personnel overlap here with RMFC’s live formation as well. That explains the predilection for all the tiny-sounding guitars that whizz along to the artificial-sounding drumming full of precise fills and speedy hi-hats. It might also explain the decision to go with cartoon-squirrel vocals, surely to be the most controversial of Steröid’s brash aesthetic choices. The vocals do a fine job of emasculating the sort of warrior vest / leather codpiece attitudes that usually come with guitar riffs such as these, but I’m not sure to what end… it’s cool to hear Tank and Maiden riffs subverted and undermined of their typical context, but Steröid fully infantilize the vibe in the process, too. Chalk it up to the endless nerdification of any / all subcultures, where the loudest geeks in the room seem to get their way, or more charitably, some garage-punk jokers seeing how firmly they can connect two unrelated styles that share an appreciation of larger-than-life personas and make-believe imagery.

Tutu Ta Violence Or Violets EP 12″ (Long Gone Are The Old Traditions)
A variety of distinctly British elements are at play here with Tutu Ta’s newest EP, but don’t worry – nary a banger or mash in sight. The West London producer / vocalist maintains a confident swagger across these four contrasting tunes, produced like club tracks but clocking in at concise, playlist-friendly run-times. The title track is a serpentine dub, Ta’s vocals recalling the dearly departed Spaceape as it chugs like a dying turntable playing a Green Velvet record at half the speed. “The Hills” would be overtly sinister if it wasn’t for Ta’s animated singing, coming across like Alan Abrahams’s vocal tracks with Portable had he raided the Robitussin closet. “Samurai Igloo” picks up the pace with an instrumental dubstepping beat, and “Seen Better Days” is the potential single, a post-punk-minded take on modern electronic pop (ala King Krule’s Mount Kimbie guest spot “Blue Train Lines”), complete with the most British pronunciation of the word “weather” I’ve ever heard (typing out whevough doesn’t do it justice). Cool ideas, though it feels like Tutu Ta is still in the refinement and development stages, not quite ready for the Hyperdub contract yet… but maybe that’s one of the long-gone old traditions?

Triumph Of Lethargy Skinned Alive To Death Million Sellers LP (25 Diamonds)
It’s not a band name you can easily forget, so I can say with certainty that I had no idea this Seattle group comprised of ex-Murder City Devils and Area 51 personnel existed back in the ’00s. As far as recorded material goes, it seems they were pretty active in their day, and as far as a posthumous introduction is concerned, Millon Sellers provides a nice overview of a band that remains difficult to pin down. They seemed to operate in the loose, open space that followed emo’s late-’90s metamorphosis into screamo but was very much not screamo. If anyone were to transcribe the music of Triumph Of Lethargy, it wouldn’t look like much on paper, as they seemed most interested in communicating surges of stilted emotion in an unfiltered manner, without any dazzling melodies to possibly interfere. That’s what enables a track like the five-minute “Big Bed” to resemble a collaboration between I Hate Myself and The Dead C. They also like to plink and plonk on the guitars in a way that reminds me of early Modest Mouse (whose Dann Gallucci was a member of both groups!), sometimes hitting V3-levels of indie-pression. Seattle has always been a safe-space for dreary thoughts, but this group wasn’t afraid to make the listener work a little, whether by holding strong through intentionally sparse passages or keeping one’s cool through uncomfortable emotional outbursts. Like one of Kurt Cobain’s cheap mohair cardigans, it’s worth the discomfort.

We Were Living In Cincinnati Vol. 2 compilation LP (HoZac)
“Punk And Underground Sounds From Ohio’s Queen City (1982-1988)” is the subtitle to this second volume of oddball Cincinnati punk and new-wave acts, and it’s not foolin’! Feel It Records may be heralding the current Cincinnati renaissance, but this weird little city has proven to be fertile ground for generations of outcast rock n’ roll, as evidenced by this being the second of HoZac’s Cincinnati collections. Eighteen bands are showcased here, one track a piece with the exception of BPA who appear with “No Heat” on the first side and “Bus” on the second. My tastes lean towards the faster, harder and maladroit, so of course the teen straight-edgers Sluggo are nice to hear, as are Mexican Pig Torture’s “I Love Kmart” and SS-20’s “More Government Now”, both tracks soaked in goony sarcasm. The sounds are generally diverse though, with skinny-tie bands butting up against snarling folk-rock, harder-edged bad-attitude-rock and goofy pranksters. With no concerns of ever obtaining one of those big New York or Los Angeles record deals, these bands worked hard to amuse themselves, and if possible, their local audiences too. I’m not trying to live on Memory Lane, but We Were Living In Cincinnati Vol. 2 is a fun regional time capsule.

What’s For Breakfast? Vol. 1 compilation 7″ (What’s For Breakfast?)
What’s For Breakfast? delivers some harmless fun here with a locals-only comp EP: four Chicago bands delivering four self-titled tracks. I’ve always admired the concept of songs that share the name of the band (though have never been bold enough to pull the trigger on one myself), and it seems like enough of an enticement to check out some bands that might have otherwise flown under the radar. Watermelon acronymize themselves with “W.A.T.E.R.M.E.L.O.N.”, a buzzy chant-along pop-punk tune that doesn’t actually spell anything out, much to my disappointment. Nightfreak squawk their name under the influence of a Motörhead-y “punk goes metal” style, and Doomzday Slutz step in some cheese, their pop-metal pushing into parody territory. 96 Cougar get serious with some twangy garage-pop, and before you know it, it’s time to turn on the house lights, clean up and go home. While I can’t imagine any of these bands will catch on with a worldwide audience, that’s not the point of every band, nor is it the only noble goal to pursue. Maroon 5 and Cage The Elephant are celebrated worldwide, but we all know they are completely worthless. The moral of the story is to go out and meet some people and have a good time, even if you encounter a Doomzday Slut every once in a while.

Bastard Noise / Oldest split LP (Sleeping Giant Glossolalia)
As humanity continues to do the exact opposite of learn from its lessons, Bastard Noise continues to shriek in the endless night, a skeletal finger pointing towards the doomsday clock. Of all the hardcore archeology that has taken place over the last ten, twenty years, it’s killing me that an officially-sanctioned Man Is The Bastard book doesn’t yet exist, but until that eventuality, it’s great to check in with Eric Wood’s prolific Bastard Noise output, whose sounds and styles vary far greater than the name implies. “Intermittent Burial Grounds Of Retention” is their sole track here, and it’s Bastard Noise in post-dystopian wasteland drone mode, the sound of soot-filled winds whipping through the skeletal remains of CVS and Walmart. Here, Wood vocalizes in one of his more avian techniques, screaming his fearsome admonitions. A moment of wild improvised noise eventually disturbs the sinister tranquility before the track concludes with a comatose pulse and a chorus of dark angels. We’re in bad shape as a species, aren’t we? Flip it over for Oldest, the intriguing duo of Orthrelm guitar virtuoso Mick Barr and the leading hardcore-punk chef of our time, Brooks Headley, on drums. Barr’s been into the whole blackened/thrashened metal thing for a minute now, and that seems to be the basic aesthetic here, albeit with plenty of Barr’s trademarked discordant speed-picking on display. They even cover Man Is The Bastard’s “Combat Weed”, because one can never Serve The Skull enough, but not before having a little fun with a cooking-show-based voicemail on “The Rant”. Eric Wood-curated Superiority Burger menu when?

Michael Beach Big Black Plume LP (Goner)
Michael Beach has been in his feelings lately – haven’t we all – and he channels that contemplative energy by sitting up straight in front of his piano, his fingers expressing what his words cannot. It wasn’t so long ago that people would just commonly have these big things in their houses, sitting there ready to be played, and though Beach hasn’t forsaken his first love (the guitar), Big Black Plume is piano-centric in that vintage way, with a talented cast of players ready to help turn a small kernel of a musical idea into a grand swirling gesture. I’m talking Mick Turner on guitar, and both Utrillo Kushner and Joe Talia on drums, though not simultaneously – can you imagine how jealous Water Damage would be? Beach’s songs are timeless, beautifully scuffed-up diamonds, sounding like he should’ve brought his band out on Martin Scorcese’s The Last Waltz, though if Beach were even alive at the time, it’s unlikely that his boogers had quite as much cocaine as Neil Young’s. It’s wild that there are still so many commercial rock stations all across the United States, and even though they’ll play “Dream On” and “Stairway To Heaven” once an hour, the only modern stuff they play is Halestorm, The Struts and Seether, crap no one wants or needs. It’s downright criminal that more ears aren’t hearing these songs, considering how widely and thoroughly they could be enjoyed, but what isn’t criminal these days?

Moses Brown Stone Upon Stone LP (Post Present Medium)
Institute vocalist Moses Brown has been working overtime in these post-pandemic years, releasing not only Institute’s fourth album but two full-lengths under his glammy post-punk Peace De Résistance moniker and now this, his first release under the name on his driver’s license. Brown seems to value a lot of the same things I do in music – roughness, simplicity, erudition without pretense, humorous ideas presented seriously – and while Stone Upon Stone is certainly an outlier in his discography, that sensibility remains. Primarily a vocalist, Brown is letting his melodic arrangements do the talking on this ten-song instrumental suite, based around a mellotron and the classic EMS VCS3 synthesizer. It’s like DIY post-punk elevator music, layered compositions of retro-sounding keys played tastefully, melodies that commit a sense of longing, perhaps nostalgic for a time that wasn’t particularly happy. The press release compares Stone Upon Stone to Philip Glass, though that’d be like me comparing my defense in the paint to Dennis Rodman – the charm lies in Brown’s gusto, tackling minimalist composition with an ear for interesting sounds (all those exorbitant strings in “Taking Out The Trash”) and without formal conservatorial training. My favorite cut might actually be the sole bass and guitar tune, “Steel I-Beams”, reminiscent of G.B. Beckers’ Walkman with a similar sense of far-flung tranquility. It’s unclear if the point was to unclog Brown’s emotional pipelines or flex his compositional muscles, but it seems he managed to do both.

Brözerker Stay Rad! 12″ (Tor Johnson)
Tell me this doesn’t sound like a hallucinatory AI response to a prompt for a flipped-brim thrash-redux supergroup: “Municipal Waste + The Beach Boys + Suicidal Tendencies + Mötley Crüe = Brözerker, featuring members of: Stretch Arm Strong, Wretched and Guyana Punch Line”. That’s what the sticker says on the cover of Brözerker’s debut one-sided twelve-inch, and I still can’t believe any of it is serious or real. Reality is nothing if not unreal at this point, so let’s assume someone actually thinks Stay Rad! sounds like that aforementioned mix of bands, and that it somehow features someone from Italian hardcore legends Wretched in its ranks. Or not… wouldn’t be the first time I was duped by wacky thrash! Mercifully, Brözerker generally sticks to hardcore / punk / thrash influences, which ends up sounding like a godforsaken mash-up of Iron Reagan, NOFX, Attack Attack! and Deaf Club in their clutches. Unless the members of Stretch Arm Strong, Wretched and Guyana Punch Line recruited a teenager to write the lyrics, I’m amazed that their songs about surfing, drinking beer, drinking more beer and skating were written in earnest by middled-aged men – “I Just Wanna” is so developmentally stunted that it rival’s Blink 182’s prose. There’s probably some tiny town in Southern California or on the Virginia coastline still frozen in 2001, where skateboarding skeletons, keg parties, ironic heavy-metal appreciation and Jackass are fresh and exciting aesthetic concepts, and I’m issuing Brözerker instructions to take my corpse there and drop me into the half-pipe with an alien-face bong immediately upon my death.

Copiers Third LP (Future Heart Works)
I’ll give you one guess as to the number of full-lengths this brings Copiers up to! The Louisville-based group released their first album in the ill-fated year of 2020, and they have been coming together on infrequent occasions since. They play occasional shows locally, seemingly focused on writing their complex (but not prog-rock complex) instrumental rock songs in private, recording them in a studio setting, and moving on. In line with the way post-punky, neo-krauty rock music generally works, the bassist carries the melody in repetitive motifs, the drums find an interesting way to support it, and the guitars and synths play footsy alongside, both given freer range than their rhythmic counterparts. It’s art-rock in a decipherable way, math-rock at a college-prep level, post-hardcore that seems perfectly content to forget about hardcore entirely. Pleasant and interesting music to be sure, even if they never take any big swings, push any envelopes or freak out anyone but the most conservative of squares. It’s gotta be kind of a tough sell in today’s musical landscape, this band that doesn’t tour or push the needle forward or even bother with a singer that’s looking for a sliver of the already ruthlessly-pursued attention span of a prospective listener, so unless they have a sizable extended social network with plenty of disposable income, I can’t imagine many copies of Third are flying out the door. I suppose that just makes it all the more special for the determined few who choose to bring this album into their lives.

Dana Clean Living LP (no label)
Gonna hope that the basis for Dana self-releasing their newest album Clean Living was an intentional act and not simply due to a lack of other options. It’s getting hard out there – with the exception of like half a dozen full-time-doin’-it underground imprints, the playing field is sadly sparse in 2025, though the factors that conspire against the prolonged existence of non-reissue DIY punk record labels continue to increase in number and severity. I say all this because Dana is one cool-ass group outta Columbus, Ohio, and you’d think (or at least hope) that some fanatic with two grand in his/her/their pocket would want to throw it at a record like this one. Clean Living is fired-up and wiggly, taking inspiration from various eras of dance-punk but delivering the goods with an overt aggression that avoids tipping into modes of spastic freakout or cliché. Vocalist Madeline Jackson also plays the theremin, and while she’s undeniably kooky by typical office-worker standards, there’s a steely coolness to these songs that is lacking in much of the day-glo-colored neo-no-wave realm. You can think of Suburban Lawns and Devo with regard to Dana, but you should also think of The Stooges and Royal Trux and like, Jayne County & The Electric Chairs, for cryin’ out loud. They certainly could’ve opened for Pere Ubu at any time in Pere Ubu’s lengthy existence, and they wouldn’t have even had to drive very far! If there was a collaborative sub-label between Skin Graft and Goner, Dana would be a perfect fit, but until that comes to pass, I’m glad that they took it upon themselves to ensure the world has a chance to hear “R U Dead?” and “7 Years Bad Coke” regardless of outside benefactors. If Brian Turner doesn’t play one of those on his show I’m gonna send him a sternly-worded email.

Ryan Davis & The Roadhouse Band New Threats From The Soul 2xLP (Sophomore Lounge)
Known as Mr. Cool Lyrics around these parts, Ryan Davis and his trusty Roadhouse Band seem to have gotten the shine they so rightly deserve with New Threats From The Soul. When they released Dancing On The Edge back in 2023, I was one of only a couple folks chattering publicly about the tender skills of Davis and co., and now I’m probably 100th in line to sing the praises of New Threats From The Soul, thanks to a savvy opening slot on an MJ Lenderman tour and the falling-domino hive-mind of whatever counts as our contemporary music-crit sphere. If anything, it’s wild that it took the world this long to notice, as what Davis is doing (and has been doing) is incredibly easy to enjoy: melodic indie-Americana from a road-tested ensemble of players with a kindhearted singing voice and endless reams of memorable one-liners, outrageous metaphors and hilarious punchlines. (Unlike everywhere else, I won’t quote any here – if you choose to listen, you’ll quickly find your own personal favorites.) It hits the sweet spot of today’s Spotify-poisoned audiences who just want music to throw on and politely ignore as well as agoraphobic music nerds who thrive by closely listening to and dissecting every last strum and syllable. That’s a lot of context for this record, so I should mention that none of it is necessary to enjoy New Threats From The Soul. The songs are long, the sonic flourishes are inspired (string sections, acid synths, Clavinet, sticky-sweet pedal steel, Jim Marlowe!), and the heart is bursting from its hand-stitched confines, resolute and self-assured no matter if this music’s only heard by Davis’s closest friends or praised in the pages of The New Yorker and The Wall Street Journal. Oh and most prestigiously, Yellow Green Red too.

Dragnet Dragnet Reigns LP (Spoilsport)
Much like the television show of the same name, Dragnet keep their tongue planted firmly in their cheek. Theirs is a fairly impenetrable layer of irony/sarcasm, but I chuckled at the large “autograph panel” on the front cover, and a good chuckle is what counts, right? Led by Jack Cherry (also of Vintage Crop), the group plays a caffeinated form of poppy post-punk, too polished to be egg-punk, too straight-laced to be Guerilla Toss and too sardonic to be Eddy Current but clearly in musical conversation with all three. Cherry’s vocal delivery is uncomfortably friendly, delivered with the tonal register of a game-show host, a sort of mutually-understood phoniness presumably to be received as commentary on this wacky world we live in. Those who like that sort of abrasively-deadpan style might love Dragnet, and those who don’t, well, there’s always Motörhead. There’s also the sense that Dragnet don’t mind if someone thinks a certain dance-move or guitar-lick of theirs is corny or uncool – they’re similar to Parquet Courts in that way, handling themselves with a sort of self-assured nerdiness that, in my experience, can sprout from attending ska shows as an impressionable teenager. It’s not all big plastic smiles, though: “Shadowboard” takes aim at some of Melbourne’s high-falootin’ wannabes by driving its beat-up hatchback directly into the club, the specificity of its lyrics knocking some deserving sucker down a few pegs with glee. Call me a busybody but it’s my favorite song here.

Easy Sevens Guitar Music LP (Listening House)
But what kinda guitar music?? A lot of different people have done a lot of different things with the guitar, but Will Boone takes it all the way country, to a fake-nostalgic land of proud men who work hard, get dirty, and fall asleep drunk, often all in the same unchanged pair of jeans. Boone seems to have some sort of personal relation with the wildly popular internet clothier Online Ceramics, and I can sniff out some of the same modern-hipster rinsing of classic Americana, in that both entities know how to focus on the aesthetic aspects that remain appealing while ditching those that aged poorly – case in point, there isn’t a single overtly racist or sexist song on Guitar Music, you’ll be pleased to know. Feels like Guitar Music would’ve been a great fit for the Sophomore Lounge label, the current leading arbiters of folksy, throwback, rough n’ ready, underground country music, as Easy Sevens hits similar highs, easy breezy songs about being down and out and loving it. Opener “Like A Dog” sounds like it was recorded in the shed out back and it hooks you in with a line about how he feels “like yesterday’s paper left out in the rain”. About as charming as a countrified white-boy can get in 2025, and unlike fellow sonic travelers Animal Piss It’s Everywhere, you can actually wear an Easy Sevens t-shirt in public, even to church on Sunday if you sit in the back.

Editrix The Big E LP (Joyful Noise)
Wendy Eisenberg ranks among today’s gifted guitarist elite, a versatile player comfortable with whatever style she calls upon. That could mean avant-garde Americana on her own, as part of Bill Orcutt’s Guitar Quartet, and as the leader of Editrix, a functional power-trio with Steve Cameron on bass and Josh Daniel on drums (four first names between the two of them!). They operate firmly within the confines of rock, but in the way that a child operates within the confines of an inflatable bounce-house, leaping from wall to floor to fall in unpredictable patterns. In that way, Editrix calls to mind Minutemen and Deerhoof, aggro-rock that has yet to switch over to prog-rock pronouns. I’m also reminded of one of my unsung turn-of-the-century favorites, The Party Of Helicopters, by the way in which spark-flying guitar-theatrics are unleashed over propulsive, off-kilter rhythms, all with a vocalist who melodically coasts over top, unwilling to tangle with the music’s craggy terrain. Traditional emo fans will probably be able to sink their teeth into The Big E as well, seeing as its a known fact that emo kids are generally good at math, and the album doesn’t hide its pop tendencies and emotional vulnerabilities. Algebraic formulas can’t break your heart, but “No” might – it somehow bridges the chasm between Mitski and Mastodon.

Giulio Erasmus & The End Of The Worm Hard Sell LP (Disques De La Spirale)
We’re always welcoming new transmissions from Giulio Erasmus, who probably isn’t dying to advertise to people that he’s the son of Alan Erasmus, seeing as we’re in a time of cultural distaste towards anyone lucky enough to inherit wealth, prestige or fame from their parents, but whatever, it’s cool, he’s safe here! I’d happily join the anti-nepo chorus and point some fingers in Giulio Erasmus’s direction if his music wasn’t up to snuff, but his take on fractured, dubby post-punk is tops regardless of genetic pedigree. Along with his group The End Of The Worm, he brews up a bunch of tracks here, sometimes coming across as vignettes, other times clearly to be taken as hook-based songs. When the electronic drums, chubby bass-lines and outré effects are loosely in place, I’m reminded of those earliest Anika records if she simply wandered into some uninhabitable terrain (desert, jungle, mountain range) and never came back – how else to explain “Far And Thin”, a neon web of cowbells, plucked strings and electronic moans that bears no resemblance to Earthly behavior. I’m also reminded that I need to spend more time with that crazy-that-it-happened collaboration between Sun Araw and The Congos from 2012, as much of Hard Sell shares that psychedelic-dub feel of time dripping, syrup-like, through your fingers onto the linoleum kitchen floor. You can’t even trust a song title like “Bombast”: in Erasmus’s hands, the concept is less explosive and more like being stuck in a sweltering elevator, its ASMR voices daring you to jump and see what happens.

Fleas Of Mercy The 8th Of May LP (Stucco)
Few keep Austin as weird as the Stucco label, bringing the non-conformist vibes of its Olympia, WA origins to the *venture-capitalist zombie voice* “Live Music Capital of the World”. Stucco like both styles of music, hardcore-punk and not hardcore-punk, of which Fleas Of Mercy falls into the latter. And this record absolutely rules! I’m hearing stumble-clatter DIY pop akin to XV’s On The Creekbeds On The Thrones if it was executively produced by Honey Bane and she threw out all the fast songs, or one of those worst-selling Flying Nun records that now commands the highest collector prices. Fleas Of Mercy is one Lynsey Robertson, but it sounds like a band to me, with a guitar strumming entry-level chords, a flimsy bass-guitar and a variety of unorthodox sounds used for percussive and dramatic effects. When the notes are slightly off, the music falls into a dark hole redolent of This Kind Of Punishment, which, for my enjoyment and yours, happens frequently. But it also still feels undeniably punk, perhaps mostly in spirit, but also in the fearlessness and ingenuity of songwriting, from the jarring, must-hear “Angels” to the brief, Death In June-esque segue of “Dirge”. Moody, beautiful, unrestrained music from start to finish, limited to one hundred vinyl copies with the weirdly-printed sleeve and inserts that such a work demands. In case I need to spell it out: strongly recommended!

Giglinger Shrapnel 7″ (no label)
Did you know that Giglinger has been out there in Finland putting out their own seven-inch records since 1997? Me neither! The world is full of surprises, many of which exist outside of the trending topics of the day… it’s nice to be reminded of the unknowable vastness of all the music that is happening on our planet, even if much of it isn’t necessarily interesting. I’d probably have to say as much for Giglinger’s Shrapnel EP, as the group plays a very fundamental form of grungy punk rock, probably more likely to be used as evidence of the “punk is dead” argument than its opposing viewpoint. “The Man With Shrapnel In His Head” repeats its one basic idea with radio-static vocals and a surfy guitar solo (which must be why they refer to it as Dead Kennedys-like in the promo sheet). “Born Dead Buried Alive” is basically the same thing with some slight riff modifications, equally as uninspired in both sound and structure. Strangely, the b-side features two short “edits” of those songs, in case you wanted to hear these two songs in shortened form for some reason? Most interesting to me is how digital the whole thing sounds, punk that was born and raised inside GarageBand, complete with extremely fake-sounding drums (though credited to a presumable human named Jimi). Is it possible that all of his cymbal hits are that precisely uniform in sound and resonance, or is “Jimi” as much of a masquerade as Snowy Shaw on King Diamond’s classic drum-programmed The Eye? Release the footage of Jimi playing the damn drums if you want us to believe.

God’s Hand Gift Of Flowers / Remodelled 7″ (Hard Art / Illuminati)
Manicured with a clear protective topcoat and sporting bristly white knuckle hair, here’s God’s Hand! This intriguing debut single comes from the alleged locale of Iowa City, but then how do you explain the rabid Cockney accent heard on “Gift Of Flowers”? It sounds like a PiL record played at 45 instead of 33, flailing in a pre-grunge noise-rock sorta way. Killing Joke, perhaps? However you wanna slice it, it’s lots of fun, and I love imagining a live rendition reverberating down an Iowa City alley, spooking the squares who are hustling past to catch the previews before the latest Marvel feature film. “Remodelled” is gloriously spelled wrong, which of course means it might actually be spelled correctly in the Queen’s English, and it opts for a more straightforwardly punk approach. The melody is barely more than two of the most popular music notes of all-time alternated back and forth, which of course is a fine way to be punk, and the vocalist, though more tuneful and restrained than on “Gift Of Flowers”, still shouts in an un-American accent. And what’s this – the seven-inch vinyl itself bears a copyright statement to confirm that it was manufactured in Great Britain? Why?? If there’s a secret underground tunnel linking Iowa City and Shoreditch, fold me into the next available pneumatic tube, please.

Golomb The Beat Goes On LP (No Quarter)
Golomb pulls off the impossible with their debut full-length – they present guitar-centric indie-rock as a vibrant, exciting, youthful affair in 2025! Our current era is dominated by ’90s dinosaurs politely running through their alt-rock hits for similarly greying audiences, so an album like The Beat Goes On is a necessary corrective, a reminder that there are plenty of good times to be had without the cushy reassurance of nostalgia. (In that way, it’s similar to Lifeguard, sans the emo/core influences.) This Columbus trio are immediately appealing – I first encountered them in person, unloading gear from their car into a club, and they even managed to be charming in this basic act of band drudgery (and later in the evening, thrilling on stage). Golomb’s style is very much indebted to the old-timers I’m throwing shade at, your Breeders, Superdrag, Lemonheads, Fountains Of friggin’ Wayne, etc., and their take on this Matador-cosigned form of quintessential indie-rock is inspired and super fun. Rather than settle into a formula, their songs vary in tempo, texture, style and delivery, which has me wondering if all three band members aren’t contributing to the songwriting or if one of them is truly this multifaceted. “Play Music” is pure “Range Life”-y Pavement; “Staring” bounces like The Apples In Stereo; “Real Power” is like the Velvet Underground wearing Kurt Vile’s crusty flannels. It’s easy to claim any one of these tracks as your favorite, but The Beat Goes On rolls on so happily and freely that there’s no reason to choose.

John Grant Richard Sen Remixes 12″ (Darkness Is Your Candle)
John Grant deserves a better fan than me – I seem to keep forgetting that he exists, and whenever I stumble back upon his music, I’m always a little stunned to remember that he totally rules. The singer-songwriter has been belting out his hilariously dry pop songs for many years now, all with the big-medium-money backing of Bella Union, and yet this new EP of techno remixes by Richard Sen is what it took to remind me most recently of his lyrical and vocal potency. Grant’s voice is lush, well-trained and thrillingly grand, like if Anohni had a show-tune obsessed brother who shared her razor wit and flair for the dramatic. Grant delivers shocking insults and crude jokes with the purr of a handsome panther, and a couple of exceptional examples from 2015’s Grey Tickles, Black Pressure are given the techno remix treatment here. So captivating is his voice, in fact, that it took me a few spins before I noticed how inconsequential Richard Sen’s mixes are… the programming is simplistic and subdued, and while I understand the desire to showcase Grant’s powerhouse persona, it all feels a bit phoned-in. Kind of ironic that Sen chose to remix “Disappointing”, as that’s how I’d rate the instrumental version of that same track, included here… why bother pressing it when you’re negating the best part? Even so, I’m not mad at Richard Sen in the slightest – he clearly has good taste, and in celebrating the voice of John Grant he reminded me to try and have some good taste of my own, if at all possible.

Index For Working Musik Which Direction Goes The Beam LP (Tough Love)
London ensemble Index For Working Musik impressed me with their full-length debut back in 2023, an eclectic mix of exclusively-cool influences that arrived style-forward and fully-formed. I excitedly peeped Which Direction Goes The Beam in hopes of more tunes that might improve the tarnished rep of “post-punk indie”, and by Jove, they’ve done it again! Across twelve tracks, Index For Working Musik bridge all sorts of interesting gaps, like the ones between Xpressway and K and Neutral Records, or Duster and Nick Drake and This Heat. The group seems to favor studio experimentation and nonlinear songwriting (hope over to “Brain Pan Farmer” for proof) as much as the fine-tuned strum of an electric guitar and the vulnerability of an acoustic one (the eight-minute “Purple Born” that follows bursts with all of that and more). In a way, I’m reminded of those softer, brooding Total Control songs, and what might’ve happened if that band squeezed the lemon of morose indie-rock to make a full pitcher of something resembling lemonade. We all know Total Control are/were one of the coolest, and Index For Working Musik are well on their way to similar achievements.

It’s All Meat It’s All Meat 7″ (Palilalia)
Bill Orcutt’s body of work goes beyond the realm of a tidy retrospective at this point, and only continues to grow with inventive and wholly original records, churned out at a frantic pace. I love the man’s music, yet there are undoubtedly many gaps in his output I need to someday investigate. That day will come, but for now I picked up this archival seven-inch EP of his earliest band, It’s All Meat. That’s gotta be Orcutt on the cover with two other cute ’80s nerds in athletic short-shorts, right? At this point, I would extend Orcutt the grace of having played in a pointless/terrible group in his earliest musical days, but what do you know: It’s All Meat totally rules. These songs feature Orcutt’s familiar high-energy attack, playing riffs in a time signature unbeknownst to the rest of us, with lots of chattering vocals and literal pots n’ pans percussion. “My America” sounds like an early Home Blitz song hijacked by Muppet terrorists. The freedom of performance calls to mind other ’80s trailblazers like Teddy & The Frat Girls and Half Japanese, though I’m sure It’s All Meat was simply, and assuredly, doing their own thing. The lineage to Harry Pussy is clear in these songs, the uncontrived mania an undeniable precedent to what was later to come. Essential, perhaps no, but a dusted-off gem that’s a joy to behold.

Knowso Hypnotic Smack LP (Sorry State)
It’s been a banner year for Nathan Ward and his mirthful companions in Cruelster and Perverts Again, both with new LPs still cooling on the windowsill. Knowso is currently Ward’s duo with Jayson Gerycz (of Cloud Nothings), and generally more of an artful affair than his other projects (if only by small increments). You can comfortably file the group under punk, albeit a form of punk where the guitar generally defers to the bass without the looming specter of funk. As has been the Knowso style, the vocals are delivered in tandem with the 16th notes, a jarring staccato (not entirely unlike Eminem) that enhances the general sense of sonic claustrophobia, like you’re trying to click your way through some piece-of-crap website as it keeps loading cruel and unusual pop-up windows on your screen. Much like Cruelster and Perverts Again, Knowso songs are topical, demented character portraits that are demented because of their pinpoint accuracy. “Club Music Is The Soundtrack” is a standout, not only because of the wonderful title but because of the post-coke paranoia that reeks from its pores like Acqua Di Giò. As Knowso records go, Hypnotic Smack has the most pop sheen (relatively speaking), with the music occasionally taking on wave-y, chunky arrangements I’d associate with Gary Numan or Ric Ocasek. I doubt either of them have had the displeasure of having to reckon with the fact that we live in the same world as Jordan Peterson and Joe Rogan, though… that’s where Knowso comes in.

K. Kusafuka Re-Musik LP (Bitter Lake Recordings)
Bitter Lake Recordings is a New York-based label in service of reissuing the type of Japanese obscurities that would make even the most seasoned Japanophile collector swallow their gum in disbelief. In the same three-at-a-time style favored by Bitter Lake sister-label Hosianna Mantra (replete with similarly uniform black-and-white graphic design), three albums by K. Kusafuka are now on offer. Fans of the ’90s international noise scene might recall his K2 moniker from various collaborations, tapes, compilations and such, often squeezed between Merzbow and John Wiese on hand-crafted records by and for underground freaks. (Remember that ridiculous B-52’s tribute double CD of noise artists that Andy Ortmann released on his Nihilist label back in 2001? No? Well K2’s on there, because of course he is.) What I didn’t realize is how far back Kusafuka’s work went, and these LPs help clear up the story, reissuing his earliest cassette-only releases that date back to 1983, all released on the ungodly rare DD Records label (I think they were originally made-to-order out of a tiny shop). Of the three, Re-Musik is my favorite, though they’re all of a similar spirit, one based around adventurous drum programming and cold-wave synths, surprisingly not averse to pop. “Fragile Structure (Of Myself)” is sprawling and gorgeous, worthy of inclusion when people discuss the ’80s material from visionaries like Conrad Schnitzler and Manuel Göttsching. Far closer to The Human League than Incapacitants, this music is home-recorded yet sleek, calling to mind SPK in their early synth-pop era and the poppier gems of the Vanity Records label ala BGM and Normal Brain. Both Vanity and DD have received their own retrospective showcases in recent years, and now with the availability of these handsome K. Kusafuka LPs, you can casually name-drop him at parties, too.

Charmaine Lee Tulpa LP (Kǒu)
As one of the preeminent academic- and underground-respected noise artists of the post-Covid era, Charmaine Lee was overdue for a fresh solo album, so she took it upon herself (alongside producer/partner Randall Dunn) to form the Kŏu Records label and release it. Tulpa feels like a definitive statement of her practice, or at least her practice as it exists in 2025 – as her scattered digital, cassette and collaborative releases show, Lee’s artistry is dynamic and rapidly evolving, in defiance of stagnancy. To date, she’s focused on the wide range of sounds she can make with her mouth, and that’s what you get with this attractively-designed LP. Wheezes, giggles, gurgles, melodies, squelches, chattering, raspberries, honks, chortles… it’s all in there, crammed like clowns in a sweaty Volkswagen. The resulting range of her sound is near-limitless, as she processes, distorts, loops and chops her vocalizations in real-time, in a dizzying sharp-cut style I associate with a certain strain of ’90s harsh noise (and the first Prurient LP), though Lee doesn’t aim to obliterate so much as dazzle and bewilder. While I’m certain the pieces of Tulpa were mixed and produced, I know that her approach is a live one, where the unexpected nature of a cavernous drone, clicky tic, feedback shock or frothy gargle is immediate and direct, her on-the-spot decisions providing direction and movement. If there’s still an undiscovered mouth-sound residing in that oral cavity of hers after Tulpa, maybe it deserves to remain undisturbed.

The Obliques St. Petersburg / Cigarettes 7″ (HoZac)
Here’s a style of music that can only be claimed with authenticity for a finite amount of time: teenaged punk! The Obliques are high-school students in Durham, NC, or at least they were in the last twelve months when this debut single was recorded and pressed. I feel like more or less since the inception of Green Day, “teen punk” has generally come to mean “pop-punk” (The Snobs being one clear exception), so it’s surprising and cool to discover that The Obliques are punk in a messy, art-school, first-wave way, sounding almost as if the Ramones and Sex Pistols never happened, only Rocket From The Tombs and Alternative TV. “St. Petersburg” crawls and jangles in multiple directions at once, rife with that Columbus Discount Records sound and the vocals mixed louder than appropriate. These are the hallmarks of a true garage-band recording and appealingly out of step with today’s compressed digital style. “Cigarettes” isn’t a topic I condone for teenagers, though I suppose it beats vaping. It’s another dreary slow-burn, some shaky rope-bridge between O Level and Fuckin’ Flyin’ A-Heads if we want to dig into the Rare Punk Singles box for comparisons, though the rough and loose sound of The Obliques isn’t going to garner many comparisons to Warped Tour performers, no matter how many skinny black ties they wear. Enjoy yourselves, guys – it’s only downhill from here!

Miles J Paralysis Turf Step EP 12″ (Crying Outcast)
I possess neither the cred nor the authenticity to co-opt the Hard Wax record shop’s iconic banger designation of “TIP!”, yet as this new EP from Yorkshire’s Miles J Paralysis spins, the word is screaming deep inside me. Turf Step is the Yorkshire newcomer’s second EP, following the wretchedly-named Folktronic EP (which is actually decent in spite of its title). The four Turf Step cuts are bold, memorable twists on the ’90s house / electro / dub sound without the unimaginative obsession of retro-throwback specifics. “Until The End” kicks it off with an upbeat tempo and subdued, ever-shifting dub effects, a forlorn male vocal helping to recall Tom Of England’s Sex Monk Blues, or an Orbital remix of The Pop Group that exists only in my imagination. “Where Do We Come From?” is even sicker, its vocal-sample hook triumphing over a steely electro melody, resulting in an endlessly replayable jam ready to leave Paranoid London (or even Gene Hunt) green with jealousy. “Cursed Moor” is a devilish dub that merely infers the violence of tracks by Aardvarck or The Bug, the bass tuned stupid low, with “Snicket Rhythm” continuing the digi-dub vibes (there’s even a reggae guitar upstroke) with a cheerily lopsided approach that has me thinking Wah Wah Wino. Strong tracks standing-by for the coolest DJ night in your city, though I suggest holding off on “Where Do We Come From?” unless you can live with the results – that one’s a damn dance-floor IED.

Quite Ridiculous Nonsense A Failure… 7″ (Celluloid Lunch / Sweet Rot)
Always nice when anything off Johan Kugelberg’s “Top 100 DIY Records” list is newly accessible, be it a fresh reissue, thoughtful retrospective collection or even an active MP3 WeTransfer link. My research team hasn’t been able to authoritatively confirm by publication deadline, but I’m fairly certain that Quite Ridiculous Nonsense is the only Canadian artist on Kugelberg’s list, a distinction they should carry with pride. (Sorry Rent Boys Inc., your Pictish / No Grat single must’ve just missed the cut.) These four songs are pretty tops for when it comes to prankish synth-based post-punk, slightly late to the game in 1984 but no less satisfying than better-known contemporaries like Cabaret Voltaire, Fad Gadget and Primitive Calculators. I’d liken the outer-limits vibes on display here to proud outcasts like German Shepherds, Gerry & The Holograms, Nervous Gender and Robert Rental, though I’d be surprised if Quite Ridiculous Nonsense had any inkling of those fellow sonic miscreants in this formative period – he (they?) was probably just listening to Dr. Demento and The Residents alongside the professed Cabaret Voltaire and PiL in the informative insert, feeling frustrated with the futility of modern life and also just bored as hell. It all resulted in this excellent experimental post-punk EP, its nonsense still resoundingly quite ridiculous after all these years.

R.M.F.C. Ecstatic Strife 7″ (Anti Fade)
What, you’re gonna go by the name of Buz Avenue and not write great riffs?? Across the various regional egg-punk / nu-garage scenes, there’s a dearth of killer riffs, so when they’re discovered, we cling to them like life-rafts. Buz Avenue (neé Clatworthy) has already delivered a handful of stellar tunes with his R.M.F.C. band / project (“Access” is an all-time spine-tingler). It’s one of the few bands whose new records are mandatory peeping even if you’re a fair-weather garage-turkey, this new seven-inch single most certainly included. “Ecstatic Strife” is mighty sharp, with more of a twee-ish / Mod-ish demeanor than before and the cool trick of way too many notes stuffed in the recurring melodic motif. It practically takes eight bars to complete, at which point you’re already tapping your foot to the crispy-damp drums and skittish bass. The deadpan chorus feels indebted to Total Control, but what good rock music doesn’t these days? “Golden Trick” has a little fun with the old drum machine, the electric-guitar turned down low enough that I hear the pick against the strings more than the amp itself, an unexpected campfire vibe that acts more as a thoroughfare than a destination. As it turns out, Avenue is doing a new band with DX Stewart from Total Control called Station Model Violence, and if that feels too good to be true, there’s no denying the existence of Ecstatic Strife.

Robber Bad Eggs LP (Profitcorp)
Cover Art Of The Month goes to Robber’s Bad Eggs on a unanimous vote. Sure, lots of hardcore bands are good at implying or fronting their unsavoriness, but it’s impossible to stare at this cover for longer than thirty seconds without breaking out in hives or running out to the store for some Galaxy Gas, so intricate and skeevy are the details of this troubling modern tableau. Robber hail from Sydney, Australia, and all the black mold lurking behind their drywall has clearly gone to their heads, the sort of band that if at least one of their members doesn’t pass away under mysterious circumstances in the next ten years, they’ll have fooled me. It’s straightforward, rudimentary hardcore with a black-metal inflection, the sort of utilitarian Bone Awl / Iron Cross riffs played repeatedly with basic one-two kick-snare pogo beats that drop to half-time (as to ensure someone is pushing in the pit) and flare up to double-time in moments of fast-core aggression. Lots of hardcore bands have tried to express their scariness to their audiences, and I often have trouble buying it from the bands with clearly talented musicians in their ranks – like, come on, you must’ve practiced that Converge- or Disembowelment-styled technical guitar part for months with your fancy pedal setup, you weren’t out in the club alleyway stealing handbags or spending hours methed-up on your computer hacking your grandparents’ bank accounts. Robber’s songs are typical and their performance is unflashy in a way that confirms their negative nature, so if you let them crash at your place, maybe lock up the liquor cabinet before you go to work?

Safe Mind Cutting The Stone LP (Nude Club)
Gotta say, it was a refreshing throwback of a feeling to actually get to anticipate a debut album. Nowadays all new music is thrust in our faces, for free, in an immediate contextless pile, but in the case of Safe Mind, I got to enjoy their instant-hit debut single “6′ Pole” for months last year, their only available recording as I anticipated the release of something, anything more. The fresh pairing of Gus Muller (Boy Harsher) and DIY freak-popper Cooper B. Handy (aka Lucy) showed up with a bonafide smash on their hands, now released here with nine other tunes. None of the other tracks hit the same highs as “6′ Pole” (but how could they?); instead, we get a tasteful mix of wave-y synth-pop and late ’80s hip-house, a firm handshake between the group’s two distinct personalities. It’s an appealing axis of retro pop signifiers – let’s say New Order, Taylor Dayne and Cybotron – and Muller is nothing if not up to the task, a low-key prodigy in his chosen field of synthetic beats and melodies. “Standing On Air” is a perfect candidate for the soul-stirring prom scene in the Stranger Things finale (I don’t watch that show, I’m just assuming said episode exists); “Life In A Jar” mingles like Duran Duran at brunch. I’d be lying if I said that my hopes of another song matching “6′ Pole”‘s undeniable pop greatness weren’t dashed, but I’d also be lying if I said that my initial disappointment didn’t dissipate after spending a lot of time with Cutting The Stone, its songs slowly but steadily gaining traction in my easily-distracted subconscious. Therefore, I will say neither, and continue to spin Cutting The Stone until I accidentally know it by heart.

Short Leash Short Leash 7″ (Chronic Death)
New hardcore from some old dogs – Short Leash boasts members of Violent Minds, Shark Attack, Concealed Blade and Kill Your Idols, to list but four bands on their collected hardcore resumé. As you might expect, the sound-quality is slick, the musical performance is tight, and the limbs are more tattooed than ever before. What’s cool is that rather than retreat into a more comfortable, easy-listening form of hardcore (I’ll just come out and say it – I’m talking about the ever-pervasive strains of melodic oi-core and grunge-gaze), Short Leash choose to rip hard and fast, music that you can go wild to but doesn’t solely behave in service of today’s mosh styles. These guys came up in the scene when chugga-chugga metal-core was understood to be lame, and I appreciate that their tastes haven’t changed with the prevailing trends. Vocalist Adam Thomas delivers his throaty proclamations in a similar tonal range as Paul Bearer and Ban Reilly, ensuring that when he sings a song called “Pure Scum”, he’s not just calling out his enemies but claiming the title for himself as well. After threatening to beat Nazis into the ground on “Wet Work”, the outro loosens up the pit, a honey-trap for all those kids desperate to try out their silly mosh-jitsu moves. Will Short Leash pound them into the ground while chanting their own band name? One can only hope.

TVO All Aboard Choo Choo Fuck You LP (Future Shock)
There’s train-punk in the sense of rail-hopping crusties and then there’s TVO’s big stone capital letters poised to derail a commuter train. While I doubt they are advocating for passenger-rail carnage, TVO’s big bawdy punk rock at least feels worthy of soundtracking the next Rampage movie, ripe for a scene where George and Lizzie scarf humans from the quiet car like Tic Tacs. This Philly group is all ripped sleeves and sweat-stains, raucous, shaking down and spreading out their sound on this full-length debut. There are brief moments of tenderness, or at least an occasional melodic sensibility to recall the ever-influential Exploding Hearts (see “Parking Lot”), along with plenty of Tight Bros’ fall-on-the-floor shakedown style and a sound similar to that great Circulators LP that came and went on Total Punk a few months ago. If there’s a hit, it’s probably “Crashing (In The Same Car)”, which kicks out like Radio Birdman on the verge of mental collapse, fist-pumping chorus still intact. Years ago, you’d see Turbonegro t-shirts in the pit for this kinda thing, which today’s denim-rocker youths have replaced with throat tattoo / cropped mullet combos. I’m thankful that the music of TVO is so punchy and enduring that I can get away with sporting neither!

Xanny Stars Adaptor 7″ (Just Because)
You don’t decide to call your band “Xanny Stars” if your aim is to be respected by serious people, which is great because who needs ’em! This Cleveland-based trio seems to be having fun with their grunge- and indie-inflected pop-punk, very much in a way that tugs at my ’90s teenage heartstrings. The drumming is competent and the riffs are easy for beginners to learn, resulting in songs that work thanks to, not in spite of, their professional deficiencies. I’m reminded of all the local suburban-American punk scenes with bands inspired by Lookout! Records (and in my case, labels like Creep, FOE and Motherbox), an AOL-era punk rock that was still made and enjoyed by outcasts, if only on a small-stakes middle-class scale. “Mega Convenient” sounds like The Courtneys covering one of Green Day’s earliest songs; it’s certainly an appropriate soundtrack for a drive to Gilman to deliver a mixtape to your crush before Plaid Retina hit the stage. It’s PG-rated, nostalgic fun, which must also appeal to people decades younger than myself who are lucky enough to still undergo formative experiences on a daily basis. As for me, I’ll be tying a flannel around my waist and nerd-moshing to “Here We Go Again”, singing along like tomorrow is a parent-teacher conference half-day… in my mind.