Eve Adams In Hell LP (Soft Office)
I love the band Lewsberg, yet it was news to me that members of the group run a label called Soft Office. I’m curious as to what they’re doing both musically and curatorially, so I was intrigued by this vinyl edition of a 2017 cassette album from Los Angeles-based singer Eve Adams, who was also new to me. I’m learning all sorts of things! Adams has a lonesome Californian vibe going on here, not so much the busy off-ramps of Los Angeles as the endless expanse of inhospitable desert and the various roadside shacks that pepper it. She plays amplified guitar softly, sings in beautifully hushed tones, and inhabits that sort of “ghost of girl groups” vibe that has captivated both artists and audiences in the past few years (the original 2017 release year sounds about right). At her most tuneful, I’m reminded of Hope Sandoval’s solo material, at her dustiest I’m recalling the haunted pop songs of Cindy Lee, and at her most freaky I’m picturing some sort of feminine Devendra Banhart tripping deep within Joshua Tree. Very Lynchian, no doubt, right down to the sparse and eerie cover of The Crystals’ classic “He Hit Me”. Wonder what Adams has been up to since, or if there’s a final-chapter twist wherein we discover that Eve Adams never really existed in the first place.

Anadol Felicita LP (Pingipung)
Anadol’s debut album Uzun Havalar blew me away a couple years ago – it was my second favorite of the year, in fact, and is still a constant turntable presence in my household. I acknowledged the possibility that it might be a singular lightning-strike of sonic greatness, a fully realized debut that combined various strains of music to stunning effect that will never be duplicated or continued. I’ve been hankering for a follow-up ever since, and amazingly, Felicita manages to mine the same general aesthetic territory while remaining on high par with the debut, at least from my point of view. If you’re not already familiar, you’re in for a treat: Anadol is essentially one Gözen Atila, a Turkish musician / “sound artist” who employs a talented small crew of local musicians to fully realize her ideas. This results in a stunning swath of cosmic krautrock, Turkish melodies, minimal-synth noir and mystical pop, seamlessly devised and completely entrancing. I’m envisioning dreamlike pairings of Agitation Free with Richard Schneider Jr., Lena Platonos with Roberto Cacciapaglia, or Pascal Comelade alongside Jac Berrocal while Felicita spins, but those are merely beacons that Anadol glides past. What a beautiful, perplexing and incredible second album!

Axe Rash Contemporary Ass 7″ (Not For The Weak)
Here’s an example of why I prefer punk bands to punk solo projects: in this particular case, I get to enjoy the fact that no fewer than four people agreed to naming their own band’s new EP “Contemporary Ass”. Sure, any one person can come up with a ridiculous title, but the fact that four friends found each other and were fully on board with Contemporary Ass warms my little heart. Seeing as the name Axe Rash isn’t too far removed from Assrash (one of my favorite ’90s Minneapolis drunk crust units), I wonder if that connection was intentional? Anyway, before I get even further off track, let me get to the music of Sweden’s Axe Rash, who drop a rowdy bunch of hardcore tracks here. The debt to Totalitär is obvious in the predominant riff structures and drum patterns, but I’m also reminded of Public Acid at times, and there’s even a couple moments clearly indebted to Crazy Spirit and the Toxic State oom-pah punk drumbeat that has raged like wildfire in underground hardcore-punk over the last ten years. Cool stuff, but my favorite part might be the easily-read lyric sheet – the inclusion of the line “fuck a vegan!” is an intriguing surprise at the end of “Gig Life”, and “False Pictures” is what seems to be an indictment of Instagram (though I just checked and the band does have one, oh well). Gonna need to get myself some axe ointment before I start to peel!

Brain Tourniquet Brain Tourniquet 7″ (Iron Lung)
Yo! This is what I want from Iron Lung: brutal fast-core from a band who named themselves after a Man Is The Bastard song. There are so many great Man Is The Bastard song titles, and so few of them have already been taken for band names! This group hails from Washington DC, featuring members of lots of other DC hardcore bands, and they do the style right with gnarly black-and-white photos of physical harm and/or murderers. Skulls are too oblique for their version of power-violence-styled hardcore; like Crossed Out and No Comment before them, Brain Tourniquet are interested in harsh realities not harsh fantasies. They blast with Lack Of Interest precision, stop on a dime like the aforementioned No Comment and stomp out the doomy parts in an ugly-yet-heavy manner that reminds me of third-wave power-violence unit Scapegoat. Zero frills or fresh commentary on the genre, just pure menacing hardcore brutality delivered intensely and succinctly, right down to the traditional EP-ending dirge that’s three times as long as any of the other tracks. Another Iron Lung slam dunk!

Rudolf Eb.er & Will Guthrie Hilt LP (Fragment Factory)
Wow, fascinating pairing here between two distinctive avant-noise gents whom I wholeheartedly endorse. Didn’t think they ran in any of the same circles, but for better or worse, we live in a time where anything is possible, including a collaboration between grotesque sonic “aktionist” Rudolf Eb.er from Sweden and frisky avant percussionist Will Guthrie from Australia. I was aware of this record’s existence for a week before it was released, which gave me ample time to construct a fantasy in my head of what Hilt might sound like, and I’m glad to say that the actual album doesn’t disappoint. It’s a frequent case of having no idea who does what – hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if Eb.er took over on percussion just to mess with us – but that sort of disorientation is key to the experience. Across two twenty-minute sides, they locate various moods, dig deep into them, and then adjust course abruptly. The crackling of a fire (or some reasonable facsimile thereof) builds over eerie tones, airwave static and murmured voices; a repetitive rhythm is tapped out on scrap-metal and detritus; a passive smoke break is interrupted with the acidic shriek of scraped metal so visceral it sounds like it’s actually happening in the room with you. I presume Hilt was rendered via long-distance file sharing, but who knows, or who cares? No matter how they did it, eight minutes into the second side it sounds like I’m tumbling down a mountain amidst pebbles, rocks and dust, wondering if I’ll retain consciousness when my body finally comes to a halt.

Front De Cadeaux Sad Is Fashion 12″ (Antinote / Agnès B.)
Antinote is responsible for some of my favorite dance tracks of the past few years, always kind of under the radar but top-notch in their consistency. Took a chance on this new one from Euro duo Front De Cadeaux (Hugo Sanchez out of Rome and DJ Athome from Brussels), and it’s a proper banger! I have learned that this sub-genre of techno is called “beatdown”, which is based on a slow BPM (between 90 and 100) and hard-hitting basslines and kicks. Works for me! The a-side is “Trans Émois” and it kicks big juicy butt: simple bassline, heavy kicks, little chirpy melody and an affected male vocal repeating the track title. Not much else I could find myself wanting for. “Sad Is Fashion” is even slower, paced and constructed like my favorite Neubau bangers from Gil.Barte and AngstLust but without any sense of menace or industrial vibes. There’s an even sleepier, deeper vocal on this one too, placing this track in that nether zone between arousal and unconsciousness. So good. All this and it comes as a split release with the venerated French fashion designer Agnès B., who apparently also puts out records from time to time?! There are so many little spots of greatness in this world if you choose to seek them out.

John, Paul, George, Ringo & Richard Das Ist Die Zukunft, Aber Nicht Deine! LP (Phantom)
Okay, sometimes a dumb band name hits just right, which I’d say is happening here with John, Paul, George, Ringo & Richard. File next to Duran Duran Duran for artist parody names that receive a hearty chuckle the first time around (unlike, let’s say, the sonically-impressive Joanna Gruesome). Anyway, now that we’ve appreciated the name, we can move onto the music, which is a fittingly impish form of rudimentary electronic post-punk. Reminds me of Les Georges Leningrad, Factorymen, Metal Urbain, Die Tödliche Doris and the multitudes of post-punk pranksters who’ve viewed the song format as a canvas for irritation, silliness and bewilderment. Guitars dip in and out when necessary, various voices appear in various guises, and there’s at least one theremin whirling in the background, presumably handled by John, Ringo or some sort of Scooby-Doo Frankenstein ghoul from the sound of it. Stupid fun for punks who appreciate that sort of thing.

M. Klein & Steffan De Turck A New City LP (Het Generiek)
I’m unwilling to let just anyone guide me down the unknown path of field-recording sound collage, but when two strangers by the names of M. Klein and Steffan De Turck invite me on a blindfolded trip through their slice of the world, how can I resist? This LP features two pieces of edited, layered field-recordings and minor keyboard accompaniment. They move at a brisk but not frenetic pace, hopping from crowded social spaces to secluded loitering zones as though passing them on foot. The jingle of a passerby’s phone game pops up among the rustle of air on microphone, footsteps down marble hallways escalate out of the frame, and a somber keyboard melody adds intrigue to the crickets buzzing at dusk. What feels like a paddleboat ride might actually be a Japanese speed train – who can say besides Klein and De Turck? Reminds me of Luc Ferrari’s charming Presque Rien in the way that both natural and artificial surroundings are blended with surreal electronics to create an alternate yet recognizable reality… “A New City” indeed.

Los Lichis Small Mole & The Flavor Trio 12″ (Ever/Never)
For as polished and seemingly “serious” as Ever/Never has gotten over the last few years, I love that the label still can’t resist sinking money into brutally non-commercial projects once or twice (or thrice) a year. Maximum Ernst and Hand Of Food come to mind, and now you can throw Mexico City’s Los Lichis on the stack as well. They’re a trio of a confounding nature, offering two lengthy cuts of what is by my estimation loosely-improvised drone rock, described as a “Mexican raga” in the promotional materials and certainly a befitting classification. These tracks have me thinking of Tony Conrad with Faust trapped in a cave rather than a studio, one of those interminable drone songs that Reynols would insert into the track list of one of their lengthy CD releases, or the reverberations that slowly fade after a Rakta practice session. One could hear this and evaluate it to be heady devotional music of some primordial order, but then the art that accompanies Small Mole & The Flavor Trio is mostly weird jokey imagery that owes more to Tim and Eric’s sensibility than Current 93 or Popol Vuh. Are Los Lichis serious about their maudlin psych-rock drones or not? If it’s their aim to keep us from ever knowing, this EP is a success.

Marc Matter Could Change LP (Futura Resistenza)
Marc Matter is a member of Institut Für Feinmotorik, an avant turntable-based group known for deep investigation of the most peculiar sonic qualities of the turntable, so it’s not entirely surprising that his solo album is similarly prankster-y and erudite. Matter employs a simple yet effective trick here: he loops a split-second vocal clip at slowly-shifting intervals, the computerized voice’s phrasing mutating between syllables both intelligible and gibberish. If it sounds annoying, it most certainly is, but it’s so expertly executed and hypnotic as well. “Annoying” is an underrated musical concept, anyway! I would place Could Change next to vocal sound-artists like Anne Gillis and Blackhumour, both of whom are also fascinated with the ways in which incessant looping snippets of human speech can transcend their simple ingredients towards something oddly profound. Bill Orcutt’s recent A Mechanical Joey is a similarly effective (yet different) work, sharing with Could Change a desire for nearly imperceptible shifting over extended time, very much in the Alvin Lucier school of thought. Meditatively non-meditative music here, a delight for those of us willing to be delighted and a chorus of “turn that off right now!” from everyone else.

Mercenary Demos Collection LP (Beach Impediment)
Grisly images of skele-reapers, deadly armed forces and Olde English band-name fonts greet the audience of Mercenary’s full recorded works, Demos Collection. “Sounds like they probably play ferocious Scandi and Japanese-inspired d-beat-centric brutal hardcore”, you might say, and after spinning a few times, I’m happy to concur, astute reader! Mercenary existed in the mid ’10s in Atlanta, and while they never made it to wax beyond a track on a Beach Impediment compilation seven-inch back in 2014, this is a fine collection of satisfyingly raging hardcore. My experience with Mercenary was enhanced greatly by Ryan Bell’s accompanying liner notes, as he puts Mercenary in the context of the Atlanta hardcore scene (meager but often very good) and explains how and why the band existed. It also provides a fitting tribute to vocalist Michael “Ruby” Rubenstein, who sadly passed away unexpectedly in April 2021, a man clearly larger than life and beloved by punks far and wide. Xerox-burnt skeleton warriors and mushroom clouds are cool and all, but it’s Bell’s thoughtful writing that provided the context to helped me truly connect with Mercenary’s music.

Model Zero Little Crystal / Leather Trap 7″ (Sweet Time)
New two-song single here from what has to be Memphis’s grooviest punk rockers, Model Zero. Sharing what I believe to be at least one or two members with Ex-Cult and The Sheiks, Model Zero continue to refine their charismatic post-punk sleaze on “Little Crystal”, whose only lyrics I can clearly make out are the words “hot stuff”. Melodic and cool, this song bridges the gap between the art-punk of Pere Ubu with the buttoned-collar indie-rock of Spoon, but of course played by a bunch of nobodies from nowhere (which is forever the coolest way to be). A song that wouldn’t be out of place on a sleeveless Ork Records 45 from 1977, that’s for sure. “Leather Trap” sounds like the name of a band supporting Limp Wrist on tour, but it’s actually a punched-up rocker that reminds me of The Shifters at their most energetic, or I dunno, if that one very best local band, the one who refuses to get their act together, ran through a medley of Pulp and Eno covers in the basement just for kicks. Model Zero very well may have their act fully together, but they play their songs like a cool band who doesn’t care if they ever make it anywhere.

Moral Panic White Knuckles 7″ (Robellion Music)
We’ve got the first seven-inch single following two albums from New York punk-core trio Moral Panic on our hands here. Theirs is a fitting name, not because the band members have any particular clash of morality so much as it sounds like a classic hardcore band name from like 1982 or something, and seeing as they more or less sound like that, it works. Plus, they appear to be gentlemen of aged experience, who very well may have been around for hardcore in the ’80s, or at least the ’90s for sure, and their sound fits in with members of that first (or first-and-a-half) generation of hardcore punk, bands like Social Unrest and Youth Brigade and TSOL and so on. Nothing fancy or groundbreaking, or even particularly trendy, just trustworthy tuneful hardcore-punk they way it’s always been done. As a possible curveball, they cover Big Black’s “Colombian Necktie” here, which ends up sounding a hell of a lot like Austin punkers Video, whose Leather Leather album is one of my personal punk faves of the previous decade. Everyone involved ought to be pleased with themselves!

Richard Papiercuts Reunion LP (Ever/Never)
Peanut butter is back! That’s what Richard Papiercuts told us back in 2015, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Now Papiercuts is back as well, this time with a six-song album performed entirely by himself. In a way, I’m seeing parallels between Papiercuts and John Sharkey, as they were both brash, outspoken youths, all meanstreak and sarcasm, who have since mellowed out as middle-aged dads (and produced some of their finest music following that transition). Papiercuts ventures even further into a k-hole of adult-oriented pop this time around, dancing in the streets as opposed to moping in the sheets like many of the “Covid quarantine” records we’ve gotten from other artists. Opener “Judgment” is silky and emotive in a way that reminds me of The Blue Nile, and it’s followed by “Reunion”, which sounds like Scott Walker singing a Peter Gabriel song (and is as honestly as good in reality as you’re imagining in your head). Papiercuts celebrates and deforms the blockbuster pop of the late ’80s and early ’90s, clearly thinking of Phil Collins and George Michael (and on “Alma”, perhaps more Billy Joel than he bargained for), and only a pop-averse curmudgeon could avoid smiling during the proceedings. I can’t tell if Papiercuts would get into a fistfight with Alex Cameron or become fast friends if they ever met, but I get the impression there would be no middle ground.

Peace Decay Death Is Only… 12″ (Beach Impediment)
Featuring personnel from Severed Head Of State, Vaaska and Guerra Final, Death Is Only… is the debut EP from Austin’s Peace Decay. If they were crustier they’d probably go by Peace DK, and if they were moshier they’d probably be Piece Dekay, but they play a very athletic form of epic crust, guitars bringing high drama and vocals establishing a sense of cosmic doom. It’s certainly in line with bands like Tragedy, Forward and Selfish, a genre occasionally maligned as “stadium crust” which I’d say Peace Decay mostly avoid. They come across as deadly sincere here, and their drum sound is heavy and rugged as opposed to polished in the production style of NOFX – I’d file Peace Decay closer to Skitsystem than Coliseum. Themes of death, misery and annihilation fill these five songs, and while they might’ve come across as more of a heavy-metal fantasy a decade or two ago, Peace Decay’s role as harbinger of extinction feels uncomfortably apt today.

Rot TV Tales Of Torment LP (Tee Pee)
No sooner has the beer dried on Rot TV’s 2019 debut EP than their full-length debut arrived, reeking of cigarettes from the night before. If you don’t like hard living and its various consequences, this Melbourne rock unit has a finger in the air for ya! Tales Of Torment builds on their debut, collectively summoning the various modes of bad-news rock n’ roll that have captivated delinquent kids for some forty years now. I’m hearing epic pounders ala Turbonegro, petty-crime punk ala The Damned, the backstreet punk-pop of Vanity and just a sprinkling of top-flight guitar licks redolent of Heart or Thin Lizzy. That’s enough patches to fill a modest denim vest, and you may want to save a prime spot for Rot TV once you give this debut a spin. Vocalist Harriet Hudson-Clise is confident without overdoing it, and her husband Graham might not want to admit it, but there seems to be a poly thing going on between the two of them and his guitar. For the type of exhaust-stained rock music Tee Pee trades in, Tales Of Torment is a suitable fit.

Sad Eyed Beatniks Claudia’s Ethereal Weaver LP (Meritorio)
First vinyl appearance for Kevin Linn’s Sad Eyed Beatniks project following numerous tapes over the past few years. With most of those cassettes on the Paisley Shirt label, Sad Eyed Beatniks fits the bill as a mostly acoustic, semi downcast indie-pop affair, played with a “first take best take” / amateurs-only aesthetic. Simplistic music at its core, no doubt, but who really wants intricate, sonically-dazzling versions of this stuff anyway? The music of Sad Eyed Beatniks was meant to live on fuzzy cassettes passed around between friends. There’s plenty of room for various approaches within this fragile indie-pop framework anyway, and Linn tries out most of them, from solo acoustic songs to rock-quartet instrumentation (though I can’t figure out if he’s actually joined by other people, as the credits state “all music by K Linn” but the thanks list says “thank you Mike, Karina and Kati for helping with these songs”). In softer moments I’m reminded of The American Analog Set and The Zoltars – any twee-pop that can be traced back to the Velvets, really – but there are some starker moments throughout as well, reminiscent of the anguished strum of Drunk Elk and This Kind Of Punishment. For as long as they continue to produce horn-rimmed glasses, those who wear them will continue to make music like this, I’m pleased to say.

Schisms Break Apart The Idea Of Separation LP (Bergpolder)
Fans of rank ugly noise “rock” rejoice, I’m here to tell you about the new full-length from the UK’s Schisms. Featuring Bridget Hayden, whose work I enjoy both solo and as a part of the glorious Vibracathedral Orchestra, this trio is all sorts of murky, stomping out extended anti-melodic jams in a crude and efficiently lo-fi manner. I’m reminded of a bit of Neutral in the way that occasional rock moves will bubble up to the surface of an industrial waste pit, and at rare moments when the trio appears to be locked-in in a manner that resembles how normal bands behave, I’m reminded of the late great Air Conditioning. Sightings’s Michigan Haters is similar in sonic spirit as well. One of the Schisms is on guitar, wielded in a caustic and atonal form not unlike much of Bill Nace’s work, and along with some other sound effects and what might actually be some form of percussion (which gets downright jazzy at the end of the record!), the show stealer is an absolutely farty synth bass that dominates the mix. It might be a stretch to call this music “dub” in any form, but what other term should be invoked when huge puffy bass tones are twice as prominent as any other aspect of the performance? Whoever is in charge of that bass is confident and bold here, pushing this freaky sonic maelstrom onward with their own unique approach.

Star Party Meadow Flower LP (Feel It)
Cool “quarantine project” turned semi-real band here from Carolyn Brennan and Gen Pop’s Ian Corrigan, who was also the secret-weapon bass-player of Vexx. (Come to think of it, ever single member of Vexx was a secret weapon in their own right. God I miss that band!) Star Party is of course punk, but follows its own path, one that tempers high-tempo wall-of-sound riffing with the hazy fuzz of British indie and twee. Shop Assistants are referenced as direct inspiration, which certainly rings true by my ears, and I’m also hearing The Raveonettes, Dum Dum Girls and Go Sailor as sonic touchstones for what Star Party are after. They utilize a drum machine in lieu of a human drummer, but it never gets in the way or shouts “I’m a drum machine!” as these songs whizz or flutter by. There’s an urgency to many of these tunes, and a willingness to acknowledge the existence of slam-pitting, if not outright endorsing such behavior, that gives Star Party its own particular flavor. “Shot Down” provides a solid example of this, as the song itself could’ve worked well in the hands of both The Queers and Vivian Girls but doesn’t particularly sound like either.

Sworn Virgins Strangers Hands 12″ (Deewee)
I like to think there is still some room for sleaze and filth in today’s musical underground. If you ask me, the key is to focus on having fun with it, to express one’s self as opposed to focusing on getting a reaction; be a party that people want to join, as opposed to a spectacle based on provoking others, let’s say. London’s Sworn Virgins are an overtly sexualized electro duo, as if the pixelated porn shot on the cover (and my little intro) didn’t already clue you in, and as far as I’m concerned they’ve got the right attitude for the job. They’re not a “joke”, but as I listen to this four-song EP, I can picture Bobby Moynihan and Bill Hader performing some sort of satirical Daft Punk sketch more than the arrogant, self-serious sex pests Sworn Virgins might simulate. These songs slap like Matthew Dear circa Her Fantasy, but the weird little intros and over-the-top vocals of “Searching For Hiro” (the top track here) has me thinking of a new Kroll Show character, or “Tight Ferrari” by Sean Yeaton and Joel Ford (which, if you haven’t heard, go and Google right now). Certainly in line with the peak years of Ed Banger, if ultimately more innocent-sounding… I always assumed the Ed Banger crew actually was traversing Paris by neon-lit yachts, whereas Sworn Virgins are probably shy graphic designers or legal assistants by day whose dreams are filled with aviator shades and smoke machines. They’ve got a song called “Male Man” here, are you seriously not gonna smile at that?

Tilth Rock Music LP (Round Bale Recordings)
Post-rock duo Tilth, now split between Colorado and upstate New York, come forward with their third album, Rock Music. As one might reasonably expect the title to be a sly upending of expectations, the press release confirms that the group wants to “strip rock music down to the bare essentials”. As I listen to Rock Music, however, I can’t help but think, are these really the essential parts of rock music that captivate Tilth? These songs are made of softly drifting guitar chords, reverberating drones rich in warm melody and subtle sonic details. It sounds like extrapolations on the indie post-rock of Duster, Kepler and Bedhead, sleepytime indie-rock for eggheads in big cities in the ’90s. A touch of Earth’s The Bees Made Honey in the nods to Americana guitar as well, but nothing that remotely captures the spirit of rock music as far as I can tell, not even in an oblique or far-fetched way. When it comes to distilling Hendrix solos and Led Zeppelin stomp in an infinitely extended microsecond, I’ll turn to my Merzbow records, but divorced from the concept, Rock Music is pleasantly unremarkable and comforting, like the second best blanket on the couch.

Treasury Of Puppies Mitt Stora Nu LP (Discreet Music)
If you aren’t already familiar with Treasury Of Puppies, you’re probably thinking “what the hell kinda band calls themselves Treasury Of Puppies?”, but if you are familiar, you’re probably thrilled that they’ve got a new, not-instantly-sold-out album available. And you’ve probably gotten past the name, or find it appealing for the manner in which such a cutesy, children’s book sort of name is applied to this very homespun and minimalist duo. They’re currently one of the centerpieces of the “contemporary homemade music from Sweden” scene that I personally can’t get enough of, as loosely described on the Discreet Music insert that accompanied my copy of Mitt Stora Nu. I’d hope you’re familiar with one of the other cornerstones of this scene, Neutral, and I can’t help but compare Treasury Of Puppies to them. Both groups are male/female duos making inscrutably personal music (almost always in Swedish, too), but whereas Neutral find consolation in the brittle, crackling darkness and feedback-laden wasteland, Treasury Of Puppies walk on the sunnier side of the street, even if it’s still filled with cracks and debris. They’ll fit the occasional soft post-punk tune in amongst tape experimentation, humming, chimes, wandering pianos, spoken word, crude nature recordings and whatever else is at their disposal, resulting in an entrancing suite of early-morning experimentalism, as warm and welcoming as a breakfast of Upplandskubb and paté. Highly recommended!

Troth Oak Corridor LP (Knekelhuis)
Cool deal for Newcastle, Australia’s Troth to link up with Amsterdam’s Knekelhuis, a suitable if not obvious pairing. Knekelhuis loves to think to the future with their alien-sounding electronics, whereas Troth have always been a bit more pastoral and hushed, if undeniably synth-centric in nature. This new one is their finest distillation yet, a record that feels both icy and warm at the same time, like some ingenious new room at the spa that manages to maintain fresh snow at one hundred degrees. Drum machines sputter out the slightest of rhythms, keys sound “bedroom”-ish and private, and the enchanting vocals of Amelia Besseny shine not like a lighthouse on a rocky cliff but a flashlight under the covers. Good luck making out a single word, but her voice, somewhere between Grimes and Cocteau Twins’ Elizabeth Fraser, conveys a wonderment and hopefulness that pulls these moody, occasionally-somber synth patterns up from the fog. Next time I spin Oak Corridor, I’m going to distribute my collection of precious gemstones around the turntable and see if any of them glow – I’m betting I can get a slight shine out of my rose quartz!

Uwalmassa Malar LP (Mana)
Psychedelic post-techno percussion records are de rigueur these days, but it’s refreshing to witness Indonesia’s Uwalmassa, who might be a little closer to the root source of the technique than random dudes from Bristol or Brooklyn. Don’t expect anything resembling a Nonesuch gamelan compilation, though, as Malar is as much a weird minimalist electronic album as it is a hypnotic display of tuned metal percussion. These tracks are sparse and brooding, sometimes locking into patterns and sometimes tapping out alien morse-code or simply testing the capabilities of their setup. Reminds me a bit of Raime’s earlier material, as it has a slight “basketballs being dribbled in an empty gymnasium” feel at times, though there’s also a track like “Putung”, which is more reminiscent of one of Ricardo Villalobos’s abstract productions (ala Vasco or Empirical House). There’s no 4/4 thump, and Uwalmassa dance around that concept metaphorically (and presumably literally), skittering around the absence of rhythm with lightly clanking cymbals, suspicious bells and intricate blocks. The deeper you go into Malar, the greater the reward – I’ve been swimming in it for a few weeks now and still haven’t touched the bottom.

White Stains Blood On The Beach 7″ (Neon Taste)
That great Pittsburgh scene comp LP from a couple years ago is still ringing in my ears, upon which White Stains supplied a fine cut, “Let’s Die”. I hadn’t previously checked out the band further (something about the implied “we’re referring to jizz!” in the band name kept me at arm’s length), but this new EP comes with a sharp Vains cover homage and it’s not like I have anything else to do besides check out new hardcore records anyway. Unlike many of their Pittsburgh peers (and members’ previous bands), White Stains go a very early hardcore route, reminiscent of Sick Pleasure, Teen Idles and Circle Jerks… hardcore to be sure, but in the formative style long before it was co-opted by athletes and honor students. As a vocalist, Keith Caves sounds supremely disinterested in the music his bandmates are playing, and his languid, over-it vocals are a nice foil to the rough n’ tumbly hardcore-punk the rest of the ‘Stains have to offer. I’m not sure what the title track is all about – what beach is there in Pittsburgh? – but “2021” is an appropriate pulse-check on our pointless miserable lives, as nuclear-fearing and taken-advantage-of as the rotten teens who first played this style some forty years ago.

Ancient Plastix Ancient Plastix LP (Maple Death)
Debut album here from Liverpool’s Ancient Plastix, a solo endeavor from one Paul Rafferty (previously of noise-punkers Bad Meds). Nothing particularly noisy or punk about Ancient Plastix, though – this is purely synthetic composition, ten melodically-centered pieces with soaring highs, robust bass tones and a vague sense of awe, like watching an IMAX movie about introspective cosmonauts or the life cycle of sea turtles. This isn’t a soundtrack though, it’s music meant for home listening, and while it’s perfectly fine by my ears, there’s a sort of anonymity, or perhaps genericness, that exists within these tracks. I’m reminded of Tangerine Dream, as well as the outputs of new-age-y electronics labels like Palace Of Lights and Music From Memory; it’s an easy classification for this sort of thing, but there’s nothing happening on Ancient Plastix that clashes with an easy and obvious filing. Nothing to complain about with this record, yet I kept wanting something to jump out at me, be it a glitch in the system or some impressively tender moment or perhaps something completely unexpected. For better or worse, Ancient Plastix is an adequate purveyor of mood-driven synth music.

Elle Barbara’s Black Space Délice Créole / Peach Purée 12″ (Celluloid Lunch)
The two schools of punk thought seem to be that either A: it’s only punk if you’re making punk music, or B: it’s only punk if you’re doing whatever you want. Celluloid Lunch seems to follow the second philosophy, releasing dyed-in-the-leather punk bands alongside oddball indie groups and eccentric pop music, and Elle Barbara’s Black Space fits the latter. Like the label, she’s also based in Montreal, and while a quick Googling reveals that there seems to be a swirl of artistic activity surrounding her, this is a fairly straightforward 12″ single of sensual pop and disco-ball-speckled house. “Délice Créole” is a shimmering spotlight on the dance-floor, a retro-throwback that recalls Eurovision‘s greatest Donna Summer and ABBA impersonators, and the GLOWZ rework transitions the party from patio to beach, an Ibizan gem that would’ve lit up even the dullest Sandals resort back in 1987. “Peach Purée” fires up the band for an even more extravagant and colorful affair, with funky bass guitar, seasick synths and the sense that, as a listener, I’m a part-time caterer serving hors d’oeuvres at a party hosted by Serge Gainsbourg, Carly Simon and Nile Rodgers. I could soak up that vibe for hours, but it’s only one song, and the d’Eon remix that follows is a choppy hip-house rendition that trades glamour for a more aggressive beat. Always nice to have friends involved, but the original mixes shine brightest here.

Behavior & Mayako XO Free World LP (Post Present Medium)
Behavior’s 2016 Iron Lung full-length really rubbed me the wrong way, to the point where I went back and re-read that review and wonder if I wasn’t a little unfair – they certainly weren’t the only band playing a repetitive and loose form of spindly post-punk at the time. This time around, they’ve teamed up with LA artist Mayako XO for a new collaboration, resulting in an album “rooted in improvisation” and sorted into songs after the initial sessions. While I’d love to love this record, and redeem my previous Behavior bashing, I am not particularly feeling this one either, sad to say. Rather than sounding post-punk or remotely noisy, this long record has a ’90s indie-rock sound played lugubriously and in defiance of pop hooks. When Mayako XO sings, I’m reminded of Cat Power’s most meandering ’90s moments, and when one of the Behavior guys sings, it often sounds like an aimless Pavement jam with someone doing an Elias Rønnenfelt impression (the delivery is all off-kilter moany croaking in that same distinctive style). Whereas Pavement and Cat Power buffered their floppy rock wanderings with unique, memorable lyrics and/or catchy melodies/hooks, Behavior and Mayako XO seem completely disinterested in making Free World something to remember. There’s a charm to this approach – see Tori Kudo’s vast body of work – but I’m struggling to find it here.

Stefan Christensen Ruby 2×7″ (Ever/Never)
Join me in celebrating the unfairly-maligned format of the double seven-inch! From Harry Pussy to Drunks With Guns to the goshdarn Inflatable Boy Clams, so many of my personal favorites have utilized this format to great ends, and now you can add experimental musician Stefan Christensen to the list. In a heartbreaking twist, Ruby is dedicated to and inspired by Christensen’s friend Rob Talbot who was murdered by cops while incarcerated in 2019. One might expect this release to be a sad and somber affair, but Christensen’s musical reaction to the situation is an entirely honest one, which is to say it’s frustrated, furious and stark. I can sense his disbelief in some of these tracks, the way that his cheap, fractured guitars strum against the odds and his vocals try to make sense of it all. Across these four short sides, guitar and voice are prominent, but there’s plenty of musical detritus to enhance the image, like the EP’s opening banjo plucks, low-lit radio interference and the air of the small rooms wherein these tracks were recorded. Christensen finds patience and resolve in these tiny, muffled songs, the Grouper-like “Goffe Porch” being the most tender of the bunch.

Dali Muru & The Polyphonic Swarm Dali Muru & The Polyphonic Swarm LP (Stroom)
It’s not cheap to fly a Stroom record over from Belgium and onto my front stoop, but I’ve yet to feel shorted in doing so. Case in point is this new one from the new-to-me Dali Muru & The Polyphonic Swarm (thankfully not the Spree), which sulks around through a maze of hallways connecting downtempo synth-wave, trip-hop and electro. Through these somewhat varied tracks, I’m picking up a variety of not-entirely-disparate sounds: the eerie post-industrial chill of Ectoplasm Girls, the peculiar vocal-house of Tom Of England, the super-slow techno grind of the Neubau label, the defiant trip-hop swagger of Leslie Winer and the left-field techno-funk of Tolouse Low Trax, who in fact lends his production to opening cut “Finest Escape” (which, ironically, doesn’t really sound anything like his other work). I just unknowingly crafted a fine playlist right there, and Dali Muru & The Polyphonic Swarm would fit in nicely, no matter if the vibe is dance-based or more of a seated chin-stroker’s delight. I like when the (severely relaxed) beats drop, which contrast nicely against some of the Midsommar-esque folk-horror conjured by other tracks. Worth every penny I spent on this record, all 3,552 of them!

Finale 255 O.P.M. 7″ (Slovenly)
There’s a hallowed punk tradition of bands who purposely find the most annoying singer possible to front their band. I fully support this, as a purposely disgraceful upending of what constitutes “musical talent” is a joy to behold, even if the singer really, truly annoys. Valencia’s Finale are a current-day example, as the band plays a tight and poppy form of classic clean-guitar punk, recorded stainlessly enough to give off a vibe more redolent of The Hives than The Coneheads. The singer is an absolute gobbler, as if he managed to avoid using his mouth entirely and decided to sing exclusively through his nose. Reminds me of a more polished (if less memorable) version of Australia’s first-wave post-punkers Tactics, a personal favorite. Your mileage here will certainly vary depending upon your tolerance (or appreciation) of high-pitched vocal squawk. I would probably love it in person, in some crusty Spanish bar with a shirtless ninety-pound singer dangling from the water pipes, but on record it’s a fun little jolt as well. Whether or not I could handle a full album of this voice is another story entirely.

Fine Place This New Heaven LP (Night School)
Fine Place is a new pairing between two New York artists (who Bandcamp Daily tells me are also a couple), Matthew Hord (of Pop. 1280 and Brandy) and Frankie Rose (surely you know Frankie Rose). While their other musical pursuits generally call to mind a grounded or even subterranean point of view, This New Heaven floats in the clouds, a seductive (if undeniably trendy) form of electronic dream-pop. Think of colored lights caught in smoke-machine haze, or Boy Harsher covering Cocteau Twins. These songs are slow and alluring, often reminding me of some of the more aspirationally pop works from the Tri Angle records camp, or the sort of thing I’d imagine to hear if I clicked on a link that read “Trent Reznor’s daughter releases debut single”. For as lo-fi-pop as Rose is known to be and as sardonically punk as Horn’s prior works are, I’m a little surprised by the downy softness of This New Heaven. Not in a bad way, because this style works best when it shares the qualities of a satin duvet… it’s just not what I would’ve necessarily expected. I enjoy having my expectations subverted, especially in the form of soothing electro-pop, and the album closing cover rendition of Adult Fantasies’ fantastic “The Party Is Over” hints at subversive sentiments to come.

Fix More Is More LP (Phantom)
Fix blew me away with their debut single a couple years ago – not from the music, but from the fact that they just called themselves “Fix”, blatantly swiping the name of one of the greatest American hardcore pioneers for their basement-y sounding weird-punk band. This time around, it appears Fix is an actual live band, and with that came a stylistic shift. Rather than blasting out some direct-to-laptop egg-punk full of neon farts and irritating-on-purpose motifs, they’ve transitioned to a sinewy hardcore-punk outfit, no contrivance needed. On More Is More, they come across like Germany’s answer to Hank Wood & The Hammerheads. The drumming has that same swing (and lots of cowbell!), and the vocalist delivers his shouts in short staccato bursts, much in the Hank Wood manner. Can’t say with certainty that Fix are intentionally aping Hank Wood this time around, but the similarities are certainly glaring, and Hank Wood are one of the most popular underground punk bands, or at least were a year or two ago, so it wouldn’t be a total shock. Thankfully, Fix do well with that same set of sonic characteristics, and the lack of singalong hooks might be more due to my lack of fluent German than their lack of catchiness. Now then, if some other band from Leipzig starts calling themselves The Necros and sounds eerily like Chubby & The Gang, my tolerance will truly be put to the test.

Gauze 言いたかねえけど目糞鼻糞 LP (XXX)
I believe it was conceptual artist Jenny Holzer who once said “loving Gauze comes as no surprise”, but this new album from perhaps the longest-running most-perfect hardcore band in the world really reiterates the admiration that I’m feeling. The CD came out last fall, but I held out for the vinyl (as I’m wont to do) by figuring out some sort of third-party Japanese shipping company, and am now sitting here basking in the glory of 言いたかねえけど目糞鼻糞. Even if they weren’t the greatest decades-long hardcore band in history, this new one would be a fascinating and distinctive selection of ten tracks at 45 RPM for a brand new group. Unlike 2007’s unrepentantly raw 貧乏ゆすりのリズムに乗って, this new album maintains a thick grit without sacrificing punch or clarity. This works well for these songs, which are constructed in an arch form of Gauze’s already idiosyncratic style. The blasts of speed are tempered with cascading stop-start breaks; so much space is given to the vocals and the drums, and it results in a fascinating and precise form of hardcore energy. It’s like they are playing with negative space and finding ways to charge it with all the bombast that comes with playing all the instruments at once, as most bands tend to do. It kills me that it’s always the hardcore bands that add violins or electronics or some other generic “experimental” trick that get lauded as “pushing hardcore to the next level”, when it’s never been more evident that Gauze are the true hardcore visionaries, at once elevating the style to a pure form of art without negating any of the aspects that are inherent and necessary to actual great hardcore music.

Heavenly Bodies Universal Resurrection LP (Petty Bunco)
For a while now, I’ve picked up that Petty Bunco (née Richie Records) might be a stoner-rock label for people who hate “stoner rock”. Rather than dabbling in images of bong-shaped spaceships and dude-bro rockerisms, the Petty Bunco posse keeps things modest and reality-based, more in line with Joe Carducci’s vision of the power of the electric guitar (from Hendrix to Saccharine Trust) than the cartoony craft beer stylings favored by the bands you know I’m talking about. This new one-song full-length from Philadelphia’s Heavenly Bodies squares nicely with my theory, a long, meandering live take recorded at Jerry’s On Front in the Kensington neighborhood of Philadelphia. Their resolve is impressive: cut into two sides, I’m fairly sure the drummer doesn’t kick in until a few minutes into the second side, but I like to imagine him sitting there on his stool for the whole thing, motionlessly vibing to the twinkling guitars of his bandmates. It’s a stoner groove that slowly diffuses into the room, reeking of weed but not self-conscious about it. The sparse notes chosen are familiar and fundamental – Universal Resurrection seems to be all about the journey, not the destination.

Kee Avil Crease LP (Constellation)
It’s interesting to follow the way in which weird artists choose to express their weirdness as the available technology changes. Now that everyone has access to software with a dizzying array of effects, additives and processing power, musicians who once were forced to express themselves through electric guitar or synthesizer alone are now able to bend the very fabric of sound to their wills. It’s also kinda funny when you consider that a lot of the modern avant-garde players end up making similar aesthetic choices, which I notice happening here on the debut full-length from Montreal’s Kee Avil. Her music is turbulent, uncomfortable and abstractly tuneful, with rustling noises utilized as percussion, clanging pianos, guitars that shimmer and squeak and ASMR-friendly vocals, showcasing every crackle and pop of her (frequently pitch-shifted) voice. Crease seems strongly indebted to contemporaries like Eartheater, Jenny Hval, Arca, Pan Daijing and Aïsha Devi, not in exact sonic correlation so much as the habitation of the same electro-feral digital mutant vibe (albeit here with a guitar-centric sound). Like those other artists, Kee Avil seems intent on both titillating and unsettling the listener, or perhaps forcing the listener to confuse those two sensations. It’s a fine artistic premise, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve witnessed it before, and quite recently, and from a good number of other artists – even the cover art bears striking resemblance to Nothing’s 2018 album Dance On The Blacktop or more recently, Debit’s The Long Count. While that may be my perspective, I’d rather live in a world where Kee Avil can sound like this than one where she can’t.

Levande Död Ingen Framtid LP (Happiest Place)
This Swedish group’s debut LP came through here a couple years ago and was entertaining in its various styles and approaches, an almost confusing mix at times. I think I’ve gotten to the bottom of it – Levande Död recorded their debut over many years and lineup/recording configurations, whereas Ingen Framtid is the work of a solid band created in a relatively short amount of time. This time around, they’re sounding like Chronophage if Thom Yorke accidentally joined the group… or kinda. These songs are still charmingly folksy and mildly countrified, played in a somewhat ramshackle DIY manner akin to Swell Maps or The Clean, but there’s also a unified style with a sense of larger musical aspirations. With the Happiest Place affiliation, one could assume these are some underground weirdos perfectly content to remain firmly underground, yet these songs would probably go over smashingly with fans of Arctic Monkeys and Shame and The Walkmen; this isn’t necessarily collegiate indie-rock with buttons firmly fastened, but it’s also not entirely not that, either. Rather than waste any more of my time trying to figure out who goes where, I’m going to sit back and enjoy Ingen Framtid some more, another curious and agreeable transmission from the enduring Swedish underground.

Jeff Mills & Rafael Leafar The Override Switch 2xLP (Axis)
Kind of a no-brainer here – living Detroit techno legend Jeff Mills going on a techno / future-jazz hybrid with multi-instrumentalist Rafael Leafar (also of Detroit). I’m not sure how this could possibly be bad, but after sitting with The Override Switch for a few weeks now, I’m willing to say it’s exceptional! Generally speaking, I love a repetitious minimal-techno groove with delayed horns wailing over top, and yet this feels like a special entry in the canon. Mills’ percussion is hypnotic and restrained; generally once he’s locked it in, the pulse and mix may change but the groove does not. With that as the base, Leafar takes continual flight, handling multiple flutes, clarinets, saxophones, oboes and even dabbling on synthesizers as well. Kaleidoscopic and sensual, it’s rich and nourishing music, far removed from the “space station in revolt” techno I generally associate with Mills, and closer to the contemporary “spiritual jazz” scenes that are receiving proper due here in the States and abroad. It feels good to be stuck here on this planet at the same time as the folks who decided to make The Override Switch.

Narrow Adventure 1981-83 LP (Spacecase)
Sure it’s only March but it’s already feeling like this might be the “previously unreleased archival find” of the year for me! Narrow Adventure was a short-lived group featuring Kjehl Johansen (of Urinals and 100 Flowers) and Kristi and Kelly Callan (of ’80s pop-rockers Wednesday Week), and when it comes to ultra-simple DIY power-pop, this is undeniably great. The front cover photo looks like it was plucked from the high school yearbook’s poetry club, and that sort of nice-kid energy is palpable throughout – they literally have a song called “I Hate Lying To Mom”, the yin to the yang of the Descendents’ early adolescent angst. 1981-83 feels like a cross between early ’80s teen-punk and the studious strum-pop of early Flying Nun, economical in nature and each instrument clearly pronounced, tuneful and raw. No wall of sound happening here, no effects, just simple understated guitar pop that sticks in your head after its gone, thanks to both the songs themselves and the forceful vocals of Kristi Callan. Most definitely for fans of Sweeping Promises, though I can’t imagine there’s anyone reading this who wouldn’t enjoy 1981-83 at least a little bit.

Pan•American The Patience Fader LP (Kranky)
It feels like the experimental underground is once again in step with Labradford guitarist Mark Nelson. His melodic ambient music under the Pan•American moniker has been ready for the IDM-adjacent, ECM lite-jazz-influenced trend we find ourselves in, and his newest one, The Patience Fader, is a lush and soothing experience no matter what the times are calling for. Whereas previous albums have eschewed traditional instrumentation, this one focuses on Nelson’s guitar, which unhurriedly drips out chords and progressions with the airiness of seltzer bubbles and the softness of velour. I’d draw comparisons to Mike Cooper, Bill Connors and the countrified era of Earth, as well as a dash of electronic artist Boothroyd’s Pure Country album, but there’s a tender sentimentality to these songs that outweighs any sense of “experimental” attitudes or genre allegiance. “Corniel”, for example, would be a tasty outlier on any given Pop Ambient compilation, but it fits in snugly here as well surrounded by so many guitar-led instrumentals. Music for weighted blankets, dust illuminated by sunbeams and patient afternoons, or as close to a simulation of those you can come by.

Popp Devi LP (Squama)
Almost missed this late 2021 album from German percussionist Simon Popp, but I’m glad to have caught it. Popp’s 2019 solo debut Laya received numerous spins around here, as he performs a style of music I’m happy to consume any time of day: electronics-enhanced percussive rinse cycles. Popp’s a member of the percussion-based 9ms group (who also released a great album last year on the Squama label), but somehow its his solo work that arrives with the most fascinating set of colors sparkling through. His drum patterns are lively and cyclical without feeling repetitive – fun and freaky yet fully locked in. For a percussion-based record, it never feels empty; Popp is clearly a musical academic and all of the various percussive instruments used, from trap kit to various acoustic wooden pieces, are perfectly tuned and resonate accordingly. I love a good wood-block workout with dubbed-out metallic pings reverberating throughout, and Popp brings it here in no short supply. Gonna have to keep a close eye on Squama from here on out, particularly as Martin Brugger’s late 2020 masterpiece Music For Video Stores entered my world alongside Devi and it’s been impossible to peel me out of my listening chair ever since.

Nate Scheible Fairfax LP (Warm Winters Ltd.)
Why aren’t there more gimmicks in drone music? I ask myself this question while heartily enjoying Nate Scheible’s Fairfax, which relies upon the gimmick of editing anonymous answering-machine tapes found in a Northern Virginia thrift store over soft electronic ambient. “Gimmick” might not be the perfect word, as it seems to carry a negative connotation as though there’s some sort of cheapness or manipulation at hand, but whatever you want to call it, Scheible’s intentions strike me as pure and the totality of Fairfax is solid and oddly moving. His windswept synth drones shimmer and wane, as inconspicuous as shadows and occasionally as potent as the glare of a sunrise, but it’s the unknown woman’s private soliloquies that steal the show. Her accent is distinctly American (if somewhat difficult for me to regionally place), and she speaks so personally and candidly to her “sweetheart” on the other end, working through their financial troubles, mood swings and, more than anything else, deep love and devotion. It takes a track or two to fully click (or at least it did for me), but Schieble’s ambient drones add a resonance to the woman’s words – ironically, it’s the addition of Scheible’s music that enables me to really listen to what she has to say.

Skiftande Enheter Öppna Landskap EP 7″ (Happiest Place)
Skiftande Enheter strike me as the punkest-sounding band in the Happiest Place scene, but don’t expect anything redolent of The Exploited or The Lewd. I’m speaking comparatively, as Skiftande Enheter pack a soft little open-handed smack, or perhaps a closed-fist clutching a fresh bouquet of roadside tulips. These songs utilize familiar sonic contributions – jangly guitars kissed with fuzz, warmly buzzing keyboards, vocals that rely on charisma over pitch – but they manage to behave differently than the multitudes of garage-rockers that have passed through my ears. The guitar chimes merrily, playing these peculiar and sprightly licks that I’d expect to hear from the amps of Chris Isaak, Purple Hearts or Francisco Franco, or perhaps on a Reds Pinks & Purples single, but instead of going full-on indie-pop or new-wave, Skiftande Enheter bring just enough backbone to the point where they could cover Ebba Grön or Kriminella Gitarrer without killing the mood. Mod and indie-pop and punk aren’t exactly fresh notions at this point, yet when Skiftande Enheter throws them together it sounds one step ahead.

Jimmy Smack Death Is Certain LP (Knekelhuis)
Okay, I realize that it was only a couple reviews ago that I had dubbed an album my archival find of the year (Narrow Adventure, if you somehow missed it), but it’s too close to call now that I’ve obtained a copy of Jimmy Smack’s Death Is Certain. I feel like a good portion of my nihilistic anti-social punk readership might’ve otherwise missed this one, released as it is by the venerable Knekelhuis label – they’re generally associated with forward-minded electronic dance music, even if often DIY in nature and closer to “uncategorizable” than “techno” or “house”. Anyway, Jimmy Smack came up in the very early ’80s death-rock scene, playing the same punk holes and police-pestered spaces as Black Flag and Circle Jerks, but his musical approach is different in sound if not entirely spirit. Using moody synths, bare-bones drum machines and a reverb pedal for his vocals, I am honestly shocked his music has remained undiscovered this long (he released only a couple impossibly-rare EPs in 1982 and 1983). Imagine if Bobby Soxx saw Throbbing Gristle in 1981 and decided to release the bats, or if Christian Death was a one-man primitive-synth project instead of a rock band. Some of the non-Western synth melodies remind of me something I’d expect to hear from Ghédalia Tazartès, yet at the same time I can absolutely picture members of Redd Kross and The Adolescents standing around kinda stunned, watching this freak in a jockstrap, boots and eyeliner dancing and eerily prophesizing over homemade beats. A crucial piece of Los Angeles’s early ’80s underground puzzle that I never knew was missing!

Theoreme Les Artisans LP (Maple Death)
When it comes to cool, disaffected post-punk synth, the French have a particular knack for it. This is no surprise, but a contemporary artist like Theoreme is a top-notch and alluring malcontent, following her great Bruit Direct album with Les Artisans. These songs are loose, dusty and aloof, less concerned with rigid melodies and personal anxiety than the moody intrigue that fills them… I’m reminded of the earliest works by Anika, Cabaret Voltaire and Annie Anxiety, with a dubby digi-murk that reminds me of something The Pop Group’s Mark Stewart would’ve left his thumbprints on back in 1983. Drum machines lightly propel, organs creak and moan as they’re forced to perform beyond their years, and Theoreme’s Maïssa D (it’s her solo project) off-handedly speaks her native French over top. It results in an appealing collection of wobbly and minimal grooves, often fading in and out without any progression, choruses or structural changes. Who needs it when you’re cool? This is music for smoking someone else’s cigarettes in the graffiti-riddled concrete stairwell of an unmarked underground dance club, no doubt.

Mark Wagner Son Rise / Son Of The Sun 12″ (Adaadat / Zamzamrec)
A funky backstory can enhance or overpower a work of art, but in the case of Mark Wagner’s Son Rise / Son Of the Sun I’m charmed to know how it came about. Wagner recorded the base tracks of piano and vocals back in 2015, and enhanced them with electronics around the dawn of 2021, right as he contracted a “deliriously ill” case of Covid (and a month before his child was born). Not an entirely unfamiliar story to most of us, but it helps explain the somewhat conflicting approaches at play here. These are indeed songs as opposed to “pieces”, which I’d file next to Shackleton’s occult British folk material, Current 93 and perhaps even Coil in the way that an ancient mysticism is fused with up-to-date electronic processing. It helps that Wagner is a finely talented singer, powerful enough to stand alone but even more powerful alongside his deeply resonating piano. Not entirely unlike Nick Cave’s recent music, if a little more esoteric. The instrumental passage that opens “Son Of The Sun” hits like John T. Gast’s Gossiwor project, spinning a thin thread to connect the pastoral British folk of Richard Skelton with the rain-soaked cyber-punk streets of Burial’s cinematic universe. Wagner succeeds in leaving me unsure if this record is meant to ward off wicked spirits or lure them in.

Watkins / Peacock Acid Escape Vol. 3 LP (FREAKS)
Zachary James Watkins of Black Spirituals posted up in a room with his pal Ross Peacock on what is apparently their third documented excursion together. Armed with analog synths, they just kinda let it rip – a beat sputters into place, melodies are repeated by hand and effects flutter both near and far. Reminds me a bit of Omar S in his “why don’t you go do something interesting with my records!” phase, when he was just pumping out loose and partly-unfinished beat tracks for other people to play with (“Psychotic Photosynthesis” a stellar example). For an improvisational synth record, it’s a lot more melody-centric than you might expect, as Watkins and Peacock clearly put the melodic hook front and center, less concerned with experimental effects or sound design. Works for me – “deconstructed” electronic music can get pretty wearying for my ears, even at its best, whereas I’m always game for a funky bass-line, a rotund kick and some snippy claps to round it out.

Rapsodie En France compilation LP (World Gone Mad / Crapoulet)
I’ve been listening to hardcore-punk for almost thirty years now and I love that there is still so much of it I’ve yet to hear. If the kids start reissuing more of these obscure early ’80s cassette compilations, it’s possible I will never go hungry for new-to-me first- and second-wave hardcore-punk, a thought that brings a tear to my eye. Rapsodie En France was originally such a tape, released by French label Jungle Hop International in 1985, and the eight groups here are all certified rippers, Euro-core that’s equal parts filthy, snarling, misbehaved and even downright anti-musical. I’m referring to Rapt with that last comment: their six tracks of flailing crust-core split the difference between Psycho Sin and Seven Minutes Of Nausea. You better believe I immediately scrambled online to determine whether or not they released anything else, adding their 1986 split 7″ with Final Blast (who also appear here) to my want-list without hesitation. The rest of the bands vary between tuneful-ish street-punk and snap-neck hardcore, packed to the brim with swear words, terrible guitar tones and the occasional audible burp. It’s cool that hardcore grew and evolved, that breakdowns and metallic riffing and sportswear integrated into the form, but I am particularly fond of records like this, filled with raw sounds comparable to Cheetah Chrome Motherfuckers, B.G.K., Raw Power, Bad Posture, Rebel Truth, D.R.I. and all that good stuff.