Black Abba Feel Good 7″ (Ken Rock)
The irreverently-named Black Abba are back with another quick 7″ EP, this time on Swedish garage-punk mainstay Ken Rock Records. “Feel Good” really ups the ante for what this band seems to be trying to accomplish, which is to become the most sarcastic, least enthusiastic synth-punk band around. I should probably put synth in scare-quotes because it’s barely greater than a monotone bleep here, and Black Abba step up their nihilistic lack of interest as the downpicked mono-riff slowly drifts off time from the plodding drums. Magnificent! “Let’s Fight” is far more professional (they actually play some ordered music notes) but it has the same mean-mugging attitude thanks to a group-shouted chorus of “let’s fight let’s fight / let me play with your knife”. Seems like they might be joking about it but I don’t want to take the risk. “Mike” ends on a poppier note, but the whole thing is an unabashedly misanthropic take on lo-fi punk (and life in general), in a wonderful way of course. I’ve read that there has been some membership overlap with Buck Biloxi over the years and man, these New Orleans punks know how to let the bad times roll.
Bobby Funk Avocado Stains 7″ (Autonomonster / TNS / Krautpop!)
You’ve been asking for it, now you’ve got it: a green “avocado-shaped” vinyl record. The grooves are about seven inches or so, but the rest of the fruit extends beyond, hence Avocado Stains being issued in a standard 12″ sleeve. That’s dedication! It’s an attention-grabbing record for sure, and even if the gimmick outshines the music (which I’d say is the case here), it’s still undeniably fun. Bobby Funk are an overtly British melodic punk group – their first two EPs were titled Pasty Blagger and Piss, for crying out loud, and there’s a song on here called “Johnny Wanker” that goes down a list of people who are all, you guessed it, wankers. I’m reminded of the punk rock I used to enjoy on those mid-’90s CD comps that would be crammed to capacity with music, like the Punk Uprisings series or one of those Fat Wreck Chords or Lookout! budget samplers. Silly, stupid fun is the name of the game, and Bobby Funk remind me of Blanks 77 or Blatz. Can’t really go wrong with that, although I don’t think you can really go right with it, either. I wonder where Bobby Funk falls on the “avocado toast” debate? They probably think both sides are wankers.
Bocksrucker SixSixSix 12″ (Neubau)
Alongside the killer Gil.Barte EP on Neubau (gushed about at length below), I snagged a copy of Bocksrucker’s SixSixSix EP. It srucks serious bock, no doubt about it! These three tracks are rugged and funereal, like what I’d imagine Jeff Hanneman’s wake was like (a mosh pit breaking out in Slumber Room B, black roses on polished mahogany, bloody tears, etc.). The beats are huge, grayscale noise is a constant texture (but used sparingly, not overpoweringly), and each track features samples of some old Satanic art film, tying the EP together with its title. The samples are deployed well, adding a dramatic, cultish flair to Bocksrucker’s menacing tracks that flit between industrial, techno and EBM. I’m picturing Beau Wanzer finally getting his ears pierced for goth night, Orphyx and Winterkälte updated for the late ’10s, or Shadowlust wearing Slipknot tees. Neubau’s aesthetic, which seems to reimagine early ’90s noise label aesthetics (think Tesco Organization or Cold Meat Industry) as DJ-ready dance 12″s is a home run in my book, Bocksrucker clearly the most nefarious offering yet.
Boothroyd Pure Country LP (Fnord Communications)
I love a good concept, and Peter Boothroyd’s debut album Pure Country is just that. Picture the pulsing EDM build-ups of Tiesto and Calvin Harris left to idle on repeat (no beat drops) with cornball guitars and harmonicas adding an out-of-place “country” touch. I saw the harmonica sound described as “Roseanne-style” and while that cracked me up, it’s sharply accurate – just peep “Blue” and tell me you can’t picture the family gathering around the table, passing plates of food with Moby setting up his CDJs in the corner. I certainly wouldn’t have guessed that it’d be such a winning combination, and perhaps in lesser hands it would quickly crumble, but Boothroyd knows how to scale things back just right, so that the combination of twangy acoustic guitar and broad sketches of mainstream electro-pop feel like a natural pair rather than something to dismiss. Besides that ridiculous harmonica, I haven’t laughed at Pure Country at all, rather finding myself drifting into his alternate reality of pop music, one where Yelawolf is a household name and Frank Ocean boot-scoots onto the stage. I’m convinced anything could happen at this point.
Boy Harsher Pain II 12″ (Nude Club)
Okay, so I do this blog to tell y’all about cool stuff, so why didn’t any of you return the favor and let me know that my Boy Harsher coverage was sorely lacking? I feel like a dope for only recently finding out about this group, who I’d say are pretty clearly at the tip top of the “male/female gothy industrial synth-wave duo” genre, a crowded field if there ever was one. Thankfully Boy Harsher are making their vinyl ever so slightly easier to obtain with this new 12″ pressing, featuring the previously-released “Pain” alongside a remix by The Soft Moon on the flip. Normally I’d think this is kind of a throwaway release for any band, but I’d have to cash in my 401k if I want to afford a copy of the original Pain EP, and this song is so instantly infectious that it deserves the repeated attention. “Pain” is a modern classic and I don’t say that lightly – every aspect is perfectly assembled and delivered, resulting in the sort of magic every artist hopes to one day attain. On the back of its simplistic and recognizable melodic arpeggio, Boy Harsher layer startlingly confident whisper-moan vocals, catchy little sonic additives and a chorus that simply refuses to stop ringing in my skull. The Soft Moon adds some electrified debris and tries to coax a Rammstein-esque mosh pit into existence on his remix, which works for me, but the original is this priceless artifact that I feel blessed to be able to spin whenever I want. Which apparently is always.
The Child Molesters 1978 Hound Dog Recordings 12″ (Ace & Duce / Negative Jazz)
Seminal shock-rock punkers The Child Molesters have been high on sweaty-palmed record collectors’ want-lists for at least a couple decades, and in “celebration” of the 40th anniversary of this early recording session, these four songs are presented on a 12″ EP. If you haven’t heard ’em, these cuts are certainly top-notch Killed By Death crap-rock – “I’m Gonna Punch You (In The Face)” in particular is wildly charming and so catchy that I almost want to get punched in the face while hearing it. The Child Molesters were clearly coming from a musical background of Alice Cooper and The Stooges, desperate to flick their noses at proper social behavior and at their happiest when all nearby feathers are ruffled beyond repair. That said, I still feel a little strange seeing a new record in 2018 that features swastikas on both the cover and insert; there’s a brief disclaimer in the insert that directly states the group is not Nazis nor actual child molesters (what a relief), but it comes across preemptively defensive, as if you’re just a wimpy baby if you don’t also enjoy pretending to be a Nazi to offend the neighbors and that no discussion is to be had regarding punks who sport fascist imagery. Surely there are other archival punk recordings waiting to be reissued that aren’t covered with the stuff, especially seeing as these Hound Dog Recordings have been released numerous times through the years already? (Not to mention that the original Wholesale Murder 7″ was released to coincide with Hitler’s birthday, as prominently noted on the insert?) As a punk rock artifact, The Child Molesters are noteworthy of more than just a footnote, but perhaps the mindset with which they are presented could use an update from 1978.
DJ Healer Nothing 2 Loose 3xLP (All Possible Worlds)
DJ Healer (real name unknown?) is one of the most fascinating and creative techno producers today, not just creating different sounds through his various aliases (Prince Of Denmark, DJ Metatron, Traumprinz, etc.) but building up entire worlds around them. Not one for subtlety, he recently released two triple 12″s under two new monikers, Prime Minister Of Doom and DJ Healer, and in case you are thinking you don’t need six more 12″s following his somewhat recent octuple- and triple-LP releases under the Prince Of Denmark name, think again – you do! It seems as if he realized he can do no wrong, so he lets things run wild without over-editing or the slightest consideration of brevity. I already love these two new ones dearly, but DJ Healer is probably my favorite as it is particularly evocative, utilizing ambient techno and dramatic samples as a storytelling device. One track might be little more than mildly rustling wind and a faint electronic pulse, and the next might snap a beat into action with sampled vocals providing the emotional resonance (is that Nico on “2 The Dark”?). I’m reminded of the intros/outros of Burial’s more cinematic material, but DJ Healer allows things to unfurl slowly, unhurried by the constraints of a single 12″ side. It’s touching, spellbinding, lush, and just a little bit corny, my fondness growing stronger with each new listen.
DJ Marcelle / Another Nice Mess Psalm Tree 12″ (Jahmoni Music)
Amsterdam’s DJ Marcelle is a constant presence throughout Europe’s underground scene, often using three turntables simultaneously in a sort of live mash-up spectacle. Another Nice Mess is the name of her radio show, and apparently her records are under both names, which I’m finally no longer confused by. This new one is pretty great: comedic industrial techno, let’s say? The opener pairs a distorted rhythm with outrageously warbling human voice tones (not entirely unlike what Errorsmith deployed on his last album) with a sample of someone saying “constipation” over and over again. It’s as if Regis remixed a particularly hilarious People Like Us collage for the dressed-in-black club set, and while it’s directly up my alley, I’m impressed by how natural and smooth DJ Marcelle makes it all seem. The opener is my favorite for sure, but the rest of the EP deploys choppy, impolite percussion with well-mannered samples (“Psalm 3, Verse 3: Walking Around Aimlessly” is rhythmic fuzz and reversed bass blips paired with old-timey whistling), highly creative and lacking a direct similarity with the work of any contemporary producers, even the weird ones. The last track even pushes into some sort of troll-driven footwork, which I realize doesn’t make much sense, but DJ Marcelle is interested in making wild new sounds, not sense.
Graham Dunning Way Too Much Time 12″ (AD AAD AT)
Fantastic vinyl debut here from one of London’s most ingenious sonic experimenters, Graham Dunning. This 12″ collects four cuts made by his “mechanical techno machine”, which should be read quite literally: Dunning has devised a wild spinning column of live-action effects and tricks that are used to create snappy minimal techno. He’s a viral sensation on YouTube, and rightfully so, as the concept behind this music (you really should just go search his name on YouTube rather than sit here while I try to explain it) is wildly inventive and fun to watch. Of course, on a record, you have nothing to watch, but thankfully his machine’s results are just as pleasant to the ears without the visual. Through these four tracks, I’m reminded of Wolfgang Voigt’s Studio 1 EPs, or Donato Dozzy at his most essential, but there’s a strange humanity granted to these tracks that the garden variety hands-off techno doesn’t include. I’d say there are also touches of the live-action electronic frippery of Leprechaun Catering or Ekoplekz, but Dunning never veers from techno’s 4/4 grid, even as his equipment may be longing to do so. Couldn’t love this more if I tried!
Fetish Take The Knife / A House Is Not A Motel 7″ (Beach Impediment)
Seems pretty clear that Fetish’s primary fetish is guitarists – this hardcore supergroup has no less than three of them! Do you think they’d mind if I joined in on fourth guitar? I don’t care if they turned my amp to Vinnie Stigma’s levels, I just wanna stand on stage with these burly dudes. Anyway, back to the matter at hand: Fetish is comprised of 75% of Long Knife and two members of Poison Idea (War All The Time era), and while that sort of background gives them a permanent pass to do whatever they want in these later years (rockabilly, ska, ska-punk, ska-abilly, etc.), the men in Fetish are sticking with raging powerhouse hardcore. “Take The Knife” arrives on an explosive intro before kicking into its upbeat hardcore riffing and an explosive, moshworthy breakdown (is that double-bass I hear coming from the drum kit?), all with an extra serving of blazing guitar solos. Finely crafted for sure. “A House Is Not A Motel” is a Love cover, but don’t take off your moshing sneakers just yet – Fetish coat the moody psych-garage melody in lead paint and use their collective amplification to shred anyone left standing. Admiring their band photo on the insert, I can’t help but wonder what the inside of their van smells like. Maybe I’m the one with the fetish.
Gil.Barte Ssjip EP 12″ (Neubau)
What’s great about techno is that there is simply an endless expanse of it, with more being created at roughly the same rate the universe is expanding (I’ve confirmed with leading physicists on the matter), so there is always a new favorite waiting to be discovered out there. This debut 12″ by Gil.Barte is certainly one of them, as its a prime example of exactly what I’m hoping to hear: basement electronics, lo-fi industrial, mid-’80s Esplendor Geometrico and seductive New Beat grooves all tidily scraped together. “Sssjp” is reminiscent of ugly American electro like Patricia and Beau Wanzer but has a personality all its own, with various voices appearing behind curtains as the potent groove stalks through a digital grid, as if the original Wolfenstein 3D video game was based on distributing drugs in a basement rave, not murdering Nazis. (Although if you wanted to murder some Nazis to “Sssjp” I wouldn’t hold it against you.) “Myaso” follows, and it’s a moody requiem that feels both intolerably claustrophobic and transcendent, like laying in an MRI tube that simultaneously provides a deep tissue massage. “Kemang” is the last cut and may be my favorite of the three, as it features quite possibly the best electro-vibraslap effect I’ve ever heard, traversing a weirdly pitched bass-line as it encounters various spoken transmissions, slowly increasing in mania. I really can’t believe how great Sssjp is, and have already started throwing my money at the other recent Neubau releases as they seem to follow similar aesthetic aspirations. Highest recommendation, to be sure!
Peggy Gou Once 12″ (Ninja Tune)
If there’s a more universal form of music than house, I’ve yet to hear it – every populated continent on Earth has hundreds of people making it and thousands of people dancing to it (and I bet I could find at least one or two producers from Antarctica on Soundcloud). Peggy Gou is South Korean but she calls Berlin her home, and her effervescent, poppy house is a delight. “It Makes You Forget (Itgehane)” gives disco drums a space-station makeover care of a cuddly acid line, bongos and a vibraphone, with Peggy Gou’s own vocals providing the tune with a sense of sleek sophistication. “Hundres Times” is more traditional house in the vein of Omar S at his most ebullient, arpeggios intertwining in colorful displays. Meanwhile, “Han Jan” sources the elastic funk of Zapp and Mantronix and whips up another retro-futurist groove (complete with rapping!), as if Stereolab remixed Dopplereffekt to celebrate the opening of a boutique vape shop. I should probably stop listening to this so much because my interest in inhaling artificially-flavored high-density mists grows stronger with every spin.
Hogg Self-Extinguishing Emission LP (Scrapes)
For some reason I had just assumed that Hogg’s last record, Solar Phallic Lion, would be their last… both the group and the music they made just seemed so volatile, as if it was a random lucky chance that everything converged on a moment where they were able to record an album and have someone put it out. Much to my delight, they’re sticking around for a bit longer, and Self-Extinguishing Emission reveals some interesting growth, though I don’t mean growth as in “cleaned up fidelity with newfound pop aspirations”, so much as the giant weeds that sprout out of an abandoned building. This sounds like a band who understand what works best and they twist the knife in that exact spot (industrial percussion, hysterical vocals, wet throbbing bass), sounding like a feminine Coil signed to Subterranean. “Black Into Dirt” in particular showcases their talents: a swampy sound-effect merges with a punchy drum machine and drooping bass-line while moaned vocals crisscross each other, a guitar stabs out of nowhere and someone does a brief vocal imitation of Abruptum’s It. The Throbbing Gristle resemblance remains particularly striking, not just in sound but in the confidence of their decisions, as if making music any other way would be a waste of time. Self-Extinguishing Emission certainly seems like the logical answer to many of life’s burning questions.
Human Adult Band Sonic Enlightenment LP (Third Uncle)
Don’t let anyone tell you that New Jersey ain’t freaky, as Human Adult Band and their Princeton / New Brunswick associates have been keeping it real for quite some time now. On this new one, the confidently-titled Sonic Enlightenment, they’ve got a couple of styles at their disposal and they make good with all of it. The a-side is fully inhabited by “Easton Ave Laundromat”, a slow-burning jam that offers further evidence that Neil Young retroactively became a hero to the contemporary lo-fi guitar/noise scene. It loosely weaves through various sticks of incense until disintegrating completely (but not before some mystical flute joins the tune). Human Adult Band balances their epic a-side with six cuts on the flip; they seem to play “This Will Happen Again In A Year & A Half” backwards but in real time, and grind through various other forms of uninhibited noise-rock blues, calling to mind Universal Indians, Bullet In The Head, No Trend’s weirder side and maybe The Dead C, were they an American group raised in the ’90s on Mountain Dew and Mad magazine. Vocals are rare, although I get the impression that someone is always singing at least a little bit, even if it’s not into a microphone. I’d proffer that Sonic Enlightenment will be the most prestigious release on Third Uncle Records this year, unless they plan on releasing another Honey Radar 5″ lathe-cut.
Intensive Care Everything Has Its Price 7″ (Iron Lung)
Intensive Care’s debut album Voyeurism struck me as the output of a group with aspirations of working with Iron Lung Records but not quite up to par with the label’s standard of quality. Either they’ve really stepped up their game or I need to re-visit Voyeurism, because this new 7″ EP is pretty sick. For a bass/drums hardcore duo operating with power-violence and power-electronics influences, they deliver precisely what I’d want to hear. The bass tone is utterly massive, like two Cavity records playing through Bongzilla’s rig, and they churn out the aggressive blast-beat / stop-start / fast-slow riffing with panache. Their noise interludes work well, hearkening back to Gasp and Volume 11’s brutal-psych atmospheres, but really the bass tone is just so monstrous and gnarly that everything else defers to it, and rightfully so. They certainly aren’t reinventing heavy hardcore riffing, but it works undeniably well alongside the more esoteric sounds and enraged-gorilla vocals. Perhaps it’s the fact that Intensive Care decided to embrace Ted Dibiase’s personal philosophy, “Everything Has Its Price“, that led to this smashing success.
Tom Lyngcoln Doming Home LP (Solar/Sonar)
“11 Pieces For Voice & Guitar” is the subtitle of Tom Lyngcoln’s solo debut and while it’s technically accurate, I think it could use a little finessing. First of all, I’d call them “songs” as opposed to “pieces” (avant-garde neo-classical this is not), and while there is nothing else to be found on Doming Home besides Lyngcoln’s voice and his amplified (but non-distorted) electric guitar, these songs feel like little bits of his soul being offered to the public at his own peril. He’s not shy with his singing, belting out his lyrics somewhere between The Housemartins’ P.D. Heaton and Joe Strummer, but often warbling on the verge of emotional collapse as well, as though he inadvertently backed into an early Bright Eyes record. The guitar calmly follows his voice or underpins it with some sort of melodic housing, not unlike how Cat Power or Will Oldham used to do it, although Lyngcoln’s passion is always teetering on high. Just check “Out Of Time” and imagine the shared discomfort of witnessing him perform it in the corner of a coffee shop to a small seated crowd. Lyngcoln looks kinda big and mean on the cover, like he’s ready to dunk your head as if it were an Aussie Rules football, but Doming Home reveals he’s a fragile softy like the rest of us.
Miss Destiny Ice Queen / Randy 7″ (Shipping Steel)
Shipping Steel is a very new Melbourne-based label, but they’re making their mission statement clear: black leather, red meat, white powder punk rock (n’ roll). Miss Destiny are a smart fit in that regard, following their debut LP on R.I.P. Society with these two cuts of traditional hard-rocking punk, as if the macho fantasy of heavy metal remained forever entwined with the sneering cynicism of punk. “Ice Queen” cruises like The Dead Boys on a Saturday night, and “Randy” more or less does the same thing with a melodic lead vocal. This record was produced by Jack Farley (of the great Scott & Charlene’s Wedding) and I think at least one member of Miss Destiny named Harriet (there are multiple) plays in Southern Comfort, revealing yet another set of connections in Melbourne punk’s massive and tangled family tree. Miss Destiny are on the raunchier end of that tree, smoking out back while listening to live Guns N’ Roses bootlegs, a necessary element of any thriving punk habitat.
Nag / Lip split 7″ (Space Taker Sounds)
At first glance I thought this was a new 7″ by Nag called Lip, but nope, that’s a band too! You’d think there’s some registrar that charges bands by the letter or something, but these two groups simply appreciate brevity, both in band name and song form. Nag’s first tune “Eye Level” is a slower stomp than what I’m used to hearing from them, at least until someone sticks a match under its rear and they go careening off a cliff. “Surfer” is their second and maintains the early-but-fast punk feel, reminiscent of the great and overlooked Vial 7″ from a couple years ago as well as the not-overlooked output of The Randoms and The Urinals. Lip’s music has a similar urgency, a little more bass-driven than Nag, with a variety of vocals careening in and out for a cool disorienting effect (while still clearly punk, not psych or anything else). Their tune “Control” is particularly memorable and mixtape-worthy (or perhaps more to today’s style, internet radio station play-worthy?) whereas “Road” is less distinctive. Still, four cool songs by two cool punk bands, so why not?
Physique Punk Life Is Shit 12″ (Iron Lung)
Most of the labels that repeatedly turn up on this webpage demonstrate a sincere love for the music they release, but I can’t help but think that the folks at Iron Lung really, really lust over noisy buzzsaw hardcore-punk. Like even if the rest of the world moved on and stopped buying records, Iron Lung would be pressing up the latest current ear-piercing hardcore band, no matter if the records were destined to remain on their basement shelves. This new one comes from Olympia’s Physique, who bear a standard resemblance to Disclose, Framtid, Totalitär, and of course, Discharge. Physique come in on the heavier end of things (think Framtid without the superhuman drum fills), with enough vocal echo to fill a nuclear fallout shelter, riotous guitar leads and a satisfying sense of familiarity for anyone who ever sewed a black denim patch onto the back of their black denim vest. Physique offer nothing remotely new, but this record has a cool title (I’ve thought it back to myself multiple times since first encountering it), the blank b-side has a great skeleton etching (because what else are you gonna etch?), and if that’s not good enough for you, maybe it’s time you moved on to rare Soviet prog reissues or something.
Retirement Retirement 7″ (Iron Lung)
A bit of an ironic band name for Iron Lung, as if these folks are ever gonna quit it with the raging, noisy hardcore! Retirement are a fairly new group, developed from a solo project into a fully-staffed live outfit (as is so often the case these days), and they certainly deliver the goods on this debut EP. Which, in this case, is raw hardcore-punk with subtle garage-punk and industrial-noise inclinations, as if they borrowed some of Jay Reatard’s earliest, ugliest riffs and applied them to the sonic templates of Cold Sweat and Vile Gash. The guitars are never silent, and might even be at their most ear-splitting when nothing is happening (gotta love the piercing feedback that opens a tune), although a song like “Yours Is Mine” is purely hardcore, operating on the same platform as DYS and Toxic Reasons, just recorded through the scorching acid bath we’ve come to expect from today’s repugnant hardcore music. Maybe it’s because Throbbing Gristle and Nurse With Wound have been fully accepted by the hardcore masses as valid forms of aggressive music that today’s traditional hardcore bands are eager to embrace weird and harsh noise, but Retirement are a fine example of the success such a mindset can deliver. Let’s hope they’ve got a good enough pension to keep the hits coming.
Ritualz Doom LP (Artoffact)
Finding it hard to not be a hater while listening to Ritualz’s Doom album, the Mexico City artist’s sophomore full-length. There’s just a lot going on here that I find unappealing: first of all, the name Ritualz can also be “stylized as †‡†” (I thought that sorta nonsense was buried alongside witch-house?), and the music on this album is all blustery melodramatic synthwork and spooky vocals that miss any sense of provocative beauty or gothy darkness, instead coming across like the Hot Topic repackaging of such. Doom has me imagining Blink 182 putting together a dark-wave side project (I can already picture Travis Barker in Kat Von D’s signature eyeliner), although to their credit there’d probably at least be some memorable hooks to be found in that. Ritualz seems more about the aesthetic sense (streetwear goth that crosses over with A$AP Rocky, body-mod Tumblrs, horror-rap, Dimmu Borgir, etc.), and the music itself is merely another extension of the style, rather than something that received much consideration or effort. A previous EP was titled Ghetto Ass Witch, and I dunno, I’m either gonna go full Juggalo or no Juggalo, whereas Ritualz inhabits a specific territory in between that I do not care to revisit anytime soon.
John Roberts Spill 12″ (Brunette Editions)
Quietly one of techno’s most intrepid explorers, John Roberts has been infusing his house and techno with jazz and avant-garde experimentation for about a decade. His release as Body Four remains one of my personal favorites (imagine Arthur Russell doing a noise tape for Broken Flag in 1987), but Spill is right up there too, a stark new fusion of modern electronic processing and post-modern composition for double-bass and trumpet. “Spill” is the a-side and it’s a declaration of interdisciplinary strangeness, with horns tooting alongside violent electronic squiggles and mournful strings. I’m reminded of Vessel’s fantastic Punish, Honey in the way that maximal industrial-techno sounds are forced to mesh with natural and softer sonic elements, but “Spill” is more of a multi-directional collage than something that could ever get airtime in a club. “Wrecked” on the flip is a purely electronic cut of syrupy pirouettes, but “Fluid” brings back Evans on the trumpet, echoing through the courtyard at Roberts’ behest as a lush drone signals the sun to set. I have to say, I’m all for this recent micro-trend of horn-based techno – from Sebastien Casanova to Beatrice Dillon, it’s a sonic pairing that has yet to do me wrong.
Ruby Karinto Ruby Karinto LP (HoZac)
I don’t care if you aren’t ready for it, here’s some upbeat no-wave pop from British Columbia! I realize “no-wave” can be taken practically as many ways as “hardcore”, so let me clarify that Ruby Karinto are operating in the vein of ESG and Liquid Liquid as opposed to Teenage Jesus or Glenn Branca, relying heavily on funked-out drums and slippery bass guitar to guide their songs. They do a fine job of it, too – it’s easy to fall into pre-fab disco beats and dance riffs but Ruby Karinto deliver their own vision throughout this squirmy album. I’m particularly partial to “Chikotan”, which feels like a Sightings rhythm given a sparkly makeover by Pixeltan or Polysics, vocals sung (and chanted) in Japanese and synths bleeping and blooping out into the atmosphere. As bizarre as they may be, Ruby Karinto never seem weird for weird’s sake, and even the strangest moments are locked into rhythms that would properly realign Kid Creole’s spine. No guitars on this record, and with all of Ruby Karinto’s irresistibly disjointed action, who needs em anyway?
Somewhen AFL 12″ (Ostgut Ton)
Hailed as part of “Berlin’s new techno generation”, it’s somewhat of a relief to know that Somewhen basically sounds like Berlin’s old techno generation, or at least Ostgut Ton’s signature style. I try to check in with Ostgut Ton at least every couple months, and I went with this Somewhen 12″, which delivers just what I was hoping for: sexy, dark, serpentine techno that doesn’t beat around the bush. Knight Rider synths are given a hefty modern software upgrade for these cuts, and Somewhen puts his particular stamp on things by the smooth integration of vocals – they’re generally chopped and buried in the mix, somewhere between a subliminal message and someone attempting to talk to you in the middle of the dance-floor. At times Somewhen can practically verge on pop (“Undress” sounds like Nine Inch Nails remixed for a Fabric CD), and that’s a net positive for me, as seductive grooves such as these are often enhanced with a taste of pop’s lasting hooks. I’m pleased that Somewhen put the image of Shed and Kobosil flirting with My Life With The Thrill Kill Kult in my head – if I accidentally jam “AFL” a little too long, my erotic fan-fiction career might finally begin.
Space Afrika Somewhere Decent To Live LP (Sferic)
If you’re gonna call your dub-ambient project “Space Afrika”, it better not suck, so thankfully this Mancunian duo do right by it. Somewhere Decent To Live is a fantastic record, one that maintains a sense of self while still subsuming the environment with thick fogs, both those that get you high and those that do not. Space Afrika take it slow, gradually building these tracks into some semblance of song, if only recognizable by repeated samples or rhythmic clicks and hits. An echoed female voice provides the feeling of an empty airport terminal, all flights grounded due to extreme atmospheric mists of course, but swooping synth chords float you where you want to go for free. This one sits well next to other avant-ambient producers like Pendant and Gas, but Space Afrika tell a different story through their lush pads and dreary-yet-hopeful melodies. It’s as though you can see the crowded city and oily streets that surround you, but the metropolitan clatter is reduced to a soothing hum, a space for meditation and subtle grace. In other words, somewhere decent to live.
Stella Career Suicide LP (no label)
Stella are a Cincinnati-based group that apparently likes to brace for their own failure: just check the title of this self-released album, following their 2016 cassette Planned Obsolescence. It’s like they’re trying to insult themselves before giving anyone else the chance to do so, and my advice to them is to let their guard down a bit – they’re not bad at all! Besides the alarming similarities between their cover art and the Pepe The Frog meme, they’ve got a good thing going – noisy indie-pop with no-wave leanings. Their grooves are jittery and cautious, like Ex-Models or perhaps an overly caffeinated Deerhoof, and the vocals are frequently overloaded with sass, like Ian Svenonius or James Chance trying to wiggle themselves out of a particularly awkward social moment. Like any band that splatters their music outward, some of it will stick and some of it won’t, but on the whole I enjoy what Stella are serving… “Drill Your Skull” in particular is a fine mix of catchy/irritating vocal repetition and deconstructed noise-punk grooves. See, Stella, at least someone likes you!
Subsonics Flesh-Colored Paint LP (Slovenly)
Slovenly must’ve had a connecting flight in Atlanta while scouring the globe for garage-punk, because they picked up Subsonics and Flesh-Colored Paint, the group’s eighth full-length (and fourth for Slovenly). This is a staunchly garage-sounding trio who’ve been putting out records since 1992, and at a pretty continuous pace to boot. They’re still posing with big-hole 45s next to jukeboxes, still holding onto the hairstyles of their youth… and they’re really quite good! Vocalist “Rockin’ Clay Reed” has a great voice for the job, like Iggy Pop clutching a helium balloon, and their riffs (cribbed from The Cramps, Bo Diddley, Velvet Underground, Elvis Presley, etc.) really come to life behind him. As a form of music, this style is reaching retirement age, but Flesh-Colored Paint is like a five-pound Cialis pill for the genre, an album full of sharp silliness, enjoyable hooks and contagious fun. You can tell that they simply don’t care about outside opinion or popular trends; this is a group that loves what they love (3D glasses, Back From The Grave comps, monster movies, Mick Jagger’s butt) and they love to craft their own take on it, too.
Susan TV Girls 7″ (Volar)
The cover photograph of a longhaired person playing two basses had me hoping Susan’s newest EP was inspired by Thundercat or Primus, but those dreams will have to wait. Instead, Susan are all smiles with “TV Girls”, a Beach Boys-inspired indie-pop jangler that recalls the sunshine-y days of Go Sailor and The Hi-Fives. “Little Notes” mixes up the mood, recalling Dum Dum Girls in their full-band lineup. Pretty simple music, and it might fall apart if the vocalists were less confident or generic, but whichever member(s) are singing (I think it’s two of them at the same time for the most part?) really elevate these tunes to something special. Really all you need with this style is basic major-key chord changes and a great vocalist to ensure success, and Susan check both boxes easily. They end with a cover of Violent Femmes’ “I Held Her In My Arms”, and while I’m unfamiliar with the original, Susan rip through it with such joy I immediately ran to my window, opened it, stuck my head out and smiled toward the sky, arms outstretched. I have no idea what Susan are so happy about, but it sure is contagious!
Thieving Bastards Complete Musical Disasters EP 7″ (SPHC)
It feels all too rare that I get to say “this band sounds like Lärm” on here, and I can’t tell if that’s simply a personal failing or society’s as a whole. Whatever the case, I’m glad SPHC released the debut EP from Manchester’s Thieving Bastards, which probably never would’ve made it to vinyl otherwise. It’s tuneless, semi-comedic fast-core delivered hastily, with a vocalist who more often numbly recites his words than screams them (hence the Lärm comparison). Complete Musical Disasters feels like a practice session put to tape, with at least a couple takes of certain songs (“In My Garden” is played twice in a row) and various brief discussion among band members between tunes. Certainly the type of stuff that would’ve come out on a 70-song Dutch hardcore compilation cassette in 1985, wedged between Jetset and Massagraf. Sixteen tracks in all, and while that might seem like a lot, I assure you that it’s barely a warm up – I could personally go for at least double that. Other titles include “I Was Born”, “Elephant Song”, “Secret Pizza Eater” and “I Love My Mum”, so if you haven’t already located a verified web-retailer stocking Complete Musical Disasters, I can’t help but question your life pursuits.
Tim & The Boys Growing LP (Meatspin)
Interesting amalgam of artistic approaches here on the debut album by Sydney, Australia’s Tim & The Boys. They’ve got that silly name, Mat Brinkman-esque masks on the cover (which I believe they wear more often than just this one photo-shoot), kind of a Lumpy Records-esque feigned-stupid detachment (plus the shared interested in masks), a sense of wokeness (I get the impression that the song “White Guys” isn’t a sincere celebration, plus it’s distributed in the US by the highly discerning Thrilling Living label), and perhaps the most pleasant and least grating take on synth/drum-machine punk I’ve heard in quite some time. It’s definitely still punk – the rhythms are driving, the chord progressions are simplistic and sharp, and the vocals shouted – but they move at a leisurely pace, with a strong sense of melody and a notable lack of feedback or lo-fi crunch. I’m reminded of the earliest Devo singles before the synths took over, or maybe a shared songwriting approach to fellow Aussie punks Ausmuteants. I almost kinda wish they’d go off the rails a bit, and maybe push things closer to the absurd, just to see what that’d be like, but Tim & The Boys do a fine job staying in their chosen lane, where drum machines coast alongside tuneful guitars and chanted vocals. Punk, but different.
Witchtrial Demo 2017 12″ (Beach Impediment)
The band name itself, the band name written in a pointy medieval font, the blood red logo featuring a winged inverted cross, the photo of the band standing in a graveyard at dusk… my, what could this group possibly sound like? If you guessed “ex- and current hardcore dudes playing metal heavily influenced by Venom, Celtic Frost and Bathory”, well my friend, you should be writing your own reviews too! I can’t tell if “cvlt” metal is having another hardcore-punk underground moment, or if its last moment never really went away, but it makes sense to me, as this style is pretty timeless and indisputable. Raging metallic leads, mid-paced dungeon stompers and high-speed motorcycle chases in hell, tortured screams and double bass-drum pedals, who can argue with any of that? Even though it’s their first demo, Witchtrial demonstrate a firm understanding of the genre, what works best and what to leave on the shelf, and these four songs (with titles like “Speak To Evil” and “R’n’R Hellfire”) don’t waste anyone’s time. Considering how massive Power Trip have become, it only makes sense that new bands start sprouting up with a shared aesthetic sensibility, although I will miss slightly confounding bills (Power Trip and Sheer Mag?) if metal eventually grabs a majority share.
Actors It Will Come To You LP (Artoffact)
Vancouver’s Actors are a pro-‘tude synth-wave group, and after spending the past few years dishing out a number of EPs, their debut album, It Will Come To You, has finally come to you. They clearly are going for it, what with publicity, promotion, touring, social media, etc., and in an increasingly hostile and unsustainable industry (that of non-megastar live bands), I can’t blame them for doing whatever they can to survive. Aesthetically, they do all the things you’d expect a group like this to do: seem emotionally distant and wounded; wear all black all the time (and sunglasses indoors); channel New Order’s synths with the radio-rock bombast of The Killers; call to mind Cold Cave and The Faint on their debut LP. Lead vocalist Jason Corbett occasionally channels a goth-night Josh Homme with his voice, and I have to say it does the trick, a tense falsetto straining over stock beats. I might actually raise my arms over my head while dancing if “Hit To The Head” came on in a club! Nothing groundbreaking, that’s for sure, but they’ve clearly oiled this machine well, and I’d much rather people follow and react to a living human group like Actors than an algorithmically-formulated fake-artist Spotify playlist for their gloomy dance-pop needs, which is the Black Mirror episode our mainstream future seems to be gazing toward.
Borusiade Silent 12″ (Cómeme)
Here’s how it worked for me: Lena Willikens’s great 2015 EP on Cómeme turned me on to the German techno label, who recently released this 12″ by the intriguingly-named Borusiade, whose striking cover image of a submerged human head sealed the deal. I guess that’s all it takes sometimes, because I purchased a copy, and I’m glad I did, as it’s a different vibe from both Willikens (and Cómeme label-head Matias Aguayo) but delectable nonetheless. “Silent” is a great slice of booming goth-techno – I’m reminded of a less dramatic Gazelle Twin, or a recent-ish Downwards offering (say, Oake or Talker) with all the chest-bursting power and none of the hazardous radiation. It’s eerie and majestic but you can easily dance to it, either jamming at its normal tempo or stomping in half-time to its pummeling kick/snare pattern. Makes me wish I was friends with more vampires, honestly. (Borusiade is Romanian-born, so clearly she’s close to the original blood-lusting source.) Khidja offers a remix of “Silent” on the flip, tilting back a little bit in order to bring out the track’s inherent groove, pulled from the cobwebbed catacombs and onto a nearby club ‘floor with the persistent bass pattern and a quick wipe of disinfectant out of respect to whoever uses it next. Borusiade just dropped an album, and Silent ensures I’ll be seeking it out as well.
Cave Curse Future Dust LP (FDH / P. Trash)
Cave Curse follow their debut 7″ (and as is the requisite today, a cassette filled with demos and previously released recordings) with an LP, and if you liked their debut, you won’t leave Future Dust feeling disappointed. I wasn’t a fan myself, however, and this album cements that fact. It’s the distinct combination of styles and sounds that doesn’t work for me: Jay Reatard-aping vocals, Tubeway Army-esque synths playing overly familiar melodies, and live drums that pound wildly along. I could enjoy any of those aspects separately, or maybe even a combination of two of them, but Cave Curse’s final product sounds as though a garage-rocker was tricked into believing that Reggie & The Full Effect’s debut album was the OG template for dark-wave and then took their own stab at it after raiding Guitar Center’s keyboard section. Just check “Drones (We’re All)” and you’ll hear exactly what I mean, from the glammy vocal warble to the pop-punk drumming and basic four-chord melody. At the very least, Cave Curse seems well intentioned, so hopefully someone out there likes this?
CCR Headcleaner CCR Headcleaner 7″ (Pollen Season)
Always a pleasure to obtain a new offering from the Bay Area’s CCR Headcleaner, a group of at least five people that seem to feed off each other’s sweaty energy in the creation of their unhinged, punk-adjacent stoner noise. Can’t go wrong with these four new home-recorded tunes, that’s for sure – opener “Mission Control” sounds like early ’80s GG Allin (musically, not vocally) until it’s caught up in a cloud of High Rise-style combustion. That’s my favorite tune here, but the rest are great too, like a slightly more focused Hospitals, Timmy’s Organism without any sense of kitsch, or perhaps if Keiji Haino was granted full conductorship of his favorite Chrome tunes. You can really sense the paranoia and frustration that comes with living in a once hippie-centric enclave that is increasingly eaten alive by Silicon Valley tech-bro gentrification (particularly in the tune “Ipso Facto Alcohol”), and I’m thankful that these folks react by channeling psych-rock with the same free-wheeling insanity of Royal Trux. I hope that CCR Headcleaner can continue to survive in this hostile environment, or at least take some pigs out with ’em when they go.
Church Shuttle Natural Disaster 7″ (Soft Abuse)
I always thought the label name “Soft Abuse” was an intriguing one, paradoxical and a little creepy, and I’m not sure any record on the label has embodied that vibe as much as this Church Shuttle single. It’s an audio-collage of despair: low-humming tones (the dishwasher? a malfunctioning phone charger?), lonesome mumbling, clocks ticking, even a little guitar and piano (or so they allege). It’s the sound of being awake at an hour that is meant for sleep, as if some sort of stressful event, physical or mental, is preventing the body and mind from rest. I’m reminded of Prick Decay without the harsh noise factor, or a less humorous Glands Of External Secretion in the way these two pieces unfold (haphazardly and with little explanation). Church Shuttle is the work of Chris Durham (he of Roachclip and The Bibs), and while I thought his Quilt Boy solo-project was his personal clearinghouse of sonic detritus, apparently he needed to take things one step further into unlistenability with Church Shuttle. I’d say he should get in touch with I Dischi Del Barone, if only to swap tapes of like-minded nonsense, but he probably already has… these types of freaks are always good at finding each other.
C. Memi Heavenly Peace 12″ (Bitter Lake)
Bitter Lake’s second release continues their mission statement of reissuing truly oddball Japanese obscurities in the realm of synth-wave / post-punk. This one comes from C. Memi, an artist that’s new to me but I’m glad to have discovered. This 12″ EP is a reissue of C. Memi’s sole 7″ EP, and seeing as these five tracks aren’t exactly short, the extra vinyl square-inchage is appreciated. C. Memi seems to come from that time and era when people knew they wanted to play different music than what they were hearing, but the underground was yet to be fully codified and genre-stabilized. This is evident as the moody opener “Ishin-Denshin” recalls early Cabaret Voltaire or Phew’s debut LP and it’s followed up by “C’est Une Chanson”, a cheesy accordion-based circus dance, the sort of thing that comes pre-programmed in a children’s carousel. The stylistic changes continue to baffle on the b-side, with a baroque piece for piano and voice called “For Monster Of Dr. Frankenstein” that gives way to “Hitojichi”, psychotic minimal-synth ala Systematics which ends in a cascade of fireworks. Heavenly Peace closes with a somber little new-age ballad, something you’d find in Kate Bush’s wastebasket circa 1982. Very bizarre, and I personally wish C. Memi explored more of her avant-garde side while leaving the cheese-pop aspirations on the shelf, but Heavenly Peace might not be as endearing if that were the case. What’ll Bitter Lake dig up next?
Control Test Verdadero Criminal 7″ (Iron Lung)
I wonder how many people quickly purchased this from the Iron Lung shop assuming it was some sort of Total Control test pressing? A sale’s a sale, and I can’t imagine too many customers would be disappointed in the end. Maybe I’ll call my next band Colored Vinyl Sleep LP. Anyway, Control Test is a Seattle-based synth-punk group, heavy emphasis on synth (there are no guitars from what I can tell, just live drums and keyboards). To be fair, there’s a heavy emphasis on punk too, as these four tunes rattle through the speakers with a ferociousness usually reserved for a Disclose clone. The synths bleep and bloop in that early ’00s way (think Le Shok or Virgin Mega Whore), and vocalist Anthony Gaviria (whom you might recognize from Lysol) screams til he sweats through his leather jacket, as though The Screamers and In/Humanity somehow melded into one. I like it best when things are a little less manic, like b-side opener “Abuso”, which taps out an angry computer virus with the same one-finger precision of Count Vertigo, but it’s clear Control Test exist for the purpose of spazzing out as much as possible. Each copy comes in a uniquely “hand-stained” sleeve, as if putting together records as a DIY label wasn’t punishing enough already. Respect.
De Beren Gieren Dug Out Skyscrapers LP (Sdban Ultra)
Not a lot of jazz discussed on these pages, probably for a lot of reasons (both valid and flimsy), but I’m tempted to revamp the entire site into a jazzbo’s paradise if there are enough jazz ensembles as quizzically sweet and insidious as De Beren Gieren out of Gent, Belgium. They’re a trio featuring piano, double bass and drums, and their compositions on Dug Out Skyscrapers really speak to me. I’d call it “espionage jazz” – it’s chilly and occasionally foreboding, but also baroque and heartfelt, steeped in the tradition of classical music but also clearly aware of cool things like dub-techno and avant-noise. They get quite technical and weird, but it’s never without a point, nor do they ever drift into improvised confusion. I can’t help but think of the great British crime drama Wallander when listening, as though the titular police inspector is rifling through documents late into the night, gathering clues and piecing the puzzle together as it’s revealed that he is under surveillance by a masked intruder. This is sophisticated and icy music, pleasant enough for background-listening while preparing dinner but exotically European too, full of sharp details and ear-catching twists for those who intentionally focus. Meanwhile, I’m just waiting for a suspicious murder to occur on my block so I can blare Dug Out Skyscrapers out an open window.
Eye Cocktail Mexico 10″ (Knekelhuis)
Can’t stop won’t stop snagging the newest Knekelhuis releases, including this 10″ by Eye. Not to be confused with any member of the Boredoms, this Eye is one Laurène Exposito, and she makes a very fashionable and entertaining form of DIY synth-wave here (as well as on her debut album from a couple years back). The four tunes here move pretty quickly but are certainly worth repeating so it all evens out. I’m reminded of the earliest Marie Davidson productions, Eva Geist’s dirtier cuts, maybe some of the minimal-wave material of the early ’80s (like Deux or Comix), or a Chrisma track with all the guitars sucked out. Classic to that lineage but by no means a retro act or any sort of aesthetic put-on. Exposito has a great disaffected vocal delivery (with no shortage of echo), and her drum machines and synths all teeter on the edge of collapse, levels occasionally flaring unexpectedly and rhythms that take dangerous shapes. I prefer my minimal-wave to come with this homespun, out-of-the-bedroom feel so I’m proud to welcome Cocktail Mexico into my home, no matter what room of the house it originated from.
Fossil Fuel Punk Rock Karate Chop EP 7″ (SPHC)
Thank goodness unheralded punk labels like SPHC are putting in the work, promoting and releasing truly garbage-pail music in the best possible sense. Although apparently releasing tapes and CD-rs since the mid ’90s, I had no idea that Fossil Fuel existed until now, and I truly thank SPHC for it, as this group (featuring at least one member of Sockeye and coming from the Wheelchair Full Of Old Men camp) is moronic genius. Here’s the rub: two guys (named “Gun” and “Knife”) provide mostly-spoken vocals and lo-fi guitar over pre-programmed Casio beats (not a big Casio either, one of those eighteen-inchers you could buy at a toy store). It’s a fairly basic musical concept, but it’s the lyrics where Fossil Fuel really shine (as is often the case with Sockeye-related projects) – “Brocore Movement” is a startlingly hilarious indictment of any dude who ever liked hardcore, just pure uncoated sarcasm from a crotchety old guy who clearly has no horse left in the race. The rest of the EP is cool too, although it drifts into the realm of awkward comedy sketches more than scene commentary (see song titles such as “I Took Beer” and “Back Pain Bobby”). Looks like Fossil Fuel also released an album called Who Gives A Fuck? L.P. Dick and I clearly need to locate a copy in case they wrote more “Brocore Movement”-caliber hits.
Geld Perfect Texture LP (Iron Lung)
Iron Lung reaches across the Pacific to bring us the debut album from Melbourne’s Geld. They might be new, but they’ve got dudes from d-beaters Krömosom and pub-rockers Power in their lineup, so it’s no surprise their first offering is fully matured and storming right out of the gate. Perfect Texture is solid stuff, a strain of violent and heavy hardcore that only a fool could find fault with. As I listen I’m frequently reminded of Nine Shocks Terror, particularly due to the buzzsaw riffing (and buzzsaw vocal delivery), but Geld mix things up a bit more than Nine Shocks ever did, integrating over-the-top effects (and even an electro-industrial instrumental segue) and leaning into black/thrash-metal motifs and Motörhead-style exhaust fumes on occasion. It’s top-shelf Japanese hardcore worship (I’m thinking Contrast Attitude and Zyanose), but they use it as a jumping off point for their own particular style as opposed to a direct rip (thankfully there are no song titles in purposely-butchered-English, a move I always found a little distasteful). Geld do a fine job of maintaining a direct assault without becoming overly repetitive, which is the key tightrope that any chaotic hardcore band must walk. Thumbs up!
Hot Snakes Jericho Sirens LP (Sub Pop)
I can’t think of a nicer rock band to pick up on your semi-corporate indie label than Hot Snakes. Is there a more universally beloved band of advanced-age, hard-rockin’ white guys than them? You can even feel good about liking them on a personal level too, which is rare in this era of well-documented problematic band member behavior that usually comes as unfortunate-at-best baggage for any group of dudes who’ve been putting out records since the ’90s. (At least at the time of this review’s publication, no member of Hot Snakes has assaulted audience members, hatefully ranted on Twitter, or casually associated with the alt-right in an interview.) And if all that wasn’t good enough, Hot Snakes return after a lengthy absence as if they never left, churning out more of their signature heavy strumming joined by the aggressively parched vocals of Rick Froberg. Right off the bat, “I Need A Doctor” ensures that Hot Snakes are giving the kids what they want, and it’s a soothing relief in this time of so much uncertainty. They mix it up a little too, throwing in some near-hardcore thrashers (“Why Don’t It Sink In”) and some simmering post-hardcore (gotta think of the Drive Like Jehu fans too). It all makes for an undeniably successful comeback album, offering more of what made the group so fantastic in the first place while also revealing new paths forward.
ISS ISS 7″ (Sorry State)
Glad I didn’t have to wait too long for more from ISS – they very well may be the only active band crafting songs out of old sampled punk records, but I have no doubt they’re the best, too. (Let us all politely forget that The Yah Mos Def ever existed.) This new EP is four more cuts that are greater than the sum of their parts, taking obscure and familiar hardcore-punk chestnuts and sewing them together for today’s modern cynical fashions. Just as on their LP, ISS sounds strikingly like a real band here, although one out of time or place, as likely to have existed in 1979 palling around with Crass or The Pop Group as something that would fit alongside Mystic Inane and FNU Clone on a contemporary bill (don’t I wish). Clearly a bit of layered thought has gone into these tracks too, with the final shout from Dead Kennedys’ “Nazi Punks Fuck Off” punctuating an anti-Richard Spencer tune, as well as what I presume to be a track tackling today’s mutant-punk uniform (“I can only judge a man by the dangle of his earring” being one choice lyrical quote). That would be an extra slick move, if ISS actually started sampling and roasting their contemporaries in real-time, particularly if they utilized the Mayyors-esque power-fuzz of closing track “Mi Miata” to do it. Maybe they already are!
Jing Adularescence LP (6dimensions)
Taiwan’s Jing hits the scene with this engrossing debut LP of avant-garde sound-art. She mixes the modern post-post-techno production of heavyweight weirdos like Lee Gamble and Mika Vainio with the bizarre vocal recitation of Graham Lambkin – a track like “Permission” is the perfect synthesis, with bass bobbing like one of Wolfgang Voigt’s Kafkatrax productions and a processed adult British male speaking glumly over top. It’s a lot easier to enjoy casually than one might expect from a “short stories accompanied by soundscapes” project… Jing’s productions are colorful and even a little fun, but never at the expense of the bizarre tension that runs through Adularescence. It’s a production I’d expect to witness in a contemporary art gallery in the hip part of town, but a crafty DJ could play many of these tracks in a crowded bar with great success (so long as everyone is already a little buzzed). It moves fast through tracks (monotony is one avant-garde tool Jing avoids), and by the time the woozy closer “Yet To Begin” drops, the room may not be fully spinning but a slight disorientation is guaranteed.
Kilchhofer The Book Room 2xLP (Marionette)
I’d be constantly angry if my last name had two Hs back to back, but Benjamin Kilchhofer is proud and bold, producing music under his surname and simply daring you to try and call him “Kilchofer”! He has a couple other records out but The Book Room is a massive work, twenty tracks across four sides of 12″ vinyl, revealing a complex and dense sonic vocabulary. Normally, I’d balk at twenty tracks of anyone (although one day I’ll have the courage to pony up for a copy of Prince Of Denmark’s eight LP release from late 2016), but Kilchhofer keeps things moving, offering brisk and intriguing new ideas and glimpses of intricate sound-worlds. Some tracks are melancholy and misty, like Boards Of Canada without the samples, whereas others seem to listen in on imagined tribes ala Jon Hassell’s “Fourth World” concept. Picture Shackleton sipping tea with Claude Rodap, the furthest reaches of Growing Bin Records’ “Club Med Esoterica” section, or a calm companion to Peder Mannerfelt’s Swedish Congo Record if you want to imagine the sounds you’ll find in The Book Room. So many flavors at play and I think you might enjoy them all.
The Modern Institute Another Exhibition At The Modern Institute 12″ (Diagonal)
Cool pairing here of two electro-agitators, Glasgow’s The Modern Institute and London’s Diagonal. The Modern Institute share personnel with Golden Teacher, but whereas Golden Teacher revel in loose and collective jams, The Modern Institute is as tight as a wedgie that includes not just one’s underwear but one’s dungarees as well. The minimal and high-pitched beats buzz as though The Modern Institute’s hardware overheated to dangerous levels, with bass switched to treble and regular treble pitched up, but you wouldn’t know it from the deadpan vocal delivery of Richard McMaster. It’s enough to garner a clear comparison to The Normal’s T.V.O.D. / Warm Leatherette, but whereas The Normal featured a groove one could conceivably dance to, The Modern Institute is frantic and unhinged, recalling the torturous pacing of labelmates Russell Haswell and Evol. It can be a bit much to take in extended doses, but this is a shortened release, so you’ll presumably be fine (although I make no promises). If you feel the blood vessels around your pupils start to swell, simply gaze into the mirror-reflected cover and remind yourself that this is only art… you’ll be okay.
Sean Morales Call It In LP (Super Secret)
If you’ve been privately writing some songs and finally decide to record them with a full band, you’ve got a good chance of making that dream happen in Austin, TX. That’s where Sean Morales ended up, and on his solo debut he enlists folks from OBN IIIs, James Arthur’s Manhunt, The Golden Boys and Faceless Werewolves to fill in on drums, guitars, saxophone, keyboards, hell even a dobro when necessary. I’d say the effort has paid off, as Morales put together a very fine album of studied rock n’ roll, one that can be enjoyed from both seated and standing positions. I’m thinking he located inspiration from various unheralded rock geniuses, folks like Tom Verlaine and Alex Chilton, or even lesser-knowns (but equally greats?) like Brother JT, Andre Ethier and Dan Melchior. You know the type of cult-followed songwriter: scruffy introverts who are never far from a cigarette and don’t speak often, but when they do, it’s worth overhearing. Morales is not just a willing sponge, but a fine purveyor of his own experiences, and if you can’t find something to enjoy on Call It In I frankly have to question your interest in hearing guitars played at all.
Negative Space Gestalt LP (Drunken Sailor / Always Restrictions)
Negative Space is a fitting moniker for this UK based post-punk (but more punk than post) group, as it implies both an adherence to uniform hardcore-punk band-name behavior (they must be the thousandth “Negative _____” group) as well as an interest in fine art, the use of “negative space” and ooh la-la and all that. They’ve clearly got feet in both camps, happily stirring up mosh-pits while also pondering the philosophical qualities of a flower, smashing a beer-can on one’s forehead after purchasing some experimental poetry chapbooks, that sort of thing. Musically it makes sense, as they come equipped with the hardcore monotony / tuneful drudgery of Ceremony circa Rohnert Park nestled up to tense riffing of Total Control circa Henge Beat, as well as the pogo-based energy of early Institute. That means speedy guitars that rely on an economy of notes, a vocalist who enunciates like a high person attempting to appear sober, and a spiritual kinship to Wire’s Pink Flag. I wouldn’t say Negative Space elevate the genre, but they certainly stand head-to-head with most of the artists referenced in this review – they know their way around a moody anti-riff, the singer’s British voice is exactly what I want to hear on this sort of thing, and there are enough weird little details and accidental hooks to not just keep my attention but stir up a little excitement, too. The labels splurged on a limited gold vinyl edition, and I’d say it was worth every extra penny!
Nerve Beats Nerve Beats LP (Fine Concepts)
Right off the bat I liked the cut of this album’s jib – screened cover with cool typography and a weirdly disorienting art-style, and Nerve Beats are from Honolulu (or at least wrote and recorded the album there), on the same Oakland label that released that cool Trashies LP from a couple months ago (with the endearing email contact “djstopdumping@gmail.com”). I was fully prepped to get down with whatever Nerve Beats actually sounded like (I’m always ready for more Hawaiian punk), and after a few listens, I dunno, it’s fine I guess, but if I’m going to be honest with you (for a change), I’m a little disappointed. They’re a punk trio that tend to drift toward garage- and post- prefixes, like something between The Intelligence, Eat Skull and The Oh Sees, but without any particular personality quirks of their own, just the most basic delivery of that sort of DIY-leaning, just-a-‘lil-noisy punk rock. There are probably a couple standout tracks here, but the album is overstuffed with eighteen songs (and they’re not short ones, either), so whatever possible gems are distributed throughout are hard to focus upon due to the extended listener-fatigue Nerve Beats carries. A little editing would’ve done wonders for my enjoyment here, but Nerve Beats wanted to give you all they could on their self-titled debut and I was helpless to stop them.
Open City City Of Ash 7″ (Open City)
Following last year’s debut LP, Philadelphian hardcore supergroup Open City (members of Paint It Black and Kid Dynamite, Ceremony, one of Ted Leo’s Pharmacists, etc.) put out this 7″ single on their own label, with more sharp black-and-white photos of metropolitan decline prominently featured. Don’t let the art-gallery aesthetic leave you thinking Open City are capital-M Mysterious, though, as they distro their records through Ebullition for chrissakes, and these two tunes are thoughtfully-considered emo-core ragers, hearkening to a time when “emo” and “-core” weren’t dirty words but signs of sincerity and a deliberate refutation of the mainstream. “City Of Ash” starts off mean and pensive before cutting into one of those trademark Dan Yemin stutter-step breakdowns – there are no “whoa-oh-ohs” so I had to restrain from adding them myself. “A Condition Worth A Mention” isn’t about record grading (I was hoping they were going to tear into the subtleties between VG and VG+), and I almost feel bad about joking about it as whatever vocalist Rachel Rubino’s going off about is clearly no laughing matter. This track takes a different mood, much slower and darker, like some rickety bridge between Grade and His Hero Is Gone at their most forlorn. I was hoping for a happy ending, or at least a glimmer of hope to wrap things up, but Open City aren’t catering to any foolish desires.
Perverts Again Friday Night Light LP (Total Punk)
Cleveland’s Perverts Again have really carved out their own little corner in underground punk, although I’m not sure anyone else is looking to claim it for themselves. Theirs is a world built on humiliation-as-catharsis, and I’m not talking light self-deprecation or amusing personal jabs but an authentic sense that they have comfortably resigned to be dateless dorks for the rest of their lives. They’ve even created their own pathetic mascot cartoon, now rendered in human form on the record cover, a pale shirtless character with large black eyes and both hands shoved in the front of his belted khakis. They’re really reveling in it (and sharply rib-tickling in doing so), with ultra-specific lyrics (opener “Blockbusted” references both Levis 550 jeans and Manchester By The Sea) detailing strange encounters and a profound lack of coolness. The music works great, a well-mannered mid-tempo punk with unwavering drums (floor tom and snare patterns with little to no hi-hat), continual picking and strange little hooks. I’d say they remind me of Life Stinks, but even Life Stinks’s self-pitying doesn’t come close to the self-imposed loserdom exposed on Friday Night Light – Perverts Again truly commit to it, where you can’t tell if the gimmick became their lives or their lives became the gimmick. Next time you’re aimlessly surfing Chat Roulette on a weekend night, getting laughed at by college jocks before they disconnect, make sure Perverts Again is playing on a nearby boombox for an enhanced experience.
Rik & The Pigs Blue Jean Queen 7″ (Feel It)
There’s just no stopping Rik & The Pigs this year, following their fantastic debut LP on Total Punk with this three-track tumbler on Feel It. They’re clearly on a roll, hereby locating the sweet spot between classic punk, glam-rock and good-natured sleaze, with a timeless denim-zip cover and the tunes to back it up. “Blue Jean Queen” and “TV Bloopers” both ricochet around the carpeted basement with zeal and Rik’s signature attitude, offering visions of what it’d be like if Doc Dart stumbled into an early Dangerhouse recording session and shooed the actual singer out of the booth so he could lay down some nasal nastiness. Great stuff! The b-side’s “Off / On” drops the tempo considerably, a comedic drunken waltz, Rik sitting on a sewer grate after being thrown out of the local tavern and sneering at his predicament, right as a car splashes a grey puddle in his face. It practically sounds like something I’d expect G.E. Smith and the Saturday Night Live Band to warm up with, although Rik makes a proper mockery of things. I hope I don’t have to wait too long for this wonderful band to take their live act east!
Rose Mercie Rose Mercie LP (SDZ / Jelodanti / Monofonus Press)
Here’s an intriguing but appropriate cross-continent label pairing, Austin’s Monofonus Press and Paris-based SDZ (with French wildcard Jelodanti in the mix, too). Can you just imagine the artisanal food trucks that would be inspired by such a rich combination? Anyway, they’ve gathered together to present the debut album by French quartet Rose Mercie. They’ve put together a sound that recalls the earliest non-punk post-punk sounds coming out of Rough Trade’s orbit circa ’78 – ’82 (think The Raincoats or Rosa Yemen) as well as the American DIY indie sounds of the late ’80s / early ’90s (picture a band playing after Mecca Normal but before Tiger Trap at a house show in 1992). There’s clearly a spiritual connection running between those two scenes (as well as up through today, and hopefully into the future too), and Rose Mercie fit nicely in that lineage, all while carving out their own sound. Mostly, I’m surprised at how slow and restrained their songs are – twice, I’ve put on the album and turned the speed from 33 to 45 as I was certain the drums were too deep and floppy and slow to be accurate. Wrong! Rose Mercie operate on a leisurely pace, keys and guitars chiming mildly and voices weirdly harmonizing – one of the singers (maybe they all sing?) has a Devendra Banhart-esque warble and I love the way it sneaks around the other more traditional voices. I’d say it’s the best French post-punk you’ll hear this year but it’s only May and I don’t want to get ahead of myself.
Samaritan Quell Samaritan Quell LP (Monofonus Press)
Happy to tell you about this cool-and-unusual debut LP from Samaritan Quell, a new duo starring Austin acid-king Bill Converse and Sam De La Rosa of Brooklyn’s synth-wavers Led Er Est. Samaritan Quell has the grandeur of epic prog played out on synths and turntables – it’s an unusual setup (you really don’t see “turntables” listed as an instrument much these days) but it’s a highly satisfying sonic journey. Converse’s synths flow from beatless dark-ambience to taut techno rhythms, working as the bedrock of De La Rosa’s edited samples, often some sort of throat singing or tribal chanting that is looped, diced and spread out. It’s a bit of a stretch, but something about Samaritan Quell’s approach shares the “distant alien transmission” feel from the instrumentals laid down on the first Dr. Octagon album – throw in a dusty jazz break and one could only expect Kool Keith to hatch from a nearby egg and start rapping. It’s similarly psychedelic in nature, but as a byproduct of its bizarre circumstances and studied approach, not because these two dudes decided they wanted to try being “psychedelic”. The song titles track the life cycle of “the Black Snake”, which gives some sort of parameter to the syrupy noise of “Healed And Stronger” and the strengthened groove of “Growth Of The Black Snake”, but this album would succeed even if the whole thing went untitled. Really hoping this isn’t a one-off but an ongoing concern, as Samaritan Quell’s unique approach to hallucinatory, hardware-driven electronic music is enticing and rich with promise.
Sex Tourists Sex Tourists LP (Paradise Daily)
“Sex Tourists” sounds like it should be the moniker for one of today’s ambiguously-offensive hardcore bands, so I braced myself for the middle-fingered attack after initially dropping the needle on Sex Tourists. You’ll be relieved to know no such assault came, as Sex Tourists is one of those one- or two-person synth-pop projects, yet another crowded field of musical pursuit. It can be a little tricky to stand out, but Sex Tourists succeed with their formula: busy drum machines, brightly-colored synths and a droll male voice semi-singing acutely personal lyrics over top. Even with the inherent silliness of the band name (and the retro-synth attitude of some of the music), Sex Tourists come across as ponderous and slightly sad, like they’re sulking against the machine instead of raging against it. The lyrics are often quite poignant and descriptive – I can relate to the disconnect felt in “Birthday Party”, and “Exercise Bicycles” comes across like an Aussie Morrissey backed by The Human League (minus whatever grotesque prejudice that may imply). Is it wrong that I want Sex Tourists to stay sad a little longer, at least until they can put together an equally enjoyable follow-up?
The Skids Crooked Cop 7″ (Shipping Steel)
Melbourne’s The Skids surely aren’t the first punk band to be named The Skids, but they very well might be the first Australian one, if my squad of unionized fact-checkers are providing me with accurate intel. Judging from the neon logo and name, I was expecting some sort of Bomp!-style punk n’ roll, like The Lurkers or Jet Bronx or something equally harmless and fun, but The Skids are walking around with gravel in their boots, carrying a green glass bottle full of either piss or vinegar (take your pick!). I’m actually reminded of New Jersey working-class heroes The Wretched Ones in the way that The Skids deliver these four tunes, like they just got off work at some physically-demanding factory and want nothing more than to drown their memories in domestic beer until it’s time to get on stage. Resigned to their calloused fingers and stained collars but all the tougher for it. The songs move slowly but with energy, anthemic and angrily railing against crooked cops and other restrictive forces. All four band members are wearing sunglasses for the back-cover mugshots, presumably hiding at least one shiner from last night’s skirmish.
Strange Passage Shine And Scatter 12″ (Syncro System)
It’s amazing that understated indie-rock has proliferated so successfully in a town known for their Bosstones and Murphys, but Boston’s Strange Passage are one of the latest outfits to come out fully-formed, confident and cool. This four-song 12″ EP is a nice introduction for sure, full of late ’80s college-rock jangle, with detailed and literary lyrics that probably go over my head and a warm emotional resonance that avoids naïveté. Imagine if the nascent REM only ever put out a couple EPs on Sarah Records before petering out and you might be close to Strange Passage’s vibe, although Renato Montenegro’s lead vocals are slightly deeper (but no less tender). Shine And Scatter is certainly ripe for the consumption of twee-based audiences, but there’s a tautness to the rhythm section and natural lack of wimpiness that might cause your paintball-enthusiast neighbor with the big Monster Energy sticker on his jeep to wipe a single tear from his eye. “People Being People” is my favorite, with its rippling guitar work and assertive vocal delivery, bridging the little gaps between Major Stars and Mission Of Burma and Cuffs in Boston’s rick underground-rock tapestry.
Trash Monkeys Trash Monkey Universe 7″ (Almost Ready)
Gotta love when Almost Ready pulls out something like this: a 7″ EP of mid-’80s nonsense-rock featuring Bill Orcutt and Mark Feehan in the prime of their youth (both later of Harry Pussy, among many others). I’ve always enjoyed the music made by those two guys, and it’s at least partly because they come from such a goofball background, one that values humor and idiocy over pretentious seriousness. On this four-song EP, I’m hearing plenty of silly pop ala Bunnybrains or The Frogs and a little post-thrash ‘core like fellow Floridians No Fraud or Roach Motel (at least on “Hitchhiking For Housewives”). Two of the tracks reference “housewives” in their titles for some reason, and for as dorky as Trash Monkeys proudly are, these songs are quite listenable – had they pursued the group a little further, I could picture Placebo Records eventually sticking them on a comp with Meat Puppets, Mighty Sphincter and Sun City Girls. What really makes this band for me is the fact that one ex-member has taken to Discogs to complain that this 7″ is an unofficial scam, as if there were massive royalties to be gleaned from the release of this highly-niche 7″ EP and he was unfairly getting screwed (and I quote: “This company is trying to rob me.”). I just love when old punk weirdos reveal their narcissistic delusions, and the fact that one of those characters was in Trash Monkeys 30+ years ago only endears the group to me further.
Ubik Ubik 7″ (Aarght!)
Turns out this is the eighteenth artist named “Ubik” on Discogs – who knew it was such a popular name? Anyway, this one wields the name as though it were an evil corporation in an ’80s sci-fi thriller, what with the menacingly sparkling logo on the cover, and it’s a decent setting for Ubik’s ominous post-punk. They’re from Melbourne and they’ve got more than enough eyeliner to go around, setting up shop with a warbly, ’80s goth-punk bass tone, guitars that scrape and simmer, drums that pound it out with zero subtlety and a vocalist who is as likely to conjure a circle pit as she is to release the bats. The song title “Andrew Bolts Twitter Account” seems out of character for such a dour group (what kinda self-respecting goth would use such a specific inside joke as a title?), so there’s a good chance they’re far more nuanced than I’m hearing here. It’s pretty cool, but I can’t help but wish Ubik would focus in on the classic ’82-style Brit-punk vibe and leave some of their murkier, gothier elements by the wayside – that sorta stuff doesn’t quite do it for me. That’s just me speaking personally though, and I’m certain that they are many people who are delighted that Ubik opt for gloomy riffing and solemn vocal echo amidst the feeble punk backbone. I promise not to step on your cloaks as you enter the club.
Warm Bodies Warm Bodies LP (Lumpy)
Okay, so this cover had to be drawn by a kindergartener, right? Scribbly crayon faces? I’m not going to miss the current “preschool arts and crafts” punk art trend when it goes away, but I certainly will miss Warm Bodies’ debut LP if anyone borrows my copy! This Kansas City quartet have been making some of the best modern punk for a couple years now, music that pulls from various directions while feeling fresh, vital and supremely weird. Musically it’s not too far from the spazz-punk of CCTV and Liquids (with whom they’ve probably shared a stage, and at least one bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos), with Sheer Mag-style guitar solos that are shoehorned into unlikely spaces, frantic speeds that rival Die Kreuzen, and the manic thumb-to-the-eye rhythms of DNA and Mars. Vocalist Olivia Gibb often recalls Suburban Lawns’ Su Tissue at her most bug-eyed, as if a feather was tickling the bare soles of her feet at various increments during recording, her voice frequently yelping into the stratosphere on any given syllable. No wasted space, just hit after hit, unified in sound but diverse in hook (there’s even a gang chorus on “I Need A Doctor”). They really found the perfect recording here, with a nice thin-crust fidelity that enhances the mania without dampening the clarity – you may find yourself tapping or even singing along if social decorum is not a personal concern. Recommended indeed!
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