Ajax Ajax 7″ (Static Shock)
Ajax expand the scope of their influence across the Atlantic with this new 7″ released on the British Static Shock label, with advanced copies supplementing their 2015 European tour. Not bad! I have yet to hear an Ajax song I didn’t like, and that continues here. Stylistically, they branch out a further on this platter: the first two songs groove more than they slam (there’s even an Impalers-esque unexpected guitar solo in “Appeal To Heaven”) while the vocals maintain a gruff bark somewhere between the Damian Abraham / Choke / Boston Strangler guy axis. “Nothing” has a one-two oom-pah beat that feels like a fleshed out, ‘roided version of Glue or Gag, and the main riff in “Paper & Steel” feels like an Americanized, clarified version of Framtid (sans drum fills, plus extended mosh part). Not sure how you can go wrong with any of this.
The Atlantic Thrills Bed Bugs / Sugar Sugar 7″ (Almost Ready)
This is the third Atlantic Thrills record to pass through Yellow Green Red’s hallowed halls, and while I thought their debut 7″ was cool and the album that followed was even better, I think I’ve had my fill. No offense to this fine Providence-based garage-rock band, of course, I just have a limited quota for this sort of thing – your hooks have to be either undeniably massive or you have to nail the sound with expert precision, and while Atlantic Thrills certainly come close, my bar keeps getting higher. On “Bed Bugs”, The Atlantic Thrills give their classic ’60s garage a sort of late ’80s radio-rock twist, like they could easily be nestled between Wham, Tom Cochrane and The Replacements in a Columbia House cassette bundle. “Sugar Sugar”, on the other hand, is a paisley-inspired acoustic ditty that’s as sleepy and generic as the title might lead you to believe, wherein the singer calls his sugar his honey as well. How sweet. I wish The Atlantic Thrills the best of luck, but I think I’m gonna cherish the time spent together and break it off.
Batu Dekalb / Collates 12″ (Mistry)
Here’s how I like it: a techno dude with a moniker I’d expect to see spray-painted in illegible bubble letters across a highway underpass, on a micro-label run by another similarly-named artist (Mistry belonging to Beneath). “Dekalb” is the a-side and it’s not meant for dancing, so much as wandering late at night with fear and danger imminent. The song has a repeating chirpy ringtone motif, which is slowly swarmed by distant sirens, suckerpunching bass and horror-movie strings. If it weren’t for the modern production, one could’ve been forgiven for mistaking “Dekalb” for an early Throbbing Gristle cut. “Collate” is a crowd-mover, though, stomping into tuned metallic percussion that sounds like someone falling into the cookware display at a Le Creuset outlet. It’s quickly looped, enhanced with a digital bass sparring partner and pushed to new and exciting limits throughout its five minutes’ time. It’s not quite chocolate and peanut butter level, but Batu’s pairing of paranoid ambient hustle and unlit club basement meltdown is nearly as delectable.
Century Palm Valley Cyan 7″ (Deranged)
It’s always a little unsettling when a new underground band comprised of members of other known and appreciated bands comes out of the gate fully-formed, not just as a band but as a promotional machine. Century Palm feature members of Dirty Beaches and Ketamines, among others, and they’re kicking things off with two similarly-designed 7″s and an attractive promo sheet that’s printed on nicer paper than my college diploma. I haven’t checked, but I get the feeling they probably already have a sharp website too (editor’s note: I did check, and yes, they own and operate Centurypalm.com, complete with “Video”, “Press” and “Store” pages), and I dunno, it worries me when bands are great at being start-up LLCs instead of just being dummies who only know how to be in a band. Anyway, this two-song single (on Deranged of all labels) is fine and good. “Valley Cyan” reminds me of the Total Control’s Typical System sapped of any punk influence, just sort of jangly-but-not-too-jangly modern new-wave with synth flourishes and an upbeat tempo. “Accept” is the flip, really pushing the ’80s coke-rock / soft-rock aspect with flirtatious saxophone. The vocals are stranger here, almost comically drawled as if to imitate drunkenness before the big screams kick in with the chorus (and the sax goes buck). Not really sure who this music is for, besides publishing companies and NXNE festival slots, but I’m still slightly curious where they’ll go next. They’re Canadian after all, so I wouldn’t be surprised if the Century Palm quintet are eventually fully assimilated into Fucked Up’s traveling 30-piece choir or something.
Cold Showers Matter Of Choice LP (Dais)
Cold Showers’ first album came out in 2012, which in today’s hyper-fast music cycle might as well be 1912, but I applaud them for the wait. Not only are they clearly not pumping out records just to maintain their blogability, they have also been working hard at refining their sound, tightening their gears and ultimately finding a way to breathe fresh air into modern synth-based indie-goth, a genre that is almost due for total extinction / eventual re-birth. I can’t get over how great Matter Of Choice sounds, in essentially every way: the production is lush and expansive, the songs are beautiful and interesting, and the vocalist manages to sound morose, disaffected and emotionally distant while not sounding remotely like Robert Smith or Ian Curtis. Throughout, Matter Of Choice reminds me of Interpol, Simple Minds’ Real To Real Cacophony, Modern English’s Mesh & Lace and the earliest pop leanings of Section 25, but even with all those older names, Cold Showers never feel like a retro act – the music feels like it was formed today, in our phone-obsessed, information-overloaded times. These gents are clearly more concerned with their guitar tone and synth settings than their haircuts, and I look forward to listening to it all autumn long, watching the leaves turn brown and red from my window while a single tear rolls down my cheek.
Concealed Blade Demo 2015 7″ (Beach Impediment)
I’ll admit, I was a little wary of this EP when I first pulled it from its cardboard mailer: generic “skeleton cop / skeleton tough guy” artwork with barbed wire and snarling teeth, the overly violent band name, the fact that it’s a demo pressed to 7″… perhaps it’s unavoidable to feel jaded with hardcore at some point, but I felt no connection to this Concealed Blade 7″ while holding it in my hands. Good thing I’ve got a turntable, then, as this is ripping and pure hardcore, completely manic and heavy and numbskulled. The vocals are commanding and boisterous, somewhere between Springa and Paul Bearer (with just a touch of Side By Side and Antidote), recorded with a slight late-’80s echo for added moshability. The songs shift between fast-core blasts and head-walkable mosh parts (complete with at least half a dozen divebomb-fueled mosh intros), and I dunno, it’s kind of a flawless victory when it comes to the pure essence of angry male-fronted hardcore. You know, I’ve been wondering why Dave Rosenstraus of Hounds Of Hate (with whom Concealed Blade share members) recently got all muscular, and now it’s clear – you can’t pal around with Concealed Blade and not catch at least a little second-hand roid-rage.
The Coneheads L​.​P​.​1. Aka 14 Year Old High School PC​-​Fascist Hype Lords Rip Off Devo For The Sake Of Extorting $​$​$ From Helpless Impressionable Midwestern Internet Peoplepunks LP (International Players Club)
Any conversation about punk in 2015 would be remiss if it didn’t include The Coneheads. By aggressively opting out of e-commerce and social media, they’ve created more buzz than just casually selling their records on a Big Cartel and posting on Facebook like any other band, which is par for the lightning-fast rate in which underground culture is hyped, co-opted and forced out of fashion. It’s annoying that the only people selling this record online are second-hand profiteers, though, because from a solely musical perspective, The Coneheads are fantastic! They manage to out-Devo Devo from the very start, with vocals so nasally I can only assume they come directly from a disembodied nose, bass playing so frantic and perfect that I swear the recording must’ve been sped up in post-production, offensively clean guitar, cheap plastic keyboards and a rickety punk feel that combines the best aspects of Ice 9, The Toy Dolls and the BIPPP French synth-wave compilation. The songs are deviously short and precise, the lyrics are mutated and dumb, and it’s executed flawlessly – just listen to those drum rolls! I can’t say there are many records this year that are worth sending text messages and concealed cash in order to obtain, but the music of The Coneheads is worthy of any severe leaps of faith one might have to take.
Decades/Failures G00DBY3 LP (Dead Tank / Popnihil)
Kind of a strange move, having a band name that sounds like a split of hardcore bands (I know of Failures, and there are at least a few Decades kicking around out there) when your music is released by underground hardcore labels, but hey, everyone can do what they want. Decades/Failures are clearly going for the whole gothy synth-pop trend here, and they fall closer to Toby Chan than Wes Eisold, stumbling through endless layers of vocal effects, basic drum programming and goth-lite guitar strumming. By all means, it should suck, and I suppose it does, but Decades/Failures are totally doing right by me, as their naturally-inept style pleases my ears considerably. I’m sure no one thought Trop Tard were any good in their day either, and that record is one of my all-time goth faves! There’s something about Decades/Failures’ waterlogged vocals, weak guitars and stumbly programming that I find irresistible, and they are late enough for the trend that it almost seems like they are disqualified from competing, which certainly suits them. G00DBY3 (ugh, that title) flops between “so bad it’s good” and “good” as it spins, and I couldn’t be happier.
Eel Eel 7″ (Beach Impediment)
Eel are Pittsburgh’s slipperiest punk band, featuring ex-members of Annihilation Time, Government Warning and surely more great hardcore-punk acts from the past few years. With this group, they’re diving headfirst into unadulterated G.I.S.M. worship (just check the metallic riffing, vocal attack and fidelity of opener “Fuck Off, The Human Insect”) as well as other classics from the noisier end of hardcore-punk’s spectrum (as seems to be more and more common these days). They blast through oom-pah beats not unlike Blazing Eye, twist all sorts of fiery distortion from their guitars ala Confuse, and push the Japanese angle extra hard, with broken English song titles, a fold-out collage poster of pop-culture and violence (featuring Taylor Swift as an evil commandant) and their band name in Kanji. The music is primitive and vicious; not the sort of thing you have to think too hard about, just rage with your friends (and the stellar drumming pushes things to a manic level). If I had any complaints, I wish they’d tone down the hardcore “tribute act” vibe a little, as their music stands up on its own without the overt Japanophilism. I for one would like to taste a little more anglo-Pittsburghian flavor in Eel’s brew, although I suppose at the end of the day it doesn’t matter how you get drunk so much as whether or not you are drunk.
500mg To The Firmament LP (Drawing Room)
500mg is the solo moniker of one Michael Gibbons, perhaps best known for his decades’ long tenure in American psych-rock institution Bardo Pond. He’s been occasionally releasing 500mg stuff on the side for a number of years now, and I feel like I should seek out some of his earlier material, because this album is really great. Through various solo guitar outings, dense orchestrations and barely-conscious vocal murmuring, To The Firmament feels like an intensely private listen, like you sneaked into a dark corner of The Lemur House (the studio where Bardo Pond and Gibbons record themselves and various other Philadelphian entities) and get to watch intently as Gibbons moves from one instrument to the next. It’s like a quaint mix of Total, Steven R. Smith and Crazy Horse, with the “sonic postcard” feel of the earliest Purling Hiss albums, as if Gibbons wanted to make you a mixtape but didn’t have any records, just instruments. New Weird American music that doesn’t impose any newness, weirdness or American-ness on the listener, and a fine late-night burn no matter what season.
Golden Teacher Sauchiehall Enthrall 12″ (Golden Teacher)
Golden Teacher utterly blew me away when I saw them live a year ago – there were like four dudes shifting between keyboards and drums, all wildly bobbing and shuffling like the Peanuts dance scene, and two vocalists, one of who sashayed and vogued in a leopard-print body suit, the other breaking into unhinged fits of dance that recalled Mick Jagger and James Brown in equal measure. It was impossible not to catch their kinetic energy as a bystander, and the music was suitably tight and wild. I checked out some of their other music after the gig, but much like another insane live band Black Eyes, the recordings were a bit more subdued than the live possession I had witnessed. That may still be the case for Golden Teacher, but this new four-track EP is as close to their live performance as a vinyl disc can get, and it’s wonderful! They go heavy on the percussion here, mixing organic and synthetic elements with ease, dropping unexpected dub elements for a sense of weight and miraculously never crowding the sound. For a group with so many performers, they give the music plenty of room here, which results in powerfully punchy tracks like “Shatter” (see if you don’t involuntarily cartwheel when the kick shows up) and “On The Street”, which feels like Bok Bok remixing Arthur Russell’s disco material for the post-modern dance crowds of today. You can tell they never use the same synth setting twice, but it never seems like a boastful display of their gear either – each song is very specific in its sounds, all tied together by the vocalists who seem to wander in and out of the studio at their own pace, toasting more than singing. Very well done, gang!
Helena Hauff Discreet Desires 2xLP (Werk Discs / Ninja Tune)
I’ve been enjoying the music of Helena Hauff for a while now, with each new 12″, split or remix building on her body of work, but even so, I wasn’t prepared for how utterly fantastic Discreet Desires is. Right away, she displayed a unique and crafty mind when it came to analog acid-techno, but she kind of blows past that here. Opening with the beautiful “Tripartite Pact”, I’m quickly reminded of the Galakthorrö label (maybe the cover photo’s similarity to November Növelet’s From Heaven On Earth and Heart Of Stone helps spur that comparison), in the way that Hauff establishes a mood both quizzical and sexy, like a black-and-white porno that never actually shows any naked human bodies. From there, Hauff treats us to dungeon EBM, the darkest flavor of Depeche Mode’s synth-pop, Void Vision-style electro-goth, Sandwell District style techno murk, and even her first foray into vocals, the captivating “Sworn To Secrecy Part II”. Discreet Desires is bigger than any of those disparate references, though, as it’s one of those rare ostensibly-techno albums with zero skippable tracks, the sort of record that captivates as it offers brave new sounds alongside satisfyingly familiar ones. Five-star recommendation!
Huerco S. Railroad Blues 12″ (Proibito)
Huerco S. has always been cool to me, as guys often say, although I thought that his recent A Verdigris Reader EP lacked the constitution of his other work. This new EP, however, sets him off on a slightly different course, further from the dance-floor and closer to something either vast or small – it’s like I’m looking at a blurry photo and I can’t figure out if it’s the cosmos or a single-celled organism. I’m leaning toward the latter, as these three tracks act as their own little self-contained biological systems, softly pumping as they swirl in place, like a busy microscopic anthill. There’s a little too much movement to classify the sounds on Railroad Blues as ambient, but they come coated in such dense lushness that it has ambient music’s sense of mystery, like when you’re out in a field at dusk, surrounded by chirping frogs but unable to actually see any of them. “Transit V (See See Rider)” is probably my favorite of the bunch, as it comes equipped with the algorithmic feel of Manuel Göttsching’s E2-E4. But, like any good music, you don’t have to be overly intelligent to enjoy it, myself a shining example.
The Hunches You’ll Never Get Away With My Heart 7″ (Almost Ready)
From all the noisy garage-punk bands to come around in the ’00s, The Hunches seem to be at once both the most revered and most ignored. It’s as if they probably barely sold a thousand copies of their earliest albums, but each of those copies remains cherished and savored by whoever grabbed it. I never personally made a connection with their music (I first heard the band after they had broken up), but I’m always willing to try, like on this new 7″ single consisting of two tracks taken from their earliest demos in 2001. “You’ll Never Get Away With My Heart” has a weary Velvet Underground tone mixed with some Back From The Grave vocal ferocity, and “Like I Could Die” feels like Royal Trux working their way through a Meat Puppets song, perhaps. I can certainly see the appeal in their combo of earnest, well-worn guitar-rock and frantic, blathering vocals, but I can’t help but see them as a solid punk rock band that predated a few ’00s trends rather than an altar at which to worship. We’ve all got our individual game-changing bands, though, so Hunches fans won’t want to miss this little archival appetizer (and newbies and casual fans will surely appreciate You’ll Never Get Away With My Heart as well).
The Jeanies The Jeanies LP (no label)
A couple years back I received an unassuming 7″ single of traditional garage-rock done quite well by a band called The Enthusiasts, who quickly receded back into the ether from which they came (and at a limited pressing quantity of 150, it’s unsurprising). Apparently some of those guys put together a new band called The Jeanies, and it’s nice to have these folks back in my life, slinging their time-tested, classic American power-pop garage-rock with ease on this self-titled debut. Throughout, it reminds me of Elvis Costello fronting Cheap Trick had they found themselves under the inspiration of The Replacements (I realize a time machine is necessary to complete this equation, so I ask that you suspend your disbelief). It’s one of those nice albums that offers no obvious musical clues that it was published in 2015, nor does it come across like a retro costume party. There’s a backing vocalist who harmonizes with the main guy, tasteful guitars not far from the better half of the Powerpearls comps, and songs about the kids, Jenny, the girls, and Judy. While I love new things, I also love when bands are great at doing something well-worn and true, be it no-wave, power-violence or the tasteful power-pop tuneage of The Jeanies.
M Ax Noi Mach Raw Elements: 1999 – 2009 CD (Handmade Birds)
As you may know, I’m not the type to spend much time with CDs (although we are nearly far enough out from the turn of the century that the nostalgia they carry is slowly gaining appeal), but I am certainly the type to spend time with any and all M Ax Noi Mach material. This is a fairly necessary release for M Ax’s Rob Francisco, collecting various tracks from 1999 through 2009, essentially documenting his “not a boy, not yet a man” period. Across 22 tracks, a lot of ground is covered, with plenty of cuts feeling more like adventurous ideas or hasty sketches than fully completed works, but that’s part of the charm – it’s a fascinating notebook to rifle through. At times, I’m reminded of Ramleh’s violent mechanics, Mammal’s noise-ruined dance music, Controlled Bleeding’s asphyxiating power-electronics and, well, M Ax Noi Mach’s more recent work, which manages to fuse all of that together into nuanced song-form. Baltimore club beats collide with squalls of harsh noise, enraged vocals arrive like shocks from an ungrounded electrical cord, and each new track presents some iteration of the M Ax Noi Mach universe. It’s amazing to consider that Francisco had essentially conjured his own distinct aesthetic before the Y2K bug failed to destroy civilization, and he continues to hone it to this day. So long as there is a shadowy figure lurking under a commuter train or mysterious drug deal happening in an unnamed alley, M Ax Noi Mach will be watching and taking notes.
Mønic Parsons Hill EP 12″ (Tresor)
Mønic remixed a Manni Dee track earlier this year that essentially stole the show, so I had to check out some of their original material as well. Parsons Hill sounds like it could be one of those first person mature-horror video games, so why not start there, right? It opens with the title track, pushing a 3/4 percussive volley into expansive dark-techno territory, with hi-hats buzzing like a swarm and heart-stopping bass curling around your ankles. Very Rrose-like, I’d say. “Hollow Victory” follows with an undanceable series of electric shocks, very much from Emptyset’s playbook before they became true artistes, complete with metallic snaps and industrial clicks somewhere in the adjacent hangar. “Morse” wraps things up and sounds like a compromise between the first two tracks, offering plenty of digital fear and techno-derived menace while providing some basis of forward motion (although I still don’t think you can dance to it besides doing some sort of Night Of The Living Dead strut). Not a particularly unique take on industrial-techno, but it’s suiting me just fine as I toil away in my science lab, chemically-assembling my idea of the perfect woman but giving her AK-47s instead of arms. What’s the worst that could happen?
The Mountain Movers Death Magic LP (Safety Meeting)
The Mountain Movers have a pretty funny Discogs profile, which I will copy and paste here in its entirety: The Mountain Movers were started by Dan Greene and Rick Omonte of New Haven, Connecticut in order to begin recording as many of Dan’s songs as possible. Dan has hundreds of songs. Sheer quantity of songs is something I usually get nervous about, unless your band is Evil Moisture or Seven Minutes Of Nausea, but from the smooth, focused rock songs I’m hearing on Death Magic, none of this seems to be the work of some unwanted Daniel Johnston / Jandek acolyte. Rather, the music of The Mountain Movers is laid-back, mildly-psychedelic and familiar, as if the more straight-forward material by Pavement and Destroyer were stripped of their eloquent and dense lyricism and given a modern-rock makeover. Or perhaps, it’s like My Morning Jacket without the sense of grandeur, Wooden Shjips without the monotony, or Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy without the idiosyncrasy. For my personal tastes, Death Magic is certainly without that little spark that keeps me intrigued, be it a captivating vocalist or acid-fried guitarist or even an error-prone drummer – there are no mistakes, nor are there any big gambles or payoffs to be found here. Surely there is a large audience that enjoys safe and thoughtful rock music such as this, but I’m the type of guy whose YouTube recommended section is all blooper videos, so there you go.
Obnox Wiglet LP (Ever/Never)
Obnox continues his quest to deplete the world of its crude petroleum supply with his third full-length vinyl album of 2015. I’m practically running out of new things to say about Obnox’s music, so I can’t even fathom how he is able to keep churning it out! Anyway, Wiglet is pretty great, and might be my favorite of this year’s bunch. It’s a pretty straight-forward album – no interludes or underlying theme, no rap songs, no special studio recording budget, just molten garage-punk constantly on the edge of becoming fully subsumed by the noise that surrounds it. Wiglet borders on a live Fushisusha recording at times, as if every speaker is ripped from the pressure and every amplifier overheating until the room is filled with electrical smoke (and probably other smoke too, if you catch my drift). Bim Thomas’s vocals are often nothing more than a melodic pitch in the explosive din, but his riffs are mean-mugging, fun and easy for anyone to enjoy. Unlike other blown-out garage records, the garbled wash of distortion doesn’t decrease the music’s inherent energy, but rather helps push it forward, to the point where it doesn’t matter if I’m hearing a muffled snare drum or a muted guitar chug at any given moment, it’s all about the sum of its parts. And at this pace, every boy and girl will soon have a personal Obnox album to call their own, praise be.
Patois Counselors Patois Counselors 7″ (Negative Jazz)
I know Negative Jazz from their great Mystic Inane catalog, and now they’re stretching out a little further with the debut 7″ of North Carolina’s Patois Counselors. It’s my understanding this is a solo-project-turned-real-band sorta thing, which are becoming increasingly common, and if any of these projects are as tight as this band, who cares how they formed? Patois Counselors play an aggressively-angular form of punk, indebted to Gulcher and Dangerhouse like the best of ’em, but also calling to mind modern weird-garage entities like Evening Meetings and Whatever Brains. The songs are upbeat but not built for moshing, and the keyboard is like that one mosquito that’s been in the bathroom all week, sneaking little bites and buzzing in your face while you’re trying to poop. Maybe if Protomartyr wore beat-up leather jackets and Docs instead of J Crew khakis and loafers, they’d sound like this? Four songs, and they’re all way longer than the 7″ format should allow (I think there’s like twelve minutes of music here?), but kudos to the engineers and fine folks along the way who made this record possible.
Pigeons Buoy / But For The Waves 7″ (Soft Abuse)
First time I put on this Pigeons 7″, I was feeling its funkiness, sort of like G. Love & Special Sauce on helium… then I realized it’s a 33, not a 45. Whoops! At the recommended speed, Pigeons are far more sensual, and their soft watercolor art of two deadly jellyfish seems far more appropriate. “Buoy” is a very relaxed, warm-water cut of shoegaze-pop, made truly exciting by the guitar solo that comes unexpectedly ripping in halfway through, not unlike Red House Painters’ “Make Like Paper”. Smooth and quite cool! “But For The Waves” is a little more upbeat, but still operates on a planet with slightly less gravitational pull than ours; maybe like an easy-listening version of Damon & Naomi? Whatever the case, these Pigeons contradict the winged pooping nuisance of their namesake that we’ve all come to be annoyed by. “Swans” would’ve been far more aesthetically appropriate, but you know…
Power Nap Paranoid / Dexies 7″ (Rough Skies)
Power Nap are a rock group from the fascinating town of Hobart, Tasmania, and Rough Skies Records is run by Julian Teakle, he of Native Cats fame. All of this makes me want to root for Power Nap, and while I can imagine the ferocious fun that might occur at one of their local gigs (because where else are bands from Hobart performing if not locally), I’m not sure that this 7″ captures Power Nap quite like my imagination. “Paranoid” is a bold song-title to choose, and theirs is a pretty decent slam of repetitive riffing, early punk vocals teamed with feral screams (think Stiv Bators dueting with Adris Hoyos) and a defiant attitude. “Dexies” opts for a “No Fun” riff structure and quickly-spat vocals not unlike Maids’ “Back To Bataan” or any of the Toxin III EP. Of course, Power Nap don’t compete with any of the classic artists I’ve mentioned before, but they’re still fun (and manage to rhyme “tomato” with “volcano” with a level of sass I didn’t think possible). This is Hobart, not LA!
Psychic Baos Society’s Lien On Peace Of Mind / Can’t Keep Us Down 7″ (Magnetic South)
The top of this 7″ single recommends that it be filed under “Psyche-delic Seuzz”, which has me wondering, is Oh, The Places You’ll Go! not already psychedelic as is? Anyway, I was ready for my third eye to be shocked open, but Psychic Baos play a pretty basic form of Back From The Grave-inspired garage rock, not too far from the organ-driven Original Sins or The Mono Men. Confusingly, the title of this EP is just the title, and there are actually four tracks here, none of which ever get too fast. “Wallet Is Dead” has kind of a Mudhoney feel circa their turn-of-the-century material, though not as good. Perfectly fine band for those in need of more retro-garage rock, particularly if you ran out of A-Bones variants and Frank Kozik screenprints to collect, but personally, I find myself more intrigued by the coughing sound my trusty window air-conditioning unit has been making than this EP.
Shearing Pinx Poison Hands LP (Gilgongo)
I often marvel at the financial decisions Gilgongo makes, particularly in reissuing material that came out on a different format a few years ago, and I’m doing it again now with Poison Hands. It’s Shearing Pinx’s debut album from 2006, initially issued in double CD-r format on Not Not Fun (ah, the mid ’00s) and then reissued on standard CD in 2007 by Gilgongo. Is the Gilgongo label in some sort of Brewster’s Millions situation where they must spend a massive sum of money in a short time frame or something? Who wanted this? My incredulousness aside, it’s a decent-enough no-wave-inspired indie-punk record, not unlike offerings by Die Monitor Bats or XBXRX, bands whose records you can easily acquire for under five dollars (which, in both cases, isn’t the worst idea). The first side is fine, but the b-side heats things up nicely, a single track entitled “White Mud” that turns a minute-long punk track into a side-long noise freakout; it’s like they took the last couple seconds of every “crazy” rock song and extended it for minutes, never letting up on the intensity or sheer oblivion. If by chance you are a big enough Shearing Pinx fan to want their debut album, but don’t already own it, or already own it but insist on obtaining the vinyl format as well, your day has arrived, my friend.
Shed Constant Power 12″ (The Final Experiment)
Shed isn’t kidding when he named this new EP Constant Power – he’s always been a hit-or-miss producer for me, but the hits are huge, as is the case with this stunning four-track EP. The a-side is solely inhabited by “Break Up III TK 4”, and rightfully so, as it’s a hugely satisfying banger. The throbbing bass pulse is thick from the start, then comes a fractured drum break, and before long, it’s glazed with a weightless synth progression. I’m getting wary of the recent assimilation / experimentation of break-beats / drum n’ bass within the post-industrial techno community, but Shed wields it perfectly here, like another clunky weapon in his arsenal rather than his only trick. The flip-side tracks are great too: “Final Distortion” zips and zaps with the charisma of Splazsh-era Actress, “Up The Hills” navigates another funky drum-break into experimental techno oblivion, and “Crystal Cubes” is like Emptyset remixed by Ronda Rousey. I want to hear all of these things over and over again, and with this 12″ close by, I can!
Snooty Garbagemen Snooty Garbagemen LP (12XU)
Come on, you snickered at least a little bit when you found out that there’s a band called “Snooty Garbagemen”, right? And perhaps even more amusingly, this isn’t some Sockeye side-project but an actual functioning rock band that writes and performs real songs! I am almost surprised at how conventional they sound, given the name, as the ‘Garbagemen play a form of rugged, fast-paced, hardcore-infused garage-punk that’s as no-frills and sturdy as a used 2002 Dodge Caravan. I’m picking up some serious New Bomb Turks vibes here, with vocals that slobber somewhere around the guy from Vanity (I didn’t want to say Skrewdriver), George Tabb and the main guy in The Nobodys. Snotty, but whatever youthful exuberance you might expect is replaced with a sour workingman’s pessimism. Naturally, it sounds good to my ears, and maybe it’s just the 4:00 pm hungry-for-dinner blues I’m currently suffering from, but the messy Mexican meal they are polishing off on the back cover looks especially tantalizing right about now. Can’t beat the food in Austin.
St. Julien A16 12″ (Apron)
St. Julien seems to be the name that Steven Julien uses when he’s feeling experimental (his more club-oriented work usually flows under the name FunkinEven). The debut St. Julien 12″ nearly brought me to my knees in its unique glory, so I’ve been clamoring for this follow-up ever since, and now that it’s here… I dunno. At first, I loved it immediately, but I’m not sure I was listening to it, so much as basking in the glow of more St. Julien. These four tracks play out like nonchalant intermissions – the drum programming is slow and simple, the synth rides out on alternating chords, maybe a crackly hi-hat sneaks in, but ultimately A16 feels like a series of holding patterns. Don’t get me wrong, the synths are quite warm and comfortable, the surveillance-cam cover art is amusing, and my head almost instinctively bobs to every moment offered on A16, but none of the left-field weirdness of the first St. Julien EP remains. Maybe it’s weird because of how un-weird it is? Whatever the case, I remain hopeful for more of that St. Julien magic in the future.
Thee Tsunamis Saturday Night Sweetheart LP (Magnetic South)
The band is called “Thee Tsunamis”, the album is called Saturday Night Sweetheart, and the band members are putting on red lipstick on the cover, each with flair-speckled leather jackets and up-dos. I’m not trying to be just another useless curmudgeon on the internet, but can’t we all just close our eyes for thirty seconds, focus on the information I just provided and envision exactly what this record sounds like with stunning accuracy? I can’t think of a less-surprising record I listened to this year. That said, Thee Tsunamis are charming enough, with the lead singer’s charismatic yowl and simple-but-satisfying song arrangements, and thankfully there are more upbeat boppers than slow-dance waltzes. But did I mention all three band members have taken on the surname “Tsunami”, there’s a song called “Teenage Dreams”, and the back cover design features each song title as its own button affixed to black leather? Perhaps if they just owned their vibe and called their band Thee Clichés, I’d appreciate it on some meta-ironic level, but for many people besides myself, Thee Tsunamis’ total lack of creativity doesn’t diminish the fun, and I’m not looking to bring them down with me.
Throat Short Circuit LP (Kaos Kontrol / Reptilian)
Hope you’re not too busy for some Finnish noise-rock, because that’s what Throat is offering up. As you probably guessed, they are not an instrumental group, and the vocalist is in fact one of the most striking aspects of their sound, as he has managed to perfectly fuse David Yow’s slobbery howl with Michael Gira’s overly enunciated commands circa Swans’ early years. Opening track “Roast” is almost startling in its Swansliness, as the guitars cut away to reveal nothing but heavy tom action and the vocalist barking his Gira-like orders. Throat manage to mix it up a bit though, as seemingly no heavy rock-based attribute is out of bounds – they’ll lock into a stonery rock groove as though they were trying out for Man’s Ruin, toss in the occasional blast-beat grind part, or jib and jab the guitars not unlike US Maple and the Skin Graft empire. There’s even a wanky solo over a grungy riff that doesn’t sound too out of place from the Sugartooth album I was just listening to on YouTube (don’t judge). Kind of clumsy at times, but generally pretty fine for anyone into semi-ironic muscle-flexing noise-rock… I know you’re out there.
UFUX You Look Dark 7″ (Jeth-Row / Expensive And Time Consuming Hobby)
Gary Wrong is performing quite a service with his Jeth-Row label, really mining the nastiest, most miserable noise-punk across the globe, like a modern-day Noiseville with less silliness, more misanthropy. Not sure how he keeps finding this stuff (perhaps it finds him), but the debut release by Chicago’s UFUX certainly fits the parameters. “You Look Dark” sounds like Quttinirpaaq churning out a Bongzilla cover, a heavy head-swayer with bile-caked vocals. “Trash Walk” has a little more swing, as though there’s a Cramps record soaking in brown liquid at the bottom of UFUX’s sonic dumpster, and the band anthem “UFUX” wraps things up, surely a mess of tangled guitar cords and pushed-over drums functioning as its denouement. I was first impressed by the word “fuck” being incorrectly spelled when I found out about the Fuct skate company in 6th grade (and later in high school when discovering the French Connection brand), and apparently I remain comfortably at that level.
Kurt Vile b’lieve i’m goin down 2xLP (Matador)
Kurt Vile truly is one of Philadelphia’s great treasures, and I’m not talking about touristy garbage like cheese-steaks (no one actually eats those) and Rocky statues, but rather the stuff that Philadelphians actually cherish, like cheap-ish rent, excellent access to live music at all levels and a downright pretentious selection of beer. To know the man is to love him, and while that may make accusations of “friend-rock” somewhat plausible, he’s written more modern-classic hits than whatever long-haired slacker indie-troubadour that lives in your town, okay? I know him (and thusly love him), but I’ll admit I never even checked out his prior album, Wakin On A Pretty Daze – he’s incredibly prolific, and my listening habits don’t always follow suit. So now I’m checking in on this new one, and I’m really enjoying it! Much like all the other Kurt Vile albums, it starts out strongest, the first song hitting the home run rather than just trying to get on base: “Pretty Pimpin” is such a beautiful, instantly-memorable and sweetly idiosyncratic tune. It has this odd sort of Modest Mouse hop in its step, and Vile’s vocal style is more exaggerated and great than ever before, coming across like Tom Petty doing his best Joey Ramone impression. The rest of the record slowly settles down from that vibe, maybe a bit more subdued (and far less reverb-haze) than previous efforts, and a bit more of that ’90s Tom Petty vibe – it’s hard not to picture Tom Petty dressed up as the Mad Hatter when I hear Kurt sing some of these songs. Much like his other albums, the songs are all fairly long and I rarely make it all the way though (the catchiest tunes are always stacked up front), but after listening I don’t recall my boredom toward the end so much as the joy offered by the first few songs. I presume Kurt Vile will continue his ascent into stardom, although I appreciate his modesty in opting against the album title B’LIEVE I’M BLOWIN UP.
Zulus II LP (Aagoo)
I could pretty easily get down with a mixtape of Rice, Aa, Battleship and The Homosexuals, couldn’t you? Well, ex-members of all those bands play in Zulus, and I can only assume it’s not all like, bassists that only lasted six months or touring drummers, as this band certainly carries some of the nicer qualities of those other groups. Heavy drums, weaselly guitar riffs, plodding bass and vocals that run through some sort of effects unit that has the same chemical tang as the orange juice in any Motel 6 “Continental Breakfast”. At times, the delivery and overall sound reminds of Clockcleaner’s high-mark, Babylon Rules, but Zulus are a little too energetic and speedy for that comparison to really stick. It definitely has that sort of Factums / Popular Shapes / The Intelligence sort of Pacific Northwest heavy post-punk vibe (and I believe Zulus hail from that general geographic quadrant as well), but Zulus are low on quirk, wit or gimmick, preferring to stomp or slam through their primitive and noisy post-hardcore punk as though they were afforded no other option.
Acid Mothers Temple And The Melting Paradiso UFO High On New Heaven Live In New Haven 3xLP (Safety Meeting)
Perhaps it was Acid Mothers Temple’s quest for the most righteous pizza on Earth that led them to the quaint town of New Haven, CT, but whatever the basis for their arrival, they conjured their sonic séance expertly on April 20th, 2013, captured via a surprisingly clear recording and pressed onto six sides of 12″ vinyl. Chances are you know what Acid Mothers Temple is all about by now: half a dozen Japanese people on stage, one of them in a Degeneration X football jersey, rocking endlessly toward the astral plane… they’ve been doing it for decades now. This set is a pretty great sonic representation of what they’re all about, sans smoke machines and stage lights – there are plenty of extended guitar solos that tie Wah pedals to Echoplexes and fly them like kites, somber and trippy death marches that re-interpret the Kama Sutra, and a nearly thirty minute rendition of their perennial hit “Pink Lady Lemonade”. You could’ve watched an entire episode of Seinfeld in the time it took these cosmic jokers to build it up and coast it on down. Acid Mothers Temple are great, and such an institution at this point that I can only hope they outlive me… maybe it’s time I started thinking about what kind of a world I want to leave behind for Acid Mothers Temple.
Badlands Dark Dreams 7″ (Porchcore)
Dark Dreams sounds like a Ben & Jerry’s flavor I’d be interested in sampling, and it’s also the name of the two songs on this quaint and homely 7″ single, although the track “Dreams” is the a-side and “Dark” follows on the flip. “Dreams” will have your head swaying in no time, a friendly little cut of acoustic guitar-led indie-pop, with just enough suede fringe on the jacket to give off a lonesome country vibe. I’m reminded of the lighter side of K Records, maybe a touch of Lavender Diamond too (although a bit dimmer than Lavender Diamond’s sun-blasted jubilance). “Dark” works similarly, and although I can’t understand anything that band-leader Adrian Chi Tenney is singing, I can’t help but assume this song is about hopping trains to meet your lover on a cliff, only to find out that they threw themselves off it into the ocean because being apart was simply too much for them to bear. (Okay, the lyrics are printed inside the sleeve, but my interpretation still stands.) Two pretty songs that have that same sort of top-down, Kurt Vile’s hair-blowing-in-the-wind sorta feel, even as dusk starts showing up earlier in the evening.
J.G. Biberkopf Ecologies LP (Knives)
J.G. Biberkopf (German for “Justin Bieber fan”) is a newcomer to the post-post-modern avant-techno landscape, but as far as I’m concerned, his presence is welcomed. Not sure how he was discovered (plucked out of the Soundcloud minor leagues by some hard-working techno talent scout?), but Ecologies is a nice snapshot of what the undanceable underground is up to. Through these six tracks, Biberkopf offers rave motifs (huge swabs of electro-synths), technological sound-effects (the sound of a security camera rotating to follow you down a hallway), Graham Lambkin-esque found-sound (a dramatic cut to windshield wipers struggling across a dry windshield), the soundtrack to any given Stephen Seagal film, and Egyptrixx’s knack for making the listener feel like they just activated the power on a fleet of Terminators by mistake. And through it all, there’s some of Ben Frost’s macho-ambient atmosphere for good measure, too. It’s an immersive experience, and briskly paced so that I never lose interest – if anything, I find myself wanting to press rewind on specific musical moments that quickly pass through. I’m uncertain that Ecologies will hold up a couple years from now, as it seems to be an experiment in the specific musical technology currently offered to home-based producers, but the entire concept of the future is uncertain anyway, isn’t it?
Blawan Hanging Out The Birds 12″ (Ternesc)
Just as expected, Blawan’s second 12″ of 2015 on the Ternesc label is here, and it’s a mighty EP of downhill techno. I love Blawan, and I don’t expect that to ever change, but both of his newest 12″ EPs sound great in the most expected of ways, to the point where I’m slightly disappointed. He’s managed to create such distinct sonic territory for himself that it only takes a sludgy kick or frantic electronic wobble for me to recognize a Blawan track on sound alone, but on this EP in particular, it almost comes across like someone doing a really fantastic impression of Blawan, using all of his signifiers and trademarked synth settings without adding anything new or strange to the mix. The electronic chirp and incessant warble of “Mine Oh Mine” is particularly sweet, but these tracks just add to his total minutes of recorded material rather than elevate it further. Hanging Out The Birds is an urgent and carefully-crafted example of Blawan’s signature style, but my mind remains intact rather than splattered all over the ceiling.
Domenique Dumont Comme Ça LP (Antinote)
French electronic music is nothing if not distinctive, from Daft Punk to Justice to Air, and the Antinote label is a notable new wrinkle on its landscape. They’re almost like the passive European answer to the American-born L.I.E.S. label, merging deep-house and home-recorded aesthetics but focusing on retro / obscure electronic music and the lighter side of things. If Antinote is recording in a basement, it still has giant windows and plenty of natural light, if you catch my drift. This debut six-song “album” by Domenique Dumont, for example, is a delightful drizzle of coconut oil on my musical diet, recalling the beachy exotica of Pizzicato Five, Fantastic Plastic Machine or Stereolab, as if you’re laying out on a glistening European beach that shines like 8-bit Nintendo pixels and smells like Serge Gainsbourg’s aftershave. Dumont skips the funk-break samples, turntable scratching and other dated signposts for a more streamlined approach that at least nods in the direction of such contemporary cool as Peaking Lights and John Talabot, pursuing easy-going deep-house and breezy dub-exotica in equal measure. Ah, c’est si bon!
Ecstatic Vision Sonic Praise LP (Relapse)
A lot of bands praise the riff, but Ecstatic Vision seems to take it a step further and praise the chord itself. One guitar ringing out the same holy chord while a bass repeats it on 8th notes can achieve transcendence as purely as any set of chord changes, if they have anything to say about it. Ecstatic Vision seem to dig on that pretty hard, allowing repetition and skin-tight playing to elevate minds, not unlike Boris or Acid Mothers Temple. They seem to mostly sing about what they’re doing, from desires to reach astral planes, sonic praise (“Sonic Praise”) and a general appreciation of all things righteously stoner. Doug Sabolick’s vocals are hoarse and Matt Pike-like, helping keep the Hawkwind-brand space shuttle grounded, at least until any given song breaks in the middle and they blast off, drums and bass locked into a perfect algorithm while the guitars aim for galaxies Hubble has yet to locate. It’s a tried and tested formula for sure, but I dunno, I don’t mind getting higher with a group as refined and talented as Ecstatic Vision, as it helps balance all the other times I find myself involuntarily getting lower.
Evol Flapper That 12″ (Diagonal)
I come to the Diagonal label in search of electronic madness, but this 12″ by Evol pushes beyond my craziest expectations to Wolfgang Voigt levels of repetitive, torturous loops. And I thank them for it! “Flapper That” is broken into two long parts on here, starting off with the sound of an Atari game stuck on a trampoline. Eventually the bounce sound changes, but only slightly, and at such a fast pace that the ten-or-so minutes per side feels at least twice as long. That’s all there is, beyond a constant hum of bass on the second part: a single rubbery synth loop modulated in pitch and frequency. I’m picturing some person in an all-white room in a long white lab-coat, playing a synth that was built with Twizzlers instead of keys and Skittles instead of knobs, turning it on letting it play itself as they furiously take notes on a clipboard. Maddening music to the utmost degree, and essentially exactly where I want Diagonal to take me in late 2015.
Frau Mira 7″ (no label)
One of my greatest regrets of this summer is missing Frau as they came through my town on tour. It was an unavoidable conflict, but I now have no choice but to wonder how these maniacal, unhinged punk songs sound live, if only because I can hardly believe that music this frantic and unrestrained exists on our planet. “Mira” opens with a hailstorm of noise that would make Derek Bailey and Chris Corsano sit up straight, before blasting into a two-note / no-chord barrage of primitive hardcore-punk. The other three tracks are just as manic, somewhere between Texas obscurities Foams and Rhode Island avant-punk noisers Dynasty, just pure musical beauty. The 7″ comes with a lyric sheet, and while Frau sing exclusively in English, following along with the lyrics while listening is an intense and near-impossible task, like performing two heart surgeries as once. God I love Frau.
Gel Set Human Salad LP (Moniker)
Gel Set entered my consciousness via 2014’s split EP with Stacian, a fellow Midwestern dabbler of vocal-led techno/synth-pop, and now she’s keeping the party going with this attractive new LP. The cover art is worthy of its own Fantagraphics title (nice work, Otto Splotch!), and the music is much as I had expected: think the earliest 100% Silk releases (Innergaze, Maria Minerva, Body Double, let’s say) with the bite of Tamion 12 Inch and the Ersatz Audio crew, and a residual hint of the electro-perversion of Crack: We Are Rock and Tracy & The Plastics. That enough band names for you? There’s usually a drum machine popping like popcorn while a scary bass-line darts beneath, all as Laura Callier (the sole proprietor of Gel Set) talks, coos and mumbles her way through an unlit basement hallway. As far as left-field synth-pop, it’s actually a pretty unobtrusive album, as I’ve put it on a few times only to forget I was listening to it – sometimes Gel Set’s lightweight grooves blend into my desk fan ambiance a little too easily. Still, when she has my full attention, I can’t help but wish I had a portable smoke machine and mirrored dance-floor to moonwalk myself onto, which is really what it all comes down to.
Golden Bats Godhead / Bunny Lake 7″ (Coffin Cut)
Golden Bats is the solo project of Geordie Stafford of Australian hardcore group Teargas, and he uses the opportunity to slow things down considerably, genuflecting honorably in front of the Electric Guitar. “Godhead” coasts on an epic tuned-down riff comparable to Melvins or Neurosis, working its Sabbath-approved chords into new arrangements and eventually belting out some gruff, misty vocals through the din. “Bunny Lake” operates similarly, like Goatsnake covering Bongzilla with a little Iron Monkey in the tank (and a Kerry King-esque guitar solo toward the end). There are millions of bands that sound just like this, but there are millions of different chocolate cakes out there that all taste like chocolate cake, and you wouldn’t catch me complaining about that, you know? There can never be enough down-tuned doom-metal as far as I’m concerned, so if you happen to encounter Golden Bats, it won’t take much effort to enjoy yourself.
Helta Skelta Reds / The Devil’s Triangle 7″ (Rock Bottom)
You’d think I’d know every Australian punk band by now, but each week there are like another dozen I’ve never heard before, like Perth’s Helta Skelta for instance. This is kind of a strange one: a recent US pressing of their self-released 7″ single from 2013, but I can understand the appeal while listening to “Reds” – it hits the sweet spot between early Total Control and The Vicious, looking back at the earliest Australian punk singles with clear admiration. I’m a little confused by the b-side choice though, as it’s an instrumental that plays out like the mid-section of The Victims’ classic “Disco Junkies”… cool sound for sure, but c’mon, y’all couldn’t come up with any words to sing over it? At the very least, this single has done a fine job of whetting my appetite for more of their classically-trained proto-punk / post-punk rumble, presuming more is on the way eventually.
Howling Gruel Jolly Jape LP (Wormwood Grasshopper)
Always nice to see the name “Wormwood Grasshopper” hidden somewhere on a vinyl product, as this Australian label revels in gleeful amateurism like few other. Howling Gruel are new to me (although my intuition tells me the players are not, perhaps doing time in Hammering The Cramps or Drunk Elk or Lord knows who else), and with their shambolic sound, such a link would certainly makes sense. Someone’s usually playing some sort of portable keyboard on Jolly Jape, and they seem to be the leader of the group, as the guitarist seems to be following along via sonic and visual clues (perhaps a head-nod across the studio). The vocalist picks up the melody and does his best to mimic it, and the drummer, who seems to be equipped with half a dozen cardboard boxes of varying structural integrity, will play along until they get bored and decide to imitate Brian Chippendale for the absolute good of no one. In the first few songs, I found myself checking my phone and wishing things would hurry up, but by the time I was halfway through the second side I was truly enamored with this peculiar trio. It’s like when you see a person in a club and their outfit absolutely revolts you when you first see them, and a year later they’re your personal style icon. There’s a giant essay on the back cover that I haven’t read, because I assume it says basically the same thing.
Ital Toxic Work Environment 12″ (Gang Of Ducks)
Daniel Martin-McCormick (aka Ital) has always had a knack for coming up with vivid and striking track titles; who doesn’t want to hear a techno track called “Toxic Work Environment” or “Canker Sore”, both of which appear here? He’s been busy putting out all sorts of records, remixes and mixes lately, and I was overdue for checking in, so this new EP seemed like as good a place as any. After spinning a few times, I’m a bit surprised at how Toxic Work Environment sounds, because it’s strikingly normal. There aren’t any crazy vocal effects, unquantized loops, barely restrained emotional glee or any of Ital’s signifiers, just a very sturdy and workmanlike set of dark techno songs, ready to be played over a powerful club system after midnight by Adam X or Planetary Assault Systems. It’s cool stuff for sure, I just kept waiting for clear evidence that D.M.M. was behind these tracks to materialize and it never did. As it turns out, my favorite cut is probably the G.O.D. “rework” of “The Citadel”, which breaks the drums down into a jittery pile of plywood and nails as rusty bass saws through it. I’ll admit, hearing Ital violently cut up Lady Gaga vocals wasn’t exactly the sort of thing I wanted to hear all the time, but this surprisingly unsurprising EP has me missing his shoeless exuberance at least a little bit.
Ivy A Cat’s Cause No Dog’s Problem 7″ (Katorga Works)
I noticed that Katorga Works pressed a thousand copies of this new (and ostensibly final) Ivy 7″, and that sort of information gives me hope that quality underground hardcore bands can still sell four figures’ worth of seven-inch EPs, even as the format grows more obsolete and cost-prohibitive. If the quality of the music is any factor into those statistics, it makes sense, as this is another excellent set of uniquely ramshackle hardcore-punk tunes. These songs flop like wet fish, like each player is trying to forcibly adjust the song’s tempo or direction at the same time: maybe the guitarist will suddenly play extra-fast, or the drummer will throw in a couple extra rolls that seem to indicate “I’m bored, let’s mix it up”. I’m reminded of old punks as varied as Adrenalin OD and the ERL Records label, as well as modern friends-of-the-band like the Total State community or Mystic Inane. It’s all very Ivy though, and while the news that they have broken up sucks, I will enjoy these records for years to come.
Kerridge Sonic Instruments Of War 7″ (Contort)
A new 7″ single from the mighty Kerridge, entitled Sonic Instruments Of War? I can’t help but cut to the front of the line for this one! As it turns out, this EP offers two live tracks from one of his recent Contort sets (the loosely dance-based event Kerridge and his wife Hayley curate), and I dunno, it doesn’t come close to matching the sonic magnitude of his fantastic second album that still accompanies my many daily activities. “Sonic Instruments Of War #01” has him pressing the pause button repeatedly on a basic-yet-raw drum n’ bass break while a red-lining wave of static cuts through the atmosphere like a torpedo. “Sonic Instruments Of War #02″ is much more my speed, borrowing a cosmic flatulent ripple from Emptyset (where have those guys been lately anyway?) and pairing it with a chopped and distorted drill-sergeant vocal, not unlike Genocide Organ or Grey Wolves on a particularly bass-heavy tirade. It’s cool, but nothing that bears repeat listens for a guy like me – neither aspect of the track is particularly impressive, and their sum is equal to its parts. While the second track is killer, it’s tough to justify purchasing this 7”, though, unless you’re a fellow Kerridge-aholic. And even then, you might want to download some MP3s and continue to squirrel away your finances for his next studio release, whenever that may be.
L.O.T.I.O.N. Digital Control And Man’s Obsolescence LP (Toxic State)
From what I’d heard, it was my understanding that L.O.T.I.O.N. were the New York hardcore band taking on G.I.S.M.’s Military Affairs Neurotic as their clear and direct inspiration. Sounded cool enough to check out (I admittedly did not pick up the split USB earring that contained their earlier material), but after numerous spins I am still feeling kind of blindsided by how fantastic L.O.T.I.O.N.’s album is, and how it goes far beyond G.I.S.M. pastiche. This is supremely ugly music, that’s for sure… it starts off sounding like Dawn Of Humans covering Ministry, and quickly unravels in various industrial/punk directions, each more raw and brutal than the last. Is that Nitzer Ebb covering Crucifix? Early SPK throttling Sexa? Portion Control using Neubaten’s scrap-metal snare drum while Robocop is dragged behind a horse-drawn cart, Hector-style??? I don’t think I’ve ever heard a modern punk band integrate electronics and ostensibly-techno beats as seamlessly (and ferociously) as on here. I can smell the G.I.S.M. in the visual presentation of this album (as well as the bleach-soaked vocals), but L.O.T.I.O.N. have crafted a world all their own, where computers are attacking humans who are attacking cyborgs and there is no obvious hero or villain, just a pile of consumable violence for us to wade through. Naturally I’m interested in what you think as well, but as far as I’m concerned this is the punk album of the year.
Galcher Lustwerk I Neva Seen EP 12″ (Lustwerk Music)
Why bother with a proper label when your grooves sell themselves? That’s what Galcher Lustwerk is asking via his new Lustwerk Music label, this being the second of two 12″ EPs to hit this year. I still haven’t stopped spinning Parlay on a weekly basis and now I’ve got I Neva Seen to keep it company. For Lustwerk fans, naturally you’ll need all these records too, but for the casual fan of nocturnal urban house music, I’d recommend you grab Parlay and determine if you need this one at a later time. “I Neva Seen” features one of Lustwerk’s catchiest hooks (he even does a little singing alongside his barely-awake rap-speak), but the rest of the EP has more of an odds-and-ends vibe: there’s an instrumental version of “I Neva Seen” (nice, but the vocal version is clearly superior), a drifting drone track (“Stem”) and an enjoyable-but-basic track that name-checks Mr. Lustwerk (“Cricket’s Theme”). Almost feels like one of Omar S’s “it’s up to you to do something cool with it” 12″s, but with such a limited number of Lustwerk tracks on vinyl, I could’ve gone for some of his more realized cuts. Then again, when it comes to Galcher Lustwerk, I can’t help but act greedy.
The Mothmen Pay Attention LP (On U-Sound)
On U-Sound released the debut Mothmen album back in 1981, and now they’ve gone and reissued it again, eager to infiltrate fresh ears. I’ll be honest and admit my ignorance of this British post-punk group’s existence until recently, and with an earlier 7″ release on the great Absurd Records label, I suppose I have no excuse. It’s fun catching up now though, as The Mothmen have a pretty nice sound: disco beats, eclectic songwriting and avant-pop aspirations reverberate here. Think of Contortions if they signed to Recommended Records, or Gang Of Four if they featured ex-members of Henry Cow and went on to form Talk Talk (maybe I should stop writing reviews and get into post-punk fan-fiction instead). The a-side has a nice suite of songs (“Factory / Teapoint / Factory” is my favorite of the bunch) and the b-side stretches out for “Mothman”, a lengthy answer to the question “what would happen if Kid Creole joined This Heat?”, full of spiraling percussion and manic concentration to rival Glenn Branca. As if we needed any further proof that 1981 was one of the greatest years of recorded music.
Northern Liberties Errant Ray LP (no label)
Northern Liberties have slowly become an under-appreciated Philadelphia institution, this being their sixth full length album since the turn of the millennium. They seem to have an endless supply of songs and art pencils with which to draw the artwork that surrounds them, and this new album is as good a selection as any. Like most bands with half a dozen albums under their belt, they really sound a lot like themselves, to the point where Northern Liberties can (consciously or unconsciously) appropriate Fugazi rhythms, pop-punk riffs, Hum’s deft balance of the heavy and melodic, Load Records’ neon scree and a dozen other musical signifiers I’m missing without ever feeling like a direct rip-off or homage to anyone besides Northern Liberties. For a band that is just a bassist, vocalist and drummer, they cover the sonic spectrum pretty well, rather than homing in on a very specific and singular vibe ala Ed Schrader’s Music Beat. The lyrics tend to quickly drift off into prog-fantasy territory, not unlike fellow underground scribblers Human Host (you better believe there’s the line “paramecium – gaze upon the flame”). I can’t imagine anyone would try to stop Northern Liberties from continuing, so maybe they’ll go on forever?
Permanent Makeup Taker LP (No Clear)
Straight from the majestic plains and valleys of Florida, here comes Permanent Makeup with their second full-length outing, released on their own label. The back cover shows them playing in some dank basement, re-imagined as a solar flight, and it’s that ability to dream beyond their natural surroundings that surely inspires them onward. This record is pretty cool: they go pretty heavy on the basement Sonic Youth vibes, with odd, propulsive melodies and plenty of heavily-effected guitar freakouts. The vocals come through almost painfully direct and without any added reverb or distortion, so it’s almost like the neighbor next-door complaining that the band needs to turn down has unexpectedly taken on vocal duties. Maybe they’re a little Pere Ubu-ish, in that regard? Sounds good to me either way, to the point where the fact that the bassist is wearing shorts in the live band shot hasn’t deterred me from listening. It’s hot down there, sure, but only a select few can truly rock out with bare calves.
Pig Eyes 2nd Album LP (Electric Assault)
Do you think there is an Acoustic Assault Records out there somewhere? How can I get on their promo list? Anyway, Pig Eyes are a Swedish sextet (although judging from their mugshots on the back cover, two of them look like the same guy with or without large sunglasses on), and while they seem like fun, they take their music seriously. It’s fairly interesting – on the opening track, imagine Queens Of The Stone Age riffs, but used the way Swans play their music. It’s like they take modern radio-rock riffs and bludgeon them repeatedly, or stretch them out far beyond pop structures, like Neu! doing the Franz Ferdinand catalog while wearing Circle’s Judas Priest outfits. 2nd Album would probably fit somewhere in the broadly-defined “noise rock” section of your local Sam Goody, though, at least to those who aren’t listening particularly attentively. Swedes, man – I’m pretty sure their government pays people healthy living wages just to start obscure bands like this, and I’m going to try my best to pretend I’m not insanely jealous.
Ragtime Frank I’m A Rocketship For My Lord LP (Little Big Chief)
On first glance, I couldn’t help but assume “Ragtime Frank” was one of the Sun City Girls’ more-obscure aliases – the man on the cover even looks like a Bishop brother. Research proves that it isn’t, though, but rather some Australian guy with two prior albums on the sorely-missed Negative Guest List label, both of which landed somewhere off my radar. The back cover reveals that I’m A Rocketship For My Lord was recorded in one take back in July 2013, and I am not one to doubt their claim. Ragtime Frank plays his guitar with apparently thumbs only, approximating some form of the blues that sidesteps melody and tone entirely, using the electrified guitar as some sort of electric buzzer, while the drums of one Leighton Craig keep time. You can almost hear them nodding at each other to signify song stoppage or a change of parts, and occasionally Mr. Frank will let all six strings reverberate at once, nearly drowning out everything else in the room. Picture Maher Shalal Hash Baz on a Howlin’ Wolf kick, or Tetuzi Akiyama with his hands cut off and you’re kinda close to this record’s sensibility. This is the butter with which Little Big Chief swabs their bread, and a fine addition to their family of unspeakably amateurish horror-rock.
Sand In The Face Music Made To Riot: New Jersey Hardcore 1982-1983 LP (Made At The World)
Sand In The Face is one of those band names you can’t help but pause at while scanning the track-listing of The Master Tape, Vol. 2, and while I always assumed they never did anything beyond that, this retrospective LP proves me to be wonderfully wrong. They recorded eighteen tracks in 1982, and I’ll be damned if they aren’t great, very much a clear product of their time but in a positive way. I’m reminded of Ill Repute, the early Mutha singles, maybe some Code Of Honor, and certainly Dischord’s first year in business – the songs are fast and simple, occasionally catchy, highly teenaged and the vocals have that slight touch of roomy reverb that makes me wonder if Cyanamid didn’t record in the same New Jersey studio a few years later. The liner notes offer a detailed and interesting band history (although it saddened me to see that “Sand In The Face is on Facebook”), and now you hopefully won’t have to think exclusively about Floorpunch, Mouthpiece and Ensign when New Jersey hardcore becomes a topic of conversation.
Toupée Leg Toucher LP (Moniker)
Toupée opt for some bold lettering on the cover of their debut album, not unlike Total Control’s so-ugly-you-can’t-stop-looking Henge Beat, and it suits their maniacal version of post-no-wave whatever music that they’re spilling all over the floor. I like it a lot, in part because they manage to do a lot of different things while sounding like the same band – there’s a Harry Pussy-level freakout in “Come Back To Camp” and it’s followed by a Garbage Pail Kids version of a Runaways song in “School”, and that’s just the start of the b-side! Elsewhere, I’m reminded of the fall-apart skronk of Total Shutdown, the deconstructed anti-blues of fellow Chicagoans US Maple, and the last Erase Errata album before they reformed (Leg Toucher sometimes feels like ugly no-wave growing into tuneful post-grunge guitar-rock ala The Gits or Seaweed). I bet Toupée used to go see The Coughs when they’d play around town, and perhaps they took that sort of unpretentious Tazmanian Devil approach and applied it to a larger set of musical skills. I am dying to know what Toupée look like, as their music doesn’t clearly signify any sort of visual stereotype – guess I’ll have to wait until they come to my town to find out if they have dreads or beards or mohawks or what.
Violence Creeps I’m Broke / Gridlock 7″ flexi (Degenerate)
Stapled to the inside of the strangely cool Degenerate fanzine, issue #16, was a red one-sided Violence Creeps flexi. If you’re having trouble moving copies of your fanzine, might I suggest that you include the same? Anyway, this delightful treat went right on my turntable and I was immediately greeted with “I’m Broke”, a gnarly Flipper-ish ballad played on 45 (am I picking up a slight Black Fork vibe as well?), the sort of song that oozes such pure human frustration that even the Koch brothers would approve of its passion on some level. “Gridlock” is another one of modern life’s failures brought into the spotlight by the Violence Creeps, similar in rhythm but with a little more fire in its belly, perhaps because being stuck in gridlock is even worse than being broke. Violence Creeps are truth-tellers, and it would do us all well to listen and listen intently.
Beau Wanzer Untitled 12″ (no label)
Ah, a fresh delivery of Beau Wanzer tracks, this one coming on presumably the same unnamed label as his album, complete with the same illustration of Freddy Krueger on a first date on the center sticker (maybe this is the official Beau Wanzer logo?). Four tracks here, and they are cool, exploring some different and exciting corners of the electronic underground. It opens with “Beefhearts”, four minutes of wobbly rave beats, intermittent bass throb and a delightfully homemade “haunted house rave” vibe. That shifts to a queasy synth equation titled “Drew Is A Dogeater” that sounds like something off the M Squared boxset, with the sense that the music keeps trying to hit an acid-house groove only to be rejected at the net by Wanzer’s stiff fingers. Flip it for “Seedless Grins”, which seems to sample the overloaded ambiance of air travel and lay it under a pill-popping trance loop; very nice! The final track title “Beaches Of Leeches” sounds like it should be a Kevin Drumm / Wolf Eyes collaboration and I guess it kinda could be, looping what seems to be someone calling for help from inside a locked metal safe into a groove that L.I.E.S. probably wish they owned the publishing on. Beautiful EP all around, and if you haven’t checked out Beau Wanzer yet, I have to wonder why not?
Peter J. Woods Impure Gold Pt. II LP (FTAM)
I reviewed Impure Gold Pt. I in these very pages last year, and it’s nice to see that noise artist Peter J. Woods is continuing forward, in the face of what must surely be a whole lot of indifference. His is not an easy music to enjoy, that’s for sure. The a-side “Skin And Movement” is full of dead air, white noise not unlike a window fan and spoken word that comes through so softly, I can’t help but assume Woods is setting me up to put my ear close to the speaker, only to blare an air-horn at me just when I thought I was safe. Occasionally the static flips on and off like you’re going through the channels on a TV with no reception, but ultimately this track falls in the Billy Bao / Francisco López realm of sustained un-pleasurable listening. The b-side continues with the sustained static for a minute or two before a subtle heartbeat and singular piano note usher in a slight variation on the monotonous blankness that colors Woods’ work. That continues with varying levels of grey static until the closing track takes over, which sounds like Woods attempting to open a particularly well-sealed bag of chips while a heart monitor confirms his pulse. I’m not sure that this record would appeal to any of the Yellow Green Red audience, but if it appeals to you, please get in touch, as you’re probably the type of weirdo I’m looking to correspond with.
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