Aye Aye Aye Aye LP (Richie)
Here’s a Richie record if there ever was one – the new collaborative effort of John and Michael Gibbons (of Bardo Pond), Ben Leaphart (of Purling Hiss, Birds Of Maya and Watery Love) and Dan Balcer (beloved Philadelphia rock cornerstone). There’s a whole lot of rock history within these four men, yet they take it easy with that supreme knowledge. They could easily cook up something extravagant, but with Aye Aye they simmer a pot of chili for hours longer than necessary – these guys are in no rush to eat. These six tracks remind me of Earth’s most sun-baked records (The Bees Made Honey In The Lion’s Skull in particular), but with a slight dampness to the guitars (it’s not quite as arid of a desert-rock record as the promotional material implies) and a harmonica that sounds estranged from its lover. It’s one of those records for which Welcome To Flavor Country would be an apt title. The pace is glacial, the guitars ooze from one chord to the next, and if Neil Young caught wind of this record, he might inquire as to Aye Aye’s availability to open his next arena tour. Aye Aye will probably never make it out of the backyard, though, and that’s surely fine with them.
Beech Creeps Beech Creeps LP (Monofonus Press)
Beech Creeps are a versatile Brooklyn rock band, surely just as prepared for a drunken basement show as a corporate-sponsored cross-promotional showcase (you know, the new standard Brooklyn live music experience). Their self-titled debut starts with an open-ended freakout, guitars running through all sorts of effects as the drums insistently pound forward. I was ready for a whole album of this, just pointless headbangable instrumental-rock bliss, but then the vocals came in, in a nasally whine that would make the guy from Dead Meadow blush. The rest of the album sees Beech Creeps splitting the difference, melding heavy instrumental rock riffs (I can sniff out anything from Tad to A Place To Bury Strangers) to modern shoegaze-indie politeness. When they are raging their hardest, it almost feels like they are impersonating what they assume anger feels like, and while that would usually turn me off, something about Beech Creeps’ tunefulness and professionalism erases that gripe – they’re not impassioned psychos, they’re competent adults, and there’s room in the world for them, too. Not sure why they spelled it “Beech”, though. Is there already a Beach Creeps out there?
Lea Bertucci Light Silence, Dark Speech 7″ (Dischi Del Barone)
Lea Bertucci plays altered Alto saxophone and “tapes” on this 7″ single, and you expect me to figure out the proper playing speed all by myself, Dischi Del Barone? That’s plain mean. I’m going with 33, and “An Unbroken Plane”, the a-side track, sounds pretty alright at this speed. I’m reminded of geese taking flight, at least until I realize it’s actually just Steve Reich in a goose suit acting the fool. Excellent execution and a nice flow, as the track is eventually subsumed by a thousand toilets flushing. “Faces In The Shadows” opens with a mating call not unlike the Barnacled 7″ I released (it’s long sold out so I can rightfully mention these things without accusations of creeping capitalism), at least before the reverb is applied and Bertucci’s sax ripples on the same note; the Nintendo button-masher equivalent of jazz. If my Whole Foods would hire Lea Bertucci to hang out in the stairwell playing this sort of stuff all the time, I swear I’d go grocery shopping at least four times a week.
Boyhood When I’m Hungry LP (Bruised Tongue)
Fresh off a successful run at the Oscars and Golden Globes, Boyhood finally hits vinyl! Actually, this Boyhood is the Ottawa-based Caylie Runciman, who performs a decidedly home-recorded version of blurry indie-rock and narcoleptic garage. The shadow of Blank Dogs continues to loom (or in the case of Boyhood’s Canadian locale, maybe The Pink Noise?), as When I’m Hungry has a similar feel of Echo & The Bunnymen or Felt songs replicated through borrowed gear in a couple takes by someone who probably spent way more time as a kid listening to Nirvana’s Unplugged than any Joy Division record. The slower tracks resonate with me most (“As A Fog” almost feels like Tamaryn crawling through the desert, a nice vibe indeed), but Boyhood never rests in one specific place too long. As if I needed more evidence that Canada is a cool place to be!
Cairo Pythian Touched LP (Katorga Works)
It wasn’t until last year’s Unity Mitford EP that I got on board with Cairo Pythian, but I’m mighty glad I did. For as much as I dug that record, I have to say, Touched tops it considerably, marking out a very specific sweet spot in the world of underground dance-rock. This record squeezes Cairo Pythian’s synth-based cold-wave revival sound over to allow flashy glam-rock into the booth, as if Cheap Trick left their fringed suede jacket in the studio and Klaus Nomi tried it on as a joke but ended up looking great in it. I’m reminded of U.S. Girls’ fantastic GEM album at times, and maybe Information Society at their most perverse, but Touched‘s distinctiveness comes from the vocals, which sound like Gary Numan imitating the sassy guy from The Blood Brothers (or more succinctly, like Marilyn Manson). It’s kind of the perfect voice for a gig like this, and on the decidedly weirder and looser second side (this album continually gets better as it goes on), he has this one-sided conversation that bests Nikki Sixx’s part in “Girls, Girls, Girls”. Fantastic album, and I can only hope Cairo Pythian hits the road a bit to support it – I wanna see how much snakeskin this guy wears live.
Chicken Chain Birth Of The Googus LP (Snot Releases)
I had you at “Chicken Chain”, didn’t I? It’s the sort of name you’ve got to respect (whatever it may mean), and it suits this Baltimore group’s debut album, Birth Of The Googus. It’s possible the members of Chicken Chain are all seasoned players, but this record sounds like the work of a first-time hardcore-punk band, recorded in perfectly lo-fi, straight-to-four-track fidelity. It’s the right kind of crappy, from the vocalist’s meaty yowl to the drummer’s impatient finesse. There’s even a track on the a-side that is nothing more than slowed-down / chopped-up drum tracks, which bears no semblance to the rest of the record (and is a perfect addition if you ask me). Birth Of The Googus feels strongly inspired by Lumpy & The Dumpers and stupid Cleveland hardcore (I’m talking Folded Shirt, The Inmates, Bad Noids, that sort of thing), and it’s a fine addition to any Expedit that is about to topple over due to poor assembly.
The Coltranes The Cat Of Nine Tails 7″ (SPHC)
Oh thank God, I was worried I wasn’t going to get any records by young dudes with “shocking cartoon of nonsensical violence and sex acts” artwork this month, but The Coltranes saved the day! Makes me long for the days where every hardcore record had a skateboarding skeleton doing a frontside tailslide on the cover, let me tell you. Anyway, The Coltranes are alright… they’re certainly more “normal” sounding than I expected, going from hardcore dirge-mode to speedy riffing and back, with a snarling Bobby Soxx impersonator on the mic (I bet he even does that crazy thing where he puts the mic in his mouth while singing, hands-free!). Sorry to be so sarcastic, but all these shockingly unshocking bands are kinda wearing me out – The Coltranes, while essentially a slightly-above-average hardcore group, strike me as Goosebumps Junior. It’s like impersonating a Michael Jackson impersonator – how much dilution can you take?
Cuticle Mind Holding Pattern LP (Not Not Fun)
The term “hipster house” has essentially been techno’s scarlet letter in the past few years, and I gotta say, Cuticle’s Mind Holding Pattern kind of feels like the definition of it. That said, I think this album is quite good, and I don’t think the idea of techno purity is really one that should be held above anything else – some of my favorite punk records were played by musical tourists (or even people purposely lampooning the genre) so as far as I’m concerned, anything goes. On Mind Holding Pattern, we hear chilled-out beats emanating from various pieces of hardware, a focus on abstraction versus quality of groove, and a curiosity of sound and noise that can only come from someone who came up on basement punk shows and noise tapes (Cuticle features Darren Ho, formerly of Raccoo-oo-oon, after all). Complete with a screen-printed paper cover in place of a traditional sleeve, Mind Holding Patterm is pastel and bubbly in both appearance and sound. It’s forward-minded background dance music for art openings, and there’s a place in my collection for just this sort of thing.
Albert Demuth Albert Demuth LP (no label)
Albert Demuth’s self-titled solo album is one of those records that are so beautiful you almost never want to go through the hassle of playing it – the black vinyl LP (with hand-scratched center labels) comes in a striking fold-out cover, presumably hand-screened with a Magic Eye puzzle on one side and stark imagery on the other, and that sleeve comes nestled in a large sheet of gold tissue paper, expertly-wrapped and embellished with a postcard of Demuth, head in hands. I still haven’t properly put it back together, just because I’m pretty sure I’ll ruin it in the process, but that’s alright, as this is a record to leave out, particularly if you’re the type of person who paces the apartment after midnight, burning your cigarette to the filter and trying to pick up the pieces of your life. I hate to romanticize cigarettes, but this is that kinda record – Demuth plays a loose, somber form of guitar, as if Loren Mazzacane Connors joined an indie-rock band and was unceremoniously kicked out, and he whispers his lyrics over top, like Jandek doing a Leonard Cohen impersonation (or vice versa). I can’t make out what he’s saying half the time, but it’s more about the tone of his voice than his words – even when his syllables are garbled, I feel like I know exactly what he’s saying, like he’s refusing the hand on his shoulder and desperate for a drink. Kudos!
Deviation Social Practices/Demo. June-Oct. 81 LP (Dais)
Okay, so Dais could release a chapbook that lists the restaurants Deviation Social used to eat at after practice and I’d still be excited to obtain a copy, but I’m obsessed with this group for a reason! Their music has always inhabited a unique space within industrial/noise music, as they create oppressive, creepy atmospheres without relying on ear-piercing feedback, violent screams or clanging percussion. On Practices/Demo. June-Oct. 81 in particular, these four tracks imbue a sense of loneliness and isolation, as if the band was performing their scattered noise and tapes from the far end of an underfunded hospital; no staff or faculty around, just a crappy white bed on wheels and chipped linoleum beneath it. I’d even go so far as to say that these tracks remind me of The Shadow Ring, as there’s a strange playfulness to these aural experiments, like they are testing your patience and absolutely delighted to do so. I can understand if you feel the need to sit this one out, Dais’s third Deviation Social reissue, but I’m all in.
Dickhead Rescue More Than… 7″ (Ever/Never)
This one really warms my heart, another 7″ single of music only a few dozen people on Earth (at best) could really be interested in, care of New York’s Ever/Never label. The beautiful fact that these folks actually called their band “Dickhead Rescue” isn’t lost on me, either. Anyway, “More Than…” is apparently a Michael Hurley cover (or some sort of artistic inspiration point), but there’s nothing folksy or psychedelic about this track, which clatters across a simple pop progression, mobilized by peppy drumming and imbued with a sense that the final tape was processed through a dying Wah pedal instead of an actual mastering job. Reminds me of the first Roachclip 7″, or some dank corner of the Flying Nun corporation. B-side “Erepeato” is basically the same song, except this time it sounds like it’s performed by Sightings back when they still had the slightest resemblance to a garage-rock band. Both tracks combined, you’ve got a laser-guided practice jam that deserves to be immortalized on a black-vinyl 7″ that very few people will ever hear. Thank you, Ever/Never!
Exacerbación Desastre Humano 7″ (Pan Del Muerte / SPHC)
Costa Rican grindcore? Where do I sign up! Exacerbación have been around for a few years now, mostly sticking with the lifers-only format of the split cassette, but this 7″ is pretty fantastic generic grindcore, the sort of thing that I first heard as an impressionable teenager and have wanted to hear every day of my life since. In particular, I’d say Exacerbación go the Fear Of God / Napalm Death route, quickly churning through down-tuned “riffs” with no mosh parts (just thrashing or blasting or the infrequent dirge), a throaty incomprehensible beast of a vocalist, and a drummer who tunes his snare nice and high. No tricks, no awkward transgression, just distorted hardcore grind from a country I can only hope to someday visit. Their thanks list ends with the phrase “stay BULLA”, and whatever that means, I have no doubt that they sincerely mean it.
Frankie & The Witch Fingers Frankie & The Witch Fingers LP (Permanent)
First of all, big disappointment here: no one in this band is named Frankie! Seriously, Josh, Dylan, Alex and Glenn weren’t willing to just go with the flow and change their name for the good of the group? Does the lack of alliteration in “Dylan & The Witch Fingers” really make a big difference? Insincere band name aside, this Chicago-based rock group pay homage to classic ’60s and ’70s psychedelia on this album, dropping 13th Floor Elevators tabs as they thumb through live Velvet Underground bootlegs for inspiration. It’s pretty decent (and I say this as a guy whose interest in retro-psych-rock is fairly low) – the track “Electric Seance” is a comp-worthy hit for sure, and the rest flows from mellow to groovin’ and back with very little to complain about. Pretty good, especially considering two of the Witch Fingers look disturbingly like Blake and Adam from Workaholics (I’m talking to you, Alex and Glenn).
Gravmaskin Volym 1 LP (Electric Assault)
Keys, drums and electric guitar are the elements harnessed by Sweden’s Gravmaskin. Combining those sonic forces, Gravmaskin perform instrumental rock music, dabbling in psychedelia and heavy stoner motifs but ultimately settling on classic prog-rock, the sort of music where a band would call themselves Broccoli Daughter or Tomato Frog in 1971, release an album with a giant picture of a broccoli woman or a tomato-shaped frog on the cover (you know the genre: “band-name-referential-cover-art rock”), break up a year later due to disinterest and later end up on the want-list of many a hairy collector freak clutching a bookmarked copy of Acid Archives. I made those bands up (sorry if you were already scanning Discogs), but you know what I’m talking about, right? I was waiting for Gravmaskin to pull out a surprise or two, to possibly utilize math-rock of the ’90s, doom metal of the ’00s or something else entirely, but they play it by the books, perfect for fans of “Hocus Pocus” by Focus, The Groundhogs’s entire discography or one of Spooky Tooth’s more obscure works. Doesn’t really do a whole lot for me, as my interest in prog is limited (and my attention is therefore relegated to the originators), but Volym 1 does have me wondering what it’d be like to smoke smuggled Soviet Union opium in a shag-carpeted tour bus.
Harpoon Forever American Flag 7″ (Sweaters & Pearls)
I’m guessing that’s a painting of Mr. Harpoon Forever himself on the cover, Alex Goldstein, as it looks like the sort of awkward, probably tall, bearded and bookish Wes Anderson character who frequently plays this sort of languid indie-pop music. No offense to Harpoon Forever, but I’m kinda reaching my fill of this sort of thing for the moment, and while these four songs are perfectly fine, they don’t do anything for me but add to my exhaustion of awkward-guy pop. There’s a new Home Blitz album coming soon and I’m sure Tony Molina’s sitting on a new record or two, so I’ve got plenty to anticipate as is, you know? Anyway, Harpoon Forever are far less strange than Home Blitz and significantly less poppy than Tony Molina, which puts it right in the middle of a category I’m already growing weary of (and Goldstein’s disinterested, mostly-tuneful vocals do nothing to snap me out of this funk). There’s just no pleasing everyone, and in this case the everyone I’m talking about is me.
Hot Dolphin Negative Fun Singles Club 7″ (Negative Fun)
Couldn’t help but think of Ultra Dolphins, the only other dolphin-based punk band I am aware of (unless you count Flipper), when checking out this single by Richmond, VA’s Hot Dolphin. I remember Ultra Dolphins as pretty wild and nutty, and while that vibe also permeates Hot Dolphin, their music is a bit more regimented – they play a roomy, muffled form of melodic garage-punk, heavy on the toms and vocals cascading with reverb. I like the vocalist’s husky growl – her voice is probably the most distinctive part of these three songs, like a chain-smoking lunch-lady who deposits a scoop of khaki-colored mashed potatoes on your tray without ever making eye contact. Decent enough tunes overall, although I doubt I’ll be coming back to it soon – something about these uniform, image-less “Singles Club” sleeves just seems so unpalatable to me, like it’s too un-American of a way to produce and sell vinyl records. A band name like Hot Dolphin leaves itself open to various interesting artistic avenues that sadly remains unexplored here, wouldn’t you agree?
Kerridge Always Offended, Never Ashamed 2xLP (Contort)
I’ve loved Kerridge for nearly as long as he’s been releasing records, but I was wondering where his music was going to head – you can only make bleak, post-apocalyptic industrial techno so many times before it starts to repeat itself. Thus, it brings me great pleasure to tell you that Always Offended, Never Ashamed is a dramatic and awesome step forward for Kerridge, retaining all that made him great (insurmountable bass, atmospheric gloom and leaden beats) while moving in a new direction. Essentially, this album sounds like the fascist oppression of George Orwell’s 1984, a believable sci-fi world where the masses march forward to collect their food and water rations while soldiers look on from turrets above. Opener “GOFD” (all the songs have weird unexplained acronym titles like that) is downright oppressive, with vocals that sound as though they are wafting in from an old Communist-era PA system, barking orders at the lower class. It has the feel that Hunger Games and Snowpiercer are going for, but with a working musical knowledge of Regis, Throbbing Gristle and Emptyset, and it’s truly a stunning album to behold. It’s only a matter of time until the violent alien overlords of our future make Kerridge’s vision a reality, so let’s enjoy these days while we have them.
Life Partner Have I Demon? LP (Sophomore Lounge)
This one threw me for a loop right away, as I couldn’t help but immediately think of Life Partners, Boston’s preeminent goof-rock band. They didn’t break up and go solo, did they? Thankfully not (they are life partners, after all), as Life Partner is an entirely different act (and in an ironic twist, no longer together). It’s not too far from Life Partners in spirit, actually, sort of reveling in dudeness in a way that avoids macho aggression and focuses on the sad hilarity of manhood, name-checking a list of professional wrestlers in one track and asking a Danzig-esque question for the album title. Musically, it’s pretty basic stoner/heavy riffing with a stronger pop sensibility than most of that ilk, sort of splitting the difference between the red-lining pop-punk of The Thermals and the weed haze of Uncle Acid. Pretty good work for a rock trio, although the guitarist / lead vocalist is named Aaron Ozzy and that’s a name you’ve really got to live up to. Nice record for family and friends to enjoy, as well as those curious about the sound I described above, although I can only hope they’re onto bigger and better things as I write this.
Lime Crush Lime Crush 7″ (Fettkakao)
Gonna give credit where it’s due and mention the wonderful Dynamite Hemorrhage blog / radio show / print zine for tipping me off to Lime Crush, a delightful Austrian post-punk group that offers three skinny sets of grooves on this 7″ EP. “Graveyard” has the a-side all to itself, and rightfully so – I’m reminded of Kleenex’s spunky attitude and Girls At Our Best’s pop perfection within this brief number. There’s some pre-song chatter, then they kick into it and the hook represents itself immediately. “Baby” has more of a shambolic garage feel, calling to mind the expansiveness of The Oh Sees’ influence, and “Honk Tonk” is off on its own entirely, big gang vocals chanting about a “honk tonk”, the definition of which I am unaware. Great guitar work on “Honk Tonk” in particular, but the whole thing is just so frenetic and joyous that I want to move to Austria just to hang with Lime Crush at the DIY zine fair or wherever it is they spend their time.
Louder Louder LP (Sorry State)
Chuck Taylors and amps feature prominently in the artwork for Louder’s self-titled debut, and I can’t say they’ll be sued for false advertising – this is spunky, upbeat punk rock played with a reverence for classic rock n’ roll archetypes and a mostly-implied grittiness. It’s as if Louder are more suited toward John Varvatos’ revision of CBGBs than the actual club itself, as these songs are safe, poppy and harmless fun. The tempos are pogo-friendly, the vocals are snotty (but not too snotty), and I’d expect at least one member to be wearing sunglasses while another jumps off his amp at the exact right time. I dunno… Louder are fine at what they do, they just haven’t put together any big hooks to warrant their Replacements and Guns N’ Roses Lies-esque artwork, and while they are musically talented, it all feels a little too squeaky-clean without the payoff of a masterful hook or melody. Maybe I just need to play Louder louder to really get it, but I care about the relationships I have with my neighbors.
Antoni Maiovvi Avrokosm LP (Not Not Fun)
I try to avoid being a hater if I can, but simply looking at and reading about this record had my guard up: obvious Tangerine Dream homage artwork, fake Italian name, previous releases including an album on Death Waltz and another called Escape To L.A., etc. I was ready to grouchily poke this one to death with the attitude of John Carpenter in his recent Wire feature (a hilarious must-read, by the way), but I threw on Avrokosm and it’s not the cheesy horror-movie synth soundtrack redux I was fearing. Rather, this album plays out with Alden Tyrell’s pacing and Move D’s inventiveness, constantly grounded on a 4/4 beat but offering a dazzling light show above. Maybe I’m making it sound too crazy, because it’s still just a synth-heavy, mid-paced Italo-techno album, one cooing vocalist away from an Italians Do It Better contract, but when you sit down with the music and forget the image being projected, Avrokosm is an easy record to enjoy.
Max Kala Amplification & Super Regeneration LP (no label)
You know how there are dozens of obscure private-press metal / hard rock LPs from the ’80s, most with generic or hilarious artwork and small town mailing addresses? This Max Kala album has a similar feeling, just updated with today’s modern rock aesthetic. Which is to say, it’s a self-released LP pressing by an unsigned group that sounds like they’re shooting for corporate rock radio, if not in their message but their sound. I’m reminded of acts ranging from Queens Of The Stone Age to Velvet Revolver as I listen to Amplification & Super Regeneration… it feels like Max Kala would be an excellent fit as Seether’s opening act at your local Hard Rock Cafe. Lyrically they’ve got a pretty righteously liberal slant which works for me (although there’s one strange song where the singer repeats “I would like the press to know / I didn’t get My Spaghetti-Os” and I cringe just thinking about it), but the whole thing is just so derivatively radio-rock that it’s not that I dislike it, it just doesn’t really register on my personal radar one way or the other. Cool to know that people are making this sort of music simply because it’s the way they wish to express themselves, but my ears don’t necessarily want any part of the action.
Mumdance & Logos Proto 2xLP (Tectonic)
After a false start care of Mad Decent, Mumdance is back, wiser and more refined in his approach to spacious and sleek post-dubstep bass music, bringing along his pal Logos for his first proper album. I’ve really been enjoying this one, but it’s been a little hard to pinpoint why… Proto isn’t a game-changing release, and lots of other records these days sound like it, but it stands out. I suppose a big part of that is its empty space – so often, listening to Proto feels like you’re standing in a beautiful and completely empty loft apartment, as if the massive lease-breaking party is either about to take place or happened the night before. When the tracks hit big, they are huge (“Dance Energy (89 Mix)” and “Move Your Body” both live up to their titles), but so much of Proto is thick with a weightless pause, like the brief moment you’re still bouncing upward off a trampoline, or the nervous wait as your gun is reloading in Call Of Duty. It’s like the perfect crowd-pleasing foil to Egyptrixx’s latest post-apocalyptic warning call, and I plan on enjoying both deep into 2015 and beyond.
NHK yx Koyxen Hallucinogenic Doom Steppy Verbs 12″ (Diagonal)
I’ve been avoiding having to say “NHK yx Koyxen” out loud (it’s too complex for my simple tongue), but I can’t imagine I’ll be able to hold out much longer, as I want to tell all my friends and acquaintances about this fantastic record. The fact that the great Diagonal label put it out should’ve tipped me off, but it even exceeded my Diagonal-based expectations. NHK yx Koxyen is Kouhei Matsunaga, and under this moniker he produces experimental acid-techno that varies in depth, elasticity and abrasiveness. Opening with the minute-long skipping-CD workout “218”, it heads into the twelve-minute “845_”, which is the track I’d recommend you check out immediately. It’s as if Powell and Ricardo Villalobos butted heads over their definitions of acid-house, fighting over the knobs while the main arpeggio kicks like a bull. It’s like a continually shifting maze, equally maddening as it is impressive, and I want to hear it all day, every day. The rest of the EP follows suit, falling somewhere between the beatless expression of “218” and the red-faced footwork of “845_”, and it’s shaping up to be one of the best electronic EPs I’ve heard this year or last.
No Other Option C / Opaque 7″ (Negative Fun)
Another entry in the varied Negative Fun Singles Club (2014 vintage), here’s Philadelphia’s No Other, offering two songs of punchy, no-frills indie-punk. Latched to possibly the simplest drum beat I’ve heard an indie band commit to in a while (the one-two snare/kick ratio is unwavering for its entire duration), No Other offer an appropriately simple riff on “Option C”, replete with a gang chorus and a melodic vibe that has me recalling the late-emo-inspired pop-punk of the Tri-state area circa 1994 (I’m thinking Sleepasaurus and Clockwise). “Opaque” dims the lights considerably, dripping some moody guitar stylings into a capricious and fuzzy chorus, like breaking up over a candlelit dinner. From the likes of this single, it feels as though No Other are still putting their pieces together, or perhaps these two songs only reveal part of their puzzle. I’m more partial to the spunky optimism of “Option C”, and await the time when our paths cross again (Philadelphia is merely America’s fifth largest city, after all).
Nü-klē-ər Blast Suntan Prophetic Visions LP (SPHC)
Scratching my head a little over this one… I know SPHC is a big supporter of the underdog, the band whose artwork is too corny, sound too bizarre or attitude too earnest to be appreciated by the general sneering wannabe-nihilist hardcore populace, but I can’t get on board with this one. I mean seriously, a band name this annoying should be reserved for mathy emo-core or nerdy indie-pop, and besides that, this record doesn’t seem to have had much care put into it. The center sticker says 45 RPM (but it plays at 33), the design is horrible, and the back cover is nothing more than a list of the song titles, of which the title track is misspelled (unless they actually called the song “Prophetic Visons”, which I guess I shouldn’t put past them). Their music is another big airball: it’s average thrashing hardcore filled with awkward prog-rock flourishes (Matt Freeman-style bass runs, poorly-rendered guitar effects, etc.), performed sloppily, with a low-level of continuous noise and a vocalist who sounds like a really angry Elmo doll (but not in a good way). I can’t help but think that both SPHC and Nü-klÄ“-É™r Blast Suntan are better than what they’re giving us with Prophetic Visions.
Nzʉmbe Titubeo LP (Organized Music From Thessaloniki)
The “anti-copyright” statement on the back cover, the various footnotes within the lyrics, Mattin thanked on the insert… I didn’t need a notarized telegram to confirm that this is some freaky Spanish non-music, ripe for a Wire feature. Nzʉmbe is a “group” led by one Miguel Prado, and it’s actually pretty entertaining – you can breathe easy, Titubeo isn’t just an album of a rustling newspaper mixed with silence. Rather, Prado slowly speaks his words in a tone somewhere between Nicolas Jaar’s milky voice and the off-pitch tremble of Miguel Tomasin (of Reynols, of course). Prado speaks in a sad and confused tone, like the voice of a man you encounter at a bus stop at 3:00 AM, waiting for the Local 47 for hours at a stop that only services the 52. Behind Prado’s voice, there are electronic pulses, clattering rhythms, gauzy trumpet and other instruments, both traditional and unverifiable, working patiently and softly to buffer his voice from the pain of the world that surrounds it. Titubeo left me as confused as Prado sounds, and I can’t help but assume he would be delighted to know that.
Obnox Boogalou Reed LP (12XU)
It feels like Obnox’s last album, Louder Space, came out just a couple months ago, but that could simply be because I’ve been listening to it a bunch and it still sounds fresh. Wasting no time, Lamont Thomas offers us Boogalou Reed under his Obnox moniker, dishing out more proudly Ohioan blues rock in the weirdo misfit tradition. The songs here vary from space-bound Hawkwind tributes to punk stompers, the occasional black metal-inspired riff (for real) and various other corroded gems that are waiting to be covered by Jack White or Andre 3000 for mass pop consumption. I think for my money, I prefer Louder Space, as it’s a little heavier and a little less grimy, but songs like “Too Punk Shakur” repurpose classic rock n’ roll in a way that even the biggest grump couldn’t deny. Nice to see that Matt Horseshit adds “beat assistance” to “Watching You”, too – I’ve been wondering what he’s been up to and hoping he’s doing alright.
Powell Sylvester Stallone / Smut 12″ (XL)
I’m delighted that Powell seems to be receiving the upper-underground recognition he deserves, recently making the jump to the XL label (who has already wisely funded a great music video featuring Powell’s fantastic facial expressions). While I trust Powell, you never know when someone’s going to fall off, but I am glad to say that Powell makes the jump to a larger audience in the best of ways – streamlining his sound while staying true to its core. “Sylvester Stallone” is a definite hit, riding a frantically bumpy synth through various day-glo tunnels, as if Mr. Oizo was tasked with remixing his favorite Belgian nu-beat track. And it’s replete with Powell’s trademarked “random cut of a guy talking about nothing in particular” samples, this one featuring some guy saying “Sylvester Stallone” over and over. Excellent work! “Smut” is the flip, and it has a very similar vibe, just a different set of sounds, looping a drum that sounds like it came from Marilyn Manson’s “Beautiful People” and attacking it with various electronic insects, from a hive of wasps to a lumbering slug. I almost get the impression Powell had these tracks on reserve, just waiting until he was called up to the main room of the club, and I’m so glad they are now mine to enjoy any time I want.
Profligate Finding The Floor LP (Not Not Fun)
Profligate’s Finding The Floor is aptly titled – this is a record that locates the dance-floor through pounding, too-fast beats as much as it causes you to struggle for equilibrium through its maze of distortion and sonic foreign objects. Profligate’s Videotape EP in 2012 was my personal introduction to this slender individual, and while I enjoyed it, Finding The Floor is much better, and an accurate representation of how sweaty, fun and unhinged his live performances can be. Profligate doesn’t just bang his head, he bangs his whole body as he plays these songs live, building up all sorts of rhythmic structures through a variety of hardware (both clean and well-abused) on a table before him, and somehow, that same level of cathartic energy can be found here. On the whole, this is an aggressive techno record, one that touches upon Belgian nu-beat, classic Detroit tech-house and ’80s synth extrapolations, melding it all together in a powerful album that is neither industrial nor noise-inspired. I think you’ll like it too!
Shearing Pinx People LP (Psychic Handshake)
Usually when a band has an album cover with a “we’re all rolling around crazy on stage with our instruments in shambles” photo, it’s some sort of overcompensation for the lack of sonic chaos within, but I feel like Shearing Pinx earned this one. They’ve outlasted Shocking Pinks and Sneaky Pinks, and they continue onward with their deconstructed rock music care of People. These songs tend to fall somewhere between Teenage Jesus and Sonic Youth, with a touch of Bride Of No No’s aural abstraction, and it all sounds pretty good. Personally, I love it best when they are playing the least amount of “real” music – the opener “Weirdling” has a sliding bass-line and dum-dum guitar/drums that I wish would just go on forever, but I don’t mind it when they are playing actual songs with choruses and verses either. Nice to know they’re still at it, as People is proof that you can get really good at playing bad music.
Six Brew Bantha Intravenously Commodified LP (SPHC / To Live A Lie)
Here’s an album that’s just my speed, Six Brew Bantha’s Intravenously Commodified. They’re a grindcore trio, which in their case means the bass is absent, and while the lack of low end could be problematic, they succeed just like Pig Destroyer and Iron Lung and the various bass-less grind bands that came before them. In fact, I’d say much of Intravenously Commodified is on par with Pig Destroyer, Insect Warfare and all those heavy-duty modern grindcore bands that balance time-change gymnastics with concussion-level brutality. I have no idea where one track ends and the next begins, but I’d be missing the point if I cared too much about specific song boundaries when it comes to technical grindcore. Six Brew Bantha offer nothing new, sort of melding the visual aesthetic of Arsedestroyer with generic crust imagery (which I guess is probably Arsedestroyer’s entire style anyway), but they do it so well and get everything so right that I don’t care if they’re the first or millionth band to sound like this.
S U R V I V E S U R V I V E LP (HoloDeck / 540 / Light Lodge)
Normally, when a band decides they need to capitalize every letter (and throw a space between each one, no less), I take it as a sign of pretentious disrespect toward their audience (who wants to hold down the caps lock, let alone press the space bar that many times?), but something about Austin, TX’s S U R V I V E seems to warrant it. They’re four gentlemen who play synths, and this is their 2012 debut album, initially released by Mannequin, now stateside care of the label names you see above. There’s a sea of dudes-with-synths acts out there now, but S U R V I V E feel separate from the pack, like they have gracefully bowed out of the synth rat-race to follow their own personal journey. While some of the sounds are pretty classic, they don’t feel indebted to pastiche or nostalgia, and while they are able to cook up a tense, driving groove, they have no trouble sitting back and building up to that point – once the first side gets to the psychological heart-pumper of “Hourglass”, it feels like an explosive reward for making it through all that sinister foreplay. If they were cooks, their steak would be prepared sous-vide, you know what I mean? Methodical, slightly scientific and classically delicious. And I don’t even eat meat.
Ultrathin Ultrathin LP (Bruised Tongue)
Montreal’s Ultrathin have been around since 2009 or so, opening for many of North America’s finest rock bands as they came through town (ahem), and this is their first full-length release. I’ve enjoyed them both live and on 7″ single format, and this album showcases their subtle variations of garage-punk. Sometimes they get downright hardcore (and even let a “fuck you!” fly), but most of this eponymous album has them skulking around with Stooges riffs, either in mid-paced sleaze mode (“In My Mind” in particular) or cruising around town in a busted-up Bonneville, blasting The Dirtbombs or The Flamin’ Groovies while trying to score cheap beer. And while those names might seem retro-oriented, Ultrathin come at it with a noisy-punk edge, modernizing it a bit and taking a cloth napkin to most of the genre’s BBQ sauce remnants. This record won’t blow your mind, but it might help facilitate a situation in which your mind is blown.
Uranium Orchard Lithophane Geisha LP (Caesar Cuts)
So hear me out on this, but Uranium Orchard are essentially the modern-day Sun City Girls. Here’s why: I am certain they have never heard of Sun City Girls, nor are they influenced by such; they skip across musical styles without a care in the world, from plainclothes indie-rock to raga improvisations and Casio jingles; their music clearly makes perfect sense to them, although the rest of us are scratching our heads half the time; there’s plenty of musical virtuosity mixed within obviously goofy piss-taking; a seeming disinterest in their own success or popularity; shockingly-great moments mixed within pointless noodling and bad ideas; an insistence on releasing multiple albums at a busy pace. All they need to do is release a couple LPs a year for the next thirty years and they’ll be all set! But seriously, I can’t think of any other modern band as outside-the-box as Uranium Orchard, smushing radical and hum-drum music together as if it was the only logical thing to do. And just like Sun City Girls, I still can’t figure out if I’m charmed or irritated by Lithophane Geisha, which of course is high praise.
Vatican Dagger Not To Be 7″ (Total Punk)
Is there some sort of “worst cover art contest” that Total Punk is secretly holding amongst its artists? I swear, it’s like each band tries to outdo the other in their blatant lack of artistic effort. I’m not complaining, as I enjoy a good pointlessly-scrawled band name as much as the next guy, and like much of the Total Punk roster, this Vatican Dagger single is pretty fantastic. They feature Gary Wrong on guitar (an inclusion that is always right), and they’re kind of like the upbeat, freshly-showered cousin of Gary Wrong Group. “Not To Be” has a Bleach-era Nirvana riff with some Screaming Mad George-inspired vocals – tasty combo! And there’s “The Mess” on the flip, which rides a descending four-note riff onto the border of punk and metal, a small town trashed by suburban miscreants in 1984 and violated by Vatican Dagger once more. It’s the sort of record that ends only when the cops show up, and while I can’t rightly deem it essential, only a fool would find something to complain about it. A fool or a Narc.
John Wiese Deviate From Balance 2xLP (Gilgongo)
Okay, Gilgongo is finally tossing their money at something I can get behind, a lavish double LP collection from LA’s noisemaster John Wiese. He’s one of the last few ’00s noise mainstays to have not gone techno, and while he has already released roughly 2.5 million recordings, I can always go for a collection as nicely executed, both in packaging and musical content, as this. Deviate From Balance works as a beginner’s-guide compendium to John Wiese’s many talents, just as much as it appeals to a years-long fan (such as myself), collecting various ensembles and styles onto two long-playing discs. You get harsh computer noise, violent tape edits, free-jazz gibberish, field recordings, studio manipulations, composed ensemble performances and a cast of characters both famous and unknown (“Segmenting Process” features no less than nineteen players). I’m not big on hodgepodge noise records usually, but Deviate From Balance is smartly curated, really the cream of his crop and an excellent insight into Wiese’s mindset. That said, my favorite track is probably “Memaloose Walkman”, which is just Wiese, Joe Preston and Aaron Montaigne firing guns. I can only assume it was some sort of Hunger Games pursuit and that the bodies of Preston and Montaigne have yet to be uncovered, and yet Wiese’s thoughtful mug is displayed on the Actuel-styled back cover, acting all innocent.
Xetas The Redeemer LP (12XU)
Feels like only yesterday I was listening to the debut Xetas 7″ on 12XU, curious as to what they’d sound like on a full-length, and now here it is, staring me in the face. Their 7″ was cool, and this album is better, extrapolating upon their indie-punk sound. It’s really quite a modern thing, the way bands are seemingly influenced by every style of music known to man (Xetas pull from moody post-punk, Jawbreaker, stoner-metal and garage-rock among other forms of guitar music), but it works in Xetas’ favor, as it all gets funneled into the same sharp pipe. It’s a good mix, not an awkward one, and the vocals carry a level of passion that either escapes my daily listening habits or is simply in shorter supply these days. Not exactly a band that I’d expect to do the pretentious song-title move where every title begins with “The” (“The Ashes”, “The Sentence”, “The Deep”, etc. – even the two songs on their 7″ are like this), but maybe it has some deeper significance that I’m missing. If nothing else, Xetas are a band that I’m willing to give the benefit of the doubt.
Ajax Ajax 7″ (Katorga Works)
The psychedelic, Brain Records-esque cover art had me concerned that Ajax might traverse topographic oceans on this new 7″, but have no fear, they’re as raging and unapologetically hardcore as ever, this time even offering a rousing hardcore “intro” to kick it off. They go with a mid-paced d-beat for many of these tracks, and with their thick, classically American riffs and Choke’d-out vocals, it’s scientifically impossible to go wrong. Nice to see them standing in front of a wall on the back cover too (theirs is tagged with graffiti – nice choice), and I can’t help but wonder which one of these young gentlemen is responsible for that gruff bark, as none of them have the look of partial insanity in their eyes… there’s no obvious Raybeez in this lineup, you know? Kinda wish there was an Ajax LP, as both 7″s flow together quite nicely (and don’t particularly differ in sound or style), but maybe one of those is forthcoming. There are simply too many hardcore labels out there for an Ajax album to not be in the works, right?
Arthur Dreams And Images LP (Light In The Attic)
I could drop my ice cream cone, skin my knee and crack my cell phone in the same fluid motion and I’d still be less annoyed than I am sitting here right now, pondering the existence of this reissue of Arthur’s Dreams And Images album. Is this where we are as an alternative musical culture? Have the “cratediggers” and “vinyl junkies” won, where obscurity, nostalgia and vinyl gram-weight outweigh, you know, the actual music? This record is “psych-folk” from a guy named Arthur, originally released in 1968, and it’s basically the most fragile, boring, who-cares form of music I could imagine, now pressed in an impressive gatefold with faithfully restored art and lyrics (and a limited run on colored vinyl, as if I wasn’t already dry heaving). Seriously, who is this for? The New York Times clickbait “vinyl is back” Fleetwood Mac Rumours crowd doesn’t even want to hear music as dated, fragile and cloying as this, do they? If I think of the economic and natural resources wasted in the production of this reissue, I can almost feel the same pain and suffering poor Arthur must’ve been going through when he wrote the songs on this album. But you know what? Fuck him.
The Band In Heaven The Boys Of Summer Of Sam / I Know You Know 7″ (Hozac)
Two quick and painless songs here from The Band In Heaven, whose West Palm Beach, FL locale probably isn’t far off from that great white cloud in the sky. “The Boys Of The Summer Of Sam” has an appropriately nihilistic slant toward otherwise innocuous reverb-drenched garage-rock, as if someone swapped out a Pebbles comp for a Spacemen 3 record right as everyone crossed the threshold from sober to faded. Not bad! “I Know You Know” slows the pace considerably, riding an acoustic guitar downhill toward impending doom, unintentionally recalling Alice In Chains unplugged while also satisfying today’s need for hazy effects on every instrument (including the vocals, of course). Can’t say I flipped my lid for any of this, but any of you readers with a shag-carpeted den, Blackout Fest ticket stubs and blacklight posters surrounding your slightly-leaning Expedit might want to locate a copy.
Black Sites Unit 2669 12″ (Pan)
From the beautiful sleeve design to the fact that Black Sites is a Helena Hauff collaboration, this record had my name written all over it. I’ve been meaning to check out Black Sites for a little bit now (the aforementioned Hauff paired with some guy named “F#x”), and Unit 2669 is a welcome addition to my “experimental acid techno” crate. “Unit 2669” maintains a singular, chiming percussive loop from start to finish, lassoing it onto a particularly wet acid surge and riding a meaty kick, resulting in a paradoxical sensation of stasis and intense energy – like moving so fast it feels like you’re standing still. “MOCKBA” has me imagining Dead Machines remixing Tod Dockstader (alien bleeps and bloops dumped into the sewer) before settling into a looping groove that grows in size and weight, almost entering Ben Frost’s orbit but maintaining an analog grit, as if the room is lit only by the little red “power” lights on the hulking antique synths used in the creation of this music. I think I might prefer Hauff’s solo material, just for its undiluted acid purity, but Black Sites is mighty dope too. We all probably could’ve guessed that.
Cages Vivipary LP (Black Dots)
When I read “avant-garde post-noise” in the press-sheet and “member of Gas Chamber / Dead Language” online, I naturally assumed this was the inevitable Swans-inspired side-project (Swans t-shirts have given Void a run for their money at hardcore shows over the past couple years), but that couldn’t be further from the minimal weirdness of Cages. I honestly have no idea why anyone would want to bother making music like this, so I guess I’m strangely attracted to it – over the course of six tracks, you get brittle, high-pitched guitar drone / string-pluckery with soaring, sometimes-wordless vocals akin to either Björk or Amy Lee (of Evanescence, of course). Vocalist Nola Ann Ranallo will stretch out a chant while a single melodically-unrelated tone hovers around her, and if there is any person out there that truly feels captivated by listening to music like this, I’d like to meet them. Not a very likeable final product – it gives me the same sensation as an art exhibit that is just big pictures of corpses for no apparent reason, but hey, we’re all weirdos and we’ve all got to do our thing.
Cherie Cherie C’mon Let’s Share 12″ (Gilgongo)
Here’s some more Phoenix-based music care of the unpredictable Gilgongo label, this time coming from a pleasant group named Cherie Cherie. They play a form of retro-influenced indie-pop, kinda close to Dum Dum Girls – perhaps the slower, ballad-y end of Dum Dum Girls’ more recent output, but with the humble, fuzzy sound quality of their earliest records. They’ve got both the sound and vibe down, utilizing public-domain garage riffs to fine results, hand-delivered with a smooth, vulnerable-yet-strong vocal. I can’t rightly say that C’mon Let’s Share stands out in any particular way, but they’ve got a nice thing going, and maybe if I could understand the lyrics on the next record (understanding the words is kind of key for me to enjoy guitar pop like this) I might find myself humming along even after the record is over.
Coma In Algiers Happy Forever LP (A Wicked Company)
Happy Forever has a big mess of colorful squiggles for a cover, no text or anything, and it’s the sort of incoherent blob that says “nothing to notice here, just flip on past, please.” If you actually pull it out and flip it over, though, you might be intrigued by the name “Coma In Algiers” and the photograph of six men, varying wildly in size and shape, all staring into the camera like they just realized they’re facing jail-time for whatever misdemeanor they committed. If that sucks you in and you listen to the record, you’re in for a treat, as this is some unnerving, satisfyingly nauseous rock music. At times, I’m reminded of Scratch Acid, Mayyors, maybe a tiny hint of Arab On Radar and a touch of that great Psy Ants album from a couple years ago, but it doesn’t feel like a band trying to sound like anyone else so much as one that proudly does their own thing. Lots of guitars playing different parts that all sync up nicely, a gruff vocalist that doesn’t steal the spotlight so much as prowl through it on the hunt for vengeance, and it’s all performed with an indefatigable attitude, like they can’t take a break lest their neighbor come yell at them to stop. I’d venture a guess that maybe they listen to more kraut-rock than noise-rock from the way some of these cyclical grooves play out, but what do I know? Hope to hear more from this strange band soon, and if they need any help with cover art, I am available for consultation.
Constant Mongrel DCM 7″ (R.I.P Society)
Constant Mongrel are so undeniably punk that I always thought it odd they hadn’t released any music on the punkest vinyl format, the 7″, so it’s nice to see that finally take place. They cracked me up with the cover, that’s for sure – from their butchered name to the “email print-out as art” back cover (complete with incorrect track listing), this thing is just the right kind of stupid. Getting to the songs, those are great too – it’s clear that Constant Mongrel are no longer amateurs at their respective instruments, and they’ve started writing songs to reflect that. They still sound like a Happy Squid band from 1981, though, and they put the downer, hazy guitars of their Heavy Breathing album to smart use here. “The Law” might be my favorite, but they’re all great, and I love the stop-start droniness of “New Shapes” too. If you’ve been waiting for another good Australian punk 7″ to come out (assuming you either already own all the Ausmuteants ones or got a little bored with them), the time is now my friend.
Crime Desire Your Power LP (Standards)
Crime Desire’s vocalist Colin Tappe is one of the friendliest dudes in hardcore today, running his own record shop and unabashedly celebrating hardcore (and its many colored vinyl variations) with an infectiousness no one can deny. It was his winning attitude that convinced me to order the first Crime Desire album back in 2006, and while the packaging was lavish, I disliked the music so much that I instantly put it in the sell pile (and you should see some of the records I willingly keep). I hadn’t checked in with them until now, avoiding their alleged Danzig phase (which I’m still kinda curious about), and well, this new album is not the heinous offense I recall from their debut, but it’s not particularly good either. The riffs are pretty generic, going from metallic-crust to crossover-thrash and back, but it sounds more like Demon System 13 than Gloom; more like Crumbsuckers than Cro-Mags. The music’s just not very intimidating or exciting, and Tappe’s vocals fall in this cartoony tough-guy range that I find highly unappealing (he reminds me a lot of the guy from NYHC obscurities Neglect, although I dig that guy, so go figure). I applaud Tappe and his crew for all they do to support hardcore on a daily basis, it truly is inspiring (see if you don’t shed a tear at his perfectly laid-out Uniform Choice pressing-variation display), but I can confidently say I have no interest in hearing them perform it.
Deas String Studies LP (Alter)
Many props to Cameron Deas for his show of restraint in not naming this album Nuts. I never know what to expect from a new Alter release besides a sense of adventurousness (and lack of traditional song structure), and String Studies fits in nicely, an album of severely-treated guitar to the point where I shouldn’t have even said the g-word. Rather, it sounds as if Autechre or Oval were working with one specific acid modulation, and ripped and scraped away at it, twisting knobs wildly and subjecting the wave-form to all sorts of stimulation. At times, it feels like a Robert Hood track disemboweled and splayed open (which are my favorite moments), other times it dances like a flame in a science lab, rapidly cut-up and pushing in any direction. Listening through the whole thing can be a little exhausting, but a track randomly came on shuffle and it was the best thing I heard all day, an endless deluge of poisonous squiggles pouring out of a cracked wall. I don’t know how he avoided it, because Deas really is nuts.
Manni Dee Dreams, Fears & Idols 12″ (Osiris Music UK)
I forget exactly how I stumbled upon Manni Dee (a late night Discogs wormhole, perhaps?), but his name stuck out to me (could it be Lenny Dee’s long lost brother, or Willie Dee’s second cousin?) and damn, this EP is killer! Manni Dee comes correct with the violent swing of British Murder Boys and the IMAX heaviness of Kerridge, like dropping a bowling ball in a half-pipe and watching it wildly roll until injuring someone. These tracks take hard cuts, the sort of moves that would shake any defender off, all while maintaining a dark and sleek sophistication. The last track, Mønic’s remix of “Sister Nobody”, might actually be my favorite though – stripped down to a deadened thud, it feels like Emptyset impersonating the earliest Demdike Stare material. All this with great skinhead/skinbyrd photo-booth pictures on the center stickers means I have made immediate plans to thicken out my Manni Dee collection.
Demdike Stare Testpressing #007 12″ (Modern Love)
I had to call my credit card company and assure them that this is the last of the Demdike Stare Testpressing series, as they were looking to freeze my account due to fiscal irresponsibility. While I’ve enjoyed these records a whole bunch, I’m also slightly relieved that this is no longer one of my monthly bills, and hope Demdike are busy saving their creative energy for another album, not just a DJ mix cassette or soundtrack for a silent film or whatever. Anyway, on to Testpressing #007: if you haven’t already shelled out your cash for this one, you may want to avoid it entirely, as while it’s a cool 12″, it might be the least exciting of the series. “Rathe” whips up some cold snowy wind before settling into its queasy melody and drum n’ bass beat. Cool, but kind of normal, like something I’d expect to hear on Pearson Sound’s Fabriclive mix. Flip it over for “Patchwork” and it’s even more regular, almost slightly outdated – the chopped vocal, juke-y rhythm and general attitude recall Addison Groove or Joy Orbison circa 2012, which in techno years is a lifetime ago. Not saying it’s not good, because it is, it’s just not what I would hope to hear from a Demdike Stare “test pressing” (unlike Testpressing #005, which remains a pinnacle in their catalog). Still, were I to find myself in desperate need of money, I’d probably sell plasma before this one, because I’m deeply disturbed.
Egyptrixx Transfer Of Energy [Feelings Of Power] 2xLP (Halocline Trance)
Once a solid producer of timely post-dubstep club/techno/bass music, Egyptrixx has slowly relinquished his musical aspiration to the dark side. It’s like his light saber went from blue to red, and I personally couldn’t be more delighted, as Transfer of Energy [Feelings of Power] follows his fantastic A/B Til Infinity record deeper into the abyss. This album kinda plays out like that “young people imprisoned in digital touch-screen cubes” episode of Black Mirror – most of these tracks just sound like Terminators swiping pictures on their iPhones, with de-tuned metallic clangs firing at random and various creeping drones doing their best impression of what it sounds like when your memory is wiped. There isn’t an actual beat for four tracks; even the disaffected vocals of “Nyssa” do little to add any sense of physical humanity to the mix. It’s dark in a decidedly modern way, projecting a hopeless sci-fi future where we’re all trapped by our battery-charged techno-gadgets, and I absolutely love it.
Lee Gamble Koch 2xLP (Pan)
The first time I listened to Koch, it was on a portable speaker in my stairway while I was cleaning up, and I don’t know if it was the acoustics or what, but it sounded like a truly alien transmission, the sort of thing that as soon as it’s over you can’t figure out if you imagined it or not. I always thought Burial had “techno as heard from across the street after you left the club” down pat, but this record takes that feeling even further, into “techno as still echoing in your head as you fall asleep after a night dancing” territory. Over two LPs, there’s plenty of foggy ambient distortion, skipping house beats and chugging techno jaunts, all laced with a healthy dose of confusion. Why is there tape-hiss on this clearly digital track? Is that a vocal or a synth? And while the album is a healthy sixteen tracks long, I swear some of the ones that seem to last forever are only three minutes, whereas the Gas-esque “Frame Drag” feels like a quick dip (and it’s more than six minutes long). A whole lot of questions and not many answers are lurking within Koch and I hope to never unravel their mysteries.
Ruth Garbus Joule EP 7″ (OSR Tapes)
If you’re anything like me, you hoped this was an EP of Jewel cover songs sung in French, but alas, we must continue to wait. Nah, Joule is four tracks of humble solo guitar-pop care of Ruth Garbus, her of Happy Birthday and Feathers fame. It certainly fits in with OSR labelmates like Chris Weisman (he also of Happy Birthday?) and Blanche Blanche Blanche, as this is music made from the softest synthetic fleece, the sort of songs that sound like a person holding a mug of coffee under their nose as they inhale and smile. Garbus opts more for mood than pop-catchiness here, double-tracking her soothing vocals over acoustic guitar and some other slight melodic accompaniment (“Kisserine Chalk” spotlights some great whistling). Even though the songs are so slight and easy to miss if you aren’t focusing, I could go for an album’s worth of this stuff, easy. It’s just too cold outside to not want a little of Garbus’s warmth.
Grebenstein Grebenstein 12″ (Downwards)
Downwards is a name you can trust for bleak tribal-industrial techno, and while the name Grebenstein doesn’t ring any bells for me personally, I had a sneaking suspicion of what was in store. Turns out I was right: this is grayest-ever-gray, ritualistic industrial music, heavy and dark and scary, and while there were zero surprises to be uncovered, sometimes I just want to hear stuff exactly like this. I’m reminded pretty strongly of that recent Talker EP on Downwards (who knows, maybe they’re the same person?), or maybe Kerridge if you swapped out his giant corrosive pavement-spreading synth for a stringed drone and a couple of Neubaten’s best snare drums. While Grebenstein is almost surely an atheist (my second guess is Agnostic, followed by Buddhist), this music is just so delightfully Satanic-sounding that I feel like I need to slip a copy of Grebenstein to that guy I see walking around once a week with the Volahn patch on his jacket. If more people worshiped Satan to this sort of music, I might consider purchasing my first corpse-paint makeup palette.
Hot Guts Wilds LP (Avant!)
After assuming various forms, from noisy post-punk to a multi-instrumental synth-cabaret, Hot Guts has pared down to the duo of founding member Wes Russell and Void Vision’s Shari Vari. Sometimes you just gotta do you, and with the electronic sophistication of Vari taking over, Russell has streamlined Hot Guts into a brooding electronic project that carries the punch of Portion Control while showing November Növelet’s restraint. It’s goth as hell, but in a way that feels natural – Hot Guts don’t need a picture of a bat flying out of an open grave, they let their melancholy, slow-dance synths and unsettling beats do the talking. Just imagine the music that Xeno & Oaklander make when they are fighting with each other and not on speaking terms overseen by a desensitized baritone male vocal. It’s nice to see Hot Guts continue to evolve (and by most accounts improve), and as these two seem like a fitting pair, I can only hope they continue to pursue this musical partnership.
The Intended Huguenot / The Alchemist 7″ (All Gone)
The Intended recorded at least these two songs in the summer of 2013 (I am quite curious to know their current status), featuring Kevin Boyer of Tyvek and Heath Moerland of Roachclip and Sick Llama. Seeing those names, I naturally expected two tracks of pointless messing around and noisy nonsense, but the first second of “Huguenot” proved otherwise: The Intended are a killer hard-rock post-punk group! So much perfect Wah in use on “Huguenot”, stomping as heavy as The Monks with one of Boyer’s most hardcore vocal deliveries, just a fantastic tune that I’d enjoy any day of the week. “The Alchemist” doesn’t rock as hard, and consequently feels more like peak Tyvek, like it could’ve fallen off the 2×7″ on the way to the pressing plant, which of course is a compliment. If The Intended are no longer, it’s a shame, and if there’s more on the way, I’m awaiting it eagerly.
Kostis Kilymis Crystal Drops / Ground Loops (a line, obscured) 7″ (I Dischi Del Barone)
I Dischi Del Barone is back at it with their minimally-packaged series of avant-garde 7″s, this one coming from the London-based Greek artist Kostis Kilymis. Can’t say I’m familiar with the man (although a name like his I won’t easily forget), and he gives us a cool and quick EP of menacing, unemotional electronics. “Crystal Drops” sounds like four different heart-monitoring systems competing for prominence – I swear a Fitbit even chimes in toward the end, monitoring your sleep and uploading that data into your iPhone. “Ground Loops (a line, obscured)” is less rhythmically direct, disrupting any sort of forward-motion with what sounds like a microphone rubbed up against a cotton shirt, men hollering to each other in an airport parking lot and the dripping of a rusty pipe… it has me picturing some sort of run-down city in an otherwise lush geographical location, which is a lovely place for the mind to wander. Cool single, but I noticed that Kilymis also collaborated with Leif Ellgren for an album, and that dude is such a true freak that I feel like that’s the record I should be going after. Maybe I will!
Graham Lambkin & Michael Pisaro Schwarze Riesenfalter CD (Erstwhile)
After last month’s interview with Graham Lambkin, how could I not check out his newest collaboration with experimental guitarist/composer Michael Pisaro? Vinyl preference be damned, Lambkin is so fascinating that I’d listen to his music on microfiche if it were the only available format (and if there’s anyone who can make microfiche listenable, it’s probably him), so here I am enjoying this patient and curious album called Schwarze Riesenfalter. It’s a sparse, somnambulant work, with presumably Pisaro’s piano sprinkling the room with color as Lambkin’s classified sound recordings rustle past (I’m certain I picked up the vibrational hum of a muted cell-phone at one point, but the rest remain a mystery). Just as he implied, it makes for great dinner music, the sort of indirect soundtrack that spawns unusual conversation and a conviviality that minimal piano and hushed noise might not usually offer. These guys just know how to serve it up.
Mope City Halfway House 7″ (Tenth Court)
Mope City aren’t joking – you’re not gonna want to blow up any balloons or make a big bowl of guacamole while listening to their mellow, rainy-day indie-rock. “Small Eye” covers the a-side, politely chiming with a musical sound somewhere between Pavement and The War On Drugs, and a vocal sound somewhere between Brighter and Wildhoney. I flipped it to hear “Halfway House (Bleeding At The Station)”, which has such a similar sonic template that were it not for the physical act of record-flipping I might’ve assumed it was just one long song. The EP wraps up with “Blunt Razor”, a great name for an Australian grind band but utilized here for the mopiest of the three tracks, as if Bedhead just got fired from their barista job for choosing the “Red House Painters” Pandora station. Can’t say I was moved in any particular direction by Mope City, but I didn’t mind sitting there and sulking along with them for six minutes or so either.
Psychic Teens Face / All 7″ (Reptilian)
Psychic Teens had that cool debut album a few years ago, and while I haven’t kept up since, Reptilian’s “Keystone Noise” 7″ series brings them back around again. At first, “Face” started off like it was gonna parallel Metz’s noisy guitar-based approach, but then it quickly calms down, the singer speaks over a quiet part, and it’s something else entirely. The whole track seems to have a light layer of reverb applied, which is the only way “Face” represents itself as a modern song and not a reissue gripped from one of the many poppy noise-rock bands that were signed to a major in the wake of Nirvana, given horrible cover art and destined for the cardboard bin of dollar CDs under the record racks. “All” even brings in some clean, lonesome guitar, and I finally figured out that the singer reminds me of the guy from Pleasure Forever – if I had any doubt that the members of Psychic Teens attended a Slowdive reunion gig or two, this track erases any doubt. They could use some help with the graphics, though – the Japanese OBI strip and corny pentagram art on the center sticker aren’t doing them any favors, but I bet it wasn’t really their idea anyway. Oh well…
Raspberry Bulbs Privacy LP (Blackest Ever Black)
Here’s an equation I would’ve never expected: black metal + grunge = ripping punk rock! Yep, everyone’s favorite band-you-initially-assumed-were-twee-based-on-their-name is back, and while I’ve delighted in their pink and black existence for a while now, even if not actually wanting to listen to their music, Privacy changes that. Seriously, this record rules – imagine Bone Awl (not much of a stretch since Raspberry Bulbs feature a founding Bone Awl member) playing their stompy riffs to the tune of Bleach or Superfuzzbigmuff and you’re pretty close to what Privacy has to offer. You get eight ripping tracks where the buzzsaw guitar never feeds back, the drums are simple yet inventive and the riffs are gnarly enough to turn Rudimentary Peni’s heads, along with six interludes that vary from twilight ambient drift to scraped noise (and one track that sounds like Men’s Recovery Project if they weren’t remotely funny). Tell me you can’t picture Krist Novoselic jamming the bass-line to “Big Grin” while Jesse from Hoax stage dives and Puce Mary headbangs. I always assumed Raspberry Bulbs were a cult-for-cult’s sake side project that required zero of my attention, but Privacy has turned me around completely. Recommended!
Rectal Hygienics Ultimate Purity LP (Permanent)
From the moment I looked upon the shocking cover art collage of naked or scantily-clad women and vague human atrocity, my life was changed forever: this is the transgressive art I needed to shake me to my core, no longer witnessing humanity through blinders, but now privy to all of its harshest realities. Just kidding! Rectal Hygienics are another Brainbombs-aping, Macronympha-loving, Total Abuse tour-mating band, and while that’s all about as exciting as my daily lunchtime decision (Amy’s frozen lasagna or Amy’s frozen burrito?), the music is actually pretty solid. The bass tone is particularly ugly, I love the way the hi-hat is consistently floppy and open, and the vocals are above average, varying from angry speaking to violent yelling to my personal favorite, casual whispering (more heavy bands would benefit from a vocalist who knows how to calm down once in a while). Of course, their solid music is overshadowed by the painfully played-out and idiotic lyrics, freshman-year “I’m so sexually creepy and evil” aesthetic and random pictures of anal sex on the center sticker (can you believe people do that with each other???). I can only hope Rectal Hygienics (cool name, by the way) soon reveal that their presentation is actually a meta-commentary on the stagnant uniformity of post-Brainbombs shock-rock, but apparently they are calling themselves “drug punk” in all seriousness, so I have a feeling that moment will never come.
Red Red Krovvy II 7″ (Helta Skelta)
Red Red Krovvy take their time, following their 2013 7″ EP with this new one roughly two years later (which is equivalent to fifteen years in punk time). I appreciate their unhurried approach, and that sort of casual attitude seeps into the unpolished lo-fi punk rock of this EP. They plod along like Fatal Microbes, occasionally recall the gnarlier moments of Naked Aggression’s existence, and probably work in fine tandem with Ausmuteants, were they to ever share a bill. Maybe some early FYP moments too, in the way that the drumming is delightfully sloppy and results in some unexpected beats and changes. A song like “New Year” shouldn’t make me want to mosh, and yet it does, as the band’s humble means do little to mask their fiery intent. This band is probably all wimpy nerds, but I still wouldn’t mess with them, you know?
RHDP Parusa 7″ (Tension Head)
I know what you’re thinking: The Red Hot Dilly Peppers? We may never know what it stands for, but this isn’t Los Angelean funk-punk, RHDP are a Virginia Beach-based punk band with lyrics sung entirely in Tagalog. And while they are generally of the mid-paced, upbeat punk style, RHDP aren’t afraid to fully succumb to standard rock tropes and break it down like Jimi Hendrix or Mount Carmel (all while their singer continues to tunelessly yell, seemingly unaware of the sonic shift). I dunno, the music is fine and innocuous enough, but something about the singer’s roomy holler (kinda like a less-passionate guy from Rice) is particularly bothersome and out of place. Maybe it all comes together live? I’ll probably never know.
Russell St. Bombings Russell St. Bombings LP (SmartGuy)
Everyone involved in Total Control has at least a couple other cool projects going, so it’s about time the quiet guy with the mullet (and the only member of Total Control I don’t think I’ve personally met or interacted with) got his. It’s not a solo project, but rather a collaborative musical think-tank with members of UV Race, Eastlink and Dick Diver contributing to the scatter-shot collection of songs, song-ideas and jams on here. At times, I’m reminded of 49 Americans and their jovial insistence to disregard rock music’s many formalities, at others I’m picking up an emotionally-ominous vibe similar to that great Flaming Tunes LP by Gareth Williams and Mary Currie, and the whole thing seems to loom in The Shadow Ring’s umm, shadow, which is a fine place to cool off. Regardless, vocals are few and far between, and when they do appear, it’s like the last guest at your party and you’re just waiting for them to leave so you can go to bed. Russell St. Bombings never get as harsh or vulgar as their name might imply, but are content to strum a twelve-string guitar while someone else has an old Macintosh firing out bleeps and bloops and a third person attempts to sort through a pile of cymbals. Apparently Henry Rollins really likes this record, and if you want to argue with him then by all means be my guest!
Secret Tombs Secret Tunes LP (Caesar Cuts / Wigtunes)
Pittsburgh’s Dave Rosenstraus has already laid out a vinyl discography equivalent to any Exxon oil spill, one which you may now add Secret Tombs. They’ve got an interesting thing going on, a sort of extended-mix, mathy blues-rock vibe that not many others dare to attempt. It’s a two-song LP, for example, but each side plays out more like a suite than any regular pop song, moving from Southern-fried boogie to raucous party-rock and grizzled riffing within their lengthy grooves. At times, I’m reminded of Don Caballero messing around with Black Keys covers, or perhaps Dead Moon if they wanted to get signed to Thrill Jockey? At times, it’s as perplexing as the way I just described it, but for the most part Secret Tombs make smart use of their “Bohemian Rhapsody” approach to classic guitar rock. Nice job!
Secret Valley The Glisten EP 12″ (Alberts Basement)
Always nice to receive a new transmission from Alberts Basement (their lack of a possessive apostrophe, not mine). Had no idea what Secret Valley was before I put it on, and while I was ready for solo Casio improv or a duo that farts into a can and snaps a rubber-band, it was nice to hear that Secret Valley are more or less keyboard / guitar / drum-machine pop-punk. Four songs here, all of which utilize big major chord changes for pop delight, the musical DNA of Weezer and Screeching Weasel put to keyboards, drum programming, guitar and trombone (you didn’t think Alberts Basement would let you off that easily, did you?). They get slightly somber on the two b-side tracks, drifting a little deeper into outer space, but it’s still one-finger guitar-pop that goes down smooth. Simple stuff for sure, but Secret Valley play with such an effortless, just-woke-up sort of congeniality that I can’t imagine anyone rightfully disliking it. There are a lot of jerks out there, though.
SGNLS II LP (FDH / P. Trash)
Vowels can’t catch a break when it comes to band names these days – just take SGNLS, for instance. They’re a Philadelphia based rock group, loosely goth and overtly synthy, and this is their second album. It’s a weird one, that’s for sure: the vocalist reminds me of Bobby Blitz from Overkill more than a little bit, the drummer seems to think he’s playing garage-punk, and the synths and electronics give off this regal classiness that seems slightly out of place. It ends up sounding like some sort of Dead Kennedys / Clan of Xymox hybrid, the sort of thing that would unite steam-punks and mall-punks (as if their paths don’t already cross). And there is more than one somber, acoustic-driven ballad that feels like a synth-pop reworking of “The Unforgiven”. Seriously, this band is weird, and not in a predetermined way! Now I just wanna go listen to some Overkill, and I can’t help but approve of any record that stimulates such feelings.
Shaved Women Just Death LP (Malokul / Full Contact)
Released with slight cover variations for American and Finnish audiences alike, Shaved Women offer forth their second album, Just Death. I hadn’t heard them before, and got the impression they were some sort of Scratch Acid-inspired Midwestern noise-rock unit from what I’d read. If that was the case at some point, it certainly isn’t now, as Shaved Women play burly, heavy hardcore with little deviation. They kind of split the difference between Poison Idea and hardcore-era Fucked Up here; Shaved Women relentlessly fire off lots of mid-paced, down-picked, hard-nosed grooves with a gruff singer who rarely comes up for air. It’s surprisingly regular, I suppose – they use plenty of familiar chord progressions, keep the pace brisk with the exception of the last track (which is a fairly standard hardcore album trait), and kinda just blend into a world of Deranged, Painkiller and Katorga Works bands that only an obsessive fan could parse. It’s a 45 RPM LP, and the brevity works in Shaved Women’s favor, as their music is suited to concentrated bursts. It comes equipped with skeleton / zombie / S&M / switchblade art to seal the deal on their indistinguishable vibe, and if you need more of this stuff, they’ll be waiting for you.
Skemäta Skemäta LP (Sorry State)
What do you do when the grim reaper skeleton on your cover isn’t even that scary-looking? Skemäta are going for the “this is our war-torn apocalyptic future if we don’t change our behavior soon” d-beat thing, a righteous endeavor if there ever was one, but I dunno, nothing about their music really does it for me. Maybe it’s the recording? It’s clean and not overly heavy, which has me thinking about Lagwagon or NOFX if they played mean-sounding riffs and slowed the tempo just a little. No one is gonna confuse Skemäta with Shitlickers or No Fucker, you know? The vocals are a pretty decent-if-generic throaty bark, the lyrics safely political (“destroy hierarchy” is a nice albeit useless sentiment, featured in “System Of Parasites”), and I dunno, I’d rather just go listen to State Of Fear or give Tragedy another try than spend much more time with this one. No offense to Skemäta and their fans, though, as I would hate to live in a world where bands like this cease to exist.
Tracey Trance Keep It Up 7″ (All Gone)
Ms. Trance has been firing out random tapes and musical ephemera for a few years now, but this is my first experience, and I swear if I aimed this 7″ at the snow outside, it’d melt a big patch and a big old daisy would sprout right up. She just sounds so carefree, joyful and drunk that I want to be right in the room where she recorded these three songs, just to soak up some of that inspiration. I’m reminded spiritually of Kurt Vile, at least pre-popularity Kurt Vile, when there was no expectation beyond a fun time with an acoustic guitar, some beers and some friends… that special time and place where a goofy joke can inspire your best song. The first two tracks are vocals accompanied by guitar, and the last, “Burpin’ How R U Ridin?” is acapella and so damn happy and stupid and fun that I want all my friends to sing it at my funeral.
Vereker Murder License EP 12″ (Berceuse Heroique)
Berceuse Heroique opted for manhole-thick 180 gram vinyl for this Vereker EP, which is kinda funny because this is some of the least heavy hard-techno I’ve heard in a while… usually when I’m playing aggressive dance music and it sounds like “Flesh & Blood”, it means the wire to my sub-woofer came loose. That’s kind of Vereker’s charm, though – his music feels more like sandpaper than a grenade, slowly chafing your eardrums with the repetitive chirps, mid-range snares and kicks in his toolkit. Low Jack teams up with Vereker for “Event Horizon” on the flip, which behaves like some sort of SPK / Throbbing Gristle nuclear freakout (and even in it’s mid-fidelity might cause muscles to spasm), and Vereker wraps it up with the brief and equally industrial “Bedroom Jihad”, which calls to mind Rosemary’s Baby or Controlled Bleeding in all their glory. Kinda cool to see him seeking a less dancefloor-oriented sound, catering more toward the crowd that has at least one Vinyl On Demand boxset on their shelves, and for my money it’s an avenue worth pursuing.
Void Vision Sub Rosa LP (Mannequin)
So nice to finally have a Void Vision album in my life, as Shari Vari’s solo cold-wave project is one of the finest in the land. I’m lucky enough to have heard many of these songs live on numerous occasions, but they sound great laid down to wax and no longer at the mercy of a shoddy PA system – 16th-note arpeggios provide tense urgency, sweeping synth melodies add glamor and drama, and Vari’s goth-Madonna vocals bring it all home. Hits like “One”, “Sour” and “To The Sea” are great, like a Led Er Est / La Roux collaboration, the sort of songs you can break a sweat to in numerous ways, from full-on dancing to gothy swaying (and I’m far too shy to publicly discuss the ways in which Sub Rosa would be a good record for the bedroom). I kinda wish a solid American label would’ve stepped up to the plate to release this one, y’know, support our troops and all, but Void Vision has a way of wrapping the music in a sort of mysterious old-European beauty that it makes sense Italy’s Mannequin put it all together. Fine work, this!
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