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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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