Alien Eyelid Vinegar Hill LP (Tall Texan)
Houston’s Alien Eyelid continue their march through rock music’s bell-bottomed past with their third LP, Vinegar Hill. Like previous efforts, this comes from a large ensemble of players, a necessity to produce any sort of cosmic-country worth its weight in hash. It’s incredible how their music seems utterly unaware of the last, say, fifty years of rock music – in the world of Alien Eyelid, Metallica never existed, and Jethro Tull rightfully deserved that Grammy in 1989. Flutes and and pedal-steel often take center stage, as Alien Eyelid’s songs are more laidback than ever, slow-burners whose embers glow late into the evening hours. It’s really kind of eerie how out-of-time Alien Eyelid come across here – Fleet Foxes sound like Interpol by comparison – but it never feels like artifice or an ill-fitting costume. Maybe they really do live and breathe this classic style and the lifestyle it entails? Tall Texan offered a few distinctly Americana records recently (the undiluted Texas country of Shinglers and Garrett T. Capps is admittedly way more cowboyish than this Yankee writer can handle), and I’d say Alien Eyelid are the cream of that unfiltered crop. I’d also say they unfortunately missed the chance to open Kansas’s headlining 1976 tour, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Kansas are still touring the American midwest summer-fair circuit today, to many of the same folks that saw them originally. Would it kill them to bring Alien Eyelid along for the ride?
Applejuice We All Dissolve LP (no label)
The recent Steve Peffer / Jayson Gerycz creative collaboration keeps paying dividends, now in the form of Applejuice. Peffer deserves his own Cleveland Rock N’ Roll Hall Of Fame at this point, but rather than dwell too long on past accomplishments I’ll remind you that he did the great Peer Pressure Zombies album earlier this year (menacing synth-punk recorded by Gerycz, who’s otherwise known for his band Cloud Nothings). I’m still singing “Reeking Garbage Pile” to myself in the shower, but now I’ve got this great Applejuice record to reflect upon, and reflect I shall. On first blush it has a “Gary Numan playing Flipper songs” vibe, particularly in the opener “Lovestreamz” and its Will Shatter-y chorus, but We All Dissolve is far more nuanced than it has any right to be. The bass is big, the synth is bigger, and they fit some guitar in there too, almost like a Rentals album if Matt Sharp had an intense period of Sheer Terror fandom but mostly kept it to himself. Peffer tends to muffle his words one way or another, be it vocal mix or listener comprehension, but We All Dissolve strikes me as a high-point in his lyrical career, flashing modern life’s mundanities back in our faces like a laser pointer at an airplane. It doesn’t hurt that the songs sound so good, Gerycz’s punchy recording making everything pop a little harder, right through the unwittingly dance-y closer “Freeware” (featuring Gerycz’s fellow Cloud Nothing Dylan Baldi on sax). The vinyl is limited to one hundred copies, and once they’re all sold, I’m fixing to get all one hundred of us together to hang and talk about how great this record is. And drink apple juice.
Aweful Kanawful Endless Pleasure LP (Folc)
Help! It would appear from the cover photo that Tom Petty’s Heartbreakers kidnapped one of the Aquabats. Or is the Aquabat now an evil Aquabat, a fallen-from-grace Judas who took up cigarette-smoking and sports-betting with some new “friends” he met in the big city? I could fantasize about this crew for a while, and as Endless Pleasure spins, I feel like I’ve got nowhere else to be anyway. While the cover (and let’s face it, band name) will turn off certain serious listeners, they’re missing out on some pretty swell power-pop, if they even care. These songs are energized and with just enough dirt under the nails, feeling like authentic early-’80s skinny-tie nuggets without the sense that Aweful Kanawful set out to specifically replicate a historical vibe. (They probably wouldn’t have done the whole Aquabat look if so, for starters.) The guitar playing is nimble in an Albert Hammond Jr. kinda way, and for a style as shop-worn as power-pop, their songwriting doesn’t take any cheap shortcuts. Back when The Beat and 20/20 were gigging, there was still a reliance on live bands for nightlife entertainment, and Aweful Kanawful seem better suited to that era, where good songs on the bar’s back-room stage mattered more than video-clip influencer-tainment. Maybe the costume will come in handy if they ever decide to pivot?
Brainbombs Die LP (Riot Season)
Depending on your particular point of view, a new Brainbombs album might cause you to race to the internet in hopes of procuring a copy or roll your eyes and go back to bed. I think my own perspective falls somewhere between those poles – while I’m still willing to fall on the “Brainbombs rule” sword, it also feels like there’s already simply enough of their music to suffice. They’ve variated on the same theme for decades now – if you aren’t already intimately familiar with their work, a song from 2009 sounds much like a song from 1996 (or 2020, or 2004, or 1994), a testament to their durability and staunch lack of outside interference. Even so, some of their typical “I Wanna Be Your Dog” riffing has felt less-inspired on the last decade’s worth of albums, a seemingly unavoidable dip in quality for any one-track-minded band. Maybe I’ve just taken enough time off, or maybe Die is simply a cut above, but for whatever reason it’s been a pleasure spinning this one, more so than I anticipated. The vocals are delivered with moderate-to-severe indiscernability, our favorite unrepentantly sadistic Swedish serial-killer delivering his snuff-film plots with the halfhearted bloodlust we’ve come to expect, and the riffs drip with sweat and sleaze. Like any good horror franchise, Brainbombs keep coming back, even after their grisly demise seemed certain and complete. I wonder if Rob Zombie has ever heard them?
Call Super A Rhythm Protects One 2xLP (Dekmantel)
London’s Call Super is nostalgic for the minimal tech-house of twenty years ago, and much like civil war re-enactors who ensure every final detail is period-accurate, Call Super has fabricated (get it? Fabric-ated?) his own little petri dish of club sounds in A Rhythm Protects One. What is credited as a mix of various artists such as Ondo Fudd, Conny Slipp and Clam1 is all the work of Joseph Richmond-Seaton (AKA Call Super), creating new characters to fill out his fantasies ala Fucked Up’s David’s Town (or the entirety of Killed By Death #11). In the A Rhythm Protects One cinematic universe, the towers of Villalobos and Luciano loom large, with springy, rubbery beats, grid-phasing effects and plenty of offbeat cameos, from lonely jazz horns to crooning female vocals seemingly unaware of the track they’re sharing (a Villalobos trick if there every was one). While not replicating tracks of old, the sound, style and demonstration are all rich with the vivid RGB shine of Perlon and Playhouse. It nails the assignment, though I’m a little surprised such a retro feel was Call Super’s goal to begin with, as his previous records struck me as more curious about the future than the past. Contemporary producer Jorg Kuning uses similar influences to springboard himself onto new levels of expression, but A Rhythm Protects One is content to stay right where it is.
Carrier Rhythm Immortal 2xLP (Modern Love)
Guy Alexander Brewer has struck gold with his Carrier alias, releasing some of the most intriguing post-dubstep / post-post-techno productions over the last few years. His sound is immediate but hard to define, and it’s within that sweet-spot that we get Rhythm Immortal, the project’s first full-length. Whereas previous releases focused on dazzling percussive flurries (Fathom and In Spectra) or unexpected hooks (“The Fan Dance”), Rhythm Immortal delves into the deepest trenches of sparse percussive sound, apparently scrutinizing the album’s title as its own mission statement. Most tracks consist of little more than “kick and snare” in the general sense, with organic / unintuitive rhythms relaying some sort of natural element while the sounds themselves, processed down to the very strands of their DNA, are alien in origin. Take opener “A Point Most Crucial”, which feels content to investigate the inner-workings of a cavernous kick and a scratchy hi-hat in what sounds like an abandoned chemistry lab (a lone Bunsen burner flickering in the corner). This is music that rewards focused listening; the deeper you concentrate on Carrier’s meticulously refracted percussion tracks, the richer the experience. In a way, it makes me sad that The Spaceape is no longer with us – his vocals would’ve absolutely slayed on these – but Rhythm Immortal is a stark reminder that less can be so much more.
Chat Pile & Hayden Pedigo In The Earth Again LP (The Flenser / Computer Students)
One could easily peg In The Earth Again as a hyper-contemporary sludge/doom album from a couple pieces of evidence: one, the collaborative effort between two artists with contrasting fanbases, and two, the fact that there are no fewer than eleven vinyl variants (fourteen if you want to include the cassette, CD and digital versions). On one hand, I find these aspects to be turn-offs – the recent trend toward artist collaborations can feel like a desperate ploy for greater social-media reach, and the shameless collector-bait is certainly lame – but on the other, I don’t fault dirge-y noise-rockers Chat Pile or acoustic guitarist Hayden Pedigo for existing in the time we’re in. Unlike other collabs of recent years (especially in the metal/hardcore realms), I get the impression that this one came about organically, a random idea between new neighbors (Pedigo relocated to Chat Pile’s Oklahoma City) who dug each other’s vibes. And as for the vinyl thing, all these labels seem to think it’s the only way to actually sell records, and if it works, it’s surely a better result than the few remaining underground-supporting labels going bankrupt. Finally getting to the actual music, this album pretty fluidly combines Pedigo’s expert guitar-wrangling with Chat Pile’s slow tilt towards desolation soundtracking. I’d presume the average Chat Pile enthusiast wants to sprain their lower backs headbanging to stuff like “The Matador” and “Fission/Fusion”, but this band has gathered so much goodwill over the last couple years that it would seem fans of their Korn-derived aspects are perfectly content to stand with their hands in their hoodies through the extended Godspeed You! Black Emperor-esque passages here. Even the acoustic guitars are overtly depressive (in a comforting way), though when it comes to the heavy stuff, Chat Pile follow a timeless rule of show business: leave ’em wanting more.
Cowgirl Clue Total Freedom LP (Vada Vada)
It’s rare I get to share a phrase reaching the mystification of “Baby “Gronk rizzed up Livvy Dunne” here, on account of my generational standing, but this might come close: hyper-pop maven Cowgirl Clue is dating The Garden’s Wyatt Shears, whose Vada Vada label released Total Freedom. If none of that means anything to you, join me in the senior’s lounge, but I’m hoping to hip you to the fact that Cowgirl Clue rules. I got hooked on 2023’s Rodeo Star last year, beguiled and entranced by her combination of small-town rural anomie and trance-pop aspirations, and Total Freedom scratches a similar itch I didn’t previously know I had. Her music is busy and overloaded, like the newest iteration of a Sonic & Knuckles arcade game, filled with unforeseen arpeggios and high-speed digital motion. It can sound like Cold Cave’s Cherish The Light Years at 1.5 speed, though we’re never far from Cowgirl Clue’s signature pedal-steel twang (synthetic or otherwise) to bring us back to a dusty parking lot in the Southwestern countryside’s flat expanse. Her singing is unenthusiastic and moody, never even attempting to belt one out or compete with the recognized pop divas. No, the Cowgirl Clue vibe comes from the cool girls vaping gross flavors in the back of someone else’s car, her thoughts turned elsewhere as the rest of her friends venture inside the club, phone battery at one-percent and completely unbothered. I wish her and Shears the best, if only because I don’t think I could handle a Cowgirl Clue breakup album; the black-hole force of its unmitigated disaffection would pull the flesh off right my bones.
Efdemin Poly 2xLP (Ostgut Ton)
Can we get more of this? I’m talking about techno producers who take years between albums, and when they do, the results are worth the wait. Minimal techno is a style of music that can easily be pumped out, assembly-line-style, without necessarily suffering in quality, but you can also tell when someone has tinkered with their work until it attained a glorious final form. That’s certainly the case with Poly, an immersive double LP that refines, rather than reinvents, the style. Efdemin’s first full-length since 2019’s unexpectedly folk-tinged New Atlantis, Poly seems to be a tribute to the thrill of sound itself, the unpierced ear on the cover offering a clue. Like most Ostgut Ton techno, it plays out stoically with clinical details, from the residual echoes of “Lost Somewhere In The Day” to the nocturnal purr layered within “Signal To Noise” (imagine a cat gently sleeping on your lap inside Berghain), but Efdemin’s tender heart is always on display. It might be as close to emo-techno as a German could get (which isn’t close at all of course), a reverence for beauty that takes time to fully unfold. I get the impression that Efdemin is someone who has cried ecstatic tears while listening to techno music more than once in his life (and not just because of the drugs); Poly is a masterfully-rendered love-letter to those moments.
Endless Joy Endless Joy LP (Iron Lung)
Iron Lung has had a few great “house bands” in its lengthy tenure – Iron Lung the band, I guess, being the most obvious – and I’d like to add Endless Joy to that shortlist. They’re a new concern from old men, namely Nick Turner, Jensen Ward, Shaun Dean and Ian Jefferies. You’ll recognize the first three names from Cold Sweat (and the first two from Walls), and if there are any concerns in your head that their current tastes may have wandered from ferocious, unmarketable hardcore-punk, you’ll need to banish those this instant. Cold Sweat is one of those “gone too soon” hardcore bands (rare after, say, 1983), and
False Persona & Mall Grab Crazy 12″ (Fragrance Recordings)
The cover image of DJ/producers False Persona and Mall Grab has a certain “Live at CBGB” je ne sais quoi that I feel deeply appealing. If Bold and Gorilla Biscuits were twiddling knobs on synths instead of playing guitars and drums, it would’ve looked like this, which is appropriate as these upbeat dance tracks from the two UK-based artists conjure images of windowless clubs rippling with the savage energy of youth. “Crazy” goes hard from the drop, upbeat Euro-dance with an incessant vocal hook running through Burial-esque filters. What else do you need? Not sure it’s possible to play this one loud enough, but we can (and must) try. The b-side features two versions of “It’s Time”, a galloping UK-garage cut that overloads the vocal samples in the manner of Baltimore club, ensuring every t-shirt is soaked through no matter if Balenciaga or Primark. Released a good number of months after the digital version, it was clear that “Crazy” needed more than a Soundcloud URL, so while this twelve-inch is decidedly no-frills, let’s hope it’s getting blasted from the decks of your favorite club basement this weekend. Maybe Don Fury can produce the next one?
Felinto Festa Punk / Festa Block 7″ (Bokeh Versions)
Bristol’s Bokeh Versions label is closing up shop at the end of the year, some ten years after first delivering their mischievous, noisy and omnivorous takes on bass-forward sound-system music. What better way to wrap things up than a seven-inch single from São Paulo baile scum-rockers Felinto? These two party tracks are vehemently anti-fascist in nature, the red-hot glow of their rage leaping from the grooves. “Festa Block” hurls all sorts of wet electronic chunks, replete with gang vocal chanting, dub-reggae effects, brittle drum-machine beats, layers of lo-fi synths, and what’s that, an undistorted guitar playing a Discharge riff at the end? “Festa Punk” gets aggro with the breakbeats, offering an even more imposing soundscape for the same vocal melody, a disfigured robot recalling FNU Ronnies at their prime. It feels like a no-budget South American analog to Atari Teenage Riot, with more at stake and a clarified purpose. You know with certainty that Felinto’s fans dance to this stuff, and I really need to see it in action: unless it’s some unholy new twerk / mosh hybrid bursting with joy and violence, I’m going to have to lock myself in the basement and workshop such moves on my own.
Greydini Freakdini LP (Celluloid Lunch)
Consider us forewarned: the album is not titled Normaldini. Greydyn “Greydini” Gatti is a Toronto local who might someday become a local legend, depending on how long and at what frequency he continues his musical exploits. Unlike lots of solo projects, Greydini could really only ever be one person, a mad-scientist of tape-hissing synth-punk with a singular point of view. And just in the way that Screamers and Cabaret Voltaire utilized the cheap technology available to them, Greydini works with a grody free-ware sound befitting his own generation. Drum loops, Casio-sounding synths and digital-everything all collide in the corner of his bedroom with the most electric outlets, like Atom & His Package and Half Japanese trapped together in a tangle of USB cables. “Outsider” can be used as a marketing term, but in the case of Greydini it’s simply the truth: there is no fanbase being developed here (and even less money being made). It’s simply one frazzled gentleman trying to make sense of the world in the form of sticky, splattered electronic punk. My favorite part might be the fact that Greydini thanks no fewer than three different family members in the credits (and possibly more – I only could verify those with the same last name), one of whom painted the hallucinatory cover art back in 1974. How far back does the Gatti family freakery extend?
Headache Thank You For Almost Everything 2xLP (PLZ Make It Ruinz)
Joseph Winger Thornalley produces music under the wretched moniker of Vegyn, whose profile has blown up care of a James Blake co-sign and Frank Ocean production credits, but it’s his Headache profile that resonates with me most. (Certain readers might be amused to learn that Thornalley’s dad was in Powerpearls staples The First Steps, whose “The Beat Is Back” is prime-cut British power-pop.) As Headache, Thornalley crafts heartstring-pulling trip-hop enhanced with a digitally-rendered British male voice reading the poetry of one Francis Hornsby Clark (whose existence remains curiously unverified online). The instrumentals are clean and well-fashioned, a Balearic take on the Brit-pop sound we might associate with The Verve and Charlatans UK, full of hold-music pianos, soul-stirring strings, blissful synth pads and stadium-quality drum loops. Like the first Headache album, Thank You For Almost Everything comes with a vinyl LP of the instrumentals, but it’s the spoken-word originals that make it pop. Hornsby Clark’s prose can be disarming, funny and sad, often in the same track (or phrase), an incisive observer of life’s follies delivered with the unnerving artificiality inherent in a computer-generated voice. I can understand if the “is this somehow AI?” feel turns some people off – I dry-heave at the thought of computer-generated “creativity” myself – but Headache’s combination of panoramic trip-hop wonder and cheeky prose came from the mind of a guy whose dad once played in The Cure and his low-profile-keeping wordsmith friend.
Her New Knife Chrome Is Lullaby Deluxe 12″ (Julia’s War)
Let me start with a confession: earlier this year I actually wrote Her New Knife asking if I could release Chrome Is Lullaby on vinyl, to which they kindly explained that it was already in the works care of Julia’s War. It’s not the sort of impulse that usually comes over me, but I couldn’t stop listening to this EP from late last year, and it felt like, well, if no one else was gonna memorialize these MP3s into a permanent physical form, I might as well be the one to do it. Their music is a fantastic combination of the quieter end of Y2K-era emo (I’m thinking of the artsier side of labels like Crank!, Southern and Doghouse at the time), the hooks that arise from Sonic Youth’s inscrutable guitar-tunings and a touch of the nu-gaze scene they’re most generally aligned with, all delivered by young adults who probably grew up watching Adult Swim and making many of their real friends online. Take “Purepurepure” for example, which sets a miserably sludgy bass-line against shimmering minor-chord melodies and hushed vocals. It’s glitchy, deviant and weird, like a Manga whose cute cover betrays its supernatural-sex-horror storyline. The whole EP is fantastic – no two songs sound the same but it all sounds like Her New Knife, which is the mark of a great band. Padding out this vinyl version are remixes of each of the six originals on the second side, coming from artists with names like Angel Emoji and Silicone Valley (as well as local pals They Are Gutting A Body Of Water). They’re mostly what you’d expect to hear in chopped-up electronic remixes of moody indie guitar music, offering a nice moment to ponder what Her New Knife might share with us next.
JJulius Vol III LP (Mammas Mysteriska Jukebox / DFA)
Double-Jay Oolius refuses to abide by typical genre constraints – that’s how he’s / they’ve always been – but never has it felt more comfortable, more natural than on this third full-length volume. While “guitar pop” is as fitting a blanket term as any for the music herein, every aspect is considered, then reconsidered, until the various paths JJulius has taken to get to “guitar pop” are indecipherable. No element is safe from dub effects, from the drums (care of Viagra Boys’s Tor Sjödén) to the Fender Rhodes, the field-recordings, the synth, the sax, the vocals. Never all at once, though – every song has its anchor, be it a syrupy bass-line or school-yard vocal hook, while other instruments fade in and out of focus. This has become the trademark JJulius sound, where the studio mix is having as much fun as the musicians themselves, and it has me imagining Orange Juice, Belle & Sebastian and Arthur Russell sharing a pot of tea at This Heat’s Cold Storage studio, working on an album that they will keep entirely to themselves. I’m not sure what anyone associates with the DFA label anymore, but production has always been high on their list, so it’s no surprise the playfully raw sounds of JJulius have found a steady home there. Vol III might be the most easy-listening experimental album (or most experimental easy-listening album) you catch this year.
Erica Dawn Lyle On Fire 12″ (Half A Million / Feeding Tube)
Layers of meaning can be found in the title to Erica Dawn Lyle’s new EP. Recorded in a time when both Los Angeles and Canada were on fire (okay, one of the many recent times), Lyle dedicated this music to the resilient communities affected, the self-immolating activist Aaron Bushnell, and also Van Halen, whose “On Fire” she interprets as a “hot trans girl anthem”. In practice, this means that Lyle picked up her electric guitar and shredded the hell out of it in a free-wheeling, volcanic approach akin to Bruce Russell and Keiji Haino. The b-side goes even harder, as if Lyle is trying to carry the weight of all of Acid Mothers Temple at once, a prickly choogle running a gauntlet of cattle prods and barbed wire. Both shred-fests are buffered by soft renditions of David Lee Roth’s “On Fire” lyrics, brief cracks of light between dark storm clouds. The second take expands that segment with live drums and a subdued, seasick guitar melody, an ecstatic alt-rock send-off for what was otherwise a scalding pipe-burst of guitar. Even for the most privileged and healthiest of us, it’s been a rough couple of years to process – Lyle’s coping technique of tormenting her guitar and daydreaming about Van Halen lyrics is something worth considering.
Matthew Smith Group Matthew Smith Group LP (Tall Texan)
Look at this Matthew Smith Group, smugly poised like the party of six in line ahead of you for the best brunch in the city. Yeah, I know, I know, it’s at least an extra hour wait because of them… we’ll go somewhere else, thanks. There are probably a million Matthew Smiths wandering the United States right now, but this particular one played in the beloved Detroit rock outfit Outrageous Cherry, and now he’s moving forward with this group under his own name. His ensemble brings an airy touch of fried psychedelia to whimsical paisley pop in the spirit of Pernice Brothers, The Beach Boys and Rain Parade. A ghostly reverb lightly hovers over every sound, bestowing the proceedings with an aura akin to daisies sprouting up alongside train tracks within a mountain tunnel. It was cool to see Chris Pottinger on synth duties (his illustrations are as gloriously mind-bending as his analog noise under the name of Cotton Museum) but he read the room, delivering understated, mellow contributions. At times, it can feel too translucent and lightweight for me to really grasp onto, like powdered sugar in the wind, but when I stop demanding such sober and terrestrial behaviors from Matthew Smith Group’s dreamy indie strum, the satisfaction slowly but surely ensues.
Midnight Mines Feel I’m Slipping Away Now LP (Minimum Table Stacks)
You ever find yourself furious that a song ended? It’s not a sensation I frequently experience, but “Parts & Pieces”, the opening cut on Midnight Mines’ newest album Feel I’m Slipping Away Now, should still be going. It should be the whole LP! An outlier in their repertoire, “Parts & Pieces” locates a firm bed of two-tone ska and splatters and sputters all over it, horns and dubbed-out vocals and whatever else in wild druggy abandon (yet also well-suited for a lively Sunday barbecue). It’s essentially perfect music, and as you can see, I’m still coming to terms with the group’s decision to abandon this style for eight other songs. Thankfully, the rest is cool too – this London-based duo haven’t met a guitar style from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s that they don’t like, or at least like enough to bend, twist and demineralize. You might find some similarities in that manner to The Jesus & Mary Chain, Cindy Lee, Cheater Slicks, Cramps and Black Time (the latter of which shares some sort of personnel with Midnight Mines), though Midnight Mines don’t care if their pyramid of champagne glasses comes tumbling down in a jagged, dangerous mess. It’s a raucous trip through the rusty pipes of party-rock history, though maybe it’ll take an extended twelve-inch “Parts & Pieces” single to calm me down…
Tony Molina On This Day LP (Slumberland / Speakeasy Studios SF)
If you’re at all like me, you expect your baroque indie-pop songsmiths to carry a deep appreciation for the music of Excruciating Terror, which is one of the many reasons why Tony Molina is the greatest pop troubadour of our times. If you’re already familiar with him, I assume that not only are you a fan, you’ve also already been alerted to the release of On This Day, Molina’s newest and most comprehensive album, but if not, I’m excited to share the good news! Molina’s music moves in a few time-tested directions: when electrified, Weezer and/or Guided By Voices (feat. Slash on lead guitar) are clear comparisons, and when acoustic, images swirl of mop-topped Beach Boys and bespectacled Apples In Stereo dancing like sugar plum fairies. On This Day leans towards the latter – sorry, the screaming lead guitar solos are absent – with Molina’s signature under-a-minute song lengths to keep us on our toes. It’s a whirlwind of timeless pop perfection, pared down to the essentials (which should (and does) include bells, Mellotron, piano and trumpet). Fans will rejoice, and newcomers will quickly fall in love for the first time. On a side note, Molina’s rendition of the Shirley Collins-popularized “Just As The Tide Was Flowing” here reminded me of Home Blitz’s version, which has me thinking: is a duet from the two of them too much to ask? For Christmas??
Optic Sink Lucky Number LP (Feel It)
Memphis’s Optic Sink leaned on their countrywide punk network for Lucky Number: Reigning Sound’s Greg Cartwright provided input on the songs, Sweeping Promises’s Caufield Schmug produced the record, and Cincinnati’s Feel It released it unto the world. They certainly seem like a band worth rooting for, ever since Natalie Hoffmann picked up a synth and realized she was making music befitting something other than her minimalist garage-punk group Nots. With Keith Cooper and Ben Bauermeister on bass and additional synth respectively, Lucky Number is poised to be the next step in the group’s evolution. Unfortunately for me, I’m not really vibing with the album, no matter how much I will myself to. The songs are uniformly on the slow side of mid-paced, and Hoffman’s vocals, given a bit more room to stretch out and steal the show, are delivered in a distant, consistent monotone. It’s not particularly different from the Optic Sink approach of prior records, but a song like 2023’s “A Face In The Crowd” has some bite to it, an appealing desperation that’s generally absent from this album. There are some cool playful bass-lines, and plenty of that same-old retro drum-machine sound that we all enjoy, but can you sense me grasping to put a positive spin on Lucky Number? If there’s a catchy hook here, it hasn’t caught me yet, but I’m gonna keep trying – check back in after another dozen spins and see if my tune hasn’t changed.
Out Of The Blue Shut Up Shut Up And A Double Fuck You 7″ (no label)
Is that a Happy Gilmore quote? It’s certainly a robust insult, but I get the impression that new Massachusetts punk band Out Of The Blue are only having a lil’ bit of fun with their debut seven-inch’s title. At least that’s how these three songs hit, a garage-tinged hardcore-punk sound that I’d slide somewhere between the earliest recordings from White Lung and Carbonas. It seems as though they intended to sing these songs but the energy often pushes them over into screams, a dual-vocal attack with stabby guitar and a drummer who plays too skillfully to be recorded this poorly. Tough luck – go join Pink Floyd if that’s what you’re after! Out Of The Blue cover “Up Front” by The Wipers on the b-side – a gold-standard songwriting influence in modern punk rock, to be sure – and I hope they don’t mind me saying that it’s my favorite of the three. They’re legends for good reason, right? In what is exceedingly rare these days, I can’t find any Out Of The Blue presence on the internet after a few dedicated minutes of searching. This is the sort of hot tip that brings you to this corner of the web, though… with a noble tear in my eye, I am here to reveal to you that Out Of The Blue features ex-members of Funeral Cone and Bone Zone. To unlisted regional punk rock, I am but a faithful servant.
Permanent Opposite Permanent Opposite LP (Inscrutable)
Jared Leibowich has built up a pretty substantial body of work over the last fifteen years or so, from The Zoltars to The Infinites, a couple solo albums, and now Permanent Opposite. This one is also a solo album, now with a more enticing moniker than “Jared Leibowich”, and like everything else he’s done, his conspicuous voice guides this little ship through the sea at night. He has a gracious, wearied warble, and it takes us through eleven songs of mild jangle and patient psychedelia, the typical full-band setup studio-assembled. It certainly fits in with Inscrutable’s roster of offbeat indie-pop, as Permanent Opposite is poppy while avoiding typical pop-music behavior. Permanent Opposite adheres to typical Jared Leibowich behavior, however – he’s been toiling with his own form of introverted, melancholic indie music for as long as he’s been putting out records, and Permanent Opposite does not deliver any sort of stylistic jump or unexpected new development. Fine by me! I’m not particularly desperate to hear his personal takes on drum n’ bass or Oi, though if you’re sitting on any unreleased tapes…
Pyrex Slugman 7″ (La Vida Es Un Mus)
Goo-goo g’joob! Brooklyn’s Pyrex head over to the hardcore-for-the-hardcore La Vida Es Un Mus label for a quick EP, confirming that their noise-punk is rubber-stamped by the underground hardcore elite (in addition to rabid celebrators of the Total Punk catalog). Makes sense to me, particularly on these four songs, which rip forward like a Lime scooter straight into the East River. Play to your audience, that’s what I say: no dirges or sadistic cover songs this time around, only four fast cuts that might lead you to believe that Pyrex were raised exclusively on Discharge and Die Kreuzen, not Halo Of Flies and Action Swingers. I probably need to see them live to fully understand Pyrex’s deal, and I’m overdue in making that happen – my understanding is that they’re a trio, and I’m always a little fascinated by aggro punk/hardcore with a lead-singing guitarist. It’s tricky territory, especially when you can just recruit your biggest idiot friend to scream into a bent-up Shure and solve that problem. Pyrex keep it tight though, clenched even, these songs providing not the satisfying release of a well-delivered fart so much as the tense discomfort of holding one in. And now they’ve got a new mascot, if they want one: assuming that’s the Slugman himself on the cover, he’s positively jacked.
William Scott / BJ Armour Peace Makers In The Summer Time LP (Beauty Music)
Studio Route 29 is an art studio / gallery in the lovely burg of Frenchtown, NJ. It’s also the home of the Beauty Music label, which “centers the musical practices of people with intellectual and developmental disabilities”. This collaborative split between visual artists William Scott and BJ Armour is the label’s first physical release, and if you aren’t enamored by these two, I will light a candle for your shriveled heart. Both artists worked with musician Hop Peternell to bring their musical ideas to life, discussing moods, melodies and sonic directions. Peternell put together the instrumentals (guitar, synth, drum machine, computer) and Scott and Armour jumped right in. Scott isn’t shy in front of the mic, as he seems to sing the guitar lick to “Whole Wide World” (which I believe is precisely how Pushead helped write Septic Death songs). Scott’s tracks are nice and slow for the summer heat that I do not currently miss. Armour’s music has more of a youthful touch (in a post-Y2K way), with autotune vocal processing and a sweetly melancholy singing voice that seems to exist squarely in this post-Frank Ocean world. “Swimming In The Spa” goes raw-confessional in a Lil B way, to name another modern visionary invoked by this music. Adorned with a striking William Scott painting on the cover, there’s a sticker on the sleeve that quotes kind words towards BJ Armour’s “Fall Is Coming” from none other than… Vashti Bunyan. We’d have such a beautiful world if we could only get rid of these miserable little fascists running around.
Twenty One Children Twenty One Children 7″ (Slovenly)
For their three-hundredth release(!), the globetrotting Slovenly label finally offers us some African punk. Is Antarctica the only continent they haven’t tapped? From Soweto, South Africa, Twenty One Children are a drums / vocals / guitar trio that sound like they could’ve come from any given Southern Californian suburb in 1983, which is a-ok in my book. Opener “Ice Cube” is one of those punk songs so gloriously simple that it glimpses toward perfection – over a stop/start riff, they shout “today was a good day” before hitting the sing-along chorus of “Ice Cube! Ice Cube! Ice Cube! Ice Cube!”. It’s one of the purest distillations of punk-rock as I understand the form, and you really ought to do yourself a favor and give it a listen. The other three songs are just as rough and ratty, somewhere between that first-wave So Cal sound ala Circle Jerks and the Gilman St. scene that followed some ten years later (ala Corrupted Morals), rambunctiously, joyously amateurish. The guitar tone is cheap-heavy in that SOA No Policy sorta way, all the way through “Looney Bin”, whose lyrics “here I am at the looney bin” are repeated at least a hundred times. Please join me in trying to manifest this scenario: once Greg Ginn ditches his current Black Flag zoomer bandmates, he enlists Twenty One Children to replace them, and they kick him out and only play new material going forward.
Ugnė Uma Strange Love / Someone Call Donna 7″ (Somewhere Press)
It only takes three sonic elements for Ugnė Uma to whip up the thrillingly dour “Rage Love Strange Love”, proving once again that less is more, so long as the less you’re working with bears some element of magic. Her drum machine ticks like a malfunctioning Kit-Cat Klock, her piano chords are barely visible through the unventilated smoke, and her voice is almost comically deep, steeped in the Anohni school of vocal drama. And the only lyrics are the song’s title, over and over! “Rage Love Strange Love II” turns off the clicker and finds her digging deeper into a mournful jazz / R&B style, as if Sade was a mortal human being who hung out with Sam Gendel and Schatterau (Uma in fact has worked with both). For a third distinct flavor, “Someone Call Donna” sets up a downtown NYC funky bass-line with telephone-conversation voice and R&B vocals that waft in through the loft’s open window. Taken as a whole, these three songs are unstoppably charming, the work of a busy mind that never takes an errant step, even if there are footprints scattered all over the place.
Jim White Inner Day LP (Drag City)
As a collaborative drummer, Jim White has given us so much: records from Dirty Three, Venom P. Stinger and The Hard Quartet; tours with Cat Power, Will Oldham and Bill Callahan, to list a few big-name highlights. I first saw White perform with Callahan a few years ago and he nearly stole the show right out from under his bandleader – a more charismatic drum performance I don’t think I’ve seen this side of Han Bennink. So we know he’s good with other people (and on stage), but the man’s internal monologue deserves some time as well, which is what we get with Inner Day, his second solo full-length following last year’s All Hits: Memories. On his typical drum-kit accompanying synths and keys, he doesn’t sound particularly rehearsed, or that he considered what he would be playing before he started playing it. His synths wander, and the drums tend to follow like an off-leash dog on an empty trail, running up ahead, lagging behind, mostly just sniffing around. Inner Day is a daydream meditation in that way, with the exception of “I Don’t Do / Grand Central”, featuring saxophonist Zoh Amba. Apologies to all the other songs released this year, but “I Don’t Do / Grand Central” is my favorite of them all: alongside a calm percussive tumble and hypnotic, Natural Information Society-esque strings, White and Amba interact like Statler and Waldorf, their dialogue inexplicably shifting in and out of the unexpectedly catchy lyrical hook. They’re the odd couple I desperately need in my life, intergenerational true-blue weirdos who just wanna sip coffee on the subway and eat oysters before the gig. I’ve been playing this tune for everyone I know, really sitting them down and making them listen, and if you finish reading this without pulling up the accompanying music video, please understand that you’ve hurt me.
Who’s The Technician? ? LP (Wah Wah Wino)
The latest blink-and-missed Wah Wah Wino release comes from Who’s The Technician?, an unidentified producer whose name you may recall from the label-defining Absolutely Wino compilation (I know I did!). It’s ridiculous that these records are so difficult to come by, as ? is a wild rumpus of live-action techno, as deliriously fun as the rest of the label’s 2025 releases – they should be teaching this stuff in public school, not limiting it to whoever is online within the first fifteen minutes of it hitting digital shops. Anyway, for those of us lucky enough to hear these tracks one way or another, the charm quickly soothes those gripes. The general template is an athletic, all-hands-on-deck sort of acid techno, frequently enhanced by what sounds like an Otamatone (that child-friendly Japanese mouth-sound synth shaped like a music note). It’s an addition that immediately cracks techno’s seriousness to pieces, as Who’s The Technician? is in fast pursuit of fun no matter how many pretentious brows are raised and/or furrowed. “I’m A Klepto” might be my favorite of the bunch, its gnarled vocal line recalling something grown in Beau Wanzer’s dungeon laboratory, but the whole thing is gold, ending with the self-explanatory “Live Excerpt OE Festival – Sherkin Island, Co.Cork ’18”, which offers an intimate glimpse into Who’s The Technician? live gigs. Spoiler alert: it sounds nuts.
Yu Su Foundry / Bonita 12″ (Short Span)
Yu Su has been a premier name in the ever-expanding field of ambient dub-techno since the mid ’10s, and for good reason. EPs like Preparations For Departure and Roll With The Punches are as unique and fresh now as when they came out, all signs pointing to Yu Su as a restlessly creative spirit. Now on this new twelve-inch single, the copy references her Polyphonic Eating series(!?), what is described as “a transformative approach experimenting with modern culinary environments”(?!) – see what I mean about the restless creativity? She’s apparently out there thinking deep about music and food, and while I could’ve gone for more of her ruminative ambient electronics, she goes and throws us two club bangers instead – precisely what I didn’t know I needed. “Foundry” sashays into view with some upstroke hi-hats, 8-bit synths simultaneously tooting / swirling and a delirious pulse. Mid-paced with plenty of bounce, I can picture her deploying this at one of her non-culinary engagements to the delight of dance-floor crowds. “Bonita” is a little chillier – if I can picture the vegetables dancing in her fridge to “Foundry”, I’m now picturing the contents of her freezer vogueing in line. It’s downtempo but not to the point of total relaxation, even if those ice-drip melodies hit like the strongest peppermint candy allowed on the market. I’m not trying to butt in and offer her menu suggestions for the next Polyphonic Eating event, but if she’s asking…
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