Ceremony Live At The Hollywood Palladium 2xLP (Relapse)
I wonder if Ceremony backed themselves into a corner by writing what is surely the greatest hardcore-punk intro of this millennium. How can they open with anything else? Live albums are traditionally the territory of grandiose rock-stars, the bloated playgrounds of Peter Frampton and KISS, but the way that Ceremony builds “Sick” into a buzzing fever pitch, practically demanding the explosiveness of No Justice’s last show? The ostentatious presentation of a lavish gatefold double-LP is well deserved. For this career-pinnacle of a gig, Ceremony ran through their definitive Rohnert Park album in full (followed by an encore of other catalog highlights), reminding us that familiar, simple chord progressions can be spun into hardcore gold with the perfect combination of personality, chutzpah, point of view and vocal expressiveness. I would be hard pressed to name a better hardcore-punk album of 2010 (though by all means, let’s have that conversation), and these songs haven’t lost any of their sing-along compulsivity over time, as evidenced by the roaring crowd. The band appears awed by the audience’s overwhelming response, and vice versa; it was surely a memorable night for all parties. Though vocalist Ross Farrar has far less snarl in his throat here at the Palladium (is it true he’s gotten into, gulp, clean living??), these songs have claimed their spot within the perennial hardcore canon, much as I expect Keith Morris to be belting out “Beverly Hills” and “Deny Everything” when he’s Marshall Allen’s age.

Diagonale Des Yeux Madeleine LP (Knekelhuis)
Among so many bland electro-pop spreads, Diagonale Des Yeux is an ominous chunk of Roquefort. The French duo consists of Panoptique and Eye (aka Laurène Exposito, not the Boredoms bandleader), both of whom got up to plenty of entertaining electronic (or should I say electronique) escapades on their own prior to joining forces. The chemistry is undeniable on Madeleine, an album that plays with post-punk convention like feline with feather teaser. Across twelve tracks, they take us through every cluttered room of the avant-pop no-wave post-punk charity shop. “Baby Buddha” is straight-up guitar and drums indie-pop; “Le Rayon Orchidée” is dazed synth-wave, like Mary Moor’s “Pretty Day” drunk on love letters; the title track allows weird keys(?) to plink and plonk all over a schoolyard vocal melody and insistent synth pattern – it reeks of covert Pierre Bastien involvement. It’s unbridled, infectious fun, open to ideas that more self-serious artists would never consider. “Cherry Ann” feels like Chrisma (and nothing ever really feels like Chrisma), a homespun take on the winking glam of La Düsseldorf with Autobahn vocals… it’s a peculiar glee. If your wardrobe has been all black for years, Madeleine might give you a reason to reconsider the joy of color.

Eternal Music Society Eternal Music Society LP (Knotwilg)
Hard to think of a more fertile environment for guitar-centric experimental music than the cities of Göteborg and Malmö, a connective scene from which countless configurations of like-minded artists have spawned over the past decade or so. Case in point: Eternal Music Society is a recent quartet (drums / drums / guitar / bass) whose members span a wide variety of projects. This includes not only two Andreases (Malm and Johansson) but one Sofie Herner as well, whose group Neutral (and solo-project Leda) are responsible for some of my favorite post-industrial music, this era or any. With both goodwill and high expectations, I have to admit that Eternal Music Society isn’t doing it for me. They purposely take the extended no-change techniques of France and Water Damage (and in the latter’s case, cop a similar multi-drummer presentation) and apply it to four simplistic patterns. I generally love songs with two notes or less, but “Plain” hits like something Earth would’ve left on the cutting room floor for their Pentastar album. It limps along until “Can’t Heat” (excellent title!) shuffles into place, teasing out a Fugazi-esque progression in the manner of Moin, only longer and far less dynamic. Same goes for “Unknown Voltage”, like a worn-out vinyl copy of Unwound’s Fake Train caught in a skip. “23 Is Eternal” goes into hiding for a full fifteen minutes, the twinkle of a Mogwai intro left unresolved. I like the concept here, I can just point to other current artists who make more of a meal of it. I hope they’re securing their bag, though – why pay to fly all of Water Damage over for your avant European music festival when Eternal Music Society can take the train?

King Slender There Is Your Image In Light LP (Immigrant Sun / Dancing Rabbit / Tor Johnson / Far From Home / Oliver Glenn)
It’s 2026 and the emotional-hardcore territory once held by Beatle/Spock haircuts has been supplanted by bald heads with greying beards. The shocking twist: these are some of the same men, only older. King Slender’s music hearkens back to that More Than Music Fest era without trying to fit into those old clothes; it’s a thoughtful and honest form of hardcore that values honesty and thought over much anything else. Not quite screamo but certainly Ebullition-friendly, King Slender use jagged-edge riffs that push, pull and spasm in ways that remind me of Yaphet Kotto, Funeral Diner and Universal Order Of Armageddon. King Slender never fully lose control in a fall-on-the-floor convulsion, nor do they ever give in to the cowardly temptation of pop hooks; the group prefers to tread a brooding middle ground that simmers between melody and aggression, one third Dischord and two thirds Level Plane. As per hardcore’s prevailing ethos, it’s a communal affair, from three of four band members contributing vocals (cat got your tongue, guitarist Justin LaBarge??) to the five different labels that put together this handsome package. If I ever become a ‘colored vinyl guy’ please notify my treating physician, but the vinyl’s opaque black / translucent green swirl echos the cover’s impressionistic swimming hole beautifully.

Bill Nace Plays The 2-String Taishogoto LP (Three Lobed / Open Mouth)
The charm of Bill Nace’s duo album with Evan Parker, Branches, is not unlike holding a lit match until it singes your fingertips, but I knew I wanted a definitive, stand-alone Bill Nace taishogoto record. Unmistakable by its title, here it is! I’ve seen Nace play his taishogoto probably as much as I’ve seen him play a guitar at this point, and this long-player lives up to those thrilling live performances (some of the most exciting improvised music I’ve witnessed from a seated (non-drumming) performer, to be sure). On “Over/Under”, Nace offers an extended improvisation over a bed of warped morse-code (looped from his taishogoto as well). Don’t let the unfamiliar instrument name fool you – Nace shreds like Keiji Haino with his toes caught in a mousetrap for a good seventeen minutes, his fiery tone akin to the liberating torture techniques of acid psych. It never gets boring; I’d liken it to that brief moment of psychedelic transcendence described by people who’ve eaten entire ghost peppers (before the hyperventilating kicks in). “One For Susan Alcorn” takes a more grueling physical path, relying not on a loop but his own repetitive tapping to whip up a divine locomotive. Nace has talked about playing with time as a sonic element, and I can see that factoring into his thought process here, his self-inflicted carpal tunnel syndrome a worthy trade-off for this meditative piece dedicated to the beloved late pedal-steel virtuoso.

Out. Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Songs LP (Noise Pollution)
When Noise Pollution released Out.’s sole album back in 1997, you could learn more about the label by typing http://www.win.net/noise/pollution.html into your Netscape desktop web browser; we really, truly didn’t know how good we had it back then. Now it’s nearly thirty years later, and though Noise Pollution have since upgraded to their own domain, they’ve decided to re-release Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Songs for the first time on vinyl. I wasn’t familiar with the Louisville group beforehand, but I can understand how this album might’ve lodged itself in the hearts (and sun-visor CD holders) of those in its immediate orbit for years after. They arrived here mischievous and animated, tearing into their mechanic-shirt punk in the vein of Gas Huffer and New Bomb Turks. Even at this early juncture, Out. were more dynamic than some of their peers, finding a way to work the Danzig-esque “Sing While The World Sinks” into their repertoire with the confidence it demands. While I can picture Out. wandering the train tracks after dark, their sound only ever flirts with the blues, avoiding some of the more cartoonish, poorly-aging aspects you might find on a Devil Dogs or Gotohells release. I was saddened to learn that both vocalist Chad Donnelly and bassist Tony Bailey have passed on since Somebody Done Somebody Wrong Songs first came out, but it’s clear they aren’t forgotten.

Miles J Paralysis Don’t Forget The Ritual 12″ ([Emotional] Especial)
Dr. J Paralysis dropped one of my favorite sing-along downtempo house tracks last year with “Where Do We Come From?”, and this new four-track EP follows that thread for more freaky fun. Slung low and casual, these four tracks coast with nary a foot on the gas, the sharply-fashioned vocal samples burning only the necessary calories. “It’s Only Shadows Talking” is a digi-stepper with echo-drunk vocals straight from the booth; the title track flips a trip-hop break into the spooky fun of a suburban haunted house. The grooves are unfussy and memorable, calling back to the innovative, personality-filled productions of Gene Hunt and Shake Shakir, whereas the atmosphere is unsettling and mildly demented in a way that reminds me of Kool Keith’s run from Sex Style through Spankmaster. “The Delicate Fairytale” isn’t fit for any club I’m aware of, unless there’s an after-hours spot that plays sleazy B-movies with the sound on while a disinterested DJ chain-smokes near the decks in a Jason mask. If such a place does exist, I bet Beau Wanzer is not only the resident DJ, he probably already has “The Delicate Fairytale” all cued up.

Shane Parish Autechre Guitar LP (Palilalia)
To a certain contingent, the title of this record sells itself: Autechre’s inscrutable electronic compositions, as performed on solo guitar. Anyone familiar with the groundbreaking UK duo, and at least a couple people familiar with the guitar, will want to hear what fingerpicking acoustic adventurer Shane Parish has done here, and I can’t imagine many will leave disappointed. The melodic heart at the center of Autechre’s music has long been shrouded in stainless steel, heat-resistant thermoplastics and plastic-coated wires, but Parish, through some painstaking methodology I cannot fathom, transcribed ten of their tracks to be performed on the acoustic guitar, complex compositions re-communicated via six strings and ten fingers. While there isn’t as much top-string drone or as many rollicking patterns as I’m used to hearing from skilled fingerpickers, these tracks are easy on the ears all the same. The melodies might not be as familiar as a collection of Fahey standards, but they don’t buzz or shrill with the digital discordance I’ve come to relish from Autechre’s catalog, either. To be fair, I did not check Parish’s work – he could’ve pulled a fast one on all of us and improvised these pieces over a long holiday weekend and slapped Autechre’s name on it. Who would really know? It’d be an experimental hoodwinking of the highest order, but I’m confident that Parish has not betrayed our trust, and that fellow pioneering guitarist Bill Orcutt, who released this album on his Palilalia label, confirmed the feat’s authenticity. Or has he…

Pedestal Pedestal LP (Concentric Circles)
That grey-area Gee Gee Decorator reissue from 2023 confirmed for me that the well of fully-obscure post-punk gems will never run dry – if that insane thrill-ride can exist undiscovered for decades, who knows what else is still lurking on an unlabeled tape or sleeveless seven-inch? One of the brightest recent offerings comes in the form of Concentric Circles’ reissue of a 1984 cassette from Los Angelean duo Pedestal. Erik and Rachel Mueller (your guess is as good as mine: siblings or spouses?) nailed that sort of nerdy, non-macho no-wave style that I find irresistible. Relying heavily on the tacky sounds of the Clavinet, their songs shake with the art-school energies of Essendon Airport and Stick Men. Rachel Mueller’s voice is distracted and unimpressed in timeless post-punk fashion, and she leaves plenty of open space for the jittery sharp-turns that comprise these delightful songs. The Inflatable Boy Clams EP is already on 45 RPM, but if you can pitch it up as far as your Technics will allow, that might resemble the Systematics-meets-Algebra Suicide sound that Pedestal so deftly conjure here. If it wasn’t for the funky bass-playing (warning: there is occasional slapping), this music would be indistinguishable from the best of its contemporary twenty-something practitioners, but considering certain egg-punks’ race to be the goofiest dorks possible, I wouldn’t be surprised if Pedestal are simply ahead of that upcoming curve.

re:ni & BiggaBush Bass Is The Space 12″ (Ilian Tape)
You’re going to want to google a photo of re:ni and BiggaBush in case you don’t believe me when I tell you they’re the first father/daughter digi-dub production duo to grace these pages. But not the last, hopefully? Do not fear a gimmicky record: you should trust the Zenker brothers enough to know that their Ilian Tape label isn’t in the business of releasing novelties. It only took me one spin of the title track before I was fully on board, as it’s one of the most imaginative takes on dub techno I’ve heard in a minute. The duo amputated a pile of classic dub-reggae drum fills from their original forms in order to deploy them at random intervals, drenched in echo for a wicked-yet-soothing dub hallucination. I tend to rinse “Bass Is The Space” on repeat, but the whole EP is great. “Mae Uprising” slinks with the prowess of a jungle predator and the glistening touch of Hessle Audio’s post-dubstep highlights. Farda P lends his end-rhyming lines to a spry shuffle on “Death By Dubplate”, redolent of Kode9’s collaborations with The Space Ape sans the dark sci-fi leanings, and while I am already completely satiated (and considering running back “Bass Is The Space” one more time), “BigLozTek” wants me to feel its Basic Channel-esque dub pressure, effects colliding like asteroids. I don’t want to suggest that Dennis Rodman should utilize electronic dub music to repair his fractured relationship with soccer-star daughter Trinity Rodman, but… has he tried it?

Rocky & The Sweden Punks Pot Head LP (Relapse)
Congratulations to Rocky & The Sweden for thirty years of speedy hardcore-punk, but more importantly, congrats for thirty years of weed-parody groaners par excellence. After God Save The Green, City Baby Attacked By Buds and Total Hard Core (it’s “THC”, get it?), Punks Pot Head is the pinnacle – there is no topping the deliriously stupid joy once you get the title (and I’ll be honest – it took me half a second). They’ve even got the obligatory skeleton riding a grasshopper through rows of marijuana plants on the cover, because grass-hopper, duh! Maybe weed is different in Japan, because I generally wouldn’t associate it with the high levels of energy that burst from Punks Pot Head. Certain flourishes can lean in the direction of classic ’70s riffmasters ala Thin Lizzy and Deep Purple, but Rocky & The Sweden’s songs are played in a high-speed acrobatic style akin to Lipcream, RKL, Toast and SNFU, staying true to the ’90s era of fast hardcore from which they first arrived. As should be clear, Rocky & The Sweden aren’t taking themselves too seriously, which might explain some aspect of their longevity as a band. If the whole point is to get high and rock out with your friends while brainstorming the next unadvisable weed pun, I fail to see why you’d ever want to stop.

Rump State Psychic Sidekick LP (12XU)
Rump State’s 2023 full-length debut never seemed to make it to the States, or at least that’s my excuse for failing to obtain a copy in spite of my desires. Thankfully the tireless non-union employees of 12XU have brought us the follow-up, Psychic Sidekick. Fair’s fair, seeing as this is a half-American, half-Norwegian duo consisting of Mark Morgan (of Sightings) and Gaute Granli. Rump State successfully merges their talents, a suite of warped guitar tangents, pulsing fragments of loops and subdued vocals. If you’ve been following the videos Mark Morgan posts on Instagram (I say “if”, but of course you have!), you’ll recognize his distinctive tones here, full of reverse-delay effects and further unconventional manners of guitar-processing that elude my understanding. He makes his guitar sound like bees swarming a hive inside the engine of a Ford Focus, and Granli knows just what to do with that sort of sound: add his own demented loops and vocals in the spirit of Ghédalia Tazartès (were he a precocious choir boy). Morgan adds his vocals to the mix as well, his singing voice displaying a working knowledge of Alan Vega and Scott Walker but not to be mistaken for either. It’s noise, but exuberant and easy on the ears, avoiding harsh feedback and greyscale static in favor of the juicier fruits out on the harder to reach branches. Weird, but delicious.

Sleep Paralysis A Visitor’s Soundtrack LP (Feel It)
A foreboding start to Feel It’s 2026, care of Sleep Paralysis’s mysterious side-long improvisations. Try as I might, I can’t figure out who is behind this project – Feel It’s not saying, and the associated Bandcamp page’s only clue comes from Iowa as the project’s stated location. Could be related to Feel It darlings Why Bother? (they recorded at the same studio), or maybe (hopefully) Slipknot, but whatever the case, A Visitor’s Soundtrack is a free-form outlier in Feel It’s punk-centered discography. Regardless of who is responsible, I never expected sleep paralysis to sound like an after-hours trip through ESP Disk’s hallowed halls of improvised percussion and synths. The drums are propulsive yet analytical, and the Moog explores the retro-futurist sounds that have dazzled and horrified audiences since the instrument’s inception into public life. The instruments play off each other to some degree, but more often than not come across as two different streams of thought simultaneously deployed, reliant on the assumption that free-jazz percussion and improv synths pair well together regardless of what is happening. That assumption is a safe one – Sleep Paralysis are far livelier than the name implies, a flying saucer ready to abduct all your Esquivel records and burn them for fuel.

Station Model Violence Station Model Violence LP (Static Shock / Anti Fade)
Great expectations are a curse, but every now and then, even in this precise reality we’re living in, our optimistic hopes are rewarded. Such is certainly the case with Station Model Violence’s debut album! Even at this early juncture, I can say with confidence that it’ll be celebrated by freaks and scholars as one of the best and brightest releases of the year. The group features Dan “DX” Stewart on vocals (singing in the same world-wearied register as he did for Total Control) with Buz Clatworthy handling guitars and the bulk of songwriting duties. I can confirm that the bedrock aesthetic inspiration DX lays out in his illuminating and entertaining write-up for the record rings true (Iggy Pop at the beach describing Neu! as “pastoral psychedelicism” – I won’t spoil it all for you), though this isn’t a band operating in modes of replication so much as constructing their own world from the ground up, each piece carefully considered no matter how small or insignificant. Their formula prioritizes rapid and unbroken drum patterns (not four-on-the-floor… more like eight-no-dead-weight) and a foundational note or chord trained to take a beating, alongside sheets of guitars running through scales with abandon, synths oozing human fluids and even a horn section when necessary. With so much sonic information, one could expect these songs to buckle under their own weight, but there’s a litheness, a drugged-yet-alert energy that cracks through Station Model Violence like stolen fireworks. It also sounds deeply Australian in a way that I don’t think Station Model Violence themselves can even recognize, nor should they. If not already clear – highest recommendation!

Twisted Teens Blame The Clown LP (Chain Smoking)
You might hear the terms “folk-punk”, “oogle”, “old-time rock n’ roll” or even “countrified” used in reference to New Orleans’ Twisted Teens. You might notice one of them wearing clown makeup in the cover. You might question the usefulness, in your adult age, of any new band with “Teens” in their name. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, these are red-flag warning signs worth heeding, but I’m here to tell you that Twisted Teens’ more-or-less debut album Blame The Clown is an absolute must-hear! I hesitate to say that it’ll become a staple punk-rock comfort food, one of those timeless front-to-back albums alongside Rocket To Russia and Blood Visions and Guitar Romantic and GI, but my immediate and sustained feelings are in harmony with Jeff Goldblum when he first saw that brachiosaurus munching in a grassy clearing. (“He did it. That crazy son of a bitch, he did it.”) I’ll throw another ugly word out – “soulful” – but Blame The Clown‘s arrival reminds me of when the Royal Headache debut appeared out of equally thin air, where I didn’t realize I needed a Billy Joel-ified melodic punk band (but I certainly did). Twisted Teens are as charming and as exceptional songwriters as Royal Headache, delivering the perfect synthesis of home-spun egg-punk signifiers (drum machines, ambient noise, weird overdubs, etc.), memorable, forceful hooks, and plenty of joyful rock n’ roll energy. Caspian Hollywell’s vocals are the winning key, his gruff, reaching-for-the-note delivery some sort of hard-earned, Gulf Coast mix of Bruce “The Boss” Springsteen and Tom Smith of To Live And Shave In LA (underrated only by the unfortunate people who’ve yet to hear To Live And Shave In LA). Even if you end up losing some of your closest friends to overall-clad train-hopping because of this record, the collateral damage is worth the reward.