{"id":16085,"date":"2026-07-15T03:52:38","date_gmt":"2026-07-15T11:52:38","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/?p=16085"},"modified":"2026-07-15T04:15:58","modified_gmt":"2026-07-15T12:15:58","slug":"reviews-mid-july-2026","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/?p=16085","title":{"rendered":"Reviews – mid July 2026"},"content":{"rendered":"

City Dragon<\/span><\/strong> Smokes And Mirrors<\/em> LP (Bruit Direct)
\nParisian trickster Max Kaario empties out his junk drawer as City Dragon, offering thirty tracks in thirty-four minutes with Smokes And Mirrors<\/i>. Or, if not an actual junk drawer, at least a pile of unlabeled USB sticks, full of half-remembered ditties, acoustic noise-improv, cheap keyboards mixed liked rocket engines, incomprehensible off-key singing, domestic clatter and layers of itchy effects dropped like water balloons on essentially every track. It seems City Dragon has tried every method of ruffling the good taste of middlebrow society he could conceive of here, if sometimes only for a minute or so. I prefer the jarring flurries of unfamiliar and unexpected noise to the purposely-bad singing, though much like a bag of kitchen trash, there’s no separating the individual pieces that inhabit Smokes And Mirrors<\/i> from each other: your hand is going to get sticky no matter what you’re trying to pull from it. Reminds me of something Yamatsuka Eye would randomly release on a street-corner without warning… preposterous music from the margins. I’m not sure it even makes sense to its creator, but who said anything about making sense anyway? This is a Bruit Direct joint. <\/p>\n

The Drags<\/span><\/strong> Set Right Fit To Blow Clean Up<\/em> LP (Total Punk)
\nTotal Punk continue their self-appointed mission to dredge up all the Drags albums for reassessment, and I for one am glad they did. The Drags weren’t a group I really thought about in their heyday or since, but I’m kicking myself for having missed out on Set Right Fit To Blow Clean Up<\/i> until now. Their third and final full-length is an absolutely wicked brew, starting in trashed-out garage-punk but boiling over into a variety of dangerous directions, clearly too combustible to sustain. It sounds like someone is accidentally sitting on a theremin for the duration of this album, which would be a wild enough distraction on its own, but it competes with a constant stream of sweat-soaked guitar solos and amp-scalding riffs. It’s bonkers, especially when considering the dark period of underground rock in which it arrived (1999). Imagine Nebula, Mudhoney and The Hospitals all crammed into a station wagon with their gear and a bag of Comets On Fire’s speed – even with four dudes stuffed in the windowless trailer, someone has to ride on the roof. Really, truly blows my mind how great this record is, so far beyond the typically conservative retro-garage moves of its time. “Modern Man” goes so hard on the harmonica that I can only assume C.J. Stritzel accidentally swallowed it following that take. I wonder if you can still hear it in his esophagus when he laughs. <\/p>\n

Eddy Current Suppression Ring<\/span><\/strong> In Light Of Recent Events<\/em> LP (Suppression)
\nAs proof that the world isn’t all bad, Eddy Current Suppression Ring have shaken off the dust of the 2010s and the early 2020s, now playing shows with increasing frequency and offering up their fifth full-length album, released on the band’s own Suppression Records. It’s like the reassuring hand of a loved one on your shoulder, this gentlemanly garage-rock band that has more of a trademarked sound than pretty much any of their peers, thanks to the inventively-colloquial riffs of guitarist Mikey Young and the guileless lyrics and vocals of Brendan Huntley. I don’t think they’ll ever top Primary Colours<\/i> as far as pound-for-pound hook-laden glory is concerned, but this is a band that has never been engaged in competition, even with themselves. These new songs are as disarming and tender as newborn babies, with Huntley going misty and nostalgic (“Turtle”, “Swimming Hole”, “Past And Future”) while crowdsurfing like he’s still in his twenties. “Swimming Hole” is the insta-classic – you just know The Chats looked up to Eddy Current because of songs like this – but my favorite is “Empathetic”, thanks to Huntley’s stupefying vocal performance. He repeats single words over and over like Tom Green doing an impression of Axl Rose covering Flipper’s “Ha Ha Ha”. I’m filing it away in my “exuberant Eddy Current moments” folder, which was already bursting at its seam.<\/p>\n

Fake Dust<\/span><\/strong> Decrepitizing Din Of The Cerebral Psyopticon<\/em> LP (Iron Lung)
\nOh a decrepitizing din indeed! Precisely when I assumed grind-core had given me all it could give (which, for the record, is already a life-affirming abundance), Iron Lung went and released what is in serious contention for best grind-core album of the 2020s, Fake Dust’s Decrepitizing Din Of The Cerebral Psyopticon<\/i>. It’s a masterclass, really: this relatively new Portland band read the grind-core playbook from cover to cover and didn’t simply memorize it, they had each word trepanned into their skulls. The father, son and holy spirit (Discordance Axis, Arsedestroyer and AC) are communally summoned to perfection, with a whirlwind of immaculate blast-beats, technical riffs that are too down-tuned and muddy to tell what’s happening, and a vocalist with two settings: acid shrieks and guttural barks. Truly the definition of sonic brutality! Drummer Brennan Butler is just too good – at this level of talent, he probably has his own popular YouTube or TikTok “drum channel” – but rather than fall into anything lofty, divergent, gimmicky or (gasp) musical, Fake Dust are devoted to true underground grind-core as an ethos and practice, bringing a single tear to the eye of every last member of Napalm Death, all three hundred of them. It’s enough to scare the carbonation right out of a case of Liquid Death (Grimm Thrashberry flavor).<\/p>\n

Googoosh Dolls<\/span><\/strong> A1000<\/em> LP (Drifting Boat)
\nFor a cheap laugh, Ariyan Basu and Ramin Rahni referenced the immortal Iranian pop-star Googoosh in the name of their intermittent dance-music project, and that same cheeky-yet-benevolent attitude is present in their music, which celebrates Y2K Iranian banquet tunes by retooling them for today’s metropolitan cognoscenti. Rendered almost entirely on the Yamaha PSR-A1000 workstation, Googoosh Dolls craft high-energy party music with distinctly Middle Eastern melodies and syncopations, ready to electrify any given family reunion or wedding reception in Tehran or its global diaspora. One gets the sense from A1000<\/i>‘s rigorous, meticulous design that Basu and Rahni could be making Autechre tracks if they wanted to, but they apply that precision to gaudy pads and ostentatious thrills, the sort of full-throttle, keyboard-controlled jams that might inspire Legowelt to dunk his head in the punchbowl. As a bonus, they share their process via “keyboard playthrough” videos on Instagram, textured in the style of ’80s VHS music lessons with a similar A\/V sensibility to my beloved Torn Hawk. At six tracks and over thirty minutes, you’ll break a sweat just sitting in place with A1000<\/i> cranked, not only because the air conditioning has been on the fritz, but also from those last few dazzling minutes of “Movement”, where the music transcends higher than any of us could have thought possible. <\/p>\n

Iceage<\/span><\/strong> For Love Of Grace & The Hereafter<\/em> LP (Mexican Summer \/ Escho)
\nPost-punk princes Iceage have hit album number six, once a nearly inconceivable feat considering the feral recklessness with which they first appeared. For those of us who first fell in love with New Brigade<\/i> and the scowling youths that made it, that image of Iceage is an everlasting one, akin to Jonathan Taylor Thomas – sure, we logically understand that he’s a grown-up now, even if the idea<\/i> of that doesn’t make any sense. I’ve enjoyed all the Iceage records I’ve heard (though admittedly spent the least amount of time with 2021’s gospel-choir-enhanced Seek Shelter<\/i>), and appreciate that they’re still self-serious enough to agree on For Love Of Grace & The Hereafter<\/i> as an album title. They’ve long since aged out of their youth-center flailing fury and into the Bad Seeds-esque sport-coat-sex-god whiskey bar (it suits them too!), and with this new one they settle into what might be their easiest listening yet, tailored closer towards American indie-rock of all things (not that you’d ever catch them<\/i> wearing sneakers on stage). While I’ve seen this album’s similarities to Pavement suggested and concurred with, I’m hearing it as their timely spin on the newish crop of Madchester-genuflecting indie ala Fontaines DC and Shame (and to a lesser extent, Dazy and Geese?) alongside the secret-weapon influence of Sort Sol’s jangly cow-punk (whose songs they’ve covered and ex-members they continue to work alongside). Disco beats and snare-rolls used as rhythms (not accents), manic “do do do”s, post-punk funky guitars… it’s all that Elias R\u00f8nnenfelt needs in order to shine like the too-sexy stepson of Conor Oberst and Tim Armstrong. These sly devils are going to age like Keith Richards, aren’t they?<\/p>\n

Ruth Mascelli & Mary Hanson Scott<\/span><\/strong> Esoteric Lounge Music Now<\/em> LP (Disciples)
\nI appreciate the urgency here: who wants to wait around for esoteric lounge music?? You might recognize Ruth Mascelli as one of the more mild-mannered members of Special Interest, and their ketamine-flavored sensuality is a perfect match for the soothing reeds of Mary Hanson Scott. Together they make narcoleptic, fiendish trip-hop in that Coil sorta way, a calming resort getaway with champagne sweating in the ice bucket, satin sheets on the bed and, if you pan out a little further, a gimp in heavy rubber bondage quietly laying on a nearby tarp. Certain songs, like “Vaseline Lens” and “The Fool”, go down so smoothly that their intoxicating properties can sneak up on you, like that gummy you forgot you ate an hour ago. Hanson Scott’s horns are the guiltiest culprit, as she adds a new-age jazz flair to Mascelli’s low-lit synths and nonchalant drum loops to makes the affair irresistible. In its own way, Esoteric Lounge Music Now<\/i> subtly queers up Air’s Virgin Suicides<\/i> score, Thievery Corporation and some Badalamenti, freeing those gloomy dream-sounds from a humdrum heterosexuality. Kinda surprised they didn’t throw in at least one<\/i> downtempo dance-floor banger here, but I get it: dancing is a vertical practice, whereas Esoteric Lounge Music Now<\/i> is primed for horizontal behavior. <\/p>\n

Nirosta Steel<\/span><\/strong> My Skyscraper<\/em> 2xLP (ULYSSA)
\nTruly fascinating document here from Mexico’s ULYSSA label: a definitive (at least for the moment) collection from one Steven Hall AKA Nirosta Steel. Let’s get the record nerd bat-signal out of the way first – Nirosta Steel was a long-time friend and collaborator of Arthur Russell (who appears both physically and spiritually throughout this collection), and if you’ve been longing for more of Russell’s non-discriminatory technicolor approach to art and life in general, this collection offers a shockingly fresh abundance. Nirosta Steel’s range is as varied and omnivorous as Russell’s, as you’ll encounter downtown mutant funk, low-lit acoustic balladry, red-wine pop-rock, avant glam and party sleaze here, and if you’re like me, you’ll be shook on two fronts: how it’s so good and how you haven’t heard it before. I can’t speak to the lack of Nirosta Steel’s recorded output, as he’s only been commercially releasing music in tiny editions since the 2010s; not sure what took him four decades, but regardless, My Skyscraper<\/i> is far better late than never. I go crazy for the glam-funk of “Lost In Music” and shed a tear for “Go For The Night” (co-written by Russell), with images of pop’s fallen, forgotten and beloved superstars racing through my mind, from Patrick Cowley to Ariel Pink to Bruno Mars to Steve Hiett to Tatsuro Yamashita. And I haven’t even discussed the two extra-long acoustic strummers on side C; the label throws the term “Buddhist bubblegum” at them and I’d say it sticks. What a talent – I feel like I’ve been listening to this non-stop for days and have yet to appreciate the full depth of My Skyscraper<\/i>.<\/p>\n

No Peeling<\/span><\/strong> EP2<\/em> 7″ (Feel It \/ Wrong Speed)
\nNo Peeling wrote seven songs for their debut seven-inch EP and have now written seven more for this follow-up – you cannot deny their commitment to value. One could comfortably file this Nottingham group under the ever-expanding tent that is egg-punk, though connoisseurs like you and I could pick them out in a lineup of lanky guys with mullet-mustache combos and women in homemade miniskirts and day-glo tights (nerdy glasses and dangly earrings on the lot of them). No Peeling offer a distinctive approach, writing songs with rhythms that can’t be casually bopped along with, almost Melt Banana-esque in nature: riffs change abruptly, drum patterns rarely last more than a bar and the songs themselves seem eager to crack up with an abundance of energy, all signs of today’s baseline attention-deficit. If they weren’t so tight, their songs might be harder to cling onto, but No Peeling perform as a single-celled germ and are equally contagious. Each snare hit is perfectly matched by the strings; same goes for the vocal melodies with the synths. The debut EP had a bit more squeal to it, whereas these songs tend to lean ever so slightly towards a more digestible pop polish, due in no small part to vocalist Sophie Diver. She sounds effortlessly chic and in control no matter how nutty her bandmates get – when they tie her shoelaces together, she slips them off without looking down or missing a step. <\/p>\n

Patois Counselors<\/span><\/strong> Protection Racket<\/em> LP (Ever\/Never)
\nThe Patois Counselors in my mind are perpetually locked in the raucous jangle of “Repeat Offender”, “Terrible Likeness” and “Probably No One”. That can happen with bands we love; we unintentionally freeze them in an old moment that continues to resonate. Of course, the real<\/i> Patois Counselors have continued to evolve into something more tender, less upbeat… they’ve always been mature for their age, but that maturity is even more outwardly visible in Protection Racket<\/i>, their fourth full-length. I’m almost tempted to describe it as sounding “defeated”, but that implies a hopelessness that I’m not necessarily hearing – let’s just say that Patois Counselors have expertly assessed our current situation, and their conclusions are less than desirable. Across slower tempos and smoother melodies, they tackle modernity’s most pressing concerns with wit and acuity, both overt (“Cop City”) and nuanced (“Generational Riffs”). I still love their earliest material (a provocative Men’s Recovery Project sticker on a Parquet Courts guitar), but I’m settling into the subtleties and refinements of Protection Racket<\/i> easily, something closer to Protomartyr spending a late night at Pere Ubu’s loft (and look, label-mate Richard Papiercuts just arrived with some top-shelf gin). Patois Counselors still have poison in their veins, it’s just that they’ve come up with some new life-hacks to keep from visibly frothing at the mouth.<\/p>\n

Poguba<\/span><\/strong> No\u010d<\/em> 7″ (Autsajder Produkcija)
\nThere tends to be a manic chill inherent to Central European strains of hardcore-punk; it can often sound like music made by people locked in an industrial freezer who scrape the metal walls with their fingernails to escape. It’s an alluring vibe (and an undoubtedly authentic one), and Slovenia’s Paguba channel it here and now with No\u010d<\/i>, their vinyl debut following two cassettes from last year. None of these six songs hit the two-minute mark, but their brevity does not translate to formlessness – a lot happens within these songs, the work of a band that can portray their strained, wit’s-end emotions through a few different hardcore-punk tactics. Much of it sounds like Die Kreuzen’s self-titled album hosed down with that Central European iciness, no doubt. The opening title track, “Tank” and “Darila” bring a merciless, herky-jerk speed to their frustrated grumble, like a pestilent creature freshly awoken from hibernation, and there’s no going wrong with that. “Ho\u010dm Bit Str” wrings some melody out of their blacks and greys, not unlike their Croatian pals Indikator B, whereas the false-start, false-stop of “Maximum Rokenrol” is outlandish in the way that early hardcore bands used to be – I’m reminded of Pillsbury Hardcore’s “Hey Bob What’s Up?” or Nihilistics’ “Appreciation” for how punk freaks did it before the rulebook was decreed. My sense is that this all deeply means something to Poguba, and like the basement mattresses in a Slovenian punk squat, that feeling is infectious.<\/p>\n

Profligate<\/span><\/strong> Chewed Up<\/em> 12″ (no label)
\nProfilgate left us much to chew on with his last two LPs, 2018’s Somewhere Else<\/i> and 2020’s Too Numb To Know<\/i>, genre-defying works of unsettling textures and emotions both raw and guarded. Now he’s chewing us up with this new self-released EP, going back to the project’s roots of bludgeoning techno and EBM. Chewed Up<\/i> offers six different ways to die (all at the scene of the dance-floor), and I’m glad I’m not forced to choose only one. “Bin Men” doesn’t introduce itself politely, it immediately lands in a tumbling scuffle, rubber meeting steel like Phase Fatale remixing Portion Control (and apropos of Meredith Sellers’ gorgeous cover painting). “Hook And Pull Gang” is hyperactive ala drill n’ bass but punched down to industrial tempo, homemade Foley sound effects spronging against the bars of its cage. Noah Anthony (that’s the name on Profligate’s passport) has always demonstrated a novel approach to aggressive electronics (let’s not forget the crucial electro-crunch he added to the Disintegration album that topped this very blog’s 2024 best-of list), and though I haven’t heard much club-oriented material from him in a few years, he hasn’t lost a step, demonstrating the nimble movements of Objekt, the dark mischief of Peder Mannerfelt and the cyborgian gristle of Blawan. “Wrecked Exotic” isn’t just the name of one of this EP’s most slamming cuts, it’s a fitting shorthand for his musical ethos, too. <\/p>\n

Sa Pa<\/span><\/strong> Girls On Tour EP<\/em> 12″ (Dub Techno For Life)
\nSa Pa’s recent releases on Short Span revealed a desire to redact techno down to its most cast-off frequencies: a clipping buzz or airy knock becomes the hypnotic centerpiece, not a rough edge to sand down. I love it! With his recent recordings veering far from the club network, the Australian producer wanted to remind us that he initially found his artistic footing via minimal techno, and has now inaugurated his own label, the cornily-named (on purpose or not?) Dub Techno For Life, with this four-track EP. It comes with its own rough title, the (presumably unintentionally) bro-ish Girls On Tour<\/i>, and well, I’m fairly certain I didn’t need it. “Mokira Ultra Dub” opens the EP and is its finest offering, a 2016 rework of Mokira’s “Manipulation Musik” that pulls and sloshes like tide pools filled with amphibious creatures. Alongside a soothing chug, it flows like light filtered through cloudy water for nearly ten gratifying minutes. The rest of Girls On Tour<\/i> leaves me underwhelmed. “Waiting For You” was slated for a Giegling release years ago but never left Sa Pa’s hard-drive, and I’m not surprised – it’s a bit undercooked compared to his 2015 FORUM debut. “Modular System” is a one-take jam that sounds like a one-take jam – far more fun to make than listen to, and “World Saving Banger” is more nonspecific dub techno; like “Waiting For You”, perfectly passable genre fare for the sake of genre fare. As Sa Pa has proclaimed that dub techno is for life, I’m hoping he’ll take the next opportunity to spice it up a bit. <\/p>\n

Snailgun<\/span><\/strong> Glass Walls<\/em> LP (UnDunn)
\nThe proliferation of new Aussie rock bands leaving their stickers in dive-bar bathrooms is as consistent as the odor, and Melbourne’s Snailgun are here to claim their rightful spot. With the vast history of underground rock music to pull from, they deliver their own specific formula, one that gets more interesting the longer you return its glare. From a wide lens, Glass Walls<\/i> sits comfortably among the many loud rock records that took inspiration from early ’90s grunge-adjacent indie, but dig in a little deeper and its idiosyncrasies start to become apparent. I’d point first to “Labyrinth”, a bouncy groove ala Deaf Wish-meet-Pixies that just keeps on going and going, a simple idea that manages to gain power, or at least a manic momentum, through its nearly six-minute runtime. “Midway I” sounds like Shellac wearing Dischord t-shirts, leading into “Midway II”, which sounds like something Dischord would’ve actually distributed (say, Maximilian Colby or 400 Years): hand-stamped, local-scene emo-core. And opener “SD” offers an alternate history where John Lydon forms Soul Asylum instead of PiL. Glass Walls<\/i> reminds me how arbitrary and illusory all those critical genre distinctions of the ’90s underground were, that the difference between one band selling 100,000 CDs and another selling 500 seven-inch EPs was driven by marketing, aesthetics and personal values more than overt sonic differences. Luckily for Snailgun, they exist in an era where no rock bands really sell any records at all – the pressure is off!<\/p>\n

United Stare<\/span><\/strong> Voice Of Change<\/em> 7″ (Kill Enemy)
\nAnti-social punk and hardcore is a fact of life in Pittsburgh, with new bands (and new configurations of old punks) popping up like warts on toe. United Stare is one of the newer offerings from Pennsylvania’s second-best city, formed by Justin Danylko (of the very raging Speed Plans), and they refuse to be pinned down. Following last year’s tape of swaggery punk, this Voice Of Change<\/i> single offers three unrelated songs that showcase the various ways they might stick you in the ribs – the EP’s sonic incongruity is reiterated with a picture of Stonehenge(?) on the cover. “Voice Of Change” is my kinda punk rock, chunky and Dead Boys-y but also with the street-punk mindset of those essential early Fucked Up singles or even a touch of the trendy Oi influence currently running rampant through La Vida Es Un Mus’s recent catalog. “Burning The City” slides even further from hardcore and into some of Johnny Thunders’ disgusting trousers – kinda makes me want to get the Chiswick logo tattooed above my bellybutton, but only if I’m the first guy to do it. Neither of these tunes prepare us for “Moon Landing II”: it’s nearly seven minutes of kraut-y proto-punk determination, incriminating evidence that they got into their older sister’s weed stash and forgot to put away her copy of Here Come The Warm Jets<\/i>. No vocals on that one, proof positive they were zoned out in a, you guessed it… United Stare.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

City Dragon Smokes And Mirrors LP (Bruit Direct) Parisian trickster Max Kaario empties out his junk drawer as City Dragon, offering thirty tracks in thirty-four minutes with Smokes And Mirrors. Or, if not an actual junk drawer, at least a pile of unlabeled USB sticks, full of half-remembered ditties, acoustic noise-improv, cheap keyboards mixed liked […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_uf_show_specific_survey":0,"_uf_disable_surveys":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[3],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-16085","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-reviews"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16085","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=16085"}],"version-history":[{"count":21,"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16085\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":16119,"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/16085\/revisions\/16119"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=16085"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=16085"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.yellowgreenred.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=16085"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}