Agents Of Satan The Final Set LP (Rescued From Life / Nuclear Ass / 625 Thrashcore / Rotten Scum / Carnalismo)
Praise the dark master below (and the five labels responsible) for pressing up Agents Of Satan’s final live performance, a KFJC radio set from November 2011. Were Agents really still active as late as 2011? I had no idea, but considering the fact that this West Bay grind band lives in my heart eternally, actual marked time doesn’t seem too important of a concept. Whatever the case, they sound pretty great here, running through classics like “Goat Core”, “Red Impulse”, “Crust = Glam” and perhaps my favorite if I had to pick, “Vomit Tar”. Lord Balsakk’s vocals are as juicy as ever, and Ramon Salcido’s bass playing is particularly inspired, with aggro runs recalling the power-violence godfather himself, Eric Wood. Interestingly, they even added the same samples that attended the studio recordings of these songs to The Final Set, perhaps more integral to the Agents Of Satan listening experience than I would’ve thought. Probably a pretty niche record for an already niche band (’90s power-violence adjacent Satanic dirge/grind)… I’m not sure what it would be like to hear them for the first time in 2021, but they were always one of my favorite first-wave 625 bands, and their character is well preserved here.

Anika Change LP (Sacred Bones)
Sacred Bones offers many examples of the various things that irk me about the modern indie-label industry, but they did the absolute right thing here by signing Anika and putting out her new album! Kudos for that. British-German singer Anika has one of the most distinctive singing voices of the previous decade, and her disaffected (yet passionately engaged) post-punk dub is top shelf, no doubt. This new one has her more or less on her own (or rather, without Beak> as her backing band once more), which results in a wider range of sounds, from pulsing dark electro to the trap-kit dub of her debut. I still prefer Anika at her most pessimistically cool, doing a stripped-down post-punk requiem as opposed to some of the upbeat electronic new-wave tunes here, but it’s clear that her oddly-commanding voice could unify even the most disparate of styles. She even goes in kind of a indie-folk direction (but only kind of) with album-closer “Wait For Something”, which has me thinking she shouldn’t exclusively dwell at the vanguard of dour post-punk; she is equally as suited to leading the Fleetwood Mac sound-alike revival and blowing all those empty-headed indie pretenders out of the water.

Hélène Barbier Regulus LP (Celluloid Lunch)
Another new transmission from Montreal’s Celluloid Lunch label, who once again keep things local in scope and punk in spirit if not in sound. Hélène Barbier is new to my ears, though her sound is pleasant and familiar, hearkening back to the earliest post-punk artists who tried to write pop music, even if it didn’t necessarily work out that way. These songs are naturally wonky though they go down smooth, like a non-funky take on Lizzy Mercier-Descloux’s Press Color or three parts Marine Girls’ Beach Party, one part Joy Division’s Unknown Pleasures. I feel like most artists who mine this sort of vaguely seductive, even more vaguely goth, and overtly-weird underground pop music opt for synths and electronics as the music’s driving force, so it’s cool that Barbier opted for a rock band instead, playing mostly all the instruments herself (and aided by a small crew of auxiliary musicians to provide keyboards, additional percussion and backing vocals where necessary). If you’re looking to sample, I’d start with “Get A Grip” and “Carpet” (available on Bandcamp of course because where else would it be), two of Miss Barbier’s finer moods.

Beex The Early Years: 1979-1982 LP (Beach Impediment)
Beex’s debut single Beat Beat is one of those great punk singles that always managed to fly under the collector-scum market somehow, a killer two-song picture-sleeve 7″ that could be obtained for twenty bucks or less. I just took a look out of curiosity and that seems to still be the case, which warms my heart, though the smart shoppers out there might want to take that twenty and throw it towards The Early Years: 1979-1982, a nice little compilation of Beex’s first two studio sessions, instead. “Beat Beat” remains a must-hear punk single, a stellar combination of first-wave punk, pub-rock tendencies and the casual cool of The Anemic Boyfriends, the sort of tune Iggy Pop would crawl like a dog towards while passing through town. Though undisuptedly not as strong as “Beat Beat”, the rest of these tracks kick plenty of butt too – “Butch” honestly sounds a lot like recent underground faves Vivienne Styg, except Beex were toiling it out in Richmond forty years earlier, before the myriad sub-genres of punk were dissected and categorized. Guitars ring out and solo frantically, vocalist Christine Gibson is tough as nails, and the rhythm section maintains just enough structural integrity to push the party forward. Punk is an attitude, sure, but it’s also a hell of a sound, which Beex demonstrate here.

Blank Gloss Melt LP (Kompakt)
Surely there have been one or two other Kompakt artists to prominently feature traditional guitars in their music, but even if it was a guitar-centric label, new signees Blank Gloss would still stick out. It’s a good fit, as Blank Gloss scratches that Pop Ambient itch with distinction, a very soundtrack-y style with light-as-a-feather ambient drift and guitars that unfurl in slow motion. I enjoyed Blank Gloss’s debut from last year, and I like this one more, as it carves out a more distinctive slot in the crowded field of peaceful ambient music. Tangerine Dream is an obvious reference (in particular their early ’80s soundtrack run), as is Gaussian Curve, Suzanne Kraft, Bill Connors’s solo albums from the ’80s and so forth. I really enjoy the way Blank Gloss do it though, teetering on the edge between tasteful guitar/synth improvisation and soft-throbbing ambient without fully giving way to either side. There are even some moments on here that recall the subliminal spaces within Dark Side Of The Moon, though I’m a little hesitant to pull that one up and check. No need to suffer through bloated rock-opera cheese when Blank Gloss gets right to the good stuff.

Canal Irreal Canal Irreal LP (Beach Impediment)
If you had to point to a single person as a means of summing up all that is good and noble about punk, Martin Sorrondeguy would be a wise choice. As vocalist of the equally legendary Los Crudos and Limp Wrist, his dedication to and enthusiasm for hardcore-punk hasn’t wavered for decades, plus he just seems like a really nice guy. He’s also the singer of new Chicago band Canal Irreal, and I have to admit that his presence in this group strongly colors the way I hear it… which is perhaps a roundabout way of saying that I like the band more because it’s Martin Crudo singing. They play hardcore-punk with a clear death-rock influence (you know precisely the guitar tone I’m talking about), lurking in the mid-tempo range with chipped black nail-polish and a semi-functional fog machine puffing fat clouds intermittently. Not a whole lot for me to get especially excited about (or turned off by) here, though to be fair I personally don’t find goth-y hardcore-punk to be as exciting as, well, pretty much any other version of hardcore-punk. I am excited, however, to know that Sorrondeguy continues to build hardcore community well beyond “hardcore kid” age, pushing forward as opposed to recycling former glories, a trap so many other living hardcore legends fall into. Can you say that you started your first goth-core band in your mid 50s?

Aaron Dilloway & Lucrecia Dalt Lucy & Aaron LP (Hanson)
Incredibly satisfying duo collab here from the needs-no-introduction Aaron Dilloway and Colombian sound-artist / vocalist Lucrecia Dalt. Dilloway’s tape loops are about as good as gnarly analog noise can get, both as a stunning visual performance and a downright gruesome sonic experience. Kings of the noise scene as they are, Wolf Eyes have never really been the same without him! Anyway, Dilloway’s loops are rightly gurgling and hiss-filed here, and aided in their motion by the severely-modified vocals of Lucrecia Dalt. Often playing out like a haunted house at the bottom of a swamp, the mix of vile tape manipulation, groggy synths and inhuman/non-human/human vocals (which often provide unexpectedly melodic hooks) is deliriously good. I’d probably have enjoyed it if they opted for two side-long explorations, but I definitely prefer that there are twelve individual tracks here, each of which investigates its own particular nook of the Lucy & Aaron universe. It keeps things lively and fresh, even if many of these tracks emulate backed-up sewer drains rupturing from compacted gas. Which rules.

Dom & The Wizards The Australian Cyclone Intensity Scale LP (Tenth Court / Walking Bird)
You ever have to participate in like, “funny hat day” at your school or place of employment or whatever, and wonder who actually enjoys this? I don’t know Dom or his Wizards personally, but I bet my lunch money that they relish any sort of opportunity to show up in a light-up fedora or feathered tricorn, as their jovial, mildly-zany tunes have led me to believe. Their music recalls bands who took The Beatles’ cheery psychedelia as a jumping-off point for sillier and perhaps more inebriated versions of that sound, like Dr. Hook for example. I’ve gone this long without having to hear King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard, but maybe there’s some similarity there too, both being Aussie bands with “wizard” in the name and all? At its best, I’m reminded of a chunky mix of Gorky’s Zygotic Mynci and Psychedelic Horseshit (“Outlaws & The Cops”, for example), but nine times out of ten music this unabashedly child-like and goofy isn’t for me, which I’d say is the percentage here. Of course, if you are someone who owns at least two of the three following items – a top hat, devil sticks, a unicycle – Dom & The Wizards might deliver the sonic potion you’ve been seeking.

Sam Gendel Fresh Bread 2xLP (Leaving)
Sam Gendel keeps my summer bright with not only his still-fresh Josiah Steinbrick collaboration but this new double album of odds and sods. Honestly, this might be how I enjoy him the most, dipping into his big bag of wild ideas, jams, loops and improvisations and condensing the best of the bunch into a reasonably tidy double album (especially when considering the digital version of Fresh Bread is a whopping fifty-two tracks clocking in at over three hours). Electronic arpeggios encountering jazzy bass-guitar brush up against live session ensemble jams, kosmische ambient and wonky home-edited loops, all with Gendel’s sax either colorfully in the forefront or obscured through his distinctive set of effects. I love the drum machines he uses, sounding tiny and weird, and I love when a vocal unexpectedly pops up, like on the unsurprisingly feel-good “Sometimes I Feel So Good”. So many angles and positions are employed here, all presented with a personal, diaristic feel that I find particularly alluring in the hands of Mr. Gendel. Consistently playful and richly melodic, even the wrong notes feel like right ones on Fresh Bread.

Jivestreet Revival First 7″ (Slackersound)
After hearing and enjoying Jivestreet Revival’s debut album, and now listening to this pretty killer new 7″ EP, you’d think I might be able to get past the name, but nope… it’s on the level of “Steakdaddy 6” when it comes to a wince-worthy band name. Which is kind of a shame, but also kind of cool, considering how much I dig their tunes – maybe they know it’s bad and are simply too bad-ass to care! Heavy duty sleaze-rock riffs are beaten and bruised by this German group, to be nestled somewhere between Black Flag and St. Vitus in SST’s 1986 catalog. Unfakeable mean-spirited hard rock that also has me thinking of L7 and Fang, real bad-news blues for stolen guitars. Speaking of, the guitar really takes center stage, an unhurried chug that seems like the sort of thing that would be playing in the background while Kilslug’s living room gets raided by the FBI. On second thought, maybe “Jivestreet Revival” is meant to signify that this group really don’t give a you-know-what about anything, rather than just another regrettable moniker? On the strength of these stanked-out tunes, I’m willing to consider it.

Eli Keszler Icons 2xLP (LuckyMe)
It should be evident that I love a good percussionist, and Brooklyn’s Eli Keszler is in the upper echelon of that category right now. I loved 2018’s Stadium for its mix of cascading-yet-dry drum patterns over thick clouds of chords, and this new one delivers in a similar fashion without offering a simple replay of past events. Though the approach feels a bit more varied this time around, Icons is still a prime-time showcase of Keszler’s brilliant trap-kit wizardry, enhanced by deeply resonant sound fields of seemingly acoustic origin. I enjoy it best when he’s running through virtuosically-precise fills at hyper speed over the chimes of pianos, vibraphones and a Fender Rhodes, and while there’s a good bit of that here, Keszler seems less interested in technical razzle-dazzle this time around and more intent on establishing heavy, heady moods. The B-side of this double LP is probably my favorite quarter, opening with flashy runs on the kit, then moving towards a blurry disorientation of sound, a peaceful elegy and finally some sort of pretty (yet undeniably creeping) jazz. This is music that understands that the dystopia isn’t coming, it’s already upon us, but it manages to find meaning and artistry in the wreckage, complete with unexpected (to me) liner notes from Keszler’s girlfriend and noted online political agitator Anna Khachiyan. It makes one wonder, where do New York’s jazz buskers go now that the subway is constantly flooded?

Moin Moot! LP (AD 93)
There’s a seemingly infinite number of ex-hardcore kids making techno, and while that can work out alright a lot of the time, I’m particularly intrigued by the rarer inverse: techno kids who try to rock. That’s the confusing case of Moin, who were initially just UK experimental duo Raime under a different moniker, now joined by genius percussionist Valentina Magaletti. I want to play this record for all my rock-minded friends so they can also marvel at what a weird production it is too. Imagine all the slow parts of bands like Fugazi, Hoover, UOA, Shellac, hell even 311 and Incubus – the parts before the bombastic choruses kick in – and extend them, with vocals replaced by spoken-word samples, for four or five minutes, no payoff to the build-up. “An Utter Stink”, for example, sounds like the isolated guitar and drums tracks from any given mid-’90s Snapcase song. Weird, right? To Moin’s credit, their sound is pretty unique no matter what the scene. Emo bands would never maintain this sort of tension without a release, and no other avant-electronic heads are touching post-hardcore emo, that’s for sure. And while it took a little bit of mental processing and adjusting, even after already being familiar with earlier Moin records, I think I kinda love Moot!, someway somehow.

Mope City Within The Walls LP (Tenth Court)
Much like The Psychos and Death, Mope City are a band whose sonic imprint perfectly suits their name. This Australian group likes their rock songs to be loose, moody and rainy, basement indie-rock for when you can’t go outside. Thankfully, they’ve clearly got a self-awareness of their mopery – their debut EP was titled Boo Fukin’ Hoo, after all – and the songs of Within The Walls are comfortable to be themselves. Which, to my ears, results in a sound somewhere amongst Bedhead, Pavement, Pink Reason and Arab Strap. Mope City don’t inject much energy into these songs, and it works in their favor, adding a sense of stupefied hypnosis (particularly in the drain-circling “Within The Walls / My Advice”). Reminds me of something Kurt Cobain would’ve listened to at the height of his terrible fame, some unheard K Records band that broke up way too quickly because as we all know, that’s what the greatest bands do. With this being their third album, Mope City have already existed for too long, but let’s face it, a crucial unspoken element of moping is perseverance.

Psico Galera Le Stanze Della Mente LP (Beach Impediment)
Jonah Falco is really one of the unsung workers of modern hardcore. He’s pulled the power move of being in a popular band the underground hardcore scene has long since dismissed (Fucked Up) while still somewhat quietly popping up in all sorts of undeniably great (and undeniably underground) bands and recording sessions, from London’s Game, his solo project Mad Men and now, drumming for this new and otherwise-Italian group called Psico Galera. (I’m still not convinced that he’s not a member of Chubby & The Gang, too.) Anyway, to no one’s surprise, Psico Galera’s debut long-player is a rotten ripper of its own right! Not sure if it’s because I knew their nationality before listening or what, but they certainly sound Italian, recalling the underappreciated 1985 Indigesti album, the horror-core of Nerorgasmo and the fist-pumping fury of early Raw Power. It’s fast but not out of control, preferring rather to bob and weave through these grimy riffs like a rat finding its way back to the sewer. The cover really seals the deal, with a variety of robotic limbs offering fresh pepper to the shirtless lobotomized stooge who appears to be moments from consuming a miniature version of himself in a fresh bowl of soup. Abbondanza!

Research Reactor Corp Live! At Future Techlabs LP (Sweet Time)
Lots of punks these days try to emulate the punksploitation society-menaces that get gratuitously murdered in Robocop or Repo Man or something, and I don’t know, I can’t blame them? We all are feeling the weight of society being held together by frayed threads at this point, so why not wear a Predator mask while riding nude from the waist down on a stolen motorcycle blasting Chronic Sick. Anyway, Research Reactor Corp deliver that vibe excellently with songs that offer a particularly unhinged take on ’80s delinquent punk. I’m reminded of GG Allin once he started barking instead of singing, Chain Gang, Buck Biloxi, The Child Molesters, and a lil’ Lumpy & The Dumpers when it gets particularly frothy (though Research Reactor Corp remain firmly punk, not hardcore, to my sensitive ears). This was apparently recorded live in December of 2020, but more of a “live in the studio with occasional banter” thing, as December 2020 was very much still the heart of the pandemic (and not even mutated punk monsters like Research Reactor Corp were willing to stoop to the level of bringing in a live audience for deathly viral transmissions). There are a number of players in this strain of punk, but Research Reactor Corp do it so well that I was thinking less about the crowdedness of the scene and more about how satisfying it can be to blast rabid unruly punk music out of my stereo.

Rexxx Pure Pleasure II LP (Big Neck)
Based on the name and glitzy cover font, I was preemptively wincing that “Rexxx” was going to be some sort of jokey ladies’ man persona, another party-punk Har Mar Superstar that no one asked for. Fear not, though, as Rexxx is apparently just the name of this Milwaukee band, whose upbeat and classically-molded power-pop songs are more or less fun for the whole family. Kind of amazed at how nonexistent hand-claps are on this record, considering that every bop-along chorus is ripe for a hearty clap along. The melodies are about as typical as they can get, but honestly I don’t want to be dazzled by a new tuning configuration by a band like this, I want to hear mid-paced glammy pop-punk with “whoa-oh”s over the choruses and verses that lead right back into ’em. On a micro level, there’s nothing particularly special about Pure Pleasure II, which could reasonably be described as a less nuanced and more pedestrian take on The Exploding Hearts, but if we’re looking for something to blast in the background while we do flips into our friend’s above-ground pool as the sun slowly goes down, there’s no denying this album’s appropriateness.

Ripatti Fun Is Not A Straight Line LP (Planet Mu)
I first saw Sasu Ripatti’s new album described as relating to hip-hop at the same high and groundbreaking level that his classic deep-house album Vocalcity (under his Luomo alias) related to house, so sign me the hell up! That’s a bold comparison to make, and sadly, it falls incredibly flat for me here. Rather, I’d say that Fun Is Not A Straight Line is simply Ripatti’s footwork record, a genre that Planet Mu has both promoted and gentrified since first releasing DJ Nate and DJ Rashad back in 2010. This is an album full of way-too-fast pads and chopped-up-and-chipmunked vocal samples, the same general concepts used by footwork’s originators quickly rendered once more. Nothing new is gleaned, and without the surrounding footwork culture relative to that scene’s active participants, I find myself disconnected, bored and even sometimes irritable while listening to this. It’s a shame, seeing how Ripatti is responsible for some of my favorite electronic music ever created (from the aforementioned Luomo to Vladislav Delay and even his earlier EPs under the Ripatti name), but it would also be weird or at least a little suspicious if I loved everything any artist with decades of activity under their belt has ever done. It’s strange to hear Ripatti sample Rick Ross’s “Hustlin'”, and not in a good way.

Claire Rousay & More Eaze An Afternoon Whine LP (Ecstatic)
Been meaning to pick up something by avant-oddball / free-percussionist Claire Rousay, but her discography seems to be riddled with tricks and traps. I’ll hear one incredible minimalist percussion improvisation of hers somewhere, but then it turns out that was only on a sold-out split tape or something, and her new LP that I’m considering buying is a computer voice reading her emails instead (and it costs like thirty bucks, of course). I appreciate and applaud the way in which she’s carving out her own niche, reflecting the contemporary frazzled/sick/maddened times through barely-there sound art and conceptual trickery, and I think this collaboration with More Eaze is the perfect solution for me wanting something of substance alongside Rousay’s playful non-musical imagination. No instrumentation is credited to either artist here, of course, but I can’t help but assume More Eaze played a not-insignificant role in establishing the musicality of An Afternoon Whine, fractured though it may be. Indeterminate desktop rustling, snippets of conversation and room sound are filled in with synths, a hefty supply of overtly AutoTuned vocals and even some shoegaze-ready guitar. It sometimes feels like a new song made from only the memories of old songs, like a conversation about a Slowdive tape that your car stereo ate while driving through a windstorm. I feel like Rousay can be a proud patience-tester when it comes to her recordings, but An Afternoon Whine is engaging, pleasant, oddly emotional and compelling the whole way through, so maybe she will need to counteract this with a record that’s the sound of her rice boiling recorded on iPhone Voice Memo from across the kitchen. Which I’m already considering buying.

Strapping Fieldhands Across The Susquehanna LP (Petty Bunco)
Normally I’d sling a phrase like “jolly minstrels” pejoratively, but when it comes to the ever-enduring Strapping Fieldhands, it feels like praise. This Philadelphia institution are around even when they’re not around, and their recent recording activity has been a welcome respite from the city’s grim-reality-based non-psychedelic music. If you’re willing to let the Fieldhands guide you, Across The Susquehanna is a sweetly sleepy trip, replete with cello, flute, keys, sax, harmonica, and plenty of sideways guitars. Reminiscent of the Elephant Six Collective’s weirdo peak were it geared toward a mature, beer-drinking working-class, let’s say. Apparently down to a duo for this recording, this album does feel a bit more intimate and relaxed, a musical sensation similar to watching your oars disappear into the lake below, realizing you have no choice but to float around until someone else passes by. Crazy to think the Fieldhands did a split 7″ with Mudhoney in the latter’s stadium-filling heyday, yet they somehow seem to be having even more fun twenty-five years later. What better fate!

Thought Control Shock To The System 7″ (Not For The Weak)
Sorry to any weaklings who may be reading this, as this new 7″ EP from New Jersey’s Thought Control simply isn’t for you. Shock To The System originally received a cassette release last year, but these five songs sure seem ripe for the vinyl documentation that takes place here. I presume this is a new group (it’s their first release), but they’ve clearly got a handle on what makes hardcore work: unfailing energy, aggressive delivery, relevant social commentary. By my ears, they remind me most of the vastly underappreciated Philly group Leather, as both bands play raging American hardcore of the early ’80s variety with a clear Age Of Quarrel influence (through both the excitable vocal delivery and stage-crashing mosh breakdowns). I can hear John Joseph’s voice (and mercifully, not his personal views) in “Clorox In The Water”, and the title track pays off all that speedy riffing with a breakdown that will have you slugging your best friend in the side of the head if they come within range. Been wondering which band will receive the honor of my first post-pandemic mosh, and Thought Control, through raging tunes and geographical proximity, are a contender.

Ulla Limitless Frame LP (Motion Ward)
Mysterious Boomkat sensation Ulla follows last year’s full-length vinyl debut with Limitless Frame, a most suitable companion. Similar to Tumbling Towards A Wall but by no means a rerun, Limitless Frame expands Ulla’s bed of instrumentation in unexpectedly natural ways, while still maintaining an impenetrable veil of mystery. (Ulla is allegedly a Philadelphia resident yet I don’t know a single person who’s ever seen her or met her, and judging from the otherworldliness of her music, I’ve often wondered if she is even a real human being at all). The a-side is full of gaseous ambient drift, a dub-techno with the spacial behavior of dub and the absence of, well, techno. Just dip into this sonorous sound-bath and forget literally everything, I say! It’s on the b-side where things take a turn, with tracks that feature untreated pianos and horns, plaintive “illbient” vibes perfect for rainy windowsills and still-lifes of undisturbed bowls of fruit in low natural light. If Ulla is actually playing the piano and horns herself, I’m doubly impressed, but part of Ulla’s talents lie in their unknowability, the manner in which what is real and what is imagined and even the slightest shred of narrative all alluringly obscured. It’s a simple trick, to include absolutely zero text on your record sleeve and center labels, but Ulla’s mastered the art of it.

Vacant Gardens Obscene LP (Tall Texan)
Never one to rest on his laurels, Glenn Donaldson somehow squeezes in a sophomore Vacant Gardens album amongst so much activity with The Reds, Pinks & Purples. I’m so glad he did! Along with vocalist Jem Fanvu, it’s safe to call Vacant Gardens his shoegaze project, but that seems like an unfairly flat way of describing Obscene. I mean, it is indeed very much a Cocteau Twins-inspired dream-pop shoegaze record, there’s no denying that, but they absolutely nail it, bullseye after bullseye. The recording quality manages to find a way to be rough and personal without sacrificing the wide, room-filling sound necessary for any given shoegaze record to truly connect. And Fanvu’s vocals, mostly unintelligible behind the wall of guitars and plodding beats, shine like a lighthouse, the perfect foil to Donaldson’s soft sonic upholstery. Very, very Cocteau-esque, as if the Twins put together a hidden demo recording with Billy Corgan sitting in on occasional guitar solos fresh from Siamese Dream. Maybe that’s the “dream” that goes into dream-pop? No matter how inventive or traditional we decide to declare Obscene, it’s a deeply soothing album from which I wish to never wake.

Astute Palate Astute Palate LP (Petty Bunco)
Over the past fifteen years or so, there’s literally no one I’ve seen perform on stage more than Richie Charles (with Clockcleaner, Watery Love, Fully Glazed, Storks, and now Astute Palate). We’re all missing live music – I sure as hell am – but there’s a particular hurt in my heart from going this long without enjoying him and his friends on stage, almost certainly drunk, almost certainly playing their music with total disregard for the perceived pleasure of their audience. I may have permanently missed my chance with Astute Palate, as they may or may not be a one-off project, assembled over the course of 48 hours in the summer of 2019 for a live gig and recording session. Charles is on the drums here with Emily Robb (of Louie Louie) on guitar and vocals, Daniel Provenano (of Writhing Squares) on bass and David Nance (of none other than The David Nance Band) on guitar and vocals. For as hastily executed as this band is, they take a very relaxed and comfortable stroll through the hallowed halls of American guitar rock care of these seven songs. Opening with a scorched variation on The Stooges’ godly “1969” rhythm, Astute Palate pound The MC5, Mountain and Crazy Horse out of their carpet, with a prominent basement-fuzz take on some Euro additives (I can’t be the only one picking up a little Träd Gräs Och Stenar on “Bring It On Home”). There’s an undeniable similarity to the current CT psych-rock scene too, although Astute Palate put more of a blue-collar spin on that heady sound. Mean-spirited hippie music, although knowing what sweethearts they all are (and bearing witness to Nance’s oddly Hendrix-esque vocal enunciation) mitigates any sense of aggression Astute Palate might bring to the table. Recommended for anyone who isn’t currently freewheelin’ down to the quarry with a case of domestic beer on a sizzling summer day, but wants to feel as though they are.

The Chisel Come See Me / Not The Only One 7″ (Beach Impediment / La Vida Es Un Mus)
The first punk single of 2021 to enter my home comes from London’s The Chisel. Because it’s first, and because it’s quite good, I’m willing to overlook the fact that Chisel is already the name of a punk(-ish) band I enjoy. (“It’s Alright, You’re O.K.” enters my headspace at least once every few months.) The Chisel features Chubby (of Chubby & The Gang) on guitar alongside members of Arms Race, Violent Reaction and Shitty Limits (among others), and I wouldn’t be surprised if The Chisel snags the top-ranking slot in their practice schedules (whenever bands might practice again), as this is probably the best modern oi-related record I’ve heard in quite some time. It certainly helps that The Chisel are actually British – let’s face it, “American oi” is kind of like “California pizza” or “French hip-hop” – and there’s no denying the Britishness happening here, driven home by the confident throat of Callum Graham (though to be honest, the vocals are a little low in the mix for my tastes). “Come See Me” brandishes their pub-rock hardcore roots proudly, biting into an apple that didn’t fall far from Chubby & The Gang’s tree. “Not The Only One” is a boots and braces celebration, honorably recalling Cockney Rejects and 4 Skins, though The Chisel’s dual guitar attack is particularly booming and glorious. In true skinhead fashion, the b-side “Criminal Crew” is a raucous sing-along for sing-along’s-sake, the sort of anthem I wouldn’t want to be caught idly in front of the pit when it kicks in – novel coronavirus be damned, this one’s gonna need to end in a semi-shirtless pile-on.

City Band City Band LP (Bruit Direct Disques)
Not sure what your brain conjures upon encountering the phrase “city band”, but mine generally goes to Boston, Chicago, bands that are also very much cities and undoubtedly bands. Literal (and foolish perhaps), but that’s simply how I’m programmed and I’ve learned to live with it. Anyway, I didn’t expect Paris’s City Band to sound like arena-rock (though with the Bruit Direct affiliation, nothing would fully surprise me), and they don’t. Theirs is actually the sound of a post-pandemic city: kinda windswept, mostly empty, oddly peaceful, and maybe even suspiciously comforting, even if the overall mood is dark. It’s indie-rock on the smooth, almost jazzy tip, recalling The Sea And Cake and Rat Columns and other bands who don’t really associate with “the Pitchfork crowd” but could just as easily be embraced by that very audience. You can tell City Band are French, though, and not merely from the vocals – something about the lazy, sexy, sanguine way they play these songs has me wishing my glass was filled with natural unfiltered wine rather than the typical American fare (Lime-A-Ritas). Just kidding, I’m sitting here drinking warm Powerade through a metal straw, and even that’s not stopping me from fantasizing about bar-hopping down the Seine with some friendly chain-smoking strangers I met earlier in the evening. Très délicieux!

Coz The Shroom Bum Henry Adams And Craig Stewart’s Prince LP (Rural Isolation Project / Blue Circle)
Reading about the making of this Coz The Shroom album, I couldn’t help but think about how much I love the concept of “local legends”. I think back fondly on the ones I’ve encountered in my brief existence, and I hope they continue to proliferate in our disconnected digital age. Austin, TX isn’t short on its share of uniquely freaky people, but apparently Coz The Shroom (that’s the name of an individual, not a band) was out there cranking out homemade tapes alongside Daniel Johnston long before it was remotely considered cool for doing so. He’s definitely an interesting weirdo (and was apparently a member of Suckdog for a bit, perhaps the ultimate weirdo cred), which this selection of lo-fi songs reveals. This collection was put together by Craig Stewart (of Emperor Jones) and Matt Turner (of Rural Isolation Project), going through their old Coz The Shroom tapes and cherry-picking their favorite tunes for this vinyl retrospective. Coz, on electric guitar and vocals, generally plays actual songs by his lonesome, quirky and a little disturbing, calling to mind an early Ween demo, some disregarded Butthole Surfers outtakes or if The Dead Milkmen were simply The Dead Milkman. I’d probably really love these songs if I grew up mystified by them and their creator, but the irascible charm and irreverence of a tune like “Decorator Tornado” is no less evident to my far-removed, fully-grown ears.

Cured Pink Current Climate LP (Rough Skies)
Cured Pink seem to have mostly settled into their dub-centric post-punk format, following their initial foray on a split 7″ that displayed a “guy smashing a chain in an art gallery” Swans-esque provocation. I have to say, they’re really finding their stride on Current Climate, an album that showcases their natural fluency in post-punk dub, while also injecting their own deadpan gallows humor throughout. Opener “The New Public” is a fantastic way to start, with huge bass and the persistent fluttering of an out-of-rhythm keyboard… I’m physically seated, but this track sends my mind aflight. I have trouble locating the presence of guitar, so refined are these menacing dub soundscapes – I hear a couple obvious strums here and there, but Cured Pink are masters at setting a mood with undefined sonic terms. I love “September” as well, which sounds like a Mark Stewart production if he had a modest understanding of the appealing properties of cult black-metal. (Okay, maybe I’m reaching there, but even in its most pleasant tones, there’s something unsettling in Cured Pink’s presentation.) Mostly, Current Climate sounds like the best Public Image songs they never wrote fronted by that jabbering maniac from Slugfuckers, which is a comparison that should surely send all my fellow obscure post-punk devotees rushing to calculate the shipping cost conversion rate on this Tasmanian release.

Lyckle De Jong Bij Annie Op Bezoek LP (South Of North)
I’m at the point in my years of listening habits where I can detect oddball Dutch synth-wave by sound alone, as was the case when I first heard this album. Lyckle De Jong certainly shares that distinctive Dutch approach: lo-fi but not noisy, strange but not uninviting, curious about pop but certainly not pursuing it. As is the tradition, De Jong uses analog synths to create dashing and peculiar vignettes that, some 40 years earlier, would’ve most likely ended up on hand-dubbed cassette compilations that languished in the hands of collectors before receiving a lavish Vinyl-On-Demand retrospective in modern times. Bij Annie Op Bezoek has that first-wave industrial sound, similar to Throbbing Gristle’s electro-pop attempts, Hessel Veldeman’s songbook and the M Squared label’s left-field synth experimenters. Very queer electronic music, in the non-sexual sense of the word. De Jong gives credit where it’s due, listing an Arp Odyssey, a Roland E-30 and a Casio Sk-1 as the main instruments utilized here, as classically screwy sounding today as they did back when the first wave of post-punk experimenters got their mitts on them. Adding to the eccentricity at play here, Bij Annie Op Bezoek is thematically based around a touching tale of an older widow and the memories of her soulmate, which is a little hard to parse as a wriggly gem like “Haar Man Seban” squirts out of my speakers. Luckily, I quickly remembered that trying to make sense of Lyckle De Jong’s Dutch-wave is a fool’s errand, so I simply sat back and enjoyed the show.

Eyes And Flys New Way To Get It 7″ (no label)
Fourth self-released 7″ from Buffalo’s Eyes And Flys in less than two years, and while the fiscally-responsible side of me wants to scream “you could’ve just put out an LP!”, my artistic side appreciates releasing multiple hand-painted (-screened, -embellished) 7″ singles simply for the fun of it. It worked for lots of other punk bands, from Urinals to Fucked Up, so I’m not going to tell Eyes And Flys how to spend their money! Anyway, on this one, they split the difference between “real band” and “solo project” with Patrick Shanahan playing all the instruments on the a-side and joined by other humans on the flip. The murky pop they deliver here bears a strong resemblance to Eat Skull in their most presentable form, possibly inspired by New Zealand’s lo-fi indie greats but clearly American (you can tell by the slightly aggressive paranoia that runs through these tunes). There’s really no discernible difference in quality or style between the sides, and I might actually prefer the a-side’s “New Way To Get It” out of them all, as it sounds like some Olympian band Kurt Cobain would’ve repped on a homemade t-shirt. Do pop stars do that anymore? Maybe they should send a copy of this single to Billie Eilish and see what happens.

Freelove Fenner The Punishment Zone LP (Moone)
“Freelove Fenner” sounds like the name of the guy you’re told to avoid at the nudist resort, but the music of this Montreal trio is to be embraced! I had never heard of them before, but it looks like they’ve got a scattering of releases over the last decade, The Punishment Zone being their second official-ish album. They’ve got a very smooth, very cool minimalist indie-rock thing going on. Let’s say they don’t sound like Young Marble Giants, but they share an evocative emotional distance and stark delivery, with vocalist Caitlin Loney’s soothing voice at the helm. There’s that, plus a striking similarity to Ariel Pink circa Before Today (in sound, not deed!). Tracks like “LED Museum” and “2B From” really have that Pink-ish quality, embracing neon-lit soft-rock in a musically economical form. There’s also a Broadcast thing going on in the sweet retro quality of the instrumentation (both tape-loops and bongos appear); the insert includes “technical notes” on the gear used to record and mix the record, but these songs are too uplifting and easy-going to come across as the territory of snooty Tape Op types. I get a lot of mellow indie-rock records coming through here – there’s certainly no shortage of people playing it – but The Punishment Zone strikes me as a particularly remarkable one.

Häpeä Valistuksen Aika On Ohi 7″ (Urealis-Tuotanto / Tampere Hardore Coalition / SPHC)
Häpeä are relative newcomers to the storied tradition of Finnish hardcore, but they’re surely finding it easy to fit in with their blustery rag-tag hardcore. Rather than opting for the traditional evil skull / demonic-skeleton on their record cover, they went with a sort of slimy(?) sewer-monster thing, which I approve as a reasonable substitution. Musically, it’s certainly in line with classic Finnish hardcore sounds, if perhaps more rambunctious and looser – moments remind me of Cheetah Chrome Motherfuckers throwing a “Furious Party”, or the lesser-tier rumble of Totuus (née Hässäkkä). Not nearly as steamrolling, explosive or fiery as contemporary hardcore acts like Krigshoder, Warthog and Public Acid, but not everyone is gonna be. If anythig, they’re certainly a band that sounds to me like it should have at least two members named Mika or Mikka, but amazingly Häpeä has none. Maybe on the next EP?

Headroom Equinox 20 7″ (I Dischi Del Barone)
Not even the experimental nature of I Dischi Del Barone can resist the soothingly psychedelic comfort-food of New Haven, CT’s Headroom, one of the town’s preeminent dealers of head music. They have their style on lock, firing off long-form instrumental psych-rockers as effortlessly as you or I flop on the couch and pick what show to watch for the thousandth night in a row. “Equinox 20″ appears to be split across both sides of this single, as it’s rare that Headroom would ever conclude their proceedings in a manner befitting a 7″ record – even a 10” might be close quarters. This one unfolds slowly, with a soothing three-note bass-line and the guitars of Kryssi Battalene and Stefan Christensen conversing like the old friends that they are, weaving in and out of each other like birds on a playground. At times, I start to wonder if this isn’t all too easy for Headroom, that its all so effortless and smooth that I wish that maybe they’d actually try something that takes concentrated effort with the risk of possible failure, but then I come back to my senses, slide deeper into my couch and turn up the volume on their transcendent psych-rock communion.

Kenji Kariu Sekai LP (Bruit Direct Disques)
Seems like a particularly good time in history to be a Japanese musician who home-records their soft synthetic pop/ambient, if you ask me. It feels like the reissue market is flooded with offbeat Japanese corporate-ambient / lo-fi pop, and what do you know, the vast majority of it is pretty great! Kenji Kariu, however, is here making his music among us right now, and seeing as his new LP came out on the weirdo-centric Bruit Direct label, I wasn’t expecting anything as aesthetically straightforward as one might find on the Music From Memory or Light In The Attic labels. Kariu’s a fairly charming personality, sitting at his little desk and playing these soft, subtle songs as he sings along. They vary in style, from ambient meditations to snippy city-pop grooves, single-handedly delivered by Kariu’s nimble fingers and his hushed voice. With or without percussion, it’s a soothing, relaxing album to settle into, although not without its arousing little curiosities, like the childlike melody of “A Crown Of Flowers” or the vocodered lullaby of “It”. If only I had a moonlit beach upon which I could peacefully sway with my sweetheart to the twinkling magic of “Atelier”! Peaceful and quirky, nothing about Sekai jumps out at the listener; this is a record that shyly waits for its audience to make the first move.

Lead 2 LP (Radical Documents)
A quick internet search confirms my suspicions that Amy Howden-Chapman and Steve Kado, the two verified members of Lead, are artists who primarily work in mediums that aren’t music. 2 just has that “post-modern artists who decide to slum it as ‘musicians’ for fun once in a while” vibe, mostly because it’s inscrutable and random, and also I guess partially because it’s not particularly compelling? Sorry! It’s not that it’s bad, but rather there’s only so much mileage I can personally get out of a slowly pulsing synth overlaid with the sounds of someone shuffling papers or tossing their keys onto the dining room table. One listen is fine, two is cool, but after that, it feels like all the juice has already been squeezed out of this particular sonic fruit. There’s a reasonable chance that, like much contemporary art, these two extended pieces conceptually fly over my head, but as far as completely-out-there difficult listening goes, records by artists like Gaby Losoncy, Claire Rousay and Graham Lambkin find ways to pluck my inner-strings in a way that Lead does not. Honestly, maybe Lead’s 2 actually isn’t weird enough? These pieces shuffle through different sonic moments and patterns, but ultimate never commit to any sort of truly unexpected sonic upheaval or moment of brazen hilarity (or fright, or joy, or menace…) – it all feels more like “messing around with a couple of keyboards and mics”, which is generally more fun as practitioner than spectator.

Lethal Means Zero Sum Game LP (Not For The Weak)
Wasn’t too long since Olympia hardcore-punk outfit Sterlized released a 7″ EP entitled Zero Sum Game featuring an omniscient Grim Reaper looking lustfully down upon the mechanisms of war, but I suppose it’s a theme that’ll never go out of style. There are only so many ways one can utilize a skull and bombs on their art, and seeing as hardcore is nothing if not beholden to its orthodoxy, more and more records will look eerily like others that came before. Lethal Means do well by it, though, opting for a heavy and merciless sound by rolling out a pile of well-formed riffs over thick d-beat drums. I’m hearing Anti-Cimex, State Of Fear and Bastard in Lethal Means’ sound here, which is fine sonic territory in which to reside. The frequent backing gang vocals are a nice touch, and while this sound is almost always crust-friendly, I can’t help but think that you could win over an ardent Strife fan to the d-beat side of things if you quietly added Zero Sum Game to their gym playlist. Like the label’s name establishes, this music isn’t for wishy-washy nerdlingers – it’d be helpful to be able to bench your own weight before engaging in violent combat against your foes. Come to think of it, how long until a band called Violent Combat shows up? They could name their record Zero Sum Game too!

Little Gold Wake Up & Die Right LP (Sophomore Lounge / Science Project)
You know how there are bands that you love to hate? Well, Little Gold are a band I hate to love. If I’m completely honest with myself, I cannot deny the way their music resonates with me, which I find deeply annoying. They play an Americana-styled form of poppy indie-rock, a sort of honky-tonk emo indebted to Springsteen and Petty with tasteful pedal steel throughout, and they do it quite well. Guitarist/vocalist Smokey DeRoeck (whatta name!) knows how to spin a yarn about growing up, screwing up, giving up… all ups are covered, as are plenty of downs. Reminds me of Chamberlain with less of a Dawson’s Creek feel (more Gilmore Girls honestly), or The Decemberists if they spent their high school summers working at Jiffy Lube instead of the community theater. Not my usual sonic fare, and I can’t say I find myself reaching for Wake Up & Die Right all that much, but each time it spins it strikes that same emotionally-nostalgic chord deep in my ribs that I can’t figure out how to protect against bands as sweetly direct as Little Gold. You win this round, Little Gold, but I’ll be back!

Paranoid Time Lip Rippers 7″ (White Centipede Noise)
Never has it felt more appropriate to cauterize my eardrums with harsh noise than January of 2021, so this new Paranoid Time EP couldn’t have been better received. It’s the solo work of Midwestern noise enthusiast Pat Yankee, who really tears tendons from bones on “Lip Rippers”. Frantic but incredibly harsh, its constant electrical whiplash has me recalling The Rita, Sickness and C.C.C.C., with a mighty mastering job that really makes it jump out of my speakers like a Medusa’s head of downed electrical cables. “Gag Me With A Maggot” is the flip, and it roils deeply – the entirety of the track seems to be violently careening toward disaster, closer to “noise wall” form but mostly sounding like a small yacht coming loose from its trailer and wildly skidding across a highway. There’s a richness and depth to these tracks, which brings me more comfort than it rightly should. I should also note that the limited version of this record is one for the books: the 7″ record itself appears as a subtle afterthought as it is affixed to a machete wrapped in barbed-wire. It’s a version that no one has any business owning, which of course is peak noise-record packaging. Think I’ll store this one away from my other records and nestle it in between two rusty chainsaws I keep in the basement, as anything less would be inappropriate.

Science Man Science Man II LP (Big Neck)
Between Science Man, Alpha Hopper, Night Slaves, Spit Kink and surely one or two other projects I’m either forgetting or unaware of, Buffalo’s John Toohill seems to be in a perpetual state of playing, writing and recording music. I suppose there are those of us who constantly churn out new music, and those of us who merely write about it. Anyway, Science Man is his solo garage-punk project, and as Toohill releases new music as though his life depended on it, this is the second Science Man album in two years. These songs are fast and fuzzy, traditionally executed in a Goner Records / Rip Off Records style, though perhaps a little less dirty than the former and a little more hardcore than the latter. A drum machine is utilized in lieu of a live drummer, though the patterns are intricate enough (and the synthetic kit sounds natural enough) that it’s easy to not notice – electro-punk or synth-punk this ain’t. I’m reminded of The Coachwhips, The Reatards and The Candy Snatchers, perhaps in overall equal measure. It’s funny, usually a busy multi-band musician saves the weirdest stuff for his or her solo project, but that’s certainly not the case with Toohill, whose Science Man moniker might be the most conventional of everything he’s currently got cooking.

Shame Drunk Tank Pink LP (Dead Oceans)
Figured I might as well check out Shame, a plucky post-punk group of handsomely-ugly young British guys who I don’t even have to tell you whether they tuck their t-shirts in or not. Hadn’t heard them prior to now, and while the idea of more “funky white-boy post-punk” is not one that excites me the same way as “Latvian gore-grind” or “environmental ambient yoga drone”, I’m not immune to its charms either. Turns out I really like Drunk Tank Pink! Here’s what they’ve got: a cool snuffly drum sound with inventive beats, non-intuitive songwriting that’s still easily digestible, great British post-punk male vocals and enough charm and attitude to bring it all together. They’ve got the slipperiness of Black Midi without being half as musically annoying, the nihilistic youthfulness of Iceage without half as much narcissism, and the “angry British guy shouts smart-assed lyrics at you” component without half as much induced eye-rolling as Idles. Even the explicitly funky tunes like “Born In Luton” sound fresh and slightly-weird enough that I find myself fully on board, probably because there’s a grittiness to their sound that I find appealing (precisely the sort of grittiness that Savages’ records lacked, preventing me from fully connecting). Nothing here that’s gonna convert any non-believers – if you don’t already like brooding art-school boys with muted guitar riffs and more than their fair share of sass, I cannot craft a strong enough argument to demand your participation – but for those amenable to the style, Drunk Tank Pink is a sharp and satiating example of the form.

Spiral Wave Nomads First Encounters LP (Twin Lakes / Feeding Tube)
So get this: First Encounters is the second slab of vinyl released by Spiral Wave Nomads, but the first time they actually got together. Weird to think that such ragged American psych could’ve been an email-based file-swap before, but those are the times we’re living in, and it’s really warming my insides to imagine actually getting together to play music with friends, here in the pandemic’s eleventh month. Guitarist Eric Hardiman and drummer Michael Kiefer clearly had a solid psychic bond before, and it’s confirmed here across these four unhurried psych-rock instrumentals. Kiefer will dance around the kit, but he mostly commits to pushing things forward as Hardiman scans his guitar for riffs, as likely to lock in as he is to flutter off course. Reminds me of Bardo Pond and Davis Redford Triad, and especially Headroom, who share Kiefer’s hometown of New Haven, CT. Is it wrong that I hope they’re mortal enemies? That the Headroom / C/Site posse shut Michael Kiefer out of their fun years ago, and he was forced to recruit Eric Hardiman (out of Albany) to pursue his undeniably similar vision? This burgeoning psych-rock scene is nice and all, but you know what it lacks? Gang violence.

The Toms The 1979 Sessions LP (Feel It)
The band name implies a plurality, but there’s only one Tom at work here: Tommy Marolda, who wrote, performed and produced The 1979 Sessions. What Marolda lacks in graphic-design talent (why do all the Toms records look like generic diner menus?) he makes up for in pure pop-rock mastery. Pretty amazing to think he put these songs together all on his own, as they certainly sound like a fully-formed power-pop outfit ready to take over the tri-state club scene. These songs are pure power-pop bliss, low on attitude and high on pretty melodies and a sweet seriousness. Fans of The Beatles, Cheap Trick, David Bowie and Big Star will surely sprout hearts in their eyes when listening to these forgotten gems – I know I feel like I’m wearing corduroy bellbottoms and swaying under the swirling disco-ball’s reflection as “That Could Change Tomorrow” jangles out of my speakers. Pretty crazy to think that these songs are only part of the picture, as Marolda recorded no less than thirty songs over one weekend, but I suppose you’re either a genius from whom pop-perfection flows freely or you’re not. Outkast never relegated themselves to EPs either, you know? You know me, I’m skeptical of unearthed archival releases, but this one is, at least in my alternate reality, a smash hit.

True Sons Of Thunder It Was Then That I Was Carrying You LP (Total Punk)
True Sons Of Thunder are Memphis’s garage-rock stalwarts, a crew with the proper pedigree (ex-Oblivians, Manateees, The Feelers, Rat Traps and so forth) for a Total Punk full-length. Fans of frills or ostentation will have to look elsewhere, as these songs are about as rudimentary and chunky as garage-punk gets. I can’t imagine any one of these songs took more than a single session to write (and only a handful of rehearsals necessary before hitting the studio), which is a big part of the charm. No dazzling displays of power or eloquence, just dirt-kickin’ garage-punk grooves played at modest speeds to fend off exhaustion. What strikes me most about True Sons Of Thunder is the significant amount of fun they seem to be having, doing this band for the pure thrill of playing in a band with your life-long friends who share the same goal: free drink tickets and a momentary staving off of the depression and drudgery of life. The songs generally come with some sort of slight hint of humor (and obviously the title takes joy in mocking Jesus’s famous catchphrase), not really enough for a laugh but enough to have ’em smirking and sneering as they trot out these heavy garage stompers in a manner similar to Cheater Slicks or Gary Wrong Group. As the final track, “Male Box”, swirls to its eventual end, I can’t help but wonder what Flipper would’ve been like if they were all stay-at-home dads with Tesco Vee as their manager, because I’m thinking it might’ve been something like this.

Viagra Boys Welfare Jazz LP (Year0001)
For a band with as dumb a name as “Viagra Boys”, these Swedes have been nothing if not sophisticated in deploying their band upon the world. Sharing the same label as Yung Lean and Bladee (some of the finest hip-hop Sweden has to offer), Viagra Boys seem to have a medium-level film studio in their corner, churning out eye-catching, silly videos with the quality of prime-time cable TV. Alongside their knack for crafting smartly-stupid dance-punk anthems, they’re ascending toward modern punk-rock stardom alongside Surfbort and Amyl & The Sniffers (whose vocalist Amy Taylor sings a duet on “In Spite Of Ourselves” here), bands whose members simply look better wasted, half-clothed and eating boogers than everyone else currently attempting it. Anyway, Welfare Jazz is a subtle but effective slide toward the mainstream, smoothing out some of their music’s post-punk edges and favoring Sebastian Murphy’s outsized personality to carry these songs forward. Murphy continues his caricature as a dumpy useless loser through these songs, though to what end I’ve yet to decipher. He can’t possibly be sincere, but if he isn’t, what exactly is the joke, and why isn’t there a punchline? After the fourth song of Murphy convincing a woman that he’s a terrible person (though insisting she should serve his needs in spite of that), it can feel a little tiresome, particularly when accompanied by the faux honky-tonk voice he can’t help but frequently slip into here. I prefer when Murphy leads the band in full George Thorogood mode (ala “Toad”), painting humorous and descriptive pictures of his terrible behavior and its terrible results. Welfare Jazz is pretty much LCD Soundsystem for jerks, and well, there’s a lot of jerks out there who need something to dance to!

Ye Gods Dumah 2×12″ (L.I.E.S.)
Sad to say, but I wasn’t invited to any erotic holiday parties this year – I’m blaming Covid, so I suppose I’ll have to find a different use for Ye Gods’ full-length debut. I really like it, as Dumah recalls various occult-friendly techno units without sacrificing its own particular character. There’s the “body-piercing ritual” vibe of T++, Shackleton’s swirling, paranoid dream-state tones, the insistent thump of industrial techno and the dark sexuality of classic industrial. It’s an excellent and fluid mix, allowing for varied energy levels without disrupting the highly stylized aesthetic. Plus, there seems to be an ancient Egyptian mythological thread running through these songs, which very well might support Ye Gods as the undisputed Nile of techno. It’s hard not to feel a little woozy as Antoni Maiovvi (the person behind Ye Gods) repeats his words in a soothing, reverberating tone, as if his is the last voice you hear before the general anesthesia kicks in. Will you wake up with your human consciousness uploaded into the trans-dimensional form of Anubis? Don’t ask too many questions, just relax and allow Dumah to guide you through this esoteric transformation.