Able Noise High Tide LP (World Of Echo)
Cross-continental European duo Able Noise establish the scale of their music right off the bat: “To Appease” is a dreary guitar/drums slog, made exponentially more maddening by overt tape manipulation, slowing and speeding-up the recording at seemingly random yet frequent intervals. This is gonna clear out at least half the room, and it might be by design, freeing up some space for only the most unshakeable of exasperatingly-experimental guitar music enthusiasts. I’ll admit, I was close to tapping out on that opener, but my patience was rewarded with the rest of the album, which is quite a bit more listenable without relinquishing any of the opening cut’s fearlessness. Acoustic guitars spiral out of control, electric guitars tighten like a blood pressure cuff, vocals wander in on accidental occasion and the drums dazzle through both minimalist post-jazz rolls and a sparseness rendered via advanced mathematics. When things get rolling (and they often do), Able Noise conjure images of Chris Corsano sitting in with Joan Of Arc, Still House Plants interpreting Moin’s songbook and the outtakes of Gastr del Sol’s outtakes. These traditional Guitar Center instruments are pushed to the furthest reaches of song-form, never taking the easy way out (no harsh effects, no structureless improv, no jump-scare production, etc.) and often brilliant for it, though I’m glad they only did that speed-up / slow-down trick once. That was plenty.

Alien Nosejob Turns The Colour Of Bad Shit LP (Anti Fade / Total Punk / Drunken Sailor)
Feels like there are a million fake Alien Nosejobs out there these days, drinking up their cheap beer and stage-diving into an empty clearing in the crowd. The real Alien Nosejob has stylistically expanded and contracted throughout its seven-or-so years of existence, but Turns The Colour Of Bad Shit is streamlined punk hostility, a reminder to all copycats how it’s done. I can’t think of (m)any other artists who’ve worked with both Total Punk and Iron Lung, can you? No ballads, no instrumentals, no dirges, only upbeat punk for parties that tip over into violence, drugs that keep you from sleeping, obligatory leather jackets and optional eyeliner. I was tempted to describe this new album as no-frills, but there are definitely some frills, be it a melodic synth lead or the sax of Alannah Sawyer, all played as if the band is wearing their pants defiantly around their ankles. The additional sonic flavor doesn’t dilute the viscosity of Alien Nosejob’s punk rock snot. You can sense that they looked to the classics for inspiration, entry-level greats like Sex Pistols and The Damned, but Jake Robertson (the sole official member of Alien Nosejob) takes that as a jumping off point for his own wild ideas, always ensuring that memorable hooks and catchy refrains are front and center. That’s the hard part, writing punk songs people will recall by name, but Alien Nosejob has a whole bag of ’em at this point, right down to the Redd Kross-y “Living On A Crust” or the synthed-up Pork Dukes shuffle of “Trapped In Time”, sure to leave you wearing someone else’s beer.

Anadol & Marie Klock La Grande Accumulation LP (Pingipung)
Anadol and Marie Klock met at a British music fest a couple years ago, and I’m sure glad they did, as that encounter led to this collaborative album between the two chic electro-pop artistes. Anadol’s one-of-a-kind blend of synth-y Turkish folk and retro-futurist kosmische is always a year-end chart-topper for me, and French avant-chanson singer Marie Klock’s last Pingipung album featured a cover photo of her pretending to be mounted by a large stuffed animal, so how can we go wrong here? We can’t – La Grande Accumulation is a fancy-free romp starring Anadol’s analog keys n’ rhythms and Klock’s spoken/sung French vocals. Just as the cover image displays the duo shaking hands all business-like in a pile of what appears to be construction-site waste (the “grand accumulation”?), La Grande Accumulation is playful and serious about not being serious. Anadol’s twinkly, nostalgic synths are prominent and charming as ever, like thumbing through a copy of Vogue from 1987, and even though I can only understand a word or two of Klock’s French, it does not prevent me from falling head over heels into the style they’ve created, as dazzling as a maze of mirrors and just as amusing as when you accidentally walk face-first into one. The songs are long and generally avoid the verse/chorus structure, preferring to unfurl like pulpy novellas full of larger-than-life characters with plenty of room for extended keyboard solos, improvised horns and, in the wild and woolly closer “La Reine Des Bordels”, a rambunctious crew of chipmunk voices conversing with a squawking horn ala the adults in any given Charlie Brown special. C’est magnifique!

Big’n End Comes Too Soon LP (Computer Students)
If there is a universal truth to be gleaned from the state of music in 2024, it’s that every band that ever previously existed also currently exists right now. Bands simply do not go away anymore – a breakup is temporary at best – and when one releases their first new album in twenty-eight years the way Big’n just did, it’s as reasonable and acceptable as a brand new group throwing their initial rehearsal up on Bandcamp. I suppose I miss the time back when things were of a certain moment, a moment that wasn’t guaranteed to exist in perpetuity, but at the same time, sitting here with Big’n’s End Comes Too Soon, I feel silly forming anything that could be construed as a complaint. This album is as true to Big’n’s sound as anything else they’ve done, and as they are certified first-wave noise-rock progenitors, they’ve ever right to do it. Recorded at Electrical Audio (naturally), these songs revolve around jagged bass-lines, even more jagged guitar riffs, bare-essential drums played in non-intuitive time signatures, and a vocalist who abandons musical time signatures entirely, blathering and croaking under and over these tightly-compacted rock songs in a manner that cannot avoid a David Yow comparison. The sonic presentation, much as was the case in their earliest days, bears strong resemblance to The Jesus Lizard and Shellac, though more as peers than imitators. Big’n “still got it”, no doubt, and until AI facsimiles of the bands we like proliferate and take over, you can enjoy this contemporary installment of the archetypal noise-rock sound.

Ciel & CCL Tilda’s Goat Stare 12″ (Naff)
Wading through rivers of mediocre techno music is a passion project of mine. Like crust-punk, even the kinda bad stuff doesn’t bother my ears, and it’s in the act of sifting that I discover gems like this, a collaborative EP between Toronto’s Ciel and London/Berlin’s CCL, a record that prominently features snippets of Tilda Swinton’s dialogue from the 2002 film Teknolust. It’s enough to pique my interest, but an amusing sample does not guarantee a great track – lucky for us, Ciel & CCL take inspiration from the film’s cyberpunk-feminism in the form of feverish techno trance. “Tilda’s Goat Stare” primes the dance-floor with workout-video bass and cascades of ASMR-ish percussive pops. Naff label-boss Priori coats it in glossy, bubbly acid for a remix. “Goblin Mode” is as impish as the title implies, all sorts of treacly effects to mimic chirping frogs or seashell shakers firing at will for a beat suited to that Zoomer Tik-tok rave dance where they skip in place like some sort of Adderall-fueled Riverdance. Yushh makes it sparkle like a sushi lounge from the year 2099 with her remix, and while this is already a substantial dose of high-shine braindance, the raised BPM of closer “Spiral Drive” is my pick of the bunch, an anxiety-inducing time-trial race ala Black Merlin or DJ Rat that truly loses its mind when, if only for a moment, it reduces down to a single rhythm track under loops of Swinton’s over-the-top belly-laughs. I’m scared to look in the mirror while blasting “Spiral Drive”, lest I appear back to myself with full Heath Ledger Joker makeup.

Class A Healthy Alternative LP (Feel It)
The classic-punk-indebted Class do it the way their forebears did, cranking out a fresh new album each year for the last three years. Maybe there’s not much else to do in Tucson besides write and record music, but that seems like a pretty fine lifestyle if it’s the case. Class continue to hone their attack here, or whatever the opposite of an attack is, as these songs veer closer to the melodic forms of power-pop and new-wave more than any style of punk that eventually morphed into hardcore. The grittier songs remind me of those trustworthy-yet-inexpensive Carpettes singles: too incisive and sneering for a clean new-wave designation, yet too traditionally poppy and “mature” for the spiky punks. A few of these tracks actually remind me of a more AOR version of The Exploding Hearts, singing about interpersonal relationships, work and society, though it’s never too stuffy – check “The Hits Are Here To Stay”, a sort of mission statement that name-checks Stiff Little Fingers, The Outcasts, Protex and Dolly Mixture. A bold move to explicitly list one’s own influences, but Class have the songwriting chops and panache to pull it off, using those quintessential punk-rock building blocks to fashion their own dry desert dwelling.

Ned Collette Our Other History LP (Sophomore Lounge)
Sophomore Lounge has really leaned into the beautifully-tender side of indie guitar music over the last year or two, this new full-length from Aussie folk singer Ned Collette exemplifying this tendency. He’s new to me, but a quick internet search reveals an active artist over the last two decades with plenty of releases to his name. Our Other History is no spring-chicken record; this album displays the sort of songwriting chops you’d associate with big-name ’70s folksters who made it their lives, from Laura Nyro to Townes Van Zandt. I had started to think that Sophomore Lounge assigned a pedal-steel to all their artists as a contractual obligation, but amazingly Collette doesn’t have one in the mix here, though it’s the only missing element among pianos, synths, violas, trumpet, double bass and of course some extremely tasteful guitars, both acoustic and electric. Collette’s voice is kind-hearted, soft and sung through his nose, like what you’d expect to emanate from Bernie Sanders’s friend group circa 1972, or if Tom Rapp had a younger brother who ran the college newspaper arts section. Everything is so pristine and mellow that even when the guitars take off on some ECM-jazz-style solos or the synths pulsate with intention, Collette’s living room remains candlelit and with ample seating. The hand percussion of “Shot Through” offers dusk, not daylight, so if you’re without a weighted blanket this winter, Our Other History is a suitable cocoon ready to wrap you up.

Corker Hallways Of Grey LP (Feel It)
Corker’s debut Falser Truths is barely a year old yet it appears the ice encasing the group has started to thaw on their follow-up, Hallways Of Grey. They’ve still got a chilly demeanor, but edges are smoothed and tempers quelled on this one. The songs carry the energy of early melodic punk (I’m thinking of Dead Boys and DOA) but they’re packaged in dark drapey linens, the skeletal outstretched arms of Ian Curtis subconsciously presiding. To that end, I’m reminded a bit of Poison Ruïn, though Corker are dwellers of the modern American wasteland, not the blood-soaked moors of Albion. Vocalist Luke Corvette (once again, I tip my hat to his name) delivers his vocals in short bursts akin to Total Control’s Daniel Stewart, that technique where the singer firmly and coldly utters only / a couple words / per line / at a time /, just how I did it there. Stewart never seemed to sweat on stage, even when wearing his football scarves, and I’m sure Corvette is fine to forego a shower after the show himself, unless someone is uncouth enough to splash their wine in his direction. They don’t even bust out a synth until the album’s closer, “No Necessities”, clearly having too much fun with their multi-guitar interplay to sit down and program some arpeggios. Recorded on “a family farm in southeastern Indiana in the summer of 2023”, one wonders if the urgency of Hallways Of Grey is the consequence of the group growing tighter and more confident, or simply a desire to wrap it up ASAP and get the hell out of there. Either way works!

Disintegration Shiver In A Weak Light LP (Feel It)
The individual pieces of Disintegration held a lot of exciting possibilities – Noah Anthony of Profligate, Haley Himiko of Pleasure Leftists, Christopher Brown of Cloud Nothings – but their debut Feel It EP delivered soaring goth-wave thrills that surpassed my optimistic expectations. The songs were so good but I wanted more, and now here’s Shiver In A Weak Light, not so much a step forward from the EP as a confirmation of what Disintegration can do, which is whip every other mystique-laden pop/wave act at their own game. Disintegration’s synths are riveting and conspicuous, as thrilling and nearly as scary as hearing Skinny Puppy for the first time; the vocals of Haley Himiko burst with emotion and confidence, like an American Björk out for blood. (I can only assume Linkin Park asked her to join before they hired that Scientologist, because if not, they need to fire their management immediately.) Their songs are technically dazzling if that’s a quality you’re into, and while I suppose I am to some extent, it’s the widescreen hooks and big sweaty aliveness of Disintegration’s music that grabs me over and over (“Hideaway” provides a particularly potent rush). They don’t really repeat themselves – you’ll only find a wilin’ out extended guitar solo on “Messages”, for example – but the sound they’ve crafted is already distinctly Disintegration, through and through. Kinda wish for their sakes that they could’ve landed this record on a more goth-pandering label, seeing how (dorkily) huge that audience is these days… if that crowd wants their next Boy Harsher or Sextile or Cold Cave or whatever, Disintegration is doing something as catchy and energetic as the cream of that crop yet substantive in its own unique way. Rather than focusing on latex photoshoots, black-and-white stylized Instagram posting or endless vinyl “colorway” variants, they let their music do the talking, which probably means fame and fortune aren’t in their sights but rather a dedicated following of true freaks like me and you.

Faux Départ Faux Départ 7″ (Hidden Bay / Tranzophobia / Mutant / Andalucia Über Alles / Tocsin / Rollmops)
Through years of writing these reviews, I’ve noticed that punk records that take five or more labels to collaboratively release them has become a red flag. If everyone is only willing or able to chip in a couple hundred bucks, does anyone really fully believe in the project or feel invested in its success? Of course, it could swing the other way and be that lots of labels are hungry to get their name attached to something great, which I’d guess is a more likely case for this seven-inch EP from Lyon, France’s Faux Départ. They balance a classic tuneful Euro punk style with modern urgency, and they do so without settling into a sonic cul-de-sac. Opener “Si Tu Disparais” could be confused with Royal Headache before the gruff (and vastly more French) vocals kick in; “Drone” is mod-ish punk in line with 999 and The Ruts. “Anti-France” is practically hardcore, a strained circle-pit of a song that summons the French discontent (replete with sounds of street violence and smashed windows) in the grand tradition of renouncing one’s home country, and before I can dust the broken glass off my shoulders, “Toujours Là” whips up a Vibrators-level pogo fest to wrap it up. How many touring bands have made it through Lyon, feeling tired and ready to phone one in, only to witness Faux Départ’s frenzied opening set of high-energy, formally-inspired punk and realize they have to bring their A game?

Gong Gong Gong 工工工 & Mong Tong Mongkok Duel LP (Rose Mansion Analog)
Beijing’s Gong Gong Gong 工工工 team up with Taiwanese duo Mong Tong for the finest post-hippie motorik you’ll enjoy this year. Gong Gong Gong 工工工’s Tom Ng was in The Offset:Spectacles, whose sole album remains a high water mark for avant-rock in the 2010s (and you can still pick up the Trouble In Mind reissue for cheap!), and he sort of filtered that sound down even further with Gong Gong Gong 工工工, bolstered here with the swinging psychedelia of Mong Tong. Really, it sounds like a true-to-form minimalist reduction of Agitation Free and Can in instrumental street-walker modes, a reassessment of heady rock units via diminishing the conflicting elements until they’re pared down to cyclical rhythms, guitars that pluck and scrape in equal measure and bass guitar that’s happiest when it’s only playing one note. The recording is crisp and alive, which makes sense as it was put to tape in a Hong Kong studio that still uses their original late ’70s gear, giving it that authentic vintage feel without the trappings of phony, glossy nostalgia. It’s honestly wild to me how excellent Mongkok Duel is! Feels like I’m communing with the spirits of Lou Reed, Speed, Glue & Shinki, Link Wray, Tetuzi Akiyama and Guru Guru in a corduroy conversation pit thick with incense when I throw on Mongkok Duel, which it turns out is practically every day.

Will Long Behind The Times 12″ (no label)
If techno was a digestible ingredient, it’d be something like flour: a fundamental substance that, depending what it’s mixed with, can create an endless number of wildly disparate results. The Japan-based American producer Will Long takes those basic techno building blocks – digital clicks and claps, a 4/4 kick, humming chords – and stretches the dough so wide and thin as to be nearly translucent. “Behind The Times” feels like early ’00s vintage Omar S, with the least possible drums needed to keep a tech-y house groove in order and chords that change more infrequently than even the most monotonous alt-shoegaze group. On one hand, it’s extremely boring, and on the other, it’s downright transcendent because it’s so outwardly boring like that, not even remotely try to make something of itself. “Behind The Times (Bassline Mixx)” is the flip, opening with a modulated analog arpeggio that is practically technicolor in comparison to the original’s greyscale mix, though just as sparsely populated. It hearkens to work by Legowelt and Kyle Hall, producers who would not be first described as “people pleasing”, but even they might throw a little something extra in the mix. Will Long, an American living over there in Tokyo, is clearly unbound by any dance-floor-minded mandates, and I think I love him for it.

Lasse Marhaug Provoke LP (Smalltown Supersound)
We’ve all got ’em: names we’ve seen around for years and yet, for one reason or another, never really checked out. Lasse Marhaug is one of those for me, a respected mover and shaker in the realm of noise since the ’90s, and while I own at least a split seven-inch or two, I can’t say I’ve ever sat down for a serious session with his music. He’s been doing this zine called Personal Best for a few years now, of which I am a massive fan – his interviews are so deep yet approachable, the whole enterprise clearly driven by his passion for music and art and creativity and exploration, and I have become such a fan of him the person that it felt like it was time to hear what he’s been up to sonically, coincidentally right as Provoke hit the shelves. I kind of always assumed his was a brutalist form of laptop noise, and while that is probably both right and wrong, that’s what I’m getting here. It’s… fine? Crumbly distortions, crinkling high-end and massive granite slabs of bass are deployed in steady, patient ways, much too active to be filed under drone but too stoic and academic to really feel like industrial. It all feels very laptoppy, for better or worse. Not as bone-crushing as Emptyset, not as cinematic as Ben Frost, not as groundbreaking as Phil Niblock… just a nice set of textured electronic elements drifting between each other, sometimes plunging through the depths, sometimes whispering through the trees. While perfectly alright, nothing on Provoke really provokes me in any way, except to say that if you are sitting on any early back issues of Personal Best and want to unload them, let’s work out a trade. It’s the best.

Moin You Never End LP (AD 93)
If you liken dollar-bin ’90s emo records (or at least records that up until recently were in the dollar-bin) to a Salvation Army thrift shop, Moin’s music is by comparison the expensive center-city boutique that offers street-wear versions of vintage tees at knowingly-exorbitant prices. Coming from the electronic/experimental scenes that thrive in London, Moin (the duo of Raime alongside extraordinary percussionist Valentina Magaletti) are shining up their pensive emo-core with a fresh forward-minded aesthetic; their fascinating and unusual perspective continues to sharpen here. You Never End is the group’s third full-length since 2020, and it features a host of guest vocalists, one of the hottest current trends on the streaming music circuit (a cynical trick to enhance one’s online engagement perhaps?), though I believe that Moin’s intentions are artistically pure. Or, at the very least, these songs are great, and all the more interesting thanks to the distracted sprechsgang of Sophia Al-Maria, Coby Sey’s moody spoken-word presiding over pitch-lowered vocal samples, and Olan Monk on what is clearly the hit single, “Guess It’s Wrecked”. Monk’s soothing bellow hits like Fish Narc if he grew up in Brixton, and the track is up there with King Krule’s guest-spot on Mount Kimbie’s “Blue Train Lines” as far as painfully hip contemporary UK post-punk-tronica is concerned. The Moin players are up to some strange new riff-lands on “Anything But Sopo” and “We Know What Gives”, rightfully unafraid of the “math rock” tag as they know how to integrate intricate and unfamiliar patterns in their ultra-stylized world of reductionist grey-skied emo. It’s exquisitely tailored music, which is a funny way to approach a style well-known for its overt messiness, yet there’s a lot of life in these old sounds when approached from Moin’s entirely new angles, much like an old Raymond Pettibon-drawn punk flyer screened onto a Supreme x The North Face collaborative puffer jacket.

Nusidm Manifesto Stick LP (no label)
Always a keen limits-pusher, Brisbane’s Glen Schenau has truly gone overboard with Manifesto Stick. The head-scratching details pile up quickly: an LP limited to a scant fifty copies, all with a big thick booklet attached by green wire to the cover and a corresponding Bandcamp page that features digital files of music that do not match the vinyl, but instead are the same clinking piano loop over and over (which, I believe, does actually appear on the record at some point). That’s enough crazy for one release, but I thumbed through the booklet, and my god, Schenau handwrote dozens of pages in his distinctive illegible earthquake font. I can’t imagine how much time he spent, writing out this thick packet of unreadable prose, not in some wild scribbly mess but a clearly rigid artistic practice, his lettering maintaining its design throughout. Unnerving! Musically, while Nusidm fits not entirely cleanly within the realm of neo-no-wave post-punk, Manifesto Stick is mostly an instrumental affair, full of jagged sound-effects, digitally-enhanced dub versions of daily errands, basement rhythms and direct-to-iPhone clatter. There’s a piano getting punched, some undistorted guitar strumming along to what sounds like a broken washing machine… just a wild concoction of sounds designed to permanently stain on contact. It’s an entertainingly abstract addition to the world of Nusidm, but man, that preposterous booklet… it really got me good.

Objekt Chicken Garaage 12″ (Kapsela)
Lots of press about Objekt’s big “return” with his new label Kapsela, but Objekt never left the spotlight here at Yellow Green Red headquarters. 2022’s Objekt #5 and 2018’s Cocoon Crush are two of the finest examples of modern electronic music’s knack for being as meticulously devised as physically controlling, so it was a given that I’d check out this new two-track twelve-inch with a big smudgy Life-Saver / cat anus / petunia on the cover. With a title like “Chicken Garaage”, you’d think Objekt is open to having at least a little silly fun, and from the way the ticklish bass-line speeds on past, that seems to be the case. It’s certainly more of an upbeat party-favor than I’m used to hearing from Objekt, closer to Hessle Audio labelmates Joe and Untold in that 2014 post-dubstep mindset rather than any of the dissected post-modern experiments of his PAN brethren, but it doesn’t not fit into Objekt’s universe. Interestingly, the notes state that this is one of his least-edited cuts, a mere fifty-five versions until we landed at this final mix. I kinda wish this data was accessible for all music – how many different variants of Flipper’s “Ha Ha Ha” or Tullio De Piscopo’s “Stop Bajon” existed prior to the final recorded ones? “Worm Dance” is the b-side here, and it has more of that liquid-steel sound-design I’d expect from contemporary Objekt, even if the beat itself kind of recedes into the hyperactive atmosphere. Not a dramatic reinvention or bold step forward, but a welcome addition nonetheless.

Oïmiakon Comptoir Des Vanités LP (Bruit Direct)
Bruit Direct is a fun label to follow for the simple fact that the only obvious thread between releases is the eclectic taste of the guy who runs it (who also happens to be named Guy, which makes it easy for me to remember). The last couple Bruit Direct releases featured poppy guitars in universally-palatable forms, but this full-length from Parisian artist Oïmiakon lays out an entirely different musical spectrum, far from the any essence that could be construed as pop. The world of Comptoir Des Vanit​é​s bursts with bulky electronic machinery that generates tones, pulses, frequencies and rhythms, a prehistoric techno of sorts. On the more playful tracks, I’m reminded of Felix Kubin’s early modular experiments, electronic new-wave music built by nerds for the pleasure of their machines, but more often the music is insular and cryptically-defined, very much in line with the fearless roster of Vanity Records. Even when a 4/4 thump appears, it never feels like dance music… these tracks seem to function mostly for themselves, overlapping processes passing each other on modified circuit boards. I don’t want to make it sound like a matter of entirely unplanned coincidence, though – Philémon Girouard, the sole operator of Oïmakon, knows how to tell a story with his gear, be it one of unmanned submarines bonking into each other or space-station control centers warning of thermonuclear disturbances.

Patois Counselors Limited Sphere LP (Ever/Never)
On their third full-length, we find our ‘Counselors beleaguered and seasoned, maybe a little resigned but not entirely without hope. Who can’t relate to that? Proper Release, Patois Counselors’ debut, was my favorite album of 2018 (which, it should go without saying, is an extremely big deal), and while that early version of the group bounced and bopped like college freshmen too smart for their own good, Limited Sphere operates on low-battery mode by comparison. It took me a minute for me to get acclimated to its many laid-back tunes, but this was never a band that was going to tread in circles – they always had too many ideas, too much to explore and too many ways, via a cadre of auxiliary band members, to make it a reality. There’s still plenty of bounce to Limited Sphere – “Serious Rider” lets drummer Taylor Knox go full Kid Millions-mode behind the kit, for example – but the album’s relative softness, even in its more rollicking moments, is notable. “Marge Attack” finds a groove somewhere between Cake and Parquet Courts, but they simmer it, even going so far as to enhance the catchy chorus with woodwinds straight from an early Disney movie. “Bands I Barely Spoke With” might sound snide from the title, but it’s actually a tender ode to being in bands that the vast majority of the world will never know, let alone care about. Bandleader Bo White might’ve been able to assemble these songs by himself if he had to, but the rich, seven-person-deep community of Patois Counselors is indispensable for the group’s sound, full of moving parts and conflicting textures that thrive no matter the tempo or disposition.

Poem Rocket Lend-Lease 12″ (Silver Girl)
As new bands continue to excavate every last scrap of the ’90s for ideas to rip-off and random parts to sell for scrap, it’s a good thing there’s so damn much of it! I was an enthusiastic fan of music back then, particularly of the alt-rock world and the underground beneath it, yet I had no idea Poem Rocket existed until now, even as I see that they released four full-lengths back in the day, two of which came out on the respected Atavistic label. I don’t think they’re back together now – and I will respect them more if they’re one of the few old bands that don’t reunite – as the four songs of Lend-Lease were recorded in 1999 and shelved for reasons I refuse to investigate. What’s interesting is that this EP could be confused for the work of a contemporary band, the way in which they fuse the odd melodic phrasings of Sonic Youth with baggy-jean alt-shoegaze guitars, layered and atmospheric production (they open “Black Freighter Contraband” with ocean sounds, because why not) and a simmering sense of inner-city psychedelia (before the “desert rock” phenomenon took over as the standard psych-rock aesthetic). Poem Rocket hit that weird spot where their music seems to come from an emotional place, and is clearly underground, yet it has absolutely nothing to do with any form of emo; the aforementioned “Black Freighter Contraband” is closer to acoustic Led Zep than American Football or The Hated. It’s weird in a non-performative way, back when the built-in internet-genre fanbase didn’t exist, right down to Silver Girl’s presentation of these four songs: a clear-vinyl twelve-inch gatefold record with accompanying twenty-page(!) glossy booklet.

Private Hell Wake Up Screaming / Dead Inside 7″ flexi (no label)
Forty-four years ago, DOA woke up screaming on their debut EP, and now Richmond’s Private Hell are encountering the same troubled somnolence. Has our society learned nothing? It would certainly seem that way lately, but at least there are still angry punks making it the central focus of their ire. “Wake Up Screaming” pounds with the relentless heaviness of Swedish-style d-beat, but the metallic guitar leads lend the proceedings a thrash-metal spin. Not an unprecedented combo, metallic guitars with a heavy hardcore-inspired rhythm section, but Private Hell are confident enough in their attack that it still resonates. “Dead Inside” quickly follows with a robust breakdown before the pace reaches new frantic heights – they even take it to a blast-beat for a half-measure in there! I’m sure these guys grew up going to Pig Destroyer and Full Of Hell shows, as they seem to realize that technicality is a helpful tool for properly imparting one’s sonic brutality, but it ultimately comes down to how hard a band is willing to play, the understanding that the music should extract a pound of your flesh one way or another if done right. These two songs might be an insufficient data sample to pull from, but I’m willing to go out on a limb and say that Private Hell play pretty damn hard.

Rearranged Face Far Green Arcade LP (Tomothy)
LA’s Rearranged Face take me back to that freewheelin’ time when The Rapture were still playing basements but clearly bound for more, when dance-punk bands shared bills with youth-crew hardcore and Fugazi clones and it didn’t make sense but it also made perfect sense. One might attempt to attach the egg-punk designation to Rearranged Face’s sound, though to my ears the only eggs involved would’ve been the ones hurled at The Locust’s tour van outside of Wilkes-Barre Fest in 1999. Rearranged Face are scrappy and fun, dance-punk that avoids the typical disco beat entirely and isn’t afraid to push the big red buttons on a Nintendo-sounding synth, all with a singer who yelps like he’s being accidentally asphyxiated by his skinny tie. I suppose I’m leaning hard on the nostalgia vibe with this review, but Far Green Arcade isn’t merely another trip down memory lane – this music is alive and fresh, ready to climb up onto today’s amps and smack its head on the drop ceiling. I’d file them alongside other ragtag modern troupes indebted to the punker side of no-wave, groups like Collate and Neutrals, though Rearranged Face sass me in a way that the Numbers / Emergency split LP did back when I had my own mop of hair with bangs cut out the front. It was, and remains, an excellent look!

Rusted Shut Early Years, Vol. 2 LP (Tall Texan)
Rusted Shut played what was advertised as their final show earlier this year, an accomplishment that the group’s remaining members surely couldn’t have foreseen. This was always a band built on drugs, dysfunction, antagonism and chaos both personally and musically, and the fact that they were able to be the ones to pull the plug on it, over thirty years later, is a testament to Rusted Shut’s stubborn refusal to perish. Of course, some band members did in fact depart this mortal coil since the group’s late ’80s origins, and in light of this fact, Tall Texan sharted out this appropriately bare-bones twelve-inch LP composed of tracks recorded between 1992 and 1995. It’s startling how Rusted Shut has always sounded like Rusted Shut, completely out of step with the various musical trends, underground or otherwise, in the ’90s. Their nihilistic dirge-punk, recorded with all the filth that low-fidelity has to offer, took the Drunks With Guns ethos and dug it an even deeper grave, mud-soaked riffs that sound as painful for the group as they are for the listener. Their aesthetic was fully formed by The Year That Punk Broke, and the few daring seekers of plodding, molten noise-punk were rewarded thusly upon its discovery. As a vinyl record, Early Years, Vol. 2 is a worthy time-capsule, but at this point, with my personal shelves stocked up with Rusted Shut albums, what I want is a book: can someone close to the group put their story to the long-form written word, please? As written in large letters on the insert here, they’ve already got the perfect title ready to go: “Entertain No One”.

Shed Applications 12″ (Ilian Tape)
The pairing of Munich’s Ilian Tape label and Berlin’s Shed is as natural as bier in a garten, but it hadn’t happened… until now. Ilian Tape has been working overtime pumping out stately and expressive European techno sides in recent years, and we all know Shed hasn’t slept in the last two decades, so while it may seem like an inevitability that the two forces would someday link up, it doesn’t make Applications any less potent. These three tracks are durable yet spongy, like all excellent Shed material smacking the percussive elements front and center. The chest-rattling kicks are immediate and potent in a way that only Germans with aerodynamic haircuts can do it, but in true Shed fashion, its the synth leads that will have your head swiveling in double time. “TLSQ” is a prime example, a galloping thud met by a frantic swirl of illumination; I’m afraid time might stand still if I turn off the lights and crank it loud enough. “UFO2” is somehow even heavier, toms the size of monster-truck tires hammering out a trance-y beat as warning sirens demand that your soul separate from your body if only for its seven-minute duration. Shed probably cranks out tracks this sturdy and menacing the way you or I might complete a crossword puzzle over morning coffee, only half paying attention, but that doesn’t detract from the thrilling techno muscularity displayed on this twelve-inch, formal yet fierce.

Speed Plans D.U.I. 7″ (Convulse)
Pittsburgh continues its streak as American epicenter of grade-A meat-and-potatoes hardcore-punk with this new seven-track banger from Speed Plans. I had the pleasure of catching this Pittsburgh group live last year, who feature one of the most entertainingly flailing hardcore drummers I’ve seen in a minute, immediately making his presence felt on the opening tom rolls of “Everybody Gotta Die”. It’s got that Gang Green / Neos style going where it feels like it’s somehow falling apart yet fully together, like a car that passes you on the highway doing over a hundred with a back tire missing. The riffs are heavy in a modern way, a nice thick crunch that could go d-beat or thrash if they were interested in pursing either of those styles (they aren’t). Nah, they’ve got a mean-mugging attitude that gives off Cleveland vibes, pissed-off hardcore that shares the anti-social spirit of H-100s and Yambag, ripping tunes in under a minute because it’s the right way to do it. I’m sure they’re aware of the inherent ridiculousness in having a song called “Shut The Fuck Up” follow a song called “Shut Up”, but it’s still a pleasure to behold, the Jerry’s Kids-y power of “Shut Up” tumbling over into the punch-your-friend stomp of “Shut The Fuck Up”. I know it’s more of a hip-hop and pop thing to do, but the constantly-touring, no-new-song-having Negative Approach should tap Speed Plans to ghostwrite a new EP for them. D.U.I. is precisely the kind of music that bursts the veins in John Brannon’s forehead.

The Submissives Live AT Value Sound Studios LP (Celluloid Lunch)
We all know (and bemoan) the fact that the outlets that cover punk-affiliated underground music are few and far between these days, yet it seems as though the ones that do exist all already covered The Submissives’ fourth full-length, Live At Value Sound Studios. While there aren’t an abundance of worthwhile places to read about DIY guitar bands online, there are more DIY guitar bands than ever, so I guess what I’m saying is kudos to Celluloid Lunch for doing their darndest to get the word out about this one, not simply pressing the vinyl and loading the album jpeg onto Bandcamp but effectively luring the scant underground press’s attention as well. The Submissives were created by Deb Edison, a reactionary “group” kicking against the conformity of the louder/faster/harder boy-punks she dated and hung out with, proudly flaunting songs that thrive on soft simplicity, ease-of-performance and deadpan humor. Edison had a full band for this 2017 session, multiple friends who, depending on how smudgy your copy’s screenprinted cover came out, can kinda look like the same person, which is a nice touch. Even with live drums, multiple guitars and an occasional violin, these tunes are sparse and relaxed, as casual as pajamas. Edison’s drowsy, disinterested voice recalls a typical Aubrey Plaza character, which provides these public-domain riffs (“You On My Mind”, “He Wanted Her”) with a queasy little jolt. The best tune here, “Obsessed”, brazenly repurposes the ’60s Batman theme – other indie-poppers might follow the typical rules of decorum, but Edison is shrewd enough to understand that when you form a band, you can do whatever you’d like with it.

Thine Retail Simps Strike Gold Strike Back Strike Out LP (Total Punk)
Montreal’s Retail Simps continue to slap garage-rock out of complacency with their finest effort to date, the emphatically titled Strike Gold Strike Back Strike Out. There they are on the cover, mid-rock out, poised like the Mummies if the Mummies were regular guys downstairs and not, well, mummies, and they’re confident enough that even the drummer is allowed to wear sunglasses while playing! They continue to thread together some of my favorite aspects of garage-y punk rock abandon: the stupid-smart genius of The Penetrators, Black Randy’s charming petty nihilism, the unearned confidence of teenaged Back From The Grave one-offs, all with more swaggery attitude than needed to make it snap into place. “Garage” is probably the right bucket designation, but the ‘Simps slosh and slide way outside of the typical genre lines, as likely to tear-stain a ballad as ignite their amps in a bar-clearing freakout. There’s no clear frontman here, either – it seems like everyone in the band is singing at any given time, sometimes in unison, like the Ninja Turtles if they were three different Raphaels and a Michaelangelo. I’d enjoy a lesser band’s attempts at pulling this off, but (Thine) Retail Simps put together the neat trick of upping their technical muscianship while simultaneously sounding bigger and wilder. Who else would be audacious enough to not only end the A-side and start the B-side with the same repetitive tune, but also close the album with the whacked-out disco send-up of “Duckland ($imps Out)”? Rodney Bingenheimer would’ve named a drink special after these guys at his English Disco had this record came out in 1975.

T.T.T.T. I Saw You On The Bloody Floor 7″ (Record Beach)
Eyes & Flys released a slew of singles on their own unnamed label over the last handful of years, and now bandleader Pat Shanahan has formalized things under the name of Record Beach. Alongside a new Eyes & Flys single (holy moly, is it their ninth since 2019?), Shanahan offered up a slot to fellow Buffaloans T.T.T.T. They’ve got a similar mindset, taking a pretty traditional garage-rock sound and running the whole thing through crusty slap-back delay until mildly psychedelic results are achieved. The gory title track stomps and swings like vintage Ty Segall and Oh Sees, a ’60s dance-party with a blown-out recording. “Mountain King Killed My Car” is more typical garage fun – it runs on classic revved-up ring-outs – and the same sensation extends through the final track, “On The Sleigh Of The Damned”, going three-for-three on song titles long enough for a screamo band. “On The Sleigh Of The Damned” finds space for a cool vocal melody, Jack White-ish in a good way, and a ripping guitar solo on the level of Purling Hiss. The cover art is printed in offset blue/red on a white background, yet they didn’t bother to include a pair of 3D glasses: I guess Record Beach assumes that its audience already has a pair handy, which is fair.

Weegee Primitive Thrill LP (Dot Dash Sounds)
Weegee shoot their debut record Primitive Thrill high into the smog-choked downtown NYC sky, like a bat-signal designed to attract Bob Bert and Kid Congo Powers. Right off the bat, they’ve got a very nice gutter-glam sound going, big sleazy Scientists riffs played with the lumbering swagger of Feedtime and a wicked toothy smile cracking through the cigarette smoke as the Lower East Side back-bar stage grows more and more swamp-like. There’s an accidental Brainbombs riff replication on “Spellbound” (compare with “Kill Them All”), a good dose of wild “1970”-Stooges sax flair (the title track)… if Art Gray isn’t caught lurking in the alley behind the gig at some point, I’d have to imagine he’s either dead or in jail. I’m not sure where the members of Weegee came from, but it has to be from some other bands, as the sound they’ve put together on Primitive Thrill is too dead-on and studied (in a good way) to be a happy accident or first attempt. Lotta noise-rock ends up being the diametric opposite of sexy, but Weegee bury a little romance in their filth, a loud, greasy rock band where some couple making out in the corner wouldn’t be entirely out of place. There’s definitely some room for non-monogamy in Primitive Thrill‘s sullen, smoke-stained grooves, though whether or not it’s ethical remains to be seen.

White Suns Dredging Heaven LP (Decoherence)
Populist, pit-friendly noise-rock has been having its own little moment lately, but that’s pretty far removed from what New York’s White Suns are up to. They’ve been around for quite a while now – long enough to have previously released an album on Load Records, one of the pinnacles of American noise-rock achievement – and on Dredging Heaven, their sixth full length, they continue on their own staunchly un-moshable path. On the a-side, there’s a whole lot of blasting, with beats that verge on a less-restrictive form of grind-core, an overt aggression that dominates even the most belligerent listener into uneasy compliance. They’ve always been a group where it can be difficult to discern if the songs are savvy improvisations or demented compositions, and my confusion remains in tact here. While there’s plenty of speed and power on display, the ‘Suns shift easily into the steady thrum of rumbling drones, as corrosive and deep as a passenger jet that runs on a coal engine, but the controlled chaos is always around the next corner. “Passing Resemblance”, if in fact free, is free-rock on par with Sightings’ and Black Dice’s early material, back when tumbling combativeness was a key tenet of their respective sounds. On the second side, White Suns pop every remaining blood vessel through “Star Diagonal”‘s barely ninety seconds before “Forking Paths” shuts the album down across a sprawling sixteen minutes, ominously hovering like an alien vessel just outside of the Earth’s atmosphere and refusing to make its intentions clear. You’ll have to listen for yourself to find out if they decide to annihilate us or not – no spoilers here!

Zero Key Zero Key 12″ (False Aralia)
False Aralia is a new label care of Brian Foote, American electronic music enthusiast who works at Kranky and runs Peak Oil, a label whose track record of spotlighting outsider experimental/techno musics is exemplary. He probably didn’t need a new label, but “need” is such a wrong way to think about creating music and labels and art, so excuse me for misspeaking. It seems more like he wanted to crack open a new white-walled space to fill with avant-garde designs, False Aralia being the minimalist home for, at least at this point, two new twelve-inches by Izaak Schlossman, one under the alias of Selfsame and this one as Zero Key. I’ve been digging on this Zero Key one in particular, as it locates a nice little nook for itself, somewhere not quite under the covers of ambient-dub yet not remotely beholden to the buzzing energy of clubs. These soundscapes are very much in line with the softer side of Y2K-era glitchy dub-techno, like Vladislav Delay, Rod Modell and Jan Jelinek, but also with the shared sound-design sensibility of today’s Boomkat-approved lounge-zone experimentalists like Ulla, Mu Tate and Purelink. Across four tracks, the same general soundscape is rinsed in four separate tracks: staccato and refracted percussive elements cut through foggy sectors of low-end and twitchy, syrupy synths, with vocal snippets Magic Eye-d into the mix. Zero Key is hypnotic without monotony, four constantly-shifting cuts capable of scratching any esoteric itch nestled deep within your brain’s right hemisphere.

The Bug Fire 2xLP (Ninja Tune)
Crazy to think that I was first blown away by The Bug’s mega-heavy dancehall back in 2003 with Pressure, and now some eighteen years later, his music has grown even more exciting and ferocious. Impressive! I hadn’t checked out The Bug for an album or two, and maybe the breather is responsible for some of the impact Fire is leaving on me now, or maybe it’s simply that exceptional. I’m leaning to the latter, as his beats here behave like lead-plated thermal detonations, like a fifty-pound dumbbell dropping on an ant (and you’re the ant). At times I’m reminded of the doom-laden industrial-techno of artists like Kerridge and Emptyset, but The Bug is always clearly The Bug, thanks to a host of incredible guest vocalists. They all sound unhinged and hungry and like they’re having the time of their lives, and I hope they’re getting paid handsomely for it! The post-apocalyptic theme is exceptional (though things veer into weed-centric themes on a few tracks), and the beats exceed expectations. On “Vexed”, the usually even-tempered and prophetic Moor Mother goes absolutely buck, threatening to kill you while gnashing her teeth. It doesn’t get much better than that!

Container Creamer 12″ (Drone)
Has it really been five years since the last Container EP? In the beginning, I was suspicious of this noise-rocker-turned-techno artist, but that was really only in the very beginning – I am happy to declare that Container has been a distinctive and downright brutal participant in American techno for a decade now with some downright magnificent recordings under his belt (not to mention countless sweat-soaked live gigs across the globe). This new four-track EP reminds me of how great his music can be, finding another way to push acid-techno deep into the molten red without sacrificing nuance and texture. These four songs are different but the same, each lined up with powerhouse beats and absolutely stinging acid lines. You’ll want to handle these tracks with rubber gloves, so destructive and potent are his synths. The secret’s gotta be in the pedals he runs things through, right? I don’t know of any keyboards that are halfway as demented and violent-sounding on their own as the ones Container is using here, which he uses to surprisingly propulsive measure. Recommended!

Equipment Pointed Ankh Without Human Permission LP (Astral Editions / Sophomore Lounge)
If I’m understanding this right, the memorably-named Equipment Pointed Ankh started off as a side-project for the freakier, less rock-based musical ideas of Tropical Trash’s Jim Marlowe alongside a few friendly conspirators. Not sure if their priorities have shifted in the last couple years (or if, under current circumstances, “being in a band” is anyone’s priority at all), but Without Human Permission is a bold and ear-catching album, a colorful smack upside the head. They create a variety of intricate pieces here, seemingly leaving room for improvisation but often so finely performed that I can’t quite be sure of their compositional basis (“Chrome Run” is particularly dazzling). I’m hearing Blues Control and Rastakraut Pasta at one point, and Terry Riley and Harry Partch the next; Equipment Pointed Ankh weave through all sorts of intriguing sounds in pleasantly beguiling manners, never resting on any instrumental or melodic motif for too long. Honestly, the instrumentation as a whole is a bit of a mystery to me – did they rig up some of Harry Bertoia’s old sound sculptures; is someone using the dog-bark sound effects from Mario Paint? – but whatever they’re doing, the varied pieces of their puzzle fit snugly. Often this sort of “punk guys moving towards a semi-krauty avant-garde sound” thing can feel like a temporary form of cosplay, but the oddball tunes of Without Human Permission flow as naturally and intuitively as a game of catch.

Eugh The Most Brilliant Man Alive 7″ (Svart Ljud Rekords / Savage)
Time for your monthly dose of beep-beep honk-honk punk, this time coming from Melbourne’s Eugh. Overloaded synths and too-fast drumming are the name of Eugh’s game, very much in line with Erik Nervous, Count Vertigo, Schizos, Coneheads, Cereal Killer… yet another player in a genre that’s gotta be standing-room-only at this point. What else can one expect from punk’s modern era, where the ability to self-record one’s music and the desire for it to sound raw (read: crappy) have intersected so powerfully? I’ve certainly grown a little weary of this particular sound, if that isn’t already evident by my grumbling, but I don’t want to hold Eugh to the fire. They do DEVO vocals and melodic bass-runs and sci-fi noise as well (or as badly) as anyone else in the game, and I’d much rather their music be filling up what precious quantities of polyvinyl chloride are currently available. Songs like “Irritating Song” and “Galactic Terror” deserve it far more than whatever dumb Record Store Day-branded Pokémon soundtracks are currently clogging up record pressing plants worldwide.

Fashion Pimps & The Glamazons Jazz 4 Johnny LP (Feel It)
I instantly recognized the handwriting of Steve Peffer on the cover of this new Feel It release, which is precisely the sort of can’t-be-taught critical expertise you’ve come to expect from this blog. I’m presuming he’s also the “Steve Chainsaw” credited with bass-guitar and vocals here, and speaking of the credits, I was delighted to see that Noah Anthony (whose work as Profligate I strongly endorse) plays synth! Fashion Pimps & The Glamazons certainly seems to be a lark for these fellas, as serious of an investment as the band’s name would imply. They’ve definitely got that modern Ohio punk sound, with a tweaked guitar tone, inane lyrics and a mellow straight-facedness in the general delivery. Very much in line with Perverts Again and Knowso, who were probably influenced by Peffer’s earlier bands… the circle of life continues. Reminds me a bit of Folded Shirt too, another group he’s in, though Jazz 4 Johnny prefers to sputter and bop rather than wheeze and contort. I love the ease with which that Cleveland crowd churns out these projects, even if it seems like they forget about and move on from their own bands quicker than their fans like you and me.

Friendly Boyfriend Pick Up! 7″ (Happiest Place)
I love that Happiest Place shares a love of both harsh noisy experimentation and simplistic guitar pop, of which Friendly Boyfriend is the latter. They appear to be either married or brother and sister, or if not, it’s fascinating to think that two unrelated people named Tyra Hasselrot Uksila and Vihtori Hasselrot Uksila found each other. Anyway, four tracks here, one of which is a Clean cover, and also a decent reference point to start with when examining their sound. It’s filled with chiming guitars, buzzing keys and harmonious vocals, but the whole thing is recorded with such extreme tape warble that it almost sounds like the recording is falling apart in real time, twee-pop meeting The Disintegration Loops or something. The Clean always managed to record themselves with some level of clarity if not a glossy big-budget sound, but Friendly Boyfriend remind me more of Pumice or Flying Saucer Attack in the way that tape hiss and room noise are as inherent to their sound as the melodies themselves. Makes me want to pick a flower and then photocopy it over and over until the resulting image is only a coarse grey-black outline of its natural beauty.

HTRK Rhinestones LP (N&J Blueberries)
One cool thing about bands is that it’s impossible to hear them all. Case in point, Australian duo HTRK. They’ve garnered a substantial cult following that gobbles up their records even if they aren’t limited edition, playing what I understood to be a downbeat minimal electro-wave style that I usually find appealing, and yet I hadn’t heard them until now. I’d love to talk to some HTRK fans, because Rhinestones isn’t what I had expected, considering the album is mostly acoustic guitar and vocals. They weren’t always like this, right? Anyway, my expectations dashed, it took me a minute to settle into the soft and dare-I-say-ethereal sounds here, as intimately solemn as the final flickers of a candle. It’s a classically 4AD sound, like Hope Sandoval quietly sussing out her feelings alongside an acoustic guitar and Slowdive’s shoegaze production, or The Xx taking a staunch stance against mainstream pop. It’s not until the fifth track “Fast Friend” where any sort of percussion appears, a dubby electronic heartbeat alongside delayed guitars and vocalist Jonnine Standish’s bedside lamentations. Nothing about Rhinestones jumps out – this is a record that waits for you to come around, inspect it, and raise the volume loud enough so that its seductive qualities might reveal themselves. A few listens in and I’ve developed a fondness for the understated artful sophistication at work here, though I may have to dig into some of their earlier stuff to hopefully find that minimal synth-wave I was initially looking for.

Al Karpenter Music From A Private Hell LP (Bruit Direct Disques)
Al Karpenter arrived on the scene with a blistering, almost too blistering garage-noise EP in 2017, and followed it with an Ever/Never album that dissected noisy post-punk into patterns befitting a fractured iPhone screen. I’m still not sure “Al Karpenter” is a real person and not simply another Mattin alias (Mattin himself is credited here with various instruments, production, mixing and design), but I suppose that doesn’t matter in the end… it feels as if Al Karpenter (the person) is never meant to be known in any real sense, and I am willing to go along with that. So what does Music From A Private Hell sound like? Well, it’s pretty great! Lonely post-industrial weirdness is the name of the game, with Karpenter muttering over digital bass, twinkling pianos, acoustic bass, a host of electronics and even some guitar (often delivered one note at a time). The title is stark, and Karpenter lives up to it with these songs, really pushing for a zone of rich inner turmoil and musical cacophony that avoids feeling like your run-of-the-mill musical cacophony. I’m reminded of Alexis Marshall’s solo debut from earlier this year, in the way both men plaintively choke out their bluesy words in seeming obliviousness to the harsh or dreary soundscapes that accompany them, and in both cases, it works effectively. Though of course, one of the two is very popular and posts black and white photos of Blixa Bargeld and Nick Cave on his Instagram page and the other very well might not be a real person at all.

Lore City Participation Mystique LP (Lore City Music)
Normally, when a band I’ve never heard of sends in a record and they have a professional-looking promo sheet that features a long list of positive critical quotes from websites I’ve also never heard of, it’s a red flag. Are there really sites called Destroy//Exist, POST-PUNK and MangoWave that are offering worthwhile critical evaluation? (They’re probably saying the same thing about Yellow Green Red, of course.) Anyway, my guard was up, but Portland duo Lore City quickly eased my tension with their pulsing, drone-y, psych-y grooves. Art-school-tribal, we could call it? They remind me a bit of Fabulous Diamonds (though they tend to fill up more of the available sonic space), or perhaps a softer Rakta? I prefer when the drums are programmed in a krautrock manner over the ritualistic tom patterns, but it all works for what Lore City seem to be going for, which would be an approachably-witchy take on repetitive drone-rock grooves. I’m not certain that my chunky amethyst necklace would start to glow if I saw them live, but at the same time I’m not ready to rule it out entirely.

Mujeres Podridas Muerte En Paraiso LP (Beach Impediment)
Glad to see this new grip of Beach Impediment releases, as the Richmond label was surely, umm, impedimented by the same vinyl production delays as every other indie label over the last year. Anyway, this one comes from Austin, what seems to be a not-quite-full-time punk group featuring members of Criaturas and Vaaska (among others). They play a darkly jangly, moderately aggressive form of classic hardcore-punk, in ways reminiscent of groups like Gorilla Angreb, Kalashnikov, Cola Freaks, The Stalin and probably a good thirty percent of the P.E.A.C.E. compilation. I’ve been seeing people excited about this record on the internet, and I certainly don’t want to ruin anyone’s good time, but this strikes me as one of Beach Impediment’s weaker recent releases. There’s nothing wrong with Muerte En Paraíso, I just don’t find it particularly exciting, what with its tame tempos, infrequent hooks or riffs of distinction, and general gloomy vibe. They kind of sound like a Chicago punk band to me, which, let’s face it, is not on the top of anyone’s list. I’m sure they’re very cool people who have surely kicked ass in various ways both personally and musically throughout the years, so I offer them not only my respect but my honesty, too.

Neutral Live PÃ¥ Autodidaktik LP (Happiest Place)
There have been many times over the past few years that I took note of the fact that I never heard Live PÃ¥ Autodidaktik, a live tape by one of my favorite current acts, Sweden’s Neutral. Thanks to Happiest Place and this stately vinyl reissue, I no longer have to wonder! As a big fan of the group, I’m hungry for new material; normally a live set from any group’s earliest days wouldn’t be my first choice, but I have to say, this rips pretty hard. Neutral always seemed to be fully formed from the get-go, and that case is supported here: bong-ripping riffs (played on antiquated keyboards) are drenched, smothered and ignited with tape experimentation and harsh(ish) noise, often met with the commanding-yet-murky vocals of Sofie Herner. It feels like Nocturnal Emissions in their Sterile Records phase had they summoned the melodic doom of Black Sabbath from deep within, if you’re not already familiar with Neutral’s fantastic sound. Some of these tracks I’ve never heard before, while others come from their first two albums (though, as expected, are far from exact replicas). Excellent stuff! And while we’re on the subject of Neutral vinyl reissues, can one of you fine Swedes step up and press Neutral’s contribution to the On Corrosion ten-cassette compilation box-set? I’m ready when you are!

Orchid Spangiafora + Glands Of External Secretion Couscous Bizarre LP (Feeding Tube)
The live performance I witnessed of Orchid Spangiaflora and Glands Of External Secretion very well may have been the most entertaining show I caught in 2019, its flyer replicated in full color on the back of Couscous Bizarre. Thus, I couldn’t help but jump on this new album that features collaborations from that same general moment. While witnessing the two regular-looking old men chuckle on their stools as they whizzed through an unthinkable collection of sampled dialogue was the absolute best, this album is an excellent document for posterity as well. The gist is this: these two guys must’ve spent countless hours sampling bits and pieces of radio shows, documentaries, news reports, reality shows, podcasts, etc. etc. and so on, and loaded them up on their Neil Young Ponos or whatever, playing them back and forth in a seemingly improvised fashion. And yet, there is a clear constitution to these pieces – these guys lay out their samples in unexpectedly poignant, hilarious and connectable ways. It reminds me of those refrigerator magnets with various phrases or letters that you can put together in some novel new way, except instead of casually piecing together one nonsensical sentence, Orchid and Glands have put together enormous and fascinating verbal collages. Sometimes it helps to have our culture slightly rearranged to be reminded of how utterly mad and disturbing it all is, of which Couscous Bizarre is a potent example.

Ponys Auf Pump Wirt Schon Wieder LP (Phantom)
What does “Berlin punk” mean to you? To me, it doesn’t come loaded with any overbearing stereotypes, at least in my narrow view, which is kind of a nice setting to exist: no baggage. So here comes Ponys Auf Pump with their full-length vinyl debut, and I can safely say it hasn’t uprooted my notions of Berlin punk and what it can or cannot be. They’ve got a fairly well-traveled sound going, reminiscent of a groovier Gorilla Angreb, a non-gothy Subtonix or many of the vaguely garage-y, vaguely dancey punk bands that were around at the dawn of the ’00s. They seem to be having fun, but I can’t say I’m feeling much inspiration when Wirt Schon Wieder spins here, familiar as I am with the many bands who’ve done a similar thing in catchier or livelier ways over the past three decades. Not trying to be a curmudgeon – I would never begrudge a punk band their existence – but I can’t imagine much happening here would floor anyone who chooses the garage-punk bands they listen to with selectivity and discrimination.

Rat Heart Rat Heart LP (Shotta Tapes)
Exceptionally British-sounding mutant techno here from Rat Heart, a new alias bandied by one Tom Boogizm (is it pronounced “boo-gizm” or “boog-izm”, I wonder?). It’s a vinyl record, but the album feels more like a dusty cassette dub, or perhaps even more accurately, a late-night pirate radio show of which you happen to be the sole listener. Grubby beats, rickety drum machines and DIY dub effects stitch together nicely, all with Boogizm’s seemingly improvised toasting over top (which usually consists of the phrase “rat heart” over and over). It’s an oddly soothing pair of syllables when coming out of Boogizm’s mouth, a breathy rah-TAHH punctuating drowsy or frenetic grooves reminiscent of MF Doom’s Special Herbs & Spices series, O$VMV$M and Omar S at his most unhinged. The fourth track (they’re all annoyingly untitled) is a good example, with crackling hi-hats, tickled keys and a single guttural howl crudely interjected – there’s an inherent fun to this music, fully aware of its built-in obscurity and not giving an F. Grimy house is a certified style at this point, but Rat Heart has enough of its own playful energy to stand out.

Rearranged Face A Rare Caged Fern 12″ (Tomothy)
LA label and recording studio Tomothy has quickly established their lane, which is DIY neo-no-wave post-punk. Not a bad place to be! I appreciate that they continue to offer a platform to local acts that aren’t putting out records elsewhere, and recording it in their own studio for a real communally DIY (perhaps “do it together” is more appropriate?) feel. Rearranged Face are spastic and fun, file-able as a punk band but also a fine purveyor of borrowed disco beats, keyboard squiggles and vocals that sound like they’re delivered by a person wearing a pantsuit three sizes too small. I’m hearing Ex-Models, Uranium Club and Guerilla Toss here, certainly in line with the rest of the Tomothy roster of energetic and freaky punk bands (which of course includes a band called The Freakees). Is it possible that Los Angeles is really this fun, in a sincere no-frills DIY punk way? I want to believe it’s true.

Jacques Renault Sky Island 12″ (Let’s Play House)
Don’t close up the grill just yet, Brooklyn’s Jacques Renault is here to soundtrack the remainder of your summer parties, even the ones that are awkwardly masked or distanced. Not sure how I hadn’t encountered his music before, as he seems to run in similar social circles as a lot of DJs whose work I enjoy, but I’m glad I “discovered” him now because Sky Island is great. It’s a playful, non-stop selection of disco edits, house jams, roller-rink pop and convivial dance styles, reminding me of Tensnake, Daphni’s remix of Paradise’s “Sizzling” and The Avalanches’ Since I Left You, which is probably like comparing any given hardcore record to Minor Threat but what can I say, I hear it in there. Great live bass-lines, vocal hooks, funky drums, sound effects, party claps and melodic bluster really push this collection over the top, and at twenty-three tracks in less than half an hour, Renault keeps the party moving in a way that reminds me of Edan’s Echo Party mix. Now that pumpkin-spice-everything is back, I might have to tuck Sky Island away for a few months, but it’ll be back next summer alongside my inflatable pineapple-shaped raft.

Répéter Bad Twang LP (Bokeh Versions)
Props to the Bokeh Versions label for consistently doing the best, most difficult thing a label can do: provide music I didn’t know I wanted to hear. That’s certainly the case with this album from Austria’s Répéter, who had the good sense to combine surf guitar instrumentals with dub sound-system grooves. Sure, most things can be successfully mixed with dub – it’s like the garlic of the music world – but this mix of subdued dub grooves and active guitar twang hits particularly nicely. Each track is kind of the same, but the realms of dub and surf are broad enough that it feels fresh and interesting throughout… either that or I just really enjoy the combination. Don’t be scared, go straight to the track “Corpse In The Attic” for a tight percussive hook, a nimble Dick Dale-inspired riff and the sense that James Bond is about to stumble upon a crucial clue to push his mission forward.

Roadhouse Aladdin Sales LP (Sophomore Lounge)
Is that supposed to be a riff on Aladdin Sane, do you think? I’d assume so, but it’s still kind of baffling, which I suppose is an attribute most weirdo home-recording artists find appealing. Such is the case of southern Indiana’s Roadhouse, presumably a single person who spent some quality time in their music room editing beats, loops, samples and rhythms into easily-parsed tracks. The beats are usually a little cluttered, or at least frazzled sounding, reminding me of early cLOUDDEAD, Babel Fishh, Snakepiss, the Los Tres Pericos LP and at least a few things coming from the Radical Documents label. You know, unorthodox-sounding samples and instrumentation resulting in dance music that no one has ever actually danced to. Not exactly what I’d expect from someone called Roadhouse on Sophomore Lounge, but I dig it! I think I prefer when it reminds me more of lunatic early post-punk (see “Ballad Of Oberhansley”), sounding more like a precursor to what Beau Wanzer does than a noisy hip-hop instrumental. Not sure this record is a particular standout in the very crowded field of folks making random beats by themselves for fun, but I stand in solidarity with anyone out there who partakes in the age-old craft of making random beats by themselves for fun, Roadhouse included.

Rommel (ロンメル) セクシー スマイル b​/​w 甘いキッス 7″ (Bitter Lake Recordings)
Good Lord, I thought Bitter Lake had already outdone itself in the realm of underground Japanese archaeology but this single by the unfortunately-named Rommel takes the cake: it was released at a sole 1978 gig in a scant edition of one-hundred copies, fifty sold and fifty given to friends (though I doubt anyone counted the specific breakdown). What’s next, a reissue of a song a guy thought about once in Sakai in 1980 and forgot immediately thereafter?? Anyway, this one departs from the usual punk-or-electronic Bitter Lake aesthetic, offering up two well-polished power-pop gems. This is power-pop without any punk influence, closer to Bay City Rollers or Jefferson Starship than The Jam or 20/20. That’s not a detriment, though, as Rommel swing and bop through these two feel-good pop songs with precision and flair, if perhaps lacking in unique distinction. And now, decades later, what was all but forgotten is available once more (and without pandering to Western audiences, as the band name and song titles appear only in Japanese on the cover and center labels).

Jana Rush Painful Enlightenment 2xLP (Planet Mu)
So often, footwork is a musical style that I appreciate more in theory than practice, but whatever is lacking in either my understanding or the music itself, Jana Rush’s Painful Enlightenment is knocking my socks off. Perhaps it simply goes harder than many of the other records I’ve heard? And not hard in the sense of macho physicality, but in the intense selection of sounds she uses. Rush digs deep to find the strangest combinations of sounds, from gloriously bleating horns (opener “Moanin'” is a gorgeous shock) to raunchy porn sounds (“G-Spot” has a surreal, almost mournful flow that is usurped by some decontextualized, well, moanin’). I was reading an interview with Rush, where she talks about butting heads with her radio director during her time as a radio DJ who wanted her to play more palatable, pop-friendly tracks, and her dedication to the uniquely raw is on full display here. Like many records that will be coming out over the next year, there’s a depressing serenity to some of these tracks, very much an isolated Covid state of mind, but there’s also rambunctious joy, hilarity, and wisdom to be found within Painful Enlightenment. And it slaps tremendously.

The Soul Patrol Mara / Take Back The Night 7″ (Feel It)
At first spin, I was thinking goddamn, these New Orleans bands are getting so incredibly good at aping classic punk-wave that it’s scary! And then I realized that, at least in this case, The Soul Patrol were a short-lived Louisiana act from back in 1979 and this single was originally released back then. I blame the cover art, which is very much in line with today’s graphic aesthetic (I swear it looks like it should be some new project featuring members of Public Acid or Warthog), for duping me for those first five minutes. Anyway, kudos to Feel It for rescuing this one from total obscurity, as both tunes here hit that sweet spot between proto-punk and proto-heavy metal. “Mara” sounds like Joey Ramone back when he still wore his wizard costume singing with friends in his teenage neighbor’s basement all fueled on cigarettes and detention slips. “Take Back The Night” stomps even harder, recalling White Boy And The Average Rat Band if they removed their aviator sunglasses. Both tunes seem to be the product of bandleader Buckshot Coxe, an impossibly cool name of a man who is sadly no longer with us today. I hope to one day follow his lead!

Terrine Les Problèmes Urbains LP (Bruit Direct Disques / Tanzprocesz)
Listening to Terrine’s newest album for Bruit Direct and Tanzprocesz, you’d have no idea Covid ever happened – hers is a gloriously warped, carefree and social vision of the world. I heartily enjoyed her previous album on the label, and I’m happily cackling at Les Problèmes Urbains too. You know how some artists throw everything at the wall to see what’ll stick? It seems as though everything hurled by Terrine sticks firmly, from sputtering drum machines to cartoonishly gloomy synths to piano/horn improvisations to clips of French men raucously clapping and singing at a bar. Her mind moves fast, but pleasantly so – I never entirely forget where I am while listening to Terrine, but often it feels like she’s gripping my wrist as she pulls me through a crowded and bustling Parisian piazza. Fans of Ekoplekz, Jac Berrocal, The Residents, Nina Harker and Luc Ferrari might wish to stay a while if they ever find themselves in the company of Terrine’s Les Problèmes Urbains.

Li Yilei 之 / OF LP (Métron)
Métron seems to have made their name on the music of Japanese modern-ambient master Meitei, among some other fine releases, so Meitei fans similar to myself may have found themselves peeping this new one from China-born, London-based sound artist Li Yilei. If you’re hoping for soothing synth drones, blissfully cascading tones and bird song, your order’s up! On one hand, a lot of this stuff has become so predictable and formulaic that engaging with a new record of soft “experimental” ambient can feel as reliable and unexciting as tying my shoes, but at the same time, if it sounds good, who cares how many times it’s been done and how many people are currently doing it? The sound of rushing water, Tangerine Dream-y arpeggios and digitally-manipulated string instruments are a trustworthy balm for my ears in this time of so much mental turbulence, and 之 / OF provides a bouquet of delicate comforts. Am I sad that I missed the limited version that came with a ceramic xun (a xun being a “globular vessel flute” dating back hundreds of years in Chinese culture)? Sadder with every passing day.

Spasmes Du Hasard compilation LP (SDZ)
A label-centric compilation LP is pretty rare these days, but one where the artists involved all seemed to give the best they’ve got for it? Downright impossible to find, yet that’s how I’d qualify SDZ’s Spasmes Du Hasard. SDZ is a quality underground French label that has apparently been around for twenty-one years now, hence the basis for this compilation. It showcases a somewhat wide range of underground indie / post-punk / experimental music, though certain qualities are a constant throughout: a detached coolness, a slightly nihilistic streak of humor, and raw guitar sounds. I’d hope you are familiar with personal faves like Exek and The Rebel, and they’re in good company alongside Nathan Roche, Pierre & Bastien and Rose Mercie (whose wobbly, skeletal “Marie Toi De Moi” might be my favorite cut here). Rose Mercie’s post-punk goes nicely with Marie Mathématique’s “Holopherne” following it, a charming drum-machine indie-pop tune with a whistled chorus. See what I mean? SDZ knows what they like, and I like it too.