TERMINAL BOREDOM Review Archive pt. VI

Further inquiry into record reviews from TB and other sources circa 2013...

Afflicted Man I’m Off Me ‘ead LP

The strange and twisted history of Steve Hall aka The Afflicted Man is best recounted elsewhere (not least of which in the liners to this reissue), but suffice to say it includes hippies, punks, skinheads, anarchists, glue-huffers, speed freaks, junkies and, never one to be excluded, God his damn self. Oh, and techno. I wouldn’t say this is Hall’s best album -- general consensus is the glorious din of Get Stoned Ezy (billed under High Speed & The Afflicted Man) is his apex – but it’s still an essential piece of the jigsaw. “Survival in the 80s” is a prime chunk of drunk stumble, lurching between the seemingly disparate poles of thug and psych rock. Hall seems to be trying to channel earlier gen freaks like Pink Fairies, and the sheer wrongheadedness (offme’eadedness?) of how his attempt comes out coats the proceedings in a sheen of enthusiastic, intoxicated amateurism, triumphantly emerging as unique DIY psychedelic post-punk rock n’ roll. In my mind’s eye, I see burly bikers with death’s head tattoos and fey cardigan-clad Homosexuals enthusiasts in a circle, hands clasped tightly, all enjoying these gone sounds together. Maybe I’m just a hopeless utopian, but, brothers and sisters, can’t we all just pass this communal glue bag, take a huff, turn off our minds, float downstream etc….?

(Permanent // permanentrecords.com)

Androids of Mu Blood Robots LP

Sometimes I wished I lived in an alternate universe where the majority of rock n’ roll bands were comprised of mostly female members -- that the almighty cock did not hold sway, and in fact, the feisty V was where the power sat. I could get down with this Amazonian utopia if the popular bands of the day were lady-powered dynamos like the Raincoats, Kleenex, Girls at Our Best, Dishrags, The Nixe, Wrecks, Nog Watt, Bound & Gagged, Neo Boys etc. Count the fantastic foursome of the UK’s Androids of Mu in that stellar lineage. Originally released in 1980 on the seminal Fuck Off Records, Water Wing does a splendid job providing a faithful reissue of this overlooked classic. Supposedly, Crass offered to do an album but requested a drummer change. The women of Mu promptly said “Fuck off,” and went and Fucked Off. Emerging out of the intoxicating smoke of the Gong offshoot Here & Now, Androids of Mu wedded ecstatic freedom with sharp post-punk grooves. According to the accompanying dossier, the guitarist had a “previous deployment” with Inner City Unit featuring Hawkwind’s Nik Turner. Co-producer and Fuck Off Records founder (and main shaker in the great World Domination Enterprises) Keith Dobson provides liner notes and direction to this first-time reissue. The intertwining strands of British freak rock and outer limits post-punk weave a nice tapestry for the trainspotting record-geek. But these ladies were not fucking around for your benefit. They were forging their own path through the ’77-as-year-zero forest. “Atomic X” opens the album like a ska-influenced answer to Ubu’s “30 Seconds…” with bombs exploding on the horizon for the song’s duration. The Androids utilize that dub/ska rhythm quite a bit, which is a dealbreaker for some, but they leaven it with spikey guitars, whooshing bits of synth noise, and alternately pleading or too-cool vocals. “She is A Boy” fucks with your gender biases something fierce as a woman observes a drag queen in action and it “makes me feel strange/when I’m in her range/hope she don’t hate me/I don’t hate her.” This is followed by the smirking “Pretty Nun,” which wonders “How do you really give up the good times/sacrifice your pretty youth?” Hey, who doesn’t love a hot nun? “Bored Housewives” is a legit classic, mixtape material when the Slits get to be old hat, providing a similar rejection of society’s incessant need to compartmentalize half the population. Most telling is the line “Sunday afternoon I take the kids to the park/never have a chance to meet a stranger after dark.” Ironically, this seems like a great song to sing along with as you do the dishes. “Lost in Space” is the track the singers from Sun Ra’s band never made, Joe Meek transmissions darting around the mix like a malfunctioning satellite. Blood Robots isn’t necessarily the album to break you into the wonderful world of femme post-punk, but if you’ve already got a taste, then this record is mandatory. (Water Wing // waterwingrecords.com)

German Shepherds Music for Sick Queers LP + 7”

Complete fucking freaks. I’m not sure how I was made aware of this album, but way back in Y2K I found myself with access to a college radio station’s music library and I proceeded to go as apeshit as possible within a few hours each week burning obscure LPs onto CDRs. Music For Sick Queers was one of the first, and one of the freakiest. This record will never not sound like the product of disturbed minds; no surprise that surviving original member Mark Hutchinson hails from Northeast Ohio. Once again, Superior Viaduct gives up the goods, cementing their rep as the finest retro outsider-punk label in Christendom. If the menacing drawings that serve as German Shepherds artwork don’t clue you in as to the damaged nature of this SF duo, one listen to “Communist Control” will set you straight. This is music that considers Throbbing Gristle’s “Hamburger Lady” a love song. All of the classic subjects are touched upon: apocalypse, Hitler, commies, Satanists, drugs, pedophilia. This last one is a touchy (ouch) subject for the Sheps. There were rumors for years that the now-deceased half of German Shepherds, Stephen Scheatzle, had been accused of some sort of child abuse and then committed suicide. It appears that this was merely a media stunt (and perhaps an inspiration for The Dwarves and He Who Cannot Be Named?), but I wouldn’t put anything past these damaged cretins. The kid-stalking anthem “Booty Jones” practically implicates you in an unspeakable crime, tossed off so nonchalantly that the creep factor rises as the song progresses. “I Adore You” is more throbbing fluorescent light-buzzing and insistent rhythm, like the gait of a persistent stalker, clinging to the shadows, patiently. “Mr. Tupper” is an audio collage, not unlike Orchid Spangiafora, cutting up radio adverts and snatches of conversation. “THC,” the Devil’s weed, brings the Satanic goods, as only the mid-80s could, a peak time for ol’ Beelzebub and his countless minions. I wonder what Bob Larsen would’ve made of this cacophonous invocation of psychedelic music, heavy drug use and patricide. Satan is boring? Nah, not always. Christ almighty, I wanna shove this record into every noise dork’s earholes. Don’t worry, children, I brought lube. (Superior Viaduct // www.superiorviaduct.com)

Giant Henry Big Baby LP

When I was in high school, my two favorite contemporary bands were Unwound and Gaunt. To the astute ‘90s punkologist, much about my younger self could be inferred from such knowledge. Gaunt was local(ish), kicked major ass, were snarky as fuck, but wore their heart on their sleeve, like every great Midwestern band should. I Can See Your Mom From Here was a crucial album in my life, and remains a go-to staple. On the other side of the river stood Unwound. A power trio from the rain-soaked PNW, Unwound sometimes seemed like Nirvana’s younger siblings. And they kind of were. Per the liner notes from their classic debut Fake Train: “thankyounirvanaforthebuyingusbeerthankyounirvanaforlettinguspracticehere.” But, in many ways, Unwound was the superior band. They were far more punk and underground, and their music evolved by leaps and bounds over the years. While they certainly never had the innate ear for melody like Cobain & co. did, they still managed to write dozens of memorable songs over their decade-plus existence. While sonically closer to Mission of Burma, Unwound’s howls of rage and sorrow had more in common with the emotional terrain of Husker Du’s Zen Arcade. Unwound’s songs were dust-storms of existential fury that channeled teen angst like few bands ever have (see Fake Train’s opener “Dragnalus”). And now that the Nineties are “back” (whomever said that pop culture moves in twenty-year cycles should get a MacArthur genius grant), Unwound has come around again, with new reissues on Numero Group, including a deluxe representation of the hard-to-find true first-album (posthumously committed to wax by Honey Bear in 1995). And that takes us almost back to where this record sits in the continuum. Before Justin Trosper, Vern Rumsey and Brandt Sandeno got Unwound-proper going, they had their high school band, Giant Henry. One Giant Henry song, “Crab Nebula,” managed to find its way into the early Unwound set, but all of the songs contained on this record are previously unheard. Recorded in their hometown of Tumwater WA in 1991, this is what teen spirit truly smelled like. “Super Nova” blasts off with a thick sound, unexpected noisy breaks and Trosper’s Cobain-esque yowl. On the insert, Rumsey is wearing a Nirvana t-shirt and the influence is transparent -- “Listenator” sounds like a Bleach outtake -- but Giant Henry manage to sculpt it into something that can stand on its own. And, much like Nirvana, these kids “loved the Melvins to death.” This kind of noisy off-time sludge seems to come natural to our friends up in the Loggerlands. As the trio morphed into Unwound and became more serious, the music grew even noisier and more unhinged. Big Baby is for completists-only, of course, but I can’t imagine any such person would be disappointed with this unexpected early glimpse into one of the ‘90s crucial bands. (The Numero Group // numerogroup.com)

Murderedman Love in Danger LP

Clevo noise rock vets do some of their best work yet. “Sleight of Hand” is a concise and electrifying burst of power that could have come straight off of Six Finger Satellite’s Paranormalized, secret melodic bass line included. “House of Eyes” is full of Bauhaus-ian drama; spiraling guitar and bass lines wrap around singer David Russell’s throat, threatening to choke the life out of him and us. “My Catastrophe” is a relentless slice of avant-hardcore, buried blastbeats competing with fragmented electronics. “Toil & Toll” is Murderedman’s nu metal cut, featuring Russell’s most effective vocal performance overtop a hammering groove and sheets of scree. This is a brutal record, modest in its ambitions, but ambitious nonetheless. As good as they are here (and live), I feel Murderedman’s finest material has yet to come. But for now, this record will satisfy those who miss the likes of Drunkdriver and White Suns, not to mention Slug and Glazed Baby. (A Soundesign Recording // polarenvy.com)

Poor Lily Vuxola CD

I wanted to like this; really, I did. I’m a sucker for things in this nebulous genre – post-hardcore pseudo-artpunk whatchamacallit, obviously inspired by the Minutemen and most specifically recalling the mighty Nomeansno. Poor Lily are old hardcore dudes based in the Bronx who still feel the fire and wanna jam out their socio-political issues via tight power trio dynamics. And they almost succeed. But then there’s the singer’s nasally voice which falls on the wrong end of the Biafra Annoyance Spectrum. And when the other guy occasionally chimes in, you’re wondering how the CD player suddenly switched to a Biohazard album (and I only have a single-disc player). Despite some promising song titles (“The Days are Not Piano Keys,” “Justice Kennedy Has a Cold,” “The Drunken Mapmaker”), not one of these 19 songs stands out. To their credit, Poor Lily only waste a half hour of your time, but then again, that time would have been better spent listening to Sex Mad. (self-released // poorlily.com)

Sonic Youth Smart Bar Chicago 1985 2xLP

Nineteen eighty-five was a peak year for da Yooth, what with arguably one of their finest albums, Bad Moon Rising, coming out on Homestead, and them beginning to tour the entire country, often with Swans and at least once in the Mojave Desert with the Meat Puppets and Redd Kross (and *cough* Psi-Com). This gig from Chicago is a helluva live document and might remind you why Sonic Youth, at their best, divorced from all the recent drama, really are a unique and powerful band unlike any other. The set is basically all of Bad Moon Rising with a few things off the impending EVOL. The recording is excellent, utilizing both board and room mics to give a real presence to the room, while still being able to hear what each instrument is doing. You know the guitars are going to be gnarly and otherworldly, but what really comes through is how pulverizing the rhythm section is. Steve Shelley had just joined the band following Bob Bert’s departure, and his time in Wisconsin’s Crucifucks had prepared him well for Sonic Youth’s intense sets. He’s a more straightforward drummer than Bert, and live it comes together as he keeps the band from floating away or jamming too long. They start things off with “Halloween”s slow grind, then get “Death Valley ‘69” out of the way. It thrashes pretty hard, but it’s “Intro” into “Brave Men Run” that really kicks the set up an extra level. Shelley and Gordon drive the song forward as Moore and Ranaldo make Swell Maps chimes on their guitars. The dark, tribal threat of “I Love Her All The Time” is so focused it feels like an incantation. “Ghost Bitch” sets hackles on edge with arcs of achingly abrasive feedback, eventually erupting in what sounds like a voodoo dance in pitch-black darkness. Older gems like “The Burning Spear” and “Making the Nature Scene” get feverish readings. This is before Sonic Youth felt compelled to weld their outre’ tendencies to traditional rock songcraft. At this point in their career, Sonic Youth sounded like no one else, aided by their heavy use of tape loops during this period. They had shed all of their No Wave forebears’ trappings and established a singularly menacing style of rock noise. Smart Bar has some of the heaviest SY action I’ve heard on wax, we’re talking some real head-banging noise rock, so come get ducky, dodos. (Goofin’ // sonicyouth.com)

The Thing From the Crypt compilation LP

This seminal comp of an isolated sub-scene gets the treatment by coldwave impresarios Dark Entries. There’s a gothic sensibility to much of this music, but it’s not heavy-handed, and often tongue-in-cheek. Released in 1981 and containing two songs by each band, this comp’s quality is, for the most part, excellent. Exhibit ‘A’s “Rain” sounds like a New Zealander’s take on darkwave, ditching the menace for an extra dose of melancholy. “Take Me Inside” by Sad Lovers & Giants comes off as a more accessible, new wave Screamers, while Flying Beechcraft’s sly “Bugger Off” is a minor classic. Of course, half the reason to own this LP is for the two songs by the supremely satisfying Soft Drinks, a synth-vocal-drum combo that approach their arch songs with a thuggish glee. Imagine early Passage in a caveman karaoke and you’re getting close. “Squash” does just that, but “Pepsi Cola” is the choice of a new generation (of miscreants). A muscular drumbeat pounds away as synths act like a quickening pulse, while the singer yammers on about drinking a soda, literally, everywhere. Flying Beechcraft come up with another winner in “Frog Girl,” almost like an angles-rounded-off Embarrassment, or perhaps a slightly less pretentious Verlaines. I really dig how most of the bands walk this strange line between synth-punk-pop-new wave-goth. But trust me, there’s more than enough guitar here, this is still rock music, generally speaking. Joy Division looms large, but taken in creative directions. S-Haters provide good, noisy mope but Sad Lovers & Giants “Clint” could easily get an ‘80s nite dance floor moving. On the other hand, Mex’s “Functioning Fripp Girls” has more in common with Danny & The Dressmakers, and the album closes out with Gambit of Shame’s nearly trad garage-rockin’ “She Lawn.” If anyone would like to send me a copy of Soft Drinks’ lone 45, “Popstars In Their Pyjamas,” well, shucks, that’d be just swell. (Dark Entries // darkentriesrecords.com)

100 Flowers s/t LP

Way back in the early part of the last decade of the last century, you could walk into any halfway decent record store, dig through the used CD bin, and come up with a $3-5 copy of the 100 Flowers collection 100 Years of Pulchritude. And if you were a hip motherfucker *ahem* then you knew that 100 Flowers were the sequel to legendary art-punk primitives the Urinals. Much like the Screamers, Urinals material was exceedingly rare at this point. It wasn’t until 1996, when Amphetamine Reptile released the Negative Capability…..Check it Out! compilation, that the average loser could bask in the wonder of songs like “Black Hole” and “I’m a Bug.” The 100 Flowers CD was on Rhino, so they were everywhere. At some point, someone must have bought the thing new cuz it was everywhere used. Or maybe there really were that many music journalists back then. I owned it for a few years, listened occasionally, but was always struck with the notion that they were a lesser Minutemen (whose cover of Urinals’ “Ack Ack Ack” was how most people even knew of these bands). One day, I sold it, and never regretted it. Then Urinals stuff appeared and that felt much more satisfying. So, when Superior Viaduct announced an impending reissue of the sole 100 Flowers LP, I was nonplussed. “Big deal, bring on Church Police,” I thought. Well, fuck me sideways, cuz my young mind must’ve not been “ready” for 100 Flowers. What seemed polished and neutered all of those years ago, now just seems like classic Cali art-punk. I’m willing to bet that the mastering on this LP trumps the shitty analog-to-digital transfer of a CD circa 1990. Also, without the addition of 12 bonus tracks, it’s easier to focus on the LP as a coherent statement, instead of part of a catalog of material. In other words, this rules! Featuring the exact same trio as the Urinals, 100 Flowers exhibit a growing mastery of both their instruments and their songwriting. 100 Flowers contains sixteen examples of how to do “angular” properly. There’s still all the pent-up sexual frustration of old (“Horizontal” “Strip Club”), but tempered with a sense of growing older and pondering the meaning of love and life (“I Don’t Own My Own Heart”). After gorging on the simultaneously re-released Urinals 7”s, do yrself a favor and pick this platter up. [Superior Viaduct; superiorviaduct.com]

Bradley Dean & The Terminals 7"

NYC rock n’ roll that could use a little more dirt under its fingernails. “Top of the Hour” is power-pop reminiscent of Gentleman Jesse or other similar modern purveyors. Backing vocals by Kim Warnick of The Fastbacks lends some legitimacy, but the song still falls flat. Well-played, but zero fizz. The cap has been left off of this soda bottle for too long. “Everybody’s Headed to the Graveyard” is a little tougher, a bit of a hitch in its step, but its lowdown vibe seems a bit forced. A few more trips to the wrong side of the tracks might pay off for this crew. [Tone Town]

Cellos ‘The Accident’ 12” EP

Following an EP on Dead Beat last year, Canada’s Cellos throw another 12” at us. There’s definitely something of the, what is it, third (?) wave of AmRep/TnG-“core,” contained in these grooves. Much like the now-defunct Grids, this is muscular, well-played post-Pissed Jeans pummel. It’s a little cleaner and more streamlined than the bulk of that aggro resurgence, but still manages to hit fairly hard. I can see these dudes holding their own on a bill with fellow Ontarians Metz. I’m sure they’re saving their loonies to record with Albini. I’ll always have a soft spot for this sound, but Cellos don’t quite put my panties in a bunch (who am I kidding, I’m going commando). On “Rust and Government” and “Pilgrimage,” Cellos nudge in a slight amount of melody, and it kind of works against them – I’m reminded of that nebulous sorta-metal that is the stuff of countless Brooklyn Vegan posts. The cover art even has a sub-Kozik feel to it. Not bad, but not great. [Ah Some; ahsomerecords.com]

CUNTZ Aloha LP
On their debut LP, Australia’s Cuntz cycle through various noise rock motifs with a brutish force, challenging your eardrums and your sense of decency. The opening salvo of “Homeless” and “Casual Drinker” hits as hard as any Pissed Jeans 1-2 punch, but the album truly hits its stride with the dizzying paranoia of “Lost” and “Meth.” Singer Ben’s desperate roar recalls the unhinged bellow of Dugald McKenzie, deceased shouter from ‘80s hellions Venom P. Stinger. Cuntz are the latest and current greatest in a long line of degenerate scuzz-rockers from Down Under, gifting us with one of the finest albums of its type to come down the pipe in ages. [Homeless] originally appeared in High Times magazine

Dadamah “Violet Stains Red”/”Absent and Erotic Lives” 7”

Dadamah was an extraordinary band. Comprised of some of New Zealand’s finest—including members of Pin Group, Terminals and many more—Dadamah’s music captured the inner turmoil of love-gone-dead as well as anyone before or since. With a sound that echoed, but never imitated, The Velvet Underground, Dadamah stuck around long enough to give us two classic singles and a masterful LP. As they had before the band existed, the members continued to make fantastic new sounds in old and fresh combos, but in some ways Dadamah was their crowning achievement. After nearly two decades, this unexpected single comes out with the quiet and modest force that the band itself harnessed so well. Housed in a lovely and sturdy jacket and spinning on marbled red vinyl, Dadamah drops the emotional hammer on you as if they had merely stepped outside for a smoke. Recorded back in ’92 on their trusty Tascam 4-track, this 45 is a must-own for the Dadamah fan. “Violet Stains Red” is a Roy number reminiscent of “High Tension House,” one of the LP’s highlights. I keep on thinking “Absent and Erotic Lives” is the name of a Bergman movie, but the internet keeps on telling me that I’m delusional. Typical. But it is most definitely a Kim Pieters-sung bummer, which, perversely, makes me grin. And bear it. This weight is heavy and so is Dadamah. [Yellow Electric]

La Luz “Call Me In The Day”/”Easy Baby” 7”

All-female Seattle quartet with a faithful and well-presented surf/girl-group hybrid. The surf aspect of their sound leans towards the dreamy and melancholic, not “Pipeline” and Pulp Fiction. “Call Me In The Day” has the requisite Spector-esque harmonies and enveloping sound, but it’s done so well here that you don’t find yourself sneering about hipster beach rock or whatever the fuck that cruise-ship song-and-dance routine calls itself. “Easy Baby” is even more Ronettes-y, yet it triumphs over redundancy by virtue of actually conveying the mood that these ladies are attempting to conjure. La Luz reaches beyond the surface elements, and comes up with a well-crafted and performed single. [Water Wing; waterwingrecords.com]

Last Year’s Men “Clawless Paw”/”What Can I Get” 7”

Decent, vaguely “garage” punk, but a bit heavier than the normal limpdick fare people pass off these days. “Clawless Paw” has a cool woozy quality to it. The singer sounds like he’s singing to himself on a drunken walk home, stars out, heart smashed. The flip has the inevitable Black Lips steez (outdated slang vol. IV). It’s just not dirty or wild enough to really get your feet moving or trigger a Pavlovian desire to drink. And that’s really what garage punk should be all about. Better luck next time, boys.
[Sophomore Lounge; www.sophomorelounge.com]

Obnox IV: A Ragin’ in the Sun 7” EP

The Obnox onslaught continues with one of his best yet, on a re-activated Anyway Records no less. Anyway was responsible for some of the finest platters out of Columbus in its ‘90s heyday and we should welcome them back with a big ol’ bear-hug, back-slap, and a 6 pack of Stroh’s (or Straub, if you must). This 4-song EP by Obnox is exactly the sort of record that Anyway made its name on – fuzzy, dirty small-town punk packed to the gills with hooks. “Rock n Roll Babylon” sounds like a Dead Boys song playing on a wrecked car stereo idling in the driveway at your neighbors’ house. You crane your neck out the window for a closer look and the sweet, powerful, dare I say gorgeous, “Ciara” floats up to you, which defies logic cuz it is heavy as hell. I keep checking the liner notes to see who Bim is covering, and I keep coming up empty cuz he wrote the damn thing. One of the best songs of 2013 so far. “The President Smokes (pro drug rally)” greets you with a Public Enemy sample and then lays out a thick carpet of bomb-blasted beats. The title cut brings Thomas’ near-falsetto singing back for another cut packed tight with deep guitar squall, soaring (no shit) vocals, and memorable melodies that you can stick in your pocket and take with you for the day. On this installment, guest musicians from TMIBH, Bad Noids, and Big Black Africa assist Obnox in continuing to reign o’er the Cleveland scene. Not bad for a stoner. [Anyway; belakoe@anyway-records.com]

Shady and The Vamp ‘As We Told You Earlier’ 10”

A few years ago, I spent some time driving around Europe with NYC scumfucks Woman, and one of their shows was at a converted prison way up high in the Swiss Alps. And it was really fucking fun. In addition to the gracious hospitality displayed by the hosts, there was an excellent opening band (a rarity in Europe). Besides playing a killer set of garage-punk, these young delinquents shared quite a bit of hashish with yours truly. Let’s call it payola, far in advance. The first Shady and The Vamp single was a high-quality twofer, and now they’ve graduated to a 10” (baby steps); six songs of garage-punk as good as any band on Burger, Hozac or from San Francisco, California, USA. You’ve got yer now-standard -- but well done --B’lips-like songs like “Let Me Know” and “Kickin’ You Out,” but “Piangi Conme” is a French-sung Nugget with tasteful psych touches hovering around the periphery. You won’t be surprised to find that “Live Fast Die” is fast punk, nor that “Geek” closes things out with a slow-burn sneer. Good stuff from this youthful trio. [Moi j'connais Records; moijconnais.com]

Shady and The Vamp/Les Chevaux Sauvages split 7”

Shady keeps their winning streak going with two ace cuts on this split. “The Other Way” is fast, tuneful garage punk that recalls the all-too-rare occasions when Goodnight Loving would loosen up and kick out the jams. “Ain’t Got No Love” is a mid-tempo number that brings up warm thoughts of Mudhoney’s Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge, an important record to teenage me. Les Chevaux Sauvages are fellow Swiss garage-rockers, and their contribution, “Holy Bus,” is a solid Back From the Grave-robber. Good single here. [High Time/Lido]

Skimask ‘Cute Mutant’ LP

Two dudes with a mic, a coupla pedals, a drum kit, the complete discography of Load Records and an itch to make some noise, hook up with the dude from Fat Day and proceed to blow it out. Your ass. Apparently, they have quite a live rep in the Boston basement scene. I can certainly picture a gaggle of drunken students gettin’ goofy to these fellas after a hard day at the collegiate trough. The band themselves strike me as the Good Will Hunting of the local weirdo scene. Really smart, and able to kick some ass, but deep down they are actually sensitive janitors. Unfortunately, the album, like the movie, is a wash. The music has density to it, but it just grinds and grinds; a headache on wax. When it’s over, you will be wondering why you just spent twenty minutes with your head in the dispose-all. My main beef is the singer. His overmodulated voice wails through each song in exactly the same way. Each syllable is drawn out to emphasize the microphone’s natural feedback, but it just gets annoying after awhile. Also, they have a song called “Every Week iz Shark Week” which they must’ve grabbed off of Twitter. If you live in the area, pick it up, you’ll be glad to have it. Rest of the world? Maybe wait for the basement gig in yr town. [Sophomore Lounge; www.sophomorelounge.com]

Snapper s/t 12” EP

The Captured Tracks/Flying Nun reissue program is just getting started, but it’s already paying off nicely. Here we have the debut EP from Peter Gutteridge’s Snapper. A one-time member of The Clean, The Chills, Great Unwashed, and Puddle, Gutteridge found his finest vehicle in the menacing Suicide-goes-surf of Snapper. Gutteridge was aptly named, as he eventually succumbed to a debilitating smack habit, which laid him low for many a year. Recently, he has emerged from “retirement” with a new Snapper line-up, so these reissues are well-timed. Originally poking its head out in 1988, this 4-song EP is a perfect snapshot of Snapper’s raison d’etre. In fact, the title of side two’s “Death and Weirdness in the Surfing Zone” tells you all you need to know. You’d hafta be a real square not to dig on these tunes. Before Stereolab co-opted the Neu! template, Snapper was slamming the motorik beat into their pipeline. Was that a drug ref? I dunno, are you a fuckin’ square? [Flying Nun/Captured Tracks]

Soggy “Waiting for the War”/”47 Chromosomes” 7”

It was probably foolish to pay 16 bucks (ppd.) for a 2-song 45, especially in my current state of under-employment, but fuckin A, what two songs they are. I never pulled the trigger on that Soggy LP some years back (“pullin’ a Soggy” – DJ Rick) but I sure have jammed the files enough. And two of the best, if not the best, songs on that slab are contained on this soon-to-be-DJ-mainstay ripper of a lil’ platter. The cover and inner labels give you conflicting info on which song is truly the “A-side,” but that’s as it should be, because either of these Stooges-inspired punk/hard rock burners could front any size record. It’s a close one, but my pick is “47 Chromosomes.” After wildman singer Beb expels a few guttural Iggy-like grunts, the band dive-bombs into a riff that either Motorhead or The Users could have written. Just hearing Beb sneer “chromosomes,” in an unclassifiable accent that sounds like a Japanese man learning English from a French guy, erases any doubt as to if those sixteen dollars were well spent. Soggy perfectly walk the line between punk, hard rock and metal so effortlessly that it’s a mystery as to why more bands cannot – conversely, it’s a testament to how utterly ass-kicking these French biker wannabes were in 1981. It was probably a lonely time for a band that played such ferocious non-hardcore, non-NWOBHM rock n’ roll. “Waiting for the War” shows the new wave (o’ metal) influence, with its chugging riffs, wicked soloing and tempo shifts. Bottom line: If you don’t have any of the LPs, better snag this ‘un while you can. [Cameleon]

Toxie “Newgate”/”Ties” 7”

Debut wax from Memphis indie quartet Toxie. “Newgate” is maybe a little too polite; a sharp angle or two would nudge this away from the Best Coast towards the East Coast, where bands like Tsunami used to rule the scene. Hey, I’m a bitter guy and I like bitter, brittle music. That’s why the flip, “Ties,” is more my style. It’s got more power, more oomph, and rises and falls like your lover’s chest in a deep sleep. No need to put the mirror under their mouth, they’re still breathing. [Goner; www.goner-records.com]