TERMINAL BOREDOM Review Archive pt. VII

Actually none of these are from Termbo, but places like CMJ.com, High Times mag + self-published circa 2015...

BLAXXX For No Apparent Reason 12” EP

We pick up the action as our hero Bim Nox teams up with the power source of Austin’s OBN IIIs to fight rock n’ roll crimes with proto-punk powers bestowed upon them by the mysterious Gods Of Ohio/Michigan Underground Axis……*jam already in progress*........”Blaxxx” eases you in under a cloud of sativa smoke, sax squeals and bourbon burps, eventually drifting into a song-like form that is probably close to what happened when Seger went to ball and his band was left with the keys to the recording studio and a stocked liquor cabinet. “Cut Em Down” is the prime cut from this impromptu session, a full-bore Detroit smackdown as if Mick Collins stopped by to drop some knowledge at a Puffy Areolas hotboxing marathon. Flip it over and “Let Me Hold Your Hand” opens with Bim ranting about idiots at SXSW and asking for your cash to make more of what follows -- big, lumbering phased-out blues sludge that has more in common with Groundhogs, Sonic’s Rendezvous Band -- hell Edgar Broughton Band -- than any prepared ground beef in a bun. There are a lot of bands trying to access this same level of heavy fug and Blaxxx upstage most of them in one hazy afternoon. Imagine what they could do with three whole days. The mind boggles.[12XU; put you in a corner put you in a corner oh no no no]

CHRIS BROKAW The Periscope Twins 2xLP

My main exposure to Chris Brokaw was as guitar-slinger in Come, and he was also in Clint Conley’s underrated post-MOB reformation band Consonant. Beantown royalty. But he’s journeyed far and wide since before and after those days. Now he’s in Seattle where he laid down these live-to-tape improvs, two 45-minute hermetically-sealed drone/blast brownouts. The first 12” is all sputtering, crackling, grinding sounds of indeterminate origin (“electronics”). You can sense the tronic base, but the sounds are tactile and industrial in the literal sense of the word. You could probably pass this off as a Haters record if so inclined (hey people are weird). Not a whole lot happens but it’s more about immersion into this close-mic’d world than any sense of narrative or drama. The second side takes a swing up into higher-pitched territory, utilizing piercing drones that sound like they are being squeezed thru a Boss DD-3 with a fading battery. Man, I miss my DD-3. I actually have a tape of myself doing something similar back in 2000 in the front room of my row house in Cleveland, Ohio. I just wrote that to remind myself to find it in the box of tapes I can see out of the corner of my eye. Given that this is one long jam it naturally kind of peters out then rallies, but the first side is definitely the more interesting of the two. As for the second 12”, here Brokaw straps on his trusty geetar and makes like Neil Young making like Dead Man. My favorite guy at this kinda thing is Roy Montgomery, and nothing here approaches his kind of mastery, but its a pleasant drift out into the ocean, nevertheless. [12xU; saw you in a mag, kissin a man]

CCR HEADCLEANER Cokesmoker 12”

Damn fine fried bad-trip rock music by and for dirtbags. Give yrself a Royal Trux jamming with Monoshock wedgie and at least your underwear and poop chute will be closer to understanding. Reigning on the kingly format (12” 45 rpm), the bass is real fat and thick *insert marijuana pun here* and the guitars trip all over themselves in an effort to out-nod-out the others and the real winner in that equation is you, the Listener. Congrats, it’s all downhill from here (your life that is). But seriously, Don Hill, this toad-lick of an EP is the best Trux damage since that Circle Pit album (and not nearly as slavish), and here we’re talkin’ Cats and Dogs with a whammy jam jones. There’s more than a hint of a drunk-ass Spacemen 3 in them thar Hills. Side B starts out with a bongfire singalong then it dives into a black hole with disembodied voices calling out from the beyond and then it gets all Morton Subotnick on that ass and then Lenny Bruce or someone is making people laugh and then there’s a bad-ass reprise of the biker-psych from Side A and at this point you’re probably wondering if this record will show up on the theoretical Best of 2015 thinkpiece I probably won’t write, and the answer is…………..GOOD FUCKING CHANCE! [Stale Heat/Pollen Season; http://staleheat.tumblr.com/]

DAY CREEPER Central States LP

Based on Central States, Day Creeper’s 2nd LP, last year’s Ipps album and their upcoming releases, Superdreamer appears to be the new standard-bearer of Columbus’ storied indie pedigree. Day Creeper are the kind of no-frills indie rock band that every town needs. They are as comfortable plowing straight through you as they are reflecting on where it all went wrong. I guarantee people get wasted and bump uglies on nights they play shows. Take the ragged glory of The Replacements and temper it with the forward rush of prime Superchunk. “Luxury Condominium” is the hit here, a nice ironic anthem that is a screw you to the nu-yuppie hordes. Main Creep Aaron Troyer’s singing is a bit flat (not one of the better indie hallmarks), so it’s nice when bassist Laura B. steps up to add some color to the palette. If you came of age in the ‘90s, this sound is like chicken soup for the soul, and no one does it better than Columbus. [SuperDreamer/Heel Turn; http://www.superdreamerrecordsmain.com/]

THE PEN TEST Interstate LP

Two smart guys go all-in on a homage to “Autobahn” and you might be surprised at just how good it is. It’s kind of impossible not to examine the sidelong “Interstate” through the lens of the Kraftwerk classic, but this does not necessarily diminish it. I think The Pen Test hail from Minneapolis, so they are no stranger to long drives on endless roads, monochrome horizon whizzing past. That being said, there is more than enough derivation in this re-imagining so that you let go of the conceit rather quick. With its heartbeats and ticking counters, “Interstate” is actually almost more like something off of Radio-activity (the most underrated of KW LPs?). It goes pretty deep, as you end up traveling the spaceways instead of some terrestrial route. Any way you slice it, it is an excellent piece of music and works at home or on the road. Functional tunes. Side two does present a few speed bumps however. “Za-Zen” is a great start, introducing chanted vocals much like our fave showroom dummies. A track like this makes you realize how thin and empty the majority of synthesizer music ends up; The Pen Test are really hitting a groove here, and it’s far more blissful than a lot of their peers. But then they follow it up with a kind of ridiculous early Ministry-like cut called “Like Machine.” Fortunately, it’s brief. Then it’s back to the werks of kraftmanship, “Geo” really nailing that pulse-racing aspect of “Autobahn,” BPMs matching a cocaine rhythm that Moroder would be pleased with. Who knew Dub Narcotic Studios (where this was recorded) could get so, oh wait….yeah, narcotic. OK you got me. “Great Eroder” takes another stab at Wax Trax-tion and again, it’s not really bad per se, but I don’t really wanna hear it. Sounds like a super-goofy version of shit I had to hear way too much of as a young’un. But those other trax, they werk like a narcotic. [Moniker; http://www.moniker-records.com/]

QUTTINIRPAAQ Dead September LP

One of my more-stalked Bandcamp artists, I finally got my hands on some Q(...) wax. Dead September is their third album and maintains their high level of quality. I say “their,” but I recently found out that Q-paaq is essentially the work of one man, Matthew Turner. Coulda fooled me! It really sounds like a band, or at least multiple people collaborating, which is just a testament to the skill and organic weirdness on display. Q-paaq conjure thoughts of no less than my beloved (and woefully underrated in the States) Terminal Cheesecake, a blunted-out group of Butthole Surfers-gone-Middle Eastern electro-dub speed-freaks. Q-paaq have a similar sense of throwing everything into the pot and stoking it til it boils over. On the first side there is a near-constant slather of noise and slurred vocals, as if Jesus & Mary Chain had never heard the Beach Boys. “White Witch” straps in for a Suicide ride, but the record really starts to cook when we get to “Dead Birds” which leans on a Chrome’d-out riff/groove that slunks around til a tidal wave of static eventually overwhelms it. “Lifestyles USSR” leads off side two with a journey into the dark heart of grinding loops and anti-gravity fuzz. “Spine Tree” introduces a submerged techno pulse beneath the miasma. Buy this record, grab a severed head full of drugs and stuff yourself into the garbage can. You’re gonna like the way you look. [Rural Isolation Project; https://quttinirpaaq.bandcamp.com/music]

SLOW WALKER s/t LP

Here we have some solid (read that as “non-flashy”) Midwestern Milwaukee rock that drinks deep at the well of Mudhoney, and that will probably always be a positive thing in my book. Slow Walker know how to work out a quality riff and also show increasingly rare dexterity on the wah pedal. They’re able to floor it or pull it back for breakdowns or psych-outs. Even when they drop the fuzz on the ‘60s garage of “Never Comin’ Back” they get it done, although the Cheater Slicks-y “Desperation” demonstrates their youth to their detriment. Give it a few more years in the bar, fellas, you’ll get there soon enough. This is a fine debut; Slow Walker write good rock n’ roll songs and take the time to play and record them with conviction and that’s still a thing we need in this world. [Stale Heat; http://staleheat.tumblr.com/]

SOMA COMA Dust 12”

Melbourne slobbercore that sounds like what I imagine Death Dust Extractor does by their name alone. Imaginecore. There’s also a sizeable Crazy Spirit influence present thereby splicing a mutated rock n’ roll gene into Soma Coma’s heavily Jap-indebted Pusheadian thrash. “Area Boys” even -- jeepers creepers -- swings before its inevitable rush to climax. Can’t expect such young folk to show restraint and patience; that kind of lovemaking evolves along with its maker. Punk is the same. Sort of. Cool Death (name nicked from a Crazy Spirit song, natch) has been putting out some weird hardcore that is resonating with weird hardcore types. Are you one of these types? You’ll probably dig this record. The drumming is punchy and snappy and not relegated to just d-beating itself around a bush. But still, it’s in that vein of that thing. Skulls. and shit. [Cool Death; http://cooldeathrecords.bigcartel.com/]

TOUPEE’ Leg Toucher LP

Interesting and intense Chicago band with a grody name. Reports have leaked out of the Windy City about these folks, implying that they were one of the hidden treasures of the Chicago scene. Well, the secret is out with this debut on the reliable Moniker Records. To Toupee’s credit, it’s hard to nail them down to a particular sound or subgenre. They are without doubt a noisy rock band, but they don’t attempt to adhere to any particular playbook. The most striking songs on Leg Toucher (“Glitter Roach,” “Come Back To Camp” ) pair tightly-coiled unnerving post-punk with the singer’s blood-curdling banshee shriek. At times, I am reminded of Atlanta’s Dasher, another fierce band who ignore and explode genre conventions. “Gramma In The Slamma” though, might be the cream of this particular crop, as the band operates in a less harsh realm, making like Sonic Youth as the singer -- they have stupid nicknames that I don’t have the patience to suss -- keens about. Despite all that, the off-kilter pop rant of “School” is the one that grabs me tightest. It sounds like smoking a joint in the high school parking lot, gazing up at the sky and wishing you were anywhere but here. “Constrictor” seems like a breather until it morphs into a shivery Siouxsie & The Banshees coda. “Water Torture” closes out the album with an Unwound-like squall/calm/squall. [Moniker; http://www.moniker-records.com/]

XETAS The Redeemer LP

Xetas are an Austin TX trio who have ambitions beyond your typical local rock band. This debut LP follows their well-received (that’s official talk for I liked it) 7” from last year, and while The Redeemer sports a titling scheme, we’ll let ‘em slide on that. The Xetas rock it mighty hard -- “The Fake” juxtaposes a hammering riff with harmonic vocals in the manner that Jawbox used to excel at. “The Butcher” closes out the first side with authority; for some reason I’m having this image of Shearing Pinx covering an Arcwelder song. No, seriously, it works! “The Ashes” leads off side two with Def Leppard-meets-Husker Du riffing and ends up in the same territory as Nervosas. “The Tether” is probably the best Lost Sounds song that’s been written in at least a decade. “The King” is the ripper with an opening riff that could have come out of the Effigies. Xetas give off a vibe that is far more serious than your average underground rock band in these ostrich-like times. They are tight, professional, well-plotted. It’s refreshing as everyone seems in a competition to see who gives less of a shit. (I do, so fuck you!) Umm, nah, not really. Xetas are not an “Umm” band. They are intent and intense -- “The Line” is almost painfully earnest but still convincing in its rockness. “The Deep” ends things like a threat, guy and gal screaming over Melvins riffs/changes. What’s that you say, Xetas? “Get in the van.” Umm. [12XU; http://12xu.net/]

15-60-75 The Numbers Band
Jimmy Bell’s Still in Town LP
Ohio-centric label Exit Stencil Recordings steps up and reissues this lost classic on vinyl for the first time since it’s initial 1976 release. In Northeast Ohio, The Numbers Band are legends, renowned for rollicking live shows, dense with extended jams and percolating rhythms. This six-song set, recorded live in 1975 while opening for Bob Marley and The Wailers at legendary Cleveland venue The Agora, shows off The Numbers Band’s strengths – muscular, economical but unpredictable vamping on traditional blues motifs. The seven-piece band (including Chrissie Hynde’s bro Terry on sax) was a nexus where the dominant strains of ‘70s music collided; elements of rock, blues, jazz and funk get tossed in, and it all comes off so naturally, it’s a wonder more bands have been unable to emulate its peaks. While there are antecedents in groups like the Hampton Grease Band and even some of Captain Beefheart’s catalog, a song like “Narrow Road” most closely resembles Tony Williams Lifetime; a jazz/rock hybrid that appears loose, yet is so rhythmically tight, your ass and brain are in complete agreement -- shut up and get limber. There are also brief flashes of the kind of epic guitar-dueling that would make Television’s impending Marquee Moon so striking. “Thief” brings to mind a dream collab of The James Gang and Can, but “Jimmy Bell” is the album’s cornerstone, a song that holds the set in place. A fluid, ever-moving full-band take on Cat Iron’s blues classic, “Jimmy Bell” is ten glorious minutes of gyrating rhythms and locked-in guitar soloing. Few groups have managed to be so accessible while taking their audience on a journey to parts unknown. If this seminal set isn’t enough for you, Exit Stencil unearthed three bonus tracks to fill out this double-LP labor of love. A stripped-down version of “Who Do You Love?” is the best front-porch jam session you’ve belatedly been invited to, while “Drive” provides more guitar fireworks and avant-garage churn that didn’t go unnoticed by the likes of Pere Ubu and Devo. This may be a bitter pill to swallow for some, but Jimmy Bell’s Still in Town is exactly what I’ve always wished The Grateful Dead sounded like – psychedelic boogie rock for the masses. [Exit Stencil Recordings; http://exitstencil.org/]
originally appeared in High Times mag

The American Jobs Carne Levare LP

Another curve ball from Savage Quality. The American Jobs are a dark and lounge-y bunch, sounding for all the world like the house band of the Black Lodge in Twin Peaks. Mainman Nathan Reynolds possesses a deep croon that dips down past Bryan Ferry and comes up Andrew Eldritch, lending American Jobs a gothic feel, but leave the black lipstick at home because this party has long been over. Consequently, my favorite song on here is probably the pitch-black “Velvet, Moss And Flies.” I know I throw out a lot of references to semi-obscure shit (deal with it - that’s how I found out about this crap and I didn’t even have THE INTERNET (!!!) to help me), BUT here’s one for the books and it is entirely appropriate -- Dark Arts. A great deal of Carne Lavare (“meat wash,” I googled it for you) has the same late night, exotic, sensual crawl as Dark Arts’ A Long Way From Brigadoon (recorded and released by one Stevus Albini). (That sentence had three sets of parentheses in it. What has become of us?) It’s 3:50 in the afternoon and it would be obvious to even a blind man that this is far too early in the day to be slowly swaying about my apartment to American Jobs. But maybe you wake n’ bake to Leonard Cohen and Dead Can Dance, so if that’s the case, I’ve got your new favorite record right here. [Savage Quality; http://www.savagequalityrecordings.com/]

Charlie Tweddle Fantastic Greatest Hits 2xLP

Beautifully-packaged double set collecting outsider country hero Charlie Tweddle’s acid-limned vision of reality. If you’re familiar with Mighty Mouth’s Midnite Plowboy (best title), then you’ve only heard the man’s more recent material. Fantastic reproduces his sought-after self-released 1974 album along with an extra record of more early crackpot action. The first side of the previously-released album is raw documentation of Tweddle singing over minimal accompaniment, while in between the songs field recordings of his farm are spliced in. At times, especially when songs are suddenly interrupted, it sounds like a chilled-out Hasil Adkins produced by Guided By Voices. As you listen to the album, you start to wonder about ol’ Charlie -- are the aliens coming for him? Is that what these songs are? Transmissions sent out to his home planet? Perhaps the reason none of the songs have titles is because they are unable to be translated from their native, off-world tongue. Charlie’s just havin’ a sit on his porch, strumming his guitar, and waiting for outer space to come scoop him up again. On the flip, he’s given up playing songs and decides to document his surroundings, as terra-based as you can get. Beneath the din of the nighttime owls and frogs, you can hear a band sawing away in the distance. Occasionally, Charlie dicks around on guitar and practices his whistling and singing. By the end of the side, Charlie has walked back into the house and he starts a song, only to shovel a shit-ton of dirt on top of it. I can almost see the confused looks on his friends’ faces as they spun their weird buddy’s rural headfuck of an album. The extra LP is more of the same c&w musique concrete. Heck, I think I like it even more than the album proper. Pick up a couple ‘cubes, put this rekkid on, and gaze up at the stars. You might just be surprised at who’s lookin’ back. [Mighty Mouth-Ever/Never]

Coitus Int. s/t LP

Bunkerpop’s 2011 faithful reissue of Coitus Int.’s Dead Excitement EP is, in this writer’s humble oh-pinion, one of thee most crucial products of The Golden Age of The Reissue (post-CD version). If you are ignorant, go to Discogs or the record store and un-ignorantize yourself. You can thank me by avoiding me on the street. Now, a few years later, Bunkerpop continues in the interruption (Coitus 2: The Interruption Continues) cataloguing with the debut album. While not quite as crackingly post-punk as the 7”, the LP finds Coitus slowing down and getting gloomier, glacial and almost-goth. Perfecting a form of non-guitar-dominated death rock, and still strongly influenced by PiL, Coitus Int. come out with trench-digging bass and so-sullen-they’re-aggressive vocals. Lines like “Two milligrams taken by mistake/are just enough to throw myself out of the window” are pushed out in a sort of breathless hush. The disgust is palpable. “To Avoid The Pressure” is like Killing Joke running on empty -- all the impending doom is there, but the band doesn’t even have the will to try to escape, that would just be postponing the inevitable. “The Threat” is an Edgar Allen Poe story come to life in a dour Belgian band’s imagining, ticking clock counting down, paralysis and dread. The band speeds up at the end, but only because it’s sprinting full tilt into the arms of death. “Shrill Screams” features the hilarious lyrics “Shrill screams/the noises of Paris/they say the French are emotional.” The humor is dark as a starless night. The half-speed Joy Division of “My Ideal Man” is followed by the existential despair of “At The Edge of Triumph,” which could just as well be Coitus Int.’s theme song. I’m not sure any other band has ever crept closer to Samuel Beckett’s brutal, hermetic universe than these miserable sonsabitches. The lyrics to “Tourist Ghetto” are keen observations and dynamic truths writ small. You should buy this record so you can read them off the lyric sheet and so Bunkerpop can continue to put out more unjustly overlooked musics.
[Bunkerpop; http://bunkerpop.bigcartel.com/product/bp-003-coitus-int-lp]

Coma In Algiers Happy Forever LP

Fourth album, but first for me, by this Austin, Tex-Mex six piece (whoa put that thing away, pardner!). The first side of this platter gives off distinct DC vibes, particularly latter-day Dischord standard-bearers Black Eyes. It’s there in the blistering-hardcore-to-meandering-indie of “95” or the expansive textures of “Sexual Beings,” although there’s no mistaking “Freeland’”s ecstatic, Trumans Water-esque flailing. But the second side is where things really start to get interesting. The heavy and lumbering “Swansea” is followed by the fractured noise rock of “Extol” and “Let’s Get Married.” “Meaty Gums” is melodic and frantic like the Yah Mos covering Archers of Loaf. “No Human Contact” sets up a “Who likes Godflesh more” contest with fellow locals Burnt Skull while the sing-songy “Leipzig” sounds like a stalker ode penned by Cows. A slightly schizophrenic, but satisfying, listen. [A Wicked Company; https://awickedcompanyrecords.bandcamp.com/]

Cuntz Here Come The Real Boys LP

Of course you should fucking buy this. You haven't already? Screw you, chico. I booked this tour. These guys played this tour. What did you do? You could at least show some contrition by buying this record, you sonofabitch. [Chunklet]

Death Comet Crew
Ghost Among The CrewLP

Back in the early ‘80s, New York City’s Death Comet Crew helped invent the future. Not many people outside of their downtown axis noticed, but that didn’t stop DCC’s polyglot approach from having an impact. It’s hard to imagine the industrial-strength hip-hop of El-P, much less Public Enemy’s Bomb Squad, without the blueprint provided by Death Comet. Dedicated to MC and muse Rammellzee, the Crew picks up where it left off, fusing 808 beats, radio detritus, turntable scratching, and sampling that favors grit and texture over Pro Tools perfection. There is a cinematic sweep to Ghost Among The Crew, encompassing sci-fi spy soundtracks, immersive set pieces and dystopian club bangers. Don’t call it retrofuturistic, this is music for the present.
[Diagonal; http://diagonal-records.com/] originally appeared in High Times mag

Dreamsalon Soft Stab LP

On their second full-length, Seattle trio Dreamsalon transition from good to great. Perhaps you are familiar with their pedigree: A Frames n’ Intelligence n’ Factums n’ Evening Meetings n’ etc. We’re talking the best of the best of PNW post-punk outfits. Such knowledge might give you an idea of the angle Dreamsalon is sliding next to you at, but they’re still gonna hit on you in a whole new way. “Walking Past My Dreams” hinges on a Wire-like bassline and that’s a good marker for what kind of territory we’re in here. This is small-batch, organic post-punk made with care by seasoned vets. Put that on a sticker, slap it on the front of the record and sell this sucker at Whole Foods. Dreamsalon’s songs are full of tension and release (see “Animal”), but the amount of space they give to each instrument imparts a sense of grace to the material. But Dreamsalon is hip and with it and they can still get down. “Don’t Feel Like Walkin’” is a bad-trip Oh Sees, pressuring the vocal FX and heavily-’verbed guitars into a swirling, sweltering steam cloud. The majority of Dreamsalon’s songs deal with the everyday, the bullshit struggle of hauling your carcass to work and putting up with idiots and assholes. The band is the release valve. For some inexplicable reason, anti-anthem “Vacuum” -- which features the lyrics “I spend my life in a vacuum/don’t wanna die in a vacuum” -- was left off the LP proper, but it’s on the download, so let your fingers do the walking. There’s a delicate balance between inevitable resignation and uneasy triumph on the album. Hell, it’s even there in the title -- Soft Stab -- what’s next, a tender explosion? Side two gives itself over to extended, moody, bass-heavy explorations like “Exit Specialist” and “Laugh.” Excellent record by excellent folks.[Dragnet/Sweet Rot; https://dragnetrecords.wordpress.com/ - http://www.sweetrotrecords.com/]

Gravel Samwidge Medicinal Requirements 12” EP

Swashbuckling Hobo finally hooks a winner, and the art doesn’t even suck! Gravel Samwidge is a Brisbane concern with Matt Kennedy from Kitchen’s Floor on guitar. The style is noise rock, but these guys write pretty good songs. “Nervepowder” has a cool needling riff that would be right at home on an AmRep rec. “Rock God” nails classic Aussie swamp without going overboard on the dramatics. Effective use of samples and electronic flourishes add a wacked-out mad scientist vibe to the instrumental “Get Your Shit Together.” The second side feels a little more generic, but still does the trick well enough. Next record could be a real hole-plunger.
[Swashbuckling Hobo; http://www.swashbucklinghobo.com/]

Ipps Everything Is Real LP
The members of Ipps have all done time in some of Columbus, Ohio’s finest bands of this still-young millenium. We’re talking Necropolis, Unholy Two, Guinea Worms, El Jesus De Magico and more. Led by the husband-and-wife team of Emily and Bo Davis, Ipps hark back to the sound Cowtown made its name on. Namely -- noisy, scruffy indie rock that isn’t afraid to get weird, nor wear its heart on its sleeve. Back in the ‘80s these Ipps would’ve shared new wave hot dogs with Yo La Tengo. “Yr. Thick” sounds like a lost track from Dig Yourself and that’s still a high (street) compliment. “Goawa” takes on a Sonic Youth slow burn before the inevitable rave-up followed by the meltdown. Classic shit. As Times New Viking proved almost a decade (?!) ago, this sound will never die, and long may its drunken flame burn.
[Superdreamer; http://www.superdreamerrecordsmain.com/]

kim ki o Bir, Iki… LP

Bir, Iki… is a collection of recordings by Turkish duo, kim ki o. For the most part, kim ki o play pleasant, slightly dark bedroom wave. I’m reminded of recent groups like Offset:Spectacles, Hot & Cold and taking it back a bit further, Young Marble Giants. Unfortunately, these ladies are lacking the tension in those bands. It’s too easy to lean on the drum machine and it ends up anchoring these songs in place. The last song on side one “Gezegenin Adi Dunya” is moderately successful, melding distorted bass to a nice keyboard melody, as is side two’s closer “Ne Yapsam Anlarsin?” but it’s too little too late. I like minimalist and spare, but these songs just feel threadbare -- you can see the bones poking through. S-S usually has a knack for finding far-flung purveyors of interesting and weird musics, but this time the sounds just don’t provoke.
[S-S; http://s-srecords.tumblr.com/]

Miami Dolphins Becky LP

Now here’s an FPE product I can get down with. The Dolphins are a spry and powerful ensemble that would have been right at home on the Skin Graft roster, and to an aging punk spazz, that’s practically Proust-ian. Shorty, Mt. Shasta, Melt-Banana, Scissor Girls et al. A contemporary act would be Cellular Chaos, a band that links several generations of freak rock. Miami Dolphins hit tornado mode a lot, and its fun to listen to them cycle through their furious riffs with abandon. But they can pull it back as well, such as on “Pucker Upper,” which shows off singer Beth’s acrobatic, slightly operatic vocals. When the Dolphins aren’t engaging in total destruction, there is an almost Beefheart-ian quality to their scrabble, landing them in same wild zoo with Guerilla Toss, and, taking it back a few decades, Ron Johnson bands like Badgewearer or Dawson. You might be thinking Deerhoof on “Citrus.” But enough with the trainspotting (a terrible vice), the Miami Dolphins score a touchdown with Becky. After you’re finished groaning, order this album from
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/]

Mishka Shubaly Coward’s Path LP

Coward’s Path is a solo album by successful author and former member of Fresh Kills and Beat The Devil, Mishka Shubaly. It’s an understated affair, mostly consisting of tales of misery and woe. They have a name for this style and it’s called “sad bastard” and Shubaly nails it pretty good. “New Jersey Valentine’s Day Orphan Blues” has got all the trappings of a Tom Waits song, minus the sandpaper vocals. That being said, no one is gonna mistake Shubaly for an American Idol contestant. His voice is a bit shaky at times, but the hard-bitten lyrics make up for it. At times, the music is not far from Greg Ashley’s solo work, although lacking Ashley’s attention to detail and sonic depth. But if you need a sympathetic companion for your downward slide into oblivion, Shubaly’s got your back.
[Invisible Hands; http://www.mishkashubaly.com]

Musk s/t LP

Sex. Sweat. Dirt. Danger.

At first glance, Musk’s debut album, brought to you by Holy Mountain, may seem to be a bit of a departure for the noted psychedelic label. Yet both band and label are primarily interested in one thing – transcendence, by any means necessary. Although Musk may find their particular transcendence in junkyards and peepshow booths, this does not render it any less ecstatic. Or potent.

Toxic. Intoxicant. Inhale. Inhalant.

Musk is a pulp novel made flesh. A ticking time-bomb set to explode. Frontman Rob Fletcher is the drifter with a dark past and a hair-trigger temper. He growls, spits, shrieks, retches and even occasionally sings as the band attack their instruments behind him. While the rhythm section pounds out the songs with brute force, Chris Owen’s guitar bleeds reverb all over the damn place, as if his amp itself has been stabbed. (Dave Davies, what have ye wrought?) Owen’s leads have a sickly twang, coming at you like flying shards of broken glass from a punched-out mirror. With Oakland, California as its home base, perhaps it’s not surprising how ruthlessly Musk harness the sound of violence for their own purposes. Permanently disgruntled, the fellas in Musk - vets from bands like Tractor Sex Fatality, Killer's Kiss and Slicing Grandpa -- were looking to weld their mutual love of down n’ dirty rock n’ roll to sheet-metal sonics. They have succeeded in spades. On their debut full-length, the members of Musk dig their own graves, and then gleefully jump in. The album kicks off with “Grandier,” a burner that recalls the glory days of Cows and their warped take on the blues. “Funny Feeling” is pure spaghetti western punk, except Musk brought six-shooters to this food fight. That ain’t sauce, boss, that’s blood. The psychotronic splatter continues with a vicious run-through of Chrome Cranks’ classic “Drag House,” followed by “Slow Bummer,” which echoes, via deadly reverb-spray and murderous intention, The Scientists, one of the godfathers of this swamp-cum-alley rat sound. “Last Stand Rot Soft” is a come-on that might as well be a pact with Satan -- skulking and slinking around the corners, looking for kicks, and a lady to ride shotgun on a one-way trip to oblivion. The guitars sound genuinely pained, as if they are in their death-throes, each dying twitch captured perfectly by ace producer Chris Woodhouse (Mayyors/Karate Party). “Devil’s Hand” brings things back around to a twisted sort of garage punk reminiscent of unheralded greats like The Beguiled or Necessary Evils, but Owen’s guitar still sounds like helicopter blades -- a ghetto bird cruising the Oakland skyline searching for dangerous men on the loose. “Trashroof” trades in for an almost Beefheartian lurch, and would certainly serve a David Lynch movie better’n some Nine Inch Ninnies claptrap. “Combat Shock II” is an ode to Fletcher’s dual spirit animals – ‘80s hellions Pussy Galore and low-budget high-kill-count midnight movies. There is no question that “Knuckle Dust” is the soundtrack to a no-holds-barred street fight, and there is no doubt that around the time everything blooms into a cloud of feedback and noise – well, that’s when somebody gets knocked out cold. Speaking of cold, “Black Ice” closes the album with a shuddering finality. In a world of endless digital permutations -- a world in which art is merely a facsimile of its own past -- Musk are like the VHS tape to the masses’ USB stick. The latter is plastic and disposable, while the former favors grit, texture and sports a certain lasting appeal.
Musk. Designed to hurt, built to last.
[Holy Mountain; http://www.holymountain.com/]

Nicole Mitchell’s Black Earth Ensemble Intergalactic Beings 2xLP

Well, this one threw me for a loop and proved the old adage of not judging books, or LPs, by their covers. This looks for all the world to be a late ‘90s hip-hop album, like something, say, Heiroglyphics would have put out. Some kinda post-conscious rap thing with bad alien art. Imagine my surprise when I slapped it on and was greeted by sawing violins, free jazz drumming and various woodwind instruments making their case above the fray. Huh. Apparently this double LP is a composition by Nicole Mitchell that was commissioned by Chicago’s MOCA. Recorded live, the music is performed by a nine-piece group, including Jeff Parker of Tortoise. It certainly reminds me of classic large ensemble jazz records of the late ‘60s. So it is like conscious hip-hop, just an earlier version. If you see this in the record store, don’t think you’re doing them a favor by putting it back in the rap section, do yourself a favor by purchasing it. [FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/]

Nones Midwestern Family Values LP

Man, the cover to this LP is ugly. I know it’s supposed to be ugly, but this is an album you don’t want to see peering back at you from yr stacks or racks. Nones are a Chicago band who deal in mildly weird punk that I can’t help but think is like the Alice Donut of current times, but, in accordance with current climes, they’re not nearly as freaky and out-there. The album has its moments (esp. on side two), and I bet they’re a hoot live, but Nones fail to connect with this discontented former Midwesterner.
[Hozac; http://hozacrecords.com/]

Parkay Quarts Content Nausea LP

It’s been interesting to watch the rise of New York City’s Parquet Courts (and all of their various guises, of which this “Parkay Quarts” is one). I knew they were on to something when my fortysomething cousin called me from Colorado and asked, “Do you know this band with this song where they mention your neighborhood? I really like it.” He’d heard Stoned and Starving (from their breakthrough 2013 album Light Up Gold) on satellite radio, and the song immediately clicked, as it had for thousands of previous listeners.Parquet Courts have emerged as the standard-bearers for Brooklyn indie rock, but don’t fault them for their unfortunate timing. As Brooklyn reduces itself to a parody and multiple multinationals trip over themselves in a frenzy to capitalize on this latest brand, there are several car service fleets-worth of self-deluded artists to ship out on a garbage barge first. The Courts are smart and never pretend otherwise. Unlike the Strokes, you will not find a drop of faux-rock ‘n’ roll swagger in Parquet Courts’ walk. Similarly, they make an indie limelight like Vampire Weekend look clumsy and lazy. Following this year’s acclaimed Sunbathing Animal, Content Nausea is their second full-length of the year, even as a collaborative album with sludgy Brooklyn collective PC Worship waits in the wings. Brittle, spare yet maximalist in sound, Content Nausea is mostly successful, with a few key missteps. The title track is a surge of forward motion as singer/guitarist Andrew Savage catalogs the myriad ways this modern world brings him down. A refusal to consent in the form of a breathless rant, Content Nausea furthers the band’s oblique take on the Minutemen. A cover of 13th Floor Elevators’ Slide Machine aims for bleary-eyed, but here the Courts’ lack of accumulated years shows through. Their angles are still too sharp to fit comfortably into these well-worn threads. Pretty Machines, on the other hand, plays to their strengths—arch, nervous pop that slyly references Brian Eno’s early ’70s rock era. Psycho Structures and The Map find PC’s core duo of Savage and Austin Brown delving into home-recorded synth-damage. Unfortunately, after these triumphs, comes an ill-advised cover of These Boots Are Made For Walking. Oft-covered, seldom well, it’s the kind of standard of which the world does not need more versions. Strictly free download promo material, lads. As if to quickly scrub off that bad idea, the Courts blast through Insufferable, another of their Tyvek-indebted smartbombs. Uncast Shadow Of A Southern Myth, a six-plus minute story of a song, is an ambitious conclusion that once again proves Parquet Courts—or whatever their moniker mood—can handle their own high expectations.
[What's Your Rupture?]

Real Regular s/t LP

Like some extra-devolved clone of spliced DNA from Sockeye, Drunks With Guns and Flipper, Real Reg must’ve came out of the petri dish that was sitting in the sun. Clevo, Ohio is a nexus of down syndrome punk (apologies to d/s readers -sensitive ed.) and Real Regular exemplify this pedigree with the glee of a drooling moron. At least Sockeye had living in Stow as an excuse, what’s these guys’ damage? Oh, right, The Black Eye. Anyway, Sauce boss Richard pounds away as the Bad Noids singer whines, spits, mewls and bleats tales of disease and dis-ease and dickcheese. It’s strange hearing someone who wasn’t even alive yet while it was a “thing,” singing songs about GRIDS (two of ‘em!). GRIDS is to AIDS as Rocket From The Tombs is to punk. “I’m Handsome” is strip-mall electric eels. What the fuck does that mean? It means it’s good. The last track is a long dissertation on being a weirdo and it sounds like No Trend got turned into the Muppets, and in case you were still wondering, that is also a good thing. [Saucepan; https://saucepanrecords.bandcamp.com/]

SAPAT A Posthuman Guide to the Advent Calendar Origins of the Peep Show LP

I was, and still am, rather fond of Sapat’s debut LP on Siltbreeze, released way back in 2007 (that’s “way back” now? - ed.). A fine distillation of kosmische Americana and folked-up kraut moves, Mortise and Tenon might just be one of the best US psych-rock full lengths of the last decade. Since then, this Louisville-based collective has been mostly silent. Sure, the participants have continued in other excellent projects (such as Phantom Family Halo and Tropical Trash), but I long had put aside any thoughts of a follow-up. Lo and behold, seven years later -- four of which were spent intermittently recording -- local stalwart Sophomore Lounge gives us a glimpse of what the on/off group has been dabbling with. “Arson Lieder I/Our S(u)(o)n Leader” kicks it off with a slight return to the psychedelic hillbilly angle of their initial 7”, but the call-and-response male/female vocals imbue the ragtag mountain-jazz with a theatrical air. It some ways, it sounds like a loose-limbed Cerebus Shoal, so you can be assured that Sapat could care less about what you -- or the general sub-underground -- think is cool. The rest of the first side gets lost in a fog-shrouded forest and it’s not an unpleasant situation. On side two opener, “Charlie Brown Italian Drug Song/Vietnam,” Sapat accesses spiritual forebears Gong and their galavanting gang of freaks. It opens with big, swiping horn patterns and then settles into a drifting, spaced-out middle section with otherworldly voices calling out to the cosmos. Here is Sapat at its best, embracing the spaceways, summoning Yeti spirits with a rarely-heard ease. “Rock Face” is the too-long comedown; twelve minutes of steam being released. Could’ve used a little more pressure building, personally, but for the most part, Sapat has acquitted themselves well here. Old fans will be pleased, and potential ones should pay attention. [Sophomore Lounge; http://sophomoreloungerecords.com/home.html]

Shoes This High Straight To Hell LP

This is manna to me. Straight from the fuckin’ heavens and continuing on down until it reaches the bottom of hell. Pure and sharp, like a block of cheddar full of razor blades, Shoes This High are one “those” bands for yours truly. Essentially, perfect. Sound, aesthetic, execution, intent, passion, snot, and loads of rule-chucking. Since first falling in serious love with this phenomenal live show a few years ago via an Axeman’s blog, Siltbreeze answered my faithless prayers (see the blood-letting exorcism of “Christian Song”) and bestowed a remastered and resequenced (by Jared Phillips from TNV/Counter Intuits) disc of sorely-needed Shoes spite upon this undeserving planet (there’s even more material via the d/l so get on it, chum). Singer S. Brent Hayward’s desperate yelp gives me the same gooseflesh as Dave Wiley of The Consumers. His anger and intelligence are the focal point of STH. The songs veer between Fall-like angled jaunts (“Stuk,” “Sop Pong” ) and hammering fits (“Cretin Time,” “Scab”). “Mental Whiff” approaches Gordons-level dissonance and intensity. “Tunnel Vision” opens side two and it is a punk classic if there ever was one. Stealing and inverting the riff from The Enemy’s “Pull Down The Shades,” Hayward is in transcendental form here. “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHERE I GO/AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THE CLOTHES THAT I WEAR/I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYTHING…..TUNNEL VISION!.......I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT WHAT YOU THINK/AND I DON’T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ANYTHING….TUNNEL VISION!” When Hayward starts moaning then screaming “Oh yeah” in perfect high-anxiety pitch, you better believe I am in full agreement. As evidenced by needling cuts like “Tic Toc” and “Menace,” Shoes This High exude obsession and paranoia, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
[Siltbreeze; http://siltbreezerecords.com/]

Total Control Typical System LP
Total Control’s Henge Beat was a tour de’ force of future-shock post-punk. On Typical System, the Melbourne-based band’s follow-up, the paranoid urgency remains -- “Systematic Fuck” and “Two Less Jacks” are satisfyingly jagged blasts -- but the album throbs to an electronic pulse. “Glass” and “Flesh War” are stellar examples of the icy yet sensuous new wave on which Gary Numan based a career, and John Foxx-era Ultravox perfected. “Black Spring” reaches back even further, gradually accruing layers of sound overtop a Neu!-style motorik groove. After the group comes to rest during the Stereloab-meets-Cluster chill-out of “The Ferryman,” Total Control closes the album with "Safety Net," a dose of elegant and majestic synth-pop.
[Iron Lung; http://lifeironlungdeath.blogspot.com/] originally appeared in High Times mag

Trash Kit Confidence LP

Knotty, fleet-footed, tangled, dive-bombing -- London’s Trash Kit owns these descriptions with ease, engaging in the sort of fluid playing that can only come from many hours in the practice room, but also a preternatural bond that cannot be taught, and verges on the telepathic. Leaning less towards the shrill excitement of The Slits, Trash Kit sound most like ESG, with diamond-sharp guitar replacing layers of polyrhythm. Throughout the album, Trash Kit raise their collective voice in joyous harmony. The pointillist guitar approaches late-period Don Caballero and the more buoyant, tropical-flavored lines echo early Abe Vigoda. While Trash Kit’s music is comprised of constant push-pull, the album as a whole possesses no peak, no swell and fade between the tracks themselves. “Cinema” features some lovely melodies being tossed back and forth by the bass and guitar, and the band is certainly comfortable with space and silence. While individual songs may be hard to recall, Trash Kit’s obsessively tumbling and frantic music puts you in a unique frame of mind, your brain performing mental flips and follies as the band slips in and around, parrying and jousting, pricking and poking. [Upset The Rhythm]

Ultrathin s/t LP
Montreal’s Ultrathin have been hammering out their distinct take on psychedelic punk for more than a few years now. A single, a tape, a series of killer shows with bands like Soupcans and PyPy; Ultrathin hasn’t been idle. But now, with their debut LP courtesy of Bruised Tongue, the ‘thin have finally broken the surface. Ultrathin is stepping towards the light, so to speak, and have dropped one of the year’s finest displays of frustrated punk and bad-acid psych. Opener “White Walls” establishes the Ultrathin template – head-down rhythmic drive led by drummer Matthew Wilson as bassist Mark Fragua’s desperate vocals fight to be heard above Shaun Anderson’s corrosive guitar mangling. “Got A Feeling” focuses these elements into a blistering punk attack. “I Wanna Know” transitions effortlessly from mid-tempo burn to a ride off into the sunset, sparks trailing everywhere. I’m sure you can figure out what “Scum With A Badge” is about, and while “Discharge” ain’t d-beat, it’s still punk as fuck. So’s their cover of the Pagans’ “Real World.” “Whac-A-Mole” shows off Ultrathin’s snotty garage roots, which feels almost pleasant after the annihilating meltdown of “Out From the Cold.” In case you still had any doubts, “In My Mind” will erase them, closing out the album with a Spacemen 3-like intensity.
[Bruised Tongue]

Unholy Two Talk About Hardcore LP

Wow, I am completely shocked. Flabbergasted, even. This total 180 by Columbus OH skummfucccs Unholey Too is, suffice to say, very unexpected, but not entirely unwelcome. I mean, who doesn’t like rockin’ Bloc Party-esque bangers mixed up with the occasional stab at a Wilco-style confessional? You didn’t think Lutzko had it in him, but that’s where you’re fuckin’ wrong, pal. Dude’s an artist. He probably liked The Chameleons before you’d ever even heard of Wax Idols. He’s not just a haircut, y’know. Or a drug problem. He’s a human being doing human being things. Like having his heart broken and just wanting to dance all night. Shake that ass, Chris, shake it til the sun comes up.
[12XU; www.12xu.net]

White Murder s/t LP

After a slew of killer 7”s, a few cool videos and tons of excellent live notices, LA’s White Murder dropped this short n’ sweet platter on us (the way to my heart is a 45 rpm 12”; got that ladies?). These ten songs are less aggressive than the single sides -- not that Mike D’Amico’s driving, melodic (trademark) bass lines are any less driving or melodic. The duel vocals by Hannah H. and Mary Animal (both also of Jail Weddings) are the focal point, employing what sounds like spiteful harmony. “Baby Boy” is about bad girls and fingering good girls with drumsticks. Unless I’m reading that wrong. Either way, somebody’s getting fucked. “Mirrors” is the anti-”I’ll Be Your Mirror,” telling you to deal with your own shit, ain’t no reflection gonna save your ass. [Razorcake/Recess; http://www.razorcake.org/razorcake-records]

Zigtebra The Brave LP

Part of a package FPE graciously sent yours truly, Zigtebra is, to put it mildly, definitely not for me. Not just in the sense that I don’t care for it (I don’t), but I honestly feel like this music is for, and of, a generation that I have very little commonalities with. Well, outside the general malaise and formless anger of 21st century America, that is. Wait, scratch that, there is zero rage here, only cupcakes and marshmallows and ticklefights. I’m not proud of it, but I witnessed the rise of Brooklyn’s own Matt & Kim from a close vantage point, and while it didn’t necessarily surprise me, I’m still left puzzled by their brief extreme borough popularity. That’s disingenuous. I know exactly why they appealed to a horde of grown children, I just don't want to admit it. They had an undeniable infectious energy live, but it was much like getting excited for recess at school. Sure, it was better than algebra, but the high vanished soon after being herded back into the classroom. Zigtebra are a similar guy/gal duo, and while their songs are of a piece with M&K and maybe...Tune-Yards?.... they are lacking the romper room-style rambunctiousness. This album is like hearing a couple of indie nerds fall in love, and if that sounds like your cup of tea, by all means, put the kettle on.
[FPE; http://www.fperecs.com/]

BRANDO’S ISLAND 7”

In theory, this is something a guy like me would enjoy. Synth punk with ranting vocals and xylophone? But I’m just not vibing *chortle* with this effort. “Autism Vision” starts out spazzy but then Segways *cackle* into a poor imitation of Total Control. “Auto Warfare” has more agitated vox and annoying vibe-trills, but then the second half is straight Troubleman post-punk pre-electroclash and that’s a road that I never really condoned in the first place. There’s def a bit of a early 2000s Load(scrubbed clean)/T-man kinda thing going on, and while I wanna like it (members here of Zingers whose LP is pretty great esp. if you like Arab On Radar), this debut single falls flat. Look, it’s no Gerty Farish. But I’m keeping an eye on. [Million Dollar; http://milliondollarrecs.blogspot.com/]

MYSTIC INANE 7”

“Eggs Onna Plate” has a funny video that you should watch at least once. As a song, it’s pretty good, but Mystic Inane has better stuff. I saw em play most of it live. “Polite Society” is straight offa Not So Quiet… and has a cool fuck-you woozy aspect to it. “Manhood” throws a pinch of boogie spice into the mutant hardcore stomp -- not unlike Brown Sugar recently did -- and I think it’s the winner on here.
[Lumpy; http://spottedrace.bigcartel.com/]

SCREAMING SNEAKERS Marching Orders 7” EP

I’m not even sure why I’m reviewing this --almost positive it’s a boot -- but I was wearing out mp3s of this 4-song killer, the only record by Florida’s SS. Originally released on 12” in 1982, here it gets compacted into a 33 rpm 7” but I don’t have 200+ bucks to drop on this baby, so I’ll take it where I can get it. The overall sonics of this version is a little dodgy (sounds like a combo of source + pressing), but serviceable. As for the music, “Violent Days” is an insta-classic, a rush of almost-metallic guitars coupled with Lisa Nash’s siren-clear vocals. This is what Pat Benatar should’ve sounded like (granted I still like Pat Benatar anyway). It’s tough, it’s melodic, it’s punk. “Grin and Bear” is nearly Batcave, perfect for any ‘80s night, or maybe an early Van Damme ass-kicker’s romantic scene. Believe it or not, I’m trying to say that it’s great. You could back this up with “Kids In America” or “99 Luftballoons.” Damn these pops are getting to me though. The B-side repeats the formula with a fast, punky number (“I Can’t Help It” originally by fellow FLA punks The Reactions) followed by a moody slow burn. Even though “Reflections” speeds up it still reeks of cigarette smoke, dusted mirrors and ripped up clothes. Listening to a song like this (and taking a gander at pics of Nash) and you wonder why Screaming Sneakers weren’t huge. Punk is weird (and great and tragic) like that. Who knows, a couple more years and a snappy video and Screaming Sneakers might be on their sold-out reunion tour right now. I know that there were some sort of shenanigans with Billy Idol and Johnny Depp but fuck all that; y’know what sounds like the best show ever? Screaming Sneakers/Dishrags/The Curse. and fuckit, Slant 6 too, we’re already in fantasyland. and Nasty Facts, definitely Nasty Facts. [trunk of a car]

SEWERS “Chain of Command” b/w “Life’s A Boar” 7”

Hoisted, Sewers’ 2013 debut, was an overlooked trawl through the gutter that invoked King Snake Roost as patron saint, and evoked Killdozer and Country Teasers in equal measure. In anticipation of Weight, their full-length follow-up on Homeless, upstart Brisbane (Sewers’ hometown) label Tenth Court gives us this brief taste of raw sewage. “Chain of Command” is one of their faster numbers, convincingly thug-like, which is to say convincingly cop-like. “I got your badge/I got your number” growls singer Shan Corrigan. It’s full of junk, but it’s got plenty of hooks piled on top of each other. No let up on the flip, so keep your eyes peeled for the new LP in June and a full US tour in July. [Tenth Court; https://tenthcourt.bandcamp.com/]

THIGH MASTER Songs To Wipe Your Mouth To 7” EP

I really dug Thigh Master’s debut single last year, but unfortunately this one falls slightly short of that standard. “Flat City” on the A is the best song here; “Red Worms” on the flip is a moody meander, but just a slight dip in quality really -- looking forward to see what they can do with a longer format. [Tenth Court; https://tenthcourt.bandcamp.com/]

Ausmuteants
‘Stale White Boys Playing Stale Black Music’ 7”

While the world has been going apeshit for these new wave goofballs from Down Under, I’ve been on the sidelines, a bit nonplussed. Maybe I’m just a killjoy, but their Devo-derived smart-aleck punk has only provided a few highlights, but, let’s be honest -- I’m not really their demographic. I gotta say though, when “Who’s The Narc’ quickly jumps into a well-executed Kinks-style horn run and then proceeds to wave-out on the best early ‘80s post-disco groove I’ve heard in awhile, well shit, it’s almost like I’m a kid watching MTV again. Duran Duran would’ve stolen that bit, no doubt. And I probably would’ve danced along in my living room. Both songs on the B-side could be retroactively slotted onto an airing of Rodney on the Roq and no one would bat a glittered eyelash. I think these Aussie mutants have converted me. [Easter Bilby; http://easterbilbyrecords.bigcartel.com/

Exorcisms 7”
Blues-punk shuffle from a trio of Los Angelenos. “Love Gone Bad” plays it too straight for me, echoing a thousand standards before. “Two With Half” picks up the speed and the boogie and could probably get a barful of drunks smashing a few glasses and picking a few fights.
[self-released; https://exorcisms.bandcamp.com/

Ghetto Ghouls 7”

Played with these dudes down in their hometown of Austin,Texass. They had a hyperactive, angular edge to their nominally garage-punk thing, and it worked quite well. This single’s a bit slim on material -- I could’ve actually done with another 30 seconds or so of “Plastic Violence” -- but brevity seems in short supply lately, so we’ll give em the benefit. “Things” has an appealing sort of pummel to it, but I kept waiting for the song to leap into something that would clarify or contrast, but alas….
[12XU; http://12xu.net/]

Lucha Eterna Asceroso EP

Label head (and sometime Obnox skin-pounder) RR fronts this gnarly hardcore outfit, screaming away en espanol. Closest translation I could come up with for the title was “nasty, gross, disgusting,” which describes this fast n’ dirty attack as well as anything. I hear some Brazilian hardcore, maybe even some Italian, but for all I know, it’s pure Swede. Fuck, this shit gets confusing. But wait, look, they end with a cover of The Guns’ “I’m Not Right,” so now we’re back in territory I know well. “Is it the way I act? WHAT ACT!” [Saucepan; https://saucepanrecords.bandcamp.com/]

Nots "Fix"/"Modern" 7”

These gals turned quite a few heads this year, and with good reason -- they rip through classic-sounding KBD punk-wave with equal parts sneer/smile. Nots ended 2014 on a high note with their fine debut LP, which was made with their current quartet line-up. This single from earlier in the year is the last with the original trio and it’s a spirited run-thru of a pair of solid, snotty punkers. It’s a fact that women are making most of the best and freshest punk nowadays, and Nots are another girl-gang ready to slash your face. Get down and get with it. [Goner; http://www.goner-records.com/]

The Pen Test 7”

Two young men from Minneapolis indulging a serious Kraftwerk fixation, and can you blame them? Kraftwerk is the shit -- you know it, I know it, they know it. OK, then. The untitled A-side hits the pleasure centers quite nicely -- bubbling synths, a metronomic kick-drum, washes of melody swooping in and out of the mix. Somewhere, Ralf und Florian are smiling. (If they do smile, it’s not quite clear). The B-side is less successful, incidental music from a soundtrack with a vague John Carpenter vibe. Meh, as your kids say. True to form, the album-length format is where The Pen Text excel, and fortunately for you, Moniker recently released such an artifact. Pick it up for some fahn fahn fahn.
[Moniker; http://www.moniker-records.com/]

Rema Rema “International Scale”/”Short Stories” 7”

Beyond excellent archive recording from short-lived but much-revered art-punk elder gods Rema(-)Rema. “International Scale” packs serious bass wallop and guitar squeal and is of a piece with their lone release, the Wheel In The Roses 12”. “Short Stories” is from the OG line-up back in ‘78, not-quite-there-yet, but you can see where they’re headed. Lovingly-packaged with a graphic sense that retains the EP's aesthetic, the single came with copies of UK zine Defiant Pose, which also features an extended interview and breakdown of just who and what Rema Rema exactly was. Both reading and listening material are essential for anyone who has ever been a fan of the churning rhythms and cynical POV of Rema Rema.
[Inflammable Material]

Thigh Master ‘Head of the Witch’ 7”
Strummy, slummy Brisbane band that finds itself swimming alongside The Clean, that elusive guppy of lo-fi bliss-pop. Three songs of hooks hanging on lines, ready for your eager mouth. Chomp, gulp, it’s good. [Tenth Court; https://tenthcourt.bandcamp.com/]

Tropical Trash ‘Think Back Kick A Beer’ 7”
Although this record came out last year, it’s nice to see that these skewed Louisville rockers are still kickin’, and thinkin’, and backin’. TT thrash around without genre constraints, mainly looking to raise a racket, with the occasional off-map path followed. The A-side filters through a few breakneck noise rock motifs, leaning more on the riff-as-such than earlier efforts. It’s fast, borderline hardcore. As I noted in a previous review, Tropical Trash remind me of forgotten ‘90s greats Pitchblende, and “Ritual Bath” is uncanny in its resemblance. Aggressive, nerdy and noisy, maybe it’s time for a full length? [Sophomore Lounge; http://sophomoreloungerecords.com/home.html]

Xetas 7”
Sharp Austin rock untethered to any specific genre, or micro-scene. Tough, driving and anthemic, “The Silence” is the sort of song that would once have been played to death on college radio; it actually reminds me of a little-known and underappreciated ‘00s Cleveland band called Sounder. Tempering the anger a bit, “The Knife” channels the supercharged Superchunk side of the coin and comes up a corker with a chorus that I can picture a packed basement of young ‘uns screaming along with.
[12XU; http://12xu.net/]