Sometimes it's funny when everything in the whole world is so nasty and extreme that people have to go to unbelievable lengths to gross us out. And then end up being more silly than gross or scary. Such is the case with Prosthetic Cunt (whom we'll call,
These shitgazers from Ohio started their recording career by just dubbing tapes at home and leaving them in local record stores, an endearingly haphazard way to spread the word about your band, and for a band like this, it seemed pretty perfect. Ramshackle and chaotic, DIY and constantly on the verge of collapse, no reason the format and the distribution shouldn't be representative of the music itself. Acid Tape finds PHS returning to the format where it all began, and thankfully even after all the hubbub and hype, after records on Siltbreeze and Woodsist, magazine articles and ridiculous blog love, these guys (and gal) still sound pretty much the same, and Acid Tape sounds like it could have come straight out of the free box on the floor by the front door of your favorite record store, but like those early tapes, it's the sort of 'holy shit' surprise that sometimes lurks in the free box or the bargain bin, part of the record shopping experience that ca never be replicated online. Acid Tape starts off with one of our favorite PHS jams yet, "Unseen Voids", a big swirling cloud of super distorted fuzzed out guitars, simple scattershot percussion, drawled sad boy vocals, tangled melodies, a gorgeous squall of home brewed bedroom psych, definitely worth the price of admittance.
After that, it's a meandering wander through a drugged out busted 4-track shoegaze FX pedal popscape, gnarled wah guitars, skeletal rhythms, woozy almost dubby bass (especially on "Hard As It Gets (Chill Sax Mix)"), super reverbed vox, detuned acoustic guitars, lots of tape hiss, tripped out electronic drums, gnarled riffs, finishing off with a pretty mighty two-fer, the brief but hooky "Gliderz", with it's melted lysergic fuzz guitar, warbly tape speed, and twisted melodies, and he 7+ minute "Bleak Vacations", a Velvets style blues jangle hypno jam, mesmerizing and spaced out, stripped down and dreamily druggy.
Another band we were in love with before we heard a single note of music. C'mon, they're called Psychedelic Horseshit! And they're on Siltbreeze. And they sound almost exactly how we imagined, only BETTER.
Willfully noisy and chaotic, snotty, snarky and blown out, in the red, a complete feedback drenched dissonant pop shamble, it's like a mad scientist beneath some mountain top somewhere, discovered the gene for the Siltbreeze sound and injected it into these guys when they were babies, ensuring that they would blossom into this, perfectly fucked up freaked out noise drenched pop miscreants.
And pop is the key here. Cause these guys at their core are a kick ass pop band. Little nuggets of crunchy jangle, but dipped in filthy amp buzz, and rolled in busted casio beats, doused with liquid LSD, plugged into an amp with a blown speaker, set up on a street corner, and blasted into the empty street at midnight in the pouring rain.
The clatter and clang of old Pussy Galore, yelped distorted vocals, like a punk rock Dylan, that whiny drawl, all around it crumbling distorted bursts of psychedelic guitarnoise, a totally damaged snarling lo-fi punk rock jangle, like the Strokes via the Strapping Fieldhands. Or the Dead C covering Pavement. A glorious, chaotic, hook filled crust pop mess. Awesome.
It's a piece of history that none of the current staff were old enough to remember, yet nostalgic fragments about the initial arrival of "Nevermind The Bollocks" at Aquarius Records back in 1977 occasionally emerge from conversations with our old school customers. By now it's probably as factual as any urban mythology; but as it makes for such a great story, I'm much more inclined to believe it than what may have really happened. With record distribution back in 1977 even less streamlined than it is today, Aquarius resorted to using an importer to ship copies of "Nevermind The Bollocks" from England. The import company in question did not have a direct route into San Francisco from London, and thus had to drive the boxes up from Los Angeles. This shipping detour gave Aquarius the opportunity to throw a big party in anticipation of the album's arrival, with attendants rumored to include Crime and the Residents (in full Eyeball costumes squeezing within the confines of Aquarius' then Castro Street location). To heighten the suspense, Aquarius had arranged with the driver of the truck to call up the store every 30 minutes or so to let everybody know his progress up the I-5: "Just passed Bakersfield." "Made it through Coalinga." "Yup, I'm in Tracy."
Yet, I feel the story could end with the truck crashing somewhere near Pleasanton, as I've never felt that The Sex Pistols' music lived up to their massive cultural cache and spectacular publicity stunts. John Lydon's uncomfortable fixed stare, sneered cultural heresies, and theatrical madness (which, in fact, was lifted from Richard Burton's performances as King Lear) always appeared to be destined for greater things than the Pistol's musically thuggish simplicity. Within The Sex Pistols, John Lydon had control over the Pistol's syntax, spewing threats against royalty and decent society at large; but there was little room (and even less ability) to explore the far more challenging proposition of igniting the sound of Lee Perry and Can with the powderkeg of punk. Internal politics and Malcolm McLaren aside, Rotten needed to form Public Image Limited.
Flanked by Keith Levene on guitar and Jah Wobble on bass, Lydon began PiL with two perfectly complementary musicians to pursue his aesthetic goals, as Levene's spindly shards of metallic guitar splatter acted as the textural counterpoint to the rhythmic centrality of Wobble's low-slung dub basslines. While this line-up inevitably imploded (and with it the success of Public Image Limited), the Lydon / Levene / Wobble core for PiL reached its creative apex during their second album, originally released back in 1979 as a 3LP housed in a metal film container. PiL's second, more economical pressing of the self-evidently titled "Metal Box" garnered an equally self-evident title "Second Edition." As a whole, this album hasn't easily been upstaged in its synthesis of dub production techniques, stealthy disco grooves, and punk antagonism bathed in Situationist critique. "Second Edition" opens with Wobble's huge rolling bass in "Albatross" which finds Lydon straining to sing with a swooping baritone to match the song's unwavering plod. Yet Lydon's viperous snarl returns for the rest of the album, which picks up the pace considerably in building their signature 'death disco' sound. All around "Second Edition" is an unnerving, complex album that was never the cultural force "Nevermind The Bollocks" was but is clearly the artistic masterpiece in Lydon's career and one of the quintessential post-punk albums.
As an aside, it was a huge curatorial mistake for Soul Jazz to leave Public Image Limited off of their "In The Beginning There Was Rhythm" compilation, as PiL fits into Soul Jazz's ideology for the project better than anybody else on the record. Thus, "Second Edition" is highly recommended (if not required) for anyone who was into that compilation.
NOW AVAILABLE AGAIN AS A REPRODUCTION OF THE ORIGINAL DELUXE 3LP METAL FILM CANISTER SET WHICH EARNED THE ALBUM'S NAME!!!
Here's what we wrote about this earlier:
It's a piece of history that none of the current staff were old enough to remember, yet nostalgic fragments about the initial arrival of Nevermind The Bollocks at Aquarius Records back in 1977 occasionally emerge from conversations with our old school customers. By now it's probably as factual as any urban mythology; but as it makes for such a great story, I'm much more inclined to believe it than what may have really happened. With record distribution back in 1977 even less streamlined than it is today, Aquarius resorted to using an importer to ship copies of Nevermind The Bollocks from England. The import company in question did not have a direct route into San Francisco from London, and thus had to drive the boxes up from Los Angeles. This shipping detour gave Aquarius the opportunity to throw a big party in anticipation of the album's arrival, with attendants rumored to include Crime and the Residents (in full Eyeball costumes squeezing within the confines of Aquarius' then Castro Street location). To heighten the suspense, Aquarius had arranged with the driver of the truck to call up the store every 30 minutes or so to let everybody know his progress up the I-5: "Just passed Bakersfield." "Made it through Coalinga." "Yup, I'm in Tracy."
Yet, I feel the story could end with the truck crashing somewhere near Pleasanton, as I've never felt that The Sex Pistols' music lived up to their massive cultural cache and spectacular publicity stunts. John Lydon's uncomfortable fixed stare, sneered cultural heresies, and theatrical madness (which, in fact, was lifted from Richard Burton's performances as King Lear) always appeared to be destined for greater things than the Pistol's musically thuggish simplicity. Within The Sex Pistols, John Lydon had control over the Pistol's syntax, spewing threats against royalty and decent society at large; but there was little room (and even less ability) to explore the far more challenging proposition of igniting the sound of Lee Perry and Can with the powderkeg of punk. Internal politics and Malcolm McLaren aside, Rotten needed to form Public Image Limited.
Flanked by Keith Levene on guitar and Jah Wobble on bass, Lydon began PiL with two perfectly complementary musicians to pursue his aesthetic goals, as Levene's spindly shards of metallic guitar splatter acted as the textural counterpoint to the rhythmic centrality of Wobble's low-slung dub basslines. While this line-up inevitably imploded (and with it the success of Public Image Limited), the Lydon / Levene / Wobble core for PiL reached its creative apex during their second album, originally released back in 1979 as a 3LP housed in a metal film container. PiL's second, more economical pressing of the self-evidently titled Metal Box garnered an equally self-evident title Second Edition. As a whole, this album hasn't easily been upstaged in its synthesis of dub production techniques, stealthy disco grooves, and punk antagonism bathed in Situationist critique. Second Edition opens with Wobble's huge rolling bass in Albatross which finds Lydon straining to sing with a swooping baritone to match the song's unwavering plod. Yet Lydon's viperous snarl returns for the rest of the album, which picks up the pace considerably in building their signature 'death disco' sound. All around Second Edition is an unnerving, complex album that was never the cultural force Nevermind The Bollocks was but is clearly the artistic masterpiece in Lydon's career and one of the quintessential post-punk albums.
Not sure how we managed to miss these guys up until now. They're from right here in SF, and this is their third full length (we've heard exactly ONE of their 7"s), they totally kill, and they have maybe the fiercest female vocalist we've ever heard. All this talk about Perfect Pussy, fuck that, Meghan from Punch might have the greatest punk rock voice we've heard in forever, a serious paint peeling caterwaul, and the band back her up with a potent mix of classic hardcore, old school punk rock, furious grind and some seriously metallic heft. A relentless chaotic frenzy that occasionally slips into straight forward punk rock pound, but just as often explodes into grinding metallic fury that is seriously some of the fiercest and most furious shit EVER. The production by Jack Shirley (Deafheaven, Joyce Manor, Whirr, etc.) only makes it that much meaner and HUGE sounding. It's 15 songs in about 18 minutes, the longest is 2:33, the shortest (the title track) a mere :05, but every track, even that brief sonic blip totally destroys, and the crazy thing, is it's catchy as fuck, with super melodic basslines, some seriously killer riffs, and some goddamn great songs. And when they slow it down, it's SO heavy, which is only further magnified when they explode into a part as fast and furious as the previous part was slow. Holy shit. We're gonna make it a point to track down all the other Punch records, and not miss a single show, cuz as good as these songs sound on record, we can only imagine how brutal and badass this stuff sounds live.
The Chicago issue. Mekons, underground hip hop crew Molemen, Homocore Chicago, Venus magazine, deathrow inmate Aaron Patterson, Tortoise, punk rock hot dog merchant Doug Sohn, low-income neighborhood organizer James Mumm, Bloodshot Records, The Dishes, DIY book your own big show.
We haven't really been consistent about listing this magazine on our website (it's more of an in-store purchase thing anyways) but thought we'd mention this one just to remind y'all that we carry it. And this ish might be of special interest 'cause it's Punk Planet's third ever special Art & Design issue, so in addition to the usual band interviews and music reviews and columns and ads and political stuff, you'll find features on a bunch of underground artists in the fields of fine arts, graphic design, fashion, tattoos, and even cartography. If you've ever wondered about, for instance, who did the cool art for Converge's Jane Doe album (that'd be band member Jacob Bannon), he's in here...along with others whose names you also might not recognize but whose art and design work chances are you've seen gracing some of your favorite punk/indie releases. Some names, nonetheless: Cat Chow, Andy Mueller, Tara McPherson, Crista Donner, Paul Booth, Joe Rush, and others. 160 artsy, attractive pages.
We've always been a huge fan of the band Lungfish. Practitioners of an uncompromising, and unrelenting sort of melodic and rhythmic minimalism. Each song a single groove, a riff, loping and repetitive, winding and swerving under vocalist Dan Higgs' distinctive wail. So it comes as no surprise that the Pupils are completely amazing as well, once you realise that the two Pupils are actually Higgs and Lungfish guitarist Asa Osborne. And the sound of this duo is appropriately intimate, like a stripped down, skeletal version of Lungfish, with Osborne's bulldozing riffs turned into delicate spidery, latticeworks of chiming notes and melodies, while simple drum machine rhythms plot out a steady course. Occasionally squalls of guitar feedback and squealing theremin whip things into a frenzy, but order is quickly restored as the relentless riffing and persistent rhythms march on resolutely. Higgs' vocals are keening and rich, sometimes dry as a bone, sometimes wrapped in layers of reverb or distortion, sometimes soaring, sometimes whispery and urgent, but always intense and super emotional, perfectly complemeting the insistent, unrelenting musical backdrop. Not a new release, but something we've been meaning to list for a while!
Ok, how can you go wrong with a record called Fantasy Quest, that features awesome, high school binder, D&D fantasy pencil art, with a dog headed warrior princess wielding a shield and a tiny mouse with a sword waving a pennant, some ghosts, a winged rabbit headed warrior, a creepy forest, a castle, even harder to resist when you realize it's a compilation of all female, mostly instrumental, fuzzy, psychedelic hard rocking, metal bands from the Northwest! FUCK YEAH!
First up is Purple Rhinestone Eagle, whose record we went nuts for a while back, and their track here is just as good as anything on the full length, pounding, groovy, garagey, a little stonery, a lot space-y, riffy, metallic psych rock with a pinch of NWOBHM, so so good!
Here they're teamed up with Northern Swords, whose track is a two parter, you gotta flip the disc to hear the whole thing, and it slays, like a more loose Fucking Champs, still tight and technical, with killer harmonized guitar leads, killer drumming, the second part is super aggro and WAY technical, and relentlessly rocking, both parts sound like they COULD, or SHOULD have lyrics about dragons and swords and sorcerers, you can almost hear the airbrushed seventies van, and leather pants, the fringed jackets and feathered hair, the big amps and smoke machines.
Finally, Forsorcerers (awesome name btw!) finish things off, kicking out the only jam with vocals, total hard rocking classic garage rock, like Thin Lizzy crossed with the Runaways, more awesomely tangled guitar harmonies, and bad ass female vox.
Not sure what's going on up North, but we definitely want more.
Pressed on super striking white / black / grey splatter vinyl, with a printed insert, and the aforementioned bad ass cover.
Besides having an awesome name for a metal band, Pushing Up Daisies is also an eight piece. A goddamn EIGHT PIECE! Vocalist, keyboardist, bassist, TWO drummers and THREE guitarists! And it shows. The guitars are everywhere, serpentine and slithery, jagged and ear peircing, downtuned and crushing. The dual drum attack is a pummelling unstoppable force. But it's not just about the instrumentation. Pushing Up Daisies are a fierce metal hybrid, equal parts screamo, metalcore and even a dash of black metal, with brain bendingly complex arrangements leaning WAY towards the prog end of things and plenty of weird breakdowns, from super reverbed dubbed out space rock to strangely loping Three Mile Pilot like bass driven melodic passages, to James Gang wah-guitar funk, but always bookended by crushing hook filled METAL. Lots of stops and starts, high end guitar melodies weaving in and out, punctuated by massive and muffled three-downtuned-guitar chugs that rattle your fillings they hit so hard. Lots of two guitar bands don't take advantage of their extra axe and waste it by having both guitarists play the same thing, but Pushing Up Daisies utilise their triple threat to full effect and it really adds a unique edge to everything with all sorts of slippery intertwining melodies, strangely haunting guitar harmonies and layer upon layer of sonic weirdness. One of our favorite new metal records!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Debut release from this local all girl garage pop combo. A killer mix of classic nineties style jangle pop and more frantic punk rock, reminiscent of classic Riot Grrl for sure, especially when the band bust out and get super rocking, the ultra distinctive vocals definitely harken back to Corin Tucker's more feral wail in the early days, the music, by turns super minimal and stripped down, jangly and melodic, furious and fuzzed out, complete with some almost Greg Ginn like angular guitar leads, check out the first two tracks to get a feel for the two sides of Quaaludes, the opener, "Blood On The Ice", sounds like some classic K Records releases from back in the day, broody, strummy verses giving way to stomping, fiery choruses, while "Call You Up" is a sweaty, snarly blast of raw girlpunk energy, beholden to classic punk rock, but filtered through the sound of current garage poppers. And so it goes, the group splitting their time between raw punk rock energy and almost dreamy poppiness, the best moments, when the two are crammed together into dizzyingly, and fantastically schizophrenic blasts of furious, wildly energetic jangle punk ("Mistake", "I Don't Care", "Stiff Little Single").
Fans of Heavens To Betsy, Huggy Bear, Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, will dig big time, and at times will feel like it's 1991 all over again, but folks who dig current outfits like Grass Widow, Brilliant Colors, Brave Irene, Super Wild Horses and the like should check this out too!
It may be difficult to believe at this point, but we don't actually love everything from Finland. Nor do we love everything from Japan. And what might be equally hard to believe, is that we don't love every band with a crazy name, a monicker equal parts ridiculousness and ultraviolence, Lord Of The Rings and Star Wars, medieval and futuristic. Nor does the presence of flute supersede all other sonic considerations. And being chaotic and damaged and heavy and downright baffling is not, on its own, enough (although it's very very close).
But, and this is the very big BUT we must concern ourselves with here, we do love EVERY SINGLE band we've heard who hail from Japan, via Finland, with an awesomely over the top super metal name, who are heavy and noisy and mathy and fucked up and sort of black metal, and have tons and tons of FLUTE. But then again, there's only one band that fits that description. Japan's Quest For Blood. Released on Jussi from Circle's Ektro label, championed by Reverend Bizarre's Albert Witchfinder (who also did the artwork and wrote the band's bio on the Ektro website), who create a dizzying complex bombast of proggy heaviness, of complex arrangements, of blackened metallic majesty, all gnarled riffing, furious drumming, riffy and groovy and buzzy, and flute everywhere, and it's the flute that defines the sound of Quest For Blood, whose sound is both metal and some sort of jazz, equally composed and abstract, black and buzzy, epic and deliriously dense, heavy yet folky and free. Quest For Blood began life as a slightly more traditional black metal band called Magane, but after a chance meeting with Yukihiro Isso, who had in the past played with Tatsuya Yoshida and Keiji Haino, the band changed direction, and blossomed into something else entirely, creating a sound never really heard before, and a sound that we now realize is one we had been fantasizing about for ages, black metal, Japanese folk, wild free flute, blast beats, weird chanted vocals, well, okay, we -would- have fantasized about it, had we ever imagined a band like that could actually exist. Well...
If you're anything like us, you'll be hooked after the first track, which begins with what sounds like Jew's harp and marimba, before launching into some blackened post metal riffing, over which a flute flutters and soars over the top, at once intense and melodic, but also airy and ethereal, it's like super dense metallic math rock meets black metal meets jazzprog, until suddenly the band drops out, leaving just solo flute, for 2 plus minutes, wild free jazz fluttery, folky, freaky, the melodies chaotic and complex one second, gentle and lilting the next, squeaks, skronks, wheezes, whistles, the sound falling somewhere between traditional Shakuhachi folk music and manic free jazz. Until finally, the band return, with some Japanese chanting, and epic Viking style riffery, the flute flitting right along, in its own way as aggressive and intense as the riffing beneath it. The second song follows suit, a roiling churning melee of riffs and blast beats, of serpentine riffing, of buzz and crunch, the flute again weaving dense tangled webs of melody draped over everything, a constant fluttering flitting sonic presence, relentless and breathless and truly dizzying.
The whole record is truly relentless, the flute in full on wild solo jam mode continuously, as the band wind and weave various metallic frameworks underneath. And while the sound is dynamic in its own way, it's also utterly ferocious and unrelenting, occasionally allowed some space, when the song unwinds and the flute is left to drift in long stretches of abstract shimmer, or the band slips into something slightly less manic, but for the most part, this is a gloriously mind blowing progjazzmathmetal onslaught.
As if the record wasn't already weird enough, it gets even weirder, and more varied, near the end, as the songs become more dynamic, the arrangements more stop / start, the various woodwinds offering up underwater gurgles and squiggly manic melodies, than more traditional flute sounds. "Yayema" sounds almost gospel-y, very melodic and dramatic, a little over the top, the melodies major key and majestic, but of course peppered with bursts of furious blasts and wild squall of flute freakout. "Uchina" begins like many of the other tracks, a jazz metal blow out, this time with raspy creature-like vocals, and some pounding piano, until the band drops out, leaving just drums and flute and vocals, reminding us a bit of a more freaked out version of that Dave Lombardo plays Vivaldi record, but with far out chanting, distant raspy vocalizations, all very tribal and weird, with a definite Ruins vibe, before launching back into full on metal mode, now with wailing guitar leads all tangled up with the wild flute.
The final track begins with solo flute, before the band joins in, all rough and raw and lo-fi, pounding out a simple mesmerizing riff, almost Circle style, the drums a murky thud, the flute ethereal and transcendent, eventually, the drums sputtering into some wide open space, before getting all wound up with streaks of scrabbly off kilter guitar in some sort of Ginn-ish guitar drum duel, laced with atonal piano pound, fiery flute and crumbling noisy chaos, finally finishing off in a blaze of metallic murk and abstract black jazz whatthefuck.
So awesome. And confusionally genius. Some seemingly impossible mix of black metal, free jazz, Italian prog, traditional Japanese folk, math rock and noise rock; a mind bending, ear melting mash up of Osanna, the Ruins, Absu, Solar Anus, Rahsaan Roland Kirk, Comus, Cromagnon, Ghost, Finntroll, Jethro Tull, Circle, Xynfonica, and who the fuck knows what else.
Needless to say, or perhaps worth saying over and over and over. WAY RECOMMENDED. And another contender for metal (or whatever) record of the year.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Hardcore intensity that veers into math-y territory at times. Seriously shredded vocal chords. The harsh and raw side of California emo-core. Recorded by Ryan Massey of American Steel.
We reviewed a split 7" from these Colorado noise rockers a while back, where we described them as sounding like "some sort of modern version of big ol' post punk sludge groove, hard not to hear some Scratch Acid in there. Ultra grimy downtuned guitars, super dense and mathy arrangements, woozy basslines, blown out fuzz guitar, growled/shouted vocals. Almost like a way darker, way more punk Pelican in a way." Apparently they liked that enough to put it on the cover (!), and some of that definitely still applies (not the Pelican thing so much here), this is some seriously heavy, crusty, noisy, pigfuck, distorto filth, raw and nasty, think classic AmRep, think Karp, a sort of post metal heaviness wrapped around dirgey punk rock pummel, dense distorted knuckle dragging caveman crush, the vocals a throat shredding howl, somewhere between death metal growl, Killdozer Yowl and Muppety howl, the music buzzy and blown out, super rhythmic, downtuned, heavy and hypnotic. Kinda weird to think Rabbits are from Portland and is made up of guys from Angel Hair / The VSS / Pleasure Forever, cuz damn if this don't sound pretty Midwest to us. Regardless, this is some thick as molasses, punked out sludgy noise rock that KILLS. Total doom sludge metal punk bliss. Fuck yeah. We've got compact disc and colored vinyl.
These guys dropped into the store and left some records for us to check out and holy shit did we have our asses handed to us. It's very rare that we'll hear a split lp with two bands we've never heard of, that will knock us for a loop, BOTH bands kicking serious ass, but here you go. There seems to bee some sort of Colorado connection (Angel Hair, VSS, etc.) and you can hear it once in a while, but this is a lot darker and lot heavier. Both bands have a similar sound, so much so that you could be forgive for assuming they were the same band, but closer listening reveals lots of important differences. Rabbits are some sort of modern version of big ol' post punk sludge groove, hard not to hear some Scratch Acid in there. Ultra grimy downtuned guitars, super dense and mathy arrangements, woozy basslines, blown out fuzz guitar, growled/shouted Yow-like vocals. Almost like a way darker, way more punk pelican in a way. Which is most definitely a good thing.
Under Mountains counter with their own furiously dense and heavy, sort of sludgy post-math rock. Lots of angular guitars, some strangely Maiden-ish moments here and there, super complicated drumming, heavy and sludgy but also groovy and pretty dang catchy. They, like Rabbits, could definitely fit comfortably alongside the modern crop of instruMETAL rockers, but both bands, especially UM are a lot mathier and grimier. Reminded us a bit of the recent more rock releases on Rise Above, like Capricorns, Taint, etc.
Killer stuff!
We've been lucky, with the resurgence of vinyl, there's been lots of "essentials" reissued on lp lately, and this is one of 'em!! As we've noted before (we're cribbing a bit from our own review of their 'best of' cd on Sub Pop), Radio Birdman were the mid-'70s Australian re-incarnation of the MC5 and The Stooges, lead by Detroit-transplant Deniz Tek (guitarist, songwriter, and later a fighter pilot and doctor!), and damn were they good. Being half a world away and several years removed from Detroit ground zero, Birdman's homage to their proto-punk Grande Ballroom heroes was no rip-off, their penchant for surf-guitar licks being but one point of departure. Other influences include VU, BOC, and Alice Cooper. Legends in Australia, they're more like an obscure rock footnote over here, but once you're into 'em, you'll be really into 'em!
This 1977 album was their first full-length, and a total classic (whichever edition you get, there were actually two with slightly different tracklists, this is the '78 overseas one). It includes their cover version of The 13th Floor Elevators' "You're Gonna Miss Me" along with Birdman classics like "Aloha Steve & Danno", "Murder City Nights", "Do The Pop", "New Race", and "Man With The Golden Helmet". Apparently the 4 Men With Beards who put this out like a little rock action now and then, not just beard-stroking jazz, folk and kraut...
Does technology exist that instantly turns the rapid random wanderings of the mind into music? Listening to Street Lights sure makes us think it must! It's as if someone's gone and plugged that machine directly into the (we're guessing bong-luvvin') brain of one Mr. Jordan Rain. His new album jumps about so wildly it'll have you puzzledly scratching your own head at every turn. Hell, we felt we almost had to roll ourselves a fatty just to review it!
If Jordan looks / sounds somehow familiar to you, there's many possible reasons why. A veritable North Western underground musical legend, he's been a member of Reeks & The Wrecks (whose sole posthumous release came out on Andee's tUMULt label a while back), Behead The Prophet No Lord Shall Live, Alamo Social Club and Robert Blake's High Wide & Handsome Band. He's also been spotted recently as the frontman for his eight member Yogoman Burning Band.
Anyways, Street Lights is Jordan's second cd of tunes he wrote, played, and recorded all by himself. The instruments and vocals were recorded through the pinhole mic in his iBook directly into the Garageband computer program, where he overdubbed and mixed everything. The aural effects laden grab bag contains everything from answering machine snippits and non-verbal vocalizing to white boy soul falsetto crooning, trippy dubbed out reggae, slow burning laid back grooves, wild percussive freakouts and even a sing-a-long with a baby. Weird and warped, and maybe best listened to under the influence...
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Essential 1980 debut record from this seminal DIY all-female post-punk quartet from England. Big influence on Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love, who reissued their entire catalog in the early nineties. Fans of the Slits, Kleenex, The Shop Assistants, Girls At Their Best and Marine Girls, this is required listening! Comes with a download card for mp3's. Huzzah!
While the debut Ramones album, gets much of the punk rock history glory, (as it should, cuz it really one of the greatest albums of all time!) we could still make a strong argument for Road To Ruin being our favorite Ramones album. Their fourth album, released in 1978, Road To Ruin is pretty much as good as pop music gets! Filled with classic Ramones blitzkrieg fast punk pop, as well as showing another side of themselves on their awesome cover of the Sonny & Cher classic "Needles & Pins". All we really have to say is that this is the album that inspired the Bad Brains to become a band, as they got their moniker from the song "Bad Brain". We love this record so much because besides the well known Ramones songs on here like "I Wanna Be Sedated", "I Wanted Everything", and "I Just Wanna Have Something To Do" there are so many awesome songs that somehow never end up on any of the many different Ramones best-of collections. While they really are a band who have been immortalized on so many of those collections, all their records deserve individual attention. They really just didn't slip up that much, or ever actually. Not one throwaway song on Road To Ruin, it all rules!
Six song ep from these NYC scene up-n-comers. Disco punk!
Emaciated. Fractious. Toxic. Violent. Raspberry Bulbs is the blackened punk outfit that Marco del Rio conceived after dissolving the cult black metal duo Bone Awl in 2010 or thereabouts. The raw-nerve energy of Raspberry Bulbs is a continuation of Bone Awl's brand of D-beat primitivism, but with some downright catchy riffs and pop-hook chops replacing the black metal. Over three albums, Raspberry Bulbs has perfected that formula - one that could be cranked out on a single worn-torn guitar and knuckle-busting drum kit. Even as Raspberry Bulbs has swollen from a sole venture for del Rio to a formidable five-piece, the riffs have a crust-punk urgency that's completely in the moment and full of wild-eyed rage.
Raspberry Bulb's 2013 album Deformed Worship caught many people off guard, coming out on the boutique publishing house of paranoiac electronica, Blackest Ever Black. Despite the aesthetic differences, the malaise and the claustrophobia and the tension of Black Rain, Cut Hands, and Raime find easy parallels in the jackbooted punk stomp of Raspberry Bulbs. It also makes a hell of a lot of sense that Dominic Fernow / Prurient released the first (and dare we say, slightly undercooked) first album from Raspberry Bulbs. So there's the connection for you. Privacy picks up right where Deformed Worship left off as an antisocial, bad-seed punk brother to Christian Death's Only Theatre Of Pain, starving the skeletal riffs into a acid batteries of ravenous angst and eschewing the goth miserablism in favor of a throat-ripped snarl. The guitars sound like they've been strung with razor wire and hot-wired into Crime's pawn shop amps. With the multiplicity of guitarists, Raspberry Bulbs just sounds louder, snottier, and meaner. Fucking awesome, we gotta say.
Sceptre Hole was our first exposure to the the awesomely named Rat Columns, aka David West, who has quite the Aussie garage rock resume, which includes stints as a touring guitarist for Total Control, he played in the late great unsung post punk weirdos Rank/Xerox, and has played with the guys from Taco Leg, among a whole bunch of others. So we were of course expecting Rat Columns to sound a little like that, sort of Total Control style garage punk, maybe with a hint of new waviness, but instead, the sound is much closer to a warped sort of lo-fi indie rock jangle/power pop, which on Sceptre Hole is made even cooler/better by the addition of Matt Bleyle, of aQ faves Violent Change and Sopors. And anyone whose been digging either of those outfits' recent records (or heck even SF pop geniuses the Ovens) will find a LOT to dig here.
After an awesomely misleading opener, a creepy druggy dirge, all syrupy guitar buzz, slow drum plod and hushed haunted vocals, the record explodes into some serious kick ass poppiness, bashed drums, big jangle, lots of fuzz and buzz, hooks like crazy, the vocals a wispy croon, crunchy indie/power pop that's tough to beat. And again, we were sort of expecting the rest of the record to play out similarly, but there's lots of different sounds happening here. "Flowers" is more dour, a little bit Joy Division-y, with some weird arrangements, and cool gloomy chord progressions, "Nearsighted" too is a gorgeous slab of eighties beholden new wave pop, while "Dying Day" is super distorted shoegaze bliss out, all blurred buzz and buried vocals. There are plenty of experimental fragments, droney and darkly psychedelic, plenty of acoustic guitars too, all integrated seamlessly into a procession of CRAZY catchy power pop jams, and practically perfect blasts of fuzzy indie pop jangle. It definitely sounds like a record from the past, like this could maybe be some obscure reissue, but it's got a modern feel as well, and the music touches on so many of our favorite sounds, it's pretty tough to resist. But then why would you even try? A new favorite for sure. And absolutely recommended for fans of warped weirdo pop, and classic jangle and fuzz.
Includes a download code too!!
**MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT** **MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT** **MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT**
That's right, it's that time again, another killer blast from the past courtesy of everybody's new favorite all vinyl reissue label, Mississippi! This time it's record number two from Portland's new wave garage punk trio the Rats, maybe better known as the band of Fred and Toody Cole who would of course go on to form the much loved Dead Moon.
Intermittent Signals offers up more of the same synth laced punk rock garage rock stomp found on their s/t debut, maybe a wee bit tighter and more polished, but still heavy and snotty and snarly and swaggery, a definite old AC/DC vibe happening too, killer riffing, tons of hooks, wild drumming, Fred's drawled punk rock vox, Toody's more frenetic yelp, all crammed into short sharp blasts of hooky catchy punk rock power pop genius.
Original drummer Rod Rat guests on a couple tracks, he ended up committing suicide not long afterwards, drummer Sam Henry would go on to drum for the Wipers as well as Napalm Beach. Another essential slice of PDX punk rock history.
And as with all Mississippi releases, lovingly packaged, super thick jackets, nice heavy vinyl, and this one even includes a flyer advertising a pretty kick ass show, the Rats and The Fastbacks! Admission price: only TWO BUCKS!!!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Hand painted, 30 minutes, lo-fi, member of Sword and Sandals.
Maybe you've already seen it. The best music video EVER. On YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQiHORkdE_0
That's this band, Red Fang, doing this album's lead off cut "Prehistoric Dog". We won't spoil the video by telling you too much about it before you watch, let's just say it involves a most excellent mocking of LARPers (technically speaking, the LARPers look more like members of The Society for Creative Anachronism, but same dif pretty much).
After seeing that, how can you not need the Red Fang album? Which, as we expected is grungy, loud, heavy, shit kickin' and beer swillin' (as per the video). There's a moodier cut or two ("Humans Remain Human Remains" ferinstance) but mostly this is a walloping dose of balls out rockin' from this hairy bunch of stoner metal reprobates from Portland Oregon (who among 'em include ex-members of such bands as Last Of The Juanitas, All Night, Shiny Beast, Trumans Water, Bad Wizard, Party Time, and Facedowninshit). As raw and riffy as it gets, there's still hints of melody, even in the vocals, that are sometimes sung, sometimes screamed and shouted. Should appeal to fans of High On Fire lookin' for a good time, or Harvey Milk's Pleaser... Also, imagine a cross between Karp and Priestess, or a more punk and disorderly Burning Brides.
This debut 10-song full-length incorporates the tracks from their previous self-released tour-only cd-r ep, all except for their cover of Dust's proto-metal classic "Suicide", darn it.
Members of Red Monkey also run the DIY punk collective Slampt and started out rocking in UK underground legends Avocado Baby and Pussycat Trash, they now make up 2/3rds of this dynamic group. The songs on this record are political, strong, angular, and almost
We have loved this band since we were in high school, when we first picked up a copy of the Red Temple Spirits' first record. That album - Dancing To Restore An Eclipsed Moon - became something we've returned to over and over again. Then, it was a more adventurous, post-apocalyptic, and lysergically tainted take on the British post-punk / goth-pop albums of our youth. You know, Love & Rockets, Siouxsie, The Smiths, The Cure. But later, upon discovering the Syd Barrett fronted Pink Floyd records, Twink's Think Pink, and the Outsiders' CQ, Red Temple Spirits seemed less to fit in with their contemporaries and more of a feral updated expression of psychedelic awakening of those bands from the '70s. The basslines from Red Temple Spirits may have been lifted wholesale from Steven Severin of Siouxsie & The Banshees, and the guitars could hit the jagged, sparkplug bursts of Gang Of Four or even Crime (but for the most part, they paralleled the dark-eyed jangle of the Abecedarians); but the arrangements were far more convoluted - at times shambolic and rambling, and at others ritualistically intense.
The band emerged out of the LA goth-punk scene in 1987, when bassist Dino Paredes departed Psi-Com, which was fronted by none other than Perry Farrell (who would go on to form Jane's Addiction) only to find another amazing frontman in the form of William Faircloth. This British ex-pat was equal parts doomsayer and acid casualty, eagerly waxing poetic about the latter through the lens of the former. Many of these visionary tales mapped out a basic philosophy of universalist gnosticism - "The Light Of Christ" addresses a common gnostic precept that an inner wisdom is trapped within the human condition and can be tapped through meditation, invocation, rigorous study, whatnot, but not before passing through allusions to Buddhism and animism. Vocally, Faircloth sounds a hell of a lot like Black Francis / Frank Black trying to do a Syd Barrett impersonation - a demonic, tonal yelp with a faint trace of a British lisp.
The band produced two albums, the aforementioned Dancing To Restore An Eclipsed Moon (1988) and the nearly impossible to find If Tomorrow I Were Leaving For Lhasa, I Wouldn't Stay A Minute More (1989). The bulk of copies of the latter all seemed to end up in Greece for whatever reason, and given the prices for the album online, must have been single handedly supporting the Greek economy. The debut is an astonishing double album that sprawls from languid dirges to frenetic punk-pop songs all lead in dramatic fashion by Faircloth.
We have loved this band since we were in high school, when we first picked up a copy of the Red Temple Spirits' first record. That album - Dancing To Restore An Eclipsed Moon - became something we've returned to over and over again. Then, it was a more adventurous, post-apocalyptic, and lysergically tainted take on the British post-punk / goth-pop albums of our youth. You know, Love & Rockets, Siouxsie, The Smiths, The Cure. But later, upon discovering the Syd Barrett fronted Pink Floyd records, Twink's Think Pink, and the Outsiders' CQ, Red Temple Spirits seemed less to fit in with their contemporaries and more of a feral updated expression of psychedelic awakening of those bands from the '70s. The basslines from Red Temple Spirits may have been lifted wholesale from Steven Severin of Siouxsie & The Banshees, and the guitars could hit the jagged, sparkplug bursts of Gang Of Four or even Crime (but for the most part, they paralleled the dark-eyed jangle of the Abecedarians); but the arrangements were far more convoluted - at times shambolic and rambling, and at others ritualistically intense.
The band emerged out of the LA goth-punk scene in 1987, when bassist Dino Paredes departed Psi-Com, which was fronted by none other than Perry Farrell (who would go on to form Jane's Addiction) only to find another amazing frontman in the form of William Faircloth. This British ex-pat was equal parts doomsayer and acid casualty, eagerly waxing poetic about the latter through the lens of the former. Many of these visionary tales mapped out a basic philosophy of universalist gnosticism - "The Light Of Christ" addresses a common gnostic precept that an inner wisdom is trapped within the human condition and can be tapped through meditation, invocation, rigorous study, whatnot, but not before passing through allusions to Buddhism and animism. Vocally, Faircloth sounds a hell of a lot like Black Francis / Frank Black trying to do a Syd Barrett impersonation - a demonic, tonal yelp with a faint trace of a British lisp.
The band produced two albums, the aforementioned Dancing To Restore An Eclipsed Moon (1988) and the nearly impossible to find If Tomorrow I Were Leaving For Lhasa, I Wouldn't Stay A Minute More (1989). The bulk of copies of the latter all seemed to end up in Greece for whatever reason, and given the prices for the album online, must have been single handedly supporting the Greek economy. The second album attempts to tighten up some of the more unhinged aspects, with a few more conventional psych-rock songs but when they hit the cover of Pink Floyd's "Set The Controls To The Heart Of The Sun," it really is a twisted acid trip launched beyond Earth's orbit, through pounding tribal rhythms, Keith Levene-esque guitar scratchiness, and Faircloth's belted vocals.
Oh man, does this hit the spot. Total old school, abject, cold and clinical, noise drenched industrial, a symphony of rusty old machines, the cranks and levers operated by rotting corpses, this crumbling sound factory situated upon a blackened expanse of charred remains and ruined cities, the voice a reverb drenched howl, a totally hypnotic rhythmic clatter creates the skeletal framework, while all around, clouds of hiss and buzz are woven into slow shifting almost-riffs, lumbering, stumbling, dark and dour, shot through with barely there streaks of melody, a brief bit of cinematic apocalyptica, the flip side, features another lurching steam punked Skinny Puppied rhythm track, this time pelted by bits of glitch and fuzzed out sine waves, a female voice speaks over the top, telling tales of violence and mayhem, in a calm measured tone, a strange contrast to the looped decaying sprawl of Redrot's harrowing soundscapery. Deep processed vocals are morphed into thick undulating tones, fragmented electronics wrapped around a frizzled underwater pulse, a swirling backdrop of creak and crunch and whir, the motorik lo-fi robotic beat in lockstep with a growling alien commentary. Awesome stuff for sure. So awesome in fact, that we just listened to this like 3 times in a row, and we're only really stopping now because we have other reviews to write...
LIMITED TO 200 COPIES!!!
Record number two from this mysterious metallic math rock band. Reflector's first record Flugangst was a surprise hit around here, a crunching math metal juggernaut, perpetrated by the now ubiquitous guitar/drums/no bass lineup, but Reflector certainly didn't suffer for it. Heavy and complex and brooding and massive, with plenty of doomy slow core bits and shimmery drone-y drifts.
If anything, Pass takes everything we liked about Flugangst and cranks it up, the sound is incredible, lush and thick and expansive, REALLY hard to believe they're a bass-less two piece here, the guitars are hard and dense and chuggy, the drums crushing, the two locked into killer grooves, Neurosis like lumbering plod one second, super tangled post rock weirdness the next, even some slow motion Slayer riffing here and there.
It's criminal these guys aren't huge, they should be touring with Mastodon and Baroness and all those low slung bearded sludgelords, but this ain't sludge (although they are perfectly capable of getting plenty sludge-y!), this is almost some sort of pop infused downtuned metal, shot through with plenty of post rock mathisms, strange textures, catchy melodies, and riffs that KILL.
We don't have a whole lot of these, so if we run out be patient, we have to get more from overseas, but hell, anyone into slow and low heaviness, or the new breed of post / math / metal / gaze / whatever, these guys could very well be your new favorite band.
Latest analog blast of abstract hypno skree from this French one man band and it's a beaut. Looped high end shimmer, distant industrial grind and creak and a creepy whispered mantra are smeared into a gorgeously woozy blur, eventually joined by some random woodpecker percussion. Strange but really quite beautiful and mesmerizing. The flipside is another mantra-like loop based drone, lots of tape hiss, and lo fi rumble, tape warble and stuttering fragments of hiss all drifting on a swirling sea of crumbling low end, and peppered with bits of crackle and crunch. Weird and wonderful.
Amazingly packaged, a green and yellow hand painted tape, in a full color sleeve, inside a full color insert and a folded up short story printed on super nice textured paper. LIMITED TO 68 COPIES!!!
Every time we start a review with a phrase like "we don't really like techno all that much" or "we've never been huge fans of pop punk" we end up getting people writing in defending the genre in question. But truth be told, we -do- like techno and we -do- like pop punk, and we do like all kinds of music, it's sort of the point of this store. It's just that we generally tend to dig the weirder, more far out, more creative risk-taking fringes of all those genres, which is -also- the point of this store. But that said, we don't actually like pop punk all that much, at least not the strain of cookie cutter made-for-MTV dreck that one typically thinks of as pop punk. But we do love pop. Do we ever!!! And we do love punk! And unlike the bad math that results from adding metal and hip hop (oh how we desperately wish someone could make that work!), pop and punk fit pretty comfortably together, add some good songs, and maybe even some metal riffage, and we're in business. Thus we have Reggie And The Full Effect, originally a joke side project for a handful of emo / pop punk luminaries (Coalesce anyone?), now a band that's as good as if not better than all of the serious bands that spawned it. They are the ultimate emo band. Of course you have the huge kick ass production, great catchy songs, sensitive whiny boy vocals and big distorted guitars. BUT THEN, you've got some chugging metal guitars and howling throat shredding vocals, fuzzy synths, goofy lyrics, and an ultra dumb / totally brilliant sense of humour. And as if that weren't enough, every third or fourth song is a total eighties synthpop workout, straight up New Order mockery / worship (one of which is a dead ringer for track two on the recent Killers record! Now who's laughing?!). Goofy and silly, but actually really good and fun and catchy. And finally, you've got RATFE's hardcore alter ego, the fictitious Finnish electro punk outfit Common Denominator, who have contributed one track to each Reggie record, always with Common Denominator's lead vocalist introducing the band, in a thick inexplicably German accent: "HELLO AMERICANS, THIS IS KLAUS FROM COMMON DENOMINATOR. WE ARE THE BAND YOU THAT YOU ARE LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW WE ARE FROM FINLAND AND THIS IS THE THIRD SONG OFF OUR DEBUT ALBUM IN AMERICA, THIS SONG IS CALLED DEATHNOTRONIC AND IT GOES LIKE THIS!!! And what follow is what can only be described as Ministry meets Rammstein meets that song that ALWAYS seems to play during cheerleader competitions (Y'all Ready For This!) as well as some awesome noodly guitar leads.
Even with the presence of Common Denominator, and the occasional synthpop workout, this is Reggie's least 'jokey' record to date, which is probably what makes it their best. Even the lyrics aren't as straight up goofy, in fact if anything, unless this is all a REALLY subtle joke, the lyrics tend toward straight up emo territory, love and loss and boys and girls and all that stuff. Pretty heartfelt stuff actually, and if there's one thing we're a sucker for it's emo! In fact the final song, a brooding piano driven emo ballad to end all emo ballads, is SO sincere, it seems like it MUST be a joke coming from these guys. But it's not. At least we don't think so. At first we were a little disappointed by the lack of skits and random stupidity, but as much as we love those old Reggie records, this one definitely has the potential for most repeated listens. There's just something about Reggie's combination of crunchy metallic guitars, weird Cars / Tupac synth melodies, perfect pop and goofy eighties high school ballads that we can't seem to get enough of!
An almost complete collection of all the early recordings of primal primitive lo-fi Ohio garage punk pioneer Mike Rep, who has remained more of a footnote than forefather, which is downright criminal listening to this stuff again. Recordings from the mid seventies to the early nineties, this revamped version of a 1992 lp compilation shines a light on the undeniable lo-fi pop garage rock genius of Mr. Mike Rep, who some folks may know as a producer of records by modern day practitioners of a similar sound, like Guided By Voices, Strapping Fieldhands and Times New Viking, and hell, if you dig ANY or all of those groups, or any of the legions of groups that followed, Mike Rep is gonna blow your mind. Especially when you consider he was doing warped garage pop, lo-fi home brewed jangle weirdness, 20, 30, heck almost 40 years before Ty Segall and Thee Oh Sees and the Sic Alps and all the rest.
Psychedelic, jangly, rocking, droney, fucked up and far out, this stuff is twisted and magical, warped and catchy as all get out, from a blissed out all instrumental version of a 13th Floor Elevators jam, to a bad ass Strapping Fieldhands cover(!!), the sounds veers wildly, yet somehow not incoherently from chaotic horn flecked grinding garage blowouts, to a fuzzy Stooges-y chunk of sci-fi hard rock crunch, to shimmery reverby sixties sonic sunshine, to flute flecked outsider folk, to snotty snarly ULTRA lo-fi punk rock stomp, to trippy over the top uber dramatic glam doom, complete with Asian melodies, and bizarre vocal effects, to Velvetsy hypnotic looped drone-rock, to twisted cabaret pop, to full on fucked up and freaked out druggy audio meltdown. So fucking great. And the fact that so many folks haven't heard this stuff, well, time to right that wrong. ANYone into weirdo lo-fi pop and weirdo garage rock, should buy this NOW. Comes with a whole bunch of unreleased tracks, and a download card.
The sticker on the front of this archival collection by the band Retsepti, from the former Soviet Republic of Georgia, states that it's "dark punk / wave". But we had been lead to believe it was more of a garagey metal thing. And the distributor we got our copies from, happens to be those noted purveyors of soul and funk, Numero Group! So what's Retsepti (which means "Recipe" or "Prescription") actually all about? Well, some kind of darkwave post-punk is about right, with gritty guitars that can riff it up in rollicking fashion but take a backseat to nervy new wavy keyboards at other times. The vocals are coarse but dramatically expressive, melodic and emotional in a raw, rough hewn way, just like the music (though things get smoother as the disc progresses, even incorporating saxophone on one song near the end). And the vibe is definitely what you might expect, dark, desperate yet defiant, from folks making art under trying circumstances (civil war for one thing). So while they didn't turn out to be the Iron Curtain Iron Maiden we'd been mistakenly hoping for, Retsepti are still worthy of attention.
This disc contains their entire recorded output, carefully restored and remastered from their original cassette tape releases and other obscure sources. The cd's handstamped gatefold sleeve contains a 16 page booklet, with liner notes detailing the band's fascinating history, along with lyrics and vintage photos.
Martin Rev without Alan Vega (the artist's other half in the mid-'70s minimal electronic punk duo, Suicide) seems like Oates without Hall, maybe even Donny sans Marie. But members of duos often make solo "me" time to try stuff they might not otherwise with their sonic partners, and synthesist Rev has been releasing solo records for most of his tenure with/since Suicide. In fact, we were really impressed with his 2009 Stigmata album. While Vega typically donned a rockabilly hat for most of his solo releases, Rev has tried on more than a few musical caps. This new vinyl reissue of his first solo venture from 1980 is one of his more minimalist efforts - think early Human League experiments like "Being Boiled".
"Baby Oh Baby" is the only one of the lp's six tracks that isn't an instrumental - and even there, the lyrics don't extend beyond what you see right there in the song title. The melody on the opening track, "Mari", carries an optimism you wouldn't associate with the dark and eerie downtown duo, and demonstrates Rev's exploration of other moods. It's so upbeat, you might expect Stephin Merritt's low croon to swoop in any second. The rest of the short album is filled with the synth washes and oscillations Rev basically patented as the vocabulary of the synth wave to come. Any fan in search of synth pop's origins will want to include this classic piece of cold electronic minimalism in their collection.
Nice 180 gram Rhino vinyl reish of this 1978 poppy punky new wavey classic from Glaswegian rockers the Rezillos, which includes such energetic "hits" (in an alternate, much cooler universe, at any rate) as "Flying Saucer Attack", "(My Baby Does) Good Sculptures", "Bad Guy Reaction", "Top Of The Pops", and their hard hitting cover of early Fleetwood Mac garage stomper "Somebody's Gonna Get Their Head Kicked In Tonight". Though the Rezillos were one of Scotland's first Pistols-era punk bands, they liked their '60s stuff, doing some other '60s covers besides the Mac, also suitably punked up. Faye Fife's vocals provide some melodic balance to the more sneering-sounding, tougher male ones. Not that she doesn't sound tuff too. Super good tunes, good times, yeah!!
Don't just take it from us, J. Mascis of Dinosaur Jr. has been quoted as saying that Can't Stand The Rezillos is the best album Sire ever put out. And that's saying a lot, since in just '78 alone Sire released albums by the Ramones, the Talking Heads, the Dead Boys, and the Flamin' Groovies, among many others...
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
In our ongoing obsession with all things Robedoor, here's yet another awesome chunk of blissed out drone-noise, teamed up with their perfect sonic foils, AQ faves the Yellow Swans. Both bands dial down the brutality and intensity, offering up two gorgeous tracks of shimmering, buzzing ambience, each with their own vibe, and one still a bit brutal and intense.�
Robedoor are up first, and this is just about the loveliest thing we've heard from these guys. All gliding glimmer, warm effulgent swells of sound, distant moaning cellos that just sort of melt all over the top of the guitar, gorgeous and tranquil, a blissy drift through billowing clouds of soft focus blur, distorted and buzzy, but smeared into one slow burning easy on the ears whir.�
Yellow Swans counter with their own version of 'tranquil' and as you might imagine it's a bit different than RD's. Noisier and heavier, more fuzzed out and harsh, but no less lovely. A whirling wash of thick gritty grime, muted grinding rhythms, industrial whir, buzzing and rumbling. The whole thing thick and crumbling and corrosive, but still so pretty!
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES, each one hand numbered.�
You just may have heard me (cup) raging about the punky pop magic that was The Rondelles last album entitled "The Fox". Really, it was one of my top picks from 1999. Well, when the time came to press play on this their newest sock hop offering, I was positively giddy. Granted this is a bit of a mishmash collection containing six new songs, two K Records singles and a Teenbeat Records
Rorschach, for those of you that don't know, were THE hardcore band of the early nineties. Seminal, influential and completely amazing. Furious and pummelling, political and totally kick ass. The singer went on to start super hip, post hardcore indie label
