Finally! A new Burmese record. We've said it before, but it definitely bears repeating. Burmese might just be the best band in San Francisco, and one that not nearly enough folks have heard, or heck even heard OF. And Colony Collapse Disorder might just be their heaviest, tightest, grindiest, most expansive, and weirdly enough catchiest record yet. It's also the first to feature the new lineup, which still includes the two Mikes on bass and vocals, and one of the original Marks on drums, but now adds Weasel Walter and a guy called Tissue to the mix, and HOLEE SHIT. This is pummeling heaviness, grinding chaos, dense crushing metallic brutality, free form noise rock chaos. Hard to know what to call it really, all we know is it rules.
The sound seems to be less Whitehouse and more Crossed Out these days. The long stretches of high end drone and shrieking feedback have now seemingly been all tangled up with blasts of wild octopoidal (literally this time, not literally as in octopus, but literally as in 8 limbed!) drum damage, super distorted bass riffage, layer after layer of grit and grime and crust and filth and buzz, definitely harkening back to their first two tUMULt records, but just WAY, MORE.
Epic abstract sludge grind, blown out blasts of lightning fast crush, lurching stop start arrangements, insane throat shredding vocals that go from shriek to growl to gurgle even stopping briefly at weird croon. Burmese are just the thing for folks into stuff like Discordance Axis, Drop Dead, Melt Banana, the Locust and that sort of sound, who are up for something way more harsh and heavy and fucked up frightening. Baffling and brilliant and noisy and heavy as fuck. WAY recommended as always.
And as always, incredible packaging, released on Rock Is Hell, this is a beautiful full color picture disc, bees and flowers and honeycomb, housed in a spare printed thick sleeve, with a small envelope containing two very mysterious and obtuse inserts. And of course LIMITED TO ONLY 300 COPIES!!!!
We're not sure how these guys (and gal) do it, but somehow, SF's own sludge/dirge/grind/noise mavens Burmese, make record after record, everyone a mind blowing slab of ultra heaviness and absolute head caving pummel, on all sorts of cool labels, tUMULt, Rock Is Hell, Enterruption, Planaria, Load, Not Not Fun, Heart & Crossbone, New Scream Industry, Crucial Blast and now UgExplode, yet they somehow remain for the most part totally under the radar. They've definitely had some bad luck, but this is crazy. If you've ever seen Burmese play, in any of their permutations, they utterly destroy. Their worst shows are better than most band's best shows. In fact, their worst shows might just be their best shows. Two basses, manned by two Mikes, each with a stack of amps piled to the ceiling, two drummers too, at least on this record, spewing out wild octopoidal tangles of beats and rhythms, no guitar, they sure as fuck don't need one of those, and then to top it off Tissue, their diminutive female lead vocalist, who dresses in skirts and sweaters, but then turns into a beast on the mic, with some impossibly throat shredding vokills, the band so impossibly tight, especially considering how insane their songs are slipping from ultra intricate mathy grindprog, to spaced out nearly abstract free noise whatthefuck.
We say this about every record, but this just might be their best yet. And c'mon, that's how it should be with all bands, every record should be better than the last, and considering how goddamn good their first record was about 10 records back, well then guess how good Lun Yurn is. Yep. Exactly.
They're pretty hard to describe actually. Heavy, for sure. Metal, sort of. Punk, absolutely. Noisy. Grindy. But also mathy, proggy, droney, noisy, chaotic. Their songs generally flail from blasting D-beat pound, to doomy lurching plod, to grinding noise drenched blast, to weird super dynamic stop/start breakdown, and back again, the two basses unleashing thick gouts of power violence style riffery, the multiple drummers (one of which is Weasel Walter on this record) anchoring the impossibly chaotic crush, somehow all of these disparate elements, and all of this intense caustic sound, is deftly assembled into the sort of grinding metallic noisepunk jams that actually stick in your head. It's true. Not sure, how, or why, but we never get tired of this band or these songs, or seeing them lay waste live. It'd be pointless to go song by song, listen to the sound samples, if you're not totally bowing before the altar of Burmese, well then there just might be something wrong with you.
Stick around to the very end cuz there's an extra track, a whopping 45 minute jam, that one track 50 percent longer than the whole rest of the record, and it's an impossibly relentless, insanely chaotic, non stop frantic, frenzied, frenetic, blown out grindpsych blowout. Fuck.
From their first release, a chaotic, club destoying blast of downtuned pummel, Burmese have slowly been gravitating, at least sonically, toward what can only be described as a state of Whitehouse. Shedding musical elements one at a time until they were on the verge of becoming pure violent energy. Each song an endless stretch of brutal sound, a barbed bed of uneasy ambience for the ultra distorted ranting and raving vocals. We all though it couldn't get any meaner, any creepier or any heavier. We were so wrong. Burmese's Men is the musical equivalent of the heart stopping pants shitting terror you experience when faced with a spittle spraying, wildly snarling pitbull, hackles raised and teeth bared lunging at you from behind a chainlink fence, you realize that the fence ends a few yards away and there is no gate. This band is fucking scary. On Men, the dual bass, dual drummer lineup manages to compartmentalize, and their Whitehouse obsession becomes just one element in what is a totally devastating doom sludge monstrosity. Shrieked black metal vocals over pounding super distorted downtuned riffs and crushing double drummer pummel. Myabe one of the best band the Bay Area has to offer these days. Certainly the scariest.
Originally released on tUMULt way back in 2000, this primal slab of dual bassed downtuned sonic mayhem, may still rank as one of the heaviest, most vitriolic chunks of sound this city ever produced. A prime slab of chaotic grind, laced with Whitehouse like noise, and bursts of metallic fury, not to mention a black hole entropy that found most songs falling apart into long stretches of broken amp feedback or crushed drum kit clatter.
So this record is finally available on vinyl, BUT, these are not the same recordings. The same songs yes, but recorded in their practice space just before the album proper was recorded, so while it's still heavy and furious and freaked out, it's also even more raw and blown out and most definitely damaged. Also included is a killer cover of Black Flag's "I've Heard It Before', even fiercer and more fucked up than the original (we sacrilegiously proclaim!) originally released on the band's now long out of print Treaties Of Greed And Filth 7".
As with all things Enterruption, the packaging is gorgeous and over the top. The sleeve is silkscreened, with all of the visual elements from the cd packaging represented (the dead elephant, the leafless etc.) The inside of the sleeve is printed with various live band shots, the vinyl is THICK and pressed on red wax, housed in a thick inner sleeve, printed with song titles and liner notes, also included are various show flyers from back in the day, reproduced on nice thick heavy cardstock. LIMITED TO ONLY 500 COPIES!!! Here's our (slightly altered) review of the cd when it first came out in 2000. And while these are different recordings, this description is still pretty apt, just add your own "harsher"s and "noisier"s and "more blown out"s here and there and it'll be perfect.
If you lived in San Francisco, circa 2000 you may have seen these local ne'er do wells playing live (this incarnation at least), with set times ranging from 30 seconds to 15 minutes, often covered in blood, writhing on the floor in a heap of destroyed instruments, charging wildly through the crowd, smashing tables and chairs (and playing with other club destroyers the Black Dice and Arab on Radar). So you'd be forgiven for expecting a messy sloppy record that is nothing without the live show. But boy, would you be wrong. Burmese's debut is a dense, ultra heavy, super low end (they have 2 basses and no guitar after all) crushing and pummeling onslaught.
The opening track is an intense free noise explosion of rumbles, feedback, and spastic drumming. The next 20 tracks take the grind of Drop Dead, drop it a few octaves, and add some seriously fucked arrangements. The last track is an epic drone ala EARTH: waves of subsonics weave in and out of malfunctioning electronics until the whole thing dissolves into a wash of turntables and instrument hum. Somewhere between DROP DEAD and EARTH circa Earth 2, this is some of the craziest, heaviest, noisiest low end grind/sludge we've heard in forever.
Again, LIMITED TO 500 COPIES!! So get it while you can...
We're more and more convinced that Burmese are San Francisco's greatest band. So fucking heavy, and so intensely aggressive, so totally unlike any other bands in the scene. Live they destroy, and somehow on record, their vitreous violence comes through loud and clear. For those new to Burmese, this is grinding low end ultra pummel, sludge and speed mixed into an impossible sonic stew, a little like Whitehouse crossed with Drop Dead, which makes no sense, but which is why Burmese are so fucking awesome. This set of songs was recorded live on WFMU and is so blown out. the recording so hot, that it's essentially just impenetrable walls of bass guitar growl, huge pounding sonic boom drums and inhuman shrieks. Scary stuff.
Teamed up with Burmese are 16 Bitch Pile Up, who traffic in abstract free noise, noxious clouds of ambient murk, with distant feral vocals and percussion that sounds like someone moving filing cabinets. Harsh and creepy, but what would you expect when one of the band members is credited with playing a bag of glass.
Part of Not Not Fun's Bored Fortress series of limited 7"s, packaged in a cool red and metallic gold silkscreened cover complete with little stick on pink leaves!
We'd be hard pressed to think of ANY band that could hold their own on a split record with our very own local noiseniks Burmese. But if anyone can, it's Israeli noise combo Cadaver Eyes.
But first off, holy shit are we psyched to have new music from Burmese. These guys are seriously sloooooow workers. Other than a handful of shows, we've heard nary a peep from these guys, there was the reissue of the tUMULt release on vinyl, but it's literally been years we've been waiting for a new record. Multiple lineup changes, disastrous tours, scrapped recordings, the sort of luck that has plagued these guys forever. But finally, they've beat the curse, and gotten us 11 new blasts of brutal, speaker shredding ultraviolence. Some confusion mix of Whitehouse style abstract noise, pummeling grind, damaged metal, freaked out power violence. They may be down to one drummer, but they still have two bass players, and now THREE vocalists.
They sound as good as ever, still furious and freaked out, sometimes offering up sprawling electronic dronescapes, sometimes, frantic flurries of lightning fast grind, sometimes convoluted lurching metallic crunch, and often all of the above at the same time. Hypnotic and heavy and seriously fucked up. Just another reminder, since they're loath to do it themselves outside of their sporadic releases, that these guys are quite possibly the best band in SF.
But then there's Cadaver Eyes, recorded live on WFMU, using just drums, vocals and no-input mixing board. And listening to this, it seems impossible that there's not two guitarists and multiple drummers and synths and who knows what else. The sound is dense and freaked out. Spastic spurts of strangled grind, long stretches of speaker shredding electronic buzz and skree, long drawn out abstract dronescapes of howling vox and pounding drum plods spaced WAY out, culminating in the nearly eight minute closer, beginning with the strangely titled "Ba Yom Yom" and finishing off with an absolutely unrecognizable cover of "Sweet Home Alabama", a convoluted blow out of maniacally howling vocals, sputtering percussive crunch, LOTS of feedback, and thick walls of rumbling crumbling distortion.
Awesome. And about as UN-easy listening as we can imagine.
It's been a little while since we've heard from Burmese, SF's favorite noise/grind sons. And this new split is actually a blast from the not so distant past, recorded back in 2006, when they were still a three piece, 2 basses and drums, and while as a group, their sound is tough to pin down, sometimes they're thick and dense, sometimes brittle and high end, sometimes they sound like the bastard sons of Drop Dead, other times like the mutant offspring of Whitehouse, but here, they sound like the glorious Burmese of old, a furious off kilter, bass heavy spazzed out grinding three headed speaker shredding club destroying behemoth.
This is chaotic bass heavy grind, with the basses so distorted they often sound like metal guitars, the vocals (all three 'sing') slip from monstrous low end growl to wild feral shriek to punk rock yowl. There's feedback squealing all over the place, and there's even some demented sounding, ultra blown out bass "leads" draped over the top. And holy shit, the drumming, as always, relentless and mathy and complex and fucked up and flailing wildly but still somehow so goddamn tight. There's even a long stretch in the middle of doomy rhythmic minimalism that sounds almost like they're channeling This Heat or Aluk Todolo or both.
We've definitely said it before, but it bears repeating, these guys just might well be the best band in SF.
The flipside features two looooong tracks from new-to-us outfit Potop, who as far as we can tell are Russian (all of their liner notes are in Russian), and counter the short sharp all bass attack of Burmese with their sludge-y slowcore doom, big loud chords ringing out and allowed to slowly decay, long stretches of feedback, throat shredding howls, super spare skeletal drum pound, minor key and creepy, but surprisingly lush and full. Where a lot of bands emulate Sunn 0))) and offer up sludgey amorphous murkscapes, Potop definitely let the chords sing, and let the sunshine in, even if it's quickly swallowed up by shadow. The band do launch into a double time dirge, which if course is still slooooow, piledriving drums beneath guitars all tangled up in sheets of high end squeals. The second track follow suit, another midtempo grinder, with strange strangled vox a la Khanate, and crumbling super distorted guitars and more kick ass and totally pummeling drum crush.
Killer stuff from both outfits. Nice packaging too, thick cardstock sleeves, printed on both sides and held shut with a Japanese style obi, each one hand numbered, LIMITED TO 500 COPIES. And be warned, the lps had a rough trip overseas, so none of the sleeves are absolutely perfect, so if you're a crazy anal collector in it for the condition more than the sounds within, you are hereby warned.
Man, there sure are more and more amazing grind bands these days. It's like all kids do these days is practice blast beats instead of doing their homework. But who's complaining? This is a split from two of grinds brightest pupils. Both are fast and furious, the production is top notch, and the songs from both bands are completely fucking brutal.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Latest blast of skull caving psychedelia from this constantly shifting collective, on this 2 track lp shifting from 5 members to 9, from two guitarists to FOUR guitarists and two drummers, not to mention a xylophonist!!! But none of that is as important as the monstrous sounds these guys and gals conjure up, and it is MONSTROUS.
The A side is a riffy sprawl of blown out bong smoke psych sludge crush, chaotic, relentless rehearsal space drumming, churning, chugging riffage, wild tangled chaotic leads, totally burnt out (of course) and endlessly hypnotic, definitely sounds like this was a 20 minute chunk extracted from an all day, all night drug fueled orgy of psychedelic excess, which of course means FUCK YEAH, and WE WANT MORE.
All you have to do is flip it over, and voila, more. WAY more. The flipside is slower and dirgier, almost doomy, a swirly mass of garbled psych-drone freakout, crashing speaker punishing drum damage, total free for all pound and skree, like the A side, epic and endless, and no doubt part of a massive whole that had Burnt Hills' entire neighborhood, stuffing cotton in their ears and pushing furniture against the doors and windows.
This is about as heavy and druggy and noisy as improv space rock gets these days, and we LOVE it.
LIMITED TO ONLY 99 COPIES! Each one hand numbered, in cool paste on sleeves, got very few of these, so be warned.
Been a while since we've heard from Burnt Hills. Our fault entirely. They may have been absent on the list, but they have most definitely not stopped releasing records, or partaking in a weekly jam at the Burnt Hills HQ, which is where we assume this massive psych jam blow out was captured on tape.
For those new to Burnt Hills, the group seems to be an ever changing collective, sometimes a duo or trio, other times, like here, expanded to a seven piece, heck they even got someone on XYLOPHONE this time around. No that you'd really be able to tell. The sound of Burnt Hills is a sonic mushroom cloud of grinding psych guitar squall, practice space drums, throbbing earthquake bass, all woven into a sprawling space-psych-kraut jam that could have gone on forever. Heck it could have started weeks ago, as the track opens jarringly mid-jam, just explodes right into it, expanding into a hazy, woozy, effects drenched expanse of druggy psych bliss. Folks who eat up every last thing by Acid Mothers Temple, Heavy Winged, Titan, all that modern psych shit, have no excuse for not being crazy obsessed with these guys too. Equal parts all those bands as well as plenty of Hawkwind, Monster Magnet, German Oak, Boris, White Heaven, just imagine a dingy black lit basement, packed to the rafters with amps, and a bunch of folks hunched over their instruments, probably high as a kite, channeling some mysterious otherworld spirits through the speakers into physical sound, into THIS, whatever this is.
You can almost imagine the whole neighborhood gathered around this unassuming house in the suburbs, clad in slippers and robes, bleary eyed and a bit terrified, staring at BH HQ, a dilapidated little house that seems to be coming alive, the whole thing shaking on its foundations, emanating kaleidoscopic lights, emitting a deafening roar unlike anything these normal folks have ever heard. They call the authorities, the police, the F.B.I., but by the time they arrive, the house is dark, and quiet, and empty.
Absolute ear candy for psych-kraut maniacs into blown out heavy psychedelic space rock freakouts, which as far as we're concerned should really be just about everyone reading this.
The third full length by the Butchies (aka Melissa York and Kaia Wilson former drummer and guitarist of beloved queercore hotties Team Dresch, and bassist Alison Martlew). With each album, they've moved farther and farther from their feisty punk days. That's not to say they don't rock out every once in a awhile. No, it's just generally more tempered down, more composed. And this slower,
The debut recording by these legendary Texan drug punks, finally available again on vinyl! Brown Reason To live was the Surfers' first record, a seven song ep, originally released in 1983, and reissued later bundled onto a cd with their live PCPP ep, but as good as that live stuff was/is, these tracks all on their own constitute one of THEE legendary punk rock records EVER. And we say punk rock knowing full well that the Buttholes' version of punk rock had almost nothing in common with what the rest of the world at the time considered punk.
These songs are damaged and disturbing, wild and chaotic, extended stumbling lysergic blowouts, as likely to erupt into a strange woozy sea shanty or a bit of twangy gallop as a blown out blast of pounding punk, moreso really. And while the sound here is not as overtly whatthefuck as the records that would come right after, it's weird enough that you could tell something freaky was going on, and you can hear the seeds that would blossom into that the Surfers eventually became. The Buttholes merged the punk sounds that surrounded them, with their own twisted take on DIY music making, not to mention lots and lots and lots and lots of drugs. All of these songs are timeless, total classics, but "The Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey's Grave" is practically a punk rock anthem, or no less than the genre's swan song. Depending on how you look at it, maybe both. For the band anyway, the track was every bit a standard as "Free Bird" was for Skynyrd. Listening to this again now, it seems insane that a band like this - who at one time seemed destined to a life of cult obscurity - achieved such enormous mainstream success. It's all urine under the bridge now though, we try to ignore the last few releases and focus on the years when the Butthole Surfers were untouchable ('83-'88?), and this is where it all started, a ferocious fucked up chunk of drug addled genius called Brown Reason To Live.
Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
Hairway To Steven, was the group's last truly great record, and truly great it is, worth the price of admission alone for the opener "Jimi", which is totally one of the greatest songs of all time, thick, buzzy guitar, killer twisted psychedelic leads, garbled processed vocals, low in the beginning, than pitched way up later on, the sound woozy, and warped, oozing and melty, and tripped out and absolutely confusionally warped and warble, and Paul Leary's guitar playing is like a Texas drug rock burn out Hendrix, knuckle dragging guitar god nirvana, and it just goes on and on, and somehow it just gets weirder and weirder and weirder, and then suddenly, after a blast of lazer beam electronics, the song turns into a detuned blues jam, laced with bird song, and the sounds of goats and other barnyard animal, dogs barking, the song trippy and creepy and a weirdly haunting coda to the dirge rock crush of the first half. There's also the classic "I Saw An X-Ray Of A Girl Passing Gas", which sounds a little like R.E.M. after a bad batch of meth, meaning AMAZING, there's the stream of consciousness WTF weirdness of "John E. Smoke", with some of Gibby's best lyrics by far, not to mention the crowd sounds, and more of Leary's amazing guitar playing, and of course "Backass", another track that displays the band as maybe way more accomplished than they pretend not to be, a moody psychedelic dirge that's hypnotic and hauntingly lovely. And like the other Buttholes records, that's only the tip of the iceberg...
Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
This might be the most famous/infamous Surfers record there is, and a great place to start for newbies, it's definitely the weirdest, with the least proper 'songs' and the most warped sonic experiments, starting with the oft quoted opening intro, culminating in Gibby howling "SATAN SATAN SATAN�" before the band kick into their own damaged version of Sabbath's "Sweet Leaf", hear rechristened "Sweat Loaf", one of the group's finest moments for sure. Then we oughta skip ahead to "Human Cannonball", which is the Surfers at their poppiest, one of the catchiest jams in their arsenal, and were it by any other band would have been a massive hit, but here, it's just still to twisted and freaky and goddamn great. Then there's the truly terrifying "U.S.S.A", with some of the most intense and freaked out vocals ever, all over a weird bed of pulsing buzz, and balloon animal squeak, there's also "Kuntz", a pretty much straight up sample of some Southeast Asian folk song, with just the chorus manipulated to accentuate the unfortunate refrain, all twisted up and pitch shifted and somehow, it becomes crazy and confusionally catchy, and finally, there's "22 Going On 23", which takes a phone call to some sort of call in radio show, and sets it to some classic Buttholes dirgery, and transforms this poor woman's story into the 'lyrics', for one of the most haunting and harrowing songs in their catalog. And somehow between all these classics, there's still even more killer stuff...
Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
On one of the most perfect debuts EVER, "Concubine" starts things off with a detuned dirge, dueling tribal drumming, and Gibby's hysterical insane vocals, the sound loose, and unhinged, and weirdly crazy catchy. Which really describes most of Psychic, but other highlights include "Negro Observer", which might just be the catchiest Buttholes song ever, there's even some bleating sax, not to mention that main guitar part that is pretty much perfect. There's the old school punkiness of "Butthole Surfer", the stumbling, lumbering "Woly Boly", with its ridiculously demented vox, but then it gets really good. "Lady Sniff", is a lurching sound effects loaded psychedelic dirge, with Gibby doing his best raspy bluesman vocals, and did we mention those sound effects, pure genius. Then in rolls "Cherub", that's like the Buttholes doing krautrock, tranced out and motorik, and it goes on and on, every track here a WTF classic.
Few bands have managed as perfect an opening career salvo as Texas drug addled psychedelic noise rock weirdos the Butthole Surfers. Sure lots of bands have pulled off a perfect debut. And of those, a handful somehow avoided the sophomore slump, and even then, a few managed to make a third record as good as the first two, but by record four, we're talking a very select few, a handful of pantheon worthy bands, who made four records in a row, each one as good, if not better than the last, one of those rare bands would indeed be the Butthole Surfers. Their first four records are pretty much untouchable, their 1984 debut, Psychic... Powerless... Another Man's Sac, 1986's Rembrandt Pussyhorse, Locust Abortion Technician from 1987, and finally 1988's Hairway To Steven. Each a very different, very dementedly fucked up beast, but each a stunning milestone in knuckle dragging outsider psychedelic drug rock, and all four, recently reissued on vinyl for the first time in ages.
All four of these records are essential, and hell, even if you already have all four, these are the kind of records that are worth buying again, and again, and again. And if you've somehow made it this far through life without damaging your brain with these cranium crushing sonic gems, now's the time to do some catching up and start eroding those brain cells (and destroying those ear drums)...
Rembrandt Pussyhorse found the Butthole's sound getting a little more polished, but no less demented, starting with "Creep In The Cellar", a haunting, malevolent tribal dirge, with some great lyrics, a wicked hook, and some wild, psychedelic fiddle playing that makes the song. And of course there's the Surfers version of the Guess Who's "American Woman", which has to be one of thee greatest covers EVER, the woozy guitar, the heavily effected drum pummel, the weirdo vocals, the whole thing is just fucking twisted, and yeah, totally genius, with some wicked blown out psych guitar courtesy of an unsung guitar hero, Paul Leary. It's hard to review any of these records without going through the whole thing song by song, cuz they're all so good. "Whirling Hall Of Knives", creepy and weirdly lovely, "Moving To Florida", perhaps the creepiest, grossest blues jam EVER, "Waiting For Jimmy To Kick", piano driven, sample heavy WTF creep out, "TP Parter", who knows what the fuck is going on, or why it's so good, but it is, as is every single song here.
Now available for the first time ever on CD. It's hard to believe after the band has been around for what, over 20 years now, has been played on top forty radio and has seen practically everything they've released, down to the most obscure tracks, get reissued, has only now had their first two -- now practically legendary -- eps released on compact disc. "The Shah Sleeps In Lee Harvey's Grave" is practically a punk rock anthem, or no less than the genre's swan song. Depending on how you look at it, maybe both. For the band anyway, the track was every bit a standard as "Free Bird" was for Skynyrd. I don't know what's weirder, the fact that these haven't been reissued until now, or that the band -- who at one time seemed destined to a life of cult obscurity -- has acheived such enormous mainstream success. It's all urine under the bridge now though, as you can have it all on disc and then some. Along with the original self-titled (a.k.a Brown Reason To Live) ep, and the follow up live PCPPEP from 1984, there are an additional three live ("Gary Floyd", "Matchstick" and an additional version of "Something") and one studio ("Sinister Crayon") bonus tracks that make it hard for those of us who already own the vinyl to resist the temptation.
Yes, your eyes and ears aren't deceiving you... this is a brand new Buzzcocks album! Back in 2003 we were caught plenty off-guard when these grandfathers of punk pop reassembled and released a new self-titled album, and now they've gone and given us another surprise wallop in Flat-Pack Philosophy. And again, the band picks right up where they left off. One thing tho' we sure wish the vocals were up front in the mix like the Buzzcocks' recordings of yesteryear, but no, instead they're somewhat buried. Likewise, we were wishing that the guitars were crisper and crunchier, but no, they're more the 'modern' thick wall o' distortion kind that they used on their last album. Sigh, can't have everything can we? We're yearning for the Buzzcocks of old, but the Buzzcocks of new haven't veered too far off their original course. One of the album's highlights is certainly the tenth song ("Dreamin'") with its catchy neat picked guitar counter-melody, but the song that hits closest to home is the second to last song ("I've Had Enough"). The vocals are prominent and guitars crackle with that familiar Shelley/Diggle electricity. Yeah, that's the ticket!
A total, absolute, complete, utter classic from this seminal punk pop band! So many hooks! So much energy! So influential! So damn good!
Who doesn't love this band? Who can resist those rapid-fire hooks or that relentless energy? Unlike many other veteran bands who've either continued sloggin' on long past their prime, or conversely broke up early only to reform in recent years, the Buzzcocks haven't stuck with the safe, the tried and true, nor have they become a tired, lackluster version of their former selves. They came together in 1975, kicked pop punk ass (and to this day have had an immeasurable influence on countless bands), split in 1981, reformed in 1989, and here they are fourteen (!) years later with a new super-charged album on Merge Records. As a band, they've not withered nor have they rested on their punk rock laurels. On the up side, the songs are still filled with lots of crunch, but they're also much beefier - often more reminiscent of the Husker Du/Bob Mould fuzzy wall of roaring guitars. On the down side, unfortunately the vocals are buried a bit deeper in the mix which somewhat obscures their wry lyrical wit. Actually come to think of it, this also adds to the Husker Du-iness. However, one thing's for certain, the tip of Pete Shelley and Steve Diggle's songwriting pen sure hasn't dulled over the years. Trademark Buzzcocks' hooks galore. Given that though, we would like to draw your attention to one song here that rang rather familiar not as a Buzzcocks tune but instead as one by the Gin Blossoms - weird! The Diggle penned "Sick City Sometimes" = "Hey Jealousy". Really! Give it a listen. This is definitely much less raw and immediate sounding that the Buzzcocks of old, but this is not at all troublesome nor disappointing, as they've successfully moved onto a much more refined and fleshed out presence. If you want the rambunctious, rough'n'tumble lower-fi pop-punk energy of yesteryear, don't waste another moment, revisit their classic Singles Going Steady. If you want to hear a band who've aged very very well, check out this self-titled album.
MPEG Download: "Jerk" [/audio/buzzcocksjerk.mp3]
MPEG Stream: "Jerk" [/audio/buzzcocksjerk.m3u]
Debut blast of feral, furious, knuckle dragging hardcore from this SF crew, with a very UN-hardcore pedigree, featuring non other than Tony from the Ovens on vocals, and members of aQ pop faves the Sopors and Violent Change as well. But as CA, these guys ditch all that poppiness for something much more fierce and fucked up, brief blasts of grinding punk energy, the songs measure in seconds not minutes, pounding caveman drums, bellowed vox, wild squalls of guitar, sheets of feedback, buzzing bass, their live shows are bloody and brief, all hoodies and mic cords wrapped around fists, and they last about as long as this 7", which as far as we know is in fact their whole set captured on wax. Needless to say, this is some frantic heaviness, some pit destroying punk destruction. As the label describes it "There's not one ounce of originality in these grooves, but if it ain't broke, don't try to fix it". Haha fuck yeah. Includes a killer into from Bay Area rapper Antwon, whose Ormolycka tape End Of Earth was a big hit around here.
LIMITED TO 300 COPIES!!!
These German hardcore kids play metal better than most American metalheads. Caliban (along with Heaven Shall Burn) seem to be leading the new wave of metalcore, where almost every trace of hardcore has been eliminated, leaving nothing but METAL. Vent starts with acoustic guitar and howling wind like all great metal records, but by track two Caliban are tearing heads off with a
German metalcore showdown! Two of the best metalcore bands around (both German, and both so metal it's sort of selling them short to not just call them metal) face off on this split cd. Caliban spit out Slayer style west coast death metal complete with
Didn't care too much for CC's first record. A little too much jazzy-instrumental-Tortoisey-post-rock-wankery. But this new record is something else entirely. Well, not entirely. There are still elements of jazz and post rock, and it -is- instrumental, but it gets way more metal and prog and space-y and experimental. And the songwriting is so much more focused. Intense and emotional. Even the playing seems better. Cancer Conspiracy fall somewhere between Don Caballero, recent Cave In and maybe Pink Floyd, but with moments of blissed out space rock, crushing metal, noodly meandering post rock, gorgeous piano driven melodies, and some complex Voi Vod-ish parts. Really intense and really great. It's always exciting when a band takes a lifeless genre and completely turns it inside out and makes it their own. Fans of AQ fave Feuhler, Don Cab, Cave In may have found themselves a new favorite band!
Reissue of this long out of print singles collection from this Bay Area fastcore institution, originally released on the now defunct Slap A Ham label. A timeless batch of grinding, thrashing, buzzing powerviolent brutality.
The latest musical assault from Bay Area political fast-core legends Capitalist Casualties. 3 songs and 6 inches of pounding, light speed grinding powerviolence. These guys just keep getting better and better.
A new, lo-fi casiotone punky pop duo! The Capricorns are Kirsten Nordine of SF and Heather Lynn of Athens, GA (although she's soon to be Bay Area based as well). Both women tackle the singing and keyboard duties. With playful vocals very reminiscent of
Carsick Cars was the first band we'd heard from this new crop of Chinese indie rock and noise pop bands, and we were initially intrigued cuz of the band name, but then ended up digging both their other records quite a bit. We'd been dying to hear this new one after getting a little tease/taste via their recent split 7" with Flavor Crystals. Their song on that 7" found the band sounding better than ever, super polished, and crazy catchy. We posited in our review of that 7", that part of the new sound might be due to the fact that it was recorded with Pete Kember, aka Sonic Boom, from Spacemen 3, and Hamish Kilgour of NZ pop legends the Clean. And it might just because we know that, but we're hearing a sound that definitely sounds like it's right between the druggy hypno-rock of Spacemen 3 and the fuzzy, NZ jangle of the Clean. Regardless, 3 is a stunner, from the very first track, a very nineties indie rock influenced instrumental groover that actually also reminds us a bit of Pell Mell, sort of driving and hypnotic and a little bit krautrocky. But it's on the second track, "15 Minutes Older", that the band get super poppy, and that Flying Nun / New Zealand influence really shines through. In fact, if you told us this was actually some long lost Flying Nun rarity, we would have totally bought it. Keening vocals, dreamy melodies, fuzzy, buzzy guitars, plenty of jangle, hooks galore, but with a bit of Sonic Youth style noisiness woven into the sound, it's infectious and pretty goddamn great. As is the whole record really, every song here a jangle pop gem, some sung in English, some not, some sort of proggy and mathy, others straight ahead pop, but all of them hooky and heavenly, and easily the best CsC record yet!
We have both the lp and the cd, apparently, they're both slightly different, different mixes, some songs are in English on one format, not on the others, we haven't really done a side by side A/B comparison, but we're guessing unless you're crazy anal or a super collector, you'll likely be happy whichever one you pick, if it matters, this review is of the vinyl version, which includes a download code as well!
This killer slab of blown out noise rock ferocity, NOW ON CD!!
These guys must destroy live. Check out the picture on the sleeve, wild frenzied sweaty kids mid-mosh, a bloodied microphone, and then of course there's the music, a fucking skull crushing unholy post punk noise rock racket that manages to take all the stuff we loved about Sub Pop and AmRep and nineties noise rock and amp it all up two thousands style. A little bit of screamo, a bit of post hardcore, but really, these guys could have come straight out of 1995, cuz they just don't make shit like this anymore. Only, they do. Catalyst does, and it sounds as good as it ever did.
Heavy as fuck, catchy as fuck, wild tribal drumming, buzz drenched super distorted riffage, howled vocals, soaring choruses, plenty of mathy breakdowns, a little bit off groove, hooks galore, warped woozy guitar harmonies all tangled and melodic reminding us big time of Drive Like Jehu, and heck, they even have a song called "Lars Ulrich's 1986 Funeral (It Should Have Been You)".
We raved about their previous record Marianas Trench, which we still have a few copies of, but this one is even better, heavier, catchier... We often lament the lack of actual BANDS, y'know, bands that write songs, there's so much dronemusic, and experimental ambience, and free folk improv, and blackend buzz, and we do love all that, but sometimes nothing hits the spot like an actual rock band, pounding away on actual instruments, sweating, bleeding, leaping off the stage, rolling around on the floor, and spitting out actual songs. Of course it helps when the band is this bad ass and the songs rule this hard, so if you've been hankering for some seriously heavy post punk noise rock in your life, and who amongst us HASN'T? Well, then these guys should definitely hit the spot.
Killer one sided slab of crushing, heavy post hardcore stoner grunge screamo heaviness from these Richmond Virginia noisemakers. Grinding, pummeling, super distorted and angular post punk, but with some serious groove, and vocals that go from howled to screeched to crooned (well almost), killer riffs, filthy and heavy, pounding drums, mathy and chaotic, think Jesus Lizard, Scratch Acid, Mudhoney, Halo Of Flies, the Melvins, lots of Amrep, some Sub Pop, and here and there, Nirvana at their noisiest and heaviest.�
Definitely old school, and can't help but remind us of the good old grunge days, but it's hyped up, and filtered through a more modern take on post screamo hardcore, some seriously heavy, hooky ass kicking stuff.�
Limited to 700 copies, these are on clear vinyl with the flipside sporting an awesome tripped out, psychedelic blue ink silkscreen. All housed in an amazing full color sleeve. Way recommended.�
These guys must destroy live. Check out the picture on the sleeve, wild frenzied sweaty kids mid-mosh, a bloodied microphone, and then of course there's the music, a fucking skull crushing unholy post punk noise rock racket that manages to take all the stuff we loved about Sub Pop and AmRep and nineties noise rock and amp it all up two thousands style. A little bit of screamo, a bit of post hardcore, but really, these guys could have come straight out of 1995, cuz they just don't make shit like this anymore. Only, they do. Catalyst does, and it sounds as good as it ever did.
Heavy as fuck, catchy as fuck, wild tribal drumming, buzz drenched super distorted riffage, howled vocals, soaring choruses, plenty of mathy breakdowns, a little bit off groove, hooks galore, warped woozy guitar harmonies all tangled and melodic reminding us big time of Drive Like Jehu, and heck, they even have a song called "Lars Ulrich's 1986 Funeral (It Should Have Been You)".
We raved about their previous record Marianas Trench, which we still have a few copies of, but this one is even better, heavier, catchier... We often lament the lack of actual BANDS, y'know, bands that write songs, there's so much dronemusic, and experimental ambience, and free folk improv, and blackend buzz, and we do love all that, but sometimes nothing hits the spot like an actual rock band, pounding away on actual instruments, sweating, bleeding, leaping off the stage, rolling around on the floor, and spitting out actual songs. Of course it helps when the band is this bad ass and the songs rule this hard, so if you've been hankering for some seriously heavy post punk noise rock in your life, and who amongst us HASN'T? Well, then these guys should definitely hit the spot.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Okay, they may not have a non-human vocalist, but they do have a gross animal name, and gross animal artwork and they do support animal rights, so we can't really think of another band more suited to take on the pitbull grindcore of Caninus than San Diego's Cattle Decapitation. For those of you unfamiliar with Caninus, imagine a furious grinding metalcore band, with two pitbulls on vocals. 'Cause that's exactly what this is, for real. Seems daft maybe but it works, Budgie and Basil growl and bark and make some seriously pants-shittingly scary sounds, way scarier than any death metal vocalist grunting and burping out his vocals. Maybe it's also just knowing that these two vocalists could literally rip you to shreds! Caninus's canine fronted death metal grind is matched perfectly by the new and improved Cattle Decapitation, whose new drummer and steady intake of black metal (especially Leviathan) has turned their death metal into an ultra technical blackened grind metal, impossibly complex and so so brutal.
Packaged in the most amazing die cut sleeve we've seen in a long time. Cartoonish and creepy and sick! Cool colored vinyl too!
Not one but TWO repeat Record Of The Week honorees, elsewhere, the latest from French alchemical post rockers Aluk Todolo, and this, the latest from Cave, whose recent instore performance totally blew us away. It says a lot about a band that can put together a totally improvised set, with limited gear and various members changing up instruments, and still sound better and tighter and catchier and more rocking than most bands playing their own songs on their proper gear NOT in a record store.
Born from the space drone psych outfit Warhammer 48K, these guys left Missouri, ended up in Chicago, added a whole bunch of new members and became Cave, a kick ass spaced out kraut-drone hypno rock collective, equal parts Circle, Can, Lightning Bolt, Wooden Shjips, and Hawkwind, but so much more. Their first record, Hunt Like Devil, was a glorious cacophony of circular riffage, frenetic drumming, woozy basslines, wild synths, and killer hooks, groovy, hypnotic, space-y, and while this record is more of the same, it's somehow transcends, taking everything we loved about the first record, and making it, well, MORE. We'd have probably loved it even if it was Hunt Like Devil part 2, but thankfully, Psychic Summer finds the band exploring some new territory, but dragging that old sound with them.
The opener begins with just a stripped down guitar, and some subtly noodly synth, before exploding in a sun dappled burst of super distorted, in-the-red psychedelia, before shifting again into a muted sunshiney krautrock groove, laced with some cool synths, and electronic filigree. The song locks into the groove and slowly builds to a triumphant climax, eventually slowing down to a sort of chiming jangly groove, which leads right into "Made In Malaysia" which might be the jam of the disc. Stuttering synths, stop start dynamics, chugging guitars, which gives way to a wild woozy twisted riffy bridge, with shouted vocals, and warble bended guitar notes, and an irresistable staccato groove, first just the synth, but then the drums, motorik and relentless, live it's not hard to imagine this track being stretched into a whole set. A single song, so hooky and loopy and mesmerizing. But it's Cave, so two seconds later, they're locked into a different kind of groove, a tribal rhythm, warm organ chords, underneath blooping effects, buried vocals, it's almost danceable, definitely groovy, like they just took one measure from some classic old school dance track and looped it into some space aged kraut disco space jam.
The other three tracks are just as mesmerizing, the muted space-y throb of "High, I Am", wrapped in a slithery bit of warped synthage, to the dense drum heavy "Requiem For John Sex", with some grinding mathy guitar and a bit of indie jangle all wound up in the tracks summery drift, before a wild super sped up free for all psych out finish, and "Machines And Muscles", which was originally released on the now out of print Butthash single, this seems to be a slightly different version, and is definitely another of the record's highlights, total hynorock bliss, little bits of keyboard pepper the stuttery rhythm, the main riff staying solid and unwavering, while all around it various other sounds swoop and shimmer, a Circle-like guitar groove, shuffling drums, very tribal and looped sounding, suspended in a field of space streakings, warm organ whir and smears of soft effects in the background, that main riff stays LOCKED in, until it begins to get a bit more tripped out, a little distorted, more effects, the synths skitter and stutter, and then finally, the song fades out in a blinding kaleidoscopic burst of warm sunshine-y synth.
And that's really the magic of Cave, we're all so partial to the dark and doomy, the buzzy and droney, that it's so exciting for a record to sound so heavy and tripped out and hypnotic, but at the same time so sunshiney, so Summery, so FUN. These guys totally rule, this record is fantastic, and if you can believe it, live they might be even better.
Boston metalcore band Cave In was once described as being a mixture of Slayer and Radiohead. And usually the Radiohead part was just 'cause of some weird proggy electronic leanings, but the Slayer tag was the more accurate one. But now, with "Jupiter", they've gone and morphed themselves into a pop band. Seriously. And they're damn good at it. Amazingly, they still tour with the likes of Neurosis and Dillinger Escape Plan, playing their new, art-pop material exclusively! And the kids like it! Ornate, lengthy songs complete with falsetto vocals, and amazingly catchy melodies. Previously, we've enthused over Muse and Justin Clayton, as Radiohead clone bands par excellance, but this might just take the cake. But unlike the Radiohead clones, Cave-In don't seem so much like they're copying Radiohead, more like they're contemporaries, albeit way heavier and way more rocking. We're just so blown away by this band's transformation and metal-forged skill at creating this stuff. Perfect proggy pop, mixed with healthy doses of Pink Floyd, Hawkwind, Yes, etc. Fans of the old Cave In might be a bit disoriented, but give it a chance. Heavy doesn't always mean distorted guitars and satanic growling.
So recommended.
Originally released as a cd back in 2001, Sacrifice Poles was a collection of 4-track instrumental demos, jams and audio experiments crafted during the recording of Cave In's Jupiter record. This vinyl reissue came and went in the blink of an eye, but we did manage to snag a few copies, as in less than 5, so for a handful of folks, here's your chance to nab one of these before they're gone. And it's pretty great, and weird, most of the tracks are pretty much proper Cave In songs, albeit instrumental, and sound like they could have eventually ended up on a proper Cave In record, others are more abstract, isolated guitar tracks, weird ambient interludes, plenty of synths, weird programmed drums, fans of the proggier side of Cave In who have never heard the Sacrifice Poles record, are in for a treat. Sucks that it's so limited, but these are in fact, the last copies we'll be able to get, so best grab one quick, before they're gone for good. Again.
LIMITED TO 500 COPIES! Includes a download.
Brutal but occasionally beautiful metallic hardcore, for fans of Coalesce, Deadguy and that ilk. This has been described as a mixture of Slayer and Radiohead (!) and I can almost see why. Andee approved.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
Six tracks in seventeen minutes from Japan's mysterious Cavo, who just happen to be labelmates of the amazing (and amazingly monickered) Bathtub Shitter, and feature a member of Corrupted! The first two tracks are a bit misleading, a hazy pagan ritual of gutteral almost-throat singing, temple bells and slow chants. Reminds us a bit of Ghost or Comus. But the ritual quickly grow in intensity until it's a chaotic swirl of tribal drums, shouted vocals, sludgy low end, repetitive riffs, and thick viscous ambience. Like a primitive mix of the Boredoms and Crash Worship. The tribal melee continues, interrupted briefly with one more ambient interlude, all low end rumble and groaning vocalisations, sounding like Keiji Haino with strep throat fronting Earth. Toward the end of the record the sludge coalesces into a weirdly catchy Viking style sing-a-long, lots of WOOOAH OOH OHHH's until things wind down in a truly creepy ritual of spoken female vocals, clapping, manic chanting, shouts, screams and whistles. Comus meets the Boredoms? The Wickerman performed by Corrupted? Boris covers the Incredible String Band? More amazing and baffling Japanese weirdness!
Besides having probably the coolest/stupidest band name ever, Brooklyn skate punks Cerebral Ballzy return with another killer clutch of songs they claim to be about more high minded topics than their first record (chicks, skating, puking, etc.) but a quick scan of the song titles reveals, they haven't pushed the subject matter too far, fake I.D.'s, skating, fast food, and chicks, all still seem to be the focal point, but what has changed is the sound. That first record was a dizzying blast of short sharp punk rock in the style of the old school classics, equal parts Black Flag, Circle Jerks, Suicidal Tendencies, but this time around the band have gotten downright poppy, injecting some serious power poppiness and loads of hooky melody into the jams, resulting in some seriously addictive, and seriously poppy post punk, that ends up ultimately being a lot more more sonically satisfying than that first record. More original for sure, a cool hybrid of that feral punk energy with more actual songsmithery. The tracks are longer, the sound is much more lush and well produced too, but more importantly, the songs themselves are killer, essentially pop songs in punk clothing, and we're not talking the dreaded pop punk, we're talking pop flecked punk rock, of noise pop, or fuzzy pop, or punkish pop, whatever you wanna call it, the vibe throughout touches on classic power pop of the past, post punk too, and while there are moments of straight up punk rock pound, for the most part, those parts are woven into what is essentially a killer batch of punky pop that should have fans of other like minded outfits like the Zig Zags, The Shrine, Hot Lunch and the rest, freaking out big time.
When we first went to the South By Southwest music conference in Austin, we were sort of overwhelmed by how many bands were playing, often at the same time, and everywhere, in clubs, on street corners, in bars, in empty lots, and we were even more shocked by how many bands were playing that we had never heard of. Literally thousands. And of all of those bands, there was only really one we wanted to see. Based entirely on their name. Yep, it was these guys. Cerebral Ballzy. The worst band name ever? Hardly. The best? Maybe. Needless to say, we were never able to actually see them, so we comforted ourselves by just assuming they must be amazing, cuz how could a band name themselves that and NOT be?
Funny thing is, we had no idea what they sounded like. We were guessing some sort of angular new wave, or some sort of snotty garage rock, we imagined they must be from Brooklyn, and it seemed like Vice would be fans, but really what kind of assumptions can you realistically draw from a band name like theirs? So out of the blue, their debut record dropped, and before even hearing it, we were still more impressed, the cover sporting a sticker that proudly proclaimed "'We Hate This Band' - Pitchfork Media", the Pettibon cover art, the faded photocopied old punk flyer booklet and their 'logo', a skeleton flipping the bird, wearing a cholo style buttoned-up-to-the-top shirt and a Suicidal cap with the flipped up brim (although instead of Suicidal it says Cerebral), which did all start steering us in a more punk rock direction, which is in fact what these guys sound like, old school classic punk rock, a little skate punk, a little Hermosa Beach, a little Suicidal, but filtered through a more modern sonic aesthetic. They ARE from Brooklyn, and Vice DO dig em, but beyond that, we were way off. This is classic punk rock, snooty, snarly, swaggery, pounding, knuckle dragging, sweat soaked, bruised and bloody, short sharp blasts of crunch and pound that we imagine would most definitely get that pit roiling, but whether they meant to or not, that sound is peppered with some surprising melodies, some subtle post rockisms, a killer production, and loads of hooks, but those moments are definitely fleeting, as this is, at its core, PUNK RAWK. And we dig it.
**MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT** MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT** MISSISSIPPI RECORDS ALERT**
Another lost seminal punk rock classic, this one from DC's Chalk Circle, an all female punk rock band (supposedly the first to record and perform in DC), who existed for a couple years in the early eighties, and played alongside the usual DC suspects, but were definitely doing their own thing, challenging the prevailing sound and gender scene politics of the day. With a sound that would fit sonically alongside groups like the Slits, Delta 5, Lilliput, Raincoats, X-Ray Spex, Essential Logic and the like, Chalk Circle combined punk rock crunch with teenage energy, raw and urgent, frantic and frenetic, loose and ramshackle, but with some killer hooks, not so much 'punk rock' as indie pop / garage pop, this stuff would have been right at home on K Records or Kill Rock Stars in the early days.
The sound varies quite a bit (as does the recording quality), from bouncy almost danceable jangle punk, to reverby new wave, fuzzy pop-punk pound to primitive off kilter pop, bass heavy almost dubby post punk to spidery skeletal pop minimalism, laced with occasional bits of extra percussion, shouted back up vox, all held together by a super distinctive style and sound, which has us thinking there are a whole bunch of folks out there that would have loved these ladies back in the day, and anyone into the current crop of female punks: Brilliant Colors, Grass Widow, Pens, Yellow Fever, Sandwitches, etc. will probably dig this like crazy!
This lp collection gathers up various tracks from compilations, live shows, demos and unreleased tapes, and includes a big booklet with photos, press clippings and liner notes by Don Fleming (Velvet Monkeys, B.A.L.L.) whose Velvet Monkeys headlined Chalk Circle's first shows.
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
After being blown away by their awesome self released cd-r a few months back we were stoked to get the first slab of wax from this young, energetic post punk band out of the UK who are blasting our ears with such immediate and intensely satisfying sounds. These two new songs find the band getting tighter and their sound even punchier, without losing one bit of the infectious intensity that won us over on their cd-r.
Both songs display a wonderful ability to strip away all the fat and make sure that every single moment of the song packs a bright colorful punch. These jams make us bob our heads, and even jump up and down when no one is looking. It's also so refreshing to see C24 develop their chops the old fashion way, not relying on blog-hype, but actually touring non-stop, and you can get a feel for how invigorating it would be to see them live from these two killer tracks. Awesome!
THIS IS CURRENTLY OUT OF PRINT OR OTHERWISE UNAVAILABLE TO US AT THE MOMENT, SO PLEASE DO NOT ORDER IT. SORRY.
SORRY.
We pretty much have a standing order for anything that PlusTapes releases. Much like Mississippi, PlusTapes has become the sort of label folks collect, which as we've mentioned before is pretty remarkable for a label so young. But so far, almost every release we've gotten from PlusTapes has flown out of here. And like Mississippi, they've also decided to dabble in more contemporary sounds, along with their ambitious reissue campaigns. Supporting their local scene, while paying homage to the past. Such is the case with these two latest releases, both limited to 100 copies, and we got less than 20 of each.
PlusTapes really couldn't get more eclectic. Indonesian pop, surf music from Singapore, dramatic cabaret folk from former industrial icons, Peruvian garage rock, and now thrash metal from Chicago. Hell yeah!
The appropriately named Chicago Thrash Ensemble are a furious thrashing four piece hell bent on wreaking utter musical havoc, blazing riffage, furious drumming, lightning speed tempos, raspy glass gargling vocals, some little bits of shred here and there. All recorded super raw and lo-fi and in-the-red like some lost eighties demo, what more do you need to know. How about it, the tape is blood splattered (okay, maybe it's red paint, but still!), the covers feature a weird hand drawn heavy metal kid binder beast, with the band's name in the mouth, and the evil eyes glowing red, thanks to an extra set of red eyes pasted on to the plastic case. Oh and they totally shred, it's hard to tell if these guys are true metalheads, or indie kids getting their thrash ya ya's out, but it hardly matters, it's heavy, thrashy, with plenty of nods to Slayer of course, with some wannabe "Raining Blood" and "Angel Of Death" moments, what's not to love? These guys probably destroy live, Chicago folks should definitely check them out. The rest of us will just have to make do with this little plasticky bit of old school thrash, and enjoy the vio-lence vicariously!
LIMITED TO 100 COPIES. We have less than 20. Cool hand drawn covers, lots of beasts and creatures, glowing red eyes pasted onto the tape case, the tapes themselves 'blood' splattered, each one hand numbered.
What do you get when you mix Bay Area grind sludge noise rock sonic deconstructionists Burmese with local howling heavies Kowloon Walled City? You might guess something heavy? Brutal? Punishing? Pummeling? You would think. But this strange hybrid does in fact exist, and is called Child's Wife, and probably better described as tripped out, psychedelic, druggy, electronic, and heck even poppy!
Even we were confounded, we were sort of expecting some downtuned crush, something harsh and hellish, but heck, these guys get enough of that in their day jobs. We always wonder why the hell folks feel compelled to start new bands that sound exactly like their old bands anyway. So in that sense, it should maybe come as no surprise that Child's Wife sound NOTHING like either Burmese OR Kowloon Walled City. Instead, it's a twisted drum machine driven, psych pop of sorts. Lysergic and druggy, looped and woozy, but definitely pop. Guitars crunch and buzz, even jangle here and there, but are not metallic, not in the least, the rhythms are electronic, and skitter and pulse, and the vocals, well, the vocals are the focal point, much of the time at least, a distorted, reverbed croon, surprisingly melodic, the songs in some ways reminiscent of the poppiest Butthole Surfers moments, with a little Residents mixed in, a little industrial crunch and clatter, plenty of new wave / cold wave vibes, all mixed with a little, wait for it... XTC, yep, you heard us, sounds fucked and bizarre and impossible, and maybe it is, but it's also pretty cool. Twisted and tweaked, but definitely cool.
Probably not what most Burmese / KWC fans are looking for, but any one in the market for some freaky, outsider, psychedelic, noise rock new wave weirdness, well, this is definitely FOR YOU.
Billy Childish is a man of many hats -- writer, painter, rocker -- and his three decade spanning body of work while wearing each of those chapeaux has proven to be remarkably varied. Nothing would really surprise us, but Childish and EM Records have thrown us for a loop with this reissue of a rare album from 1988. Calico Jack alias Wild Billy hooked up with his backing band The Blackhands (aka Bill, Ludella, Kyra, Richard, Dave, and Seamus) to slip into, of all things, a calypso kind of mood! Fear not diehard fans, he's still got his trademark reckless snarl though as he rambles through loose and light hearted renditions of "Rum And Coca Cola", "I Love Paris" and "Anarchy In The U.K." Raw and gritty, and recorded with one microphone. Rad! EM does it again!
Oh, and EM fans, look out for this summer's "EM Under Water Series" of five surfing-related reissues from '60s/'70s Australia, all really cool stuff.
MISSISSIPPI ALERT! MISSISSIPPI ALERT! MISSISSIPPI ALERT!
After the awesome Chin Chin 7" we reviewed a while back, we were psyched to discover that Mississippi was teaming up with Slumberland to bring us this, Swiss all girl post punk outfit Chin Chin's 1985 full length, Sound Of The Westway.
When we reviewed the single, we mentioned that this Swiss combo would appeal to folks into recent girl groups like The Girls At Dawn, Black Tambourines, Vivian Girls, Dum Dum Girls or their early eighties predecessors, Girls At Our Best, Shop Assistants, Bow Wow Wow or Lilliput (who came from the same Swiss scene as Chin Chin). And that definitely still holds true, even more so in fact, the full length finds the band way more polished and poppy, reminding us more of groups like Fuzzbox and the Belle Stars, not as urgently punk, more sort of pogo-y and poppy, the guitars thick and fuzzy, and of course jangly, lots of sweet harmonies, if one didn't know better, one might be forgiven for assuming this was in fact a new Slumberland signing, who like many of today's bands, are simply channeling the spirits of girl groups past. And listening to this now, boy would this sound pretty perfect right next to that Pains Of Being Pure At Heart record... which of course means RECOMMENDED!
Nice full color sleeve, with a 12" x 12" insert, and lengthy liner notes on the history of the band. And as with all Mississippi stuff, probably pretty limited...
MISSISSIPPI ALERT!
Another post-punk gem has been unearthed thanks to the dedicated heads of Mississippi Records. This all-girl punk-pop trio from the early eighties Swiss Punk scene has been timely rediscovered as we're in the midst of a current girl-group revival. Fans of recent groups like The Girls At Dawn, Black Tambourines, Vivian Girls, Dum-Dum Girls or their early eighties predecessors, Girls At Our Best, Shop Assistants, Bow Wow Wow or Lilliput (who came from the same Swiss scene as Chin Chin) will definitely want to check this out. Three self-penned songs from 1984 released on the band's own Farmer Records label, "We Don't Wanna Be Prisoners", "Desires Only", and "World's Burning".
Urgent punk lyrics with catchy pop hooks and harmonies, look out for their upcoming full length release to be reissued in a label collaboration between Mississippi and Slumberland records!!!!
So good!!!!!!! As always with Mississippi's 7"s, this will be gone before you know it, so you know the drill!!!
