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Record Reviews

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In A Paper Suit: CD
No, not literally a paper suit like Issey Miyake circa 1983. Knoxville Girls are the oily, shitcan-kicked cowbluesrock trifecta of a crazy little art form called "music." Do you ever feel like this whole stupid fuckin' thing called life is finally alright as you speed down the highway in the middle of the California desert with all your friends passed out, 5 o'clock in the morning? You're cranked up on a week's paycheck's worth of good blow, reminiscing about the people who fucked you and left you behind while chain smoking Saratoga cigarettes and taking liberal sips of some cheap beer in a can. What's the band you wanna hear on that car stereo of yours that has auto-reverse but doesn't play the other side on the right speed? This scenario would not be complete without a truck stop meal and Knoxville Girls blaring out of the car with the windows completely down. This is a five man powerhouse collective of veterans who need no introduction in this game; Jerry Teel, Bob Bert, Jack Martin, Kid Congo Powers and Barry London - some of the projects that these gentlemen have been involved with at one point or another include Sonic Youth, Honeymoon Killers, The Cramps, Gun Club, Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds, Chrome Cranks, and Pussy Galore. This album is the must-have release of 2001. Excellent Hank Williams, Hasil Adkins and The Shangri-La's covers. –Namella J. Kim (In The Red)

Are You Living or Just Surviving?: CD
Mid-tempo terrace chants from this long running Italian skinhead outfit. It could be me, but I hear a bit more "pop" in their sound than I remember their previous releases having. The lyrics are pretty insightful. –Jimmy Alvarado (Mad Butcher)

Blues Got Soul: CD
King Ernest and his blazin' backing band perfectly blend a spiritually compelling musical collage of blues, soul, and gospel-tinged textures of Stax-style sounds into an ear-inspiring swirl of pure genuine audial joy. The vocals sparkle and shine with spirited soulful sprinklings of the hallowed styles of Percy Sledge, Otis Redding, Al Green, and even an occasional flashy shriek of James Brown-like godliness... the infectiously eminent instrumentation robustly rolls along with a big ballsy brass horn section, lightly floatin' holyrollin' church organ, jumpin' jukejoint piano jauntiness, toe-tappin' hardwood-floor drum strollings, softly stutterin' bass struttings, and B.B. King-inspired string-bendin' inflections of fiery guitar licks... and add some groovin' urban Four Tops/Temptations-style background vocals for full heartfelt aural effect. Damn, man, this divinely distinguished disc stirred my senses, shook my soul, and overwhelmingly moved me like no other! Sadly, King Ernest died in a car wreck early last year, but he left one helluva legacy in his brightly shimmering musical elegance. Yep, he's surely tearin' up the skies at this very moment in the afterlife with his pristine and powerful emotion-laden voice... –Guest Contributor (Fat Possum)

Reason: CD
Strike one: There's already a Latin ska band called King Chango, who already have a few releases and tons of comp tracks. Strike two: King Chango's sound is not that giant a leap from what's on here. So much for your search for originality, huh? Strike three: On their worst day, they're 200 times better than you on your best. You're out, biter. –Jimmy Alvarado (Hellcat/Epitaph)

Self-titled: CD
To say I was awaiting the coming of this album would be an understatement. I was fiending for this album, complete with physical symptoms, even before it landed in my filthy little hands. Nishinomiya's King Brothers spank the crap out of their instruments with wild abandon, leaving your rock'n'roll heiny begging for another round of red-ass beatings. This three-piece has built up quite a reputation for themselves as far as wild rock stories go. Let's see, they played with brown paper bags over their heads (hey, that's the premise of my all time favorite porno movie, how about that!), they have been banned from almost every single club in Osaka, they are under-aged, they are party extremists, and the list goes on. Are they legends in the making? Well, hell. Premature? Yes! The drummer Jun has that early Makers sound down with quick rapid fire beats. Marya, the guitarist, crunches away with slight Detroit influence infused with a good sense of power mod timing. Laying down a second guitar assault is Keizo who brings some great melodic riffs to even it all out. Notice, no bassist - what the fuck? OK, that's cool, I guess. So they sing mostly in Japanese - but who cares? This is a fine example of the phrase, "It's not what you say, it's how you say it." These guys say it with a capital, "UGH!" P.S. their first song is "Oh Shit." The second song is "Yakekuso," which literally means, "fried shit." They definitely have some fecal fixation which is A-OK in my book. Long live poo! –Namella J. Kim (In The Red)

You: CD
Art damaged pop. Enough noise is pumped into it to make it abrasive, yet it still retains enough pop sensibility to make it hummable. Should go over well with the more adventurous KROQ crowd. –Jimmy Alvarado (Devil in the Woods)

Self-titled: CD
It frightens me that music like this is being made. Poorly recorded hardcore with vocals that sound like a dog barking over and over again. Really bad satanic samples, etc. from Florida. –Guest Contributor (The IFB)

A Future Lived in Past Tense: CD
More overblown, post-Sonic Youth/My Bloody Valentine drivel to bore you all to tears. Please line up to the left for the razors with which to cut your wrists. –Jimmy Alvarado (De Soto)

Self-titled: CDR
I recently had the perverse pleasure of wickedly witnessing the rowdily roarin' punkrock wrath of the Jones Street Boys live, loud, and full of unrelenting, skull-walloping fury here in Longmooo of Hades, and I was so overwhelmingly wide-eyed and impressed with their sonically scorchin' set (which included raucously wild renditions of the Ramones' "The KKK Took My Baby Away," Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues," and Fear's "I Love Livin' in the City") that I shamelessly pleaded with their larger-than-life vocalist to generously give me this here fine-shined sparkling platter of robustly pristine cowpoke punk (indeed, I would've gladly paid for it no matter the cost, but I'd already gluttonously depleted all of my monetary funds on several containers of cold frothy mind-debilitating beverages... drunkenly keepin' my priorities straight, don't ya know!). Like their frenetically fierce stage presence, the Jones Street Boys on CD assuredly do not disappoint in the very least... it's audial lawlessness at its most smokin', sizzlin', gritty, greasy, and savage: gruff whiskey-gargle gravelgut vocals, blazin' buzzsaw guitar struttings, a big bad bass rocketing and rumbling like there ain't no end to tomorrow, and stompin', bone-crushin' whirlwind drumming madness! These are the true sounds of wayward unruliness, disorderly decadence, and debauched drunken recklessness... this is the nihilistic soundtrack for a forgotten generation of rebelrousin' ruffians runnin' wild and belligerent in the crumblin' streets of Yourtown, USA... this is punkrock as it is and always should be; all else miserably fails in comparison. –Guest Contributor (Joey Essex)

How Can Any Thing So Little Be Any More: CDEP
Indeed, I am currently feverishly scratchin' my head in a semi-soused state of perplexed bewilderment... this is a loosely disjointed soundscape of 21st-century Syd Barrett-type mind distortions... freaky, fragmented, and beyond fucked-up. Joan Of Arc uniquely create electronic emissions of warped weirdness, feedback-laden wild wonderment, and acoustic sugar-soft swaths of sound that can't be specifically categorized, so I won't even attempt such a maddening endeavor... I'll just call it an audial diatribe of the crazed and demented, a sonic holocaust in varying degrees of infinite insanity. I dunno... now I just wanna dribble beer down my chin and stuporishly stare out the window at the wildly swaying leaf-heavy trees. Damn, who hung the sky upside-down?! –Guest Contributor (Jade Tree)

Rock: CD
This is an ear-splittin' sonic assault of high-octane heavy-thunder barroom-brawlin' rock'n'roll rowdiness ala the Supersuckers... unsavory, unpolished, and barbarically unrelenting! JJ Nobody seems to have temporarily packed the Ramonesy punkrock ferocity of The Nobodys into a tattered'n'torn duffle bag and stuffed it in a musty ol' linen closet somewhere, because these here riproarin', whiskey-saturated songs are a cowpokey cacophony of rootin'-tootin' wild-card rock at its most bawdy, bad-ass, and brash... it's 18-wheelin' trucker punk for the red-eyed, road-weary, barstool-squattin', crank-crazed cowboys of the long lone open highway... it's amped-to-the-max, meth-laced, white-trash rock'n'roll robustness... boisterous, rowdy, and belligerently pure! Such lewd and lively lyrical choruses as "I'm a goddamn son of a bitch!" and "Let's get drunk and fuck tonight!" frenetically add more fuel to the ear-scorchin' audial flames contained herein. Yeh buddy, this is the end-all be-all last call... the zestiest, most intoxicatin' musical thirst-quencher of 'em all... a sonically satiating full-throttle rock'n'roll experience! –Guest Contributor (Hopeless)

Vine of Souls: CD
Post-Crass anarcho-hippie-feminist-pacifist-gutter-punk-metal. The hypnotic quality of many of the songs was interesting, but the whole thing got boring pretty quick. I know, I know, the point is the message and the music's merely the vehicle, right? Fuck you. It's gotta rock, too, or no one will give a toss about what you're sayin'. I agreed with some of the points made in the band's lyrics, but even if every word uttered bled every emotion, every view, every thought I ever had in my life yet was unable to formulate on my own, I still would have a hard time paying attention if the music just droned uninterestingly on and on like it does here. Really loved the art in the lyric book, though. –Jimmy Alvarado (Alternative Tentacles)

The Ruins of our Future: CD
They certainly live up to their band name. I expected bad poseur straight edge metal from a band with a handle like that, but no, instead we get tight, quick-paced hardcore with lotsa chord changes. There's a little bit o' metal in their sound, but it's complimentary rather than detrimental in this case. Thumbs up. –Jimmy Alvarado (Bad Taste)

Out of the Eighties: CD
Four singles and a demo, spanning the years 1981-84 in all, from another English band I've never heard of before. They're pretty speedy as far as English bands at the time go, landing in sound somewhere between early Exploited and the Partisans, and they're apparently still together. It'd be nice to see if they've been able to maintain this much edge and aggression after all these years. Barry, if you're reading this, the original singles were released on Half Man Half Biscuit records. Neat. Good stuff. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)

In Recovery: CD
What came to mind when I heard this was Green Day. This Jacksonville, Florida four-piece plays melodicore with added touches of keyboards and strings. Very polished and produced well. It was okay, but I don't really see it getting a chance of returning to my CD player again. I really don't have much to say. –Donofthedead (Honest Don's)

Mizubukurentamashii: 7"EP
Really wonderful fold-out die cut cover on this eclectic (Japan = natch), but mostly heavy thrash, record player record. –Cuss Baxter (Answer)

Mizubukurentamashii: 7"EP
Nice, colorful packaging that opens up in all directions in a cross shape with lyrics and pictures on the inside. Musically, this is a little hard to get the mind around.... For the most part, it's grindy Japanese hardcore, but there's an almost emo undercurrent that causes the songs to lurch and stop, switch volume and tempo. This ain't bad, but it's gonna take some gettin' used to. No wonder the bassist looks painfully constipated. –Jimmy Alvarado (Answer)

Bad Labels Can Destroy the Best of Men: CDEP
Infamalde unleash an intricate and complex audial attack of fiery rage somewhat similar, but vaguely comparable, in sonic style, structure, and content to Fugazi in varying degrees of abstruse intensity. The songs are technically well-structured and energetically impassioned in delivery... ambitiously alternating between frenzied mercurial madness and calm mellow moroseness. After numerous attentive listens, Infamalde have left me deeply pondering the flurried brevity of my very own aimless existence... ah hell, nothin' another iced-down 6-pack can't cure! So if you'll excuse me, I now intend to get thoroughly sloshed on another round of foamy brewed beverages and the addictively ingratiating sounds of Infamalde... –Guest Contributor (Infamalde)

The Essential Fucked Up Blues!: CD
Never heard of em, went to see Bob Log III, and these guys were playing when we walked in. Beat me unmercifully senseless with my own affinity for what happens when punk gets busy with the blues. (Bob Log III was great, but they made him look like Tiny Fuckin' Tim). (Made Jon Spencer's Blues Explosion sound like Tiny Tim with a bottle of Wild Turkey). A duo (guitarist Cheetah was in the Quadrajets, drummer The Boss was in Sphamm), the ILCKs prove - PROVE! - (if Jucifer did not (but they did)), you don't need a bass player to rock like a fuckin' earthquake. No two ways about it: three great big guitar amps, three piece drumkit, three tons of ESSENTIAL FUCKED UP BLUES! –Cuss Baxter (Estrus)

For Those Whose Hearts and Souls Are True: CD
"No, but it's good." That's usually how I finish telling people what the Hudson Falcons sound like. I usually say, "It's street punk with a Bruce Springsteen influence." Then, I look at a face (it doesn't matter which face) twisting into a wince, and I say, "No, but it's good." I'll be the first to admit that I don't like the Boss one bit, and sometimes I chuckle to myself when I see HF guitarists Mark Linsky and Chris Lynn pulling their best E Street Band pose, but you can't fuck with the songs. They're catchy, rocking working class anthems. And unlike the scores of guys who've never held a job singing songs about the working class, for whatever reason, I believe it when I hear it from the Hudson Falcons. It's like when someone injures himself, you can hear it in his scream. He may have been screaming all day about shit and you didn't pay attention at all, but when someone screams out of real pain, you recognize that pitch in his scream. The Hudson Falcons have that pitch to their screams. But it's good. Oh, except for the ballad. No punk rock band should ever do a ballad ever. It sucks. –Sean Carswell (GMM)

A Flight and a Crash: CD
The first ten plus listens, my chin was getting a lot of scratching. I let it. There have been HWM albums that take some time to gear into. Many of those have turned out to be my favorites. The biggest leaps to this from "No Division"? No immediate "us against them" anthems. Less screaming and gruff yelps. Fewer change-off vocal volleys between Chuck and Chris. The lyrics are getting less site specific (say, like Gorilla Biscuits) and more open to interpretation (like Fugazi, but a little more focused. For example: "oh, but fucker, yeah, you'll get yours"). Then it took me by surprise. I was humming the line, "who are we but savages hooked on accessories" out from nowhere. I found the instrument melody to "A Clear Line" strung through my head when I was taking a shower, rinsing me along with my soap. I began to enjoy what I suspect was evidence of a larger recording budget. All the little cycling sound effects. The bell sounds. The embedded voice tracks. I heard the texture they added to the songs instead of being annoyed that I wasn't getting exactly what I was expecting; which was HWM's past. Fifty listens in, "A Flight and a Crash" doesn't only stand with my favorite HWM albums, it quite possibly stands at a larger musical crossroads. They've stretched the fire of hardcore into the smoldering embers of emotion and didn't puss or art or tinker themselves out. They didn't give me what I wanted, necessarily. They gave me what I needed. Which is the album they needed to make, not the one I expected to hear. Excellent. –Todd Taylor (Epitaph)

A.k.a. I-D-I-O-T: CDEP
Straight-up, tits-first, no-brakes, all cash, no flash Swedish garage rock that ranks right with the highest of the lowest and dragstrips right through all six songs without hesitation. Fantastic. Frenetic. Wonderfucked. Goes right into the collection next to the New Bomb Turks, Scared of Chaka, Motards, Teengenerate, and Loudmouths. (If you're strapped for cash, go for the "Barely Legal" CD. All these songs are on there, too.) –Todd Taylor (Gearhead)

White Trash Soul!: Split CD
During the past couple of years, it seems that I've read boundless volumes of praise-ridden articles, reviews, and interviews voraciously advocating the mighty roaring rock'n'roll wrath of The Hellacopters. Until now, I hadn't been deemed lucky, blessed, or worthy enough by the otherwordly thundering Gods of Rock in the lightning-streaked hereafter to receive any Hellacopters' recorded rowdiness. Unfortunately, as fate would have it, I am unable to diligently review this here semi-sparkling audial platter due to severe scratches and deeply imbedded abrasions on its playing surface... yep, each and every time I've attempted to give it a rapidly whirling spin, it skips and splutters like a stuttering, malfunctioning android wired to the max on a lethal batch of homemade trailerpark meth. I dunno; in my sick, twisted, and overwhelmingly warped lil' mind, I'm conjuring images of Todd and Sean drunkenly engaging in a brutal deathmatch game of hall-hockey in their apartment and impulsively using this disc as a spur-of-the-moment substitute for a puck (actually, it looks more like they used it in an overly aggressive frisbee/rugby tournament in a gravel-strewn parking lot somewhere!). After they came to their somewhat sober senses, I can just picture 'em sayin', "Ooops, this one's a goner... let's send it to Rog... he stays so incoherently sloshed all the time, he'll never notice the difference. He'll just write it off as hardcore industrial noise terrorism, and then he'll unwittingly call it a day." Nice try, fellas! Due to your shameful bout of neglectful abuse viciously directed towards me, I'm gonna now sell my useless soul, become a psycho-rhetoric-espousin' hippie coke addict, and pompously pen artsy pseudo-intellectual pilf for Rolling Stone magazine. HaHaHa, how do ya like them cans of fuzzy lil' peaches?! Just kiddin', hombres! Seriously though, I still desperately need a Hellacopters fix someway, somehow, and sometime soon (and, hot damn, The Flaming Sideburns have a maddaddy killer-cool moniker; I'd sure like to be able to give them an attentive brew-drenched listen sometime in the very near future, as well). Anyway, if I were able to judge this badly abused disc just by its cover alone, I'd have to rate it as one helluva unruly rocker (the cover graphics are devilishly divine, indeed!)... –Guest Contributor (Bad Afro, House Of Rock)

Irritainment: CD
Am I seeing a trend or are we experiencing a convergence? I'd be remiss to not mention that they're in the same razor-in-the-ice cream powerviolence treat/threat as The Locust. Blur rhythms. Shoutin' and hollerin' fuse into the occasional sound scapes and bubbling brooks. Imagine Spazz occasionally pissing into Hawkwind's mouths. This is the resultant gleek into Born Against's urine sample with a definite '00 slant to the nth degree. Or just imagine your ears getting rubbed into the asphalt. Not to sell them short, these mo'fucks is witty in their own right. Start with their song titles: "Home Fucking Is Killing Prostitution" and "Tears on the Backpack." Hell yeah. The song, "Skate the State" claims it "does not discriminate against inline skates." They've got their own philosophy - Smashism - mapped out in detail. They've got their own catchy slogan: "Songs to Disturb the Comfortable, Songs to Comfort the Disturbed." Every nook and cranny of the their CD booklet is jampacked with quotes - from William Blake to Antonin Artaud and fact checkin' Foucault's (who had the idea that all prisons should be made with transparent material), and all of this culminates in an idea on how to make punk rock take over electronic music as the youth rebellion of choice. Nude dance pits, then nude fuck pits. It's that type of forward thinking we need. Sweet, noisy, and smart. –Todd Taylor (Prank)

Nasty Hits 1989-1998: CD
This band has anime girls for their art work. Absolutely horrible. The distortion pedal must be ran over by a semi truck to assure swift destruction. They also have a wah-wah pedal. It's fucking dreadful. Black Flag meets uh, Phish or some shit. How do people like this honestly think they have the right to release music? –Guest Contributor (N/A)

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