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· 1:Razorcake #82 Now Available | Baby J, (Can Of Beans, Stoned At Heart)
· 2:#336 with Marty Ploy
· 3:Tom Neely and Keenan Keller Interview
· 4:#335 with Bryan Static
· 5:Punk Parenthood for the Sleep Deprived 5

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Record Reviews

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Lamentations of the Living Dead: CD
This is the world’s best damned two-man quartet in existence today! Maybe they are one of the only two-man quartets. Guitar and harmonica balanced with drums and banjo played together and in a way that can only be done if you are two fellas from the North Country of Alabama.  Dead men, devils, down’n’out, picking and rocking, slopped up in filling helpings. It makes me want to shake the spiders out of my boots and get to walking before the down and outs come creeping up to my door. –bradley (Nation of Kids)

1 + 1= Ate: CD
The first time I heard the Knockout Pills—an unreleased pre-mastered version—I was kinda doubtful. See, I love, love, loved the Weird Lovemakers and when they split up, the lead singer and one of the main song writers went to different corners (a bookstore and SF, to be exact.) Jason “Part of the Problem” Willis, the guitarist, and Gerrard (otherwise known as “Wallaby, Wallaby Dingo”) of the Weird Lovemakers joined up with Travis “the Archie Bunker of Punk Rock” Spillers of Los Federales, and Matt (“the secret brain” of the Resonars). The demo was so-so. I craved the type of musical punishment and reward that the Weird Lovemakers heaped high on my plate. Melodic mania. Rough knuckled, oddly voiced dork rock that kicked ass over throwback, cutout punk. Then out came the first Knockout Pills self-titled record. Through some magic of mastering or re-recording, songs like “Reject Button” leg swept me. I’d stare at the ceiling and sing along in praise that the magical sand and grit of Tucson punk rock was once again on the ascension. With each successive spin of that record, it became apparent that I wasn’t dealing with a band with just a chop or two or a band with a couple of good songs in a cat box of turds. The whole record was chops layered on top of one another, rhythms hidden in the cupboard, melodies in the gutter, choruses flying from the heavens like Lawn Darts to right between my eyes. I’d just have to sit and listen to that album, and it never failed to drop another veil. “Oh, la, la, what a voluptuous motherfucker of sound,” I said. Then 1+1=Ate comes out. Take all of the “you’ve got to listen for ‘em” stealth chops and, somehow, polish ‘em so they’re right there—luminescent gems on first listen, yet deep and dazzling enough to warrant compulsive playing—like you’re listening to something that makes you feel musically richer. They added more power. They added more confidence, and what you’ve got is one of the unabashedly best records to come out of 2004 that won’t be toppled from my top ten list. I don’t even want compare them to other bands. I’ll just say if you like what Razorcake covers as a whole, trust me on this. –Todd Taylor (Estrus)

Discography: CD
Wild, bombastic, fast, uncompromising, and yes, brutal – all words that accurately describe the phenomenon that was Los Crudos. Coming out of the barrios of Chicago, these guys helped reinvigorate and repoliticize a style of music that, at the time, was sinking deeper and deeper into a macho-jock-metal cesspool and going from bad to just flat-out pathetic. If you can understand the lyrics, you will find the topics up for discussion range from indigenous people’s rights to the treatment of immigrants to racism both within and without the punk scene and beyond. Even if you can’t understand what they’re saying (the lyrics are in Spanish), it’s obvious that they’re not just outraged about something, they’re flat-out pissed and hell-bent on being heard. And then there’s their “music,” the equivalent of running headfirst into a moving train and jamming an ice pick into your ear while a lunch whistle screams in your ear. Included here is, I believe, damn near every song they committed to vinyl, as well as a “live in the studio” session. Even if you’re only remotely interested in hardcore, consider this mandatory material for your collection. Plop it in, set the volume at full and prepare to have the skin peeled back from your teeth. –Jimmy Alvarado (Lengua Armada)

New York New York: CD
One of the more talented apostles of the Church of Johnny Thunders gets his very own “best of” collection. If you like your punk heavy on the NY rock circa 1974 side of the fence, you can’t go wrong with this guy. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.13th-Street.com)

The Pirate Songs: CD
Pirates? Yes, pirates? I was reading in the last issue of Razorcakean article by Harmonee about Count Chocula, Boo Berry, and Frankenberry cereals. It was that story combined with the amount of pirate related images I’ve seen lately that makes me wonder if there has ever been a pirate cereal to compare with the likes of the Count Chocula Crew. I’m no expert on cereals, but for a pirate cereal it would have to be in the marshmallow cereal genre like any of the CCC. There would be wheat crisp things shaped like skulls and bones. The marshmallows would be gold coins, blue swords, black cannon balls, and brown peg legs. Just an idea. But this CD isn’t about cereal. It’s about screams, hopeless(ness), and being knee deep in shit. The first song caught me off guard and then held me there. E-mail them for a copy. –bradley (Coming Down)

Addiction: CD
Another collection of post-Thunders New York junkie rock from Kevin K and his cohorts. A little more obsessed with the “old days” in sound and lyric than I’m comfortable with, but I can’t deny that he’s good at what he does. –Jimmy Alvarado (Lollipop)

I’ve seen the Civic Minded 5 play on the side of warehouse in freezing winds. And they were fucking great. Lazer reminded me of the intensity of Greg Ginn. Then someone tripped over the lamp chord and everything went black and we drank more and people bumped into one another. I’ve seen the CM5 in a Vegas dive bar and got threatened I couldn’t take pictures unless I faxed in a request. That night, they sucked balls. They played a fucking twenty minute medley that they’d restart over and over again. They were just very bad drunks. I’ve seen the CM5 smash a guitar in NYC and it was joyous. The crowd got rowdy. Fun, punch your friends rowdy. In other words, live is a mixed bag, depending on their sobriety and their we-hate-one-another levels of irritation. Enter this CD. Fuck your first song. If anything, put it after ten minutes of blank space at the end. It’s a “parody” of Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion.” Jesus, it’s painful and it’s shitty. Things pick up mightily right after that. Then they do things I like: fuckin’ spazz, almost-kazoo vocals jumping all over themselves like little dogs having fun humping. And if you listen beyond the frenetic din – and I’m not calling anyone a pussy here – the musicianship is as inspired as it is warped and speedy. Guitar lines fray and splice and stop and bunch up suddenly and make very basic song structures crackle like the front of a retard bus with the brakes locked up, after it hits a brick wall. It’s funny. The CM5 are an unavoidable accident. There’s a lot of screaming. Like someone’s in a lot of pain, which, in my book, makes for a very enjoyable record. Favorite track: “Kiss My Black Ass.” Rolickin’. –Todd Taylor (Recess)

Sadistic War Glory: CD
Another Discharge clone band, this one carbon copying their idols’ first few EPs. Great, loud hardcore with zero originality. –Jimmy Alvarado (Hardcore Holocaust)

Cinematic: CD
I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Who was I reviewing? Oh yeah. Press play on the CD player. Zzzzzzzzzz. –Jimmy Alvarado (Boo-the-Cat)

Hard Hitting Songs for Hard Hit People: CD
More swampy r’n’r mayhem from this lot. The songs are, as per usual, great, although the bass seems a little low in the mix. Then again, it might just be these shitty computer speakers. –Jimmy Alvarado (RAFR)

Vision of Insane Hope: CD
Cookie monster metal with some pretty good lyrics and a surprisingly effective gloomy moodiness. More impressed with ‘em than I thought I would be, which I imagine is tantamount to a grudging recommendation. –Jimmy Alvarado (Hater of God)

Hard Hitting Songs for Hard Hit People: CD
Well I’ll be a soused silly sonuvabitch, this is the friskiest, most sonically spectacular display of bad-ass rock’n’roll rowdiness to ever thunderously roar outta the Midwest! It’s a decadent voodoo-laden whirlwind of tornadic fury that’s as hot and steamy as a crawfish-boil in Hell – untamed, uncivilized, unrefined, and downright unruly, just the way Beezlebub requested! The vocals are robustly belted-out by a devilishly delicious wildcat momma who enthusiastically exudes a sweat-drenched swirl of sex, sin, and sleaze; the wildly out-of-control slide-guitar frantically slithers throughout a steady crunch of fretboard-rattlin’ rhythms like a venomous snake stalking its prey in a cool, well-shaded patch of San Augustine grass; a virile hoochie-coochie helping of honkytonk keyboards strut in and out like a proud budding alleycat prowlin’ for pussy on a Saturday night; and a ferocious rumbling brannigan continuously erupts between the bass and drums as if they’re stubbornly dukin’ it out to the death! Damn straight, this is a dark, magical mix of The Cramps, CCR, X, The Faces, Big Mama Thornton, and The Rolling Stones thoroughly soaked in a murky baptismal of Mississippi River swampwater. This juicy skull-thumper of a disc has cast an everlasting spell on me, and now I’m uglier, meaner, and nastier than I was just two hours ago. I’ve been Chicken Hawked, yeeeeehaw hot damn! -Roger Moser, Jr. –Guest Contributor (RAFR)

Yes-Wave: CD
It’s music like this that makes me wish everyone received an inner-city education. That way no one would be able to attend college and develop embarrassing levels of pretentiousness and they’d all be full of angst ‘n’ shit and their songs would have balls instead of whining along in arty abandon. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.juliasets.com)

Holy the Bob Apocalypse: CD
Gawddamn almighty hell yeh, this is a roarin’ gargantuan skullfucker of a disc! It’s an abrasive eardrum-bursting overload of thunderous garage-rock fury rampageously enshrouded in an abundant array of feedback, distortion, aggression, attitude, and all-out turbulent ballsiness. Such maniacally mayhemic musicianship! Such rage-ridden, attitude-driven vocals! Such full-force in-your-face aural brashness! Such fun, such fun, such fun! Mine ears have heard the glory of the coming of Satan, and it sounds uncannily like The Sonics, MC5, Mudhoney, New Bomb Turks, and Rocket From The Crypt openin’ a big ol’ wallopin’ can of whup-ass on Godzilla, King Kong, and Ghidora all at once – so there ya have the crazed unrelenting cacophony of The Chargers Street Gang! If your ears are enfeebled and weak, get your decrepit sorry ass outta the way. There’s a new Gang in town, and they don’t take too kindly to aurally unreceptive lowlifes like you. Waaaaahooo, rock’n’roll, motherfuckers!!! -Roger Moser, Jr. –Guest Contributor (Get Hip)

An Alternative to Extinction: CDEP
It looks like a CDEP until you look at the running time—then it seems more like an album (two songs go on for 37 minutes and 14 seconds). Drawing from influences like Red House Painters (fitting, since Mark Kozelek was a Midwesterner before he lived in the Bay Area) and shoegazers like Slowdive as well as hints of mid-’80s college rock, these five songs are actually quite a pleasant surprise. Instead of being the useless emo shit that I typically get to review, this is an unexpected and well-done throwback to a more innocent time when indie bands merely hoped to get their single played on the local college station and didn’t look much beyond that. –Puckett (Julia Sets Present)

Now! That: CD
Never paid any attention to these guys because: most generic band name ever (I always got them confused with Chronic Disorder); but it dawns on me: maybe it’s on purpose. This reissue (I guess) starts with a giddy spoken intro and then flails right off into Mob 47 territory (both in intensity and vocal clarity). Good, good stuff. The live portion is righteously noisy and goofy and I think this is one special (lo fi) slab. –Cuss Baxter (Punk Core)

36 Cents b/w New City & I Don’t Think So: 7"
Fair-to-middlin’ early effort by a Montreal band that might wax, wane, mutate or destruct utterly prior to emitting a full-length. The toolbox of the Dropkick Murphys and/or Rancid is, apparently, open and available to them—which is fine—however, in numerous spots on this 45, it seemed to me as if the band were manufacturing their would-be bombastic street anthems out of more or less nothing but non-load-bearing structural elements. Like, you know, where’s the fucking BEEF, jack? Everything can be rocking along mightily one second, and, the next, one gets the distinct impression that nothing dwells beneath the surface of these songs—like a well-crafted piñata that somehow didn’t get packed with anywhere near as many SweeTarts™ as would be right and just. I mean, they have the outer form of the music they wish to play down cold (dig those air-raid-siren Clash guitars on “36 Cents”), but, in other spots, the singer howls “IIIIII DAUUUUNNNNN’T THAAAANNNNNKK SOOOOOOO!!!” in his dorky fake British accent (which, BTW, i have no problem with) like sixty-four (or something) times in a row, like he REALLY thinks he just invented either a.) a cure for cancer, or b.) the best Rock Hook since “NOooooo FUUUUU-CHAH! NOoooo FUUUU-CHAH! NOooooo FUUU-CHAH FO’ YOUUUUUU!!!” ... it’s like, dude, get over yourself—”I Don’t Think So” is NOT a rock masterpiece—so plan your assaults on Planet Earth with this in mind. At this early stage in their career, i am reserving judgment on Jerk Appeal—the one X-Factor on their side being that this band contains an ex-member of the Radicts. The Radicts were one of those bands that even i, as a guy who maybe kinda might occasionally slide into Music-Snob-ism, could appreciate—i mean, you’d hear like the first ten seconds of a song and be like “oh, fuck, i listened to this music when i was sixteen, who needs it?”—but then you’d keep listening and be like, “fuck, these guys know their shit, totally!” The Radicts were probably the best American band, ever (unless we’re counting like Rancid and the Dropkick Murphys), to be able to handle those sort of English street punk clichés and use ‘em and spit ‘em back out as damn fine tunes—i mean, it was just something they could do, perhaps without even thinking about it. I hereby “suggest” that the guy from the Radicts take over the band, and everybody else listen to what the fuck he says. Unless there is some manner of French-English language barrier, in which case let the best Esperanton win! BEST SONG: “36 Cents” BEST SONG TITLE: “I Don’t Think So,” which is not that great of a song title FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: I already said it: That one guy was in the Radicts. That’s all ya get! –Rev. Norb (Sonik’s Chicken Shrimp)

Help Is On the Way: CD
Side one: Gloomy pop, sorta like Christian Death covering the Velvet Underground. It started to remind me of early Pink Floyd at the end. Side two was more of the same. Interesting, but not big whoop. –Jimmy Alvarado (Space Baby)

Close to Break Evil: CD
Sloppy rock’n’roll with a guitarist who seems more interested in grazing chords than actually playing them. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.badafro.dk)

The Same: 7"
I was a little put off by the pic of the band. I see three dudes in flannel and long hair and I automatically think “hippie grunge shit.” Yeah, I’m a bigot. Fuck you. Luckily, my fears were unfounded. Straight-up Detroit r’n’r here. Both songs are blessed with solid riffage and the title track even lifts a piece of Sabbath’s “Fairies Wear Boots” and puts it to good use. –Jimmy Alvarado (Rockin' House)

Braveryrepititionandnoise: CD
Mostly mellow, ‘60s-influenced rock that owes more than a little of its sound to the late, great Love and just a dash of the psychedelic incarnation of the Stones. Really good shit that makes me wish I still smoked dope. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.bomp.com)

Your Favorite Weapon: CD
Mass appeal. Can you say MTV? I want to direct the video. I will dress them in the latest skate wear – brand logos that are jumping out of the screen so that they can get extra money from their clothing sponsors. Oh, I can’t forget the studded belts and the chain wallets. I would go to the local punk record store and place all over their instruments punk stickers of every punk band that ever existed. That would give them credibility. Make sure their haircuts are spikey and shiny and at least one member would have a florescent color dyed in right before the shoot. They would have to look like they are individuals. I would have them lip syncing live at an outdoor arena with a high school aged group as an audience fueled on cheap keg beer. Making sure the crowd is going to look energetic, I would yell, “More blood, more beer!” Nothing promotes attention more than underage drinking and free beer mixed together. While shooting the performance, I would yell, “Jump!” every ten seconds at the band to “show” their energy. At one point, I would instruct the singer to take his shirt off so he can show off his fake tattoos, stage prop piercings and the top of his boxers to attract a larger female audience. Oops, I must be blending together a Blink 182 video with a Good Charlotte video. Fuck it. It will still work. –Donofthedead (Triple Crown)

Firepower Is Our Business: CDEP
The Bodies are as catchy as they sound mean. They’re working class. And, thankfully, they don’t oi it up, since they’re from America. They just look like regular dudes – jeans and t-shirts. And they rock out. And they drink a lot when they play, which is endearing. What’s disarming is that Abe’s voice could easily be on a pop punk album. It’s very smooth, very easy to listen to, and he does this thing called enunciation instead of gargling marbles in a Cockney-affected accent. It’s refreshing. The band plays flawless, powerful punk rock, and although they’re from the bombing range around San Francisco, they sound like the very best of true Orange County punk. Slicing wire guitars, punished drums, bubbling bass melodies, and a solo-less experience. And although I essentially disagree with their supporting of the death penalty (but take their point that scumbags should get their due) and don’t quite share wanting to wave the flag with them, I can’t but help cranking the stereo and singing along. The music’s just too good to dismiss on small points of political disagreement, especially since the times I’ve seen them play, they’ve been really nice guys. (I think most of these songs were previously released on both Vulture Rock and Radio, sans the last track, but I’ve been known to fuck up.) –Todd Taylor (TKO)

Scavenger of Death b/w Hate in the : 7"
This is a “fanclub release” (nudge, nudge, wink, wink) of a super-obscuro, collectors-go-crazy-for ‘79 Dallas band. It’s wonderfully shitty. The production’s pretty much ass and the drum sounds just a little better than a sponge getting thwocked. Yet, despite the audial limitations, the band mined similar fields as the Necros at one-half speed (a little metally, a little gruff) while tweaking one of Devo’s nipples (creative repetition and drone), so it’s nice and deranged and completely out of left field – which I pretty much figure how they were regarded as, now as well as then: a small band of aliens in the middle of big, fucking prairie that most people would want to shoot and a small band of people who love the hell out of ‘em, just for trying and making their lives a wee more interesting. –Todd Taylor (www.stickmenwithrayguns.com)

Necrotic Bibliophila: CD
In a quick nutshell, Bloodhag, in all seriousness, are a black or death or scary metal band of geeks that sing exclusively songs about science fiction authors, replete with almost impossible-to-decipher, unholy vocals and chonka chonka riffage that comes out of the sky like lightning. I like them a bunch, perhaps because they sound so tough and their music could pound Korn into the soft earth, and they’re saying, essentially, “read science fiction, you dink.” It’s a definite plus there’s a lyrics sheet, that you have to read. And reading and literacy is their mission in life. Like thick glasses on a human skull, they coalesce the tenets of NorthWest EduCore (slogan – “Reading is… fuuuuck you”), along with proper library etiquette, and they get down to the business at hand: making your ears bleed and your mind expand. Standouts include the lyrics in “Octavia E. Butler” – “Don’t make Octavia write for a hundred years before you treat Black women as good as guys with pointed ears”; in “William Gibson,” the lyrics – “Dystopian vision forged with typewriter ribbon”; and the male falsetto voice in “Kenneth Robeson.” Skullastically sounding like pissed-off, peed-on mutants with extra arms (for extra thrashing), Bloodhag continue to discover new ways of re-interpreting the phrase, “Get lit.” Yeah, it’s recommended… like a reading list. –Todd Taylor (Rock and Roleplay)

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