Welcome to Razorcake | DIY Punk Music | Punk Bands | Punk Rock Bands | Punk Magazine Welcome to Razorcake | DIY Punk Music | Punk Bands | Punk Rock Bands | Punk Magazine
 

























· 1:Webcomic Wednesdays #121
· 2:#356 with Samantha Beerhouse
· 3:Top 5s From Issue #85
· 4:Louis Jacinto Photo Column - Stan Lee of The Dickies
· 5:Webcomic Wednesdays #122


Subscriptions
New Subscriptions
Renewal
Stickers and Buttons
"Because We're Fuckin' Classy" Koozie


Razorcake #86
Wailing Of a Town, by Craig Ibarra
Razorcake #85
Pale Angels, Imaginary People LP
Toys That Kill / Joyce Manor, Split 7"


Can't find Razorcake at your favorite store? Lend us a hand and we'll send you a free issue.



Razorcake will send you one free issue if you ask your librarian if they would carry Razorcake in their stacks. (This offer is good for both traditional libraries and independent libraries.) To get the free issue, you must send us the librarian's name and email and the library's postal address. We will then contact them directly and donate a subscription to them. U.S. libraries only, due to postage.

Subscribe Today

Record Reviews

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

| 0-9| A| B| C| D| E| F| G| H| I| J| K| L| M |

| N| O| P| Q| R| S| T| U| V| W| X| Y| Z|

Below are some recently posted reviews.

RSS Feed

DAN MELCHIOR’S BROKE REVUE:
Bitterness, Spite, Rage, and Scorn: CD
The Broke Revue’s Billy Childish meets Led Zeppelin garage blues does not ever fail for me, and Mister Melchior’s special croon just pushes it on over the fence every time. Why is it, for some of the best records, there’s nothing to say? –Cuss Baxter (In The Red)


SLOBOT:
A Banner Year for Slaughter: CD
Atmospheric and moody and downright creepy, like a snake with bird feet, or a pig dressed like a milkman. No electric guitars or stuff like that; mostly just samples (vocal and non-vocal), assembled by three obvious craftsmen for maximum ambient effect. Included is a short movie where a guy with a sack on his head runs around in the woods, gets chased by a car and shoots a gun. Don’t know what it’s supposed to be about, but it’s a perfect foil for the nature of the music. –Cuss Baxter (Uterine Fury)


ESTROGENOCIDE:
Untitled: CD
Completely worthless electronic misogyny by two thirteen-year-olds with altered voices and fake names so no one will find out they made this and beat them up. If you’re gonna sing lines like “rape is good/rape is fun” and “I will cut your nipples off,” why bother making the point that “Adolph Hitler... was an absolute zero”? So people won’t think you’re an asshole? Nice work, smartypants. –Cuss Baxter (M. H. Records)


HEAT LIGHTNING:
Even a Baby Could Do That: CD
Seriously damaged tinkle, like a less-sophisticated Sockeye. Or a more-sophisticated one, I can’t tell. “I Wish I Had a Dog” (“Cuz dogs are better than cats”) probably didn’t take a lot of staying up nights to get written, but a “Mexican Robot” seems like a pretty advanced subject. “Nothing Is Simple” is actually a pretty well put together song with a nice violin line over a thick guitar melody. “5-0 Come Creepin’” has the funniest drums in the bunch (drums can be funny). The real crowning glory, however, is the ten-minute “Louie Style,” a hilarious and vigorously bent scat-noise jam. And for once, don’t miss the retarded fiddle-rap extra track. –Cuss Baxter (Horrendous Failure)


PROFESSEUR LADYBUG, LE:
Thou Art the Man!: CD
Not bad from a noise standpoint: feedback and what’s probably a drum machine support assorted other noises and man-talking. However, from a product standpoint, it seems a little pointless: it’s only ten minutes (one track), and it’s the soundtrack from someone’s video footage of a live performance. I would’ve rather seen the video. For more substantial Professeur Ladybug product, see Heat Lightning. –aphid (Horrendous Failure)


PORCELAIN GOD:
Home Taping Is Killing Music: CD
Super-homemade CD of “anti-hardcore psychedelic punk” recorded in 1982, that sounds like some kind of sub-Beefheart twenty-somethings with a $25 budget for instruments and recording. Historically valuable, perhaps, but not in a Killed By Death way. And entertaining, but not in a 72-minute way. –Cuss Baxter (Slutfish)


CIRCLE TAKES THE SQUARE:
Untitled: CD
You sometimes read reviews where the reviewer goes on about how the record is so good it makes him or her want to break shit (I remember reading a Hank Rollins piece about how the first time he heard the Stooges’ Raw Power, he was working construction and he started throwing 2 x 4s all around the place) but what about a record that makes you want to smash something, and the first thing you want to smash is the hi-fi that’s actually playing the record? Imagine a screamo record that screams about cutting itself and black blood, black halls, black hearts, blacked-out houses and blacked-out eyes, then quits screaming for a minute while the guitar gets all undistorted and pretty, setting you up for the punch of the screaming going back on, then the screaming goes back on, and sometimes a lady talks while the man is screaming and then the lady screams too, and it’s like this constant seesaw between the quiet setup and the anguished yelling and it sure does piss you off and you wonder, “How come they can’t at least scream about something happy or funny? I’m certain it’s not physically impossible to scream about meatloafs or beanbag chairs or turtles.” So you’re just about to eject the CD when a track comes on with the setup music for the background of a rap, which just tears it, and that’s when you almost punch the stereo in the face, but you pull up when you remember you still have to listen to Dan Melchior on there. That’s what sometimes happens to me, anyway. –Cuss Baxter (Hyperrealist)


KNUCKLEHEAD:
Hostage Radio...: CD
Very strong and catchy street punk that’s fast and clean like a Trans Am in Doc Martens and they’re from Canada and you can sing along on every song and there’s three videos and sixteen photos that you can play on your computer and it only has seven songs but they’re good enough that you can just put it on "repeat" and let it play for about fifty minutes before you have to put on something else. Maybe Cocksparrer. –Cuss Baxter (Longshot)


STEVE VON TILL:
If I Should Fall to the Field: CD
Sounds like the guy from Bauhaus trying to be Tom Waits but lacking the playfulness to work it proper. Sparse musical accompaniment certifies the full-on snooziness of one boring piece of wasted plastic. Three pieces of wasted plastic if you count the jewel case. –Cuss Baxter (Neurot)


IRON LUNG:
The Iron Lung Comedy Hour Live: Cassette
Iron Lung: yes. Comedy: debatable. Hour: no. Live: yes. Ten songs in about eighteen minutes, but most of them are only about forty-five seconds long so there’s a lot of talking in between and, frankly, it’s one of those “you had to be there” situations as far as the “comedy” goes. Of course, there’s also the problem of lack of compression on the mix, so if you crank the volume enough to actually hear the talking parts, it’s gonna be way too loud when the music kicks in. Like, I was driving to work in my Hyundai listening to it, and I had the sound way up trying to hear what they were saying about 7 Seconds, and then along came the next song and the vanity mirror cracked and my dinner spoiled. The music itself is drastic, violent hardcore and sounds pretty good (recorded at Burnt Ramen Studios. Is it a studio or a venue?). The packaging (100 made) is like somebody’s art project, all plastic gatefold and xerox-inserted and maybe my favorite part (though I won’t quibble with the genius who named a song “Modified for Arm Abduction”). –Cuss Baxter (Enterruption)


EYES OF AUTUMN:
Hello: CD
Well, I guess it’s what you’d call “indie,” though that’s a completely meaningless descriptor. It’s like the quiet parts of Dinosaur, only a little more complex, and occasionally pretty interesting. Also, made in Canada. –Cuss Baxter (54º40’ or Fight!)


ICONS OF FILTH:
Nostradamnedus: CD
I told someone at Razorcake that this new Icons of Filth wasn’t much; I’m taking back that premature analysis. I’d only listened to it once, and the stupid title didn’t do it any favors, but after a few spins, I’m coming to like it quite a bit. I can’t compare it to their output of years past (I’m afraid if I listen to my copy of Welcome to 1984 one more time, the needle might cut right through the plastic), but what they’ve got here is well-played, well-produced, Conflict/Subhumans political punk with about 2000 (good) words in every song and a guy named Stig! –Cuss Baxter (Go Kart)


EARTH A.D.:
Let’s Have a Barbeque!: CDEP
Seven originals (and the UK Subs’ “Rat Race”) that range ground from slightly-metallic hardcore to slightly-metallic oi, with surprisingly few stylistic Misfits references (though the lady in the photo wears a Samhain shirt), and a really handsome cover. No classic, but pretty danged swell. –Cuss Baxter (Evil Owl)


LEVIATHAN:
Self-titled: CDEP
I got $6.25 that says Leviathan’s singer tried out for the Misfits. His vocal devices are bad cartoons of Glenn’s own goof, and he has this sickening thing where he leads into a "b" sound with an "m" sound, as in: “I like to sing, sing about mmblood.” The songs are about nothing AND they’re stupid. Also, the guitar player is one of those ones who thinks he’s a good guitar player because he spent the extra hundred bucks to get the one with the wang bar and he learned how to make it go “woo woo, waauw! Weeeeeuw werrrrw!”, and the whole mix has some kind of problem where the instruments never really sound like they were recorded at the same time (I’ve had the same thing happen to bands I was in, and I always put it down to inexperienced producers). It’s funny, though, if you go to their website and look at the “photos” section, the press shoot of June 2002 sports some classics in unintentional self-ridicule. –Cuss Baxter (The Judas Cradle Productions)


DISTRACTION, THE:
Calling All Radios: CD
Remarkably unremarkable pop punk that’s a tad catchy, a little snotty, but mostly forgettable. Distraction is right — don’t I have better things to do than listen to this? I can’t wait until I’ve totally forgotten everything about this band, which should occur roughly a minute or two after I type this period right here:. –aphid (Dirtnap)


BURMESE:
Live War b/w Treaties of Greed and Filth: 7"
Musical brussels sprouts. Do not ingest. Feed it to your dog under the table or hide it under a cushion on the couch when no one’s looking. Not meant for human consumption. –aphid (Scenester Credentials)


STAYNLESS:
Old Salt: 7"
Sometimes a record is so boldly generic, so stunningly uninteresting, that one’s mind seizes up in a sort of reverse satori that dulls the eyes and slackens the jaw; where all you’re aware of is the flickering of your brain’s pilot light and thoughts freeze still like frost on a window pane and there’s simply fucking nothing to say. –aphid (Soul is Cheap)


ANGELIC UPSTARTS:
Sons of Spartacus: CD
Now I know these blokes have been around forever, carrying the proud street punk torch and squashing nazi skinheads beneath their jack boots whenever possible, but I don’t know if I’ve ever heard more than a couple of their songs. But I was elated to see their pictures on this disc: they’re unapologetically old, pudgy, ugly and all suffering from male pattern baldness. I was all ready to embrace my new musical heroes and then I hit the play button. Um, looking like the fat middle-aged guys in The Full Monty is one thing, but to look like that and sound fat and middle-aged is another thing entirely. It doesn’t start out too bad — mid-tempo-ish and a bit workman-like — but then the wheels break off and the whole thing slides off into the ditch when they pull out a sappy power ballad that could have been penned by (ugh!) Brett Michaels from Poison. I guess it’s kind of funny to hear some guys who look like this doing a hair metal style power ballad, but I’d like to hear their stuff from back when they had a little more hair and fewer chins. And zero power ballads. They probably tore it up back then. But as it is now, I’m sorry to report, these guys seem like they should share a crate of viagra with Bob Dole. –aphid (Insurgence)


FLAMING STARS:
Sunset & Void: CD
This has all the makings of an art-addled band that I would more-often-than-not stomp the precious stuffing out of gleefully. Just the fact that it is obviously a direct descendant of the mid-'70s New York proto-punk art bands (eg: Television, Patti Smith) is enough for me to feel no remorse in publicly demonstrating my utter and colorfully violent contempt for it and all the other extant progeny of that saggy, sorry cultural genre. This disc is oozing with overly relaxed, melancholic Leonard Cohenish new wave that features keyboards aplenty and a singer who kind of reminds me of Iggy Pop back when he did that love ballad with that gal from the B-52's. It is quirky, haunted, smoky, with just the slightest hint of a pulse — and I actually kind of like parts of it. It’s lonely existentialist music similar to the band Low. If Karen Ann Quinlan is still hooked up to her machine out there somewhere, I think she’d think the Flaming Stars are dope. –aphid (Alternative Tentacles)


RIFFS, THE:
Underground Kicks: CD
This band should rename themselves The Stolen Riffs because this ‘77 style Chuck Berry punk freely loots from the Sex Pistols’ museum of guitar riffs. Imagine Steve Jones (or would it be Chris Spedding?) mixing martinis and muscle relaxants and sluggishly re-working the classic Never Mind the Bollocks guitar parts while Rik L Rik provides a vocal part with exactly none of the snarl or sneer of Johnny Rotten. But while this is venomless and almost lethargic, I can’t help but grudgingly tap my foot to it because it all sounds so damn familiar. Stealing riffs is a grand rock‘n’roll tradition — even the Pistols themselves have been accused of stealing some of these very same riffs from the New York Dolls — so I don’t have any ethical problems with it. But if you’re going to dig up old riffs and bring them back to life, bring them all the way back to life, not to some half-dead plodding zombie level. –aphid (TKO)


SUBINCISION:
Berkeley’s Newest Hitmakers: CD
Yernk. Did the cover of this one fool me. Four serious-minded looking gents and a lean, muscular name like “Subincision”? I guess they aren’t wearing hooded sweatshirts and the name isn’t laid out in an athletic font, but I was still expecting some preachy, testosterone-bubbling hardcore/straightedge band — you know, a bunch of kids who grew up listening to Judge and abstaining from masturbation and stuff like that. Wrong. Catchy, happy, bouncy, well-scrubbed good-timey rock‘n’roll with teenage spermatozoa concerns, aka: dating, girlfriends, making out, copping a feel, etc. I hear everything from the Clash, Pogues and Stray Cats to Ricky Nelson crossed with Generation X-era Billy Idol. A bit perky for my liking, but I can see some people really liking this fun rock. –aphid (Substandard)


WANTED DEAD:
Repercussions: CD
Was it Danzig or Wattie or Pushead or someone else I’ve long since forgotten about who first conveyed to me that the iconography of the human skull — in the form of a Jolly Roger or a Crimson Ghost — was the punk equivalent of the “real” seal on dairy products in this country? Whoever it was, they rattled the cage of a very old archetype and got it to leave its droppings all over my mind. And lo, all these many years later, though I’ve been hoodwinked a few times here and there, it still, more or less, holds true. Yeah, it’s stupid and cartoonish and probably best personified by that cretinous thug kid on The Simpsons with the black skull shirt, but skull imagery almost always tells you that this is a band that isn’t afraid of the repercussions of being stupid and cartoonish and delving into a bit of mindless skullduggery. Wanted Dead is one such band — at least sonically speaking. Fast, clean, compact street punk with some metal flourishes, they strike me as something like a cross between the Casualties and Agnostic Front. If I could ever bring myself to actually read the lyrics of a band like this, I would let you know if they’re straightedge or not, but I don’t really give a damn whether they think I should drink or not. But I will pour some cold PBR into my skull and listen to this album again. Good stuff. –aphid (Chunksaah)


TEMPLARS:
Phase II: CD
Hmm. Bands with strong affiliations with a particular hairdo always leave me a bit cold. These particular fellows have been around the block many times and are known for the fact that they prefer the “five o’clock shadow” look on top of their heads as well as on the front of their heads. Their music is rough and tumble and confrontational, but it almost sounds like they’re wrestling with themselves. It seems a bit off-balance to me. You’ve got these gruff nail-spitting vocals trampling all over an energetic but twinky little guitar that sounds like it’s coming out of Emmanuel Lewis’s transistor radio. Weird. But some people worship these guys. Will some Knights Templar-fascinated skinhead come after me with baseball bat with a big nail sticking out of it if I say: sorry, but I find this Oi Lite shit a bit of a snooze? As usual, it’s just the bad Spinal Tap side of me, wanting all the volume knobs on the amps to go up to 11, but I think if the guitar sounded a little less vegan, I’d gobble this stuff up and probably visit the barber a lot more. –aphid (GMM)


SOMEHOW HOLLOW:
Busted Wings & Rusted Halos: CD
Ever since Warzone’s Raybeez croaked a few years back, Victory Records has been paying tribute to him by slapping his name and birthdate and deathdate on the back of each of their releases. On the surface, a noble effort, but do the pukes at Victory actually think that it does poor departed Raybeez any honor at all by putting his name on a bound-up cheesy emo turd like this — even if it’s meant only as a posthumous tribute? It’s bad enough that he was cut down in the prime of his life, but to be affiliated (no matter how tenuously) with a product so devoid of anything he ever cared about or stood for — well, hell you might as well dig what’s left of him up and let Richard Simmons have his way with the corpse. That might seem like a tasteless thing to say, but these are tasteless times. How else could you explain the plethora of fame-hungry whores like Somehow Hollow sprouting up faster than all the bad “reality” TV shows across the face of the planet? Isn’t it bad enough that we have a dangerously dim-witted, stammering huckleberry manning the helm in the White House? We’re perched on the edge of utter annihilation, and you and I are expected to go about our lives with a quiet but ever vigilant stoicism. This is a volatile, savage era and we’re all already at the point of exploding like kumquats under the pressure of the dumb, evil density of the world around us. Do we really need — or even deserve — these tattooed dandies calling themselves “punk” or “hardcore” or “emo” or whatever and dragging their musical baggage into our lives? Aren’t we at the point where this should be considered “piling on”? Yes, I’m sure these sensitive lads have spent countless hours cultivating their punk rock attitude, primping their punk rock look. I’m sure that just one of their colorful limbs alone is imbued with more ink-stained punk cred than I could ever hope to swaddle myself in. They’re on fucking Victory Records, for chrissake, the Microsoft of hardcore. But something seems, um, hollow. Oh, sure, they’re tighter than Avril Lavigne’s cute little wifebeater and they are possessed of a lucrative lack of imagination that’s bound to propel them to a new financial stratosphere; no doubt they’ll be on the next Warped Tour, trading backstage hi-jinx with other corporate android “punk” bands like Good Charlotte and New Found Glory, all with their Vans footwear proudly displayed. They might even, for all I know, be cute in that very marketable sullen teen-angst, he’s-too-sensitive-for-his-own-good kind of way. But isn’t this really just a boy band in “punk” clothing? Wait a minute — it just occurred to me: maybe I didn’t think this thing all the way through; maybe there’s really nothing more genuinely dangerous than a truly, TRULY innocuous faux punk band. What could be more insidious? Punk is, after all, supposed to be dangerous, right? You know what? Fuck it, let Somehow Hollow and their ilk take the label, let “punk” be all theirs. It’s a label so played out and bastardized and commodified that who the hell would want it anyway, aside from a bunch of career-minded suckwad opportunists like these fucks? This isn’t even war; this is simple self preservation. That wise old sage Jello Biafra was right: if we’re going to snip the vas deferens of this wildly proliferating breed of emo-erectus, we need to shut off MTV and VH1 now. If nothing else, do it for Raybeez. No one, no matter how dead, deserves to be violated like this. –aphid (Victory)


SUPERHELICOPTER LTD:
White Nigger Rock‘n’Roll: 7"
Picture Jon Spencer digging the old sweat-stained mummy wraps out from the Mummies’ dirty laundry and wrapping his sputtering old amplifiers up in them until it sounds so muffled that you can only hear an unidentifiable dissonant rumble coming out. Then back up a garbage truck full of rotting trash and dump it on top of the band and record it all with a Fisher Price tape recorder. I think that what you’ll wind up with is something called “white nigger rock‘n’roll.” Hot damn. –aphid (High School Refuse)


1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105 106 107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128 129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140 141 142 143 144 145 146 147 148 149 150 151 152 153 154 155 156 157 158 159 160 161 162 163 164 165 166 167 168 169 170 171 172 173 174 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185 186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196 197 198 199 200 201 202 203 204 205 206 207 208 209 210 211 212 213 214 215 216 217 218 219 220 221 222 223 224 225 226 227 228 229 230 231 232 233 234 235 236 237 238 239 240 241 242 243 244 245 246 247 248 249 250 251 252 253 254 255 256 257 258 259 260 261 262 263 264 265 266 267 268 269 270 271 272 273 274 275 276 277 278 279 280 281 282 283 284 285 286 287 288 289 290 291 292 293 294 295 296 297 298 299 300 301 302 303 304 305 306 307 308 309 310 311 312 313 314 315 316 317 318 319 320 321 322 323 324 325 326 327 328 329 330 331 332 333 334 335 336 337 338 339 340 341 342 343 344 345 346 347 348 349 350 351 352 353 354 355 356 357 358 359 360 361 362 363 364 365 366 367 368 369 370 371 372 373 374 375 376 377 378 379 380 381 382 383 384 385 386 387 388 389 390 391 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 399 400 401 402 403 404 405 406 407 408 409 410 411 412 413 414 415 416 417 418 419 420 421 422 423 424 425 426 427 428 429 430 431 432 433 434 435 436 437 438 439 440 441 442 443 444 445 446 447 448 449 450 451 452 453 454 455 456 457 458 459 460 461 462 463 464 465 466 467 468 469 470 471 472 473 474 475 476 477 478 479 480 481 482 483 484 485 486 487 488 489 490 491 492 493 494 495 496 497 498 499 500 501 502 503 504 505 506 507 508 509 510 511 512 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 528 529 530 531 532 533 534 535 536 537 538 539 540 541 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 554 555 556 557 558 559 560 561 562 563 564 565 566 567 568 569 570 571 572 573 574 575 576 577 578 579 580 581 582 583 584 585 586 587 588 589 590 591 592 593 594 595 596 597 598 599 600 601 602 603 604 605 606 607 608 609 610 611 612 613 614 615 616 617 618 619 620 621 622 623 624 625 626 627 628 629 630 631 632 633 634 635 636 637 638 639 640 641 642 643 644 645 646 647 648 649 650 651 652 653 654 655 656 657 658 659 660 661 662 663 664 665 666 667 668 669 670 671 672 673 674 675 676 677 678 679 680 681 682 683 684 685 686 687 688 689 690 691 692 693 694 695 696 697 698 699 700 701 702 703 704 705 706 707 708 709 710 711 712 713 714 715 716 717 718 719 720 721 722 723 724 725 726 727 728 729 730 731 732 733 734 735 736 737 738 739 740 741 742 743 744 745 746 747 748 749 750 751 752 753 754 755 756 757 758 759 760 761 762 763 764 765 766 767 768 769 770 771 772 773 774 775 776 777 778 779 780 781 782 783 784 785 786 787 788 789 790 791 792 793 794 795 796 797 798 799 800 801 802 803 804 805 806 807 808 809 810 811 812 813 814 815 816 817 818 819 820 821 822 823 824 825 826 827 828 829 830 831 832 833 834 835 836 837 838 839 840 841 842 843 844 845 846 847 848 849 850 851 852 853 854 855 856 857 858 859 860 861 862 863 864 865 866 867 868 869 870 871 872 873 874 875 876 877 878 879 880 881 882 883 884 885 886 887 888 889 890 891 892 893 894 895 896 897 898 899 900 901 902 903 904 905 906 907 908

| 0-9| A| B| C| D| E| F| G| H| I| J| K| L| M |

| N| O| P| Q| R| S| T| U| V| W| X| Y| Z|

Razorcake Podcast Player



·JED WHITEY/RETARDOS
·KERBLOOM!
·VARIOUS ARTISTS
·HOLY MOUNTAIN
·SPITS, THE
·FIGHTING CHANCE
·YELLOW BELTS, THE
·AGAINST ALL AUTHORITY/COMMON RIDER
·SKYRATS #9


Razorcake Tattoo = Lifetime Sub



If you live in the Los Angeles area and want to help us out, let us know.



Get monthly notifications of new arrivals and distro and special offers for being part of the Razorcake army.



 
Razorcake/Gorsky Press, Inc.
PO Box 42129
Los Angeles, CA 90042

Except for reviews, which appear in both, the
contents of the Razorcake website are completely
different from the contents of Razorcake Fanzine.

© 2001-2011 Razorcake/Gorsky Press, Inc. Privacy Policy

Razorcake.org is made possible in part by grants from
the City of Los Angeles, Department
of Cultural Affairs and is supported
by the Los Angeles County Board of
Supervisors through the Los Angeles
Arts Commission.
Department of Cultural AffairsLos Angeles County Arts Commission


Web site engine code is Copyright © 2003 by PHP-Nuke. All Rights Reserved. PHP-Nuke is Free Software released under the GNU/GPL license.