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Below are some recently posted reviews.
To the Nines: CD
A new all-star
hybrid has been created. Russ Rankin of Good Riddance fame searches for an
outlet to express himself when an impending hiatus of his band is imminent. He
first finds a taker in Aaron Dalbec of the band Bane. There is the first
guitarist. Next, the brothers, Zach and Donivan, from Hagfish add another
guitarist and bassist. So while a band is being created, Russ has a
conversation with Bill Stevenson about his project. Biff, bam, boom! He is
interested and now the project is complete with the addition of Bill on drums.
I was apprehensive of this record at first. High expectations can taint the
first listen. So I held back for awhile before listening. On first listen, this
band sounds very similar to later period Good Riddance. I was expecting more of
a metal, hardcore sound from the guitars. But, the thought here is more of a
Black Flag meets Bl’ast! sound that Good Riddance was gravitating to. Heavy,
without going into the trappings of playing metal. If you pay attention to
drumming in recordings, the drumming is amazing. Bill is a banger, and at the
same time, a technician. The rest of the band has the sound of a band playing
together for many years even though they have been together for less than one.
My thinking is now that Good Riddance is no more, this new band will carry on,
leaving no regrets for the demise of its past music.
The Volunteers: CD
Well, Jade Tree
finally stopped sending advance releases and started sending totally thrashed
promo copies. For the life of me, I couldn’t get the liner notes out of the
digipak… but that’s okay, because the tray in the digipak was shattered anyway.
I consider these things to be fucking shames because I actually like this. It’s nothing fancy, nor is it new.
It’s just well done, introspective, melodic indie rock which will fit perfectly
into the record collections of people who like the Kinsellas’ work (see:
American Football, Owen, etc.). While all of these songs are pretty, drifting
musical pieces which frequently feature breathy vocals and most seem like the
perfect thing to put on when putting on the moves on that special someone for
the very first time, some of them are just slightly too energetic (see: New End
Original) to serve as background music. With all of that said, these songs are
simply too immediately catchy to think that this is a record that I would still
like in a year or two—they’re too immediately present and enjoyable; as most of
us know, the albums we like best are the ones that we have to fight with for a
while. This record is simply too genial to take a swing at me on the first
listen. While that speaks well of its craft, it doesn’t say much about its
staying power or whether it will mean much to me in the future.
–Puckett (Jade Tree)
Dry River Fishing: CD
When you first
look at this CD, you think, “Oh great, another pop punk band.” But on further
inspection, you see this is the original early ‘80s Brit punk band that had an
EP on Riot City. My first thoughts are that another old band is jumping back on
the bandwagon, but this band’s notoriety was pretty limited to their first
single. They had a song from that single on the Riot City Punk Singles
Collection CD that came
out in the early ‘90s and they were on the Have a Rotten Christmas Volume
Two comp LP that I
have seen at my brother’s house. There’ve been no patches or t-shirts to really
keep their name going after all these years. So it looks like they are banging
it out for the true love of playing. The first thing I noticed was that they
have progressed musically from their first 7”. The sound I hear is a mixture of
Goober Patrol mixed with Consumed on the UK side, and I hear a Pegboy meets
Hüsker Dü meets modern day Hot Water Music, if you need a reference using bands
from the states. Lyrically, they have not strayed from the issue-related lyrics
of the past, yet have further progressed them with more thought and introspect.
The old guys can still bang out a tune. No sooner are you ready to throw a CD
into the bag that you take to the record store for trade, you find that needle
in the haystack.
–Donofthedead (No Idea)
MOTHER’S ANGER, THE:|
Funny what a
decade can change. This sounds a lot like Bleach to Nevermind-era Nirvana (especially the voice), and it
sounds good. Perhaps it has to do with it being a two-piece from Israel.
Perhaps it has to do with grunge, over-saturating the airwaves, exploding like
a Zeppelin filled with mustard gas, and becoming such a dirty word in a
relatively short amount of time that most bands still won’t attempt it because
it still has a touch of the plague. So, it feels like they’re doing it for the
right reasons. Making good music. Mother’s Anger also has bits of the more
roaming Mudhoney, the less experimental Kent 3, and a bunch of “you’re older,
grow out of punk” music that I’d don’t know too much about but recognize from
my more genteel friends who play it when I’m at their houses. For something I’m
not predisposed to liking, this isn’t bad at all. It’s a good middle ground
between punk and indie.
–Todd Taylor (Dionysus)
Gacy's Place: CD
Late night L.A.
radio show, some Saturday circa 1982. Through the mist comes this completely
insane individual screaming “Don’t leave me here to DIE!/Don’t leave me here to
DIIIEE!” over what sounds like some other nutjob bashing cardboard boxes to the
rhythm of some sort of static pattern. Naturally, I’m intrigued, and
thankfully, I’m recording the whole thing. Over the course of the next two
weeks, I play this track over and over again, eventually coming to the
conclusion that a) the boxes were drums, b) what I thought was static was
actually the guitar, c) these guys are outta their fucking minds, d) these guys
are the best thing I’ve ever heard in my short life. Of course, I summarily
lose the tape and forget the band’s name before I can find anything on vinyl.
That song, however, managed to permanently etch itself into my brain. Fast forward
six years, wherein I randomly pick out some compilation called Killed By
Death at some record
store because it has the Cheifs’ “Blues” on it and I love that song. The song
that follows it, “Gacy’s Place,” comes on and I find myself jumping up and down
in absolute glee as the aforementioned completely insane individual is again
bellowing at me, warning me that “they’re fucking your kids!” Not having any
kids, I take his concern for my progeny with a grain of salt, yet remain stoked
that I finally have something by this elusive band to call my own. Fast forward
another sixteen years, and I find myself with a copy of a new CD with
twenty—count ‘em—twenty tracks from one of the greatest, most deranged, PUNKEST
goddamn bands I’ve ever heard in my now not-as-short-as-it-used-to-be life. In
some Mansonesque twist of fate, I see the parallels between the band and my own
life—a) they: a tune called “Doggie Sex,” me: writer of a song called “A Boy
and His Dog;” which roughly covered the same subject matter, b) they: a song
called “Tumor Boy,” me: my last band was the Tumors; c) they: a song called
“Dry Heave,” me: anyone who knows of my former love of malt beverages can spell
out the correlation on this one—and realize that they have been trying to send
me a message for quite some time, but due to some cruel twist of fate, I
haven’t been able to receive it. I plop it on the stereo, not coincidentally in
the middle of the night on some Saturday circa 2004, fast forward it to track
number five, “Padded Cell,” and the insane individual is screaming, “Don’t
leave me here to DIE!/Don’t leave me here to DIIIEE!” at me again, just like he
did twenty-two years ago. I kneel down, pick up one of the speakers blaring
away on the floor, caress it and softly tell him no, I won’t ever leave him
–Jimmy Alvarado (Alternative Tentacles)
MARKED MEN, THE:|
On the Outside: CD
find God! Some people find Communism! Other people find the Marked Men! This
album is so good that it makes you fall to your knees and BELIEVE IN THE
HEALING POWER OF ROCK AND ROLL! I cannot possibly sound cheezy enough! I
fucking love this album! If another band wrote even ONE of these songs, they
could retire, happy, to a life of reality-TV-watching and Cheetos consumption.
When I saw them live in Minneapolis a few weeks ago, I was overcome! Overjoyed!
Dancing like a fool and singing along at the top of my lungs! How does it feel
to be a genius? Ask the Marked Men. The best band in the world right now! One
of the best albums in the history of albums, including all genres of music,
from cavemen banging on drums to Woody Guthrie to the Ramones! I almost never
say this, but I think this might be BETTER THAN LUCKY CHARMS! There is no
cereal good enough to describe this! Ahhhh!!!!!!!
have one song, which I’m fine with. And it lasts for twelve songs on this LP.
It just depends on how much screeching I can take. As a 7”, I’d probably play
the shit out of this. As a full-length, I’m not as stoked because it blends all
together into a big tumor-y lump. They’re all ladies. Ramones buzzsaw guitars.
Watery bass reminiscent of the Dead Kennedy’s Klaus Fluoride. Sometimes sexy,
sometimes irritating vocals. Songs about revenge, pharmaceuticals, and relationships.
Come to think of it, last issue I was bummed at listening to Joan Jett. Joan
was sounding dirty but her all-pro backup band sounded way too clean, like they
were selling soap. The Manhandlers would be perfect in that latter role.
They’ve definitely got the intensity, the grit, the barbs sticking out, and
lipstick smears in private places, but a little variance in the songs wouldn’t
hurt ‘em one bit.
–Todd Taylor (Criminal I.Q.)
Single File: CD
Oh, the magical
salve of Masters Of The Obvious. At its essence, M.O.T.O. has two basic modes.
Ultra catchy, low-fi power pop and ultra catchy children’s songs for adults.
Hooks as sneaky and barbed as the Jam’s. Stealth bomb melodies that rival the
Beatles. I can’t say if Single File is as essential as the Buzzcocks’ Singles Going Steady, but it’s real fuckin’ close. Think of
bubble gum left on a hot sidewalk and your ear as the bottom of a shoe. It’s
almost impossible for these songs not to stick, no matter how hard to you try
to rub them off. This collection is the ultimate comp tape of M.O.T.O.’s widely
scattered bests from tapes, 7”s, imports, and out-of-print gems over the past
twenty years. Even if haven’t heard one of these songs before popping this CD
in, you’ll be singing “Crystallize My Penis” in the grocery store, or “I’m
Infected” when you’re holding up a bank, in no time. It’s not an anorexic
collection, either, and totals a beefy twenty-eight tracks. Essential listening.
–Todd Taylor (Criminal I.Q.)
LARS FREDERIKSEN AND THE BASTARDS:|
If the promise
displayed by Lars Frederiksen’s first album was a surprise, then this sophomore
release is more shocking for all the wrong reasons. The first record, much like
Rancid’s best work, demonstrated an acute understanding of the stresses that
working second or third shift carry and making do as a struggling punk. And
then this hit. I barely know what to say. We can begin with the liner notes,
because the censored pictures of semi-attractive women are the best part of
this release. It’s true that a picture says a thousand words and the generic
images of women affecting lustful expressions pretty much say it all. This is
half-assed punk by numbers with few melodies, few hooks and little insight. It’s
all about posturing—Lars doesn’t go anywhere without his switchblade. He’s a
tough streetwise punk. He’s had threesomes in… well, pretty much every city he
can seem to think of. He’s had sex with hookers. So what? What, in the end,
does all this boasting and bragging signify? How does this relate in any way to
anything which provides any sort of insight into the human condition, the
loneliness and sorrow that most punks are all too intimately familiar with and
which Frederiksen captured on his debut? The short answer is that it doesn’t
relate at all, that it signifies fuck all and that this has more in common with
a bling-bling era hip hop record than it does with punk… except that most
rappers talking about their money, bitches, and Cristal can find a hook to save
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)
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)
KEVIN K AND THE KOOL KATS:|
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)
Sadistic War Glory: CD
Discharge clone band, this one carbon copying their idols’ first few EPs.
Great, loud hardcore with zero originality.
–Jimmy Alvarado (Hardcore Holocaust)
Vision of Insane Hope: CD
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)
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)
JULIA SETS PRESENT:|
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)
36 Cents b/w New City & I Don’t Think So: 7"
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; <Jerkappeal@hotmail.com>)
If your mind can’t separate one song from another and all you listen to is classic rock stations, then this is what it might sound like. The first track, “Guns of Navarone,” has a strong David Bowie “Space Oddity” feel to it and is the only track I thought was listenable. From there it goes through the obligatory southern rock track, Jesus Christ Superstar, and Kansas. I felt like I was getting thrown all over the place. Me no like.
–Megan Pants (RealOmind)
A veritable cornucopia of ‘70s rock stylings, and I mean that in the best possible way. You get glam smooshed with swaggering, post-Stones/Zep blues, Cheap Trick pop snuggled up next to pseudo-reggae, with just a dash of Motown pop sprinkled here and there. If there is any justice (sweet or otherwise), “Guns of Navarone” will be a HUGE hit.
–Jimmy Alvarado (realOmind)
Live at the Covered Wagon: CD
Bad sound quality, super lo-fi, but then again it’s Supercharger, so you expect it. You know you want it.
–Megan Pants (Rip Off)
SUNDAY MORNING EINSTEINS:|
Sweden’s all-star punk band has a release in the states. From what I have heard, this band consists of former members of Svart Sno, Wolfbrigade, and possibly Anti Cimex. Being seasoned veterans, these guys crank out fierce Swedish d-beat with some authority. Thundering bass lines over bottles-broken-against-the-wall drumming. The ever-so-distorted guitar thrashing adds to the crunch. Vocals yelled in the traditional way: aggressive and piercing. What attracts me to international acts is the full-force rage. These guys play with conviction and play songs that we could never comprehend the anger of since we are not from Sweden. If you missed out on their tour here in the states, you really missed out. As incredible as this release is, their live set is just as good or better.
All Lies and Lullaby Death Jams: CDEPs
Thought these guys were gonna be all noisy and overblown with a fair amount of detachment, and it is, but in all the wrong ways. Kinda disappointed, actually. Be careful of what you ask for, I guess.
–Jimmy Alvarado (www.myspace.com/japandroids)
JACK OF HEART:|
While listening to the b-side of this record, I found myself doing a really bizarre dance that started with me shrugging my shoulders to the beat and sort of stepping from side to side. Then I kind of marched in place, continuing to shrug my shoulders while swaying slightly from side to side. It’s the sort of one of a kind song that, in a perfect world, would be played on AM radio every day at exactly 3:17 in the morning. Everyone would climb out of bed and play it really loud while dancing weird in the street.
–MP Johnson (Rob’s House)
JACK OBLIVIAN AND THE CIGARILLOS:|
“Drinking Women’s Milk” b/w “15 Beers”: 7"
What I suspect would be the perfect soundtrack to a Jim Jarmusch film (say Stranger than Paradise or Down by Law), both songs are eerie-funny, naked, stripped down to drum and guitar, and charmingly rambling-along. The standout is “Drinkin’ Women’s Milk,” which goes deep into many different scenarios one may have to face while drinking women’s milk—chocolate milk, stale milk, getting babies out of the way, etc.—it’s a much more involved topic than I thought it could be. There’s something effortless about Jack Oblivian—much like Bob Log III. Even though I don’t celebrate every song of his extensive catalog on a daily basis, I don’t ever mind getting into his car and going along for the ride, to hear what’s been rattling around in his brain lately. (Apparently, this was recorded in 2003. And only seventy-eight were made? (Maybe that’s the color or vinyl?) Don’t quite know.)
–Todd Taylor (Ghost Highway Recordings, myspace.com/ghosthiwayrecordings)
Demo Tape ’08: Cassette
Wow, great find. From the name and the cover art I was expecting something totally different. But Iron Chic covers ground musically from fantastically played Methadones style pop punk to urgent Archers of Loaf style anthems, both major favorites of mine. A nice start here by Iron Chic. I’m definitely looking forward to more output from these guys.
–Jeff (Dead Broke)
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