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· 1:Patrick Houdek Photo Column - Lost Cross House
· 2:The Backpatches of NYC (Collection 4) by Adel Souto (adelsouto.com)
· 3:The Backpatches of NYC (Collection 5)
· 4:Pears Live at the Complex in Glendale, CA, June 16, 2016
· 5:#413 with Bianca and Rhea of LA Zine Fest


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Razorcake #93
One Punks Guide to Pinball, by Kayla Greet
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Record Reviews

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Below are some recently posted reviews.

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DILS, THE:
Dils, Dils, Dils: CD
Fuckin’ commies. For only officially releasing three singles, the Dils left pretty deep slashes across the chest of LA punk. It doesn’t sound groundbreaking today, but the Dils burst the US punk scene’s hymen when it came to politics and were not-very-arguably the first west coast band of their kind, sorta like a state-side Clash in a left-leaning flashpot. And they went for the jugular. “The Sound of the Rain” may sound a little Peter, Paul, and Mary-ish until you listen closely to the lyrics: “I don’t listen to the cops. I wish they were all dead.” This is a re-release of the Dils first demo version of “Blow Up,” The 198 Seconds of the Dils Dangerhouse single from ‘77; (“Class War” and “Mr. Big”); and the Les Dils single from Vancouver’s Rogelletti Records (“Sound of the Rain,” “It’s Not Worth It,” and “Red Rockers”). Falling into a strange pattern of the last two Dils collections I’ve stumbled over the years – this is the third record of theirs that’s half very good studio, half sorta poopy live recordings (still weirder yet, the one from Lost Records, was called Dils Dils Dils, too, but it has a couple of different live songs, but Lost Records is out of business). My personal bias is that the studio stuff rules, the live stuff – it’s okay, but not essential. So, Dionysus knows what they’re doing and/or they know what you want. Not on here is the smoking pressure of the “You’re Not Blank” / “I Hate the Rich” single. Those are on theClass War Dionysus reissue. Woo. Sorry about the geeking out. FYI, the Kinman brothers are still around – after becoming Rank and File, after Blackbird, and currently as Cowboy Nation – but this is what the punks’ll remember ‘em by. –todd (Dionysus)


DICK ARMY:
Unsafe at Any Volume: CD
I reviewed a couple of Dick Army seven inches back in the old Flipside days. They were trashy punk rock songs, fast and snotty and seemed like they were held together around the edges by patches that were as threadbare as the knees of their jeans. I just dug out those seven inches not too long ago and wondered if these guys would ever put out a full-length album. Then, what do you know? Here comes Unsafe at Any Volume, which is kind of like a full length, only about ten minutes too short to be called that. Still, this CD has eleven songs, most of them two minutes and most of them sounding like the band listened to some Stooges and some Adolescents, then got drunk and played whatever the fuck they wanted. And there’s something about that that hits me just right. –sean (Vital Music)


DIABOLIC:
Vengeance Ascending: CD
Pretty typical as far as black metal goes, maybe a little bit better than others, but by no means original. The beats are frenetic and the music’s a pretty good listen, but the lyrics are kinda dopey and when one refers in print to the other guys in the band as “my fellow battle-demons,” you gotta expect that most people reading it ain’t gonna to be able to control the laughter.
–jimmy (www.olympicrecordings.com)


DEPARTURE, THE:
A Necessity for Ruins: CD
The Departure play what has become the teenage sound of punk today. That “almost metal” guitar playing and three part harmonies are lost on me, but the ultra high energy of earlier punk rock and hardcore is there. The singing is fast and pushed to the wall and you can feel the sweaty boys playing the shit out their instruments behind it. It is a recording that would make you drive your car faster on the way to high school. Unlike a New Found Glory or No Motiv record, there actually is some fresh and unique production to this recording. They get serious points with me because they are not afraid to track a tambourine over a heavy guitar breakdown on “Bleached Just Right.” –Nathan Grumdahl
–Guest Contributor (The Departure)


NEINS, THE:
Self-titled: 7"
The Ventures-styled Mosrite guitar that the Visible Woman is holding on the cover is a tip off here. Simple, good-timey, ‘50s-influenced garage rock with friendly guitars and perky organs and golldarnitall if it doesn’t make me want to play beach blanket bingo. This record’s not going to make me sell my Dick Dale and His Deltones records, but I like it. My only gripe is that, at two songs, it’s too short. –aphid (www.theneins.com)


NAIILED DOWN:
Resurrection: CD
Obnoxious hardcore/grind from a band that’s been around for a while. The songs have enough twists and turns in ‘em to keep things interesting, and no doubt some of the lyrics will piss off a few people, as they should. –jimmy (First Blood Family)


MYSTERY GIRLS:
Something in the Water: CD
Bluesy, ash tray-smelling, roots rock that falls somewhere between the Yardbirds and the Catheters. Nay-sayers could certainly make a case for the Mystery Girls being just yet another band aping Jet and hoping to follow their path to wealth and fame, but this stuff has a certain rawness to it that doesn’t seem cooked up, and plus, it’s pretty catchy. Try as you might, there’s not much here to hate. –aphid (In the Red)


MY SO-CALLED BAND:
Weapons of Mass Distortion: CD
If the Chris Peigler who plays bass in this band is the same Chris Peigler whose been preaching reason to MRR editors about the whole Rich Mackin saga, then, Chris Peigler of My So-Called Band, I salute you! MRR-letters-to-the-editor-based-compliments aside, I couldn’t get into this. Power chords, standard punk rock thing, with not that great political lyrics about Rachel Corrie (an activist who died in Palestine), the Patriot Act, and even my favorite kind of war—class war! I really wanted to like this, but, unfortunately, it’s just Oh’s. I like honey-based crunchy stuff. I like Honey Nut Cheerios. In theory, it sounds so good, but then, you eat it. –Maddy (SW Records)


MY DAD IS A DINOSAUR:
Self-titled: CD
I knew that I should’ve avoided this at all costs when I saw that it involved two people and a harmonica, but nooooo, I had to go and be mister nosy. –jimmy (Prison Jazz)


MUGGERS, THE:
Self-titled: CD
Ten study-at-home lessons right out of the Punk Rock 101 curriculum. The Muggers play sneery, energetic ‘77 style ham-and-egger punk with vocals that bend nicely out of tune in spots. The emphasis here seems to be more on having fun than trying to be dangerous. They sound a little bit like Green Day before they became MTV darlings. Probably a lot of fun live. –aphid (Radio)


MUGGERS, THE:
Self-titled: CD
Here’s a band frighteningly reminiscent of the Bodies, to the point of almost sounding like a cover band. Dunno if sounding like a carbon copy of an existing band can in any way be construed as a good thing, but they do have some catchy tunes, so it’s not like listening to this was painful. –jimmy (Radio)


MUCK AND THE MIRES:
Beginner: CD
Sounds like the Romantics with a heavy Beatles bent, fronted by Elvis Costello and/or RFTC’s John Reis. Not bad, as far as clean and danceable garage pop goes. –Cuss Baxter (Amp)


MOTHER’S ANGER, THE:
Self-titled: CD
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 (Dionysus)


MORNING 40 FEDERATION:
Self-titled: CD
I looked at the members list and winced when I saw all the brass instruments listed, thinking I was in for another dose of really bad ska. Thankfully, that was not the case. Instead, what is wafting through the air at me is more akin to what the Butthole Surfers might have sounded like had they been born and raised in New Orleans and listened to a lot of Tom Waits—funky, sludgy party music steeped in the blues and proto-jazz. Not for everyone, but it is a fun listen and I bet their live shows rip. –jimmy (M80)


MOB STEREO:
Self-titled: 7"
Minimalist, female fronted pop. Neither miserable nor stunning. –jimmy (Dollar Record)


MIKE BLANX AND THE SDABS:
Starting Them Off Young: CD
The remnants of Blanks 77 change their name and put out another record. They don’t sound as revved up as I remember them being, but their songs still mush into one another and turn into a nondescript blur just as easily. Not bad for what they are, I guess, I just never got off on blatant rehashes of third-tier punk bands that I tired of back in 1982. –jimmy (SOS)


MIDNITE SNAKE:
Self-titled: CD
Hey ma, bring me some more drugs! Seriously stoned instrumental fuzz with so many noodles... I was gonna say if you sold your first pressing of Vincebus Eruptum and spent all the money on ramen, cooked it all, and dumped it on yourself from the roof, it’d be like that, but then I looked on eBay and apparently you can barely get ten bucks for a mint one, so my analogy’s all shot to fuck. Anyway, eight songs, forty-six minutes, Pittsburgh, gong. –Cuss Baxter (Birdman)


MENTALLY ILL:
Gacy: 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 again. –jimmy (Alternative Tentacles)


MEMPHIS RADIO KINGS:
The Devil’s Dutchman: CD
Alternative rock with a country twang. If this were the early ‘80s and Slash were still an active label, they would’ve snatched these guys up in a heartbeat, and “God As My Waitress” would’ve been a huge underground hit. Made me nostalgic for a scene I didn’t even think I missed. –jimmy (Hot Stack)


MARKED MEN, THE:
On the Outside: CD
The tempos are a tad less frenetic than their previous release, but they’re still mining some monster fucking hooks, and I hear more than a tinge of Dickies influence this time around. They remain one of the best punk bands that aren’t museum pieces. –jimmy (Dirtnap)


MARKED MEN, THE:
On the Outside: CD
Some people 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!!!!!!! –Maddy (Dirtnap)


MARKED MEN, THE:
On the Outside: CD
Does the world need another “I don’t care” song? Are you fucking stupid? Of course it does! And if there was a single sliver of doubt flickering through your so-called consciousness, the Marked Men will remind you why. Dirtnap delivers again in this rip-roaring record. –Jim Ruland (Dirtnap)


MARGARET DOLL ROD:
Enchante: LP
First off, this LP is practically a photo spread for Margaret Doll Rod—one-third of the Detroit garage punk band Demolition Doll Rods. Her solo debut album is covered with her in all sorts of provocative poses with guitars, but once you get past that, her music is best described as garage/trash punk with a blues influence—if you can imagine that. Do people really like this stuff? She has a decent “rawk chick” voice, but I found it hard to listen to. Good thing for full-color glossy pictures. –Guest Contributor (Rockin' Bones)


MANHANDLERS:
Self-titled: CD
The Manhandlers 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 (Criminal I.Q. )


MACHETAZO:
The Maggot Sessions: 7"
Spanish gore metal along the lines of quite a few grind bands that all sort of sound the same, in a really good way, but they aren’t usually Spanish. In fact, Machetazo is the only Spanish one I know of. One time, I was in Spain and I saw a graffiti that said “PORKY” and I made my dad take a picture of me with it. True. –Cuss Baxter (First Blood Family)


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