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Record Reviews1 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
DEAN DIRG:
26 Kicks to Make the World Pay: CD
Living amidst a musical world of contradiction, Germany’s Dean Dirg pull together polar opposites. Sloppy/tight. Retarded/genius. Medicine/disease. Damaged/perfect. Warty/beautiful. They play like they’re all jumping around in a moon bounce, and yet keep it cohesive and short. The obvious match-ups are Henry Fiats Open Sore (whom they’ve done a split with); the Tyrades (for the too-much-coffee, not-enough-sleep, we’ve-failed-so-brilliantly-we’ve-actually-won patina); and the Functional Blackouts, where you suspect that there’s some actual real thinking going on behind the damage but they’ll probably never admit it because they don’t want to appear in any way, shape, or form as pretentious. Twenty-six songs. Not one hits two minutes. Recommended for folks who think tying their shoes is too much of a hassle and go with velcro.
–Todd Taylor (Dead Beat)
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DEAN DIRG/ HENRY FIAT’S OPEN SORE:
Split: 7"
Frenzied, trash-kicking mongoloid stompers from the idiot savant masters of the genre: Henry Fiat’s Open Sore (Sweden) and Dean Dirg (Germany.) Each band here plays three songs and each band does one song about the other band. HFOS does “The Dirg Never Sleep” and Dean Dirg does a ditty called “Don’t Make Fun of Henry Fiats Maybe They Are Really Retards,” which has, best as I can make out, references to HFOS’s famous velcro-strap footwear: the Mongo Shoe. I just wish the lyrics were printed out somewhere on the record cuz I bet there’s some pretty funny shit being yelled here. Regardless, this is top-notch tardcore and you’d be doing yourself a favor if you made room for it in your hi-fi record collection. File under: Big Dumb Mental Fun.
–aphid (Green Hell)
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CRASH AND BURN:
The Value of Mistrust: CD
Tim Yohannon forgive me, for I am about to sin. This is a CD of grimy, stripped-down, heavy rock with a punkish sneer, ala Blitzspear—but it is laden with cock-rocky guitar wankery and, in spots, even reminds me a little bit—just a little bit, mind you—of (gasp!) Skid Row. And I like it. There, I said it. But this thing actually rocks out pretty impressively. Self-righteous punk rockers with extra starch in their rectitude might want to avoid this one, but me, I like it damn good. Simply put: when this band rips it up, they fucking rip. I just hope they don’t go off on some woozy Monster Magnet-type rock star trip down the road. That would leave me with some egg on my face. But for now, though I think there’s some self-indulgent fat that could be trimmed, Crash and Burn tear it up pretty good and you’d be a sectarian idiot to not acknowledge that.
–aphid (Thorp)
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COTTON PONIES:
Self-Titled: CD-R
They are so fucking bad it’s awesome. I really like the guitar sound. It sounds like weer neer weer neer and they seem to have something. I would like to see them live. Gabe Rock
–Guest Contributor (no address)
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CIRIL/ THE VAGINALS:
Split: 7"
Ciril: I don’t think people get them. Me included, sometimes. The last record creeps up on you and gets you interested. This is a band you have to listen to more than a couple of times to appreciate what they are doing. Seeing them live a few times has made me a convert. Taking elements of death rock and the fuck you attitude of punk, they push the boundaries of the genre. They’re interesting with a healthy dose of snottiness that, at least to me, gives a spark to bring up the interest level. Often, the Rudimentary Peni comparison is thrown at them. They do a mongoloid cover of “Rotten to the Core” and jump into their own original that is a noisecore middle finger in the air. Here is another band that will have more fans music in the future than in the present. It will take people that long to realize what is actually going on. The Vaginals: First thing I thought of is that this band reminds me of Snap-Her. It’s more of straight-up punk that is more UK punk via ‘79 than modern. I have to see them live a few times to see if I’m missing something.
–Donofthedead (Despotic)
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CASUALTIES, LOS:
En La Linea Del Frente: CD
Not that anyone should care, but I work on many of my reviews for Razorcake up in the northwoods of Wisconsin, far, far away from poisonous Jell-O salads like MTV and Rolling Stone. It seems to afford me a certain mindset uncluttered with the detritus of music industry advertising and fashion trends. I mention this here only because, as I sit here in my antique lawn chair, sipping a beer, about to write down my salient thoughts about the Casualties, there is, coincidentally enough, a punk rock woodpecker pecking at a tree about fifteen feet from where I sit. In all my years of ducking humanity up here in the woods, I’ve never seen a woodpecker like this one. It has a thick black body and a white head with a streak of black cutting across its eyes and making it look a little bit like the mask the Riddler used to wear on the old timey Batman TV show. But the important part here, is that sitting atop its white and black burglar head is a genuine red mohawk. No shit. This woodpecker has a better mohawk than Wattie ever had in his wildest dimwit dreams. Talk about synchronicities; I just grab a beer, pop the CD in the player and sit down and—floom—this woodpecker that effortlessly makes clear everything that’s wrong with so many of the Ronald McPunks of the world, shows up and basically drops this review in my lap as if it were letting loose digested ants and inchworms from its lower regions. So here’s the poop, so to speak: be it a mohawk or a Jennifer Anniston or whatever hair arrangement you want, that’s fine. Go crazy with it, if you want. Harden it with your own filth and string it with Satan-mas lights. But no matter to what degree you torture your hair to peacockish flamboyancy, you’re just never going to have a mohawk as real and as cool as this woodpecker’s just a few feet away from me. And he or she didn’t color it with kool-aid or mold it with Krazy Glue or use some DIY mohawk kit purchased at Hot Topic. It’s natural. And if there ever was such a thing as a Punk Rock Bible, it should consist of nothing more than one page with one lone sentence on it that reads: be real. Wow, who’da thunk a stupid woodpecker and a stupid Casualties disc could so quickly whip me up into a pontificating blowhard? And only on my first beer. Life can be funny sometimes. I think it was John Denver who said “life ain’t nothin’ but a funny, funny riddle” and damned if he wasn’t right. So riddle me this: are the Casualties chemically altered hairdos mere clownish affectation or are they striking, porcupiney examples of angry self-expression? I’m guessing that’s one of those DFY—decide for yourself—sort of things. All I know is that my punk rock woodpecker friend, who has since moved on to another tree, seemed as genuine as genuine can be—whereas, when I look at the cover of this CD with these dolled-up mannequins looking all grouchy and mean in their spiky leather and spiky hairdos, I get a sad whiff of the mothball odor of people who’ve only got part of the puzzle figured out, but think they’ve cashed in on the big prize. In this case it’s a booby prize. Oh, and lest we forget, there’s the music. Well, even if you haven’t heard the Casualties before, you know what to expect: tough, snarly, and constipated (and on this particular disc, it’s in Spanish). Sorry boys, you’re not scaring anybody. Conformity as nonconformity still sucks. And the only feathers you stand to ruffle are those of the mayonnaise people who spend their money and energy on the less punkish affectations like fake tans and collagen-pumped lips and bleached choppers. And they’re not paying attention to you anyway. Go try scaring someone who matters. Your oh-so-important look is what the punk rock woodpecker pulls off without even trying. You, my friends, are trying too damn hard. Oof, that’s enough of that. I know this hasn’t been a very punk rock way to review this disc and I might someday consider apologizing for it if I made the band’s plumages bristle. But I doubt it.
–aphid (Side One Dummy)
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CASIONAUTS:
!Bailamos Murimos Juntos!: CD
Comparisons to the Faint are gonna be inevitable. They’ve got to know that. Maybe if that band and the Washdown hooked up at a swingers party, their illicit spawn-bag of corpulence and blood vessels would’ve been the Casionauts. Bouncy, angular-yet-admittedly-catchy keyboard rock that fans of labels such as Sound Virus would probably shit their tight pants over. I’d imagine these dudes have a pretty stunning white belt collection and that perfectly coifed bedhead is, like, mandatory for all members at all times, even when they’re buying groceries. They’re decent at what they’re doing, but enjoying this EP is definitely a dark and guilty pleasure, the same way that whacking it on the bathroom floor of an Elks Lodge at 4 AM is.
–Keith Rosson (Omega Point)
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CAPTAIN BRINGDOWN AND THE BUZZKILLERS:
Feel Good Tunes: CD
Dear Operation Ivy: Please tell your legions of followers to quit forming bands. These guys are admittedly better than others, but this continued exposure to rehashed ska punk is not only making your music sound that much worse, it’s causing me to break out in a funky rash every time I so much as drop something and someone tells me to pick it up. I thank you in advance.
–Jimmy Alvarado (http://buzzkill.biz)
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CAPITOL TARGETS, THE:
Self-Titled: CDEP
This can be classified as Clash-y, poppy punk and is quite frankly better than that description makes it sound. Head bobbing, toe-tapping fun! The only sucky part? It’s a three-song EP.
–Mr. Z (No Front Teeth)
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BUTTERSPRITES:
Self-Titled: CD
Look, you people, this is important: POP is BOLD. Pop is bold. Pop is not all mumbly and wobbly and echoey and sitting around sounding like it’s humming some off-key tune while its got its head immersed in a bucket of Fresca™, POP is BOLD like the baritone sax coming in and going “WHUH WHUH WHA-WHA-WHA-WHA-WHA” at the end of “Thank the Lord for the Night Time” by Neil Diamond. It’s BOLD like the strings on a Troggs ballad. It’s bold like the frickin’ brass section in “I Know a Place” by Petula Clark! It’s NOT like some half-assed cross between the Flying Lizards and Shonen Knife and Guided By Voices aspiring to (and failing to achieve) “Hong Kong Garden” by Siouxsie & The Banshees as some sort of Pop Grail. IT IS NOT THAT. This record is no darn good! I do not know why anyone would listen to or put out this record. To heck with all parties involved! BEST SONG: Their recasting of PiL’s “Public Image” as “Yellow Peril,” which states “now is the time to try the new flavor.” New flavor? Honey, i oughtta get frequent flyer miles!!! BEST SONG TITLE: “Kimono Kitty” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: This record came with a piece of candy that, i assume, is called a “buttersprite.” It was like a piece of butterscotch hard candy with strawberry filling. It was very good. If you can figure out some way to get the piece of candy without actually getting the record in the process, i say do it.
–Rev. Norb (Dionysus)
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BURIAL:
Never Give Up...Never Give In: CD
First off, if a record comes out on Deranged Records, I’ll give it a chance without knowing anything about the band prior to listening to it (this CD is a perfect example of that). Deranged’s honcho Gord has consistently great taste and isn’t genre-locked beyond liking a broad swath of excellent punk rock. Burial’s from Germany, sing in English, sound like they’re a third from Sweden (from the d-beats and the cymbals assassination) a third from Japan (oh-so-tight, Gauze-like songs that squeeze all the air out of a room) and a third from America (the wide and gloomy atmospheres of Tragedy). Instead of a studied, laborious mix of three different approaches to playing, it’s all melded together with some new sort of crazy glue and flies around seamlessly. It’s also as immediate and threatening as being thrown out of a fast-moving car with handcuffs. Really good stuff.
–Todd Taylor (Deranged)
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BLACK TIME:
I Spit on Your Lifestyle: 7"
Dirty, messy, inspired fukking rokk. Great, great stuff. This is what mixed-up hot girls play on the pirate radio station when they’re all pissed off at boys.
–Speedway Randy (Shake Your Ass)
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BLACK TIME:
Beat of the Traps: 7"
Black Time steamrolls through sound, so whatever may be lost in the recording is overachieved in effort with the “rocket rumble of my stereo speakers” and “crackling static” as the sleeve says. But more moody than, say, the noise insanity of the Reatards, then add the humpty bumpty of The Cramps. Two and a half songs of punk rock’n’roll that make me say, “Yes.”
–Speedway Randy (Yakisakana)
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BLACK SUNDAY:
Tronic Blanc: CD
The most difficult thing in dealing with Alicja Trout is trying to keep up with all of her musical projects, but it’s immensely fruitful. Black Sunday (basically a one-woman project recorded over a two-year span) heavily takes elements from two other bands she is/was involved in: the Lost Sounds and Mouserocket. There’s choreographed electronic symphonies, songs that sound like ‘50s standards set to new wave, sweet indie rock moments that launch into Servotron-y lo-fi blasts, and far beyond. Due to the fact that I’ve been able to track down a decent amount of what Alicja’s done (Fitts, River City Tanlines, Clears)—and pretty much like it all—she’s fallen into the rare category of a musical artist I’m willing to follow down paths I wouldn’t necessarily consider. With a little patience and repeat listens, her music has cracked some tough musical chestnuts. Tronic Blanc is no exception. Usually, folks dealing with such a broad musical palette kind of lose me, leaving me wishing that they’d stick to the one or two things they do well. Alicja Trout seems unstoppable and I hope she keeps on going in so many directions at once. She’s prolific, multi-talented, and indefatigable. Great stuff.
–Todd Taylor (Dirtnap)
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BLACK ICE:
Terrible Birds: CD
While many of the modern goth scene’s heroes either wallow in watered-down pretentious noodling for the sake of “art,” embrace electronica’s lamest elements and/or shovel out dreck that is nothing more than bad metal with some Sister Eldritch clone mumbling along, goth’s leaner, meaner American cousin, death rock, seems to be enjoying a bit of a much needed revival thanks to the efforts of bands like the Phantom Limbs and this, one of that band’s side projects that has become a full-fledged band in its own right. Elements recalling both genres’ glory days—the gloom of early Christian Death, the dark neo-tribalism of Savage Republic and the Birthday Party, the aversion to full-on Barre chords that was once the hallmark of 4AD bands like Cocteau Twins and Xmal Deutschland, the punk rock punch of bands like Mood of Defiance or Superheroines, and vocals that borrow liberally from the Siouxsie Sioux School of Singin’—are married to the intensity in delivery that makes Phantom Limbs such hot shit, resulting in what is easily one of the best albums thus far this year. It’s really nice to hear someone revisit this style that obviously understands that the music is supposed to rock, and here’s to hoping they continue to raise a racket for some time to come.
–Jimmy Alvarado (Hungry Eye)
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BLACK FURIES:
Meanwhile, Back in the States: CD
Black Furies wound up parking their car somewhere between Lazy Cowgirls Avenue and Hellacopters Way. Problem is, their ride’s a Honda Accord. I mean, it’ll get you there but it’s not exactly decked out, you know? There’s just a little something missing here. Granted, these guys absolutely know what they’re doing; this stuff is proficient and catchy beer-and-stilettos garage punk interspersed with the odd dancehall number, and an instrumental or two that verges on spaghetti western shit. At their best, they’re channeling early Supersuckers records, which ain’t a bad road to head down at all. But when this thing clocks in at eight songs long, with two or three of those songs markedly diverging from what they’re so obviously good at, Meanwhile... is lacking that consistent and wonderfully damaging sort of swagger and snarl that they’re gonna need to really stand up above the plethora of bands playing the same type of stuff.
–Keith Rosson (Take Root)
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BIG VINNY AND THE CATTLE THIEVES:
I Was a Teenage Premature Ejaculator: 7" EP
If GG Allin never wrote a romantic ballad to his dick (and I’m not sure if he didn’t) and how his too-tender mushroom cap failed him, Big Vinny’s written it for him, years after GG’s demise, and the world’s a better place. It’s the title track. Actually, the two originals on this 7” remind me of GG’s country work: laid-back in its own filth, heavy-drinking, self-depreciating, torn-throat, and better than it should be. The third song’s a GG cover, “Sister Sodomy,” so they weren’t working in a vacuum. Not essential, but oddly enjoyable.
–Todd Taylor (May Cause Dizziness)
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BENDER:
Self-Titled: CD
Dunno about you, but when I see accordion, piano, banjo, and harmonica listed as instruments used on a recording, I expect something more or less uptempo and rootsy to come from the speakers. These guys (to be as completely obscure as possible in a shameless attempt to garner some “underground reviewer dude” cred for myself so I can use phrases like “reinvented” without fear of being beaten to a pulp by heavies doin’ dirt for the Underground Reviewer Dudes Union Local 215) sound like EXP reinvented as a pop band, or (less cryptic) the zombies from Dawn of the Dead decided to do a little rockin’ instead of people-eatin’. All gloom, depression and woe here, which, while interesting, decidedly does not go with the sunny summer weather and disposition I currently find myself stuck in.
–Jimmy Alvarado (Satellite)
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BANDITAS:
Self-Titled: CD
I met all three members of this trio prior to hearing their album. The drummer is also a poet. He and I did a reading together. He’s a pretty good poet (and I don’t often say that about poets). One of the guitarists is a writer, too. She does a zine about being a menstrual anarchist. She taught me how to say “eat my pussy” in French. The other guitarist hit me up to buy him a beer. With a trio of personalities like that, what could you possibly expect from the album? I wasn’t sure. I just wasn’t expecting it to be this good. The first thing you’ll notice when the Banditas start playing is that your head will start bobbing. You can try to fight this, but you won’t be able to stop. The second thing you’ll notice is a sonic fuzz wrapped around melodies. It’s been done before. Hüsker Dü and early Mudhoney did it well, but it would be a mistake to compare the Banditas to either one of those bands. In fact, it’s hard to find any safe comparisons for the Banditas. I guess there’s a bit of Rocket From The Crypt without the horns in there, like the Banditas and RFTC are part of the same species, but not the same genus. When you stop comparing them to bands, the next step is to just get swept away in the songs. There’s a nice balance of power and rhythm, and this trio puts more into the songs than you’d expect from only three people. And maybe, after about twenty or thirty listens, you might notice that there doesn’t seem to be any bass in here—no bass guitar, no bass drum. Not that it’s missing. It’s just not there. And, finally, this album will creep into your top five. At least, it’s one of my top five favorite albums right now. You may also be interested to know that this album is available on vinyl, too. And they sent me a CD. Fuckers.
–Sean Carswell (Last Drag)
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BAMN/ BLACK STAR RISING:
Split: 12"
Bamn reminds me a lot of Wilmington’s Armistice—super crusty! Black Star Rising is super fast Swedish street punk. This is one of the best new splits out right now, and from the DIY looks of it all, it’s probably not too far off from being permanently out-of-print forever. So you better go pick yourself up a copy right away!
–Mr. Z (S&M)
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BAD VIBES, THE:
All the Right Ways to Do You Wrong: CD
“Someone’s got it in for you and that motherfucker is me!” Some killer Nihilistics/Poison Idea-influenced punk here. This Hostile City outfit spits out pure, unfiltered rage in its two-minute rippers. This is highly recommended for fans of Boston’s deeply missed A Team, Last In Line, and, hell, the entire Kangaroo Records catalog. Great hardcore punk by folks who may have actually been around to see some of those great early ‘80s bands. There is some “living paycheck to paycheck” anger here that some snotty suburban kids can’t even fathom. The vinyl purist snobs will miss out on this due to its non-hardcore label and CD-only status, but fans of pissed-off, burly hardcore without any stupid fuckin’ breakdowns will love this. A label like Manic Ride, Deranged, or Kangaroo would be well served to make this available on vinyl. This is fucking great!
–Mike Frame (Steel Cage)
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AT THE SPINE:
First Day of Spring: CD
This was specifically sent to me with a note stating that they really appreciated my sincerity. So, I was truly hoping to honesty love this and reward them with a glowing review. I read the liner notes as I put this in and got a bit jaded. They cover Hank Williams and admit they’ve never even heard his version of the song, “House of Gold,” that they cover. Minus one. Then, they go on to proclaim (minus one) that they’re not religious, and if they were they wouldn’t be Christian… and proceed to sing a religious song (hypocrisy—minus twelve). If you seriously feel so strongly anti-religion, anti-church, or anti-whatever that you feel the need to come out and defend your views, then why not just choose another song? Or, if you just like the song’s melody or other element, but don’t agree with the lyrics or sentiment, you have some choices. Personally, I sing the hell out of songs that I like which have lyrics that I don’t necessarily agree with or that have sentiments I don’t agree with. Do I feel the need to validate my liking of the songs? Nope. Maybe I’d take it all with a grain of salt if the music were any good, but this is about as awful as it comes: mellow and uninteresting arty adult contemporary with wimpy, echo-y vocals. How’s that for sincerity?
–Megan Pants (Global Seepej)
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ASSHOLEPARADE:
Say Goodbye: CD
Ah, good ol’ Assholeparade. I tell ya, back in the day (as in three years ago), this band was the soundtrack to many, many bike rides to and from work. It was just such a perfect segue between Void and Born Against, you know? I’ve never really understood why they, along with Trepan Nation and Man Afraid, didn’t have the lasting popularity of some of their peers, like Spazz and Charles Bronson. But we’re not here to speculate; we’re here, of course, to talk about this new Assholeparade record. If you like any of the bands I mentioned, or if you like thrash in general, you’ll definitely like this, but if you think you’re allergic to blastbeats, this isn’t going to convince you otherwise. These are songs that didn’t make it onto the Student Ghetto Violence CD (Which you should get. Seriously.), including a fucking amazing cover of the Circle Jerks’ “Red Tape” (the liner notes also include the best advice you’ll ever get: “Please buy the Group Sex LP for all of our sakes.”). If you’re keeping score at home, here’s the stats: fourteen songs, twelve minutes, and one grumpy, overweight snowboarder on vocals.
–Josh (No Idea)
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ANXIETIES, THE:
Black Hole (In the Center of my Brain): 7"
Fast punk rock that reminds me of a healthy mix of early Angry Samoans music and a less witty Rev. Nørb’s “(Do You Wanna) Grilled Cheese?” Boris the Sprinkler vocals. Eugene, Oregon would be the last place I would expect this sound to be pushing out from, but here it is. Other than a seven-song demo, this is their only release. This is a solid start. Tight and catchy. Now I only hope they can make it out of their crappy little college town so others can witness their rock.
–Guest Contributor (Infringement)
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ANGEL SLUTS, THE:
Hot Teen Action: 7"
I got to admit, the concept of bands with dopey names like “The Angel Sluts” and dopier record titles like Hot Teen Action and even-dopier-than-that record covers depicting (presumably) their (female) fishnet-clad background-vocalist-slash-tambourine-players from the waist down is not what i would consider to be a fresh one. But, that said, the record itself is pretty cool, and, ultimately, that’s what matters, so, like, who gives a fuck if the bass player’s name is “Tommy Torture” and the inner sleeve portrays a fat dude from the neck down with “THE ANGEL SLUTS” written across his gut which isn’t all that impressive when you remember that there was that Poison Idea record cover where the fat dude pictured from the neck down had actually carved the phrase “KINGS OF PUNK” into his gut with a fuckin’ RAZORBLADE??? This doesn’t sound like the Reatards outright, but it sounds enough like the Reatards (dirty guitars, trashy sound, Radio Shack™ microphone vocals) that anyone who picks up records from Memphis bands in the hopes that they sound like the Reatards won’t be disappointed, i’m guessing. Actually, it sort of sounds like a cross between the Reatards and all those guitar bands that defined the Sympathy for the Record Industry sound about fifteen years ago. Oh, what the hell, we all love the first Saints album here, let’s drink. BEST SONG: “5 and Dime” BEST SONG TITLE: I’ll say “5 and Dime” again, because new Razorcake regulations indicate that i am required to spell that phrase “FIVE and Dime” and i like to stick it to The Man. FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: Record contains an insert depicting a silhouetted pole dancer coupled with the phrase “I SUPPORT SINGLE MOMS,” which, as someone that deals with strippers/ escorts/you-name-its on a daily basis at work, amuses me to no end—so i’m taping it to the top of my computer monitor until my boss tells me i have to take it down.
–Rev. Norb (Wrecked ‘Em)
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