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No Idea Records

Record Reviews

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Below are some recently posted reviews.

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Punk Noaban: CD
A punk compilation from Russia that features a lot of American bands that are already released here. Beer City is represented by DRI, MDC, and Toxic Reasons. Side One Dummy is represented by the Casualties, Avoid One Thing, Slick Shoes, and Taking Back Sunday. Scaredycat from Venice, CA got on here. One Russian band called Disfunction actually got on this. If I was in Russia and could not afford the import prices, this would be great. Since I live in the states, most of the stuff on this release is too available. –Donofthedead (Rebel Records Russia)

Hold The Vocals …A Tribute to the Instrumental Hits of the ‘50s, ‘60s, ‘70s: CD
It wouldn’t be difficult to create a tribute album of pisstake instrumentals, the goal being to see how seriously one could screw up the more easily dismissed songs of a particular artist. The Squirrels, for example, take an interesting swipe at both Morton Stevens and Dave Brubeck in their odd “Hawaii Take 5-O.” But would you ever be moved to hit the replay button? Probably not. Still, mixing classic cool jazz with hot surf is an interesting juxtaposition that one doesn’t hear every day. Likewise with Clang Quartet, who reclaim Edgar Winter’s “Frankenstein” from that inane Tiger Woods commercial. Other contributors seem so intent on doing a particular song justice they render it without a hint of parody or humor. That’s the case with Hugh Jones’ version of the Allman Brothers’ “Don’t Want You No More” or the Waterdogs version of Henry Mancini’s “Experiment in Terror,” which actually sounds sophisticated enough to be an outtake from Dark Side of the Moon. Then there’s folk like freedirt (doing the Tornados’ “Telstar”), D.A. Sebasstian (Link Wray’s “Rumble”) and Adam & His Ballard Playboys (Santo & Johnny’s “Sleepwalk”) whose covers are more than competent but don’t stray too far from the originals. Much more impressive are those who cut away the chafe from the originals, revealing the simpler roots which sometimes got lost in the jamming. Take Erik 4-A & Friends for example, who strip down the more avant-garde tendencies of Captain Beefheart’s “Frying Pan” to produce a classic squall of traditional blues. Even more impressive is Bill Worford’s Head whose admirably funkified take on Led Zeppelin’s “Moby Dick” almost begs the question of what the band would have sounded like with George Clinton’s acid-filled head orchestrating the whole affair. –eric (GO-Kustom)

Destined for Failure: CD
Average mid-tempo punk rock that is prevalent here in SoCal. They play with good musicianship and the recording is done well, but nothing has impressed me enough to say I haven’t heard this before. They might be popular with their friends, but they didn’t have enough to captivate the new listener. –Donofthedead (Adlab)

IV Self-Portrait: CDEP
Sometimes you are stumped on how to describe what you hear coming from the speakers. I’m really reaching here, since this music does not evoke any happiness. It’s like a soundtrack to after the war when anything alive is mutated and amongst the radiation and devastation. In another setting, I picture an abandoned building that is used as a shooting gallery for heroin addicts. Inside: dirt and neglect. The stench of human waste and unwashed bodies of the addicts overwhelms the senses. This is the uncomfortable imagery the music of this band has inflicted me with. So dark and almost hopeless in feeling when it drags you back and forth from sadness to pure anger. The fast parts are where you feel like you are getting beat down by a crowd of out-of-control muggers. The slow parts are what you feel like after the assault. You are just waiting to die from the injuries. All this is from the one and only song on this disc that clocks in at a hair over fifteen minutes. I’ve listened to this song twice now and I need to walk away. –Donofthedead (Life Is Abuse)

Suburban Battlecry: 7"
Fairly traditional sounding sXe hardcore that conjures up images of angry young men in hooded sweatshirts suspended in mid-air gymnastics poses, their faces grimacing with conviction. Twenty To One is ebullient and self-righteous and they rip it up damn well, drug-free or not. The singer even sounds a bit like GG Allin in spots, which, in the context of a straightedge band, makes me feel warm and good all over. Nothing ground-breaking here but, as Yogi Berra might say, if you like this kind of stuff, you’re gonna like this. –aphid (FNS)

Recorded “Live” at a Travoltas Party!: CD
There are few bands I hate more than the Beach Boys. I grew up hearing them on the radio and could never understand the fascination that bands like the Ramones had for these guys. Then, in the mid-’90s every other radio-friendly punk band decided that saccharine, harmonizing back-up vocals was just the thing the world needed. Then came the acoustic guitars! Someone shoot me please. So when I unwrapped the Travoltas’ live album, modeled after the Beach Boys’ 1965 release (complete with album cover parody and chatty house guests in the background), I got ready to lose my cookies. That was a premature reaction, to say the least. Maybe it’s the farfisa organ noodling in the background, maybe it’s their slightly whimsical (although thoroughly inappropriate) cover of Bad Religion’s “Sorrow.” Who knows? But for some reason these guys don’t get on my tits… until they pull out “Barbara Ann,” “Little Honda” and “California Girls.” It’s an interesting, ambitious idea that undoubtedly will be appreciated by folks a little less cynical than I. –eric (Infect)

The Hellraisers, Vol. 9: Split LP
...i really have no clue as to what the “Hellraisers” series is all about, but, presumably, it’s a series of split albums featuring previously released material by pretty decent bands (i know, how amazing of me to figure that all out by context clues). The Trash Brats were a glam/punk/rock band from Indiana who were actually pretty good, and would have been a lot better had all their songs not run a minute and a half too long; the Campus Tramps were the main English outposts of Yankee-style punk/rock/roll in the ‘90s. Neither band was so distinguished that they compelled me to run through the streets waving my arms above my head and screaming for passers-by to purchase their albums; however, both bands are certainly good enough that they deserve some manner of representation in your record collection—thus, half an album’s worth of Trash Brats and half an album’s worth of Campus Tramps might be the perfect dose structure. If these bands are lacking representation in your collection, you have hereby been put on notice. The End. BEST SONG: Trash Brats, “Feeding the Mosquitos” BEST SONG TITLE: Trash Brats, “Imitation Generation” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: In lieu of a band photo, the Campus Tramps substitute Wally Wood’s famous “Orgy” illustration, depicting virtually every Disney™ character of the day in flagrant deviant activity. Amazingly, he was never sued by Disney™ over this, because Mickey’s lawyers felt that the company would be harmed more by the increased exposure to this illustration that a lawsuit would bring than they would by suing Wally Wood for all he was worth! To coin a phrase: PUNK! –Rev. Norb (Rockin’ Bones)

Split: CD
Misery is a fusion of metal hardcore punk radicalness, and you would hope so, to open the split CD with Toxic. The album also features two videos as well as some pretty wonderful drinking anthems, which reminds me: Toxic’s song “Anthem,” track five on the CD, is genius perfect punk fucking rock. Anyway, Misery isn’t as fast paced as Toxic but they hold their own, making this a decent release. Gabe Rock –Guest Contributor (Go Kart)

On the Roof: CD
Rockabilly bands not from these shores are at a distinct advantage in their home countries. Tin Roof Cats, who hail from Bremen, Germany, probably don’t have a lot of competition, but they’d wipe the floor with any contenders who might challenge them. On The Roof is brilliantly composed and produced and, like so much other rockabilly, a total blast to swing to—especially tracks like “Hold Tight, Miss Dynamite,” “Bad Bad Boy,” “Feelin’ Kinda Dirty,” and “Let’s Go Boppin’ Tonight.” But if you’re not already completely enamored with the genre, there’s not a lot here you’re going to go ga-ga over. The band is at their best when going out on a limb as with the Cramps-ish instrumental “Wild Bunch,” which is punctuated with sleazy, b-movie guitar riffs. Endorsed by none other than the great Ray Campi, these Cats have their musical clichés down pat (of course that’s not terribly relevant on the dance floor). You’ll either love them for their proficiency or be bored stiff at their reluctance to go beyond the tried and true. –eric (Jungle Room)

Split: CDEP
A fitting split, based solely on the superficial fact that these two bands have, in my opinion, two of the coolest names in rock. This Moment in Black History: a more smoking live band you are not likely to find, and their recordings live up to their explosive shows. Imagine Tanner overdosing on blues and noise and you’re on the right track. Fat, greasy bass lines, pounding drums courtesy of a Basshole, skronking guitars, and howling vocals reminiscent of Jay from the Lost Sounds or maybe Chet from the Immortal Lee County Killers. Fatal Flying Guiloteens: Stonerific, like the Ace Frehley solo album put through the Drive Like Jehu filter. It’s definitely not ass, but they could spend less time working on dynamics and more time moving the song forward. –Josh (GSL)

Three Way Tie for a Fifth: CD
Gracious, this LP is fantastic and is a natural extension of the still-played-all-time-at-HQ Front Seat Solidarity. Don’t let the words “folk punk” steer you to improper conclusions. It’s not wimpy, patchouli-soaked creakiness with tattoos and a half-assed sneer. It’s peppy, quick paced punk-informed music that seems to be “of the folks,” you know, working class, hard thinking, hard drinking, hard-dancing stuff that doesn’t get old, blasting from a stereo or in front of a camp fire. Think of a mix between Phil Ochs, the best old storyteller you’ve ever come across, be it a diner or a crazy uncle, and callused hands punk, like The Dead Things. Three Way Tie for a Fifth even manages to expand on the dance-along melodies and the rough and tumbley tag team vocals that are This Bike Is A Pipebomb’s cornerstones. No where is it more apparent in “The Ballad of Sonny Liston,” an epic of a song full of unexpected transitions, quiet laments, and a hell of a tale. Topically, musicians of all stripes could learn from TBIAP. Their lyrics are so far away from the clichés and vague self-absorption that often hollow out otherwise good songs. There are first-person narratives of a protagonist killing his family so when he gets to heaven, it’ll be a nicer place. There are two songs about boxers, lighting up some history along the way—from Sonny Liston being killed by the mob to Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion whose winning of the title from a white man triggered “the worst race riot this country has ever seen.” That’s the stuff. Anything that simultaneously makes me laugh, smile, and think while clapping along will always get a huge endorsement. –Todd Taylor ($5, ppd. Plan-It-X)

There’s No Tomorrow Baby, So How About Tonight?: CD
Modern hardcore, with all the requisite disjointed rhythms and anguished vocals. –Jimmy Alvarado (HCNL)

There Can Be Only One: CD
Scream, Crapula, scream! –Cuss Baxter (Alone)

The Mongolita Chronicles: CD
I first saw the Swing Dings in my living room about four years ago. Somehow close to a hundred people had flocked to our pre-July Fourth party. Fireworks were going off inside the house. Jug wine was getting spilled everywhere. The walls were dripping and waves of people were going nuts. I somehow lost my sock, but not my shoe, during their set. The Swing Ding Amigos fit the scene perfectly. Spastic, fast, and so tightly wound—they have that sound that seems incapable of coming out of anywhere except Tucson. On the CD there are more melodies than I remember, and the songs have an addictiveness to them that had me listening to this album only for four days straight. I think my Spanish professor summed them up perfectly. I had asked her to translate the two songs in Spanish for me. After the first line she looked up at me shocked and said, “Megan, this is very bad. This is very dirty. And they spelled this word wrong.” I couldn’t agree more. –Megan Pants (Rock’n’roll Purgatory)

Yesterday's Sweethearts: CD
Melodic punk from Belgium that sounds like what the Teen Idols might have sounded like back in high school if they lived in the South Bay. –Donofthedead (Street Anthem)

I’m Only Moonlight b/w Found There ‘No Go’: 7"
Come on. Two songs? TWO SONGS?!? That’s not enough Sweet JAP for this reviewer. In my opinion, this is about eight songs too short, but beggars can’t be choosers, I guess. Sweet JAP. They freakin’ smoke. They smoke like a future throat cancer patient with Marlboro vouchers, possessors of that rock and roll Midas touch in league with bands like the Marked Men and the Knockout Pills. No wrong moves. No stutter steps. Just lightning bolts of garage trash excellence. These two songs aren’t as manic as their full-length, Virgin Vibe, but they’re more hip-shakin’. There are also seems to be more backup vocals, presumably to allow the frontman to crash into the drumset or maybe get a beer. If you like music made with guitars and drums, you can’t go wrong with this, and if you disagree, I’ll buy your copy from you so I’ll have a backup copy when mine wears down. –Josh (Dirtnap)

The Originals: CD
Guitarist Susan Yasinski takes umbrage at the notion that her group is “just a cover band” as someone in another instro-surf outfit phrased it. Yasinski indignantly writes in the liner notes “…from the beginning we have played originals mixed in with classic and not-so-classic covers.” She goes on to admit that the writer had a point and maybe the listening audience might perceive them as someone who only recalls past glories. That’s a backhanded way of saying, “we’re so good, you’ll think we recorded this back in 1964.” And to be sure, the Surftones, do play some great, treble-y surf rock with equal reverence for the genre’s roots and contemporary innovation. Kim 13’s Farfisa organ is something with which more surf revivalists should experiment. The background texture that it provides—especially on the excellent “Clam Digger”—gives Yasinski something to play around. But as with anything, there’s going to be the occasional misstep and in this case, it opens the album. The band kicks off with “Blue Hammer 99” featuring a opening riff which sounds like it was stolen outright from Echo & The Bunnymen’s “Do It Clean.” You almost expect Ian McCulloch to grab a mike and disrupt the proceedings. Regardless, this album is an impressive piece of work that is as adventurous as anything from Los Straitjackets or Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet. –eric (Acme Brothers)

Discography: LP
If you saw me walking down the street, you probably wouldn’t think that I listen to this kind of music, but every now and then, you need a little bit of beltsander crust punk to sort of cleanse the palate, and State of Fear did it better than pretty much anyone else. With the exception of the recent rash of Portland-by-way-of-Memphis bands like From Ashes Rise and Tragedy, State of Fear is probably the best American band to ever attempt this type of thing. Lyrically and musically, it’s not subtle in the least, but it’s such vital and earnest stuff that I’d recommend it to anyone who’s musical taste ever veers off into the D-beat end of the punk spectrum. –Josh (Profane Existence)

One Way to Remind b/w Give Me the Keys: 7"
One of my favorite LA-based bands just keeps on getting better. It’s hard to sound so lush, spare, and desperate at the same time—to be transfixed with the fungus and peeling lead paint of everyday living while still staring up into the atmosphere, hoping there’s something sublime, maybe even conciliatory, in all of the madness. Or maybe it’s just madness. For lack of a better lexicon, the Starvations are roots music how I imagine it to be, not how it usually is—full of purple, hokey Americana aching to be a toothpaste commercial. The Starvations playing seems to come from hearts as fiery as the first swigs of uncapped whiskey, yet as broken as bottom shelf liquor bottles at the end of a rough night. I imagine the band akin to an impossibly well-stocked jukebox that plays only the dead-on, heart to ear to wet eyes tracks. With these two tracks, there’s an accordion front and center, and it’s the furthest thing from a Pogues rip or faux jig. It helps congeal the sound, like the pumping of another organic instrument, as natural as sadness and remorse or the melancholy that comes from fleetly remembering, then forgetting, a good time. The real deal. –Todd Taylor (GSL)

Until the End: CD
Youth crew-sounding hardcore here, and it ain’t bad for what it is, I guess, even if they do remind me of SOD in all the wrong ways. –Jimmy Alvarado (My Own Wallet, no address)

We Need a New Flag: CD
German skinhead music that doesn’t suck. Now there’s an oxymoron you don’t run into everyday. –Jimmy Alvarado (Insurgence)

19 Million A.C. EP: CD
Punk rock has always claimed itself to be a sanctuary for society’s rejects and unwanted dorks—the more “organic” of the cultural misfits—as well as the more dashing self-made rebels and troublemakers. Unfortunately, punk isn’t always as open minded as it would like everyone to think and occasionally the natural born oafs get summarily shoved aside by the showier malcontents. So while all manner of crusties and street punks and whatnot bark and seethe and use their ass crayons to mark their various territories, bands like the Spits are content celebrating the happy dumb fun of the Thoroughbred Clod. To get an idea of their sound, picture the most maladroit schmub you knew in highschool—braces, pimples, laughable haircut, diapers and all—and imagine him eating a few handfuls of shoe polish and then doing a wonderfully inept Joey Ramone impersonation. Add some crude Ramones/Misfits type guitar riffs and throw in some random helpings of Devo-ish keyboards that sound like robots shaving or someone’s annoying little kid playing with the tuning knob on a transistor radio and you’ve pretty much got the Spits. And on top of all that good wholesome stuff, they’ve got some pretty damn funny lyrics, to boot. All-in-all, this disc—which is a reissue of their 19 Million AC 7” with fifteen whopping “bonus” tracks—is pure lo-fi, low-brow fun. With Ramones dropping like flies these days, we need someone to pick up the Dork Gauntlet and run and trip with it. I can think of no one better than the Spits. –aphid (Dirtnap)

Learnin’ the Hard Way: CD
Fuck this band. The lyrics are brilliant: “Get down and suck my dick.” They talk about rape, hitting women, and beating the shit out of people. The worst part is, it isn’t in the funny way. These guys are serious in the BRO way. For example, “Come on baby tell me if I push you too hard but don’t make me get my gun.” Plus they all got their tattoos photoshopped for the band’s picture. How tough can you be if you photoshopped your skull tattoo on the promo picture? Just to make sure people could see what a badass you are? What the fuck, indeed. Gabe Rock –Guest Contributor (Go Kart)

Self-titled: CD
They have a song called “Shut Up and Dance.” Despite what you think, with this band’s lame ass name, they aren’t that bad. That is to say, they don’t suck. They have a punk hardcore feel and their live show might even be fun if you are in a good mood. They remind me of old guys that play high school garage rock. Some of the songs sound like old Turbonegro, but you know, the shitty old stuff you barely like. Gabe Rock –Guest Contributor (No record label)

Split: 7"
The sound of hooligan sloganeering is a distinctly British phenomenon (although the Scottish give them a good run for their money). Several American bands have successfully replicated the sound, but culturally speaking, there’s something innately weird about yanks belting out goofy, macho lyrics. To their credit, bands like Hit By A Semi perfectly ape the whoa-ee-ooooh backing vocals of their brethren across the pond, but to the jaded ear, this might not seem like that big of a deal. “Addiction” is the sort of song written for muscleheads who discovered punk rock after being kicked off their high school football team for excessive roughness. “Roll with the Punches” is yet another in a long line of jock punk anthems of self-affirmation—sort of like Anthony Robbins on a handful of black beauties and a twelve pack of Schlitz. Although the Sore Thumbs share the Semi’s passion for the requisite backing shout vocals, their style is decidedly more Californian. In fact, if you’re looking for a group that recalls the obscure ‘80s punk bands who never got farther than a Mystic Records compilation, these guys are well worth checking out. Lyrically “Heartbreaks & Razorblades” might be cut from the same cloth as that of their labelmates, but the band sounds like they’re having a lot more fun. –eric (Sacred Arts)

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