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Record Reviews1 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 | 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| < Prev Section | Next Section >  RSS Feed
GHOSTLIMB / FICSHER:
Split: 10”
Fischer: in the past, I’ve gotten in trouble for referring to this band as emo, but I just don’t hear the pop punk reference that so many people claim there to be. Between the mathy change-ups and the intricate guitarin’, their sound lies amidst the spectrum of the whole Dischord/Jade Tree/Kill Rock Stars world more than anything else I can think of. But, bless the innovators and their constant struggle for new, sometimes-interesting things. Ghostlimb: this band kills it with their brand of all-out, forgive-no-one hardcore that’s modern in its presence, but applied to the approach of yesteryear. Both these bands offer top notch material and anyone inclined to check out two of California’s most daring, should check out this record.
–Daryl Gussin (Great Plains/Vitriol)
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GHOSTLIMB / FISCHER:
Split: 10”
First off, beautiful packaging and vinyl. Orange wax, nicely designed sleeve under a transparent/printed bag ala the new Ringers 12”; just a rock-solid visual aesthetic. Seems like Vitriol is run—at least in part—by folks in Graf Orlock, so it comes as no big shock that the graphics here, thankfully, seem just as important as the sonics. On that angle alone, nice work to everyone involved. And as far as the actual music? Fischer seems to have come leaps and bounds from their first 7”, and I actually really liked that record. But this is something else entirely; they’re coming into something of their own, but for comparison’s sake, it sounds like a layered, seasoned, and exuberant North Lincoln. Keep in mind, they’re just a two piece. Which is pretty impressive when one listens to a song like “All the Real Girls” and hears just how full, fleshed-out, and emotionally resonant it sounds. Awesome work. Meanwhile, Ghostlimb’s a new one to me. They’re a snarling, swaggering band that’s a bit hard to pin down. There’s occasional blips of emo breakdowns circa 1993 or so, but it’s all firmly rooted in a kind of rock template and fronted by a guy who’s retainer sounds like it’s made of concrete. They sound like if Go Sell Drugs tried to cover a Rites Of Spring song, okay? Their side of the split is tough and dark and just a bit off and it works ridiculously well. All told, this record is a testament to both of the bands and, yeah, the vinyl format as a whole. Absolutely, totally worth it—I’ll most likely be playing this one years down the road.
–Keith Rosson (Vitriol)
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GHOSTS RUN WILD:
If You Want Evil: Cassette
My favorite out of the batch of horror punk that I got from Thee Wild Wraith. If the Phantom Maximus material is The Misfits, Ghosts Run Wild slows it down a bit, adds some texture and atmosphere, and gives you their version of Samhain. Eight evil songs. Play it on Halloween, or don’t, and make whatever day it is into Halloween.
–CT Terry (dirtyuglyrecords.com)
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GHOSTWRITER:
Wreck the City: LP
Ghostwriter is Austin musician Steve Schechter’s one-man-band act, fairly similar to that of Scott H. Biram or Bob Log III, though more traditional and certainly less experimental than Bob Log. Much of this brings to mind GG Allin’s late in life country output. Whereas when GG Allin and Bob Log were innovators in the punk world by reclaiming the redneck/hillbilly music and culture as a sort of found art and, in turn, created something of their own with it, this record here breaks no new ground. For example, the cover of Bo Diddley’s “Pills” is inferior to the original (not to mention the New York Dolls’ version) and Ghostwriter’s take on the Townes Van Zandt gospel, “Two Hands,” recorded here as “Idol Hands,” is replete with cliche lines about fighting and drinking whiskey. Plinking strings on a banjo and wheezing into a harmonica at the same, sadly, do not make up for such lyrical pabulum.
–Jeff (End Of The West)
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GHOULIES, THE:
Communication: CD
If you can imagine what Zeke would sound like if they slowed down and wrote incredibly general and vague political songs about how they’re, like, totally pissed because, like, there are these companies, see? And they, like, make money and that’s, like, totally unfair, see? And, like, television is bad, see? And they probably really mean it… man. At any rate, if you can imagine that, then you really don’t need this record. And just to be perfectly clear, the above comments should be not be construed in any way, shape or form to constitute anything resembling a recommendation. They are, in fact, the exact opposite. I’m urging you to save yourself the time in your life that I just wasted on this boring piece of unimaginative, uninteresting and uninspired shit.
–Puckett (Rockstar)
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GHOULTOWN:
Tales from the Dead West: CD
Ghoultown rambunctiously and skillfully blast a brawny swaggerin’ wallop of tornadic Texas-style rockabilly fury, gothic whiskey-drenched country’n’western craziness, and thundering “High Plains Drifter”-inspired deathrock rowdiness. It’s a demonic musical mishmash of ghoulishly hypnotic vocals, damnatory hellfire-and-brimstone guitar savagery, hair-raisin’ spine-tinglin’ thrusts of crosstie-splittin’ locomotive bass rumblings, rampagin’ Injuns-on-the-warpath tomahawk-thumpin’ drumming madness, lonely and sorrowful campfire’n’chuckwagon harmonica moans, and somber solitary TexMex trumpet/trombone wailings... I shit you not, compadres, it all sounds uncannily like The Damned, T.S.O.L., The Misfits, and Johnny Cash frenziedly dukin’ it out with Marshal Matt Dillon and his trusty ol’ inbred sidekick, Festus Hagen, in The Long Branch Saloon on a dark apocalyptic day on the set of “Gunsmoke.” Ghoultown sonically conjure ghostly images of the tumbleweed-strewn wickedness of America’s untamed Old West: vampiric prairie nomads aimlessly wandering through the vast weatherbeaten expanses of wayward eternal damnation; dust-enshrouded outlaw apparitions gearin’-up for a gunslingin’ showdown at sunset; the lone haunting howl of a coyote surrounded by the seductive misery of moonlit tombstone shadows; barbed wire and endless miles of crumbled decayin’ cattle bones. Yeeeeeehaw, motherfuckers, these are the true tequila-guzzlin’ sounds of Texxxas!
–Roger Moser Jr. (Angry Planet)
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GHOULTOWN:
Give ‘Em More Rope: CD
Hot damn Hades, these musical spaghetti-western scoundrels possess all of the ferocity and fury of a Texas-sized tornado relentlessly tearing across the sun-baked sands that eternally blanket a vast hellish stretch of Old West desert country. With such descriptively evil titles as “Fistful of Demons,” “Dirty Sanchez,” “Hang Me High,” “Man with No Name,” “Bloodshot,” “Bandito Sunrise,” and “To the Gallows,” Ghoultown’s 19th Century electric outlaw songs vividly conjure “wild west” images of tumbleweeds, tequila, vigilante-style lynchings, and soot-covered ghost-demon cattle-rustlers blazin’ down the unending dusty trail that leads straight to Hell. Yippy-tie-yie-yay, this is rootin’-tootin’ goth-tinged Texabilly debauchery at its darkest, drunkest, and most decadent; the kind of bone-rattlin’ sonic scariness that’d incite two lone gunslingers to square-off in the deserted streets of Tombstone at high noon. Their menacing, whiskey-parched eyes fearlessly squinting in the unrelenting glare of the scorching summer sun above and their gnarled, callused fingers nervously twitching within a hair’s breadth grasp of the triggers of their trusty ol’ six-shooters; the imminent stench of death lingers in the air. Aw shucks, I’m gonna now sit back and guzzle yet another mug of beer, attempt to smoke a Clint Eastwood-style cigar, and fervently listen to this here deviant lil’ disc until I’ve fully paid my dues to the devil. Ghoultown has branded my hide, tanned my backside, and left me for dead. Boy, do I ever like the rough stuff, gawddamn!
–Roger Moser Jr. (Angry Planet)
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GHOULTOWN:
Bury Them Deep: CD
Oh, cute; it’s a scary cowboy-themed psychobilly band. The promo photos are the best part of this. They’re all wearing dusty leather vests and animal teeth necklaces and Rob Zombie cowboy hats and stuff, but also with eye makeup and Myspace hair. Poor guys: real cowboys would kick their asses, and real Hot Topic mall punks would laugh at them for dressing like their redneck uncle. Musically, it’s kinda rockabilly-inspired hard rock, rather nondescript, with songs about banditos and stagecoaches and train robberies and tombstones. The whole thing is so contrived, I bet in three years they’ll be playing stoner rock or pop punk.
–ben (Zoviet)
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GHOULTOWN:
Tales from the Dead West: CD
Ghoultown rambunctiously and skillfully blast a brawny swaggerin’ wallop of tornadic Texas-style rockabilly fury, gothic whiskey-drenched country’n’western craziness, and thundering “High Plains Drifter”-inspired deathrock rowdiness. It’s a demonic musical mishmash of ghoulishly hypnotic vocals, damnatory hellfire-and-brimstone guitar savagery, hair-raisin’ spine-tinglin’ thrusts of crosstie-splittin’ locomotive bass rumblings, rampagin’ Injuns-on-the-warpath tomahawk-thumpin’ drumming madness, lonely and sorrowful campfire’n’chuckwagon harmonica moans, and somber solitary TexMex trumpet/trombone wailings... I shit you not, compadres, it all sounds uncannily like The Damned, T.S.O.L., The Misfits, and Johnny Cash frenziedly dukin’ it out with Marshal Matt Dillon and his trusty ol’ inbred sidekick, Festus Hagen, in The Long Branch Saloon on a dark apocalyptic day on the set of “Gunsmoke.” Ghoultown sonically conjure ghostly images of the tumbleweed-strewn wickedness of America’s untamed Old West: vampiric prairie nomads aimlessly wandering through the vast weatherbeaten expanses of wayward eternal damnation; dust-enshrouded outlaw apparitions gearin’-up for a gunslingin’ showdown at sunset; the lone haunting howl of a coyote surrounded by the seductive misery of moonlit tombstone shadows; barbed wire and endless miles of crumbled decayin’ cattle bones. Yeeeeeehaw, motherfuckers, these are the true tequila-guzzlin’ sounds of Texxxas!
–Guest Contributor (Dead Planet)
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GHUNDI:
3196: EP
At first I thought, “This
isn’t so bad. It sort of sounds like the Dead Milkmen,” but then the second
song came on and sounded like a pit bull fucking a screaming baby’s face so I
turned it off. Upon my next sitting of the CD, I was quite pleased to not hate
it. Half the songs were good, half the songs were not so good. But it was good
enough to push me towards further investigation of the band’s album content. But
because trying to read their lyrics is like looking at the clues and squares to
a jigsaw puzzle—fuck it, DIY. So I looked up Ghundi online because I could have
sworn “Drop the Dead Junkie” was a cover, but I guess it’s not. Instead, I came
across them on Youtube and was excited to see that the four-piece is from
Ireland, yet disappointed to discover they are not high school kids.
–Gabe Rock (Fake Your Own Death)
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GHUNDI:
3196ep: CD
Remember when there was no need to break punk down into tiny subgenres like fastcore or crust or straight-edge glam disco? Remember when punk rock was just punk rock? Yeah, me neither. Anyway, Ghundi are just punk rock. Their singer has one of those old school voices that sounds like he’s thought a lot about the words he’s singing, thought about them so much that they’ve stewed around in his insides getting soaked in bile and hate so that they’re dripping in the stuff as they flow out if his mouth. You can’t help but pay attention as these seething sentiments shoot out of your speakers. And any punk rock that doesn’t demand attention isn’t punk rock.
–MP Johnson (Fake Your Own Death)
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GHUNDI:
Bang Bang Heavy Heavy: CDEP
Irish punk with a hardcore edge from the dirty old town of Galway. Kind of all over the place style-wise, but fresh and unpretentious. Too bad they broke up.
–Jim Ruland (Fake Your Own Death, myspace.com/ghundighundi)
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GIANT DRAG:
Lemona: CDEP
What would love feel like if it hit me? Like a swift kick to my family jewels? Perhaps, but I don’t get the answer from the first song on this record—“This Isn’t It.” This Hollywood duo sometimes sounds like Johnette from Concrete Blonde (cool), but other times the overdubbed choruses sound like Lush (not so cool). “YFLMD” has a nice lock-step groove and “Jonah Ray is AOkay” has trace effects of Mazzy Star but with louder guitars. The video on the CD features the lead singer in bed with random dudes getting up, zipping up their pants and then leaving. What does this mean? Oh well. Hard to make a definitive judgment from five songs but there are certainly other CDs I would grab first to use as a drink coaster.
–Sean Koepenick (Wichita)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS:
Blunt Instrument: LP
As much as I love this band, I was still surprised at how much I liked this album. It’s less frantic than the first one, We Are Being Observed, but that doesn’t detract from the music. Where the early stuff just ran for the finish line, Blunt Instrument takes its time and fleshes out some really great melodies, and also eliminates most of the Minutemen comparisons. There’s a Jam-like ring to the guitar, and it’s almost poppy. And they write great lyrics, to boot. It’s self-released with hand-screened LP covers. Best record I’ve heard so far this year.
–Josh (Mistake)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS:
A Rebirth of Our City: 7”
If Allan, the singer and guitarist of Giant Haystacks, gained a hundred pounds and learned to dance like a gleeful rhinoceros ballerina in homage to D. Boon, the transformation to the Minutemen would be complete. I jest, but Giant Haystacks have taken the honor roll of peppy, spry, smart, and insightful songs that the Minutemen are getting their long-deserved due for, and then have internalized what made them so powerful in the first place. It’s not all about short-burst, slippery string work, but about the concerns of their world—this time gentrification—while not taking a condescending tone. They also fully understand that the angularity must bend back on durable ligaments, that songs work best when built on dance molecules, and are soaked in platelets of real blood. What this means: the Wayback Machine is gathering dust in the garage, the Giant Haystacks have lit their own torch, and these three songs are great.
–Todd Taylor (Pizza Pizza)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS:
A Rebirth of our City: 7” EP
Reminds me of the Minutemen down to the very fact that i get up and do chores while their records are playing, too. The Minutemen never woulda put out a 7” with three songs this short on it, though, they would have fit at least five on here. I accuse the band of crimes against ripping off the Minutemen! Whom do i sue? BEST SONG: “All Night Garage” BEST SONG TITLE: “All Night Garage” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: D. Boon used to write letters with one of those typewriters that had 10-point characters instead of the more common 12-point. I can’t remember if that was called “pica” or “elite.”
–Rev. Norb (Pizza Pizza)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS:
Self-titled: 7”
With the non-distorto guitars and sung/spoken lyrics, these guys sound like they were weaned on the same 100 Flowers/Gang of Four concoction that bands like the Minutemen were, only they decided to take it in a more alt-pop direction.
–Jimmy Alvarado (Giant Haystacks)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS:
We Are Being Observed: CD
Frankly, it’s amazing that the Minutemen template hadn’t been resurrected sooner, but it’s awesome to see it as a transparency carefully placed down over modern times. The frenetic shorthand guitar, the popping, looping, and lunging bass, the loud but spare and on-target drumming, the vocal bursts, and the cryptic, poignant, and witty lyrics are all there. The Giant Haystacks don’t sound like they’re hanging out by D.Boon’s (RIP) gravesite in San Pedro, but have further refined an alternate, updated universe that’s worthy of Double Nickels on the Dime’s legacy. I’m also selling them a little short with the Minutemen comparison. I also hear the raggedy edged, catchy pop of Gang of Four’s Entertainment and the confident flexing of three guys who’ve nailed smart, complex songs without wanking off. Excellent stuff and highly recommended.
–Todd Taylor (Smartguy)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS:
How We Lost the War: 7” EP
Sounds like a mod version of The Punch Line era Minutemen, which doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense to me, though i guess this is not the gravest crisis of faith ever brought upon me by the postmodernist era. Might be the crude, early baby steps of a band that grows to do things of substantial tremendousness in the future; might be the only tolerable record by a band that later becomes an aggravating pack of pretentious, overexposed weenies. Only time will tell, but they’re sure not winning any friends by adorning their front cover with a photo of a row of airport lobby seats – possibly the one image guaranteed to cause a Pavlovian homicidal reaction in everyone who comes across it. BEST SONG: “How We Lost the War” BEST SONG TITLE: “The Pigs vs. The Kids” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: Band makes no mention whatsoever of ‘70s wrestler Haystacks Calhoun, even though, tipping the scales at 500 pounds or so, one cannot help but view him as the only appropriate choice for band mascot.
–Rev. Norb (Giant Haystacks)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS / ARMEDALITE RIFLES:
Split: 7” EP
Giant Haystacks: Think Three Way Tie (for Last)-era Minutemen, sprinkled with Nomeansno. The initial knife-point blurts of their early work has been redirected to mid-paced, heart-felt, believable punk funk. That said; it didn’t initially grab me as hard as the earlier material, but I have a feeling this’ll grow on me. Armedalite Rifles: Reminds me of political and introspective, rough-hewn punk (pop and otherwise) of the ‘90s (Strawman, bits of Swiz, traces of Jawbreaker, the two songs of Fifteen that I can listen to until the self-righteousness chokes me). I rarely say this because I’m no sucker for fidelity, but their songs sound too hot, and I think these guys would totally benefit from clearer recording so their intricacies aren’t lost.
–Todd Taylor (FDH)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS / THE OUTNAUTS:
Split: 7"
If Giant Haystacks were based out of London, they’d have been on the cover of the NME by now. Or at least been a single of the week. People toss around the Minutemen thing with them a lot, which is somewhat true, but I think they also fit in with a lot of the arty, angular pretty sweet rock that has been coming out of England in the last few years. If you toss in some Jam and/or Gang of Four with that Minutemen comparison you’ve got something closer to the truth about their sound. I fell a little out of love with these guys over the “A Rebirth of Our City” song on their 7” of the same name. Living in Oakland myself I didn’t exactly agree with some of the sentiments that I perceived were in the song. It sort of weighs on my mind when I think of them now. Anyway I get all sensitive some times about Oakland and what people think may be wrong or right for the city. Blah, blah, blah, East Bay politics. They’re still a good band and good people. The Outnauts from Japan back this thing up with some spastic feedback-peppered punk that you’d be paying $100 a 7” or 8” flexi for if it had come out in ‘85. Quite nice.
–Steveo (Snuffy Smiles)
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GIANT HAYSTACKS / YOUNG OFFENDERS:
Split: 12”
Giant Haystacks: The cheaty math is a complex, clear, powerful distillation of Minutemen and Wire. Like grain alcohol, contained, you can see right through it; little distortion. But, when you twist off the cap and take a deep drink, that’s when things can get interesting, when things burn. Their five songs are simultaneous hand-wringers and hand-clappers. A dancing paranoia. A celebratory time with your head in an over-sized mouse trap, uncertain when it will snap shut. And it’s this garroting with a smile that makes the Giant Haystacks spurt far beyond a band that’s merely comfortably looking backwards through their musical rearview mirror. They have since broken up and some members have recongealed as The Airfix Kits. Young Offenders: This may sound horrible, but the Young Offenders make me so happy, that if I was shot in the back of the head during one of their songs, hey, at least I’d die with a big smile on my once-face. I imagine this was a similar reaction to people first hearing The Buzzcocks and The Undertones. It’s fast, poppy, and melodic, but the hooks are viral instead of sugar-evaporative. The heft and tumble are undeniably what keeps the songs clean and clangy, like rocks in a washing machine; polishing with each successive tumble on the turntable. Highly recommended.
–Todd Taylor (625)
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GIANT ROBOTS, THE:
Too Young to Know Better…Too Hard to Care!: CD
The organ player drips with sexuality, the bass player’s mini dress leaves just enough to the imagination, and, apparently, there are a couple of guys in the band that I must’ve overlooked in the album artwork. The Giant Robots are a good-lookin’ foursome from Lausanne, Switzerland with the musical chops to make you forget…okay, you’re not going to forget how pretty they are, but they’re not getting by on looks alone. Too Young to Know Better… will make you think you’ve time warped back to Paris, circa 1966, and are attending an all-night, garage-pop party. The songs on the CD are conveniently labeled with a title and the style in which they are played. Track one, for instance, is called “Come on Back” and is played in the style of “garage jerk.” I don’t know what “feudecamp hip” is, but “Share My Love with You” is one of the standout tracks. The perfect soundtrack to your next ‘60s dance party.
–Josh Benke (Voodoo Rhythm, www.voodoorhythm.com)
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GIANT SQUID:
The Ichthyologist: CD
These guys throw in a lotta different stuff into the musical bouillabaisse they serve up here—some stoner rock, some off-kilter artsy noise stuff, the occasional Tom Waits rasp during quieter passages—resulting in something that, while it ain’t really my first choice off the menu, makes for an interesting flavor amongst less unique dishes. Restated without all the metaphorical nonsense: This ain’t something that’ll get much air time on my car stereo, but I really like that they ain’t afraid to fuck with conventions and expectations.
–Jimmy Alvarado (translationloss.com)
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GIBBONS:
Hope Inc.: CD
Fuck yeah! These guys seem to be headed in the same direction that the Carrie Nations are, but via the Leatherface express. Very honest, very endearing tunes from three guys in Ferndale, MI. The feel of this record is oddly kinda summed up by the letter they included with the CD, written to us while "in class" by the guy that put it out. These kids are really putting their hearts into this and it shows. I bet they'd be great in a crowded basement on a summer night.
–ben (Salinas)
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