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.

From the vaults of obscurity comes this unearthed treasure. Magnolia Thunderpussy were a bunch of L.A. teenagers that were tight with Black Flag and Flea back in the mid-1980s. SST label head Greg Ginn was interested in putting out a record by the group but for some reason it never happened. By 1986 the band was kaput. Bassist David Jones decided to “unleash the fury” from the vault in 2004. Split between eleven studio tracks and a live beach show the next day, Starin Down the Sun shows the band’s dexterity. Guitarist Chris Hundley alternates between jazzy passages and full-on shredding. Pat Palma’s drums are maniacal but precise at the same time. Bassist Jones holds all the songs together with some fluid bass lines throughout. Lead singer Dale Nixon’s vocals show a remarkable maturity at age seventeen. I bet you’re thinking you’ve heard this singer’s name before? Although the CD’s liner notes could choke an elephant with all the name-dropping quotes, there’s no mention of the “Dale Nixon factor.” Greg Ginn used this alias on Black Flag’s My War record after Chuck Dukowski bolted. This moniker has since been copped anytime an enterprising musician had wanted to guest on another musician’s record and had been told “no way” by the fat cats at a major label. Brian Baker and Dave Grohl have later borrowed this alias along the way. So there’s your punk cred history for Magnolia Thunderpussy. But the music is what’s important here, my friends. Some of the songs like, “Outside Inside,” explore some free-flowing jazz, while “Walls” offers up some Black Flag anger with some rage-filled vocals from Mr. Nixon. The title track reminds me of Angry Samoans without Metal Mike’s angst. Like a bizarre mash-up of All, The Minutemen, and Black Flag, Magnolia Thunderpussy is an important link from the LA scene. If you see David Jones on the streets—bow down and offer praise for the release of this cool-as-shit CD.

A mixture of ‘60s garage rock and psychedelia, like later period Redd Kross but with a darker sound. I wonder: if it was recorded in mono, would it sound cooler?

A band from Austin who sounds like they come from California’s SouthBay, circa 1981 or so. Imagine an updating of the sound mined on slower China White songs and early Shattered Faith and you’re not too far off the mark. Good sounds here.

This must be the product of genetic engineering. How else could these guys splice equal parts Are We Not Men?-era Devo and the first Boys record? Bear with me on this: it’s weird and mentally skewed, but not so much that the result sounds purposefully disjointed, and it’s bouncy and poppy, but smart enough to keep the bubblegum instincts in check. Or maybe they’re just some dudes who like the Spits but know how to play their instruments, it’s hard to tell.

My big surprise of this go-round: the packaging on this is seriously hideous, so much so that I saved it until almost last to listen, expecting it to be wretched, but slap me with a beef tongue and call me cow supper. Eight (way too few) ditties of catchy soul punk (I keep wanting to call it that but I don’t know if it is that, or if that’s even a thing) that sounds like it ought to be on Swami and reminds me of how I felt when I listened to Nation of Ulysses. The singer’s got a highish voice that’s kind of like the Blood Brothers’ but yelling instead of screaming, and the music’s a little spastic and a lot bumpin, dynamic as recommended, and like a party in a box. Prepare to dance, alone or in pairs.