Twenty-four minutes of top-notch surf and spaghetti western instrumentals. Great soundtrack for your next Fistful of Dollars-themed shindig.

Band name and cover art looks like this’ll be in the heavy metal sphere of influence. The music, however, is pure punk drawing heavily on the ‘80s influence. The lyrics are a hybrid of blasphemy, b-movie schlock and general snottiness, and the singer has one of those unique voices that ain’t quite as annoying as Doc Dart from the Crucifucks, but is in the same ballpark. Pretty good stuff overall.

The lyrics are filled with desperate calls for humans to act as individuals and according to their own human nature; not just as mingling automatons stoked full of societal clichés. Their writing just holds up a mirror to the social roles we play day by day. “Distorted Temptation” has a resonating verse of what I feel like being working class: “Overwhelming feelings of dread. Breed grim notions inside your head. The excuse becomes your noose. Killing yourself to survive. Just to get by.” All the writing on this 7” is just so powerful and poetic that even the choruses are brimming with meaning. Take the chorus lyrics to “Games and Fun”: “Having all the games and fun. Hips that shake, a mouth that runs. Having all the games and fun. I’m you’re knife and you’re my gun.” This isn’t the style of hardcore punk I sit at home and listen to, but these guys really put out a potent EP here that is well worth sitting down and listening to. Musically, this 7” is interesting for how the two guitar tracks play various noises and sixteenth note riffs that seem to suck the air out the songs, mirroring the desperate, suffocating feeling of the lyrics. All the song structures are pounded down tight by the rhythm section that enables these guys to make their very own rally cries against insipid social games.

Please understand what a one-in-ten-thousand shot this is for this record to come out as well as it did and prevented it from becoming merely a footnote. One: The fact that a pre-Minutemen band practice tape from the late seventies was even found. Two: The fact that the Reactionaries’ tape didn’t just fall apart when it was discovered and played. Three: The fact that the tape was handled like a deceased friend: with care, respect, and with all intent of honoring the dead. Singer Martin Tamburovich and guitarist D. Boon can’t be anything but smiling down from where ever they are. Four: The fact that the “record collector’s impulse” didn’t intentionally keep this tape obscure, sneak out some pressings on Ebay, then rake in some back door, gray market cash, garnering the respect and envy of a small group of well-heeled vinyl dorks while keeping it out of the hands of folks who love music and are willing to pay modest prices for it. Five: The fact that the fidelity of what’s transferred to vinyl sounds honest and true to the time; it’s carefully preserved. It’s far from mud. And it’s far from being pro-tooled to death or “Let’s fix the bottom end” bullshit. Six: With all that said, if there was just an A side to this record—the practice tape—it’s an amazing historical, archival effort—with its heart in exactly the right place—where you can hear the molecules and DNA of the Minutemen banging around and forming. But the fact that the B side is roundtable congregation of over thirty current (mostly) San Pedro musicians covering the songs on the A side is flabbergasting all the way from a conceptual to a logistical point of view. History ain’t dead folks; no reason to jump into a coffin before your time. Music ain’t dead, either. There’s a direct legacy that continues on through today. It still can be done “in house.” No need for larger labels, fancy-assed studios, or unsympathetic outsiders. Going back sometimes means leaping forward. Protection is often for the survival of the species. Seven: Most of us don’t even have pot thoughts this lucid and complicated. The fact that this record not only exists but was pulled off with so much focus and audio payoff warrants as many people as possible who claim to like punk to listen to this one-in-ten-thousand shot.

Can you hear that noise?  It has that buzz sound ringing in the distance. I think what I hear is the buzz of a band that is going to turn heads every time that people come across them. I may not be the only one excited by this band, but I know for sure that they are going to be placed in the punk history books for the year 2002. This is their second release after their split with John Browns Army which put them on the map. They have been aggressively playing around California, blowing away bands that have to play after them after they play their menacing short and to-the-point sets. In the band is former Razorcaker, Matt Average, who is the nuts and bolts of this outfit. It’s his baby and he created it to expel the anger inside him. Beside his writings for many publications and his artistry for photography, he expresses in his music how his environment irritates him. The music is fast as a race boat and powerful like a cannon – no frills punk thrash that is straight to the point and is short but sweet with its rage. It has eight songs that go by so fast that you have to pay attention. The production is improved from the split previously mentioned. The real experience is their live show. Do not miss them if they come to your town.

Quirky rock with some punk flourishes. Not my cup of tea, but I’ve heard worse.

Blood Visions is the new album by Jay Reatard. Jay Reatard is mildly famous for being in the Lost Sounds and dating Dorkus’ dream girl, Alicja Trout. (Dorkus is a reclusive Asian doctor living in one of the Carolina’s. He has interesting views on music, fueled by unpredictable mood swings and a three-thousand-strong record collection.) I like Blood Visions for two reasons: 1.) the cover art is really good, and 2.) the music found on the disc is—in the words of my fellow coworker Brad—“banging.” See, I’m a sucker for album art. Blood Visions captures Jay living out two of his childhood fantasies—namely reenacting the prom scene from the movie Carrie and duplicating the traumatic experience of childbirth. I applaud him for being so bold and honest. In the event that I release a solo album, I promise to be as daring as Jay. (I’ve always had a thing for wearing adult-sized diapers and gulping Comet sink cleaner.) So as stated above, the music on Blood Visions is banging. Blood Visions reminds me a lot of the Adverts first record, which of course is a good thing. (Jay sounds uncannily like a Brit, but he’s from Sun Records City, Tennessee.) Musically, it has that ‘76 (not to be confused with ‘77) guitar sound which, thankfully, is not at odds with a “modern sounding” production, something anyone with soul will avoid. Jay could be a tough guy if he wanted to, but he seems secure with his manhood—enough to place Bryan Ferry-like vocals over his group’s caustic music; which has that certain grating sound Eno pulled from John Cale; you know the shit that got him fired from Roxy Music. Blood Visions, like Wire’s Pink Flag, is over before you know it, packed with fifteen songs clocking in at less than thirty minutes. So in closing, this record has an album cover that Sigmund Freud would die for and some of the best music you’ll hear this year (probably one of the top-ten releases of 2006). I mean, you won’t read about Blood Visions in Rolling Stone (cuz David Fricke’s too busy jerking The Killers off to sleep), but you can take it from me, kids—it’s a real winner!

Sloppy garage punk with a '60s influence that would be a lot better if they replaced their rhythm section. Boring!! –Mike Dunn

I'm not scared of lo-fi, but this sounds like it's played under a mattress, so it's hard to pull out the nuances. The vocalist sounds like a super-political Chi Pig of SNFU – almost cartoony, but earnest. It also brings to mind a muddier Crimpshrine or a duct-tape-ier Operation Cliff Clavin: the songs are mid-tempo, partially melodic, partially anthemic, and socially aware (the song explanations are longer than the songs themselves). It's okay. I just wish it sounded more listenable.