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Record Reviews

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SHAKING HANDS, THE:
Self-titled: LP
When I hear some jackass saying, “There’s no political punk anymore,” I just wanna punch the douche. Granted, there are less shrill, blunt political songs asking Phyllis Schaffley to “ram it up her cunt” (The Dead Kennedys said it; I’m just quoting.) nowadays, but I think this is a good thing. Why? Because I find no shortage of smart folks taking stock of their lives and looking at pictures much bigger than they are—from the neighborhoods they live in, to the national political scene, to the glaciers melting (all which The Shaking Hands deal with), but it’s all wrapped together into a seamless burrito of life. It’s one big log. Feeling like absolute shit is directly tied in with a dickhead running the country with regressive policies. And this makes the songs more timeless than being so literal and making a song called, say, “Sarah Palin Would Look Great with a Moose Cock Moustache,” that has its place fixed in such a short period of relevant time. (Quick, who was Phyllis Schaffley?) So, I put the Shaking Hands in the same gruff-voiced, anthemic vein of No Truth Lies and Watson, with some distant echoes of the Beltones in the background. Powerful, motivating songs that sing about a life looked at fully, and, often, achingly, in a subtle way that doesn’t need to separate daily life from political statements.  –Todd Taylor (ADD / Kiss Of Death)


SHAKING HANDS, THE:
Self-titled: CD
If there’s a CD that I wanted to like this month it’s this one. Decent, passionate, social, political, and personal lyrics and they’re obviously into it. It’s that melodic sort of hardcore. But it’s a bit too clean and accessible for my tastes. My roommate said it sounded like H2O and that’s probably fair. –Craven (A.D.D)


SHAKING HANDS, THE:
Self-title: CD
The lyrics here are substantive and well thought out, and the music is new millennium anthemic punk, kinda reminiscent of bands like Anti-Flag. The fact they don’t sound like some cheap Blink-182 or Rancid knockoff is a definite plus, but they ultimately just ain’t my thang. –Jimmy Alvarado (Kiss Of Death)


SHAKING HANDS, THE:
Self-titled: CD
Two of the dudes from The Young Livers put together The Shaking Hands, a melodic streetpunk band that’s more hit than miss. At their best, The Shaking Hands strike a chord in the vein of Reducers SF, but some of the songs are awfully bland. Overall, I’m falling for it and am considering picking up the vinyl version. This simplistic, 1990s street sound is in jeopardy, after snoots turned their backs on it. Yet most people would need to be strapped to a chair to not want to get up and hop around while The Shaking Hands play. Count me in with the unashamed. I’d shake their fucking hands any day. –Art Ettinger (ADD/Kiss Of Death)


SHAKIN’ NASTIES/ THE HATE PINKS:
Split: 7”
Shakin’ Nasties: They’ve got a nice balance between the modern beach punk sound (a la Hostage Records), mixing snideness with sharpness, and splint it with the best trappings of new wave: tight transitions, great interludes, and spot-on songwriting. They made me think of a stylish suicide. Everything’s well ordered, but feels fatalistic. Hatepinks: French version of the Briefs, which isn’t bad at all. They’ve got the snot, sarcasm, and the bounce in spades, and with catchy song titles like “Kissing Cops with My Ass,” they’re fun to hum to when you’re getting groceries. Not essential, but fun nonetheless. The packaging is great. Clear insert over a full-color cover gives it a ton of dimension, and it’s on thick vaseline-clear vinyl. –Todd Taylor (Relax-O-Matic Vibrator)


SHAKIRA:
Laundry Service: CD
Assimilation. For those not in the know, she is the Colombian equivalent of Alanis Morrisette. I sneaked into the record store to pick this up. It was right near the front and I grabbed a copy and made a mad dash to pay for it. I covered up my punk rock t-shirt and walked quietly up to the counter to pay. I had my credit card out so that the transaction would happen quickly. Everything seemed to be going fine until the slightly hip store clerk had to engage me in conversation. The store clerk asked, “Did you see her at Tower Records in Hollywood today?” Mortified, I stuttered, “No, this is a closet pleasure for me.” Now I was pissed, all I wanted to do was buy and leave. I didn’t need a friend. The clerk responded with, “This release is not too good if you like her earlier releases.” In my mind I’m thinking, “Why the fuck are you taking to me?” I composed myself and said, “I heard a track on an internet radio station and I liked it.” The clerk handed me my credit card slip to sign, I signed it and I was out of there. I got in my car and proceeded to put the CD into the stereo. I started the car and started driving down the street. I am really hesitant about this release. This is supposed to be Shakira’s breakthrough crossover record to the masses. She normally sings in her native tongue of Spanish, but she wants to make it in the USA. She enlists Emilio Estefan (Gloria’s husband) as executive producer. Bad move number one. I pull over to sample what is in store for me. First song is a dance number mixed with a tango theme and does not have the energy of her previous release. Me being me, I fast forward towards the tracks that are sung in Spanish. Familiarity comforts me and her trademark octave changes are prevalent. Spanish is a more romantic sounding language to me. There are two tracks that are repeated here that are in both languages. The Spanish versions sound to me more flowing. Many of the English lyrics sound confused and jumbled. I have a hard time interpreting the thoughts she is trying to put forth. Also confusing is all the different styles of music that are represented here. I guess she is trying to please everybody at once and hope something would stick. My mind scattered, I switch CDs and listen to the latest Crispus Attucks CD to get my hardcore rage in balance. –Donofthedead (Epic)


SHAKIRA:
Laundry Service: CD
Assimilation. For those not in the know, she is the Colombian equivalent of Alanis Morrisette. I sneaked into the record store to pick this up. It was right near the front and I grabbed a copy and made a mad dash to pay for it. I covered up my punk rock t-shirt and walked quietly up to the counter to pay. I had my credit card out so that the transaction would happen quickly. Everything seemed to be going fine until the slightly hip store clerk had to engage me in conversation. The store clerk asked, “Did you see her at Tower Records in Hollywood today?” Mortified, I stuttered, “No, this is a closet pleasure for me.” Now I was pissed, all I wanted to do was buy and leave. I didn’t need a friend. The clerk responded with, “This release is not too good if you like her earlier releases.” In my mind I’m thinking, “Why the fuck are you taking to me?” I composed myself and said, “I heard a track on an internet radio station and I liked it.” The clerk handed me my credit card slip to sign, I signed it and I was out of there. I got in my car and proceeded to put the CD into the stereo. I started the car and started driving down the street. I am really hesitant about this release. This is supposed to be Shakira’s breakthrough crossover record to the masses. She normally sings in her native tongue of Spanish, but she wants to make it in the USA. She enlists Emilio Estefan (Gloria’s husband) as executive producer. Bad move number one. I pull over to sample what is in store for me. First song is a dance number mixed with a tango theme and does not have the energy of her previous release. Me being me, I fast forward towards the tracks that are sung in Spanish. Familiarity comforts me and her trademark octave changes are prevalent. Spanish is a more romantic sounding language to me. There are two tracks that are repeated here that are in both languages. The Spanish versions sound to me more flowing. Many of the English lyrics sound confused and jumbled. I have a hard time interpreting the thoughts she is trying to put forth. Also confusing is all the different styles of music that are represented here. I guess she is trying to please everybody at once and hope something would stick. My mind scattered, I switch CDs and listen to the latest Crispus Attucks CD to get my hardcore rage in balance. –Donofthedead (Epic)


SHALLOW END DIVERS, THE:
Demo ‘11: CD-R
Seven-song demo EP from this Boston area band. These six dudes live in close proximity to my secret bunker location. I was a bit shell shocked at first since the demo came in a brown paper bag. Like, was someone’s soggy sandwich in this previously? Oh well, it’s what inside that counts. Noisy “Nuggets”-style rock that kicks like Tabasco sauce in your beer. I’m pretty sure there is even some kind of wild glockenspiel action on the second song! Heartfelt and brawny; looking forward to more stuff from these rock and roll daredevils. –Sean Koepenick (Self-released, shallowdivers11@gmail.com)


SHAM 69:
Tell Us the Truth / That’s Life / The Adventures of Hersham Boys / The Game: CDs
After the Ramones and the Clash, Sham is easily one of the most influential bands to come out of punk rock. From them one can trace most, if not all, strains of oi and what is now called “street punk.” Not only can those influential seeds can be heard scattered throughout their four original releases, one can also track the band’s progression from rudimentary musicians to more accomplished songsmiths. Their first, Tell Us the Truth, is pure minimalist thud-punk—angry, violent, outraged. A number of their better known songs—“Borstal Breakout,” “Hey Little Rich Boy,” “Ulster,” and “Rip Off” to name a few—can be found here, as well as their most direct working class attacks on a power structure that favors the more affluent, which is interesting to note considering the decidedly reactionary bent of many of the bands that followed in their wake. That’s Life, while essentially following along the same lines as its predecessor, experiments a little with the template, adding occasional keys to the songs and spoken bits between tracks. Hersham Boys, progresses things along even further, and by The Game—paradoxically the band’s worst selling album—the songs are finely honed missiles, providing the band’s unpretentious beginnings a fine craftsman’s sheen without sacrificing a whit of power or anger. Spread out over the four discs are twenty-nine bonus tracks culled from assorted demos, singles, and EPs for a more comprehensive collection of what remains Sham’s finest years. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)


SHAM 69:
Punk Singles Collection 1977-80: CD
Cleopatra released this collection of Sham's singles some years back (and they no doubt licensed it from somewhere else). Captain Oi has taken it, purtied it all up, added a few more tracks that were left off of the Cleopatra version, and sent it back out into the world. All the big hits are here, twenty-six in all, from "If the Kids are United" to "Hurry Up Harry," plus some rarities, like "What Have We Got," which was only available as a freebie given out at their shows. If by some fluke of nature you've never heard a single Sham song, this is the perfect place to dive in. –Jimmy Alvarado (Captain Oi)


SHAM 69:
Hollywood Hero: CD
I ain’t gonna get into the semantics of whether this is or isn’t a release by the “real” Sham 69 ‘cause, frankly, I’m more interested in it being good than whether Jimmy Pursey’s singing or not. That said, it definitely sounds like Sham—the good Sham, mind you. Whoever Dave got to take Jimmy’s place does a fairly good impersonation of him, delivering the lyrics (the bulk of which were apparently written by Jimmy before he, um, departed) with just the right mixture of venom, conviction, and harmony. The rest of the band sound top notch, resulting in one of the better Sham releases I’ve heard since their “classic” period. If “I Want Glory” and “I Don’t Believe a Word” are any indication, they might actually do all right without Jimmy, as both tracks are quite solid in their own right. –Jimmy Alvarado (www.sosrecords.us)


SHAME, THE:
The World Is Ours: 7"
This three piece oi / streetpunk band from Tulsa, OK has just released a single on Profane Existence with four hard-hitting songs. The opening song is great with its oi oi oi chant, but all the songs are great to sing along to and have a few pints while doing it. I really love this band and look forward to everything that they release. They are that good! If you are a fan of non-racist skinhead music, you need to get this release. It comes on red, white, blue, black, and, if you are quick enough, a glow in the dark vinyl single that comes with a patch. –Guest Contributor (Profane Existence, profaneexistence.org)


SHAME, THE:
The World Is Ours: 7”
An oi record as the first entry in the Profane Existence singles series? Has the world gone topsy turvy? Worse yet, has the world run out of crust bands? What does PE know about oi? A lot, apparently. This is legitimate, smash-a-can-of-Guinness-on-your-forehead, football-actually-means-soccer oi—angry and awesome. It’s a great way to kick off the series. –MP Johnson (Profane Existence)


SHAMS, THEE:
Sign The Line: CD
I saw this band once, because a friend of mine insisted that they were a great live act. He was in error. Which one's Jimmy Pursey again? BEST SONG: "Something Happening" BEST SONG TITLE: "1-2-3-4" FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: I think this band played an Allman Bros. song (or something) the time i went to see them. –Rev. Norb (Shake It)


SHANE LOBOTOMY:
I Can’t Help Myself: 7”
The cover is inundated with scratchy, barely legible writing and the whole layout screams “skronky noise,” so imagine my surprise when what instead comes out of the speakers is über-catchy punk rock with multi-part harmony vocals. Both sides of this are very much worth a listen. –Jimmy Alvarado (Fatal Seizure, no address)


SHANG-A-LANG:
Summertime: 7”EP
I’ve said this before with Tulsa. A bit of me is worried that I’m just way too predisposed to liking what they’re dishing out. It’s like I’ve stopped thinking and worrying and classifying; like band members could come poop on my porch and I’d slap ‘em on the back and say, “Thanks for ‘Caught In Between.’ Great song.” Shang-A-Lang makes music I like instantly. All four songs on Summertime are “perfectly” executed. It’s DIY punk with charm bounding to self-doubt, musical chops that never stray from melody, yet retain a comforting sloppiness, and it’s all taped together in a rough yet clear recording. Much to like. –Todd Taylor (Dirt Cult / Let’s Pretend)


SHANG-A-LANG:
Sad Magic: LP
Shang-A-Lang is one of the few bands that I actively check in on every few months to make sure I haven’t missed any releases. I stumbled upon their songs a bit before their first 7” was released. It was amazing stuff, and with every release their momentum just keeps increasing. I was the first of my friends to have a copy of this record and waited forever for someone else to get a damn copy so we could talk about how good it was. If I had the money, I would buy everyone I know a copy, but I’m poor and I’d be lucky if this convinces someone, somewhere to buy a copy. So, get off your ass and find this, because you will not find any tighter science. –Bryan Static (Fast Crowd)


SHANG-A-LANG:
Sad Magic: LP
What a perfect title; this record’s both that adjective and that noun in equal measure. Shang-a-Lang’s first foray into full-length territory reveals what I’ve guessed all along: the more songs they write, the better they get, the more I like them. It’s knot-in-throat music. I understand that “being real” is a cliché and means as much as “street cred,” but S-A-L aren’t afraid of looking at the ugly in themselves and their situations. (Perhaps I’m reading too much into it, knowing that lead singer Chris has a tough job in the social services, yet he helps turn that anxiety into an all-ages space in Las Cruces while running Dirt Cult Records.) But it’s these doses of self-doubt and self-depreciation funneling themselves into songs that act as mysterious, inspirational catalysts. (Instead of being total life crushers.) My guess is if the world didn’t have so many shit bits flinging up and cracking S-A-L’s windshield, there’d be less of a constant catalyst to create music. It’s because they just can’t stop doing it—it’s their antidote, their inoculation and booster shots—which is such a different place to make music from than making it because you don’t have anything better to do. (And let’s laugh at making music for fame, sex, or money in this review.) For anyone interested in an unadulterated archetype of what DIY punk’s up to in the late ‘00s, drop the needle on Sad Magic. –Todd Taylor (Fast Crowd)


SHANG-A-LANG:
Collection: CD
Bruce Lee weighed 125 pounds. Shang-A-Lang use a four track recorder with one channel busted. Both kick way more ass than some steroid-confused, alpha-male Cobra Kai cheat-to-win bullshit motherfucker. Metallica has all the money in the world and has nothing to say. Shang-a-Lang farms the dirt of New Mexico where the most resilient flowers and the most delicious Hatch chilies grow. They’re hot and spicy with an underlying taste of years of growth in harsh environments. Chris Mason was preached to as a kid about this lady who got fucked by a ghost and everyone in attendance got a halo. Chris now proselytizes that it’s not what you’ve got—money, “fame,” unlimited cheeseburgers— it’s what you bring. Like DIY; like some of the most honest, fun-to-sing-along-to punk. Ever. It falls apart and reassembles right in front of you like in-reverse magic. Part of me wanted to copy and paste all of my previous reviews of the records that were compiled to make this Collection, but that would have taken an entire page and would have been sort of like cheating. And Shang-A-Lang makes me want to be honest. I’ve already started heckling them to play “Summertime” next time I see them live. Please do the same because that song rules, in every season. –Todd Taylor (Facepalm / Silversprocket)


SHANG-A-LANG:
Waiting for the End: 7”EP
Fuck you, funeral. Fuck you, wake. Fuck you, death. Fuck you, swan song. Goodbye Shang-A-Lang. Never liked your charming, shambolic, honest, inclusive music anyway. I never thought you were the musical equivalent to a T-shirt that lasts for years and years and fits better with every wear. Fuck you, Shang-a-Lang. Las Cruces punk rock gets its collective face tear tattooed at the passing of one of its defining bands. I’ve got the feeling that we’ll be lacing on happy shoes soon, as these guys are too insuppressible to give up on playing music… Oh, hello Low Culture. You played Ben Snakepit’s wedding? Rad. Want to go in on a twelver with me? –Todd Taylor (Dirt Cult plus five other labels)


SHANG-A-LANG / BRICKFIGHT:
Split: 7"
Even before listening, this recording has ticked off each box on the checklist of cool in my book: 1. Sweet-ass artwork by Mitch Clem (can he please create a dinosaur coloring book?) and 2. Clear vinyl. Obviously, these could be very, very misleading characteristics, but I am happy to say that the contents more than accurately portray the awesomeness that is this split. This 7” is one you get bummed out when you spend your last three dollars at the bar, before noticing the merch table. Maybe I am a little biased for Brickfight, but they blew me away live, and I’ve been collecting any Shang-A-Lang stuff I can get my grubby hands on since I first hear ‘em. Both bands sound great, this would be an excellent primer/gift for a person unfamiliar with the bands. This split has found a very happy home in my collection, and I will be humming these songs all day long. –Samantha Beerhouse (Facepalm, silversprocketlabs.com)


SHANG-A-LANG / BRICKFIGHT:
Split: 7"
Shang-A-Lang: Turn that frown into kickass DIY punk jams. As the dust of time settles on the shoulders of Las Cruces, New Mexico’s musical heritage, I do hope that these four troubadours tricking out every last watt, amp, and atom out of their testy 4-track get remembered as being as a flickering flame of hope. I also hope Chris Mason never starts a cult, because that’s something I might consider joining, and I think cults are stupid. Brick Fight: Since I know nothing about musical equipment, I’ve always wondered if there was an amp or effects pedal that you could switch on that’s labeled “sound British.” Perhaps Rancid’s got that patented. Speaking of, sounds like a lot like early Rancid and late ‘90s not-very-pop pop punk with a lot of snot, say, like the Nobodys, with less porn in the monitors. Hey Mitch, congrats on your first release. –Todd Taylor (Facepalm, myspace.com/facepalmrecords)


SHANG-A-LANG / BROKEN MOUNTAIN:
Split: 7”
Shang-a-Lang: You know what the ultimate prize should be? The ability to keep making music that not only keeps you alive, but encourages to keep your friends living, especially after the “punk death” age many hit in their late twenties. Shang-a-Lang’s on my permanent roster in the kickball game of life. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a more resourceful, money-where-mouth-is, magic-on-a-budget DIY punk band that flat-out keeps on getting sexier as time goes on. (Mud baths? Oh, la, la.) Broken Mountain: I’ve heard demos and live recordings of The Saints, prior to the horns, rougher and dirtier than the first couple of untouchable records. Should it be strange that a Japanese band not singing in their native tongue has the same clipped delivery as Australia’s Chris Bailey? No matter, because any band that reminds me of the swagger, chug, and freight train delivery of The Saints’ll get their fair share of rotations on my record player. –Todd Taylor (Dirt Cult / Snuffy Smiles)


SHANG-A-LANG / JONESIN’:
Split: 7”EP
Shang-a-Lang: Hang in with me on this. Imagine if the Dead Milkmen weren’t goofy, and instead of the goofiness was a self-deprecating earnestness. (All of this through a DIY, 2008, slightly Crimpshrine’d punk rock lens, mind you.) I mean, shit alive, the Dead Milkmen were catchy as hell, made you sing along to things you wouldn’t necessarily come up with singing by yourself, and it’s cathartic to scream along to. They’re the slightly stained, well-worn T-shirt to the Milkmen’s paisley shirt with a collar. Land of Enchantment, indeed. Jonesin’: From the ashes of Down In The Dumps. Sounds like Dukes Of Hillsborough by way of Gunmoll: burlaped voice, like someone’s throat is a bedroll of knives, dirt, and glass shards. Florida-ation facial grown rock by way of NYC that’s working on, and beginning to succeed, in sounding epic. Not bad at all. –Todd Taylor (Dirt Cult/ Dead Broke)


SHANG-A-LANG / SEX ADVICE:
Split: 7”EP
Shang-a-Lang: Dudes are bummed, but somehow turn songs of bummerdom and “I’m-about-to-crack” into these finger-snapping, duct tape anthems of basement salvation. Don’t know if I want them to get happier since their pain is my gain. Any sort of life-issue resolution may make their songs suck… Anyhow, I may be committing some sort of sin here, but I think if they took a sock or two off the microphones and took the sleeping bag out of the bass drum when they recorded, it’d punch up the recording a bit. The songs shine through, though. Sex Advice: Don’t want to force them in a place they’d find uncomfortable, but I think they’re the missing link between high-quality Queers (Love Songs for the Retarded) and Black Flag (all the way up to the B-side of Damaged). Bubble gum with jagged edges that wants to kill you. Nice split.  –Todd Taylor (Repulsion)


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