A two-song cassingle. AN INVITATION appears to be a one-man-band from Richmond, VA who was in that band SATAN’S SATYRS. This is some truly sleazy, nasty, heavy-metal infused rock’n’roll. Vocally it kinda sounds like VENOM to me, while musically it ranges from sludgy and plodding to riff-heavy and driving. Pretty cool, but I think I need to go take a shower now.
Second LP from Chicago’s indie/garage/queercore group BEV RAGE & THE DRINKS, led by the larger-than-life drag queen BEV RAGE. These tracks are fun, poppy, fast, and fervently personal—the soundtrack of a party that’s rowdy yet responsible (“Drink Water”), brash yet sensitive (“Younger Lover”). Besides BEV’s persona in the spotlight, I think the synth and keys add a lot to the band’s otherwise obvious indie sound, my favorite example of which is the closer track “Mist Connection,” which is almost haunting. Toss back a couple shots between your glasses of water and have a good time with this.
Ten-song cassette of slow-to-mid-tempo indie rock/’90s alt-rock worship. Noodly guitar leads and catchy sing-songy vocals over driving, repetitive riffs. Seems like the kinda project that people super into things like DINOSAUR JR. would be hyped on. It’s not bad by any means, but I am particularly confused by the band and the label each billing this as being “punk,” “hardcore,” and even “punk as fuck.” I find the usage of “punk” as a descriptive musical term as a catch-all for any guitar-driven band to be pretty obnoxious. It just makes the use of the term completely meaningless. I wouldn’t even refer to this music as being punk-adjacent. Guitar-driven jangly alt-rock. I guess there’s one song on the B-side entitled “Soggy Hotdog” that is in the modern pop punk realm, but it comes across as a bit of a novelty, as if it’s alt-rock kids being like “ooh, we gotta make a fast punk song.” Pet peeve ramble over, there’s some catchy and pretty songs on here, but even with the warbly, badly dubbed tape, I just don’t hear anything “punk” about it.
Raunchy garage punk giving a nod to slasher flicks on this five-songer released last year. I can’t place the warbly tenor in the vocals, but there’s a rockabilly reference that I couldn’t shake (or identify) throughout my listen. A different tweak on the recording and some serious songwriting chops would start to shine, but I appreciate that KIDS BORN WRONG seem content (or determined) to stick to a horror punk delivery.
Just looking at the song list for this album makes me smile. “Bury Me Someplace Bad and Ugly,” “Mermaid Blues,” “Killed On Video,” “Full of Bugs.” The titles paint a picture that is backed up with some fuzzy, retro-ish indie rock. Some lyrics are screamed while others are spoken calmly. They save the best song, “We’re All Gonna Die Down Here,” for last. The music pulses and the vocals panic. Just weird and wicked in the right ways.
I’ve been aware of this band for a good chunk of the near decade-and-a-half that they’ve been in existence. They’re based out of Indianapolis, as am I, and for obvious reasons, you can’t help but notice when they pop up on a local bill. Yet this LP, their second or, like, tenth depending on how you’re counting, is the first time I’m actually listening to them. Some combination of their name and general aesthetic, which you might describe as Hot Topic circus troupe chic, had led me to believe this was firmly outside my area of interest. I’d imagined something like a cabaret-adjacent ten-piece that may or may not have a jug player. But, nope, turns out this is just a trio, and they play a mix of primitive garage punk, BABES IN TOYLAND-esque grunge, and budget surf guitar. It’s not bad! It can feel like an unwieldy tangle of influences at times, and the vocal performances can get a little too pronounced, almost like they’re doing a voice—the hard left turn from SHANNON AND THE CLAMS-y punky ’60s pop to cartoony hardcore on the album opener is a good example of both issues. Otherwise, this is a pretty solid release. I might even go so far as to say a track like “Dork Spit” is good.
High-energy golf-themed basement shit punk that is way too high-fidelity. This shit is supposed to be recorded with a toilet mic, and these Arkansas butt rockers spent the money on a studio for some reason. It’s weird, but it means that the legitimate chops on tracks like “Bad Boyz II: Men” shine through and the listener starts to think that MUSCLEGOOSE might actually be a real band (hint: they are). DWARVES chops with SPITS humor, and head and shoulders better than the throw away joke punk garbage persona that they present.
This nice looking record has the visual aesthetics of an old PENETRATORS EP I have, or some of the many trashy rock’n’punk discs from the past. Flip it on and while those elements are there, you also get a heaping dose of NWOBHM or classic East Coast or Midwest hard rock like early RIOT. Sorta like a JAY REATARD vehicle hitting dead on with SAXON. Odd but works. “Shitting Bricks” is an absolute rager.
Chicago art-punk band OVEF OW has been making noise for nearly a decade, and this recent release finds the group using their hallmark sound to create a new wave opera of sorts. Songs are creative representations of the reality of modern life as viewed through the lens of artsy detachment. Sounds that are reminiscent of riot grrrl bands twist together with late new wave to form a dance-worthy soundtrack. Music that creates a party-like atmosphere while lyrically dissecting society through a stream of consciousness is the hallmark of this album.
Theatrical and fun post-punk energy with sassy lyrics laced into a gloriously complex wall of sound. With a six-piece band including guitar, bass, synth, and a sax there’s a reason it sounds like lot is going on. The creativity and groove of the tracks truly warrants an X-RAY SPEX reference. For anyone who had the luck of running into Worcester, Massachusetts’s SECRET LOVER, there is a lot in common with their sound, too. The band’s proclamation of being “famous for friendliness” is also pretty irresistible in my book.
From Davenport, Iowa comes some hard-rock-infused brewery punk for an older crowd. The lead singer makes this stand out with an interesting/annoying vocal style, similar to a country-twanged Stiv Bators or a softer Alan King (HELLSTOMPER). The songwriting is creative and forays into almost mainstream territory with the catchy tearjerker “A Sad Door,” but I find myself skipping ahead to the raunchy familiarity of “F.U.1.2.” leaving less to the imagination. The better songs have a CANDY SNATCHERS feel, which I wish permeated the whole platter. They end with a song named “Bong Vader” complete with a Yoda impersonation, so you kinda see where they’re coming from here. Idiots Out Walking Around, indeed. Cheers!
How do you describe hipster punk delivered by actual nerds? Not ironic nerds, but people who are nerds because they have no other choice in life. Dry-Rub is synth heavy, there’s the VERUCA SALT vibe that dominates (it’s really a WIRE / BUZZCOCKS vibe, but that’s a different decade and a different story), and there’s the overwhelming feeling that you’re own perception of cool is getting completely skewed by listening to SALTY. Decidedly un-hip hipster garage/psych music that should be for the masses.
Third dose this month of garage-esque punk from What’s For Breakfast? Records. Karoline says “it kinda sounds like that wave of commercial almost-punk that was popular fifteen years ago. Like, not the HIVES, and not quite FRANZ FERDINAND, and maybe REIGNING SOUND sometimes.” And you see, that’s why I ask Karoline’s opinion: because she fukkn nails it. Quirky jams from Chicago’s prolific SPEED BABES, every track is catchy (well, almost; see below) and the above non-descriptors should give you a pretty good idea of what they are slinging. A few breath-y slow/quiet tracks for good measure (the burners are way better though, “Start a War” is a clunker supreme).
Two St. Louis bands join forces on this here cassette; four songs from SHITSTORM and three from SUNWYRM. With the exception of SHITSTORM’s opening track (a clipped, concise 110-second buzz-pop gem: riff, hook, chorus, brief solo, repeat the chorus, we’re out!), both groups share a devotion to the psych-punk gods of fuzz and wah wah—driving riffage, freakout sounds, and propulsive rhythms, with the Cyclotron™ cranked to 11 and plugged into Jupiter. Great stuff and short enough to leave you wanting more.
If I had heard the SHITDELS sight unseen, I would have assumed it was the latest John Dwyer record. It’s got all the stylings: jangly guitars, childlike keyboards, reverb-laden vocals and female backing vocals. The songs are noisy, with a catchy dance-y quality. The vocals are high-pitched, and they holler and whoop along the way. The music is peppy and poppy, yet distorted and dissonant. Fun stuff.
Not too fast, not too loud punk rawk in what sounds like a very crappy bar (not a complaint). The singer gives us a raspy yowl and a Jello warble while playing US ’76–79-style riffs with most of the flair scooped out. Much like cover song records, I just don’t think live albums are necessary. This one does not capture the qualities which make the band’s demo and other releases a lot of fun.
First notes in, you can tell there’s something special about this record. Memphis garage punk still hits the hardest, and this band fits right into that lineage. With blown-out vocal delivery and nasty licks that slither in and out like the snakes in a traditional skull tattoo, there’s no bullshit on display here—just real-deal, manic hot-dialed rock’n’roll. The cover of jazz standard “Lover Man” (originally popularized by BILLIE HOLIDAY) is a standout, if only to hear such a beautiful song turn so ugly. The whole album slams with that exhilarating unhinged quality of a band that is tight as hell but can convincingly sound like they’re on the brink of self-destruction, reminiscent at times of MEAT PUPPETS’ first (and my favorite) record, which feels like some sort of country drug mania from hell. But the tunes stay strong, never fully falling apart and just hitting the mark cut after cut. If you like your meat bloody, don’t skip this one.
