For review and radio play consideration:
Please send one copy of vinyl (preferred), CD, or cassette releases to MRR, PO Box 3852, Oakland, CA 94609, USA.
Maximum Rocknroll wants to review everything that comes out in the world of underground punk rock, hardcore, garage, post-punk, thrash, etc. No major labels or labels exclusively distributed by major-owned distributors, no reviews of test pressings or promo CDs without final artwork. We reserve the right to reject releases on the basis of content. Music without vocals or drums will not be considered. All music submitted for review must have been released (or reissued) within the last two years. Please include contact information and let us know where your band is from!
Nice, hard-pumping Finnish punk in a ’77-meets-’97 vein. Sorta like early RATTUS meets the KIDS meets the HIVES. Second track is a killer. Worthy of six minutes of your time, for sure.
I don’t know if these Leeds-based lads met at uni, but you could assume so from the sound of this tape. It’s all a bit erudite, showing off tidy proceedings of wiry guitar interplay with a healthy dollop of apathetic vocalizing that I’m sure the band is tired of hearing compared to PARQUET COURTS (that first one, though, when everyone thought they’d be the new PAVEMENT). I like the songs here overall, they’re not breaking any new ground but the melodies stick in your head and there’s enough variety to keep you engaged. I’m not entirely sold on the vocals on second cut “The Athlete,” but I stand firm that very few bands can pull off talk verses in this day and age. Leave it to LEWSBERG and URANIUM CLUB, that’s my advice. At the end of the day, this is a demo, and it sounds like it. I wish them well, and with some seasoning in the pan they could cook something with confidence down the line.
Self-released punkers from NYC pummel through two songs of excellent Latino hardcore. “Screwdriver” starts off the flexi by demanding your attention with beaten-into-submission drums and death metal guitar riffs that’ll make your head spin. “Policia No Me Jodas” (“Police Don’t Fuck With Me”) follows up with a repetitive anger and is a rerecording from their 2017 demo Open Veins. Get your elbows out for this one.
Don’t believe the cover, as the mutant-looking creatures in a melting town suggested this might be some falling-apart, naive hardcore. It is quite the opposite—KPAX! from Belgrade plays rigid Oi!; there is no song under two minutes and the pace rarely goes above mid-tempo. Big-scale melodies mix with simplified rock-ish sound, all in Serbian. The singer has a great voice, and the mixing makes it sound like one person singing in the name of at least a factory of desperate people. Guitars have a nicely adjusted sound delivering post-punk tones here and there, and the parts are way more creative than Oi! usually is. Overall, they have a great balance between modern and classic local sounds, between Oi! and post-punk, between careless and determined vocals. All these dualities make the record interesting and fun—for my preferences, it is really long, but at least you got material for your money.
This is a great EP from an up-and-coming band straight out of Germany. They mix elements of melodic deathrock darkness, surf guitar riffs, and the hypnotic momentum of the most nocturnal and romantic English post-punk (Sturm und Drang-style). Four songs that feel like four anthems. You don’t need more.
Writing this review took me far longer than the tape itself takes to play, because it put me in another existential mood about genre and style. I just really don’t know what more can be written about this kind of music. If you’ve listened to CHERRY CHEEKS, RESEARCH REACTOR CORP, the current crop of Lumpy bands, etc. etc., then you have a clue to what this LIQUID LUNCH tape sounds like: stiff rhythms (with manic militancy on the hi-hat and snare) played at ultracore tempos, protractor and T-square guitar riffs played with pinpoint accuracy alternated with thrashin’ bashers, sprinkled with synth squiggles, and topped with muffled mutoid man yelling. But what are they yelling about? There’s a song on it called “Obamacare,” in this year of our lord 2022. Is this a political song? Is it a goof? Have we reached the Final Devolution of CONEHEADS-core? Are all of these bands just pizza punk with more right angles? Am I thinking about this too much? The answers to all these questions: probably, and who cares?
Chicago’s MOCK EXECUTION leaves no crust boxes unticked. Part UK traditional crust like DOOM or E.N.T., part Japanese crasher crust like GLOOM or GAI. Even though many bands follow this route in terms of style, MOCK EXECUTION seems to have developed their own distinct sound, with a brutal display of ferociousness throughout the nine songs that make up Killed by Mock Execution—and you will indeed be killed by this noise bomb.
Latest cassette release by MULTIPLEX from Bremen, Germany. Sounds like something along the lines of a three-month-long DETESTATION European tour during the ’90s, a PARAGRAF 119 set at Ungdomshuset, or Venezuela’s APATIA NO. Cover consists of a crew of lazy cops riding on their Segways drawn in MS Paint. Something like this needs to be listened to on a thrift store boombox with blown-out speakers while taking over some unoccupied building in your town—just don’t bring the dogs to the show.
NIGHT COURT plays smart jangly, just weird enough lo-fi punk—which is still harmonic at heart—that draws both from late ’70s power pop and ’90s college radio. It’s the kind of release that would stand strong on the Recess Records or Dirtnap rosters. There’s a complex interplay between the reflective lyrics, fuzzed bass riffs, power guitar chords, and clangorous drums, that while being deftly executed, comes off like it was just an “aw shucks” accident. Extra bonus is that this is the second album in the band’s debut duology, and the first album is just as good.
Gruff rock’n’roll stewing in a suburban storage unit packed with knuckle-dragging, burnout used-to-be-punks all half-drunk on Beast. Things are getting tense—it’s sweaty and it smells like shit, motherfuckers are running low on warm beer, and no one is brave enough to walk to the store alone because the night is about to get a lot hotter. The NIGHTFREAK is coming. They launch into “I’ll Show You Heaven” and everyone in the room questions their life choices in unison, but it’s too late. The doors are locked and the stench feels like it’s going in your ears but it’s just another guitar solo. There’s no escape. This is your life.
Four angry blokes from San Francisco, OBSOLETE MAN. On the table here is a really good mix of heavy hardcore, metalcore, and powerviolence, making very good use of uncommon song structure to create something very unpredictable and unique. These vocals drip with anger and venom, with the instrumentation following suit very nicely. These guys know how to set a damn desolate mood. Solid stuff!
“Komfortzone,” the opening track on the new EP from this HoyerswerdaI band, is exactly how you should do the whole “punk band plus a synth” thing. If you absolutely must involve a synth, let it play a supporting role—maybe have it provide a bit of atmosphere, potentially elevate your solid but pretty straightforward garage-y post-punk (or whatever) to something a little different, something interesting. PISSE maybe don’t strike the exact balance I’m looking for on each of the seven tracks here, but they do so more often than not, turning this into a much more memorable affair than it would have been had there not been a synth. It’s a cool record—give it a go!
I’m not sure if people understand what a force ARAB ON RADAR was when they emerged before the turn of the millennium. The first time I saw them—resplendent in their janitor uniforms—they hit “go” on the strobe light and the band jolted to life like Frankenstein’s monster. The entire crowd backtracked ten steps in two seconds flat. Maybe “scurried” is a better description. DEVO, US MAPLE, and BRAINIAC weren’t just getting thrown into the blender, they were swinging a lawnmower around, chopping up bodies Dead Alive-style. And ARAB ON RADAR continued to deliver the goods up until they split. Afterwards came CHINESE STARS, who I always found frustrating. They didn’t have the killer instinct of RADAR nor quite the methodical precision of SIX FINGER SATELLITE. DOOMSDAY STUDENT was a good-enough rehash of ARAB ON RADAR, but to those who witnessed the first go-round, it wasn’t quite as much of an illicit thrill. Featuring some of the same key players, PSYCHIC GRAVEYARD delivers on the electro-punk promise of CHINESE STARS and pilots it straight into the eye of the hurricane. “Building You a Rainbow” is a suitably mellow-harshing recounting of whatever new age bullshit has crossed your path this week. Singer Eric Paul lists the various permutations of this noxious blather with a withering tone. If “Love My Skeleton Too” is what passes for romance in PSYCHIC GRAVEYARD’s world, then sign me up for the next speed-dating night. PSYCHIC GRAVEYARD’s side of this split is a surprisingly enjoyable trawl through a battered and beautiful landscape. The UK’s USA NAILS are the perfect complement to PSYCHIC GRAVEYARD. The London-based trio has been around for almost a decade now and their noise rock pummel still hits as hard as ever. These dudes are one of the few bands that took the influence of a band like MCCLUSKY and further refined it. And when I say “refined,” I mean “beat the living shit out of,” cuz these cats don’t mess around when it comes to inflicting damage. But they got songs as well, which makes the squall that much more disorienting. “What Have We Become?” is an example of restraint even as it throbs menacingly. “God Help Us If There’s a War” pairs up understated vocals with seesaw bass and a melodic guitar line. Nothing but pure, uncut high-quality goods on this evenly matched ocean-spanning split.
Hardcore punk from Edmonton, Alberta that features members of SNFU and DAYGLO ABORTIONS. The “members of” tag is a bit of a “gotcha” to sell a couple more records, although I believe that by using that, it may actually hurt more than help. RISTRIKT has more in common with modern hardcore/punk than the old school sounds of the aforementioned bands, and I think that this record is strong enough to stand on its own rather than with the crutch of a “members of” line.
The debut from two-man band SIMP out of Washington, this collection of songs presents a sound of traditional angry hardcore-ing with traces of the more modern S.H.I.T.-esque style. It’s decent. This guy swears to god he’s a Functional Human, but I won’t believe it until we get a proper LP to follow this up.
Punk from Nova Scotia, reminding me structurally of AUS-ROTTEN, with the sting of A.O.A. or EXIT-STANCE and the production tone of KORROSIVE or PROTESTI. At points loose and chaotic like Finnish HC, and other times straightforward and brutal like LANGUID. This is comprised of members of NAPALM RAID and SYSTEM SHIT, etc. It is somewhat more hardcore and old school than it is crust, like CRUCIFIX mixed with several ’80s Scandinavian and UK influences. A tape that gets heavier and heavier as it goes.
The complete works (and then some) of late ’70s/early ’80s Seattle art-punks STUDENT NURSE—of the 28 tracks on Think for Yourself, 18 of them(!!!) are previously unheard, and we’re not talking murky practice demos or live rehashes of studio-recorded material, either. Despite only leaving a handful of vinyl short-players behind, STUDENT NURSE still managed to hopscotch through a dizzying range of styles, from speedy, punky bruisers (the minute-long “Lies,” from their 1979 debut 7”), to eccentrically catchy new wave (the bizarro-world hit “Garbage,” from 1980’s As Seen on TV 12”), to upstroked ska-inspired rhythms (“Discover Your Feet,” off the 1981 Seattle Syndrome LP comp), to minimal weirdo pop sung in Dutch (“Recht Op Staan,” the A-side to their 1982 swan-song single). Taken as a whole, the course they charted was not entirely unlike that of SUBURBAN LAWNS, if SUBURBAN LAWNS had been transported from sunny Southern California to the shadow of the Space Needle, with their mixed-gender vocals (guitarist Helena Rogers’ alternatingly jittery/deadpan approach hits some definite Su Tissue angles), spiky riffs and Morse code beats, and a kitsch-minded willingness to not take themselves too seriously—see “Encounter,” STUDENT NURSE’s angular ode to alien abduction that’s an ideal thematic twin to the LAWNS’ “Flying Saucer Safari.” The treasure trove of unreleased archival material is what really elevates this collection to essential status; the stiff, almost GANG OF FOUR-ish funk of “Colonies,” the proto-K Records pop styling of “Letters,” and the robotic post-punk detachment of “Tough Guy in the Lab” are all especially great. True subterranean pop!
Lo-fi (and I mean low) bass, drums, and noise combo. It’s dissonant but not totally off-the-rails, i.e. there’s definitely a beat, vocals, and something resembling a melody. Imagine a hardcore record with vocals fed through an effects pedal and guitars sped up or slowed down beyond recognition. Kinda feels like TOUCHHOLE is trolling the listener, like “just how much of this can you tolerate hearing?” Your answer may dictate how much you like this.
Excellent catchy, bouncy hardcore punk from Argentina (I think, as I couldn’t dig up much about them on the internet). The guitar is buzzsaw as fuck like on that LOS VIOLATORES song on the Peace/War comp, but maybe that’s a cheap comparison to use fellow countrymates. I’m feeling a lot of SoCal’s RAYOS X and POLISKITZO here, as well as some classic Oi! like Barcelona’s DECIBELIOS. Really, really good. Hopefully I’ll know more about them soon and so will you.
This short four-song demo comes out of NYC from the Toxic State family of fine products. Fronted by raw-throat melodic shouts and the guitar’s radioactive riffs, dripping with just the right amount of flange, plus a bass and drum backline that relays the rhythm more with off-kilter tom rolls, big trashy crash bashes, and a tasteful use of breakdown beats rather than just relying on the standard snare and hi-hat rata-tat-tat ad infinitum. It really lends the songs a lateral swing and danceability, especially on the killer opening cut “Màquinas Deseantes.”
Beligerent hand-tattooed hardcore out of Massachussetts? Yes. A thousand times yes. This band brings a brick down with their focused take on metallic-tinged HC. There’s a clean, crisp feel to the recording, which normally I’m less onboard with, but it brings a clarity that adds heft and ferocity to this speedy grip of six tracks. There are even more than a few toes dipped into powerviolence, such as on minute-long bruiser “Anti Everything.” There isn’t much on display here other than solid, competent hardcore that will bang your head for you and open the pit on a weeknight. Good effort all around, though might not stick in your head.
RIK AND THE PIGS join forces with Jim Colby, one of the all around best musicians I know, to bring us CLASS, with a new cassette tape released on the mighty Feel It Records. Buckle up, folks, and take a little ride with me. Everyone reading MRR knows RIK at this point, and his instantly recognizable voice crooning at you almost intimidatingly on the songs he sings will immediately win over PIGS fans. I’m not entirely sure how many of his Hog Boys RIK was able to wrangle into this project, but teaming them up with Mr. Colby was a helluva move. If Jim Colby is not a household name for you, then that’s a house I’m not sure I care to enter. Jim has been involved with seemingly countless bands spanning many different genres of music, but most notably to the avid Maximum Rocknroll reader, he was the blastermind behind the absolutely killer new wave group from Tucson, AZ, NEW DOUBT, who did a slew of cassette releases, and he was the saxophone player with BROWN SUGAR both live and on the band’s LP. CLASS might first come off as a little confusing, but I urge you to listen to this cassette a few times before you make your mind up about it. A departure from the incredibly nasty lo-fi recordings that helped make RIK AND THE PIGS so special (don’t even get me started on how much I love that last LP), this cassette has impeccably clean production value, each instrument coming through as clear as day. CLASS has different vocalists featured on multiple songs on this tape and feels like there are more than one songwriters taking the reins from song to song. It comes off like a glam rock band or a modern-day version of KISS without the glitter or the gimmick. Well, I haven’t seen them perform live, so maybe there is glitter and makeup and fancy clothes….hmm. I would honestly be quite open to seeing these beautiful ghouls try something like that. Can you tell I’m a fan over here? Pardon me while I flip the tape for yet another listen.
It is riffs ahoy on this killer cassette from Buenos Aires, Argentina’s CUTRE—there’s so many of them and they all rip! Classic-style hardcore punk that’ll get your blood pumping (along with your fist). The vocals howl and scream in sheer defiance while the instrumentation is as tight as can be—and did I mention this is jam-packed with superior riffage? I feel like a good indicator of this tape’s bad-assery is the fact that there is an INDEGESTI cover on it. Get this blasted!
DESTINY BOND dials back the distortion and lets the riffs and drums drive, and drive they do! They dispense galloping D-beats and floor-punchy breakdowns with expertise. The singer’s aggrieved, sarcastic gripe is a nice change of pace from being barked at. The mostly straight-line punk riffs occasionally insert melodic notes and fills but mostly keep it simple, which is as it should be.
EXIL returns with another fine smorgasbord of crisp, tight Swedish hardcore. Great artwork and no bullshit. In case you don’t have a clue, this features former members of DS-13, E.T.A., the VICIOUS, and more. It has that clean-but-heavy guitar roar and enunciated vocal style you’d expect from those previous bands, but this isn’t an ancient throwback to, like, 2001. My favorite track has to be the closer, “Can’t See Your Face,” for being dirtier and having an almost Hell Comes to Your House creepy-crawl bad vibe. It’s such a copout to write after reviewing Swedish bands, but this is definitely “skol!” worthy.
Two doses of primitive Yugoslavian drug punk circa 1979 unearthed by the folks at Rave Up. There’s something amazing about listening to a band struggling to bash out two-chord riffs, and every moment of this single sounds like a struggle. Rudimentary at best, raw brilliance at its worst, “Dete Na XX Vek” deserves to be preserved in the outsider punk archives—file somewhere between TAMPAX and the DOGS.
If you were to pick up this record on cover art alone you’d assume that it was some kind of metal band and, well…you’d be wrong. Like way off. There’s a lot to unpack here. The vocals are gruff, but musically, this is kinda poppy but very simple-sounding; I don’t mean that in a disparaging way. It’s kind of all over the place musically and the vocals shouldn’t work with what’s going on here, but for some reason they do, and they are the biggest reason that I like this. The lyrics are sung in Spanish, which I think adds to the charm here. If they were sung in English, I think it would lose something. I think this record will be seeing a lot of time on the turntable around here.
Catchy, mid-tempo power pop with a definite indie pop feel. There’s even a hint of country/Americana in there. They cover MORRISSEY’S “The Last of the Famous International Playboys.” That’s gutsy, but they do pull it off. This is really well done and if you like bands like the ALL AMERICAN REJECTS, this could be up your alley. I’m guessing it isn’t punk enough for most MRR-ers. I’m totally digging it.
This last HONEYMOON KILLERS album originally came out in the Year Punk Broke (1991 A.D.) The KILLERS were mainstays of NYC’s downtown scum rock scene, while leaning towards the blues-punk side of the street. Two-thirds of the HONEYMOON KILLERS were of the female persuasion, which made them stand out from the rest of the unwashed masses. Even Cristina of BOSS HOG did her time in the band, but when this album emerged at the dawn of the ’90s, the HONEYMOON KILLERS were two-thirds BLUES EXPLOSION. With Russell Simins on drums and Jon Spencer on guitar and vocals, founding members Lisa Wells and Jerry Teel raised some hell one final time. You can definitely hear how Spencer and Simins’ post-modern take on trashy rock’n’roll influenced Hung Far Low’s direction, but Teel and Wells are still firmly in the driver’s seat. Listening to this album is equivalent to a Lower East Side booze crawl that doesn’t end until the sun comes up. You might not remember much about it, but you had a damn good time while it was happening. Shortly after the HONEYMOON KILLERS packed their bags for good, the BLUES EXPLOSION exploded on a national scale and Teel joined an even better band than the one he had just laid to rest—the CHROME CRANKS.
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.
This one is good. Demo from this Ohio hardcore band that pulls from UK82 and Oi! influences and delivers four pummeling songs with raw vocals and great two-guitar riffs. If I have this correct, the songs center around a creature called Lexan, reduced by the grind of daily life into a walking plastic environmental disaster. I’m picturing the Incredible Melting Man with liberty spikes. Working class anthems times sci-fi body horror makes for a great tape. Take the lyrics to “Man Made Ultra”: “Polycarbonate fused to the hate / Now I’m a carcass even Earth wouldn’t eat / I’m man-made, ultra, plastic monster.” Now imagine it shouted as a fist-pumping, kill-your-boss sing-along. It rules. If you ever thought CHUBBY AND THE GANG needed more monsters, listen to this now.
Opening your tape with a five-minute, acid-drenched motor jam is a bold move, and yowza, does it work for Georgia’s MCQQEEN. Bands in the modern DIY scene have embraced ’90s alt for several years now (pro vs. con is a different discussion), and that’s where the brain initially goes with the opener “Mexico Will Pay,” but these kids are doing something way different—deep listening recommended. They sound like they’ve stepped out of a Blair Witch outtake, just demented and awkward dirges masquerading as infectious drug grunge. Instant mental comparisons to DASHER hold up, and the way they move from basic garage punk stomps (“Electric Lies”—1:54) to drawn-out swamp jams (“Fill My Heart”—7:36) is enviable. Controlled chaos throughout, infectious indie/alt buried under a wash of effects while a hardcore band struggles to keep quiet.
Cleveland’s the MISSED have roots in garage rock that roughen the edges of their otherwise power pop styling—they are catchy and fun with a devil-may-care attitude, reminiscent of the relatively new GREEN/BLUE. “Sink” cranks up the angst compared to the other tracks, and is my favorite of the album, while “Choke,” with its ambling bass line, makes for a close second. Get activated with this third LP from the MISSED.
With this level of snottiness, you might want to hand a tissue over to Matt Menard, the sole writer/performer under this moniker. You know, snotty in that way we all like, especially putting out this genre of garage punk with major pop sensibilities. It’s a mostly successful grip of songs, not doing much to outshine greats like the MARKED MEN’s Mark Ryan, whom Menard most resembles here. The title track makes the most waves, with a big, dumb classic rock breakdown that will bend your neck compulsively. Otherwise, this is pretty darn good and not much else.
Debut release from this Canadian brother/sister guitar/drums duo that sounds just like the WHITE STRIPES. Just kidding, they don’t. Where that band pulled from blues and garage rock, OLDER SIBLINGS conjure tones from ’90s grunge into their simple, straightforward rock songs. Think NIRVANA’s Bleach without the feedback or angst; mid-tempo beginner riffs with earnest vocals and BEAT HAPPENING-style drums. I love that siblings made these songs in their basement together, but this collection feels undercooked. It is unsophisticated, but not in an intentional, artistically reductive way. It honestly sounds like someone’s first band and just isn’t all that interesting. On a positive note, “Mediocre Tendencies” (an appropriate title, but I’m trying not to be mean) has a call-and-response vocal interplay that sounds good, and the surfy “Wood Panelled Walls” is a fun instrumental break. Best of luck to them, but this one wasn’t for me.
PAPAS is a four-piece out of Boise, so I can’t tell if their name is supposed to mean “dads” or “potatoes.” Similarly, I can’t tell if the title of this cassette is supposed to be twee as hell or if they’re going for a potato-themed, late-aughts party punk vibe. The music across these three tracks kinda splits that difference, so maybe all the ambiguity is by design. The opening track “I Ain’t Gonna Do it Your Way No More” is a cover of mid-’90s Dutch garage punk band the PERVERTS. It’s a ‘60s-style scorcher, complete with 2,000-lb bee fuzz and a production that sounds like the master was left out in the sun for a week. I love it! I’m less keen on the other tracks though, which sound like some garage-pop slop plucked straight outta 2009. “I Wanna Be Your Baby” with its woozy JOHN WESLEY COLEMAN-esque Southern swagger is probably the stronger of the two. Neither suck, to be clear! It’s just a sound I feel like we’d collectively moved past and I wasn’t particularly eager to revisit. Anyway, definitely give the opener a listen, and you might as well give the other two a shot while you’re at it, particularly if you’ve got a Sailor Jerry-style hot dog tattoo.
Follow-up release to the demo/first 7” by Oakland/Austin’s P.O.A.C. At the risk of name-dropping, it is an unavoidable fact that the band consists of ’90’s and ’00s Bay Area punk veterans from TALK IS POISON, LOOK BACK AND LAUGH, and NEEDLES, as well as New Jersey thrashers TEAR IT UP. Similar to their previous outputs, it consists of the signature Bay Area-style raging, dark hardcore punk somewhere along the lines of CHRIST ON PARADE and early NEUROSIS, before they went out on the limb to sonic experimentation. Based on the fierce intensity of the recording, it’s apparent these veterans are still raging as hard as they have since the beginning. Still DIY as fuck and relevant as it’s ever been.
July was a blur, so somehow I missed seeing THA RETAIL SIMPS both times they played Portland on their West Coast tour. I’ve resolved that within myself by just listening to their record almost every day in August so far. When the rollicking piano starts on “Hit & Run,” you can tell the band is not afraid to boogie and create a groove. It’s rhythmically rare these days, since so many bands I hear in the punk world either wanna be stiff, be fast, be brutal, be technical, be anything but hip-shaking. “Love Without Friction” sounds like a no wave twist contest, leading into “End Times Hip Shaker Pts. 1 & 2,” which has a grindin’ riff like a ANDRE WILLIAMS B-side before giving it a lysergic dip into a fully fuzz-drenched freakout. “Dozen a Dime” cools it down with a downer folk bongo bummer, but the rave-ups continue in the last half. “Summertime” stands out with a nasty distorto biker movie riff and a fully fucked-up but funky clavinet solo, and it’s these juxtapositions and stylistic slurries that make the record stand out. The songs are strong enough on their own, but all the disparate sonic references give the music texture and character. THA SIMPS have made a record that’s loose, noisy, goofy, danceable, and weirdly one of a kind, full of reverence for rock’n’roll but not so studious as to take any of it too seriously.
Sweden’s ŚMIERĆ keeps getting better, and last year’s Paranoja, their second full-length, is an absolute stunner. Imagine the D-beat power of WOLFBRIGADE and TO WHAT END? driving an homage to Polish classics like DEUTER, POST REGIMENT, and ARMIA. Don’t dismiss the band as an homage to Polish HC/punk however, as their power transcends genre (and region), and their records are soaring examples of how fucking powerful punk can still be, even within its own confines. Highest endorsement.
Australia in the ’80s was a hotbed of garage rock and power pop, and North Queensland’s SPLIFFS occupied a minor space in that scene, opening up for such heavy-hitters as the SAINTS and HOODOO GURUS. They released their debut single in 1986 (reissued here for the first time by Sweden’s One Way Ticket Records), and by 1988, they were done. There’s nothing as immediately transcendent as “I Want You Back” on this record, but the three songs here are perfectly adequate examples of mid-tempo ’60s-as-filtered-through-the-’80s power pop. Sprightly and upbeat, with genre-typical adenoidal vocals and the kind of unpolished production that always makes this style of music more appealing to me anyway. I won’t deny this has a certain charm, but it’s not something I can see myself returning to often.
TV DRUGS is a Cleveland hardcore band, playing fun shit with a lot of personality and being weird while also laying down a formidable thrashing. This tape collects their two releases to date (shout-out to Robert Collins, who already reviewed one of them), and captures fifteen tracks of unhinged hardcore. I’m always a fan of the Doc Dart vocal approach of coloring outside the lines, and this rad singer does that a lot. The band seems to have gone quiet for a little while now, and it’d be cool if they resurface at some point with a proper full-length.
Finnish hardcore alert! VALTATYHJIÖ hails from Joensuu in North Karelia, Finland, and brings under their arms a debut demo that is an absolute banger. The vocal delivery could have easily been on a MELLAKKA record, with the traditional Finnish hardcore snarl raiding your ears non-stop. The drumming is on point and the riffs just keep on coming and coming. A new release and band that carries the torch for the golden era of Finnish hardcore.
Second album from Sweden’s WARCHILD—pure D-beat worship in the best Scandinavian tradition. This is a brutal, direct, hard-hitting, and breathless attack. The lyrics are focused on the complex web of damage that war creates. For fans of DISCHARGE and TOTALITÄR, and for those who want to enjoy some of the best current exponents of Swedish käng.
Punk from Sweden that has a pop-punk-meets-street-punk feel. Kinda like if DAN VAPID sang for SWINGIN’ UTTERS at times, or something along those lines. These four songs have me tapping my foot and bobbing my head and looking forward to seeing what’s next.
ALARM is from Grenoble, France and has been a band since at least 2013, when their debut 7” came out. As can be surmised by the name of the demo, this cassette release was recorded in the band’s practice room in 2019. It was apparently recorded live in one take, which is particularly wild since the sound quality and production value are not that bad at all. Hell, this sounds a lot better than a majority of the cassettes which get into my hands. Eight songs of driving, mid-tempo punk rock with super catchy vocals, sometimes yelled, other times sung, and tastefully placed stripped-down guitar leads. Oh, and one of the songs is a RUDIMENTARY PENI cover, which can’t ever be a negative thing. Very cool tape. Songs are catchy and memorable. Seems like a band that would really shine live, so here’s hoping they make their way stateside sometime.
New directions in music by Oakland avant maestros Erin Allen and Max Nordile. BABY? is an abstract fresco of guitar strings plinking and scratching, drums tumbling and collapsing, horns wailing and lamenting, and found-sound contrasts of water pouring peacefully and cop sirens reigning terror. While 98% of MRR readers won’t give this the time of day, 1% will turn this on and immediately turn it off after the first track or two, and finally there is the 1% that will complete it and maybe even go back and listen again. It’s classically not for everyone, and probably really only for Max and Erin as an expression of sound and friendship. What I love about these two as people and artists is that while we’re all here still listening to this, figuring it out and deciding if we like it, they’re just out there, making more of it, like perpetual creation machines. They probably recorded twenty more albums, finished 53 paintings, six zines, and went on tour four times while this LP was in the queue to be pressed (and probably even more as I was flipping to the B-side of it).
This is an easy one to review, as it’s been playing in my tape deck since it came out. This band basically shares the exact DNA of Washington’s excellent/defunct PITBUL (including one of the PNW’s best shredders Jose Mora, also from GAG), and brings a concise violence to hardcore that rattles your teeth and satisfies on a primal level. I even dig the production, even if it sounds like the drummer is performing on a metal trash can. But that’s what this is, quick and mean and grittier than the cat box. Step into the CRAWL SPACE. Zero fat, face-cracking hardcore.
What if Humphrey Bogart read some Flannery O’Connor and then began handling snakes and speaking tongues? Chris D. of the FLESH EATERS is the answer to that question; a man of exceptional intelligence and literary acumen who also happens to have the singing voice of one of the Lords of Hell. The way Mr. D. slips from inky-black noir crooning to blood-curdling, fire-breathing shriek is one of the great feats of the modern age. If you’re not familiar with the FLESH EATERS’ tremendous legacy, you owe it yourself to spend some time with those particular hellions. But if you’re getting up in years and need an occasional break from the punk racket, Chris D. formed the DIVINE HORSEMEN just for you. Joined by his wife at the time, singer Julie Christensen, the HORSEMEN was basically a latter-day ‘EATERS line-up repurposed into a more traditional blues rock set-up, yet still swampy as all get out. Christensen’s soaring vocals contrast nicely with D.’s ominous premonitions, off-setting the darkness while still hinting at a furious, doomed love. I can glimpse a world where the DIVINE HORSEMEN could have made the crossover into a radio-friendly milieu, but they got waylaid by addiction. A story as old as time. After leaving the HORSEMEN, Christensen went on to join LEONARD COHEN’s touring band and had an on-again/off-again solo career. D. continued to write books and make music. The band even reunited for an album last year. Down, but not out.
As the title indicates, this is a 40th anniversary reissue of this South Bay band’s 1983 record, with a bonus LP’s worth of live tracks from a 1983 show in San Francisco. This reminds me of my first days into punk rock and going to the On Broadway in San Francisco to see whoever was in town. With other bands like CODE OF HONOR, the FACTION were the founders of skate punk hardcore. Quicker in pace, but still quite melodic, this has stood the test of time. 1983, 2022, 40th anniversary? Come on, guys, do the math. This was a great listen.
Atlanta’s FERAL is cooking up some complex shit over here. The songs pack a modern and manic hardcore pummeling of the Toxic State variety, punctuated by atmospheric, no wave-esque bass-driven parts that remind me of SONIC YOUTH in places. As the tape goes on it becomes increasingly spacey, with disco-y post-punk vibes that reveal themselves more and more before finally culminating in the groovy “Cycle.” There’s one last punky cool-down number after that, but then you’re beat. Very good.
