This little 45 is a monster. Within its two song / nine minute duration, there is more creativity, chaos, surprise, energy and innovation than can be found on the vast majority of full length LPs/albums I’ve heard this year. (And that’s not just mindless hyperbole either – before writing this, I put all my recently purchased records on the scales, just to check.)

I said of Slum of Legs’ demo tape earlier this year that; “..the three tracks [here] do function VERY MUCH as a demo […] giving only a fleeting, muffled impression of the kind of rampant creativity this unit is capable of”. This single then can be seen to represent the full realisation of this Brighton collective’s potential – a stew of wildly disparate (some might say contradictory) elements, successfully boiled down to a perfectly imperfect essence. A kind of fiendish, exploratory outsider pop music that recognises no limitations, imposes no boundaries upon its members’ divergent impulses, yet somehow works toward the same functional totality. It is a lovely thing to hear.

All this is rather abstract thus far, so let’s get down to brass tacks.

‘Begin to Dissolve’ opens with an overdriven Add N to X-ish analogue synth riff that is soon joined scraggly, chiming guitar, nervy, Cale-ish violin, martial drumming and vocalist Tasmin Chapman’s voice a clarion of assertive, post-punky anguish: “Inside the static I hear whispers, they say everything is dead!”. Thunking great X Ray Spex/ATV punk chords enter to emphasize what I suppose is the chorus part, before waves of Radiophonic/Oliver Postgate oddity and a few bars of poignant, doleful violin swing past over the uneasy, Mo Tucker-ish clatter of the gtr/bass/drums. Next a touch of roaring, doom-ish low end guitar enters the equation, closely followed by a storm of transistor radio static. “Is there anybody there? Can you tell me your reaction?” demands an unidentified interviewer/operator as muttering EVP voices crackle away in the corners. We’re at 2:30 of a 3:44 song by this point, and nothing we’ve heard sounds contrived, inorganic or at all out of whack with the elements surrounding it. The remaining 70-odd seconds becomes a drop into dream-time, a sort of grey-skied river-gloop narrative of decayed spoken word and DIY punk propulsion, concluding in a maelstrom of roaring gobbledygook.

‘Razorblade The Tape’ dials down the strangeness considerably, flying a lot closer to what journos are obliged to term ‘accessible’, which makes it’s placement on the b-side oddly pleasing. Beginning gently, like a long-lost Marine Girls off-cut, things quickly evovle into a quite wonderful bit of off-kilter, synth-damaged guitar pop, that drifts into a persistently catchy, Stereolabby song-drone over the course of the next few minutes. It demands less comment than the A side but is equally persuasive - a perfect flipside to the preceding song’s more menacing impulses.

Weird, dissident, homemade, different from anything YOU’D make – these are some of the key notion that spring to mind where Slum of Legs is concerned I think. I may have bandied around an unpalatable number of dubious band-name comparisons in the preceding paragraphs, but perhaps SOL’s true spiritual predecessors are – naturally - outfits that sound more or less nothing like them. In particular, I’m thinking the sort of feeling that can be found lurking in the obscurest corners of unacknowledged female creativity in the murkiest years of post-punk era. Androids of Mu, The Fates, that sort of thing. Basically, both this single and the demo tape sound like what pop music might have become in 1982 if William S. Burroughs had been writing the script and a stern regiment of well-drilled Raincoats/Au Pairs partisans had been carrying it out.

Even in 2014 – perhaps especially in 2014 - it is exhilarating to hear a band making such imaginative, evocative and open-ended music whilst still remaining ostensibly within the realm of song-based ‘pop’, trawling for thrills in the shallows of the avant garde whilst happily avoiding its tendency toward alienating abstraction. This is Weird Music, no doubt - taking risks, posing questions, demanding attention. But it is also very giving music - a lot of fun for creators and listeners alike.

Labels: singles reviews, Slum of Legs

Before they played a note, I knew that City Yelps from Leeds were my kind of band.

How did I know? I dunno. Just a feeling. The kind of spider sense that comes from nearly fifteen years of doing this rubbish I suppose. I liked the way they seem to have shunned any kind of self-publicity or web presence, instead distributing paper-based ‘newsletters’ of in-jokes and photocopied scrawl. I liked the matter-of-fact semi-nervousness with which they plugged themselves in on-stage. And when they actually got going, verily I was content that I’d picked a winner. The kind of group who presumably do not aspire to generate exultant write-ups or over-eager fans, content as they are to keep their heads down, define their own parameters and concentrate on the basic business of being good within them.

I liked the way that their only concession to doing anything other than plugging in cheap instruments and playing them was a Danelectro echo pedal connected up to guitarist/singer Shaun’s microphone. This appeared to be quite a daring new addition to their chosen aesthetic, and indeed he got a bit miffed when the batteries ran out halfway through the set, disconnecting it with some muttering about what a bloody waste of time that was, etc.

Thus far, I seem to have defined my liking for City Yelps in terms of what they are not and what they do not do, but I really don’t think that should be taken as a negative stance. Presumably steadfast devotees of the spirit of Swell Maps, early Fall and 4-track era Flying Nun (but not in such a way that anyone would waste time shouting about it in a press release of course), City Yelps sound like, when all the bullshit started happened to the music they liked (cf: industry, ‘influence’, hype, PR and hassle), they simply went away and locked the doors. Good for them. By refusing to participate in what repels us, we all grow stronger.

The gig I referred to above took place ages ago (April? May?), so perhaps my memory isn’t all that, but I remember the band saying something vaguely self-deprecating on stage about the their attempt to make ‘poverty stricken psychedelia’, and that is indeed what they head for on the title track of this brief CD EP – straight-to-practice-amp trebly guitar tone, water-treading rhythm section and mumbled, low register vox rumbling around to create five minutes of the kind of eerie immersion that all those boys with their silver cases full of boutique gear currently trading under increasingly abused ‘psyche’ banner would have trouble matching. I couldn’t really tell you quite why I like it, but I do. (A few little bits of dissonant piano floundering thrown into the mix work very well – none-more-Swell Maps, natch.)

The two other tracks here – ‘Lawns’ and ‘Citizen Yelps’ - are much shorter, and stick to a faster, more ostensibly punk approach whose wrecked/miffed tone pleases me greatly, putting me in mind of both of The Real Numbers, and of that great Crawling Age CD-R from (christ, was it really) a few years back. (No surprise perhaps, given that the aforementioned Shaun was one of the individuals responsible for the latter, and I’m pretty sure I saw him drumming for the former when they played in London.)

Though these songs have nice, loud, serviceable recordings, those who wish things to sound normal will initially be perturbed by the near-invisibility of the vocals, which hover at the bottom of the mix sounding more like slurred background commentary than a primary element in proceedings. Now, I for one generally favour low, semi-comprehensible singing these days, but even I was a bit like, “seriously fellas, what happened to the vocals?” on first listen. Pretty quickly though, I began to dig it, and furthermore realised that, despite Mr. Shaun’s apparent reticence as a vocalist, I can still actually hear most of what he’s going on about quite clearly. And what he is going on about sounds kind of interesting too. Like a listener to any good weirdo punk song, I am confused, and intrigued.

I realise that thus far this must all sound like yr standard sort of 21st century low-effort, lo-fi business, but I would nonetheless contend that this EP, despite (or perhaps even because of) the casual-listener-harvesting challenges it provides, is extremely good, nay timeless, stuff. Rather than using a lo-fi aesthetic to mask sloppiness and self-indulgence, City Yelps sound like a very dedicated band masquerading as a “we couldn’t give a monkeys, we’re just having a laugh” band (always a welcome combination), trying very hard to produce good music in a context that they feel is honest, comfortable and cheap. And they succeed very well, if I’m any judge. The guitar playing is excellent, the melodies and lyrics are unconventional and somewhat interesting, the bass and drums bang away with an appropriately off-kilter groove (as opposed to the increasingly popular option of ‘entirely lacking a groove’), and the ‘feel’ is right there.

It’s very good, go listen to it.

---

When I bought this CD from Trev back in April or May or whenever, he told me that I’d bagged one of the last independently circulating copies, so I dunno if you stand much chance of finding a physical copy anymore. I think you might still be able to get one if you subscribe to the current Oddbox singles club (EP club?) thingy (try your luck!) or failing that I suppose you could go to Leeds and bother the band until they burn you a copy or something.

Little additional City Yelps info is forthcoming on this confangled ‘internet’, but here are some scans of their newsletters to aid the curious.

Labels: City Yelps, singles reviews

Two Tears – Eat People 7”
(Kind Turkey)

Not something I had anticipated finding on my metaphorical desk, but that I’m glad to have received nonetheless, here’s three tracks from Kerry Davis, ex of Red Aunts, working in a primarily solo/homemade capacity.

Red Aunts were always one of the more garage-trash-punk affiliated riot grrl bands (or one of the more riot grrl-affiliated garage-trash-punk bands, if you prefer), and the more low-key Two Tears material initially seems to follow suit, Davis growling through “Eat People”, with all the Mr. Airplaneman-ish raunch you’d expect.

“Heisse Hex” and “Senso Unico” though are both persuasively mechanical, distantly Fall-like songs, the foreign language titles barked and twisted as if they were private language glossolia or magical incantations between whispered threats and complaints. The former in particular is great, chugging away like nobody’s business, a brilliantly sinister coda/end section and call-and-response chorus ringing like some cross between Mark E. Smith and Petra Černocká’s spell-casting in Saxana.

This is distinctive, quietly bad-ass music that raises the spectre of Mo Tucker’s ultra-primitive “Playin’ Possum”, filtered through the PJ’s 4 track demos, and probably every other contrived example I can pull from my itunes of a cool rock lady bludgeoning us with menacing self-sufficiency. Recommended!

http://www.myspace.com/thetwotears
http://www.kindturkeyrecords.com

Labels: singles reviews, Two Tears

The Zygoteens –
Sleeping With the Stereo On EP
(Timme Heie Humme)

Four cuts of absolutely perfect pocket-rocket pop-punk/power-pop blastage from these fresh young fellas outta… I dunno.. some place in Germany? Nope, Milwaukee apparently.

Equal parts Look-Out Recs (fizz and easy melody), Exploding Hearts (heart-on-sleeve confessional oomph, Heartbreakers boogie) and Supersuckers/Teengenerate/early Hives etc etc(velocity / plain-fuckin’-GOINGFORIT-ness), it sounds like maybe they recorded this cheaply and turned in a master with all the levels pushed up too high, prompting some snotty functionary at some stage in the production process to cut all the tops and bottoms off, leaving things sounding all muffled and flubby where they should be comin’ on all “Guitar Romantic”/”Jet Generation”.

But you can’t stop the rock so the light shines through! “WE WERE CHEWING BUBBBLEGUM / AND ACTIN’ REALLY DUMB,” Zygoteens yell through the murk on “Sleeping With The Stereo On”, and you’ll be hard pressed not to answer with a fist-raised “YEAH!”. Funny how as a concept/substance, actual bubblegum is about the foulest thing I can imagine, but when used as a signifier of a certain set of aesthetic values in pop records, it never fails. Plus I just read the lyrics sheet and the last line of that song (as in, repeat ‘til close) is “Living in a world of pizza tonight”. Word.

I hope the time never comes when I don’t love stuff like this. However many records that sound like this I might own, it will never be enough. I will always want to listen to another one straight away. Great full colour cartoon artwork here too, nice thick vinyl, limited to 400 if yr into that sort of thing.

Damned if I can think of what else to say here, except that it is difficult to sit still in front of the computer whilst this music is playing… instead it is calling upon me to leap up and see how long you can touch the ceiling for, to pound on the walls, try to do a backflip for the first time in fifteen years and see how that ends up (ouch). This music does not allow for inaction, damn it! Get up! Review ends here.

http://www.myspace.com/thezygoteens
http://www.myspace.com/timmeheiehummerrecords

Labels: singles reviews, The Zygoteens

Black Sunday –
Can’t Keep My Hands Off You b/w Lights
(Red Lounge/Disordered)

Y’know who are a really under-rated band from the past decade or so? Black Sunday, a Memphis band led by singer/synth player Alicja Trout. Admittedly, their 2005 magnum opus “Tronic Blanc” has a few things going against it: drab cover art that makes it look like some out-dated post-hardcore/emo effort, a slightly testing 45 minute run time and an opening cut of bilious shoegaze fartery. But stick with it and one of the more varied, atmospheric and inventive artefacts to have crawled from the indie/punk-ish undergrowth in recent years will surely be revealed.

Alicja was in Lost Sounds with Jay Reatard back in the day, a circumstance which seems to have gained her a foothold in the garage-punk milieu, despite Black Sunday working from a different blueprint entirely (although the continuity with Lost Sounds’ violent synth-rock/garage-trash crossover thing is certainly maintained). Let’s see now… we’re looking at something like cold wave/minimal synth kinda stuff, stripped of the accompanying aesthetic attitude and mixed up in variable quantities with bits of basement scuzz excavation and ol’ fashioned, upbeat KRS/K indie, perhaps..? I dunno. Her/their sound hits a lot of bases, but there’s little that ends up in quite the same place.

I don’t know what Black Sunday’s set-up is/was, or indeed whether this is really a Black Sunday single or an Alicja Trout solo joint, or quite what the difference between the two propositions might be, but I can at least assert that both sides here find her/them in good spirits, stretching the 3/4 minuters that comprised “Tronic Blanc” out a bit, letting each song luxuriate across a whole seven inches of of 33 playing vinyl. This single also cleans up the album’s grue to a significant extent, pushing guitars and distortion into strictly cameo roles, instead favouring cleaner, more repetitive synth-lines and simple drum loops, shifting toward a recognisable electro-pop kinda sound.

B side “Lights” would have been a real stand-out on the album, a convincingly catchy wavo power-pop number enlivened by some unexpectedly great lead guitar playing, but “I Can’t Keep My Hands off You” is longer, sweeter and even better; ascending synth patterns and a lovely melody over propulsive drum machine… I could almost imagine the twee-pop mob going for this, although the six note chorus refrain has a gloriously sinister edge to it, repeating through a lengthy closing segment that almost veers into Broadcast/United States of America territory. Quite a long track, as mentioned, but really, it could have been three times as long and still not lost my interest for a second. A real keeper.

I like the earlier/scrappier stuff fine, but I like this better. Listening to this single sorta makes it feel like the album, interesting/enjoyable though it is, was merely the middle ground between the bombastic sturm-und-drang of Lost Sounds and the more refined, more fully realised sound that’s finally making it’s way into the light here. To hear a full LP of this would be a fine thing indeed.

http://www.myspace.com/blacksundaymemphis
http://redloungerecords.com/

Labels: Black Sunday, singles reviews

Fungi Girls –
Owlsey Knows b/w Glare # 2
(Group Tightener)

The second single I’ve acquired from this canny Texas group, who seem to have found a happy place anchoring themselves to the notion of not doing anything new exactly, but studying the old stuff harder than anyone else, thus emerging fresh by default. If ya see what I mean.

Moving away from the Flying Nun echoes of their Hozac single, this disc finds them closer to home geographically if not temporally, engaged in a thorough excavation of the International Artists back catalogue. Harnessing the reassuringly ‘off’ sound of ’66-’68 Texan psychedelia, Fungi Girls undertake their borderline historical re-enactment with a bright-eyed panache so distant from the drug-mashed stumble of this music’s original practitioners that it sounds kinda refreshing, and inviting. Like, bands making this kind of music aren’t supposed to play together exactly on the beat, maintain a jaunty, upbeat pace throughout and put in the studio hours necessary to get a really lovely mix of complementary instrumental tones, y’know… but wouldn’t it be nice if they did?

Clearly, a preppy, cleaned up take on first album 13th Floor Elevators sounds like a hideously redundant notion whichever way you squint at it, but, well, what can I say? A band who christen their A-side in tribute to the recently departed Mr. Owsley obviously feel no shame in their retrogressive agenda, and nor should they - like that first Strange Boys record, Fungi Girls do the still-sounds-good-to-me thing with enough grace and vibrancy to really send ya, so to speak, zeroing in on that strange moment where a crisp, surf-rock rhythm section meets post-Byrds electric guitar, early whiffs of drug-fiend hipster consciousness creeping in via stinging bolts of weird tremolo and mumblin’, brain-blown lyricism… summer’s coming on and it still sounds good to me.

http://www.myspace.com/fungigirls
http://grouptightener.tumblr.com/

Labels: Fungi Girls, singles reviews, Texas

Lisa Bouvier & Allt Ar Musik – Indian Ar Dod CS
Horowitz – The Knitwear Generation CS
(Fika Tapes)

Two items here from a new London-based / Scandicentric micro-label, both of them zipping effortlessly past my twee-defences and making me smile and get all ‘yay-for-handcrafted-objects-and-DIY-culture’ and so on, however much of a filthy anachronism starting a tape label in 2011 may be.

To address the Lisa Bouvier / Allt Ar Musik one first, if someone described the music herein to me before I heard it, my cynical grown-up self would hiss like a wounded snake and go hide in the airing cupboard until it was over. So it’s a good job that I saw Lisa B. play a real nice solo set prior to purchase, giving me the courage to press play and roll with whatever transpired. And what transpired is TOTALLY AWESOME, whisking me back to the innocent days before I had really clocked the existence of any “indie-pop scene”, when I would still meet any manifestation of polite, well-dressed kids ‘doing it for themselves’ with a hearty thumbs up and when I would still welcome the presence in my life of records on which white people play poorly recorded trumpets.

So let’s put the question right out there: how does the idea of mannered, bedroom-fi Swedish language covers of Mary Lou Lord’s “His Indie World” and Sebadoh’s “Gimme Indie Rock” grab you? Not so good? Well take a second look, because only an inveterate grouch would deny that these particular ones are a ton o’ fun. There’s a really great feeling of after-school four-track fun about these recordings that bypasses any/all reservations, and indeed sleevenotes from Lisa B. reveal how these are quite old recordings, dating from when she and the dude who is ‘Allt Ar Musik’ teamed up at college and just started goofing around with some music, expressing their joy at the joint discovery of the kind of up-with-people DIY/indie culture that us British or American kids are drenched in from an early age and basically sick of by the time we crawl into our mid/late ‘20s.

Cover art depicting the two of them sitting happily on some bedroom floor surrounded by cheap equipment is emblematic of the whole affair. Oh, to be a youngster again, to sit on that floor; drink tea, giggle, make songs. Good times.

Horowitz are a band who I’d imagine would be apt to share these wistful sentiments of badges-n’-Converse nostalgia, and whilst I’ve probably run out of original things to say about them by this point, their bleary-eyed fuzz-pop remains a thing of grandeur on this here Fika tape. In fact, it sounds better than ever busting out of a tape. Well, not really ‘better’ as such because my tape player turns everything into underwater sludge, but… aesthetically correct? Yes, definitely. I could describe Horowitz’s three songs here and tell you what they sound like, how they fit into the band’s oeuvre and such, but really all I want to say is goddamnit, there’s something about everything Horowitz record that just hits me right here y’know? Their home-taped drum machines and bubblegum Boyracer fuzz, their drifty, elegiac melodies and the big bearhug of lonely/star-gazing indie-boy emotion that goes into each one of their songs… it just makes me want to salute and wipe a tear from my eye, y’know? “This is why we fight”, all that kinda stuff (god help us if there’s a war).

Much as I shake my fist at the retro-tape craze (largely on the practical grounds that the tapedeck on my mini hi-fi grinds away so painfully I might as well have dropped it in a fishtank on the night John Peel died and left it there ‘til last summer), there’s no denying that these Fika tapes are real lovely pieces of work – brightly-coloured cassettes in hand-folded cardboard packets, each stuffed to bursting with a download card, a ramblin’ photocopied insert, a fruit teabag and a recipe for cake. The whole lovin’ package! Horowitz give us a recipe for beer-cake, and all is right with the world.

Each tape limited to 100, so if any of this sounds like the kind of culture you might feel a connection to, check ‘em out.

http://fikarecordings.com/
http://www.myspace.com/horowitzband
http://lisabouvier.se/

Labels: Horowitz, Lisa Bouvier, singles reviews, tapes

Sweet People et les Oieseaux Chantaient
(Polydor Records, 1978)

So I’ve got a huge stack of new singles to review, swiftly becoming old, plus a few really great records that people have been nice enough to send me recently… and yet here we go with a write-up of this nifty little number my friend Pete bought in Greenwich /music & Video Exchange for 10p, cross-posted with Pete’s bird-watching blog;

I’m no expert on vintage easy listening music, but in purely practical terms this gem of a charity shop disc gets my vote as the ‘best easy listening record ever’. I wish I had a USB turntable so that we could share it with you.

Both sides sound exactly like the music that would play in a sun-dazed, California set ‘70s movie, during a scene in which a dude hangs out with his girl on the beach as the sun sets, and they have a special time together that he will think back on fondly when he’s stuck in a foxhole in Vietnam, or is busted smuggling cocaine across the Mexican border, or shot in the back by Warren Oates, or whatever.

One side is accompanied by birdsong, whilst the other is built around the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Each track consists of a few simple, pleasing musical phrases, which are established at the outset and repeated continuously with only slight developments and changes in instrumentation along the way. The ‘Ocean side’ features some marvellously subtle, miraculously un-irritating harmonica playing, a strummy guitar sound and a distantly evocative melody, all faintly reminiscent of something off Neil Young’s ‘Harvest’, perhaps? The ‘Bird side’ is a touch more jazzy, in a hazy sort of way, gentle electric organ tones perhaps seeking communication with our avian friends.

Both sides boast a rich, deep, relaxing mixture of tones, tailor-made by experts to make human ears happy. An archetypal senile old grandmother could nod her head along with this, and remark how nice and relaxing it is. And no archetypal sneering punk-ass record nerds would dare to tell her otherwise, because SHE IS RIGHT. It is very nice and relaxing, and that’s all there is to it.

Remarkably, the instrument tones and other sounds on this record sound equally natural whether played at 33 or 45 rpm, and the overall pace and feeling of the compositions doesn’t seem to change much either way. Given the choice, I’d probably play it at 33 so that it’s a bit longer and more tripped out, but granny may prefer to stick to 45, as the label recommends.

It is no exaggeration to say that 10p has never been better spent.

Labels: birds, charity shop finds, easy listening, singles reviews, Sweet People

Hard Skin / Blotto –
These Are My People split 7”
(Snuffy Smiles)

South London Oi-revival heroes Hard Skin are a band who are hard not to love, working in a field that’s all too easy to hate. I’ll admit that at first I was slightly apprehensive when my flat-mate brought home one of their LPs last year. I mean, there’s THAT name for one thing, and whilst I recognise that a healthy bit of absurd, violent blather is the bread & butter of good punk rock, the band’s vision of a cop-baiting, student-punching, Millwall-supporting white working class idyll did not seem to be one I could comfortably hang with, however invigorating their riotous street punk thud may be.

Further listens though began to win me over to the abrasive, fuck-you humour of the band’s approach – a sort of good-humoured variation on blind rage that seems on some level to admit the ridiculousness of its protestations, at the same time as taking it’s dedication to it’s stated way of life very seriously indeed, if that makes any sense – and after seeing them at the 100 Club as part of a Damaged Goods showcase gig just before xmas, you can count me a fan for life.

It’s a difficult thing to explain to anyone who’s not witnessed it firsthand, the way that Hard Skin can take the most exaggerated, boorish clichés of early ‘80s British aggro-punk and reshape them into a fantastically good-humoured roar of self-affirmation, completely devoid of the kind of small-minded, paranoid exclusivity that makes oi/skinhead punk a no-go area for so many music fans. However much bile might emanate from the stage, in both the songs and bassist Fat Bob’s constant, hilarious patter, there’s a feeling that, much like the hypothetical comedian who doesn’t-discriminate-because-he-hates-everyone-equally, a Hard Skin gig is an inclusive space in which everyone, even those specifically targeted, can enjoy their incessant taunts directed at cops, tories, indie bedwetters, support bands, record labels, North Londoners, vegetarians, hippies - their basic disgust with everything in the world outside of the perfect state of being embodied by the red-blooded, South London working class male in short - freely and without obligation.

Unsavoury beliefs are often assumed to follow close behind bands like this, especially when they’re so outspoken in their oft reactionary complaints. But for all their on-stage antagonism, the strains of misogyny/racism/homophobia courted by some of Hard Skin’s more regrettable stylistic predecessors never rear their ugly heads here, and no encouragement of ‘aggro’ is ever offered without an accompanying cartoon-ish chuckle. At heart they seem like profoundly decent fellas, insofar as I’m able to judge.

Like I say, it’s hard to explain. It’s a fine line, and it all comes down to the band’s attitude really. I’m not really a big fan of the word ‘cunt’, but prior to my inaugural Hard Skin show, I’d yet to experience the true beauty of its gratuitous application. And likewise, I’m generally of the belief that in spite of endless poor management/strategy decisions on the part of their superiors, the necessity of upholding sometimes stupid legislation, and the presence of a few devious brutes within their ranks, police officers by and large attempt to do good work in very difficult circumstances and should only be given shit by the public when their individual actions demand it, etc, etc.

But nonetheless, I’d be lying if I tried to deny the sheer cathartic joy of hearing Hard Skin barrel through a call-and-response chorus of “Copper? CUNT! Copper? CUNT! Nee-nah, nee-nah – FUCKING CUNT!”

It’s the ‘nee-nah nee-nah’ bit that did it to me I think – the sheer, maniacal, steam-from-the-ears rage, but never without a laugh alongside it. It’s the sort of thing even a copper could probably appreciate (if he wasn’t too much of a cunt).

Again – it’s hard to explain. I dunno, what can I say. I fucking loved it. Listening to punk and metal, I think it can be important to remember that what people sing about doing in songs isn’t necessarily what they do in real life; rock n’ roll songs by their very nature are amped up, exaggerated, aggressive things that express a monomaniacal, hysterical point of view and well… you know where I’m going with this; Rolling Stones, Angry Samoans, Dwarves, Cannibal Corpse… blah fucking blah, you get the point.

And of course, the fact that musically speaking Hard Skin fucking demolish the place helps, knocking out a sorta precision, battle-hardened, no bullshit melodic punk rock, all three members yelling alone to every line at the top of their voices like they’re trying to break a record for how much noise three men on a stage with regular rock band equipment can possibly make. No doubt they’d laugh in the fucking face of anyone who started using words like ‘musicality’ or ‘groove’ in their presence (and rightly so), but let’s just say that Hard Skin play with a solid command of their particular art and an innate understanding of what sounds good that puts ‘em a fair few notches up the foodchain from a lot of gutbucket punk scene slop.

A prime example of all this can be found on (FINALLY, HE GETS TO THE POINT) “Deborah Services Ltd”, which opens Hard Skin’s side of this split 7”. It is surely one of their finest tracks, eulogising life in the construction industry with enough enthusiasm to almost make me head down the ‘site tomorrow morning, and calling out ‘Croydon Scaffolding’ for their apparently unfair business practices. “Six days a week / twelve hour days / working like a fucker / just to get paid / simple life – beans on toast / simple life – Sunday roast!”

It’s not big and it’s not clever, but hearing the ad-libbed yell of “YOU FUCKIN’ WANT SOME?!?” just before the chorus riff kicks in like a drunken maniac in a white van ploughing through a well-kept flower-bed really gets me through the day.

God knows, Hard Skin must feel like the end of the world is nigh when floppy-haired middle-class indie twats like me start listening to their tunes. On the other side of this record meanwhile, Japanese punks Blotto sound like they think the world is gonna end as soon as the noise from their amps fizzles out.

I know I’ve just dedicated a lot of words to writing about Hard Skin, but fuck me if Blotto’s side of this 45 isn’t EVEN BETTER. Honestly, I don’t know *anything* about these guys, but their two songs here near knocked me off my seat. Judging from their lyrical concerns (as set out on the enclosed lyrics sheet) and the fact they’re sharing vinyl with Hard Skin, I’m assuming Blotto must be punk scene stalwarts of some description, but really the sound they’ve got going here doesn’t match my go-to indicators for oi or hardcore or anarcho-punk or anything else really. Thankfully though, it ticks all the right boxes for brilliant, breathless rock n’ roll, so who cares what else we call it?

Intricate, almost classic rock/rockabilly lead guitar lets rip against bottle-rocket hyper-caffinated punk racket, every instrumentalist going straight for the cup as the vocalist chips in with a sixty-a-day, ‘microphone, what fucking microphone?’ roar… good grief. I guess it sounds kinda like the Replacements might have sounded in 1984 if they’d practiced six hours a day and never touched a drop. Add soaring, stage-dive worthy chord riffs and impassioned, ‘I live this 24-fucking-7’ vocal performance and this really is, well… a blast. The sound of a great band singing for their supper and hoping they get steak.

One of their songs seems to be bitching about right wing tendencies in the Frankfurt punk scene (fair enough, I dunno, whatever..), whilst the other is a chest-beating punk break-up song in the J. Church/Jawbreaker tradition that gets bonus points for opening with the line “you have a shabby front door”. Like the man said, when the music’s this strong, they could be singing about trimming their nasal hair and I’d still buy it.

Pound for pound, this is probably one of the strongest 7”s I’ve heard in recent memory. I dunno what availability is like outside of the bands’ respective merch tables, but if you find a copy somewhere, I recommend buying it.

Neither of these bands have a web presence as such, and neither does the record label.

Other Snuffy Smiles releases can be bought from Bombed Out distro here.

Out of date info on Blotto can be found here.

Hard Skin’s lyric sheet says “If you want to get in touch with Hard Skin – don’t bother. If we want anything we’ll get in touch with you”. If you insist though, their last.fm is here.

Labels: Blotto, Hard Skin, punk, singles reviews

Napalm Death –
Rare Tracks 86-88 7”
(white label)

Just like the cover says: a bootleg of unreleased studio takes, split EP tracks and live cuts recorded by the “Scum side one” and “From Enslavement..” line-ups of Napalm Death. 15 tracks on a 45rpm 7”.

If you know the score, you won’t gain much from reading further. What more needs to be said? I guess I’m aiming this one at the uninitiated. I don’t mean that in a snobbish sorta fashion, but let’s face it, I don’t write about extreme metal much round here, and chances are there is a significant portion of what I laughably call my readership for whom the idea of listening to Napalm Death would seem an outlandish, nay abhorrent, suggestion. This one goes out to them.

Ahem.

As my tastes have drifted back toward heavier punk/metal recently, I’ve been playing early Napalm Death a lot, and it never ceases to leave me cowering, electrified and awed, if you’re able to triangulate some combination of those varied reactions. Napalm Death is not of my era, not of my culture, and alien to my social circumstances. Nobody (except possibly John Peel) has ever told me I should listen to Napalm Death, and yet I do.

Well I remember, many years ago, when a friend of mine bought “From Enslavement To Obliteration” as part of some ‘three LPs for £5’ deal. We took it home and put it on. We thought it might be funny, if you can believe that. Needless to say, “From Enslavement To Obliteration” is about as funny as cancer, and at least half as harrowing. Birthed in a whole other universe from the camp bombast of ‘Maiden or Venom’s gonzo Satanism, or indeed from the Anal Cunt/Agoraphobic Nosebleed school of goofball grindcore that infested our schoolboy brains through the ‘90s, the suffocating, cathartic violence of the early ND records has existed to wipe the grin from the faces of “lol, metal” chancers like me, every day since they were recorded.

Even more unsettling was a quick glance at the lyrics sheet, revealing a complete absence of the kind of gore and corpse-fucking I had assumed bands like Napalm Death were supposed to bellow about, their unintelligible outpourings instead forming an expressionistic response to the agonising frustrations of global injustice, with a directness and fury that put most of our socially conscious ‘punk’ heroes to shame.

It was all a bit too much to deal with back then. I didn’t really have much of a feeling for truly malevolent music, how ever much I might have fronted. 2010, and the time seems right, don’t ask me why.

I know this isn’t exactly an original observation, but the more I listen, the clearer it becomes that Napalm Death were less a metal band, more an incredibly intense punk band. I mean, they draw on some metal background for sure, but only the bits that really matter – the lingering post-industrial nihilism of Black Sabbath, the screaming adrenalin overload of Slayer. And who, seeking to fuck people up with extreme rock music in the mid-80s, would not draw upon these things? This is the music of men smart and angry enough to know you’re not going to get very bloody far taking your cues from, I dunno, the Exploited or some shit, and that it doesn’t matter what your hair looks like or what kind of trousers you wear either. In spirit and overall emotional heft, they are closer to Black Flag than anything else – music that foregrounds full spectrum HEAVINESS (in the hippie sense of a ‘heavy cat’) over any genre bullshit. Only difference is, ND had a bigger war in mind, with a lot more casualties. They had a copy of “Reign In Blood” too. More of a lightning rocket attack than ‘Flag’s noble trudge through the trenches. Just keep that in mind, ready your neck muscles and drop the needle.

The very nature of this music and its culture – the extremely short songs, constantly fragmenting line-ups, labyrinthine discography – makes it an effort for anyone without nerd-level scene commitment to get a handle on precisely what the hell’s going on over the course of this 7”. As such, I’ll avoid tripping myself up by trying to identify the specific musicians on different bits, and instead just say that there’s nothing on this disc that suggests the music is anything but the work of a single, unified force, drilled to the point of desperate perfection. The dedication it must take for a band to essentially swap their whole line-up halfway through an LP (as ND did on “Scum”) and yet maintain such a unique and demanding sound is mind-boggling. Where did they find TWO guys who could play bass like that? Two guys who could si - uh, make noises with their throat – like that?

I’ve listened to plenty of doom, but I’ve never heard bass that swings so deep, so cthonic as the sound the guy is getting on the studio cuts on this record – ultimate bass cliché I know, but it’s like being hit in the gut by a chunk of flying masonry. Standing in the room where that sound was happening must have really fucking hurt, a point that’s not lost on the vocalist (Lee Dorrian I assume? Did they have another guy before him?) – twenty five years of absurd metal ‘vo-kills’ later, and still no one sounds like that – it’s like someone’s tearing his fucking soul out. I don’t need to tell you about the drumming – you can guess. Guitar sucks the whole sound into itself like a vortex – indescribable fucking distorto-wall/harmelodic whammy nightmare shit, like you might compare to Ron Asheton or Kerry King were the tone not so cruelly, chaotically vile.

Some song titles: “Your Achievement”, “Deceiver”, “Multinational Corporations, pt. 2”, “Retreat To Nowhere”, “Understanding”.

In short, this disc is a sightseeing tour of a couple of years in which one (or, weirdly, perhaps several) of the most deadly serious, unstoppable, flat-out terrifying rock bands ever to exist were performing under the name “Napalm Death”.

Unless you’re a fan of generic, midfield Death Metal (which is fine), the Napalm Death brand has been creatively redundant since probably about the dawn of the ‘90s. Such is the way with ‘heritage’ punk/metal bands. Somewhere in the record racks though, these guys are still there, ready to play songs for you:


No hurry or anything, but one day you might feel like letting them in.

Labels: METAL, Napalm Death, singles reviews

My Teenage Stride –
Creep Academy b/w Cast Your Own Shadow
(Flea Circus)

More bloody indie rock for you. I know you love it really.

Blind-buying a record with an awesome/WTF cover such as this one, photocopied on folded green paper by a tiny, untested label (Flea Circus – “itching to please you” says their logo!) is clearly a gamble. I mean, I laughed and threw it in the 'buy pile' as soon as I saw it. Wouldn’t you? But at the same time, I realise there’s maybe a one in four chance this’ll be the best band I’ve heard in my life; otherwise, chances are I’m treading into “let us never speak of it again” territory. A “Drink Up Buttercup situation”, as we like to call it round here… or at least we would if I ever talked out loud to anyone about this crap.

Upon further examination, I was disappointed to learn that “My Teenage Stride” is the band, and “Creep Academy” is the song. That’s not the way round I would have done it.

But do I win? Well… it’s a close call, but I’m gonna go with YES. Not that this is thee best new band I’ve heard, like, today or whatever, but that’s ok - I don’t think they’re trying to be. Not a mindblower, but My Teenage Stride (god, that name) do jaunty, agreeable sorta business that people with even the slightest investment in nerdy, white-boy American guitar music would be hard-pressed to hate.

“Creep Academy” is the livelier, more insistent number here, and, oddly, the one I don’t really get on with. ‘S ok, but indistinguishable form any number of sloppy, college town home recordists circa ’94-’96 really. Nice but undistinguished. If there’s a shiny hook in there somewhere, they’re careful not to tread on it.

“Cast Your Own Shadow” is the real doozy - a sweet, unforced hug of a song that resets the clock on all my jaded, cultural context-bound griping. Sounding like a bit more of a one-man effort, a ‘Son of a Gun’ thump and shimmery ascending keyboard riff help frame a lovably hesitant vocal that does it’s best to hit all the right notes in an I-hope-nobody’s-listening sort of way. The title’s allusion to Beat Happening seems entirely appropriate, more emotionally-speaking than musically, as My Teenage Stride evoke memories of a long gone golden age of wistful, big-hearted lo-fi self expression – kinda like Grant’s songs, or like Tommy Jay, or Julie Doiron, or probably an endless amount of secret stuff we’ve not heard, sitting quietly in cupboards or on harddrives, because it’s makers never felt the need to shout or make a fuss about it.

Actually though, music-wise, this sounds more like The Pains OBPAH than anything - uncannily so in fact, although I’m sure it’s not deliberate. Song construction, keyboard tone, rhythm, general feeling – these bands are drinking of the same well. Like, imagine if you suddenly discovered the Pains had home-recorded rough demos of all their tunes with a whole lot of heart and quirk, and you subsequently never felt the need to play their studio output again..? This song sounds kinda like that. It’s a GREAT song. My faith in men with glasses singing to themselves in sheds and hoping nobody can hear is hereby renewed.

http://www.myspace.com/myteenagestride
http://myspace.com/fleacircusrecords

Labels: My Teenage Stride, singles reviews

Pierre Raph –
Jeunes Filles Impudiques 7” EP
(Finders Keepers)

Is this what it’s come to, Stereo Sanctity? Reviewing porn soundtracks?

Um, apparently.

As a teaser for their forthcoming extravaganza of Jean Rollin soundtrack reissues, Finders Keepers here present a 33rpm seven inch disc of music and sounds from 1974’s “Jeunes Filles Impudiques”, aka “Schoolgirl Hitchhikers”, the first of numerous ‘adult films’ made by Rollin under his Michel Gentil pseudonym to help pay the rent and finance his own, more personal films through the ‘70s and ‘80s.

Composer Pierre Raph (who also worked with Rollin on “Requiem for a Vampire”, “Les Demoniaques” and “La Rose de Fer”) provides the music, whilst a lively cast and some English language dubbing artistes provide the, uh, other stuff.

Side A kicks off with “Gilda & Gunshots”, a giddy confection of double-speed rock drumming, distorted whip sound effects (I guess they’re supposed to be the gunshots?) and orgasmic gasps and shrieks, warming up into a startling runaway train prog excursion with the addition of muted trumpet and a sinister, minimal bass line. Play it daily, and let housemates/neighbours know you mean business.

Track two is a forgettable bit of ‘sensual’ renaissance faire guff, but I like how it’s warm and fuzzy and crackly as if it were taped straight off a battered mono film print (which I guess it quite possibly was).

“It’s time for you to know that Jackie and I have, let’s say, a very… intimate relationship, and act unblushingly when we are together”, says the voice of the same woman I’m sure I’ve heard dubbing the female leads in dozens of Euro horror movies at the start of side two. Fair enough. I act unblushingly when I hear the dreamy combination of ‘Sketches of Spain’ horns, owl hoots and an incessantly repeated Hank Marvin-style guitar phrase that follows. Things wrap up with a jolly tune that sounds like the theme from an uncharacteristically light-hearted Spaghetti Western in which bandits probably grin straight to camera and dance with old ladies a lot, and we’re out.

Bravo, Finders Keepers!

And if you like the sounda that, the full soundtrack album for one of my all-time favourite movies “Le Frisson des Vampires”, as performed by forgotten French acid-rock combo Acanthus, is in the shops now, and by my reckoning is more essential than food.

http://www.finderskeepersrecords.com/

Labels: Finders Keepers, singles reviews, soundtracks, weirdness

Cheap Time / Bad Sports – split 7” (Scion A/V)

The last Cheap Time single I picked up was sounding a little ropey, and Jeffrey Novak’s solo album was a flat out nightmare, so it’s reassuring to hear CT returning here to the straight up blast of their self-titled record with “Proper Introductions (Running Nowhere)”, two minutes and forty four delightful seconds of sneering, ribald Chilton-esque pop about how unexpectedly running into old acquaintances at the supermarket really sucks. It’s great. A post on Raven Sings The Blues today informs me that a press release for Cheap Time’s second LP promises it “..will surely surprise, divide and leave fans scratching their heads as to where Cheap Time will go next!" Hmm, we’ll see how that works out.

Bad Sports of Denton, TX are a new one on me, but they too really do the business with a thoroughly swell bit of lean, muscular power-pop. Production is loud and rough, as it should be, but both song-writing and playing suggest so much hard graft it’s almost uncool. I mean, they even break the three minute barrier. RIYL The Nerves EP, The Last, Buzzcocks, Zeros. Also recommended if you’ve never heard of any of that crap, and just want a really cool rock song to blast when you’re cruising around with the car windows down. Which I suppose would mean you’d have to install a turntable in your car, but I THINK YOU SHOULD DO THAT. Or just buy the mp3s like I did and burn them on a CD. Cos face it, that Blue Oyster Cult tape in the glove compartment is getting you no action whatsoever – give it to me, and get this.

Oddly, talk of vinyl in the above paragraph is probably slightly off the mark, because although it does exist, this single is put out principally via digital means by some weird internet company whose website plays wanky car advert electronica at you incessantly. “Scion continues to promote the finest in emerging music talent by partnering with today's most progressive artists and labels on its Garage 7-inch series to produce exclusive music”, they say. “Pick up a copy on vinyl at your local Scion event or listen now right here!!”

They’ve done stuff with The Oblivians, Jacuzzi Boys, Dirtbombs, Pierced Arrows et al and they even do an annual festival in Lawrence, Kansas, but I mean, HUH? Vague, corporate-voiced online media companies? Garage-punk? It all makes me rather apprehensive.

http://www.myspace.com/cheaptime
http://www.myspace.com/badsportsband
http://www.scionav.com/index.html

Labels: Bad Sports, Cheap Time, singles reviews

Mazes – Cenetaph / Go Betweens 7” (Suffering Jukebox)

New-ish single from Mazes, and the first release from new Manchester-based label Suffering Jukebox, whose name and release schedule thus far seems specifically designed to please me. You’ll recall that I loved Mazes’ first 45 to pieces, so when I say I don’t like this one quite so much, that’s not to say that there isn’t much here for the discerning consumer of indie rock to enjoy.

Thing is though, ya see: the home-recorded songs on the first record had a wonderful, rich, desperate blare to them, a spark that seemed really special. The tracks here were done in a studio, and well, I dunno – it kinda sounds like they had a really chilled out time doing them, and really out the work in to make everything sound perfect; maybe they had some really nice guy who usually does alt-country bands behind the board? Whatever, the result is that Mazes here sound like a competent indie-rock band, playing some good songs with quite nice melodies. Less “Shocker In Gloomtown”, more “Date w/ Ikea”.

I know which end of that spectrum excites me more these days, but hey, maybe you think differently. 90s revival partisans should by all means give it a shot. I don’t know which song is which, cos the sides aren’t labelled and neither of them have obvious title-repeating choruses, but at least one of ‘em has crisp drumming, a cool lively tune and a winning solo. Good enough for me. Now get back to the flat and start trying to record ten songs through the hi-fi speakers every time your neighbours go out, for such is apparently the only way a jaded freak like me can appreciate your rock majesty.

http://www.myspace.com/mazesmazesmazes
http://sufferingjukeboxrecords.blogspot.com/

Labels: Mazes, singles reviews

Singles Apocalypse:
HoZac F-ing Special.

Apologies for the lapse in posting – just got back from my holidays a few days ago. Unreviewed singles have become a mountain. Why do I keep buying them? Because they’re there. Here’s a few to get us started…


Fey Gods – United b/w Bury Me Standing (HoZac)

The first of a whole trio of new Hozac releases I’ve picked up by bands starting with ‘f’, this one is my least favourite, and also has the worst cover design of any of the discs in my ‘new arrivals’ heap. Which is not to say it’s not at least quite good, mind you, assuming severely distressed gothic synth-punk is your thing.

If it isn’t, prepare to look on in growing horror as a farting, distortion pedalled low end keyboard and cymballess drumkit churn out a lumbering, maddenly repetitive riff that sounds like either a) a drunken Martin Rev sountracking a military funeral, or b) a twelve year old nihilist having a temper tantrum (choose your own record review adventure). Over this, we meet a man whose unhappy outbursts position him somewhere between a stroppy goth-rock vocalist of yore and Rocket From The Tombs-era David Thomas. Bracing!

CORRECTION: I’ll let that review stand, but will make clear that I’ve just realised I was playing the record at the wrong speed. At god’s own 45, things have much the same sense of gloom, only now the vocalist is female, and it kinda sounds a bit like 45 Grave, and kinda kicks ass. Mascara!

Disappointingly, the b-side here mainly consists of a guitarist picking over some minor chords Mogwai left behind, whilst an uncertain male vocalist tries to squeeze some goth-grandeur out of incessantly repeating the word “inside”. I don’t think I’ll play it again.

http://www.myspace.com/feygods

The Flips – I Just Don’t Know Where I Stand EP (HoZac)

Well I probably don’t need to tell you I love this by default. Six girls making delightful, Cave Weddings-esque rock n’ roll jangle-pop, in the tradition of The Bobby Fuller Four, Buddy Holly, The She Trinity, Pleasure Seekers etc? Let’s face facts, they could be illiterate Nazis and I’d still give this the thumbs up. It’s as sweet as whiskery kisses from Jesus himself.

“1 and 1 is 3” on the b-side is by far the best tune here – in fact it’s a total killer. It would definitely get an airing were I DJing anywhere any time soon. The other two numbers are good as well though.

The Flips are big on handclaps and tambourine, so it’s just as well I am too. I don’t really know why they have six people in the line-up; there’s no organ and only one singer, so whichever way you cut it that’s at least one too many. Maybe some of them are just in it for the handclaps? Sweet! Their publicity shots suggest a serious dedication to the “Girls In The Garage” aesthetic. If you like this sort of thing, chances are you’re on board already, and if you don’t, your loss.

My copy is on translucent orange vinyl! A winning disc. Sadly, my unsuccessful search for a myspace page reveals that The Flips have already broken up. DRAGSVILLE. What is it with bands that sound this happy? Does the weight of the world just crush them or something? I dunno. Get this while ya can anyway.

http://hozacrecords.com/2010/08/the-flips/

Fungi Girls – Turquoise Hotel b/w Doldrums (HoZac)

Fungi Girls are not girls. Ha, not seen that one done much recently. Fungi Girls are instead a bunch of smart kids who I guess figured they had what it takes to grab a slice of the lo-fi garage-pop action whilst there’s still some going around. Good decision, as it turns out - they’re bloody great at it.

Nothing ‘new’ here for you thrillseekers, but for those of us who remain happy with a good bit of well-executed rock music, let it be known that guitar/bass/drums dynamics are lively and inventive and well… rocking… throughout, the recording is JUST distant and reverbed enough to put me in mind of an early REM or Feelies album, and the vocalist’s droll, sleepy monotone is extremely pleasing. “Doldrums” in particular is terrific, rattling along like the best song The Clean never got around to recording in their ‘80s heyday.

This is nice music, high on fun, low on ego; the kind of thing that happens when quiet, good natured boys who are secretly the coolest kids in school get together and quietly form the coolest band in town. Louder and less able young music-makers from Cleburne, Texas must hate these guys’ debonair guts.

http://www.myspace.com/fungigirls


Did I mention that I really like HoZac records at the moment?
http://hozacrecords.com/

Labels: Fey Gods, Fungi Girls, singles reviews, The Flips

SINGLES APOCALYPSE: Part # whatever

I’m really sorry about the recent lack of posting. A few weeks of non-stop drinking, carousing and musicing have taken their toll on my regular, boredom-based writing schedule.

Any attempt to keep reviewing new singles in alphabetical order is completely out of the window by now I’m afraid, but here are a couple I wrote before the deluge, and more random grabs from the pile around the hi-fi, and other top notch ‘content’ will hopefully be with you shortly…


LA Vampires & Zola Jesus –
LA Vampires Meets Zola Jesus 12”
(Not Not Fun)

Consciously modelled on one of those classic “so-and-so meets so-and-so” dub platters from the ‘70s, what we essentially have here is the sound of two spooky, stoned 21st century rich girls making a kinda temporally disconnected, neon-midnight stab at a dub record.

I don’t mean that to sound dismissive; after long years in which the thoughts and doings of spooky, stoned rich girls in the USA were nowt but a cruel mystery to me, I feel happy and privileged to live in a world where awesome things like this can exist and filter their way into culture so casually.

LA Vampires is ex-Pocahaunted (and seriously, who’d have guessed THEY’D prove such a rich jumping off point for inspired side/successor projects when they were busy making lmtd-to-50 tapes full of garbled guff for Byron Coley to drool on a few years back?); Zola Jesus you already know, I hope.

The former does the stabbing synth-bass riffs, sliced up ‘80s electro rhythm tracks and cosmic horror echo webs here, while the latter gets to hear some of her distinctive vocal melodies and operatic reveries stretched and laced up across the music, left to float alone in distant wells of mega-delay. Songs are present, and they are cool, but structure swiftly fades in favour of, well, y’know… dubbing it up. Imagine if, god… I don’t know; imagine if Scientist had done a score to ‘The Hunger’ or something. Sounds good? Hop in!

LA and Zola’s reinvention of Dawn Penn’s “No No No” is playing right now, and it’s as sweet and terrifying as you’d expect. You don’t love me, yes I know now (creeping up, knife in teeth.)

It’s easy to wax lyrical on a record like this, but let’s put it plainly – these ladies are so fucking talented they’re making GOTH-DUB sound like a brilliant idea. Think on that for a minute, and then pay whatever Rough Trade are asking for a copy of this.

http://www.myspace.com/zolajesus
http://www.last.fm/music/LA+Vampires
http://www.notnotfun.com/now.html

Pens –
You Only Like Me When I Tell You I’m Wrong
(DeStijl)

I haven’t managed to see Pens play as often as I probably shoulda done, given that I live in the same city as them, so whilst it was probably old news by the time I saw them play a Ladyfest do in Goldsmiths cafeteria earlier this year, I was still astonished by the progress they’ve made as a band.

In both sound and appearance, they seem to have undergone an almost total transformation from the Pens who recorded their supremely obnoxious noise-bomb of an LP last year, the one I saw few times way back when, filling shithole venues with their cheap, sickening fuzz and fuck-you amateur stomp. Don’t get me wrong, I loved that band, but Pens Mk.2 are soundin’ real convincin’ too - still not following the rules, still doing what comes naturally, but with greater experience leading away from chaos toward a land of pummelling, bass-heavy rhythm shit and alternate world musicality, inevitably touching upon the same Raincoats-birthed femme-rock trajectory as contemporaries like Trash Kit, Wet Dog, Grass Widow et al. Full of GREAT new material (they old played one or two numbers off the album), their set went down a storm with friends of mine whom I’d imagine woulda spit feathers if confronted by the old Pens. Particularly noteworthy was an absolutely astounding closing song, which conveniently turns up here, entitled “You Only Like Me When I Tell You I’m Wrong”.

Though still comfortably grounded in the home-recorded clatter of yore, this is probably the best composition Pens have put on record to date, as violin-toned keyboard sounds scrape out the riff and exuberant, cymbal heavy drumming hold down the centre against relatively restrained guitar fuzz as the girls harmonise their way through the title-repeating chorus in just the most… brilliant fashion. A great song, plain and simple, and “Love Rules” on the B is no slouch either, mixing a Grass Widow-ish surf guitar line with thrumming bass feedback and a desperately foreboding descending melody line… I know it’s an unspeakable cliche to go around comparing every vaguely idiosyncratic female group to The Raincoats, but the influence of their first album hangs heavy over these tunes in the best possible way – rough-hewn, self-created, furious, awkward fun. Fairytale in the Old Blue Last, anyone?

http://www.myspace.com/penspenspenis
http://destijlrecs.com/

Labels: LA Vampires, Pens, singles reviews, Zola Jesus

SINGLES APOCALYPSE: Part # 2:
Comet Gain Special.

Comet Gain – I Never Happened EP
(What’s Yr Rupture?)

Comet Gain, what are you and why do we need you so? Hopeless, self-mythologisin’ faux-beatniks floundering around in the ruins of British indie culture? Self-pity ridden mod fools cursing the skies that they weren’t born in ’46, in a movie? The angriest bunch of record collectors who ever tried to persuade you they lead exciting lives? The Mekons with better dress sense? The greatest band in the world in the minds of the 400 or so people with precisely the right cultural background to take it all in? Whatever they are (never mind the ‘who’, that’s just disappointing), they’re a fortress in my head that’s not going away any time soon. If they weren’t there, I’d have had to invent them.

So listen: I’ve been going out of my way recently to avoid the chest-beating, self-pitying yak that often predominated in my tastes of yore, but fuck it, I got my troubles, and Comet Gain make self pity sound so sweet – witness the title track here, lining itself up for premier position on next decade’s equivalent of their recent singles/rarities comp. “ I never happened / you never occurred to me / I never spoke elegantly / I never walked through the door”, gasps David Feck over some quietly livid two chord shuffle. “I never happened / sure, but it happened once / I was laughed at by all those cunts / I never wanted to know”. Fucker’s just playing straight into the hands of us aging sad boys again, isn’t he? And don’t we just dig it.

Indeed, this four tracker on WYR? (something of a palette cleanser for their forthcoming Edwyn Collins produced comeback record?) finds the band closer than ever to the spirit of their beloved Television Personalities – by which I mean, captivating and frustrating in equal measure. Nil recording details or customary Feck blather here, just a fold-out tissue paper sleeve, track names stamped on white labels, and the magnificent (to some of us, in some moods) opening cut bulked up to EP status with the addition of two excruciating drunken jam sessions, an on-air apology and a number called “Love Vigilantes”, where Feck fits new lyrics about a soldier coming home to his family to the tune of “It’s Gone Before We Open Our Eyes”. It starts off kinda earnest, but he seems to have given in to parody by the closing verses. And why not, eh?

A noble mess then, probably pretty much par for the course for Comet Gain circa 2010, but it’ll still be nectar to those of us who inadvertently learned to whistle every guitar line on all their old albums years ago.

http://www.myspace.com/thecometgain
http://www.whatsyourrupture.com/

Comet Gain/Hello Cuca split 7”
(Doble Vida)

By way of contrast, Feck’s team show up two men down for their side of this single (Rachel and Jon Slade both AWOL), and knock it outta the park with just about the most furious track they’ve laid down since “City Fallen Leaves”. Nothing new here I guess, just another stumbling-out-of-the-club-shaking-fists-at-the-sky tale of blown chances and wild eyes and growling regrets. But they sound more ragged and garagey than ever as a fuzz heavy four piece busting out punk-ass 1/2/1/2 verse rhymes, and “Weekend Dreams” could easily have fitted into the flow of aforementioned album’s hallowed first side. No small boast. The defiance is intact. Kick ass solo too, David! I know you put the effort into these things really, dude.

I have fond memories of seeing Spain’s Hello Cuca absolutely tear it up at Ladyfest London at the Garage back in… ooh, 2002 I believe… taking the majority of attendees by surprise with a virtuoso display of high energy surf-rock. Now needless to say, if there’s one thing we at Stereo Sanctity can always get behind, it’s a good bit of Riot Grrl-affiliated Iberian surf-rock, and Hello Cuca’s knock at our doors is always likely to be a welcome sound, whether literally or figuratively.

In the intervening years, the trio have developed their sound admirably, ploughing their tight interpersonal dynamics and killer chops into a more vocal-heavy, art-punk direction that we hear the fruits of here, where Hello Cuca sound furious, spiky and inspired, somewhat akin to a bouncier, tropicalia-influenced Sleater Kinney, or to a more rocking number from fellow Comet Gain buddies Love Is All. Lyrics are in Spanish, which is as it should be, so I don’t know what they’re on about, but it all sounds terrific. Long-standing heroes of a scattered international community who take the Kill Rock Stars back catalogue as their god, Hello Cuca is now and forever a good time.

All in all, a beautifully presented, kick ass 7” here from new Barcelona-based label Doble Vita, who are doing good stuff and deserve your support. You might still be able to pick up a copy from Rough Trade if yr in the UK, otherwise speak to the label – they’re very friendly.

http://www.myspace.com/thecometgain
http://www.myspace.com/rompepistas
www.doblevidadiscos.com

Labels: Comet Gain, Hello Cuca, singles reviews

SINGLES APOCALYPSE:
March – June 2010, Part # 1

My 45s habit has been getting pretty chronic recently, so plenty more of these to come.

The Bitters – East b/w Foreign Knives
(Captured Tracks)

The Bitters are a lo-fi pop type projected helmed by The Young Governor, also of Fucked Up. This particular single is kinda old – they’ve done an album and no doubt a shedload of other stuff subsequently – but I only just got it.

And… well I dunno man, I’d love to tell you I love The Bitters, but there’s something real off-putting (bitter, perchance?) about what they do. Strung out female vox, cavernous, weary sounds, no memorable tunes on the horizon. Captured Tracks have put out a bunch of great stuff over the past few years, and will put out a bunch more no doubt, but in between times I fear the label is suffering from a highly specific aesthetic malaise into which this neatly falls.

Listening to The Bitters puts me in mind of Royal Trux, minus the classic rock fixation, and the humour and the guts. And like those more distressed Trux outbursts, the best thing you can say about them is that they pose some uncomfortable questions for their listeners. Like: is there is some kind of hidden value within this music that the smart kids are picking up on but I am missing, something that would convince people to keep on making it, and labels to release it? Or is it actually just a load of crap? Answers on a postcard with a picture of something gross and dreary on the front.

But, pffff, wouldn’t you know it – listening to the single again as I write this, I’m starting to get into it a bit more. “East”, at least, is pretty decent, with some crisp drumming, some good, weird noises in the middle and a pleasantly melodramatic, almost goth-y, feel as the noise builds up towards the end. Not bad.

I dunno… bloody music. I’m always patting it on the head and letting it go when I should be giving it a right telling off. Some critic I am.

http://www.myspace.com/bittersband
http://capturedtracks.com/

Brilliant Colors – Walk Into the World
(Germs of Youth)

I may have ripped on the other recent Brilliant Colors single, but rest assured, I like this one a lot better.

Maybe that has something to do with the fact I’ve seen the band live since then, and perhaps better understand where they’re coming from. They were sweet, and reserved, and somewhat wary on stage. The guitarist played a very cheap looking strat copy with the cover of The Feelies first album pasted on the back, and… in there is the kernel of what you need to know really.

Refusing to play up to either the distorto fizz blast of their album or the shaky acousticism of some of their singles, Brilliant Colors played tightly focussed, heavily rhythmic music, imaginative but not at all showy about it, with an appreciation of the way their instruments gel together that betrays a wealth of practice and deliberation rare indeed in the field of current garage/punk rock.

Like a determined kid spending eight hours on a single pencil drawing in art lessons, what they do is extremely simple, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth working on, polishing ‘til every line shines.

They were brilliant in short, and, listening with fresh ears, that’s the music I hear on this European tour 7”.

Mine is number 10 of 300, and at the time of writing they are still adventuring ‘round the wilds of the UK, presumably with a few boxes left. GO GET.

http://www.myspace.com/brilliantcolorssanfrancisco
http://www.myspace.com/germsofyouth

Burning Yellows – Urinal Cakes b/w Drought
(HoZac)

Startling new sounds here from HoZac, you might be tempted to think, but sounds can only really get *so* startling when they sound like the tepid shiftwork of some guys raised on the same Sonic Youth and MBV records I was, y’know?

It’s not dreadful by any means, but… shit, what can I tell you – the A side here sounds like a mid-period Television Personalities track played backwards. The B side sounds like Stereolab if they were born in 1988 and make a big show of not giving a fuck. Either could be the opening section of a more interesting long-form drone/jam, but both end before anything worth reporting happens.

A big SHRUG from the peanut gallery here I’m afraid.

I love ya HoZac, but there are cheaper and more enjoyable ways than this to block out the neighbours for five minutes.

http://www.myspace.com/burningyellows
http://www.hozacrecords.com/

The Cave Weddings – The Last Time
(Bachelor)

Now here’s a sad story; I popped by the Cave Weddings myspace page a couple of weeks back to have a few more listens to “The Last Time” and see if they’d got the 7” out yet, and…. The Cave Weddings myspace page no longer exists. Falling back on a google search, this brief interview with Erin from the band confirms the worst. The Cave Weddings, whose joyous guitar-pop I was giddily comparing to the sound of contentment and marital bliss last year, are no more.

It seems Erin finished off the b-side to this single herself with the help of some guys from the band The Midwest Beat, quietly sent the whole package to the excellent Bachelor label in Austria, and…. that’s all folks.

The good news is that “The Last Time” is still one of the flat-out greatest songs I’ve heard in years. Nothing special in terms of composition/innovation I suppose, but what can ya say? If we’re to take Billy Childish’s formula for what makes a great record – THE SONG, THE SOUND, THE PERFORMANCE – as gospel, well “The Last Time” is just one of those numbers that aces all three. Top of the class. Every time I hear it, it’s a rush, every time that lead guitar hook kicks in, I want to jump around. I must have listened to this song literally 50+ times when it was streaming on myspace, and finally having it on vinyl is a great thing. Taking it off the turntable hurts.

I guess the song’s rather downbeat lyric fits the circumstances of it’s release quite well, but that’s wholly accidental, and the scissor-kicking, power-pop exuberance of these drums and guitars bears no hint of malice. B-side “Never Never Know”, with Erin taking the lead vocal, is inevitably a slightly shakier affair, with the overdubbed bass and backing vox failing to really fill the space left by the absence of the band’s rich rhythm guitar sound. By anyone else’s standards it would be a great song, but it is by necessity the poor relation here.

So let us not shed a tear for The Cave Weddings – their legacy may only consist of eight songs split across two singles and a self-released CD, but they are eight of the most perfectly realised garage-pop songs you’ll ever hear, and I bet that somewhere they’ll still be gladdening hearts and making people dance decades from now. If only more of the world’s rock bands were as concise and considerate.

In the meantime, time to move on. Eric has a new LP as Eric & The Happy Thoughts coming soon on HoZac, and sounds like Erin’s getting some new stuff on the go in Milwaukee. Looking forward to it dudes.

http://www.bachelorrecords.com/

Labels: Brilliant Colors, Burning Yellows, singles reviews, The Bitters, The Cave Weddings