REVIEWERS: Tony Rettman (TR) Max Milgram (MM) Tom DeAngelo (TD)
ANITA FIXX AND BAM BAM - Run for Joy b/w 20 Second Bugs (Ride the Snake, 7”)
A couple members of Pittsburgh’s long defunct Dead at 24
(Anita Fix being, I believe, the drag queen moniker of one of ‘em) still
dishing out the stark stuff as they close in on middle age. The 2009 reissue of
Dead at 24’s Blast off Motherfucker!,
also released by Boston’s generally reliable Ride the Snake, was one of my
favorite music-related surprises of that year, and it’s nice to see that these
guys are still active in one form or another. What’s even nicer is the fact
that the quality of this single is of a level no lesser than what I’ve heard
from their old band, and fits in rather well with the rather dour shit storm they
previously emitted. Suppose it’s a bit less sprawling than the majority of Blast Off… (It is a single though after
all, so maybe their other material is looser), but it’s a nice blend of no-wave
and garage that’d likely turn many heads and go for a decent amount of clams
(Inflatable Boy Clams, perhaps?) were it recorded anywhere between ’78-’82. The
a-side’s a nice stumblin’ number somebody decided to title Run for Joy and it’s
gotta shuffling quality that reminds me more n’ a little bit of the Moe Tucker/SCG
collaboration Paris 1942. I’ve listened to it maybe four/five times so far and
it’s already wormed its way into my puny brain fer good. The other side, 20 Second Bugs, is a live recording of
acceptable sound quality, and features a particularly devastating one-chord
riff that rises and falls half way through like a stiff poke to the eyes, as if
Brazilian psych band Persona were raised on cheap Steel City beer, Lemon
Kittens and car exhaust fumes. Labels are switched on my copy, for whatever
it’s worth (absolutely nothing, accept maybe added confusion). It’d be a shame
if this thing fell through the cracks like D@24’s work originally did. Though
the cover art really is horrendous, and I couldn’t blame anybody for not
picking it up if they didn’t know what it was, this single’s about as good a
pairing as any that have made it my way over the course of this nearly folded
calendar year. - TD
AVON LADIES - Guns & Gold (Katonga Works, 7”)
I’m not going to pretend to having anything of a working
knowledge for the Cleveland Hardcore scene of the 90’s. While Nine Shocks
Terror and The H-100’s were blowing tiny minds with their re-working of
Japanese goods, I was more than likely high as a kite in some dimly lit New
Brunswick attic trying to recreate the Glastonbury Fayre of ‘71 by crawling
inside a makeshift pyramid. But I’m not gonna lie and say that first Integrity
7” didn’t hand me my own ass on a plate when I was a senior in high school. How
could it not? When the Homostupids came out of nowhere to blur the line between
weird and stupid, I went back trying to connect the dots between them and this
scene, but it was hopeless. I felt like I should’ve been wearing a bad toupee
and a Hot Topic purchased ‘Dwid is God!’ shirt as I innocently asked the local
youth if they would like to trade a copy of Texas
Death Match for a lock of Claude Delcloo’s pubes. But I learned enough from
those humiliating episodes to know Chris Erba (ex - H-100’s, Upstab and Ruiners
vocalist) is/was a true vocal shred master who somehow morphed the hanging yowl
of Darby Crash with the nicotine stained roar of Cal Discharge only to spew out
something even more twisted than how that reads/sounds. And would you looky
here, Chris is back to destroy his vocal chords once again with some ex-members
of Pigeon Religion and boy oh boy does it make the blood boil. The sound is
Sabbath funneled through My War
funneled through to Eye for an Eye
and Chris’ voice still sounds disgustingly choice. So if you’re not the type to
normally warm up to a kaftan and a mug of dandelion tea every evening before
turning in, I think you know how to move on this one. – TR
BLACK HUMOR – Love God/Love One Another (Superior
Viaduct, LP)
The first release from a label set to focus on essential SF
art punk from back when “crack was what you were doing when you were doing
crack,” and a fine way to get things crackin’ at that. This reissue of the sole
1982 product of Black Humor has gotten a decent amount of ink already, but this
hack’s happy to throw his share of bad feelings into the swirling pool of man
milk, as I’ve been wanting to own a copy since reading Min from the A Frames
articulate musings on it in the first issue of Z Gun (just like you I bet!) A
hard record to place; seemingly at odds with the politically correct
consciousness of the bay area scene that surrounded it, it’s provocative
post-industrial post-punk of fairly downtrodden lot. Some of the stuff coming
out of the UK such as CON-DOM seems to be the most apt sonic reference point to
my ears, but, much like Louisville’s Circle X (another worthy bed partner),
this thing’s as American as it gets in terms of execution and presentation.
Things start off miserably, perfectly with Undancing
in the Dirt, and by the time you get to the side-one closing trudge of You Can Have It!, if you’ve still got
any faith left in your fellow man I guess it’s time for you to throw on your
happy time sunglasses and hang in garage Fonziedom forevermore. The B-side’s
got a lot of group shouting, sound clips and sloganeering, like any number of
Crass records releases from around the same period, but with a more sinister
sense of humor (a “black” one, possibly?) that separates it from that scene as
well. Superior Viaduct’s got a loaded schedule of other desirable releases
lined up, such as lost Noh Mercy recordings, the ever elusive Factrix LP, and a
personal favorite in German Sheppard’s famed Music for Sick Queers. A needle-thin injection of sunshine into the
otherwise perpetual gray of your unquestionably petty, pathetic life, I’d hazard
a firm handshake’s in order for whoever’s responsible if and when these end up
seeing the light of day. And for now,
rest assured that if you can judge a record based on the number of swastikas
its cover fits onto the American flag (I’ve certainly yet to find a better
method), than this ranks up there with the best of ‘em. - TD
COP CITY/CHILL
PILLARS – Held Hostage on Planet Chill
(Florida’s Dying, LP)
I have to admit it’s been awhile since a record has come out
of nowhere and perplexed me as much as this one does. The name…the cover…the
sound…all the way down the line it’s a total mind fuck. From the basement
séance opener Nobody Likes You to the
stumbling, snot-nosed comedown of So
Messed Up, CC/CP make it
painfully obvious they are projecting from a universe entirely of their own
with no making it weird for the sake of it. Is this what The Shadow Ring would
have sounded like towards the end if someone played Graham Lambkin a copy of Behind The Magnolia Curtain rather than
the Extended Voices compilation? My
beer soaked mind says, ‘Yeah, sure…why not? Can we have dinner now?’ – TR
DARK LION – (Vinyl
Rites/Static Gold, 7”)
Posthumous thing from a bassless trio out of Florida in the
early 00’s that pretty much melts my brain every time I throw it on. I’m
guessing the more jaded types will take a look at the earnest political
sentiments contained on here and make an icky poo face, but fuck it, the things
sounds like Noh Mercy, The Wrecks, Sleeping Body and The Manacled wrestling in
a god damned trash can, so who cares? And anyway, G.W was an obvious fucking
bastard, so they ain’t in the wrong. Glad to have picked this up on a whim. – TR
DEGREASER – Bottom Feeder (Negative Guest List, LP)
In my half-assed assessment, there have always seemed to
exist two distinct schools of contemporary burly man-rock, a “sick”, “heavy”,
and decidedly song based approach, and a looser, more crud-caked rendering. Yet
New York City’s Degreaser, led by Tasmanian ex-pat Tim Evans, seem to toe the
line between the two rather adeptly, neither fully reveling in the delay soaked
mongo-riffage of, say, Violent Students, but a far cry away from the slick
production and wacky antics of a Pissed Jeans or the like. The songs on this
album are spiteful, hateful, meandering and dark, but they’re certainly songs
in there, near kraut-rock excursions of circular drum patterns and plodding
bass with a phased out guitar ringin’ for all its worth over top while a man
bellows out all the bad decisions he’s managed to make in his life so far. I
don’t know about you reader, but I kinda had my fill of this thing a couple
years ago when it was all the rage and all these little pipsqueaks were dead
set on trying to start some pseudo-transgressive kiddy bands ‘cos they
downloaded a Brainbombs album that week or whatever, but something’s ringing on
this ‘un that tells me the players involved got a little more class than that.
The atmosphere is slow and oppressive, putting it up there with the work of
Twin Stumps, if you’re looking for a modern comparison, and, based on the bass
heavy plucking and uncomfortable commentary, Blight if going backwards. Amid
the torrent of insignificant thoughts likely eddying around the hollow cavities
of your fractured psyche is possibly the inquiry “Do I really need this record
in my life?” That is a question only you, brave record review reader, can
answer, but if you’re desperate for a quality piece to add to your refined hate-rock
collection (and let’s face it, of course you are!) than this innit nothing like
a bad addition to that edifice. - TD
FACTORYMEN – Yellow Eyes and the Sound of Vomit (Richie,
12” EP)
A lot of people seem to think of the solo endeavors by
Steven Peffer as some sort of inside joke with the man himself; like he’s
dishing out all this dementia onto vinyl only to chuckle about it in his
bathtub at a later date. Maybe I’m the dink in this situation, because I don’t
hear anything of a thrown off/ jack off nature in any of his work thus far;
especially on this latest big top offering. Yellow
Eyes… finds Peffer making that big, gawky step into the goop of a fully
realized though totally unconscious realm of aural oneness. And yeah, I’d even
go so far to say his stuff spirals around the same universe of American-made
homespun worlds created by the likes of Douglas Breggar, Kenneth Higney, or
even Jim Shepard. I guess by tying him in with the above mentioned dudes, the
question will be raised, ‘Is this one of those ‘real people’ records I read so
much about on the blogs?’ Well, since I have seen Steve in the flesh and know
that he is in fact a real person, then yes…sure. Whatever it takes to get some
Swede to sell this thing for $300 ten years from now. – TR
CHRIS FORSYTH -
Paranoid Cat /Dreams (Family Vineyard, LP's)
Paranoid Cat is Chris Forsyth's best record yet. And who's
to argue? Find me a better Chris Forsyth record. You cannot. And the title
track is the reason why, man. A simple, nay, hummable little guitar licks opens
the side-long suite that gradually introduces bass, harmonium, drums, piano,
trumpet, and more guitars. The guitars are clean and fluid, intertwining in a
fashion that harkens back to Marquee Moon;
or at least to Foxhole. And it's
awesome. But as steam builds and the drums get a little more insistent what was
mere elegance becomes pure majesty. Majesty like Das Hohelied Salomos/ Letzte Tage-Letzte Nachte-era Popol Vuh.
Soaring, spiraling guitars. Absolutely killer. The B-side is in a less
expansive mood, but it's pretty difficult to follow up that epic. Three shorter
pieces, with New Pharmacist Boogie
sounding like Al Wilson contracting rabies (the paranoid cat strikes again!)
and Front Street Drone utilizing
slide guitar. There's another song too but I don't remember it, nothing against
the track.
Also out on the streets is a re - issue of an earlier record
called Dreams. This one fluctuates a
little wilder between more immediately discernible melodicism and the sort of
confusing not-rock that Forsyth's band PSI (I'm not spelling that shit out)
specialized in. But even when there's some some klanging around or whatever,
you know there's gonna be some "tasty licks" to even it out. That's why it works. Balance! I do have to
profess a fondness for a particular ditty named Soft History that sounds like
Rhys Chatam playing Roger McGuinn (or maybe the other way around), with its
repetitive chiming guitar minimalism. But the entire thing is good, real good.
If forced into some twisted and evil scenario where a madman demanded I chose
which record is superior I would say Paranoid
Cat, which is also his newer one.
Which means he's just getting better and better! So the next one is gonna be even more
killer! Both deserve a handsome spot in
your collection. I recommend to file them alphabetically like any sane person.
– MM
Various Artists – LIFE IN THE FUTURE – SWEDISH POST-PUNK &
SYNTH WAVE 79 – 87 (No Label, LP)
I’d pretty much dump my wallet on the counter for any piece
of vinyl that had a subtitle such as this one; I guess I’m just an all-day
sucker in that way. Some stuff on here – such as the tracks by Mats Olofsson,
Reason to Live and Vitality for instance- are a little too tight for my turtleneck,
but the majority of the stuff in this collection has enough crude dynamics and
non-electro moves to get a gut owner such as myself excited. The gemstones on
here are the infamous Kitchen and the Plastic Spoons coming off like a more
tightly wound version of The Eyes, Modern Art and Cortes proving someone must
have been sneaking early releases from the Zoo label into the country and Unter
Den Linden, whose vocalist wins the award for best Ian Curtis imitation with an
entire penis in his mouth. – TR
Pretty amazing archival release of the sessions Scream
recorded with the dearly departed Jerry Williams back in ’82 for the ill-fated
Bad Brains curated compilation LP. As expected, the quality is pretty rough,
but when you ponder the fact how few have actually heard this session - never
mind the whole stinkin’ compilation - you really have no room to balk. And
yeah, as you might have read on the internets, this thing was sold on Scream’s
recent west coast tour and it’s more or less not available anymore. So, why’d I
review it? I dunno…just felt like being a dick, I suppose. - TR
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