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Music for Gluesniffers, Terrorists & the Mentally Ill: CD
Potent cross-pollination of U.K. and U.S. strains of punk, resulting in thrashy hardcore with topical lyrics that aren’t afraid to make a point, served up nice and overdriven. These London louts deliver the goods in spades here. –jimmy (Pumpkin)

Mistakes Were Made: CD
Kenny Rogers’ face is a good example of something that’s gotten dramatically funnier and simultaneously more frightening as the years peal away. The Republican Party is another one. As if espousing a political philosophy only a little bit more sophisticated than that of a territorial toddler isn’t bad enough, some of the Grand Old Party’s most star-spangled mouthpieces outright physically resemble giant tantrum-prone toddlers: notably Rush Limbaugh, Karl Rove, Glenn Beck, Newt Gingrich. Then, in a bold move to become even more cartoon-like, the Republican Party maladroitly became the platform for the dim-bulb Homecoming Queen contingent, ala Sarah Palin and Michelle Bachmann. And by the time Joe the Plumber strode into the limelight, assumed a plumber’s squat, and let loose with his runny nuggets of “everyman” wisdom, the clown dung had basically hit the fan. But don’t get me wrong: Democrats are ridiculous too. On several levels, I tend to think that all political animals should be taken as seriously as balloon animals. But it’s not all laffs and pratfalls. There’s a scary side too; namely that the Neocons are such paragons of neurological rigidity and ideological inflexibility, what Robert Anton Wilson (I think) termed the “statutory ape.” They have an insect loyalty to their own overactive greed glands and to them shameless self-indulgence is considered a virtue. They start with their First Fundamental “Truth,” which is “nothing whatsoever should obstruct my ability to acquire the things I desire, particularly if I’m already well-to-do,” and then they move out from there, philosophically speaking, and formulate their worldview based on that one foundational “given.” These are people just screaming to be made fun of. They are setting a new standard for zealotry that used to be owned by cultists like the Branch Davidians and Facebookies. But disregarding them entirely could prove lethal, quite literally, to the entire planet, so it’s good to know that wise people like George Lakoff are providing New Enlightenment-based approaches to dealing with sanctimonious, hidebound Neocons on the socio-political level. But work also needs to be done on the satirical level. And that’s where Davey Porter And The Young Republicans step in. Davey Porter, in fact, even has that corn-fed, fat cat cherubim look made so popular by Limbaugh, Rove, et al. Or maybe his name is “Dudley”—I’m not real clear on that. Regardless of who’s who, Davey Porter And The Young Republicans is a trio who dress up like snooty Republicans (ala the Yuppie Pricks), and play metalized punk songs that extol the virtues of the Conservative-Life-Lived-Right and their lyrics ooze with such blubbery smugness that I can’t help but think of Newt Gingrich’s love handles. And according to the band bio, Porter even “out-Nuges” Ted Nugent in the category of grunt-snorting he-man conservative primitiveness by virtue of the fact the he was raised in the backwoods of North Carolina by a family of deer, who he later ate at the age of fourteen, after growing his first beard. Terrible Ted’s loin-clothed G. Gordon Liddy routine can’t touch that with a twelve-foot stink pole. Musically, you could make reasonable comparisons between the Young Republicans and bands like Fear, 1990s-era Meatmen, the Plasmatics, and even Iron Maiden. The only unfortunate thing is that this Davey/Dudley character, I’ll bet, probably works at the Guitar Center; his Dimebag Darryl guitar tone just sounds like it’s being filtered through an array of sound processing products he got at work with his thirty percent employee’s discount. But that’s a fairly minor quibble. It’s really the lyrics that are the focus here. If you are a fan of mock-conservatism along the lines of The Colbert Report or the Yuppie Pricks, you’ll at very least probably find this CD amusing in spots. Sure, it’s an easy target, but it’s also a fun target. Go get your copy of Mistakes Were Made and have a few laughs before this country’s second Civil War breaks out between the Cutthroat Neocons and Everyone Else. This stuff might not seem quite as funny once that happens. –Aphid Peewit (Self-released)

I Am Gemini: CD/LP
I can’t seem to recall an album that I went from detesting so much to actually enjoying. Upon the first few listens, I found I Am Gemini to be disappointing and safe. The press for the album said that it was one of Cursive’s heaviest albums, which I didn’t necessarily get, especially compared to their first three albums. But in comparison to their previous two albums (Mama, I’m Swollen and Happy Hollow) I suppose that’s a safe assessment. The album doesn’t seem to rely upon much of anything beyond the standard rock lineup of bass, guitar, drums, and vocals. Gone are the excessive horns and keyboards from previous albums. The one thing the album hinges on, however, is the lyrical concept. Here is how their bio describes it: “I Am Gemini is the surreal and powerful musical tale of Cassius and Pollock, twin brothers separated at birth. One good and one evil, their unexpected reunion in a house that is not a home ignites a classic struggle for the soul, played out with a cast of supporting characters that includes a chorus of angels and devils, and twin sisters conjoined at the head.” Sure, whatever. Composed in a linear fashion, the whole thing is written like a play. It seems a bit pretentious and, unfortunately, not as interesting as it might be. I’ve been listening to Cursive for fifteen years, since the beginning of their career (or pretty damn close to it). Unlike most fans, I’m most partial to their earliest albums with their contrast of stops and starts and loud and soft dynamics. Personally, I prefer lyrics of existential dilemmas and the search for meaning. Concept albums are all good and well, but they don’t mean the same to me as something that comes from the individual’s experiences and the ability to work through that shit. Perhaps there’s something to be said for taking a notion or experience and creating something much larger. In the end, this is an interesting story, but not one that really moves me—like other songwriters have with their more personal songs—and like Cursive did on their earlier work. But all that being said, musically, this album still rocks. Regardless of any concept, it’s got some good songs with well-articulated lyrics that don’t require a lyric sheet to decipher, just to understand what character is speaking. While upon first listen the album seemed safe, it’s still better than most of the music in the indie rock scene, with competency and creativity as well as great hooks and catchy tunes. And that will keep me playing it quite a bit. –kurt (Saddle Creek, saddle-creek.com)

Human Ouroboros: 7” EP
Grindy, atonal hyper-thrash with ADD song lengths and slower bits to facilitate karate kickin’. –jimmy (Curmudgeon)

Life Is Vile…and So Are We: LP
Goddamn! I had no clue who Cülo was before I got this, but, apparently, they’ve been around for a minute. Life Is Vile is a collection of some earlier EPs that are quite possibly no longer available. I can definitely see why the EPs would be sold out, as these twelve inches of vinyl are packed from end to end with pretty rad hardcore punk rippers. Midwest hardcore in full effect. –Vincent Battilana (Deranged)

Split: 7” EP
Culo: A full side of raging, angry, smokin’ hardcore that’ll warm the cockles of anyone who thinks bands like Negative Approach are swell, if a wee bit too slow. If I had to narrow it down to a single word, “unrelenting” about sums it up. Tenement: Shit, I was feelin’ sorry for these kids for having to follow the Culo stuff, but they more than handle their shit here, delivering two tracks of pitch perfect, early Midwestern-sounding poppy punk (not pop punk) with loud guitars and the kinda songwriting that sticks in your head for days on end. This, my friends, is how a split should be in an ideal world—two white-hot bands aiming for the fences and delivering the goods in spades. –jimmy (Cowabunga)

Silver Screen: 7”
My father had a buddy who owned a record store and every now and then he’d bring home the odd obscurity from a band we’d never heard of, and often never heard of again. One such oddball record was It’s What’s inside that Counts, an album by a band called Critical Mass. At the time we had no clue as to who they were, but the “plucked from the trash can” cover art and the fact that the band look like a buncha schlubs led my old man to believe they were a “punk” band and thus we should think they were nifty. While the album was not particularly “punk” to a couple o’ kids ingesting heavy doses of Void and Black Flag, it did have some great tunes on it, including a scorcher called “London.” The record in question here is the debut single from that same band, released a few years earlier and has since become something of a collector’s item, with good reason. Steeped in buzzsaw guitars, Dollsy swagger, and Rottenesque vocals, the two tunes here are prime examples of the kind of stuff most Killed By Death snobs cream their jeans over and wantonly throw money around to procure. Glad to have a copy of my own, which I will summarily wear the grooves out of. This also inspired me to seek out another copy of the album, which I just bought dirt cheap. –jimmy (Last Laugh)

Savage Reaction: LP
Another band that decides to take a precarious road, in this case hardcore with a heavy dollop of rock mixed into the batter, and it pays off in spades. Songs are clean ‘n’ tight, to the point, rife with great riffage, and have an extra bit of swagger built into the rhythm section to give it all a little extra personality. Good stuff, especially “Fashion Assassinate,” which gets the blood bumpin’ with its zippy tempo. –jimmy (Agrowax, agrowax.blogspot.com)

Fuck You: Cassette
Sixteen tracks of stellar, lo-fi, primal female-fronted postpunk with attitude to spare! This is great for raging or dancing or both! Beyond reproach! What else can I say? –Vincent Battilana (Burger)

Self-titled/New Psychic Denim: Cassette
This is another Burger release of two albums on one cassette. It is really cool when a label uses a medium so well to spread the word about newer bands. And a load of The Cosmonauts is a great thing. Both albums are a combination of jumpy rock riffage soaked in reverb with longer, psych-inspired droning. Fans of Thee Oh Sees should take note. –Billups Allen (Burger)

Self-titled: CDEP
From what I’m able to gather via the internet, this is a two-piece group who hail from parts about an hour west of Mexico City. They’re influenced by the minimalism of the blues and ‘60s rock, and this was recorded in one of the member’s aunt’s house. Dunno how they’ll feel about this, but the results are very much in line with early White Stripes, maybe a little less over the top, and a bit more lo-fi in output. –jimmy (Saustex, saustexmedia.com)

All My Friends Are Dead: LP
It’s really easy to overblow the past. Punk’s no different. This is especially true when uncovering woefully overlooked or underappreciated bands and records. Shit, there’s a whole industry dedicated to it. Killed By Death. As a kid who grew up in the desert, I had the triple whammy of liking punk, investing in countless cassette tapes, and poor organizational skills. On one of those tapes, I had many of The Consumers songs on a mix tape that one of my friends made me. Only, I didn’t know it was The Consumers. Neither did he. And it was a crappy tape, so it sounded muddy and muted; a dupe of a dupe. I just thought that’s how it sounded. So when I saw that In The Red had reissued All My Friends Are Dead several years back on CD, I shrugged—not doubting Larry Hard has great taste—but thinking, “Good, not essential.” I’m an idiot. The devil’s in the details and the devil had been busy making a masterpiece. I’d put The Consumers on the same dart board cork as Zero Boys’ Vicious Circle. Pitch-perfect, from-the-void (neither Indianapolis nor Phoenix were punk hotspots), way-too-well-recorded songs by people who could play their instruments far-too-well and had cut their teeth on the AOR cover band dreck of the early ‘70s. There’s something to be said of a band that, on its best day, was barely tolerated, even by inner-circle punks. You can hear the hate, the exclusion, the unanswered scream, and the about-to-happen implosion. A lost gem. On par with the collected Cheifs output and a public service, really. Alienation transcends decades, centuries. –todd (In The Red)

Discografia: Cassette
This is everything the Chicago hardcore outfit recorded, including three previously unreleased songs. The intensity stays high throughout the release, but the mood and tempos vary and the almost pop song structures provide a good skeleton for the music. The lyrics almost all deal with queer/feminist issues, but are written in a very personal way, based on experience instead of rhetoric. The way the songs are written seem to provide more inspiration to those in similar positions than straight-ahead political songs, and also force understanding out of cisgendered, white males. Every song is a lone, powerful statement and they add up to a positive, inclusive collection that is a great retrospective of a sadly underrated band. Highest recommendations! –Ian Wise (Not Normal, notnormaltapes@gmail.com)

Spice Island: 7” single
Modern style hardcore that’s more sprawling than fast and in your face. Borders on ‘90s-style emo. The songs are based around a solid wall of guitar. Underneath are melodies that evoke a feeling of despair. Percussion rumbles and builds, giving the music tension, and the vocals are abrasive and shouted into a void. “American Cancer” builds to a mid tempo and goes from there. They attack, what I’m guessing, is the Bush Administration, and the indifference of a government too ready to declare war. Then on the flip is the title track and it continues along in the same mood as the opener: mid tempo, with a down feeling, and the details of a dead relationship. Overall, a decent record. But I’m wondering if they ever pick up the pace or just keep it to a slow simmer? Will they continue in the realm of hardcore, or cross over into Cap’n Jazz style music? Questions, questions... –Matt Average (Cold Snap / Get Young)

The Presidents of the United Mistakes: CD
Just days after I reviewed the debut album of Jakarta’s Citizen Useless in 2011, the news broke globally of the struggle of Indonesian punks abused and harassed by authorities. I understand that Citizen Useless hail from a more tolerant part of Indonesia, but it’s still challenging to separate those horrifying news stories from this great CD. Harder and less melodic (although no less catchy) than their debut full length, this is a very, very strong follow up. These guys are pissed and rail against the same things punks always have, but with an uncommonly solemn edge. Just try to shave these kids’ heads, pigs! That’s not happening. –Art Ettinger (P.I.G., myspace.com/portnowintertainmentgroup)

Ain’t No Lies in Blood: CD
Bit of a surprise to see this in the review bins, seein’ as I thought these rapscallions were long gone. True to form, they dish up another helping of sludgy, swampy, garagey noise rock stomp rife with slithery rhythms, slide guitar flourishes, and enough sleazy grime lubricating the chords that yer gonna need a couple of showers after giving it a listen. –jimmy (Thick Syrup, thicksyruprecords.net)

Love Police: 2 x LP
Two slabs of vinyl’s worth of more or less equal parts ambient noises, kick ass surf, thuddy punk, freak out sessions, and the occasional mélange of all the above. Thought I’d be bored to tears halfway through, but they’re quite adept at what they do and manage to keep the interest level up throughout. –jimmy (Guitars & Bongos, facebook.com/guitarsandbongos)

Sensitive Badass: LP
In a move that is either suicidal or brilliant, Post-Consumer Records has chosen a poetry record as their first release. Let’s focus on the brilliant part of that. For one thing, it keeps them from being just another label putting out just another mediocre band. For another thing, this isn’t any poetry record. It’s a Bucky Sinister record. As far as I’m concerned, Bucky Sinister should be the poet laureate of punk rock. His poems are witty and heartbreaking, the beauty at the bottom of the barrel. The ten poems on this record come from Bucky’s collections Whiskey & Robots and All Blacked Out and Nowhere to Go. Both collections trace Bucky’s life growing up in an evangelical Midwest household, fleeing that abusive background, moving to the East Bay, falling in with the East Bay punk scene at a time when the world was paying attention to that scene, and bottoming out on whiskey. He has since sobered and found a way to find meaning in the whole experience. These are poems that demonstrate that meaning. Included on the record are poems you’d know if you’ve ever seen Bucky Sinister live. They’re his greatest hits, in a way: “The Anatomy of the Pit,” “The Loudest Fastest Abraham Lincoln Poem,” “My Date with Wonder Woman,” “The Alternative Universe of Bruce Wayne,” and my personal favorite, “Elegy for Lost Haunts.” I only had one poetry record before getting this one. It’s a collection of Jack Kerouac recordings. When I first got the record, I wondered how many times I’d really listen to it. As it turns out, a lot. Bucky stands alongside Kerouac in putting out a record that will linger in my stacks for decades. It’ll never be in high rotation, but I’ll take it out a few times a year just because something in my life is telling me I need to hear it again. Poetry records aren’t like comedy records. Comedy records get less funny each time you play them. Poetry records get deeper, more meaningful. At least the Kerouac and Sinister ones do. –sean ()

Demo: CD-R
Heavy duty Swedish fjordcore here, very close in sound and sentiment to compatriots The Victims and Wolfbrigade. The d-beat factor is definitely in evidence, but isn’t a detriment to the sheer malevolence that just oozes from each track. If this is only a demo, I’m a bit afeared of what these kids are gonna unleash as a legitimate release. –jimmy (Bombangrepp)

Half-Ass Romance: LP
I can almost picture the record collection in a small room with the mattress and milk crates on the floor: Pine Hill Haints, Ham on Rye, Almighty Do Me A Favor. A forlorn, warbling echo. A loneliness. Half-filled cans of warm beer that get drunk anyway. An unfilled hole tamped down with cigarettes. And there’s a crossroads in the middle of the tiny room because something doesn’t quite add together to a larger sum. Does Jeffrey Lee Pierce and the Gun Club hold the key? Does Chris D. have that missing piece of stained glass? Is this a job for the Flesh Eaters? All this encryption is a way of saying that Black Sparrow Press sound like seekers who haven’t quite found what they’re looking for. And if they broaden their spectrum, pay more attention to dynamics, textures, speeds, they may be surprised that all the parts are there; that they’ll come into focus over time, with repetition, with San Pedro-Mike-Watt-marathon-famous practices. There’s a lot of promise in this record, a promise that a more contemporary band like The Starvations were able to realize and make sound electrifying… here’s to seeking. –todd (45 RPM / Geykido Comet / Something Dancey)

Sentenced to Life: CD/LP
Do you like Slayer’s Reign in Blood? Do you like Entombed? What about Suicidal Tendencies? Hardcore thrash? Fast punk? The first Black Breath full-length? If you like any of these, you’ll likely enjoy Black Breath’s latest album, Sentenced to Life. This Seattle five-piece put out a great debut LP and their latest release seems like a sensible follow up. The opening tracks are sharp and brutal with some great riffs and catchy choruses (in that metal way). Lyrics dealing with blasphemy and death (“life is a prison / death is the key” and “sentenced to life / terrified of living / too scared to die”) give the music a sinister presence but do so without devolving into being juvenile. The fierceness of the music and the hardcore punk vocals keep things from going that route. Ten tracks clocking in at around thirty-three minutes is a good length for Black Breath, since the second half of the album doesn’t seem to be quite as memorable as the first half, leading to a feeling of things starting to drag. And that’s the only drawback of Sentenced to Life—the lack of consistency throughout. The first half is amazing while the second half could use a bit more muscle and hooks. While not as good as their debut, Heavy Breathing, fans of any of the bands or styles mentioned at the beginning of this review really should check out Sentenced to Life. –kurt (Southern Lord)

Duck, Duck, Goose: CD
Duncan Redmonds is a high-functioning pothead. When Snuff’s in-between reincarnations, there’s been Guns N Wankers, Duncan’s Divas—as himself (Bubble And Squeak, another Duncan-and-a-rotating-cast-of-characters project). It’s really the same gold bullion catchy punk slathered with different gravies. (This time a Japanese/British intermingling, so a wasabi brown sauce?) I know I’m reducing an entire country to two men, but if Frankie Stubbs is the granite, smoke, and coal industry of contemporary English punk, Duncan’s the prank-pulling—borderline surreal/absurdist—punk-this-ridiculously-jumpy-is-rarely-this-smart mad scientist. So, if you’re followed Duncan from Flibbiddydibbiddydob, Demmamussabebonk, andPotatoes and Melons at Wholesale Prices Straight from the Lockup (the trifecta, for me) and haven’t checked in in awhile, now’s a good time to pop in for a visit. Like the Toy Dolls, Duncan is in his own universe, his own language, his own cause and effect. Be thankful he chose to play punk to show how it can expand, contract, wiggle, fade, and get megaweird. It’s like children’s programming for agitated, alienated adults. –todd (No Idea, noidearecords.com / Household Name, householdnamerecords.co.uk / Poison City, poisoncityrecords.com)

If Loving You Is Wrong...: CD
Given a name built around the root word of “besmirch,” snazzy and Garbage Pail Kid™-esquely gross/cute cover art, and even a song called “I Drink From Your Milkshake,” i was expecting these guys to be something along the lines of a less-saccharine Kung Fu Monkeys. Well, i clearly got the “less-saccharine” part right: The disc is a sixteen-song, twenty-two minute collection of GG-esque songs about fellatio, drugs, and ejaculating, sung by a guy who looks like an old, beat-up, blade-damaged, bleached blonde wrestler with facial tattoos ((and, by the sound of his vocals, a substandard dental plan)), backed by a shit-tight band who should probably be commended for showing at least mild restraint towards satisfying their presumed speedmetal proclivities. Musically, i think you could slot “Suburban Girl” right between “Midnite Deposit” and “You’re So Fucked To Me” on the “Life Is Ugly So Why Not Kill Yourself” album ((or maybe right after “Suburban Bitch” on “Hell Comes To Your House”)) and none would be the wiser, although the song is actually produced well enough to fit on “American Youth Report” instead. Lyrically, the only line you really need to know is “Come on baby, born to rock / Drink your piss while you suck my cock” from “Born to Fuck.” Bottoms up! BEST SONG: “Going To The Swap Meet With Downtown Dave” BEST SONG TITLE: “I Drink From Your Milkshake” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: The letter from Lenny Mental’s girlfriend’s mom is probably worth the purchase price in and of itself. –norb (Puke In The Sink)

Laugh Now, Cry Later: 12” EP
Los Angeles’s underground has seen an uptick in recent years of punk bands with a deep rock streak running through ‘em, and vice-versa, some of it good ‘n’ some that make you wanna step outside to chat with friends old and new until whoever’s onstage stops whatever it is they’re doin’. Barrio Tiger is definitely a high point, a band that puts well more than the requisite amount of energy and oomph into their live shows and, based on the six songs here, their studio work. They’re definitely vibing on the usual New York via Detroit influences, but what could easily fall into the same ol’ same ol’ rut gets a solid kick in the ass courtesy of some rock solid songwriting, diversity, and drawing from influences outside the bubble—just when you think you’ve got ‘em pegged, up jumps a poppy punk tune (albeit with roaring dual/duel guitars) and a slower jam flecked with country. Some mighty fine work here from one of the better local bands making the rounds. –jimmy (Barrio Tiger, myspace.com/gentlemencallers)

Self-titled: 7” EP
Fairly middling trash rock here. “Retard Rock” recalls “Makeout Party”-era Loli & The Chones, but on the whole there’s been too many years of too many bands strip-mining the same sound for this to stand out without all kinds of extra effort. Kinda expected a wee bit more from a band named after the author of the Pippi Longstocking books. –jimmy (Ken Rock, myspace.com/kenrockrecords)

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