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Princes of the Kingdom: CD
Combining the Gun Club’s appealing sordidness with the swagger and charm of Gram Parsons, The Preacher’s Princes of the Kingdom is a refreshing addition to a genre Gabriel Hart (Starvations, Fortune’s Flesh) has been building in Los Angeles; and to a smaller degree, a sound the Deadly Snakes in Canada tinkered with before their demise last year. Everything is here—American music: Doc Pomus, Lightnin’ Hopkins, Jeffrey Lee Pierce; American literature: Carson McCullers, Faulkner and Flannery O’Connor. It’s drunk, it’s dirty; The Preacher’s Son is about sin and redemption. It’s no coincidence these happen to be some of my favorite topics…A brief highlight in an otherwise dismal sea of uninteresting music. –ryan (Mule Blood)

Self-titled: 7"
Here’s the secret. Jeff Burke—many of you may be familiar with him being a vocalist and guitarist in the Marked Men—is a prodigy, a shy, unassuming, and humble guy. And, over the years (these songs are from ‘96 and ‘03), he’s gone into the studio (his own, I believe) and made recordings of his music. He plays every instrument, tracks them, mixes them as an exercise, keeps the tapes, and had no desire to ever release them until Justin of the Chinese Telephones convinced him otherwise. If I didn’t tell you any of that and played the 7”, you’d say, “Todd, fuck you. It’s some Marked Men I haven’t heard yet.” And, in a way, you’d be right because this is one of the many secret backbones to one of the best bands going right now. I suggest you hunt this little guy down. Might as well get the Potential Johns / Chinese Telephones split LP when you’re at it. Just trying to be helpful. –todd (Sandwich Man)

Self-titled: 7"
I like to make up games to play with myself. The latest is seeing if I can straighten my bedroom before this three-song record ends. Will a receipt on the floor distract me? Will the needle lift up before the last song ends? I usually get too amped up on these guys’ Dillinger 4-ish pop punk to focus on much save for pacing the apartment, speaking gibberish at the cat. The recording here is a little rougher than that on their latest full-length, which adds some much-appreciated grit to their sharp, melodic sounds. Also, they might be playing a tad slower, or maybe the 7” format allows the listener to focus on the individual tracks, but I am also detecting an element of British punk like Stiff Little Fingers here. New game: can I write an objective review of my friends’ band? CT Terry –Guest Contributor (Rorschach)

Don’t Ask Why: CD Single
The opening chords to “Don’t Ask Why” are cribbed from the Mummies “Shake!” the vocal lead-in “aaahhh-aaahhh-aaahhh-AAAHHH!!!” from the Beatles “Twist and Shout,” and the cymbals crash roughly forty-six times per second. It’s wild garage rock from Wollongong and will send you into epileptic hysteria if you go for this kind of thing. The Pink Fits music will get yer ass off the barstool and onto the dance floor, plugging the top of your bottle of beer, shaking it recklessly, and watching the foam squirt all over every other dancer around you. Song number two on this CD single comes from none other than the aforementioned Mummies, a cover of their version of “Just One More Dance.” I could see myself falling down drunk and dancing with a hot girl to the Pink Fits at a future Budget Rock Festival. –benke (Outback R’N’R)

Let's Go: 7"
The pile of power pop bands has been growing at a rapid and disturbing rate as of late. Reissues of material by the Fast Cars and Pointed Sticks have lead scores of skinny twenty-somethings to purchase Rickenbachers and try their hands at writing hook-laden, mid-tempo songs that would make Eric Carmen proud. Some are successful, most come off looking and sounding like gigantic pussies. The Pets fall into the successful category and are at the absolute top of the power pop heap. This single, their fourth (fifth?) and best, continues their string of highest quality pop releases. Good time music that will put a smile on your face. The Pets knack for writing deceptively simple pop tunes is rivaled only by the Fevers. If songs this good and “easy” were so simple to write, how come more bands can’t do it? Party single of the summer! –benke (Douchemaster)

Flying High: CD
While I can still tell you how much I paid for the first Beat (there is only ONE “The Beat,” and they are NOT ENGLISH) album in the Fall of 1979 ($4.59 + tax at Pipe Dreams), let the record show that the second album was spotty and the mini-LP was pretty bad, so why exactly anybody anywhere thinks we need to call what’s more or less a Paul Collins solo album a Paul Collins Beat album a quarter century after the fact is well beyond my comprehension. I mean, fuckin-A, this isn’t a Beat album! This is some singer/songwriter dude ((who lives in Spain now, apparently)) calling a few friends over to back him up on some hope recording project! Most of these songs aren’t Beat-ish in the least—”Rock ‘n’ Roll Shoes” certainly ain’t gonna make anyone forget “Rock ‘n’ Roll Girl,” that’s for DAMN sure—so I fail to grasp the compulsion to brand this The Beat at anything other than a marketing level. Hell, “Paco and Juan” is blatant Dire Straits emulation, why didn’t they just call it “Mark Knopfler’s Beat” and be done with it? The greatest tragedy (I think) is that I can hear a few of these songs—”Helen” or even the slower “More Than Yesterday”—in my head, as REAL Beat songs, recorded and produced a la 1979, all snappy and punchy and rockin’ and what-not—as opposed to being played all laid back in some dude’s living room, with brushes on the snares and crap. Bah humbug. The second half of the record descends into a surfeit of balladry, exposing the fact that Mr. Collins’ once nasal, reedy and punchy voice has wound up a sort of half-hoarse lounge croak, which is sad for all parties concerned. At the end of “Rock ‘n’ Roll Shoes,” he ends by singing “You got the beat! You got the beat!” Uh, no. We don’t. BEST SONG: “Helen” BEST SONG TITLE: “Rock ‘n’ Roll Shoes” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: I forgive the fact that Paul appears to want to rhyme “guitar” with “Connecticut” in the song “Bobby,” because I like that song. –norb (Get Hip)

Self-titled: CD
Egads, Meatloaf would be in trouble if he wasn’t already, you know, Meatloaf. –megan (Waxvaccine)

Split: 7"
Off With Their Heads: Their music sounds like an icy, gruff-mouthed, Dillinger Four-friendly odes. Lots of punch—cold-packed fists that swing with a lot of weight—and the lyrics are the exact opposite of love songs; pretty much every one’s a loathe song (self, you, other people, lady standing behind you, entire parts of the country, girlfriend from ten years ago), and it works really well. When the keyboard kicks in on the second song, I get the feeling OWTH’s capable of a lot of depth in those inky black wells they call their hearts. Practice: There’s something in the Pacific Ocean. Has to be. Because from here to Japan, a band playing a mix of the Jam, Clash, and Elvis Costello, sounds like they’re playing with newly discovered, just-cut pieces to a puzzle that snaps together crisply. Tell me, Japan: how does that happen, almost thirty years after the fact? This should be played out to dust, but it’s there, jumping around and I want to jump around with it. Nice cover of the Descendents’ “Silly Girl,” to boot. –todd (Snuffy Smiles)

Split: 7"
Everything except the first and last sentences of this review is a lie. Both bands kill on Protools. Geddy Lee and Neal Pert would totally be jealous. Hear that triangle counterbalancing the cow bell? Fuckin-a, dude, it snaps! Dukes of Hillsborough: More songs about how everything’s okay, all people are essentially decent and caring, but dogs really suck. Oh, and work totally rules. Especially the great pay and the creativity and dignity it provides the working class. Off With Their Heads: More songs about if we all pray, America will win the war, Christianity is the only sensible choice, and gas prices will eventually go down if more Arabs are killed. And that Ryan’s latest book, I Love You, Me, Everybody, has become a best seller. Knew exactly what I was getting into, it was delivered, and it made me happy. –todd (ADD)

Nobunny Cares: CD-R
I believe in Nobunny. He appears to feel The Rock strongly. That is all. BEST SONG: “I Can’t Wait” BEST SONG TITLE: “Chuck Berry Holiday” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: This is a hand-numbered CD-R in a limited edition of fifty…and, according to the back cover graphics, released by Slash Records! Obviously a project so elite in the “Slash Homemade” series that not even Slash is aware of it! –norb (Nobunny)

Cobras: CD
Usually bar rock is a slam on a band, but here it’s a compliment. If you are in a bar and it’s not party time at midnight, but 5:00 trying to forget work and girls, you might want Night Terrors on the jukebox. It would shove the other citizens out. Dark rock, moody at times, gravel voice, but still rawwwk with heavy guitars and some speed (pun intended). And what do you know, it’s a Milwaukee combo led by Tony Sagger and Kevin Mistreater, so, duh, it sounds like their other bands mashed together with hops and whey. –mike (Big Neck)

On Parade: CD
I sleep a little better at night knowing that the void in my life caused by Billy Childish only releasing a few records each year—instead of, like, a couple dozen, which was the case maybe fifteen or so years ago—is being so capably filled by Martin Savage, who turns up in a new band of Stockholm garage sensations pretty much every pay period these days. Things adhere pretty much to the standard M. Savage blueprint—spare, thin, forceful, and garagey—with the defining characteristic being a certain observance of late-’70s post-punkish song structure infecting the guitar/guitar/drums/occasional Casio base coat. The dude doesn’t make too many bad records, so, please, consider a trip to the buffet lest you waste away to nothing and be unable to fulfill your conjugal duties as a result. BEST SONG: “There’s a Murder Going On” BEST SONG TITLE: “There’s a Murder Going On” I guess FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: “Tracy” is not the Cuff Links song. That’s a pretty lame Fantastic Amazing Trivia Fact, but we all need to tighten our belts a little these days. –norb (Human Audio)

Songs for Faraway Lovers: CD
My first taste of this Italian two-piece, their Nothin’ About Nothin’ 7”, remains my favorite. Take Americana—folk, roots, hillbilly, blues—light a too-short fuse and have it almost explode in your hands and that’s what that little slab reminded me of. You knew what’d happen, but it was closer to danger and faster than expected. (Two elements in music I admire.) This full-length doesn’t slouch, but it’s different and not as compulsive listening. It’s “sexier.” Slower paces. More Beatles. More porch time instead of standing on their tippy toes and rock-lobbing. In conclusion, an excellent evening-winding-down record instead of the “get out some sharp scissors ‘cause we’re about to cut a rug” collection of songs. Not exactly what I was hoping for, but definitely not bad. –todd (Alien Snatch)

Never Mind the Bootlegs, Here’s the Real Deal: CD
Have you seen the prices of what people are paying on Ebay for old records these days? It’s insane. I’m not sure what the prices are for early ‘80s Swedish punk, but I know it definitely is out of my price range. This is a complete discography of their first 7” and two cassettes that were reissued as three 7”s and a special wood box set of the same records that sold out super quick. This is early ‘80s Swedish punk that is raw and powerful at the same time: a sound that can’t be replicated in the modern age of digital recording. I remember when my brother started getting records from all over the world and hearing what was out there. You can hear that there were punks all over the world who were as pissed as we were. But you can hear that they were not copying; they were doing it their own way. Many others have said it before, but I am grateful that people are reissuing so many of these gems that could be lost in the hands of the collectors. If this interests you, I also suggest tracking down a copy of the three-CD set titled Varning for Punk. It is like a history lesson of early ‘80s Swedish punk compiling material from over forty bands. –don (Havoc)

Old Crow: 7"
This is as good a place as any: you may notice that The Measure [SA] are the cover band this issue. Why? Because they’re—in my opinion—one of the best, active DIY punk bands going right now. That’s it. No focus groups. No mystery. No advertising dollars to consider for placement. No Soundscan. No “how many units? What’s their market?” silliness that “drives the economy.” Phooey to all that slippery slope, glossy expectation. Their LP is great and their first 7” completely blew me away. The songs are touching while still rollicking. They have their hearts on their sleeves, brains in their heads, and fire in their hearts. They also seem, to me, to be a band that fulfills the promise, that—at the very least—the underground can produce the best music on the planet if you listen close enough. The Measure [SA] are like pure thrill at the same time your heart breaks… with beavers. –todd (Los Diapers, www.myspace.com/losdiaperrecords)

The Sultanic Verses: CD
SO YOU KNOW: MARK SULTAN IS BBQ OF KING KAHN AND BBQ FAME. Sultanic Verses is Sultan’s first solo album (to the best of my knowledge); it sounds similar to his material with King Kahn And BBQ. If you’re down with BBQ’s earlier stuff—and consider yourself a dogmatic fan of “garage rock”—you might not like Sultanic Verses: it’s got eclecticism—more overt leanings on rhythm and blues, soul, and rockabilly—and wit in abundance—songs a bit more sophisticated than Dutch ovening your dead girlfriend. I’m quite smitten with Sultanic Verses and consider it exponentially superior to the myriad of other albums Sultan has played on (check Grunnen Rocks for a complete list). Look, I’ll be honest with you—unless you’re Hasil Adkins or Bradley Williams, that one-man band shit is stupid. I’d hate Sultan—his entire output with Kahn—had it not been so fucking apparent from the get-go that the man has a real fucking knack for writing songs. The shortcomings of Kahn And BBQ are apparent; the frustration palpable as the listener ponders how great a track like “Why Don’t You Lie” (off of Kahn And BBQ’s What’s for Dinner) would sound with a bass line and a little more TLC in the studio. So thank God Sultan invited a few more friends into the studio for Sultanic Verses, spent a little more time rounding out his songs. I’m too lazy to go through a track-by-track rundown on this album, but I’ll tell you this: Sultan effortlessly combines Bill Haley’s rockabilly, the Velvet’s drone, Rosie and the Originals’ doo-wop, and Eno’s thirst for the avant-garde on Sultanic Verses; quite often grouping all these styles on one track....”Mortal Man” might be the best track Sultan’s recorded to date; “Unicorn Rainbow Odyssey” is part Whyte Boots, part ‘72 Brian Eno….Sultanic Verses will probably be one of the top five albums released this year. –ryan (In the Red)

The Sultanic Verses: CD
‘60s garage rock breaks into the empty house and party in a one-man band. The “let’s rock” vibe is in full effect here, where his albums with King Khan have a little more diversity from slow to fast, and his album with The Mind Controls is faster garage. Here its bop bop bop guitar, hand claps, sweet singing and lyrics, as catchy as it gets. Sure it’s a lot of a one thing, and part of me wants to say this is straight ahead and seems like lots of bands could do this, but fuck, where are they?! As opposed to a band with two good songs and filler, Sultan is consistently good—with a ton of great songs. On top of that, he has released X number of records the past couple of years as BBQ or The Mind Controls and all have been great after repeated listens. I’m starting to swear by him. –mike (In The Red)

Does It Matter?: 7"
Razor sharp guitar and vocals that cut right through your skull with their content and delivery. It’s stuff like this that reminds me of why I love intelligent thrashy punk rock so god damn much. Clarence Thomas Records is definitely holdin’ down the fort. –Daryl Gussin (Clarence Thomas, www.Bistrodistro.com)

Keep It Going: CD
This CD has two sounds going on in it. The fast songs sound like demented circus sideshow ska punk with their quick paced, drunken, vaudevillian horn arrangements dancing around the guitars and… uhhh banjo. The slower songs sound like Latin-inflected reggae lounge punk. And every so often a song has both the slow and fast parts happening. If KROQ could ever move past the year 1995, some of these songs could be played in place of Sublime without missing a beat. I dunno if ska is dead or not since I was only twelve or thirteen the last time it was around and alive according to some, but this is a really fun record that has some solid tunes nonetheless. I really enjoy the slower stuff like “Coyote” and “Riding for a Fall” because it’s good chill out music and the faster stuff like “Tired Bones” and “The Dirge” makes me want to ride a tilt-a-whirl. And we all know that only Grinches and state safety inspectors don’t love tilt-a-whirls. –Adrian (Fat)

Bister Prognos: LP
One side of new stuff and one of assorted 7” tracks from some very pissed-off Swedes who love their hardcore. What they don’t deliver in hyper-speed beats they dole out in sheer muscle. Limited to 200, so act fast, kids. –jimmy (Havoc)

Self-titled: 7" EP
Nothing quite hits the spot like a solid dose of fjordcore and the contribution these kids make to Scandinavia’s long, rich history of shredding vocals and savage abuse of musical instruments is welcome. Three songs, “let’s get in there, lay waste to anything that moves, then get the fuck out” song lengths, and a no-holds-barred attack; you really can’t ask for much more than that. –jimmy (Moo Cow)

Unplugged: Split 7"
Look, I fully recognize MDC’s place in our collective history, and I acknowledge that so much of their lyrical output was based on sarcasm, and I’ll be the first to tell you that, generally, I’m a pretty uptight dude… but holy fuck, this is cruddy. Two songs by MDC, the first a sing-songy campfire ditty about killing cops sung by a nasally guy that I hope to shit is not Dave Dictor, the second a woefully overly dramatic cover of Agression’s “It Can Happen.” John The Baker doesn’t fare much better—two songs that sound like an angry grandpa groaning over his grandson’s instrumental attempts to sound like that slow Stone Temple Pilots song. I mean, the record looks beautiful (a screen-printed cover with Eric Drooker art), John The Baker contributes a pretty interesting insert about winning a case against the police in his hometown and eventually getting some fucked-up cops thrown off the force, and both of these dudes have been active contributors to the punk scene for a long time, but if I have to hear John the Baker screech “The cops are fucking little girls!” one more time I’m going to hurl. As a whole, the record’s just too hokey and poorly executed. –keith (Tankcrimes)

Soul Exorcism Redux: CD
This is probably the greatest live album I’ve heard in two years. In 1980, James Chance was creating—along with Pere Ubu, Gang of Four, and Robert Quine—the most interesting music on the planet. (I remember someone involved in the late ‘70s N.Y. punk scene wrote, “James Chance was where punk should have gone.” I agree.) For approximately three years, James Chance was infallible—a key component of New York’s no-wave scene (which spawned such luminaries as DNA—Tim Wright is still way too fucking underrated—and Lydia Lunch who collaborated with Chance often). James’s girlfriend, Mudd Club founder Anya Phillips, was an integral part of Chance’s music (and live show) and makes a rare appearance on this album (Phillips died of cancer less than a year after this recording). Heavily influenced by The James Brown Show, Phillips designed Chance’s stage outfits and record sleeves (as well as set up gigs for Chance, etc.). This CD, containing tracks from a June 1980 Rotterdam, Holland show, is Chance at his most volatile, backed by such formidable musicians as Ornette Coleman bassist Al Macdowell and drumming prodigy Richie Harrison. Soul Exorcism catches Chance in his element: the stage—producing some of the most exciting, cerebral mixings of jazz with soul; both styles beaten black and blue by Chance’s irreverence for conformity. Man, I’m looking at this CD right now and it has a sticker on it quoting positive reviews: “The Contortions shook the fuck out of raw funk!”—Chicago Reader; “…essential no wave/drug-funk/skree jazz…”—Alternative Press. These reviews are bullshit ‘cause they completely miss the point of the Contortions. James Chance isn’t essential no-wave; he didn’t shake the fuck out of raw funk. James Chance literally was New York in 1980; he was—along with three or four other bands and musicians—music in 1980. (When I opened my review box yesterday containing this record, my jaw dropped, followed immediately by an “Oh shit!”) Few had Chance’s balls or his erudition—the combination of punk’s Dadaist approach to conventions backed by some of the best musicians you’re ever likely to meet. (Television—although conceptually very different from Chance—also combined hyper-intelligence with amazing musicianship. The latter quite often missing in punk rock or whatever you want to call that stuff.) James Chance was one of those rare, intelligent human beings who loved something (Black American music—jazz, blues, soul) so much, he had to leave his own mark on it, had to produce his own interpretation of it. It’s these people who obliterate orthodoxies—jazz musicians like Albert Ayler and Ornette Coleman and writers like Louis-Ferdinand Celine and Fyodor Dostoevsky—who keep me alive. Like a lot of pioneers, James Chance has faded away (he’s not doing so well these days), but his contributions are eternal. Listen to this CD and you’ll know what I’m talking about. –ryan (ROIR)

The Horror of Life: CD
This is the hardest kind of CD to review because I want to like it more than I actually do, if that makes sense at all. It’s full of nice, frantic punk songs with some well thought out lyrics (dig the songs about Eric Dolphy and Laika the cosmonaut dog), but at the end of the day I think the problem is that sixteen songs is just too much for this particular album. There’s just not quite the diversity of sound needed to carry interest through the whole album. While not wide-ranging in their sound, most of the songs are pretty good, except one that’s just horrible. The song “We Play Secular Music” is just a huge turd in the middle of the CD that often manages to lose me for the rest of the album. It’s the worst kind of bad song, which is one that actually manages to get stuck in your head. The song itself sounds like an off-key rant put to an annoying riff. Anyhow, trim five or six songs off this and it is very possibly a great album. As is this is an “it’s okay.” Also, my props go out to guitarist/singer/main song writer Lance Hahn for even putting this out, because after reading the press sheet I was surprised that he even was able to find the will to keep making music after all that he’s been through. Kudos to you, sir. –Adrian (No Idea)

Around the Horn b/w You Gotta Freeze: 7"
To appreciate this single on the surface, you need nothing more than an appreciation for the McRackins branch of the Ramones-core family tree. Yet you seek more—I can sense it—and if baseball-themed punk rock laced with Simpsons references (well, one anyway, the band’s name is nicked from Springfield’s local baseball team), this is your band. It’s a perfect fit. The band’s sound and look are an orthodox interpretation of the Ramones tradition and the Isotopes’ lyrics are all about playing the game the right way—what to do after certain types of outs, how to run the bases—doing the little things right, following protocol. The mold has been cast, folks, work with it, or, as the Isotopes declare, “When I’m in the line-up you’ll do it my way/Never shall the order be reversed.” Johnny Ramone would be proud of the style and the substance. Mike Faloon –Guest Contributor (Isotopes Punk Rock Baseball Club)

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