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Record Reviews

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Below are some recently posted reviews.

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GREAT REDNECK HOPE, THE:
Behold the Fuck Thunder: CD
Disparate musical styles linked by an inherent need to grrrriinnnnddd and crammed into less-than-a-minute blasts of noise. High points include “My Other Car is a Centaur” and “Call Me Old Fashioned, but I Think Trains Are Kick Ass.” –jimmy (Thinker Thought)


GRAHAM PARKER:
Your Country: CD
The British have a special affinity for classic American country music. From Billy Bragg and Pete Shelley to the Mekons and The The, some of the most faithful interpretations of Johnny, Carl, Patsy and Hank can be found emanating from the shores of the UK. Graham Parker, who possesses Dylan’s cigarette-rough rasp and Elvis Costello’s biting sense of humor, is perfectly suited to the task on Your Country, offering up ten original tracks and one seriously re-written cover of Dave Edmund’s “Crawlin’ from the Wreckage.” Graham, like Costello, Edmunds and, on another level, Richard Thompson, is a songwriter whose career has been distinguished both by intelligent lyrics and equally capable musicianship. And like his fellow countrymen, Graham has an ear for incorporating a variety of musical styles into his own work. Your Country is not, by most definitions, American country per se, nor is it even an extension of the work of Gram Parsons or, more recently, Steve Earle (although the song “Almost Thanksgiving Day” comes awful close). Rather, this is Parker’s music informed by American country, which is, perhaps, even more ambitious than simply covering other artists’ work. Despite being on the Bloodshot label, this is not alt-country by any stretch of the imagination. Longtime Parker fans will instantly recognize his biting commentary and may even have to look closely to find any hint of what most people associate with country music. –eric (Bloodshot)


GRABBIES, THE:
Live Raw Punk Shits: 7"
With a cartoony name like “The Grabbies” one might envision a cuddly pop punk band that dresses in funny ‘80s new wave clothing and excretes sugary little musical plums that get your toes tappin’ and make you feel good all over. Now, I’m not always the best judge of character, but I think I’m fairly safe in saying that the Grabbies do not want to make you feel good all over. In fact, I think they’d rather butt-spray your curtains with diarrhea and light your pets on fire. And their sound is anything but pop punk. It’s a heaving, blistering, seething, vicious wall of misanthropy that sounds like a bunch of rabid madmen gnawing their own limbs off—and liking it. This live recording is a veritable clinic on Punk Rock Audience Baiting; frontman “Anus” tells the audience to fuck off probably fifty different times during this brief show and still somehow manages to sound like he really fucking means it each and every time. GG, at his pissiest, had nothing on this guy. The story goes, in fact, that this performance—unleashed on an unsuspecting crowd of patchouli-wearing college puds—resulted in our heroes having the power shut off on them and being run out of town. While I certainly hope that that story is true, it obviously could be little more than an attempt to “sell the sizzle” of this new record. But either way, it’s immaterial to me. This fucker is busting out all over the place with “sizzle” and it’s a sizzle that latches onto your face like a pan of scalding hot grease. No selling necessary. I’ve got a Grabbies habit now and I need every Grabbies recording I can get my grubby little hands on. Very possibly the greatest live recording of any band I own. This is the shit religions are made of. –aphid (Proud To Be Idiot)


GONGA:
Self-Titled: CD
Nice bong. Rock. Bong-rock. Lazing around at the juncture of Blue Cheer, Black Sabbath and... Cathedral? Someone like that. –Cuss Baxter (Tee Pee)


GOLDENBOY:
Right Kind of Wrong: CD
Surf punk harmony farts that were rad in ‘97 but now I hear this kind of crap and it’s sometimes so catchy and pretty it makes me want to shit into the palm of my hand and throw it at something. I mean fuck, how many songs can be written about going out with girls? Just deal with the STD! She was a bitch. Stop writing music about it. Gabe Rock –Guest Contributor (Coldfront)


GITS, THE:
The Conquering Chicken: CD
Tragedy makes it tempting to overestimate the Gits. In light of the brutal rape and murder of vocalist Mia Zapata, who would want to say anything bad about her group? But before her death, her band was simply one in a long line of second-ran Seattle punk bands, little known outside the Northwest. That’s not to take anything away from a group, which held a lot of promise until some pathetic bastard robbed the world of one of the best rock vocalists ever. Zapata, at her best, alternates from the painful wail of P.J. Harvey to the enraged howl of Courtney Love to the poetic musings of Exene Cervenka. And when she covers Sam Cooke’s “A Change Is Gonna Come,” she recalls the soul of Janis Joplin. Listening to Enter: The Conquering Chicken, one can’t help but feel that this was a band who was still finding their voice while at the same time laying down several standout tracks that only hint at the future. The Gits are at their absolute best when Zapata is firmly in control. The album’s opening tracks “Bob (Cousin O)” and “Guilt within Your Head” are indisputably strong, but the band occasionally misfires, especially on tossaways like the dopey, quasi-sing-along, “Italian Song.” And while most of her words have a guttural, soul-purging quality to them (“Seaweed”), sometimes Zapata’s lyrics sound forced and perhaps a little too self-conscious, like the poetry of a broken heart, crammed with as much emotion as possible into every word. Then again, it’s an uncomfortable position to put one’s self in, second-guessing the raw emotion of a woman who more often than not produced gems not junk. Repackaged to include a (slightly muddled) seven-song live set, …The Conquering Chicken leaves little doubt that the Gits, despite the rough edges and occasional goofs, were destined to become one of the best bands Seattle had to offer, rather than a simple footnote in a scene fraught with much lesser groups. –eric (Broken)


GFK:
Of Liberty Isn’t Given, It Should Be Taken: CD
Growly tough-guy metal. I guess they didn’t get the memo letting them know this genre is deader than Billy Milano’s singing career. –jimmy (G7 Welcoming Committee)


GENERAL RUDIE:
Take Your Place: CD
If you’re a fan of Skanadian music, which is Canadian ska (how witty), these guys are your ticket. I hear a lot of different influences, but traditional Jamaican-style ska is their story, and they’re sticking to it. This sort of stuff doesn’t get me up in the morning, but for what it is, this is a good release. They better not turn out to be any of those “French” Canadians, though. –Guest Contributor (Stomp)


FUNERAL DINER:
The Wicked EP: CDEP
Screamo emo. It’s so hard and extreme that I forgot to notice. Do people really like this stuff? I’m coming closer to forty than reaching puberty. This stuff is garbage in my book. Totally tuneless. The anger is not translated. I do not connect. Can someone show me the way? This music does not touch me the way a good, expensive piece of toilet paper wipes me clean. The cover does have a picture that might have been ripped off from Ansel Adams. Highlight? I don’t know, since I can see pictures like that for free in photography books at the library. –don (Alone)


FUCKED UP:
Looking for Gold: 3-song 12” EP
When the band handed this to me, during my fourteen short hours in Toronto, I thought they were joking. “It’s three songs, a concept.” They could have gone further and said, “Well, the first song is a mix between Gene Krupa and Phillip Glass with an itty-bitty hardcore interlude.” They could have said that because it’s true. And coming from a band that’s been glued to my ear ever since I first heard them, I knew I’d be happy to take the risk, put a seat belt on, and prepare for bumpy ride in front of the record player. You see, if you think pure, contemporary hardcore’s all just a cheap xerox and it’s cowering like an abused puppy in the corner when compared to past greats, Fucked Up will sink that battleship of a theory. Then I looked at the vinyl. It looked like two songs. No breaks on either side. Huh. My math’s bad, but I know the difference between two and three. Maybe I heard wrong. One song starts with a three-plus minute drum solo (the Gene Krupa reference), gets accompanied by some guitar plug-in feedback for another minute. Cue echoey whistling for another minute. Fade. Thirty seconds—if that—of yellin’ and hardcore familiarity. Turn down the heat to a simmer. Complete fade into minutes of complete, measured silence. (Here’s where Phillip Glass comes in.) It clocks in at nine minutes, give or take. And the end result isn’t some artsy aural blowjob that juxtaposes a jazz drummer and a musical theorist, but the feeling of a blue collar hardcore renaissance. Wait a minute. The first side actually has two songs, but they’re not one after another. It depends when you drop the needle on the spinning record, as there’s two different grooves. You sneaky bastards. This song and the song on side two are the anchors and the houses on which Fucked Up was built. Melodies on the tips of circular saw guitars buzz through the vocals, bass lines twine around the whole thing, keeping the song’s meat juicy and firm. Fucked Up sounds like the house band to the Apocalypse. They make me want to get on one of the horses heading towards the Armageddon in the sky and whip it faster. Meet that shit head face to face, goading it. Yeah, it’s pretty badass for just three songs. Highly recommended. –todd (self-released)


FLOOR:
Dove: CD
To see what sort of a nitwit (read: dimbulb) I am, see how I’ve seen the name Floor for years, but always lumped them in with bands like Spoon, Cake, Chair, Refrigerator, Tree, Ashtray, Pipe, Rake, and Frantic Freddie Flanagan & the Hotdog Watchers, only to, at this late date, find them to be on a level with bands like Kyuss, Sleep, and Boulder. And this “long-lost first album” from 1994 is a fitting soundtrack for self-punishment for such oversights, with its broke-string guitar and droning riffless poundalongs. –Cuss Baxter (No Idea)


FLOGGING MOLLY:
Within a Mile of Home: CD
I have to admit that my excitement for this band has lessened. I listen to this and it feels comfortable and sometimes predictable. But at the same time, I am not captivated. The CD plays without me wanting to repeat a track. It just plays in the background without evoking any emotion. –don (Side One Dummy)


FLESHIES:
Gung Ho!: CD
Fleshies rule. Who else could seamlessly pull together the seemingly incongruous elements of arena-worthy hard rock, chin-scratching weirdness, and bum-in-the-alley punk rock like it’s the most natural thing in the world? Who else could take a possible musical trainwreck and plug it directly into the pleasure center of my brain? This is a collection of old singles and out of print stuff, and it really shows how they’ve grown as a band. The earliest stuff is more formative, like a noisier version of old Turbonegro stuff, with hints of what they would become but not fully warped yet. As the CD progresses, so does the band, and songs like “Gonna Have to Pass” and “My Buddy” just plain rip. All told, people like me who already converted to The Church of Fleshies will love this. If you’re unfamiliar with this punk rock wrecking ball and would like to hear the musical equivalent of a mutant donkey sticking its dick in your ear (but in a really good way, I promise) check out The Sicilian first. This also has the drunkest live song that I have ever heard. –Josh (Life Is Abuse)


FIVE KNUCKLE:
Balance: CD
Political hardcore from England. They scream about flags in anger. The lyrics aren’t bad but something about this band is annoying. The funky guitar riffs twang out right before the vocals come in every now and then. And the moaning singer reminds me of being constipated. I’m sure they try really hard. In fact, they probably try too hard and they should stop. Gabe Rock –Guest Contributor (Household Name)


FIGHTING CHANCE:
Sacrifice and Struggle: CD
Gallop rhythms, metallic hardcore guitars, gruff singer, “street punk” disposition, surprisingly well-written lyrics. Better than I expected, and I respect the obvious work they put into this, yet it still ain’t no big whoop. –jimmy (Insurgence)


FAST MATTRESS:
Self-Titled: CD
Oh man, you gotta hear this song “Daddy Has a Mullet!” It’s about this girl, right—and she’s, she’s embarrassed to be seen in public with her father, ‘cause he’s got a mullet! A mullet! A mullet is like a really uncool haircut—and her dad’s got one! Aw, man, you get it? You don’t get it? Crap. I didn’t tell it right. This one’s on me. Let me start over. This girl’s dad, right? He’s got a really lame haircut. A mullet! And she has to like, you know, go places with him, and be seen with him—with his mullet! So she’s embarrassed and she wants him to cut it off! Man, that’s great. Brings a tear to my eye. Really great stuff. Hey, where ya goin’? I didn’t even explain the song “He’s a Heterosexual” to ya yet!!! Oh well... if George Lucas ever decides to fuck up the Hell Comes to Your House compilation LP, i’d be cool with him sticking any two of these songs on the second side—however, i think Fast Mattress must only be a twin size, as three is pretty much a crowd here. BEST SONG: “Hot Boyfriend” BEST SONG TITLE: “Inappropriate Itch” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: Scott thanks the city of Cleveland, Budweiser™ beer, and all those who serve it to him ice cold and promptly. –norb (no label)


FAERIES, THE:
Riot in the Hive Mind: CD
Looks like a 7”—comes in a booklet that’s collated wrong with a little rubber nub in the back to hold the CD. Not just collated wrong, but all scribbled and sketchy and hard to read and hard to understand, kind of like the music, which is a sort of experimental metal/punk that reminds me of Rudimentary Peni or Amebix without really sounding like them. It’s got some nice guitar sounds, but overall it’s too inorganic and bloodless and socio-political to shake any real meat at me. Funny song titles (“Rape Elvis’ Skeleton,” “Shank Race,” “Federal Agents are Entering the Compound and the Faeries are Returning Fire”), though. –Cuss Baxter (no label)


FABULOUS DISASTER:
I'm a Mess: CDEP
When bands have line-up changes, they have a harder time proving their worth to longtime fans. Well, Fab-D lost singer Laura Litter and bassist Mr. Nancy. I’m not sure if the new bassist/lead vocalist Lynda Mess is in fact old guitarist Lynda Mandolyn. The only remaining member from the Fat Wreck/Pink & Black period is Sally Gess on drums who now goes by the title of Sally Disaster. Cinder Block from Tilt fame was supposed to be the new singer but they parted ways prior to this recording. So in this new incarnation, they seem, to me, to have taken a few steps back in their song writing. They play a more remedial punk styling than what was originally released on their last two full lengths. The song “Dead End” has parts that reminded me of Elastica. The cover of Joe Jackson’s “Got the Time” was pretty good but I still like Anthrax’s cover better. I think the band has a lot to recover from because they set the bar high when they wrote “Red Blister” off the Put Out or Get Out CD. That is still one of my all-time favorite songs. –don (Rodent Popsicle)


EXPLODING FUCK DOLLS:
Crack the Safe: CD
If someone had told me twenty years ago that the next millennium would see a flood of bands who took the Clash, Stiff Little Fingers, and Social Distortion as their chief influences, I would have been elated. The Exploding Fuck Dolls have a great sound… almost too good. This is a band that toured as Deniz Tek’s backing group, eventually gave birth to U.S. Bombs, and featured a lead singer whose voice is such a dead ringer for Joe Strummer’s, the band should have been sued. And to think that when they started out in 1991, they looked like an unholy alliance between the Misfits and L.A. Guns. Crack the Safe is a collection of the band’s first seven years of action and is essential listening, especially for any less-than-fully-informed Rancid fan. Reading the liner notes is a bit disconcerting, considering the band’s intolerance for anything other than classic punk (the grunge scene irked them no end as is evidenced by the anti-Seattle screed “No Company Town”). Still, it pays to be focused, and on songs like “Satellite” (not the Pistols’ b-side), the anthem “American Bomb” and “Cheap Suits,” the band delivers the goods with relish. Like Sham 69, the Exploding Fuck Dolls probably inadvertently inspired a lot of knuckleheads, but whose fault is that? Crack the Safe is an excellent sampling of an excellent group, albeit one whose vision was often myopic and whose boots were caked in the mud of the past. –eric (Disaster)


ENDS, THE:
Concrete Disappointment: LP
Spark. That’s what sets these guys apart from other bands trying to replicate the poppy side of ‘77 punk. There’s blood running through these songs and you can’t fake that, though literally thousands of bands have tried. What they’re doing isn’t necessarily new or groundbreaking, but they bounce and pogo all over the place and they force the listener to do the same. You don’t even have to wear striped shirts or white sunglasses to enjoy it. All you have to do is wait for those razor-sharp guitar hooks to slash its way into your brain (trust me, they will) and then you’re done for. I’m actually amazed that they’re not more popular. This is fantastic. –Josh (Dirtnap)


DWARVES, THE:
…Must Die: CD
This is the record that proves that the Dwarves are truly a renaissance band. While best known as the porno/horror show that kicks you in the nuts and bolts out the door in less than twenty minutes, people often forget the genius and talent involved. On this latest offering, Blag and company give us plenty of the punk rock adrenaline speedball that we have all come to expect, but there’s something else. We wind up with some surf, industrial, sugar pop and even some hip-hop(?!), all played well (although the jury is still out on Blag’s rapping). While …Must Die is kind of disjointed, every song stands on its own. They prove that they’re more than a one trick pony. They’re a band that has depth and diversity. Did I mention the Space Ghost cameo and the crucified midget? –ty (Sympathy For The Record Industry)


DUCHESS OF SAIGON:
Hootenanny: 7"
Moving away from their earlier and wholly uninspiring White Stripes clone job, this boy/girl duo is now adding enough wacky postproduction elements to the mix (i.e. multi-part surfy vocal harmony overdubs and such) that i think they might have started sounding more like a cross between Harper’s Bizarre and really early Meat Puppets—which, counterintuitively, seems to indicate that they’re “on the right track.” Be that as it may, the phrase “two-piece band” is beginning to invoke the same level of sheer terror in me that was previously reserved for the phrases “mature amateur” and “isn’t that an earwig?” BEST SONG: “Painted Right” BEST SONG TITLE: “Hootenanny”—shit, that would even make a good album title. FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: One founding member of Harper’s Bizarre was Ted Templeman—who would later go on to produce all those Van Halen albums for Warner Brothers™. Whoopie ding! –norb (Plastic Idol)


DROWNINGMAN:
Learn to Let It Go: CD
Okay, here is an open call to all of you to have an open debate. The topic is emo and why I should like it. All of you that are fans, please show me your wisdom and ignite the candle of interest in me. Second topic is why this band does not have emo tendencies. I hear it in the music. Tell me why I shouldn’t think this as an emo sub-genre. To pick one side, I hear an H2O meets Bouncing Souls thing going. But on the other side of the debate there is that tuneless drone that I hear in emo releases that is unmistakable to these ears. Also, the pictures of tulips on the cover does not strike me as a punk rock subject to use in photography. So here it is. I am calling all you fools out to try and sway. Look in the magazine or website and find my contact information. Write me and tell me your position. I will respond. –don (Law of Inertia)


DOUG GILLARD:
Salamander: CD
Gloomy pop from a former Guided by Voices member. When he is at his best, he channels the essence of McCartney and the boys at their jangliest, and when he’s at his worst, he just cranks out some swell gloomy pop. While I would’ve liked some more oomph in the guitars in some spots just to make sure I was still paying attention, I gotta say, the brother can squeeze every last drop from a hook. –jimmy (Pink Frost)


DOLLARSTORE COWBOYS:
And the Horse They Rode in on: CD
William Randolph Hearst once declared that a cover photo of a child, a dog, or a pretty girl was all he needed to sell newspapers. The Dollarstore Cowboys take this lesson to heart, slappin’ on their CD cover a young cowpoke vixen with her shorts zipped down just a inch shy of her snatch. Yeehaw! Although they unintentionally cribbed the album title from Soul Asylum, And the Horse They Rode in on is a rockin’ debut complete with the usual cowpunk accruements; the Tacoma, Washington band proudly boasts of their white trash (damn, this scene is in need of some new buzzwords) heritage, greasy hair, and allegiance to all things trashy and dumb. To their credit, they have their Eddie Cochran cum Stray Cats licks down pat (“How Long You Wanna Live Anyway?) and dutifully pay homage to the Man in Black (“Folsom Prison Blues”). Original tracks like “Off the Wagon” are reminiscent of the Supersuckers at their honky tonk best while “Bowling Alley Blitz” sounds like Zeke at half the speed. –eric (Infect)


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·MY TIME ANNIHILATOR: A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE 1930S SCIENCE FICTION FANZINE
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