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Record Reviews

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Below are some recently posted reviews.

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KEVIN K AND THE REAL KOOL KATS:
Perfect Sin: CD
Most of the songs on this album repeat the same thing over and over again. Most of the songs on this album repeat the same thing over and over again. Most of the songs on this album repeat the same thing over and over again. How do you like it? Be that as it may, this is a rock album that’s worth a damn. And even though I was sure it was going to suck, most tracks don’t. Some songs even remind me of Paul Westerberg talking about drugs. They also have a song about getting heroin with Dee Dee Ramone. And the drummer is cool because he looks like Nosferatu. But I just wish it wasn’t so fucking redundant and it wasn’t so fucking redundant. Gabe Rock –Guest Contributor (Kevin K)


JUSTIN CLIFFORD RHODY/ LITTLE WINGS:
Split: LP
At best, Rhody has moments where he sounds like old Kind Of Like Spitting demos. No, like outtakes from old Kind Of Like Spitting Demos. But mostly his stuff consists of static, tape loops, and a kid occasionally warbling off key about love. Little Wings fares marginally better, if only for the fact that there are a couple decipherable songs on their side. High falsettos above keyboards and/or strummed acoustic guitars, interspliced with random conversations and fake commercials about fast food burger joints. Seriously. The LP comes on nice marbled gray wax; so it’s a real shame that it also suffers from one of the heaviest cases of schizophrenia I’ve ever heard on a record. Why do indie rock and quality control mix like oil and water? Why can’t they just get along? –keith (Friends and Relatives)


JONBENET, THE:
The Plot Thickens: CD
Blood Brothers-inspired sweat-spazz freakout right here. The Jonbenet toe the line. They’ve got moments where they sound crazed like the Locust, moments where they sound versatile but intrinsically gutted like the Plot To Blow Up The Eiffel Tower (when that band’s really cooking and laying off the dull jazz interludes), odd dancey sections, and moments where the vocalist gets all heartfelt, runs his vocals through a fuzzbox, and emotes all rock-style like, uh, Candlebox? Matchbook Twenty? Some band like that. Thankfully, they keep those moments in check, and this album (which comprises their first two seven-inches) is for the most part pleasantly spastic and wigged out. The cat can really scream his friggin guts out when he wants to, too, and the end result comes down to the fact that this band seems to be teetering right on that ugly precipice of sounding just a bit too sassy and cute for their own good, but for the most part I’m still into it. –keith (Pluto)


JEFFERSON PLANE CRASH, THE:
The Future of Brutality vs. Nature: CD
A noisy, grindy hardcore band that, although they have a pretty funny name, sound pretty much like any other noisy, grindy hardcore band. Then again, how many variations can one pull out of that hat? –jimmy (Spinsgood)


IN STEREO:
Death Before Emo: CD
NOTE TO BAND: Oh, Jesus Christ. You guys are fucked. You’re fucked, or you’re still in high school. If you’re still in high school, then you’re grudgingly forgiven, but please take heed, guys: it’s not forever. A couple more years and you’ll be out on your own and the drama will subside. There will be other relationships in your life. Don’t obsess over these girls so much. With that in mind, here’s the deal: I don’t care who you are, but unless you’re J Church and you’re also gonna reference Paris in 1968 or Trotsky or Viennese Secessionist art movements of the 1920s or some shit, don’t you fucking dare insert a lyric in a slow and cloying ballad that consists of, “She smelled just like cinnamon, the snow fell light in her hair.” Nobody except these girls that you’re obsessed over want to hear that stuff. Unfortunately, your entire record sounds like the sonic equivalent of a note someone would put in someone else’s locker. NOTE TO READERS: Saccharine-sweet Blink 182 pabulum of the lowest order. Perfectly molded, cookie-cutter, vastly unthreatening radio rock. Death before emo? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I’ll take just about anything off the Wayfarers All comp, even the Pine, over this shit any day of the week. Despite their holier-than-thou title, the lyrics here are the most heartsick, obvious, trite “I love her, whoa whoa” lyrics I’ve ever heard, and I’d bet my last Pabst they’re vying like motherfuckers for that upcoming Warped Tour slot. Avoid this one for sure. –keith (New School)


IGNORANT, THE:
The Belly of the Beast: 7"
Mid-paced, whoah-oh-y, L.A.-by-way-of-late-‘70s London pub rock: Cock Sparrer meets Social Distortion. I think the band needs to make some decisions. All the elements of a spitting type of chaos are there. Some sparks. Some gas. But they sound way too complacent, like a kid with pleading eyes saying, “Like this? Should I do it like this?” instead of just going for it. The band sounds like they’re reading instruction manuals while playing instead of attempting to tumble through the speakers and knocking the dentures out of your grandma. In other words, a band that fits perfectly opening up for whatever band Duane Peters is in this week, but not the headliner. –todd (Rebel Sound)


I.R.A:
Decadas Libertad: Epidemia: CD
I.R.A. stands for Infexion Respiratoria Acuda. Spanish readers, please translate! I’m just a chubby Japanese guy sitting behind a computer. So, I received a copy of this band from Medellin, Colombia’s CD titled Cronicas De Una Decada Podrida in a trade a few years ago. It was a big surprise to hear from my brother that this band was playing at a tiny club in Long Beach, CA with no flyers passed out or any advertising. He had received an email from a friend a couple of days before and forwarded it to me. But as luck would have it, I had other commitments. But my brother did go and he got copies of these releases and let me borrow them since the band asked him to have them reviewed by me. So this band has been, from what I am told, one of the longest running punk bands in Colombia. They play what would be classified as street punk. But they really sound like an older band that continues to play what they know: upbeat, snotty punk that is sung in their native tongue of Spanish and a mid-paced 4/4 beat that would have those in the know singing along at the top of their lungs at their gigs. Dual female/male vocals take turns from song to song to mix things up. Group background vocals round things out. If I heard an American band playing the same songs, it wouldn’t have the same magic. Something about it coming from South America makes it so intriguing. –don (I.R.A.)


HOLY MOUNTAIN, THE:
Wrath and Entrails: 7" EP and LP

Wrath 7”: In this day and age of Cookie Monster and Yosemite Sam vocalists, bands rockin’ blast beats and others slapping it more mid-paced silky, it’s really essential that the speed of the record is noted somewhere on the paper label in the middle of the vinyl (or at least the packaging). I’m betting on 45, but can’t be totally sure. At that speed, it sounds like Henry Rollins’ pre-Black Flag band, SOA: pretty much all speed, not a lot of melody, more of like listening to machine gun fire, but somehow catchy. If it’s 33, these dudes really like Tragedy: doomy and crust-laden, hidden-chord hardcore. Fuck if I know which it is. Entrails: Uhm, yeah. I was wrong about the speed of the 7”. It was 33. These guys are in the bombed-out cathedral of From Ashes Rise, Tragedy, and Born Dead Icons. If you ever wished Lemmy of Motörhead was in a punk band and love the sonic equivalent of being half-buried in a graveyard, trying to scratch out of the soil while bombs are dropping all around, these dudes fit the bill. I’m pre-conditioned to like this stuff (it’s tremendous for drives through gentrified neighborhoods, pretending houses are being firebombed and the music bubble is magically protecting you) and they do a fine job at capturing the mood and power.

–todd (No Idea)


HOLY GHOST REVIVAL:
Bleeding Light: CD
My first thought was that this sounds like a mix of the Starvations and Queen. My second thought was also that this sounds like a mix of the Starvations and Queen. And I pretty much only thought about it twice. Pretty mellow, bare-boned roots kind of stuff, but, you know, with those little Brian May guitar parts. Since I love the Starvations and Queen, I actually liked this. I don’t know very many people who would like it, but hey, give it a shot if you want a change of pace. –Josh (Jonny Cat / 17 Television)


HATEPINKS, THE:
Plastic Bag Ambitions: CD/LP
Sacré Pink! After a first album which had the unintended consequence of inspiring my Punk Rock Magnetic Poetry column of a few months back (the gist of things being that said album was so superficial and humdrum that it just seemed like the band was picking “punk” sounding words out of un chapeau and then writing songs about them, inspiring me to do the same) (sorta), the Hatepinks counterattack brilliantly by suddenly developing amazing proficiency, pulling a particularly stunning array of bass chops out of their collective anal apertures, and walloping the unsuspecting consumer with a hard, fast blast of ‘79/’80 Buzzcocks A Different Kind of Tension-isms—all the while, keeping true to their subatomic vision of punk rock as a small collection of properly charged words and syllables (e.g., the lyrics to the title track are nothing but fifty-seven seconds worth of the phrases “1-2-3-4,” “Plastic Bag Ambitions,” and “Go!”). It’s kinda like someone took the Briefs, turned up the Minimalism Dial (or would one actually turn down the Minimalism Dial? Well, you know what i mean), compressed the song lengths, threw in a flurry of second-wave UK punk-isms (to shut me up?), then topped it all off with the kind of inhuman, three-steps-ahead-of-the-listener production that made those early 999 records sound (at least at the time) like they were the work of brilliant space aliens whose modernistic genius could not be comprehended by mere earthlings. I dunno what-all souls got sold to what-all rulers of the Underworld to get this record sounding this way, but this album is, without question, sixteen minutes and twenty-eight seconds well the fuck spent. Actually, my player says that this CD is sixteen minutes and thirty-four seconds long. Lying Euro bastards! BEST SONG: “I Am a Divorce” BEST SONG TITLE: “Kissing Cops with My Ass” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: The last track on the record allows the listener to perfect their pronunciation of “Moo-zair-foo-kair!”, just as that track on the Fonzie Favorites album allowed us to perfect the phrases “Sit On It!” “Cool It!” and “Aaaaaaay!” back in The Day! –norb (CD: TKO, LP: Lollipop)


GRABASS CHARLESTONS:
Ask Mark Twain: CD
Var Thelin and Master P have a lot in common. They both live in the Dirty South, they both run successful independent record labels, and they’re both responsible for promoting and inspiring the music of their region; creating their own sound and look. A No Idea record is as easily recognizable as a No Limit record. Case in point, Ask Mark Twain, the newest record from No Idea’s answer to Silkk the Shocker, the Grabass Charlestons. This record is so Florida it should come with a beard and flip-flops. Thirteen songs of whiskey-soaked swamp punk that come out sounding like a less-Midwestern Modern Machines. They draw heavily from their Floridian blood: I hear a lot of Hot Water Music and Against Me! influence, and track two, “Atlanta Is a Cocaine Town” is a tip of the hat to their western neighbors, This Bike Is A Pipe Bomb. There’s a lot of cool shit coming out of Florida these days, and the Grabass dudes are the top of the heap. –ben (No Idea)


GRABASS CHARLESTONS:
Ask Mark Twain: CD
I own more Grabass shirts than I probably should. I’ve worn one to class and didn’t realize it until one of my students started calling me Grabass, which continued through the semester. I love watching them live; it’s sweat and smiles and backbends—they have the most flexible bassist I’ve ever seen—and every song is an anthem to raise your drink high and throw your arms around a friend, singing at the top of your lungs. Recorded is another dimension entirely. The energy is slightly more subdued, but the music is more complicated in that “Are there three guitar tracks on this song? Wait, was that a horn right there?” kind of way. Their regionalism (Gainesville) is apparent, but they make sure that their own mark is more prevalent than any of their influences. Impressive release by a band I didn’t think could impress me more. –megan (No Idea)


GODDAMN:
Demo: CD-R
Long has it been since I last heard a straight-up hardcore band (meaning non-grind) with completely unintelligible lyrics. Such groups are a rarity in the age of crystal clarity via ProTools and enunciation classes, so this was a surprise. The tempos are kept to a medium pace and their overall sound is reminiscent of White Cross circa the demo with “Nuke Attack” on it, with plenty of anger pumped into the proceedings, and you can’t understand a single fucking word homeboy is saying. Man, you just gotta love it. –jimmy (adam@downheart.com)


GLOW, THE:
The Ghosts Are Out: CD
To beat Andy Warhol at his own game, when I die I’m going to have my shaved, de-boned meat made into those little wiener chunks that are in cans of Spaghetti-O’s. I have all the proper paperwork drawn up, notarized and in place, and I do this because I believe, down to my tastiest bite-sized morsel, that there is nothing more beautifully American than offering one’s self up for mass consumption. And it is because of this deep conviction of mine that I toast the startlingly bland commercialized pap of the Glow. With their banal, middle-of-the-road Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers impersonation, I recognize them as fellow fighters of the good fight and I salute them and their heroic attempt to someday be a successful commodity. God bless them and God bless America! –aphid (Bankshot)


GEORGE MOSHINGTON:
'05 Demo: CD
Well, band members have names like Kellen Felon and Mark the Mustache, and titles on this five-songer include “I Declare a Scene War,” “1 if by Land, 3 if by Pit,” and “You Don’t Care About the Scene,” if that gives you a hint. Lots and lots of talk about the pit, the scene, pits in the scene, moshing, thrashing, being drunk, being punk and the like. Solos that are so trebly they almost sound like keyboards. Cut-and-paste, nearly illegible artwork. Seems like one of those thrash bands that a lot of us probably formed when we first got into punk and were fired up about it but hadn’t yet delved much beyond the surface. This stuff’s probably really fun for them to play, and they are enthusiastic, but it’s also pretty common fare. –keith (George Moshington)


GAS HUFFER:
Lemonade for Vampires: CD
It’s amazing to me that, after all of these years and all of these albums, Gas Huffer keeps getting better. Lemonade for Vampires has all the elements that I’ve come to love in Gas Huffer: Tom Price’s amazing guitar; a subtle, Brit-pop kind of catchy-ness; and an album full of songs that seem to go off in a bunch of different directions, but pull together into a cohesive unit. There’s even a political song to wrap up the album—an ode for the environment called “Ruined.” If you’ve never gotten into Gas Huffer, this latest album is a good place to start. If you’ve been into them for years, this new one will slap a smile on your face. –sean (Estrus)


FUSES:
Eastern Cities: CD
In Bladerunner, almost everything was a robot or manmade, but looked real, organic. Shit like eagles and humans weren’t what they seemed. Like Darryl Hannah in a shower curtain dress and new wave haircut, while she’s kicking some serious ass, the Fuses are exciting, sexy, and alluring, but in the back of your brain, there’s the creeping acknowledgement that you’re probably battling and dealing with machines. And I think that sort of tension works really well for the Fuses. That androidal delivery amongst all the shimmer, sheen, and dancehall-of-the-future feel gives ‘em a nice bite, makes them a little tough to figure out, and keeps the mystery going through the entire course of the album. It makes them so much more than merely artsy-fartsy. Good stuff. –todd (Shit Sandwich)


FUCK YOU DALE:
Self-Titled: 7"
In almost every issue of Razorcake, we hide a “Fuck You, Dale” in it somewhere. We’ve skipped a couple of issues along the way, but we’ve put them as graffiti behind bands (see the Arrivals interview in issue #12, behind Ronnie’s drum set), the first letters of editorials, and a whole bunch of other places the past five years. Dale’s awesome, but it’s fun to say “fuck you” to him. Shhh. It’s a secret. –todd (Designated)


FOXX, THE:
Instrument b/w Come to Japan: 7"
America’s Only Glam Band™ (my claim—not theirs) deliver an A-side borrowing heavily from Mott the Hoople’s “All The Young Dudes” and/or T. Rex’s “Teen Riot Structure” descending chord progressions (and basically borrowing heavily from Dandy in the Underworld-era T. Rex in general) about some fab chick who lives above a grocery store in an apartment packed full o’ musical instruments, and a protagonist who wishes to be recast as one of said objects—result being a palatably cloying tune that’s cute in the same way that Smithereens song about the cigarette is cute. B-side trades more heavily on T. Rex of a more classic nature (i.e. Electric Warrior), thus is much more apt to resonate with those for whom “Instrument” falls short of the mark. Being sort of stuck in a state of perpetual ten-year-old-ism, i’d prefer to hear a more Chapman/Chinn-like a-side and maybe stick the syrupy crap about wanting to be a sitar on the b-side, but, on the other hand, anything i get from this band is sort of sweet relief from decades of hair metal being fobbed off as “glam” so who am i to be critical? BEST SONG: “Come to Japan” BEST SONG TITLE: “Come to Japan” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: The matrix number on this record appears to indicate that it is a “U-number” from United Record Pressing, yet if one is to hold the vinyl up to the light, it—shockingly—is NOT translucent brown. Whaddaya know about that?! –norb (Vinyl Countdown)


FOUR SLICKS, THE:
Bye Bye Bye: 7"
I love Jon Von. Jon Von can do no wrong. However, he is kinda testing my patience with the front cover—it’s not so much the skull & Crescent™ wrench crossbones that looks kinda like tattoo parlor flash, but it’s the lettering of “THE FOUR SLICKS” and the song titles that’s gettin’ to me. I mean, Jon Von is the Supreme Font Dude (as evidence, i present the following anecdote: After the Rip Offs show in Green Bay, we were all standing around, and i noticed Jon looking at my E=mc2 tattoo. Without really thinking about it, i turned to him and said “forty point Megaron Bold Extended,” which is, in fact, the font and point size my tattoo is in. Without so much as a second’s pause, Jon goes “not the equals sign”—and he was correct: Before i got inked, i decided that the two bars of the equals sign were too far apart for my liking, so i manually moved them closer together before having them permanently inscribed on my shoulder. Jon Von noticed the alteration. Now THAT is a Supreme Font Dude!) Anyway, the lettering on this record is in what i call “Tattoo Regular”—a sort of embarrassingly pseudo-ornate hand-lettered font that basically one only sees things like “MOTHER” written in, and, i might add, pretty much my least favorite font (or, more correctly, “pseudo-font”) of all time (its only real competition being that which i call “Tattoo Inline Filled”—the same lettering, but they make the vertical parts of the letters wider so they can fill them in in red or some god damn thing). I mean, i can’t STAND looking at shit lettered like that. IF YOU’RE GONNA GET WORDS TATTOOED ON YOU, GET IT DONE IN A REAL FONT, GOD DAMMIT!!! However, i’ll let Jon’s band get away with this aesthetic horror just because i’m sure it’s all part of some post-adolescent font rebellion on his part, and, therefore, healthy. As to the music itself, i like that they’re playing everything at the fastest tempo they possibly can, i like how it feels all stiff and haranguing, i like how the songs seem to boil down to exercises in playing suspended chords as quickly as possible, and i like the fact that, although the Devil Dogs (or, for that matter, the Rip Offs) it ain’t, it actually is exactly good enough to be completely successful for what it is: Rippin’ fast party garage rock. Play it loud, but don’t ever let me get so drunk that i get any part of their iconography tattooed on my person. BEST SONG: “Bad Girl” BEST SONG TITLE: “Lulabelle” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: The Fantastic Amazing Trivia Fact was covered with the forty point Megaron Extra Bold Extended story. –norb (Savage)


FM BATS:
Everybody Out… Shark in the Water: CDEP
It’s short enough to listen to a little over six times in one hour, which I have just done, and still I can’t make up my mind about it. The music is really cool. Surf-ish guitar riffs over garage-ish drums. I say “ish” because it is not easy to pinpoint exactly what the style is. My only problem with it, and it is a fairly large one, is the vocals. The singer, who used to sing in Le Shok, uses this horrible voice effect so that when he sings, no matter what he is intending to vocally project, he comes across sounding whiny and monotone. This is the basic feel throughout the entire EP. It sort of reminds me of a little kid misbehaving in a grocery store next to his angry and short tempered dad. We’ve all seen and heard this before. The kid starts pissing his dad off, despite multiple warnings to “cut out” whatever he has been doing to cause the aggravation. The sound that the kid makes after the dad’s hand quickly connects with the kid’s backside a few times, making him cry for a minute or two, and the kid starts running out of breath from crying, and attempting to form words between sobs. The speech is sort of drawn out unnecessarily due to the crying fit, as well as a little hoarse for the same reason. That is exactly what I think of when I hear this guy sing. Only stretch that sort of off key mumble whining out over two-minute segments of cool music. I didn’t find this quite as impressive as everyone kept telling me it was. The music is great though. –Guest Contributor (Vinyl Dog/TKO)


FLORENCE NIGHTINGALES, THE:
Self-Titled: 7"
Oh, hell yeah! The Florence Nightingales make me wish I were still booking shows. With vocals sneering, “We come out at night,” it’s easy to image this band, if you could find them (my Google search came up empty), playing a show with the Orphans, the Runaways, and the Avengers. Speaking of, the singer all but channels punk-era Penelope Houston. Four equally solid songs pressed on purple wax and wrapped in a great looking cardstock sleeve. The “F’s” in my 7” collection just got a whole lot better. Florence Nightingales, say hello to the Flash Express and Fuzzbox! You’re in the collection to stay. –kat (Arkam)


FIYA:
Better Days: CD
I’m torn right down the middle with this album. Half the songs fit right in between the two bands on No Idea with the word “North” in their names. It sounds like they’ve been weaned on Rites of Spring, but it also sounds like they’re playing too fast. Instead of being exciting, the faster ones sort of blur together, and the result is something that I like and would enjoy in a live setting, but not something that I would throw on just for the hell of it. The other half of the songs, the more mid-tempo ones, musically remind me, astonishingly enough, of my two favorite Japanese bands at the moment, Baggage and Minority Blues Band, where it’s still chaotic, but instead of sounding blurry, the songs explode all over the place. Also, even though I’m 50/50 on the music, I’d like to point out that I am completely against them dedicating this album to little babies. –Josh (No Idea)


FIVE CENT DEPOSIT:
Focus on the Negative: CD

Argh. Standard whoa-whoa pop punk that seems specifically designed to get the less-than-hunky band members laid. This album consists of thirteen songs that can be aptly filed into three categories. Categories and song totals include:

1) A vague and undefined sort of spiritual malaise: 4.

2) Feeling alienated from one’s peers: 1.

3) Holding on to, lamenting the loss of, or acknowledging the fact that the singer fucked up the relationship with, a girl: 8.

The idea of “holding,” “taking,” or “keeping” some nameless person in the vocalist’s arms is a common theme spread throughout many of these songs and do not appear specific to a certain aforementioned category. You listen to enough stuff like this and the question eventually arises: who are these women that consistently wind up ruining all these poor pop punkers’ lives? And who are all these guys in nondescript bands that feel they have been so ruined? And why are they all in lame-ass pop punk bands? Why aren’t they spouting the same shit in, say, grindcore bands? And are these men destined to keep repeating the same mistakes with different women, if only so they’ll have some lyrics to paper over their lackluster Herman’s Hermits-like song structures? Or are all of the songs by all of these thousands of bands only about a group of, like, fifteen or twenty women? Like, is there a small posse of attractive, flirtatious punk women spread throughout the country who get together twice a year at conferences, where they network on various emotionally manipulative tactics bent on rending in two the hearts of bland songwriters who could only be called “punk rockers” if you were feeling bad for them? Somehow I doubt it, but someone really should do some sort of case study. End result is that you’ve heard one version or another of Focus on the Negative a hundred times before, and Weston did the whole “I’m a dork and I’m heartbroken” thing a lot better. They also broke up years and years ago. –keith (Radical)


FERTIL MISERIA:
Desplazados: CD
This band, which I believe is from Colombia, exhibits more of an ‘82 sound in punk. They play a very garagey, raw punk sound with elements of speed in the music. The female led vocals are raunchy with a throat-screeching delivery. The production is thin, probably due to economics, but does not downplay the total package. They play tight and seem to be using all their might to make this a good recording. The band reminds me of early Colera meets Ratos de Parao from Brazil. You can feel the angry energy and conviction in the songs that they play. –don (Fertil Miseria)


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