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Record Reviews

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Below are some recently posted reviews.

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BILLY REESE PETERS:
Almost Heaven: CD
The leanest rock’n’roll isn’t the most simple. Never make that mistake. It has muscles hiding underneath and doesn’t tire after repeated listens. Also never mistake meaty chops for dunderhead cock rock. In one respect, the dudes of Billy Reese Peters were born in the wrong era—of Cheap Trick, Creedence, AC/DC, Tom Petty—all of which they channel. But, fuck it. They’re born perfectly in time. They’re a clarifying band, a wrecking ball, reminding self-righteous punks allergic to a good time of the pure, sonic salve of self-effacing dude rock’n’roll. Billy Reese is not only a band that induces Angus Young’s high-knee’d strutting, encourages a level of partying that could kill small animals, makes you strong enough to lounge naked in a bath tub of ice and beer, but, secretly, are some of the most compassionate and human dudes you could ever want to come in contact with. Live, they turn a beer commercial into a tear-jerking ballad. Seven years together and this is their first full-length. Thumbs up. –todd (No Idea)


RATCHETS, THE:
Glory Bound: CD
Mix in the late-mid period Clash (say London Calling to side four of Sandinista), after the lit dynamite of Give ‘Em Enough Rope and before the disco assrash of ninety percent of Combat Rock. (Don’t even get me started with Cut the Crap.) Mix in some of the more subtle Echo and the Bunnymen (almost subliminally), some reggae (which fits back into the period of the Clash), and you know what? This is more than just entirely listenable. It’s music that’s great to work along to; plop it on and it put a bounce in my step and a bob in my head. When the Ratchets are playing, it doesn’t demand all of your attention, it’s not embarrassing to listen to (to you or them; they wear their age well), and it’s comforting. And that’s not a slag in anyway, because what could be more blue collar, working class “street punk” than having great tunes playing when you’re forced to swing a hammer or humping a photocopier? Nice. –todd (Pirates Press)


NO TRUTH LIES:
Self-titled: CD
The musical blocks are obvious enough: Tiltwheel, Grabass Charlestons, Tim Version, and Florida “Dudes On” punk rock. And this late in the game, I should be fully prepared to be a jaded fuck when hearing gruff-voiced, expertly played, heart-filled anthems about beer, failure, and the death of ideals, but I’m not. Bring it. Goddamn, I love this CD. They’re like Rowdy Roddy Piper in They Live. They’ve got the sunglasses that filter out all the bullshit and evil, and they get to the heart of the matter (with music, not shotguns) like compassionate vigilantes. They deserve a feather in their cap, too, for reinterpreting a Phil Ochs tune. –todd (ADD)


POTENTIAL JOHNS, THE / CHINESE TELEPHONES:
Split: LP
Potential Johns: So imagine that one member of The Marked Men—we’ll name him “Jeff”—had an entire studio to himself that was in a back yard. “Jeff” had a lot of time at his disposal. Months. Maybe years. “Jeff” is a musical prodigy. He can play every instrument a normal punk band would play and he sings. “Jeff” records all the bits, tracks them together, and makes recordings for himself. Due to humility, he does it purely for the joy of music. But, those recordings quietly leak out, one visiting band at a time. Unlike a self-indulgent misunderstood “genius,” “Jeff’s” songs are awesome, accessible, complex, but in no way pretentious. Like a slightly different universe Marked Men: if ‘60s AM radio existed in the 2000s, overlaid with the garage grit of The Dirtbombs, you’d have the headspace, but you still wouldn’t be prepared for how good these songs really are. Five songs of complete bliss. Chinese Telephones: Here’s the deal: heroes suck. This is why. All of your musical “heroes” have to have failed somewhere. It’s in human nature to be imperfect (the monkey vs. robot wars. Go monkeys.). And that’s rad because if you get inside of your “heroes’” heads, really deep inside, you can finish what they couldn’t. If you don’t deify them, you realize that they can fail, even musically. They’re human. You’re human. You can pick up the thread they missed and stitch into your own creativity. I have no idea if the Chinese Telephones have any “heroes,” but I do know that they’ve come out of their comfortable pop punk cocoon (formed by the exoskeleton of Screeching Weasel and Midwest pop punk), and are starting to spread their wings. (I know that sounds fruity, but their songs aren’t.) Man, they’re getting great. –todd (Cheeky Git)


DANSETTEN:
Mask Rouletta: LP
I don’t think I’m qualified to review this record. It makes me feel like a rube. Here’s what I know. It’s been a long-term project of Ramus, who was in Amdi Petersen’s Armé and is in Young Wasteners. APA were an awesome, straight-ahead, Black Flag-inspired punk. The Young Wasteners do do some stretching out into Screamers and Television territory, so I knew the experimentation was in him, but this LP…. Man, these are all shots in the dark for me. I feel like I need a degree in musical theory to meet it on its own terms. Depending on the listen, I hear Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica, (Errant piano tinkles. Improvisational jazz beats. Calypso?) Talking Heads (that David Byrne-y out-of-breath, sorta-talking over off-signature, short-shot and intentionally beep-boop-tuned instrument imbalance), with occasional cricket sounds (and occasional mannequins muttering backups). I totally tip my hat off to Rasmus for making the record he really wanted to make, but this record makes me feel totally uncomfortable and I find myself scratching my head like a chimp because I just don’t get it. For fans of Flipper and Culturecide? –todd (Hjernespind)


QUEERWÜLF:
Preaching to the Choir: LP
Picture, if you will, that sneaky, slippery, spazzy, downtrodden holes-in-sneakers punk of bands like Sexy, ADD/C, and Dead Things. Got the headspace? Then overlay that with a love of Slayer—not too much, just a thin layer of butter on top. Then, at the edges, like the corner of a room where there’s a little rat hole, some acceptable meanness of Assholeparade. What does that all mean? Totally energetic, tight, trashy, catchy music that is coming from a fucked-up place (geographical, mental, you take a pick; maybe both). What’s exciting is that they’ve taken all the aforementioned bands, and instead of daintily offering you a cup right off of their keg of fancy ale, the keg’s been shooken—dropped off the back of a pickup—someone’s peed into the pitcher that’s being passed around, and no cares because, man, this band’s piss and vinegar is what makes the whole party on a platter fun. –todd (Twenty Fifth Hour)


PEAR OF THE WEST:
Self-titled: 7”EP
How is it that the Japanese have the same pieces to the puzzle that everyone else is given—instruments, brains, hearts, practice space—and yet they can come up with, time and again, music that’s more in focus, bouncier, and tighter? Pear Of The West are no exception; from Mami’s incredible voice, to the Buzzcocks meet the Parasites pop punk paradise of the playing. It’s the perfect realization of strong-voiced female vocals joyfully bubbling atop the best of the ‘90s, all compressed into superballs of songs that bounce all over the place and never get mushy. –todd (Snuffy Smiles)


OFF WITH THEIR HEADS:
Hi Five for the Rapture: 7” EP
Dysfunction: never great on a personal level, but, sometimes, great for music. OWTH can’t seem to keep band members. They steal people’s food (although reformation has been claimed). They’ve got a gas tank full of hatred in a van that barely works. Sometimes—and this is one of ‘em—when something’s so wrong it’s right. For this guy, nothing beats snarling meanness and guitar attacks, then and a soft blanket and some cuddle time with a breakdown. Melodic. Hardcore. So both are a bit changed and hammered into a new shape. It’s the dynamics in punk that make it cut in new ways; the hug and the wielded knife that make it continually interesting, and Off With Their Heads capture that perfectly. –todd (Fashionable Idiots)


ANTIJUSTICE / CHINESE TELEPHONES:
Split: 7”
Antijustice: intellectually, they seem very concerned with the color wheel, with song titles “My Color, Your Color’s,” and “He Is a Rainbow,” and many lyrical mentions to grey. Odd. Musically, these Osaka dudes could have easily emerged from late ‘90s Midwestern America pop punk scene. (Perhaps there’s a subway. It seems the Japanese always have a leg up on those technologies.) And with any Japanese punk band I’ve ever heard, they play better than Americans and we’d feel shame for that if we didn’t have beer and hot dogs to rub into our wounds. Oh, and the beginning sounds a bit like the Avengers. Chinese Telephones: Going out are the simple, traceable hooks of their previous incarnation, Hot Carl. Coming in are sophisticated songs—no, not douchebag “I mess up my hair just right so it looks like I don’t care” sophistication—but that hard-to-pinpoint, I’m-looking-inside and trying to write pop songs that bite and snarl and shout for me. And it’s paying off. The less memorable moments and leaning against obvious influences of earlier outings are being shed and discarded like too-small sweaters. What’s evolving is a band that’s beginning to realize their potential of putting pop and punk together in a way that shows their hearts without it being a cheap iron-on that’ll fade in time, while never forgetting that people like to shake their asses. –todd (Snuffy Smiles)


J. CHURCH / OFF WITH THEIR HEADS:
Split: 7”
J. Church: I say this with the utmost respect. Lance can’t sing that well, and that’s part of the beauty of what J Church is doing: no separation between band and audience. The first song starts off a little loosey goosey and then kicks into what could easily be on the flipside of a Jawbreaker song when they were in their prime. The second cut’s a Snuff cover. I love covers that get me reared up go pull out the original, like a reminder to visit an old friend. Off With Their Heads: Oh, man, songs about restraining orders, fucking hating everything (including himself and excepting Janie), and it’s so damn catchy. What I don’t get is how this angry, bear-like voice (like Billy of Dillinger Four {the occasional third vocalist who can rip out a DYS cover like nobody’s business}) comes out of a medium-sized dude. They’re probably tired of hearing this, but I’m just reporting the facts: sounds like early D4, ultra-mean, hit-in-the-snacks Jawbreaker, and monkeys flinging shit and laughing if you swallow it or it gets in your eyes. Yes, great. –todd (1-2-3-4 Go!)


BLANK STARE:
White Hell, White Corpse b/w White Race-White Waste: 7”EP
I think they’re going with a theme: white people suck. There it is, in the lyrics: “the whole white race is a fucking disgrace.” I say, “Your postulate is perhaps incorrect. What about Al Quint, editor awesome of Suburban Voice?” (They thank him in the notes.) I don’t think he’s ever done anything bad in his life (I may be wrong. Please let it not be so, Al.) and the skin he was born in just happened to be white. Hmmm. I’m gonna have to disagree with the band’s thesis. (Assholes come in all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors.) What I don’t disagree with is that the band completely rips in a Dead Nation, Cut the Shit! sorta of way: chunky hardcore with plenty of traction and acceleration with no heed of the finish line. –todd (Third Party)


BLACK SUNDAY:
Cut Out!: 7”EP
Black Sunday is all about the crookedness of the slithering synthesizer, the wickedness of the smile that it’s all okay if you just trust her, and the sharpened musical brain, cutting like a laser. With Alicja Trout at the helm, I can’t but hold on for the ride and enjoy any musical scenery she imagines; this time into new wave, goth, art territory. (If you’re looking for more rock, hit up the equally excellent River City Tan Lines.) These are places I rarely visit on my own nowadays, but with an expert like Alicja at the helm—sorta like Mr. Wonka—these strange, foreign worlds become not only palatable but fascinating, fun, and addictive. This is suggested for brave ears and minds that don’t mind a little stretching. –todd (Tic Tac Totally)


TOP TEN:
Self-titled: 7”EP
This is bubblegum that sticks to the bottom of badass rock’n’roll’s cleats (with a Teenage Head cover thrown in for good measure). Fronted by Tina Lucchesi’s powerhouse vocals, and totally giving off the “switchblade, lipstick, asskick, tough-but-tender” vibe, the Top Ten have released two great 7”s in a row. This one’s a little more AC/DC than Bay City Rollers than the last, and I like ‘em equally as much. It’s also a plus that it’s not too much of a stretch imagining them as a gang in The Warriors. –todd (Classic Bar)


TEENAGE REGRETS:
Self-titled: 7”EP
Heavy spazz, distortion garage rock in the same trailer park as the Functional Blackouts that whips chaotically into… overdrive surf. It’s that last part that keeps me, and it’s that part where their sound bends like a blade of grass and doesn’t get uprooted, snapped, and forgotten like so many more bands of this ilk. Teenage Regrets sound like the Ventures in a tornado pantsing members Teengenerate as they all lose their finger grips on a telephone pole that’s getting ripped out of the ground and flying far beyond the horizon. Oddly satisfying and recommended. –todd (Fashionable Idiots)


CRUMP, THE:
Leave Home: 7” EP
Less influenced by the Ramones or the Queers, as the title would suggest, The Crump are more straight-ahead, early punk in the vein of Elvis Costello mixed with mid-period Screeching Weasel (not as nasally as the early stuff and not as slow as the later stuff could be). It may not sound like a compliment, but it is: the Crump don’t have any clutter. Everything’s sparse, arranged so the notes aren’t slurred or tripping over one another, and their playing itself sweeps on through the songs immaculately, so subtleties you may not notice on the first couple of go-throughs really begin to sparkle on repeated listens. Great stuff from Japan. –todd (Snuffy Smiles)


BOB BURNS AND THE BREAKUPS:
Self-titled: 7”
I’m thankful that great rock’n’roll has nothing to do with quantum physics; that one doesn’t need any sort of degree to understand a sonic karate chop to the throat. I’m thankful that great rock’n’roll has more in common with Tic Tac Toe than chess; more to do with heart than head. I’m thankful that tubas and cellos are really difficult to fit into vans; it keeps the elements—guitar, bass, drum(s)—simple. And I’m thankful for Bob Burns And The Breakups for understanding that to rock, all you need is a wicked beat, something to slash, and the power and energy to stomp it all down. No-frills, back-to-breaking-bones-and-hearts rock’n’roll will always find a place in my collection. Go, Wisconsin. –todd (Plastic Idol)


FAKE PROBLEMS:
Spurs and Spokes: 7”EP
It’s a fact of musical life. There will be bands that redefine the musical landscape. They will leave their impression—thumbprints, riffs, beats—on hundreds of bands to follow, running the gamut from the direct, cheap lifting of musical notes like temporary tattoos, to the channeling of harder-to-place, intangible spirit of a band. Fake Problems straddles that saddle. At times, I believe they’ve got an original game plan: deft fusion of country and folk punk, all under the halo of DIY, and I like it. Other times, and you can almost picture them craning closer to the stereo’s speakers, cranking the volume, and, asking out loud, “How’d Against Me! do it?” Here’s to hoping Fake Problems aren’t content with choosing flash from wall, but continue ink and color their own originals. –todd (Sabot)


J.CHURCH / FLAMINGO 50:
Split: 7” EP
If I wrote the title to every J Church song ever written, really tiny, in ballpoint pen on my skin, that list would fill up my upper torso, at least. Bless Lance Hahn. Seriously. His uncompromised marriage to punk rock has taken him through better and worse, in sickness and in health. And due to the mere fact that J. Church is not only sticking to their guns when many of their peers believed that they themselves were deities, then declared the nuclear holocaust of pop punk; J.Church did DIY world tours and got progressively better. While I can’t say I celebrate their entire catalog, I do favor their shorter songs. “Near 600 Pages” is the perfect capsule of their power: catchy, sharp, dynamic, guileless, and wide-eyed/wizened-by-years pop punk. The Cars cover is guilty-good, too. Flamingo 50: Straight-ahead, lady-singing melodic punk from England. No screech or wail. Flamingo 50 make me think of my favorite shoes: well-worn and comfortable, smooth in the places that get a lot of action, and nothing fancy or precious; that makes me like ‘em even more. I look forward to listening to this split often. –todd (Pizza Pizza)


NAVEL / FIFTH HOUR HERO:
Split: 7” EP
Navel: Ever see a band split in two, like a musical amoeba, right in the middle of a song by the sheer weight of their musical differences? That’s what I feel with Navel; like half of the band wants to play straight-ahead punk and the other half wants to play indie rock. The result is something that satisfies neither. Sorry, Japan. Fifth Hour Hero: They made me a believer with their Not Revenge… LP, and in LP length, FHH shine due to them plowing a large landscape into shape (melodic, power punk) and filling in the details with a light hand (the quieter parts of Discount), which provided it an overall epic quality. These two songs could be sequenced into that LP to great result. But, here’s the weird thing. The two songs—a long, multi-part song and an acoustic ballad—hanging out by themselves, all lonely and alone on one side of a 7”, sound like orphans. Sorry, Canada. –todd (Snuffy Smiles)


SNUGGLE / WHISKEY SUNDAY:
Split: 7” EP
Snuggle: Mid ‘90s East Bay pop punk has moved north to Seattle. Forlorn sentiments {i.e. “no I can’t fall in love no more”} bouncily played. I imagine a rickety, elaborate gin still of music: Plaid Retina, Isocracy, and Sludegworth heated over the flames of bad luck, stored in a paint barrel of bad timing, and eventually dripping into a glass, as potent as it is raw. They’re definitely getting better. Whiskey Sunday: Are you familiar with Leatherface’s Frankie Stubbs’ raspy voice? Well, if someone hammered a nail through his vocal chords, that’s what the lead singer of Whiskey Sunday sounds like. Sometimes, when the band’s not crankin’ nor anthemic, the whole affair gets a little too bar rock-y (their second song on here). However, when they’re all wadding up and firing off their early Hot Water Music riffs and the songs are latticed up a wee more complexly, like in “Sunday Morning,” I like ‘em quiet a bit more. –todd (Vinehell)


CHRONIC SEIZURE:
Self-titled: 7” EP
Every large city has one, and Chronic Seizure may be one of them. (I’m prognosticating here.) Lifer dudes. Solid hardcore tunes. “Love Minor Threat?” “You betcha!” “Want some real hardcore?” “Hell yeah. No eyeliner or metal bullshit… and only the early Necros.” And that’s exactly what comes out; catchy riffs, lightning delivery, played in an understandably hard fashion, totally realized, and as crisp and clear as ice on a frozen lake. You can almost see a barely working van idling in the distance and hear of some regional tours planned. I’d totally watch them if they were on a bill. –todd (Fashionable Idiots)


VENA CAVA / SICK SICK BIRDS:
Split: 7” EP
Betrayal, loss, and alcoholism; Vena Cava, one of San Diego’s long-running secrets, continue to improve on their heart-felt, cathartic music that’s a unique splicing of Jawbox (subtle angularities, guitars being tweaked but not wanked) and X (brother and sister duet vocals that really do sound desperate, instead of striking a convenient pose). These are two of my favorite songs by them. Sick Sick Birds: I’ve been waiting years to say this: The Thumbs’ Mike and Bobby are back playing music together. Trading in the frenetic, tight-wound signatures for mid-paced, melody-balanced tunes, Sick Sick Birds reflect aging well. Imagine the Thumbs listening to a lot of mid-period Superchunk, a little Joy Division, and saying, “Let’s start all over again,” without discarding or betraying what they once learned… Great stuff. –todd (ADD)


MAKEOUTS, THE:
Worst Band Ever: 7” EP
Totally competent (read incompetent, but in a special way) primary (maybe primal) rock’n’roll from Sweden that has more than merely laced on the Devil Dogs’ sneakers, but are soaking and inhaling in the reek. The good news is that’s a fine way to start a band. The bad news is that the Leghounds (and Kill-a-watts) already did and gasolined the works to crispy, delightful ends in the ‘00s. It’s much more satisfying hearing bands make their own footprints flame up when they stomp down, even if they didn’t invent fire. The Makeouts are smoldering now. I’d be interested more with more heat, more flame. –todd (Bachelor)


CRAWLERS, THE:
All My Punk Rock Children E.P.: 7”
Adequate fast and funny punk rock from a band I’ve never heard of, but really feel like I should have. Songs written in simplistic couplets makin’ fun of losers, from punk rock posturers (“Used to Be”) and trendies (“Waste of Talent”) to cokehead eBay junkies (“Kicked Off eBay”); I think one of the songs might be a love song (“Promise Me”), but The Crawlers never go soft for a second, not even here. –susan (Blind Spot)


CITIZEN FISH/LEFTOVER CRACK:
Baby Punchers/Meltdown: Split 7”
Who still listens to ska-punk anyway? Ha, ha just because I stopped caring in the late ‘90s doesn’t mean that it’s not still a relevant, legitimate form of punk rock expression. Besides, who can trash-talk the unassailable pedigree of a band like Citizen Fish? Or the endlessly funny song title of Leftover Crack’s “Baby Punchers”? Yes, ska-punk is alive and well and will continue to be in 2007 when Fat Wreck Chords releases the full-length split that this 7” is just a taste of. Until then, just pop this little disc on and get ready to skank or froog or whatever it is you ska-punk heads do these days. –susan (Fat)


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·VISITORS, THE
·MESSRS
·CHROME SPIDERS
·AMPUTEES, THE
·NOODLE MUFFIN
·SPONTANEOUS DISGUST
·STANDARD AND POOR
·SOMETHING FIERCE / HANGOUTS, THE
·CALIFORNIA X


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