Feb 16, 2017

MISS CHAIN & the BROKEN HEELS Uh Uh 7inch

     If there's such a thing as Spaghetti Twang, the band that would get a lot of the credit for making it happen would be Miss Chain & the Broken Heels.
     To pinpoint when exactly these Italians mastered such a sound I am not sure of but when on their first visit to the US years ago, I like to think I played a little part in sparking it. It was summertime and I hosted the band for a few days. I was going through one of my occasional Waylon Jennings phases so anytime one of them was in my car or my kitchen they heard him often. I also booked them into a pole barn out in the woods and a fishing pond for a gig and a barbecue party. They seemed right at home and didn't want to leave.
     Now, this is not to say that the band has gone country be it "Alt" or "Bro" or anything but the sparkly and bright jangle they've always had has tilted ear to something a bit more rustic and rootsy more than a lot of bands that are pegged by most as simply a garage pop group.
     Broken Heels guitar player Silva pulls a crisp, ringing and reverby tone out of his six string that's akin to something like the Buckaroos Don Rich showing the kids how he'd play early Peter Buck riffs on "Uh Uh." Astrid's voice is like sweet cream and bourbon as it lands somewhere between a honky-tonk bar angel and a 60's girl lead. Behind them, the brothers Barcella swing the beat at a vigorous gallop.
      Things get a little moodier on "Standing The Night" in a way where you can feel some heartache and loneliness like on any good 1950's weeper but there also a sense that when dawn arrives, the sun may shine again.
Bachelor Records

Feb 9, 2017

German Hobo Malt Liquor (Dark Horse Brewing Co. & Old Nation Brewing Co. Collaboration)

     In my younger days, I drank more than my share of malt liquor. It was a budget thing. It definitely wasn't at all about classy or fancy. It was cheap and it did the trick I was looking for pretty quickly. Sure, my palate is (hopefully) much more refined these days but even to this day I'll drink a Mickey's Big Mouth in the summer simply for old times sake.
     While perusing the beer shelves at a favorite local joint the other day, I landed my eyes on German Hobo. I chuckled for a second after noticing it said malt liquor on the label. Picking it up to give a closer look I noticed that it was a collaboration brew between two of my favorite Michigan beer makers, Dark Horse Brewing and Old Nation.
     Needless to say, I had to take some home with me.
     Right from pouring it was obvious that this wasn't some attempt to recreate some schwag to be drank from a paper bag. The color was a lot more persimmon than straw yellow and the smell all about caramel, honey, marmalade and toast and not a dive bar bathroom. The soft pour brought out a moderately dense head that melted away fairly quickly with some spotty lacing following.
     In the flavor department there's a malty sweetness right on top. There's a molasses and popcorn thing going that gets me totally thinking of Cracker Jack at first. Following along that there's notes of pepper, honey and orange peel. A tartness starts to open up as it breathes which then gets me thinking of a caramel dipped green apple.
     It finishes semi-dry and though there's a dint of booze in the flavor, one wouldn't think this brew is inching up on a 12% abv until a slight buzz kicks in after only one can.
     No, this is not a "slam that bottle down quickly because as it warms it's gonna taste more like dog wizz with each sip" malt liquor. This is much more richer and way less tasting like fermented corn syrup. That and a 16 oz can of this packs a larger boozy wallop as an entire 40 oz bottle of  the average bought at a gas station malt liquor too.
Old Nation Brewing
Dark Horse  Brewing   

Feb 8, 2017

LOST SYSTEM No Meaning No Culture 7inch EP

     Dystopian. It seems I've been using that word in conversation more than ever before recently. It's not like the world has ever been a perfect place but after the presidential election, the word is being used much more often by many people.
     It also seems to be the right kind of word to describe what is going on in the grooves of this record from Grand Rapids, Michigan band Lost System.
     Sure, the goth'd-out synth blurts and oh so spooooky post punk vocals may seem a bit rote on the "should we dance to this in a basement adorned with stuff from the Halloween store closeout bin or just slowly bleed to death" of the record's opener "Medical Study" and the Eurotrashy tinged "False Companion" but things get a bit darker and creepier too.
     "Future Shock" reeks of disenchantment. It lays out on a cold slab of electronic throbs and illuminates the petulance under a harsh buzz while "Lost System" resembles something from Scott Walker's Scott 2 maneuvering a flowery meadow riddled with landmines.
Neck Chop Records

Feb 2, 2017

THE HOT LZ's Aggravate My Mind LP

      Johnny Thunders spawned a lot of illegitimate rock-n-roll offspring. That's not a problem in as much as itself though as is how many of those kids don't do a Johnny kinda thing right. I'm not talking about being a junkie or the rats nest of hair that made even the Ronettes says "DAMN!" kinda thing. I mean more like how a bunch of them wanna rock but forget about the roll. When that happens the listener is more often than not being handed something that ends up being warmed over Mötley Crüe with less groove and more plod or suburban pop-punkers disguised in some historical reenactor get ups.
     Going back to at least his days as the six string slinger in the Halfways in the late 90's, The Hot LZ's Mark Death has known that without the roll you cannot really rock. He makes sure that the rest of the band knows it, learns it and lives it too.
     Another thing that is lost on a lot bands that proudly show off their 180g color vinyl reissues of Dead Boys/Iggy & the Stooges to anyone that will look is that pussy and booze are part of the diet but it's hate that provides the rocket fuel energy for rollicking propulsion. 
     Aggravate My Mind is not short on hate songs. As the rhythm section thumps and swings and the guitars blaaang and blare, Mark sneers contempt for those who way overstay their welcome on "Don't Wanna See You", disgust for those around him when he's just trying to have a beer on "Moron Magnet", ill will for those who think they're superior on "Baby You Ain't Shit", general animosity for living on "I Can't Seem To Die" and "Murder In My Heart" and...well, you get the point by now I'm sure.
      "So, does the dude hate everything?" you may be asking. Well, I've seen pictures of the chickens Mark has roaming around his yard. He does seem to dig them so at least not every living being in the world pisses him off. For you though, turn this record up and let the spite blast so the neighbors can hear. They'll probably be too worried that you'll go ballistic on them and stab them in the eye if they asked you to turn it down.
The Hot LZ's on Facebook
    

Jan 27, 2017

ERIK NERVOUS Teen Distortion Art Junk Music 7inch

     It seems that most of the punk rock teenagers today are afraid to get all weird. Who knows what they're afraid of. Maybe it's because punk rock is so normal now that teenagers can have conversations with their grandparents about the time they Clash open for the Who at the local Enormousdome or hearing their mom telling the story about how she met their dad while doing keg stands out in the parking lot before Lollapalooza or something and they think they'll never be as cool.
     Luckily, not all "the kids" are falling for it. One of them that's not is Erik Nervous. Taking cue's from the NWI "scene" that begat the sorts such as the Coneheads, the name of the game is channeling all his teenager awkwardness, angst and uncontrollable fidgeting into short spastic bursts of uproariousness.
     Armed with a guitar that sounds like a shoebox with drums to match, some cheesy synths here and there and a caffeinated bellow of alienation, Erik plays all the instruments here, flailing away at them and capturing it all on a Tascam 424 mk.II that had probably been sitting in some closet for years.
     Some songs, like the record's opener "Nervous Child" and "Dollar Store Holiday", are a way worked tizzy similar to that to these ears resemble something a bit like the first couple of Tyvek singles but with more abandon and have me actually wondering if the needle is going to fly off the record at any second from all the jerky movements the music is making. That and I swear that one of my cat's thought that something grabby and pinchy was going to jump out of the speakers when "I'm A Brick" came on because he hightailed it out of the room like a flash within seconds of it starting.
     There's also moments on the record though where something...ummm...poppy oozes into the situation too. The wiggly synth's that do their large and in charge part to make "People Falling Over" vibrate would land at the top of any local new wave chart of any town town Erik would call home and the record's closer, "New Potatoes", would get a few people suspended for a few days for doing the pogo at a high school dance.
Neck Chop Records  

Jan 25, 2017

MANATEEES Superman Dam Fool LP

     It has not been confirmed that Memphis Tn.'s Manateees bathe in Sasquatch's blood. Nor is their substantiated that they brush their teeth with gasoline either. None the less, both stories are quite believable.
     One huge glop of bare-bones punk rock wallop and equal parts cement mixer rattle, unadulterated detestation and a sense of humor that's as dark as some slimy stuff found at the bottom of a very polluted river, the 'Teees big cheese Abe (he of bands such as the Oscars, True Sounds of Thunder and Lover!) with the assistance Keith on bass and Charms of Nots fame on the skins for these recordings, knocked out enough songs in the first few years of the band's existence to have 5 different 7inches come out on 5 different labels.
     Superman Dam Fool, which is named after some graffiti that was scrawled on a brick wall on Poplar Avenue in Memphis, comps those early records up into one tidy LP collection. Tidy only in the fact only that instead of having to dig out those different slabs to get the fix, they're all together on one piece. Aside from that, and a little fixing in the mastering department to keep the aural detonations at a constant eardrum scouring level, it's about things like summonings demonic beasts, taking matters into their own hands while possibly dealing with delirium tremens and hitting the nail on the head on what goes through our feline friends brains when they're awake. It's slimy and it's sludgy. It gets a thrill from creating a maelstrom and watching the aftermath it caused.
Blak Skul Records

Jan 19, 2017

Smashin' Transistors Classic Interview: Hue Blanc's Joyless Ones

(Editors note: It's been a quite awhile since Hue Blanc's Joyless Ones have played in these parts. They're coming around to play the SchwonkSoundStead in Port Huron March 23rd though. This interview dates a even couple years before that. It originally appeared on the original Smashin' Transistors site way back then. 2006, I believe. That site is loooong gone but I did manage to exhume the interview thanks to some crafty tech moves.) 

There ain't much excitement living in a small town. There's comes a point in time where what one does to kill the boredom even becomes boring. You can only tip cows, set fire to ice fishing shanty's, drink budget booze and make prank phone calls for so long til a new kind of kick is needed. Algoma Wisconsin's Casey Buhr found himself in such a prediciment after the band he was in, the Tears, called it a day. What could he do to keep every minute of every day from dragging so much? Well, he get's ahold of fellow Algomians Gus (both of whom were in the Strong Come Ons together), Ted (the three of them were 3/4 of the Knockers) and a math teacher named Josh. With two guitar players and two drummers they formed Hue Blanc's Joyless Ones.
-Interview by Dale

Hue Blanc's Joyless Ones. Interview by Dale
Describe the last time you were (physically or metaphorically) kicked in the teeth.

Ted: Well, Dale, and I address you as such because I know you well mentally and spiritually. I’ve never been K.I.T.T. physically, as I’ve never met a man with the salt. The realm of the metaphorical, though is a very different place: Last week this girl that I totally dig showed Casey her tits. I’m still considering whether I should kill myself. Leaning towards not.

Casey: Recently, on the edge of a flake out there was a crisis moment. Contemplating life tends to metaphorically, in a figurative way literally kick me in the teeth.

Josh: I got stabbed in the neck with a toothpick last week amidst drunken roughhousing. I looked down at my hand and saw half a toothpick and wondered where the other half went…turns out, it was sticking out of my Adam’s apple

Gus: The ride home From the Nathaniel Mayer show.

After getting kicked in the teeth did you feel you lost or won?

J: I lost, but it was worth it for the sake of the story

T: I lost big, my friend.

G: I lost.

C: Though I consider the outcome a draw I understand it is impossible to win. That is the point: existential crisis becomes existential reaffirmation, and with this re-realization there was no flake out and this is why any of this or anything else matters. No bullshit.

When's the last time you shoplifted?

T: Last week Tuesday - a packet of powered beef gravy mix.

C: Stealing fishing lures at the local Hardware Hank. I was fourteen or older.

G: Stealing from Work doesn't count; so I'm gonna say last year, a pair of shorts.

J: Ok, the Mobil doesn't count, ‘cause Gus runs it. I stole some Whisker Lickens’ cat treats a couple weeks ago at Wal-Mart.

Cowbells. I heard Hue Blanc's drummers stole theirs from actual cows.

T: Preposterous to explore the impetus behind an ultimately, wholly false rumor.

J: That’s bullshit. We took the whole fucking cow.

G: Yeah, Cows are stupid.

What role of importance does John Cougar Mellencamp play in Midwest rock-n-roll?

T: For my part he really doesn't play any role at all.

G: Absolutely none.

J: The Bono of the Midwest. Inspiration for bands to give a little back and help out the farmers. Should have stayed Johnny Cougar. If he is such an average joe, what’s with all the name changes?

C: There was an ill-fated (never transcribed nor delivered) interview conducted by Mr. Kellner (Trickknee records mogul) where, I pontificate on the virtues of Mellencamp, it’s much too long and pure to recreate here. In short his importance as far as Midwest rock and roll is concerned: "very little overall" but to me personally, being from the Midwest and playing some semblance of rock-n-roll "very little" but as far as me waxing nostalgic, very essential. Car rides, contemporary radio playing he, and others like J Geils and the like. My formative years. Five or Six years old. It was the early/mid eighties. It was Northeast WI. I played pots and pans on the linoleum of my parent’s kitchen and was immensely pleased with my existence. How things have changed. My mother tried to coax me into saying the word "shit", by asking me what he said in "Play Guitar," or whatever the song is called, the "forget about all that macho shit, and learn how to play guitar" line. It was all repercussion free, and I didn’t do it. That was the beginning of prolonged regret. How things are still much the same.

The story is that you all grew up together in Algoma, Wi. Is that true?

T: Not really.

C: Not exactly. The truth is youthful exuberance, and nescient twatery prevented what Hue Blanc obviously created. He found himself redeeming something in us all.

J: Not really. I moved away from the ‘gomes at a young age, only to gravitate back in time to catch the grunge wave

G:Yeah, Josh used to be one of those Door co. country boys though, he's lucky he met us.

Describe the average Friday night of a 14 year old Algoma dude.

G: I don't know, walking around looking for twelve year old girls, or shooting hoops at the club. I think that's what I was doing when I was fourteen. That and Robotussin.

T: There is no average 14 year old Algoma dude.  The inbred history of this isolated town has mandated a perpetual caste of bubbling freaks who react to puberty, naturally, like it’s an atom bomb.

C: Drive circles around his heart and the heart of other fourteen year old boys whom wish to only have seventeen year old girls to chase. They claim to need you but in the end you’re left alone with people who are much more stylish than you.

J: Drink Robotussin. Walk around. Yell things. Go to bed at 11. Take booze from liquor cabinet. Replace stolen booze with water. Sneak out of house. Meet up with friends at the park. Combine stolen booze in Amoco cup. Walk around. Break stuff. Sneak back into house.

So what does nightlife in Algoma consist of for someone older than 14?

C: Thirty below zero wind chill, perceived danger, facial hair, ego, the ability to make lists of things, especially my jovial, flaming demeanor

T: Death, rape, Warren Zevon, cancer, etc

G:Usually parties at my house or hanging out in taverns. Occasionally Casey will do something to amuse us all, he's great if you don't let him sleep for a few days.

J:  Us- Booze, bowls, and broads.  Them- Some douche in a ski-doo jacket trying to slime his way into the drawers of a chain-smoking mother of two in acid washed jeans.

Which Algoma rock-n-roller owns the most flannel? Are they proud of this fact?

C: Whoever it is they are most definitely proud of it. Mostly for it’s functionality.

T: It’s probably someone I’m not familiar with. Is nickg still considered an Algoma rocker?

G: Probably nickg (Strong Come Ons, the Catholic Boys, the Tears), is he still an Algoma rocker? If not I would say Adam Przybylski, wait is he still a rocker?

J:  Probably Nickg. I used to have a ton. Nye on ten years ago, that shit was at a premium around here- but then grunge died and it all went back to Goodwill. Now the only flannel in my house is my sheets, because I’m so fucking domesticated.

The weather was pretty freakin' brutal cold today. How does one heat up an old minivan on such midwest winter mornings?

T: One sets it on fire

G: Bodyheat, space heaters, masturbation, tangerines? I don't know ask Casey.

J: Love

C: Climb in through the passenger door, crawl across and get settled in to the driver’s seat. Insert key into ignition. Turn key. Turn on heat. Drive and chatter for a while. Warmth is more of a problem for backseat passengers. Opening more than one door from the inside is also difficult. Adding windshield washer fluid, checking oil and anything else "under the hood" can be difficult on the crisp January mornings or on tepid July evenings. But isn’t it all beautiful. Did you see the sky today? Blue in the purest sense. You’d really have to be me.

Will Gus ever be the mayor of Algoma?

C: Yes, but with strings attached. Scandal, backroom dealings, puppet regime, and inevitably the most ridiculous felony conviction imaginable.

T: No. Explain why???

G: Probably not. I'm pretty fucking lazy. Besides I'm sure that job doesn't pay enough for it not to be a fucking huge waste of time. And who would want to do anything for the fuckwads that live here anyway.

J: It’s possible- We did elect Wayne Schmidt, who may be a bigger soak than Gus. Why? Because he will be our puppet, a wholesome face to appease the masses whilst we conspire and construct the secession manifesto. Although, Gus may have too many skeletons…

Tell me a story about a Culvers dining experience?

C: It was in Ripon, WI birthplace of the Republican party and home of Ripon Good Cookies. It was my only time, and wasn’t remarkable enough to recall what I had.

T: Again, a poorly worded question - so here’s this - Justin Obrecht is a young entrepreneur who is buying up Culvers franchises in the greater Chicago area like hot cakes and he is free with his money when it comes to helping out a friend, and he saw HBJO once and professed to like us very much indeed!

G: I know the dude who runs the whole Culvers operation. He's a super-rich douche bag, rich though.

J:  Not a fan, Krohl’s had the butter burger perfected long before they laid claim to it but I do know a guy who knows this other guy that owns Culvers and he saw some dude get killed by a bouncer in New Orleans on new years eve, although I suppose you can’t swing a dead frat guy without hitting a homicidal bouncer in those parts.

If Algoma was to erect a statue of Nickg what pose would you like to see him in.

J: Sitting on a step with elbows on knees and head hanging low, kinda like Ian in that Minor Threat picture, but not cause he’s pissed off at the kids for slam dancing, more like he just took a hit of crack and is about to puke.

T: Contemplative

C: I would imagine Algoma to erect a large hologram that would show three positions of nickg: Vacant stare with hand down pants on balls... Confused walking, inhaling own scent (which is quite pleasant, like rosemary and a meadowlark’s calling)... "Atlas-esque nickg" He tends to control the weight of my world, and hold the freight of the rest. It’s nickg, I’m doing my best not to hate and get a plaster replication of his penis and hold him for the rest of days.

G: Jacking off next to our statue of Greg Cartwright.

So who's YOUR favorite Oblivian?

C: A slight edge to Eric. Given his lineage. In ill-guided minds he is a rock and roll prince. Jack and Greg are tied at a real close second, being a near negligible distance removed from the number one slot. No one gets hurt feelings.

T: I refuse to answer this question on the grounds that the Oblivians are a band great enough to steal songs from.

G: I don't know. Dumb question.

J:  Whichever one is singing at the time though, if I had to pick one to hang out with, it would be Jack, ‘cause he’s the funkiest of the three, although Eric has the BBQ lowdown, so he would be good have around too. Greg would intimidate me too much.

Out of the 4-who's the best power trio-Grand Funk Railroad, Rush, the Oblivians or Cream.

G:I don't think you can consider the Oblivians a power trio, so I guess Cream, because they are not GFR or Rush. I fucking hate Rush.

T: I’m not sure whether all these bands should be considered "power trios" but God knows I’ sure as damn hell like the Oblivians. Because they are (were)... fucking great?

C: I hadn't realized Rush was a power trio. Don’t they have keys? Isn’t a power trio Guitar, Bass, Drums? Grand Funk Railroad "Hey dudes, let’s get it on" and why not? They are truly an American band.

J: Is this a trick question? Doesn’t power trio connote having a bass? In that case, Cream. Because they were fuckin’ heavy.

Favorite Nazareth song?

J: "Hair of the Dog," by default, ‘cause I only know two, and "Love Hurts" is a total pussy song.

C: If you were asking favorite Meatmen song, right now I’d say "Crapper’s Delight"

G: "Whiskey Drinkin’ Woman"

What's your opinion on spandex clad rockers?

G:They remind me of wrestlers, you know like Brutis the Barber. Death and Taxes should wear spandex.

T: I suppose it would vary from one S.C.R. to the next.

C: Depends. And I say, if you’re far away, even if you’re working it, Mellencamp never wore spandex.

J: An extension of 70’s glam rock, but not nearly as fabulous. Good eye candy for dudes who like to look at other dudes dressed like bar sluts.

Ever notice how some spandex clad rockers do really acrobatic moves on stage? Any moves you are thinking about working into the stage show?

G: I'm not an acrobat, I play drums.

C: Saunter, mince,  sprawl, squeeze, shake and shiver.  Each one alone and then all together.  When we get together...

J: Finding a way to get behind the drum sets can be acrobatic at times

Midget porn star Lil' Napoleon is Algoma's greatest contribution to the Nation's (and maybe the world's) culture...Do Hue Blanc have such lofty aspirations?

T: I see now that you’re a truly perceptive cat. And let me just tell you this. Once when I was an adolescent and partaking in an afternoon at the "big park" I started to clown a local retarded kid who was shooting baskets. Lil’ Napoleon, who at that time fulfilled a supervisory role at the Algoma Parks and Recreation Dept wheeled a basketball at me that hit me hard in the ass. I then felt fast the sting of shame for clowning this retard for personal fame in front of my lousy friends, and it was a lesson that has stuck with me ever since. So before we quick to make light of this fat-cocked midget from parts barely known, let us first consider that his little soul may bare instincts more human than all our self-important art-rock crap could even begin to hint at.

C: Do you mean "Does Hue Blanc have such lofty aspirations?" or "Do the Joyless Ones have such lofty aspirations?" and if it is indeed the latter are you asking about the collective aspirations of the Joyless Ones or the individual wanting of the Joyless Ones? No rebuttal eh? Hue Blanc has legal issues to attend to. Other than that he has nothing but lofty aspirations, and we are doing his bidding. As far as collectively, the Joyless Ones hope to please Hue Blanc in ANY and ALL ways possible. That’s all we need. Individually I’d be glad to take a close second to Craiggy when it comes to contributions from Algoma to the World. I plan to dabble in Pornography be it writing, directing, performing, whatever is required of me. I have ideas, just not the ambition or connections. Especially not the ambition.

G: You can't top that. Craig is three and a half feet of pure fucking legend.

J: I don’t think our aspirations extend much beyond having something to do while drinking every Tuesday night…I think I speak for everyone by saying that not having to carry the stand bag ever again would fucking rule.

Find out about all the HBJO current happenings at their Facebook page

Jan 17, 2017

T-TOPS Face Of Depression 7inch EP

     You'd figure with the band's name and the cover of this 7inch featuring a Trans Am with a T-Top roof, that you might be getting some tank top wearing, porn star mustache sporting, pin doobie rolling, burning rubber down mainstreet and cranking up the Foghat 8-track loud band here.
     That's not the case though.
     If these Pittsburgh agitators are cruising in anything on city streets, it's an assault vehicle. Something lumbering and impenetrable. Something doesn't stop at traffic lights and something the cops can't shoot the tires out on. It rolls over top of anything that might get in it's way and, as the title track can attest, basks in the sound of crushing metal and broken glass.
     Heavy on an AmRep tip, anything that ever once resembled a brown weed boogie on "Dead Magician" has been boiled in lead and then anodized. If you scratch at the surface of the record's closer, "Pig Of Hell", til it is raw, you may find something bordering on straight up, old school metal but by then the infection will have already started to set in, making everything all black and oozing with pus.
T-Tops on Facebook

Jan 14, 2017

Smashin' Podsistorcast: It Took a Long Time to Turn 18

       The Smashin' Transistors fake radio show has returned! The exile was first imposed by a dying machine. Then it came a bit by choice to reconnect with the real world.
     Hear the latest from the Sueves, David Nance, the Kool 100s, the Bad Noids, Rik & the Pigs, Midnight Mines, Jeff McDonald, Writhing Squares and the Hot LZs.
     Dig it as we blow the dust off records from the Pastels, Green On Red, the Tall Dwarfs and the Godz.
     Revel in the sound of that and much more!

Jan 10, 2017

SUBURBAN HOMES ...Are Bored 12inch EP

     Anyone blow off not checking out Suburban Homes yet because their band name choice had you thinking about the Descendents and, well, something paying homage to it just didn't seem like it would move ya? I can claim ALMOST to being guilty of such a thing. I eventually came to my senses.
     What was it that brought me around? First off, this record (as well as one before it) were released on Total Punk records. Secondly, I started seeing Swell Maps comparisons being bandied around
     The latter probably just thrown because the band had a song called "Television Spies" (not "Helicopter Spies" but close) on their previous record and there's an overt bit of Brit provincial DIY weirdness going on. The sound here leans, hell, dives splat face first into the begrimed puddles of the Desperate Bicycles at some points and, at others, ransacks the Homosexuals comportment for agitational motivation but perhaps not for melody.
    Whether addressing the doldrums of  lame neighborhood mundanity by employing fidgety guitars and antagonistic disposition  on "Small Town Boredom" and "Cul-De-Sac" , questioning the illusion of romance in the modern consumer age with the help of a blared out jangle on "Barbie & Ken" or doing an deciding to do an stomp as hard as an art punk can on first world problems like "I-Phone Suicide", the band gathers up shatters and pieces them together.
     The Suburban Homes are making soundtracks for the death of the mall and not whatever the last of the mall punks are scrambling to keep alive.
Total Punk Records