OBNOX Niggative Approach LP

It probably took about ten minutes after Lamont Thomas landed the first 'Nox recording on folks ears before they started bandying the buzzwords SOUL & PUNK around.

The punk rock thing is a given. Lamont's background of being in brash and blaring 100% no bullshit rock-n-roll music bands goes back a couple decades now. Usual known for his way around a drumkit in those combos, him front and center on guitar, vox and mostly everything else at least occasionally in Obnox is a whole new kind of volume blasting monster. It's serrated and searing. It's the sound of jet engines being piped through a bong. It's heavy, it's hissy and it not also clobbers, it stings for days after making contact.

The soul end of comes from the street level words and blazed out attitude he always lays down on 'Nox records. It also comes from him being a guy that dissertate not only about the finest moments of many a 1990's garage punk band, but can also, for example, can extol about Art Blakey's finest moments or how Prince made music better for everyone for hours if the conversation calls for such a thing.

While this writer has had just as many first impressions of Obnox records as they've had releases now (and with eight LP's and nine singles under his belt in the past six years, there's been quite a few), this new one was instantly "It's like the Ohio Players getting dragged behind some really hardcore biker's hog." Another spot on description is one I saw on the web. My apologies to who said it because I can't find it right now to credit you for it but it was something to the effect of "It sounds like Curtis Mayfield but it's the sound of him committing suicide." It's funky but it isn't goofing around. It's got a groove but it has moves like the dancefloor is covered in broken glass and blood. It's the sound of America NOW! The sound that Trump tards don't want people to hear and the sound of the dolts who are going around saying "Punk Rock is gonna get better again now that Trump is president" probably won't hear because a) it's not going to have a big marketing budget or media buzz behind it selling it as some "revolutionary" and b) there's good punk rock coming out every day. If those folks knew THAT, they wouldn't even have made such a dumb statement in the first place.

The "soul" on this slab also is much bigger and perhaps even less obscured under the usual maelstrom of sonics that other Obnox offerings. Songs like "Carmen, I Love You" is practically a straight of love jam with the expected noise kept in tack and "Hardcore Matinee" is a love letter to the days of underage punk rocks told from someone who has a Roy Ayers Ubiquity track banging around in their brain.



The punk end of the game isn't neglected here though either. I mean, the record is kinds named in tribute after one of the unruliest and greatest American bands of all times (and even has the man John Brannon chiming in giving his blessing) and ear wax dislodgers like "Skywalker OG" attest to that.

If you're new to the Obnox game (which if you're a regular visitor to Smashin' Transistors I don't know if I should be more shocked than ashamed) Niggative Approach is a good place to start. For those already down but haven't grabbed this one yet, be ready for something a little more experimental (there are things here like "Afro Muffin" and "Audio Rot" that are in a Throbbing Gristle/Cabaret Voltaire region and million miles away from Garage Rock Land) and still have you brain smoked. Headphones optional but highly recommended.
Get it at 12XU

STATIC EYES The Thaw 7inch EP

There's plenty of pockets in the US of A where the Oblivians left a permanent scar on kids listening lobes. Parts of Wisconsin especially. A list of exactly who from the land of cows and beer that have especially marked for life could be rattled off but I'll leave that up for you readers to dig up and discover yourself.

I will give you one Wisco-combo currently has that kind of thing going on though. They would be Milwaukee via Madison's Static Eyes. The 'Blivs blare hangs huge in singer Lee Olsen's throat (you may remember him from trash rockin' terrors the Gut Reactions) when he screams and shouts and the band primitive rhythm pound and burnt to a crisp blues string bends.

It's not a straight up ape though as living in a snow belt makes the sound blistered from bitter north winds in the winter time rather than thickly humid summer nights of the south. It's that which this 3 song EP's title track and the cave dwelling of"Blood Moon" a chilly post-punk almost Swell Maps kind of warp and wobble that seems like it would shatter into a million shards if dropped to the ground. If and when that would happen, it probably wouldn't sound like breaking glass as much as it would a box of m-80's. 

Pick up the record at Kitschy Manitou. Find out more about Static Eyes at their Facebook thingy.

Smashin' Podsistors: Is It Because It's 24...Not 25?

Some whimsy. Some jangle, Some shambles. Some noise.

The Playlist

Game Theory - 24
The Peacers - Black Fences
Mountain Movers - Angels Don't Worry
Dion Lunadon - Howl
Neo Neos - Money Trash
Timmy's Organism - Eating Colors
The Kinks - She's Got Everything 

Nazis From Mars - Cosmic Break-Up
Prom Nite - Mail Order Baby
Aluminum Knot Eye - My Life As An Eel
Black Sandwich - Little $nailz
Ohmwrecker - Spaceship Rock!
Gary Wrong Group - Setting Fire To Your Loft
Mishima Strange - Instant Death
The Beauticians - Roommates
The Original Sins - Out Of My Mind
Burning Itch - Private Life
Erectors - BABY-Q
Stefan Christensen - Silent Deluge
Television Personalities - The Man Who Paints the Rainbows

NEO NEOS The Hammer Of Civilization 7inch EP

I feel like I got a severe case of whiplash after listening to this 4 song rager. Too arty and twisted to lump them into the New School of Old School Hardcore and maybe even too spazzed out and thrashy for some of the modern age synth punksters seem to be on every corner now, this outta Minneapolis clamorblabber inhabits some manic planet that inhabits the same sort of the creepy neighborhoods as the Coneheads (which, according to some internet tastemakers, they've gotten some joy out of trolling) and Lumpy & the Dumpers (Neo Neos commandant Connie Voltaire has even done his own take on their "classic" Huff My Sack.)

Their four songs on this record take that thing and make it even more agitated and jittery. All quick blasts of coniptions. Weird new wave gets smashed to bits and reassembled all wrong which makes it alright on "Puke Girl's Class" while something like "No Dancing" lives up to it's name as you probably the only kind of steps you can do it are some kind of whirling dervish that piss off some and really freak out the rest.




My ears are telling me that something happening on "Money Trash" involves something ripped off from Eddie Cochran's something else but really, is it robbery when you found in underneath a hairy pile of goo at a toxic waste dump site?



Get this sickness on record via It's Trash in Canada and other fine retails spots. Wallow even more into the Neo Neos disease at their Bandcamp page.

The BEAUTICIANS Summer Tour Tape

Photo by Dale Merrill

When my ears first landed on the Beauticians two song download, quite a few art-punk references came to mind. One that didn't though was "It's like Wire's Pink Flag...BUT IN SPACE!"

When I saw them live the first time a few weeks back that exact thing came to mind. But only for a minute or so though. The similarities were that the songs didn't feel the need over stay their welcome or use too many chords, making the experiences ping-pong between jarring, hypnotic and jittery. The band gave off a huge looming mood of detachment. The kind of detachment where if it wasn't for a couple wisecracks mumbled to the crowd you'd be totally convinced that the band, save for finding joy in the fact that they may be damaging some people's hearing, would rather be anywhere else than playing for a crowd. The "space" part of the impression came from the monophonic doot-doot-doots and blurts that hissed out of an old Korg.

Where most bands of that certain ilk though came off reserved on stage, with all straight faces, utilitarian look and mostly standing in place (it's all probably an English thing) is where thoughts those thoughts where kicked away. Cigarettes tucked behind a few ears, the bass player donning a shirt that looks like he raided from an uncle who wore it in his new wave band from the 1980's and some unhingedness that had a a few people jumping out of the way when the singer went into the crowd, writhing on the floor and eventually even UNDER the stage. It's more was like these guys spent really too much time studying Wire it was while navigating Michigan's streets of cracks and potholes in a rattly rust bucket in search of place to yell at the sky, it was less time than Wire did studying Dadaism.



Mechanical becomes maniacal on "Robot Creation." If it's intention was to bridge the some sort of Motor City past to a dystopian future is anyone's guess. The way the song skids and squeals though, the main concern should be not if but when it's going to go all out of control, fly into a million pieces and taking bystanders down with it.
Dig the Beauticians at their Facebook page

The New Existentialists "Elton John" 7inch EP

Growing up sorta in the middle of nowhere, Flying Nun bands were like getting audio pen pals from a place that was familiar yet so distant and mystifying. In the early 90's though, I'd had grown out of touch with the label's tangible dispatches so I can't really compare the differences and similarities between what New Existentialist George D. Henderson has going on here and what he was up to in his other combo the Puddle.

Sleepy eyed in tempo "Elton John" finds daydreams about listening to records and singing along in a wistful and maundering tone. Guitars sibilate a trademark NZ misshapen jangle that dates back to at least the Clean and while a synth emanates a blurting a wobbly mist.


The ghost of Syd and perhaps a specter of, say, the Television Personalities hangs over the band sound without intruding too much. Sure, there's a common whimsical melancholiness in the sort of psych-pop that no doubt stitches them all together, but the bouncing and squishy trip into the earth that's side two's "Mystery Of The Worm" has them loping down their own leafy path.
Snag it at Spacecase Records

Smashin' Podsistors #23: Where Did The Summer Go?

Wherever summer went, it sure went by fast. If I would have thought ahead, this might have been an end of summer theme.

It's not though...Get rattled, funky and groovy none the less!

The Playlist:

The Customs - Long Gone

Mark Cone - Scum Like 'Em

Howling Hex - No Good Reason

Leon Spencer - Where I'm Coming From

Obnox - Hardcore Matinee

The Shifters - A Believer

Clinic - Sunlight Bathes Our Home

The Beauticians - Robotic Creation

David Nance - Silver Wings

Magic Cigarettes - Rain Of Weed

USA/MEXICO - Yard Of The Month

Goatsnake - Easy Greasy

Sick Thoughts - When I Think About You

Tin Foil - Telephone Wire

The Satanic Togas - Redlight

Comet Gain - Tighten Up!

PROM NITE - Living For The Weekend

Skip Church - New Thing

The Compulsive Gamblers - Scaring Myself

Annie Philippe- On M'a Toujours Dit

WOOD CHICKENS Skunk Ape 7inch EP

I had to run a search on this here thing to see the last time (if ever) I've straight up used the term "cowpunk" to describe a sound. Seems I did about five or so years ago. I then had to think back even further to when was the last time I listened to stuff that others used the same term to describe a sound. Man, I think I was still in high school. Maybe I just starting college. Either way, it was a long time ago.

On this recorded and mixed by Bobby Hussy slab from Madison, Wisconsin trio Wood Chickens, it's cowpunk all the way. Part drunken bar jangle rock sing-along, perhaps one part even drunker sea shanty and a lot of parts goofy (because we all should know that "cowpunk" is a whole lotta goofy), the record's title track tells the legend of a down south swamp creature.



It doesn't take much to gather that these guys aren't afraid of corn pone (see my goofy comment above) and, especially after listening to side B's "Third Eye Blues", would probably have me asking them if we ever crossed paths "Do you guys ever think you listen to the Dead Milkmen way too much." Sandwiched between song one and three on this EP though is take on the American hayseed standard "Roll In My Sweet Baby's Arms."



Yeah, it's pretty dang goofy too but they seem sincere in some kind of cheap beer dripping from their pores way in how they do it.
Out now on Kitschy Manitou

SICK THOUGHTS Songs About People You Hate

There seemed to moment or two not so long ago where one might have wanted to consider making a spreadsheet to keep track of what musical things Drew Owen was working. Along with a few other names there has been DD Owen, Chicken Chain, Black Panties, LSDOGS and, of course, Sick Thoughts.

While all of them have hurled rancor and heaved malignity at the world of dolts that surround each and everyone, it's the Sick Thoughts name that has really been his calling card. Having relocated from the USA to Finland in the last year, it might be easy to assume that he has been able to free his mind of all the rabble and weariness that is going on in this country, but ire and disgust are very strong and burning emotions and they're obviously still flaming hot in his heart and his head.

Ever light a wasps nest on fire? They'll all come out and then right at you like a flying, buzzing and angry yellow jacketed stampede. Now imagine setting fire to a wasps nest the size of a minivan. And they all got guitars. It probably would sound a whole lot like the record's opening blast "I'm Going Nowhere & I Don't Care."



The Oblivians and Reatard thing that's always thrown around when talking the Sick Thoughts in general still looms large but there are quite a few times where something that's much more wound up sonically than the rickety fidelity of yore that seems quite noticable. The smashy trashy destruction that drives things like "I Do What I Wanna Do" and "When I Think About You" is more akin to driving a tank through a brick wall inspired by Motorhead and built with extremely black metalloids.



One thing that I think will never disappear in my lifetime are Ramones clones. Not bands that dig the Ramones, but those kinds of bands that think the only good bands that exist are the Ramones and the bands that sound like a convenience store version of them. They've been an ire of mind for a loooong time now. It seems even weird here in the 21st century that there are still ones popping up every day let alone me still having to take a jab at them. They should be subjected to "Need No One." It's bubblegum but it doesn't taste like strawberry Flavor Aid. Kerosene though? Yes, it does taste like that. If they refuse to chew, shove their head on the grinding that's "NFM."



In a feel bad summer situation this country has been put in, this is the feel good record about feeling bad platter for the entire bummer.
Get it at Neck Chop Records.

Smashin Podsistors 22: Worth A Deuce Times Two

"Get up and get your grandma outta here."

Ok. that I get that. The "he's worth a deuce' line not so much.

Luckily we don't have to figure out the cryptic lyrics of that 1974 chestnut here in episode 22. Instead, enjoy hayseed strolls and cracked sidewalk scrapes.

The Playlist

Gin Gillette - Train To Satanville
Craig Brown Band - Overthinking
Cherry Death - You And Me
Michael Nesmith - Keys to the Car
Black Lips - Lucid Nightmare
Beatniks-Broken Ear Obvious
The Fall - The Container Drivers
Schizos - Poundin' the Pud
Iggy Pop - Dog Food
School Damage - Try Something New
Obnox - Skywalker OG
Bardo Pond - Crossover
Feral Ohms - Teenage God Born To Die
Hairy Chapter - Looking For A Decent Freedom
The Fluid - Our Love Will Still Be There
Fetal Pink - The Happening
feedtime - Sister
Bad Boyfriends - Dirt Cheap
Rik & the Pigs - Don't Tell On Me
Alex Chilton - Like Flies On Sherbert

The Shifters "A Believer" 7inch

When throwing around references to the Fall to describe a current band, a rock-journo/music fan must do so very sparringly. There's many reasons behind it but it's mostly because some use it to describe anything that sounds a bit agitated or off balance. The other main reason is because some band will mention their into the Fall, which garners attention from dorks like yours truly only to usually be, to some extent or another, disappointed with expectations. It seems especially that when a band is consciously trying to sound like the Fall is where they (perhaps pun intended) faulter the most.

It doesn't seem that Melbourne, Austraila's Shifters are trying to consciously sound like the Fall. Because of that, this record, like their first single from a couple years back "Creggan Shops", succeeds in bending the ear and even brain patterns in a same sort of way.

"A Believer" opens with a fidgety martial drum beat that's followed by anfractuous guitar notes and a keyboard churn that form a spindly musical web that part a straight up pop song and another part lo-fi fretfulness. Thoughts of the Feelies in their rural moments and the (also often mentioned when talking about this band) contorted jangle of the Clean come to mind.



On every song I've heard by the Shifters so far it seems that when singer Miles Jansen opens his mouth he sounds like he's teetering between woebegone moodswings and memories of sunny days. It sets the band in a dark yet whimsical scene often, making the listener wonder if their jubilant or if there's some inner turmoil that their trying to hide with a smirk.



"Contrast Of Form" is a perfect example of such a thing. The handclaps make things seem that it everything's gonna be alright but there's something underlying, perhaps it's a Syd Barrett solo albums slant that I'm feeling in the song that give me that impression.

The Shifters will perhaps remind those who are listening to a thing they've heard before here and there. Some really good things as a matter of fact. They're really good at it too. And no, they really don't remind me of the Fall.
(Market Square Records)

FERAL OHMS s/t LP

The first two Comets On Fire records were psych punk brain burners. As they progressed though, the freakouts calmed down and they sounded more like they were taking long walks in woods and looking at fireflies. When Comets main dude Ethan Miller formed his next band, Howlin' Rain it to my ears that things were gonna be even a bit more backwater in the aural zone.


Feral Ohms are Ethan's new thing. This harkens back to those early Comets On Fire records. As an power trio things are absolutely and straightfoward. The electrified howl of feedback that fries the eardrum when the needle drops on "Love Damage" is a warning that their ready attack and ravage.

The jams are kicked much more efficiently than what they could turn out to be in other Ethan projects too. None of them clock over three and half minutes. There ain't much time to noodle off on six string soliloquies in hopes they reach planets far away when you have a mission on earth. They want to come in, blow the place up and get out to get more on!



It's all done at a super high volume too because the vinyl is mastered loud in the correct way (and is made to be spun at 45rpms), something that seems to be a bit of a lost art. That high crank level makes things much more maximized and manic. Ya got things like "Living Junkyard" and "Value On The Street" giving the On Parole Motorhead an overhaul. That stuff was hammering but still had a hypnotic haze all over it but lacked a blast in the production to truly rocket it off. Here, that type of sound is nitro-charged and leaving a mile long trail of flames behind it.


I don't know if "Super Ape" is some sort of subliminal suggestion that everyone needs to listen to more Scratch and  the Upsetters records because it's too dang hard to hear over the type of blare King Kong's biker cousin would turn up to rally his troop on the Congo mountainside to get rowdy.



It's also really hard to decipher in Ethan's bellow whether "Teenage God Born To Die" is a cautionary tale, a fact of life or a command the band wishes more people would heed. I do feel that if you had a time machine and dropped a tape of the songs into the right people's El Camino's and Torino's, there would be lots of danger on the highway.



Since the cursed never seem to rest, this record keeps a relentless taste for splatter all the way through the end. It whips sticks of dynamite into a swamp of grunge 'til the most onery and festering scuzz is cackling with approval on "Early Man."

Ending the record with a tune titled "The Glow" may give hippies wishful thoughts that its gonna be a "mellow out final jam, maaan", but it more about spewing some type of toxic audio goo that'll make a person glow green like the would in Sci-Fi comics.

Yes, through and through,it sounds like an atom bomb being drop in a building that houses a marijuana grow operation.
Get the album here.

ERIK NERVOUS "Ice Cream" 7inch

Oh, it's summer. That means it's a time or two to have some sweetened and flavored frozen dairy product drip down your arm, all over your shirt and mess up your car interior. Maybe even have it flop onto ground so an army of ants can be fed.

Ahh, such nostalgia even thinking about it, right. That might explain to total retro sensation that's all over "Ice Cream." A chintzy toy synth sound that probably sounds as like it is way more inspired by the music on any given ColecoVision game than anything else loops a minimal jump for Erik to whoop agitatedly. I remember as a kid I used to get annoyed to downright crabby when my scoop of Superman would all over my hand making them all sticky and weird feeling. I also may have thought once or twice about stabbing my obnoxious cousin with the cone to even some score. Thing is though, I said anything out loud about it let alone acting on it. At the least, Erik does the former here.

The stabbing isn't over there though. Starting out sounding gothy then flipping head first into some kind of puddle of muck where both Art Attacks and Jay Reatard puked in, "Children Stabbing Things" isn't gonna leave ya scratching your head and wondering if it's all metaphorical.
Out on Total Punk

BAD BOYFRIENDS "Cut In Line" 7inch

Bad Boyfriends
Photo courtesy of Sam Kool 100s

The way this single by Little Rock, Arkansas combo's Bad Boyfriends starts off reminds me the way me and my friends would insure (in our minds at least) that a Wiz-z-zer top would reach maximum destruction speed. Or maybe it's like yanking the cord of up an beat up and rattly lawnmower to get it firing. Either way, both require a few good, hard rips and then things get all revved up.

Yes, revved up indeed is how to describe "Cut In Line." The blang-blang-blang of the intro gains inertia then jitters itself into some road apple whippin' budget rock. The lawnmower analogy goes out the window though because a) the song is over in about a minute (no lawn is ever mowed that quick) and b) these guys would probably just set fire to the grass than having to tend to it anyway.

Ending in a sweat drenched echo of bang and the declaration of "GODDAMN!" this one sided single wastes nary a second to keep the rockin' rollin'. "Dirt Cheap" lives up to it's name. All spun up, it beats the shit out of the '77 punk rock thang. Instead of dressed in leopard print creepers and dayglo hair though, it's clad in goat pissed stained boots and mud caked denim.
Grab it at Goodbye Boozy

MACHO BOYS S/T LP

Three cats live in my house. A big calico called Clementine (but we all call her Puff) who doesn't really have time for humans as well as most other things in the world, The Ripperpotamus, a furry beast of a Norwegian forest cat who, if was a human, would most likely drive a customized van with something like a wolf wizard standing on top of a mountain made of medical marijuana and lighting a bong with a bolt of lightning as the mural on the side and a polydactyl tuxedo named Von Von that showed up in my garage a couple years ago as a kitten and has never left.

All three of them react to music in some form or another, but it's the tuxedo that seems to express it the most excitement for this, the debut album from Portland punk rockers Macho Boys. Seriously! I was playing records the other day and she was in a rare (for her) deep sleep on the windowsill. She was dead to the world and paying no mind to what music was playing. Then I dropped the needle on this. Her ears perked at the opening cymbal crashes of "Victim To Blame" and by the time singer Tekiah Elzey opened her throat up of to yowl over the breakneck din of grinding guitars and bass avalanches, the cat was zipping across the room at blinding speed.

Up the stairs then down them. Through the main floor of the house, down to the basement and back up again. She was practically bouncing off the walls. When she stopped it wasn't to wonder if a song like "Cockroach" was a metaphor for creepy humans or if it was about the actual insect, was I bummed out at "Dinosaur" because it might be ripping on oldsters and was the year I graduated high school, "The Class Of '84" as punk rock as the as movie a song on this album get it's title from (it wasn't, really...there were only just a couple of us actually), whether Madonna would have an opinion on a sequel of "Papa Don't Preach" which features a bloodstained buzzsaw, if "Slam" was a cover of the Onyx song (it's not by the way), or if pigs do sweat, does it smell like pork rinds. Nope, the only time she did stop was between each song and then she'd be a black & white blur blazing through the house.

The more I watched her the more I started thinking "Maybe she does understand every single thing that is going on here." I mean, when their ode to WWF Legend Stone Cold Steve Austin came on she started doing dives off the top of the couch and onto the floor like she was doing some cat version of the Stunner.
Get it at Neck Chop Records

Smashin' Podsistorscast #21: No Need For Fake ID

Yes. The Smashin' Transistors fake radio show/podcast has turned 21. And, no, we're not gonna buy for you.
 

The Playlist:

The Immortal Lee County Killers - Sometimes The Devil Sneaks Inside My Head 

feedtime - Thought 

HIBUSHIBIRE - Trepanation Breakdown 

Race Car - Government Funded Terror Lunch 

Boss Hog - Black Eyes 

Endless Boogie - Back In 74 

Black Sabbath - Rock and Roll Doctor 

The Gun Club - Like Calling Up Thunder 

Cherry Death - Do You Change Your Mind 

Sloan - 500 Up 

Macho Boys - Cockroach 

Dog See Ghosts - I Live In The Basement 

Slimy Member - Oceanic Feeling 

Wire - From the Nursery 

Xetas - The Future 

Gary Wrong Group - Destroy You 

Annie Anxiety - Third Gear Kills 

Skull Cult - mirror 

Messrs - Slop Meat 

Butthole Surfers - Human Cannonball

June 10th: Vinyl By Th' Slice

Spinnin' records and eatin' pizza. Two great things that go great together, right? That's exactly what Franck and yours truly will be doing a short drive up the lake on Saturday, June 10th.

The Water Tower Sports Pub in Lexington was voted one of the Top Ten pizza joints in the entire state of Michigan by the readers of M-Live. You take that fact, add in that they have one of the most awesome selections of only Michigan made beers on tap in the state and a deck where you can not also pitch some bags of Cornhole but also sit back, relax and breathe in the scent of Lake Huron which is just a few hundred yards away, you've got a perfect summer evening.

Come on out and hear us provide the ooey and gooey and hot and spicy soundtrack for the evening.  More deets at this Facebook thingy. 

BORZOI Surrender The Farm 7inch EP

In a conversation I had with a friend recently we were thinking about which AmRep band we had each seen the most. For me, it was (the) Cows. I was then asked if remembered any of the bands they played with. I couldn't recall. Hell, I can't even recall any of the other things that happened on those evenings other than seeing the band. A Cows live show was like watching a gang of the criminally insane compose the soundtrack the Z-grade hayseed horror film where they do really messed up things in really weird smelling basement that is constantly playing in their heads.  It was always disturbing and mesmerizing. I think they did something to fry any other memories of the night out of the spectator's brains.

I have not seen ATX's Borzoi live so I cannot confirm if they have such powers on stage but on this record, they seem to have grazed through a same sort of hazardous waste meadow because they sound a similarly unsound. Thick bass slugs straight in the gut while guitar strings wrap around the throat. The drums, noticing the grasping and struggling, assist by kicking it all down the side of a mountain.

The EP's title track thrashes like a deadly barn stampede. Chickens get trampled. Goats bleed to death. At a little over a minute long though it's just a warning bell of the audio carnage ahead. The bandsaw on metal grating guitars on "Feeding The Pig-Dog" first create discomfort and tension. Just when you think it's about to drive you to the brink of mental capacities will never return, a jet engine hurricane of feedback blows through, with shards of glass and rusty nails flying around and stabbing everything in their path.

Don't think that just because they have a song called "Desert Rose" that it's going to be a pleasant and pretty picture either. It's more like some sub-human stomp that's like between something off the first Mordecai album and the noise that rings through a pile driver operator's head when deep into his work. "Millipede" is an apropos title as it is like a billion insect feet scattering over the psyche. Those insect feet aren't bare either. They're all wearing old metallic golf spikes.
Get it at 12xu.bigcartel.com

OLD NATION M43 N.E. IPA

Y'know, every time I've declared that I will not drink any IPA for a particular set period of time, it always gets cut short because something will come along the pique my interest and I think "Awww, man. I gotta taste some of that."

The latest thing in the beer geek world is the "haaaaze, man." I haven't done much research where this latest unfiltered IPA trend started (apparently the Northeast as all of them carry an NE identifier on them) and this one from Williamston, Michigan beermaker Old Nation is is the first one that I've had a chance to try.

Having not tried a N.E IPA, the color and aroma of this alone would be enough to understand why some of the brewers that are making them have been taking a juice angle in their description and naming of them. This one looks like orange juice and even after a few sniffs, it still smells just like citrus smoothie. Enough so as where you could tell people it is grapefruit juice and they'd believe you.

Such things really hold over in the flavor too. The combination of hops here bring a clementine sweetness right out in the front. That's followed by a tangy juicy orange and mango tang then a grapefruit bite toward the end. The oats and the wheat in the malting process give it an earthy grain sweet pillow for the usually brazen mix of Amarillo, Citra and Simcoe hops to kick back on, making every sip of this interesting and complex without anything becoming overbearing. It's a hop bomb for sure (and at 6.8% not shabby in the ABV department either) but as where most just simply explode everywhere and wreck palates simply because they can, this is one is quite stealth in its target.

I've had plenty a beer with tropical notes or fruit infused but none of them have been as lush in flavor or a fluffy in mouthfeel as this one has. I asked myself several times if I was really even really drinking a beer. I then decided this is maybe the kind of tasty brew they not only do up in the Northeast but maybe also on fun beer planets galaxies away.
oldnationbrewing.com

SCHIZOS Fuck Iggy Pop 7inch EP

I dunno, man. Saying "Fuck Iggy Pop" in these parts could be fighting words. Michigan folks take their Michigan stuff seriously and are very protective of it. That being said though, I can understand the sentiment. I mean, can you imaging hearing ABOUT Iggy and his legend but not actually hearing of his music and then one day someone plays you something like  Party or Brick by Brick? You'd probably be bummed out or pissed off and thinking "this is the guy who invented punk rock? Man, maybe punk rock is pretty lame."

As a synth and real drum duo though maybe these guys just hate guitars and/or dudes that THINK they can play and sound like Ron Asheton or James Williamson but in reality will never pull it off. Whatever the case is, their agitated about something.

An electro-throb from the keys and a martial drums cracks provide cold and alienated core for a incensed rant of getting no love action on opener "Pounding The Pud." Clocking in at just over two minutes it's the 2nd longest song on the record. That doesn't mean the bursts of antagonism are slight of the other songs here though. The repetitive bop-bash-bop-bash on "Dog Meat" isn't some kind of hypnotic dance beat but will be unnerving for anyone who "just wants to groove" and the so exiguous it makes whatever people are calling minimal synth wave sound like the E Street Band in comparison that is "Cop Problem" is not going to be adopted by law enforcement any time soon (unless it's to be song to bash in some heads with a night stick, that is.)

You would think by using a record title as a way to talk smack about a punk rock legend that these Alabama mutants are trying to thumb their nose at history. When take the always full on loud and disturbed "I'm Not A Sicko..." by the Oblivians (which is the 2nd longest song on the record but being one second more than "Pud") and strip it down to a bare bones diatribe and make the Urinals "I'm A Bug" sound like maggots crawling into your eyes though, it's obvious their brains are coated in the kind of scuzz that could only cause stuff like this being ever being made.
Get it at Neck Chop Records

PLAYBOY Celebration 12inch EP

Bonifide freaks and scumbags have always been a part of any type of music but especially punk rock. So have people simply pretending to be freaks and scumbags. I dunno which side of the fence Montreal's Playboy actually stand on, but my ears are telling me whichever it is, they're at least waist deep in something disturbed and decomposing.

Flipper's "Sex Bomb" or the Stooges Funhouse album (if it was left in the back window of a car for a few hours on a sweltering summer day, that is) because of the strangled horn squalls that blurt and squeal all over this record but even with that taken into consideration, these merchants of noisomeness are leaving their own particular trail of slime behind them as the slither down their path.

The aforementioned combos used saxophones for setting the mood of sonic strangulation. It's all clarinets here, man. It goes beyond that simple bit of trivia (or nitpicking if you prefer.) Whereas, in the Stooges case at least, it was some kinda Coltrane/Coleman/Sanders/Ayler adulation trip that a particular type of college town boho would brandish for a freak out. I'm not even really sure if these guys, who came from a background of hardcore bands, have ever listened to Ascension, Karma and/or Spiritual Unity. Even if they have though, that's not how their freak out's go anyway. The noise the horns make may not burn a whole through your forehead so your third eye can finally see, but they can soundtrack nightmares or provide a neon illuminate a seedy side street adventure.

When the electrical wobble denotes the ignition switch has been flipped on "The Traffic" it's a wild guess if you are being blasted toward the stars or quickly submerging fathoms deep. The rubber mallet beat of a bassline churns a queasy rhythm over crashes and bump while you get ranted at by someone who has bigger issues than road rage. The same type of thing fuels "The Weather", a song that makes me leary of having any stranger wanting to engage in conversation with me about what the current temperature is because I have a feeling the talk will end up being beyond disturbed in a matter of moments.

If you are claustrophobic, listening to "Inside", which I played on my radio show last week and lead some to call and ask if I was attempting to do a Roxy Music/Revolting Cocks mash up, will not help you with your condition and may even make you fear spaces that are event tight while "Outside" has you questioning once again if you're losing oxygen because you're out of the ozone or underwater.
Get it at Negative Jazz

RACE CAR B.Y.O.G.K. 7inch EP

My grandparents had a 1970's Lowrey organ at their house. You know the kind I am taking about. One of those one's with the “Super Genie” rhythm box on it. My brother, sister and I would always bug my grandma to let us play it. Eventually she'd give in to our pleading under the condition that "don't turn it up to loud and bother you grandpa. He's doing paperwork and book keeping in the other room and doesn't not want to be distracted."

As soon as grandma would leave the room to go out to the garage, or yard or neighbors though, up would go the volume. Next to be cranked up on it would be the tempo on whatever built in drum pattern was playing at that moment. Eventually, my grandpa would come into the room cussing and sternly state in an agitated voice "That thing is NOT made to rattle brains!"

It doesn't sound as if Race Car are using a Super Genie for their beats but they are using a drum machine and it definitely sounds like they have it on some setting to rattle brains that would totally piss my grandpa off. Actually, everything on this 4 song slab sounds like it's on some brain rattle setting.

The turbulent blusters of "911! Dang Wolf" and "I.S.S. Is For Me" evoke the adolescent tantrums of the Reatards with the vocals drenched in echo and trashed out punk rock guitar blasts. The jarring stops and starts on the two take them out of the garage and into some mechanical lab where the robots have turned on their human programmers and are tearing them apart limb by limb on the former and the latter taking on the role of an aural pile driver.

The records other two tracks are as spazzed out but aren't all sweet and mellow either. "Government Funded Terror Lunch" has a raspy bark which commands the song to chug into, save for some synth bloops and sizzles acting as mercury lights of sound, a disturbing darkness. Also, if you're thinking that Go-Kart Rock could be a close cousin of the Surf & Drag sounds of yore, such a thing is not going to be found on "I Just Want A Go Kart." Unless knocking on a cave door only to find something resembling the Urochromes dragging a Stooges record through a broken glass covered floor is some kind of family reunion.

Did I mention that if you spell this names backwards, it's the same as you spell it forward? I may have forgot. My brain has been rattled.
Get it at Neck Chop Records

Smashin' Podsistors: Episode XX

We don't play any songs by the XX in this episode nor are we one X away from a dirty movie rating. It is our 20th edition of this thing.

Cheers to twenty more?!

The playlist: 

Soft Machine - Why Are We Sleeping 

Bardo Pond - My Eyes Out 

Pure Muscle - I'm A Star, Baby 

The Feelies - Gone, Gone, Gone 

Jim Nesbitt - A Tiger In My Tank 

HWY! - Jacob's Ladder 

Tropical Trash - Exit Dust 

Royal Trux - Hot And Cold Skulls 

Wicked Witch - X Rated 

Human Eye - Chew Raw Meat 

Sida - Javel 

Angel - Dye Hair (Never Feel Real) 

Thigh Master - Treehouse A.P. 

The Embarrassment - Celebrity Art Party 

Turquoise Feeling - External Oblique 

Aquarian Blood - Get Wet 

feedtime - Keep Goin 

David Nance - Pure Evil 

Mary Bell - Waste 

Alice Cooper - Livin'

JAMES ARTHUR'S MANHUNT "Staring At The Sun" 7inch

When James Arthur's album of last year, Digital Clubbing, came out I was pretty dang excited to hear it. As a fan of the type of noise James has made since first hearing the Fireworks back in the mid-90's and dug everything he has been a part of since, along fact that it had been over five years since anything, you could even go as far as saying I was chomping at the bit for new music from him. And when my ears landed on the record, they were not disappointed in the least.

Then I started thinking "Is the world going to have to wait ANOTHER five years to hear more new stuff from him?" As of this moment with the release of this new single though, that seems to not be the case.

Under the knob twiddling of Stuart Sikes, who's CV includes working as the engineer on albums ranging from Loretta Lynn, The Polyphonic Spree and the Promise Ring to the Reigning Sound, the Sword and Cat Power,  James and his Manhunters blast their sonic power to higher highs and crank out two unobvious covers.

On one side, there's the Angry Samoans "Staring At The Sun." Originally appearing on an album that confused to flat out pissed punk rockers when it came out for sounding, well...a bit more "mature" than the ones before it, STP Not LSD, the song was the psychedelic jam on that record. With guitar twang specializing in slasher flick splatter, a rhythm section adept in beat downs, creepy echo'd vocals and notions of riding a rocket straight into the middle of the huge flaming orange ball, it's downright disturbing take of the song that may even get me to bust out the original and reassess my opinion on it. I mean, it's been at least 25 years since I last listened to it.

The flip finds a take on "Cherry Red" by the Groundhogs. Always a bunch more weird, off and interesting on their approach than their Brit blues rock peers of their time, covering a Groundhogs song actually makes sense for James, even if most wouldn't ever think about it else wise. Things get even more mutated on this version. Something like Hawkwind getting grounded up and mixed in with some masa flour and then fried in ZZ Top grease.
Get it at www.spacecaserecords.com

THIGH MASTER BBC 7inch

It's only been in the last month or so that I've been hipped to Australian band Thigh Master and their 2016 album Early Times. Ever since though the record has been a constant not only at Smashin' Transistors headquarters as well as my radio show, but everywhere else I roam.This brand new single on 12XU will now be joining on such travels too.

With Byrdsian guitar jangle transmogrified into something less hippie folk rock but a lot more aberrant, vocals that manage to sound lackadaisical and exuberant at the same time and bass & drum pair that can bash their way both loudly or discreet if the moment calls for it, thought of Flying Nun bands come to mind pretty much immediately. While I think the band would not be likely to deny such a comparison, they also aren't simply just doing some paint by numbers with sound here either.

Side one's "BBC" follows a path that a band like the Clean cut but the chiming of the six strings snakes it's way through leafy brambles often, then returns back with a pounce. There's a sense of frowning at the heavy weather hanging overhead in singer Matthew Ford's voice but it also seems as if he see's a break in clouds and sunshine ahead but, for now, he's just going to keep that all to himself.

Whereas that song strolls zig zaggedly through some dew misted greenery, the flip's "Park Road Clinical"  lunges through a late night/early morning walk down a grey strip of concrete while being guided by the twinkling of colored lights off in the distance.
Get it at 12xu.bigcartel.com

TROPICAL TRASH Decisions Empty Nest 7inch EP

Akin to putting a human brain in a pressure cooker along with the first couple Killing Joke and Black Sabbath album and a big handful of trucker crank, Tropical Trash's debut album from a couple years back, UFO Rot, was an intense entanglement of sound.

On this one, the band has brought in Obnox's Lamont Thomas on some sonic reinforcements and everything is pushed to the limits. The tension builds instantly as the music hits on something like Krautrock for the criminally insane. Noise flies around like red hot daggers being thrown from a ball pitching machine. All thought and emotion other than the most primal are sandblasted raw by the time "Early Wish" rears its beastly head on side one.

Though it may seem like the top is about ready to blow clean off right then and there, it hasn't. It's when the record is flipped and the severe and raw beating that "Exit Dust" gives, sounding like what I wish "the kids meant when they say "post-hardcore" instead of the super pro-tooled, palm mute metal, constipated cry baby bullshit Alternative Press recycles cashes checks to rewrite press releases about, and the blood covered and thrashing violently "Trouble Shot" where the whole damn thing bursts and there's shrapnel flying all over the room.
www.sophomorelounge.com

MAKE-OVERS Try Me LP

Word on the street is that the Try Me album is the 11th record released by South African duo Make-Overs in the past 6 or so years. This album is my first time hearing them though so their whole thing is all brand new to me. Going into this simply expecting just the standard two piece garage rock thing happening song after song is a bit of miscalculation

More often than The Make-Overs are coming up with ways of knocking down a garage in full on destruction modes than they are considering ways to rock out in it.

They find some type of napalm spray gun that has feedtime engraved on it to burn the place down on tracks like "What Could Go Wrong" ,"Obviously" and "Get Lost." They drop a ton of molten metal (equal parts Proto and Death) on with things such as the title track, "It's Makes A Lot of Sense" and "In Hate (With You)."

While those was are pretty effective of decimating any preconceived notions, they're not the only ways the band has to reduce the place to pile of ruins surrounded by a toxic cloud of dust. There's things here that can also rumble it to the ground with some tribal drumbeats that border on brutal beatings and gale force punches of guitar feedback with "Take Out" and "Termite."

If your lucky though, maybe they'll just lay down that witch doctor hex they've been mastering. You'll only know for sure if you hear something like "Don't Call Us" or "Not As Advertised" off in the distance and getting closer. By then though, it'll be to late. You'll have already been disembowel and bubbling in a cauldron for tonight's stew.
www.heelturnrecords.com

Smashin' Podsistorscast hits 19

At 19, you can legally drink in Canada. I don't live in Canada but I really can see it from my house. And yes, on my 19th birthday I did go there and drink beer legally.

As usual, Things get obnoxious, pastoral, lunkheaded and grooving here!

The Playlist

 The Viletones - Just for You 

Life Stinks - Hanging From The Ceiling 

Chica King Kong - Complejos 

Bantam Rooster - Miss Luxury 

 Loop - Straight to Your Heart 

Phantom Head - Terror and Tourture 

FNU Clone - Ghost Baby, Ghost 

Adult. - Human Wreck 

Heavy Metal - Communication Or Surprise

Dale Beavers - Tramp 

Midnight Mines - Artificial Light 

The Liminanas - Dahlia Rouge 

Thomas Leer - International 

Erik Nervous - People Falling Over 

Sunny Day Rain - La Vuelta 

John Wesley Coleman III - Exotic Tambourine 

Boss Hog - Shh Shh Shh 

Playboy - Inside 

Yups - Buddaflie 

Blue Oyster Cult - Dominance and Submission

Oddside Ale's Grandpa's Apple Pie

     Over the past few years Grand Haven, Michigan brewery has gone from a curiosity to me to one of my most favorite Mitten State beer makers ever. For instance, their Citra Pale Ale is one of the most perfect of the kind ever and every other thing they've done that I've tried from their regular rotation stuff like Bean Flicker and so on have been great too.
     With that being said, it's no surprise that their specialty, occasional and seasonal brews rock my socks in quite away too. Their sour series has been way top notch and everything that they've barrel aged has been done way more that awesome too.
     Their Granny's Apple Pie rolls out about once or twice a year and it is one that always makes it way to our fridge and onto our taste buds every time. It's one of those beers where a person says "It really does taste like apple pie" without exaggeration or hyperbole.
     What was missing from it? Nothing. Along comes grandpa though with an idea on how to turn it up a notch anyway. By taking the recipe and letting it sit a while in a rum barrel let me tell ya, Hoo-Boy! Does it ever get a kick in the behind.
     Pouring a little darker amber in color that Granny's is the first sign that this is going to be a little more about being a bit more rustic and burly. The head is minimal so there's no waiting around for that frilly stuff to go away before the sipping starts.
     The aroma is like hanging out at the apple orchard and heading straight to where they make the cider so you can breathe in the air. The tart, the tang and the cinnamon that's sprinkled over the doughnuts that are being baked just around the corner are all represented.
     All these are represented just as much in the flavor too. Cider forward for sure, but the spices do just what they're supposed to do without too much or too little of any of them. The barrel aging brings out an oaky & vanilla rum soaked thing, giving it a richness and taking a kick to another level.
     The milk sugars become more pronounced in the end, which gives the finish something like have a little dollop of ice cream. And what goes better with apple pie than that right?
     A lot of people will tell you that the best way to have apple pie is freshly warm from the oven. Beer is best served at a cooler temperature but don't worry, a few sips of this and you'll feel warm all over.
www.oddsideales.com   

HWY! Demo

     For ages now, weirdos and artsy types have warned, flirted or embraced the idea of a dystopian world.
     A world where vegetation has been taken over by slabs of cold granite and the only non-monochromatic colors is the flickering of neon advertising proceeded food and manufactured pleasure. A planet where anything that may sound pastoral is drowned out by a caustic symphony of turmoil. A planet where alienation and distrust is the only emotion that is recognized and love and joy have been made illegal and punishable by death.
     A world that was once thought to be only (partially) fictional though is the one HWY! sound as if they are completely already dwelling in. The rumbling bassline on "Minimal Head" that starts off their 4 song demo may trigger thoughts of an old hardcore band at first but when the coated in space gunk guitar blows the doors open to the running a gauntlet pummel of a rhythm and a voice that sounds like it is some kinda of extraterrestrial translator taking a shot at speaking English, things get really weird. A few quiet moments in the song trick the ears into thinking the lashing is over, but they're just eyes of the storm.
     The wiggles that "Scammers" and "Tony From Hawaii" are rooted in the resonating of gigantic spring coils the vibrate violently. Both have a 1960's thing buried in their dissonance, the former with space age spy music twisting through the outbursts; the latter sounding like a what proceeds a luau held in a garage. Sure, that pig is gonna get roasted and an apple put in its mouth eventually but it's gotta get killed and the blood and guts drained first. That's the part the sound revel in the most. The minute and a half burst that's "Jacob Ladder" is like a mash up of those two songs if it was recorded while having a head on crash with a semi in the middle of an electrical storm.
hwyone.bandcamp.com

WARM BODIES Domo 7inch EP

     How does something give the impression that it is tight and locked in as it can be also seem like it could explode and have parts fly off into a zillion direction at any given second?
     Perhaps that is a question that KCMO's Warm Bodies could answer. On the surface, the band puts down a churlish and opaque vibe that flys a classic Midwest punk rock flag high. From there though they jump off the flagpole and down into a pool filled with virulent things.
     "Turn Me Into Gel" and "My Face Fell Off" hyperspazz out on Devo moves but with a whole lot more rock out lead guitar licks and a heavy hand on the echo knob for the vocals. There are moments where both songs may get ya thinking of a femme vox'd Catholic Boys, but with less brutal jerks to the spine and neck but just a many throttles to the head.
     When the band slows the temple down, things aren't any calmer in the least. "At The Laundromat" start out like a buzz blast crawl of a Stooges song lumbering through deep space but once it hits the spin cycle an incensed agitation is noted all over the neighborhood. The weaving and spindly sounds on songs like "The Psychic Connection" may also bring out a slight thought of Public Image Limited's (Jah) wobbling at first but then the band takes another turn down some bumpy road where only they know they're headed. 
Neck Chop Records

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

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   

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

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