Showing posts with label 7in EP. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 7in EP. Show all posts

Jul 8, 2019

CURLEYS s/t 7inch EP

It's no secret that the state of Florida has a reputation for having some, let's say, colorful and interesting residents. But is the whole "Florida Man" thing is an unfair stereotype? Are there really shirtless/toothless knuckledraggers and poorly tattooed and sun sagged cuckoo birds on every corner?

If trying to prove such as the above is something sets out to do, this debut single from Gainesville's Curleys will not be of results they desire. Crammed with six songs on a 7inch slab, each track is a conniption of its own wig-outness.

Inflamed with a guitar line that sounds as if it laser guided by mutants, the record's opener "Johnny" will get some listeners thinking "Is this some kind of  art trip or should I call the authorities for the sake of everyone's safety."


Slamming right into the record's next blast, "Lid's Loose", won't soothe any of those doubts either. Its choppy cadence bites hard and jagged and also resembles a tantrum inspired chant someone might stomp about to while braiding the wicks of thirty M-80's all together before sticking them into a coffee can and striking a match.


There's no letting up on side two of the record, "Bragging" launches like a nitro powered train departing berserk station. It's as if there is not really any intention of reaching a destination but throwing lots sparks off grinding rails and causing random decapitations of anything that gets in the way is. Just a couple minutes and few songs later, annihilation is complete with "Goro" splatting like a blood filled insect against a speeding semi truck's windshield.

Get tased at Total Punk

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Feb 13, 2018

GEE TEE Death Race 7inch EP

Raised in a region where automobile manufacturing is what kept the economy running for decades there wasn't a day that went by where we didn't hear some Pall Mall huffin' grouch from the subdivision declare "All jobs will be taken over by robots. They won't want us on the assembly line anymore" between horseshoe pitches and swigs of Altes when I was growing up.

It was always said loud enough so us kids within an earshot could be scared of the future. We weren't though. The thought of working on robots always sounded much cooler than clanging away at bolting Ford Pintos together.

"You brats are not listening!" the old coots would bark. "First it's our jobs. Then it's our lives!" We would laugh it all off. Tilting an ear to Gee Tee though, I am starting to wonder if those fogies are getting the last laugh and grumbling "See. They're coming to eliminate you!"

Starting with the bouncy, almost strange kids show blurps and beeps of "Got No Head", you may think they're all whimsical and can get you think being decapitated will creep out people around you more than it will yourself. The blast of car crash guitars, spraying of punk rock snot and machinery gone awry stomp of "Death Races" follows it though, may not help you if you're squeamish about the sight of blood but spilled, dirty hydraulic oil may become a point of arousal.



Being that these cyborgs are Australian they have also have that off-balance jangle and skittish hooks that many from the country have done many a time through the eons hardwired into their punk rock informational processing as side two's "Fightin' Is Dumb" and "Z-Zero" can attest to.



A gazillion heartland rockers have claimed they'd never get out of wearing their blue collar alive. The cantankerous fossils that tried to strike fear in our hearts by complaining about machines destroying us called all them wussies too. Gee Tee is the kind of thing they would actually fear.
Get it at Neck Chop records

May 12, 2017

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

Apr 19, 2017

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

Apr 5, 2017

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

Mar 3, 2017

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

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

Dec 8, 2016

KOOL 100S Skulls, Blood, Pussy And Violence Axes Daggers Upside-Down Crosses 7inch EP

     Ever pick up a punk rock record and see the words "Play Loud" printed somewhere on it? Does putting that one there act as an instruction manual for those who may not know or something? My first reaction is usually "Yeah! No shit, dude. It's a punk rock record. Not some Yanni CD."
     This single from Kansas City's Kool 100s doesn't have such a statement emblazoned anywhere on it. Doesn't need too. Even at a lower volume this thing blisters. A twelve string guitar is used on these three songs not for some kind of folky jangle or jazzbo bullfighting themes but to reinforce the blare and to double up on the disorienting and ear scorching.
     There's hooks all over these songs but they're all covered in a napalm gel. "Slow Boat" is a sunshine pop song being played by a pack of wolverines hellbent on giving everyone rabies while "Queer For Him" and "Trainwreck" wail some like wild ass caveman rock-n-roll designed for setting fire to hornets nests to. The longest track on this record, the less than 2 and a half "Healthy Dick", is like being dosed with a hit of acid and then whacked up side of the head with a sledgehammer.
     Play loud? Yeah, no shit, dude!
www.facebook.com/Goodbye-Boozy-records-290057827714548

Mar 24, 2016

UROCHROMES S/T 7inch EP

     Ever wonder who actually buys those 3 liter bottles of budget soda? And how they drink it all before it goes flat? The six explosive blasts going on here might explain those questions.
     Two acutely addled goons from a Massachusetts village that accused one of its residents of being a witch a decade before the Salem Witch Trials make some rattled punk rock noise. Massively distorted guitars spray a foul blare over a battering ram clatter of beats right from the get go and the nasally pissed off nerdy tirade to jabber along with just makes things even more delightfully disturbing.
     Some songs like the space punk "Trapped On A Planet" and the almost straight up rock-n-roll if rock-n-roll was still played by the seriously damaged of the rattled "Country Joe" and the down in flames puke blues/it garage punk/is it hardcore pulverizations of "Two Men" and "Ugly People"  sound like they were inspired by watching an out of control freight train plow through a row of rusty cars and mow down onlookers.
     In another instance "I Don't Wanna Wanna Be Like" takes a Ramones motif and, unlike a lot of bands that do nothing more than ape it, things are much more manic and it gives the impression that these guys were pissing on an electric fence and hammering out the song at the same time while the records closer, "Beat Off The Brat", may be similar to a song title by da brudders but is way more some Alice Cooper riff inspired proto-punk sandblasted down to a bare frame.
http://spottedrace.bigcartel.com

Aug 28, 2015

The PACIFICS "Say You Love Me" 7inch EP

     On their Facebook page it says these guys hometown is Hamburg/Dublin. Whether they are really from both is yet to be determined but the sound they make is a cross the former, circa the hopped up on prellies Brit beat bands that played the Reeperbahn in the early 60s, with dabs of the latter's early punk rock with hooks vibe a la Radiators From Space. 
     Taking into consideration that the band's chosen name was also one that an early incarnation of the Mersybeats used, the former comes into play overall in the high geared R-n-B delivery of the four songs here but instead of, say where a band like the Kaisers did it way too purist and made me think I was listening to a rock-n-roll version of Civil War reenactors, the Pacifics seem to not worry if they get their clothes dirty and stained.
    The a-side's sprightly, floor filling pop detonation "Say You Love Me" and the garage punk stompin' "Little Girls" would sound just as in place, if not more, on the Spaceshits first album or some drunken' Real Kids live bootleg, as they would in some roots of the British Invasion documentary. 
     On the flip, "Girl, Girls Girls" wrings every bit of sweat from harmonica slathered Animals and Them songs and make something a bit more trashy than your usual juvenile delinquent 60s white kid blues in the process. They wrap up the party by trying to see if they can cause an avalanche in the Alps with the Freak Beatly/Surfish intro/screamer "Bavaria Bop." 

Aug 27, 2015

VIOLENCE CREEPS "On My Turf" 7inch EP

     This probably isn't a surprise to most but there are at least two factions of sounds declaring to be playing post-hardcore.
     The one faction dreams of playing the Warped Tour or some other big brand sponsored "fest" where getting showered in free sneakers, glow in the dark condoms and beard care products is a crucial part of their pay. The other gets kicked out of such events for carrying flammable materials and boxes of strike anywhere matches.
    The one side spends countless hours in the studio, crafting parts that sound like they are part of a math formula and then pile on a bunch of post production wizardry to convey some bullshit "we're so fucking heavy" sound. The other simply has someone set up some mics so they blasts through a few chords and full out rage all the through.
     One straight faced declares themselves post hardcore when asked what kind of music they play (probably because saying Algebra Metal with a whiny guy whining and a grunting guy grunting is too much of a mouthful) while the other probably just says they're punk rock.
     Oakland, California's Violence Creeps is in the latter group.
     The clanging chords and cardboard box drums that come immediately crashing out on the "Sex Menace" sound like nine year olds learning how to downstroke chords while obsessing over Sonic Youth's Bad Moon Rising. Then it's collapses into nervy, clunking basslines and scratchy guitars which give a sparse but harsh backdrop for singer Amber Feigel's hoarse bark to shove razor wire through the listeners ear and pull it out the other. As it heats up things start to splatter for a crescendo of striking cobras and electrical shocks. "Drop Out" then drops in for minute or so of blurry speed.
    A stuttery and stunted martial beat and a riff that resembles throwing a copy of Black Flag's In My Head on the floor so a lard slathered Ted Falconi can roll around on it. Then a ghost of someone who died of a lung infection trying to master Steve MacKay's sax lines on the Stooges Funhouse shows up with some some acid that is guaranteed a bad trip. It ends up sounding like the b-side's "On My Turf."
violencecreeps.bandcamp.com