Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Oregon. Show all posts

Oct 12, 2019

PERFECT BUZZ In Your Face 7inch


The word perfect has been bandied about in the media for the last couple of weeks. Mostly by an orange ape that's squatting in Washington DC and whose instance of something being so, given his side of the story on one side and the truth on the other, may not so be perfect at all. At the very least it has warped what the word means.

So what constitutes a perfect buzz then? In the case of Pure Country Gold's Petey Foss newest band, a perfect buzz is one that is scruffy and frayed but still sparkles in the sunlight. "In Your Face" gives a first impression that it's gonna be some kinda rootsy, back porch ballad. That gives way quickly when it turns into a hyper and anthemic blare of fuzz that's equally 70s power pop as it is a punkish take on 80s college rock.


It's flip, "My Apologizes", doesn't stray from the same sort of template but it does juice it up a bit more, making the sound something familiar and catchy but with a bounce that has the band staking a claim of it being their own particular way to get heart rates up.

 Get the fizz at Hovercraft Records

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Dec 26, 2018

U-NIX Nuke Portland 12inch EP

As I grow older and move a little slower (sounds like a corny country song, huh?) I find that sound as motivational fuel has become much more effective.

As a youngster, pretty much anything with a snappy tempo could fire me up for facing any day. Now being (as my chillun' call me when I am outside of earshot) grizzled, I need something with a bit more higher octane to help me blast off into another day of earning my paycheck.

Lately, the thing that I've been blasting a full volume before heading out the door each morning is this debut slab from Portland's U-Nix.

A whirlwind of raging hardcore blasts off every face within the reach of this record. Meant to be played at 45, some may find themselves doublechecking playing at that speed due to how berserk of a sound scene this slab rips at some moments. I, for one, thought I had the speed cranked to 78 even. Thing is though, my turntable doesn't offer that option. Slowing it down to 33 was interesting though as it then sounded like a sounder of swine way irritated that supper had still had not been served.

That is really here nor there though, right?

It's a sound galvanized by the lacerating guitar slashes from John formerly of NASA Space Universe. The record first drill its way up from some molten and enraged place in deep earth with "Landlord." Once it surfaces, the rhythm section rolls through like a tornado, battering everything it is path while a bedlamite orates acerbity for most things that surround it.



Consider it just a little prep test though, because it's followed by the longest track on the record. Sure, "Society's Victim II" still only clocks in at a minute and a half, but it's a minute and a half of dizzying jolts with an intricacy that causes just as many jaws dropping in awe as it does making people wanting to bash into each other.



You'll be glad that such prep was done too as the relentless fits of convulsions from a possessed surf riff on "Hobby" and the neck-snapping stops that happen on "Punitive" are not for an abecedarian sort.



It's a twisted and discomforting record and perhaps even framing it as a hardcore record is lazy. For instance, there's a way tracks like "Liberal Hardcore" are sharp needle jabs into the psyche and make basking in disorientation a most enjoyable way to spend fleeting moments.

Get the doses of radiation at Feel It records

Aug 14, 2018

LYSOL "Teenage Trance" 7inch


After a quick dalliance with the name L.I., Portland trenchant operatives scoff the risk of any cease & desist being landed on them and revert back to the name Lysol. Like the name brand of disinfectants they've chosen as their name, both rid germs away but the band does it with a heaping amount of scalding clangor instead of pernicious compounds.

Residing in an asteroid belt that's located between the triangular orbits of elastic punk, wooly garage rock and gangly hardcore, the sound is often dizzying and usually bumptious.

Akin to some proto-punk chugger shook up like a bottle of soda pop and then put on a sketchy looking carnival thrill ride, "Teenage Trance" makes a huge sticky mess when the cap is popped as it sprays, spit and spurts deliriously from front to back and side to side with wiry guitar clangs and a stuttering jackhammer rhythm.


"Chemical Reaction" isn't any calmer as it rattles and weaves with something that had me thinking "Hmmm, do I hear a surf chord there" as it started. It only took a second for that thought to be dashed when they were then answered with "Yeah, if cavepeople surfed on waves of fire."

Get cleansed at Neck Chop Records

Jun 15, 2018

KID CHROME "I've Had It" 7inch EP


Kid Chrome is the alter-ego of Pacific Northwest punk rock band Lysol member Chad. Like Lysol, Kid Chrome play a loud and nasty brand of punk rock. At times, Lysol smear lines between early hardcore, artsy punk and rock-n-roll. Kid Chrome is more just about the straight up rock-n-roll thing though.

When I say that I don't mean that it is done in some fake swagger/look at my tattoos and watch me pretend to drink a whole 5th of bourbon kind of way. I mean more in the way like in the 70's when rock-n-roll was left for dead by most who then chose to listen to ELP or James Taylor. I'm talking more about the fiends scattered around the planet who cranked up their Stooges, MC5 and New York Dolls albums at full blast and then begat bands like the Pagans and the Dead Boys.

Now, I know there are bands out there claiming they are doing that right now, but plenty of them come off sounding and looking like the fake swagger thing I already mentioned.  Kid Chrome are not guilty of such things.

Guitars sound like their braying at the moon on "I've Had It." The lonely and desperate howl of them makes perfect sense when Chad starts hooting and hollering sounding somewhere between a wolfchild fathered by Lux Interior and an elementary school-aged Jay Reatard locked in his room with only a Mr. Microphone and a case of Jolt Cola to keep him company.


While that blast of lo-fi mind losing proves to be quite savage, a wall of noise grows to more obnoxious and bad-tempered heights when the record is flipped over. The ode to a budget brand of cigarettes, "Pall Mall 100s", is like being stuck in a hurricane of black lunged amplifier abuse and "Don't Walk" makes sure that you follow the orders it's commanding with a violently jerking and sloshing which makes it hard for anyone within an earshot to keep proper balance.

Get electroplated at Neck Chop Records.

Jan 11, 2018

TIGER TOUCH "Rabbit Grab" 7inch


I don't recall the last time I've blurted out "Triple guitar rock action attack." I know it has been a long time but it was the thing I found myself chanting within a few seconds of this record from this Portland, Oregon's Tiger Touch spinning on my turntable.

Studying the flight records of Radio Birdman, can name a bad ass rockin' Blue Öyster Cult song for every occasion (but also that know "Don't Fear The Reaper" was strictly written to appeal to girls) and the real king of rock-n-roll was, is and always will be Chuck Berry, both songs here are the kind of jams that fueled many a "boys are out on the town and drinking every cheap beer in sight" rowdiness of days of yore. An era when vinyl was claimed dead but cats that shopped record stores hadn't gotten the news and were picking up the latest slabs of wax from Crypt, Estrus and Empty that were displayed on the shops walls. The era where the Supersuckers hadn't yet become a parody of themselves and also an era just right before Scandinavia really started infiltrating the dive bars, bonfires and basement parties of the USA with their Nordic overhaul and engine boring.

Yep, that wrinkle in time when "RAWK" would be yelled as expression of exuberance instead in a mocking tone directed at some goofball in a Motörhead t-shirt and a teenage dirtbag moustache who just six months before was trying to convince anyone who would listen that Jets To Brazil were the most important band in the world and were about to change rock history forever.

Tiger Touch are not set out to reinvent any wheels. They just want to burn rubber! People shouting "AWWWW YEAH!" while watching the smoke rise and breathing in the fumes.
Get rocked at Tiger Touch's Facebook page

May 30, 2017

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

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
    

Oct 28, 2013

the PITY FUCKS "Oaks Park" 7inch EP

     Right off the bat the swirly organ sound that the sound from the needle picks up here reminds me of wandering around while being quite boozy at a run down amusement park during summer vacation up north of my youth. One of those places were sounds of things hiding the noises of mechanical things squeaking, creaking and coming to a abrupt and grinding halt were people yelling "Fuckin' Ay, Brah" between telling random passersby that they had doobies (double paper rolled and still loose pin joints if they were to actually speak the truth) for sale for "two bones, brah. Best connection in this place" (they weren't) and Foghat's "Fool For The City", "Smokin'" by Boston and Molly Hatchet's "Flirting With Disaster" (it may have been the 80's but the whoever was in charge of the place did their best to keep them alive and the customer satisfied. I even heard they fired the dj of the Himalaya ride for playing "too much punk stuff like Rocky Burnette's 'Tired Of Towing The Line') over loud speakers that spent too many Michigan seasons exposed to the elements.
     Well, that and the weirdly out of tune and always wobbly sounding pipe organ sounds coming from the carousel where half the paint chipped horse didn't even go up and down anymore Add the sound of screams of children (not ones of joy. Ones ranging from disappointment and be really creeped out) and parents arguing with that mean old cheap vodka stinking milkshake in the box office. I can hear the crusty old Electrolarynx voice spitting out curse words the sounded like retared Cylons all over again along with the Van Halen tank top dudes that still hadn't grown a full mustache the summer before mentioning "It's like 'I am Iron Man', brah."
     Coincidentally, the lead off track here, "Oaks Park", with the swirly organ is about an amusement park. Along with keys, the trashy but tough choppy & fuzzed out guitars and Matto's voice sounding like a King Louie Bankston going all pro-wrestler announcer voice would definitely piss off the grits hanging around the band shell waiting for local bar band legends Nyght Fyre (or was it Mid Nyght Maniakz that one particular year) to take the stage because they do all the "good songs. You know like 'Lovin', Touchin' Squeezin' and they sound almost like the real thing". I close my eyes and can see the styrofoam cups filled with Southern Comfort and Mountain Dew flying now. I can hear someone yelling "We are here to rock out. Not punk rock fag out." Then someone would comment "At least if they're gonna play punk rock can't they play some good punk like something from the Cars or the Police?"
     It's followed with "She Ain't All There". If you've ever wondered what happens when you take a Hound Dog Taylor boogie, give it shaken baby syndrome shower it in the sickly sweet and boozy Four Loko til it almost drowns then drink a couple glasses of milk before hollering about it-this could very well be the result.
     The flip is hyperactive take on Bo Diddley's "Hong Kong, Mississippi" that would either make ol' Elias McDaniel put these guys on the back or make him write new lyrics to that "Just Say No" rap thing he would throw in the middle of his sets in the 80's & 90's to throw a complete wrench into the middle of his sets (all the while thinking he was being hip and contemporary and doing something the "kids" could get into) and make them listen to it as some kind of sage advice.
Hit Up Matto at Facebook to score a copy.

Jul 14, 2013

the HOT LZ's "Bringdown-Comedown-Putdown" 7inch EP

     Since the mid 90's as the guitar slinger in forgotten but rockin' meat and potatoes punkers the Halfways, Hot LZ's head slimeball Mark Death has never hidden away his reverence for Mr. John Anthony Genzale, Jr. In a way where he probably actually refers to him as Mr John Anthony Genzale, Jr. instead calling him by the name most know him as-Johnny Thunders.
     Hell, so much as where most people would get a LAMF tattoo-Mark's says LIKE A MOTHER FUCKER underneath it just so everyone knows what it exactly means. Such things do need to be clarified at time.
     The recording here sounds like it was made on a beer can deposit budget. The sleeve design, save for the weird waxy substance the cover is slathered in to make it glow in the dark, looks even lower budget.
      Death's half slurred/half prop-er-ly e-nun-ci-ated vocal cadences on these four songs sound like something scraped off the bottom of Cuban heels and as wishing to be as New York City as a drunken love child of Thunders and coked up Ace Frehley with lyrics to match while his guitar solos blurt and blare that thing that launched a billion punk rock guitar heroes who will admit to only a very chosen few that they tried to nick from Keith Richards but they couldn't figure out to play them right.
      The Hot LZ's are not gonna blow any minds or knock down any walls by taking punk rock somewhere it hasn't been before. I don't think they really care either. They probably do dream of playing for 1000's of rowdy fans where girls will throw their panties at them but will settle for payments of free booze, gas money and a handjob in the parking lot.   
https://www.facebook.com/pages/The-Hot-LZs/200543476647653

Nov 7, 2012

the FLIP-TOPS "Are Still A Band" LP

     It's been ten years since Portland, Oregon's Flip-Tops released a full length album. Sure, there were a handful of singles that came out between long players but when this album landed in my hands I thought the same thing the album title states-"These guys are still around?"
     Their decade ago debut was released on Rip Off records and it had all the things expected from a band on that label. A simple loud recording with straight ahead and head down tempos, snotty singing and guitar that spit, slobbered and sounded like a bee stuck in your ear but had an underlying penchant for a catchy hook that made the ass move (or fists fly) no matter they sneered and sounded like they had a thirst for only blood and free booze. A record here and there on the label may have added other flavors (maybe bacon grease and sugar instead of beef tallow perhaps) in the ingredients but that was always the base recipe for what was served up.
     The Flip-Tops know the fixins' well and still bake a loud, snotty cake.
     Knocking on the door of the class of '78 punk, who weren't afraid to admit that they liked a catchy guitar hook (which those came before them had as well but found the buzzsaw roar more about pissing off people that would go on for hours about the amazingness of Steve "The Hippie Crypt Keeper" Howe and the so called blues of Eric Clapton more than it was something to hum along too) were less concerned about the world as a whole and proving that one may be viewed a misfit but had read intellectual tomes, the Flip-Tops left the place with a box full of battered tricks.
     Why sing about the woes of the world when there's things going down in the neighborhood like loose girls, shitty bosses and shitty customers at a shitty paying job and cheeseburgers to eat.
     Why use big words that the listener has to look up in the dictionary when superhero comic books concerns like radiation clicks in the mind of every brat standing by the magazine rack at the 7-11.
     It's been mused over that Rock-n-Roll can change the world but it doesn't really. It simply provides the soundtrack for a changing world. I mean, the MC5 sang about revolution but at the end of the day it was learned all they really wanted was to own some muscle cars and bang some chicks. The Flip-Tops don't give a fuck about making the world a better place or declaring a call to arms. All they want to do is have a good time. Spinning this record does just that.
http://www.bachelorrecords.com