Oct 27, 2015
So, what would make this beer even more fun? Well, barrel aging it of course.
The color is almost black with a slight ruby hue surrounding it. The head is minimal and fades almost immediately, leaving slight clouds and a rim ring behind. The scent of chocolate and strawberry waft out of the glass and can be smelled even at 5 feet away once the brew starts breathing. A touch of bourbon in the aroma become detectable at that time too.
First thing on the lips and tongue noticed is that the beer is a bit sweeter than the regular version. The chocolate is the first thing that comes to the forefront. Very rich and, to an extent, resembling "The Original" Bosco syrup in it's sweetness in the front end of it's flavor but there's also a bit of baking chocolate bitters and smoke that linger underneath. The middle brings out some faint notes of oak and roasted malts.There's some vanilla are too but is a bit muted. That seemed odd because it's one of the flavors that usually comes to mind for me when tasting a barrel aged brew. The strawberries come out huge in the finish. Almost o an extent where they're trying to push everything else out of the way.
I will go record saying that this, like it's non aged partner, is fun to drink but felt the barrel aging didn't really add too much to it either, other than a little darkness to the chocolate, amping up the fruit notes almost a little too much (unless that was something that was done at the brewery this year for this special batch in the first place. I haven't had a regular bottle this year to see if anything about its balance has changed from how it's tasted in the past.) It lacked a bit of the complexities and didn't really seem worth the couple dollars more a bottle price point to me.
Oct 24, 2015
Things have been a bit crazy hectic on the work and transportation front in the Smashin' Transistors world the past month or so. It's kind of distracted me from sitting down and jotting observations & opinions on records and beer that have passed through the ears and lips. I did get a new edition of the podcast together for your digital devices this week though.
With Halloween right around the corner I did think about doing a spoooky themed show. Problem is though I'm a bit ADD and would've got distracted or bored with doing such a thing halfway through. That and there's plenty of people out there who do such things much better than I could anyway. I just blasted a bunch of tunes instead. Let new things from noisemakers such as Frau, Wand, Spray Paint, Ghastly Spats, Black Time, Cheena, Destruction Unit and the Staches infect the part of your brain that sound goes. Have things of the past from Suicide, Dale Hawkins, The Velvet Underground, Strawberry Window and Honey Bane haunt your speakers. And, course, have other sounds on this go round make their way out of your speakers too.
Oct 16, 2015
Comprised of guys that were in the Goodnight Loving, Holy Shit and Head On Electric, three bands that we're all very different from each other sound and approach wise, the music takes you on trip through the heartland. Yes, there will be rolling hills and probably diary cows and pretty girls but this is more than a Sunday drive to go get breakfast at some place off the beaten path. The ride may end up a little bumpy though as is also the heartland of hangovers, stupid days, working weekends to pay the bills and the many ghosts that haunt the rustbelt.
Along with Byrds-esque sparkling in a rainstorm guitar jangle running a thread through most of the songs is here is the voice of Andy Kavanaugh. He's always had that knack from sounding wide eyed and cynical at the time same time. Like chasing a honey slide with a slug of with a bottle of middle shelf bourbon, there's a sweet earthiness to it that is equally soothing but has a bite. With the jittery exuberance put forth by the band, Phylums simply straight up music rooted in the vast and varied history of rock-n-roll.
Starting things off with a amalgamation of the 50s, hyperactivity and brittle fuzz, "Can't Get Through" tells the tale of getting turned away at the Canadian border while trying to cross through at Detroit and then more than touches on the trails and tribulations of being unknown band on tour. Then it lyrically takes turns into a take of the messed up state of things in general. In a lot of bands hands the dour could hang over like dark clouds. The ragged harmonies and an overall "well we can't do much about it, might as well laugh about" delivery here gives the listener the feeling that's more like sitting around having a beer with friends and listening to them getting wound up while telling a story about a day nothing at all went right.
Traces of surf music wash across along the dirt on the psych speckled love song "Bottle Of Wine", the lonely soul psychedelic noir of "Route 66" and on the solo dropped right between the folk rock standing on a trash punk foundation that's the words of warning (because it is true you can’t let your guard down when you're living on the...) on "Crummy Side Of Town."
That reverby wetness and concrete crunch also does one of its finest balancing acts on the entire record during the tremulous cadence that stomps directly underneaths the mossy "I Gotta Know." Bubblegummy organ swirl add a syrupy and woozy feeling to morning after a long night out tale of "Cold Coffee" while another story of weighing the option of a night on town, "Go Home", feels celebratory on the thoughts of staying in.
With no lack of melody packed choruses and hooks abounds that are simple enough to get toddlers singing along (the Bow-Bow-Bow-Bow on the high strung "Time Capsule" for instance) but still appealing to so called grown ups , don't be surprised if you find all the songs on this record worming into your ear. That goes twice if your like a sense of dark humor with a side of down home cooking.
Oct 11, 2015
The Smashin' Podsistorscast is now five deep. Have new things from sorts such as Obnox, Uranium Club, Protomartyr, Sewers, OBN IIIs and Screature sear your ear drums. We pulled some goodies off the back shelves from Wire, Bettye LaVette, the Feelies and Huggy Bear to reminisce about as well. And, as usual, plenty of clattering and blaring in between.
Oct 3, 2015
|photo by Rico Moran|
Taking two songs that first appeared on a cassette EP last year, "White Light" and "New Creation", as their first sounds to commit to having etched in polyvinyl chloride, serves well as the bands calling card. The former, rooted by a rhythmic charge of guitar chords and layered vocals that give it a bit on anthemic qualities to it, is a zippy bit of post new wave. "Post" in a way where some, say CMJ chart darlings for instance, decide that emulating the Heaven 17 and A Flock Of Seagulls or whatever record they found at some ridiculous mark up (y'know be cause vinyl is back so those 3 dollar standards are now 10 dollar "scores") is actually a good idea to permanently erase rock and roll from pop music all together once and for all, Century Palm do their best to be faithful to the future of the past while separating the wheat from the chaff. That isn't to say that they band is doing some "rock the fuck out thing" as there is quite a bit of an art tempered happening going on here but even in that aspect there is a sway and vibe here that is missing from a large chunk of the things that are trying to mine the same territory that being pushed in the going for adds hype sheets that flood college radio programmers mail box each week.
The latter delves a little deeper into the atmosphere with spacey and gurgling synth notes and treated guitars hooks that touch on early era Ultravox and mid period Wire but in more of inspirational way that a direct copy.
"Valley Cyan" gels the elements of above together and, along guitars that relay between Spaghetti western meets Joe Meek heavily reverb and electrified stabs and swirly, cosmic keyboard lines, finds the band locating a dreamscape to call their own. This also makes the the b-side, "Accept", sound like it could be from a different band all together with a gothic fog rolling in after dark sound and sax honks that sound like they were needed after a long weird night of talking about free jazz and Roxy Music albums.
Sep 26, 2015
Sep 23, 2015
Like with a lot of the 60s Detroit soul records that didn’t make a dent nationally (but may have gotten some play in the Northern Soul Scene in the UK) there’s not a lot of info on who Bonnie Brisker is or if this was the only record she did. Heck, with this record even the year it was released is kinda fuzzy but judging from the catalog number it’s safe to assume it is early ‘67 (the previous catalog number, MC 002, was a “I’m Going Christmas Shopping/Santa Goofed” by Horace Williams and Choker Campbell & His Magic City Orchestra was released in December of ‘66.)
What is known about Bonnie is that she was the sister of Detroit saxophonist Miller Brisker who toured and played with Aretha Franklin, most notably on her Aretha In Paris album, as well as the arranger of “I’ll Be On My Way” by Bob & Fred which appeared on Big Mack, another Detroit label of the era.
Though both sides of this record have a nice live and loud sound with some rough edges intact the a-side, “Someone Really Loves You (Guess Who)”, tends to lean a little more towards some kinda sophisticated Mary Wells territory. This b-side though gets much looser. The bass line brings everything to a boil, getting the band to lock into a total proto-funk groove and Bonnie lets everyone listening know what she has and what she needs.
Sep 18, 2015
Unlike the shake your hips while punching you in the gut Stones/Dolls boogie slime happenings of the former or the barbed wire wrapped distortodelic funk of the latter; this gang is much more elemental with its intentions. A power trio in a most primal sense, the songs here are locked in to swift and constant rhythm pummeling, all on a conquest for the constant taste of red meat and letting most of the human race they can fuck right off.
After introducing themselves with a flurry of psych blues slime guitar racket and the bass & drums determined to cause destruction on the instrumental "Sad Sack" the band then pushes the listener into a garage. Not one of those new sparkly garages that it seems chirpy, smiling kids with a penchant for digital reverb want people to think they bob their heads in unison all day these days but a dingy, dirty one where a bare lightbulb hangs to lights your way so you don't get tetanus from backing into some random rusty piece of oil soaked, soot coated jagged metal scattered all over the place.
When Tom's virulent voice one ups Johnny Paycheck stupid job sentiments by ten on the Motorhead/Tad infected "I Quit" it's obvious he's had enough and doesn't know but still doesn't care how he'll pay his bills. Most likely though he and the band would just find more time to be shit kicking punk rock down the street like they do on songs like the thunderous "I Can't Find My Keys", dancing on graves to the spazzed out beat of "Apart At The Seams", trying different sized drill bits on heshers eardrums like they do on "Heavy Metal Brains" or bumming out hippies acid trips the way "Answer Your Phone" has the power to do.
Yeah, the Snooty Garbagemen can scoff your trash. They have no need for it. They're doing just fine building a fetid, obnoxious heap of their own.
Sep 12, 2015
Sep 10, 2015
|Photo by Danielle Petrosa|
What's starts out as a cover/homage to the song that Bo Diddley named after himself on the a-side quickly turns into something even ol' Bo couldn't have fathomed when he was trying to appeal to the young folks in the crowd that where coming to see him in the 90s by doing some cheesy, disco synth heavy rap about just saying no to drugs and yes to challenging Saddam Hussein to a fistfight. The case here is more like the Gories recounting very intense bouts of night terrors while kicking their way out of a tin shed full of hungry and feral cats in heat.
"Shattered" (not the Rolling Stones or Exploding Hearts song) ups the cavewoman stomp by covering girl group melodies in sludge then trying sticks of dynamite to them. Light the fuse, run and then stand back to watch it splatter.