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Page IV: SHADOW CUT to THE YELLOW BELTS
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SHADOW CUT – Pictures of Death
From the cover this looks to be some seriously evil shit, and indeed from the
very start Pictures of Death pours out some wickedly heavy grindcore with the deathly
opener “Drug/Murder/Them.” Black doom pours out of the following “Throatcuts Nine,” there’s
the burning death of “Hate” and a Forward Into Battle-era English Dogs
sound to “Inter Arma.” Despite the brutal pounding delivered here the music does occasionally interject delicate
strains of synth and string here and there, allowing them to drift through the tracks and provide a startling display of fragility
in the face of the utter horror of the rest of it all. Fans of Moribund Cult would do well to keep an ear turned toward Firebox.
*
* * *
Firebox
Records – www.firebox.fi – Teollisuustie 19, 60100 Seinajoki, Finland
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Lively garage punk that, well, is just good fun stuff. Although hailing from New York,
The Shemps have a rowdy Northwest beat and a mean-spirited good cheer that shine out on tracks like “Count Me Out,”
“King of Garage,” the “satanic sacrifice” of “Damn Shame,” and even brings joy to downer
titles like “You Hate Me” and “That’s Great That Sucks.” “Gimmie Everything” is
a hell of a party, “Deep Thinker” and “Treat Her Right” both have a particularly good hump to ‘em,
and those who know what I’m talking about will be pleasantly mortified to hear “The Face.” This party package
also came with a live Shemps disc, recorded on WFMU (although I don’t know if this will be included in the official
Reservation Records release). These eleven tracks have the band sounding even more agitated than they do on Spazz Out (albeit with the same good humor), making them sure to be a great act to catch live. More likeable each
and every time you play ‘em, it all makes you wanna shake your ass in someone’s face and rattle your beer can
on the bar for another.
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SIOUX CITY PETE &THE BEGGARS – Necro Blues
I was all the way behind this before
even sliding it into my player; in a brief interview with Sioux City Pete Phillips provided on the promo sheet, Pete has this
to say: “The catalyst to do this was hearing the White Stripes turn roots music into quaint garbage.” So we have
one thing and one thing only to thank those unSympathetic little cocksuckers for; spawning the Necro Blues. This is pure hellfire revival that in a single song, “Goin’ to the Church,” for
example, lays to waste all conception of the blues in the 21st Century. As the man says, “Necro blues is
death blues,” and it’s all right here: the clawing on the coffin lid guitar scratch of “Pedophilia,”
the lyrics of “Voodoo Motherfucker” (“Voodoo Motherfucker, baby, I’ll cut your head right off.”),
and so much more. It’s all accomplished with a primeval guitar slide and stomp that is about as mean and low-down as
most would care to go. The album is also filled with vintage samples from bygone days, everything from revivals to hindu rituals
with unspeakable segments lurking in between. Even the CD booklet itself is a thing of wonder; adorned with the Goat of Mendes
(which doesn’t properly show on my low-quality cover scan), it’s filled with imagery of pornography and savagery
mixed with quotes from the likes of Carl Panzram, Louis Farrakhan and Georges Batailles, all of which, according to the promo
sheet, “Proved to be incendiary enough that it was rejected – due to its ‘questionable content’ –
by every pressing plant Steel Cage had worked with to date.” Spooky shit that, dare I say it, even outdoes Brujeria
on the brutality scale.
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Swelling organ strains and underworld groans (gurgling gothic and apparently drug-induced
lyrics) open Farmakon on a darkly pleasing strain; this opener, “The Raven
and the Backward Funeral,” is followed by the pleasingly subtle jam introducing the slow steady “Shred of Light,
Pinch of Endless,” a lull in the storm that gradually swells into a black underground river of a piece; the untitled
fourth track (indicated in the packaging simply as a drift of blue smoke) is an electrically sinister piece evolving from
some unseen atavistic ordeal; “Nowhere” is a subtly atmospheric and elegiac soundtrack building to a dark majesty
before tapering off into an unseen end; and the black aptly-titled “Nothing” serves as the album’s fitting
epitaph, spectral moaning drifting through the bleak drive of its own finality. But it’s not quite over yet; the synthesized
blares of the hidden track ring out like trumpet peals, heralding a resurrection of sorts, or at least the invitation to play
the album once more. Throughout Farmakon tribal drumming lends a primal aspect
to the organ-dominated pieces, while moody synthesizers provide apt accompaniment and balance. All of this, music and vocals
alike, has that breathy underwater quality of heavy weightlessness so appropriate to drug music, carrying you drifting along
half-submerged in places and crashing ecstatically over your head in others; in essence, a euphoric listening experience ideal
for dim evenings spent in candle-lit chambers swathed in trails of opium smoke.
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THE SPADES – Learnin' the Hard Way (Not to Fuck with
The Spades)
Let me save you some time here: don’t
bother reading this review. Just go out and by this CD. Because it’s the best album you’ll hear for the next two
years. What, you’re still here? You cheap shit, you… Well all right then, read on. Usually I review albums based
upon the chronological order in which they’re received. But when I got this one in a package from Go-kart I had to lay
it out and open it up right away. (Come on, and album by a band of big tattooed black guys, one of whom is a dead ringer for
the black El Duce, calling themselves The Spades, playing songs about sex and violence on an album entitled “Learnin’
the Hard Way (Not to Fuck With the Spades)”? You’ve got to be intrigued.) And god damn if I wasn’t immediately
rewarded with some seriously mean-ass punk metal unparalleled outside of anything being recorded by the Confederacy of Scum.
A perfect mix of punk-fucking scumcore and Murder City metal, The Spades come
off on record like a black Murder Junkies, something that’s as rare and hard to conceive of as a black chapter of the
Hell’s Angels. Picking fights with and punking out the audience with tracks like “Hurt You Again,” “C’Mon
Baby,” “Hit ‘n’ Run” and the anthemic “Random Violence,” The Spades are also capable
of churning out music as vile as anything the filthcore/porn grind community can produce (“Gotta Get Some,” the
all-out horror of “Gator Lane”). The drunken hustler’s saga “Twenty Years” is one of the best
scumcore epics on record, you cannot deny the breakout just-out-of-prison wrecking ball “I’m Loose” or the
last stand of “I Feel Alright,” and after The Spades are done wiping the floor with you for the entirety of their
vicious thirteen-song set they go ahead on and lay out another four bonus tracks. These include the dirty glam piano of “You
Had It Comin’” and the desperate getaway drive for “Sanctuary,” all produced by some big-name recording
engineer. It’s all unspeakably fucking good, so much so that the CD has not left my player for nearly a month. Do yourself
the favor, start Learnin’ the Hard Way.
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SPEEDEALER – Burned Alive
Another slab of sonic barbecue from the almighty Speedealer, recorded live on the 4th
of July no less. Straightaway the band lights up their Southern-fried metal and rips into “All the Things” and
“You Lose, I Win,” lays down the heavy hand of “Gotterdammerung,” goes to hell and back for “Macchinations”
and “Second Sight,” slaps the shit out of “CCCP,” stomps through “Kill Myself,” gives
us the hard & sweet instrumental “Sasparilla,” the wild west sound of “On My Way,” and the vicious
classic “Pigfucker,” then closes it all down with “Drink Me Dead.” All come at the uncompromisingly
meteoric pace for which the band is renowned, and all are met with great roars of approval from the crowd. Packing songs from
each of Speedealer’s four releases, Burned Alive will both impress the hell
out of you and make you wonder why the fuck you didn’t travel to NYC for the show.
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STORMFAGEL – Den Nalkande Stormen
Somber folk music with a sinister edge to its rhythm, Den Nalkande Stormen’s ten tracks embody the irony of a death march’s siren song. Vocals switch between
female (Hungarian) and male (accented English), allowing the tracks to move between mournful hymns of battle and unknown fables,
all against a subtly symphonic background. The resultant sound is akin to a wedding march across a killing field; seductive
and imposing at the same time, the entire production carries an air of fatalism that isn’t entirely uninviting.
* * * *
Cold
Meat Industry – www.coldmeat.se – Villa Eko, 595 42 Mjolby, Sweden
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STORMFAGEL – Ett Berg Av Fasa
Arrested sleigh
bells are interrupted by organ tones before a caravan of gypsy strings and Hungarian vocals are pulled in for a solemn old
world song and dance in the opening “Skoldmon.” Kettle drums usher in the following “…But There was
a Hammer,” further accented by horns, keys and a cloudy loudspeaker voice, all building to a dervish-like intensity
before being cut off for the historical-sounding song “Az Idegen Jovo,” given a military air by the pounding strains
of the backing music. “Kis Kece Lanvom” is beautifully plaintive, as is “Varj Meg Vandor,” a track
which perfectly blends the sweet female voice with stern martial instrumentation; “The Smile” is an ominous music
box of a piece; and the album closes with “Gammal Visa,” which sounds like a languid tavern song. A rich blend
of traditional and industrial, Ett Berg Av Fasa is a downright flavorful album
that you’ll want to partake of again and again.
* * *
Cold
Meat Industry – www.coldmeat.se – Villa Eko, 595 42 Mjolby, Sweden
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STRYCHNINE – Born In a Bar
Raspy punk metal in the Aggression/Poison Idea vein, presided over by a gravelly
pro-wrestling delivery. “P.C.A.T.I.P.O.M.” is a great ripper about getting ripped, there’s a thirsty cover
of their namesake tune and nearly a dozen others here, along with a surprising little bonus. Live, this six-man wrecking crew
would no doubt be classic, especially on the same bill with the likes of Rancid Vat.
*
* *
TKO
Records – www.tkorecords.com – 8941 Atlanta Ave. #505, Huntington Beach, CA,
92646
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SUNWHEEL PSYCHEDELIC – Compassion and Cruelty
Compassion and Cruelty opens on a blusier note than previous Sunwheel Psychedelic efforts,
with the down-home revelation “I’ve Still Got Music.” There is still very much a heavy metal edge to the
recording however, to which the almost Judas Priest rhythm of “You Are Revolution” testifies. The two styles come
together most effectively on “Rock Bottom Blues,” combining the dirty downs with streaks of Sabbath-style stoner
metal riffs. “Swan Song” is another alchemical track, blending the sweet and sour with the hard and the soft into
a self-titled paean, “Diamonds In the Rough” is a strong number, and “Feeling Good, Feeling Free”
has a psyche jam groove to it that segues nicely into the Doors-like organ opener of the rocky hymn “Black Madonna.”
The title track is perhaps the most well-accomplished song on the album, a smooth, honest and strong piece of work flowing
into the multi-faceted closing instrumental “Sand Grains In Eternity.” And while the tough-talking approach to
miscommunication “Jump In My Face” is a rub-you-the-wrong-way number, it fortunately comes early enough in the
album that it is quickly forgotten. If I recall correctly I didn’t much care for the first Psychedelic Sunwheel album
I heard, but Compassion and Cruelty is unarguably a finely-honed and well-endowed
recording.
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THE TELESCOPES – As Approved by the Committee
Loud UK psych-fuck with male/female vocals going at it through a dense haze of feedback
and auto-/audience immolation. As Approved . . . opens with the shake-your-head-off
“I Fall She Screams,” pushing right into the freakout of “There Is No Floor,” while tracks like “Silent
Water” and the coming-down “Please Before You Go” have that slow, heavy, mind-melting OD quality so valuable
in certain circles. Arty shit to be sure, but loud and messy enough (and, in the case of “Suicide,” violent enough)
to merit proper respect and attention. But not satisfied with projecting a one-note program of blare, The Telescopes wisely
contrast these sonic abrasions with the heavenly drift of “Everso” and “Flying,” while on a completely
otherworldly note choosing to incorporate the sonar cries of large wounded sea mammals in “Pure Sweetest Ocean.”
And on the spookier and even farther-out end of the spectrum, “Never Learn Not to Love” sounds like retro hippy
shit until you realize that it’s a Family favorite. It all ends on the mesmerizing jam of “Celestial.” And
it’s all just fucking beautiful, baby.
* * * * *
BOMP - www.bomp.com - P.O. Box 7112, Burbank,
CA, 91510
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THROW RAG – Desert Shores
“Sailor Rock from the Salton Sea, California” this be callin’ itself,
arrr. Aside from the logo and the lewd, drunken, down ‘n dirty quality to Desert
Shores I didn’t catch much of the “Sailor Rock” reference though, so don’t be hopin’ for
any Pogues/Pistols’ “Friggin’ In the Riggin’”-style Jolly Rogers from Throw Rag; instead look
forward to saucy, deep-So-Cal, tatt-heavy punk rock replete with cowbell, washboard, and an aesthetic of abandon adrift somewhere
far south of the Sunset Strip. The dozen Salton Sea chanteys presented here are all grungy, raucous rollers, but “Space
Hump Me,” “Rule Maker,” “Beware of the Dog,” and “Bad Seeds” in particular howl
with a pure out-of-control punk glee that’ll have you spinning as you spin Desert
Shores again.
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THROW RAG – Graceland, 2/28
Due to my hectic diplomatic
schedule (snort!) I don’t catch too many shows these days. But Throw Rag’s album Desert Shores is one of those rare promo discs I receive that I actually listen to over and over again, long after
the review has been posted, and as the band’s last foray toward Seattle shores was inexplicably cancelled I wanted to
catch ‘em while the catching was good.
I skipped the earlier all-ages kiddie show, supported by The Hollowpoints and Graveyard Shift, in favor of the later
performance. This was the first time I’d been to Graceland since their over-extended remodeling closure (although despite
their shunting the secondary bar/merch stand off to one side to allow for a few more seats and tables I couldn’t much
tell the difference), and the place was none too packed this evening – folks must have been sucking up poor local favorites
The Catheters’ six-hundredth performance instead. That’s fine, more room for me.
First up was Washington combo Dollarstore Cowboys, a bunch of guys in pseudo-cowboy
hats playing what sounded like slowed-down Elvis Hitler tunes – kinda country punk, none too shabby but none too moving
(except to the band members’ girlfriends hugging the speakers up front). Playing songs about drinking and guns, their
motto was “Drink a fifth and smoke a bowl.”
Next up was The Spits, who caught my attention right away by opening up with a cheery version of GG’s “Die
When You Die.” At least that’s what it sounded like – all of the band members except the keyboardist (dressed
up as the Statue of Liberty) were wearing full-head Ronald Reagan masks. This muffled their Ramones-style singalongs somewhat,
but did nothing to dampen the crowd’s enthusiasm. I ain’t never heard of The Spits before but the people truly
love ‘em, and showed their love with a constant rain of half-full beer cups, aimed primarily at the drummer’s
squat mid-stage drumkit. A casual mosh pit even formed as The Spits pounded away, and when the singer kicked over the keyboard
and damaged it beyond repair Statue of Liberty stomped the shit out of it and held it out for the crowd to tear to pieces.
This left Liberty with little to do besides strip off his mask (hey, that’s not the Statue of Liberty! that’s
a big fat guy!) and howl into the microphone. By this point sweat was dripping out of the Reagan masks, but this didn’t
slow the band a bit as they continued to pump out the end of their set, drinking long-neck Budweisers and smoking cigaretttes
through their Ronnie holes ‘til the very last chord.
Up at last was the mighty Throw Rag, and all of those in attendance who’d come for a dose of their patented “Sailor
Rock from the Salton Sea” made their way forward. All knew that this was the band’s second performance of the
evening, and it did not bode well when one of their first announcements was, “We’re a little under the weather
. . .” But either they were just teasing the crowd or, being the hardy tattooed fishermen that they are, rallied themselves
with enough of the Fisherman’s Friend (no not coughdrops, bourbon) to shrug off fatigue and crash into the short ‘n
rowdy “Hang Up,” followed by the huffer’s favorite, “Bag of Glue.” Front man Captain Sean-Doe
was sporting his most delicate cruise line apparel, red coat and white cap, but these were soon thrown away with the punk
ruckus of the bold “Rule Maker,” “Mission’s Message,” “Hollywood,” abduction fantasy
“Space Hump Me,” a new number or two, and what I took to be tracks from their album Tee Tot. (In there somewhere was a truly fine Pogues-sounding number, well befitting the band’s imagery.)
Secondary vocalist “Action” Craig Jackman, on washboard & cowbells, was not to be outdone, hanging his girth
dangerously over stage edge as he scratched and bellowed away. “Jacko” even provided some bugling on “Demons
In a Row,” pulling a guy and a girl out of the audience to handle his spoons while he did so. At some point Cap’n
Sean-Doe opened his trou to wave his cock in some chick’s face, and it wasn’t long after that that the band left
the stage. The crowd was outraged, not about the dick-wagging but about the show stopping, and shouts of disapproval filled
the hall until the group, minus the Captain, returned to the stage. Jacko took the helm for the encore/finale (“Please
Don’t Touch,” although I could be a little off on that one, I was on my ninth Pabst at that point), and then it
was all she wrote for Throw Rag. It wasn’t a short or disappointing show by any means, but the crowd wanted more, and
as it was still well before last call felt they deserved just a little more bang for their ten bucks. But seeing as how the
bar was still open, those wee sorrows were easily drowned. Hell, I’d pay to see it all again, especially if the fuckin’
Spits were playing.
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TOTAL DEVASTATION – Reclusion
Heavy death metal with an abundance of riffs in the Haunted/Witchery tradition. The singer
is so pissed-sounding I can’t tell if he’s singing in English or Finnish but the message is quite clear either
way: “Murderous.” “They Stand on 3,” “Reclusion” and “Ground Zero” are particularly
strong tracks, but this is all punishing and uncompromising material. If you can find it, give it a listen.
* * * *
Firebox
Records – www.firebox.fi – Teollisuustie 19, 60100 Seinajoki, Finland
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TWENTYAGON – Lions Covered in Wet Bread
Unabashed experimentalism that’s
more about having fun and making some noise than being some pompous art rock experiment. (Right down to the liner notes: “Thungus
Worp – Guitar, Mustache.”) Think Ego Plum, but without the Ego. There’s a little bit of almost everything
here: funk, jazz, groove, world, lounge, etc. “Red Sand Between Your Teeth” is like a Middle Eastern Mystic Knights
of the Oingo Boingo, and I swear, “Trolls in the Plumbing” is dance music for Yiddish robots. Like a lot of instrumental
playtimes, as fun as parts of it may be Lions Covered in Wet Bread does get a little
runny in places, but never enough to dismiss it wholesale. Definitely worth a spin.
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Man, I haven’t heard such and incisive, energetic, and enjoyable punk rock release
in a long long time; playing all-out anarchist punk rock, Boston’s The Unseen smash out an agitated twelve-song set
here that perfectly exemplifies the album’s title. The speed and outraged high-pitched vocals give The Unseen the ripe
sound of Eighties UK protest punk, whether they’re tearing away at “Your Failure Is My Revenge,” “Negative
Outlook,” “So Sick of You,” or the climactic finale “New World Disorder.” “Don’t
Look Back” and “Remains Unseen” are particularly sharp fire spitters, but in a nearly flawless disc such
as this it’s hard to pick the best of the bunch. The kind of album that can renew one’s faith in the shit industry
of made-for-video punk rock, I was actually sorry to hear Explode come to an end.
But I was smiling and bobbing as I reached for the replay button.
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VA: THE ESTRUS KAMIKAZE ASS CHOMP N' STOMP CD SAMPLER VOL. 4
The retro-garage sound of the female Bobbyteens opens up this monster comp from Estrus Records,
chased by the country blues of the Dexateens and the funk of ye olde Diplomats of Solid Sound; DMBW gives forth the Sub-Pop
sound of “Taste”; “Proud Man” is a bit of vintage Seventies action from the DT’s; The Fall-Outs’
“One Thought Too Much” has a pleasing They Might Be Giants air to it, while “New Arsenal” by Fatal
Flying Guilloteens rings of late-era Jesus Lizard; The Insomniacs’ “Leave” is a psychedelic little number
caught between the Sixties and Monster Magnet; The Knockout Pills rock out with “Do the Skin Crawl”; The Makers
do their thing on “The Jerome Green”; The Midnight Evils whoop it up on “Get Down the Midnight Hour”;
The Mummies go schizo with “I’m Gonna Kill My Baby Tonight”; Sugar Shack “Can’t Get Past It”;
and Von Zippers close it up on the punk note of “SGWTF.” And there are a couple more in there somewhere. A vast
troupe of largely garage-based acts here on a fun-filled and, most likely, very affordable CD, this may get you compin’
n’ stompin’ indeed.
* * *
Estrus
Records – www.estrus.com – P.O. Box 2125, Bellingham, WA 98227
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V.A. – A Fistful of Rock 'N' Roll Vol. 13, Parts
2 & 3
Two discs, 53 bands from
all over the world, and literally hours of gutter punk rock & roll. Among the offerings on this wild and wooly compilation
some of the top-notchers are Bleed’s trashy “Lusty Lady,” Spades’ neighbors Peter Pan Speedrock doing
what sounds like an amped-up Limecell number with “Wide Fucking Open,” Trunk Dog’s ripped-up “Safe
Not Sorry,” the screaming “R ‘N’ R Star” by Rip KC, the raunchy-ass “Horatio” by
The Genders, the catchy chop-rock of Buzz Gang’s “Good Good Thing,” The Dead Set’s throaty balls-out
“Suburban Cowboy,” the soulful crunch of “Howlin’ for You” by The Compulsions, the Smut Peddlers’
pure punk rock “Westside Girl,” Very Ape rates a mention for their name alone, and the fat Grand Magus stoner
rock stylings of Firestone’s “Nigel Mansell” makes it perhaps the best track on the album. Superchrist has
a raw Kiss sound to them, Midnight Rapture’s “Deliver Me” sounds like some kind of death rock revival meeting,
and Thee Michelle Gun Elephant’s Japanabilly is always a welcome addition. Of course with a literal overdose of garage
rock there are bound to be a few less-than-stellar contributions here: Sonic Boom Boys, The Coma-Tones, Hot Dogs, Patti Rhodes
& the Myster Kids, Gutter Queens, etc., but the odds are nicely stacked in favor of the listener. And buddy, that’s
just Part Two. Part Three (disc two) smashes open with the Modey Lemon street corner sound of “New Woman” by Danko
Jones and gives us the raw sex appeal of Broadzilla’s “Stargazer,” aptly matched by “Losing Time”
by the female-driven M16S, Wide Right’s “Kryptonite,” and the hot-sounding Secret Squirrel Society getting
fiendish over “Drugs not Hugs”; you can’t go wrong with Therapy? (“Rock You Monkeys”), the punk
singalong “Waiting” by American Ruse, the pissed and messy Pink Swords (“Tonite”), the balls of stone
“Blackout” by Spread Eagle, the Southern stomp of Amps II Eleven’s “State Road Strangler,” or
the sick hair metal party “High” by Crank County Daredevils; Drag Strip Syndicate has a punked-up Hendrix vocal
approach to “American”; dirty kudos to the Red Light Rippers for “I Get the Feelin’”; and the
disc burns to a close with “Radiation from Hell” by the No-Counts. Dollhouse has a bluesy female Black Sabbath
quality, there’s the snot-glam of the Sparkling Bombs, “Rocktober” is a pure party song from The Viva Knievels,
and even Labor Party sounds all right here. Not so great are Smash Up Derby, Murdock’s cock rock, the kutesy sound of
Kitty & the Kowalskis and the like, but like Part Two these are few and far between. I don’t know how much this
monster retails for, but I’m guessing it’s more than fair. You should be listening to that, not reading this.
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And the almighty Worldeater Records label continues to get better and better . . . Hellblock
6 opens Genrecide up right with the ultra-heavy doom “Coma,” Myles
of Destruction brings us the spooky frenzy of “Castrati,” Scabbicock performs the vicious soundtrack “Shark
Attack,” Drunken Bandits start a sludgecore “Bar Fight,” the female-led Abiku freaks the fuck out for “New
Day Rock,” Cynicism thrashes about “Carnivorous Radioactive Hippie Squirrels,” Pennsylvania Connection gets
low ‘n mean for “Heavy Days,” Rellik bashes out the punkcore “Until You Die,” Wreck the Day’s
“Unleash the Fury” is one of the comp’s hardest selections, and Bitchslicer rips out the bitchin’
metal anthem “King Cobra (Ode to Thrash).” For variety the Flat Possum Boys do a little country pickin’
and grinnin’ on “City Wide Special,” King Gary performs the acoustic folk apocalypse “Long Live the
End,” “Untitled” is an eerie and atmospheric instrumental from Aviary3, Imbecile does a laid-back and lilting
“Antichrist,” Northern Liberties goes to the outer limits and trips out with “Event Horizon,” and
Kermit Hell Lyman III gives a surprising finale performance with “Mrs. Whiskey Name,” a raggedy, Pogues-sounding,
bottle-breaking track. Syzslak, Pale Existence, Body Bag, Malocches, and Black Skeletons of Death, also contribute tracks
to the comp. Twenty-one largely awesome cuts for only five bucks (postage-paid, even) – you just can’t fucking
beat that.
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V.A.: KICKED OUTTA PURGATORY...PSYCHOBILLY
This massive psychobilly compilation contains an impressive 29-band lineup
playing as hard as they fucking can. And while not all of the acts display clear rockabilly roots, the majority of them have
a damned high punk rock & roll quotient as well as the appreciatively dark and wicked aesthetic shared by the psychobilly
genre. Acts of note here are the mean-ass “I Wanna See You Bleed” by Demented are Go!, the whoop and holler of
Nekromantix’ “Nekronauts,” The Horrorpops bring female vocals to the party with “Julia,” Koffin
Kats’ “V8 Nightmare,” The Formaldehydes’ “Lady Death,” “Buried Alive” by Concombre
Zombi, Bad Reputation’s rockin’ “Kingdom of the Night,” Hayride to Hell’s gloating “Human
Remains,” Guana Batz’ “King Rat,” The Gutter Demons’ “Til’ the End,” the howls
of the Livends’ “Night Breed,” The Photon Torpedos’ cover of the infamous “I Don’t Like
You” and The Phantom Rockers “Rumble Rock” are all damned good to hear before it comes to a close with the
dance hall riot of “Livin’ or Dyin’” by the Kings of Nuthin’. Hell, they’re nearly all
great. I’m generally not a big fan of the various ‘billy styles, but this is a damned impressive package, the
whole thing throbbing with energetic ill-intent. It’s probably priced to move, too, so get on down to Hairball 8 and
see what else they’ve got.
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V.A.: OLD SKARS & UPSTARTS 505
30 songs, 76-plus minutes of “Punk rock is life & death” street
punk selected by king Hunn Duane Peters. Bad Lieutenants start this one out with the Southwestern instrumental “Arizona
Love,” the Briefs give us the sad but true “Human Thermometer,” Turbonegro covers “Suffragette City”
while Epoxies take on “Don’t Talk to Me,” the Lizzies perform the punk-goth “Baby Black and Blue,”
the Amazombies show some fetching “Blind Devotion,” Mad Sin rips out the punkabilly “Straight to Hell”
with an amped-up Pogues flair, “Drink Tonight” by Mad Sin is one of the greatest, well, drinking songs ever, The
Hollowpoints’ classic “Rope’s End” is on here, The Kings of Nuthin’ wrap it up with a riotous
version of “Wild In the Streets,” and there are a lot more gritty grief songs and novelties in here as well. Hell,
Disaster even throws in “Steamroller” by the Adicts just for fun. Some of them don’t fare as well, such
as the weepy “Scars” by Ducky Boys, and Civet isn’t quite up to the Distillers sound they’re attempting
on “Black Day.” But even though some of the bands seem to be taking their gutter-punk status a little too seriously
there’s an almost piratical feel throughout the comp that makes it a damn good time. And I’m sure the price is
right.
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VERBAL ABUSE – Just an American Band / Live in '84
Angry skinheaded thrash-filled gutter punk from twenty years ago; nowhere here will you
find the party metal of “V.A. Rocks Your Liver,” these two early Verbal Abuse reissues are simply harsh, raw,
and plenty pissed. Twenty-seven tracks worth, as a matter of fact, all the kind that will kick aging Ill Repute and D.R.I.
fans right back into the pit. Early classics like “I Hate You,” “Leeches,” “Social Insect,”
“Boredom,” and “Disintegration” say it all, and then V.A. fights back with the lower class revelry
of “Unity” and “American Band.” And kudos for the bashing cover of “Paranoid” and the
long-necked love song “Bud” as well. The quality of the live songs is every bit as good as that of the studio
tracks, and if you’re one of those folks desperately trying to rebuild that long-lost punk rock library that’s
been broken, worn out, borrowed, sold for rent, or stolen over the years, this is an essential double album.
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Here’s something to make old English Dogs fans’ hair stand up in spikes; 14
speedy punk/metalcore numbers in under 25 minutes from Very Metal. Sounding as if they take inspiration directly from the
mighty Limecell, these St. Louis boys churn it out hard, fast, and mean, with no shortage of antagonism as they blast away
against any number of assholes (“Living a Lie,” “Jealousy” (with its simple and explicit chorus, “GO.
Fuck your self”), “Worthless,” and “Cheap Shot”) and take back the night in their own vicious
fashion with “Hit and Run,” “Behind Bars,” and “Nightstalker.” Amped-up bass, shearing
guitar, and drums beat all to hell generate a savage buzz that pumps the already-pissed vocalist up and over the top for a
performance you’ll definitely be playing again.
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THE WRETCHED ONES – Less Is More
With a good name, a good cover (old fart gumming down what looks like flapjacks and Spam),
an Elvis zombie on the inside telling you to “PLAY LOUD!” and being the belt-holders of the “America’s
Oldest Oi!” band title, you can expect good things from The Wretched Ones’ Less
is More. This collection of 7” scraps has something of a 4 Skins/Toughskins sound in places, but more than that
The Wretched Ones have a gruffly energizing oi punk tone all their own. “Prima Donna,” “Cell Block 66,”
“Hey Old Man,” the oi love song “Wretched Girl,” “Brag Brag,” and the beating of “Why
Do You Lie?” are all good numbers, and The Wretched Ones even give Fear a run for the money with a “Christmas
Song” of their own. The band also earns big points in the ironic appreciation department for covering the ‘Quincy
punks’ songs “Choke” and (everybody’s favorite) the “Schaffer Theme.” (!!!) And after
18 big bald tracks the label even goes ahead and slaps on another seven rare & bitchin’ covers. Nice. But it’s
the inclusion of the Schaffer song that cinches it for me, jumping The Wretched Ones up into coveted Alcoholics Unanimous
territory and earning em’ the highest of ratings: five drunken fucking stars.
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