LOCAL Album Review: The Hussy - Galore

Longtime fixtures of the recently booming garage-punk circuit here in Madison, self-described “trash-rockers” The Hussy deliver what we’ve come to love while simultaneously expanding their sound on the fourth LP Galore (released June 30, 2015).  The most noticeable change is the addition of bass, which the former-duo incorporates through the entire album.  Their stripped-down aesthetic is further bolstered by layers of guitars and effects, percussive elements, and on some tracks creative instrumentation such as violin and lap-steel guitar.  Make no mistake however, this is still a band and a record built on no-bullshit charming scrappiness.  Even while delivering some of their most immediate, hooky material to date, the DEVO-esque cheeky pop is balanced perfectly with an aggressiveness and abrasion reminiscent of early grunge bands like Mudhoney.  Bobby Hussy continues to be one of the more exciting guitar slingers going, with fuzzed-out progressions and a ramshackle (though very proficient) soloing style that cuts through the mix like a lawnmower.  The boy/girl vocal dynamic is also on full display, with impressive harmonies and defiant, carefree lyrics delivered with a grin and a middle finger.  

Galore digs its claws into you right of the bat with standout opener Asking for Too Much.  Acoustic and electric guitars mesh together and Bobby cooly laments from a deep sea of reverb in a track that has all the makings of a garage rock classic.  Things only get better with follower Take You Up.  Bob plays the crooner for two verses, channelling the deep post-punk type of drone of Ian Anderson or Peter Murphy.  Punctuated by a vocal-less chorus centered on guitar interplay, the track finishes with a soaring wall-of-sound bridge. 

Following a very solid pair of snotty punk bangers in EZ/PZ and Made in the Shade, guest musician Justin Aten’s violin takes center stage in the exquisitely somber downtempo dirge Darkness.  What begins as a sparse psychedelic arrangement of delicate guitar arpeggios and Heather’s mellow brooding gets the garage treatment during it’s second half.  Like a breaking wave the track explodes into a noisey whiteout as guitar distortion kicks in and Aten wails away on the violin in such a way reminiscent of John Cale’s viola work with The Velvet Underground.  All the while the detached monotone vocals continue, washed all but out of the mix as Galore’s side one comes to a shoegazing close.

With such a high standard set by Galore’s first side, side two tends to sag a bit as repetition sets in.  Several tracks have the feel of a band that is still struggling to capture the intensity and passion of their live performance in a way that makes for a consistently satisfying at-home listening experience.  These tracks ride purely on the guitar work, and for the most part Bobby makes it happen with an absolutely in-the-pocket performance.  Through memorable riffs and volatile soloing, he commands his distorted, livewire sound like a rock n’ roll cowboy wrangling a mad stallion.  J Mascis is the very apparent influence on his style, and there is no doubt that this display would earn a nod of approval from the legendary Dinosaur Jr frontman. 

Closing track My Bad plays like a Vivian Girls-esque neo-shoegaze as Heather’s ethereal vocals float delicately over a raging sea of feedback and distortion.  The album ends with noisey psychedelic freakout that features Bobby’s most extensive soloing before gradually giving way to pure static.  It makes for a grinding finish, but fits the album’s tone awesomely.   

Overall Galore sees The Hussy craft an incredibly listenable record that not only maintains but builds upon their established identity as a band.  Some of the more straight-forward numbers leave a bit to be desired, but at its best the album delivers brilliantly ragged psychedelia without any sense of indulgence or pretension.  It isn’t until the final track that any song hits the three minute mark, but every song is packed with dense instrumentation and production that absolutely hits its mark as almost a grungy version of Pet Sounds.  Galore is not only satisfying for those familiar with the band, but has the authenticity and execution of an album that any rock fan can appreciate.  This is the kind of record that you immediately put on a second time, while you anxiously wait to see what the band does next.

To purchase your copy of Galore, swing by Mad City Music Exchange or visit Southpaw Records

*Catch The Hussy on night two of TurkeyFest; Saturday October 24 at Crystal Corner, as they play their first show back in the states following an extensive European tour!!

A Tribute to Lou Reed

It was a rainy evening in early spring, 2009.  I had nothing particularly going on and my roommate at the time had left to take a load of his things home, leaving me sitting there in our dark and mostly cleared out dorm room.  As I did a lot during that time, I found myself reflecting on my first year of college and thinking about the void lying ahead, since I knew by then that I wouldn't be returning to Stevens Point.  As I munched on the apple that I had just finished using as a broke-college-kid pipe, I looked at the rain and fog out our third story window and set my music to shuffle. 

I had a passing knowledge of The Velvet Underground at the time; I knew that way back when they had broken new ground in the subject material and aural presentation of rock music.  I knew that more than a handful of people more knowledgable of rock history than my teenage self strongly believed that the punk movement, and all of the ensuing sub-genres, wouldn't exist as we know it if it weren't for that iconic banana-sporting album.  I knew the Brian Eno quote regarding that album and how "the first Velvet Underground album only sold 10,000 copies, but everyone who bought it formed a band".  However, the few times I myself had given The Velvet Underground & Nico a listen, it just didn't grab me the way that its legacy led me to believe it would.  The crunchy melodicism, driving angst, and reckless energy that built my interest in punk rock to that point was hardly even hinted at; instead what I heard was a droning, detached, and at times downright depressing musical fever dream about dirty sex and even dirtier drugs.  I didn't get it.

What I felt that rainy night when Heroin came on and inexplicably thrust me into an eight minute trance is similar, I imagine, to what those 10,000 people Brian Eno was talking about felt back in 1967.  Why it picked that time to finally click for me will forever be a mystery, but during those eight minutes everything I thought I knew about music was shook to its very foundation. There was no discernible consistent rhythm or structure, the tempo and dynamics rose and fell with great range; but I had never physically felt a song the way I did then.  The song ended with a climax of pure noise and chaos, but I had never felt such a catharsis over a piece of music.  Most subtly (to a desensitized teenager of the internet) but perhaps most importantly, this was a man singing about something as dark as the depths of heroin addiction without any semblance of either disgust or glorification, but acceptance for what it is.  I had never felt as empathetic for the struggles faced in life by other people.  

I cannot speak for those 10,000 people that started bands after hearing The Velvet Underground and Nico and went on to shape the punk/alternative/indie rock scene as we know it, but I can speak for the way that Lou Reed and his bandmates forever changed the way that I approach, listen to, and appreciate music.  I suppose it goes without saying that The Velvets have become one of my favorite bands since that night.  Furthermore, they led me to admire aspects of other bands that I otherwise wouldn't have thought much of:  the darkly honest subject matter of The Stooges, the detached "cool" of Television and The Strokes, the droning experimentation of Bauhaus and Spacemen 3, the volatile self-destruction of The New York Dolls, Patti Smith, and The Ramones, the sheer noise of Sonic Youth and My Bloody Valentine.  Without listening to The Velvet Underground & Nico on that rainy night I likely wouldn't have ever gotten into many of the bands I know love, and without that album they likely wouldn't have ever existed.

 Lou Reed died today, but his legacy and impact on the music world will live on forever.  I'll never forget that night when the doors were opened to me to countless aspects of rock music that I hadn't yet considered.  I will always be grateful to Lou Reed for giving me that opportunity to experience a fraction of what his audience in the 60s experienced when he and The Velvets blasted rock and roll to the ground and re-built the foundations of what it has become over the decades.  

Thanks for everything Lou, rest peacefully.  

Halloween Album Special: Butthole Surfers - Locust Abortion Technician

If Hell has a house band, I like to think that it is the Butthole Surfers.  The Surfers built a career out of making music that at its friendliest is just plain weird, but more often than not is threatening, abrasive, and legitimately frightening.  On their 1996 album Locust Abortion Technician in particular, they have an undeniable knack of putting on tape the mentally unhinged type of sounds that exist in the darkest corners of our psyche, only brought fourth in the unstable mind or to soundtrack tormented fever dreams.  I will go through with the agonizing task of picking one song from Locust Abortion to represent The Surfers on the final Halloween mixtape, but for now it feels necessary to address the entirety of an album that for my money is the most deranged, maniacally twisted collection of songs ever set to tape.

"Daddy?…What does 'regret' mean?"  

"Well son, the funny thing about regret is- it's better to regret something that you have done than to regret something you haven't done.  

And by the way, if you see your mom this weekend, be sure and tell her:

SATAN SATAN SATAN SATAN!"

And with that, the Butthole Surfers launch headfirst into 33 minutes of utter nightmare.  The opening track that contains this delightfully haunting intro is Sweet Loaf, a cover/parody of sorts of Black Sabbath's Sweet Leaf.  The hook is a warped version of Tony Iommi's classic original riff, accompanied by effects-laden inhuman shouts and screams.  The vocal effects in question have come to be called "Gibbytronix" after frontman Gibby Haynes, who processes his vocals in various demented ways throughout the album.  It does an admirable job of introducing the general approach of the Surfers:  weird and even disturbing, but at the end of the day still flat-out rocks and is delivered with a sly wink. 

The next few tracks dwell in the deepness of this atmosphere.  Graveyard is rooted in a distorted, downtuned guitar riff that seems to grind its way through it's own sludge, with brief piercing leads occasionally slicing through the mix.  The Gibbytronix makes its presence felt, as the vocals are heavily down-pitched to provide a suffocated, guttural quality as if they are excruciatingly making their way up through six feet of earth.  Following Graveyard is Pittsburgh to Lebanon, a down-and-dirty blues straight from the depths of hell.  It plods along to a lunatic groove as Gibby howls distortedly about such things as buying "(his) first shotgun at the age of three".  

Just as you begin to get used to the downtempo weirdness thus far, The Surfers throw in a subconsciously dreaded monkey wrench, confirming your fears that this rabbit hole does indeed deepen.  The brief instrumental Weber sloppily establishes riffs and motives that are never expanded upon, and leads directly into the farm animal sounds.  The moo's and baa's that carry throughout Hay are soon accompanied by stuttered, disorienting tape loops that flap and reverse over themselves as the animals continue their yelling and are joined late in the track by faint high-pitched human chanting and devilish growls.  At the albums halfway point the relatively straightforward Human Cannonball is a welcome intermission.  More importantly however, it is a very strong stand-alone garage rock song.  Albeit on the terms of the Butthole Surfers; the riffs drone along, the vocals are manic and the lyrics are cryptic; it adds a new level of musical sensibility that will be necessary to carry this album through its home stretch.  

U.S.S.A. shoves us back into nightmareland with a terribly distorted drumroll, or march, or…something.  The brief fade-out provides a teasingly false sense of security right before the grinding guitar noise stutters its way to the front of the mix.  Gibby spends the next couple minutes half-screaming (through filters that give even more edges to his delivery) incoherently over the now familiar, yet no less threatening, chopped up tape loops.  Much to everyone's demented joy, as soon as this madness ends The O-Men pick it right back up.  The rhythm pounds in double-time now, and once the rapid-fire vocals come in spewing nonsense it's obvious there is no turning back.  In what I suppose could be called a chorus, there is a call-and-response from the many schizophrenic voices of Gibby Haynes, as his high pitched worm-voice gives que to his Darth Vader-on-acid voice, which is followed by an unhinged, hyperactive guitar lead before it starts all over again.  The tempo is taken down briefly with Kuntz, but the insanity very much remains.  The song is a remixed version of what seems like an old-time traditional Indian or Middle-Eastern song edited just right (and with extra voices added) so it sounds like the word cunts is repeated as the etherial rhythm drones on.  After that we are treated to another version of Graveyard, this time without any downpitching effects.  Somehow it is even more maddening this way, as the guitar plucks and screams while the Gibbytronix take the vocals to new depths of delirium.  

The darkness all comes to a head with troubling album closer 22 Going on 23.  In audio taken from an actual radio broadcast, a young woman details with disturbing tranquility her "sleep problems" stemming from a sexual assault.  In the background a feral, lumbering riff rises and swells with pure evil as the radio host analyses her issues with echoing terms like "anxiety…sleep programming…conselling…medicine…depression…etc".  After a slowed down, otherworldly guitar solo the same woman resurfaces, complaining of an entirely different set of problems.  The album then fades out into familiar farm-animal noises, and comes to a disturbing halt with crickets and slow-motion "moo"ing.  Upon further inspection, not only are these slowed down versions of the same sample heard in Hay, but the woman's voice had previously been sped up and distorted and used throughout the album, subconsciously tying all of the madness together.  

As you're dropped into silence and left wondering exactly what the hell it is that you've just listened to, the album continues to work its magic as the aural journey through hell sticks vaguely in your mind like the aforementioned fever dreams.  After a little time to readjust to normalcy the appreciation grows for the way Locust Abortion Technician maintains an enjoyable, momentous listen even as it sinks to new depths of psychosis.  The overall haunting atmosphere and gleeful embrace of everything creepy and darkly experimental make this as good of an album as any to give a spin during Halloween. 

Matt's Halloween Mixtape; Part Two

Behind all of the fun and games associated with Halloween lies a very dark and mysterious past.  While customs such as carving jack-o-lanterns, trick-or-treating, dressing up in costumes and so on have become time-honored traditions ubiquitous with the season, and many variations of monsters and ghosts have rightfully become pop-culture icons, we mustn't forget the darkly rich history of the relatively recently mainstream holiday.  The underlying purpose of Halloween is less about celebration as it is paying respect to the certainty of death, and the frighteningly unknowable thereafter.  

This eerie correlation with the the unknown and the otherworldly is, in my opinion, what really makes Halloween special.  Therefore, I've taken great care to include in this series those songs which I feel most effectively acknowledge the darker aspects of the human (or not-so-human) condition, and bring them to the forefront of a fittingly ominous atmosphere.  

Suicide - Frankie Teardrop

Suicide is quite simply a weird "band", both during their active years and within a historical context.  The were the first group to ever use the term "punk music" to advertise a show, yet they were widely detested by much of the punk scene for their provocative demeanor and reliance on keyboards, drum machines, and murmured vocals.  

This artist/audience conflict came together for several stunning moments on their 1977 self-titled debut album however, most notably on side two's minimalist epic Frankie Teardrop.  The song immediately establishes a disturbing claustrophobic atmosphere of doom with a pounding, straight eighth-note rhythm of industrial noise that drones on for its ten minute entirety.  laid over the top of this agonizingly simple beat with unnerving volume are Alan Vega's nervy, tense, half-whispered vocals.  As the metallic noise pounds on Vega weaves a tale of a young father on the brink of insanity trapped in poverty and the maddening repetition of his factory work.  Good ol' Frankie hopelessly grinds through the days to support his family, but when his desperation reaches its breaking point he is left to pick up a gun and let it provide all the "support" his family needs.  All the while the constant pounding noise continues.  The song can explode into hell at any moment, but the real terror is that you know it won't- it will just keep droning on and on.  When listened to in the right setting, you have already long been firmly on edge by the time the utterly blood curdling screams come out of nowhere. 

Acid Bath - Finger Paintings of the Insane

Much earlier in this blog's life I wrote with disturbed affection about Acid Bath's classic "death rock" album When the Kite String Pops.  I am excited now to have an opportunity to more deeply explore one of my favorite cuts from that album.  

In the years before and since I made that post reviewing When the Kite String Pops I haven't come up with a better description for their sound than that which must constantly play within the mind of a serial killer.  From their overbearing menace to the unrelenting brutality of their lyrics and their schizophrenic straddling of genres, Acid Bath creates a musical environment that is directly engaging in it's heaviness yet consistently unnerving in its twists and turns, and it has a way of getting you lost in the fractured mind of the deeply disturbed.

At no point in the album are these qualities on more troubling display than during Finger Paintings of the Insane.  As vocalist Dax Riggs alternates between morbidly dark crooning and agonized verbal assaults of self-destruction, torture and pure evil, the band weaves a spellbinding web of shifting dynamics and jarring tempo changes, bookended by skull-crushing rhythms and guitars that grind and slash their way through the nightmare.  As a listener you are left disoriented; scared and lost in the mind of a psychopath, yet morbidly fascinated and unable to take yourself away from the hellish, unforgiving sonic landscape.

The Beatles - Revolution 9  

Possibly the one song that I would call the creepiest comes from an unlikely yet ultimately unsurprising source.  More widely regarded for their mop-tops and desire to "hold your hand", The Beatles were certainly no slouches when it came to experimental recording, and the results heard in Revolution 9 are nothing short of terrifying.  

Revolution 9 begins with a minor piano theme and a mysterious voice repeating "number nine", panned jarringly between stereo channels.  For the ensuing eight minutes, it spirals deeper and deeper into pure insanity.  The piece consists entirely of various different tape loops that have been treated with odd, disquieting effects.  Most of them are taken from classical music or opera, but there are also everyday sound effects such as crowd noise, laughter, voices, breaking glass, and car horns that in this context are made harsh and grating.  The loops fade in and out, dance around each other, and, at the absolute scariest- burst unexpectedly out of nowhere on only one side of the mix (DO NOT listen to this loudly on headphones late at night).  In a move of subtle production genius, the piano and "number nine" motif recur and echo almost tauntingly in and out of the mix, confirming that the suddenly not-so-Fab Four realize exactly how uncomfortable of a listening experience they have created.  

Running List:

Sonic Youth - Death Valley '69

HorrorPops - Walk Like a Zombie

Suicide - Frankie Teardrop

Acid Bath - Finger Paintings of the Insane

The Beatles - Revolution 9

Matt's Halloween Mixtape; Part One

Sonic Youth - Death Valley '69

With a few weeks left to go, it feels appropriate to kick things off with a song that leaves its intentions shrouded in mystery.  Sonic Youth uses this vagueness to its advantage by crafting an atmosphere of impending doom and an aggressive creepiness on its own terms.  Death Valley '69 was inspired by the ultra-creepy Manson Family; and the pulsating rhythm, screeching discordant guitars, and schizophrenic vocals stay true to the source material in the most satisfying way.  

The Horrorpops - Walk Like a Zombie

To introduce the other side of "Halloween music" are a Danish group of jubilant misfits (foreshadowing definitely intended) known as The HorrorPops.  Taking the "psychobilly" subgenre to the brink of caricature, The HorrorPops energetically combine 1950s rockabilly and doo-wop songcraft with direct lyrical references to the undead, the otherworldly, the luridly sexual, and the violent.  The result of course, is an ominous yet upbeat representation of whatever debauchery comes to life for Halloween.  

With that we reach the point of no return, the Halloween season is upon us.  It is said that this is the time of year in which the barrier between the living and the dead is at its weakest, and later in the week we will take a close look at some songs that unearth the darker depths of our human psyche…

Introducing: Matt's Halloween Mixtape

Among all of the things that I love about music, possibly the most significant is its ability, perhaps more than any other art medium, to play on one's imagination.  The perfect song choice for any particular moment can emphasize, influence, or sympathize with the listener's mindset in a way that is nothing short of magical.  For a certain type (or types) of music, this quality is brought out in spades once the leaves start drop, scary and/or risque disguises are put together, and an aura of mischief and the macabre creeps into the atmosphere.  Whether the music directly acknowledges Halloween and traditional horror tropes or takes a more vague approach, many artists have found their own ways of celebrating the strange sub-season of October.  

Out of fascination for this, I've decided to start a series of posts highlighting my absolute favorite of these songs; culminating towards the end of the month with The Noisepaper's FIRST EVER compilation release.  The selections will range from the lighthearted celebratory, to the deranged and legitimately fear-inducing, to the just plain weird.  The one thing they will all have in common though is an undeniable contribution to the mysterious, sometimes threatening, but always enjoyable and impossible to ignore Spirt of Halloween.  

Starting tonight, I will be adding songs one by one several times per week until the full compilation is released just in time for All Hallow's Eve.  Stay tuned, if you dare!

Noisepaper EXCLUSIVE Track: Formal Infection - Silverfish

All rights reserved by FORMAL INFECTION  -  Absalom Munoz, Anthony Dombrowski, and Matt Dippong
Recorded at MADISON MEDIA INSTITUTE  - Madison, Wisconsin


Formal Infection is the latest incarnation of a band formed near Madison, Wisconsin in the mid-2000s.  Originally beginning as an angsty punk band, their sound evolved over time; mixing influences from various genres and eventually reaching the peak of creativity and energy that they display on this track.  

More than anything, Silverfish is the sound of a band just doing their thing, having let go and at some point ceased to give a shit.  The DIY recording is satisfyingly raw, yet impressively clear.  The band breaks into catharsis at the final verse, which it carries to a memorable guitar solo, improvised vocals and crashing drums, and rides the momentum throughout the remainder of the track.  This vibe is supported by the minimalist lyrics, which do their part to convey the nature of the band with a stream-of-consciousness narrative focusing on good times and good vibes.  

**Keep an eye out for the Noisepaper exclusive release of Formal Infection's upcoming The Swan EP**

Download Silverfish.mp3 for FREE

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Track of the Day: Wavves - Demon to Lean On

San Diego's Nathan Williams, AKA Wavves, has been an interesting artist to follow over the years.  The project was conceived in 2008, when Williams self-recorded his first album using Garage Band and a 1980's cassette recorder, and began sharing the songs online.  Chock full of irreverent lyrics and buzzing (literally) with the unintentional distortion if clipped inputs, his debut and its followup were carried to prominence by widespread praise within the blogosphere.  In a strange way, the proudly amateur quality of the recordings complimented his summery melodies and snotty, self-deprecating sense of humor very well, and thus his signature aesthetic was born.  In 2010 Wavves brought this aesthetic into an actual recording studio for the first time,  and came out with his best album yet- the Fat Possum release and instant summer classic collection of slacker anthems known as King of the Beach.

Almost exactly two years later, Wavves is poised to strike once again with another step forward.  Earlier this week Williams released details on his upcoming album Afraid of Heights, due out March 26 on Mom + Pop Music.  He suggests that the album will move away from the sunburnt psychedelia of his previous work, instead turning his irreverence inward with darker and much more "real" musical and lyrical themes.  The noise and snotty delivery is still there, but the past couple years has clearly brought his cockiness down to earth somewhat, despite his obvious growth as a songwriter.  This is on high display on the brand new track Demon to Lean On, which embraces a a more straight-forward grungey sound and great pop sensibility.  

"The general theme of the record is depression and anxiety, being death-obsessed and paranoid of impending doom.  I feel like the narration is almost schizophrenic if you listen front to back; every word is important, even the constant contradictions and lack of self-worth.  That's all a part of this record- questioning everything not because I'm curious, but because I'm paranoid."  (Nathan Williams)

http://wavves.net/

Mom + Pop Music

Afraid of Heights preorder 

Track of the Day: Twice My Size - Last Chance Little Miss Nobody

In a day and age where pop-punk is firmly planted in the self-loathing shitter, bands like the UK's Twice My Size are like a breath of fresh air.  This track rejects the common self-indulgent, pseudo-romantic approach to the genre in favor of a classic throwback sound reminiscent of early New Found Glory, Sum 41, etc.  Infectious, energetic hooks are infused with sunny guitar work and fist-in-the-air breakdowns.  

Twice My Size is currently unsigned, but in the process of completing an EP, which is on pace to be independently released this year.

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SOUNDCLOUD

Track of the Day: Metz - Wet Blanket

Home recording is a beautiful thing.  Even if it the mix isn't just right, or if the processing is bad, here is a certain urgency and authenticity about a record made entirely out of one's own pocket.  Toronto trio Metz is a band that embraces that quality, but teamed up with a record label that knows a thing or two about optimizing it in Sub Pop Records.  The result is 29 minutes of artfully organized chaos known as their self-titled 2012 LP, spearheaded by standout track Wet Blanket.  Metz channels the spirit of Sub Pop's early grunge acts, particularly Mudhoney, and ups the ferocity with buzzsaw guitars that power along with overdriven feedback noise and frantic vocals delivered with manic recklessness.  

Sub Pop - Buy the Album

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What do you think, is grunge back?

Local SPOTLIGHT: Gay Witch Abortion

It seems almost counter intuitive in a day and age where only a few clicks of a mouse can land you headfirst into a virtually endless sea of music, but it is getting harder and harder to find stuff that you can truly describe as unlike anything you've heard before.  Gay Witch Abortion, a noise/sludge/garage/metal/punk duo from right here in Minneapolis, is one band that, against all odds, manages to stand out.

Gay Witch Abortion released their debut album, Maverick, on Learning Curve Records back in 2007.  The 36 minute LP is packed from cover to cover with grinding, squealing guitars, walls of pile-driving noise, and just general unrestrained fury.  It is the soundtrack to destruction.  It is for those of us who like it dirty, heavy, and raw.  It is the gleeful embracement of primal aggression- pain, fire, blood, dirt, broken glass, broken bones, maybe sniffing some deer repelant, etc.   

(not recommended)

The Witch released their equally brilliant sophomore album Opportunistic Smokescreen Behavior in November of last year, and continues to regularly play shows around the Twin Cities - Scheduled next for February 20th at The Turf Club.

  

WARNING:  Go easy on that volume knob until you know you're equipment can handle it, this album is more than capable of blowing your speakers to smithereens.


Learning Curve Records

Tim Timebomb's RockNRoll Theater

To continue with the tentative theme of media-spanning collaboration, I would like to introduce you to Tim Armstrong's musical series.  Go back and re-read that last part if you need to.  It is just as ridiculous as it sounds, and in lesser hands probably would have been an embarrassment.  As executed however, Tim Timebomb's RockNRoll Theater plays as s cross between The Rocky Horror Picture Show and The Twilight Zone, filtered through tim armstrong's street-punk sensibility.  

The first episode, Dante, is a delightfully campy horror/punk retelling of Dante's Inferno.  Tim channels Rod Serling as the narrator, and is joined by Davey Havok, Lars Frederiksen, and Fishbone in key roles.  Also along for the ride is a gaggle of scantly clad dancers and background singers- naturally.  The super indulgent musical performances are intercut with expressionistic animated sequences with brief narrative moments between songs.  

That brings me to the biggest draw, the music itself.  Although heavily rooted in Rancid's streetwise ska/punk sound, this project sees Tim expertly incorporating cheese-stuffed cinematic grandiosity and retro rockabilly charm to fit with and enhance the B-movie musical style.  It's all here, driving power chords are paired with walking baselines with blaring horns and Davey Havok-turned-crooner over the top.  All the while it is punctuated by call-and-response background singing and handclaps.  Somehow it all still feels like a great collection of Rancid music…although listened to during a twisted fever dream.  

Production of episode two, Suzy Reanimated, has stalled after a teaser trailer, having been pushed to the back burner with Armstrong taking on new projects with Rancid and The Transplants, as well as producing Jimmy Cliff's album last year.  It is much anticipated though, and I trust that it hasn't been forgotten.  Make it happen Tim!

The first episode package, which includes the full 30 minute episode in both standard and high definition, as well as the 14 song soundtrack, can be downloaded at the link below for $5; with all proceeds used directly to support this fully DIY project.  Clips and trailers are also available on the website for free.

http://rocknrolltheater.tv/

Thank you for reading!

Local SPOTLIGHT: Mitch Clem

For the uninitiated, Mitch Clem is Minnesotan cartoonist and punk rock fan of awesome proportions.  Perhaps his best known work is the webcomic Nothing Nice to Say, which chronicles the escapades of a pair of lovable Minneapolis scenesters.  Also notable are his autobiographical comics San Antonio Rock City and My Stupid Life. 

I have mentioned in early articles the respect that I have for crossover within media, and Mitch is a great example of that.  Everything that he does is oozing with punk spirit in subject matter as well as fiercely DIY values.  Nowhere has this been as effective as his latest endeavor, Turnstile Comix.  Turnstile is a series of direct-to-print comics that pairs a collection of true stories (in comic form of course) about a showcased individual band with a 7" record of previously unreleased songs by them.  The first of the series was in 2010, showcasing local legends The Slow Death with a scathing EP and 40+ pages of punk comic mayhem.  Turnstile made it's second release late last year with Brooklyn weirdpunk group The World/Inferno Friendship Society.

Give Mitch a quick visit

Stream The Slow Death 7" from Turnstile Comix

Thank you for reading!

Local SPOTLIGHT: The Fuck Knights

Ready or not, meet The Fuck Knights.  This is the type of band that you can almost sense smoldering deep within the scene, and when you finally encounter the musical trainwreck first hand, their filthy, loose cannon take on garage rock leaves you unable to look away.  GD Mills leads the charge as the singer and unconventional drummer (he plays standing up on a three piece kit), and his spazzy, paranoid vocals mesh perfectly with the manic instrumentation.  As a whole, it hits you as the aural equivalent of a mental breakdown, in the most cathartic way possible.  As you have probably figured, this is not a band that will wow you with production quality, catchy singles, or musical virtuosity.  What they will wow you with is the recklessness with which they plow through their repertoire with complete disregard for the aforementioned "qualities".  Simply put, this is down and dirty blues rock, wherein the beauty lies in the pure rawness of it- the way it was meant to be.  Perhaps the irony therefore lies in the way that they lull you into a sense of deranged comfort, only to jar you once again when songs like Knight Terrors and Abrasions take detours from the simplicity and erupt into complete psychedelic chaos. 

The story of The Fuck Knights reads almost as the stuff of legend.  It begins with drummer/vocalist GD Mills being kicked out of art school for 'destruction of school property', which led to him jamming with fellow hellions Joe Holland, Benjamin Sommers-Bachman, and David Steffens.  The Knights officially formed on August 1, 2007.  Perhaps the universe recoiled at the monster it had created, for the I-35 bridge in downtown Minneapolis collapsed into the Mississippi River that very same day.  

Shortly thereafter they put out the two-part FuKn Live! recordings, and continued their assault with a series of 7"s and Split EPs (a special mention is required for my personal favorite of them- The Recorded By Gary Burger From The Monks EP, put out by Crustacean Records of my hometown Madison, WI).  These were eventually compiled into their debut LP Let it Bleed, released on Boss Hoss Records.  While Let it Bleed certainly provides a great overview of the band, there is no doubt that their true spirit lies in their catalog of EPs and blaring live collections.  

After the bridge "coincidence"(?) one can't help but wonder what we're in store for this April, with the band taking residency of the Triple Rock every Monday night of the month (complete with Old Style and a whiskey for $5).  And oh yeah, they will be joined by Japanther on the 16th and Gay Witch Abortion on the 30th, as well as many other guests throughout the month.  Time to buckle your seatbelts folks, there's no turning back now.  

http://www.fuckknights.com/

Local SPOTLIGHT: The Slow Death

The "weekend" (as they call it) is here, which means it's back to work for those of us with less than desirable "jobs" (as they call them).  In other words, it is time to dive into some burnt out, broken down, boozed up punk rock, Minneapolis style.  The perfect guys for the job are punk rock "supergroup" The Slow Death.  The band is made up of punk veterans, led by bassist/vocalist (and Twin Cities mainstay) Jesse Thorson (of Pretty Boy Thorson and the Falling Angels).  Also in the lineup are Mikey Erg (The Ergs!, seemingly every other good pop-punk band), Dave Strait (also of PBT and the F'n A's), and Johnny C (The Rest of Us).  They took it even further last year with the addition of Zack Gontard (Dear Landlord) and Annie Sparrows (Soviettes) for their debut full-length Born Ugly Got Worse.  

Simply put, this is a country tinged, punk fueled bar band.  They are unquestionable masters of songs that would be depressing if they didn't revel in their own lack of giving a shit.  These are songs for those times when you know full well that things are fucked, but your buddies Jim and Jack have left you with no choice but to cut your losses and have a helluva time doing so.  The "drunk punk" thing is not exactly a groundbreaking formula, but nobody's pretending that it is.  Their songs, all with a rollicking beat, country leads, and shout-along lyrics, tend to blend into one another, which could be a problem if they didn't kick so much ass.  

The Slow Death emerged around this time last year with a brilliant 7" collaboration with local comic artist Mitch Clem* (the mastermind behind punk webcomics Nothing Nice to Say and My Stupid Life).  The 7" features five short bursts of alcohol-fueled fury, in addition to a trio of fittingly self-deprecating stories (in comic form, of course) from Clem.  They have since went on to release their debut LP Born Ugly Got Worse on Kiss of Death Records.  

The Slow Death keeps up a rigorous tour schedule, but takes advantage of every opportunity to play in the Twin Cites.  Catch them this Sunday (3/25) at the Triple Rock and/or Saturday 3/31 at the Turf Club.  

Stream the full Turnstile Comix 7" HERE

Like 'em
Born Ugly Got Worse - name your price!

*I am a big fan of Mitch Clem's, so keep a lookout for a future Spotlight on him.  In the meantime take a look at his website HERE.  

Movie Review: Rock 'N' Roll High School (1979)

Yes, that says "Movie Review", and no, this is not a movie-oriented blog.  However, I do feel that there is a significant overlap in art mediums, and feel it important to introduce that concept early on.  …Or maybe I just felt like writing about this outrageous drive-in style flick that has more than a little to do with the greatest band to ever exist- The Ramones.  Okay, that may be slightly hyperbolic (maybe), but is a fitting introduction to a film that absolutely revels in its corndog B-movie status, and as a result manages to get away with plenty of over-the-top silliness.  Rock 'N' Roll High School stars P.J. Soles (better known as the "See anything you like?" girl from the original Halloween, as a fanatical Ramones fan and de-facto leader of Vince Lombardi High School, which despite the administration's best efforts, revolves around the students' youthful love of rock music.  When everybody's favorite mop-haired punk rock "brothers" come to town a lot of hijinks ensue, culminating with a predictable yet satisfyingly explosive ending.