Without LEATHERFACE, there wouldn’t be a Gainesville scene. On this reissue of the British band’s third seminal LP, all the hallmarks are in place: hoarse but melodic, gruff but tuneful, blunt but wistful. Remastered, with a few old singles tracks thrown in, to boot. Crucial stuff.
Someone once said that LEATHERFACE was the best British punk band from the ’90s—I think that is an understatement. There’s no other group that sounds like them. Their style is unique and unrepeatable, a race between two ambitious guitarists that wanted to find the definite riff, the weirdest, sharpest, most outstanding guitar lick. Mush is by far their best work, but Minx is probably their second-best, a perfect example of their style: that strange and warm fog of derailed guitars, complex and perfectly executed arrangements, topped with a rugged and deep voice which feels straight out of a sailor’s tavern down on the misty docks of Sunderland. The reissue by Call of the Void is a good chance for the collectors, since it’s not easy to find original LEATHERFACE albums just lying around. A trip across one of the most nostalgic, intelligent, and passionate punk bands that probably ever was.
The main point of reissuing important albums is to draw attention to underrated bands, and TALES OF TERROR’s self-titled is certainly deserving of another look. Originally released in 1984 and reviewed in Maximum Rocknroll #16 by Tim Yohannan himself, this record is a wild ride. Boozy and raunchy, the tracks call to mind early STOOGES, obviously, but lead vocalist Pat Stratford has more Darby Crash energy than Iggy Pop. Interesting and weird, undeniably punk streaked with psychedelia, this one left me scratching my head in a good way. Tracks veer one way and then swerve into a digression that ends up just ending. Did they run out of ideas, or did they need a refill? Tracks like “Deathryder” and “Over Elvis Worship” hit hard, but other tracks like “Jim” and “Tales of Terror” show potential and land with a thud. Potential is smeared all over this album since the band’s trajectory was cut short with the murder of guitarist Lyon Wong in 1986. How big could they have gotten? How great were they live?
Call of the Void follows up their 2019 PREFECTS vinyl anthology with this deluxe reissue of the 1982 debut LP from the NIGHTINGALES, who were essentially a revamped PREFECTS with a more expansive creative outlook. Pigs on Purpose landed in somewhat of a UK post-punk liminal state, right in between the scratchy eccentricity of the late ’70s/early ’80s SWELL MAPS/FALL axis and the disjointed, abrasive side of the C86 scene that was a few years around the corner (think BIG FLAME and all those Ron Johnson bands), after which the NIGHTINGALES would spend the rest of the ’80s charting a MEKONS-esque path away from wiry art-punk and toward an unironic embrace of country and western music—maybe that’s why Pigs on Purpose is rarely mentioned in the same breath as … In “Jane From Occupied Europe” or Hex Enduction Hour or any number of similar and now-canonized LPs from the same general time and place, but whatever the reason, it’s unfortunate. SUBWAY SECT/ALTERNATIVE TV-style first wave punk gets bent into new jumbled shapes on “Blood for Dirt” and “One Mistake,” vocalist Robert Lloyd comes off like a well-adjusted version of Mark E. Smith narrating over the sparse but frenetic FALL-like rhythms of “Start From Scratch” and “The Hedonists Sigh,” and “Blisters” and “The Crunch” work up a hyper-strum jangle that all but anticipates the WEDDING PRESENT; it’s like a crash course in the UK underground’s trajectory throughout the Thatcher years. And even better, the original LP is appended this time around by a second disc’s worth of demos and tracks from the group’s early singles on Rough Trade and Cherry Red, which would be worth the price of admission on their own—double your pleasure!
An expanded reissue of the second album by these John Peel favorites, and an unknown quantity to these ears. I feel like I’m fairly literate in British post-punk, but somehow I have not heard any of the NIGHTINGALES’ albums. I acquainted myself with their first record Pigs on Purpose before heading into Hysterics, and between both I found a distinctive sound. The drums dominate their songs, never playing a straight beat but instead creating an unsettling base of rollicking toms and accenting snips of hi-hat for the guitar and bass to sway seasick upon. The rhythmic unease is offset by what I hear as a distinctively English folk presence being experimented with on this album. A violin sidles in mystically on the second track, and on the third, the group somehow merges a funky break with banjo plucking. Lead singer Robert Lloyd has a huge sonorous voice, confident in its everyman timbre. I’d say this is jangly and melodic enough for a fan of the MONOCHROME SET, JOSEF K, or ORANGE JUICE, but with enough upside-down experimental quirk for you to listen to next to DOG FACED HERMANS, the RAINCOATS, or GLAXO BABIES.
Much like the MEKONS and ALTERNATIVE TV, the PREFECTS were an English band operating at punk’s ground zero in ’77, but who had already started to push themselves beyond the narrow confines of the genre before the “post-” prefix fully caught on. The band imploded before they could release any records, with the final PREFECTS line-up reimagining themselves as the highly FALL-like (and still active!) NIGHTINGALES at the dawn of the ’80s—Going Through the Motions marks the first time that the PREFECTS have been fully documented on vinyl, following a posthumous Rough Trade single in 1980 with two tracks pulled from a Peel Session, and a few different CD anthologies of live and radio recordings that popped up in the early 2000s. “Escort Girls” and “Faults” have a slash-and-burn urgency similar to early WIRE (another band that quickly outgrew ’77 orthodoxy), and the anthemic “Things in General” easily stacks up against the best of first wave punk-with-pop-smarts groups like the BUZZCOCKS and the SUBWAY SECT. But then there’s the barbed wire guitar and martial rhythms of the ten-minute “Bristol Road Leads to Dachau” (a dark, harrowing account of a pub bombing), the piano-accented, VELVET UNDERGROUND-inspired pitch black drone of the LP’s title track, or the skronky horns and deadpan vocals in “Total Luck,” all of which would have been perfectly in step with the UK post-punk boom that was just around the corner when the PREFECTS called it a day. Somehow simultaneously a product of and ahead of their time? An ace comp.
