Reviews – MAXIMUM ROCKNROLL

Angered Wrecks Bennies, Booze and R&R 1981 LP

At the turn of the 1980s, ANGERED WRECKS were Fredericton, New Brunswick’s coolest shitkickers. Way up north on the east coast of Canada, these four friends lived in a big old house and set up their gear in the main room for impromptu jam sessions. But these no-goodniks weren’t diddling around on some hippie drum circle nonsense, they were covering the new classics of punk rock and its immediate antecedents. Bennies, Booze and R&R 1981 possesses one-mic-hanging-from-the-ceiling fidelity, but these burnouts make it work in their favor. There’s a couple decent originals which lean towards NWOBHM and would sound right at home on one of those Jobcentre Rejects comps. Among the giants given the WRECKS treatment are songs by SUBHUMANS, DEAD BOYS, ALICE COOPER, MC5, BLACK SABBATH, DEAD KENNEDYS, DIODES, and multiple STOOGES cuts. It’s kind of like being at a bar rock gig, except that this bar is punk as hell and the drink specials include lines of speed.

Divine Horsemen ‘Live’ 1985–1987 CD

What if Humphrey Bogart read some Flannery O’Connor and then began handling snakes and speaking tongues? Chris D. of the FLESH EATERS is the answer to that question; a man of exceptional intelligence and literary acumen who also happens to have the singing voice of one of the Lords of Hell. The way Mr. D. slips from inky-black noir crooning to blood-curdling, fire-breathing shriek is one of the great feats of the modern age. If you’re not familiar with the FLESH EATERS’ tremendous legacy, you owe it yourself to spend some time with those particular hellions. But if you’re getting up in years and need an occasional break from the punk racket, Chris D. formed the DIVINE HORSEMEN just for you. Joined by his wife at the time, singer Julie Christensen, the HORSEMEN was basically a latter-day ‘EATERS line-up repurposed into a more traditional blues rock set-up, yet still swampy as all get out. Christensen’s soaring vocals contrast nicely with D.’s ominous premonitions, off-setting the darkness while still hinting at a furious, doomed love. I can glimpse a world where the DIVINE HORSEMEN could have made the crossover into a radio-friendly milieu, but they got waylaid by addiction. A story as old as time. After leaving the HORSEMEN, Christensen went on to join LEONARD COHEN’s touring band and had an on-again/off-again solo career. D. continued to write books and make music. The band even reunited for an album last year. Down, but not out.

Mars Mars Archives Volume 3: N.N. End LP

Collection of live recordings of the No York epitome. It’s live in a barely-produced way, not making favors for the listeners who have to get into both MARS and this recording quality. MARS was the type of No Wave band that focused a lot on guitars. It feels in general as though we were teleported into the body of a guitar—that is how loud it is. Instinctively primitive or thought-out compositions, I cannot tell, but it is as experimental as art, which makes people feel uncomfortable. So heads can be scratched to what the fuck is happening here, but all you need to focus on whether you enjoy it or not. It’s super noisy, chaotic, destructive, sometimes violent, sometimes dreamy guitar music. It’s dense but not fast, as repetitive as meditation while never getting boring. Songs sound like someone just recorded how rusty iron bars were drawn around on a rustic surface while some disturbed person was yelling in the back. Or a car was beaten with baseball bats while people had intercourse in it. But it is a record; therefore you can enjoy all these surreal soundscapes from the safety of your home, or be brave and take it out to anywhere with your portable listening device. The idea is that you are just as free as MARS, who here are collecting some of the extremes of being human and playing it through who knows what. You can study art and have some highbrow opinion of what they do, but really if you like noise and you think life is crazy, then take a try with this record.

Monoshock Runnin’ Ape-Like From the Backwards Superman: 1989-1995 2xLP

A reissue of a reissue, really: that ol’ SS Records singles/demos CD from a decade or so back gets a proper vinyl enshrining. No complaints, as this is some of my absolute favorite music from the era. Peripheral outsiders-among-outsiders, MONOSHOCK, along with compatriots like THREE STONED MEN and ICKY BOYFRIENDS, loitered SF’s early ’90s punk scene with their far-reaching, loud-ass psych-punk swirl. I mean, c’mon: they backed up VON LMO! What’s key to note here is that the same energy current and spirit heard in the locale’s finest punk/garage “Budget Rock” offerings are also central to MONOSHOCK’s sound—it’s instantly recognizable and forever endearing. Sonically, it’s all throbber/pumper rhythms, pure non-stop push and this jaw-dropper up-top guitar mindset that sprouts from Detroit but reaches for the spaceways. Real feeling, pure expression, no rules and lotsa fuckin’ power. Too many hits, too: “Hawkwind Show,” “Change That Riff,” the best RADIO BIRDMAN and MIRRORS covers ever, on and on across four sides. Kudos to Feeding Tube for re-releasing this mandatory odd/sods compendium for us to boil ’bout (again). Incurably loose and so fiercely punk. Highest recommendation!

The Mirrors The Lost 3rd Album LP

If you ask me, Greg Ashley is a goddamn genius. This motherfucker has written, engineered, played on, pissed on, passed out on, or thought about a theremin line for, well, name it—I’ll figure out how it connects to our boy Greg. Jack-of-all-trades, master-of-all, Ashley will make it better, one way or the other. Despite all this, his pre-GRIS GRIS group, the MIRRORS, still gets short shrift. Both of their early 2000s albums are classics, so you bet I was psyched to hear this lost puppy. And it doesn’t disappoint. While not quite scaling the heights as those millennium-era killers, The Lost 3rd Album is more than worth it for fans. Laying just slightly off the garage rock bombast of that earlier work, the nine cuts here are an obvious precedent for the GRIS GRIS and their seductive, hypnotic sway. Songs like “Patient Flowers Electric” and “Blush Sunshine” are the real Paisley Underground. But you’ve still got full-throated blare like “Gracie’s Pink Pussy Cat” and “Paranoia Blues,” so maybe rip some holes in your thrift store polyester. No one can channel the VELVETS, Roky, Townes VZ, and DREAM SYNDICATE like the Gash. This is dirty psychedelia for drugged-up romantic poets.