Awesome high-energy, lo-fi punk from Chattanooga by members of FUTURE VIRGINS, SQUISHERS, and SAVAGE WEEKEND. Anthemic, heart-on-sleeve, fuzzed-out tracts in the spirit of SEXY and BENT OUTTA SHAPE that keep the optimism of pushing through life in a shitty world, because really what else can you do but make your art? Lyrically, some early SPRINGSTEEN and REPLACEMENTS-inspired tales to keep your head above water in bleak times.
Like the Fernando Pessoa of bedroom fuzz-pop, William Johnson (FUTURE VIRGINS, BIG KITTY, and more) has created a full band of alter egos to bring us Joey and the Rapid Dogs! Like the aforementioned Portuguese poet, who wrote under 30-plus “personas” all with full backstories and signature styles around the turn of the previous century, Johnson credits a full roster of musicians who simply don’t exist. It’s an interesting exercise that lends itself to the character exploration of Joey, the core of this shambolic “rock opera.” The songs have a grandiosity to them, in bold declarative jams like “Talkin’ Bout Mental Health,” that is tempered by the use of a drum machine throughout. It’s reminiscent of TOM GRRRL, JACK NAME, or even a much less silly GENE DEFCON. The songs are homemade but tightly constructed and delivered with a sort of detached vocal style. The whole affair is clearly a labor of love, but is performed with a couldn’t-care-less attitude, lending another layer of strangeness. The results aren’t always compelling, which feels somewhat inevitable stretched across sixteen tracks, but there is plenty here to stick around for. Looking forward to Johnson getting the “band” back together for more.
Mid-tempo psych-rock from Indianapolis that comes across as a little restrained and melodic for my tastes. I dig how the vocals are drenched in choppy tremolo and delay and how at certain points we get a delightful appearance of what sounds like the electric jug from 13TH FLOOR ELEVATORS, but, ultimately, the tunes are held back by conventional blues structures and rather predictable solos. There is potential here, but their overall bar band feel dominates when things need to get weirder and more out of control.
HYPER TENSIONS have some of the rougher, ominous qualities of contemporary garage. This gives them a slightly darker sound than simple ’60s revivalists. Still, this record sounds like it was made to dance to. The beats have just a little lift and space between them, which probably make live shows very fun. The guitars frequently have a primary melody with a secondary one laid on top. The band manages this arrangement well. I never felt like the music was needlessly complex or overdone. They describe themselves as psychedelic, but aside from meeting their reverb quotas, HYPER TENSIONS leave out most of the instrumentalism and indulgence of that genre. I think that choice left them with a shorter and sharper record.
“Born out of a mutual love for ARCHERS OF LOAF” states their Let’s Pretend write-up— NEGATIVE GLOW certainly pays a killer tribute while leaving their own mark on this cassette. Super-fuzz guitars, right up front in the mix, straightforward drums, and male/female trade-off vocals with a love-lost kind of heartache, as in “The colors are so bright when you’re around” from “Hover.” This takes a moody walk right up my alley—I really, really enjoy it. It’s simple, catchy, and just droning enough. Even though it stands in the shadows of ’90s slacker rock, and therefore you could say is nothing new, any revival of this downcast sound has a place for me.
With two EPs in the rearview mirror, REARVIEW RHONDA looks ahead to their first LP Glutton for Bad Energy. Hailing proudly from Bloomington, Indiana, Stefanie Boucher leads this gang with vocals and a bass, having the venom of BIKINI KILL on songs like “Disconnect” while balancing with softer tendencies on “Catapult,” which features clean guitar strums and a slower gait, even including a saxophone and synth near the end. Endless riffing throughout backed by splashy drums and Stephanie’s carefree attitude keeps this CD on repeat for me—a truly great debut full-length.
The e-blurb from the label pretty much sums it up: “Region rock is alive and well in 2019.” Chattanooga supergroup drops their third full-ength cassette in as many years—infectious rough/melodic vocals, ultra produced and perfectly dirty wall of guitars, and more hooks than any self-respecting punk would know what to do with. If you know where they come from, then you likely already know the band. And if you like where they come from (SEXY, ADD/C, THIS BIKE IS A PIPE BOMB, FUTURE VIRGINS) then it shouldn’t surprise you when I recommend this release. I know their legacy is formidable already, but their craft is becoming dangerously refined…which is bad news for exactly no one.
Shotwell Street runs through the heart of the Mission District. The infamous Jenn Cobb, one of the original members of the Gilman collective and former MRR shitworker, lived there, as did Tommy Strange of STRAWMAN and a slew of other people crucial to the formative years of the DIY Bay Area sound. The appropriately named SHOTWELL, formed by Jimmy Broutis, Paul Curran, and Aaron Cometbus, started playing renegade shows there back in 1994. Jimmy remains the constant member with a notable rotating crew backing him up over the last 25 years, committed to playing smaller, untraditional DIY venues. Steve Moriarty of the GITS, who took over for Cometbus on drums back in 1995, returns in this incarnation as a producer and arranger. The eponymous release burns through 21 urgently melodic and politically conscious songs in under 45 minutes. Its scrappy and brutally authentic sound with rough, hazy guitars, steady drums, and lyrics shouted through raw vocal chords is reminiscent of SEXY and RADON. It can be difficult for an album to be both cautionary and optimistic at the same time, but I think that mindset is the impetus for punk creativity—the feeling that shit is fucked up but possibly could be different. At best, we can be the nidus for that change, and at least, we can lean a shoulder against the tide and kick rocks at the castle. This album and Broutis’s unfaltering vision serve simultaneously as both a history lesson and a modern-day survival guide.
Debut LP from Asheville, NC-based SMALL DOSES. Seeing Asheville on their Bandcamp page, I assumed I was going to get some peace punk or zany hippie-cult thing, but rather found something closer to the turn-of-the-century RVA sound; ANN BERETTA comes to mind. Founders Matt and John, formerly of DAWN OF THE DUDE and OFF WITH THEIR HEADS, reunited after a 30-year hiatus, coming together with bassist Crystal of ZOMBIE QUEEN to form this powerful trio. Pretty straightforward punk/post-hardcore at work, with lots of palm mutes, pinch harmonics, bass that’s hooked into tom-pounding drums, and higher-register, near-gruff vocals. It feels like SMALL DOSES would be right at home on any of the early Warped Tour bills. Solid eight-track debut, with writing already started on their next album.
Incredibly catchy, pretty garage pop from Columbus, OH. TETNIS has been around releasing music regularly since 2018. Some of the songs on this tape are rather middle-of-the-road, rock-en-general sounding, but there are more than a few cool, driving tunes to make up for that. It’s like an indie pop bastard sibling of the MARKED MEN or something. A bit slower and wimpier, but catchy all the same.
Debut ten-song cassette that has all the pieces in place for the BARBED WIRES to become a legitimately popular band. Long-time rockers, who I was unsurprised to find out had been in such bands as PINK RAZORS, STRIKE ANYWHERE, and CLOAK/DAGGER, playing tunes that sound like a slightly more alternative rock version of the MARKED MEN. It’s instantly catchy, it’s memorable, and if the previous bands are any indication, this is surely going to be powerful as hell live, as all those aforementioned groups were great the times I saw them.
It was just okay. The same way that eating white bread on its own is okay. It’s fine, but it’s nothing that’ll knock your socks off by just how good it is. It feels too familiar. Nothing about their sound feels original or like they’re doing anything fresh with it. At best, they sound like Keith Morris and Fat Mike drunkenly fucked to create an even more drunk hybrid of themselves so that child would go on to front a punk band. It’s not that bad. There were some lyrics I enjoyed, like on “Can’t Touch Me,” but to name the first song off your LP “Lower Than Shit”? That kind of made me side-eye the already hideous LP cover while listening to it. Not a horrible LP, just kind of bland overall.
