Reviews

Post Present Medium

Baby? Baby Laugh / Baby Cry LP

New directions in music by Oakland avant maestros Erin Allen and Max Nordile. BABY? is an abstract fresco of guitar strings plinking and scratching, drums tumbling and collapsing, horns wailing and lamenting, and found-sound contrasts of water pouring peacefully and cop sirens reigning terror. While 98% of MRR readers won’t give this the time of day, 1% will turn this on and immediately turn it off after the first track or two, and finally there is the 1% that will complete it and maybe even go back and listen again. It’s classically not for everyone, and probably really only for Max and Erin as an expression of sound and friendship. What I love about these two as people and artists is that while we’re all here still listening to this, figuring it out and deciding if we like it, they’re just out there, making more of it, like perpetual creation machines. They probably recorded twenty more albums, finished 53 paintings, six zines, and went on tour four times while this LP was in the queue to be pressed (and probably even more as I was flipping to the B-side of it).

Blue Dolphin Robert’s Lafitte LP

Robert’s Laffite rounds up three small-run cassettes and a few previously unreleased tracks from this Houston/Austin quartet, who existed for a short spell (2016–2017) around its members’ stints in big-deal ’10s DIY sensations like MYSTIC INANE, PATSY, INSTITUTE, C.C.T.V., CHRONOPHAGE, etc. (and that’s just the abridged list). Vocalist Sarah Sissy’s delivery has a blasé, almost Su Tissue-ish edge, standing strong as the eye of the storm while the rest of the band spirals into wild, detuned abandon with the pointed primitivism of the URINALS, some MINUTEMEN-inspired trebly breakneck grooves, and a sheet of blotter paper worth of sun-baked eccentricity à la early MEAT PUPPETS—the freewheeling art-punk scramble of “Cindy” and “Ida” melts down into the dusty twang-pop of “Buying Time” and “Virginal Mystery,” with tracks like “Emerald Cherry” and “Licking & Kissing” left to gallop in the spaces in between, presaging (just barely) Houston’s fellow blink-and-you-missed-them Keats Rides a Harley resurrectionists VIVIENNE STYG. The recordings are emphatically lo-fi, buried deep in layers of tape hiss and analog warble, and listening to Robert’s Laffite is an almost voyeuristic experience of picking out distinct forms from little more than shadows and light, but rewarding one at that.

Chalk Neophobia LP

For listeners with experimental tastes and open minds, there is something for everyone from this Houston solo project. Sounding like a perfect mixtape of obscured beauty, warm found sounds, music concrète, knotty indie rock, and imploding disco karaoke beats, CHALK gently strolls across genre lines in a way that makes you question genre distinctions in the first place. The album opens with gorgeous gamelan rhythms played over sound collages that sound like SUN CITY GIRLS or Aaron Dilloway at their most introspective. “What is Tot Cannot” features meditative guitar, chiptunes, and tape decay that seamlessly flows into “Sambe Death Now,” a goth exploration with sampled (I think?) operatic vocals. “Slackjaw” and “Root by Root” are twisty, swirling indie rock jams that evoke UNWOUND. Often unironically beautiful, occasionally confounding (“Pig Song” is an odd children’s rhyme sung over junk electronics), accept this as an expert mix of sounds from carefully curated influences.

Chronophage Chronophage LP

CHRONOPHAGE is a band that slowly wooed me. I’ll fully admit I wasn’t open to embrace their first two releases What is the Mystery of Love? and Prolog For Tomorrow—something about the lo-fi production of the first didn’t light up my enthusiasm for the second, and I couldn’t break through it. But it was Th’ Pig Kiss’d Album that was the skeleton key that opened up everything for me. I love having my mind changed by a band, especially if they’re not being pushed on my plate. I could tell there was some true songwriting happening in this band, unhindered by aesthetic tropes or genre. This new LP is another progressive step, with influences I can only hint at. There are sounds that are familiar to the ear and on the tip of my tongue, but I’ll avoid embarrassment by incorrectly guessing. Written and recorded as the pandemic waged on in uncertainty, the songs seem to reflect the dismal nature of the outside world, and the warm light and strength found in the internal worlds of friendship and love. The production and arrangement of the first three songs suggest fighting through some sort of dense depressive fog, the songs floating in a milky pool of feeling, melodies, and verses, but without any resolution. That’s when “Summer to Fall” kicks in with that instantaneously hooky descending bassline, twanging bites of power pop guitar, the keyboards humbly humming harmony underneath while the vocal ascends with that simple but resonantly tender line “You woke me up at midnight / To tell me you were scared.” The structure of it gives you one perfect hit of dopamine and excitement after another—a trickling sunshower of piano, a clashing call-and-response bridge, back to the undeniable chorus, with a spoken word closer coda. It’s a completely Perfect Pop Song. “Black Cloud” is a similarly strong statement, skeletonized with doomsday jangle and sweetened with synth string stabs, lyrics that sound like viewing scenes of desolation and desperation from a car window, moving through it but never away from it. From this point on the record, the murkiness found on the A-side dissipates, and the closers “Burst the Shell” (a slow-burning blue beauty) and “Fear Agony” (a sharp-tipped rocker with an ecstatically messy fuzzy climax of a guitar solo) conclude the record like you have (or it has) woken from a dream with total clarity. CHRONOPHAGE is one of the few bands currently going for whom I’m excited to see how they grow creatively and sonically. Their music is imagining a better brighter world while still fighting the dysfunctional and doomed one we still reside in.

Debt Rag Lost to the Fantasy LP

The three humans behind the mid-2010s Oakland noisy avant-punk group WET DRAG have all since relocated to Olympia, WA and recently rekindled the project as DEBT RAG—apparently the Bay Area isn’t the only thing they’ve left behind, as they’ve completely ditched guitar on their debut LP Lost to the Fantasy, weaving layers of seasick synth, sharp blurts of trumpet, and all sorts of clattering percussion (full-force cowbell!) into some of the ample negative space newly liberated from six-string oppression. Everyone contributes vocals, with lines overlapping and intersecting in an almost anti-call-and-response just as often as they coalesce into sardonic gang-chants (the collective statement behind “Barf on USA” is brilliantly direct and self-explanatory), drums are reduced to the barest minimum (one tom and one cymbal) and pounded out in sparse, tranced-out patterns, and calculated, ping-ponging bass forms the primary structure for DEBT RAG to build up their sideways art-skronk collages. How many other bands in our modern day and age are capable of triggering thoughts within me of NOH MERCY, DANNY AND THE PARKINS SISTERS, or Y PANTS, let alone all of the above within the span of a single song?! The answer is zero. DEBT RAG for president, barf on USA.

Gen Pop PPM66 LP

The first full-length from Olympia’s GEN POP, who have been regularly shape-shifting through stylistic coordinates (rapid-fire smart-kid hardcore, angular post-punk jitters, off-kilter weirdo pop, often in the span of one song to another) across a string of cassettes and EPs over the last few years, and that ripped-up bricolage approach is still very much in place on PPM66. Opening track “Bell Book Candle” takes up a decidedly neo-Messthetics mantle with monotone faux-Brit vocals and some seriously primitive and trebly SWELL MAPS damage, “Hanging Drum” and “My Apartment” both split the difference between BUZZCOCKS-style barbed wire hooks and WIRE’d econo art-punk urgency, the sub-minute “Personal Fantasy” tumbles and (Darby) crashes into vintage L.A. punk territory…and that’s just the first half (more or less) of the LP. A little something for everyone, truly—GEN POP is for the people.

Non Plus Temps Desire Choir LP

Dub-punk damage from the preternaturally prolific, small-circle Oakland scene with overlapping personnel from groups like the WORLD, NAKED ROOMMATE, RAYS, FAMOUS MAMMALS, and PREENING (among others) fixed at its center. During the lingering pandemic shutdowns and social lulls of 2021, Andy Human and Sam Lefebvre started recording drum and bass tracks on a practice space tape machine for what would eventually become NON PLUS TEMPS, under the spiritual guidance of the wobbly post-punk/dub grooves of Adrian Sherwood’s On-U Sound label—it’s a looser, cut-up variation on a theme that Andy has previously explored in the WORLD’s skronked-out ESSENTIAL LOGIC-isms and NAKED ROOMMATE’s liquid electro-beat, with the distinctive heat-shimmer vocals from Amber Sermeno (co-conspirator in both of those projects) serving as an additional connective thread on a number of Desire Choir’s rubbery mutant funk sprawls, like “Continuous Hinge” and “Book (Dub).” The promise of any sort of synthesis of the NORMAL and VIVIEN GOLDMAN hinted at in the title of “Warm Launderette” is quickly dashed, with Candace Lazarou of BODY DOUBLE offering a melodic backing counterpart to Andy’s fractured, surrealist narrations over squealing sax to conjure a major Taking Tiger Mountain by Strategy/Another Green World ENO vibe, and “Reversible Mesh” beams shuddering dub beats into deep space, with spectral, disembodied vocals circling beneath layers of warped and disintegrating synth texture. It’s a real trip; the rhythm is going to get you!

P22 Human Snake 12″

P22, a Los Angeles mountain lion who traversed two busy freeways to stalk the hills of Griffith Park, is an apt namesake for this band, whose debut 12″ begins with Jackie Beckey’s viola climbing to a nauseating crescendo, which one can only imagine parallels the feeling of running across the 101. P22 borrows heavily from the artier side of peace punk—they previously released a tape with a CHUMBAWAMBA cover—but their lyrics, while poetic, elide droll sloganeering or didacticism. While they occasionally play at a more straightforward punk pace, the music is often sparse, driven by propulsive, inventive drumming. Imagine if the ROSA YEMEN 12″ was sent in as a demo for a Bullshit Detector comp or if SACCHARINE TRUST got the EX to do their artwork. A fully-formed achievement, honestly maybe a masterpiece? 

The Intima Peril & Panic LP reissue

Originally released in 2003, Peril & Panic was the first (and last) full-length recording from early ’00s Portland/Olympia anarcho avant-punks the INTIMA, and as a teenager who was confined to a largely regressive and apolitical scene 2,000 miles away at the time, it’s hard to articulate the ways in which this band and record helped to unfold maps in my mind that ultimately led me to all sorts of new worlds. This new reissue comes with a much-needed remixing and remastering job, giving even more force to the knotted, intricately structured art-sprawl of these nine tracks compared to the thin and murky initial pressing; despite already being deeply familiar with the record, there’s so many nuances here that are only now revealing themselves to me twenty years on. The EX and DOG FACED HERMANS were two frequent compass points used to orient the band’s approach (and not without reason), but it’s impossible to disentangle the INTIMA’s stormy, grey-skied intensity from being the product of anyplace but the Pacific Northwest—think Scrabbling at the Lock, if it had been left in a damp forest of evergreens to be slowly consumed by moss. Desperate shouts deliver pointed lyrics that are more poetic than didactic, focused largely on intertwined threads of ecological collapse and the accelerating wreckage of capitalism and imperialism, squalls of mournful violin collide with angular, alternately tuned guitar jabs, the drumming clanks and rattles with the kinetic rhythms of industrial machinery, and the result is music intended for dancing amongst the broken glass of shattered empire (more now than ever).