garage rock – Plainly & Painfully

TRACK | Shrapnel – Catch You Out

New external stimuli, Shrapnel’s “Catch You Out” is the sort of opener that lets you know you are in good hands for the remainder. Tones that mirror the nascent grit of becoming: yolk and seep, the assembled tribunal, that strange pounding as it echoes through the wall of your egg.

There is a community, an archive and an arbiter of it, “they say / you’re stumbling through the dark.” The cadre of informed have determined you are lost. These second person pronouncements casually accrue.

They continue:

“Benevolence / is scratching at the door / how is your innocence / your biggest flaw?” Rhyming door and flaw is something possibly only an Australian could amicably get away with. But we’re in luck. Also glorious: the enjambment as manifest by melody and tempo.

I’ve labeled it lo-fi/garage, but that’s not exactly or even really or even quite true. The textures are nuanced, dense, crinkly and sculpted. To anybody supping from a similar gulch and chewing a similar sediment, the distinction is apparent. There’s a lot of care applied to weighting that sonic range, curating its breadth and character. It’s great.

$10 AUD digital/$35 AUD Vinyl. 300 copies from Tenth Court. That’s cheaper in dollars. As an aside, go and check out “Goodbye Jerome!” by Sillard, Farr and Selnet.

TRACK | Eel Men – Exeter Exit

Great, calloused post-punk-pop from London’s Eel Men, “Exeter Exit” also has enough hooks to easily impale the slipperiest bastards among you.

With lines like, “I don’t care, she’s a friend of mine / lies / we’ve all heard that before,” the narrative form is constructed from varied bits of gently alternating parallax, consistent in tone and neatly accumulating. Characters and corpses alternate momentarily in the spotlight, the storytelling driving at a feeling the author brought back from this place.

I wrote about Intro / Ode To Mr Hudson back in 2022, the new material finds Eel Men exploring familiar forms. The knives are sharpened here a bit, the ethereal congealing, filed down into a point. There’s still enough grime around the edges; the same sense of decaying elaboration, artifacts pulled from the earth with the dirt still on. And the fervor remains well intact.

The immense and catching chorus is granted only twice, the authors have enough self respect to limit these applications, when surely seven or more times could be gotten away with. The gentle incongruity of strumming patterns stretching the breadth of the headset also demurs from the predictable. Both are impulses to be admired and ultimately extend the life of the thing by several hard won eons.

Preorder Stop It! Do Something. out March 7th, 2025, from No Front Teeth Records in the UK and Big Neck Records in the US.

TRACK | Good Flying Birds – Wallace

Indianapolis-based indie garage-poppers Good Flying Birds‘ have released the newly compiled talulah’s tape (21-24). Some sweet and intricate rock music, “Wallace” is my favorite of that set. Just when you thought the world’s desiccated husk couldn’t get any less appealing: whammo, some real fun and charming gas exits from an unknown reservoir. Arriving just in time for whatever horrors lurk just outside our temporal periphery, it’s a great relief to me personally.

A blended approximation of influence might include bits of Kevin Barnes, Alex Giannascoli, Lewis Allan Reed, and the three individuals within the great Grass Widow assemblage. Or just go see what they say for themselves. In either case take it from me, someone dumb and desperate enough to play the lottery: we’re lucky to have these songs.

Wondering through what’s left of the wasteland, it’s my favorite thing out of Indiana since at least The Cowboys. The sequences are arranged as though a human has carefully considered them and intricately compiled their subsections, culminating with delicate intention, maybe bordering on mathrock in some of its steeper niches. It’s careful, thoughtful work. I truly wish them well with whatever happens next after one emerges, budding gently out of the earth. I guess either promptly being stomped to death or maybe something good might happen.

There’s a run of 100 tapes on Rotten Apple, $8. They’ll be gone soon. Please also see the tracks on the Inscrutable Records comp with Answering Machines and Soup Activists.

COMP | Palestine Solidarity Compilation

The Palestine Solidarity Compilation is one of the most stacked comps of the era and for the cause eating at the conscience of the world. Just look at the list for many favorites of this portal: Billiam, Busted Head Racket, Rude Television, Cool Sorcery, Gee Tee, Cherry Cheeks, and the many and the more, 27 tracks of playful and cursed invention. Further good news, all the included songs are unreleased, demos, covers, or live versions, so you may become a craprock completionist and cleans some small portion of your soul in the process.

Highlights for me are Balaclava‘s “Swimming Up Up Up,” a devocore/egg punk blinder, collapsing with great intention and some real fun melodic subversion in the latter stages. And Moshi Moshi and the Moist Boys‘ “Pitchforks and Torches,” which operates primarily by gallantly gliding its synthpunk guts across the soundscape. There are many new names to investigate here, many I had not come into contact with previously, and this is a welcome introduction amidst much good company.

Give if you’ve got and can afford to. There is thrashing, there is jangle, there is wallop, and all going toward the cause of providing a tiny bit of support for those who continue to face dehumanization and death daily.

Please see the bandcamp description of the album for how to buy (…it isn’t $1,000). Make a donation and then email them directly for a code. Tapes from Idiotapes (EU) and Godless American (US).

TRACK | Gob Psychic – Harnessed Energy

In praise of unpolished polemics: there is a reasonable case to be made that half-articulated rage is the purest form. It’s straight from the source, cut with the contextual and peripheral distractions, before it is honed into a refined simulacra for mounting on the wall. “Harnessed Energy” by Aarhus Denmark’s Gob Psychic is a good approximation of that impulse, the documented split between archetype and the feeling, language grappling with emotion.

Of course the art is in the perpetual reimagining of the scene: the accumulation of experience cultivated into a written explanation of events, coupled to the genre of cultural conditioning. Then comes the collaborating on accompanying music, the practice to achieve a reproducible form, the live performances tailored by practical necessity, and finally the studio rendering that attempts to preserve or recreate the original sensation or at least some equally amusing derivative variation.

That process is impressively captured here. It’s a great credit to the band, production and mix (Sauna Studios with Neil R. Young, mixing by Jeppe Grønbæk Andersen). It doesn’t feel to me stale or stilted. When you deal in a perpetual stream of these materials, the gradient is apparent. It seems to have emerged into the world fully formed, revealed.

That obviously isn’t the case due to the nature of making things and releasing them globally. But convincing the cynical consumer/listener of this is the magic trick. There’s no wooden tongue clacking, no resentment at having to repeat ones self. “I’m not like those men / I hope I’m not like those men,” is screamed with a visceral quarter pound of conviction. The doubt remains present and compelling. Maybe it is in the room with you right now.

If it resonates, perhaps also look at Cathedrale’s Houses are Built the Same, Black Bug’s s/t, and Egg Idiot’s Meltdown. Vinyls on Le Cèpe Records (Paris) and name-your-price on the bandcamp.

TRACK | REIZ – Kauschiene

Another sprouting from the top-tier Leipzig scene, REIZ are relentless in their kinetic thresh. There’s a good pallet of blotchy bloodied tones and a proudly pop sentimentality to it. The care in detailing is always elevating it slightly beyond your ability to anticipate, appreciably above the good-enough imitators and pretenders. You’ll probably find enough fine warp to feel familiar if for some god forsaken reason you consume this text and curation regularly. It didn’t arrive in the summer but the summer suits it.

The set is fun and funny but not defanged. Playful and approachable without the kitsch that salts the soil and kills everything else around it. It features rotating vocalists and distinct instrumentation across a terribly well calibrated soundscape. You’re at home in the dusk and the wind is coming kindly through the windows. Nothing is set in stone. There is music playing on the periphery that does not alienate you.

For some recent brethren in melodic bleat and genially scourging impulse, maybe you’re already in favor of its spiritual brethren like Jeanines, Jesuslefilles, and Liquids? Ok, that’s just about enough reductive blubbering to hit publish.

It’s €3.50 for the congealed three years of tunes selected. That’s only €1.16666666666667 euro per year. Check the math if you don’t believe me.

TRACK | Busted Head Racket – CLOWNING

Writing on Busted Head Racket in December I accused them of crafting “delightful and difficult to kill earworms.” The new work is just as infested and likewise just as rabid and relentless, a prized commotion carved in synths and the probable simulacra of a slide whistle. Or is it the real deal? I would ask you to decide. Asundered with intention and contented in collected the notions, it’s rattling along with conviction and guts.

It finally, mercifully, drove out an alternate jingle from my mind. Lyrics are something to do with everything, or faced with the daily phases of self-reported observations, vacillating in the performance of personhood, bounding between enchantment and disenchantment, mockery and conviction. Coherently capturing ambivalence is sometimes later more akin to the feeling at the moment, and a better document for it. The world will grind you into dust but, if you’re lucky, there’s a stage of becoming a fine paste prior to dehydration. A nice soothing balm.

Look at the video by throat.pasta over at Tremendo Garaje. According to TG, the EP will release around this rotten globe in cassette form from Painscale (AUS), Pogo Til You Puke (UK), Idiotape Records (FR), Spyasola Records(DE), Harry Records(NL), Blä Records (SE), SYF Records (PL) and Painters Tape Records (US). Name your own price on the bandcamp.

TRACK | pH people – Film For Slugs

pH people released a super demo in December 2022 I have belatedly become acquainted with. It maintains its form throughout, brute force submerged in a 12 meter tall wave of damp fuzz, a sort of struggle like torpor struck into motion. It is a kind of lurching hazard or volatile demystification, but still a sort of salve. Direct and effective, the EP is faithful to its own internal logic and a relief in contrast to overly elaborate rock artifices that lack conviction.

Explaining this particular kind of music is a kind of sickness that doesn’t need doing. The consistent balance of the impulsive and incoherent makes what might otherwise seem a mess into its own sort of ameliorating force, reliably adhering to principles and rules that reinforce and corroborate between the tracks.

It sounds like you’re already deaf, hearing it. Or taking a joy ride in your friend’s dad’s hearse, listening from inside the coffin through the division, the curtain, the speakers obstructing. This is the experiment: devolving to a form that remains recognizable and appreciable, a couple stages before alienation. In my beleaguered state of obligations and unease it feels pretty perfectly balance with personal failings, pairs well.

From Urticaria Records, Nantes, seventy were made in the 5 EUR set of cassettes.

COMP | If, When, & With Whom

Undeniably Spared Flesh are at the pinnacle of the pump, deep in the heart of it, perched near one of the prime spigots for what remains of the corroded valve of rock. Look at this fucking line up of the beloved: Gee Tee, Zero Percent APR, EXWHITE, Billiam, MESH, Nick Normal, Cupid and The Stupids.

Mercifully, these petty thugs are united temporarily in a common cause of good: all proceeds from this release benefit the National Network of Abortion Funds.

True to their individual representations of self, the collected works are not lacking passion and composure. Far from throwaway tunes, each groups reached deep in the pocket and pulled generously from their wares, a welcome sign of solidarity in these dire times.

The compilation is a great introduction to so many inspired acts and creators in the midst of many you must already appreciate if you’ve read to paragraph four of this idiot blog. I live and breath this muck and I didn’t know about the immensely promising My Friend Cowboy or Bruise Linear. But now I do and I can store them where they belong: an endless series of tabs like tombstones in Mozilla.

Why scour through the debris later? These folks are working and making now, you can support them and their causes in real time. You’ve not got to wait for a Tiny Twerps volume to release 20-50 years after the fact, or make a costly pilgrimage to plant your dead gerbil in front of the charred remains of the Elephant 6 house. Cassettes remain at $15 on the edition of 100/$10 for .flac files.

TRACK | Liquids – My Best Friend (Stab Me In The Back Again)

NW Indiana’s Liquids have returned with more proto garage feelings nailed onto the egg punk skeleton. Songs is more raw and seeping, less refined in production than Life is Pain Idiot. The rate at which these things degrade is variable. Less a crack in the foundation of the prior effort and more a rebuilding upon the rubble of the pile of limited releases. Half digested or about three quarters gestated, anyway, viable, and better out than in. New: now with more new.

There’s plenty of melodic invention within the parameters of the genres sterling decrepitude. And the murk it’s packed with keeps things fresh upon repeat listens. With respect to production, everything’s overheard through a wall in the next room. But there’s some preservative properties in the goo emitting from the gears into the end product; it leaves plenty of room for magic and misinterpretation.

The ‘punk’s dead’ discourse is a trope and the trope itself must die. Surely the answer is something akin to the perpetual cycle of rebirth and death much like the organisms that make it: Emerge, decline and diminish. Symbols corrupt and the language adjusts, later the symbols are replaced by something that better gets at the feeling while the old symbol rots back into the earth. There is a natural discordance of definitions in this process. Temporary end or intermittent beginning, either way it’s nice to have the document.