New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Tag: free download

Walter Ego Brings His Hilarious, Edgy Marathon Recording Project to a Saturday Night Show

Walter Ego could be characterized as Elliott Smith with a better sense of humor and command of a more diverse number of styles. Bass is Walter Ego’s main axe, but he also plays pretty much every other instrument you’d want in a rock band. Last year, he challenged himself to record two songs a month. The result is his 24 in 2015 playlist, streaming at his site and available as a free download. He’s playing his dozen favorite tracks from the project this Saturday night, March 26 at 7 PM at Sidewalk.

Much as a lot of these songs are very funny, they’re also relevant. Walter Ego doesn’t suffer fools gladly, he abhors gun violence and blind obedience. The project’s first songs are typically just a single instrument and vocals; as it goes on, the songs get more fleshed out, Walter Ego as a one-man orchestra. The first number, Triangle Player, is a characteristically tragicomic one. See, Walter Ego is also a classical music fan. This elegant piano waltz contemplates the job of an orchestral triangle player, who doesn’t have a very hard job…yet it has some unique frustrations. The second January tune, Why Can’t It Stay Exactly Like This Forever is guitar and vocals, a subtly sarcastic look at how change might not be such a bad thing after all:

Dylan goes electric
John Henry is replaced
She loves you not, she doesn’t care
Dylan stays acoustic
John Henry keeps his job
She loves you yeah, yeah, yeah

The punchline after that, like a lot of them here, is too good to spoil.

February’s first song is a darkly chromatic noir cabaret piano number, We’re Going In the Wrong Direction, with another metaphorically-charged lyric and one of the album’s more vividly icy vocals. Be My Enemy also has a noir cabaret feel, an irresistibly amusing reference to an iconic Pink Floyd song, and the kind of subtly savage political message that will recur many times throughout these songs.

March’s first song is In Threes, an art-rock piano ballad, Walter Ego having fun with numbers and celebrity death myths. The second one is The Banishment Button, a swinging phaser-guitar rocker that seems like it’s going to be punk rock but has a lot more depth than that. April’s recordings include the darkly catchy art-rock anthem Everything’s Captured, weighing the “pros” and cons of the surveillance state, and Do Over, a sardonic new wave vignette weighing the dilemmas of ontogeny recapitulating philogeny.

The diptych Difficult Street is a slinky, sarcastic organ-and-drums number told from the point of view of a spoiled one-tenth-of-one-percenter. After that, the Moody Blues-esque folk-rock anthem Making Money – a droll counterfeiter’s tale – makes a good segue. June is represented by This Is What Happens, a coy right-brain-versus-left-brain scenario, and the absolutely brilliant I Woke Up In the Modern World, a vintage Springsteenesque sendup to paleoconservatives.

Set to swinging parlor piano pop, My Manifesto offers a subtly creepy look inside the head of a Unabomber type. If You Could See Inside My Head continues the theme – as goofy as this shuffle is, in a way it’s even creepier: “I guess that you think that amatuer brain surgery is fun,” the narrator taunts.

The surrealistically bouncy Radio Backwards is a twistedly hilarious counterpart to Elvis Costello’s Radio Radio. Say What’s On Your Mind take a snidely slinkys slap upside the head of a passive-aggressive type, one of the few songs here where Walter Ego really cuts loose on the bass.

Who Says I Have to Be Consistent is one of the funniest and most spot-on tracks here: as usual, it’s the song’s implication that’s funniest. The punchy psych-pop tune What Was I Thinking About? introduces horns for the first time; it’s one of the most poignant numbers here, bringing to mind Lee Feldman‘s recent work. By contrast, the swaying paisley underground-tinged White Bones offers a cruelly accurate answer to anyone who might dispute the science that establishes Africa as the birthplace of humankind.

Electric lead guitar makes its entramce in The Red Mercury Blues. a salute to a dangerous element that’s not easily labeled. I Am Here Now is the most surreal number here, a vamping Velvets-ish look at a post-Facebook world, with a trick ending.

The playlist winds up with three of its strongest tracks. With its jungly drums, blippy organ and synth brass, Welcome to Us blends elements of Afrobeat and psychedelia: finally, twenty tracks into the album, Walter Ego takes a guitar solo, and it’s good! Give Me a Gun For Christmas is just plain hilarious as a spoof of Xmas songs in general. And Martin Luther King Zombie Killer is just about as amusing, imagining a secret life for the civil rights leader, who “had a dream but also had a nightmare.” As usual, the subtext is murderously funny, and cruelly accurate. If the best album of the year is measured in terms of both quality and quantity, it’s going to be next to impossible for anyone to top this in 2016.

Above the Moon Bring Their Edgy Intensity to a Jersey City Triplebill Friday Night

This Friday, March 11 starting at 8 there’s a solid bill of three female-fronted acts at the Citizen, 332 2nd St. in Jersey City, about six blocks from the Grove St. Path station. The opening band, Pepperwine, works a sassy saloon blues vibe. Headliner Debra Devi, one of the most exhilarating and bluesily purist lead guitarists in psychedelic rock, plays a rare solo set.. In between there’s Above the Moon. who have an edgy, very 90s sound, blending noisy indie rock and propulsive powerpop in the same vein as Versus. Frontwoman/guitarist Kate Griffin has an edge in her voice that brings to mind Fontaine Toups and Ursa Minor‘s Michelle Casillas, although Above the Moon have a heavier sound, with their two guitars.

Their debut ep is up at Bandcamp as a free download. The opening track, Coat, has Griffin and lead player James Harrison’s guitars punching at each other up to the big, catchy chorus where they join forces. It’s an escape anthem of sorts: “It’s so warm I’ll leave my coat behind, for someone else to find, I won’t need it anymore,” Griffin asserts.

Bassist Shawn Murphy and drummer John Gramuglia give Easy a brisk groove that anchors it rather than letting it drift into skittish Strokes territory. Out of the Woods,with its burning, multitracked downstroke guitars and Griffin’s calmly warm vocals, is the closest thing to Versus here;  The final cut is a kiss-off number, Loving & Leaving, Griffin clear and resolute over a web of stabbing, bellicose minor-key guitar.

These songs have a sense of defiance and optimism despite it all. Blast this on your way home from work or school and feel good about yourself again. Discovering bands like Above the Moon makes all the drudge work of a music blog worth the effort.

A Smartly Enigmatic New Album From the Shapeshifting Parlor Walls

Parlor Walls – part of the Famous Swords art collective – call themselves trash jazz. It’s a modest handle for their ferociously kinetic, shapeshifting, noisy songs. Much as their sound is distinctly teens, their esthetic looks back to the no wave era of James Chance & the Contortions and Lydia Lunch’s various projects, if with a lot more focus and emphasis on melody and memorable hooks. In music-school terms, their songs are pretty much through-composed. Not only do verses and choruses tend not to repeat: the music just flows, or leaps and bounds, rather than following a distinct progression. Tempos and meters shift in a split-second.

Onstage they’re a lot of fun to watch. Drummer Chris Mulligan anchors the music with a mighty rumble and crash while playing organ, ambitiously, with his left hand. Frontwoman/guitarist Alyse Lamb spins and pounces and fires off shards of noise one second, then evilly lingering, noirish phrases the next. Alto saxophonist Kate Mohanty provides a calm yet similarly brooding presence with her resonant, minimalist lines and astringent, boxcutter tone. Parlor Walls also find a way to join a lot of really good lineups onstage. This Thursday, January 14 they’re at Aviv at 496 Morgan Ave. (Division/Beadel) in Williamsburg starting at 8 with the restlessly noisy, hypnotic, surprisingly groove-driven, bitingly lyrical Pill, then the more assaultive, noisier Guardian Alien, Parlor Walls at around 10, darkly psychedelic art-rock legend Martin Bisi and finally guitarist Arian Shafiee of dance-punks Guerilla Toss at the top of the bill. Cover is $10.

Parlor Walls’ latest album, Cut is up as a name-your-price download at Bandcamp. It opens with Bloodsport, a maze of guitar loops quickly giving way to a mashup of circling indie classical riffs and what sounds like wry faux urban corporate pop. The Key, clocking in at just a little over two minutes, sets haphazardly lingering guitar, warping organ and sax over a drum stampede.

Mulligan and Mohanty work a creepy/jaunty contrast for all it’s worth on Me Me My, Lamb adding a similar dichotomy with her menacing guitar flares and enigmatically playful vocals: “Push me out,” is the mantra. The build up to bell-like hypnotic ambience over Mulligan’s tersely dancing drums as the surprisingly dreampop-influenced Sundress reaches toward escape velocity is a lot of fun. Likewise, the final track, Birthday, which rings and clangs as it follows an unexpectedly warm, Afrobeat-tinged triplet groove before a tempo change, Lamb and Mohanty throwing off sparks over Mulligan’s pulsing syncopation. Get this album, crank it and revel in the fact that we live in such uneasy, interesting times.

Sweet Soubrette Release One of 2015’s Best Concerts As a Live Album

It’s a hot indian summer night outside Joe’s Pub, the shadows from the dark tower a block away just beginning to suck the light from the streets to the east of Astor Place. Inside, the man in the long black coat stretches out his legs underneath a table about twenty feet from the stage. With the back of his hand, he wipes his brow: he’s overdressed for this time of year. Across the table a couple beam and whoop it up. Somebody in the band – the drummer, as it turns out -is a friend, and they’re there to make sure he gets props.

Sweet Soubrette take the stage to what will be the most rousing applause of the night (Kotorino will play a ferocious, lustrously latin-tinged set of artsy, noir rock afterward). The man in the long black coat pulls his recorder from his pocket, presses a button and glances at it quizzically. As the lights dim, he pulls out his phone, illuminating the gadget’s digital display. Exhaling, dismayed, he clicks off both devices, pockets them in his coat and leans back to watch the show.

Frontwoman/ukulele player Ellia Bisker opens the set with a bouncy number, All That Glitters, her voice more weary than brassy as she channels the cynicism of a gold-digger working her latest mark. With NYU – where a thousand undergrad women have signed up as employees of an online prostitution ring in order to pay their tuition – a few blocks away, the song resonates in a new context. Next is Sweet Time, a soul ballad recast as oldtimey Americana on the wings of Heather Cole’s violin. “The song kind of undermines the message…just so you know,” Bisker tells the crowd coyly.

The man in the long black coat is restless, but Bisker is on a roll with her banter. “We have songs about a lot of normal things…like most bands,” she explains, deadpan and serious. “But we also have songs about books – a lot of books.” She explains that this one was inspired by Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five, then launches into a propulsive take of the moody Burning City, the horn section – John Waters on trumpet, Cecil Scheib on trombone and Erin Rogers on alto sax- bobbing and weaving.

“So you have all these experiences…but you retain nothing, and you learn nothing, and nothing helps you,” the bandleader tells the audience, and then begins the achingly waltzing, saturnine Wake Up When, a chronicle of missed chances and lost hopes. By now the man in the long black coat is on the edge of his seat, watching as the lush wash of strings and horns rises.

“You come to a moment in your life, a crossroads…decisions, and you know what whatever you choose, you’re going to regret it,” Bisker continues – at this point, a pattern is clear, this concert has a theme and a trajectory:

The ghost ship of the life you didn’t choose
Is the one you know will never carry you
There are moments you get a glimpse
From the corner of your eye
And all you can do is watch it sail on by

Bisker misses a downstroke on her uke at one point; crushing poignancy, all the more so for not being part of the plan.

The show takes a turn into less harrowing territory with a sardonically pouting new soul ballad, (You Don’t) Talk to Me, awash in oldschool Memphis-style horns. Then drummer Darrell Smith hits a trip-hop beat as the group make their way through Big Celebrity and its sarcastic John Waters-esque allusions.

“We’re coming to the end, not just the end of our time here, but the end of our time at all, really. I’m just a truth sayer,” Bisker relates before Night Owls, another waltz. “Blow out the candle, we see in the dark,” she intones with a quiet defiance over the wash of orchestration. The concert ends with the Anais Nin-inspired anthem What’s My Desire: “She made the unspeakable speakable, and we admire her for that,” Bisker tells everyone.

Months later, the man in the long black coat reaches to his Macbook and types in Sweet Soubrette’s webpage. What might they be up to? As it turns out, Bisker is busy this month. Sweet Soubrette are at Rock Shop on January 14 at 10 PM for a $10 cover, with hauntingly anthemic folk noir/janglerock bandleader Jessie Kilguss opening the night at 8. Kotorino, to which Bisker lends her torchy harmonies, are at Barbes the previous night, the 13th, at 8. And her murderously entertaining parlor-pop murder ballad duo Charming Disaster, with Kotorino’s Jeff Morris are at Pete’s on the 9th, also at 8.

Clicking on the Sweet Soubrette music page, the man in the long black coat does a doubletake. That concert at Joe’s Pub was recorded and has been released as a live album, a name-your-price download at bandcamp! So much for not having enough memory in the recorder back in September! And the band also have a new single, Take It Easy, an ironically uneasy parlor-pop number.

Another Haunting Knockout From Marianne Dissard

Marianne Dissard is one of this era’s great cult artists. Known as a connoisseur of desert rock, she’s equally adept at new wave, but doesn’t limit herself to those two genres. Born in France, she relocated to Tucson in her teens and quickly laid the foundation for longstanding collaborations with Giant Sand and Sergio Mendoza, resulting not only in unimpeachable cred but also a deep and distinctive body of work. Perhaps ironically, for someone so tireless and endowed with so much joie de vivre, the pixieish, charismatic contralto singer’s best album to date is her most somber. Years of relentless touring eventually took their toll, and in 2013, Dissard basically crashed. The result was The Cat. Not Me, a majestically orchestrated art-rock masterpiece that, as a portrait of complete emotional depletion, ranks with anything Leonard Cohen or Ian Curtis ever wrote.

One considerably more upbeat constant throughout those years of touring has been that Dissard has always documented the various bands she’s played with. Not with live albums, but by taking whoever she had on the road with her into the studio in various cities throughout Europe, as the schedule would allow, to knock out a quick, tight snapshot of wherever her music happened to be at the moment. Her latest release in that series, available in a neat hybrid vinyl/cd format streaming at Bandcamp, is Cologne Vier Takes, an intimate, stripped-down trio set with Yan Péchin on guitars and Allyson Ezell on backing vocals, recorded in a single whirlwind afternoon between gigs earlier this year..

The opening track, Oiseau (Bird), is devastating – literally. Dissard intones her loaded images of the hapless creature hitting the window and then collapsing with a wounded understatement that permeates the quieter material from this session. Underneath, Péchin builds a richly textured web of electric and acoustic guitars, like the early Velvets if they’d been more elegant and raised on the Arizona/Mexico border. The gospel-fueled trip-hop original on The Cat. Not Me was good, but this is far more harrowing. Dissard and Péchin work the same dynamic, a little louder, on the defiant, sarcastically titled Mouton Bercail (Domestic Sheep).

Likewise, Les Confettis gets transformed from bouncy post-Blonde on Blonde Dylan into broodingly swaying, lushly echoey folk-rock, finally rising to a burning guitar crescendo after Dissard has chronicled every shard of torn paper: death by a thousand twisted little heartbreaks. The version of Les Draps Sourds (The Drunken Sheets) is Dissard at her surrealistic best, the deep-space menace of the guitar in contrast with her wry account of the kind of interruptions lovers sometimes have to deal with at the least opportune moment.

Tortured, distorted guitar underpins Dissard’s similarly tormented lyrics on the take of Election here. It has the presence of a full band, even with just the one instrument and Dissard’s typical vocal understatement – she’s as brilliant a singer as she is a lyricist, in this case in French, although she also writes fluently in English and German. The album ends with the whisperingly venomous kiss-off ballad Cayenne, another rapt blend of vocal and guitar nuance. There’s no other short album released this year that can compare with this.

Not to distract you from appreciating this album, but there’s also a free download of Dissard playing a similarly intimate trio show live on WFMU in 2009, up as a free download at the Free Music Archive, that you should grab immediately: as of today, over 3500 people have already beaten you to it. Dissard also promises a lavishly packaged best-of compilation in 2016, and hopefully a full-length memoir as well.

Comic Relief at the Expense of the Goths…If There Are Any Left

This is just too funny to leave sitting on the hard drive. Drop whatever you’re doing and grab a free download of Raleigh rocker Scott Phillips a.k.a. the Monologue Bombs‘ single Eighties Night. Hardly ever does a spoof this cruelly spot-on come over the transom here: cheesy fake Beethoven, Trenchcoat Mafia faux-angst and a perfect snapshot of what we had to endure at certain venues until the goth thing timed out and was supplanted by emo. The b-side sounds like Mellencamp at his darkest, but with keys instead of guitars. The Monologue Bombs open a good twinbill on December 29 at 6 (six) PM at Freddy’s, followed at 7:30 by iconic noir chanteuse Bliss Blood ‘s creepy torch song project with similarly dark flamenco-jazz/noir guitarist Al Street.

Two of New York’s Best Psychedelic Acts and an Indie Stalwart at Cake Shop on the 13th

The headliner of the triplebill this Sunday night, Sept 13 at Cake Shop will most likely draw an older, 90s indie crowd. Hamish Kilgour, who plays at 11, is best known for his work with aptly named New Zealand indie rockers the Clean, whose coolly nebulous sonics influenced a ton of bands back in the day. But that crowd will be balanced, demographically at least, by the two acts who open the night. Ember Schrag, who began her career as a “great plains gothic” tour warrior in the late zeros, has gone deeper and deeper into psychedelia lately: her shows this year with her band have been transcendent. She kicks off the evening at 9 in a rare duo acoustic show with her similarly superb lead guitarist, Bob Bannister. Then she’s leaving Monday morning to go on tour as the organist for another dark psychedelic outfit, the Balkan-infused Alec K Redfearn & the Eyesores.

Schrag’s latest album, a live recording and free download in the Folkadelphia Sessions series, offers a look at what Schrag does with a band: it capturs them at the peak of their subtle powers. The opening track, Lady M sets the stage, the guitar interweave between Schrag and Bannister so tight that it seems like a single, otherworldly, rippling twelve-stirng – until he cuts loose with a wry Tex-Mex-flavored solo. Meanwhile, Susan Alcorn’s pedal steel soars elegantly in the background. Schrag has a Macbeth fixation: the chorus of “your children will be kings” cuts both ways, in true Shakespearean fashion.

Iowa, an older song, has been a live showstopper lately, a slowly swaying ballad heavy as stormclouds over the Midwest. Schrag takes a series of three metaphorically-charged roadside images, weaves them into one of the most menacing, apocalyptic songs released this year, and sings the hell out of it. Schrag has a thing for taking biblical imagery and turning it inside out, and this is a prime example.

Virgin in the Shadow of My Shoe packs the iconoclastic wallop of PiL’s Religion, but a thousand times more subtly, with its spiky, psychedelic sway. The final cut, The Real Penelope, works a misty, opaque groove fueled by drummer Gary Foster’s masterful malletwork: it’s the most hypnotic and enigmatic track here, capped off with a slowly spiraling, acid-wah Bannister solo. You’ll see this album on the best albums of 2015 page here at the end of the year if we all last that long.

Another album that’ll be on that page is the latest release from the 10 PM act,  Goddess – the full review is here. It was also great fun to catch the band play a rare house concert in south Brooklyn a couple of months back.That phantasmatorical, tragicomic psychedelic suite opened with singer Fran Pado soaring over a a mashup of jangly Laurel Canyon psychedelia and Abbey Road Beatles, introducing the tale of “Grinny,” a witchy figure who takes over a New Jersey family, who then struggle to break free of the evil spell that paralyzes them.

As the tale unwound, Andy Newman’s enveloping, shapeshifting keyboard textures took centerstage, then receded, then returned, in an early Genesis vein. An eerily twinkling, strummy folk-rock number followed: “Grinny was great on Halloween,” Pado revealed as the mellotron oscillated in the background. The band took a twisted bit of neo-plainchant and made a mantra-like groove out of it as Newman let his flute settings resonate above while the narrative grew grimmer. After a bit of a waltz, a spacious, minimalist intro grew slowly into a march, with hauntingly echoey vocal counterpart between Pado and one-string violinist Tamalyn Miler, who then took the creepiest solo of the night as the song built to a horrified peak. The band worked that suspensefully lustrous/macabre dynamic for the rest of the show, capped off by Miller’s shivery glissandos: it wouldn’t be fair to give away the ending.

Goddess will also be on WFMU at midnight on 9/15, joined by Bannister, Leah Coloff, and Peter Zummo, who will also be part of the festivities at the Cake Shop gig. Cover is $10.

A Deliciously Noisy New Free Download and Some Brooklyn Shows from Parlor Walls

Guitarist/singer Alyse Lamb is best known for her work leading Eula, who’ve generated a ton of buzz over the past year, and deservedly so. But she has another project, Parlor Walls, with her partner Chris Mulligan. How do the two bands compare? Lamb is equally adept at noise and melody, and has a very distinctive sound: generally speaking, Parlor Walls is less minimalist and tends to be more straight-ahead, rhythmically speaking. You could pigeonhole both bands as postpunk or noiserock, but they transcend both labels. Parlor Walls have a debut ep up at Bandcamp as a free download and have been playing a lot this month. On Wednesday, June 10 they’ll be at Alphaville, 140 Wilson Ave (Snydam/Willoughby) in Bushwick, take the M to Central Ave. On June 25 they’ll be at Cake Shop at 11 for $8. And Eula will be at Palisades on June 13 at 8 for $15 followed by what looks like a big gay meat market night.

What does the Parlor Walls album sound like? About eleven minutes of corrosive fun. The guitars distort into the red and crack up, or throw off jagged metal shards of reverb. Creepy organ lingers back in the mix like a stalker, set against an  explosively tight beat. Mississippi, the opening track, hints at an industrial/drone vibe before hitting a punchy, bristling, tastily chromatic My Sharona groove. Lamb’s high, insistent vocals on Bon Nuit could imply seduction, violence or both over a menacing major-on-minor guitar/organ backdrop that goes completely off the edge at the end of the verse.

Cover Me, with its skronk and fuzz and feedback, is probably the closest thing to Eula here. The final cut is Seeds, conjuring up Sister-era SY in about 100 seconds of stomp. Fire up the wifi and grab this tasty slice of the good side of Brooklyn, 2015, while it’s here.

Madam West Bring Their Psychedelic Soul to Palisades: Not an April Fool Joke

Isn’t it cool when a band actually know themselves well enough to tell you what they do? You’d think that more artists would be able to do that…but a lot of times they don’t. Madam West call themselves psychedelic soul and that’s what they are. That, and danceable, and fun. On their new four-track ep, Not Pictured – a name-your-price download at Bandcamp – the group comprises singer/uke player Sophie Chernin, keyboardist Todd Martino and dummer Mike McDearmon. They’ve expanded to a five-piece for their 9:15 PM Palisades show in Bushwick on April 1 (no joke) and they sound like they bring the party live.

The album’s first track, Darlin’ has a funny video that’s sort of a Fatal Attraction spoof. The song is a vampy, bouncy thing where Chernin finally decides to take off and head for the sky about halfway through. The next song, Home starts out as a uke waltz, but then McDearmon adds a funk groove underneath. And why not – there’s such a thing as a jazz waltz, why not a funk waltz? The music-box synth tones are an unexpectedly cool touch too.

In her more stressed moments, Chernin takes on a bluesy, imploring tone that reminds of Jolie Holland. She stays closer to the ground throughout most of The End, a steady, resonant latin soul groove with some playful synth squiggles and blips. The last track is October, which fools you into thinking it’ll be a brooding waltz before Chernin’s vocal leaps and Martino’s judiciously hard-hitting chords take it in a more kinetic direction. Promising debut; hopefully more to come. More bands should be doing stuff like this: it’s fun and catchy without being bland, and you can dance to it.

Real NYC Punk Rock and a Grand Victory Show on Saturday by Scrapers

Scrapers play real punk rock. Not emo posing as punk rock. Not phony circus rock with loud guitars. Their album Dark Places – a free download at Bandcamp – is the kind of stuff you would have heard at the top of a good bill at CBGB around 1981. They’re playing Grand Victory at two in the afternoon on March 7 to kick off what’s more or less a hardcore matinee there; cover is ten bucks.

It’s a good bet they’ll be playing more than what’s on the album, considering that it’s about fifteen minutes long. By the time it’s over, if classic punk is your thing, you’re left wishing it was twice as long. And nobody would be complaining if the songs went on longer: most of them max out at less than two minutes. If anybody understands the concept about always leaving audiences wahting more, it’s these guys. Bee Wiseman fronts the band; Brian Darwas, formerly of Roger Miret & the Disasters, plays bass; Sol Keller and Dodi Wiemuth are the rest of the crew. The first track on the album seems to be sort of a theme song: these guys are just managing to scrape by, the guitars screaming over a practically oi-punk scramble: “You wanna see a dead body?” Wiseman leers at the end.

Gravity is a catchy number: it’s got those muted downstrokes and then big scorching chords and the hint of a big solo. And then it’s over. White Boys is half noisy intro and half murderous oldschool punk menace. Forget the catchy intro: Kids Will Kill has the same kind of head-on assault, the kind that makes you wonder whether you should highfive the band after the show or leave them the hell alone.

Bad Blood is over in less than a minute, a blast of searing chromatic fury like the album’s runaway express-train title cut. Shot Out has a few bass rumbles seeping out from under the pitchblende attack. Missing Person could be the Avengers with one of the guys out in front of the band; the album winds up with World War 4, a minute four seconds of what could be vintage X as played by the Ramones. This band is tight as a drum of toxic waste, loud as hell, and catchier than they probably want to admit. So many bands make complete fools of themselves trying to sound dark and desperate: these guys sound like they can’t help it. Get the album, blast it in your headphones and remember how it feels to be totally alive if not necessarily happy about it.

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 211 other followers