Rettsounds - Giddy as a Titmouse

First on the block this time ‘round is the domestic re-do of a two-song seven inch by Melbourne’s Mad Nanna. Since this thing was originally released earlier this year to a mostly OZ audience, Brock over at the newly founded Little Big Chief imprint in Virginia decided to press up an extra 300 to get the word out to us grizzled chunkers here in the States. And thank Ted Knight he did, because it’s a real enjoyable lil' head scratcher. Both sides of this come off pretty creepy, creaky, and extremely foggy—sorta like Bruce Cole after too much Old Style and Dragnet re-runs, or if Paris 1942 practiced in a garage while Pops Bishop left his ’52 Plymouth idling steadily. Are those references too ‘inside’ for you? Then buy this record and let it open up a whole new world of man child nerdisms for you and your family. Oh, by the way, Little Big Chief has been doing a great service by distributing some limited present day Aussie jams in the US, so when you order the Mad Nanna, lay down some extra dough for some other shit you might have read about here. Thanks…

The demo from Boston’s

Puppy Mill has made me happy more than a few times since it has come into my possession. The closest contempo connection I can make is with Rettsounds favorites Brain Flannel, although Puppy Mill isn’t as dingy and soot-caked as those folks. The one connection I am certain of in my damaged little mind is that the folks behind both bands are maniac punk single collectors, since both seem to mine a lot of scorch from the Dangerhouse and Raw Records catalog. And check these dudes' and dudettes' cover of the obscure “Automobile" by the Twink Adler fronted ’77 punk band The Rings. If that shit don’t scream "NERD ALERT!" I don’t know what does.

And let’s keep kickin’ and stickin’ in Boston since the Beantown-based Ride the Snake label was awesome enough to send a big, juicy package of their goods. My fave seven inches out of the satchel were by local heroes The Black Clouds and Cuffs. The four songer by The Black Clouds sounds like the loser stomp of early Cheater Slicks with a little more choogle in its stride, while the Cuffs 45 makes me wanna reference the majesty of The Monochrome Set without wincing at all; quite a feat. Oh yeah, somewhere in the box was the second full length by Tasmania’s pride and joy, The Native Cats, entitled Process Praise, and it keeps the script going from their previous releases by sounding like nothing more than a lost minimal robot rock classic. Is your copy of Colossal Youth looking run down? Jam this and give it a rest, why dontcha?

Many a youngster I’ve invited over for candy and secrets seemed real excited about the release of North Carolina’s Whatever Brains debut LP, so I thought I’d purchase a copy just so’s they’d be entertained next time they come by. I guess I got more than I bargained for, because I’m jamming this record a lot when it’s just me and the malamars and the kids are nowhere in sight. Armed with just a rusty pair of scissors and a jar full of spit, the band joyously set out on the fucked up terrain of a full length and returned with a wondrous heap of sight and sound that brings in everything from Hardcore Devo, The Fall’s Grotesque and that weirdo snippets of thoughts/sounds aesthetic that permeated through the finer releases from the Gravity label in the early 90s. Are these kids onto something? Pick up the LP from Sorry State and then tell me. Go ahead… tell me, fucker.

One thing that came in the mail recently that had me giddy as a titmouse was the first issue of Incremental Decrepitude, a new zine produced by Dave Zukauskas, the man behind such boss ass fanzines as Run It! in the 80s and Brushback in the 90s. Currently, Dave mans the One Base On A Overthrow blog. Dave has been one of my favorite music writers since I was a snot-nosed little asshole, so it gets me very excited to see him still plugging away with the same sharp ass wit he had way back when I used to wear Life’s A Beach apparel and scrawl "Raygun Yoof" on school desks. This debut issue has interviews with Estrogen Highs and Dead Uncles, funny show and record reviews, and way too much enthusiasm for bands playing in basements from a man who should really know better. Thank God he don’t. Paypal one dollar to rock_in_my_shoe@yahoo.com and get schooled.

Another good piece of recent printed matter that found its way near the toilet is issue numero uno of Subject. Featuring interviews with the aforementioned Brian Flannel, London’s sadly departed Shitty Limits, and Buffalo’s Brown Sugar, as well as some record reviews, this upstate New York-based rag is free of frivolity. The perfect read for a quickie poo. Grab one here: TurnUpTuneOut@hotmail.com

Who said Long Island hardcore was dead? Certainly not me! Never! In all honesty, though, my knowledge of anything remotely punk rock from around where I currently dwell probably starts and ends with Insanity Defense and Satan’s Cheerleaders. So I’m no judge. But I just got a demo by a group called Brain Slug who claim to be from the island, and it’s making this old man wanna drop the pipe, stomp it to dust, and mosh around like a pube in the wind. It sounds like the second side of C.O.C’s Animosity, with a whole bunch of classic NYHC moves chucked in for your subconscious to stomp skulls to. Would I leave the house and stand up front in some shit hole in Brooklyn around a bunch of smelly, sweaty retards to witness them live? You know I would… but I just took all this Colon Cleanse and you know how that goes. For now the demo will have to tide me over. Pick one up here: hardcorebrainslug@gmail.com

And last but sure as shit not least, check out this video for "Stupid Shit." It's the best song from Separation Anxiety, one of the best records of the year by one of the best new bands of the summer, Divorced. This record has brought much joy to my cottage many a sticky night this summer, and this vid just proves these are the kind of kids you’d love to huff Freon with if you had the chance. If you haven’t picked the record up yet, do so here and leave me to rest.

TONY RETTMAN