
PLEASURE LEFTISTS
S/T
Fan Death Records |
I can usually get behind the whole postpunk-angular-guitars-with-androgynous-singing thing, so I was open to the idea of some kids in Ohio giving it a shot. But—hold on—I’m also detecting a strong melodic undercurrent of midperiod Hüsker Dü, and the girl singer’s yelps and cries leave Siouxsie scrambling for answers. I almost want to blast this from a boom box as I roll down to the Lady Foot Locker parking lot and smoke cloves in my Nana’s Buick. Rest in peace, Nana.
STEVE KERR |
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BLOODHUFF
S/T
Price Tapes\ |
The best part about this way-too-short tape is that once you listen to it 5 million times—which you will—you’ll find yourself sweetly singing the word “raper” in the grocery store and other public spaces frequented by people’s moms, thanks to the sing-alongable gem “Raper Charlie.” Let this cassette seed your heart and make you fall in love with fun all over again.
KELLY MCCLURE |
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ORGANS
Get It Right 7"
Killer Diller |
An amazingly weird 7-inch that comes with a flexi, this record is mostly good old-fashioned nostalgia rock. Then there’s this song “Get It Right,” which is a piano ballad where the key hammering gets more intense as the song’s lyrics tell the story of a Murry Wilson-Brian Wilson relationship with a father who would hit him and scream “Get it right! Get it right!” as he practiced piano until his fingers bled. I guess those memories turned out good for something.
ANAL SUNSHINE |
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SUPERSONIC PISS
Umbilical Noose
Rotted Tooth Records |
Proving Iowa has more to offer than corn and gay marriage, a lady singer and pack of degenerate scummy scum-scums blast through 20 minutes of “songs” about important stuff like getting drunk and getting really, really drunk. They even manage to squeeze in not one but TWO Teenage Jesus covers. Go see them at whatever godforsaken “art punk” space your buddy calls his basement.
BILL WENNINGTON |
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FUCKED UP
David Comes to Life
Matador |
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BLACK LIPS
Arabia Mountain
Vice |
I don’t care that we’re putting this out, “conflicts of interest” are for lawyers and lazy bloggers with pill problems. This album is the cat’s ass. The songy-songs belong in the 21st-century version of Harry Smith’s Anthology of American Folk Music and the rockin’-out numbers belong in my head all day while I get shit done with maximum prejudice (I typed that last part so hard it loosened a key). There’s even a song that partakes of the D-A-G golden ratio of chord progressions, joining the pantheon of ELO’s “Do Ya,” Sweet’s “Fox on the Run,” and that Subway Sect song that sounds like that Pete Townshend song. This is everything that’s good about Atlanta in summertime, which is everything that’s good about everything anywhere always.
BABY BALLS |
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THEE OOPS
Taste of Zimbabwe
Slovenly
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Bazooka Joe won’t stop fucking bugging me about reviewing this fucking record. Every day it’s, “Did you review Thee Oops record?” and “When are you going to review Thee Oops record?” Here’s my review: It’s fast, blown-out hardcore with a lot of treble and not much bass. There’s a nice Minor Threat cover on here. Now LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!
NICHOLAS GAZIN |
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TY SEGALL
Goodbye Bread
Drag City |
Ty Segall’s last album, Melted, was a real epic destroyer. Each song was a banging, clanging hit. In between then and now he released an EP of T-Rex covers, and it seems like he’s still in T-Rex mode, making slow songs that are a little smoother and slower. There’s one song that goes, “She. Says. She. Wants. To. Buy. A. Couch... I said why do we have to. Buy. A. Couch.” This is no party record, but it is a good one for rockers who feel sleepy.
KATEY LIVINGSTON SEGALL |
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MAKING FRIENDZ
Social Life
Last Bummer Records |
Tami Hart, bassist for MEN and haver of many projects, makes some of the best dancey punk music keyboards can fry. On Social Life, Tami unleashes some beastly fur on the spry cordage of her bass, belching around cheap drum machines and toothy microKORGs. The second track, “Luv Cruizin,” with its refrain, “All your records sound the same to me,” is the perfect anthem for this very reviews column.
ALEX DUNBAR |
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