Maria Bertel & Nina Garcia Knækket Smil LP (Kraak)
No, the garbage truck outside your apartment hasn’t tumbled into an open lava flow, that’s just me blasting this incredible new guitar/trombone improv record a little too loud! Nina Garcia is on guitar and Maria Bertel is on the trombone, and it’s a filthy, chunky set of unapproachable post-no-wave noise-improv of the finest caliber. Nina Garcia makes her guitar swallow its own tongue, in proximity to Mark Morgan’s early work in Sightings, Arto Lindsay’s work with DNA and Gary Smith’s concrete-mixer guitar-tone in Aufgehoben. Maria Bertel’s trombone is the highlight, though, as it sounds absolutely nothing like any trombone I’ve ever heard before. It scrapes, glugs and churns, calling to mind things that don’t exist, like violent balloons or molasses-powered engines. While each of these eight tracks are immediate room-clearers, the one or two people left behind might pick up on the variety of motifs and sensations rendered by these two – I find the title track particularly appealing, sounding like two monster trucks with dead batteries arguing with each other over who’s at fault. As I’m blasting it this very moment, a car alarm just started blaring outside my window, and I can’t help but assume it felt compelled to join the grotesque cacophony of these two fearsome players.

Cartoon Nyuck Nyuck Boing! LP (Human Headstone Presents)
It feels like I’m going to have to dispel some of the pre-conceived notions one might have about a band called Cartoon and their Nyuck Nyuck Boing! album. They packed a lot of youthful silliness in there, but the music they’re making, while playful and prone to bouts of high-spirited mania, is no joke, not even a funny one. Featuring the inspired drumming of Carnivorous Bells’s Leo Suarez, Cartoon combine elements of post-punk, jazz-fusion and avant-rock in a way that manages to avoid feeling stuffy or pompous. Okay, maybe the whole name thing helps diffuse any accusations of pretentiousness, but the music is way too much fun for the level of musicianship on display no matter if they went by a stuffy, academic list of their last names instead of “Cartoon”. These songs are firmly orchestrated but explode within their confines, each player getting a chance to express themselves with flair. I don’t want to mention Frank Zappa in this review (though I realize I just did): think more of the invigorating physicality of Laddio Bolocko applied to the virtuosic compositions of Mahavishnu Orchestra, but crafted by guys who show up in their work clothes to the dumpy practice space where they rehearse, inspired by whatever kraut-rock and mid-’80s SST releases they were able to find for under twenty bucks at the Philadelphia Record Exchange.

Chimes Of Bayonets Replicator LP (Peterwalkee)
The packaging for Replicator is artsy and probably a pain to put together, as the standard LP jacket is surrounded by a screened plastic sleeve, sealed in traditional ’90s emo fashion with an actual postage stamp. It hearkens to a time when putting out your record was more or less the dominant form of communication available towards the rest of the hardcore scene, so you gave it your all, the opposite of today’s hermetic design (you’d be surprised at how many albums come through here with absolutely zero words on the covers or sleeves, knowing fully well they’ll only ever be purchased on Bandcamp). Anyway, good for Chimes Of Bayonets for caring about what they’re doing, though the music they’re offering up here doesn’t elevate the twisty, stop-start form of ’90s post-hardcore emo so much as simply keeping it going. That’s not to say it’s bad – had Chimes Of Bayonets earned a spot on an Ebullition or Revelation compilation in 1996, I’d have heartily enjoyed it – but nothing particularly new or noteworthy is being brought with the form, even if some of the jagged rock riffs recall The Party Of Helicopters (one of my personal faves). Like most styles of rock music, often the singer can carry (or sink) the group, and the vocals here are just kind of there, an appropriate post-Fugazi shout-sing that neither offends nor grabs the ear. Seems like they’re a dedicated group, clearly passionate about their band, so maybe that passion is already translating to their live performance, or will result in more interesting sonic territory on their next recording.

Choncy 20X Multiplier LP (Feel It)
Go on, try to be a cool punk band in Cincinnati and not receive the support and engagement of Feel It Records – you cannot! Choncy are a young band, both in physical appearance and length of their existence, and they utilize the energy that exists solely within actual youth well here on their second album (and first on vinyl), 20X Multiplier. From the guitar tone, raw-ish recording and vocal production, the sound of these songs could easily be classified as garage with an egg-punk twist, but the manner in which they belt them out can only be associated with hardcore. It’s a satisfying combination! “Parked In” flails like METZ in full-body spasm, for example, though I prefer when they keep the energy high and temper it with some form of melodic hook. The homemade video for “Dead Meat” is charming, vocalist Liam Shaw and his bandmates shouting into their iPhones, yelling at their bosses or landlords or random rich jerks (sadly, no lyric insert is provided so the exact aim of their ire remains a mystery); I can’t imagine they’re all still standing upright after blasting through the infectious punk tantrum of “Cover Letter”. “Jacked” might be my overall favorite cut on the album though, with the catchiest (and dumbest) sing-along chorus, more fantastic, inspired drumming and that same tippy-toe energy that characterizes this fine vinyl slab.

Cindy Standard Candle Demos LP (Sloth Mate)
For the first few weeks I possessed this record, I assumed the group was called Standard Candle… perhaps I can be forgiven for such an error, since the band name Cindy is nowhere to be found anywhere on the vinyl or sleeve. I guess you’re just expected to have internet access these days and figure it out, huh?? Anyway, this is Cindy, one of the preeminent Bay Area lo-fi guitar-pop groups, also one of the few that I haven’t previously heard. I’m guessing this demos collection isn’t the place to start, as it consists solely of soft, foggy vocals and room-echoed guitar, though I understand Cindy to be a traditional rock band usually consisting of four (or more?) members. These songs really do come across like blurry sketches, pencil-on-pad songs whose forms are basic and ready to be rendered in full-color by a group of musicians, too slight to make me feel much of anything in any direction. I find myself thinking about those dainty Green Day demos from before they recorded Dookie, though I have the benefit of recognizing the final appearance of those, and it could just be the Bay Area connection putting them together in my mind. I’m sure there are some eager completists and lo-fi pop diehards eager to hear the Standard Candle Demos, and well, I’m happy to give you this copy if we are hanging out together anytime soon.

Collateral We Still Know 7″ (Scheme / Fortress)
How long has it been since we’ve had some Florida hardcore in these pages? Collateral are young and scrappy and proudly advertise themselves as from “Broward County”, the sort of thing that might mean a lot to their fellow Floridians but probably not many others. Which is cool! I love when hardcore bands keep a fiercely local scope, which is probably a product of being fresh out of childhood, where it feels like an adventure to drive to a Wendy’s two towns over. I remember that feeling, and I remember the excitement that Collateral are thriving in with this feisty five-song EP. They’re firmly in the capital-H hardcore camp, those legions of unranked Hate5Six bands vying for an opening fest slot, but rather than appeal to the basest of beatdown dummies, Collateral mostly just rip. The first Madball EP seems to factor heavily into their sound, Raw Deal and Underdog too, though they are surely as likely to be inspired by their peers who are also inspired by those seminal NYHC acts as the OGs. I appreciate that the songs are short and more fast than mosh, though there are plenty of moments appropriate for imprinting the sole of your Nikes onto your best friend’s face. EP closer “Play To Win” is a fun one, offering an appealing requisite breakdown with the lines “turn that shit out” and “get off your ass” ruthlessly delivered. The vocalist has kind of a schoolyard-bully vibe the whole time too, though one respective of your preferred pronouns. As Rick Ta Life plainly stated some many years ago: hardcore rules!

The Conformists Midwestless LP (Computer Students)
St. Louis’s The Conformists get the deluxe Computer Students treatment – gatefold sleeve, poster, glossy promo picture, probably a sticker or something else, all tucked into the chemtrail-proofed aluminum foil outer bag, which can be repurposed to keep a dozen Pringles fresh (you just have to lay them side by side in rows, rather than stack them). Like the rest of the Computer Students roster, The Conformists are gleefully mathematic in their post-hardcore, post-emo, post-noise presentation. I’ll give you one guess which famous poker player recorded the album! Operating with a bare-bones guitar/bass/drums lineup, their riffs and patterns follow their own secret morse code, never audacious or glitzy, always technical and tricky. Overall it’s pleasantly subdued, particularly in a genre stuffed with groups that love to force you to witness how crazy they are. Vocals appear as well, often more as a character in the play that is “The Conformists” than as a typical singer, which of course works well considering there’s no easily natural vocal rhythm that could be applied to these tunes. Whereas the Drose and Cheval De Frise albums released by Computer Students really push the Slint- and Shellac-oriented math-rock form to new and unexpected ends, Midwestless is perhaps more typical genre fare, if perhaps more calmly repetitive and introverted. No matter what, they must love playing this stuff, because the idea of rehearsing these songs until they’re tight and not loving the hell out of it is absolutely crazy.

Mike Cooper & Pierre Bastien Aquapelagos Vol. 2 Indico LP (Keroxen)
Following their initial 2022 encounter, here’s the second volume of the Aquapelagos series from renowned British psych-exotica guitarist Mike Cooper and French multi-instrumentalist prankster Pierre Bastien. That’s over one hundred and fifty years of combined life experience coming into play here! They really show the kids (aka anyone under sixty) how it’s done here on these four loopy, soupy tracks. Cooper’s guitar is especially refracted, elasticated and pretzeled here, a guitar by name only. It makes plenty of room for Bastien’s tropicalia-industrial mechanical processes, with extensively affected trumpet, his “musical robots” and whatever-else, resulting in humid sound-baths, organic murmuring and the sort of naturally sinister vibe one encounters having washed up on a jungle shore. What a great atmosphere for Cooper to set up his little hammock in, twisting his twangy guitar into little letters in bottles and casting them out into the deep. I feel like Wolf Eyes may have ventured into something similar to this not too long ago in one of their less aggressive forays into paranoid psychedelia, though by the time a choir of riotous thumb-pianos are deployed in opener “Return To Chagos”, it’s clear that this fascinating sonic territory can be claimed by Cooper and Bastien alone.

Jordan Darby Through The Intercession LP (Hissing Objects)
Jordan Darby goes on my short-list of punks who followed their unique musical journeys with such resolute determination that I can’t help but blush when I think about my own interest in “selling records” or what have you. You might remember him from the scattershot weiro-core of Dry Rot, or the dazzlingly unpredictable post-hardcore of Uranium Orchard – on his own here, he offers an advanced acoustic-guitar performance alongside tunefully sung vocals. His playing is dextrous and limber, so even at his most restless the songs are fluid and precise. His vocals are direct, a well-enunciated tenor with lyrics that are nearly hymnal and unabashedly spiritual. Robbie Basho meets Pedro The Lion? Darby gets into the weeds of his morality and digs around from start to finish, trying to find some purpose or understanding, presumably with some sort of Christian background acting as the guiding beacon. It’s a little cryptic, of course, but the religiousness of these songs is hard to deny, even for a lapsed Satan-worshipper like me. It’s a captivating package, with such a bold intent and delivery that all these bands who sing about nothing and have no purpose besides sounding like a specific genre should feel at least a little embarrassed. The back cover photo might be the most clever guitarist portrait I’ve seen in forever, but I don’t want to spoil it – I think he’s actually giving these albums away rather than selling them (I told you, he’s one of a kind), so go, uhh, ask him for one?

Deep Heavy Fear Doorway 12″ (no label)
The debut Deep Heavy Fear single hit me like a ton of tulips, a funky-cool post-disco act from Berlin who released their hook-laden record themselves (and charged a surprisingly low price, ingratiating themselves even further to a thrifty guy like me). Cool to see they’re at it once more, again using all twelve inches of vinyl for roughly eight minutes of music, again in a handsomely silkscreened (and painted!) chipboard sleeve. “Doorway” immediately gives me visions of Washed Out: a hiccuping drum machine breaks out over sweet-n-sour synths and a male vocal sings a melody somewhere between indie-pop and R&B. It’s like the music that plays over TikTok videos that tour luxury AirBNBs, only much cooler, and made by real people. “Cherries” opens on kind of a Blue Nile tip, with an adult-oriented bass-line and guitars that linger like the steam of the night, thought the vocals remain passive and indie-soft. Kinda wish they’d have found a dashing Berliner to bust out their best Bryan Ferry impression over this formalwear groove, but alas. Cool tunes, although neither surpasses the unexpected quality of their debut, which remains a discount steal on the secondary market. Score one now and thank the poor taste of the masses for the bargain!

Exit Hippies Niu LP (SPHC)
At some point I was tempted to change the name of this website to Exit Hippies Fan Club Zone, and while alienating anyone who isn’t an Exit Hippies fan is fine by me, it was simply too much work to put into practice. Thankfully there’s a new album from this essential Japanese noise-core / acid-techno entourage, or should I say Niu album, offering a beautifully dusky color palate on the cover in blatant Neu! homage. If you aren’t already familiar, you’ve got a lot of catching up to do, as this unhinged group likes to pair the most ear-piercing of lo-fi crust-noise with mind-melting acid-trance techno, occasionally even combining the two for particularly unstable results. This time around, however, Exit Hippies eschew the boiling d-beat drums and screeching guitars entirely. You get thirteen tracks of smudgy techno, full of plagiarized loops and far-out echoey effects. They borrow or “remix” obvious Crystal Waters and Geto Boys cuts amidst their own authentic 3:00 AM techno, fully divorced from even the slightest sonic semblance to Disclose. Punks may be disappointed, but it’s a diverse and compellingly odd set of short techno cuts for the modern raver. I don’t think anyone else has tried to emulate this aesthetic, but even if some brave soul did, there could only ever be one Exit Hippies.

Flower Festival Age LP (Moone / Anxiety Blanket)
Clearly there’s no mosh potential in an artist that goes by “Flower Festival”, but it leaves open the possibility of blissfully swaying in place, arms softly flapping as if guided by invisible waves. It seems that Flower Festival has released a couple small nuggets before – two tapes in editions that total a scant forty-five copies worldwide – and Age is the formal introduction. I appreciate any artist that opts for a lengthy gestation period, taking the time to locate their authentic selves before blasting their social-media feeds with whatever they just did, and it seems that Flower Festival is finally ready to share their gleefully hazy alt-pop with the world. It’s psychedelic in a very “indie” way, with high-pitched vocals, groovy runs on the bass-guitar, simple drumming and continuous effects. Gives me vibes of a pre-cancelled Ariel Pink, a coke-boogerless King Tuff happily gliding on a mushroom trip, or if Animal Collective were a local hippie band in Portland, ME who never got the attention of anyone besides their close friends. No bad or heavy times here, just the pleasant sensation of strolling through a flower festival and taking in the colorful sights and smells.

Grazia In Poor Taste 7″ (Feel It)
Some punk bands lead with distortion or aggression, but new London duo Grazia enters the room personality-first. It’s driven by vocalist Heather Dunlop, who brings the trashy camp as though she were John Waters’ precocious British niece. Fetish-wear and condiment stains commingle in opener “Cheap”, which establishes Grazia’s basic parameters: anyone-can-do-it guitar chords, beach-party bass and disinterested vocals, all played at comfortable (or downright lackadaisical) speeds. Let the toxically-masculine boys compete in the louder faster harder department – Grazia are out here reading old fashion mags and eating fast food while their boyfriends paint their toenails (even if said boyfriend is the other half of the band). There’s a history of cool femme British punk like this, of course, most recently calling to mind the late great Primetime, although Grazia are gentler and notably less sweaty, for better or worse. “Stupid Paradise” revels in the group’s own ignorance, and while I’m not convinced the self-lobotomy route they celebrate is the right choice for me, I have been chewing gum with my mouth open more after listening to it.

Joker Juggernaut / S Wave 12″ (Kapsize)
Been about six years since we last heard from Bristol’s Joker (which equates to roughly six hundred years in the world of techno music), but I always found the laidback bounce of his dubstep (and post-dubstep) to be charmingly and cool. He even self-defined his particular genre of music as “purple”, which is oddly spot-on. Listening to his big-room bass-heavy swing, my brain makes the disparate connections between Prince’s wardrobe, Southern rap with codeine in the cup, and this Bristolian dubstep. “Juggernaut” operates as if it was still 2010, with trap hi-hats, a thuggish melodic lead and brash, bullying horns, recalling the intimidating swagger of Girl Unit’s early singles. “S Wave” is even more juiced up, working some knife-edged synths and below-the-belt bass in a manner that leaves me wanting to lecture my punk friends about the greatness of early Skream and Benga (as they quickly make up excuses as to why they have to go). When the synths cut out and it’s just the aggro strings, kick and snare, it makes me wish I was watching a Victor Wembanyama highlight reel, straight-up pulling the ball out of other people’s hands while flatfooted, so full of braggadocio and toughness is this track. I suppose, in our technologically-advanced world, I could do that right now.

Lès Modernos Ciutats LP (Bruit Direct)
Even by Bruit Direct’s standards, this album from Lès Modernos is a particularly slippery fish. Though formally represented as nine tracks, these two sides of twelve-inch vinyl play out in the form of zonked-out audio collage. Crackly, errant noises turn into loops, skipping CDs bleed into live recordings of the radio, or maybe a band, or maybe a street? It’s a wild mess. When, exactly, is the right moment in one’s life to sit down and listen to such a deliberately maddening hodgepodge of sound is up to each individual, though I can’t imagine it’s a fun listen in the car, or with friends, or in the morning, or while doing the dishes. Maybe late at night when everyone else is asleep and you’re fully sober and want to feel wasted, or vice versa? Imagine Seymour Glass, Mattin and Eric Copeland hard at work trying to impress each other with the most twisted sounds they can find, blended smoothie-style into a dark purple slush even though none of them brought any açai. If there’s any sort of logic to these tracks, it’s lost on me, but you know what? I can go take a community-college algebra class if it’s logic I’m after. Lès Modernos pick at the scabs of the profound, and yes, it’s gross.

Lupo Cittá Lupo Cittá LP (12XU)
Guitarist Chris Brokaw pulls the cool move of doing a new band while avoiding any sort of spotlight for it. He’s got nothing to prove and clearly knows it, and just seems like a guy who, given the chance, would play guitar with every other cool person on earth for the next hundred years. Lupo Cittá are Boston-based though well-traveled, and it feels guided by Jenn Gori, who holds down the perverse dual role of drummer and lead vocalist (as well as a full-time job as a, you guessed it, gene-editing research scientist!). Their songs are low-stakes, feel-good garage-indie material, certainly befitting their general age range (older than me), the sorta thing that fans of contemporary Mudhoney and Yo La Tengo albums would also appreciate. For all of Brokaw’s varied musical abilities, he goes easy on us, with classic Fender combo-amp heat and the basic riff formula any rock apprentice should have studied. They’re not here to conquer the world with their rock n’ roll – Lupo Cittá are good-natured and easy to enjoy, as domestic as Coors Light and equally as reliable.

Lysol Down The Street 7″ (Feel It)
I saw Lysol last month and the singer, looking like an undead bondage-doll extra in Suburbia, immediately brained an unsuspecting audience member with a traffic cone, hard. Ouch! It’s not a great way to gain new fans, but Lysol seem content in maintaining an insular punk social network rather than appealing to the masses for approval. They also sounded a lot more first-wave West Coast hardcore-punk than I remembered from prior material, and that style is apparent on this new four-song EP on the righteous Feel It label. These riffs give a mean, unfriendly spin on surf and country in the same way that Dead Kennedys and Adolescents did, with the muscularity of Dead Boys and the snarl of The Cheifs (whose name still sends a chill down my spine any time I type it). All the tunes are tight, though the creepy-crawl of “15MG” might be my favorite, calling to mind visions of Sick Pleasure sneaking into my bedroom at night and cutting me up with their razor-sharp nails. It’s a punk rock nightmare, and Lysol are directing the action.

Memotone Tollard LP (The Trilogy Tapes)
Memotone (aka William Yates) has constructed a fascinating world of sound on Tollard, my first experience with the Bristolian performer. From the size of his discography, I’ve clearly got some catching up to do, especially if previous work is on par with Tollard. He has an omnivorous take on all forms of outsider musics, from folk to drone to avant-garde to noise, which of course is kind of standard practice for most “experimental” artists these days, but it’s the way in which Yates synthesizes these elements that stands out. Really what he does is compose fully-functional songs from his toolkit; sure, some of them push the limit of what you might consider “song”, but it’s there. “Munday’s Pond” feels like if Volcano The Bear were on Thrill Jockey in 1994; opener “The Marionette” winds a clunky metallic gear into a moody noir piece care of smooth-as-silk horns; “Laughing Grass” pulls a banjo from the back of the room only to suffocate it in swirling sunbeam melodies. My brain spins with half-correct call-backs to Gastr Del Sol, Arthur Russell, Graham Lambkin, the moody dub-techno of Sébastien Casanova, Luc Ferrari, that incredible double album by Ippei Matsui & Aki Tsuyuko that was reissued a couple years ago… there’s so much happening here, but none of it feels forced or pastiche for pastiche’s sake. Yates clearly has a vast reservoir of sonic inspiration to draw from, condensed down into a richly rewarding listening experience over and over again. Of all the records this month, I think I’ve listened to Tollard the most!

MPU101 MPU104 LP (Ilian Tape)
You ever get the chance to sit down in front of some fancy synthesizer and maybe program a basic modulation or two, hold down some keys and just soak up the brilliantly warm analog sound? Well, MPU104 is the best possible outcome of that sort of situation, a collection of rich pulses, blissful melodic echoes, celestial chords and even a tasteful form of low-lit dub techno. I sense a kinship with other lonely explorers of the outer-realms of synth music like Black Merlin and TM404 (can’t deny that similar naming convention) in the way that MPU101 will present a sonic motif, be it a twinkling melody or a fuzzy, droning chord, and let it repeat or hover for a few minutes before moving on to the next track. One idea per track, but with the way his ARP sounds (or whatever boutique synths he’s programming), it’s so nice to experience these sounds uncluttered and up front. “TrailerparkBeauty” is a bouquet of shimmering lights; “doepfARP” is eight solid minutes of the same uplifting progression; “BLOCK-1_2AREA666” lands the mothership on a fat analog drone. Beautiful, stately simplicity from Ilian Tape’s most scientific synthesist.

Paradise Next Paradise Next 2xLP (Industry Standards)
Isolation and loneliness are two of the defining traits of our post-Covid era, so it makes sense to see an uptick in not only bedroom-based solo-projects but stoic outlaw troubadours as well. Paradise Next is one such solitary man, Anthony Boruch-Comstock, based out of San Francisco and a member of Swanox. He begins his solo career as Paradise Next with a double-LP opus, twenty-two songs recorded from December 2021 through October 2022. While accompanied by lead Mystic 100 Alex Coxen on bass for a track, the rest is loner acoustic guitar and his tender, heartfelt voice. The sound is strongly redolent of Bill Callahan (were he of the millennial generation), a King Dude / King Darves hybrid, and Nick Drake if he made his way to the American west coast and found an uneasy peace there. The playing is staunchly traditional in the doom-y, blues-y Americana tradition, but not in an NPR way – Paradise Next doesn’t make friendly concessions like that. He clearly approaches the project as all punks do: from a punk perspective. (See the inner layout design redolent of the Youth Attack label and those Milk Music records, or the song “Punk Time” for further clues.) Paradise Next is doing an old thing, but in search of new vistas, even quoting one of Richard Brautigan’s lighthearted poems on the insert, another clue as to his artistic impulse.

Part Time Filth Full Time Filth LP (No Sabes)
There comes a time when you have to make a decision: are you going to clean up your act, or commit wholly to your filthiness? It seems that Tennessee’s Part Time Filth have chosen their path, one proud in its defiance of good taste, cleanliness, sexual abstinence and sober living. Though they rep the fake town of “Pigfuck, TN” as their home, this isn’t really noise-rock of the same sub-genre name. Rather, Part Time Filth play speedy, rough-around-the-edges garage-rock indebted to early ’90s GG Allin, The Spits, Nashville Pussy, or any sort of rudely childish, staunchly-inebriated punk of that ilk. For example, there’s a song here called “Fuckin’ In The U.S.A.”, which opens with a mocking interpretation of the national anthem before ripping into a crisply distorted groove, raving about all the gloriously nasty sex that’s in Part Time Filth’s future. Do I need to explain what “DUI In My UFO” is about? Full Time Filth is filled with the sorta thing that would make any delinquent 9th grader squeal with naughty joy, and seeing as there is a large (mostly male) portion of our population who really haven’t progressed past that point, it’s not a shock to hear fully-grown men play songs like this. The filth, after all, is the point.

Perc The Cut Off 2xLP (Perc Trax)
My first encounter with London techno heavyweight Perc came in his 2015 EP Gob, whose back cover displays the producer face-down in a bowl of gruel. That’s more or less the sensation I’ve gotten from listening to his music, like I’m slammed in some dark and sticky place and it’s going to take moment to recalibrate once I pull myself out. Albums are tricky territory for techno, especially that of such a mono-directional style as this, but Perc keeps it lively, loose and wild, though perhaps a bit much if taken in one dose. It’s populist hard-techno, always locked into a brazen 4/4 thud, the sort of thing that, if pumping in the main room of a club you just entered, ensures a proper night out. Opener “Can You Imagine?” teases an airy trance motif before dropping the absolute heaviest chisel-on-steel beat, a full-body bludgeoning sure to leave noses bloodied and eyes rolled all the way back. There’s the intensity of gabber without the extreme tempos and the hair-raising soft/hard contrasts of dubstep without feeling dated or trendy… Perc is an expert convoy of his dance-floor regime and clearly relishes his role as puppet-master, unconsciously controlling our limbs. What are you gonna do when the acid line in “Cold Snap” unexpectedly kicks in, not dance??

Persher Sleep Well LP (Thrill Jockey)
Feeling particularly tickled by the existence of Persher, comprised of Jamie Roberts and Arthur Cayzer. They’re both prominent techno producers and have been for a while – Roberts records solo as Blawan, responsible for some of my favorite techno ever – and they actually make scratchy-yet-brutal beats together as Karenn. Persher, on the other hand, is mutated digital crust-core, an almost diametric opposite of electronic dance music. I love when people from certain scenes approach a totally different style with their own unique musical baggage and curiosity, and it works out excellently as Persher. It’s warped, in-the-red, crushed and heavily distorted, with (presumably electronic) d-beat drums, choked-out grindcore vocals reminiscent of Agents Of Satan and guitars that are processed to sound like anything but. Why haven’t regular hardcore/metal guys ever tried anything as demented and unusual? Persher’s music appears as songs, but they don’t follow the usual verse/chorus template, so much as just slop around in and out of various parts. Surely there’s some surgical studio editing at play here, rather than the typical live-in-a-room hardcore take, but that just makes it more interesting. “Medieval Soup From The Milkbar” is where I’ll send you first, an absolutely wretched stomp-down filled with unnatural guitar textures and guttural vocals… it’s a fine continuation of the imaginative bloody chaos that Napalm Death and Extreme Noise Terror stirred up in Persher’s home country some forty years ago.

Public Acid Deadly Struggle 12″ (Beach Impediment)
Oddly enough, it seems fitting that the hot new twelve-inch from one of the finest American hardcore bands active today sounds overtly non-American. We all hate this place, and seeing as we have a full generation of hardcore kids who simply dialed up the music of Kohu-63 and Winterswijx Chaos Front for free rather than undergoing the obligatory scarcity-based listening of mid-period 7 Seconds, DOA and MDC, they’re going to make music based on their experience. I enjoyed the previous Public Acid EPs and Deadly Struggle feels like the culmination of their mightiness. Across eight dense songs, they rage in reverent homage to the early Swedish d-beat classics (and obscurities) and manage to integrate overtly metallic influences without feeling like anything less than pure hardcore (I wouldn’t even consider it a crossover record). You need the speed, and it’s routinely delivered here, but the hefty metallic riffage of, say, “Ignorance” is a welcome headbanger’s delight, a friendly reminder that Power Trip were the biggest band in the hardcore scene for a couple of recent years there. There’s even some frantic, Kerry King soloing to be found sprinkled in here, albeit with a brevity appropriate for hardcore. With nary a false move or wasted opportunity, Deadly Struggle is hardcore for the moment, one where ear-bleeding rarities rule and any American bands not named Poison Idea can be willfully ignored. Who needs ’em when you’re making noise like this?

Richard Ramirez Distant, Fading LP (Tall Texan)
I love when noise arrives with a clever artistic prompt. In the case of veteran American noise artist Richard Ramirez (for the record that’s his legal name, folks), Distant, Fading apparently answers the question of what would happen if Ramirez shaped his aesthetic into something resembling shoegaze. Tik Tok virality, here he comes! Just kidding, of course – while shoegaze has unexpectedly captured the zeitgeist, I can’t imagine these two lengthy cuts soundtracking anything cute, funny or heartwarming… maybe one of those accounts that shows industrial machinery churning in Siberia, or shots of squids deploying their ink at one tenths’ speed? Ramirez opts for some deep, syrupy drones on each side, not harsh so much as all-enveloping and full of low-end churn. Could be some actual guitar in there, but it’s more likely his proficient hardware-electronics setup responsible for the primordial groan of b-side “Knowing When”, as if Kevin Shields replaced his guitar with a violin stringed up by Kevin Drumm. With frequencies generally avoiding the higher end of the spectrum, the mood is satisfyingly muddled and opaque, kind of “easy listening” by Ramirez’s standards, though still utterly petrifying under certain listening conditions. That’s always been my main complaint with shoegaze – it could be way, way scarier!

Shackleton The Scandal Of Time LP (Woe To The Septic Heart!)
Painful admission time: I realized I’ve started to take Shackleton for granted. This intrepid producer makes music only classifiable in relation to himself, and he sure makes a lot of it, releasing all sorts of collaborative efforts, double LPs, one-offs, EPs, a glorious abundance of music that can be easy to gloss over. I’ll admit, a number of his more cerebral, drone-based works didn’t really pull me in the way so much of his mid-period work has (Man On A String Part 1 And 2 / Bastard Spirit is one of the few times you’ll see me use the word “iconic”), but I’m not going to take The Scandal Of Time for granted. It rules! It’s also kind of a return to form for Shackleton, settling back into his mystical rhythms full of uncharted artificial/natural percussive elements without repeating prior material. These songs are languorous, trippy and danked-out, vast and roomy but full of activity. There’s always been an England’s Hidden Reverse aspect to the tradition of what Shackleton is doing, and I almost see a corollary here to Coil’s post-Y2K works, as both artists worked furiously, unbound by any fan expectations – certainly unbound by genre or studio limitations, too. No one else could’ve come close to making The Scandal Of Time, and similar to the Ligne Roset Togo sofa, it becomes increasingly challenging to remove yourself from it the longer you’re in its clutches.

Taku Sugimoto Since 2016 LP (Full Spectrum)
Restless cello/guitar/mandolin/etc. improviser/composer Taku Sugimoto is rarely idle, with a discography full of collaborators from Kevin Drumm to close compatriot Tetuzi Akiyama. I can’t say I’m overly familiar with his previous work – how many stacks of unlistenable improv CDs can one man be expected to keep in his study? – but this new one, the mysteriously titled Since 2016, is as delicate as an orchid from Whole Foods. Accompanied by vocalist Minami Saeki, Sugimoto takes his sweet time between plucks and strums, kind of like the slow-motion, Khanate equivalent of extremely soft acoustic improv. With street sounds filtering in through some of these songs, I can’t help but picture Sugimoto and Saeki at the opposite end of a child’s playground, Sugimoto taking deep breaths between each note as Saeki sings along, almost guessing which note to shoot for. Music doesn’t get much more dainty and sparse than this… I wouldn’t be surprised if Sugimoto was actually strumming the spiderweb on a large green leaf instead of a formal string instrument. If I owned a cute little used bookshop, I’d put this on the stereo to shake things up, though the sound of my own heart beating might eventually interfere with Since 2016‘s sparse and tiny frequencies.

Tractorman Tractorman 12″ (Kitschy Spirit)
It’s always fun to discover the secret dirtbag-punk pasts of esteemed underground artists. Tractorman is a good example, as it features the frantic and gloriously messy drumming of Indra Dunis (later of Numbers and then Peaking Lights), resurrected from a 1996 cassette release and splayed out on one side of twelve-inch vinyl. They were apparently a Madison, WI band back in their day, and man they must’ve had the Boris The Sprinkler fans running for the hills with their rambunctious, youthful punk. Dunis’s drumming is really key here, as she never stays on any beat for too long. Pogo-punk parts will quickly erupt into full-scale flailing, like some unholy mix of The Yah Mos, Quincy Punx and Fat Day. I pity the high school teachers responsible for keeping them well behaved! It’s wild, unhindered stuff, really in your face and playfully nasty in the way that only young people can pull off. It’s also very much a historical artifact – if I can’t have Tractorman jump all over me in a VFW hall, it’s not the full experience – but I’m still feeling pretty revved up listening to this collection of ten songs that feel more like thirty, tumbling out of my speakers like hot coals from a toppled grill.

Women’s Hour Women’s Hour LP (L.I.E.S.)
L.I.E.S. continues to put in the work, long after the hype-wave of “lo-fi techno” came and went. The label is kind of wilder than ever, and the loss is entirely yours if you’ve moved on to whatever other techno thing is taking up the headlines in our rapidly-diminishing underground music media. I love the infrequent moments when L.I.E.S. drifts away from dance music entirely, and this debut from Glasgow’s Women’s Hour absolutely rules; it’s menacing, claustrophobic post-punk that clatters and stalks. There’s bass guitar, drum machines and/or loops, scattered effects, synths and multi-gendered Scottish vocals that veer from apathetic to incensed. Women’s Hour take these elements and deftly derive songs from them. “Deliberate Insult” is like Leslie Winer forced into the cauldron of Avon Terror Corps; “Blindly” is disarmingly soft and pulsating, dwelling in some crevice on the path from Lemon Kittens to The Cure; “Born In The North” recalls Asda’s blown-out-drum-machine spoken-word. For what could be considered a crude sonic approach, Women’s Hour pull out each of these twelve tracks in unique directions, not simply unhindered by their limited means but thriving in the grimy little cavities where music isn’t meant to grow. Recommended!

Wrecked Lightship Antiposition LP (Peak Oil)
For those curious what Appleblim has been up to recently, he’s got this new duo going with Adam Winchester. The project’s name sounds like it should be a popular manga series, and the music (and cover image) kind of fits that bill too, these tracks bursting with moments well suited to a cinematic hacker montage, our hero transferring all the data to a memory chip right before the villain’s thugs burst through the door. Wrecked Lightship’s sound is not on the cutting edge, and I appreciate that they’re following their hearts rather than up-to-the-minute trends. Antiposition is certainly in line with Appleblim’s solo material (as well as choice cuts from his Apple Pips label), utilizing stuttering drum n’ bass loops, a rich sense of murky, dubby ambient atmosphere, and cone-popping bass, often ping-ponging away from the percussive elements. It’s post-dubstep in that way, not particularly gritty or earthbound so much as intergalactic and fantastical. Retro-futurist in a manner befitting 2010’s techno tastemakers, but free-thinking and energized – I’m particularly drawn to “Diminished Ark”, with its cyber-didgeridoo loop, hop-skip rhythm, plunging bass pulls and wave-form distortion delivered as if it were a record scratch. Recommended if you like reading Ursula Le Guin in a flotation tank under a canopy of flashing LED lights.

Ancient Plastix II LP (Maple Death)
Liverpool’s Paul Rafferty continues to gaze into an organized vortex of hardware synths with his second full-length outing as Ancient Plastix. These tracks are so deeply devoted to the instruments with which they were created that I can almost picture Rafferty poking his head out of his studio laboratory after weeks in isolation, sporting a head of hair made out of patch-cords. With so many ways to go when it comes to “synth music”, Ancient Plastix opts for a less-extreme path, one well-trodden but no less satisfying because of it. His tracks are melodic, slow and deliberate, very much in the Berlin School frame of synth-worship but not coming across as a retro homage so much as a skillful excavation of what these machines can be prompted to do. Rather than throw a 4/4 kick under anything, or supplement the tracks with singing or added instrumentation, II shines a floodlight on the gear itself, allowing arpeggios to shift, bass tones to reverberate and patterns to emerge with patience and reverence for the form. Synthesizers remain the most recent musical evolution any of us have experienced, and while the sounds of Ancient Plastix are by no means new, they can still captivate.

ASA Radial LP (Raster)
ASA’s debut Radial is the rare kind of avant-garde EBM that’s so overtly physical, you’ll want to stretch your muscles before blasting it, lest you walk away limping. Considering ASA’s personnel, this shouldn’t come as a surprise, seeing as it’s a trio featuring Arturo Lanz and Saverio Evangelista of Esplendor Geometrico alongside Uwe Schmidt (aka Atom™). These guys have been deploying visceral electronic music for decades, big towering rhythms that feel more akin to brutalist architecture than synth-pop, and Radial is particularly inspired, pairing thunderous grooves with jagged samples. Opener “We Need A Medic” is crushing right out of the gate, not unlike classic Esplendor but also similar to the most butt-whooping tracks by Jlin in the way that choppy, staccato vocal snippets and sound effects repeatedly shock and stun. “Modo II” is another standout, with violent bass murmurs and an incessant dental drill boring holes in every last molar. There really isn’t any filler here though, as these guys are truly masters of the genre and refuse to phone it in. Doing karate moves to hardcore-punk never made sense to me, especially when there’s music out there like this, each industrial groove sounding like a combination of body-blows, uppercuts and spin-kicks.

Adam Badí Donoval Sometimes Life Is Hard And So We Should Help Each Other LP (Maple Death)
Kind of a cringeworthy title, but seeing as Adam Badí Donoval is apparently sincere in his sentiments (and a native Slovakian far from my American pessimism), we can let him go with a warning rather than a citation this time around. Donoval operates in the increasingly crowded field of sound-collage, leaning heavily on crackly field-recordings, dreary live instrumentation outside of the traditional rock n’ roll spectrum and incidental blips and bleeps. Sometimes Life Is Hard traverses foggy basins, empty streets at dawn, the chopped-up cement at the end of an unfinished highway, and other morose destinations where human activity brushes up against the nature it’s tried so hard to conquer. Donoval is not afraid of noise or hiss, clearly finding satisfaction in tapes that disintegrate in real time, dying batteries and microphone interference… all the stuff that podcasters hate, Donoval digs right into. Perhaps I’m getting a little fatigued of this particular style (and that’s my fault, not yours or his), but while Sometimes Life is perfectly fine, there isn’t much here that really elevates it from the pack. Whereas this style may have once been a truly experimental form of sonic creation, it’s gotten awfully by-the-numbers these days, Donoval’s moves sounding somewhat interchangeable from the rest.

Bloodshot Bill Psyche O Billy LP (Goner)
This is the second Bloodshot Bill album to make it to these pages, and while I didn’t really connect with the first, his charm is starting to take effect. Am I a “Psyche O Billy” guy now?? There’s just something admirable about the extreme dedication to which Bloodshot Bill approaches his old-timey cosplay music, clearly going to great lengths to embody the vibe. Look at him on the cover and tell me he wasn’t born in 1922. Who can argue with this level of commitment? Looking at images of him, and listening to his songs, it’s absolutely wild to think that this music was written and recorded in the last couple years and not in 1952. His songs hearken to a pre-Beatles world of rock n’ roll, with rockabilly guitars made out of fishing twine and plywood, a cartoon bear playing stand-up bass, Three Stooges chase scenes, eating baked beans from a tin can with the serrated lid still attached over a fire in the train yard, Link Wray licks… he really goes there. Can you even write a song like “I’m A Ding Dong” without astrally projecting back to a high school glee club lounge in 1948? I suppose I’m more fascinated than captivated, though fascination is surely how all new obsessions begin. How long ’til my targeted ads start trying to sell me Brylcreem?

Cruelster Lost Inside My Mind In Another State Of Mind: The Singles Collection LP (Drunken Sailor)
Finally, those of us lightweight poseurs who haven’t kept up with all of Cruelster’s various tapes, demos and split tapes can enjoy this rambunctious Cleveland group’s output on one jam-packed vinyl LP. Whereas I own and appreciate my various Perverts Again records (who, it appears, is the exact same band as Cruelster, and even provide two uncredited tracks here), I hadn’t really spent much time with Cruelster, even as I am intimately familiar with their Instagram hijinks. Turns out their music rocks too, appealingly juvenile in presentation even if it’s obvious they’re no dummies (Citric or otherwise). Their sound can certainly be pinpointed to Cleveland, as it’s raucous and frantic, brushing up against violent absurdity in forty-five seconds or less. It’s kinda like a feisty hodgepodge of Wrangler Brutes and Bad Noids, if said hodgepodge were trying to figure out if it wanted to be a comedy troupe or a street-punk-influenced hardcore band. There are twins in Cruelster, and there’s a song (I think it’s “Crisis In Local Government Part 3”?) where the singer (not a twin) goes off about killing twins… no target is safe, not even themselves. The best part might even be the printed insert, a lengthy screed explaining(?) the collection, completely hilarious and engaging and difficult to read due to the tiny font size. An album worth straining your ears and your eyes over!

Alex Deforce & Charlotte Jacobs Kwart Voor Straks LP (Stroom)
Stroom is consistently a few steps ahead of everyone else, so if Kwart Voor Straks is any indication, Belgian poetry over fractured soundscapes is going to blow up like a year from now. Okay, maybe not, but we’re not worried about what other people think anyway, we just want to hear some fresh and progressively warped tunes, of which this record is chock full. Deforce and Jacobs share vocal duties, reciting their Flemish spoken-word over condensed synths, simple 4/4 kicks and processed vocals – there’s never too much happening at once. Seeing as I don’t understand a word they’re saying, my focus is on the texture and intonation of their voices, delivered mostly in calmly reassuring tones, occasionally edited with effects that range from jarring skips to gauzy reverb. Certain moments remind me of Lolina in the way that chill-wave aesthetics are crudely applied to richly experimental forms, the music lulling the listener into complacency even as it behaves increasingly wacked-out; it’s a nice effect. Deforce lended his words to a 2019 EP from Victor De Roo (which I highly recommend), though the music provided by Charlotte Jacobs and himself here is more abstract – my favorite cut might be the word-bursting “AEIOU”, eschewing lyrics entirely for a trippy saunter through sampled vowel sounds. Deforce and Jacobs are already way out there, yet it’s clear they intend to go much further.

Diztort Vengeance Is Mine LP (Advanced Perspective)
Some of my elder hardcore friends have commented about show attendance being at an all-time high, noting massive crowds for local showcases in and around the Northeast. It’s wild to me that chugga-chugga beatdown hardcore has such a thriving resurgence, for a lot of reasons, but naturally in any large sample size of niche hardcore there are some standout gems (yes, that even includes gore-grind). If you’re looking for some direction within this current hardcore phenomena, then, the debut full-length from Los Angeles’s Diztort is a perfectly satisfying place to head. Their form of hard-pitting ‘core has a medium-slow lilt, metallic grooves and a general ’90s NYHC sensibility, clearly indebted to Madball, Merauder and the like. There’s also a swagger I’d directly attribute to Cold World, and a dense, dark-cloud effect to their songs that recalls both Iron Age (on the more epic tip) and Neglect (in the sense of depressive lessons learned on the streets). I like that the vocalist sounds tired and mushmouthed, moaning as much as he’s screaming yet consistently intelligible throughout. For as unhurried as their songs are, they pack a lot in – the essential opener, “Diztorted World”, hits hard, jukes into an instrumental mosh and closes with a soaring guitar solo, all under three minutes. Sure, there’s been dis-core for years, but now there’s diz-core too.

Fabiano do Nascimento & Sam Gendel The Room LP (Real World)
Putting every other recording musician to shame, Sam Gendel drops yet another collaborative album, this one with seven-string acoustic guitarist Fabiano do Nascimento. Whereas recent work from Gendel is investigative and downright experimental in nature, The Room is steeped in tradition, ECM-style Latin jazz as smooth as virgin silk. If I owned a restaurant, I’d play The Room over the house system and quickly modify my menu, removing “french fries: $5” and replacing it with “frites – sea salt, EVOO – $16”. It’s classy, studied and universally enjoyable, with do Nascimento’s flamenco-inspired, dazzling melodies and Gendel’s soprano sax keeping up with flair and aplomb, clearly savoring the chance to let his traditional smooth-jazz chops fly. For my (limited) money, I still prefer Gendel in exploratory mode, futzing with electronics and effects to create the newest lumpy hybrids of jazz, broken-beat electronica, hip hop and dub, but The Room is so spotless and fresh that I am enjoying it all the same. Definitely a record to keep handy the next time your parents come over and you want to appear respectable, as if you haven’t spent the last umpteen years of your life blasting Wolf Eyes and Angry Samoans.

Donato Dozzy Magda 2xLP (Spazio Disponibile)
One of the preeminent techno polymaths of our day, The Dozz’ doesn’t need to release new music at such a furious pace, but the Pope doesn’t need to keep blessing people to maintain his holiness yet I’m sure he’s constantly doing that too. Donato Dozzy has so many different modes, from aggressive acid-house to more ethereal delights (and lest we forget that one album based around the jawharp), and on new full-length Magda we find him in lush, sensual electro mode, a real sweet spot of cosmic techno comfort. An alleged emotional homage to “family and the Adriatic Sea”, these six tracks showcase his mastery of twinkling arpeggios, luxuriant synth pads and the ways in which they interlock and intermingle. He’s on some real Fibonacci-style grooves here, his sensual thrum and pulse evolving in real-time, always immaculate and flawlessly rendered. Fans of his work with Voices From The Lake will find a parallel satisfaction with Magda – there’s a similarly personal touch, as if these are protective ambient-techno spells Dozzy cast with your unique safety and comfort in mind. Honestly though, if you’re the rare type of person who doesn’t locate some blissful moment of calm while listening to this album, you’re reading the wrong blog entirely.

Mary Jane Dunphe Fix Me / Seasons 7″ (Sub Pop)
Been wearing out the grooves on my copy of Mary Jane Dunphe’s debut solo album Stage Of Love, so I slapped this new two-song single on my turntable fast as I could, eager for more. First thing’s first: “Fix Me” is not the Black Flag cover we need, but an original entry in the world of basement trip-hop. It’s less polished sounding than the album, with drums that sound like a cassette loop, yet it’s Dunphe’s most Alanis-esque track yet, like if Alanis was produced by Martin Hannett for K Records. B-side “Seasons” has a similar bounce, funky flanged-out bass shimmy-shaking and her unmistakeable vocals tearing at the seam that separates happiness and sadness. Both tracks remind me a bit of Olympia’s Daisies in their ’90s electro alterna-bop styles, or her work with CCFX on DFA, though as long as Dunphe is singing there’s no mistaking her for anyone else. As you may have noticed, this single is essentially only available as part of the Sub Pop Singles Club, but copies are already plentiful on the second-hand market, surely being offered up by bozos who hoped for a new Bob’s Burgers collectible instead of two new songs by one of the greatest American vocal performers alive today. Their loss can quickly become your gain.

Ecoegoe Ecoegoe LP (Cairecords)
This debut from Copenhagen-based future-jazz ensemble Ecoegoe is some true chicken-soup-for-the-soul type music for yours truly. Dig into these two side-long tracks and be nourished and renewed! I love those hefty (and pricey) Joshua Abrams Natural Information Society albums, and Ecoegoe could easily be mistaken for one, both in sonic properties and the tender qualities they imbue. The a-side is called “Kissing”, and with three percussionists, two sax players, a double bassist and someone on synth, they patiently unfurl their loose composition, mellow pastels lightly jostling into each other. It has that same Natural Information feel, in that the song is a perpetual warm-up, albeit extended so deeply that you realize the warm-up is the point entirely. It sounds like kittens waking from naps under a dust-speckled sunbeam, or a hundred different insects jamming together on a mossy forest floor. Real elemental, eternal stuff, coasting on a sophisticated internal logic to ensure it never feels pointless or too abstract. The b-side’s “Digital Brains” borrows the same bass melody as “Kissing”, though it feels hazier and looser, as if we’re slowly coasting in a hot air balloon up and away from the a-side piece. True weighted-blanket music right here.

The Exbats Song Machine LP (Goner)
Not a lot of father/daughter combo bands coming through these pages, but here’s Kenny and Inez McClain with their second album for Goner as The Exbats. As is often Goner’s prerogative, The Exbats are staunchly throw-back rock n’ roll, culling from the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s, usually with a spunky, garage-y attitude and plenty of sunshiney AM radio melodies. Lots of backing vocal chants, familiar pop harmonies and party-time guitar licks, but the songs are arranged with elegance, and the lyrics, while ploughing familiar rock n’ roll territory, are funny, charming and often put a different spin on the same ol’ subjects. I’m reminded of artists like The B-52’s, The Monkees, Tina & The Total Babes, The Barracudas and The Riptides… basically any poppy garage-rock that you’d want to bring to a beach party along with your umbrella, blanket and cooler full of beer. Can’t really say it’s totally my thing, but I also can’t deny that The Exbats nail their sound and push it ever so slightly in new directions. If The Lovin’ Spoonful ever wrote a song called “Cry About Me”, they probably wouldn’t have had a chorus that chanted “I’m overdue to fuck off out of here”, but The Exbats certainly did, right here in fact.

Gerycz Powers Rolin Activator LP (12XU)
Jayson Gerycz, Jen Powers and Matthew Rolin have been active in too many bands, projects and collaborations to list here, putting in work as a trio for the past few years as well. In this configuration, their sound is a distinctly contemporary form of guitar-centric improv, one that reinterprets folk and electric guitars for the sake of something more immediate, spontaneous and (hopefully) transcendent. Opener “Entrance” confirms that intent with two spindly guitars and Gerycz’s freefall percussion, at times sounding more like three drummers than one. “Sun Rays” goes in a more composed direction, with pre-planned melodic changes that still open up wide for spontaneous exploration. It’s improv in that Americana / Neil Young / Grateful Dead-obsession way that has become a hallmark of the guitar-improv underground as of late, clearly in similar spirit and sound to Steve Gunn’s varied improvisational projects, Bardo Pond, Kryssi Battalene and Steven R. Smith. It’s almost getting to the point where this particular strain of post-shoegaze rock improv is par for the course, but if it sounds as richly majestic as Activator, novelty is not a required trait.

Anne Gillis Vhoysee LP (Art Into Life)
Anne Gillis is timeless, so this new album of material that spans different decades makes perfect sense. She’s as mysterious as she is timeless, so the unknowable qualities of her music remain front and center here, too. Is “Mes Voix”, a recording ostensibly of sheet-metal slowly dragged across cement, from 1982 or 2022? And that photo of her on the cover (that’s her, right?) – that has to be from the early ’80s, unless her corporeal form is timeless, too? This combination of intrigue, weirdness and sonic prowess has made a massive fan out of me, and Vhoysee does not disappoint. Gillis has operated in various sonic formats since the early ’80s, from crude tape experiments to cold-wave pop to avant electronic noise, and this album, apparently consisting of reworked older material as well as newer recordings, covers mostly all of that ground. It’s an excellent entry-level sampler platter that’s equally substantive for us Gillis-heads who were already familiar with her oeuvre. If the industrial-synth chanson of “Brumes Renversées” is too melodic or dramatic for your anti-social tastes, perhaps the quiet rustling of a pilot light flickering through “Harpe À Poussière” is more your speed. Anne Gillis accommodates a variety of adventurous listeners and Vhoysee has something for all of them.

Group Material Intimations LP (Gilgongo)
Can’t walk five feet in any direction these days without bumping into a new ambient-guitar-with-field-recordings record – look, here’s one now! Group Material comes from Spokane artists Eric Sanchez and Avalon Kalin, perhaps notable to my readership as an ex-drummer of not only Glass Candy but ’90s emo-core paper-bag-screeners Christopher Robin. I’m guessing the Glass Candy relationship is where the Gilgongo connection comes in – this label never strays too far from Y2K neo-no-wave – although none of this really has any bearing in listening to Intimations. It’s a very soft and minimal album, with what sounds like home-recorded guitar loops (electric but undistorted) and only the softest crust of outsider electronic processing, as palpable and temporary as the frost on your car. It’s kind of empty music like that, so perhaps we can be forgiven for filling up some of that space with thoughts about its relation to Glass Candy. One track does indeed feature the infrequent sounds of bird-song (“Earth Poem”), though it’s the last of the four, “Nothings”, that I find most appealing, a lowlit amp-crackle lullaby with proggy fingerpicking sure to appeal to anyone who can name albums by William Basinski, Bill Nace and Daniel Bachman off the top of their head. Self-titleds don’t count!

Hacker Psy-Wi-Fi 7″ (Beach Impediment / Helta Skelta)
It’s not really fair that L.O.T.I.O.N. are the exclusive licensee of contemporary cyber-techno-horror industrial-punk, but I can’t help but look at the cover of this new EP from Melbourne’s Hacker and immediately chalk them up as obvious fans of L.O.T.I.O.N. This will probably be the case anytime a punk band’s design features sinister ’80s computer graphics with monsters and digital skulls and axes, but in Hacker’s case, the similarities end with the artwork. There are no programmed drum machines or synthetic effects in their music – Hacker are a grisly, semi-metallic d-beat affair, indebted to hardcore heavy-hitters from Sweden and Japan, though by no means a tribute. “Deliverator”, for example, has the grotesque heaviness of Framtid, but the riffing is closer to the groove-metal of Cold As Life. Nice trick! I also appreciate that the Australian accent of the vocalist is instantly clockable, which helps carve out their own particular sound in a world saturated with aggro hardcore. If it wasn’t for the AOL sign-off at the end of the EP, I would have forgotten their whole digital-nightmare aesthetic – when you write a song like “Deliverator”, no additional gimmicks are needed.

Henwee Blue Raspberry LP (Toxic State)
Incredible cry-for-help of an album from Hank Wood aka Henwee. Toxic State’s original core group of punks have found a variety of unusual and creative ways to express themselves beyond traditional genre confines, and Blue Raspberry is startling even in that occasionally outrageous company. Wood sounds like he’s in rough shape here, struggling to maintain relationships, losing his grip and maintaining a love affair with cocaine (most prominently discussed here on the track “I Love Cocaine”). He sings in an unhinged warble over baby’s-first-keyboards and the accompaniment of lightweight drum machines (no guitars). I’m consistently reminded of how much it sounds like The Wesley Willis Fiasco, these pawn-shop keyboard instrumentals given over to some disarmingly vulnerable singing and emotional turmoil; if you laughed out of discomfort, I’d understand. If I thought Hank Wood was interested in sarcasm and satire, I might question the intentions here, but he has always seemed to be an incredibly direct and sincere character, and Blue Raspberry also appears to be dead serious. Listen to his panicked moans at the end of “Running My Mouth”, where he practically swallows his own tongue… can someone go check on him? I worry that if anything truly tragic happens to Wood, we can no longer say that we didn’t see it coming.

Inner Cop Avoidance Inner Cop Avoidance LP (Sensorisk Verden / Iriai Verlag / TRii Musik / Spost World / KP Entertainment)
Fabulous debut album from the fabulously named Inner Cop Avoidance. You’d think avoiding one’s inner cop would be a primarily American pursuit, but they’re a German quartet who conjure up some charming and improvised un-rock methods for doing so. Three reasonably long pieces here, all pulsing with a trap-kit played rhythmically (but outside of a rock context) and guitars that keep similar pace through strange methods of performance. I’m having thoughts of Hans Reichel’s improvised tornados of prepared guitar given a communal, Sunburned Hand Of The Man-type setting, Vibracathedral Orchestra as viewed through glasses with the wrong prescription, or Avarus at a level of steely determination they never seemed interested in finding. “ICA 2” delves into a wooly, FMP-inspired improv state (with English spoken-word by member Max Stocklosa), a stilted calm that separates the tweaked-out forward motion of the first and last tracks. There’s probably a krautrock record from 1973 that sounds exactly like this and will blow my mind when I eventually hear it, but for now I’m merrily stupified by Inner Cop Avoidance’s self-titled full-length. Strongly recommended!

Knowso Pulsating Gore LP (Sorry State)
It can often feel like we unfairly reward punk that follows the rulebook – why, that’s a perfect assemblage of pre-approved influences, well done! – and leave the true outsider freaks to fend for themselves. Not on my watch! It’s not much of an anti-social social club if we’re all wearing the same stupid hoodie, which is why it’s nice that Knowso continue to exist, tempting the mostly trad-favoring Sorry State label into releasing their newest and greatest album, Pulsating Gore. They’re a Cleveland group, and while they don’t not sound like they’re from Cleveland, they have cultivated their own distinctive style even when compared to the likeminded bands they share stages (and band members) with. The basic template is Flipper as egg-punk / Nomeansno as math-core, with vocalist/artist Nathan Ward matching every mute-picked note with a lyric, ensuring every inch of space is filled with his sprawling screeds, targeting a variety of highly targetable aspects of our American existence, laughable if it weren’t so sad. “Drink From The Lake”, for example, fires at our incompetent leaders with precision, delivered with a deadpan that Chat Pile couldn’t muster even after studying a thousand hours of Norm Macdonald. Eleven tracks, and even though they’re densely packed, the album still flies by like it’s a hundred pounds lighter. So go listen to it again!

Mammal Deserted LP (Impermanence)
Gary Beauvais has been recording music as Mammal since the early ’00s, though his sound has shifted dramatically through the years. Starting off as a blown-out drum-machine psych-noise party, Mammal’s sound has only gotten darker and drearier – just when I thought he hit rock bottom, he finds a way to penetrate the murky sediment below and plunge even farther downward. Deserted, his first vinyl full-length in almost nine years, takes the sentiment from 2006’s Let Me Die and 2007’s Lonesome Drifter and extrapolates even further, sounding so far gone as to be peacefully resigned to his fate of perpetual depressed solitude. Over distorted, simplistic guitars and sparse electronics, Beauvais sings mournfully, as if he were the last man on the last planet in the universe and coming to grips with his fate. The recording style is direct and disarming – rather than coat his music in a shroud of reverb or effects, Deserted faces the listener directly, and it can be a bit much to bear. Imagine Dylan Carlson covering Jandek with additional production by German Shepherds to get a basic feel for the sort of solemn darkness that Mammal conjures here, a zen-like comfort within his total absence of happiness or fun.

Midnight Mines Since My Baby Left Me LP (Minimum Table Stacks)
Minimum Table Stacks has quickly established itself as one of the finest purveyors of unclassifiable underground rock, and this new vinyl disc from London’s Midnight Mines is a particularly scalding entry. Useful, fact-based information about the group (a duo?) is scant, but I heard somewhere that there is a member of Black Time involved, which makes sense in that Midnight Mines feels like the most violent and abstract iteration of Black Time’s delinquent garage-punk style, close in spirit and sound to the first Hospitals album. The guitars here are unhinged, free-form and explosive, with the semblance of song-form owed mostly to the vocals and/or drums. It’s as if they stared at pictures of Lou Reed and wanted to be that guy, but only heard Metal Machine Music, or if one of those noise-punk acts like Swankys or Lebenden Toten had never discovered hardcore, only third-hand live recordings of The Cramps for inspiration. For such a primitive and antagonistic sound, Midnight Mines manage to put some varied spins on it throughout, from levitational garage-scuzz to noise-rock dirges and back. There’s no shortage of creativity or hot acid-burning post-post-post-punk happening here… it’s a smart precaution to handle all Minimum Table Stacks releases with protective gloves but you’ll probably want goggles for Since My Baby Left Me, or at least a heavy-duty smock.

Minisnap Bounce Around LP (Tall Texan)
Another indie gem from the Tall Texan label that I surely would’ve never heard had it not been for the Tall Texan label. I’m still rocking that Sharp Pins album all the time, but this first-time-on-vinyl reissue of Minisnap’s sole full-length from longtime Bats member Kaye Woodward is the bee’s knees. It’s firmly rooted in an upliftingly humble New Zealand indie-rock sensibility, which is already appealing, but these songs are so damn hummable, soft and cool, the sort of record you instinctively throw on over and over because it’s such a consistently good time. Woodward has a great voice, and while I’m reminded of the first Girl Ray album, The Shop Assistants, and, y’know, The Bats, Minisnap isn’t mere pastiche. These songs are rollicking and full of little tricks, whether it’s subbing in auxiliary percussion for a standard trap-kit or layering some aimless guitar soloing over a hearty strum. New Zealanders were never keen on coloring within the lines when it comes to homespun indie-rock, and Bounce Around is not only full of absorbing song-craft, it’s as delectable and kindhearted as anything I’ve heard from that charming little island country.

Miradasvacas Of No Fixed Abode LP (12th Isle)
There’s no shortage of decrepit ambient music these days, the kind that sounds like old wallpaper flaking off into a pile of dust, and you can add Madrid’s duo of Pablo Mirón and Juan Vacas to that Jenga-esque stack. I go back and forth on it – do I need another record of creaky floorboards, four-hundred year-old piano sketches and the scrape of metal on metal? I suppose I let my heart be my guide, as Of No Fixed Abode offers a familiar perspective on this aesthetic, yet I find it enamoring all the same. I think it works for me because they do a nice job balancing musicality, be it bowed strings, melodic keys or humming chords, with discordant grey-noise, tape disintegration and roughly prepared loops. It’s engaging even at its most unapproachable – check the seasick warble of “V” (the tracks are numerated in a Roman fashion), which will lull you in as if it was the third head of a hydra otherwise comprised of Aaron Dilloway and Leyland Kirby. It might take a minute to acclimate yourself with the stained drift of Miradasvacas, but even as the shapes remain blurry and vague, their significance is clear.

Peace Talks Progress LP (Peterwalkee)
…but who’s listening? Peace Talks are a fairly new Pittsburgh hardcore ensemble, and they step right up with this fine full-length debut, Progress. It’s kind of an all-purpose raging hardcore record, succeeding not in uniqueness or distinctive character so much as delivering the goods as we already understand them with vigor, tightness and speed. There’s some Greg Ginn in the guitar leads, a few well-timed mosh breakdowns, and plenty of frantic fast-core. Reminds me of oldies like Poison Idea, Rattus and Flag Of Democracy, and more modern acts like Planet On A Chain, Chemical Fix and Electric Chair, which of course is fine company to keep. While Peace Talks may not have carved out their own one-of-a-kind identity just yet, there’s still some cool ideas that stick out from the pack, like the mid-paced album closer “Stranger In The House” with its incessant one-note piano accompaniment (there isn’t a single aspect of “I Wanna Be Your Dog” that isn’t worth ripping off), or the blasting title track, which reaches Lack Of Interest speeds in its opening and closing moments. There’s a ton of fun to be had playing and writing hardcore songs, mixing ripped-off parts with original ideas and raging all the while, a sentiment that I don’t have to explain to Peace Talks.

Shed The 030 Files 2×12″ (The Final Experiment)
Eventually, I hope to obtain access to all of Shed’s files, but for now, this no-nonsense double-twelve featuring cuts from his 030 Files is hitting the spot. I know he’s getting to be one of the Berghain elders at this point, but don’t mistake seasoned experience for mellowing out – each of these tracks go on the offensive immediately, big shots of alarm-system techno with disorienting loops, manic squeals and aggressive kicks/claps. Shed has such a significant body of work at this point, and these productions certainly bear his signature, though the unceasing intensity has me thinking of Sleeparchive or Planetary Assault Systems at times. Even with such power, Shed has always had a knack for dynamics, knowing how to layer his frequencies, sandwich-like, for maximum effect… a cut like “Zone”, for example, isn’t the hardest hitter, but it conjures the elusive headspace where zen calm and buzzing chaos crossfade. Shed tracks can get a little M.C. Escher without being too obvious about it, or they can ground you into paste (wear a helmet if you plan on blasting “Cut”). The 030 Files offers plenty of both.

Astrid Sonne Great Doubt LP (Escho)
I’m constantly fascinated by how certain albums get buzz in these fractured social-media times… why is it, I wonder, that Astrid Sonne’s newest album Great Doubt, released on the staunchly independent (in the punkest sense) label Escho, has reached a Militarie Gun-level of ubiquity in my various online pathways? Seems unlikely that Sonne’s music will be featured in the next Taco Bell commercial, though anything’s possible. Anyway, none of this is a knock on Astrid Sonne or her hyped-up new album, which deserves any praise it’s receiving. Sonne is listed as a composer and a viola player, and while I’m sure she composed these songs, electronic beats, pianos, synths and electronics tend to take the forefront – the viola that is here has no problem operating in the shadows. Her voice appears frequently throughout as well, and the results are refreshingly modern and strange. It almost feels like her compositional tactic is to sample snippets of different songs and splice them together into some brand new configuration, though I acknowledge that she isn’t doing that. It’s kinda similar to what James Blake was doing when he first started singing on his productions, with a little less R&B and a little more chill-wave in the mix. Check “Do You Wanna”, clearly the hit, in the way that drums, bass, piano, viola and vocals seem to exist in their own separate worlds, overlaid on each other to reveal something else entirely, like Portishead remixed by Moin, only less British sounding.

The Sporrs Big Joke 7″ (Die Slaughterhaus)
We’re far away enough from the arrival of The Strokes that the wave of bands trying to sound like them has died down considerably, so when I do hear a new band that gives me early Strokes vibes, it’s honestly pretty nice! Atlanta’s The Sporrs are not any sort of rip-off, but they have that same sense of taking what The Ramones and The Heartbreakers were serving and giving it a modern indie-rock sheen while preserving the glorious youthful lack of giving an F attitude that makes it so entrancing. “Big Joke” is the Strokes-iest, but I don’t think The Strokes ever got this energetic – I can’t picture any of them really jumping around on stage, but “Big Joke” is full of hop-in-the-air, fall-on-the-floor energy. Same goes for “Can’t Complain”, with almost the precisely same tempo and attitude, although the sole b-side cut “Lashed Out” opens on a brooding note before getting back into something rowdy, kind of a Pixies-ish trick. I’m picking up a similar wave-length to the sharp post-garage of Waste Man too, though The Sporrs are probably a bit more traditional at heart, much to the delight of small corner stages in the backs of bars that still mostly sell cheap domestic beer. As of right now, Google keeps telling me I’m actually searching for “The Sports” when I look for further info on The Sporrs, but this enjoyable seven-inch should hopefully change that soon.

Trash Knife Weird Daze LP (Big Neck)
Trash Knife are an appealingly dirt-baggy punk band, following a number of singles, EPs and splits with Weird Daze, their full-length debut. If they seemed low-stakes and amateurish before, little has really changed, which of course is a good part of the appeal. Do you want your punk rock played by careerists with business marketing degrees, or do you want it from those kids (or used-to-be-kids) who hang out at highway-underpass skate ramps, lighting off fireworks and spray-painting inside-jokes to each other well into the morning hours? Trash Knife do not appear to be making a bid for validation; playing mid-paced, thrashy punk that probably aspires to the Germs and Dwarves but doesn’t overtly sound like either is simply part of their natural lifestyle. They’ve probably played some clubs in their day, but it’s the generator-powered bridge show, backyard BBQ or all-day basement blow-out that is best suited for music as unpolished and proletarian as this. Maybe, in such a moment, it will eventually become clear to me if this Philly group references a blade comprised of trash, or if it’s a knife specifically designed for cutting through trash. Or both.

Wednesday Week Fan Club EP #1 7″ (Spacecase)
Spacecase continues their fruitful relationship with Kristi Callan, this time reissuing a “fan club” seven-inch originally released in 1987. Wednesday Week was Callan’s band after Narrow Adventure (whose Spacecase LP comes highly recommended), and they sound appropriately more mid / late ’80s than their predecessors. Though their formative musical years were borne of punk rock, Wednesday Week are tuneful college-rock replete with a booming snare sound and a willingness to delve into funk (“Businessman’s Wife”), new wave-abilly (“Also Clear”) and yearning 4AD-ish balladry (“The Leopard”). It’s the sportscoat power-pop of “No Such Thing” that I find most alluring though, probably because its tight hooks and energetic performance are closest to the scrappy punk-pop of Narrow Adventure. It’s all driven by Callan’s confident, trustworthy vocal, and apparently just one entry in a decent stash of Wednesday Week material, one studio album and a bunch of singles. Do I wait for Spacecase to keep reissuing this stuff or should I take a little initiative and find a clean copy of the LP?