In the latest installment of Shake Appeal, Evan Minsker shares some of his favorite garage/punk/etc. records of the summer. Not included are picks covered in the previous installment. The Negative Scanner album's really good, too.
One year after their excellent debut, the existence of a new album from Orlando's Golden Pelicans is amazing news. These dudes make grisly, testosterone-heavy rock'n'roll look easy; Scott Barnes' hooks and solos are exceptional. If their debut 12" felt slight at 15 minutes, go ahead and listen back-to-back with Oldest Ride, Longest Line. Across another 18 minutes, they're still bashing out hit after hit. Eric Grincewicz scream-growls his way through a song slimy enough to fit its name ("Maggots"). If that description, "scream-growls," seem to imply "atonal" or "hamfisted," trust: Grincewicz has a tremendous handle over his instrument. His crunchy, surly voice is melodic, but it also packs a percussive thwack. On their latest Total Punk outing, the band deliver on all fronts (including that Mac Blackout artwork).
At this point in Buck Biloxi and the Fucks' discography, it's tempting to wonder what else they could possibly accomplish. We're living in a post-"Butthole Bots" America—the New Orleans band's minimalist punk process and structure are well-cemented at this point. The Fucks have made it repeatedly clear that they don't care about you or your sacred cows. Robert Watson Craig III (aka Buck Biloxi aka Giorgio Murderer) could easily churn out a dozen records along the usual parameters, and a quick scan of the song titles ("You Can't Tell Me Shit", "Fuck You") and lengths (mostly under 90 seconds) on Streets of Rage reveals that the fundamentals still apply.
But their HoZac LP does set itself apart from the rest of their albums. While songs like "I'm Not a Whiner" draw the usual line in the sand, Streets of Rage sounds much more full. Doubled up vocals and synthesizers on the title track provide a broader palate than usual. The bass and percussion are more authoritative than ever. Buck Biloxi and the Fucks' early rudimentary recordings are some of their best, but Streets of Rage is a satisfying step forward.
Snooty Garbagemen's debut album on 12XU is one of the best new summer soundtracks out there. No, it's not ideal for a summer of waterslides or beach neckin'. Snooty Garbagemen is lizard-brained music for those oppressively humid days where the sun's pounding on the cement and you gradually become consumed by dizzying, irrational aggression. Tom Triplett and the band are barking, stomping, and vicious. Their guitars go fast and are slathered in fuzz (especially on "Sad Sack"). On "I Can't Find My Keys", they unleash all-out fury over a bit of everyman frustration. It's sloppy, it's got a sense of humor, and it's one of the best rock records of the year so far. If you're in a horrible mood because of the heat, just play "I Quit" on repeat for an hour or so; that ought to do the trick. (Read Sam Lefebvre's review of the album.)
The above three albums rely largely on beefy guitars and angry frontmen. Oakland's Andy Human and the Reptoids don't operate the same way. Their melodies more closely resemble Ric Ocasek's than Timmy Vulgar's, but nothing ever feels certain or steady. They ramp up the guitar fuzz but mostly in quick, efficient bursts. Details get shoved in the margins—echoing voices, horns, and synthesizers provide texture. On their self-titled S-S Records LP, the Reptoids let tracks build gradually. They utilize effects but don't lean on them. Simple things like repeated, hook-ready phrases ("people never see, people never see" on "Eye 2 Eye") become focal points when delivered with Human's cold new wave cadence. This is a band heavy on good moments, and the individual highlights reinforce the big picture: Andy Human and the Reptoids is a fun listen.
The Hussy excel in so many modes; it can be disorienting. The Madison duo of Bobby and Heather Hussy are really good at writing songs that ramp up aggression. Their heat-seeking single "EZ/PZ", for example, makes its way onto their new album Galore, but this time it's significantly beefier. (If you like the Hussy in fight mode, definitely track down Bobby's other band Fire Retarded and their last album Scroggz Manor.) Their tambourines and acoustic guitar offer an ideal contrast to their fuzz pedals. Galore has a diverse palate for sure, and across the board, they're writing strong, catchy songs. Their new album on Southpaw an undeniable high point in the Hussy's already-strong discography.
Call it a Pavlovian reaction, but the sound of a Radioactivity song immediately brings to mind the smell of burning rubber. Those Texans (of Marked Men, Mind Spiders, and Bad Sports fame) started a small fire at Gonerfest when they played loud enough to literally melt part of an amp. (You should obviously go see this band live.) Silent Kill is a showcase of the band using that volume and heft in service of power pop melodies. Put aside two minutes for "I Know"—a song that doesn't reinvent the rock'n'roll wheel by any means, but the chorus, hook, and supplementary vocals are thrilling stuff. Given the members' garage punk pedigree, it's no surprise that this album features zero filler. Silent Kill is an album of tight, exciting songs and a welcome follow-up to their self-titled 2013 album.
Back in 2012, the Raw Nerves from Auckland, New Zealand low key released one of the best garage rock albums of the past five years. Their 11-song self-titled LP was a reminder of how stupidly fun rock music could be. "We're all fucked up right now," they joyously shouted on the opening track. They're back with Möre Nerves (and no, despite that album cover, they haven't gone full-Iron Maiden just yet). Their latest endeavor is loose and shouted with roots in classic rock, blues, and soul music. Longer and more paced songs like "Oh Girl" exist in the shadows of one- and two-minute screamers like "It's Alright" and "I'm Disgusting". The excessive umlauts, angular font, and cartoon goblins aren't misplaced—Möre Nerves rocks. And while they excel in "dumb fun" mode, their songwriting is surprisingly diverse.
The Bloomington, Indiana-based label Magnetic South continue their hot streak with two new singles from Psychic Baos and the Hemingers. Following their previous two tapes, Nu Uh: Death of Bob Plant and Our Friends Call Us Horse, Knoxville's Psychic Baos are a proven entity. Their latest EP consists of four tracks, none of which are quite as heavy as their earlier stuff like "Stampede Into My Mind". This time, their approach is hypnotic and organ-led, leaving more space to focus on Will Fist's words. They're expanding their palate and stretching out, but if you need to head directly to the party, go for the Hemingers' new adrenaline shot of a 7". On "C'mon Shake", they repeatedly deliver a shrieked, barked demand that you show them how you shake. To close things out, they deliver a cut-throat rendition of Ronnie and the Daytonas' "Little G.T.O". It's beach party music at its most sketchy.
Last year, the New York punks Ivy came out with their debut 12", which delivered on the promise of their 2013 demo. They're consistent as ever with their new Katorga Works 7" A Cat's Cause, No Dog's Problem. With minimal artwork and dense distortion, their aesthetic decisions are mired in darkness. This 7" accomplishes what few other short-form EPs can—it's a fully fleshed out, well-rounded example of their strengths. "Cave Business" is burly and psychedelic. They're propulsive on "Head Business" to the point where they're practically tripping over themselves, but any misgivings about them rushing through a song are eased when you hear just how much they accomplish across the EP's eight minutes. No moment here is wasted. Once again, Ivy prove to be an invaluable voice in the New York underground.
When you can shout as hard and loud as Deaf Wish can, you don't need to write a song that's warm, subtle, or contemplative. They've got it in them to just let the demons out—the title track of Pain is a pretty good example of what they're capable of. But if there's an easily identifiable example of why the Melbourne band are currently at the height of their power, it's probably "Sunset's Fool". It's not the loudest song on the album, but it's a vital moment of stoic warmth. The guitar solos are quieter and the vocals are reserved. It's here, in the quiet moments that could easily come off as a skippable bore, that they prove just how good they are. They're the sort of band that make the gradual transition from heavy to sparse on "Dead Air" look effortless. They don't need to lean on effects or volume or screams, but when they do, they succeed. (Read Corbin Reiff's review.)
Chicago's the Rubs are the brainchild of Joey Rubbish (Joe Montanero). He's the sole songwriting and recording force behind the Tall Pat album The Rubs Are Trash. This is important to note not because the guy deserves an "A" for DIY effort. This is an impressive album through and through. The hooks are catchy, and his melodies (which he sings with himself) are expertly arranged. "Until He's Mine" is a pop hit with sheepish feelings, a stellar vocal performance, and complete earworm. It's legitimately sort of surprising that "Do You Wanna Go With Me Baby", with its early '60s pop melody and moon-eyed sentiment, isn't a cover. It's a strong debut from Montanero, for sure—the sort of thing that makes you hope that he's got another album's worth of songs like these in his back pocket.
In 2013, Austin's Ghetto Ghouls came out strong with their shaggy self-titled debut. Collisions, out later this month via Monofonus Press, is a worthy successor and, on the whole, a better album. Where they knocked that first album out in one four-hour live session, this one feels slightly more labored over. They're a tight band who operate at the mercy of guitarist Dan LeVine's rapidfire pace. LeVine provides several memorable moments on the album—the hooks on "Planky" and "I.O.U. Crimes" are as elastic and pop-ready as the Buzzcocks' best stuff. Corey Anderson's coarse vocals are essential to the band's overall aggression. On "Mountain", though, he pulls back and pretty much just speak-sings. The rest of the band can manage the heavy lifting, and that one slight aesthetic adjustment shows a band exploring alternatives to their all-power approach.
Gino and the Goons' discography to date pretty much portented that they'd eventually record something like "Push Your Luck". It's a song with spat blood, giant scars, cracked jaws, and sleep troubles due to a broken rib. Like the best of their material, it's heavy, scuzzy, and catchy as hell. (Their Slovenly album Shake It! had some seriously catchy tracks on it—"I Like It Like That" remains in heavy rotation.) The song appears on a new Pelican Pow Wow 7" called (Don't) Push Your Luck +2. The additional two in question are an ode to their homestate ("I Love FLA") and a faithful, stirring rendition of a Boston punk classic (DMZ's "Ball Me Out"). Gino and co. are joined on the 7" by Buck Biloxi and former Manateees bassist Keith Hall, so there's clearly plenty of power being packed in here.
The Seville, Spain-based label Saturno Records has just released a pair of rock'n'roll tapes from the Spanish bands RAMONA (also from Seville) and Los Jambos (from Pamplona). The two-piece RAMONA keep things rudimentary with bare bones electric guitar bubblegum hooks and ultra-spare percussion. Their screams and energy are obvious driving forces, but they cool down real nice on closing track "Rebeca". The highlight is "RAMONA"—another classic self-titled song off a self-titled record. The trio Los Jambos deliver everything with a nice psychedelic reverb and hooks cribbed from rock'n'roll's roots. They succeed in multiple modes, with ballads like "Linda Niña" (which sounds an awful lot like a gentler version of the same song from Las Ardillas' great 2013 7") and blues chooglers like "Mis Amigas". Both RAMONA and Los Jambos are full of beach-ready jams, so pick up those tapes (or, you know, buy them on Bandcamp).
You've probably read enough at this point, but there's a bunch more great records below, so keep clicking the play buttons: