Horrible Houses-Songs Written & Recorded Under the Influence of the Yellow House (2013)

 These tunes are beautiful fragments of melancholy. Like one of his heroes, John Fahey, Daniel is very good at coaxing emotional depth out of a simple series of guitar chords. Clanging off the 4-track hiss, the guitar plays off the lack of other sounds in the mix and gathers strength in the process. They'll never meet each other, but Horrible Houses and Michael Wohl should share a bill, or maybe split an EP. They're the only guys I know of making folk- and blues-based music at this late date that actually fucking matters.

Horrible Houses never fails to surprise: buy the ticket, take the ride, as the good Doctor once said. By now I've come to expect freakfolk* of some sort from this guy, but nothing he's done sounds quite like his previous releases. That's saying a lot, given that anyone who wants to sell records or push downloads can simply cut-and-paste a genre's sound onto blank tape again and again and be guaranteed attention, if not fame 'n' fortune (fancy that).

This is a collection of improv recordings done "under the influence of the Yellow House." I'm guessing that's a new kind of acid the Swedes are keeping to themselves. Hell, us Yankees and Itals probably couldn't afford it anyways, them Scandis always get the best shit with their sizeable welfare checks. Point is, I want some of what this guy's doing so I can make more interesting bad life decisions.

The first five tracks are empty. Not lifeless, but empty, the way Neil Young's Dead Man soundtrack sounds hollowed out: stripped of all the dross and over-produced horseshit that hides most bands' lack of talent or passion. Empty the way the best American folk music sounded empty. Arthur Rothstein says at some point in Boardwalk Empire that all of life's problems arise from not being able to sit still in a room. In the same spirit, most music is desperate to fill that silence and stillness. Dismissing such anxiety, Daniel turns off the drum machine and ratchets up the vocal mix on these bedroom recordings.

 Some of his previous work was quirky for the sake of being quirky: certainly more interesting than most of what washes up on my "to review" pile, but not necessarily keepers. This album is nothing if not that. Dude claims that he buried some of these records under a real-existing Yellow House 6 years ago and dug 'em up in May; apparently Swedish dirt is more creative than American dirt, since these songs grew in the mulching. Throughout, it sounds like he's chasing a memory or constellation of images that slip away just at the point of recalling them clearly.

I'll close by encouraging you to CHECK IT, THEN BUY IT, for yourself.

*"Freakfolk" in the sense that this guy uses the forms of American folk music to craft his own sound, NOT in the sense that he is in any way indebted to or aping the driveling mimicrky and contrived jive of shitheads usually associated with this neologism.

No Balls-Problems That Will Solve Themselves EP (2004[?)

"Yeah, well, life's strange."-Slim Charles, The Wire, season 4

Swedish noise is always a good choice when you wake up with a head full of booze, an empty wallet, and a pile of work you don't have the energy to do. Because really, what's more cathartic than pressing your ears up to the stereo and letting these Scandi slugs blast your sensory perceptions to smithereens with a few slices of carefully (sloppily) conceived torment?

Nothing. Nothing at all. No Balls is an on-again-off-again side project of the legendary, also on-again-off-again Brainbombs. Same personnel, mostly the same sound, so really the two projects complement each other. The sound is slightly different: there's a bit more rhythmic propulsion on this EP than your typical 'Bombs slab 'o' vinyl. But this amped up energy doesn't lead anywhere, of course, except further down into the black pit that is your tormented psyche. "Black Nerve" goes in an undulating circle, a circle not as harsh as a 'Bombs circle, but still pretty abrasive. "Countdown to Kill" features a guitar riff worthy of Kurt Cobain's golden days, but there's no catharsis, just monotonous repetition. Fuck teen spirit when you've got black tar heroin and Mad Dog, right?

I AM THE SLAYER.

P.S.-I'll get back to regular posting, and posting new stuffs, once I finish teaching this godawful summer class. Yeah, who'da thunk it? This Drug Punk has been charged with educating the youth. Joke's on them, eh?

The Janitors-Drone Head 2X LP (2013)

Swagger is acrucial element in all blues-based rock 'n' roll. Simply put: Can you do justice to the Son House and Blind Willie McTell riffs at the base of your sound, no matter how many effects pedals you got? Or are you hiding behind these effect pedals 'cause there's nothing worthwhile behind the distortion? Nick Cave brought this sort of bravismo to new heights with his pre-Boatman's Call work. Unfortunately, swagger and unabashedly macho posturing has gone the way of the dodo of late. Of course, nine times out of ten, macho posturing is boring at best, repulsive at worst: think of hair metal. But when done right, as an organic component of the music instead of as idiotic chest-thumping, it's a good thing.

The Janitors and San Francisco's The Chaw are two of the only contemporary bands that can pull it off. Along with Annesley's much-missed Meat Thump, these bands' heavy, sleazy vibe is perfect for sordid living of all sorts. The Janitors and The Chaw are similar in another sense: both have a heavily cinematic quality that fills out their rock 'n' roll core, and makes it more compelling after repeated listening.

Listening to the Janitors' debut LP, this cinematic feeling runs straight through the two EPs and several new tracks found therein. Heavy guitars and a prominent rhythym section are key components to their sound, but the organ and killer production create an entire world you can lose yourself in. It's a ballsy move for your vinyl debut to consist in large part of previously-released material, but the Janitors' debut EPs fit together into a whole, much like the individual bricks make up the bar you like to pass out behind, after a long bender.

"Strap Me Down" sticks in my head after repeated listening. Agonizingly, mesmerizingly slow guitar stomp; menacing organs that swirl in and out of focus; and muttered, then howled vocals that are an indecipherable but essential part of the vicious grey stew the Janitors specialize in. "A-Bow," however, is the LP's cornerstone. Clocking in at 12:29, it sums up everything fun in the Janitors' sound. The first five minutes sound like a Morricone out-take, straddling the line between spaced out rock and spaghetti western majesty. The tension finally explodes around 5:30 into heavy, drawn out classic rock riffing with enough organs to keep monotony at bay. "A-Bow" is
a glorious, and gloriously ambitious, piece of blues stomp with more depth and space than most music in this tradition.

Basically, the Janitors are what would happen if the White Stripes were as good as you always wanted them to be: innovative instead of simply adept; lewd instead of gentlemanly; and, ultimately, more interested in worming their way into your brain than in temporary aural fireworks. This is slow-burn scuzz rock with a vengeance.

Check it out here. The vinyl drops July 15th, complete with a gatefold sleeve perfect for staring at when blasted on speed and acid. You can pre-order your copy from Cardinal Fuzz Records.

Horrible Houses-Kathy EP (2012)

'Nother Sunday, 'nother hangover, 'nother Horrible Houses EP to review. I'm in fine Grumpy Gus mode, so this one'll be short.

 If you've been reading Drug Punk for any length of time, you've prolly stumbled upon previous reviews of previous HH releases. If you dug the earlier ones, you'll dig this: dude's up to his same 'ole tricks. Extended guitar noodlings over basic (like, hi-hat 'n' snare basic) drummin', talk-hummed singing. Meandering tunes with sweet melodies buried just beneath the surface. I think I  like "Kathy (Psychic Ending" more than "The Yellow House," but there's something enchanting about the prolonged, minimal 10 minutes of "Yellow House" such that it's all I've been playin' today.

For some reason I'm always hungover when reviewing HH work, and it's pretty good hangover material 'cause it's avantgarde in a non-noisy way. That said I'm gonna go stick my head in a bucket of ice and chill out, y'dig? Whatever.

You can listen to the two tracks over at the HH Soundcloud page. Y'know you wanna. Do it.

The Janitors-Worker Drone Queen EP (2012)

Have I ever told you about the first time I took boomers, kiddies? Boy howdy, was that a trip...a trip I'll save for another post.

In the meantime, in the way of fucked up, psychedelic freakfuckouts, I offer thee Stockholm's The Janitors. Serving up trebly, heavily hallucinatory riddims to warm your karma by, The Janitors deliver cleverly crafted drug rock appropriate for sitting on a couch, popping the multi-colored pills that dude who kinda sorta knows your girlfriend  just gave you in exchange for that new Jefferson Airplane LP...
...wait, it's 2012, not 1967. Anyways, "Do it Again" is a slow, measured tune drenched in reverb and perfect for nodding out to. "Death Song" somehow manages to mix Nick Cave-esque vocals with instrumentation BrianJonesTownMassacre wouldn't sneeze at (or mebbe they would, but Janitors would withstand that particular exhalation). The bridge is a vicious drums-n-guitar duel that segues into a bright new day, like when ya sober up and start drinking again immediately after recovering from those pills ya just took.

"Coming Down" is a note-perfect morning-after jam. The thudding drums and scratchy, geometric riffing sounds like I usually do after a night spent drinking Olympia beer and arguing with friends about the relative merits of percocets over valiums. That is, vomitrocious and still, somehow, witty enough to catch yr attention, boppers.

In case you haven't noticed, I both like The Janitors and prefer to describe their music in non-musical terms. Deal with it. If you enjoy effects-laden, blues-croon driven, neopsych space oddities, you'll like The Janitors.


Listen here. Buy here.

Horrible Houses-Bullet Proof Nothing EP (2012)

*note: The image to the left has nothing to do with Horrible Houses; it showed up on a Google search of "horrible houses" and registers not at all with the one-man band outta Sweden. Deal with it. Ponx!*

It's 9 pm California time, and I've been drinking since 7. For some of you, that means crackin' a brew or two and gettin' loose with crew, but for me, dat means gettin' hyphy and not rememberin' what I say in dis heer blog powst.

Anyhoo, I think that this is the fourth Horrible Houses EP I've reviewed for Drug Punk. I should have a pretty good understanding of dis guy, but I don't. Says more for my aural aphasia than HH's incomprehensibility, but here we are, yeh?

Yeh. Personally, I fucking hate the Beatles, so I dunno why dude chose to use the subtitle "Beatles drum take" for the opener, "Bullet Proof Nothing." The song stands on its own. Super-duper-simple, bare-bones snare drum and echoing guitar notes set this tune apart: "waitin' for the morning ship that never came...."

Second song, "Walk it off," is, I swear to fugginchrist, resurrected from some 1964-era Chicago garage: echoing Farfisa organ single-note ricochet, repeated guitar line, minimal percussion, quietly-stated, oft-repeated guitar notes.....1960s! Shit! It goes on for 8 minutes, far longer than this Drug Punk has patience or brain cells for, but I've has also concluded that "Walk it off" is perfect musick fer scoopin' out dee ladeez at thee universitee-classez, y'dig? Nah. Didnthinkso.

"Dead Surfer's Valentine" is so fucking epic, it's almost cinematic. Opening with a wicked faded surf-guitar line, it incorporates '60s cinematic airplane noizes, the usual Horrible Houses super-minimal drumming, and what I think are humming airplane engine drone tunes. Fucking righteous, yeah?

Yo son we got beef.

Horrible Houses-Midlands EP (2011)

Ok, this is the third Horrible Houses release I've reviewed for Drug Punk, and I still can't get an angle on what dude is up to or going for. I've also decided that this is a good thing.

The obvious influences-John Fahey, Guided by Voices, maybe some White Light/White Heat-era Velvet Underground-don't at all explain the end product. On this, the HHs' third[?] release, they've really found their groove. The previous two releases had highs and lows, but the three tracks on "Midlands" are focused and fine tuned.

"Out of Tune Piano for Meadow Man" (I love the song titles from this band) is probably the best cut out of the three. Opening with muttering and a minimal, warbling guitar line, it segues quickly into HH's trademark, myopic lounge jamming: hazy guitars, monotone drumming, and casually worded, throwaway vocals.

I still haven't managed to get all the way through "Tempel [sic] Jam," but it moves through several stages, from raga-esque droning to scratching guitar treble.

Anyways, if you've been reading this blog for awhile, you've probably heard Horrible Houses already. This EP doesn't move in a new direction so much as refine and purify what was already happening. Get into it, if you haven't already, here. Horrible Houses lives here.

Brainbombs-Urge to Kill LP (Load, 1999)

"I was a teenage zombie..." pt. 3

My first year of high school was noteworthy for the cast of freaks, druggies, and general n'er do-wells whose constellation I entered immediately upon matriculating from Catholic elementary school. I was a spry young lad with brain cells to spare, and boy, was I sparing with them that first year!
One of these characters, whom I'll be referring to as Ally, was extra-special special. She had arrived in Chicago from Nowheresville, Midwest (i.e., Indiana), and alighted upon my fair 'burg with a vengeance. By which I mean, this girl raided her father's medicine chest each morning for a cocktail of...what didn't she have? Codeine. Valium. Adderal. That antihistamine that rednecks use to make meth. Dayquil. Nyquil. Oh, and just for good measure, a Sunny Delight 20 ounce screwdriver.

Sometimes, Ally would share her bounty with me. One sunny Wednesday morning, we got started early. Popped some Valium at 10 am, an Adderal each at 11, and split the screwdriver over lunch. By 12:30, life was melting all around us. Nothing the teachers said made sense, the other kids kept telling us to stop drooling, and apparently Ally started nodding off in the midst of a chemistry set while I was ranting like a machinegun about Jorg Haider (yes, Jorg Haider). This merry day was brought to an end when Ally swandived into a bleacher during gym class. I made my escape out a back door and spent the rest of the afternoon hiding in the bathroom, mumbling to myself about globalization in a drugged fog.

The Urge to Kill LP is the history of that day on record. I just didn't realize someone had predicted it so accurately, a year before it happened! Listen to this and understand Billy Bao.


Mass murder on a scale you've never seen.  Dee Brainbombs lives here. You can buy this LP here.

*Edit, 12.10.13: I finally got around to re-upping the file. You can now revel in Brainbombs' majesty HERE *

Horrible Houses-Songs for Halloween EP (2011)

ESL [English Second Language] teachers are always told that Scandinavians speak better English than most Americans. Apparently this talent for absorbing things I thought to be essentially Anglophone extends to Americana, too.

The dood who does Horrible Houses is Swedish, but these songs sound like ? and the Mysterians if, instead of hailing from Chicago, they were a bunch of downed-out druggies playing in a Missisippi lounge band ca. 1971. No, not southern rock, but monotonous, droning garage interspersed with shimmery guitar notes, old-timey fiddles, hurdy-gurdys, and found sounds. No context, no flash, just relentless fidelity to the groove.

This is the second Horrible Houses recording I've reviewed for DP, and the project still doesn't make any fucking sense to me. Ironic wink-wink, nudge-nudge? Anarchonistic avant-garde? Uniquely Swedish take on Cpt. Beefheart's ramblings?
You be the judge. Amble on over to dude's band page for contact info, and maybe to find physical copies of his stuff.

Horrible Houses-Dead Cattle Volcano LP (2011)

By way of an introduction:
Hey, you know gun for the ps2? where you start in montana, hunting elk with kris kristofferson, and end up in new mexico? it's like when your bathroom isn't there in the morning. i think you should not listen to my band. same mail day after day, shower after shower before taking a bath, we're like that.

Er, exactly. The first few times I listened to this, I hated it. It actually offended me. Figuring that music capable of offendng me must have something goin' for it, I persisted. It's fuckin' good! 

Y'see, I woke up with a skullcrusher of a hangover on Sunday, still drunk at 3 pm, and blasted this all afternoon. Horrible Houses didn't cure my hangover, in fact the relentless cymbals-guitar combo made it worse. But it did make for a pretty good soundtrack to an afternoon spent laying on the couch with a pillow over my eyes, hiding from reality!

The last two tracks are the best. The opening guitar lick for "Haunted RIvers Family Tapes" sounds like a lost John Fahey riff gone electric, and the drumming is almost, dare I say it, fluid. "A Whore's Lament" seems to be just that, a folksee account of, well, a whore set to a jangly riddim. If your idea of a hangover cure is blasting one-tone garage fuzz, you'll dig Horrible Houses.


Today you're gonna be sick/so sick... Or, if downloading a zip file is unbearable, check out the Horrible Houses' Soundcloud page!