McBain-s/t EP (2014)

McBain's debut EP is as sweet as the candy that rotted out your teeth (like the tooth on the cover). Just when you think the band is going to descend into the standard hardcore speedslop, they jerk to a stop. Full stop. This is the sorta music best experienced in someone's crowded, filthy garage or basement on a hot summer night, half-delirious from heat exhaustion yet still guzzling Labatt's or some other Canadian pissbrew.

"I'm Exhaustion," opening with growled vocals worthy of the dood from Scratch Acid, exemplifies the McBain sound: as the guitar meanders through a postpunk number, the drums counterpoint the singer. Of course you can't understand anything he's singing about, but "whiskey" does get repeated a lot. One can imagine the song was written after drinking a lot of it, but the boys kept it together to throw in coherent choruses. Just when you think it's over, minor notes lurch into more frenetic, seething tension.

The drums win the fight on "Cooking with Feelings"; I haven't heard punk drumming this good since the days of Giant Haystacks. My guess is that "I Survived the Moe Earthquake" is a reference to a Simpsons episode I never saw, and Moe might indeed throw this one on to drive Barney Gumble outta the bar at 3 AM. It's that good!

At the end of the day, Mcbain is a punk band that's a little too clever to play retreaded retard rock with a mohawk cresting over the din. These Aussies is so nice, you can download the EP for free, here!

Rizoma-s/t EP (2013)

New in the "less talk more rock" category, Rizoma is Madrid's answer to Chicago's bratnoise outfit Birth Deformities. Succinctly stated, if you've been mourning the demise of Government Warning as much as I have, you'll love Rizoma. On their debut, Rizoma shouts, strums, bangs, and kicks their way through six mid-tempo shout-along bits of bratpunk, tailor made for those of you still living with your parents. Which is half of the Europeans between 18-29 reading this, apparently, according to the Guardian.

If I had any experience in said subject, I would heartily agree with the proposition of the second song: "It feels so good to kill my neighbors while listening to the Stooges." As it happens, I only have experience getting blackout drunk and throwing bottles at them while "Death Trip" blares from my bedroom window, but whatever.

Point is, as March's winds usher in the pissant spring downpours of April, why don't you download Rizoma's debut EP and let your miscreant misanthrope misery burble over like fine wine? You know you want to. 

Prag-demo CS (2013)

Trashed noise is a staple in these parts, and Prag delivers on their demo. I know nothing about this band but the music speaks for itself (it also helps that their name is an Oz reference). This is nasty, brutish rock played by a buncha cretins who sobered up long enough to do their homework on what good garbage sounds like. Somewhere along the line-I'd place it around the emergence of all the bands that followed in the Reatards' wake-garage and punk diverged from each other. By now conditions have worsened so badly that my punk friends think I'm being too obscure when I rave about Heavy Times, and my garagescuzz friends don't bother listening to anything, like Criminal Damage, that's popular amongst hardcore types. This is, of course, despite the fact that bands like Crim Dam and the Times are sonically indistinguishable to folks who haven't devoted (wasted) their youth to this mess we call punk.

    It's stupid, and someone should get to work healing the bridge between Punk and Garage (since at this point they deserve capitolization, given the sharp divergence). Prag may help us on that bridge over the River Kwai. Their sound is extremely simple, and thus effective: flailing morning star drumming, incoherently distorted gits, a bass that I'm sure is in there somewhere, and a singer who may or may not be singing in English-if it is, it's filtered through the raw Italish of bands like Negazione. "Concentrated Visuals" is the best track on this demo: a killer opening of brooding guitar and galloping bass drums, followed by vocals that sound like Tolkien's orcs. The song goes nowhere in particular; it just sorta swirls in and outta focus, like that hot girl/guy you just saw at the bar through whiskey-streaked eyes.

   Prag's good at building a world of misery out of the crude instruments afforded by the garage punk sound. And fuck do those drums nail you in place, while you watch the Discharge-style guitars soar and swoop like Stukas outta da sky. Hell, the singer's so bored by the band's radness that he's whistling by song's end!

I just spent two 'graphs ranting about one song and I didn't even talk about the coolest part of the demo (it follows "Concentrated Visuals"). If I hadda name-drop, I'd say these doods passed out in the rainwater-choked gutter somewhere between early Crazy Spirit and the brazen, chest-thumping stupidity of Sick Thoughts.

Do your part in re-inventing the wheel and making peace between Punk and Garage by supporting Prag. You can do that HERE! Then do yourself a favor and BUY A COPY OF THIS TAPE!

Crooked Bangs-s/t LP (2012)

I stopped following the Austin scene around when WorldBurnstoDeath dropped that monstrosity of a second LP  and Storm the Tower broke up, but Crooked Bangs has piqued my interest anew in Austin punk.
  Crooked Bangs' debut LP offers just the catharsis I need on a washed out Thursday night: midtempo glum rock that wears its Misfits influences on its sleeve, especially in regards to the vocals. As it happens, I can't stand about 95% of the Misfits' recorded output, but that's intended as a compliment to Crooked Bangs. They dish out eleven tracks of mid-tempo punk that reveal them to be much better songwriters than Danzig and co. ever were: this LP confirms my view that punk bands stand or fall based on their rhythm section.

Whereas most punk bands spew forth a mess of guitar squall with the drummer thudding away somewhere in the background, CB's drummer and bassist converse with the guitar: the result is an album's worth of songs, as opposed to a gurgling mess masquerading as such.
"C'est Iutile" is a precis of the Bangs' talents: the song opens with a measured riff that fights for space with the lockstep drumming, while the singer intones about..uh...something useless?
"Le Beau Tetard Sur Son Cigare" is the best'un here, though: I'll be humming the bass/guitar line to myself til I pass out in a fog of Gordon's gin and Drum tobacco, and the beat is so snazzy you could dance to it, if you're inclined to do such things. Dance punk at its finest, folks, with no annoying irony or self-consciousness to be found (seriously, didn't we all get into punk 'cause we can't cut it on the dancefloor, among other places? So why does every punk I know dance like all the cool kids is watchin' him/her?).

Anyways, I give this a ringing DrugPunk endorsement: if I ever again meet a girl who can stand me for more than 10 minutes at a time, a Crooked Bangs song will be on a mixtape for her.

Listen to Crooked Bangs HERE. Then, go buy their LP from Western Medical Records!

Opus Null/Szijj Ferenc split LP (2012)

You're probably getting sick of all the Opus Null albums and obscure Hungarian bands I review for Drug Punk. Fine. I'll post nothing but ABBA reviews from now on, how 'bout that? HA! Gotcha! Go tell MOTHER I'm lowering standards!

Half the reason I keep coming back to these guys is that I never know what an Opus Null release is gonna sound like: they started off last year with a handful of badly-recorded, thrash-y demos that sounded like the Germs dragged through a dumpster east of the Berlin Wall.

On this split LP with Szijj Ferenc (more anon), the boys have evolved (is that the right word?) in the direction of the spaced out freakrock that featured heavily on the guitarist's solo EP from June. Opus Null can still smash it up-witness their cover of the UK Subs' "Imposztor," which ends up sounding like The Standells-but there's a lot of instrumental stuff where they work out sonic landscapes, with varying success. Their side is split evenly between louder, noisier punk-style tunes and weirdo instrumentals that bring them ever closer to space- or math-rock territory.

I didn't know what to expect from Szijj Ferenc's side, but it wasn't highly processed soundscapes a la early Krautrock like Popul Vuh. Dude gives us five tracks of elaborate, orchestrated long-form jams that don't sound like much that I'm familiar with. It's really fucking good, in a totally left field sorta way. Imagine King Arthur and his knights serenading ladies of the court while popping acid, drinking Three Horses lager, and tooling around with synthesizers.

If you check out Drug Punk chiefly for the noise, garage or punk I post, you prolly won't dig this, but if you're willing to take a chance on some pretty idiosyncratic stuff, get into it. If not, fuck off and get back to buying whatever Pitchfork tells you is good.

Listen and download HERE.

Alone and Forsaken XIII: Po' Boy Long Way from Home Blues

It's 2:15 am, I've been up for about 17 hours, and I still have a few hours to go before drinking myself to sleep. It's getting to the point where I think I hear stuff in the halls of the office I work at, but then realize it's just dust settling on the fan, and I can no longer tell if it's night or morning.

In that spirit, here's a collection of spaced out, atmospheric tunes, pieces, and improvisations suited for drifting away on cosmic rays of insomnia, workaholism, and/or drug abuse.

I should also mention that this installment in "Alone and Forsaken" is partially a shameless plug for a good friend of mine. You should check out his music, here.

Fade into you.

1. Νικκ Καβε αντ Ωαρρεν Έλλης-χάππυ Λαντ
2. John Lurie-Bella by Barlight
3. Popol Vuh-Tanz der Chassidim
4. Michael Wohl-Variations: Melatonin Blues
5. Γρουπερ-Δισενγαγεδ
 6. Cavedweller-Poison II
7. Will Oldham-Do What You Will Do
8. Sun Kil Moon-Heron Bloo
9. Josephine Foster-Where There Are Trees
10. Dirty Beaches-The Death March
11. Moon Dog-Theme and variations
12. βριαν Ενώ-Αλλ θε Σταρς βερε ούτ
13. Crimewaves-Sun Rays
14. Peaking Lights-All the Sun that Shines

Heavy Times-Fast Night CS (2009)

Have I mentioned lately how Heavy Times is my favoritest band from Chicago of late? If not, mea culpa, 'cause these doods shred in a way we haven't heard much of late late. Infectious, scratchy guitar riffs, dirt-simple riddim, and relatable tales of love, loss, and druggy tomfoolery 'round the city. Who can't relate, i ask thee?

Anyways, this was the first thing I heard by Heavy Times and, in lieu of gathering enough energy to critique something new, it's what I'm closing out June with. "Teenage Animals" opens with a killer, chanted "aaahhhooohaaaa" and doesn't get much more sophisticated than that-minor note guitar solos, hollered vocals, and that's all she wrote. "Stoned in the City" is the story of my life from ages 16-22: the sun's out, I've got some dope, gonna bike around Chicago lookin' for dat broad I saw the other day at some crappy noise show. Hell, I even have some beer to share, and sweet little nothings to whisper in her ear. Stoned in the city, dontchaknow?

"Good Looker" is the heart 'n' soul o dis tape. It opens with what sounds like drums played on empty paint buckets, more hollered, non-verbal chants, and single-note guitar majesty. The tale is totally something I'm familiar with: guy likes girl. Girl is way cooler than guy. Girl, in fact, does all sorts 'o' weird drugs dude is scared of. "She's a real tough chick with a bad attitude/coke 'n' grooves..." More importantly, "she stole my heart and there's nothing I can do/I feel abused, I feel abused..." Much of my time in several European and American metropoli have consisted of this very same feeling.

Whereas the vocals are slurred or mixed so low they're incoherent on most Heavy Times tracks, on "Good Looker" they're front 'n' center as they should be. Flip the gendered pronouns and anyone can relate to this song (well, if you're between the ages of 15-35, listen to rock 'n' roll, and do drugs, anyways-i.e., all my readership), so motherfuckers should be blasting it come August when the coke is flowing like rivers down yer crinkled doller bills and all ya cares about is more booze 'n' pills, y'dig? Priceless tunes, I tells yeh. If I were inclined to fall in love, this song would be on the mixtape I'd make for the (un)lucky lady.

"Night Swim" is a bit more plodding, clomping along as we're regaled with, uh, I think a tale of swimming at night. The epically simple guitar is what sets this tune apart, and keeps me putting this track on mixtapes I mean to make for girls I talk to in bars, but whose numbers I forget to write down...anyway, "Night Swim" features more majestic, minimal, lofi guitar madness and it's great.

Heavy Times is at the top of their game, and if yer in Chicago, you're n idiot for not having seen them already. Out of towners can be excused.

Download "Fast Nights" here. Check out a video for "Good Looker" here. The band has a new LP out on Hozac Records, BUY IT!


*EDIT, 11.16.12: RE'upd the file, get it HERE. *

Middle Class-Out of Vogue 7" (1978)

Until the advent of online file-sharing, Santa Ana, California's Middle Class were one of those legendary early punk/HC bands that most punks had heard of without hearing (myself included). Regardless of whether this was the first "hardcore" record or not (and really, why does it matter?), this is a classic that I'm happy to be sharing with you lumpen masses.

Opening with an impossibly taut, frantically repeated guitar riff and wobbly bass line, "Out of Vogue" careens through a Ramonesclone song structure, dragging you along as singer Jeff Ata intones against the brave new world of mass media: "we don't need your magazines/we don't need your fashion show/we don't need your TV/we don't wanna know!" The music is so fast, the shouted words are like a ritual incantation at breakneck speed. The song ends with a clipped "OUT OF!..."

"You Belong" starts off slower, building up momentum until the crushing transition to more sonic oblivion; Ata's singing is even more rushed as the Middle Class careen through a tale of...I dunno, the words are incoherent. The beginning drumfill of "Situation" is killer, holding you in suspense until the divebomber bass line and savagely strummed guitar hover into focus. The song is slower than the first two, effectively slowing down and intensifying the groove so that you can almost make out Ata's words: "no use in trying..." The slow down only sets the scene for "Insurgence," which flies by at one minute, one second. The whole band gallops along at top speed, trying to beat its own pace; there's no center to the song, it's pure rush: Johnny Rotten's "I just speed/that's all I need!" dictum taken literally.

This EP blew me away when I first heard it, and I still spin it at least twice a week. It's the essence of punk as a musical genre, condensed and compressed to the point where form becomes content: a formalist's wetdream. Yet this isn't retarded, inept, slipshod thrash in the tradition of the early harDCore bands like Teen Idles, SOA et. al. Middle Class were great songwriters, and would go on to prove their deft handling of tempo, rhythm and harmonies on their next outing, 1980's Scavenged Luxury EP. "Out of Vogue" was a perfect statement and on Scavenged Luxury they were already headed in the direction of 1982's LP, "Homeland": tense, despondent goth in the vein of early Fall or Joy Division.

Basically, if you don't like this EP, you don't like punk or hardcore. YOU BELONG  You can buy a repressing of the 7", or an LP-length collection of the first two EPs plus outtakes and demos, at Frontier Records. You should also read an interesting 2011 interview with all the original members, here.

*Edit, 9.10.12: Reup'd the file, get it HERE. *

*Edit, 1.6.13: Re'up'd it again, AGAINAGAIN.*

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.

Aliosha Give me a chance!-s/t EP (2012)

Even for a blog that specializes in weirdo, left-field eccentricities, Aliosha, give me a chance! is pretty fucking bizarro. These Belorussian punks burble out seven tracks of longform, clanging, relentless glum rock, and in the process manage to turn a Bob Dylan song into something approximating the Velvet Underground's "Sister Ray." Which they also cover, incidentally.

I'm usually pretty down on bands that record covers, especially if the covers constitute most of a release. How hard is it to scrape together original material? Apparently Aliosha began as a Sex Pistols cover group(?!?), and morphed into a real band when they started playing real drums instead of books (?).

Anyway, I will say that this thing is a partial exception to the anti-covers stance. The only one remotely close to the original is the "Sister Ray" version, and, as noted, they morph the other covers into droning, humming, bass-driven torment closer to Throbbing Gristle-style industrial misery than good-times rock.

"All I gotta do" scratches out an almost-danceable beat in the midst of xylophone- and bass-driven torment. Forlorn words float in and out under the din, and the end result is the sort of dance music that PiL specialized in ca. 1982: yes, one could dance to this stuff...if the Black Death was the only other gig in town, y'dig?

I have no information on this group beyond their facebook page. I really am at a loss on this stuff, but it's interesting enough to keep me coming back to it, again and again. With no firm conclusions.

DIG IT...or not.

Dead Eyes-demo (2011)

In the spirit of full disclosure, Dead Eyes' drummer, Max, is also my partner in crime here at Drug Punk. But where, I ask you, would punk rock be without blatant cronyism?.

...er, well, better not ask yourself that question, actually....

A coupla years ago, I had jaw surgery and got copious amounts of liquid Valium. Boy Scout that I am, most of this candy fell into my friends' hands. I left them alone one night with the bottle of Valium and a bag of weed. When I returned, I found them plastered to my friend's porch swing; they had dipped their joints in Valium. Movement was not on the agenda that evening.
  This demo might be the result of boiling that evening down to musical form. That might sound like criticism, but stoner sludge in all forms is preemo primo stuff for us here at Drug Punk. Sludgy like what'd happen if your postpunk band popped some Xanies before covering Mission of Burma's "Outlaw": there are fast parts, but they're jerky-twitchy, not thrashy. The singer has a hollow, high-pitched yowl that comes close to AIDS Wolf at times, which suits the cavernous mix quite well.

So anyways, if yer havin' a barbiturate bomber of night, give Dead Eyes a spin! And buy the real deal when they're out! Yeah!

Dead Eyes is playing' up and down the West Coast this summer, so keep checking in your humble narrators at Drug Punk for news.