бичкрафт- маскот LP (2014)

Grinding, excruciating noise rock will always get a fair hearing in these parts, and Kiev's бичкрафт passes muster. Wave upon wave of plodding, catharsis-denying feedback and clanging cymbals usher you into this echo chamber of squall.

Track two, "кроссовки," lightens it up a bit with resolutely, passionately meandering feedback, again. I could probably go on for a few more paragraphs wherein I try to extrapolate upon the subtleties and nuances of this slab of drone rock from the Ukrainian steppelands, but you probably get the idea. There's a weird pseudo-techno segment tossed in just to confuddle you. This probably isn't anyone's daily soundtrack, but it certainly does surprise. Proving once again that rock is probably the most versatile genre of music known to humankind, including classical, because it's amazing how much variation can be packed into mutilated, butchered and necromanced blues chords. Especially when you've got synthesizers and a shitload of drugs to help you out on said quest. Hell, this LP runs the gamut from electronica to metal and back without ever, i think, changing key.

All of that makes the LP out to just be a pretentious heap of clever showmanship, but it's pretty fun, like guzzling tallboys of bad German beer (i.e., all German beer) on a hot summer night's fun. That sorta fun. FUN.

Check out this hellacious squall HERE!

Cacaw-Get a Brain 12" EP (2010?)

Tips on being a successful mid-20-something in the U.S.A.:

7 a.m.: Wake up, preferably hung over, preferably unable to recall how you wound up in your own bed (or in someone else's bed, even better). Clutch your head in a paroxysm of pain, hoping that this is all a bad dream. Repeat.

7:30 a.m.: Finally crawl out of bed because that stupid alarm clock won't shut up, and because coffee will not-despite your best efforts-make itself. If you woke up in another person's bed, add the fact that s/he is starting to wake up, and ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT want you next to them when they do sober up and wake up.

7:45-9:00 a.m.: Sip coffee and munch on day-old bread, preferably alone, preferably in your underwear, alone. As you do so, ponder the deeper mysteries of how it is that, despite your best efforts, it is in fact Friday and you have in fact been this hungover every Friday for the last month (at least).

9:15 a.m.: Muster up enough courage to check your cell phone and/or social media device. Figure out how many friendships you destroyed. Make initial efforts to heal the wounds, or throw them all away. It depends on how much you drank, and how much horseshit your friends are willing to tolerate.

10:00 a.m.: Disturbed by knocking on your bedroom door. The rent's due again. Pay it, or, alternatively, think of some horseshit excuse that doesn't trick your room mates-let alone landlord-into giving you a one-day extension.

10:30 a.m.: Feel so elated about accomplishing the major feat of paying or ducking the rent that you manage to take a shower.

11:00 a.m.-noon: Make your way to your place of business. Wisecrack with your friends about last night's peccadillos, hiding the fact that you may have picked up an STD, and certainly should not be mixing with civilized humans at such an early hour.

1:00 p.m.-5:00 p.m.: Avoid a mountain of work. That mountain has been here since early May, but God knows that you adamantly refuse to start tunneling beneath it like a good gopher. Stare at it. Hate it. Feel reassured because it ain't going anywhere. Repeat.

~5:00 p.m.: Duck out of work as early as possible. Make your way to the local bar and/or cafeteria. Your friends-who have girlfriends (boyfriends), careers, and in general have a clear sense of real priorities, will meet you there soon.

~5:30 p.m.: Scream and shout about Marxism, the dialectic, and the newest, most awesomest punk records with above-said friends.

 ~8:00 p.m.: stumble home, reeking of beer and/or whiskey. Continue drinking while playing Cacaw or Black Flag (don't make no difference) at top volume.

~midnight: pass out in a pool of drool, sweat, and vomit. You should be too disgusted by yourself to be capable of forming coherent thoughts, by this point. In the unlucky and unlikely event that you are, however, they should be centered on the fixed idea of how dumb you are and how boring your dirtbag, degenerate life is.

CACAW IS PREEMO-PRIMO NOISE ROCK SWEETNESS, SHITBIRD.

*EDIT, 7.15.14: Just re-up'd the file, get it HERE*

Antique Pony-Gay Ghosts CS (2012)

In my September review of these guys' debut EP, I noted that the production was a bit too mannered for the sort of noise skronk Antique Ponies traffic in. The Glaswegians took the gloves off for their sophomore effort, and it pays off big time. The opener, "Halloween" sets you up for a record of nice acoustic songs that mighta been recorded in Olympia for K Records 'round 1988. But it's a red herring, 'cause what you get is a tape's worth of ugly, contorted noise made by up and coming Scots who have a lot of bile left in 'em, I'm guessing. Spew forth, boys.

"Sitting in Steven's room listening to drone tapes" is a lumbering, stupidly direct piece of noise slop centered on a fight between the guitarist and drummer. It's the work of a band that just started listening to the Swans, and who do a good job of paying homage to them. "Dying in a flower bed" grabs your attention with its instrumentation: the guitar has an eerie, noirish quality that sucks you in and the mix of trashy drumming and whisper-snarled vocals is just right. The closer, "Manifold Twin," steals the show with a colossal drumbeat, spastic singing and cleverly braindead guitar.

Antique Pony has found their sound on this EP, methinks. Them and Toxic Parents are two of the best band playing in this genre these days; expect good things from both in 2013.

Listen to the tape here. You can buy a physical copy here. Hurry up, they only made 50 copies and handpainted each one-very nice touch.