The follow-up LP to the unwieldy two hours, 69 tracks long 2023 opus Prawn Static For Porn Addicts by Moffat Beach, Australia group Electric Prawns 2 is yet again a quite generous affair in the context of the current garage-/eggpunk-adjacent wave, spanning 15 kinda eclectic, genre-hopping tunes that once again prove the impossible-to-contain, wildly creative drive of this group. The opening track Reaction sparkles with that vaguely familiar vibe of neon-glow psychedelia you might expect of a Mononegatives or Pow! record, plus a hint of Isotope Soap, maybe? What follows then is a nonstop fireworks of all-killer-no-filler tunes showcasing a great stylistic variety and, at one point or another, reminding me of a bunch of like-minded groups á la Ghoulies, Billiam, Nick Normal, Alien Nosejob, Erik Nervous or Busted Head Racket, to name just a few. The most incredible thing about this record comes right at the end though, in the form of the closing track Who I Am in which a sense of widescreen drama akin to The Wipers’ Youth Of America or God’s garage one hit wonderMy Pal gets condensed into an ultra-compact hook-fest á la Split System. Holy fuck, what just happened there?!
Here’s yet another little treat of fine egg-related fun by an Ottawa, Ontario act, sounding kinda simple and by-the-numbers at first glance but revealing a great deal of substance under the hood once you listen a little more closely. This shit strikes me a bit as if the smartass quirky post punk pieces of Landowner got crossbred with the no-frills punk attack of that Zhoop/Nightman/Brundle/RONi/etc. dude and subsequently genetically adapted to survive and thrive by the twisted rules of a badly eggpunk-infested environment.
A kickass new EP by this Sydney group delivers the goods of rough-ass rowdy punk rock weaving elements of Wipers-esque post punk, fuzzed-out garage punk, some Hot Snakes-infused rocket-powered postcore and just a little hint of first-gen aussie punk into an overall pattern that reminds me of a whole bunch of female fronted punk greats of the past decade-plus, among whom range such wild and deranged creative forces as Vexx, Fugitive Bubble, Warp, Dots, Gen Pop, Warm Bodies and Skin Tags.
An incredible debut by some NYC group, oscillating somewhere around the rough parameters of hardcore, fuzz-, art- and post punk. Not least because of these psychedelic synth stylings i can’t help but think of the hallucinogenic cowpunk nightmares of another awesome New York City act, Murderer, while in their mellower and catchier moments this surely has a similar quality to past-decade fuzz punk greats á la Feature or Slowcoaches.
This spectacular new split LP finally brings us new material of two Los Angeles Groups – both of ’em stubbornly refusing to conform to the established rules and conventions of hardcore punk – after a couple years lacking any “proper” release from both groups.
Rolex come across as powerful as ever in their unpredictable and inventive-as-fuck postcore attacks which on one hand contain echoes of a couple of fairly recent acts like Mystic Inane, Big Bopper, Brandy, Launcher and early Patti, while also being moderately indebted to the likes of Minutemen, Dicks and early Saccharine Trust (whose first LP Surviving You, Always is in desperate need for a reissue goddammit… a criminally overlooked classic of early postcore, years ahead of the curve if you ask me). Add to that occasional flashes of cowpunk, infused with some Lumpy & The Dumpers-style mayhem channeled into an off-the-rails vocal performance and the result is pure weirdcore bliss, leaving no doubt they remain the rightful rulers of their particular subgenre for now.
Grimly Forming’s side then mounts a way rougher, yet no less smart and unconventional attack on the senses, counterbalancing unrelenting force with plenty of elaborate structures to build on and a healthy dose of garage-y undercurrent to keep things going smooth and fun all the way through.
It took them over five years to follow up on their excellent debut EP from 2019, but at long last here it is, the first LP by Sydney’s Negative Gears, on which they present an even more pitch-black, stone-cold vision than before, funneled into significantly matured and refined compositions and arrangements. Comparisons to US groups like early Institute, Rank/Xerox, Criminal Code and Nag still apply, kind of… but also i can sense some kinship with the widescreen drama of berlin-based duo Dead Finks and its sort-of precursor group, New Zeeland’s Trust Punks. Then again, songs like the opening track Negative Gear and Pills carry some of the hallmarks of british post punk powerhouses like Girls In Synthesis and Sievehead while in calmer moments like Ants and Zoned, a melancholia and elegance reminiscent of recent Marbled Eye or Tube Alloys shines through.
What started out as a duo fronted by Corey Plumb of Spray Paint fame has now grown into a fully fledged band lineup and accordingly, this new LP marks a further step towards a more airy and organic sound aesthetic for the group, which at this point also sounds the most reminiscent so far of his previous Spray Paint work, especially of their later, heavily electronic-leaning phase. That said, this is far from being a lazy retread of times past, as his trademark dissonant guitar work on here blends in a uniquely natural way with a plethora of pulsating sound both organic and electronic, which on one hand have a distinctly industrial feel to them while quite paradoxically retaining a surprisingly playful and warm quality throughout.
Following an intoxicatingly strong debut EP last summer, the follow-up by french psychedelic rock wizard Remy Pablo delivers more of that same overwhelming goodness stubbornly executing its very own notion of pulsating loops and blown-out drones at the intersections of psych- and space rock, post-, art-, proto- and garage punk with more than just a little of an MX-80-, Chrome- and Métal Urbain vibe to it.
Even in the face of pretty much anything that loose collective of musicians gathered around the New York label Decoherence Records has done so far, Gay Cum Daddies still stuck out as one of its most baffling agents of chaos and mischief. In a way, their newest LP is almost what you’d expect of this group at this point, an unwieldy bastard made of atonal and chaotic, no-wave-ish noise that, despite all the clutter and cacophony, never seems random. More than ever before, i get a sense of this group being totally in control of their craft at all times, their nerve-racking jams never leaving a trace of doubt that these dudes do indeed have a master plan. A weird, convoluted and disjointed one for sure, but a plan nonetheless. Once you’ve re-wired your brain to almost make sense of it, it feels like the most transgressive and shocking thing ever when Ribboning Boulder Hands Over Data actually has a discernible 4/4 beat playing for, like, a whole 30 seconds.
Following a couple of exceptionally enjoyable EPs, this Los Angeles group stays a delightfully quirky enigma on their first full length record, whose often minimalist yet always playful and elaborately constructed bursts of chaos consistently find new ways of wiggling their way out of established genre tropes and conventions and as such, remind me of a whole bunch of different things at different points. What i can say though is that this shit certainly shares a common spirit and tons of that same unshackled creativity with other hyperactive agents of distraction like Reality Group, Patti, Skull Cult, R.M.F.C., Big Bopper, early Uranium Club, Print Head, Subtle Turnhips, Shark Toys, Pressure Pin and Meal.
