Aspanya - Aspanya

The span­ish garage scene is full of gold late­ly (and speak­ing of el di­a­blo… have you all heard that fab­u­lous Hog­ar LP yet?) - lat­est piece of ev­i­dence is this nice lit­tle EP by a group from… Barcelona, i guess? At least that's one of the few words i'm able to recog­nise in their lyrics. They're play­ing a fun va­ri­ety of garage punk that most­ly al­ter­nates be­tween straight and stu­pid '77-ish sim­plic­i­ty and a more con­tem­po­rary, an­gu­lar groove á la Ura­ni­um Club, Pinch Points.

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Liquid Face - II

For his sec­ond 7" on Good­bye Boozy Records, Cal Don­ald aka Liq­uid Face in­creas­es both the en­er­gy- and dis­tor­tion lev­els con­sid­er­ably, mak­ing his spe­cial sauce of garage-/synth-/post punk come across kin­da like a weird cross­breed be­tween Pow­er­plant, Mononeg­a­tives and the noise punk of Brandy.

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Silicone Values - Burn The 1980's ​/​​ 1977

My fa­vorite british punk group of the mo­ment has yet to write a song that isn't as in­fec­tious as fuck and their most re­cent dig­i­tal (?) sin­gle re­lease de­liv­ers an­oth­er two of their strongest so far and once again will ef­fort­less­ly con­quer the hearts of every con­noiseur of Tele­vi­sion Per­son­al­i­ties-in­flu­enced strum­ming á la Sub­ur­ban Homes, Neu­trals or Freak Genes.

Zoids - Zzap!!

Zoids keep things classy and weird on their newest tape, which will soon be phys­i­cal­ly avail­able via Good­bye Boozy. Still clear­ly op­er­at­ing on the out­er fringes of crude and dis­so­nant garage-/post punk and high­ly de­ment­ed space rock, this group or per­son of mys­te­ri­ous where­abouts re­mains a charm­ing­ly bro­ken ma­chine that doesn't need any fix­ing.

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Toe Ring - Footage

A won­drous and strange lit­tle EP full of oth­er­world­ly garage-/pow­er-/fuzz pop from a Philadel­phia Duo. The tape starts out as if the in­sane pop qual­i­ties of, say, Boo­ji Boys or Daugh­ter Bat & The Lip Stings col­lid­ed with the smart rhyth­mic post punk of Lithics, while the re­main­ing three songs then set­tle in­to a slight­ly more low-key kraut-lean­ing psy­che­del­ic groove, the likes of which you might sus­pect some­where in the lo-fi pop worlds of acts like Germ House, Far Cor­ners, Vi­o­lent Change, Hon­ey Radar or even ear­ly Woolen Men. Ex­cel­lent shit through­out.

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Catastrophic Dance Ensemble - Vol. 1

Here's an­oth­er fresh & tasty bite for the dis­cern­ing con­nois­seur of quirky weird-ass garage punk. Friends of Set-Top Box, R.M.F.C., Eu­gh, T.L.B.M. and Met­dog, among oth­ers, will ap­prov­ing­ly bob their heads and ex­trem­i­ties to this shit.

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Septic - Septic

This L.A. group comes right out of the or­bit of Launch­er and Co-Ed. As you might al­ready ex­pect, this is an­oth­er ex­plo­sive charge of sim­ple, raw and en­er­getic noise made up to equal parts of garage- and catchy ear­ly 80s hard­core punk en­hanced with that cer­tain ragged KBD-style ad­di­tive we've come to know and love out of this par­tic­u­lar neigh­bor­hood.

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Nuts - Living In A Vulgar Vision

Al­most two years af­ter an awe­some de­mo tape, this dude from Cologne has fi­nal­ly un­leashed up­on us his full length de­but and damn, is that an­oth­er ir­re­sistible su­per-sized buck­et of pure garage- and ***punk bliss rough­ly in the neigh­bor­hood of usu­al sus­pects like Set-Top Box, Met­dog, Prison Af­fair, Erik Ner­vous or Dee Bee Rich, among many oth­ers.

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Print Head - In Motion

An­oth­er Print Head re­lease means an­oth­er per­fect storm of weird-ass ex­cen­tric, chaot­ic but of­ten un­ex­pect­ed­ly melo­di­ous garage- and post punk shit, this time around com­ing across like an odd mix­ture of con­tem­po­rary groups of the vague­ly egg-re­lat­ed va­ri­ety with the slug­gish grooves of the UV Race and old british Acts like Swell Maps, ear­ly Mekons.

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Milt - The Days Of Milt

This Mel­bourne group's tape de­liv­ers a whole buck­et­load of synth-en­hanced garage punk de­light hov­er­ing some­where in­be­tween the ref­er­ence points of Use­less Eaters, Sauna Youth, Aus­muteants, Met­dog… and al­so fair­ly close to the whole Warttman Inc.-affiliated clus­ter­fuck.

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