iPad Baby of Glassboro, New Jersey first came to my attention with a fun little debut EP last fall but their newest EP/mini-LP thingy is just a so much stronger, more consistent effort in which they dial the weird energy and creativity up to eleven, coalescing into a new lump of completely off-the-rails insanity sure to please discerning fans of all kinds of other unmedicated, beautiful trainwrecks in the realm of Egg-, Synth- and Garage Punk as done by the likes of Zoids, The Gobs, Mateo Manic, Prison Affair, Metdog, Nuts or Nubot555, to name a few.
Holy fuck, has it seriously been a whopping five years already since the last LP by one of the most influential, defining groups of the current era of quirky and intelligent garage punk? It certainly didn’t seem that long to me and part of that might be down to their distinct mix of playful, angular and elaborate garage- and art punk having been such an omnipresent undercurrent of so many things that have happened in the last few years, with groups such as Dumb, Vintage Crop, Pinch Points, Aborted Tortoise, Reality Group, Yammerer and Patti being only the tip of the iceberg concerning groups that appear to have taken some inspiration from them at one point or another. On their fourth LP so far, Uranium Club keep expanding their stylistic scope as well, showcasing a matured songwriting ability which pays off especially well in slower numbers like the strummy and folk-ish garage pop almost-a-ballad Tokyo Paris L.A. Milan, which unites some qualities of groups á la Wireheads, Tyvek and The UV Race, or in The Ascent. with its pronounced Television-esque vibes. Like any of their previous albums, this is nothing short of an instant genre classic!
The follow-up to last year’s sensational debut tape AN/AL by new york garage punk wizard Jean Mignon somewhat dials down the stylistic variety factor but absolutely makes up for it by considerably upping the average energy level of his straightforward punk smashers, propelled forward by an unstoppable, combustive drive with more than just a little undercurrent of proto punk in general and the ’74-’77 New York scene in particular.
A bucketload of unhealthy sugary joy, the second EP by this NY act delivering a quirky and catchy mix of synth- and garage-, art- and eggpunk that skillfully and precisely hits kind of a sweet spot inbetween the sonic worlds of, say, Metdog, Smirk and Cherry Cheeks, more or less. Good shit!
A new EP by the San Antonio, Texas group and as always i’m happy to say that Sex Mex still sound very much like Sex Mex, their mixture of garage- and synth punk, noise- and power pop transporting the aesthetics of only the most catchy and melodic artifacts out of the whole Reatard era. Reliable shit that doesn’t try anything funny and instead just delivers on the hooks!
The EP suffers from non-embeddable bandcamp disease, but you can listen to the whole thing over at their bandcamp page.
New shit by these Olympia, Washington Lo-Fi punks and you kinda know what’s gonna hit you: More of that deliciously blown out and catchy-as-fuck garage-/electro/fuzz punk dementia for the moderately desensitized mind, hellbent on damaging your speakers, corrupting your soul, spilling your booze and puking on your carpet. Very negative influence these kids, stay away!
Jake Robertson’s Alien Nosejob usually finds some way to subvert our expectations and their newest 7″, coming to us as usual via Anti Fade Records, ain’t no exception in that regard! The Executioner surprises with what might easily be the most post punk the group has ever sounded as cold and raw electric beats get welded to an equally rigid construct of repetitive guitar riffs, combining into a slightly industrial-ish overall vibe. West Side Story then is closer to the familiar and beloved standard Alien Nosejob formula, a straightforward yet elegant garage punk smasher based on a single exquisite riff that could just go on forever but conveniently gets faded out in time before it can cause any lasting (hearing-) damage.
Following up on their much rougher, hardcore-leaning International Heartthrob EP of last year, Indiana’s Spewed Brain take their sound into a catchier, slightly egg-ish direction on their new LP while staying delightfully fucked-up and unpredictable, at different times reminding me of groups as diverse as, say, Trauma Harness, Print Head, Exwhite, The Gobs, Snooper, Rolex, Witch Piss or Slimex.
Oh look, it’s that mysterious dude again who also goes by such names as Zhoop, Djinn, Nightman, Feed, Brundle and even more disguises i can’t recall right now. As usual he does exactly one thing on here and he gets it right every single time – five excellent no-frills minimalist detonations on the intersection of garage-, hardcore- and fuzz punk.
The second LP by this Melbourne garage punk supergroup brings further gradual refinement to their distinct formula carrying all the right baggage from many decades of particularly australian punk history both ancient and recent, presented with heartfelt urgency and a persistent sense of melancholy that’s quite unique to them, a knack for catchy hooks, elegant, simple and effective songwriting which has had the group running circles around the bulk of the genre pretty much from day one, all the while leaving impact craters with the unrelenting fury of their performance. Nothing short of spectacular, this record!
