On their recent 7" via Iron Lung, Oakland's Shrinkwrap Killers blow a pretty little hole in your speakers by way of a flawless one-two punch made up of fuzzy, melodic garage punk and bearing some similarity to The Stalins Of Sounds, S.B.F. or Kid Chrome. Nuff said.
Not too long after their recent 7" suggested some amount of relaxation in the Cleveland trio's sound, they fall right back into their tense and gritty old ways on their second album - even double down on them compared to the already rough blast of their debut album three years ago - amounting to another perfect round of fuzzed out garage noise glory, this time reminding me of early Greenberg-era The Men in all their uncompromising force.
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So far, the synth-/garage punk project Isotope Soap a.k.a. swedisch punk veteran Peter Swedenhamar has released nothing but top quality stuff in the form of three EPs, all of them were reissued last year on a compilation album via Emotional Response. His first longplayer doesn't dissappoint either. On it, Swedenhamar considerably expands his eclectic raid of obscure punk history, resulting in his most varied and playful release yet, incorporating among other things moments of trippy space punk, pure synth pop, dreamy krautscapes. And of course also a lot of his more straightforward signature Devo-meet-Ausmuteasnts style that made up the bulk of his EPs.
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San Francisco's Modern Needs let off one delicious fart after another into the atmosphere, consisting of straight, simple & effective Fuzz reminiscent of early 80s westcoast punk & hardcore as well as plenty of crude KBD-vibes. As such, they make good company to other contamporary bands like Launcher, Freakees, Beast Fiend or Liquid Assets.
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This London trio delivers some new high quality bursts of decidedly crude garage punk with a clear post punk edge. Admirers of bands like Constant Mongrel, Ex Cult, Tyvek, Useless Eaters or Shark Toys will know to appreciate this.
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New recorded material by Hank Wood & his crew has become a somewhat rare occurence in recent years… but whenever some new tunes crop up, you're instantly reminded why you fell in love with his soul-infused Garage Punk in the first place - more than ever, i'd say. Songwriting and arrangements are just as spot-on here as we've seen on past releases, propelled forward by razor sharp performances. Those hammers keep hitting every nail with impressive precision.
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No rocket science on Chubby & The Gang's debut album, just the plain old melodic punk rock schtick. But boy, is that some really fucking good stuff. '77 catchyness is injected with loads of hardcore energy and given a rough garage surface. Kinda like Booji Boys recorded in high fidelity.
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This group, probably from Phoenix, Arizona, sets up some chemically unstable noise punk shit welded to a garagecore rocket drive ready to blow up in your face. At times you might feel pleasantly reminded of acts like Beast Fiend, Anxiety, Bo Gritz or Mystic Inane.
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Another batch of awesome garage punk with an occasional hardcore edge from the ever reliable melbourne scene. At times, Punter's music has a frantic quality reminiscent of Jackson Reid Briggs & The Heaters, combined with the slightly more grounded garage sound of Civic or earlier Vaguess, with the latter's pop instincts as well as some Pist Idiots-style drama boiling over at the EP's most anthemic moment, A Minute's Silence.
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I'm not sure if Alien Nosejob currently exist as a full blown band, but at least for their second long playing effort, Jake Robertson (Ausmuteants, School Damage, Leather Towel, Hierophants, etc.) has been recording everything on his own. While the last few releases turned out to be a rather wild and unpredictable ride - touching on Power-/Jangele Pop, Synth Pop and Hardcore Punk among other things - Alien Nosejob's newest album is an unexpectedly consistent work mostly operating in a spectrum of sad power pop and more familiar Ausmuteants style garage fare, wrapped in a warm and fuzzy analog aesthetic varying from mid- to high fidelity. Without exception, these songs are top rate stuff, just classic Robertson at his best.
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