#f.u.k.

Detroit 1977 by F.U.K. (Fucked Up Kids)

A lot has been written about how culture’s shift into digital connectivity has irrevocably changed how we find and listen to music. Much of that writing strikes skeptical stances, expressing a longing for the sustained experience of waiting for a record to come out, then having to leave the house to go buy the thing, and then sitting in front of a turntable to play the whole thing through, song by song, and so on. Now, it seems, we just click and click and click, often anxiously clicking midway through a track, hopeful that the next one will be more urgent or present or pleasurable. And the next click can take you to Indonesian crust as easily as it can to Palestinian hip hop. (Go ahead. Click.) Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. It can make the world feel bigger and smaller, at the same time.  

A decided benefit of the proliferation of digitally mediated music venues and sites of exchange is the greater ease of circulation for sounds that used to be relegated to subcultural margins, and of sounds that had seemingly been lost. That’s the story with this single from F.U.K. — the Fucked Up Kids — originally released in 1977 and reissued by the folks at HoZac, with an assist from Byron Coley’s inexhaustible archival erudition. It’s the only record the band put out, and it’s alleged that they played only one gig. The fleeting nature of their musical presence begs the question: Who cares? Certainly listeners of Mission of Burma and Birdsongs of the Mesozoic should prick up their ears. F.U.K. is some of Roger Miller’s earliest musical output — a bit later than the goofy psych rock he made in Detroit in the late 1960s with his younger brothers as Sproton Layer, and certainly a lot more punk.

New & just-rescued from the vaults music from F.U.K., Chronophage, Pentas & Table Sugar, as written about in Maximum Rocknroll #424 (September 2018).

Detroit’s F.U.K. (FUCKED UP KIDS) existed as the only briefest of blips on the radar of the early American punk underground, when there was no lack of short-lived primitive provocateurs leaving a trail of cassettes and one-and-done singles behind in their wake that would form the basis of countless Bloodstains and Killed by Death comps in the years to come. The twist here is that F.U.K. featured a pre-MISSION OF BURMA Roger Miller and shared a close association with local anti-rock rabble-rousers DESTROY ALL MONSTERS, but the two songs on Hozac’s new archival Detroit 1977 7” stand on their own as flipped-out punk genius regardless of that historical context. F.U.K. never released any proper recordings during their micro-existence (they allegedly only ever played one live show), and both sides of the single were sourced from tapes pulled out of the archives of punk archivist extraordinaire Byron Coley, which just goes to show that history is never really a closed book if you’re willing to dig deep enough for those hidden footnotes. “Roadkill” is about as diametrically opposite to MISSION OF BURMA’s tightly-wound, cerebral post-punk as you can get, with Sue Rynski shouting in a sneering deadpan that “nothing tastes better than fresh roadkill!” over Miller’s bare bones two-chord guitar blitz and totally smashed drumming. It’s messy and brilliant and deserves a spot alongside the MAGGOTS’ “(Let’s Get, Let’s Get) Tammy Wynette” or the lone single from Austin’s FOAMS in the pantheon of late ‘70s/early ‘80s falling apart femme-punk classics. On the flip, the Miller-sung “I Got A Head” is a slice of off-kilter, psych-damaged weirdo DIY that connects the dots between the raw Midwestern neurosis of Hardcore-era DEVO and the freewheeling and self-taught noisy glee of HALF JAPANESE, both of whom were operating in a similar mindset of truly freaking out squares in ‘77. Truly a diamond rescued from the rough. (Hozac, fukfuckedupkids.bandcamp.com)

Last year’s excellent What Is the Mystery of Love? cassette from Austin trio CHRONOPHAGE reimagined SWELL MAPS-ish collapsing post-punk by way of the blown-out experiments of the more clamorous corners of 1980s New Zealand pop underground (think TALL DWARFS or most of the output of the Xpressway Records label). Their latest tape, Give Chance a Peace, was put together for a recent West Coast summer tour, and it’s just as charmingly shambolic, although the group’s prior leanings toward both melody and noise are pulled in increasingly separate directions this time around. The first side is clearly the “pop” side, as evidenced by the sweetly-sung, frayed-edge cover of the VELVET UNDERGROUND’s “I’ll Be Your Mirror” that points to one very likely source of inspiration for CHRONOPHAGE’s cracked DIY psychedelia and slightly askew melodies. There’s no song titles included for the originals on here, but the opening track is particularly great, as bassist Sarah delivers lines like “nothing, nothing, nothing ever really happens” with an effortlessly cool casual detachment over wiry, tangled guitar lines and jittery drumming. On the second side, the band turns down a more abstract path of repetitive DEAD C-esque drones and largely instrumental keyboard and drum machine-driven clatter—’70s Krautrock meets ‘00s shitgaze, perhaps? Each half of the tape is a total trip in its own way, and I’m definitely excited for the CHRONOPHAGE LP that’s apparently due for release later this year. (cchhrroonnoopphhaaggee.bandcamp.com)

Now that we’re a few years removed from peak CONEHEADS/C.C.T.V. mania, the expectations for what a new DIY punk band from Northwest Indiana would sound like in 2018 are likely far less rigid. I haven’t heard too much chatter yet about PENTAS, and that’s not such a bad thing, as it seems like they’re probably able to do their own thing and evolve at their own pace without being subject to the watchful eyes and short attention spans of viral hype. The six-song demo that they released in early June has absolutely no trace of DEVO influence to be found, opting instead for a lo-fi, scrappy punk aesthetic like a slightly less loopy KLEENEX or a slightly more art-minded version of the NIXE, with perfectly dry, deadpan recitations and ecstatic shrieks from vocalist Tessa (who also plays one of the two basses in the group). There’s also a slight hint of sass in PENTAS’ sub-two minute bursts of stripped-down slash and burn that reminds me of MIKA MIKO, who were similarly adept at walking the narrow tightrope between frantic thrash and urgent danceability. A really strong debut, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they play a crucial part in shifting the spotlight back on the NWI underground this year. (pentas.bandcamp.com)