Quarantine rock, pt. III
Another long overdue update from the indoors. Hope you and yours are hanging in there - if nothing else, thereâs no shortage of great music to keep you company. Hereâs my take on some recent favorites.
C. Lavender, Myth of Equilibrium (Editions Mego)
Admittedly had not heard of C. Lavender until her collaborative cassette with Aaron Dilloway dropped earlier this year, but itâs safe to say that the tape was strong enough to blindly buy her new LP on Editions Mego. Myth of Equilibrium has been one of the best surprises from this year, drone at its core but opening up to something much more soothing over repeated listens, despite the jagged edges and tendency to embrace caustic noise. It came as no surprise to find out that C. Lavender embraces sound as a healing medium, as Myth of Equilibrium takes a deep, buzzing bass tone and twists and stretches it until individual packets of sound are weightless and ethereal. âRemedy Potion Extractionâ is the most obvious example of this dark-to-light transformation C. Lavender excels at, but mostly the tracks present a satisfying puree of sound over shorter durations (âEngulf the Mystery,â âDimly Lit Exitâ). The brevity is a strength, and in that way C. Lavender reminds me of French duo Femme or even some of Tim Heckerâs work, but without the startling track-to-track transitions of the former or the diaphanous shroud of the latter. The bass keeps Myth of Equilibrium tangible and firmly grounded, and the rest of the sounds conjured by C. Lavender weave a very heady, very rich tapestry. The best respite from 2020 money can buy; soak it in. The LP is sold out from Editions Mego but those in the US can order it direct from C. Lavender for a very fair price.
Kobra, Confusione (Iron Lung)
Alright, Iâm admittedly not a huge fan of the cover art for this record, but itâs an easy enough barrier to jump over when the music rips this hard. Kobra is from Italy, and they traffic in a mid-paced, pounding strain of punk that is right up my alley. Sounds like Una Bèstia Incontrolable meets Mecht Mensch to these ears: like the title track, which starts out like âZombieâ and then flips into a UBI-level groove, sax bleating and moaning on top of it all. This is punk through and through, the blown-out drums always there to remind you that this is presented by Iron Lung Records, but thereâs a definite early post-punk/art-rock vibe present, too - check the groggy âFognaâ that opens up side B, which kinda sounds like Kobra doing their best impression of the Circle Jerks in Repo Man. The guitars donât riff as much as they slash and chop, fragmented stabs landing among the onslaught of drums. The vocalist uses a menacing speak-scream (most effectively on âSogni Illusioniâ and closer âC.P.D.M.â), and if I could speak or read Italian, Iâm sure the lyrics would be intelligible amongst the din. Confusione is loaded with hits, but when the band clicks and all the parts come together, Kobra whips up a maelstrom; hard to deny the power of âDentro Agli Schermiâ (my favorite track) or âC.P.D.M.,â and though both of those tracks feature the saxophone, Iâm glad the band wields that weapon sparingly for maximum effect. One of the most memorable and exciting punk releases of 2020, for sure, a formidable, brawny brew thatâll flex your pencil neck and have you involuntarily pogoing in no time. Highest recommendation! Confusione is sold out direct from Iron Lung, but Sorry State, Feel It, Grave Mistake, etc. all have it in stock.
Oily Boys, Cro Memory Grin (Cool Death)
The best musical news this year, hands-down: NEW OILY BOYS. Not only was an Oily Boys LP drop completely unexpected, I am completely steamrolled by this record every single time I drop the needle, from the opening âUGH!â on âGivenâ to the nearly nine minutes of caustic self-loathing on âGTrance.â Thereâs a definite metallic edge to the way Oily Boys approach punk, from the riffing to Drew Bennettâs brutally intense vocal performance, but while most punkers approach metal as a gimmick and end up sounding pretty tame, Oily Boys just sound absolutely mad - the 1-2 of âC.B.D.â into âMy Sex Life,â especially the wild guitar theatrics on the latter, carry an intense, teeth-clenching physicality. If that was all Oily Boys did on this LP, itâd be a success, but the band throws curveballs and mid-tempo fits across Cro Memory Grinâs 13 tracks. âHeat Harmonyâ was the most jarring inclusion at first, relatively tuneful dark punk that couldâve been lifted from drummer Yuta Matsumuraâs other band Orion. It definitely works, and the slightly softened approach of the band thankfully has no effect on Drew Bennettâs vocals. âLizard Schemeâ is another detour, swelling noise and Bennettâs barking (âStupid is as stupid does, jazz boy!â is a choice lyric), reminiscent of Gutter Godsâ dizzying âAllan.â Probably the two most pummeling tracks here slow the tempos significantly and close out each side: âStick Him,â my favorite track, and âGTrance,â the exhaustive closer. âStick Himâ is absolutely ferocious, the band emphasizing the quiet-loud dynamic with saxophone, the loud parts lurching into place like heavy machinery turning on, Bennett screaming the title with a violent ferocity. Where âStick Himâ is feral, the screed unleashed on âGTranceâ by Bennett feels therapeutic, expelling every bit of toxic bile into the song without a break, and even if there is no resolution, the end result is a momentary peace, the same kind afforded by pushing to the full extent of oneâs mental or physical abilities. That kinda seems like the point of Oily Boys, from the self-effacing name to the poisonous lyrical content to the absolutely ferocious performance: know your enemies, push back against the lowering boot of the world, fuck the rest. 2020â˛s best punk record, no contest, and maybe even the best record/soundtrack to the perfect storm of this year. Sick artwork/inserts on this LP, a nice job as usual from Cool Death. Cro Memory Grin is still available direct from them, and Goner still has it domestically.
Subdued, Over the Hills and Far Away (Roachleg)
With last yearâs Bad Breeding LP still fresh and prescient as ever, and the political climate seemingly spiraling into reality TV while people mercilessly struggle and suffer all over, it seemed like scoping this new LP from the UKâs Subdued was more than appropriate. Itâs reductive and maybe a little offensive to mention UK compatriots Bad Breeding in the first line of this review, but the similarities are hard to ignore: both bands create fiery politically-charged punk that flirts with metal and noise, delivered in screamed vocals with a heavy British accent. Subdued donât fly off the rails as much as Bad Breeding; thereâs more of a Crass/Rudimentary Peni vibe, with the emphasis on vocal delivery and riffs rather than conjuring a visceral tornado of noise. Sometimes the riffs can be a little clunky (particularly the end of âThe Joke,â even though âIs hope the joke?â is a pretty powerful lyric), and for how much room the vocals are given, the lyrics can tread into oft-used clichĂŠs. Doesnât make the message any less true, and I think the longer I spend with Over the Hills and Far Away, the more I come under its spell. âProblem of Evilâ is probably the best song here, a near-perfect blend of deathrock, stomping riffs and barked vocals, and when it turns into the sprint of âNo More,â Subdued are an undeniable force. Not sure if it just takes me until those two songs to warm up to Over the Hills, but the B-side of the LP seems to be more memorable - like the world-beating metallic riffs of the title track, or the frenetic guitar solo that finishes off âCall to Suffer.â Thereâs more than enough at play on Over the Hills to keep me coming back, and overall itâs a strong debut LP, and a great reason to check in with what Roachleg Records is bringing to the US punk scene. Cop the LP direct from Roachleg, and if youâre lucky you might have a chance at one of the limited-to-100 hand-screened covers. La Vida Es Un Mus put out the LP for the rest of the world, another solid co-sign for Subdued.
Aviador Dro, Nuclear, Sà 7Ⳡ(La Vida Es Un Mus) // Algara, Enamorados Del Control Total 7Ⳡ(La Vida Es Un Mus)
I donât think these two 7âłs have much in common other than the fact that theyâre both put out by La Vida Es Un Mus, theyâre both sung in Spanish and theyâve both been ruling my turntable this year. The Aviador Dro record is a reissue, one that came out last year, and itâs a gem: sci-fi keyboard punk from the '80s, the titular track one of the best songs Iâve ever heard, a slinking, funky beat driving the song into your brain forevermore. The B-side feels more edgy than the A-side but itâs all undeniably great; Paco did us all a favor by repressing this record, and continuing to keep it in print. Fast forward to 2020 for Algaraâs 7âł, their debut, which came out way back in pre-pandemic January. The cover art caught my eye, and the spindly, groovy drum-machine post-punk within is immediately addictive. The label says Crisis and Joy Division are in Algaraâs musical DNA, and that sounds about right; the sound is spare, you can kinda dance to it, the bass lines carry the weight and the wiry guitars smear into each other (âMiedo a Perderâ) or stitch single golden threads into the tapestry (âDopamina y ProducciĂłnâ). Algaraâs a 4-piece now, and theyâve got an LP coming soon on LVEUM, so 2021â˛s lookinâ bright. Both 7âłs are mandatory, widely available from distros and direct from La Vida Es Un Mus. Scope the feature that Luluâs wrote on Algara while youâre at it.
Saskia, Eeuwig Op Reis 7Ⳡ(Stroom)
The record collector sweat starts when you read about a 7âł reissued from a âhighly intimate cassetteâ limited to ten or so copies in 1983, circulated only amongst friends and family. My eyes typically roll at such uncovered âgemsâ or whatever, but these two songs definitely deserve a wider audience. âMy Lips Get Hotâ splits the difference between the foggy late night atmosphere conjured by Chromatics and a breezy Balearic vibe, topped by sensual, high-pitched vocals that really drive the whole woozy, lovesick message home. The flip has the instrumental âYou Left Your Soul Behind,â wherein said Balearic vibe is now at the forefront. Itâs a strong track on its own, but kinda just serves as the comedown from âMy Lips Get Hotâ in this presentation. Stroom continues to unearth overlooked records with unnerving ease, and this Saskia 7âł might be the one that makes the label a more common name. One copy of this record is left at Stroomâs Bandcamp as of this writing - move quick.
Glen Schenau, âJhumbleâ b/w âJearnestâ (self-released)
Glen Schenau is at the forefront of Brisbaneâs experimental musical scene; heâs done time in Kitchenâs Floor, Bent and has even self-released a few things under his own name. The solo stuff Iâve checked by him was restless, frantic guitar and bass lines seemingly swimming against the current of his Bryan Ferry crooning. While thereâs no denying that it was singular, it never really coalesced for me in the same way that this new 7âł does. That same restlessness is still at play here, obvious from the beginning strumming of âJhumble,â and Schenau seems to still relish the vocal stylings of Ferry, though his vocals also remind me of some of the alterna-rock radio I was subjected to while working in a warehouse during summers between school. Normally that sort of vocal homage would send me running to the hills, but it really works here: the busy guitar line and the drums lock into an undeniable groove on âJhumble,â and whatever Glen is singing, the melody is stuck in my head for days. âJearnestâ is my pick, the more difficult foil to âJhumbleââs pop leanings. The sprightly guitar at the beginning is submerged into this rubbery goo, which eventually takes over the song while a whistle floats in to carry a melody over the tarry pit. Canât say Iâve ever heard anything like it, but it doesnât just float along on that claim; this is a highly potent brew served up on both sides of this single. Glen self-released this record and itâs limited to 150 copies; mine came with a hand-written note and drawing, which was a nice touch. High marks all around. Iâve got to echo Matt K.âs sentiments when he reviewed this record: âSeems like every Australian band gets their own album without much delay, so I have to ask: where the hell is Glen Schenauâs?!â














