CD Reviews
Archived
Curdled Soundtrack
Geffen Records
This music comes straight out of Little Havana (or some place like that). I didn’t understand one single word, but this salsa stuff is good. It makes me wonder what the movie is actually about, wouldn’t it be a surprise if Curdled was a poignant tale of a group of boys (Hollywood up and comers) coming of age in small midwestern town, where they struggle to find their identity between the conflicts of their heads as well as their hearts, set to the Spanish music of Cafe Tacvba and Pedro Laza y sus Pelayeros. I don’t know if that is what the film is about, but it should be. The bands collected here might be the giants of rock in South America, and I wouldn’t even know it. They’re good, in that mood music kind of way. There is even a classical guitarist named Slash; what a long, strange trip it’s been since G’n’F’n’R. The soundtrack is excellent, and if at the next house rave, someone asks you to throw on some salsa beats, you’ll be prepared. —Mad Reverend
Thompson Owen / There’s Always Someday
Diana Froley / You’re Not Broke But I’m Going To Fix You
Serious Records
These two share the same style, record company, lyrics and possibly brain. Froley sings on Owen’s album, and Owen sings on Froley’s. Play these CDs on shuffle, and they melt into each other, you wonder which is which. And more importantly, does it matter? They become a more subdued and less pretentious Beck. These two make you wish for all that studio-crafted shit that Beck “creates.” Owen’s album has 34 songs, Froley’s has 24, a combined 58 songs that all start with “I’m sitting here alone with my guitar.” I swear to God they are making it up as they go along. I might like it if they were, but they’re not. They think they’re good, you hear it in their pompous voices. They really think they have talent in that punk/folk realm where you don’t need any talent to begin with, and they still fuck it up. The sum of these two parts equals that these two suck ass collectively. —Mad Reverend
The Pondering
Blacktree Records
You’d hear The Pondering in some trendy bar in Moab after a hard day walking your new mountain bike up and down the slick rock. After you’ve nursed a few McDermott’s Raspberry Special Sauce Lagers you can sit back and groove in your seat to these jokers. Sure they’re small now, but in a few years when you’re plunking down 50 dollars to see them open for Hootie, you can say, “I saw these guys before any of you posers heard them.” You’ll be at the core of a huge Pondering following that will sweep the nation for a couple months. You’ll have all their albums, be able to sing along at their concerts and have their sticker on the 01 Pathfinder. They thank the fucking Connells for all their help – that right there should clue you in. So hurry and get to know these guys, they’re rockin’. Just remember where you heard it first. —Mad Reverend
Tricked Out
Moonshine
Moonshine as a label is seldom featured in the pages of SLUG. For the most part, SLUG writers remain enamored with the guitar. As for myself, I’ll snatch any disc from Moonshine because I enjoy new experiences. The sub-title to the disc currently under consideration is Hardhop, Acid & Brutal Beats Mixed Down By Omar Santana. Reaching into the bag of drugs purchased in front of the Savers outlet on Redwood Road and ingesting E in conjunction with the ever-prevalent “crank” while sucking on a big fat blunt, the CD hit the system. The “shit” is quite engaging when listened to under the influence of heavy drugs or in the sensory overload of a dance club, but somehow this entire techno revolution, the “dance” takeover of the near future, has bypassed my life experience. Names without faces, blinking lights, the strobes of the ’60s illuminating the jerk of a ’90s dance space and a computer screen staring blankly into red-rimmed eyes is perceived as the future of music? We’ve already visited this planet. Does Urban Cowboy, Saturday Night Fever or Tangerine Dream ignite a memory? “I won’t stop fucking ’til I’m retired” is a lyric from some nerd who fucks his keyboard every night? Connect me with the future and a virtual orgasm! I’m so fucking out of it that I can’t couple with a living/human body. Turn off the monitor, disconnect from the net, dispose of Dr. Seuss, pull your pants up like a man, quit imitating a plum and investigate life on the street. The street is an ugly place, and while the “artists” recording for Moonshine are definitely on it, they need to discover a manner in which to connect the spoiled who purchase their releases. The streets are fine, but in Utah suburbia, they read SLUG. Ask White Beat all about it since they are so enamored by Planet Slug that their frog-like vocals repeat the slogan throughout their creation “Wizard Of Oh.” “Listen to the beat go boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, listen, dance your ass off.” Send more music Moonshine, I’m into it – at least on a night when drugs are my choice for relieving the boredom of my pathetic life. Give me some more, and I might enlist myself in the Flatline Crew. —Mad Reverend
V.3
Photograph Burns
American Recordings
When you’ve been spending long hours late at night trying to push out reviews for a deadline, you’re going to eventually cross the line. That all became clear when I got to this blackened “nugget,” which made me want to crawl the walls and break my OJ furniture. Supposedly recorded in a friend’s house for $50 a day, this is a raw and cruel recording of two angry men and assorted drummers working out their frustrations in musical therapy. The sloppy and bleeding guitar work was especially annoying, going off like a barrage of fireworks while you’re trying to sleep off a hangover. I couldn’t figure out if the drummer(s) were playing stuffed pillows or tupperware, but it definitely sounded weak and dragging. To top it all off, the single really sounded too much Iike Crash Test Dummies, which has been known to cause suicide in laboratory test animals in clinical studies outside the U.S. I didn’t have the heart to subject myself to this album more than once. I wonder, “Can You?” —Billy Fish
Terrorgruppe
Uber Amerika
BYO Records
What the hell can you say about punk rock in German? I admit I dig the music but was left at the crossroads when it came to figuring out the lyrics to the whole bloody mess. Luckily, they threw some English translations, but that only uncovered how damn silly most of the songs were, yapping on about sleeping in too late and dealing with hangovers. I wasn’t too impressed either with the little letter at the front of the liner notes ripping on American culture, especially when they’ve been imported into the States to obviously make a little cash, if any. Europeans (especially ex-fascist/satellite nations!) kill me when they bitch about the USA and all its ill social states, as if we don’t already know how fucked up it is firsthand, already living here. Most of these countries, Germany being a lovely example, have a few problems of their own to contend with, which is noted here and there on the disc with an obvious delivery (Wow, interesting… yawn!). I guess on a worldwide scale punk bands like to bitch a lot, but few really sink deeper than the given surface we all see every day. Other than the change in language, same old scene. Dig it, or don’t! —Billy Fish
Squirtgun
Another Sunny Afternoon
Lookout!
When it comes to playing for the kids, no one does it better (and with a bigger smile on their faces!) than the young rascals in Squirtgun. This is happy and harmless pop punk at its finest. Bopping around like jack rabbits with hard-ons, the frisky five play some good tunes for good people, coast to coast. Warming up audiences for label buddies like The Queers and The Riverdales, Squirtgun is now planning on hitting the road in headliner mode to put the word in the street, solo style. The lyrics are still sticky and catchy, dropping down on quick guitars that snare your attention with ease, ripping out the candy-crunchy chords full steam. Add a slap-happy bass and some cool drum kit action to the pile for a tasty treat that’s tough to beat. Maybe not recommended for kids who live outside the home (or over 20!), this is still a nice collection of user-friendly tunes that can brighten your day and open your ears to the good things in life that us older adults tend to forget about in the daily shuffle of work and debt. Good stuff! —Billy Fish
Screw 32
Under The Influence of Bad People
Fat Wreck Chords
If you haven’t caught this punk rock act out of Berkeley (Wow, what a surprise, huh?) yet, then you’re missing out, my man. Sure, it’s punk, but heavy on the ROCK. I mean that sincerely, since these five are far beyond the three-chord school, laying down a complex field of fiery speed that is wild beyond words. I love the twin guitar work that lets the rhythm (Doug) rip out the power chords while setting up outrageous solos for the lead (Grant) that bleed with distortion. Usually, I prefer the single axe man to keep the basics up front and center, but the power duo here is a sweet salute to seventies styling that has been slipping into the indie punk scene the last few years. Andrew (vocals) dreams of singing for Pennywise someday (kidding!) but is a standout shouter anyway. I have yet to hear a quicker drummer in the last year, and there is a lot of competition in the field, as we all know (okay, I almost forgot Erik of Avail!). I think at this point, it’s just important to note that you all should be looking for their next live show coming soon (supposedly!) to SLC this spring. I’m waiting, and digging the record in the meantime. What are you doing? —Billy Fish
Engine 88
Snowman
Caroline
I have never heard a band try harder to sound like Fugazi in my life (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing!), but still had me a little wary of their intentions. What were they after, anyway? The lyrics certainly didn’t fit, coming off like some high school art student whiner, sad that his homeroom sweetie left him to get stuffed by the football captain in the back of his dad’s Cherokee. Man, get over it! This whole angst-ridden, crybaby bullshit gets old when reviewing one after another, especially when it doesn’t sound particularly too sincere. I thought the music itself was interesting, pushing strong Bay Area guitar that could be mistaken for soft/hardcore or punk but still had me thinking of Ian McKaye and company too much (of the other previous band mentioned, ya novice!). Getting to hear 20-30 new bands a month will tend to cause comparisons (which is a troublesome trait I beat to death… I know!), but looking in the circus mirror at weird and wacky copies is plain boring. If you’re not familiar with Discord Records and like a strong rock sound with heavy influences, this may be your ticket! —Billy Fish
60 Cycle
Strap On Records
Do East Coast bands ever break up and just call it quits? Hell, no! And why should they, anyway? Most of the musicians are still in their early 20s and still need to feed and clothe themselves (indieville is brutal for making money!), so they hook up with their buddies from other recently defunct outfits and start gigging to pay the rent. Along the way, some luck out and have a friend or fan at a label that puts the tracks on wax, and BOOM! Another fresh young band out touring the countryside and playing for the kids. You’ve probably guessed from this bit of ranting that 60 Cycle is an example of this, which they are, and very damn good at what they do in their new group together. Pulling fellas and ex-members from Failure, Cadillac Tramps and Dead Surf Kiss, the end result is a little punk, a tad crunchy, maybe hard rock… who knows? Post punk, maybe… I don’t know, whatever… But what you will find out is that it is just plain amazing! When are these guys coming to SLC? I’m digging all over this CD and want the live show! See if you can scare up a copy for yourselves and see why I’m saving my five bucks for general admission. It won’t be soon enough! —Billy Fish
88 Fingers Louie
The Dom Years
Fat Wreck Chords
Chicago isn’t just the home of mainstream blues, but some kick-ass speed punk as well. Leading this sound out of the Midwest city is the kids in 88 Fingers Louie, who decided to celebrate the release of their latest platter with a full-fledged breakup… too bad! This is the shit that every skatehead and snow rider needs to get the plank down the curb or across the snow. Blasting out tunes that hit you in the head, not the brain (the lyrics aren’t the brightest!), the center of the music tends to land on speed, speed, speed! Not leaving a lot of time for catching your breath, plan on doing something strenuous while enjoying this record, ‘cause it will make you want to move into action alongside its quick pace. The guitar noise is rabid. The drum kit is tight as hell, and there is a metallic bass that’s all over the place. The singer is a little distant but belts out a cool sound, just needing some real words and lyrics to rant about. This is some tough stuff that will force you on your feet to do something about it. —Billy Fish
Agression
Don’t Be Mistaken
BYO Records
Wow! This shit is pure hardcore! Like a slap across the face, the latest from Agression throws a 100 mph fastball that smacks you right in the melon. Instead of the normal bubblegum punk crap that spews out of the indie market all the damn time, the boys in Agression lay down some sick and wrong tracks that are chock-full of heavy guitar and stinging lyrics. Don’t expect any crybaby lyrics about girls and geek love, ‘cause it ain’t going to happen here. The words center around hatred toward conservatives, sellouts, apathy and just plain daily routine losers. Mark Hickey (vocals) spews out ugly shots at all the suckers who dare stand in the way of his chosen lifestyle, reflecting a locals-only attitude towards skating and surfing that has no room for outsiders. The real meat of the package comes from the static garage sounds exploding out of Henry Knoll’s guitar, speed sailing from riff to riff, stopping only long enough to drop a quick lead or two. My neighbors were bitching like senior citizens out of prune juice and Depends when I let this disc play a few times over the weekend. Save yourself the hassle of dealing with a similar situation and take my advice – shoot the deadbeats next door before buying this hardened beauty (it’s a must!) to really be able to enjoy yourself. —Billy Fish
Bill Ding
Trust in God, But Tie Up Your Camel
Hefty Records
About a year ago these fellas released their debut, which I thought was pretty cool, but this time they’ve really got my wood worked. Like any Frank Zappa fan, I dig a band that will experiment with sound, not just style or lyrics, and make an album that centers around noise for the pure enjoyment of its own creation. Bill Ding does this by going into the studio to lay down not just another collection of tee-hee songs but an arrangement of pieces that move through you, taking a listener on a freaky voyage of strangely distasteful yet seductive tracks. The sophomore release tends to lean more toward the jazz side of these musicians, sprinkled with tender xylophone leads and smooth big-band hollow-body riffs. But before you lay back too far in your leather recliner, the rugs get pulled out with screeches of high-distortion angst and lo-fi orgasms. Throw in the occasional cello for good measure and schoolboy vocals whispering sweet nothings, and the potluck musical dinner is ready for your feasting. Imagine Henry Mancini meeting Sonic Youth, and they may help you get a pre-taste test, but order the whole dish instead at your local indie store for sure satisfaction. —Billy Fish
Crumbs
Lookout!
Upon first listen to this band, I was magically transported back to the shitty streets of New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, strolling along to catch a live show at CBGBs (circa 1977) in the middle of the East Coast punk explosion. Sure, I wasn’t there (barely playing little league farther north), but I’ve heard the music and stories enough times to draw my own conclusions to keep myself entertained. The Crumbs are old school, I mean old-old school, which reflects the styling of the Ramones and the Modern Lovers (both being prime examples of the three chords and a whole lot of attitude making one great R&R package). Straight out of the garage and into the dark recesses of the crappiest bars to play for an audience of maybe 10-15 drunk thrashers, you aren’t going to hear this shit very often, and that’s a damn shame. The reason that it’s sad is because this is the reason rock and roll started, for a bunch of straggly kids piling their pennies together to buy worthless equipment and just tearing into some noise with utter abandon to get their rocks off! Damnit, it’s that simple, just like the music. Forget skill, quality or routine pattern. Just enjoy some energy and honesty for a change, both of which the Crumbs have in excess and need to share. It’s a kick in the pooper that has long gone overdue! —Billy Fish
