The Crimes are a two piece band from Gleba Poland and Liverpool England. They comprise of Ania Olk and Sunday Mourning. Inspirations are from moments and memories. Traditional Polish attitude filtered through death punk tribalism. (taken from Bandcamp page)
This intriguing duo entered the studio with zero in the way of music written, emerging six hours later with this surprisingly cohesive 15-track set. Only the thrilling, 20-second minimalist hardcore of Piss And Vinegar and the, even shorter, noise-rock ire of Ear, Nose And Throat stick out on an album of cold-war-imbued post-punk experiments, though Language Of Flowers‘ hypnotic incantation is like stumbling into a village in the throes of some centuries-old tribal tradition. Look then, to opener Zbrdnie to offer a true flavour of the whole. A chilly, sub-minute thrill of military drums, throbbing SPIZZ bass, minimal, atmospheric synth and doomy femme vocals sung in Polish. Similarly, acting as a bookender, the even shorter final track Polska Dyskoteka accentuates its marching beat and throbbing bass with plinky-plonky piano to create an atmosphere that manages to be at once austere yet warm. Survival Victory and Lord Fuck could have slotted neatly into John Peel’s 1979 playlist; the former a busy, repetitive piece of forbidding post-punk, with much use of toms and proto-goth vocals, the latter a pacy pounder of stark, kitchen-sink agit in the DELTA 5 vein.
Otherworldly atmospheres flit throughout, as on the spooky, changeable Z Tylka Do Ust, and the dreamy Keep The Dead Rose, all shimmering, shoegazy guitar and occasional male backing, while Injustice Of Faith‘s gloomy synth, electronic drums, and spoken, emotionless tone is a melancholy treat. These are bolstered by the ethereal, 26-second Od Zera and simple, synthy air of the drum and bass-led Splinter, interludes both. At times, the cold returns, chilly guitar shards elevating the ponderous, PENI-esque death rock of Fly In The Ointment, the shifting P.C.P.R. featuring a cutting guitar riff and lovingly caressed piano. Conjuring visions of rain-lashed Brutalist architecture, and the album’s atmospheric cornerstone around which many of its moods shift, Memoir Gdansk is a masterclass in building tension via venomous vocals, escalating toms, cold keys and goth guitar spikes.
As varied as these songs are, as chilly as they can sometimes be, THE CRIMES manage to imbue austere tones with communal warmth. Throbbing propulsion a la Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft (D.A.F.) threads in and out, the vocals draw from an XMAL DEUTSCHLAND-via-DIY economy, and goth-tinged, death rock guitar makes an appearance, but, just as the cover art conjures an obscure, late 70s post-punk 7″, that sound too is baked in to much on here. Free from the constraints of actual planning, for the most part, this is surprisingly traditionally structured, though the Polish language and DIY-Euro-experimentalism renders Love Song Prostitution an earthy, organic, really quite thrilling listen. Wholly suited to its lovingly-rendered cassette release, for best results, play the whole thing in one go. Highly recommended.
Released on 24th October 2024 on digital and limited edition cassette with separate scented lyric sheet and download codes – only 20 copies available of this colour variant. First ten copies come with stapled fabric bag and alternate art work slip cover.
If the quality of stuff coming in to Personal Punk is any indication, the UK DIY scene is in rude health. Bands like THE BATTERY FARM, COUGHIN’ VICARS, THE SEWER CATS, THE BABY SEALS, among others, all had stunning releases this year with distinct sonic identities. You can add Sheffield bass/drums duo GET THE FUCK OUTTA DODGE to that list, as they continue to hone their filthy, frenetic racket to a fine point. Sounding their best yet, the production on these eight new tracks of manic panic really accentuates such minimalist rabble-rousing, their signature style never sounding more invigorating than on the primitive pounding of opener Deathblow Peepshow. Throaty bass, manic drums, motormouth vocals – short, but perfectly formed, with a killer chorus. You’ll have quite the time, too, with the longest song, Kitchen Anatomy (spoiler – it doesn’t reach two-and-a-half minutes), off-beat garage punk crammed with distorted bass, shouty chorus and spittle-flecked vocals. Unoriginal Pioneers Of Justice bears a striking resemblance to the propulsive mania of Original Pioneers Of Justice from it’s Not Our Fault Your Boyfriend’s Stupid but we won’t hold it against them, as it’s cooler (it’s fuckin’ OPJ!”). The reverie-shaking A Hypocrisy Shared Is A Hypocrisy Halved comes in LOUDER than everything else; bass a blown-out purge, vocals mean and throttling, while Raymonds Raygun sees said vocals go up a notch over a pounding, grooved-up punkarama designed to batter you into submission. Increasingly attitudinal vocals encroach on Sometimes You Should Know When To Give Up, Office Politics‘ synth intensifies its high-strung anxiety, and they close with the blown-out garage grooves of Dialed This One In, falling apart in glorious style. Rumour has it there’s a hidden treat on the vinyl version, which may or may not be an acapella cover of NOFX’s Leave It Alone (it is – it’s fun).
This is the best I’ve heard this cheeky duo. Ferocious, garage-punk ramalama with a short attention span and great songs; every bass plunge throttles, every drum thud batters, hyperactive vocals filling your head to burst. Banging.
Released on December 14th 2024 by Socks On Records
Brought together by their mutual love of live music, Magic the Gathering tournaments, and LTA local tennis leagues, melodic nerd rockers MIDLAND RAILWAY’s songs are inspired by their unique interests and hobbies stemming from such quirky subjects as Pokémon, online football management, and serial killers. (from band bio)
With a new album coming in February 2025, Manchester’s MIDLAND RAILWAY unveil its first single – and it’s a corker. Bedroom Analysis is one of those songs that feels like one long hook you never want to end. The guitar sound is gorgeous, every strum like a warm blanket, as this nakedly honest tale of “extreme gaslighting, anxiety and the feeling of losing your mind” sways, swoons and spins you around a lonely, indie-disco dance floor like a nerdy HALF MAN HALF BISCUIT. Brimming with cute, full-fat charm, by the time it’s over, you just wanna put the kettle on, hit repeat, and tell ’em it’s all gonna be ok.
It’s always gratifying when a band who inhabit an overcrowded arena – in this case, melodic, poppy punk – put their own stamp on it without a shred of self consciousness, as Leeds’ CHARACTER ACTORS continue to do on this new four-tracker.
Hallelujah II is shot through with personality; typically-British, rainy-day vocal solemnity juxtaposed with fizzing, hooky punk rock make for an unlikely mix. The guitars chock out a viby, killer hook, and the whole thing has a satisfying bounce that really hits the spot. By stylistic contrast, and “named after a line in Arrested Development“, Teach Me The Ways Of The Secular Flesh features banjo, organ and three-part harmony. A rousing slice of cow-punk with a muscular, first-album DROPKICK MURPHYS-via-Leeds vocal inflection – we’re not talking faux-Irish, barroom-brawling tough guy, but it’s there – it’s a twist I did not see coming. The hooky Most Kinds Of Dirt (“named after a Moe Szyslak quote”) is a solid, melodic punk gem with a great singalong, and it’s good to see the vocals going a little harder – “You’ve finally ground me down, ya bastards”! indeed. With Friends Like These, Who Needs Pricks? is the longest, but it’s also the star; mature, emo-punk, brimming with heart while remaining loyal to its gritty anthemics. Totally cool.
CHARACTER ACTORS continue to hone their style in a way that feels organic. Rooted in their beloved THE GASLIGHT ANTHEM and THE MENZINGERS, a typically-British humbleness leans toward Nineties melodic punk a la MEGA CITY FOUR, or, when the vocals head for more reticent shores, nowties VAMPIRE SLUMBER PARTY – just with rousing anthems. A little more belligerence reveals growing confidence, and damn, they keep finding those hooks. Gimic-free, heartfelt, singalong UK punk – sometimes, it’s all we need.
Terror looming Little glass screen dooming All of us are rightly fuming I can’t stop looking at terrible things Nowadays it doesn’t even tug the heartstrings Survival is primal Then primal turns feral No-one’s pain moves me anymore No injustice shocks me anymore What will I become?
Get this thing the fuck away from me
(Hail Mary)
After pulling out all the stops on 2022’s debut album FLIES, Manchester’s THE BATTERY FARM continue to stretch their sinewy, post-punk skronk into ever-more varied shapes.
The liminal space on the cover of this album is, by definition, deeply unsettling. That such images resonate in these dark times is telling, given that so many of us exist in a state of anxiety about, well, everything. While there is much we can put our finger on, woven throughout is a sense of inexorable shift that we are unable to fully comprehend. This unease winds its way through Dark Web‘s meditations on unstable power dynamics, existential helplessness, the corrosive influence of social media, and erm, a malevolent ice cream man.
With just single slivers of electric guitar, the suffocating folk of opener Under The Bomb accentuates its chilling new-clear imagery before Ben’s versatile vocals take The Next Decades to new heights of ferocity; switching from gutteral to spiralling melodrama on a song that rages without losing its post-punk nuance. The rhythm section takes prominence throughout much of Dark Web, not least as it underpins Hail Mary‘s war on the dangers of doom-scrolling. Punctuated by Dom’s jabbing guitar, Ben’s vocal frustrations eventually explode in a heavy, emotional burst. The prowling sermon of O God‘s damaged guitar stabs, crafty bass line and blown-out chorus sees Ben as street-Manc Nick Cave snaking through his flock, but it’s the title track that is the cornerstone around which this album’s chaos swirls; darkly beautiful balladry infused with an otherworldly Lynch-mosphere, Dark Web is a captivating, disconcerting mix of wide-eyed innocence, fear and confusion. No strangers to the style – see We’re At The Top from Dirty Den’s March Of Suffering and Everything Will Be OK from FLIES – the band are as deft at these moments as they are raging and reeling, and I love them for it.
Dark Web Living in the Dark Web Trying to move along in the shadow of something unspeakable Dark Web Living in the Dark Web Trying to shuffle blind to the horror and somehow just muddle along
the hum of hell is getting ever louder how long can I tell myself it’s all fine? When it’s the end of the world
Dark web living in the dark web, Trying not to crumble to dust As the world spirals out of control Living in the dark web
Is this the final chapter?
(Dark Web)
They throw everything at Stevie’s Ices (“The ice cream man cometh!“),skronky bass dominating the restlessness, blunt guitar punctuating moments of quietude. The Kirk Brandonguitar twang on the patient Icicles is a neat touch, weird squelchy sounds, skittering drums and noodly bass allowing Ben’s spoken urgency to build to its soaring majesty, with a keeper of a chorus. John Bull’s Hard Times‘ tribal pounding accompanies melodramatic vocal grit, suffused with rock ‘n roll licks, tinkling piano and “Go, Johnny, Go” phrasing, while the expansive It’s A Shame, Thanks A Lot‘s breathless, expletive-ridden stream of consciousness explores emotional scale. The end arrives via a neat, blippy bass line, but you wouldn’t expect to escape unscathed, and After The Bomb doesn’t disappoint. With weighty, screaming bursts and guitar crescendos crashing over everything, it all feels very serious.
Increasingly defying comparisons, THE BATTERY FARM mix primal roar, skittering post-punk and end-times anxiety into an all-consuming soundtrack to fearing our own (nuclear) shadows. Their most accomplished yet.
Whether you are A Winner / A Sinner / A Strobe-Light Beginner… come to the VICARS! After all, it’s not the cough that will carry you off—it’s the COUGHIN’ they carry you off in… (from band promo)
With a pedigree going back some years (COLD ONES, NARCOSIS, SSS, WALK THE PLANK, SHEER ATTACK to name a few), Liverpool’s ‘proto nowists’ (heh) COUGHIN’ VICARS unveiled this debut album earlier in 2024. Sneaking through a gaping hole in my submission time limit, I was so taken with it, I gave them a pass.
Despite the band name conjuring up psychobilly or garage punk, the music draws from a period when post-punk was sloughing off its po-face to embrace synth warmth and goth(ic) melodrama. That these songs are as much rooted in punk theatricality, with nods to belligerent hardcore, is what gives it the edge. An intro of goth toms, nasally bass, old-school synth and strident male & female vocals (Lo And Behold) lead neatly into Anti-Faction – TSOL dipped in a vat of FUGAZI – but this is far from the whole picture. Rips Of Rain‘s atmospherics conjure a dour-free SISTERS OF MERCY with a B-MOVIE patina, SIOUXSIE-style backing vocals and shards of guitar, punk propulsion closing it down. Spindly goth guitar permeates the stone-cold classic Until The Feeling Turns Cold, vociferous vocals propelling the song towards the catchiest chorus I’ve heard in years. A curveball arrives in the form of the unpredictable, ninety-second firecracker, One Cuff Fits All; shifting between jagged punk stormer and swaggering rock, via wonky midway keyboards, it kills as it surprises.
The mighty, meaty saxophone of Liverpool-based Aussie Daniel Thorne ups the ante on the already tense atmospherics of The Reach, skronking and wailing madly around a discordant, instrumental freak-out, before the crew head back to goth airs for Reverse The Wound. Those striking dual vocals add real bite, femme-dominated on the atmospheric middle. Just as you’re settling back in, the tight, pulse-pounding fastcore of Last But Not Least arrives to shake you from your reverie with high-speeds, a stomping chorus and frazzled guitar solo. A.C.T.‘s skittery bass anchors noisy guitars, pulled together by a protest punk defiance and, as if they haven’t already pushed the limits of goth-tinged post-punkery, the aptly-titled Redefined Zero throws up searing rock licks. The female vocals kill it on the short, shouty punker Doomsday Lottery before this remarkable album closes with the thick atmosphere of Thief Of Joy. Expansive, patient, the verse provides fidgety angst, the MANICS-esque chorus all the hooky goodness you could wish for.
There is a coarseness to the goth elements that nod towards rough ‘n ready CHRISTIAN DEATH, or the punk roots at the heart of TSOL’s theatrics, but the synth – straight from classic UK post-punk of the early 80s – adds much warmth. My best mate, who knows way more about such things than I do, detected a strong hint of 80s cult heroes THE SOUND, though I can only genuflect before his canny ear. Along with a gobby defiance on songs like A.C.T and Redefined Zero, short, sharp hardcore punctuations hinting at their storied past, COUGHIN’ VICARS tether top-tier song-writing to unabashed homage, emerging with a sound that is nostalgic yet utterly vital. Get this!
Released on 26th July 2024 by Venn Records on streaming and limited vinyl.
this is careless and hurtful for our ageing throats to be preaching the wild souls as no one else can bring us back home
we’re chewing our tongue and season our wretched voice preaching the wild souls lost in the void
our pointless moans replace those of faceless sons we missed the halt a while ago we’re just sticking to modest roles embrace the void (We Missed The Parade)
With a ten-year history of stirring their fevered brew across various releases, Switzerland’s COILGUNS unveil this much-anticipated fourth album.
Kicking this album off with We Missed The Parade is a canny move, albeit a misleading one. A big, metallic, twang-punk anthem with group shouts aplenty, there’s little else like it on Odd Love. Placeholders‘ restless unpredictability is more indicative, approaching AT THE DRIVE-IN levels of danger entwined around REFUSED explosives. The vocals range all over the place, in the coolest way, and not many bands could get away with whistling and prog-emo in the same song. The millennial, emo sonics at the start of Generic Skincare give way to startling, semi-spoken vocals, the gnarliest of metalcore riffs cutting through any attempt at restraint. Black Chyme harks back to the classic proto-punk of IGGY & THE STOOGES, nagging riffs and screamed vocals built around a marching beat before ending on an avalanche of metalcore madness. The drummer gets to show off on the jaw-dropping Bandwagoning, motormouth vocals riding atop chugging riffage, cut in half by a crazed middle.
gravitas
The building monster that is Caravel may hold its steady pace, but the riffs just get heavier, culminating in screaming madness amid unhinged piano. Seemingly improvisational vocals weave craftily around tom-heavy drumming on Venetian Blinds, the guitar displaying symphonic gravitas, even as feedback is used as an instrument. At well over six minutes, you’d expect Featherweight to build gradually; panoramic desert-rock, complete with spaghetti-twang guitar, provides atmospherics, a gnarly SLIPKNOT six-string slipping through the cracks on the metallic interruptions. The band wisely give us a breather for the next two tracks; the effectively haunting The Wind To Wash The Pain, and an unsettling piece of atmospheric piano and guitar FX (Bunker Vaults (intro)), the latter serving as a lead-in to the TURNSTILE stylings of Bunker Vaults. Gang back-ups return, but this is no short, sharp shock. At a patient seven minutes long, explosions of heaviness interrupt moments of sinister building, constantly shifting styles ensuring it never feels its length.
Reading like poetry, the lyrics ooze existential dread; ominous references to ‘the void‘, the relentless march of time, aging, a sense of missed opportunities for radical change – though much is open to interpretation. That said, the final song, Bunker Vaults, delivers the message a little more directly:
The void is close everything recedes – final swirl summoning science – our last moan pray we’re growing a greener lawn
our age is spoiled split among our last resources
mourn, abort, entomb our elders world in bunker vaults (from Bunker Vaults)
Why this band are not massive is a mystery to me. Fearlessly unpredictable, they go where you least expect, doing so with a creative swagger that is, frankly, dazzling. COILGUNS use their pallette of influences as a springboard from which to leap into their own creative experiments, without once neglecting the anthems, the passion and the ‘core. An expansive, genuinely exciting explosion of an album.
On April’s self-titled debut, CRUCIAL TAINT described themselves as a ‘rock’ band, no doubt with tongue firmly in cheek. For this, their debut album, they’re a ‘3 piece punk, ska, dub band out of Richmond, VA, featuring former and current members of Dead Panda and The Bon Air Electric‘. Well, okay.
The dirty, overdriven guitars and excoriating production are present and correct, but this time, there is actual ska and dub reggae. It may be LOUD! and IN YOUR FACE! ska and dub reggae, but still. Mostly, though, it’s straight-up punk of the gnarly variety; the dual-speed, no-frills garage-core of Modern Life, the nifty chorus of Disposable‘s sloppy punk, the filthy, scum-rock of Drive, GG Allin vocal delivery ‘n all (without the shit-flinging, one hopes), and the dumbed-down MISFITS-via-GG repetition of I Wanna Be Your Starbucks Chain. West End Wendy‘s backwoods punk has the grimiest of guitar sounds, LOCS is two minutes of crazed raving over a punk ‘n roll bludgeon, Voices‘ jagged, distorted punk has a neat hook to go with its minimal lyrics, and What’s Going On Outside? is the nearest they get to an emotional note. With a purposefully off-key vocal and out of tune guitar lines, it’s an oddly sad, likeable moment. Things get weird when they serve up their nasty slop in a bowl of ska, as on X-ray Flag. No clean guitar sound for these guys; punky distortion remains, with an off-key vocal a la Tim Armstrong, rendering it somewhat disorientating, in a cool way. Cat N Tha Freezer is dub reggae like you’ve never heard, all rough guitar, nasty vocals, and an extended solo; a broken, inventive mess that sounds like it was recorded after a heavy session. The slightly tiresome I Will Always Be There‘s drunk-punk reggae has a subtle keyboard hovering, and the album ends with the messed-up BECKisms of Down Below. That’s right, BECKisms. Punky, dub reggae with slicing guitar cutting through the bass and drums, distorted, overly loud vocals giving way to a sloppy rap on this free-flowing jam. It’s jarring, messy fun.
Attempts at experimenting while maintaining their fucked up, nasty sonics aren’t always successful but there is plenty of visceral punk and hardcore to make up for it. It stands out by virtue of a strategy of turning everything up to eleven, allowing the production to capture the foil-chewing racket.
Hailing geographically from Toronto, Canada, musically from the BLACK COUNTRY, NEW ROAD and BLACK MIDI stable, on the evidence of this two-tracker, RED OUTPUT are a more accessible proposition. Varnish is unpredictable, angular art rock with indie agitations and multiple tempo changes. The vocals flit between warm crooning, EUNUCHS-style rambling and frustrated ire, slithering around off-kilter movements to keep you on your toes; a song that changes its mind several times in four minutes is a good thing in my book. The buttery vocals on Rafters‘ jittery art-pop almost verge on Mike Patton-esque angst, with a nice bit of screwdriver-to-guitar noise, just in case you were getting comfortable. The picked guitar sway at the end is a nice touch too. Clean, quirky, and wiry, these two tracks know when to groove too, ultimately emerging as a mix of MINUTEMEN, EUNUCHS and early TALKING HEADS. Weirdly good.
Released on April 28th 2024, thus cheekily slipping through my otherwise watertight cut-off. I’ll let ’em off, just this once.
The Graystone was a venue we used to play in Detroit back in the late 80s when I was in the Doughboys. It was always an adventure, from just getting across the border to dealing with the promoter, Cary Safarian, who everyone referred to as ‘Scary.’ When Rob and I started exchanging voice notes of the main riff, it brought to mind the MC5/Stooges Midwest sound. I wrote the lyrics based on my memories from those trips and reached out to my old bandmates, Scott McCullough and Jon Asencio, to gather their recollections, which also found their way into the song. (Brock Pytel)
SLIP~ons feature Brock Pytel of THE DOUGHBOYS and Brian Minato, known for his work with Sarah McLachlan, as well as Rob “Shockk” Matharu of The Spitfires on guitar and Shane Wilson on drums. Slickly played and produced, this unapologetically rocking, power-poptastic anthem has some neat hooks and an old-school rock guitar solo. Sitting somewhere between DOUGHBOYS and Brock’s solo work, with an 80s power-pop punch, the ‘woah-oh‘ chorus anthem is to die for. Imbued with a melancholic nostalgia for 90s underground music, the lyrics are a bunch of reminiscences of the titular venue. A thoroughly timeless, moreish mix.
Femme-fronted, riot grrrl punk trash with a DISTILLERS vibe from this Washington, DC four-piece. Formed “against the backdrop of a global pandemic, forged through trial and error, false starts, and frustrations“, the kids would no doubt compare this to AMYL & THE SNIFFERS, but this is way more chaotic. Mercy Killing has fast and slow tempos with over-the-edge vocals, while Walmart Suicide‘s sneering unhingery, backed by a gang chorus and some great wah-wah guitar mess, seethes frustration. The sinister Drugs Like Me shows restraint with a rumbling bass and drums intro, vocals that feel semi-improvised and a cool drag at the end, and the call and response vocals on Melpomene elevate it. The lead vocals are, frankly, a performance, as they are throughout. Sneery, sarcastic, on the verge of collapse, it makes you wanna gurn and get all attitudinal.
Collecting the stories of over 140 UK punk bands from the eighties who only released EPs and demos, or only appeared on compilation LPs, this book is a celebration of the obscure, a love letter to the UK’s punk underground (from promo)
By the time the first wave of UK punk grew bored of itself, it no longer mattered. As the new decade loomed, a fresh wave of bands, from all pockets of social class, were rushing in to fill the vacuum. Spawning a multiplicity of unruly offspring – lofty anarchism, council estate antics, post-punk gloom – the genie was well and truly out of the bottle. What are now termed UK 82 and anarcho punk enjoyed their, admittedly less lucrative, moment in the sun, and as the mid-80s approached, much of it had withered on the vine or followed the money, leaving the scene free to fully embrace its DIY tendencies.
Ian covered all of this in his books Burning Britain, The Day The Country Died and Trapped In A Scene. Clearly unable to let it go, A Country Fit For Heroes is his attempt to hoover up the lesser known bands of the period while jumping at the chance to scoop up the ones that got away. I gotta say, if Glasper keeps scraping at the bottom of this particular barrel, he might even get to my band. That’s not a pejorative, mind; garage bands, lo-fi tape-deck recordings and tinny, teenage thrashings – this is the sweet spot. Kicking off with a foreword by co-founder of No Future Records, Chris Berry, here are bands who featured on Bullshit Detector, A Country Fit For Heroes, and those released by Mortarhate, as well as through labels like Loony Tunes, Rot and Colin (CONFLICT) Jerwood’s Fight Back Records. He’s even found a band who released an EP on Gargoyle Records (they of the first CHRON GEN EP and little else). All sub-genres have been constituted into one volume, with countless bands I had never heard of, let alone heard. There are those who held a certain mystique – the tale of the elusive THE SNAILS humanises the legend, same for Hull’s BORN B.C., who lured me in with their track on the Hardcore Or What? compilation, and those ‘positive punk’ spear-headers, BRIGANDAGE. Cardiff’s THE HERETICS gives Kip Xool (IN THE SHIT, FOUR LETTER WORD, BAD SAM) the opportunity to let fly with his whip-dry wit, the SUBHUMANS-connected ORGANIZED CHAOS finally get their moment, and just in case you were starting to enjoy yourself, that one-man-vegan-misanthrope STATEMENT is here to spoil the fun. Yay!
Lengthier pieces offered by bands missing from previous volumes don’t disappoint; KARMA SUTRA tell an enthralling tale of a rough start leading to punk redemption, NO DEFENCES’ story takes them from Bullshit Detector to recording for Crass Records, and INTERNAL AUTONOMY avoid many of the typical attitudes and talking points, concluding with a poignant coda. Some of the most engaging stories come from obscure corners: the lovably chaotic young lives of ASSASSINS OF HOPE, unexpectedly gripping stories from VORTEX and HYSTERIA WARD, VEX’ affecting tale of destructive lifestyles with a positive outcome, and a welcome light is shone on NOX MORTIS’ powerful use of war poetry. Other note-worthy inclusions are the hilarious fake band origins of ANABOLLIC STEROIDS, Stoke’s cult noise heroes ASYLUM, Bill (NAPALM DEATH/CARCASS) Steer’s first band DISATTACK, and the CHUMBAWAMBA-connected PASSION KILLERS. You can also finally read about a pre-HERESY PLASMID, the HDQ & LEATHERFACE-connected HEX, as well as FACTION, POTENTIAL THREAT, EVE OF THE SCREAM, INDIAN DREAM, X-CRETAS, REVULSION and POST MORTEM. And there are so many more. Still no SIX MINUTE WAR/FALLOUT, though. Gotta respect that integrity.
Ian Glasper
Bigger than ever – 686 pages – A Country Fit For Heroes continues Glasper’s forensic excavation of the UK punk scene. Brushing dirt from the more obscure, but no less worthy, pieces of the archaeological puzzle, he returns to the geographical grouping of earlier books. Cross-boundary connections are uncovered, bonds formed between scenes, hindsight perspectives laid bare, and the always fascinating present day catch-up – including one man’s incarceration on Rikers Island. Personally, I was just delighted to discover that Matt from Cardiff’s SLAUGHTER TRADITION set up the great record store Tangled Parrot in Camarthen, South Wales, a place I make a point of visiting when in that part of the world. But I digress. Aside from the small niggle of omitting sleeve art – opting instead for a welter of band photos – this book is mouth-watering manna from heaven for the punk nerd. That would be me, then. Crucial.
Bands/labels: Please ensure you send submissions in well before release date.
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BAD YEAR – Moancore album
This tight, Glasgow three-piece feature members of THE LEMONAIDS, DEADBEAT HEROES and THE KIMBERLY STEAKS. On this, their debut album, they offer up ten tracks of Lookout! homage with a Scottish twist. From the Celtic GREEN DAY of opener Atomised, with its catchy chorus, busy bass and ringing bridge, variety is provided by changes in pace as they move through the album. The title tracks’ motormouth, Highland pop-punk fling, the clean-guitar hardcore of the DESCENDENTS-esque Nutmilk Soup, and mid-paced, Bay Area-inspired bangers like Comin’ Up Milhouse and Never Need Another Friend, Anyone? even throwing a little first wave punk into its rock. Can’t Take You Away adds a harmonious chorus and some cool guitar interplay, while Stories is pure Dookie, right down to the bridge. Two longer songs never feel it; It Pays is propulsive enough to keep it banging along, while closer It’s Okay builds from a jangly guitar/vocal intro, Scottish accents in full effect, into a chunky, heart-on-sleeve anthem.
They may be playing in an overcrowded field but this is top-notch, bouncy pop-punk with a noticeable Scottish identity. With tight musicianship, noodly bass running around the place a la Matt Freeman, and the vocals occasionally adopting that tinny effect so beloved of Billie Joe Armstrong, this is rocking Bay Area style punk all the way. Who knew it could still sound so fresh?
Formed in Sweden in 1995, seasoned crust heroes DENY have a long history of line-up changes, splits and multiple EP and album releases, becoming ever more prolific in the last six years. Currently featuring members of THE CROWN, BÖDEL and SLAVERIET, Call Of The Void is their latest ferocious offering.
Ferocious? Of course. Uplifting? Surprisingly, for the genre, yes. The band may be scrabbling around in the same sandbox as DOOM‘s Rush Hour Of The Gods, but there is melodicism hidden in these depths missing from that band’s relentless brutality. Flying in the face of tradition by having choruses, just listen to opener Call Of The Void; the hoarse, throaty vocals are present, as is the propulsion, but those drums are more straight-up fast punk than d-beat, there’s a mighty, chugging chorus and the burly riffs fail to conceal melody. The pulse-pounding The Performance follows the d-beat playbook a little closer, but those simple, repetitive riffs stir emotion, while the short blast of War features an always-satisfying guitar drop-out, leaving a throaty bass and thundering drums motoring away. Don’t ya just love it when they do that? Finally, the intense riffs of The Hateful God squeeze hooks through some unexpected twists and turns.
Seasoned, tight, confident; crust-punk isn’t known for provoking emotions, other than smashing the system, but amid the usual tropes, there is passion, hooks, and a towering guitar sound scratching away at something deeper. Exhilarating, anthemic crust.
Released on 30th August 2024 by DiSTAT Records
BURNING OUT – Demo ’24
BURNING OUT are a new band from Toronto, Canada featuring ex-members of BATHURST, LIKE PACIFIC and HARBOUR, these two tracks hovering around similar sonic sensibilities.
12:14 opens with a Heathers clip – a good start. A PROPAGANDHI intro gives way to a STRIKE ANYWHERE anthem-fest, strewn with poppy emo slivers on this brief, meaty slab. Main To Dufferin is more intricate; motoring, poppy punk with chunky guitars, and a pinch of an emo identity. Keeping the shouty bits is a win, so you get a mix of fist-waving anthemics with polished, millennial pop-punk. Their seasoned sound is more like a band two albums in, rather than the demo this is, which I guess comes from their previous experience. Great stuff.
DAFFODILDOS – “Not My Cup Of Tea” EP (Not Saints Records)
I can’t help wondering what the Rebellion reactionaries would make of such missives as “We’re the future, you’re gonna be dead soon” and “we’re here, we’re queer, we ain’t never gonna disappear“. Like a breath of fresh air, Brighton ‘trans-punk trio’ DAFFODILDOS peddle a line in Riot City pogo punk accompanied by progressive, ‘identity’ politics. Wasting no time, Stuck in ’77 jabs a youthful finger at those crusty stick-in-the-muds via an authentic, UK82 mohican-fest, while the catchy Ba Ba Bada borders on annoying with the repeated refrain of the title, though its mid-paced snot sounds totally fresh. The vocals on the plodding What’s Your Excuse? veer close to the style of ACTION PACT!‘s George, righteous animal rights lyrics adding a nostalgic anarcho bent. Are they a little cliched? Sure, but here’s the thing: if a young person writes lyrics from the heart, about a cause they are passionate about, they’re only cliched to jaded old fucks like me, right? No Pride is the hit of this set; from its cute guitar line, semi-spoken vocals, and simple, effective sentiments, this catchy punk diamond takes me back to the feminist anarcho-pop of HAGAR THE WOMB and LOST CHEREES. This song has no need for metaphor or symbolism, just positivity, cheek and, yep, pride. The brief but effective Never Enough sieves HONEY BANE through a UK82 gauze, including an atmospheric bridge, leaving Mirror Mirror to round out with simple lyrics (“mirror mirror on the wall, who’s the queerest of them all?“), amid more pogo punk belligerence.
This might be ‘not my cup of tea’ these days, but I gotta say, it is thrilling to hear youthful, progressive attitudes channeled through spiky, old-school UK punk, a style too often connected to stagnant, reactionary attitudes of late. Refreshing.
Incidentally, this EP was released on 4th October (CD & digital) on the not-for-profit Not Saints Records record label. Sounds like a totally cool venture, so be sure to check them out:
Established in 2018, Not Saints is the world’s only not-for-profit record label and events organisation dedicated to working with those seeking a life free from drug and alcohol addiction. Not Saints aren’t trying to change the world but we are trying to show that things can be done differently. We offer those we work with the opportunities and support they need to make the music they want to make, how they want to make it, free from the triggers and barriers of conventional music scenes. By putting music, sobriety, creativity, and community at the heart of all we do we can provide new choices and chances for anyone embracing a sober way of life. Alongside the Not Saints label, we also host unique sober events that bring together those in recovery, those who choose sobriety, and the wider music communities in the enjoyment of the music of the inspiring artists we work with.
Portugal’s BØW follow 2022’s Infectious Salty Assault with this imaginatively titled second round of punishing hardcore. Admirably blurring the line between the polished, Kerrang! style of metalcore and metallic hardcore punk, without remotely touching on the NYHC sound, the speeds are fast, the song lengths brief, with no shortage of throat-shredding and metallic mangling. The vocals occasionally slip into spoken, as on opener Toady and F.O.M.O., the latter featuring a supremely sassy bridge. Cut Off is sharp, noisy hardcore, Bad Apples bursts in with everything all at once, with incredible chanting vocals in the middle, and the relentless Peg Away has the juiciest guitar, hoarse vocals, and powerhouse chugging. The production is weighty while retaining rawness, resulting in a clanging, fully present sound; it’s like they’re right there in your room. Great stuff.
PERSONAL PUNK 