Поиск:fuckin whatever

Featuring Anthony Green of Circa Survive, Adam Lazzara and John Nolan of Taking Back Sunday and additional percussion from Benjamin Homola of Grouplove, Fuckin Whatever is a fluid project born of longtime friendships and late nights on the road, but what it could grow to become is entirely unwritten. It all started on the 2016 Taste Of Chaos tour. After Green wrapped his opening set with Saosin each night, itching to play more music, he started setting up impromptu acoustic gigs in the parking lots after his set. One night, his restless energy led to an impromptu backstage jam session with Lazzara, Nolan, Homola, and others––except there were no instruments involved. Using just their voices and a stomp or two in lieu of percussion... before they even realized it, Fuckin Whatever was born. They decided to start recording these nightly jam sessions on their phones, and by the end of the tour, there were literally dozens of recordings. There are some as long as 17-minutes, some recorded in bathrooms, and even one in the legendary tunnel between the stage and sound booth at Red Rocks Amphitheatre in Colorado. What they share in common is the camaraderie of the many talented voices (and sounds) involved. Fast forward to 2020––ugh. With a creative need to continue making and releasing music, Anthony approached the group about releasing some of those recordings. Feeling a similar restlessness, Nolan suggested they try making and recording something for real instead. "I'm Waiting On You" is what came next, and it's truly the spark that led to the rest of this EP coming together. There are zero instruments on Fuckin Whatever's self-titled debut. "It's pretty much 80% mouth noises and 20% Ben slapping things around the house," Lazzara explains. Those voices, however, are among some of the most recognizable in modern rock music, yet here they take on a new life. Call it a band, or a supergroup... it's Fuckin Whatever.

'exclusive tour tapes' limited quantity available for distribution

Limited split tape collaboration between like-minded pranksters Lagoss & Babau. Co-released by Sucata tapes & Artetetra in July 2025.

‘’The chars were emerging as some chunk of makeshift swamp coolers blasted the soil surrounding our motorbikes. Sunburn vapours floating grey all around, licking our necks with heavy hazy tongues. Just oppressive and gross. Blah.

Someone says heat waves are among the most dangerous natural hazards. I guess that the magnetic tides did not help at all. For sure, recreational sleep deprivation aside, it was days of relentlessly documented tipsy headaches, thermometric cicada noises and weird-ass hallucinations. It is what it is. The age of earthquakes. We drink from our black plastic bags with a straw pushing a bit of oxygen thru our reptile brains. Just half a pack of synthetic tobacco for the ride. No internet. Whatever.

She looks at me behind the war metal glasses and the silicone frog mask high on desert dust. Sweaty pools on her shoulders. Eyes purple with adrenaline. Map on the scratched screen. “It says that at this point we should be hearing that fucking flute”. We stop amidst the geysers. We can see the monoliths and stone gods ready to eat up all the solar storms and the thunder. Towards the horizon, second moon is up. Damn. Water rises to our knees, green with bloating sounds. Just what we needed. We’re stuck. "Turn up the radio. Let’s hope it lasts five minutes." After trashing a bunch of fake subtropical signals, the radio plays a flute. She takes off the mask and explodes in a grin: “This is it man, we made it! No man’s land. The real fucking thing.” I light one up and let the sight get blurred: “You betcha.”’’

The Search for God is a wake-up call for a troubled world that’s still worth saving, animated by a belief in the power of small connections to add up to big changes. At 10 songs delivered in a brief 15 minutes, Jimmy Whispers’ long-awaited sophomore album feels present in a way that feels brand new for the cult auteur. Like many of us, Jimmy has been affected by the pressure of the past few years. After embracing sobriety in 2019, and now as a filmmaker sharing the stories of lesser known Los Angeles community members, he’s brought his dreaming down to earth, while turning its direction even further out.

Recorded with his longtime friend Ziyad Asrar of the band Whitney (and re-recorded after a hard drive incident destroyed the original files), The Search for God was created in the wake of Jimmy’s COVID isolation, and returns to some teen influences that are out of step with the chill/lo-fi LA indie rock scene he’s found himself lumped in with. Created mostly with two vintage synths, a single Roland CR5000 drum machine, and a busted karaoke machine, it channels Midwestern emo, the Beach Boys’ Smile, subtle nods at hyper-pop production, and forgotten jewel-box era college radio of the early aughts into a pure pop sound that transcends easy categorization.

The album’s standout single—and its statement of purpose—is “Hellscape,” which packs more into a minute and 40 seconds than you’d think possible: multiple immediately-unforgettable hooks, kaleidoscopic keyboards, and a bracing reminder that even the most transcendent moments are rooted in a world full of suffering. “This is a fucking hellscape,” Jimmy sings. “This is real life / this is happening.”

That may sound like punk nihilism, but The Search for God is anything but. Every lyrical acknowledgment of how fucked things are right now comes with a promise that we can still make positive changes. Jimmy calls it “God”; you might call it Love or Peace or A Place In the Universe That Makes Some Kind of Sense.

Will The Search for God deliver whatever that is to you? Of course not. At its heart, it’s still just a really good pop album. But maybe that’s enough. For a minute or two at a time, Jimmy’s music cracks open a space where the divine can enter our lives. The utopia we’ve all been dreaming of is already here if we’re just willing to build it. Jimmy Whispers is there, ready to add his voice, whenever we want to reach out.

New one by Montreal singer-songwriter Deb Edison, working once again as The Submissives and willfully unchanged from 2016's Do You Really Love Me? cassette (Fixture). Six years into the most tumultuous period in global history since WWII – a pandemic, right-wing infiltration, attempts at government overthrow, climate catastrophe looming, a near-complete loss of the moral compass, conspiracies lording over facts natural resources running out – and Deb's still here, staring a hole through the floor/your head. "No one ever changes," she coos on "In a Pinch," and these songs are a textbook example of that sentiment, and her artistic embodiment of psychosexual desire, ready to shatter some lives and walk away looking for the next one. "I'm waiting for your signal/I'm several years older," she drones on "Sick Kinda Love," further reinforcing a long-held stance that the obsession, internalization of feelings, and the human power dynamic of The Submissives are on the menu once again. You'll find whatever it is you want to find in here, just dig in. Deb might even be talking about you, though there's a good chance she's not, and if you don't have the goods you can be sure she's gonna be doing all she can to passively drive you away. "Chirp Like a Bird" reads as Deb's bottom-looking-up retort to Whitehouse's "Wriggle Like a Fucking Eel," and might even be more severe, because she doesn't need microphonic feedback and screaming to intimidate. If you're in for surface thrills, scrape up the Shaggs-esque rock stumble, swooping viola, and behind-the-beat bash tapping out each of these eleven tracks. This is how it is; you get what you get, and you might be upset, but that's all on you. You'll never get to the bottom of this sketch. TRACKLIST: A1 Wanna be your thing A2 When it was all new A3 In a pinch A4 Sick kinda love A5 Chirp like a bird A6 I'm a mirror B1 Goodbye Betty B2 Four five B3 Isn't you B4 Think of me B5 Sweetly

4 LP set is for Indies only until further notice. Unravelled: 1981–2002 shines a loving light on lo-fi pioneers Tall Dwarfs, the prized New Zealand duo of Chris Knox and Alec Bathgate. The collection, available as a 4-LP or 2-CD box set, compiles songs from Tall Dwarfs' two decades of recordings. The vinyl edition includes a 20-page collector's booklet of photos, comics, posters, and other ephemera. The songs on Unravelled: 1981–2002 were curated by Alec Bathgate, who also designed the box set packaging; Chris Knox suffered a debilitating stroke in 2009 just as they had started work on a new album. The collection captures the different sides of the Tall Dwarfs in 55 songs. Though the band was an excuse for two good friends who lived in different cities to get together, drink beer, watch shitty old movies, and do some recording and drawing, Tall Dwarfs created music unlike anyone else. Capturing the initial excitement of creation and taking pride in what they did, Knox and Bathgate showed a whole generation of musicians what could be done at home on a 4-track and what magic could be made if you mixed pop melodies and hooks galore with homemade sounds. After a failed flirtation with success in their previous band Toy Love, Knox and Bathgate formed Tall Dwarfs in 1981, opting to record themselves on a 4-track reel-to-reel. New Zealand’s AudioCulture wrote of the duo’s project: “Early live performances were a ramshackle work in progress. Knox described them in an interview with American magazine Forced Exposure as ‘two minutes of song followed by five minutes of fucking around,’ and they dismayed many Toy Love fans—but the pair had no interest in a career spent in pubs cranking out ‘Pull Down the Shades.’” Tall Dwarfs was meant to be a one-off, but after the founding of their New Zealand label Flying Nun, they continued to record music for the next 21 years, releasing seven EPs and six albums. Their process was spontaneous, with songs being recorded as they were written. Typically, Bathgate would work up something on guitar while Knox provided vocals, lyrics, and tape loops. Then they added any sounds that seemed necessary to finish a song, using whatever was lying around: pans, chairs, baby rattles. Though Tall Dwarfs could be weird, they were never too experimental; Knox and Bathgate both loved melody too much (“Beatlesque” appeared more often than any other adjective in their reviews).

Tinnitus Tonight is the latest & sneakiest full-measure serving from LARS FINBERG, world-class bon vivant and prolific Panic Rock artiste. Why so sneaky? Here’s the dirt: Finberg developed a nerve rash leading up his 2017 tootle, the TY SEGALL-assisted Moonlight Over Bakersfield. Rather than blindly leap from the comfy zone, he tip-toed in secret to a friendly but far-flung (cough*Sacramento*cough) studio to capture a reserve of slanted tunes with a proven-effective team of buds. Those comrades – the glorious LAUREN MARIE MIKUS on keys, frequent collaborator & forever-gent KAANAN TUPPER on drums and, at the controls and elsewhere, the indestructible CHRIS WOODHOUSE – all fostered a supportive framework that first allowed Finberg to “think” beyond THE INTELLIGENCE, gearing him up for a life in the spotlight (or moonlight, as it were). So yes indeed: what appears to be an adventurous follow-up also doubles as a prequel. Keep accurate score or you’re dusted. The core of Tinnitus Tonight centers on an assemblage of Finberg’s most golden riffs – trash-coustic but driftwood-smooth, naughty and infinite, all of ‘em bangers and/or buggers. Tunes sprout and move matador-like until an inevitable goring. The past-it grunt that kicks off “Burger Queen” prompts a mimed chef’s kiss. “My Prison” and “The Doors” are quintessential, truly distilled Finberg moments, compounding his trademark acerbic, out-for-blood wit with these absurdly cool, whip-crack guitars. The massively impressive “Public Admirer” is unequivocally the loudest, most damaged blurt from this doggie in at least a decade. In total, Tinnitus Tonight is a wonderful and welcome reminder that our guy is a very real rouser and a vital, unique purveyor of artful aggression, playful and powerful. Finberg beams really fuckin’ brightly under his own name, perhaps more so than with any group orchestration he happens to be braising with. Do these higher personal stakes call for a dastardlier delivery? Maybe this permeating 2020 End Times feeling prohibits the normal corralling of the subconscious mind? Whatever the answers are, you will find them here.
"The gift Lars Finberg has to disfigure rock riffs into minor chord marvels should serve as a glowing example for those who feel the need to pick up a guitar and make some noise to share with the world. Using the conventional tools of rock and roll flavored with a mix of garage punk, post punk, synth punk and mutant surf, Mr. Finberg, with seemingly effortless cool, has crafted or contributed to countless albums with bands like The Intelligence, Puberty, Rubber Blanket, A Frames and more, all with a magnetic pull and genius lyrics that stand out from the indie rock heap and reveal an exceptionally creative mind that’s actually done its homework." - Noise For Zeros

Cardinal Fuzz and Feeding Tube Records are at long last ecstatic to bring to you for your listening pleasure “Nudity - Is God’s Creation” 2xLP . A retrospective release of recordings dating from 2005 to 2010 of orgasmic interstellar mayhem . Reissued and for the first time available domestically in the USA

In 2004, a commune named NUDITY, formed by four travellers from the astral plane, appeared in Olympia, Washington. The founding members were Dave HARVEY (guitar) and Jon Quitty QUITTNER (bass - though Josh Haynes of the mighty guitar fuzz scorchers Feral Ohms plays bass on the majority of the tracks featured here), both of whom were former guitarists of Tight Bros From Way Back When and Eryn ROSS (drums) from Growling, A couple of self-distributed Cdrs and a 12” on Discourage were a visual akin to coloured liquid sloshing around on a transparency machine and were a pure drip feed for psych /kraut and Jap Rock fiends around the world as Julian Cope and Terrascope raved about them. Alas for whatever reason no full length LP arrived from the original line up - something that at last has been rectified as now all these tracks have been brought together (along with some unreleased gems and a couple of live bonus download tracks). The sonic ear candy contained within the 4 sides of vinyl presented here go From Detroit fuzz blazing face melters to acid trippin' head swirling raga’s via The Flower Travelin’ Band and Hawkwind. Nudity were the masters and for those that missed out the first time this double album was released - Don't make the same mistake a second time.

Terrascope gushed about Nudity - "This is seriously fucking good; one of those quite literally extra-ordinary LPs that come along every once in a while which you just know instinctively are going to be dug out and played, sniffed and caressed for years"

Bad Waitress’ antsy art punk revels in fits of fury and ego. It spits in your face and winks, ferocious and playful. The Toronto-based four-piece play like they’re conspiring or casting a spell, each member wielding a different power, howls and erratic drum fills and fiery riffs fueling one another.
That improvisation spirit doesn’t stop at their music. Katelyn Molgard, Nicole Cain, Kali-Ann Butala, and Moon finish each other’s sentences. Their conversations flow like free jazz. When asked to describe Bad Waitress’ sound, they agree on one word: conviction. “We play with conviction. There's nothing apologetic about it,” Kateyln says. “Even with our bizarre song structures, we don't hide anything in our music. It's just very...I don't like the word raw, it’s overused, but...raw.” The band fidget between genres, instead honing a distinct energy. “It's energetic. It's electric,” Moon adds. “It's whatever word that we can think of later that's better than raw.” Nicole suggests, “Honest?” Katelyn jumps in, “Rawnest.”
Bad Waitress’ debut full-length album, No Taste, finds strength in mood swings, from upbeat “groovin down the street” songs like “Strawberry Milkshake” to “I'm gonna fucking punch everyone” songs like “Lacerate,” as Nicole puts it. “It’s good to listen to when you're walking alone at night. I get really anxious, but I feel powerful when I listen to this album, like I’m fucking untouchable. It’s basically a self-defense album.”
Traces of Sonic Youth, Fugazi, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and The Stooges can be heard throughout No Taste. The band also cite jazz as an inspiration. Moon’s background playing improv jazz, blues and swing makes it an essential force, at the core of Bad Waitress’ music and collaborative process. “Moon usually has a weird drumbeat that they’ll play spontaneously, then Nicole will jump in with her wack ass music sensibility on bass, and then Kali will play something that’s super wrong in a good way,” Katelyn says. “And then I’ll make sense of it and find where the chords are. It’s bizarre.”

RED FANG return with their highly anticipated new album, Arrows! Their first album in five years, everyone's favorite beer-crushing, zombie-killing, air-guitar-contest-judging metal heroes are back in action, doing what they do best- AND MORE. “This record feels more like Murder The Mountains to me than any record we’ve done before or since,” bassist/vocalist Aaron Beam ventures. “It doesn’t sound like that record, but Murder the Mountains was us doing whatever the fuck we wanted, and that’s what this is, too.” Arrows was recorded at Halfling Studios in the band’s hometown of Portland, OR, with longtime collaborator Chris Funk, producer of Murder The Mountains and 2013’s Whales and Leeches. “Chris is a major influencer as far as the weird ambient stuff in between the songs and the creepy incidental noises within the songs,“ guitarist Bryan Giles points out. “I think he definitely creates an added layer of atmosphere that we wouldn’t have otherwise.” Arrows is also a proper title track, which is new territory for the band. “This is the first time we’ve named an album after a song that’s actually on the album,” Beam explains. “We have other albums that are named after songs of ours that are not on those albums. So this time we’re really fucking with you because we didn’t fuck with you.” Similarly, fans might not believe what the song “Arrows” is partially about. “If you’re confused by some of the lyrics to the song, that makes sense,” Beam explains. “But it makes reference to meditation. I started meditating six years ago, but I can only do it when I’m not feeling too anxious. So, when I don’t need it, that’s when I can do it.” Elsewhere, “Fonzi Scheme” was named after legendary Happy Days cool guy Arthur Fonzarelli—if only because it’s in the key of his famous catchphrase, “Aaay.” Producer Chris Funk came up with the idea of bringing in string players from the Portland Cello Project to class up the track. Meanwhile, the opening riff of closer “Funeral Coach” was written 11 years ago. But it took until recently for the song to blossom into its full double-entendre glory. “I was driving around and I saw a hearse that said ‘funeral coach services’ on the back,” Beam explains. “So the first thing that popped into my head was a dude with a headset and a clipboard going, ‘Alright, dudes—more tears! Five minutes in is when the tears are critical, or no one’s gonna believe that anyone cares that this person died.’” In a nod to tradition, Arrows will be available in formats that include all the drums, bass, guitars and vocals. But it could’ve gone another way. “Our original idea was to release the album with no vocals or guitar solos,” Beam explains. “If you want the guitar solos, it’s an extra five bucks. If you want the vocals, it’s an extra ten bucks. So basically people should feel lucky that we didn’t do that. You get to buy the whole thing altogether.” RED FANG think of it as a generous display of gratitude toward their fans. “Yeah,” says Sherman, “Thank you for buying our album, you lucky bastards.”

We wanted to make a promo text for this release, but then this message by Alphabets Heaven came thru:

Subtitles is my love letter to salsa. A torn, scribbled, badly translated love letter to an old address that the resident left years ago. But fuck it, it's still a love letter.

Every since I heard Larry Harlow's La Cartera about 12 years ago I've been trying to find out as much as I could about salsa. So much of it runs counter to everything I know about dance music, and yet it so clearly bangs. So on and off for the last 10 years I've been buying salsa, trying to work out how many imprints of Fania there were, trying to get my head round the horn arrangements, and generally having a great time with basically no contact with anyone who was actually a part of the culture in anyway. My Spanish is pretty bad as well, so all I really know is quite a few songs are about farmers.

Subtitles is my shot at salsa. My completely uneducated stab at something that's way too complex to just guess at. Not surprisingly, it sounds nothing like salsa. What's weird is that it sounds like pretty much everything else I listen to. I think in many ways it's the most honest thing I've ever made. By completely failing at making salsa I've managed to blend together all the club music, art music and everything else I've loved. You might hear some UK funky, or whatever the 2019 version of that is called. You might hear some minimalism. You might hear some psyched out shit. You also might hear a gigantic fucking mess. Subtitles is a translation to a film done so badly you find out more about the person who translated it than the film. I was trying to tell you about the film, but maybe you'll like the subtitles.

Shout to London Afrobeat Collective for the horns Memotone for the cello Deft for the Woos. Shout out to Scratcha DVA for being Scratcha DVA.