Search:sailor

I’ve lost my sense, I’ve lost control, I’ve lost my mind! Yeah, we all know how the song goes, but those words will no doubt end up driving their point home throughout the duration of Bloodstains’ self-titled debut LP. This thoroughly-welcome Euro pressing follows the album’s DIY release earlier in 2024, which is excellent news for UK/mainland fans of early 80s SoCal hardcore who’ve yet to hear it - the whole thing absolutely fkn rips. Feel free to rifle through your Adolescents, Weirdos and (natch) Agent Orange records to see what these guys have been mining, but all you’ll find is a launchpad - Bloodstains inevitably hail from California and they’re clearly au fait with all the above (not to mention a certain compilation), but they manage to inhabit that sound with a personality all of their own. Vocalist Cesar Marin splits his delivery between a sneering bark (like the most withering put-downs you’ve ever heard being delivered via nailgun) and a purposeful, melodic croon… which itself sounds it’s made from sandpaper and vitriol, but there you go. Most importantly, this is a band with SONGS. Eight of ‘em here, to be precise, and you’ll rarely have been so glad to have something turned up so loud it blows holes in your speakers. ‘Stray Bullets’ hangs its mighty chorus on a call-and-response refrain that dares you not to pick a side and bellow along, while instrumental opener ‘The Last Rites’ sets you up perfectly for the seething, volatile bundle of hooks to follow. I’d say the interplay between the band’s string-wielding Espinoza contingent is something to behold as well, but what am I, some kinda nerd? The guitars sound fkn awesome - that’ll do ya. And I don’t wanna spoil the party ahead of time, but just wait til you hear future anthem ‘Public Hanging’. I could go on about this record all day, but ultimately all you need to do is listen to it. Hell, even buy it. And dare I return to a theme, lose your mind.

Originally released on two tapes on Stucco, now available on vinyl. Ferocious, manic Punk via Austin, Texas. Overpublicised rock hack/full-time gobshite Charles Shaar Murray said of The Clash that they were ‘the sort of garage band who should be speedily returned to the garage, preferably with the motor running’. Now that’s all well and good, but what if I told you there was a band that sounded like they’d taken this to heart and replaced the petrol fumes with all the gnarliest uppers and the cheapest booze? Meet Texas’ Insane Urge, a band for whom no fidelity is too low, no riff is too snotty, and there’s no hook that wouldn’t sound better being crushed into the dirt by a combination of velocity and curled-lip, devilish delirium. This is their ‘Two Tapes LP’, compiling their (you guessed it) two tapes for Down South Tapes - and what a compilation it is! Rattling through 15 songs in 18 minutes, it condenses the primal chords of The Sonics, the dumb thrills of the Oblivians and the smash’n’grab speed of hardcore punk to create something that sticks to your synapses like paste. Almost feels like someone should call Bomp!, Sympathy For The Record Industry and Crypt to check this hasn’t leaked out of their archives - that classic raw vibe is unmistakeably here and it’s an instant winner. From the opening instrumental that shares its name with the band to the minute-long thrill ride of ‘Job’, ‘Two Tapes LP’ is rock’n’roll at its stoopid best (and trust me, you’ve gotta be smart to play this stoopid). It’s a record that’ll cement its place on your speakers, its brevity only serving to make you demand another immediate fix - which you’ll do again and again and again. If the band moniker reflects anything, it’s the fact that you don’t make music like this because you wanna. You do it cos you can’t see any other choice. Listen and love.

It’s been said before - in my house, at least - but all the best punk music right now hails from the land Down Under. Stiff Richards, Split System, C.O.F.F.I.N., Polute… that’s before we even get into that ‘Smoko’ band and a whole heap of other mullet-wearing reprobates. To this stack of names, we must add another: Cutters. It’s a raucous squall they make, that’s for sure. Much like setting off rockets at a petrol station, they’re beautifully, terrifyingly explosive - ‘Psychic Injury’ is their second album, following 2021’s gleefully cacophonic ‘Modern Problems’. Much like their aforementioned fellow Aussies, you can trace some of their stomp back to the UK’s 70s pub rock scene, a good chunk of their chutzpah to Chris Bailey and Kim Salmon, and even more to the fact that hardcore feels once more like a re-energised scene filled with purpose and drive (...and other words that rock hacks use to make it clear that certain noises are Really Fucking Important Right Now). They’re among the finest exponents of this stuff and it’s a joy to hear it. With titles like ‘Landlord Nation’ and ‘An Ode To Shoplifting’, it doesn’t take a genius to identify their targets; with lyrics like ‘I’m the first of many suckers’ you can tell they’re not above self-deprecation, even as they rage gloriously about a system that’s rigged against us. The album drips - like an icicle in the Sahara - with righteous rage, and even when that anger feels knowingly futile (“I hate the public / Get away from me”), it’s delivered with such wide-eyed venom that it still feels potent as fuck. Whether operating a top velocity or through brutal rifferama, ‘Psychic Injury’ delivers in spades. Apply it to your ears forthwith

Members of The Chats, second LP in anticipation of their debut Euro Tour, FFO Cosmic Psychos, The Saints, Stiff Richards. Australia never misses. European release of The Unknowns second LP, released on Bargain Bin Records in Australia. "There have already been some monster LPs released in 2023, and the sophomore album from The Unknowns just might be the best of the lot. The Brisbane-based then-trio released one of the greatest punk albums of the roaring twenties (so far) with Nothing Will Ever Stop back in late 2020. Now a foursome following the addition of The Chats' Eamon Sandwich on guitar, The Unknowns have returned with an even better follow-up. East Coast Low manages to take most of the musical genres I hold dear and mash them together in the most delightful way. Basically the sound is classic punk rock with a ton of energy and catchy tunes (what else would you expect from Australia?). Yet at the same time, this album aligns beautifully with modern-day garage punk, power pop, and straight-up rock n' roll. East Coast Low packs ten tracks of punchy sing-along punk rock into 23 and a half minutes of pure fun. Songs like "Dianne," "Rid of You," "Thinking About You," and "I Don't Know" prove once again that there's a certain kind of itch that only old school punk rock n' roll can scratch. These guys are doing nothing new. But man, they do it so freaking well! If we're talking about the cream of the contemporary Aussie punk crop, The Unknowns have earned a place in the conversation." Josh/ Faster and Loude.

Tulsa, Oklahoma's Unwed Sailor have been on a tear over the past few years. Following a quiet phase through much of the 2010s, they reëmerged with the aptly titled Heavy Age (2019), and two more full-lengths, Truth Or Consequences (2021) and Mute The Charm (2023), that chart a remarkable evolution of their bass-led, pop-leaning post rock. On Underwater Over There - their ninth LP overall - a current of 80s goth and jangle-pop runs beneath a litany of memorable hooks and compositional left turns, creating a propulsive and intricate world of sound. The band worked collectively on all elements of mixing and production to craft a meticulously layered environment, while maintaining an air of spontaneity and experimentation across the set. Early standout, "Final Feather", drifts through varying landscapes of airiness and haze on a high-neck bass hook, while the hum of voices adds a contrast of angelic comfort. Bearing influence from New Order and The Cure in particular, its balance of gravitas and shimmer is the result of founding member Johnathon Ford's intuitive writing method: the lead bass line comes first, followed by supporting melodies, drums, guitars, keys, and final detailing. "Dusty" is a prime example of this process, as Ford's powerful, low-end groove anchors a full-spectrum array of guitars, bells, and arpeggiations along with Matt Putman's energetic drum section. Its fluid pacing provides a perfect establishing shot, with shifting moods that gather into a coda guided by David Swatzell's harmonized, glittering guitar riffs - a sunrise after a moonless night. In quick succession, "Blue Tangier" widens the aperture with a pounding percussive refrain, vibrant bass tone and an unforgettable, fuzzed-out melodic motif. Sprawling centerpiece, "Junko", is a loose callback to 2003's The Marionette and The Music Box, its deliberate stride and interwoven melodies evoking the hands of a mechanical clock, and the anticipation of something long-awaited but nebulous. It drifts effortlessly from innocence to intrigue, expands into a mesmerizing howl, and vanishes abruptly into mist. While honoring their forebears in winks and nods, Unwed Sailor remain totally inimitable in their approach and style, twenty-five years into an acclaimed career. The band's clear vision for Underwater Over There has yielded some of their most indelible work, and their inventive, passionate approach gives a strong sense of plenty more beyond the horizon.

So I have a problem: I hate everyone and all music. Well, OK, not everyone. But c’mon - you know what people are like. Honestly, they’re the worst. And fair enough I might not really hate all music, but let’s be honest: have you ever actually heard any music? I mean, jeeez. If I’m gonna listen to a record, I’ll need something that matches this misanthropy; something that really gets the neurotransmitters firing on all cylinders and ready to obliterate the feelgood factor. Something like Cleveland band Cruelster, basically. Cruelster are made up of members of Knowso, Perverts Again, and a plethora of other Ohio noiseniks. If it seems like you’ve seen that name before, it’s highly probable - they released a demo back in 2012 and have been sporadically dropping bundles of rough-edged sonic snot ever since, thanks to labels like Lumpy (whose own Dumpers are at the very least sonically adjacent) and Turbine Piss. This singles collection compiles all the non-album tracks they’ve released since that early demo to make a thrillingly ‘orrible racket. Twelve years’ worth of punk rottenness and general stupidity contained in 29 tracks and 40 noisy minutes. It is, of course, fucking brilliant. From the gleefully melodic dumbness (and Booji Boy-flavoured additions) of ‘My Embarrassment’ to the malevolent rumble of ‘Double Trouble’, not to mention a fabulously energised cover of Icona Pop’s dance-pop smash ‘I Love It’, every track here is a winner. It’s the perfect tonic for your rage and the perfect foil to a cruel world where everyone else’s disdain seems more pronounced than your own. You owe it to yourself to complete your record shelves with this instantly classic comp - it’s punk rock par excellence. And as for that ‘hating all music thing’... ah, who cares, this is all gold. Listen immediately, you’ll be causing chaos to its raucous brilliance before you know it. Genre: Alternative / Punk

Maybe your demands of punk are a little too high. Maybe they're a little too exacting - you know what you want, but you don't know how to get it. Maybe you've got an itch that's needed scratching since you first heard '(I'm) Stranded' (sounds like a doctor needs to look at that, mind). Maybe all or none of these things are true and you're just in search of three or four chords and some righteous snot. Reader, you have come to the right place. Split System came sauntering out of Melbourne back in 2022 with a self-titled 7" and a debut LP (the sensibly-titled 'Vol. I'), and as a listener of exquisite taste, one or both of those items will have carved out their own spaces within easy access of your record player. With members of acer-than-ace garage punkas Stiff Richards and Speed Week among their number, not to mention the redoubtable Jackson Reid Briggs, they deal in a gloriously back-to-basics take on punk that's part Undertones, part Royal Headache and part Chris Bailey - all hooks and glory, all the time. They're so much more than the sum of their parts and they make this shit sound effortless. Well, here's an update for you: they're back! Second album (the equally-sensibly-titled 'Vol. II') is now upon us, and a thoroughly tremendous follow-up it is too. As soon as opener 'The Wheel' slams into your speakers, it's clear that they've lost none of the pep or power that made their debut such an essential listen; if anything they're even more raucous and revved-up than before. Yep, that's jargon for 'they rule hard', and let me add here that you could listen to this album 100 times in a row or simply try inserting dynamite sticks with lit fuses into your ear canal; either way, your poor little mind is gonna blow. It's an album made entirely of bangers (still on that explosion metaphor, are we?) - the concise questioning of 'End of the Night' is as pure a punk rock nugget as you could ever wish to uncover, and 'The Drain' is just energy distilled to a perfect series of hooks - with a passion for rock'n'roll in its most scintillating form. Just listen to it. That's all you need to do. Your demands have been met - here's your new favourite record.

Since forming in early 2021, The Prize have established themselves as one of Melbourne's premier rock and roll outfits, funnelling vocal soaked hooks and harmonies through a three guitar onslaught and a pulsating rhythm section. Their unique blend of power pop and rock and roll has earned new fans and followers from all sides of the globe. The Prize’s debut EP "Wrong Side of Town' sold out on the first day of its release and received high praise from the likes of punk legend, Henry Rollins. The band quickly found itself securing plum support slots for bands like the Sunnyboys, Pavement and King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. This culminated in a national tour supporting The Chats in late 2022 that has helped to establish them as a premium live act with the tunes to back it up. To top it all off, The Prize are set to embark on their first international outing in August/September 2023 supporting KGLW and the Murlocs on their European tours with a number of headline dates across Europe and UK. “First Sight”, the much anticipated second release from The Prize will be out just in time for the EU/UK tour via Anti Fade Records and Drunken Sailor from August 18th

Black vinyl pressing 2022! "Funny to think there was a time not so long ago when Stiff Richards was a name that required explanation - but not to you, of course, o punk connoisseur. This is your territory, after all. Music is your oxygen and the sound of the underground is your clarion call. You can explain the distinction between 'Know Your Product' and 'No, You're Product'. Hey, you're probably pretty good-looking too. You know your shit, either way. So no wonder you're drawn to this relative holy grail of modern garage rock - the 2017 self-titled debut album by the aforementioned Stiff Richards. Originally released on their own Stiff Records (and again by Legless in 2020), it lays down all the elements that made last year's mighty 'State of Mind' LP such an instant classic. OK, we've established you know the drill, but let's recap: scintillating Aus-punk that recalls the heroic high-speed riffs of their countrymen The Saints and Radio Birdman. It sounds like Royal Headache covering Motörhead, or maybe the other way around. It's a full-on riot in 30 minutes - the rawest of rock'n'roll bleeding into the grimiest of power chords with hooks for days. You already know you're gonna love it. Whether going full-throttle and aiming straight for the nerve receptors that get your head a-nodding and your toes a-tapping - like on sub-three-minute highlight 'Strung Out' - or sludgin' their way through groovier cuts like 'Bustin' Out', they're never less than a treat that's guaranteed to get your serotonin flowing and your speakers up to 11 (or beyond). As a certain similarly-named record label once said, if it ain't Stiff, it ain't worth a fuck. Frightfully rude, but that's rock music for you, I suppose. Get it in your ears." - Will Fitzpatrick.

First things first - you don't need me to tell you about the significance of Australia in the history of punk. I mean, what am I, Jon Savage? Google it yourself, FFS. Instead, let's just agree that the speedy, feral racket thrown together by the likes of The Saints, Radio Birdman and The Scientists in the mid-late '70s is AT LEAST as deliriously entertaining as anything concocted by their UK/US counterparts, sowing the seeds for seemingly endless garage-inflected noisemakers in the land down under. No one likes using words like 'tradition' or 'heritage' here - the punk rock clusterbomb is far too messy for any of that business - but also emerging from Australian rock's primordial soup is the addictive sneer of Stiff Richards. Like their predecessors, the band are a gleefully wracked mess of full throttle energy and barrelling power chords, with songs like 'Kids Out On The Grass' and 'Point of You' proving at least the equal of '(I'm) Stranded' or 'Aloha Steve And Danno'. Nine tracks in less than 30 minutes, all winners and all determined to leave you flipping over couches and smashing your TV set. And let's face it, you may as well; there's nothing good on. It all builds towards frantic closer 'Fill In The Blanks', which rattles around your speakers like the UK Subs trying to play Ed Kuepper riffs at the centre of an earthquake, before grinding to a halt as a voice says, "That's the one." Does it sound self-satisfied? Hey, it's got good reason to - this is the best no-frills garage rock party since Gino & The Goons' 'Do The Get Around', and the only appropriate response is to declare yourself betrothed to Stiff Richards because you can't imagine your life without 'em. Don't believe me? Sort out your ears and get 'State Of Mind' in 'em. Rock'n'roll as it's supposed to be played. Will Fitzpatrick.

On this pounding release, Lilies (Gothenburg, SE) welcomes Somewhen and Henning Baer for remixes of tracks from Lilies7 and Lilies8, along with original music by Billie Jo and label heads Sailor Juul vs DJ Lily.

Philly’s own Chained Bliss set tongues a-waggin’ back in 2019 with their Stained Red cassette EP, gathering more than a few comparisons to the Wipers’ early racket in the process. Well, now they’re back with a debut album that seems to have skipped right ahead from Is This Real? to Over The Edge: this self-titled LP has all the gut-punching ramalama, knockabout guts’n’glory of that first tape, with added layers. Melodic guitar lines come perilously close to jangling over crunching power chords, while furiously yelped choruses give way to sumptuously put-together breakdown sections that catch you off guard and kick you in the shins before legging it down the street. Chained Bliss clearly love scrappy, skatey garage rock (echoes of Agent Orange’s Living In Darkness abound) as much as they love pushing that raucous clatter into something spacious - the meditative sections that flow effortlessly into absolute ripper Pillars Of Abuse are as unexpected as the thoughtful but head-spinningly energetic sections that bring Creative Seizure so thrillingly to life. Other times they’re just as happy to keep you careening towards the pit with two-minute bangers, but that’s the beauty of this record: it’s never smarter than when it’s playing dumb, and the rest of the time it’s just pretty damn smart. Here’s a challenge: can you listen to Ominous Life’s gnarly pop without raising those fists of yours skywards and landing a firm thump on the air? Or Drifter’s swaggering stomp? Or, or, or… ahhh hell, you get what I’m saying here. Every single cut slays, every single hook snags itself on your brain. You’ll come back for more, and more, and more. Are Chained Bliss your new favourite band? Well, gee, we’ve never met and I don’t know what you like and it’s not for me to say… but on the other hand, yes. Yes, they are. They’re heading straight for your heart and they ain’t budging. Will Fitzpatrick

Some cities just know how to produce bands by the bucketload. Take Detroit, for instance: we don’t need to rattle through a full list or anything, but safe to say that if your town has given the world the likes of Motown, Derrick May and J Dilla - before we even start to think about The Stooges et al - then you could be forgiven for thinking there must be something in the water round those parts. So whaddya say? Should we get to know two more fine exponents of melodic wonder from the Motor City? Only seems fair. This split LP between citymates The Stools and Toeheads certainly isn’t a letdown as far as the illustrious company of their forebears goes. In fact, it’s a fast-paced thrill ride that oscillates between hip-shaking rock’n’roll swing and bone-shaking hardcore energy. You might already be familiar with The Stools thanks to their ludicrously addictive Feelin’ Fine 7”, which dropped via Drunken Sailor (hey, those guys sound familiar…) early in 2021. If you though that short EP was a good time, wait ‘til you see what they’ve got in store here: right out of the gate, opener Dead Man’s Ford smashes the devil-toed boogie of the MC5 at their slinkiest into the teeth-clenched intensity of Negative Approach (and that’s a pretty decent John Brannon-style roar they deliver too). They maintain this quality and velocity across their side, which is brilliant. There’s no let-up from Toeheads either - their side of this split sounds like someone revved up The Gun Club and aimed fireworks inside their exhaust. This is the sound you always knew you were working towards when you got into this rock’n’roll business; guitars blazing, lungs bursting, a wall of sound collapsing while we all dance in the debris. Does it sound like anything new? Fuck no, but that’s not the point. Much like The Stools, there’s nothing you can say about Toeheads that can’t be summarised with the phrase ‘total exhilaration’. So there you have it. Another compelling case for Detroit as home to the finest sounds around, put forth by two young bands who make playing loud, fast and dumb sound easy. Call it conviction, call it chutzpah… hell, call it talent if you want, I ain’t gonna stop you. But chiefly, call it a fucking good time and put the damn record on. This slays. Will Fitzpatrick.

‘Questionably a hardcore band’ is how Daddy’s Boy describe themselves, and one listen to their discombobulatingly brilliant debut LP should answer all your questions as to what that could possibly mean. Recorded with Steve Albini at Electrical Audio, GREAT NEWS! is the sound of punk folding in on itself and racing through sounds you might have previously identified with dumb genre tags like post-punk and possibly even no-wave - except this isn’t either of those things. It rages smartly and discordantly across a wide terrain of undulating rhythms and coruscating rifferema, eventually settling on something that’s… well, kinda uniquely Daddy’s Boy. So what makes this sound? Specifically, four humans who are too clever to simply follow the ‘three chords, now form a band’ template without trying to fuck up the corners (and work their way into the centre). Members of Split Feet, Retreaters and Fake Limbs pile up together to create this delicious cacophony, and you’ll be glad they did. When vocalist Jes Skolnik intones, “I’m so fucking important,” you know it’s drenched in venomous irony, but it’s difficult not to agree: GREAT NEWS! feels like a record that’ll last way beyond those ‘best of the year’ lists and continue to pulverise your eardrums for years to come. It’s the sort of record that felt like the future when Touch & Go Records pushed hardcore past its knuckleheaded limitations 40 years ago, and still feels like no one ever really caught up. It’s the riffs from Cows’ Cunning Stunts, cribbing notes from Crass’ Feeding Of The 5,000, with vocal delivery pitched to ‘gloriously matter-of-fact’. Oh, and no spoilers, but in Skolnik, Daddy’s Boy might just have one of the smartest lyricists in (questionable) hardcore right now. Mark my words, this is some record. Will Fitzpatrick

'What if Blitz hailed from Los Angeles and sang in Spanish’ isn’t a question you hear all that often. Fortunately, we don’t need to ask - the answer is provided by Generacion Suicida’s latest album, which rages and rattles in all the right places, drenched in the memorable brilliance that powered the Killed By Death compilations (ask yer dad - and if he doesn’t know or care, burn his terrible records and make some space to track down the KBD LPs). The band’s slogan is ‘musica del barrio, para el barrio’ - music from the neighbourhood, for the neighbourhood - but it sounds like they could use these hooks to take on the world. That’s a pretty accurate sentiment as well, because this album was written during the Covid-19 lockdown of 2020, while the world bubbled over with carefully managed misinformation, police violence and the sickening overspill of white supremacy’s foul brew. If Regeneracion sounds potent, it’s because there was a lot to be angry about, and the result is arguably their best album yet. Those chorused-out guitar lines carry shades of deathrock, hints of Manchester circa 1980, elements of something you might call goth if it was several degrees less furious. But there’s no doomed romance to this music; it’s an all-out attack. Street punk with the smarts turned up and an ear turned to the lessons learned from post-punk (but crucially, not the ‘post-punk revival’ that is essentially shirtless beardy lads chanting non-sequiturs over landfill indie). Chiefly, it’ll make you wanna get out of your chair, unite your local community and march on down towards your government’s centre of operations with a simple-to-use molotov cocktail kit. Its rage is infectious. It’s inspired by bleak moments in our recent shared history, but it revels in humans’ capacity to find strength in each other. And the tunes? Oh damn, they’re good.' Will Fitzpatrick.