Review: Agnostic Front, My Life My Way

Agnostic Front
My Life My Way
4.75/5

Listen To: Self Pride

In their thirty-plus year career Agnostic Front has been a band of eras: way-back, gritty blasting street punk of United Blood and Victim In Pain; in the late eighties crossover thrash with Cause For Alarm and Liberty and Justice For...; even Oi! revival in the nineties.

AF's latest release, My Life My Way, is the third in their macho-hardcore Madball-esque period, starting with 2004's Nuclear Blast debut Another Voice. My Life My Way is arguably a mix between that record and 2007's Warriors.

In many areas of My Life, Miret's vocals fill out an edginess dropped on Warriors. On "Self Pride" he proclaims My pride burns deep with such weight, you can't help envisioning a brass-knuckle to your worthless gob. "That's Life" also packs a punch with classic AF blast-beats, think "United & Strong" or "Last Warning" ruthlessness.

Yet Warriors' deep dive into expansive breakdowns and slightly easier hardcore is also on this record, heard best on "Us Against The World" and "Until The Day I Die". These tunes don't rely on straight ahead thug-core like Another Voice, which some might dig. Their and other songs' uplifting Believe in yourself motif is also nice to hear.

There's even a little Riot, Riot Upstart found in album opener "City Street", a classic Miret homage to the only place him and Vinnie will ever be accepted. My Life's title track and "Now And Forever" have soulful street rock echoes. Mind you, all the influences on My Life surface from a solid bed of metal-hardcore.

Anyway, the haters won't like this record because there aren't any Cocksparrer covers. But they can fuck off. This is a band who invented their own genre, they do as they please.

STIGMA!

Track Listing:
1. City Street
2. More Than A Memory
3. Us Against The World
4. My Life My Way
5. That's Life
6. Self Pride
7. Until The Day I Die
8. Now And Forever
9. The Sacrifice
10. A Mi Manera
11. Your Worst Enemy
12. Empty Dreams
13. Time Has Come

Written for Tangible Sounds

CD Review: Warpaint's The Fool

This review appears on This Literary Webzine's Blog.

Warpaint
The Fool
Rough Trade Records

It's earth rattling how LA hipster-garage outfit Warpaint pull off such a provocative offering with their first full-length, The Fool, released October 2010 on Rough Trade. Fool does nothing less than hypnotise with a mountainous trip-factor of layered, reverb-drenched guitar; rhythms intricate and entrancing - there are points when the most straight-edge scenester will worry about being slipped a hit of acid.

Albeit Fool and Warpaint's lone other release, 2009's mass-hailed Exquisite Corpse EP, were produced by ex-Chili Pepper John Frusciante, explaining the clean, surfy approach. But there's more to dropping distortion that makes this band admirable.

Warpaint's sound is an eclectic mash-up of pop-past, misconstrued and re-sorted into a post-modernist's dream. "Undertow", Fool's poppiest tune, has distinct shades of sixties, Luv'd Ones style girl-garage with its traditional chords and psychedelic vocals. (The song even makes a two-word Nirvana reference, right?)

Elsewhere more influences bleed through the facade, favourably on "Baby" and "Shadows" which obliquely play on a Johnny Thunders, near-folk yet drearily alt-acoustic style. You can see Emily Kokal strumming away in a manly fedora as a seventies tranny-punk inverse. Nerds rejoice, these and countless other oldschool markings, embedded deep in Fool and bared only by slight mocking flair, impress beyond belief.

Rock 'n' roll highschool grads they are, Warpaint also has a stark sense of originality. Most awakening is the sharp-toothed clean guitar tone, the most unique approach in the LA alt-cum-indie scene yet. On a wider scale, they embody the essence of post-modern rock - or post-punk, whatever you call it - much more than all their LA and London buddies who tend to recycle each other's shit.

Almost downplaying its freshness, numerous areas of Fool, notably with tracks like "Undertow" and "Set Your Arms Down", are radio friendly. But, like every track, the near indefinable Warpaintness eventually illumines. "Composure" wittily hints at this constant clash with familiarity: How can I keep my composure? proclaims Kokal amidst guitar leads so over-reverberated, the panicky thought mirrors the sound, emphasizing a disconnect from structure.

It's tough not to envision Warpaint - Theresa Wayman, Jenny Lee Lindberg, Stella Mozgawa and Kokal - as a cliquey gang, locked up in a members-only clubhouse, working away at their big shot amidst scattered records, ashtrays and herbal tea. I can butter it up to no end; in short: Fool is what modern music needs to be - catchy, knowledgeable... above all, new.

Best of 2010

First things first: Warpaint's The Fool was this year's best record. I'm a punk at heart, so most of my friends gawked at my love for them. Whatever, you don't get a Rumours every decade, so when it comes you have to take notice.

That said, I still had my eye on a lot of punk this year. From my list you'll see my pallet is quite Canadian-centric. Well, it's not my fault that we have some of the best punk and metal bands around.

Hoser-shit aside, I was blissfully impressed by Early Graves's debut record Goner. That came viciously close to Agnostic Front's Victim In Pain, for many, myself included, the pinnacle new-age hardcore record. On the other end of the spectrum was Jam frontman Paul Weller's solo record Wake Up The Nation. Chock-full of dubs and delectable garage-to-anywhere guitar, he approached filling Joe Strummer's shoes.

Anyway, enough of my rambling. Here's my favourite records, in the genres I have the right to judge, of 2010.

PUNK

1. Fucked Up - Year Of The Ox
2. Germ Attak - Death to Cops EP
3. Little Girls - Concepts
4. The Business - Doing The Business
5. No Age - Everything In Between

HARDCORE/METAL

1. Fuck The Facts - Unnamed EP
2. Bison BC - Dark Ages
3. Early Graves - Goner
4. 1349 - Demonoir
5. Madball - Empire

INDIE/GARAGE

1. Warpaint - The Fool
2. Myelin Sheaths - Get On Your Nerves
3. The Sadies - Darker Circles
4. Best Coast - Crazy For You
5. Weakerthans - Live At The Burton Cummings Theatre

This article was originally published by Tangible Sounds

No Age at Great Hall

No Age
W/ Henri Faberge and his Navel Academy Marching Band,

John Milner You’re So Boss, Lucky Dragons
Thursday, November 18, 2010
The Great Hall, Toronto

Henri Faberge and his Navel Academy Marching Band opened up for No Age at the Great Hall in Toronto. The fifteen piece band clad in Vaudevillian garb marched around the floor, following a microphoned man sporting a sinister stare yelling dictatorial orders. Faberge took the mic for the group’s single song, with subject matter of letting loose and having fun, while black paint was slapped on others' nipples and a Mary Wollstonecraft look-a-like poured booze down yet others' throats. You had to be there.

Up next was Toronto spazz/noise-punk band John Milner You're So Boss. Playing on the floor in front of the stage, Milner showed the flannel-draped sea just how quick a punk track can get - some of their rip throughs lasted only thirty seconds. Singer Danielle LeBlanc trotted around with beer in hand while yelping out her vocals in time with the blast-beat mainstay and entrancing strobe light show. The fifteen minute set ended with "Toquitos,” nothing less than a spazz-ballad for the salty snack.

Before No Age went on fellow L.A.'ers Lucky Dragons transformed the entire venue into what seemed like the inside of a giant kaleidoscope. Backed by Luke Fischbeck and Sarah Rara's ‘everyday sounds turned alluringly other,’ the main attraction of this performance was a vivacious light display projected toward all corners of the Great Hall. People everywhere tripped out in sheer awe of the impressive visual show and ambient music which mixed Oriental and Indonesian instrumentals with spacey techno elements.

Then No Age took the stage and immediately intensified the night's tempo via Randall's raging force of murky distortion and Spunt's power drumming. They opened with "Life Prowler" off their latest LP, Everything In Between, which displays a tellingly more choreographed approach to previous No Age skate-rock infused post-punk. Spunt and Randall, along with a touring DJ, looked aggressive and anxious to keep belting out one crowd pleaser after another. They did with "Teen Creeps" off 2008's Nouns, following with the punky "Fever Dreaming" featuring a blue cyclone visual projected on a massive backdrop during the tune's shrill-fills. The visual component continued for the entire set with split second movie clips strewn about abstract multicolour shapes and silhouettes. The atmosphere achieved compares to legendary Velvet Underground acid trip-inspired visual-audio performances.

No Age filed through nearly all of Everything In Between with "Depletion,” "Common Heat,” "Chem Trails,” "Shed and Transcend,” fan favourite "Glitter,” and a rendition of "Valley Hump Crash" for which Randall traded the Brit-Glit twang for a punkier, more driving tone. They also knocked out "Eraser,” "Sleeper Hold,” and finished the set with "Miner,” all from the Nouns LP. No Age worked hand in hand in song arrangement, Spunt puttering about the stage or talking to the crowd between songs while Randall recorded the next song's loops. For the kids who don't know what the hell I'm talking about, it's impossible for Randall to play No Age's various guitar lines simultaneously. So, he records several guitar tracks with a loop pedal before each song, and kicks on the appropriate line when needed. Now that's fucking minimalist, for sure.

This article appears in Tangible Sounds

Give Singles A Chance

Ever find yourself wondering what the deal is behind single records? What's with those little seven inch, coaster size records? If I'm going to shell out five bucks, I might as well get a whole album on iTunes! It's true, in this day and age, record singles are obsolete. But there is good reason why bands still bother with 45's.

I won't go into the history of vinyl, Alan Cross already covered that shit. Just keep in mind that for a long time the record single was how people checked out new music. For a quarter you could take home a new song by the Stones, Elvis or Chuck Berry. You dig, you buy the LP (long play record). Essentially, record singles were your parents' sample downloads.

Today more than ever, there is a resurgence of original forms of music. For the same reason fashion runways are covered with skinny jeans and scally caps again - they are too rad to forget. Records are most popular among what we will call "vinyl" types of music. You know what I'm talking about, underground bands too cool for modern technology. It's obvious that these bands' styles stem from the original vinyl artists of the blues, country, rock 'n' roll, and especially early garage and punk. Naturally, they follow suit with putting out records.

New vinyl bands keep record collectors salivating most with singles. Finding an LP of a new album is easy, but a limited pressing of single on blue vinyl creates massive demand. However, some of the coolest singles are easy to find as long as you frequent a decent record store. A true rock and roll business has at least four or five fat stacks of old, and a couple new, singles. Once you've found your vinyl mecca, dig in! For a couple bucks you can get a bootleg Cramps live set, pre-Vegas Elvis hits, a radio promo of Nirvana's "Come As You Are,” Fucked Up's latest song only available as a single, and endless more possibilities that won't be found on a regular record, and sometimes even iTunes.

But at the centre of the whole debate, singles are just really cool. Vinyl bands love reproducing vintage art styles, following the look of original record labels. A band knows there shit when their single sleeve remarks in bold lettering how cheap the price is, a true throwback to the sixties single craze. For me, this aesthetic keeps me coming back for more of what Billboard won't cover.

This article appears in Tangible Sounds

Live Review: Delinquints at Bovine Sex Club, Toronto

The 8th annual Toronto Zombie Walk hit downtown T.O. Saturday, October 23, giving Hallowe’en lovers a chance to try on their costumes a little early. I caught one of the many after parties happening that night, this one at the Bovine Sex Club, where the Delinquints laid down a gritty and captivating set.

The Delinquints’ live performance is a powerhouse of noise. A raw, electric spectacle comprised of singer Jimy Delinquint’s dark, Misfit-greaser aesthetic; Beardo and Sarah’s classic punky-garage, U.K. Subs style guitars, coarsely distorted and frantically chugging away; and Dan Arget’s blistering drums continually cycling through high tempo, four on the floor beats. The Delinquints play heavy, monstrous punk, yet simple and with enough soul to stay out of the new hardcore-cum-metal spectrum. This is hardcore punk in the classic sense: Johnny Cash down on Avenue A. Back alley Elvis wielding stiletto. Ramones on speed.

Of course, with so much punk history encroaching on their sound, the Delinquints had to pay homage to their heroes. This came with a much more core than Social D cover of Cash’s eternal psychobilly anthem “Folsom Prison Blues.” And three Misfits classics, “Horror Business,” “Hybrid Moments” and, which got everyone fist pumping, “Last Caress.” Belting out the songs at double speed, sounding almost exactly like today’s touring Misfits, all of the Delinquints’ covers were graceful nods to their forebears. This band isn’t out to prove they’re punk; they naturally strut in intimidating confidence.

Sending off guitarist Sarah Hoedlmoser in her last set with the group, plenty of Delinquints favourites were also on hand. These included “Punish The Wicked (With a 2X4),” “No Cure For” and “Criminalise The Poor.” Demonstrating their early eighties street, specifically anarcho anthem meets fifties garage sound, these tracks got local followers chanting. By the end of the set, the Bovine was packed shoulder to shoulder with people catching a glimpse of these punks who know that respect for elders trumps striking a pose.

Published by Thiz Literary Webzine

Record Review: Fucked Up - Year Of The Ox

FUCKED UP
Year of the Ox
Merge Records, 2010

We all know bands grow up, but it’s usually into whiny commercial whores. That’s why it’s so great to watch Fucked Up somehow, with increasing severity, undercut punk’s simplistic ethos with every release. Indeed, they do it again on their latest, Year Of The Ox, the fourth instalment in a Zodiac themed singles line which has led the band in some of their most audibly absurd travels. And on a whole, at times completely off the cusp in any sense of hardcore punk, Fucked Up’s past five years, since their debut full-length record Hidden World and acclaimed follow-up The Chemistry of Common Life, showcases a band with an itching experimental side waiting to let loose.

On Ox, title track “Year Of The Ox” opens with an eerie violin and cello build-up, donated by Toronto orchestra ensemble New Strings Old Puppets, foreshadowing the song’s bass line and classical elements. Tension rises for just over a minute before the band kicks in. Damian Abraham immediately spits out his bludgeoning vocals in time with the guitar section’s stomping yet gentle hook that prevails as the thirteen minute song’s main riff.

A slight change in that hook switches up progression five minutes in. When the formula returns after a quick bridge, Abraham’s throat lashings assume an authoritative air while New Strings returns for an epic orchestral bridge. The guitar takes a backseat to elevating classical monstrosity reminiscent of Hidden World opener “Crusades” but with much more drawn out ampleness. Zola Jesus’s Nika Rosa Danilova dawns her voice in the latter half of the tune, offering mystical vocal swells amidst the now grittily palm muted guitar line.

“Ox” mixes the grandiose with the gutter, making it easy to wonder if Abraham would for once stop wrenching his guts, then Fucked Up would have to be labelled something other than punk or hardcore. What's punk about classically epic? Perhaps a question never to be answered by the troupe, but this song’s rule bending consciousness displays how punk doesn’t always have to laugh at itself, and can be seriously measured for all signs of integrity. Fucked Up proves punk is real music, even an academy-trained ear can recognise that.

The single’s B-side is another eye opener. Unlike previous Year Of’s backed with a couple two-minute punk standards, Ox flips over to the twelve minute “Solomon’s Song” uniquely featuring a saxophone line by Aerin Fogel of the Bitters. The bluesy intro leads to another low-mid tempo drum beat while a high-pitch guitar lead cycles over distant power chords. The song gets trippy as psychedelic delay effects are laid on the guitars during the choruses. When Abraham rests during the many, almost unnoticed bridges, the band is a marvel. Sandy wraths the bass strings offering low pitch punches; spacey bell rings and tremolo feedback jet out from hidden crevices; and Fogel wails on the sax for a broad five-minute outro.

Ox is monumental in mapping the evolution of Fucked Up from being an abrasive streetcore band to the scene’s forerunning innovators. Long time fans know they’re still thrashing and crashing, but to an obviously more intricate, grown-up style.

Published by This Literary Magazine

White Moustache

by John Coleman

I read in the newspaper
about a man with a white moustache
who said he wanted to burn the Qur’an.
His moustache looked just like Hulk Hogan’s,
and it reminded me of white bread.
Fake, like white bread -
so overworked and distant from nature.
Bleached, misshapen, manipulated, unnatural.
Unreal – like wrestling.

The moustached man said that
if they built a mosque where
(people can pray)
so many innocent people died,
that would comply with the enemy.
He didn’t have mighty arms like Hulk Hogan does,
but he worked in the same way:
to bring down the enemy.
And I thought,
I belong to the most violent generation.
But not like,
My generation is so violent, it’s absurd.
My thoughts wandered to the conclusion that
I live in the most violent generation ever.

That’s all burning the Qur’an is anyway, right?
Violence.
Instead of burning the Qur’an,
this man really wants to burn the enemy.
He really wants to burn human beings.
But burning the Qur’an sends the same message:
red-white-and-blue
(so easily, how it flows)
wants you to die.

Target, burn, kill your enemy
preached the white moustached man.
It made me want to burn
red-white-and-blue mentality.
I want to burn my Wonder Bread.
I want to darken my white bread mind.

Because my side
(culture)
is being strung up
(hung)
like a(n) flag
(enemy).
I feel misrepresented.
I don’t believe in flags.
Because of the man with the white moustache
I will never believe in God
because believing in God means being hung.

There is a mosque in my neighbourhood in the GTA.
Little mosque on the concrete prairie.
It’s like a church in a school gym
with a Coke machine in the entrance
where my neighbours pray to
Jesus.
But opposite
(wrong).
Right, white moustached man?

I later read that Hulk Hogan
stepped down from his challenge
and that bruised his integrity
because he was fake.
If he was real he would have
burned all the Qur’ans.
But some Hoganites were still going to
carry out the crusade,
the original plan.

They said:
This is the right thing to do.
The only thing left
but more so right
thing to do.
Burn people that burn you.

And a friend, or two, or many of mine read the Qur’an.
Read, or pray, or wander in thought,
then we all watch wrestling.
Hulk Hogan on the screen in fiery yellow and red.
When he powerslams the enemy, the violence is
fake, thin, blank.
Like Wonder Bread.
But there is always a small city who thinks
it is worth standing up to say
“Hulk Hogan is the best,
I would do anything he tells me.”
It is the most violent generation.

Published by This Literary Magazine

MAXIMUM REGGAE

July 2, 2010
Lee’s Palace

In the early nineteen-sixties there was a worldwide musical revolution: Rock and roll transformed traditional three-chord blues and folk into an amped up, livelier style, taking over in the United States and United Kingdom. Meanwhile, in Jamaica, another genre took form from the foundations of traditional roots and folk music there, this is reggae music. In same evolutionary fashion as American rock, reggae takes aspects of Caribbean folk and blues as a stepping stone, and cranks it through modern electric amplifiers, usually accompanied by organs and forms of dub samples.

Sound aside, reggae stands as a bonding agent between cultures. During the first major wave in the mid-sixties, white and black members of the working class adopted reggae as a movement to break down racial borders. Labeled two-tone culture, these people hung out at reggae clubs after a hard day's work. This is the reason why ska (a derivative of reggae) and reggae fans wear checkerboard wristbands, two-tone shoes, or other black and white clothing. Many working class aficionados also sported a uniform of shaved heads, jeans and boots, and favoured reggae or pub-rock, in an effort to counteract the hippie movement. This is how the original skinhead movement began, a decade or so before its message was marred by neo-Nazi gangs stealing the skinhead name and aesthetic. (Hunt down Mr. Symarip's "Skinhead Moonstomp" at your record store for a completely sixties portrait of the movement.)

By the mid seventies, reggae was gaining huge popularity outside the Caribbean with notable bands like Toots & the Maytals, Mr. Symarip, and The Wailers hitting world charts. In the UK pub-rock and proto-punk scenes, The Clash, The Police and The Specials were among the first to infuse reggae techniques into rock music. This explains why there is still a strong tie between punk rock and reggae/ska music today. For an early Brit-reggae adaptation, listen to "Police and Thieves" on The Clash's first album. There are tons of punk bands that use reggae, ska and dub styles in their music. From the crusty ska-core of Leftover Crack, to the more traditional modern ska sounding bands like Less Than Jake, to street-ska with Operation Ivy, ska and reggae are a big part of punk.

One of the biggest contemporary purveyors of true reggae is The Aggrolites from Los Angeles, California. This five-piece has been rocking steady for almost ten years, now situated cozily on Tim Armstong's (Rancid) Hellcat Records. Fans of punk and ska know them well, perhaps just as another one of those punk bands that took on a reggae sound. But, the only thing I can say about the Aggrolites is that they are wholly and completely pure, maximum reggae. At Lee's Palace in Toronto they played to a diverse crowd of shade-sporting rude-boys, vest and tie wearing ska-kids, spiky street-punks and full-fledged brace-strapped skins.

In the nineties, Prince Perry helped form Frankie Foo and the Yo Yo Smugglers, a staple band in the Toronto ska scene over the past fifteen years. Prior to this, the Prince was tutored by one of the best, Rolando Alphonso of legendary ska group The Skatalites. Prince Perry's education shines clear with his entirely ska-themed lyrics often about meeting ladies and late night chillin'. In the music too, which is straight ahead, easy listening ska. Now, the Prince is embarking on a solo career, albeit with generous help from his backing band The Gladtones. They are a barrage of Toronto scene comrades including trumpetist Jan Hughes of Frankie Foo and guitarist Stefan Babcock of Stop, Drop N Skank. Tonight, the Prince and his Gladtones opened the show by hopping around to their light hearted ska jam "You Won't Say It" off their recent debut record, Songs About Girls. In response, the half-full Lee's Palace crowd also began grooving along with every note. Perry stood at centre stage with a handsome grin below his fedora for the entire forty minute set, occasionally kicking up his knees to the beat in exact unison with the other five Gladtones. Other songs included "Bee On The Bus,” "Girl On The Bus,” "Love At The End Of The Century,” and a crowd enthusing rendition of The Police's "Walking On The Moon.”

By the end of the Gladtones's set, there was little breathing room in Lee's Palace. The pit dense with about one hundred dirty aggro disciples waiting for their prophet. Other people lining the walls and clogging all possible walkways. The Aggrolites trotted onstage after a couple minutes of intro music. All five members clad in blue jeans and grey work shirts, they looked like a chain gang on the run, yet eager to spread their message. After lead singer Jesse Wagner gave the crowd a couple quick grimaces, they slipped into "Funky Fire" from their 2006 self-titled album. Rhythm guitarist Brian Dixon immediately started knighting people in the front row by bowing down and tapping them on the shoulder with the head of his guitar. For the rest of the set, if he wasn't doing that, he was either stomping around the stage like a giant, instigating dancing by physically approaching anyone within reach from the floor speakers which he would jump on, or hocking loogies beside him. His stature, his sneer, he is pure intimidation. By the time fourth tune, "Work To Do,” was underway, a joint was being passed around the Lee's Palace pit. I got a whiff and looked around for the culprit, but became mesmerized by the crowd: every single person dancing. People standing in the aisles pounding fists between their knees; those sitting on old wooden benches lining the walls shoulder grooving with the beat; arms and legs jetting out everywhere into the air. A reggae dance hall packed with people from all walks of life, united, entranced by the music. The band went on with a few instrumental tracks and "Time To Get Tough,” which saw Wagner lose his white Jaguar guitar and slip into his electrifying preacher persona. From the bottom of his soul he belted out his Yeahhhh's, reminiscent of James Brown intensity and stage presence.

The rest of the show went on in the same fashion. More doobies lit up in the pit, eccentric stage presence coming from the whole band, especially Wagner, and people dancing everywhere. About halfway through, the band played another instrumental, and keyboardist Roger Rivas literally judo chopped out his solo. I also couldn't stop looking at Alex McKenzie sitting low behind the drums, constantly head nodding and shoulder pulsing to his own spine rattling beats. Other tunes included "Countryman Fiddle,” "Feelin' Alright" off their latest record, Aggrolites IV, and the classic fan favourite "Don't Let Me Down" for which everyone helped out on the lyrics. After nearly an hour and a half The Aggrolites were sweaty, tipsy, and still all smiles. I recommend catching this band if you respect dedication, and just enjoy real dirty reggae.

Live Review: The Riverdales with The Creeps and The Varsity Weirdos

The Riverdales
W/ The Creeps and The Varsity Weirdos
May 15, 2010
The Mod Club, Toronto

“What is it, early or somethin'? You guys are quiet out there" Creeps singer/guitarist Skottie asked of the Mod Club crowd Saturday evening. The Ottawa band opened the early show with their punky powerpop, preparing for ultimate Ramones-revivers, Screeching Weasel spin-offs The Riverdales, who headlined the event. Maybe it was the sunlight dampering the Mod Club crowd, because these adamant fist pumping Creeps fans didn't have a dancing bone in them. It wasn't the Creeps's fault; they provided a quick-tempo, twenty-five minute set that should have triggered at least a couple moshers. Skottie was having fun right from the get-go, rocking his navy-blue Johnny Ramone Mosrite guitar and knee bopping along with the four-on-the-floor beat of "On And On." Ian, sporting a Visitors tee, held his stage-right position on the bass confidently, providing backup vocals when needed. Sticking his tongue out to the adoring front row during "Hang Around," he too tried to snap people out of their daze. The band sped through more fan favourites "All The Way Home" and the quick "A-Bomb" that begged for a pit breakout, but no such thing happened. "Goo!" Skottie screamed off-mic between The Creeps's two final songs, giving Jordy behind the drums a run for his money. He gave a split-second "Are you crazy?!" kinda look as if they missed a break, before a quick drumstick four-count and settling into their last quick paced punk joint.

Moncton's The Varsity Weirdos walked out to a more packed crowd now taking up most of the Mod Club territory. Surprisingly, though, nobody moshed for these guys either, and I think it pissed them off. Guitarist Corey, who was rocking a white Mosrite (do you smell a theme?), paced around in between songs, looking frustrated with the non-energy of the crowd. The band cracked out the title track of their latest record "Can't Go Home" which got people's attention, a few fans started pogoing. If The Creeps wouldn't incite a circle pit, then The Varsity Weirdos should have to get people amped up, but it didn't happen. "Wanted By The FBI," another tune off Can't Go Home, soared out with its catchy background vocals, and "Disconnected" saw singer/bassist Eric head-tizzying along with the chorus. They rounded out their eleven song, twenty-five minute set with a rendition of "Look At The Stars" which got more than a few arms raised and some front row fans singing along. Before leaving Eric inadvertently addressed the zombyish pit: "The Riverdales are gonna come up here," he said, "and they're gonna show us how it's done." Something to look forward to.

The floor packed in tightly pre-Riverdales and I finally got the feeling that there were some diehards kicking around: Old Ramones and Screeching Weasel tees, leather jackets, a couple spiky streetpunks and scally caps, and older guys and gals noticeable by their khaki attire and polk-a-dot mod dresses. We all waited a long forty minutes until about twenty-five after eight, and then The Riverdales blew the Mod Club crowd away. The first of three Riverdales sets, belted out in true Ramones fashion with songs spliced only by "1-2-3-4" yells, finally got some fans moshing. This set was comprised of tunes "Make Way," "Mental Retard," "Homesick," "Out Of My Heart," "Back To You" complete with surfy bridge picked out by Ben Weasel, "King Dinosaur," and a new song off their upcoming disc Tarantula, entitled "12 To The Moon." After 13 minutes of pure power chord mayhem, the Riverdales took a break.

"It's a long time since we've been in Toronto, 15 years now. Last time we played the Maple Leaf Gardens" Weasel said while the other guys toweled themselves down and Weasel's green Mosrite got a tune-up. New Riverdales guitarist Simon Lamb was rocking a Mosrite too - a red sunburst model - continuing the night's humble homage to the late great Johnny Ramone. Weasel also used the break to plug the new album, reiterating the June 8th release date a couple times, before their second pummel of eight more tunes. First was the Riverdales classic, "Atomic Brain," sung by bassist Dan Vapid of Methadones and Queers fame. Weasel sang along off-mic to the whole song. "The Prince Of Space, 1-2-3-4!" Weasel screamed and they, like every song, tightly belted out the tune, complete with pinhead bridge-rant. The rest of the set included "Red Zone Cuba," "Rocketship X-M" with minor amp-level troubles for Lamb that no one else even flinched about, and new songs "Bad Seed Baby" and "Diabolik."

The visibly sweaty Riverdales braked again quickly before their final blastout, starting with a four-count yelp from Vapid setting up "Countdown" which forced Weasel into a frown-mouthed downstroke blast for the intro. "Outta Sight," "Wanna Be Alright," and "Teenage Strangler" led to the band leaving stage for a minute or two before an encore. "We got three more" Weasel confirmed when they reappeared, met with house rattling cheers. "Don't Wanna Go To The Party" triggered body surfing and the first full-floor moshpit of the evening. Now, in the encore, people were excited. "Last Stop Tokyo" was the second last song to which everyone in the Mod Club helped out with the chorus. One final Tarantula plug from Weasel before the classic "Riverdale Stomp" that drummed up another huge pit and group of body surfers. One of those streetpunks managed to get on stage, thrash his fist around to his favourite tune, and then dive back into the mayhem. The Riverdales were impressively tight for the live Ramones-esque speed, drummer Adam Cargin never missed a beat. Let's hope to see them in town again soon.

Published by Tangible Sounds Music Magazine

CD Review: Gogol Bordello - Trans-Continental Hustle

Gogol Bordello
Trans-Continental Hustle
4.2/5

Listen To: When Universes Collide
Skip It: Nothing.

You love our music but you hate our guts, And I know you still want me to ride the back of the bus spews Eugene Hütz in “Break The Spell” off Gogol Bordello’s latest album Trans-Continental Hustle. The American Recordings, Rick Rubin produced album is the band’s sixth full-length and first major label recording since leaving indie-punk label SideOneDummy.

In hopes of pushing Gypsy punk’s political themes into the mainstream, Gogol Bordello has riddled Trans-Continental Hustle with angry, satirical lyrics. In corridors full of tear gas, Our destinies change everyday, Like deleted scenes from Kafka, Flushed down the bureaucratic drain sings Hütz in the punky blowout indictment of Roma acceptance that is “Immigraniada (We Comin’ Rougher).” “When Universes Collide” tells of an innocent young child caught in the middle of war, Over crashing cymbals, and melody humming accordions and violins, Hütz sings It’s just father told me tonight, Authorities preparing an ethno-cleansing ride… So when the universes collide, Son, don’t get caught on the wrong side!

You really get the Roma feel with Gogol Bordello’s reliance on traditional music. The nine member band is in full-form, creating soulful ass-shakers like “In The Meantime In Pernambuco,” and some tracks, like “Uma Menina Uma Cigana,” are renditions of traditional folk songs sung in Hütz’s animated Ukrainian accent. Keeping it punk, dust-kicking speed drums and distorted rebel guitars are all over the fourteen song disc.

I hope the major label boost gets the meaning of Trans-Continental Hustle, and all Gypsy punk, across to the public. This is segregated music with a punk platform, trying to explain about present-day oppression and exploitation. If enough people listen, maybe we’ll stop calling these people Gypsies.

Track Listing:

1. Pala Tute
2. My Companjera
3. Sun Is On My Side
4. Rebellious Love
5. Immigraniada (We Comin’ Rougher)
6. When Universes Collide
7. Uma Menina Uma Cigana
8. Raise The Knowledge
9. Last One Goes The Hope
10. To Rise Above
11. In The Meantime In Pernambuco
12. Break The Spell
13. Trans-Continental Hustle

Published by Tangible Sounds Music Magazine

CD Review: Paul Weller - Wake Up The Nation

Paul Weller
Wake Up The Nation
4.25/5

Listen To: Two Fat Ladies
Skip It: She Speaks

Paul Weller teams up with former Jam-mate Bruce Foxton for the first time in 28 years on his tenth solo album Wake Up The Nation. The record is full of varying influences including funk, folk-country, and new-age samples that spice up classic Weller three chord mod-rock.

“Moonshine” employs a wailin’ ‘50s piano and hyper-shaking tambourine amidst space-age sounding keyboards for an attention grabbing album opener. Another twinkling piano appears in “7 & 3 Is The Striker’s Name,” alongside hooky Sha la la’s from Weller.

Ballad-like “Trees” follows a catchy three chord structure while Weller hops around different personas switching along with vocal effects and melody. At one point he is A mother whose Darling children would come from me [him], while later he is back to himself and protests confidently My baby loves me. “Trees” ends by leaving Weller alone with a thunderous piano for a heart-wrenching soliloquy.

‘60s electric organs and funky guitar riffs step out from a base of maraca sounding effects in “Pieces Of A Dream.” Can’t put my finger on it, Can’t put this finger on me Weller boasts in the tune, presumably acknowledging the multiple styles coming together. The sentiment sticks with finishing song “Two Fat Ladies,” an upbeat punk-country pogo fury complete with hair-raising slide guitar fills sailing out from the western-blues rhythm.

Infinite sounds come at you from every direction on Wake Up The Nation, proving Weller isn’t afraid to have some fun while still producing master crafted modern rock. It’s everything you expect from an original British punker with the spirit of ‘77 long gone.

Track Listing:

1. Moonshine
2. Wake Up The Nation
3. No Tears To Cry
4. Fast Car / Slow Traffic
5. Andromeda
6. In Amsterdam
7. She Speaks
8. Find The Torch
9. Aim High
10. Trees
11. Grasp & Still Connect
12. Whatever Next
13. 7 & 3 Is The Striker’s Name
14. Up The Dosage
15. Pieces Of A Dream
16. Two Fat Ladies

Published by Tangible Sounds Music Magazine

10th Annual Joey Ramone Birthday Bash Scheduled

Photo Source: joeyramone.com

The 10th Annual Joey Ramone Birthday Bash is scheduled for May 19 at the Fillmore New York at Irving Plaza in New York City. This year’s event is being headlined by Hank III and Morningwood, with supporting acts The Sic Fucks, The Independents (whom Ramone managed shortly before his death), Spanking Charlene, and Heap. The Joey Ramone Birthday Bashers, a parade of rock and roll underworld royalty featuring Little Steven Van Zandt, Mickey Leigh, Richie Ramone, Walter Lure, Cheetah Chrome, Thunderbolt Patterson, Ed Stasium, and Hank III will also perform at the night. All proceeds from the event go to the Lymphoma Research Foundation.

The bash celebrates the punk godfather’s life which ended on April 15, 2001 due to complications with lymphoma cancer. Shortly before his death, the 59 year old Ramone made his brother, guitarist Mickey Leigh, Rattlers, and mother Charlotte Lester promise they would celebrate his birthday that year. Now a ten year long tradition, the annual bash is notorious for its wild party atmosphere and performances from punks the Ramones hung out with and influenced alike. The first bash featured Cheap Trick and Blondie, and since The Misfits, Rocket From The Crypt, The Bouncing Souls, The Waldos, and The Saints have all hit the stage for Ramone’s birthday.

After Joey Ramone died the legacy of the Ramones thrusted into the mainstream. The seminal punk rock band responsible for stripping down pompous rock and roll in the late 70s with such worldly hits as “I Wanna Be Sedated” and “Blitzkrieg Bop” were recognized for their importance to modern rock. The first Ramones album, released in 1976 and produced by the reputed Phil Spector (Beatles’ Let It Be), is widely considered as the prototype for the first wave punk era that reshaped mainstream music.

Joey also did a lot of work outside the Ramones. In 1985 he joined Little Steven Van Zandt’s advocacy group Artists United Against Apartheid acting against the Sun City Resort in South Africa. Other acts he worked with include Youth Gone Mad, Helen Love, Ronnie Spector, Blackfire, and The Independents. In 2003, a section of East 2nd Street near CBGB’s nightclub where the Ramones played their first shows in New York City was officially renamed Joey Ramone Place. In 2002, the Ramones were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the same year that Joey’s last work, a solo album entitled Don’t Worry About Me, was posthumously released by his predecessors. On May 14, 2009, Joey himself was inducted into the Hall of Fame, as well.

With sources from joeyramone.com

Published by campusintel.com

Malcolm McLaren, Punk Visionary, Dies

Photosource: esquire.com

I’m getting sick of doing this. Last Thursday, April 8, 2010, Malcolm McLaren died due to complications with mesothelioma. He was 64.

Malcolm McLaren is most notable for being the manager of seminal punk rock bank The Sex Pistols, arguably the world’s most famous punk band. The Sex Pistols popularised the punk fashion of the late 1970s. Safety pins, ripped and torn clothing, spiky haircuts, leather jackets and bondage gear, and straight up negative attitudes toward anything mainstream – this all stems from The Sex Pistols. They also helped usher in a highly influential anti-political musical movement called anarchy punk, prominent today in mainstream music with bands such as The Casualties and The Exploited. However, The Sex Pistols were nothing without McLaren.

It all happened like this. In 1971, after giving up on formal education after a series of expulsions from various British arts colleges, Malcolm McLaren and then girlfriend, now renowned fashion designer Vivienne Westwood, opened a fashion boutique in London called Let It Rock. The shop specialised in costumes for cinematic productions and saw some success, but McLaren grew a new itch. In 1972 he travelled to New York City and hung out with inspirational protopunk group The New York Dolls, who had a huge underground following at the time. McLaren was drawn to their provocative dragqueen stage personas which countered the egotistic, no-fun direction rock and roll was heading toward. McLaren renamed his London shop Too Fast To Live, Too Young To Die and began outfitting the Dolls for all their shows. But, The New york Dolls split in 1975 after a gutsy move by McLaren: to draw attention, he dressed the band in red leather suits and used a hammer and sickle as their new logo. Dolls guitarist Johhny Thunders would go on to become the underworld face of punk, a foreshadowing fact in the later success of The Sex Pistols.

After The New York Dolls, McLaren set out to create a band with members from local London. After a scrounging period, at the newly renamed McLaren shop SEX, guitarist Steve Jones, drummer Paul Cool, and bassist Glen Matlock started producing rough-edge rock similar to The New York Dolls, and with the new do it yourself anti-rockstar ethic conceptualised by NYC punk prototypes the Ramones. McLaren found what he needed most for the band in a young man sporting a t-shirt reading “I Hate Pink Floyd.” Oh, so punk rock. This Floyd-hater was John Lydon, aka Johnny Rotten, the most recognisable voice in punk.

So, the band was complete. McLaren named them The Sex Pistols after his shop and another random controversial image. The Sex Pistols countered Top 40 music of the late 70s. They didn’t play ten minute guitar solos or have trained musical knowledge, which is the essence of punk: regular people playing rock and roll, instead of larger than life heroes who didn’t give a shit about their fans. Punks wanted to recreate the rock scene of the 50s and 60s by playing short, 3-chord rhythm and blues songs. No filler.

In 1977, the Sex Pistols blew up. New bassist Sid Vicious became the ultimate punk anti-hero complete with a nasty heroin addiction and total lack of personality on the surface. The band’s “Anarchy Tour” with up and coming London pals The Clash and The Damned, and headlined by infamous junkie-punk Johnny Thunders and his Heartbreakers, gave them a previously non-existent soapbox.

The rest is literally history. The band’s one and only studio album, Nevermind the Bollocks, Here’s the Sex Pistols, was released in fall 1977. Complete with now punk classics ”God Save The Queen” and “Anarchy in the UK,” Nevermind the Bollocks reached No. 1 on the UK rock charts. It is widely considered by music historians as one of the most, if not the most influential rock album of the twentieth century. If you’ve never listened to it, do so, and play it loud.

Then, as quickly as they appeared, the Pistols were gone. They broke up after their dismal first US tour in 1978. In February 1979, Sid Vicious was dead due to a heroin overdose. McLaren went on to manage British punk rock group Adam and the Ants, and create his own music with various backing bands.

So after this brief punk history, my message ends with remembering Malcolm McLaren, punk’s PR representative. Without the pop culture and fashion vision of this man, it is quite possible that punk never would have reached the heights it now floats upon. RIP Malcolm McLaren.

Published by campusintel.com

Remembering Roehrs - RIP

Maximum Rock and Roll magazine’s website posted a solemn comment on March 17 reporting long-time columnist, Bruce Roehrs, “passed away peacefully in his home.”

Maximum Rock and Roll is one of the longest running punk-zines, starting in 1977, and quite possibly the most reputable when it comes to coverage. It’s like this: if your band gets mentioned in Max RNR, you wear the mark of underground acknowledgement. Providing publicity for thousands of new hardcore bands over the last thirty years, Roehrs is Archbishop of Max RNR blessings.

Roehrs wasn’t a journalist, but he was educated. He attended the University of Miami in the 60s, where he developed a love for old school garage rock. Through the 70s he worked a number of blue-collar jobs, eventually ending up in San Francisco. By the end of the decade, he couldn’t stay away from the nightly DIY scene showcasing the new punk bands. This is where he met Max RNR founder Tim Yohannen, who recognized Roehrs from being at a bunch of shows, and recruited him to write reviews for his young zine.

In essence, Roehrs had a knack for recognizing great hardcore. He loved groups that did away with filler – like, now legendary bands, Black Flag, Dead Kennedys, and Agnostic Front. The faster, louder, and more aggressive the better for Roehrs, and that is what he found in the budding early 80s hardcore scenes across the Western US. Publicizing the new style of rock, which was scaring most of the listening public, became Roehrs’s vocation. The spirit of hardcore was embedded into Roehr’s writing. His articles were often laden with four-letter words, and always ended with a now retired tagline, “See you at the bar.”

In one of his last articles, he reviewed Agnostic Front’s 1983 EP “Victim In Pain” that was recently re-released on Bridge 9 Records. His love for the band bleeds through the write-up: “‘Blind Justice’ has one of the best breakdowns ever committed to hardcore vinyl” he claims, a sentiment that I truly have thrown around in my head ever since I heard the tune. I am sure his passion was mirrored in many of the opinions of his readers. Check out the entire review at Bridge 9’s blog.

The passion Roehrs had for the new punk and hardcore of the 80s, 90s, and today led to many of his favourite bands boosting in popularity due to his praiseful penmanship. He was a lover of the first wave punk bands like Motorhead, Cock Sparrer and UK Subs, and then the ensuing wrath of American hardcore that got its start where he was writing in the San Francisco Bay/Los Angeles areas, and spreading all the way up the West Coast, even to Vancouver where DOA made Canadian hardcore a reality in the late 70s. He also used him column to promote the underdogs. For example, his praise of AntiSeen in the late 80s in his Max RNR column helped create a following for the now renowned band. Jeff Clayton, AntiSeen’s lead singer, posted “We’ll never forget you brother .… RIP” on the “Never Forget Bruce Roehrs” Facebook group page.

The legendary punk writer will undoubtedly be missed by many people involved with punk and hardcore music. Rest in peace to a visionary, and an inspiration.

The San Francisco Bay Guardian printed Roehrs’s obituary on March 24.
Join the “Never Forget Bruce Roehrs” Facebook Group.

With sources from the San Francisco Bay Guardian, and maximumrockandroll.com.

Originallu published by campusintel.com

Lost Photos of Punk Greats On Display

The Steamwhistle Brewery, located at 255 Bremner Boulevard, Toronto, is hosting an art exhibit brandishing photographs depicting some of rock’s biggest icons this March. The brewing house turned art gallery event, which is free, is displaying, for the first time in large-scale public view, a series of photographs taken at rock and roll shows in Toronto between 1979 and 1981. Included are shots of The Clash at their first performance in Toronto in 1979, and Bob Marley’s last Toronto concert.

The photos are a result of a pair of young punks’ do-it-yourself photojournalist tactics inspired by the early punk rock movement, around 1979. Nick and Simon White, brothers who grew up in Toronto, saw most of the shows that later went down in history as part of the beginnings of the new musical era. They got the idea to photograph these early performances, possibly foreseeing the nostalgic element they would later provide.

The mostly black and white photographs depict a youthful who’s who of 70s and early 80s rock: The Ramones, The Clash, Peter Tosh, The Specials, and U2 with a young Bono are among the legendary acts captured in the photos. Other rare performances like The Talking Heads, Johnny Rotten performing with post-Pistols band Public Image Ltd., and The Specials were also captured by the brothers.

For the past 30 years, the photos have been tucked away, and nearly forgotten about, by the brothers. They stopped photo-documenting the music scene when it became harder for them to obtain press passes for concerts. In the earlier days, they were just seeing shows and taking pictures from the crowd. They started a fanzine, Smash It Up, where many of the photos were printed. But the zine went out of production when the 70s underground went mainstream and being punk no longer meant being free to publicize your favourite bands.

Now, the White brothers’ extensive work is on display for all to appreciate. The event is free, on for all of March at The Steamwhistle Brewery in Toronto, and, I’m sure, pints will be on hand to help commemorate the wild moments. If you can't make it in person, visit the CBC online gallery of the photos here: http://www.cbc.ca/arts/slideshows/PunkTorontoSlideshow2/project/

Originally published at campusintel.com

Fucked Up And Friends Dazzle Opera House - Show Review

Baltimore hardcore band Give opened the show at the Opera House Friday night, and set somewhat of a heavy tone for the night. Sadly, I only caught the last two songs of their set, and I really wish I could have seen more. The thunderous, bass-laden drums that continuously keeps rolling on through both fast parts and slow breakdowns initially captivated me. Their uniqueness kept my attention. Give is definitely a hardcore band, complete with tell-tale aggressive heaviness. This gets mixed, though, with a lighter guitar sound. There isn’t too much distortion, making it easy to follow the rhythm. Comparing the guitar style to a similar band would not be easy. And, when a band can heed me from b-lining to the bar as soon as I get into a show, which Give did, they usually stick around in my playlist for good.

The D’urbervilles, who took the stage after Give, are also great at keeping your attention. Their new-age brand of rock-pop beamed through the Opera House. Their sound is somewhere between Joy Division and the Weakerthans, and much in common with most dance-rock indie bands. However, they strike their own pose. They have some very technical, high-tempo, yet sometimes hard to follow, drum beats. Two synthesizers, looked after by guitarist/lead singer John O’Regan and lead guitarist Tim Bruton, work together well with the clean, palm-muted, not too overpowering guitar lines. There were highs and lows to this set – when at their best, the D’urbervilles can trigger sporadic, arm-throwing dance moves in any wallflower, like they did for O’Regan.

After the D’urbervilles, Kurt Vile played a captivating six-song set that I, once again, was very drawn into. He opened with “Overnite Religion” accompanied by a second guitarist/percussionist, who laid down the tambourine and maraca lines of the song. The trippy folk-rock made up of loop-dubs, looped drum beats, and guitar, set an intimate vibe throughout the Opera House before Fucked Up went on. At times I felt like it was just Kurt and I alone in a room, and when I would come back to my senses, I would look around and confirm that everyone else was also entranced by him. The third song was drummed by Jonah from Fucked Up, which added a refreshing crack to the low-key stoner rock. In total, the Kurt Vile set felt almost like a healing process, a cool rejuvenator before Fucked Up tore the place apart.

Tore it apart they did. Fucked Up started their set with drummer Jonah’s mother playing the flute line from “Year of the Rat,” and then dove into “Son the Father,” off their Polaris Prize winning album “The Chemistry of Common Life,” and staple opener for recent shows. They moved smoothly into “David Comes To Life,” with a tweaked breakdown in the middle, differing from the studio version of the tune. By mid-set, lead singer Damian Pink Eyes Abraham lit things up and tore his t-shirt off, as usual. For the next song, Damian sang while pulling an impressively long microphone cable around the entire Opera House floor, a perfect way to engage the crowd. Near the end of the set, while playing “Crusades,” a fan who grabbed the mic from Damian and started singing was attacked by another audience member, the attacker was swiftly removed from the event. After a quick break, the debacle was sorted out. The band just picked up where they left off, and finished the song with the final chorus. The performance was full of Fucked Up classics, including a thrashing rendition of “Two Snakes” off the band’s debut LP, “Hidden World.” The sextet played well together, in sync at all times, while frequently switching and changing parts of many songs. A tight set, that was undoubtedly planned and polished, from one of Toronto’s hottest bands.

Originally published at campusintel.com

Remembering Lux Interior: Punk's Unsung Undertaker

On February 4, 2009, the rock and roll world lost one of it’s greatest and most unsung trailblazers. Lux Interior, legend in his own time and lead singer of the Cramps, died due to aortic dissection, he was 62.

The Cramps were founded in 1972 by Lux and the ferocious female guitar player, Lux’s future wife, Poison Ivy. By 1975 the Cramps were a staple in the budding punk rock scene in New York City, turning heads alongside the New York Dolls, Television, and the Ramones.

However, The Cramps were different from the other seminal punk bands. This is highly due to Poison Ivy’s guitar style, which was highly dependent on blues riffs and archetypal rock and roll music. She picked up where the 50s and 60s punks left off (yes, punk was around then too) with guitar driven music that concentrated on the spirit of the garage, rock and roll’s first home.

Many of the songs The Cramps played were covers of old rock and roll classics - like “Surfin’ Bird” by The Trashmen, “Psychotic Reaction” by 60s California garage band The Count Five, or “Shortnin’ Bread” made popular by The Emeralds. But, they also had a telling bluesy influence, through which The Cramps popularized new rock genres that spring-boarded off punk.

Rockabilly, southern rock, prototyped by Gene Vincent and Elvis Presley; infused with hillbilly bass lines and country guitar, became part of the Cramps’ lure. However, they did it with a twist. As if by accident, they bred a new -billy: Psychobilly. Early Cramps flyers advertised “Psychobilly” and “Rockabilly Voodoo” as their style of music. In the coming years after the first wave of punk, Psychobilly would be used to describe many punk bands, like with The Dead Kennedys who mixed hardcore with an old school rock sound, and The Stray Cats who mixed the old rockabilly sound with punk’s speed and fashion.

The Cramps were also masters of keeping the Hallowe’en spirit alive all year ‘round. Lux’s lyrics were obsessed with sci-fi exploration like in “Human Fly” and “How to Make a Monster,” and masochistic sexual themes like in “What’s Inside a Girl?” This ghoulish, creepy sci-fi theme led to another sub-genre of punk: Horror Punk. The Misfits and ensuing copy-bands are considered the horror punks, and a lot of their dark, gothic subject matter was founded by The Cramps’ style.

Above all, The Cramps are arguably the first blues-punk band. For lack of a better term, blues-punk essentially means high energy, distorted blues. When analyzing The Cramps, this is exactly what they are. There was still no bull, keeping them punk - but Poison Ivy could lay out a juke-joint riff like any of the greats. The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion is a recent band that follows in the crashy, trashy style of blues that The Cramps fine-tuned.

In recent years The Cramps were still touring. Lux was still sporting his leather bondage gear and high-heels, and still giving head to the microphone; Poison Ivy still laying down the hippest, funnest riffs in recent rock, and looking damn hot while doing so. Needless to say, I love the Cramps, and I think you should too. I discovered them in my early high school days, on one of the old Punk-O-Rama compilations that Epitaph records used to do so well. The song? Haulass Hyena, off “Big Beat from Badsville” (oh, what an intimidating album name, and cover). After that, I was a Cramps-head, through and through, and always will be.

Look around for an album series called “Songs The Cramps Taught Us” - a collection of Cramps songs that were in fact originally recorded by other, often much older, artists. Hopefully it will lead you to an appreciation for original rock and roll - an act that punk, as a learning tool and reference point in rock history, begs us to do.

R.I.P. Lux Interior.

Originally Published at campusintel.com