Seems San Francisco’s Killer’s Kiss has been around for a few years now, and yeah, they must be, cause when you come up with a personal sound like this, there has to have been some hardcore sweating-oldbullshit-out-sessions involved. The a-side of this single, Gotta Lotta Love, is, if anything, ‘above the law’. Just when the Lost Sounds start boring the fuck out of me with their narcistic litany of fillers and missers, here’s a band that just might wanna take over the lead in psyching your brain out on the best rockriffs around. The way Killer’s Kiss dresses these riffs in psychedelic backgroundnoises, the way they make you wanna dance to this song, and the way they fumble their catchy chorus in – it all reminds me of the exitement I felt when hearing the Black-Wave album for the first time. Allright, this is just a first single, but it has it all. The joke-riff for an intro, so you think: mmmm, here’s someone ripping off the rip off-band Jet who ripped off Rip Off’s favourite rip off riff. But you’re already twisting to the fucker. And before you have a next thought you’re on the mystery train of this great song that is driven forth by elementary riffs that are still and will always be the big hairy balls of rock. Yes, never mind the keyboards, although they sound great on this record - it’s a special treat in this strange mix of hardcore influences to hear guitars sounding like they were once ment to sound: like a big fat hard on, also known as ‘a real Ted Nugent’.

Their debut full lenght was one my favourite records of last year, so yes: I am biased. I’d probably even say that their farts were brilliantly composed. Normally I’m not all that much into Sonics-devotee-bands – if I want echoos from the past I’d rather jerk off to my own high school pictures. But The Rippers are not only brilliant at playing this stuff, they have created a complete own sound that’s “real garage” and very personal at the same time. So it’s not just a matter of ‘janking the trebble in the red, overdosing on the reverb, and playing the bass like ploink, ploink, ploink’ – oh no. It’s a combination of madhouse songs, total grip on producing in a perfect shithole, and haunting vocals that really do seem to creep up on you. It is all kinda tense, kinda psychotic, but in an almost gentil way, so everybody can relate. O yeah, I love this band. The Rippers make the party cells in my brain go ‘jippy kayo kayeee motherfuckers!’

When the legendary Monsters recorded their 4th record in Toe Rag in 1997, the masterpiece they came back with was only released on lp. Wich was nice. But only 1000 of ‘m where pressed. Did they sell that bad, back in the days? Their Youth Against Nature album is now re-released on Voodoo Rhythm (of course, cause legendary Beatman not only runs this label, but he is still the leading Monster) and this is still one hell of a strange blast of a record. Already before this one The Monsters decided to take some risks in their ‘vintage garagepunk’ that could bewilder the diehard Sonic scholars, OR relieve them from some ‘religious tension’. But on Youth Against Nature The Monsters go totally apeshit sometimes. Of course there’s still this mighty foundation of hardcore European psychobilly (wich will never die) and American Soulstompin’ Punkrock (wich kinda died on us), but there’s also some really fucked up rock n roll (as if they made a sf version of an Elvis movie), some bass and guitarlines that sound like they were stepdancing on Mr. Albini’s Mighty Big Black Dick, and some of the hardest ‘fuck you’ songs ever recorded in Europe. Apart from the great songs, the brilliant band and the way the record is build up, you also get to hear why Toe Rag has this legendary status. Forget what’s being recorded there these days. Listen to what Liam could pull off in 1997. There is an allover sound that’s smooth like the bosom of a sixteen year old. (Allright, covered in dickmustard of course.) In fact, the recording is so good that frustrated Sonic Scholars could always try to figure out how the hell you get echo and fuzz so beautifully produced that it makes you think the whole universe sounds like that.. Maybe it might even lurk them into the wild adventures of this great European classic.

I have this problem with The Chronics – the Italian ones that is. When they play songs I like, I’m thinking: wow this band is tight. When they play songs I don’t like, I think: ’Go fuck the NME, dudes.’ On their second full lenght on Nitro it’s the same all over again. Half of the songs are nicely balancing between garage, power pop and old fashioned ‘hardened’ rock (watch out for the marriage between garage and metal cause it’s in the making, I tell ya). It’s not the best lighthearted garagepunk that comes out of Italy these days, but at least it’s fun stuff and the band sounds totaly in balance when keeping it simple. But then there’s also this pretentious shit on this record again. (Suggested for underaged audiences by me.) Songs composed like they were sold for two bucks by fucking Jet. Ringtone debris. Those typical moments when you find yourself thinking: ‘too much guitar’, and meaning it too. You wanna yell to these guys: don’t try to be melodic if you can’t come up with a decent batch of dreamy notes that suits your sound. Cause everything goes wrong in these ‘special’ songs. Horrible sounding bass, cheesy vocals, and way too many ‘special effects’. You can refer to the mighty glamrockdays in a song as much as you want, that shit won’t fly when the hooks suck. So, once again: The Chronics know how to rock the circus, but god, they also know how to fuck up.

To be honest: there was little doubt that Morticia’s Lovers could pull off another great rock n roll record. The only question was if the member in the group ‘that owns the synthesizer’ would be handcuffed at the right moments. He almost was. There’s a couple of moments we hear the thing, but it’s not like the band tries to make some sort of spacepunk or limpdicked now wave. I still don’t like the synti songs, they’re too ‘funny’, but at least they don’t suck total ass and ruin the record. It’s kinda hard to put your finger on Morticia’s Lovers sense of humor anyway. But when you listen to a mighty song as Rent A Lover on this record (one of the best songs I’ve heard so far this year), you know that being straight forward about their shit, in composition and production, makes the old fashioned snotnoseapproach that this band seems to love so much really stand out in the world of punkrock with a twist. So here it is: one of the greatest bands of Italy with another great record. But would someone please smash that fucking synthesizer to pieces if y’all done with that radio?

Maybe we best leave the ‘How do I babble myself into powerpopland without being called a sell-out – politics’ to The Hives, forget about them and their artschoolcrapjokes, and start listening to The Manikins instead. The Swedish deserve at least that much. On their second full lenght The Manikins demonstrate once again how to get the old garagepunkcliché’s back into shape, simply by being fucking good at playing them, and playing WITH them. So instead of buying old Rip Off Let’s Empty The Vaults Stuff to get your fix, build a party with The Manikins. Young, loud and snotty and all that jizz? Yes. But when you dance around in your lonely rock n roll teenage room on this record untill you pass out, you’ll be surprised to wake up with the notion that there’s a little bit more to this lp than just good old fashioned partying. Then you remember these tiny but strange breaks in the rhythms, the tickling blasfemie of an almost hidden guitarsolo that actually Is Played Well (thank god, cause how many shitty licks we have to endure untill the Brain Police kills all leadguitarplayers in garage?) and that crazy kind of young enthousiasm that has the elasticity of a freshly pulled booger. So you eat the breakfast of champions (chicken mcnuggets), put on your crotchless underwear (homemade by European Cootie Syndrome) and start partying again. Vinyl only. Get your copy now. Only a few of ‘m left.

Yes, they progressed. No they didn’t change. Yes, they got better. No, they are not repeating themselves. They are doing their thing, the way ‘a real band’ does (o, go check your r n r Websters). But already I hear ‘wave of the future fanatics’ being disappointed by this record because of a lack of new revolutionary stuff. Mja. How about laying off the meth for a while, airbikers. Cause there is something new going on in this this treble orgy, this smashing chords into eachother like beerbottles. And That Is Tenderness! Yes, they tried it before, The Original Hunches Melodic Air Pocket, a left punch to the liver for the most of ya, but to some of us a tingle in our secret music box. On this second album those tiny nightmare melodies that The Hunches probably write while hiding under the bed for the boogieman, do not only gain pure musical beauty, but are also honoured with a much better spot in the junkyard, namely: the right place. Yes, really, if you didn’t know better you’d think you smelled a rosebud at some points. But while you are trying to get some sort of perspective, the band whips you from horror to tears untill you shit roasted marshmellows. It took me at least a couple of weeks to make some sense out of this thing. But fuck me: it all makes sense! And for those of you who have seen The Hunches play, you know this is a band that has some ‘stage presence’ as they say in the trade. Let’s hope somebody filmed the recording of this record, cause it must have been one of the biggest blasts the band ever had. Footage of Hart singing will probably be even too scary to watch. Best trashrecord since Prayers on Fire by the Birthday Party.

Fuck, fuckerdifuck fuck fuck fuck! What the hell happened to this band! I’ve been trying to get into their older stuff for I don’t know how long, but only when suffering from psychosis I could dig some of the slow U-turns they took. Sounded like they where looking for some space between now wave and trash that wasn’t really there. But here we have Piscis Clangor, a new ep with just a few songs again, that presents a band that left all rough calculations for a future sound behind them and managed to whip the best stuff they came up with before into the right shape by choosing for the ultimate ‘chaos’ in sound and structure. Chaos? Wel, something very weird, almost exploding. But the Piranhas have found a way to controle their throbbing universe as if it’s secret laws are written down somewhere and they actually finally read them. Yes, they are louder than ever, faster than ever, but above all: they’re fucking brilliant all of a sudden. I’m sure they play Lost Sounds and Hunches records at home, but The Piranhas are coming from another planet. If you wanted you could point into the direction of Beefheart, Dazzling Killmen, Residents, JR Ewing, old Skin Craft madness and some real old fashioned shockrock – but you don’t want that do you? Well, let me say this: imagine your favourite rockers, punkers and carport-hero’s from all times locked up in a mental institution. Imagine some frigid nurse with hair growing out of each hole telling them to form a band for ‘recreational purposes’. Imagine that they do. And then imagine that they take that band totally ‘serious’ (in a mental way) to finally get their rocks off again. Imagine that The God Of Madness himself gave his blessing to this band. Then, folks, that band would sound like the Piranhas on Piscis Clangor.

Are there really guys from Modey Lemon whipping it out in this band? Seems so. Well, I’ll leave this one to Ned The Mumbler. Ned, dude, what’s your take on this here record? ‘Sounds like one of my old bands.’ Thank you Ned.

From our favourite no-fi-mono-as-fuck-should-I- have-that-last-drink-or-puke first-freaks from Boom Boom Of Renton comes another blasting piece of noise that will be still a classic in your collection in 25 years. The FE FI FO FUMS wrote a song that’s an instant classic: the a-side of this seven inch Electrofize Me. In fact, it’s not even funny anymore how classic this song is. If you can whip out stuff like this, then pull your head out of the dumpster and record a shitload of these please and forget about b-sides! For those amongst you who are allergic to modern day low budget garagepunk, do not be affraid. There’s no echoos of bands you might remember, there’s no mummie behind the 2- track, there’s just this mighty song pressed into a crack of vinyl. Yess, you feel buttfucked after hearing Electrofize Me. And I promisse you: in a few months you’ll be still wondering what went up there, cause you’re still not able to stop the twisting and the shouting.

We have to be honest about K-Records. It’s not a label you’d collect, it’s not even a label that makes you wanna check out everything they put out. Olympia, Washington seems to be loaded with modern day beatniks, and K-Records let’s them have their fun, even if most of them have no sense of humor at all. Allright. So every once n a while you stumble upon a great K-record. The Microphones (aka Phil Elvrum) f.i. finally found their way on The Glow pt2, but god: they made some dribble before that one. Here’s another K-Records band that I never really bothered to check out seriously: Old Time Relijun. The rumours about Beefheart Rip Off Crap from yet another corner of the world really put me off. But when someone gave me their latest and I put it in my cd player I kinda fell into a timewarp that sent my right back to the good old days of The Contortions, Vovoids and Teenage Jesus & The Jerks. So if people tell ya it’s all Beefheart: this time that’s total bullshit. Frontman Arrington De Dionyso seems to have taken complete charge now that my favourite mental patient Phil Elvrum, who was also in this band, moved on. From what fans say I understand that the change is kinda surprising. This record has very accessible songs. Not that it’s easy listening. Oh no. De Dionyso is not only a brilliant guitar strangler, but his no wave vocals with echoos from Mr. Hell and colleagues are simply scary. This is passionate madness wich would make James White dance untill the sun came up. Only one thing: if you’re not a modern day beatnik you will be put off by the lyrical crap that Mr. De Dionyso coughs up on websites and such. Wich is understandable. But I’d say: just try to listen to the lyrics of some of these songs without yr beatnikbanner on. It works. There really is gospel in this music. Frankly: this record smells like perfection to me.