AUGUST 2020

Whoa... this is the first post since the pandemic-fueled lockdown here in LA. My family has been very fortunate; we are healthy and still have jobs but my wife and I have been working full time (in her case, more than full time) while also taking care of our ever-active one year old daughter full-time at home. All in all, we're very thankful to be in the position we're in compared to the desperate circumstances that have beset so many people. That said, it's been nearly impossible to find spare time (and, more importantly, energy) to allocate to thinking and writing about music. I've got a pair of very interesting LPs I've spent some time with over the past several months for today's post and then going forward I'm going to try switching to a quick-hitter format with short blurbs on releases. I'll try to corral my loquacious tendencies in order to get some kind of briefer AuxOut content out into the world, most likely in irregular intervals but hopefully much more often. Thanks to any and all who read the site, I hope you are staying healthy and enjoying music every day.

Benjamin Dean Wilson - The Smartest Person in the Room [Works of Love]

I’ve been wrestling for months with how to accurately describe The Smartest Person in the Room, the sophomore effort from Benjamin Dean Wilson, Tulsa’s turtlenecked troubadour of note. On one hand, it doesn’t sound like anything radical but on the other, it’s quietly the most ambitious album I’ve heard in that hazy bullshit genre we call “singer-songwriter” in some years.

The record’s release has a perfect story for some future rock-doc: Cincinnati’s Works of Love is a record label established by novelist Luke Geddes who used part of his book advance to start the label (badass) and serendipitously came across Wilson’s debut LP while browsing eBay listings for Jonathan Richman records. An impulse purchase led to Geddes falling in love with Wilson’s music and offering to make his follow up the inaugural release on Works of Love.  

Wilson’s reedy vocals, somewhere between David Berman and the tinny tenor of James Taylor’s voice, belie the density of The Smartest Person in the Room. It’s verbally dense (the word count for each song must be stratospheric) with tastefully orchestrated arrangements that can keep up with the cavalcade of vocabulary. There are so many blink-and-you-miss-’em melodic nuggets crammed into this record that it’s far too overwhelming to try to capture them in this review. However, one of the keys to Wilson’s production is that, despite the wide array of instrumentation—we’re talking guitars, bass, drums, piano, viola, organ, synth, multiple male and female voices and more, he maintains a very spacious, naturalistic atmosphere for the album. 

To call Wilson’s tracks merely “songs” is almost a disservice as they are long, winding narratives of quotidian snark with ever shifting arrangements for each act. The Smartest Person in the Room feels like a collection of short stories nearly as much as it feels like a record. With songs usually unfurling to 7-10 minutes in length, Wilson often ignores verse-chorus convention opting for constantly evolving movements. Probably too literary to classify as pocket symphonies but structurally there’s a symphonic element at the core of these songs. Clocking in at just four minutes, “Ridgemore Hotel” sticks closest to typical pop song format but even that’s chock full of little key shifts and detours.

Positioning the title track as the opener is a smart choice by the smartest person in the room as it's the most immediately hooky (I was singing the ambling “I come from a family full of idiots” chorus to myself after a single listen) and nestles into a comfortable middle ground between Wilson’s firm grasp on pop songwriting and his more grandiose gestures that arrive in short order. The rest of the album ranges from the beautiful chamber music vignettes of “Mr. Paranoid, Lizzy, and Her Family”, the ten-minute finale of “Vitamin Supplements”, an amusing epic of con games and rackets, and “A Difficult Decision for Ronny Giovanni”, a comical minor key funk tune about the modern day descendant of Don Giovanni.

Wilson’s best work comes on “Won’t Say It Again...” a wry, disturbing portrait of an immature (and deranged) schmuck who can’t fucking deal with being separated from his ex-wife, all the while proving exactly why she’s better off without him. The song winds through the narrator’s bizarre stream of conscious including how butchering a deer reminds him of his ex-wife, straining to live in a movie flashback of his life and, ultimately, in a final unnerving kissoff, the resolution to hold his feelings inside and give his ex-wife’s address to a local serial killer. It might be Wilson’s best work as an arranger as well, finding various combinations of timbres to underscore the fluctuating tone from segment to segment, including an unexpected, hummable harmonica-led conclusion.

As alluded to, The Smartest Person in the Room is a dense record and after many listens I still notice new lyrical and aural details in every song each time it’s on the turntable. Wilson is truly doing his own thing; his peculiar voice (literally and figuratively) stands out from the leagues of forgettable singer-songwriters out there and that is so goddamn refreshing. Thank you.

The Shifters - The Shifters [Digital Regress]

Melbourne’s The Shifters' boastful, pie-in-the-sky online dating profile would describe themselves as Desperate Bicycles-meets-The Raincoats-meets-The Fall. This sounds like the best band that ever existed, certainly on par with using an eight-year-old profile pic. Except, in this instance, it's actually pretty true. The other reference point is mid-80s Flying Nun, think pre-Terminals bands like Scorched Earth Policy and The Max Block. If DigiRegress had pulled the wool and said The Shifters’ debut was a reissue of a cassette from 35 years ago rather than five (the truth), I'd be inclined to believe them. This LP miraculously sounds like it came from that era, one of the best in history, and I desperately want to know how this feat was managed. 

So The Shifters sounds like a million, but what about the songs? Well, they’re pretty fucking impressive too. Eight killer songs with no filler in sight. Each one is a hook-laden, instant-classic in its own way. The first two tracks “Creggan Shops” and “Captain Hindsight” made it as the A- and B-sides of a single in 2016 and it’s easy to see why. “Creggan Shops” seems like The Shifters’s mission statement if there ever was one. It’s got the fixation on areas of colonial strife, in this case Ireland, (songs “Algeria” and “Tel Aviv” appear later on the side) evoking brutal images of kneecapping alongside clever esoteric puns (“R.U.C. again and now you don’t”), over a scrappy brew of stepping guitar riffs and melodica wheeze. “Captain Hindsight”, alternately, breaks into an utterly gorgeous violin melody over murmuring bass and needly guitar thrums. The band ratchets up the tension on “Algeria” with a descending four-note bass line and thumping tom pattern. Vocalist/lyricist/guitarist Miles Jansen is impeccable on the mic and his sloshed Aussie accent sounds more on edge than usual here.

VU’s “Heroin” has many, many great grandchildren by now and The Shifters add another to the litter with “The American Attitude to Law”, working the extended two-chord format into their own style while singing about sliced achilles tendons, suing the internet and namechecking YouTube to timestamp it in the 21st century. “Benedictine Man” must be about Benedictine monks, I can only assume given Jansen’s historical proclivities, and it showcases the catchiest chorus on the record (you will be hollering “He was a Benedictine man!” in no time) with dual guitar riffs to match. The country-fried “Colour Me In” has a strong whiff of The Statler Brothers’ “Flowers on the Wall” without actually sounding like it and if “Algeria” seemed intense, the band really gets their blood pumping on “Stuck in the Middle” about as full-throttle as the ragtag group gets on the album.

In addition to the quality of the songwriting, the performances are perfect across the board. Drummer Ryan Coffey isn’t afraid to ignore his cymbals and even his snare occasionally giving each song a fresh rhythmic center while the two guitars and bass expertly intertwine loose, twangy single note lines maintaining space and allowing each other to stand out at different points. Angus McLean is The Shifters’ secret weapon playing both violin and melodica, wringing out all manners of lyrical melodies, rhythmic plucks and occasionally sawing skronk. If the rest of the band is the bones, he’s the flesh “colouring” the band in.

I remember seeing The Shifters tape pop up on several best of the 2010s lists which inspired this purchase and, for once, the lists were right! Do I have a new favorite band? I just might!

Much gratitude to Digital Regress for bringing this gem stateside. Right now DR is having a moving sale (20% off everything) so you can grab The Shifters along with other sweet Antipodean (and American) sounds for some low, low prices. Buy it.

Spring 2023

Lula Asplund - Unravels by a Thread [Drongo Tapes] 

Seattle’s Drongo Tapes keeps busy busy busy and the label’s first cassette by Lula Asplund, Unravels by a Thread is a head turner. Opening track, “Static Overlay”, sounds a bit like that first Elklink album if Elklink was something that people might actually want to listen to (not a diss, I LOVE Elklink). Then comes the bait and switch, “Static Overlay” is odd but approachable but “Just as Flowers Open” and “Ongoingness” give you a good smack in the face, each in different ways. Reminds me a bit of my beloved Caldera Lakes with the harshness toned down. I love it. A human voice mediated/obliterated/resurrected by technological clutter. Asplund is a new artist to me and I’m excited to hear which dark alleyways she slithers down next. I like the cut of your jib, Lula! 

Eyes and Flys - I Don't Care Where You've Been, I'm Just Glad That You're Home [no label] 

It’s been too long since I last checked in on Buffalo’s favorite sons, Eyes and Flys. Putting out DIY self-released 7” singles like Y2K never happen’d, the Eye Flying machines have amassed a clutch of great singles in a few short years. This one has an unwieldy title on the A-side “I Don’t Care Where You’ve Been, I’m Just Glad That You’re Home” and it’s one of my favorites so far. A hairy, midtempo pop number, fully-stocked with shakers, an earworm guitar hook and a glockenspiel buried even deeper than Pat Shanahan’s vocals. The scuzz is true to form, with songwriter Shanahan putting a sterling indie-car pop engine in the body of an old stained couch. Lyrics are on the sad side as Eyes and Flys’ are wont to be, plumbing the depths of seasonal depression but buoying them to tarnished twinkle. “Buffalo” continues along the same trajectory, with the tempo kicked up a notch, delving into the eternal equation of aging bringing along proportional regret. It’s a tough pill everyone has to swallow but the la-la-las and sing-along refrain of “I hope they never find me” makes the bummer go down a touch easier. I believe this is the first E+F dispatch to be recorded in LA and the liner notes’ command/taunt of “Move to California you dumb shit” feels like a personal attack on me specifically, as a recent ex-Angeleno. When you read a scathing pan of an Eyes and Flys record in the next issue of AuxOut (coming in 2026, setbacks notwithstanding, mark your calendars!), you will know why! 

Seth Kasselman - Analogous Fools [UR Sounds] 

The Big Kass is back! Well, as of last year when I got this tape. Seth Kasselman surely has something new and gorgeous brewing as I write this. I did this whole song and dance the previous year, I love Warm Climate (Kasselman’s brilliant now deceased avant-glam project) but Kasselman has leaned much harder into that avant- tag with his recordings under his own name. Like 2021’s UV Catamaran, Analogous Fools drums up a synthetic soundworld. It’s your choice whether to dip a toe or take a cannonball off the high dive. Fools, however, is the more accessible entry point. Kasselman considers it a song cycle. Though no one will mistake this for Schubert, the Schu certainly fits on tracks like “I Don’t Know What to Think of the Moon” which is chock full of melodies, as glitchy and fractured as they may be. Kasselman’s signature clarinet pokes through at times but synthesizer is the dominant sound force here. “Slow Pretender” and “Breaking In Time” are slow movers incorporating both IDM and abstract drones while something like “Say It Like Elevator Lungs” recalls some tasty Prefuse 73 odds and ends. “One Way In, One Way Out”, on the other hand, is less visibly structured with a stronger presence of processed acoustic instruments, a real adventure that covers a surprising amount of ground in only 3 minutes. In a similar vein, “Moon (Reprise)” delivers a heavier dose of clarinet, and I always welcome a bit of electro jazz smash ‘n grab. My personal preference leans towards UV Catamaran’s at-times frightening, submersible soundworld but, with Analogous Fools, Kasselman continues to show he’s capable of nailing any musical avenue he travels down. 

Kilynn Lunsford - Custodians of Human Succession [Ever/Never] 

Kilynn Lunsford is a vet when it comes to making great records, whether with Little Claw or Taiwanese Housing Project she has always delivered. Custodians of Human Succession, her first solo LP, is no different. Scratch that. It actually is very different, but it’s just as good. She’s managed to make a record that’s fun and replayable, yet bizarre and elusive. After many listens my grasp hasn’t become any firmer. Custodians’s secrets will remain just that. 

With an initial punk-electronique framework harkening back to the likes of DAF and Suicide, Lunsford incorporates tons of influences here but without really sounding like any of them. Several strains of hip hop DNA, from boom bap to Timbaland to Boy in da Corner, are woven in here next to echoes of sonic-provocateurs like Halo of Kitten and Inflatable Boy Clams. The unnerving “Tammy and Her Friends” nods to the very early days of Industrial, before it had a name. On “Three Babies Make Ten” particularly, and throughout the album, Lunsford employs an odd and indolent drawl, made that much odder by editing, filtering and reversing Lunsford’s voice at different points. She’s not quite singing, not quite speaking, not quite rapping. Her voice exists on the outskirts of everything. 

With a few shades of PJ in ass-kicking mode, “Vessel Creep” is the only track that nods directly to her rock outfits Little Claw and THP, while Lunsford mostly ingratiates herself among 00s electro-mutants like Adult. and Mu on tracks like “No Disabuse”, “North Sea Shrimps” and “Sewerland” which would become an instant electro-smash if it ever found its way into a movie or TV show. “Where the Moon Waits” approximates the “Heard it Through the Grapevine” bassline and garnishes with heaps of pillowy synthesizer. It’s Custodians's prettiest track certainly, particularly when a chorus of angels appears and starts purring “Pissing blood in the skies above”. The only band in recent memory that comes anywhere near Lunsford’s orbit is the similarly unique Angels in America (particularly on “Freshest Taste”) but Lunsford has made something that’s nearly RIYL-proof. 

Produced in collaboration with Donald Bruno, the sound of Custodians of Human Succession is incredibly important here. For a record where nearly all sounds, Lunsford’s voice aside, are synthetically-birthed, Custodians sounds spacious rather than suspended in a vacuum. It doesn’t try to pulverize with its bass throbs either, which has gotten to a point of being perfunctory. It sounds modern and timeless, a record that could have appeared in the late 1960s, or in the 2060s, and blown some minds at either point. But we’re fortunate to have it today. Harnessing the considered production with her taste for catchy beats and idiosyncratic phrases, Lunsford has fashioned a new kind of discomfort-pop; it doesn’t feel quite right but it definitely sounds good. 

Mushfoot - Time Before Land [Moone] 

Terrible band name, but I hate all band names since 2011 (I should slap that slogan on some t-shirts and re-brand AuxOut as a corny merch site). Based on the cover, they’re a gaggle of goofballs and you gotta be a goof to name your band “Mushfoot”, amiright? I’m all over “My Shrinking Heart”, a twisted, lobotomized graduate of The Magnetic Fields School of Songwriting and Industry. Totally great. Time Before Land keeps things relatively varied with the 70s Euro-cinema folk stylings of the title track, foggy synth-pop on “Lonely Time” and the loping pleasure-stomp of “Nobody Can Show You”. Not the terrible “New Grass” music one would expect from a band called Mushfoot. You tricked me. 

Richard Papiercuts - Reunion [Ever/Never] 

Since his first solo venture, A Sudden Shift, Richard Papiercuts has been gradually refining his approach with each successive release. A Sudden Shift’s eclecticism, namely its occasional Beefheartian wildness, stripped down Tears for Fears cover and Scott Walker-fronting-classic-rock-band experiments, has long been left in the rearview, with his subsequent LP “IF” and 12” Twisting the Night beginning to zero in on Bowie as Richie’s patron saint of choice (80s Bowie, in particular). Papiercuts latest full length, Reunion, doubles down on Let’s Dance and, in the process, becomes his best and most consistent record to date and I say that as a fan of all his records.

Comprised of just six full-bodied tunes, simply put, there’s no filler here. Rich gets his eyeliner out for the moody kickoff “Judgment”. Bits of Echo & the Bunnymen, early U2 and The Chameleons all find their way in but all that dark stuff is cut by the chattering tambourine in the chorus. A swirling cauldron of chorus pedal bravado, chiming piano and strangled sax skronk. A top Papier cut, as far as I’m concerned. The sentiment continues with the insistent violin stabs of the gothy chamber ballad “Anita Sing”. It’s not all trenchcoats and pale complexions though. Enterprising hip hop producers ought to take note, “Reunion” and “After Hours” are ripe for your scavenging. “Reunion” with its thumping bass pulse and ascending synth brass line conjures images of a young Papiercuts working his hips to “Like an Eagle” down at the local disco and it’s not the only time he gets funky on the record (note: slow jam closer “Night Beats Night”). “After Hours” is another highlight driven by a single-note piano line and groovy bass and guitar interplay, it amounts to the single catchiest anthem Richard has put forth yet. If you’ve got all the past Papiercuts records, Reunion is a perfect ending (for now) and, if you don’t, I can’t think of a better starting point. 

Rider/Horse - Select Trials [Ever/Never]

Rider/Horse - Feed ‘Em Salt [Ever/Never] 

So is the northeastern noise rock duo, Rider/Horse, ultra productive or am I just a lazy piece of shit given that they finished and released another LP (Feed ‘Em Salt) before I finished writing my fucking review of their last LP (Select Trials)? On second thought, don’t answer that. Select Trials, the debut LP from duo Rider/Horse (unspecified which is Rider and which is Horse), first leapt from my speakers a year a half ago and it was and is a racket to be reckoned with. Also, to my surprise the first song is actually about horses. I know Skin Graft Records is still chugging along (and I confess I haven’t kept up with them) but Select Trials sounds like what I imagine a 2020s Skin Graft record should sound like. All the usual buzzwords: angular, serrating, corrosive. Catchy tunes bundled up in a steel wool coat. 

“Tremolo Harm” is the hit thanks to a needling earworm guitar melody that will be playing on listeners’ brain radios for years to come. “Code Clicker” is filled with epic “fuck yeah” energy and I can’t get enough. Who wants to play some FUCKING SPORTS with me!!? The bass riff on “Today’s Gains” is positively nauseating and I love it. The dour “Chime Inn” wouldn’t be out of place emanating from the John Sharkey III axis (later Clockcleaner, PRF, etc.) and the band even shares Sharkey’s Depeche Mode fetish on “Theme” (from Feed ‘Em Salt). The rhythms here are off the charts. Never boring but, importantly, never too busy. Sometimes the drums sound like drums, sometimes they sound electronic and sometimes they sound altogether programmed and manipulated. Maybe a mix of all three? None of the above? Reminds me a bit of how Cabaret Voltaire approached rhythm (minus the acid house fixation) particularly on a track like “Prawn Ranch”. 

Feed ‘Em Salt’s opening salvo “Florida Gasoline” is as appropriate as they come. Grinding, seasick bass melody. Vertigo-stricken pedal steel by Zoots Houston. Relentless musical machinery. “Rotting Profits” feels about as uplifting and life-affirming as Rider/Horse is gonna get. The addicting, adrenaline-inducing bass line and syncopated drum pattern would be a bonafide dancefloor filler in the hands of any other band but the duo stays true to its ethos to keep tension high and grind you til you fracture. No release and no relief, says Rider/Horse. “Great Innings” and “Pretend You’re the Worker” hit the grooves similarly hard. “Worker” in particular unveils a more dynamic attack than the first LP. Reminds me a bit of La Grande Triple Alliance in late 00s France, mainly The Dreams and related bands (Heimat, The Anals). Fierce rhythms (here what sounds like a vigorous hand drum loop) dominate the noise addled frenzy. 

Initially, I took a bit more of a shine to Select Trials, but after time I’ve been converted to Feed ‘Em Salt. The raspy chirp is left behind. Jagged guitar, sneering voice and treble frequencies in general are deemphasized but the duo has refined and honed their sound, placing the supercharged rhythm section even more front and center. I shifted from thinking of it as neo-Skin Graft noise rock to a highly fucked up dance record. Rather than piercing you with skin deep harpoons and tugging you along as Select Trials does, Feed ‘Em Salt gracefully and methodically punches you in the gut until you submit. I tap out. 

Sir Tad - Sir Tad Goes Deeper & Deeper [Purple Akronym] 

Sir Tad - You’re Home [Tynan Tapes] 

I’m such an O.G. that I was listening to Sir Tad pre-knighthood, back when he was known simply as Tad from the neighborhood. He dropped one perfect dub-pop cassingle and vanished without a trace. Well, Tad has returned home a little older, a little bit wiser, and practically royalty. Contrary to its name, the 15 minute Sir Tad Goes Deeper & Deeper is comparatively slight to You’re Home. “Deeper & Deeper” (and its guided meditation sequel “Deeper & Deeper Pt. 2”) features quacking synth sounds reminiscent of Pino Donaggio’s soundtracking of Girl’s P.E. class in Carrie but most of the tape finds its muse in a thrift store keyboard. “Great Generic Park”, for instance, consists of nothing but battery-powered organ bleats and a delay pedal. You’re Home expands considerably in terms of pallet and scope.

You’re Home finds Sir Tad rifling through decades of family memories such as old answering machine messages about taking care of neighbors’ cats. The echoing wheeze of a chord organ and a shuffling rhythm welcome you like a warm blanket on the opening title track. There’s a tinge of sadness to the winsome vibes of You’re Home, though, as the album is dedicated to the memory of Max Krakoff, the brother of Tynan Krakoff a.k.a. Sir Tad, and Max is featured as a child on “Break a Leg”, providing his own rendition of the Kit-Kat jingle among other charming moments. Old keyboards and tape players are certainly at the center here, but occasionally augmented by the majestic zing of autoharp (such as on “Bird of Paradise”). While Sir Tad takes a few detours like the frenetic “Slitherin’ Slop”, You’re Home is a web of kind reminiscences, some seem personal, others less so. But all moments captured anywhere were personal to someone, at some time. And that’s the effect of listening to You’re Home. The personal is still personal, even if it’s not personal to you or me, and Krakoff invites us to experience his personal. It doesn’t get better than the lilting “Bloom like a Highway”, where Krakoff builds up reedy melodica and stumbling keyboards around a processed recording of someone giving driving directions. Despite being offered directions, I don’t know where I’m going when I’m listening, but I enjoy the moment while I’m in it. Maybe, as Sir Tad suggests, I’m home. 

Valley of Weights - Valley of Weights [Skell/Sool] 

Weight is right. The debut from Valley of Weights is a hefty honker of a 2xLP. Sharing members with the likes of Vatican Commandos, Burnt Hills and Sky Furrows (who dropped what is still quite likely the best LP of 2020) I was keenly interested. The reason for the double platters is the uncanny Valley serve up a selection of whacked out yet still tight rockers on the first record while the limbs get loose on record two with improvised wig outs. I’m partial to the first LP (“You always were a rocker” a noise scene luminary once complimented/condemned me) but there’s something for everyone on the menu here. 

Valley of Weights take it back to the days of Simply Saucer, not that anyone living in the days of Simply Saucer knew they were living in the days of Simply Saucer, nestling in that narrow zone between oddball and classical rock & roll. These northeasters like to strut (“Turn Out the Light”, “Wartime Draughtsman”, “Passes”) and they even dabble in mellow grooves (“One That Can See”) and outright burning down the discotheque on “A Tension Span”. Thumping bass line, staccato street fight between the guitars, a singer who sounds like he’s locked in a closet. It’s got everything you need to set the dancefloor on fire. My favorite line (the quotidian genius of “take a digital photo and bring it to the interview”) pops up on “Turn Out the Light” amid the kraut-guitar swirl. The influence of one of AuxOut’s pet bands, Slovenly, pops up on a couple tracks, unsurprisingly making them favorites. “Seven Figures” has a bit of that curious SST seasoning. Weirdo jazz talk rock pushed along by a busy, burbling bassline with a pleasant dusting of cosmic synth chime. Valley of Weights might be at their best on the urgent “The Great Simulator”. The insistent, crunchy guitar riff earns MVP honors. 

The second LP is the designated “freak out” LP but it’s really more of a jammer. “Ennio was Right About Hawkwind” is not so much about blasting off into the kosmische Rhineland, but kicking into some sturdy grooves and proggy pulses. A bit like when Television would flirt with a disco beat. On the flip, “Roentgen Elevation Man” is some kind of post-rock blues amalgam. And there you have it, one LP for the right brainers and one for the left brainers. Kinda like when Donovan put the psychedelia on one record and the folk tunes on the other, pick your pleasure and everyone goes home happy. 

BONUS CONTENT!!!! 

Way back when, over a year ago, I grabbed some records from the Courtesy Desk distro and I was so hyped about the contents of my package I started writing some reviews intending to slap on “bonus content!!!!” for the next AuxOut post, and well here they are… unfashionably late, as always.

Chronophage - Th’ Pig Kiss’d Album [Cleta Patra] 

Took a chance on this one because I seemed to remember hearing good things about Chronophage’s first record and Cleta Patra is a label run by Candice Metrailer from Mystic Inane and I’m pretty much in the bag when I see she’s involved in something. Damn glad I did because Th’ Pig Kiss’d Album is great! [Upon hearing Th’ Pig Kiss’d Album, I backtracked and sought out their first album (also on Cleta Patra) and can confirm it, too, is excellent.] I’m not quite sure how to classify Chronophage. Guitar/bass/drums/synthesizer. Multiple singers. Certainly in the punk sphere but not in any ordinary way. I feel like everything I’ve read about Chronophage mentions SST, and I agree! Chronophage sounds like a band that would have been on SST back in the day. They would have been one of the oddball bands that never got famous like the famous bands but were actually better than the famous bands. So many good cuts here but none better than the Richard Hell-esque punk-eloquence of home run closer “Name Story” which I couldn’t get out of my head if I wanted to (and I don’t want to!). 

The Shifters - Open Vault [Adagio830/Insolito] 

How many contemporary bands are there that I would shell out for a Germany-only 2xLP of iPhone-recorded demos using a children’s Spongebob drum kit? Just one. And that band is Australia's The Shifters. Serious consideration must be given to The Shifters’ self-titled debut being the best rock record of the past ten years and, well, Open Vault isn’t that good. But it’s still pretty damn good. There are a fuck ton of songs and, in all honesty, I haven’t completely digested it all, yet I look at that as a good thing. I have my whole life to fall madly, deeply in love with Open Vault, and I surely will, Antipode addict that I am. A few highlights are remnants from an abandoned album (Pyramid Scheme) “Right Stuff” and “Removal Business” which is solid Shifters gold, shuffling piano ballad “Crossroads at Vybor”, great shambling home demos like “Shifting”, “Medieval Kicks” and “Faux American History 101” (perhaps a spiritual successor to Tommy Jay’s “I was There”...) and a rollicking live recording of “Out on a Walk”. Bonzer mate. 

Star Party - Meadow Flower [Feel It] 

Having heard “Push You Aside” one place or another, I was super hyped to grab the vinyl debut of Seattle’s Star Party, Meadow Flower, via the reliable Feel It label. You could tell immediately by the fuzz-drenched sugar rush that Star Party are fans of Scotland’s 53rd and 3rd label (Shop Assistants, The Vaselines, The Pastels) and probably Black Tambourine as well. As far as I’m concerned that is an underused well to draw inspiration from. Modern bands take note. Star Party seems to have intimate knowledge of what they do best given that they made music videos for each of the three songs that tower above of the rest: “Push You Aside”, “Shot Down” and “You and Me”. Even though the remaining five songs are solid, a part of me can’t help wishing Star Party stayed in the tradition of 53rd and 3rd’s classic, all-killer-no-filler, eternally replayable 3-song 12”s (Shop Assistants’ Safety Net, Vaselines’ Son of a Gun) because these three songs are that good. 

The Stick Figures - Archeology [Floating Mill] 

I don't know who this Floating Mill proprietor is but he/she/they are heaven-sent. The Stick Figures were a band from Tampa, FL in the late 70s who only released one 7” EP that you’ve probably never heard of. (It fetches triple figure prices from those in the know.) Archeology, as you might assume, collects this EP and unearths unreleased songs recorded in 1980 and it is as goddamn essential as they come. I was gobsmacked the first time I heard “September”. All this time, The Stick Figures from Tampa were the inventors of indie rock and I had no idea. Everything about that song is absolutely perfect. Rachel Maready Evergreen’s lovely vocals, the infectious melody, and the band’s refusal to commit to the pop genius bit by throwing in wild guitar feedback, inexpertly played xylophone and crispy recording fidelity. It is truly a revelation. But that’s not the only thing The Stick Figures do (well). "N-Light" proves that mutant disco was happening in Tampa and not just NYC. Of course, The Stick Figures were actually more adventurous than their No Wave brethren given that they were able to seamlessly graft on pop rock choruses and melodic violin parts to the frenetic grooves. Similarly, "Crayola Bowling" is able to marry psychedelic jangling 60s melodies with the punk-funk that came into vogue in the early 80s (they're doing this pre-80s, mind you) fueled by synthesizers and an extended organ freak out. As far as the unreleased stuff goes, there isn't a drop off in quality. Tracks like "Green", "Language" and "Energy" sit quite nicely next to the tracks from the original 7". "Mr. Simon" is one minute of pure sugary noise. If "Yesterday" had actually been released at the time, it could have absolutely been a hit. Funky, rolling bassline, earworm guitar lick, snarky female vocals, perfect recipe. Could say the same about the new wavey power pop of "Make a Fire". The dirge-y "Everplayed" presages great bands like Run On that didn't get going until the 90s. Not a single dud in the bunch. There's so much more I could say. The most essential archival release I've come across in a long time. Fun liners including contemporary reviews too. I love this band. Seek it out!

ROCKTOBER 2025

Donna Allen - 2nd Song Diary: Atom-ic Citizen of the Dying Empire [Ever/Never] 

Don’t know if you’ve also been a fan of Chronophage for the past seven years or so, but, if not, they’re well worth checking out. (I’ve written about them some HERE). In that span, Chronophage has shifted from SST-ish outsider punk to something else I’ve seen described as peace punk. I’ve never been enamored with punk sub-sub-sub-genre hairsplitting and, contrarily, subscribe to the notion of “punk” being an extensive, infinitely inclusive descriptor of attitude and approach to making music—dating from the present to at least as far back as The Sonics (if not farther). This is a discursive effort to explain that I have no idea what “peace punk” is and have no idea whether Chronophage is or is not it. What I do surmise, having heard 2nd Song Diary: Atom-ic Citizen of the Dying Empire, the second solo release by Chronophage’s Donna Allen, is that Allen was probably a proponent of the band’s shift toward the gentle and more approachable. I mean, there is mandolin on this record, which is only punk in the sense that it’s the least punk instrument you could put on a punk record. 

The hectic cover artwork belies the altogether pleasant sonic footprint of the record. Emblazoned with “Free Palestine!!”, Atom-ic Citizen is not so much ardently political but ardently human, without a snarl in earshot. I’m not the guy you want dissecting and deconstructing lyrics, but Allen’s songs are rife with longing, wonder and curiosity, richly rendered through religious language on nearly every track (and with the admirable bravery to include allusions to fast food chains right alongside it)—illustrating that the personal and the celestial are one and the same.

The aural palette often consists of acoustic guitar, new agey polysynth, occasional pedal steel (always welcome on my stereo!) and in lieu of d-beat you’re more likely to hear one of those wooden frogs you scrape with a stick, peaceful sure... (Though I must note that the lovely synth instrumental “Embrace of the Embassy” features martial snare drum rolls.) Atom-ic Citizen was cleanly recorded by Sasha Stroud; it sounds very “nice”. “Nice” sounding production is admittedly a stumbling block for me at times (give me ragged and tattered any day) but the record’s sincerity is its greatest strength and the virtuous production is the right choice for Allen’s songs.

The album reaches its highest point early on in “Candle-Watching”. The melodic hook (guitar sublimely doubled by a female voice) is properly gorgeous and its brevity leaves you yearning to—please, please, please—just bask in its presence for a few seconds longer. Brevity is a tool Allen uses to great effect throughout. Of the 12 tracks on Atom-ic Citizen, only two reach the three-minute mark (and one hits three minutes exactly on the dot); many songs hover around or below two minutes.

Among other highlights are the grounded buoyancy of “Telescope Heart”, the country-tinged opener “Tip of an Angel’s Wing” replete with glistening pedal steel courtesy of Ed Allen, and the restless, stirring “Spirits in Flight”. The casual fingerpicked folkiness “Of Our Very Own” reminds me of Allen’s first song diary, which I very much enjoyed. (Still in print, nab one!) Though, Allen can jaunt with the best of them, whether the ambling sort (“Naked, Biological, Free”) or with propulsive rigor (“Nightmare of Dawning”). The album ends on a comparatively blah note with the hazy, cluttered instrumental “Flowers Blossom in the Heat of the Moment” but it's no great splotch on the pristine fabric of Atom-ic Citizen of the Dying Empire. 

Eyes and Flys - All the Tigers in Texas [Record Beach] 

All in all, Eyes & Flys head insect Pat Shanahan self-released eight(!) 7”s and one LP between 2019 and 2023. (Yeah, you are correctly remembering there was a global pandemic for a little while there too.) And, well, with a resume like that Shanahan was bound to get hired by some enterprising label out there. He was hired, sure enough. By himself! And he's the best man for the job, at that. That’s right, now Shanahan’s efforts making calls to pressing plants, waiting in line at the Post Office and paying invoices on-time will now be rewarded with the prestige of saying “I run a record label.” The name of that label is Record Beach. I guess moving from the frozen tundra of Buffalo, NY for the sunny docks of Long Beach a few years ago has given ol’ Pat a new lease on life letting him daydream of a paradise where beaches come fully stocked with records. Certainly the kind of beach that I’d want to hang at. 

But how hard is it to transition from DIY maven to Los Angeles (County) record executive? I may never know but Shanahan makes it look easy. When you ascend to upper management they say: delegate, delegate, delegate and Shanahan was paying attention in those seminars, having delegated vocal duties in Eyes & Flys to Dominic Armao (Sweet Harm, Anxiety Spree). It’s a surprisingly seamless transition. Shanahan’s tough, burly shout (he could probably unwittingly cuddle a kitten to death with his muscles) gave the Eyes an identity, but with Armao in front of the mic, the band retains a lot of that same appeal with a little more swagger. Jumping from the speakers like a sly “Ballroom Blitz” re-write, “All the Tigers in Texas” finds Armao letting loose with his swift sneer preventing things from getting too power-pop in the basement, except the dude tinkling on the glockenspiel at the end who missed the memo. “Seabird” fills out the B-side and it slips into my favorite Eyes & Flys mode, that is homespun fuzz-folk. Vocals retain their brawny heft which makes for a lovely juxtaposition with their soft surroundings. Semi-jangling acoustic guitar tries to stay afloat in a sea of trickling static. Rather than using a drum kit to lead the dynamic shifts, blistering overdubbed electric guitar leads the charge to great effect. Reminds me a bit of Chris Heazlewood or when Grifters went full four-track mode (see: “Dead Already”). One of the best E+F tunes yet! 

Rider/Horse - Matted [Ever/Never] 

The first two Rider/Horse LPs were sick slabs of 2020s noise rock and the duo-now-quartet shows no sign of slowing down on their latest LP Matted. Despite the lineup additions (full time bass player and a previously featured-turned-full time pedal steel player, sweet!) there is no radical shift to the Rider/Horse sound. Thick, thumping, Big Black-but-with-a-real-drummer grooves, alienated, needling vocals, and even the opening song is about horses (“Combing the Horse”) just like the first record! If anything maybe they’ve mellowed? I noted that their second record, Feed ‘Em Salt, moved away from treble frequencies and general spikiness (the guitars didn’t feel like sandpaper rubbing against my cheeks anymore!) and doubled down on human-mechanical grooves. The trend continues.

While not particularly cordial in any way, the band doesn’t sound like it might open up your chest with a switchblade anymore. See “Run the Rabbit”, 100% content to just cruise on a killer melody. Maybe it’s the fact that I just typed c-r-u-i-s-e but Girls Against Boys comes to mind (Cruise Yourself naturally). By no means a one-to-one match, but the vaguely threatening aura, the theoretical funk with all blood drained and replaced with motor oil, the background in head-busting noise and hardcore. Maybe all this time Rider/Horse has been the 21st century Girls Against Boys (that doesn’t actually sound like Girls Against Boys), no wonder why I dig ‘em!

Sometimes another instrument takes the lead (guitar provides a potent melodic counterpoint on “Bored by the Infinite” and “Headache Powder” throbs like an overtaxed heart thanks to a relentless distort-o-bass riff) but Matted is about drums first and foremost. The drums often seem to thud and thwack louder than anything else in the mix (see: “Empty Boxes” or any number of other examples). “Overdressed” is ruthless in its groove, so ruthless that it’s immediately followed by one of a scant few stretches without a groove battering down upon you. That might seem like relief initially but it’s not like “Toen (Restored to Glory by the Light)” is a respite; the track ultimately results with the biggest steamrolling you’re apt to receive over the whole album. “Comb the Horse” is sensational. The bass drops this kind of de-choogled choogle, staccato and robotic, the groove’s ghost lurking somewhere within. The new bassist Jared Ashdown is the secret MVP of the album, whether driving a track or gluing it together, he always seems to be doing exactly the right thing at exactly the right time. Matted’s biggest departure is finale “Small Animals” which makes fine use of that pedal steel to cast an unnerving pall across the drumless space. Don’t put it past Rider/Horse to find a new way to make you feel uneasy just as you’re finding your footing. 

Saint Black - Brown Velvet [Semi-Permanent] 

The extent of my Saint Black knowledge is the last couple releases (as reviewed in these pages), are there more than these two releases? Has Saint Black been releasing music for two-plus decades? A simple web search would (probably) answer this question, but I prefer to live in mystery, and I have a feeling the Saint does as well. Some artists are out there “trying to be understood” but Saint Black just seems to be going about his business whether anyone’s paying attention or not. For my money, that’s how artists ought to be living their lives. Communication is overrated!

A couple tracks really lean into Black’s Calvin Johnson doppelganger presence on the mic: “Two Play” is one of my favorite Saint Black tracks to date and the Calvin thing sticks out even more on “Peculiar Dream Logic”. It sounds like Saint Black was listening to the first Halo Benders LP (an AuxOut favorite) on repeat before laying that one down. Plus, Saint Black manages to give even less of a fuck than Calvin. Bravo!

Elsewhere, you get grunge-metal recorded in a shoebox (“Brown Laughter”), unplugged monotone ditties (“Swim Eagle Swim”), a lullaby so drunk it can barely stand (“Father Goose”), not to mention “Cam Jazz” which is actually melodically plucked acoustic guitar. Unquestionably, the most pleasant moment of any Saint Black recording. “O Word” is another great tune. Acoustic guitar, drum samples, an electric guitar lazily feeding back, and Saint Black putting more effort into actually singing since I can remember.

Don’t catch yourself thinking that Saint Black has gone soft though. While “Bi Tiyjr” may not actually be the Scandinavian black metal muck the title might conjure, it is a recording of Saint Black watching childbirth on Youtube while semi-absentmindedly singing a tune. He actually pauses for a bit to watch the video before resuming playing his song. It’s almost like he's in the process of writing the song… hey, wait a second! Is this some Graham Lambkin-y concept recording, ya know, “the birth of a song” or whatever? “Peculiar Dream Logic”, which is naturally a different song from the other song on the album called “Peculiar Dream Logic”, ends on repeated refrain of “It’s a waste of time”. Music is the greatest waste of time we’ve been given, and the mysterious Saint Black knows that better than most…

The Sheaves - Excess Death Cult Time [Moone/Minimum Table Stacks] 

At the end of 2023, I wrote about some of my favorite bargain bin finds of the year. One record I wrote about was Love It to Death and I mentioned that Phoenix, AZ wasn’t ready for the sounds of Alice Cooper which lead to their white flight into the open, blue-collar arms and ears of Detroit. Well, I hope things have changed in the desert over the past 50 years because if The Coops couldn’t make it in Phoenix, these poor Sheaves don’t stand a chance.

The Sheaves do their part, continuing the DIY lineage that we must never allow to die, following in the footsteps of contemporary era practitioners like The Pheromoans and The Shifters (without The Shifters’ cunning pop sense) and I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re buddy-buddy with Famous Mammals either. Sung (in the theoretical sense of the word) with a raspy, requisite “British-ish” accent, The Sheaves Sound is about as authentic as can be made by 21st century historical interpreters. (You’re only truly authentic if you recorded your single in 1980 Scunthorpe or Stoke-on-Trent anyway. I don’t make the rules.)

Like any underground rock lobber worth its salt, The Sheaves press the word “puritan” into servitude. Oddly enough, “Puritans Ignore Them” (and “Mid-English Perversion”) remind me more of the drifting ballads of early Dead C than the UK’s puritanically-preoccupied usual suspects. Elsewhere, “Saturation Induction” features clear Pink Flag bloodlines and “Good Health” indulges in an inappropriate keyboard solo which seems like something Reptile Ranch might’ve done if they walked a kilometer in Sheaves shoes. So rest assured, those UK-import smelling salts were well used. 

“Program Fantasy” sounds like The Sheaves decided to write a song and changed their mind mid-way through, and that should tell you all you need to know. At the end of “Lariat Slung”, singer Eric Mudd’s voice is played backward and you realize it doesn’t actually sound any different than his normally sloshed cadence. As evidence of their canny commercial-mindedness, they save their catchiest number ‘til the last moment with the appropriately titled “Hit Silly”. I get the sense that the bass player showed up to band practice raving about a great new band called Bauhaus, and all The Sheaves collectively cried “let’s try sounding like that!” It worked.

In a win for consumers everywhere, Excess Death Cult Time was later released on vinyl by the intrepid Minimal Table Stacks in addition to the cassette by Phoenix’s own Moone Records in 2022. Choose your own analog adventure! 

Linda Smith - Till Another Time [Slumberland] 

Continuing AuxOut’s occasional mission (okay, digression) to highlight great 90s Slumberland singles that are still in print (see: Beatnik Filmstars), Till Another Time is a three-songer from hometaper Linda Smith. Smith has been in operation since the 80s releasing her music on the likes of Shrimper, Slumberland (obviously) and her own Preference Recordings imprint. In the past several years, Captured Tracks has taken up the mantle reissuing some of her music. I’m no Linda Smith scholar (although that would be a pretty cool thing to be) but I do enjoy this little record.

Recorded in 1993, listening some 22 years later, Smith still easily laps the many modern-day bedroom pop practitioners that have come in her stead. The A-side titled “Till Another Time” is lonely, soothing, and draws blood all at the same time. Some kind of mechanical buzzsaw dream pop overdose, a glimpse of heaven via alternating current. A stunner!

The second side offers two more tracks. “I Just Had To” draws on NZ-esque charm pop with ghostly vocals that would have convinced the 4AD school admissions board to grant Smith entrance with full scholarship. Such loveliness rattling away upon the cheapest drum machine money can buy (if any money was exchanged at all for the junker). "I Just Had To" is my least favorite track and it's still undeniably great! The finale “In This” is an absolute delight. Some kind of Marine Girls joining forces with Dolly Mixture fantasy taking place in the mind of a genius. The earworm guitar lick hooks me every time and then Smith tortures me with a long detour in the middle of the song making me wait ‘til the end to hear it again. Yet I keep coming back for more. There is no earthly reason not to own this. CLASSIC. 

Somerset Meadows - Recycle Your Dreams [Brain Genius] 

Normally when bands opt for a half studio/half live situation, I think it’s a bad idea. I don’t often get hyped about live albums and generally ignore the live half of the record (see: (Untitled) by The Byrds) and petulantly whine about them not putting their energy into another studio effort. Well, Portland quartet Somerset Meadows have gone where no band has gone before: they’ve put out a half studio/half live record where I actually much prefer the live side. Recycle Your Dreams (great title) is pressed on White Powerade-colored vinyl (special Arctic Shatter limited edition?) with Somerset Meadows symmetrically slapping on six songs per side, all but inviting a duel between the recording environments.

The studio side was recorded on “an exploding 8-track tape machine” which implies a much more dangerous or fucked up sounding recording. Without this note, however, the somewhat staid sound of the recording would’ve led me to believe that the tape machine was in perfect working order! It sounds fine and has its moments (the shredding guitar solo of “Just Another Lifetime”, the almost hypnotic rhythm of “Wide Open”, the uptempo pep-in-the-step of “The Waterfall”) but the band instantly gets a shot in the arm when you flip the record over to the live side. “Roll Out!” slashes out of the gate like a classically trained punk, fist-raised, and “All Summers Now” recalls the post-hype live GBV sound, all drum fills, chunk riffs and warbling vocals.

I’m genuinely curious about the spoken introduction to “Spotlight” which is: “This next song is the ninth song on our new album.” (Yes, “Spotlight” is the ninth song on the record.) Causing me to wonder if there was a predetermined concept here to record the first half of the album in the studio and the second half live, all with a pre-sequenced track order? Bold move, if so! The album ends with some of its strongest material. All feature some great guitar work, the rollicking “I’m Going to Break You Down” (my favorite), “I’m So Tall” (cool opening lick) and the closing title track about moving on from one passion to make room for a new passion to enter your life. A worthy message we can all stand to hear once in a while. Now, is there a new opening for Somerset Meadows to dream of making an all-live record? We shall see. 

T.T.T.T. - I Saw You on the Bloody Floor [Record Beach] 

Ah, the rarely employed quadruple consonant acronym band name. Has anyone else been successful with that paradigm aside from C.C.C.C.? Has anyone else even tried? Well, Buffalo’s T.T.T.T. is fearlessly throwing its hat in the ring, and while the title I Saw You on the Bloody Floor would certainly encourage the thought of a C.C.C.C.-style feedback-ridden onslaught, its debut 7” goes down like a spoonful of sugar, comparatively speaking.

The title track volleys between the psych-groove-hypnotism of that initial Wooden Shjips 10” and the Echoplex’d-to-death garage-crush of early Comets on Fire. Favorite moment? The half-hearted, possibly inebriated closing drum fill. A.I. could never pull that off! The first half of “Mountain King Killed My Car” is a little ho-hum but when it shifts to the second act, it gets real badass right quick—I realize it's a carefully plotted bait and switch! A sinister surf bassline kidnaps the song and all the drums and guitar can do is try to keep up.

Despite being slated as the B-side, “On the Sleigh of the Damned” gets its own side to stretch its limbs. The track has a great late 60s strung out deathgroove, maybe a touch like Sex Church but with a far better chance of landing a soundtrack spot in a miniseries about the Manson murders. My favorite of the bunch! The problem here is I don’t know how the hell I’m supposed to pronounced “T.T.T.T.”. Am I really supposed to say “Tee-Tee-Tee-Tee” out loud when guests at my next cocktail party ask me where to find new blasts of burnt out psych squall?? 

V.Vecker - Hololine [Drongo Tapes] 

I know they’re out there (just like the truth) but I must confess I haven’t been keeping tabs on the cosmophonists lately. I was a big Radiant Husk guy back in the day (still am!) and this cassette by V.Vecker recalls that fellow celestial sax voyager. Hololine is split into two pieces “Holo” and “Line” (imagine that), the former being self-recorded and the latter being recorded north of the border by the illustrious Chris Dadge. “Holo” is heavy, dude. I don’t know what V.Vecker’s process is. A live improvisation? Multi-tracked affair? There’s such depth of sound that there must be (at minimum) loops orbiting (whether prepared or improvised) resulting in enough gravity to shift some planets out of alignment. Whether a honk, screech or a bowel-agitating motif, V.Vecker wrangles a range of sounds from the horn in a drifting vacuum of inevitability. (Please don’t run any of those metaphors by an actual physicist.) “Line” is calmer, more melodic; more of an exploring the cosmos full of wonderment type of affair rather than a gradual planetary implosion like the first side. Vecker surfs along amiably until being swallowed up in self-generated feedback and escaping just quickly enough to see what’s on the other side of the wormhole. The two sides resonate well together, sweet and sour, yin and yang. If you’re up for interstellar sax travel, get your ticket. Thumb up from me.