[engl] Time for another prime dose of potent, chorus-drenched anarcho-punk from one of its finest modern exponents: A Culture Of Killing return with their third album, bigger and bolder than before with a foreboding sense of deathrock gloom dialed all the way up beyond 11. Their usual array of nods are all present and correct (The Mob, Zounds, The Cure), but this time everything feels… grander? More fully realised? Impressive, given their first two albums have been hoovered up and hailed by those in the know, but maybe we should banish any lingering doubts that the mysterious Italian band might be moving beyond merely echoing the classics and closer to creating a new benchmark for the genre. Look, all of this is a very fancy way of saying that ACOK are pretty fucking great and no one else can touch ‘em right now when it comes to this sort of goth-tinged post-punk. New instrumentation, new ways of relating to each other as a band, new ways of grabbing your attention as a listener and making you want to press the record grooves into your brain and use your nerve endings as a stylus. From new wave-styled Burundi beats and furious call-and-response vocals to dubbed-out grooves, there are new influences that are more than welcome in the band’s sound, but the songs themselves are their finest thus far (‘2 Years’ and ‘The Last Train Home’ are simply magical). It says a lot about this LP that it’ll hold its own with the output of both Crass Records and 4AD; it’s a strong step forward that’ll win ‘em new fans and embolden existing ones to say things like ‘best band in the world right now’ and ‘sell your home to buy a copy if you have to’. Especially if you don’t technically own your home. You get the idea. Is there a Crass-shaped hole in your life that’s been empty since you wore out your copy of ‘Penis Envy’? An itch that only the purest of peace punk can scratch? This is the record for you. I don’t use the word ‘essential’ much but… oh, well, I’ve given the game away there, haven’t I? Get it, get it now.

[engl] Very little information exists about Italian anarcho-punks A Culture Of Killing. Like many of their forebears, they evidently eschew communication via mainstream press or corporate-owned social media. So I guess it’s on me to tell ya that their latest release is a long-overdue vinyl press of their 2017 self-titled cassette, and it absolutely slays. OK, it’s not immediately obvious as anarcho - you won’t find the teeth-rattling rhythms of early Crass or Flux Of Pink Indians on any of the eight tracks here. Sonically the territory the occupy is somewhere between the gothed-out territory marked out by The Cure and Siouxsie, and the more mournful but recognisably punk tones of The Mob (in fact, they even cover that band’s Mirror Breaks and firmly put their own stamp on it). This screams early 1980s - a time presided over by right-wing politicians, with the shadows of recession and poverty hanging ominously over proceedings… hey, that sounds familiar… Unsurprisingly for a bunch of anarchists, ACOK are about far more than the mere sound of the music. They rail against the state of the world - and sure, these songs are from 2017, but it can’t have escaped your notice that things ain’t improved too much. That’s why we need soundtracks like this, helping us make sense of the mess we’re inhabiting thanks to the shitbags in power. If that sounds simplistic, their worldview is most assuredly not. For now though, it’s clear what we have to do: ENGAGE, for fuck’s sake. And that starts right here, with a record that’s dark, entrancing, exhilarating and… ah hey, I’m going there: IMPORTANT. Press play and thrill forever. Anyone who doesn’t is a fucking cop.

[engl] ‘A Feast of Vultures’ is the title of Josy Josef’s dissection of money and corruption in India’s modern democracy; the dove is of a symbol of peace. So now we’re up to speed, it makes perfect sense that the title of these Italian peace punks’ second offering should pull from the two threads. Like their self-titled record, this was originally released on cassette before getting a vinyl from Drunken Sailor (hey, that’s this label right here!), and it certainly deserves to be heard by as many ears as possible. You’ll be able to hear the ominous rumble of anarcho forebears The Mob and Crass (circa ‘Penis Envy’, thanks to its serrated chords) in A Culture Of Killing’s addictive sonic assault, although these songs also stroll through through dark forests previously trodden by The Cure at their most morose. In fact, you’ll find yourself suckered by an emotional pull that gives these songs something lasting alongside their noticeably energetic rumble. Writing about their first record, I advised you to press play and thrill forever, adding that anyone who doesn’t is a fucking cop. This time I’ll go further: it’s never been clearer that democracy is broken. Look at how the wheels were set in motion to get actual fascism into power over the last few years; think about the resistance to structural change from those who benefit from power and oppression. Things are fucked right now. And no, a record isn’t gonna change any of that, but none of us ever believed that’s what music would do, right? The important thing is it propagates the ideas. It keeps us talking. It reminds us to believe that we’re capable of better. OK, you might not call the ethereal gloom of ‘The Toast of Despair’ a kick-ass soundtrack to all this, and you may struggle to dance to cuts like ‘Promised World’. But dammit, this is an album that’ll amplify your hope while etching glacially beautiful sounds and furious rhythms on your psyche, and if that’s not worth celebrating then I dunno what is. And just to reiterate, anyone who doesn’t get on board is a fucking cop.

[engl] A Page of Punk are a frighteningly explosive, 100% energy, raw punk rock band from Tokyo. Formed in 2001, they have played a prominent and hugely active role in the Japanese underground Punk Scene for over 12 years. There are 3 albums to date, (on Japanese/U.S.&U.K labels) all using their distinctive A5, 30 page booklet format. Their short & fast manic punk rock aligns perfectly with abrasive vocals covering issues mainly concerned with political & social injustice & inequality and also about just how god-damn much they love punk rock!

[engl] Amazing split 7" which brings together Japans 'A Page Of Punk and Stoke-On-Trents 'Werewolves On Motorcycles 500 released on colour vinyl, each label has a different coloured cover.

[engl] After a 12" on Neck Chop and a 7" on Iron Lung, Acrylics are back with two incredible, discordant blasts, this is the sound of your mind being ripped out. If you are looking for contemporaries, I'm not sure there are any at the moment. "Structure" is a bit more on the pogo side complimented nicely with sharp echo stabs and a ruinous atmosphere. "Gluttony" brings us back to that toss-and-turn-in-a-dark-alley kind of crunchy freak junk that the teens mangle themselves to. Our favorite blend of ugly and appealing." Acrylics are pushing the boundaries with each release. Highly recommended.

[engl] New 4-song EP of melodic punk from members of Iron Chic, Broadcaster, Crow Bait, Sister Kisser.

[engl] Much loved, relentless rocker, Jake Robertson is back yet again with the next instalment of his ridiculously productive solo project, Alien Nosejob. Jake’s got a brand-new bag of tricks and I ain’t gonna beat around the bush; it sounds like AC/DC! Stained Glass may be his finest and most stylistically suited work to date. Ironically, and to quote his own sarcastic lyrics from the album’s second track, he definitely fits this shoe. Not only does Jake have the high-pitched pipes while many others don’t (obviously a vital part in this sound), but the guitar chops to pull off the sweet, sustained lead breaks of this particular style. And he does so in great fashion as you’ll be made immediately aware from the scorching solo on album opener, “Beatles vs, Stones”. Trust Jake to write a song with that title! But alas! it’s not all Bon Scott’s and Angus Young’s. Some Rikk Agnew guitar lines shine through on album closer, "Mouldy Dough". "Shuffle Boogie" marks Jake’s first ever stab at the shuffle backbeat - which he says is him knicking from Rose Tattoo what they knicked from AC/DC - but it also kinda sounds like a sped up Jean Genie or some lost Bowie boog. "RNR Rubbish Bin" stomps its way through five minutes of electrified solo’s and witty lyrics. Even Brian Johnston makes an appearance on the Ausmuteants sequel, “Coastal Living 2”; about growing up on the NSW Central Coast. The bulk (backing tracks) of Stained Glass were recorded by Mix Master Mikey (Young), over a Friday / Saturday in October last year - but by the sounds of it they spent just as much time eating Guzmen y Gomez, talking shit and hanging out as they did recording. Jake took the beds for the eight tracks home, tucked their sheets in tightly and the record was complete before years end.

[engl] The 13 track LP is a scourge driven collection of tracks revolving around themes of social distortion and mental dislocation. Questioning a world ruled by revolting indifference and oppressive violence, lyrically and sonically it protests the universal blight of patriarchy and challenges complacency - both societal and internal. Lacerating vocals, unrelenting drums, hammering guitars and battering bass lines lay waste to the exhaustion of battling with the aforementioned extremes and the toll it can take when the enemy you’re fighting is the one in your head.

[engl] Second LP from the project led by Albert Limones (Nosferatu/ Creamers) following on from The Grotto Screams in 2021. Skeletal, brittle and skittish punk. Complex, layered tones with wobbly chorused bass, jagged drum patterns and bristling guitar. Amongst the rubble, 'Limones vocals are everything that hold this together, piercing and primal. Recalling Christian Death, Bauhaus, but Altar of Eden really stand alone The LP sounds like it’s been pulled from some tape archive from 1985. Not that it’s dated in any way. It’s just along the same strand of DNA..

[engl] Perhaps you, like me, have listened to Bauhaus and Killing Joke and thought, ‘Well, this is great, but I wish it was a bit more of a rager.’ Similarly, maybe you listened to The Effigies and Samhain before musing to yourself, ‘Cool, although I thought it’d be darker.’ In other words, it’s occurred to you that deathrock could be a tad deathier and - if it’s not too distasteful of me to say so - rock a hell of a lot harder. Step forward, Altar of Eden. The project of Austin, TX resident Albert Limones (whose bruising sounds you may have heard in the shadowy likes of Nosferatu and Creamers), it’s an unholy marriage of Big Black’s mechanistic rhythms and the serrated, atmospheric noise of yer favourite early ‘80s 4AD types. Tracks like ‘The Abandonment’ absolutely lay waste to your speakers - it opens with a harrowing shriek before throbs of chorusing bass and guitar carve out their own unnerving paths. Somewhere in the distance, a menacing voice can be heard, buried in murk and distortion, with the song operating at breakneck pace and maximum volume - hey, I think our criteria may have been met. Second track ‘Tears’ ups the ante, leaning heavily on atmospheric gloom while pushing the drum machine to the fore, like Clan of Xymox setting up traps for the Slenderman, before the lacerating strafes of guitar on ‘Eternity’ invite the nightmares to truly begin. And that’s just the first three songs - by the time ‘Death in the Country’ gallops to a beautifully discordant end, we’re well and truly bewitched by this wonderful, horrible noise. ‘The Grotto Screams’ was originally released on cassette in April of last year, before finally getting this well-deserved vinyl pressing - one of the first truly essential releases of 2021. Don’t miss out.

[engl] "Look up the Canadian city of Charlottetown and you’ll learn a decent chunk of its musical history. Big bands, opera... even fiddle music, thanks to early Scottish settlers in the province of Prince Edward Island. What the guide books won’t tell you, for some unfathomable reason, is that the place is also home to one of the most blazing weirdo hardcore punk bands on the planet. Meet Antibodies: Ben, Teajay, Ryan and Brett make a thoroughly scuzzy, blink-and-you’ll-have-missed-half-the-album racket that shares a lax attitude to studio fidelity with their countrymen the Booji Boys. So far they’ve racked up one mighty impressive demo tape and two intensely enjoyable albums, the helpfully titled ‘LP 2018’ and ‘LP 2019’. It’s the latter two releases we’re talking about today, since they’ve been compiled together onto one unmissable slab of wax (equally helpfully titled ‘LP 2019 + LP 2018’). With each side ten tracks long and wobbling around the 11-minute mark, it’s clear they’re aiming for brevity, concision and a speedy approach that’s gonna see ‘em ram as many full-pelt ragers through your ears in as short a time as possible. Yes, on first listen it’s a blur of furious energy and brutal power chords, with barely enough time to pause and take it all in. But of course, by the tenth listen you’ll have declared them your favourite band and written them a dictionary’s worth of love letters, begging them to come play your town. This ain’t music to savour subtly, or to spin in the background while reclining gently on a chaise-longue while sampling the finest wines and most befuddling of gourmandises. This is punk rock in its purest form. It sounds like Thee Oh Sees, shorn of the krautrock groove and 60s sprinklings, firing themselves from a cannon straight into a brick wall. It’s relentless, not that you’ll want it to stop. It’s Black Flag if they’d only stuck with Keith and realised their songs could all be edited down to something even more potent. It’s two records from last year and the year before, juxtaposed to form your favourite album of 2020. Play it once, play it twice, play it over and over again, forever; Antibodies are the product of and cure for boredom - and boy, do you ever need ‘em in your life."

[engl] Amazing debut 7" from Baby Ghosts

[engl] No Ditching are a five piece band from the village of Pity Me, Durham. The band consists of Naomi on vocals and guitar, Freya on bass, Kate on drums, Elle playing an extra tom drum, and Laura on guitar. From Pity Me, Durham and featuring members of featuring members of Fashanu, Jazz in My Pants and Bear Park and of course Martha, ever since I heard their demo I was addicted. Raw, snotty punk, kinda Raincoats meet Les Calamites. Two brand new songs, world domination awaits. Coming off the back of their amazing LP 'Maybe Ghosts, Baby Ghosts are back with their first new song in a while. And what an absolute banger it is. Garage rock sounds tucked behind blaring punk goodness. Baby Ghosts blend of high-powered guitar, tight percussion and vocals that pop with snarling, dynamic energy is proof that punk can be impressively executed but still a total blast to listen to.

[engl] The third EP from Perth’s Bikini Cops is a doozey – as well you might expect. Didn’t you know all the best punk hails from Australia these days? Sounds like they take as much influence from Black Flag and Circle Jerks as their countrymen The Saints and The Scientists, which is one helluva recipe for a potent (Molotov) cocktail. This snarls and swings and punches and piledrives and grunts and grooves with the best of ‘em. If you ever forget why you got into this whole punk marlarkey to begin with, this is a surefire way to remind yourself of its loose-hipped, curled-lipped charms. Basically, I wish I had a penny for every time some dude tried to tell me that punk these days ain’t nuthin’ but commercialised, sanitised crap (‘house’ on your bingo card if they mention Hot Topic, especially if you suspect they don’t really know what Hot Topic is) - cuz Bikini Cops make me wanna shove alla those pennies forcibly underneath their fingernails while screaming the chorus to Stupid System in their face. I’m too nice a guy to do that really, of course, so instead I’ll just stick Three on my turntable and pogo round the house ‘til all the bones in my feet have shattered. It’s the only rational way to deal with music this good.

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

[engl] Spring has sprung, which here in the UK means several months of not knowing what the fuck’s going on temperature-wise. Intense sunshine with a severe chill in the air? Brutal downpour underpinned by a sticky, sickly warmth? We’ve got the lot, and more besides. Perfect weather, then, for Body Maintenance, who hail from the traditionally sunny climes of The Land Down Under while dealing in a particularly icy brand of hardcore-tinged post-punk. Confused? Nah, you won’t be, so ignore this heavily laboured introduction. You’ll be too busy being totally bowled over by the roar of their echo pedal-laden racket. ‘Beside You’ is their first full-length LP, following a 12” EP and live cassette on guitarist James Kane’s own Unwound Records, and a self-released demo cassette. Superficially, their take on brutally noisy sang-froid is the sort of thing that garners lazy comparisons to Joy Division, but more discerning ears will pick out similar sounds like Stockholm’s much-missed Holograms, Blitz circa ‘Second Empire Justice’ and even Italy’s modern anarcho heroes A Culture Of Killing. All of which is kind of irrelevant except that it should tell YOU, o worthy possessor of exquisite taste, that it sounds fucking great and you need to get this band in your ears immediately. Drummer Zoe Mulcahy (also of Jake Robertson’s effervescent Alien Nosejob project) may be the secret star of the show, whether lending a glowing pulse to the coldwave-imbued robotica of ‘Time Enough’ or simply wailing hard on album opener ‘Silver Yarns’. Riley Stafford’s dispassionate bark also stands out, especially on the driving ‘It’s Theatre’, although it’s buried deep in the mix, clouded by the wash of guitars and Ella Howells’ glacial synths. But let’s not get bogged down in individual performances, ‘cause this Melbourne quintet are way more than the sum of their parts. The whole is punchy and powerful; the sound pulls you all over the place emotionally - you can’t truly prepare for the way the brooding title track sneaks up on you. It throbs in your brain like an amyl nitrate headache; it rages subtly and smartly while simultaneously indulging AND railing against a primitivist instinct to rock out. More simply, it’s the soundtrack to your springtime and beyond - this is the instant classic you’ve been after, so why waste any more time reading what I’ve got to say on the matter? Buy it, regret nothing but the shelf space you didn’t occupy.

[engl] "Ever found yourself staring at the sleeve of a record from before your time, thinking to yourself, ‘I wish I’d been around for these guys…’? Well, wake up and smell the vinyl – the best fucking punk band of your generation has already released two bona fide classics, and here they’re dropping their third. ‘Tube Reducer’ follows 2017’s double whammy of their self-titled debut and its gnarlier-than-thou follow-up ‘Weekend Rocker’ – the latter of which was released on Xmas day, cuz what’s more festive than the gift of ultra-lo-fi punk that sounds like The Undertones playing ‘Smarter Than U’ inside a hairdryer while dragging The Jags by their skinny ties and throwing them in a chemical waste dump? And guess what? It’s more of the good stuff. In fact it could well be their best record so far. Sonically, you should know what to expect by now – a disregard for fidelity that’d make Guided By Voices knock back another beer or 12 in appreciation; songs that sound way more effortlessly simple than they necessarily are; melodies that’ll burrow their way into your head even as you fight through the fuzz to make out what the hell vocalist Alex Mitchell is actually singing… ‘Stevie Cool’ is the bona fide winner this time – the scuzzed-out powerpop anthem to end all scuzzed-out powerpop anthems – but there’s not a bad cut on offer here. ‘Nothing Good’ blazes by in a fit of nail-biting energy and hooks so razor-sharp you could use ‘em to cut through sheet metal, and if you’ve not donned your pogo-ing shoes to throw yourself between the walls of your house when ‘Life As A Fed’ kicks in… well shit, man, do you even punk rock? By the utterly batshit closer ‘Moto-Hard’ they’ve even thrown a brass section into the mix, skronking away cheerily and deliriously like Flipper’s ‘Sex Bomb’ running the wrong way up an escalator. Basically, with every passing record, the songs get even more brain-searingly awesome, the vocals get more buried and the air above your head gets punched that bit harder. Booji Boys are on a roll. It’s anybody’s guess as to how long the Halifax-hailing quintet can continue to put out records as heroically thrilling as this, but at least we’ve got ‘em in the here and now. For fuck’s sake, treasure ‘em while you can." Will Fitzpatrick.

[engl] Can I kick it? Yeah, sure, why not? Rippling through the murk of late 2022 to provide an unlikely source of light, Cardiff’s supremely noisy quintet Can Kicker are here with a last-minute shout for album of the year. If you like your hardcore to flex some serious muscle (well… riff-wise) while skirting around the edges of goth and post-punk, with the needle in the red all the while, their self-titled debut just could be the record for you. Like a breeze block to the back of your skull, this is guaranteed to make everything feel frayed and fuzzy at the edges, delivering a knockout punch that’ll leave you reeling. But you know, in that good way. Luke Penny’s voice is often lost in the maelstrom of pulverising power chords, but he’s no grunting hardcore knucklehead. His delivery is an impassioned yelp that’s dripping with anger and a matter-of-fact sneer that instantly sells his conviction, while the band conjure echoes of Die Kreuzen’s’ Century File’ one minute, Blitz’s ‘New Age’ the next. At full pelt, they sound like Protomartyr and Discharge fighting over whose turn it is to slash the cops’ tyres; the rest of the time (say, the scintillating headfuck of creepy-crawling classic ‘Waking Dream’), they’re busy making the holiest of rackets on what’s arguably the best UK punk record since Denim & Leather’s might ‘Sacred Autism’. By the time the scorched-earth anti-psych of closer ‘Stupid Game Part II’ rolls around, you’ll be aware that you’ve been taken on a journey and you’ll want to relive the whole thing as soon as possible. But take a minute to feel grateful that Drunken Sailor are putting this one out into the world, and just in time for us to call it a Christmas gift as well. This album will melt your synapses so you’ve no idea what your brain’s trying to tell you, beyond the certainty that Can Kicker are the ones for you. Records this deliciously brutal yet immediately habit-forming don’t come along often enough - this might be the last chance for a slamdance in 2022, so give your ears a tinnitus-inducing treat.

[engl] "There’s a parallel universe out there somewhere, one where Poison Idea’s ‘Pick Your King’, Gang Green’s ‘Sold Out’ and Negative Approach’s ‘Tied Down’ are sacred texts and all art is merely an attempt to bow down and pay tribute to their holy genius. In this universe, Richmond, VA’s Cement Shoes will be truly worshipped as the heroes they deserve to be - this triple shot of hits is a perfect piece of punk in that lineage. ‘Smashed on Glass’ opens with a gloriously farty synth replicating the Universal Pictures movie fanfare, setting us up perfectly for the scraped-knuckle joy to follow. It’s a two-minute thrill ride of high-speed aggression, bludgeoning guitars and vocals that sound like singer Trevor’s larynx has been wrapped up in barbed wire, crushed with a steam roller and then coaxed back to life by vigorous brushing with wire wool. You know, all that fun stuff. It’s followed by the brilliantly titled ‘Knocked Into The Reptile Enclosure’, which continues their sonic assault with gusto as Trev roars into life with a ‘bababababa’ that sounds like The Trashmen falling into a vat of toxic waste - perfect for hollering back from beerdrunk moshpits, or simply for turning up to maximum volume, annihilating all goodwill with your neighbours and earning yourself a tidy warning from The Man. But fuck that guy. By comparison, ‘Going off the Grid’ is more restrained, but it’s still wild as all hell, pulsating with menace and invention as guitarist Brandon leads the band down a series of dark roads, seemingly blind alleys and secret escape routes. It might just be the best song of the set, but shhh! Don’t tell the others. The record is subtitled ‘A love story of drugs & rock & roll & drugs’, which sounds straightforward enough. If you can pierce through the rollicking scree to find that story, you’ll be screaming along at the walls for the rest of time. Either way, this is a great piece of old skool hardcore - perfect for honing that tinnitus you’ve been working on all these years." Limited to 300.

[engl] "Right-wing governments. Riots following sickening, racist police brutality. The general feeling that these are end times and the human race we know it is hurtling towards a doom of its own foolish making. Yessir, you can draw a lot of parallels between 2020 and the 1980s, although obviously as soon as anyone says it’s worth suffering all this because ‘the tunes will be better’, you are obliged to call them a fucking moron, set their hair on fire and give them a wedgie for good measure. Still, just as good tunes are undoubtedly a good thing, so too are absolutely blazing, ear-shredding, soul-soaring, fist-raising punk rock songs. Especially ones that race by at 150mph, while implicitly daring you to scream along with every line and probably dismantle all your furniture by bouncing all over it. Just ask Chain Whip; they know all about it. Hailing from the Canadian city of Vancouver and comprising members of Fashionism, Corner Boys and more, Chain Whip don’t so much sound ‘in thrall’ to the sounds of 1980s hardcore punk as ‘completely inhabited by the spirit’ of it, in the best way possible. They snarl, they holler, they roar and by gosh every single cut on debut album ‘14 Lashes’ is a thrill ride and a half. Originally released in 2019 on their own Chain Whip Records (makes sense), it gathers together 14 (also makes sense) blasts of irresistible fury in under 20 minutes, with subjects ranging from half-baked cultural commentators to not wanting to live in a fucked-up world (say it three times: this makes sense). This is hardcore as in ‘the snottiest rock’n’roll imaginable’; no shitty metal involved. They’re at their best when exploding in under 60 seconds, like on the very cross ‘Spectator’, but two-minute epic ‘Turner Street Ghost Motel’ reveals something dangerously close to Dead Kennedys-style melody that could make Chain Whip ones to stick with for the long haul. Well, that’s assuming they’re even in it for the long haul; maybe this is the last we’ll see of ‘em and this blizzard of brilliance that sounds like DOA, the Germs and Career Suicide punching holes in the side of a mountain is all we’ll have to remember ‘em by. If that’s how this is all gonna play out, I implore you to buy this record -. you owe it to yourself to hear it before we and they meet our grisly fate."

[engl] At some point it becomes clear to all of us that trying to navigate life on The Darkest Timeline is pretty heavy going. Politics, economics, human rights… all that grown-up stuff you have to worry about as an adult. Turns out they’ve all been surrendered to ideological grifting and cynical culture wars, which should be enough to make you pretty fkn furious. And you know what? We’re gonna need a soundtrack to this that sounds equally pissed off; something loud, fast and ‘orrible that gives you the impetus to finally drive that bulldozer through the cop shop. In case you hadn’t guessed where this was going, please welcome the grand, timely and thoroughly welcome return of Chain Whip. Straight out of the gate, their second full-length ‘Call Of The Knife’ is absolutely raging. The opening title track might have you squinting at the turntable for a couple of seconds to check that someone hasn’t reanimated the young Circle Jerks, but as soon as frontman Josh Nickel’s voice kicks in, hardcore cognoscenti will be under no illusions that they could possibly be listening to anyone else. His voice is a righteous, gravelly roar that cuts straight through the noise with the very loose subtext ‘I’m having a bad day and it’s imperative that you know about it’. There’s a vitality to it that helps make these Vancouver boys one of the best bands in punk today, and it helps that he’s backed up by a rattling, rolling collective who remind us all that good old-fashioned hardcore (like the ‘80s used to make) remains one of the best ideas anyone’s ever had. Suck on that idea for a moment, poindexter! You know what you’re getting with song titles like ‘Class Decay’ and ‘Hatewave’, but there’s something about the band’s garage-slanted take on the genre that makes ‘em a cut above. Panache? Chutzpah? Just the simple matter of really fkn good songs? Impossible to say, so let’s just settle by agreeing that this album does it all: you can skate to it, you can slam to it, you can paint your bedroom black to it. You can even listen to it while kicking over the statues and kickstarting that violent and bloody revolution we’ve been promised. Look, this is serious stuff that also happens to be oodles of fun. ‘Something’s gotta give,’ they sing, and maybe it’s your resistance. On this sort of delicious form, no one can touch Chain Whip right now. Form a cult and get obsessed immediately.