[engl] "We all know what teenagers are like. Bratty little gobshites. Moody shits. Forever toeing the line between cocky arrogance and whiny self-doubt, and to hell with anyone who gets caught in the crossfire. And this old fucker should know; he was really good at all of the above (still keeping on top of the ‘gobshite’ part, you’ll notice). For some reason, the entirety of rock’n’roll is predicated on music made for and about these states of mind - well, I guess if you mix ‘em all together, they can make for one helluva sense of reckless abandon. So it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Melbourne quartet Mr Teenage sound exactly like their name suggests: chaotic, raw, emotionally volatile… and of course they bind all this together with their own brand of heroically melodic garage rock. Produced by Billy Gardener (of Ausmuteants, Smarts, Cereal Killer and god knows how many other vital Aus-punx), this debut EP snarls, spits and swaggers with all the glorious self-belief of a drunken 4am stumble to the petrol station to buy a pack of skins. And the songs are fucking great too. Title track ‘Automatic Love’ expertly showcases the combined sounds of their cited influences (Thin Lizzy, Dictators, Martha Reeves, etc), with frontman Nic Imfeld’s voice at times edging close to the sandpaper soul of their countryman Shogun (ex-Royal Headache). Meanwhile ‘Waste Of Time’ sees him blending their garage licks with Joey Ramone bubblegum, just as ‘The Loser’ fashions a delightfully adolescent chorus of ‘the loser says what?’ from an airy melody that either The Shangri-Las or Del Shannon would be proud of. They wrap things up with another slab of pure punk/pub rock genius called ‘Kids’ that’ll get the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end, as you fight the urge to crank-call your former school teachers and blame the kid who used to take your lunch money. Of course, singing about ‘kids these days’ marks Mr Teenage out as being older than their name suggests, and sure enough their name comes from an old wrestler rather than identifying with an age bracket they’ve outgrown. But with tunes like this… honestly, who gives a fuck what they’re called? This record is perfect.

[engl] Halloween has been and gone for another year, but darkwave-inflected hardcore punk never goes out of fashion, right? And frankly, who gives a solitary fuck if it does? Nag’s sinister second album is too busy being an ear-bleeding good time to care about shit like that. It’s too wrapped up asking questions like ‘is this real reality?’ - too caught up in pushing Bernard Sumner minimalism into furiously energetic bruisers and ever-darker corners. It’s the record you’ve been waiting for throughout 2021, whether you knew it or not. This RIPS. Formed in Atlanta, GA, Nag have already dropped an LP (last year’s ‘Dead Deer’, on Die Slaughterhaus) and a handful of 7”s - all must-haves - but they’ve never quite cut loose like this. Vocalist Brannon Greene pitches his delivery somewhere between a caustic holler and a dead-eyed sneer, taking the blank generation for a midnight drive and hurtling straight into a brick wall. Meanwhile, the band nab ideas from no-wave, the wilder ends of Goner Records’ almighty roster, and the best (and sometimes synthiest) aspects of gothed-out post-punk - the resulting concoction may be composed of familiar elements, but it feels like no one else other than Nag. A more hyperbolic and verbose hack than me might say this is the moment that signals the band have ‘arrived’, but not me. I’d just say this is a damn fine record - one of the very best things to have emerged from the wider punk rock mess in the last 12 months. Oh, and I’d add that if you don’t buy it, you may as well sever those things called ears, toss ‘em into the woods and let any of their redeeming qualities seep out into the soil, ‘cause that’s the only way you could continue to argue that they’re serving any useful purpose. But you know, that’s just me. You do you, friend. Actually, scratch that.

[engl] Second LP from Slumb Party, Nottinghams finest Post Punkers. First LP is long gone, don't sleep. Everyone’s favourite herky-jerky Nottingham noiseniks Slumb Party return to blow minds once more. Maybe it’s time you polished all the hard surfaces in your house and strapped on your dancing shoes, cuz once this one lands on your stereo you’re gonna be pulling shapes and bouncing from the floor to the walls and back again. Last time round their influences were clear: James Chance, Minutemen and Gang Of Four rose to the surface in a heady concoction of skronking, sax-drenched post-punk and addictively wonky hooks. This time they’re no less deliciously addictive, but the pop factor rides higher in the mix, at the cost of precisely none of their aching smarts or visceral thrill. A wheezing synth powers opener Go To Work, with nods to the same heroes as before, but also a sense of Attractions-style powerpop appeal – if XTC had ever attempted to refract pub rock through their angular prism while shouting ‘CAN YOU BUY ME A PINT’, it might have felt something like this. Sound good? Of course it fucking does, and it sets the tone for the rest of the album. While their 2017 debut (and if you slept on that masterpiece, then what are you waiting for, dummy?) dealt with working a day job and dealing with getting older, here the world weighs even more heavily on their shoulders. The snarling fury that characterised those songs is transposed to an exhausted rage that’s no less bilious or righteous – being skint, the overwhelming vacuum of ‘creative’ culture, and the general nature of just existing in 2019 all come under the microscope. No spoilers, but turns out all those things are bad; luckily they’re soundtracked and documented by a band that’s (whisper it) maturing (nah, fuck it, shout it: MATURING) into something far greater than the sum of their influences, that simply explodes from the speakers and demands your time. Like Molotov cocktails and lit matches, this is gonna seem daunting to swallow in one go, but the resultant explosion is messy and spectacular. Slumb Party describe this record as their ‘new/no wavey post punk power pop effort’, and that’s a pretty accurate summary: certainly, there’s a Stiff Records/Marked Men undercurrent to all those geometrical puzzles that make up their songs. Leave it to us, though, and we’ll just call it ‘one of the most essential records to emerge from the UK underground this year’. Or order you to drop everything and listen right now. ‘Spending Money’ is a keeper, alright. Will Fitzpatrick.

[engl] Boston Anarcho Punks No Sir I Won't return with their 4th record, Shit and in my opinion their best. Made up of ex and current members of Surrender Libyans, Witches With Dicks, Shithead, Brain Killer and Foreign Objects. Boston's No Sir, I Won't feature members of the mighty Brain Killer (RIP) and Libyans. Musically, they play a sort of classic hardcore that combines the feel of Dead Kennedys and the crust of Crass and Discharge. The band have followed up their More Politicians with this six-song EP, The Door, and it builds on the two songs found on the earlier EP, giving the group a chance to really show what they can do. Maximum Rock N' Roll sez.. "No modern band could possibly carry on the musical tradition of bands like CRASS and ALTERNATIVE like NO SIR, I WON’T. When bands simply fill out popular punk templates it’s boring. That’s kinda what NO SIR, I WON’T is doing, but it’s really cool and interesting; definitely not boring. Their craft is innovative and provoking while recalling moments of the classics. They have specific things they want to say, and they do it vehemently and effectively: poetic, but easy to digest and analyze. Every statement is bold and delivered cleverly. Each chord progression, break, and rhythmic change is compelling. They won me over on the split with AUTONOMY that came out a few months ago, but this EP is even better! Feeling proud to be a punk right now.."

[engl] Back in May 2019, Vancouver trio Corner Boys released their sole album… and promptly split a few months later. In retrospect, they couldn’t have known that the album’s title (‘Waiting For 2020’) would soon seem grimly ironic - and we all know why, right? No reason to go over all that shit again. But while the past two years have at least seen drummer/songwriter Patrick McEachnie staying active across two essential records with hardcore heroes Chain Whip, lockdown saw him switching roles. Basically, he bought a guitar and made an excellent record all on his lonesome, and as followers of his other projects will have come to expect, it’s fucking excellent. ‘Glad To Be Forgotten’ is the debut album by Pack Rat - in some ways you can see some level of crossover with Corner Boys in its manic energy and dedication to hooks (cuts like ‘Next Time Hit Me’ and ‘My Own Reality’ are so damn catchy, you could be forgiven for thinking you’ve already been listening to ‘em on repeat for the past 20 years). Familiar reference points show up (the melodies of the Pointed Sticks; the garage-slanted rifferama of Rudi or The Undertones) while a tinny budget synth keeps things ticking along nicely, just to remind you that this is a homespun DIY project. But honestly, this has the feel of a fully fleshed-out project and leaves you desperate for another fix of its sweet’n’sour tang. For anyone who loves the collision point between ‘New Rose’, powerpop sunshine and sheer rock’n’roll exuberance, this is essential. For everyone else, this is surely the gateway to all of that good stuff. You want to hear the tunes that’ll star on future generations’ equivalents to the Killed By Death comps? That’ll set your pulse soaring and your pogo muscles into overdrive? That’ll remind you of why this punk rock business still feels worth dedicating your life to, even after all this time?

[engl] Pale Kids are four queer-punks from Durham, and no they’re not the same band as Martha, although they did record one of their EP’s in their house. High on pop give you their latest opus and it's a total banger. A wise person once said that they sound like a mix of The Undertones (if Fergal Sharkey dropped acid instead of drinking Tizer), Slade and Protex, It's the sound of a party that you were never invited to. Discussing the record, the band suggest it’s about, “being sick, distracted, heartbroken, obsessed, inattentive and the guilt we feel for all these things.

[engl] Don’cha just love it when a record sounds elegant, tasteful and charming straight off the bat? If you answered ‘yes’, better swivel on those smartly-soled heels and walk away – this is not the record for you. Personality Cult’s debut LP is short, sassy, snappy, snotty and bursting with razorwire hooks that’ll leave you bleeding but delirious, head spinning from the frantic glory on display. This is powerpop-punk as it was always meant to sound – a nod to the Buzzcocks’ wonky melodicism, a punch in the ribs of Steve Adamyk’s hi-velocity brilliance, a perfectly-aimed loogie in the drink of the Marked Men’s enduring pop timelessness… We are all in the gutter, but some of us brought tunes for dancing and pogo-ing around the record player, so let’s get to it. Brazen is just one of the many winners here, combining gut-shakingly punchy drums with a nailbomb attack of taut guitars and the catchiest chorus this side of Pete Shelley. Heart Attack follows suit – easily the best punk single of 1977, right here and now and brand new for you in 2018. One of the most overdone descriptions of the genre’s simplicity is the word ‘dumb’ – well, Personality Cult are on hand to show that smarts ain’t no bad thing. On Fashionably Late you can hear traces of the Coneheads’ Devo-lved weirdness as well as the effortless pop genius that propels the rest of the album – so why am I singling out individual cuts when the whole is all this good? They’re all winners – give ‘em all a medal. Basically, if this is a cult, I’ll cheerfully take my robe and hand over my life savings right fucking now.

[engl] Philadelphia death rock/dungeon punk band Poison Ruïn consolidate their two EPs into one ten-song, self-titled album. Brained, fleshed, and recorded by Mac Kennedy, this effort is one of a personal nature. The sonic nature of the album has a human looseness, apparent like a cassette tape warbling from being wound and rewound. At times the songs sound thin and brittle, as though they are breaking apart simply by being played. The lyrics walk the same path and describe a world of cosmic horrors and environmental disaster. With their soft, eerie, medieval-hall introductions, each song transports the listener to a world of runes and swords, but staves off dorkiness with the relevance of a chewy post-punk center. Rife with sweetly stark guitar hooks and drums that flail like a death march, this self-titled LP gives off black metal at first glance. On further inspection, there is a gradation of inspirations ranging from pond-hopping blues guitar solos, heavy-handed punk drumming, gothic ambiance, and progressive song structures.

[engl] Snotty and melodic-as-fuck pop-punk from the blazing streets of Austin, TX! Members of Huff Stuff Magazine, Dude Jams!, Capitalist Kids, Wild America & more rage on with their upbeat & unique blend of lo-fi garage slop-pop-punk. Get on it cus this is totally ruling it.

[engl] "Hey, we’re all angry these days. Day in, day out, it feels like all there is to do it kick against the pricks or kick out the jams - sometimes both at the same time. But what do you do when all your righteous anger gets caught up in the mesh of the daily grind? When your despair at the world (and hey, it’s boiling over with right-wing fuckheads, senseless violence and the sort of oppression you might once have idealistically hoped would be a thing of the past by now) is a regular, everyday occurrence, as much a part of your daily routine as getting your caffeine fix in the morning? If ever a sound articulated that feeling, it’d be Public Eye’s second album ‘Music For Leisure’. Written in the wake of the US presidential election in 2016, and surrounded by the sinister political voices that seemingly felt legitimised by you-know-who taking the White House, it’s the sound of fury, righteous indignation, disillusionment and dejection, all wrapped up inside booming elliptical basslines, staccato guitar stabs and pithily spat summations of the American dream. Opening track ‘Descending’ has an air of much-loved gloom-rockers Protomartyr in its monochromatic rumble, but the album’s main musical inspirations come from the punked-out nuggets of the infamous ‘Killed By Death’ compilation series, under the shadow of Wire’s art-damaged racket. Formed in Portland, Oregon in 2016, Public Eye’s membership takes in three-quarters of notorious punks Autistic Youth, but while that band’s take on rock’n’roll was straight-ahead and speedy with it, their new outfit find more inspiration in nuance. ‘Neat Machines/Red Flags’ slashes at your eardrums with subtly jerky time signatures and angular jangles, before vocalist Nick Vicario remains impassive throughout its tastefully melodic second half. Then there’s the album’s greatest moment: the unabashed skronk of ‘The Duet’, which builds to a glorious final minute that sounds like Parquet Courts setting themselves on fire at a free jazz festival. Chaos, in other words, but chaos with the best kind of discipline. Repeats plays reveal greater treasures, and it’s the perfect album to block out (or echo) the buzzing pressure on your brain that comes from trying to get through day-to-day life in this increasingly weird era. Beyond that, it’s just a really fucking good record. Listen now and save yourself. Will Fitzpatrick.

[engl] "More acts of wonder from the land down under - Punter hail from Melbourne and their brand of noise is thrillingly intense. They describe themselves as ‘a hardcore band described as a rock band’, and it’s difficult not to fall in love with a statement like that, especially when it so accurately describes their slalom between all-out axe heroics and to-the-point, in-yer-face-and-then-some punk ferocity. From the intro track’s snarkily deployed job centre answerphone message (“Just say, ‘in Australia, my voice identifies me’”), we’re catapulted straight into the wholly-inaccurately-titled A Minute’s Silence, which rages like Motörhead gargling bleach in the middle of a circle pit. This is likely the moment where you’ll know that your new favourite band is here, and they’re absolutely tearing it up. Punter first appeared in early 2020 thanks to a scorching demo (released on cassette by their hometown label Blow Blood Records), and you sadly don’t have to imagine the shitshow of pandemic, multiple lockdowns and a pressing plant logjam that meant we’ve had to wait til now for a second installment of blazing rifferama, accompanied by that specific vigour that only comes from being very cross indeed. Is there a band out there who’d flush Scott Morrison’s severed head down a toilet while instigating a wall of death around the u-bend? Feels like this lot could be in with a shout. Thrill! To the anthemic hooks and glorious mob shoutalong of Retirement Simulator. Spill! To the guitars piling up like wrecks at a demolition derby on Curfew Eternal. Be fulfilled! By the joy of a very brilliant band being very brilliant at you. This record pulls from a similar formula to their citymates Stiff Richards, but with the ingredients thoroughly fucked about and the proportions changed to the point that any resemblance is minimal at best. By the time the sunny ‘ooohs’ of A Year’s Silence get you thinking of proto-punk UK pub rock, you’ll be ready for more power chords propelled by even more diamond-hard energy - Punter offer all this by the bucketload. Get involved, friends. Get the fuck involved right now." Will Fitzpatrick "G’day, here’s our promo piece. We’re a new band so we gotta write our own, and we won’t bullshit you like we didn’t! Reviewers get in touch: Enter PUNTER, from Melbourne, Australia; three absolute Sick Cunts who have given the best years of their young lives to the creation of their sound, and the broadcast of their observations. All their years in the scene and on the road, playing and listening and talking shit and repeating the process, have culminated in this instant classic. Here, and only here, can we all finally agree on something. And that is because the elements contained within this record amount to tricks and tropes lifted directly from that ubiquitous juke box of punk rock anthems, rock’n’roll hip-shakers and hardcore bangers that are the years 1977 – 82. I’m talking about the real obvious shit right now. The Damned. FEAR. The Buzzcocks. SSD. The Jam. ACDC. The Bad Brains. The Clash. Girl School. Slaughter and The Dogs. And on and on. Good shit you thought you were sick of, that has now been carefully loaded into PUNTER’s slingshot, pulled right the fuck back and aimed squarely at the furious, foreboding and intense sound of the contemporary international DIY hardcore scene from 2012 to present. What has come out is, of course, anything but derivative. PUNTER have gathered for you the best bits from all the shit you thought could never be mates. And mates they now are, through this strangely original sound. Get fired up to this little rip snorter, showcasing all of the outrage, the desperation, the romance, the sass and the sorrow that a punk band can give - lead breaks, backup vocals and all. Let your heart rate rise to these songs of boredom, stress, fear, youth, death, grief, change, and class politics, all set to the backdrop of the emerging global technocracy, blasted at you from the Aussie suburbs, not least of all Melbourne, the most locked down city on the planet during the time of writing and recording. Should do the trick, I’d say.

[engl] S.B.F. is a project made up by two Californian dudes that you’ve probably already heard of at one point or another, assuming that you’ve been keeping a close eye on my channel over these past few months: these two dudes are Cruz Somers—the guy behind L.A.’s Socialites (including the project’s live outfit, which features Raymond on guitar, his eponymously-named solo-projects (notably “UV-B” and “Beneath My Blood”. S.B.F. seems like a delightfully-eccentric halfway point between Cruz’s “UV-B” and Raymond’s “Race Car”, with the two sharing a similar light-hearted sense of melodiousness and techy-influence when it comes to the blatant drum machine usage, while doing without some of the gloomier aspects of UV-B’s musicianship. Not-surprisingly enough, the merger between Cruz’s vicariousness and Raymond’s succulent twang (I feel REALLY dirty saying that) makes for an utterly-infectious collection of quirky melodies, being further accentuated by the dissonance brought forth by their dual-guitar set-up

[engl] London / Oxford-based SCRAP BRAIN are back with a long player that expands and improves on their dirgey and unconventional brand of hardcore punk. This time around the group embraces a wall of sound approach; this is a record that sounds both huge and claustrophobic at once. A dissonant take on FLIPPER with one of the best lyricists in contemporary music. Limited to 500 copies on black vinyl,.

[engl] A Sydney-borne future classic in the making. Downer synth-pop stylings that have New Order as a clear point of reference, but infuse the stuttering drum machines and shimmery guitars with a very Australian sense of anti-romantic fatalism. Some smart production brings these well-crafted poppers into the hi-fi field they belong in. Featuring members of Aloha Units, Natalia And Her Naptime and Houseband. Originally released on Paradise Daily Records. "Incredible ten track 12" from Australian synth punks SEX TOURISTS. I'd place this somewhere between the excellent, postpunk leanings of fellow Aussies ORION and the fine tuned, pop-inflected hits of TOTAL CONTROL. A serious contender and one of the best Aussie releases that I've heard in recent memory. Trust me, if this is your thing, you'll get plenty of spins outta this one." Sam/ Feel It Records.

[engl] Thought you’d missed out on the chance to scoop up one of the best punk albums of 2017? Luckily for you, here’s another opportunity - the debut album from Dallas’ own Slimy Member is back in print. That first pressing evaporated from stores almost as soon as it was released by Drunken Sailor, and now here it is, just in time for Xmas. So happy fucking holidays, and maybe don’t sleep on it this time, cheez. You know the sound already; a meaner-than-thou blast of ominous power chords and lowdown menace with nods to Rudimentary Peni (obviously), Die Kreuzen and the seething rush of early Saccharine Trust. That title, meanwhile, recalls The Cramps while there are even hints of the Misfits and their horror punk brethren - not least in Cesar Perez’s compelling growl, which alternates between a cathartic croon and conjuring images of someone gargling broken glass in an echo chamber. Either way, it sounds fucking great. With an endless stream of punk bands throwing back to the 1980s and somehow getting it very wrong indeed, you’d be forgiven for reading this dumbass precis and thinking, ‘So fucking what?’ But trust me: this record more than holds its own with the bands it draws influence from. It’s a howl from the gutter set to music that makes you want to pile up your belongings and set fire to them while bricking the windows of your local Conservative Club. Alternatively, it’s WAY existential and it fucking slays. Am I swearing too much? I can’t fucking help it. I fucking love this record. Don’t let yourself miss out for a second time.

[engl] Debut LP from the Nottingham, funked up post punkers after their debut 7" on Erste Theke Tontrager. Keep an ear tuned to the underground and it’s odds on you’ll hear some pretty fearsome rumblings. Point your ears in the direction of Nottingham and you’ll find the righteous blast of Slumb Party – a post-punk-skronk party of such hip-gyrating magnitude they’ll make you wanna take a bulldozer to your nearest nightclub and pull shapes on the ruins. Their debut 7” dropped earlier this year via German label Erste Theke Tontraeger, and with this debut LP following so shortly afterwards, you should have a good idea of their natural pace. Fittingly, songs are concise and snappy, with flashes of everything from the rhythms of 80s Athens, GA (Pylon, early B-52s), the soul/punk hybrid of both The Nation of Ulysses and The Make-Up, the hyper-whacked sax rush of the Contortions… plus yer Minutemen, yer Gang Of Fours, yer Shoppings, yer favourite bands with attitude and heads so full of ideas you’ll find yourself wondering why most bands fail to make a sassy combination of arts and smarts sound this fkn essential. Happy Now is the title of the album, as the band ponder everything from day jobs to the passing of time with an existential fury that’s too clever to be anything other than caustic. It’s not a case of ‘how are this band so good’ as ‘who knew anything could be this good?’ One of the best records you’ll hear this year, but you already figured that out. BRB, just quitting my job to follow ‘em round on the road forever.

[engl] Second LP from Slumb Party, Nottinghams finest Post Punkers. First LP is long gone, don't sleep. Everyone’s favourite herky-jerky Nottingham noiseniks Slumb Party return to blow minds once more. Maybe it’s time you polished all the hard surfaces in your house and strapped on your dancing shoes, cuz once this one lands on your stereo you’re gonna be pulling shapes and bouncing from the floor to the walls and back again. Last time round their influences were clear: James Chance, Minutemen and Gang Of Four rose to the surface in a heady concoction of skronking, sax-drenched post-punk and addictively wonky hooks. This time they’re no less deliciously addictive, but the pop factor rides higher in the mix, at the cost of precisely none of their aching smarts or visceral thrill. A wheezing synth powers opener Go To Work, with nods to the same heroes as before, but also a sense of Attractions-style powerpop appeal – if XTC had ever attempted to refract pub rock through their angular prism while shouting ‘CAN YOU BUY ME A PINT’, it might have felt something like this. Sound good? Of course it fucking does, and it sets the tone for the rest of the album. While their 2017 debut (and if you slept on that masterpiece, then what are you waiting for, dummy?) dealt with working a day job and dealing with getting older, here the world weighs even more heavily on their shoulders. The snarling fury that characterised those songs is transposed to an exhausted rage that’s no less bilious or righteous – being skint, the overwhelming vacuum of ‘creative’ culture, and the general nature of just existing in 2019 all come under the microscope. No spoilers, but turns out all those things are bad; luckily they’re soundtracked and documented by a band that’s (whisper it) maturing (nah, fuck it, shout it: MATURING) into something far greater than the sum of their influences, that simply explodes from the speakers and demands your time. Like Molotov cocktails and lit matches, this is gonna seem daunting to swallow in one go, but the resultant explosion is messy and spectacular. Slumb Party describe this record as their ‘new/no wavey post punk power pop effort’, and that’s a pretty accurate summary: certainly, there’s a Stiff Records/Marked Men undercurrent to all those geometrical puzzles that make up their songs. Leave it to us, though, and we’ll just call it ‘one of the most essential records to emerge from the UK underground this year’. Or order you to drop everything and listen right now. ‘Spending Money’ is a keeper, alright. Will Fitzpatrick.

[engl] A year characterised by a pandemic, lockdowns, political ineptitude and oh, so much staying the fuck at home is enough to make anyone want to blow off a little steam. One overused piece of glib idiocy at the start of the Trump era was ‘at least punk will be good’, as though punk can only be good when it flips the bird to right-wing, authritarian shit-headery rather than amplifying anything else. Sure, there’ve been plenty of great records over the last four years, but sometimes (across the whole of 2020, for instance) the levels of anger, fear and frustration can be overwhelming and you need a little space to goof around. For some of us, though, goofing around is serious business - and here’s a record to illustrate that perfectly. Smirk is the solo project of Public Eye’s Nick Vicario, and while you’ll hear similarities to his main outfit across these 12 excellent tracks (from the off, you can imagine how PE might refine garage-carved nuggets like ‘S Construction’), here there’s less sang-froid and more… well, fun. The reference points you might expect are still there (Killed By Death comps and Wire, especially their 80s period, to name a couple), but with added scuzz and something even approaching joy - the whirling synths of ‘Eyes Conversing’ feel ominous, but they also convey a sense of delirious excitement. And dammit, it’s all fucking cool too. With a name like Smirk, your first instinct might well be to wonder whether Vicario is laughing at us. The first line of the album (a defiant ‘it’s not funny’) should tell you that this isn’t the case, but the album certainly finds him in playful mood. The tasteful acoustic instrumental ‘Lude 2’ descends deliberately into farce as it speeds up and slows down like a turntable alternating speeds, or a record warping in real time. Obviously you’re gonna play this on vinyl, dear reader, purchased directly from Drunken Sailor or Feel It Records, but we all know that those other listeners - not us, the other guys - are gonna chiefly listen on phones or through laptop speakers. It’s a 37-second sketch, but it prompts questions of what it means for technology to fail nowadays - can a record warp when it’s all bound up in digital files? Where does the disconnect lie between the player and the record; when the objects exist only virtually? Am I overthinking this? Oh, almost certainly, but it’s a record that’ll kick that noggin of yours into overdrive. Get involved, get addicted and laugh along.

[engl] Split System, the Aussie group featuring Jackson Reid Briggs (Jackson Reid Briggs & The Heaters) on vocals and Arron Mawson (Stiff Richards) on guitar, took the punk world by storm with its debut EP this past spring. That was hardly surprising given the talent involved. But whatever my expectations were for Split System, the Melbourne-based outfit far exceeded them. Not just another "super group" (also on board are guitarist Ryan Webb [Speed Week], bassist Deon Slaviero, and drummer Mitch McGregor [No Zu]), Split System is straight-up one of the most powerful and exciting punk rock and roll bands of recent memory. The band's EP was a smasher, and now debut album Vol. 1 emphatically follows suit. My god, this record is a monster! Essentially Split System's sound is classic Aussie punk. That may sound like nothing new, but this band executes the style with a force and fury rarely heard these days. It doesn't hurt that Jackson Reid Briggs is one of the best rock and roll screamers going. He's got a fire inside of him. Meanwhile, Mawson and Webb form one hell of a guitar tandem. And that rhythm section is insane. These are all brilliant players who come together to make an extraordinary band. Vol. 1 comes storming out of the gates with "The End" and never lets up. Of course we knew some of the previously-released tracks ("Hit Me," "Demolition," "Climbing") were going to rip. But the newer material is just as good and will just about melt your face off. Songs like "Ringing In My Head" and "Grip" are pure energy and ferocity, while closing track "Feelings" has a mellowed-out Saints feel. This band knows how to rock and roll, and there are literally no songs on this album that don't entirely kick ass. Sometimes we think of these all-star groups as "side projects," but such categorization would sell Split System woefully short. If we're talking about the top three or four punk bands in Australia right now, this has to be one of them!

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

[engl] “New 12 song, 30 minuted LP. 3 years in the making. Dissonance and melody. Superchunk and hardcore,” guitarist and co-vocalist Daryl Gussin explains. Joined by drummer Adrian Tenney, the pair formed out of God Equals Genocide to create some lo-fi brilliance. Arriving about three years after the release of their debut 12? EP We Move, Gone, Gone, Gone is a jam-packed collection of swiftly delivered raucous-pretty hits, a sun-drenched living room window before & after being broken. The duo is comprised of drummer/vocalist Adrian Tenney (also of Badlands) and guitarist/vocalist Daryl Gussin, whose voices mesh sweetly & perfectly, layered over ferocious whirlwinds of guitar and drums. This one’s dying for you to play it loud and often. Angry, visceral and urgent. Essential.