Drunken Sailor News

Wiccans only make noise when they feel like it. A band that’s been uttered in reverence for nearly two decades with only a handful of releases, each one a stand-alone classic.
You see, it’s hard to pinpoint a band that actually has the equal influences of American psychedelia and hard rock all anchored in the glorious benevolence of American Hardcore. A tonne of bands dance around and flirt with each but it rarely lands in the sweet spot. They’re not trying to fit some supposed perfect space and that’s the very point so many others miss.
Wiccans are creating the space. Breaking rules and allowing a bit of breadth to what is often a claustrophobic style of music. This might sound scary as everyone knows that the more Hardcore evolves the worse it is - at least on record. The formula that Wiccans are playing with on Phase IV should scare you. It’s totally potent with odd songwriting, intensely creative and varied guitar work and completely pissed vocals. Phase IV does whatever the fuck it wants and passes the bar that only Wiccans could have set for themselves. All of this is propelled by a far stronger production quality than previous efforts and instead of having that expose some fault line it’s secured it as a modern classic.
It’s the kind of shit that will shake the dandruff from the beard of a Third Man collector but will also make that guy stop going to DIY gigs because they’re “too rough” or whatever. I’m just sitting here wondering if this is maybe what might have happened if Poison Idea wrote Hidden World. There’s always space for a carbon copy Negative Approach destroying someones basement and they usually put out a record that is clearly brilliant but fuck me if I can’t help but yawn.
Am I getting old or is Hardcore painting by numbers? In a slough of legitimately top tier Hardcore Punk releases, this one actually sounds like something truly special.

A Split System split 7" release in tandem with French garage-punks Les Lullies - one song apiece. The Australian side features a tough-as-guts Rock & Roll stomper, 'Chemicals'. On the other side Les Lullies deliver A L'Etroit. written and recorded in a burst of urgency - fast, loud and straight to the point. The two bands will hit the road together in June 2025 for a run of high energy gigs across Europe.

After a massive 2024 that included the release of their second album Vol. 2 and a U.S. tour, Naarm/Melbourne punks Split System are back with new 7" On the Edge/On the Loose.The feeling of stress and anxiety permeates through both tracks. The opener is the sleazy, hardcore-infused On the Edge, featuring a pounding rhythm that mirrors the pressure of day-to-day life and the inevitable breakdown that awaits.Next, the sub-two-minute On the Loose delivers a catchy, high-energy garage-punk thumper about moving through life feeling like you've got a gun to your head. The band will return to Europe mid-year 2025, including a spot at the Best Kept Secret Festival in the Netherlands.

Hot on the heels of a 7" released in Febuary, Split System follow up with a split 7" release in tandem with French garage-punks Les Lullies - one song apiece.
The Australian side features a tough-as-guts Rock & Roll stomper, 'Chemicals'.
On the other side Les Lullies deliver A L'Etroit. written and recorded in a burst of urgency - fast, loud and straight to the point.
The two bands will hit the road together in June for a run of high energy gigs across Europe.

First things first - you don’t need me to tell you about the significance of Australia in the history of punk. I mean, what am I, Jon Savage? Google it yourself, FFS. Instead, let’s just agree that the speedy, feral racket thrown together by the likes of The Saints, Radio Birdman and The Scientists in the mid-late ‘70s is AT LEAST as deliriously entertaining as anything concocted by their UK/US counterparts, sowing the seeds for seemingly endless garage-inflected noisemakers in the land down under. No one likes using words like ‘tradition’ or ‘heritage’ here - the punk rock clusterbomb is far too messy for any of that business - but also emerging from Australian rock’s primordial soup is the addictive sneer of Stiff Richards. Like their predecessors, the band are a gleefully wracked mess of full throttle energy and barrelling power chords, with songs like ‘Kids Out On The Grass’ and ‘Point of You’ proving at least the equal of ‘(I’m) Stranded’ or ‘Aloha Steve And Danno’. Nine tracks in less than 30 minutes, all winners and all determined to leave you flipping over couches and smashing your TV set. And let’s face it, you may as well; there’s nothing good on. It all builds towards frantic closer ‘Fill In The Blanks’, which rattles around your speakers like the UK Subs trying to play Ed Kuepper riffs at the centre of an earthquake, before grinding to a halt as a voice says, “That’s the one.” Does it sound self-satisfied? Hey, it’s got good reason to - this is the best no-frills garage rock party since Gino & The Goons’ ‘Do The Get Around’, and the only appropriate response is to declare yourself betrothed to Stiff Richards because you can’t imagine your life without ‘em. Don’t believe me? Sort out your ears and get ‘State Of Mind’ in ‘em. Rock’n’roll as it’s supposed to be played.

Pittsburgh’s feral punks Snarling Dogs return to bite the hand that feeds them with their debut self-titled LP Snarling Dogs.

This unhinged offering kicks out 11 revved-up, slobbering 77-esque punk tracks that will have wasted, spikey punks diving into the pit never to return. Songs like “Nothing Left” are charged and chock full of hits sounding like a demented mix of Raw Power era Stooges with the speed and aggression of The Damned or The Dead Boys. The record expands from there with songs like “Hour at a Time”- a locked in dirgy, psychedelic stroll through crime ridden city streets. From there songs like “Enemy” rip through the void with manic energy- fast, raw and visceral almost stepping into early hardcore territory.

While the record has these intense dynamic shifts, Snarling Dogs glue it all together with their cohesive live rock n roll energy.

Snarling Dogs is the perfect escape from the mundanity of life. Chug that 40 oz on your lunch break, smoke that entire pack of cigs, and take a piss on your boss’s car.

There are two dogs in you. Now it's time to set the Snarling Dog free.

If you feel like motoring down the highway at 100 miles per hour breathing in pure rock n roll exhaust then look no further– Rowdy is here to kick out the jams and rev up with their self-titled debut LP Rowdy! These seasoned rockers are dealing out a heavy dose of song-forward classic garage punk that sounds like a mixed bag of Joan Jett singing for Teengenerate and Roky Erikson and The Aliens covering Oblivions. This is no surprise as Rowdy is formed by members of legendary Austin band Hex Dispensers and Scotland's Goldie Dawn, (Hex Dispensers, major contributors to the Texas garage punk scene). Rowdy’s sound runs the gamut with catchy 77 punk tunes like “All in My Head”- with its huge chorus, anthemic doo-wop tinged songs like “Fine Mystery, and bluesy garage rippers like “Cost Of It”. The recording is raw and punchy, dripping with overdriven twangy guitars, a steadfast, tight rhythm section, and blown out vocals. This record is pure rock n roll madness! Pop this Rowdy on in your headphones, shotgun a Steel Reserve, and you’ll be on your motorcycle doing donuts on your highschool principal’s lawn in no time.

Ever been hit in the face with a wooden plank stuffed with rusty nails? Me neither, but I imagine the effect would be something like the sensation of having Montreal five-piece Puffer blasted into your eardrums. Put simply, this is the midpoint between hardcore and dirty ol’ rock’n’roll - part Poison Idea going dumpster-diving outside the garages of Melbourne’s punk scene, part Fucked Up playing their X records on a rotary sander. They’re equally at home with a pacy blur of riffs as they are going for a four-to-the-floor stomp; either way, the ragged larynx sits perfectly astride the roar, while the guitars go full Bob Stinson at his too-drunk-to-fuck-up best. You can practically hear the leather jackets creaking between phrases. This is music to move to. So what better place to start with this band than an LP compiling their must-have demo from 2022 and the remarkably excellent self-titled EP that followed in 2023? Originally released by New York’s increasingly-essential hc label Roachleg Records, these two highly digestible bursts of punk’n’roll complement each other perfectly. Whether you get your giddy thrills from the raw-as-hell likes of opener ‘Suffering’, or from the non-more-anthemic, holy-shit-I-need-to-bang-my-skull-against-the-wall double whammy of ‘Sister Marie’ and ‘Hard Way To Go’, you are guaranteed to find something to love here. You could always try hitting yourself with that plank, but you’ll probably find you return to this more often. Drunken Sailor delivers the goods again. Get the fuck involved.

Mere months after releasing their critically acclaimed debut LP “Judgement Day”, five piece Rock & Roll group The Judges return with a “seven inch” - a format often utilised and deployed in the lead up prior to album releases, but not in this case - which features two tracks that Judges fans may recognise from their recent concert performances. “Guns”, a droning groove-meditation on international arms trafficking, imperialism, war, and the utter uselessness/usefulness (?) of using Rock & Roll as a weapon against the establishment that arguably created and fostered its growth. And “(The People Want A) Show”, an uptempo neo proto-punk number thematically concerned with the inherent desire of the undiscerning masses to endlessly consume entertainment media of all kinds, including the aforementioned format of Rock &Roll. Both tracks were composed, performed, recorded, and mixed by The Judges, and now exist in both physical and digital formats for you to consume and enjoy at will

After a debut LP a couple of years ago, Patrick McEachnie (Chain Whip) is back with a stunning sophomore LP. Where the first LP was Pat taking care of everything, this time it is a full band, resulting in a album of bouncy, power-poppy rippers with great hooks and pop sensibility, inspired by the less abrasive, more melodically driven side of ’70s punk. 13 brand new songs to full in love with. Summer never tasted so good

I’ve lost my sense, I’ve lost control, I’ve lost my mind! Yeah, we all know how the song goes, but those words will no doubt end up driving their point home throughout the duration of Bloodstains’ self-titled debut LP. This thoroughly-welcome Euro pressing follows the album’s DIY release earlier in 2024, which is excellent news for UK/mainland fans of early 80s SoCal hardcore who’ve yet to hear it - the whole thing absolutely fkn rips. Feel free to rifle through your Adolescents, Weirdos and (natch) Agent Orange records to see what these guys have been mining, but all you’ll find is a launchpad - Bloodstains inevitably hail from California and they’re clearly au fait with all the above (not to mention a certain compilation), but they manage to inhabit that sound with a personality all of their own. Vocalist Cesar Marin splits his delivery between a sneering bark (like the most withering put-downs you’ve ever heard being delivered via nailgun) and a purposeful, melodic croon… which itself sounds it’s made from sandpaper and vitriol, but there you go. Most importantly, this is a band with SONGS. Eight of ‘em here, to be precise, and you’ll rarely have been so glad to have something turned up so loud it blows holes in your speakers. ‘Stray Bullets’ hangs its mighty chorus on a call-and-response refrain that dares you not to pick a side and bellow along, while instrumental opener ‘The Last Rites’ sets you up perfectly for the seething, volatile bundle of hooks to follow. I’d say the interplay between the band’s string-wielding Espinoza contingent is something to behold as well, but what am I, some kinda nerd? The guitars sound fkn awesome - that’ll do ya. And I don’t wanna spoil the party ahead of time, but just wait til you hear future anthem ‘Public Hanging’. I could go on about this record all day, but ultimately all you need to do is listen to it. Hell, even buy it. And dare I return to a theme, lose your mind.

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

Originally released on two tapes on Stucco, now available on vinyl. Ferocious, manic Punk via Austin, Texas. Overpublicised rock hack/full-time gobshite Charles Shaar Murray said of The Clash that they were ‘the sort of garage band who should be speedily returned to the garage, preferably with the motor running’. Now that’s all well and good, but what if I told you there was a band that sounded like they’d taken this to heart and replaced the petrol fumes with all the gnarliest uppers and the cheapest booze? Meet Texas’ Insane Urge, a band for whom no fidelity is too low, no riff is too snotty, and there’s no hook that wouldn’t sound better being crushed into the dirt by a combination of velocity and curled-lip, devilish delirium. This is their ‘Two Tapes LP’, compiling their (you guessed it) two tapes for Down South Tapes - and what a compilation it is! Rattling through 15 songs in 18 minutes, it condenses the primal chords of The Sonics, the dumb thrills of the Oblivians and the smash’n’grab speed of hardcore punk to create something that sticks to your synapses like paste. Almost feels like someone should call Bomp!, Sympathy For The Record Industry and Crypt to check this hasn’t leaked out of their archives - that classic raw vibe is unmistakeably here and it’s an instant winner. From the opening instrumental that shares its name with the band to the minute-long thrill ride of ‘Job’, ‘Two Tapes LP’ is rock’n’roll at its stoopid best (and trust me, you’ve gotta be smart to play this stoopid). It’s a record that’ll cement its place on your speakers, its brevity only serving to make you demand another immediate fix - which you’ll do again and again and again. If the band moniker reflects anything, it’s the fact that you don’t make music like this because you wanna. You do it cos you can’t see any other choice. Listen and love.

Members of The Chats, second LP in anticipation of their debut Euro Tour, FFO Cosmic Psychos, The Saints, Stiff Richards. Australia never misses. European release of The Unknowns second LP, released on Bargain Bin Records in Australia. "There have already been some monster LPs released in 2023, and the sophomore album from The Unknowns just might be the best of the lot. The Brisbane-based then-trio released one of the greatest punk albums of the roaring twenties (so far) with Nothing Will Ever Stop back in late 2020. Now a foursome following the addition of The Chats' Eamon Sandwich on guitar, The Unknowns have returned with an even better follow-up. East Coast Low manages to take most of the musical genres I hold dear and mash them together in the most delightful way. Basically the sound is classic punk rock with a ton of energy and catchy tunes (what else would you expect from Australia?). Yet at the same time, this album aligns beautifully with modern-day garage punk, power pop, and straight-up rock n' roll. East Coast Low packs ten tracks of punchy sing-along punk rock into 23 and a half minutes of pure fun. Songs like "Dianne," "Rid of You," "Thinking About You," and "I Don't Know" prove once again that there's a certain kind of itch that only old school punk rock n' roll can scratch. These guys are doing nothing new. But man, they do it so freaking well! If we're talking about the cream of the contemporary Aussie punk crop, The Unknowns have earned a place in the conversation." Josh/ Faster and Loude.

So I have a problem: I hate everyone and all music. Well, OK, not everyone. But c’mon - you know what people are like. Honestly, they’re the worst. And fair enough I might not really hate all music, but let’s be honest: have you ever actually heard any music? I mean, jeeez. If I’m gonna listen to a record, I’ll need something that matches this misanthropy; something that really gets the neurotransmitters firing on all cylinders and ready to obliterate the feelgood factor. Something like Cleveland band Cruelster, basically. Cruelster are made up of members of Knowso, Perverts Again, and a plethora of other Ohio noiseniks. If it seems like you’ve seen that name before, it’s highly probable - they released a demo back in 2012 and have been sporadically dropping bundles of rough-edged sonic snot ever since, thanks to labels like Lumpy (whose own Dumpers are at the very least sonically adjacent) and Turbine Piss. This singles collection compiles all the non-album tracks they’ve released since that early demo to make a thrillingly ‘orrible racket. Twelve years’ worth of punk rottenness and general stupidity contained in 29 tracks and 40 noisy minutes. It is, of course, fucking brilliant. From the gleefully melodic dumbness (and Booji Boy-flavoured additions) of ‘My Embarrassment’ to the malevolent rumble of ‘Double Trouble’, not to mention a fabulously energised cover of Icona Pop’s dance-pop smash ‘I Love It’, every track here is a winner. It’s the perfect tonic for your rage and the perfect foil to a cruel world where everyone else’s disdain seems more pronounced than your own. You owe it to yourself to complete your record shelves with this instantly classic comp - it’s punk rock par excellence. And as for that ‘hating all music thing’... ah, who cares, this is all gold. Listen immediately, you’ll be causing chaos to its raucous brilliance before you know it. Genre: Alternative / Punk

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. Your demands have been met - here's your new favourite record.

Since forming in early 2021, The Prize have established themselves as one of Melbourne's premier rock and roll outfits, funnelling vocal soaked hooks and harmonies through a three guitar onslaught and a pulsating rhythm section. Their unique blend of power pop and rock and roll has earned new fans and followers from all sides of the globe. The Prize’s debut EP "Wrong Side of Town' sold out on the first day of its release and received high praise from the likes of punk legend, Henry Rollins. The band quickly found itself securing plum support slots for bands like the Sunnyboys, Pavement and King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. This culminated in a national tour supporting The Chats in late 2022 that has helped to establish them as a premium live act with the tunes to back it up. To top it all off, The Prize are set to embark on their first international outing in August/September 2023 supporting KGLW and the Murlocs on their European tours with a number of headline dates across Europe and UK. “First Sight”, the much anticipated second release from The Prize will be out just in time for the EU/UK tour via Anti Fade Records and Drunken Sailor from August 18th

Black vinyl pressing 2022! "Funny to think there was a time not so long ago when Stiff Richards was a name that required explanation - but not to you, of course, o punk connoisseur. This is your territory, after all. Music is your oxygen and the sound of the underground is your clarion call. You can explain the distinction between 'Know Your Product' and 'No, You're Product'. Hey, you're probably pretty good-looking too. You know your shit, either way. So no wonder you're drawn to this relative holy grail of modern garage rock - the 2017 self-titled debut album by the aforementioned Stiff Richards. Originally released on their own Stiff Records (and again by Legless in 2020), it lays down all the elements that made last year's mighty 'State of Mind' LP such an instant classic. OK, we've established you know the drill, but let's recap: scintillating Aus-punk that recalls the heroic high-speed riffs of their countrymen The Saints and Radio Birdman. It sounds like Royal Headache covering Motörhead, or maybe the other way around. It's a full-on riot in 30 minutes - the rawest of rock'n'roll bleeding into the grimiest of power chords with hooks for days. You already know you're gonna love it. Whether going full-throttle and aiming straight for the nerve receptors that get your head a-nodding and your toes a-tapping - like on sub-three-minute highlight 'Strung Out' - or sludgin' their way through groovier cuts like 'Bustin' Out', they're never less than a treat that's guaranteed to get your serotonin flowing and your speakers up to 11 (or beyond). As a certain similarly-named record label once said, if it ain't Stiff, it ain't worth a fuck. Frightfully rude, but that's rock music for you, I suppose. Get it in your ears." - Will Fitzpatrick.

First things first - you don't need me to tell you about the significance of Australia in the history of punk. I mean, what am I, Jon Savage? Google it yourself, FFS. Instead, let's just agree that the speedy, feral racket thrown together by the likes of The Saints, Radio Birdman and The Scientists in the mid-late '70s is AT LEAST as deliriously entertaining as anything concocted by their UK/US counterparts, sowing the seeds for seemingly endless garage-inflected noisemakers in the land down under. No one likes using words like 'tradition' or 'heritage' here - the punk rock clusterbomb is far too messy for any of that business - but also emerging from Australian rock's primordial soup is the addictive sneer of Stiff Richards. Like their predecessors, the band are a gleefully wracked mess of full throttle energy and barrelling power chords, with songs like 'Kids Out On The Grass' and 'Point of You' proving at least the equal of '(I'm) Stranded' or 'Aloha Steve And Danno'. Nine tracks in less than 30 minutes, all winners and all determined to leave you flipping over couches and smashing your TV set. And let's face it, you may as well; there's nothing good on. It all builds towards frantic closer 'Fill In The Blanks', which rattles around your speakers like the UK Subs trying to play Ed Kuepper riffs at the centre of an earthquake, before grinding to a halt as a voice says, "That's the one." Does it sound self-satisfied? Hey, it's got good reason to - this is the best no-frills garage rock party since Gino & The Goons' 'Do The Get Around', and the only appropriate response is to declare yourself betrothed to Stiff Richards because you can't imagine your life without 'em. Don't believe me? Sort out your ears and get 'State Of Mind' in 'em. Rock'n'roll as it's supposed to be played. Will Fitzpatrick.

Philly’s own Chained Bliss set tongues a-waggin’ back in 2019 with their Stained Red cassette EP, gathering more than a few comparisons to the Wipers’ early racket in the process. Well, now they’re back with a debut album that seems to have skipped right ahead from Is This Real? to Over The Edge: this self-titled LP has all the gut-punching ramalama, knockabout guts’n’glory of that first tape, with added layers. Melodic guitar lines come perilously close to jangling over crunching power chords, while furiously yelped choruses give way to sumptuously put-together breakdown sections that catch you off guard and kick you in the shins before legging it down the street. Chained Bliss clearly love scrappy, skatey garage rock (echoes of Agent Orange’s Living In Darkness abound) as much as they love pushing that raucous clatter into something spacious - the meditative sections that flow effortlessly into absolute ripper Pillars Of Abuse are as unexpected as the thoughtful but head-spinningly energetic sections that bring Creative Seizure so thrillingly to life. Other times they’re just as happy to keep you careening towards the pit with two-minute bangers, but that’s the beauty of this record: it’s never smarter than when it’s playing dumb, and the rest of the time it’s just pretty damn smart. Here’s a challenge: can you listen to Ominous Life’s gnarly pop without raising those fists of yours skywards and landing a firm thump on the air? Or Drifter’s swaggering stomp? Or, or, or… ahhh hell, you get what I’m saying here. Every single cut slays, every single hook snags itself on your brain. You’ll come back for more, and more, and more. Are Chained Bliss your new favourite band? Well, gee, we’ve never met and I don’t know what you like and it’s not for me to say… but on the other hand, yes. Yes, they are. They’re heading straight for your heart and they ain’t budging. Will Fitzpatrick

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! Josh Rutledge/ Faster and Louder

'What if Blitz hailed from Los Angeles and sang in Spanish’ isn’t a question you hear all that often. Fortunately, we don’t need to ask - the answer is provided by Generacion Suicida’s latest album, which rages and rattles in all the right places, drenched in the memorable brilliance that powered the Killed By Death compilations (ask yer dad - and if he doesn’t know or care, burn his terrible records and make some space to track down the KBD LPs). The band’s slogan is ‘musica del barrio, para el barrio’ - music from the neighbourhood, for the neighbourhood - but it sounds like they could use these hooks to take on the world. That’s a pretty accurate sentiment as well, because this album was written during the Covid-19 lockdown of 2020, while the world bubbled over with carefully managed misinformation, police violence and the sickening overspill of white supremacy’s foul brew. If Regeneracion sounds potent, it’s because there was a lot to be angry about, and the result is arguably their best album yet. Those chorused-out guitar lines carry shades of deathrock, hints of Manchester circa 1980, elements of something you might call goth if it was several degrees less furious. But there’s no doomed romance to this music; it’s an all-out attack. Street punk with the smarts turned up and an ear turned to the lessons learned from post-punk (but crucially, not the ‘post-punk revival’ that is essentially shirtless beardy lads chanting non-sequiturs over landfill indie). Chiefly, it’ll make you wanna get out of your chair, unite your local community and march on down towards your government’s centre of operations with a simple-to-use molotov cocktail kit. Its rage is infectious. It’s inspired by bleak moments in our recent shared history, but it revels in humans’ capacity to find strength in each other. And the tunes? Oh damn, they’re good.' Will Fitzpatrick.

‘Questionably a hardcore band’ is how Daddy’s Boy describe themselves, and one listen to their discombobulatingly brilliant debut LP should answer all your questions as to what that could possibly mean. Recorded with Steve Albini at Electrical Audio, GREAT NEWS! is the sound of punk folding in on itself and racing through sounds you might have previously identified with dumb genre tags like post-punk and possibly even no-wave - except this isn’t either of those things. It rages smartly and discordantly across a wide terrain of undulating rhythms and coruscating rifferema, eventually settling on something that’s… well, kinda uniquely Daddy’s Boy. So what makes this sound? Specifically, four humans who are too clever to simply follow the ‘three chords, now form a band’ template without trying to fuck up the corners (and work their way into the centre). Members of Split Feet, Retreaters and Fake Limbs pile up together to create this delicious cacophony, and you’ll be glad they did. When vocalist Jes Skolnik intones, “I’m so fucking important,” you know it’s drenched in venomous irony, but it’s difficult not to agree: GREAT NEWS! feels like a record that’ll last way beyond those ‘best of the year’ lists and continue to pulverise your eardrums for years to come. It’s the sort of record that felt like the future when Touch & Go Records pushed hardcore past its knuckleheaded limitations 40 years ago, and still feels like no one ever really caught up. It’s the riffs from Cows’ Cunning Stunts, cribbing notes from Crass’ Feeding Of The 5,000, with vocal delivery pitched to ‘gloriously matter-of-fact’. Oh, and no spoilers, but in Skolnik, Daddy’s Boy might just have one of the smartest lyricists in (questionable) hardcore right now. Mark my words, this is some record. Will Fitzpatrick

Some cities just know how to produce bands by the bucketload. Take Detroit, for instance: we don’t need to rattle through a full list or anything, but safe to say that if your town has given the world the likes of Motown, Derrick May and J Dilla - before we even start to think about The Stooges et al - then you could be forgiven for thinking there must be something in the water round those parts. So whaddya say? Should we get to know two more fine exponents of melodic wonder from the Motor City? Only seems fair. This split LP between citymates The Stools and Toeheads certainly isn’t a letdown as far as the illustrious company of their forebears goes. In fact, it’s a fast-paced thrill ride that oscillates between hip-shaking rock’n’roll swing and bone-shaking hardcore energy. You might already be familiar with The Stools thanks to their ludicrously addictive Feelin’ Fine 7”, which dropped via Drunken Sailor (hey, those guys sound familiar…) early in 2021. If you though that short EP was a good time, wait ‘til you see what they’ve got in store here: right out of the gate, opener Dead Man’s Ford smashes the devil-toed boogie of the MC5 at their slinkiest into the teeth-clenched intensity of Negative Approach (and that’s a pretty decent John Brannon-style roar they deliver too). They maintain this quality and velocity across their side, which is brilliant. There’s no let-up from Toeheads either - their side of this split sounds like someone revved up The Gun Club and aimed fireworks inside their exhaust. This is the sound you always knew you were working towards when you got into this rock’n’roll business; guitars blazing, lungs bursting, a wall of sound collapsing while we all dance in the debris. Does it sound like anything new? Fuck no, but that’s not the point. Much like The Stools, there’s nothing you can say about Toeheads that can’t be summarised with the phrase ‘total exhilaration’. So there you have it. Another compelling case for Detroit as home to the finest sounds around, put forth by two young bands who make playing loud, fast and dumb sound easy. Call it conviction, call it chutzpah… hell, call it talent if you want, I ain’t gonna stop you. But chiefly, call it a fucking good time and put the damn record on. This slays. Will Fitzpatrick.

A huge, booming sound prevails across these ten songs, riddled with hooks and accessible in its own odd way: you might catch shards of WIPERS,INSTITUTE"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."

TRACKLIST: 1.Carrion 2.Crucifix 3.Demon Wind 4.Sacorsanct 5.Fog of War 6.Paladin's Wrath 7.Doppelganger 8.Morning Star 9.Exiles/ Hell Hounds

Originally released on tape in 2021 and mastered for vinyl by North London Bomb Factory Mastering. 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.. Essential. TRACKLIST: 1.Sacrilege 2.Genesis 3.Three Fires 4.Existence 5.Matrix of Chaos 6.Legion

Funny to think there was a time not so long ago when Stiff Richards was a name that required explanation - but not to you, of course, o punk connoisseur. This is your territory, after all. Music is your oxygen and the sound of the underground is your clarion call. You can explain the distinction between ‘Know Your Product’ and ‘No, You’re Product’. Hey, you’re probably pretty good-looking too. You know your shit, either way. So no wonder you’re drawn to this relative holy grail of modern garage rock - the 2017 self-titled debut album by the aforementioned Stiff Richards. Originally released on their own Stiff Records (and again by Legless in 2020), it lays down all the elements that made last year’s mighty ‘State of Mind’ LP such an instant classic. OK, we’ve established you know the drill, but let’s recap: scintillating Aus-punk that recalls the heroic high-speed riffs of their countrymen The Saints and Radio Birdman. It sounds like Royal Headache covering Motörhead, or maybe the other way around. It’s a full-on riot in 30 minutes - the rawest of rock’n’roll bleeding into the grimiest of power chords with hooks for days. You already know you’re gonna love it. Whether going full-throttle and aiming straight for the nerve receptors that get your head a-nodding and your toes a-tapping - like on sub-three-minute highlight ‘Strung Out’ - or sludgin’ their way through groovier cuts like ‘Bustin’ Out’, they’re never less than a treat that’s guaranteed to get your serotonin flowing and your speakers up to 11 (or beyond). As a certain similarly-named record label once said, if it ain’t Stiff, it ain’t worth a fuck. Frightfully rude, but that’s rock music for you, I suppose. Get it in your ears.

It begins with a rustle of noise, equally reminiscent of distorted factory noise and a cassette recording of cathedral bells unspooling, before a near-robotic beat and stuttering bassline enter the fray. Initially, you could be forgiven for thinking you’ve stumbled across the lost tapes of Joy Division’s early Warsaw incarnation, but the atonal blast of strafing guitars fading in and out soon make you realise this is a very different proposition. This is The Drin, and ‘Engines Sing for the Pale Moon’ is their debut album. It’s also one of the best things you’ll hear all year. Helmed by Dylan McCartney, drummer of the rock band Vacation, The Drin originally released this album as a hyper-limited cassette via Future Shock. It’s as much of a departure from McCartney’s usual output as it is for Drunken Sailor Records; songs don’t so much explode out of the gate as drift towards you like a creeping fog that turns your skin inside-out and leaves you sloshing organs all across the carpet. Second track ‘Guillotine Blade’ shows the pieces all coming together, a dubbed-out riot of claustrophobic noise that feels like Pere Ubu trapped in a cupboard one minute, and ‘Warm Jets’-era Eno trying on Bauhaus’ trenchcoats the next. Meanwhile, ‘Down Her Cheek A Party Tear’ unfolds across jittering, skittering rustles of drums and an undulating bassline, making you wonder why post-millennial post-punk so often settles for dickheads shouting non-sequiturs over landfill indie, when it could be entering these dark, unsettling territories instead. The Drin like to get weird. The Drin like to get wild. The Drin rarely cut loose, but that’s because the trip is already intense and haunting enough without things getting raucous in here as well. Hey kids, turn off those shite band name redacted records and get into this; you deserve so much better, and better’s right here. Fall into it, immerse yourself and step forward into a brave new world. I love this record

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? Hey, Pack Rat’s got ‘em. Now do your part

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. Buy this record, you idiot.

"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." Will Fitzpatrick.

"You ever wonder what Keith Morris does at the end of the day? Does he maintain that wide-eyed stare, the one that pins audiences to the floor with its very intensity, while he’s putting on his pyjamas? Does he continue spitting venom from that heroically ragged throat of his while he’s making his cocoa? Does he lay his head on his pillow with the same righteous fury that launched thousands upon thousands of moshpits? Hey, I’m just wondering. Y’see, all that intensity and venom and fury… it has to go somewhere while he’s otherwise occupied with mundane tasks like taking off his socks or brushing his teeth, right? And listening to the thrilling racket conjured up by Vancouver’s Chain Whip, you’d be forgiven for thinking that they have somehow become vessels for that energy. I mean, they’re Morris’ spiritual successors - if their 2019 debut ‘14 Lashes’ wasn’t enough of a clue, then this six-song blast of blink-and-you’ll-miss-it brilliance should leave you in no doubt. This is hardcore punk as it was originally conceived, and it slays. ‘But who are Chain Whip?’ I hear you ask. Well, they’re a bunch of dudes from British Columbia who’ve also served time in bands like The Jolts, Fashionism and Corner Boys (among others). They’re the ones who are gonna have you slashing the seats at your local cinema, or taking potshots at lines of empty bottles on street corners, cuz they make you feel so damn tuff. OK, I’m just goofing around here - whereas Chain Whip are serious business. No, really. I dare you to listen to the Germs-go-nuclear b(‘)last of ‘Laguna Bleach’, or the garage-slop-at-200-mph rush of ‘Fresh Paint And Philanthropy’, and not want to launch a stink bomb into your teacher’s car. Or, failing that, to bring about the extinction of global capitalism. If that fails, you’ll just end up wearing out the grooves of this very fine six-song EP while bouncing between walls like the DRI logo guy if he wore jet heels and spring-loaded shoulder pads. Jeez, imagine Keith finishing the night shift and giving these guys a handover. As if they’d even need to be told. Look, Chain Whip are the best straight-up old-skool punk band you’ll hear today. You know what to do. Trust your instincts. Dance that two-step to hell with ‘em. This. Is. The. Shit." Will Fitzpatrick.

Reuben Sawyer is nothing if not prolific. He's also a man of many talents - his various projects have included the coldwave sounds of The Column, Hollow Sunshine's blown-out psych-noise, Anytime Cowboy's take on countrified weirdo-pop, and even ambient house courtesy of Rose. Oh, and he's a visual artist too, of course. Pfft, who needs an attention span anyway? One thing he's also dabbled in, however, is post-punk. Human Trophy is firmly in line with that tradition, but pulling from multiple directions at once - one minute this album rattles along like Big Black with the tempo down and the textures dialled up, the next we're firmly in Christian Death territory. The twisting guitar lines and pummelling bass of 'Forming Horrors' even call to mind his blackened punk project Dry Insides, but with less velocity and a helluva lot more menace. Is 'Corpse Dream' a goth record? Possibly. Whether goth is a lifestyle choice for Sawyer or not, he's certainly adept at immersing himself in sounds and making them feel like a comfortable fit. As with all his projects, it feels like another effortless facet of Reuben Sawyer - and in keeping with the rest of his output, it's absolutely packed with songs you'll wanna play again and again. Penultimate track 'The Roads' is built on a none-more gloomy pile-up of darkly portentous rhythms and a firm sense of disquiet, but once you're locked into its circular riffage you'll feel an urge to keep the loop going endlessly. Then there's the closer 'Blood Apex', a dual-vocal nightmare set to music which draws you back in even as it attempts to push you away. Yeah, it's pretty great.

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.

Originally released on Celluloid Lunch (Canada), really excited to do the Euro edition. Drawing influence from the looser end of the Ork records catalogue, the sensitive side of Ohio’s proto-punk scene and the grittiest and most sluggish tangent of 70’s power pop, Itchy Self’s debut 12” is an exploration of fully formed songs treated with spontaneous delivery. The group got together in early 2020 for 3 practices and a recording session and here are the results, laid out in their raw form. This is cross-generational racket n roll music that wears its heart on its loosey goosey sleeve. ‘B what you B’ is a life affirming testament to living against the grain that calls to mind the Modern Lovers’ aggressive positivity. Title track ‘Here’s the Rub’ is a barrage of abstract lyrics and skronky shred. ‘God Bless the Ego’ is an ode to the looseness and blurry eyed lucidity of indie rock’s forbearers such as Chilton, Kilgour, Pollard and Malkmus. ‘Reprobate’ is a Stones style ballad that channels the Saints and Johnny Thunders in equal measures. ‘Playing MTV’ is an audacious end remark to the record, that rips on classic Velvets strut and testifies it’s own ridiculous merit through boastful and catty lyrics. All in all, of course, it’s only Rock n Roll. This record is 1 part follow up to the Protruders “Poison Future” 12” on Feel It records (2019) and 1 part the first chapter of a new and exciting group formed in Canada’s capital of de-proffessionalized rock music. Recorded to 1/4 inch tape by Scott Munro (Preoccupations) and mastered by Mikey Young (Total Control), this record should provide a concise opening statement to anyone with the least bit of concern about Itchy Self. You’re gonna need an ocean of calamine lotion. Sorry State Records