GAD! Zine

    Eyes On Lips have just released a new concept album. Wait! A concept album?? Yup. As a band, these guys have definitely progressed as musicians since their earlier recordings. And they’ve always been great. Now, coming into their own with a more overt math rock influence, they’ve wisely recruited Pace House’s Paul Costa to take the production reins. EOL have traded a bit of the lo-fi charm of previous recordings for an overall cleaner, but richer, sound. And it works! These lunatics ooze personality, in their over-the-top performances, in their weird-but-kinda-deep songwriting, and in their... uhh... a description-with-even-more-hyphens! And now we can really hear all the crazy crap they're doing. As the album is (sorta) about a theme park, each tune (kinda) represents a different ride, with titles like "Bumper Cart Coffin" and "Ferris Squeal". Tempo-changes and jazzy rambling from kids musically smarter than myself (doesn't take much) are a frequent

    Brad Norris holds a special place in my heart as literally one of the best live frontmen I’ve ever seen. I once borrowed his mic at a show and the poor little thing was so beaten and battered, I shed a tear. The emaciated microphone quickly lapped up that tear, and we cried dryly on the barroom floor together for ten minutes. Either that, or the crippled little bastard shocked me into a coma and I dreamed the whole thing. He's an epic dangerous preacher man slinging his device like a yo-yo. Some folks probably still whisper, “That’s the dude from Norma Jean”. I, on the other hand, scream constantly and consistently every day, “That’s the guy from the Divine Shakes!!!!”. Now he’s back with other local-loco legends, Jacob Ragan (Divine Shakes/Russian Love Machine/Tiger Helicide), Jared Loyd (Russian Love Machine/TRME/Boo Radley’s Bones/Tiger Helicide) and Nate Glenn (Boo Radley’s Bones, The Dry Holler). This is kinda my dream band. A super-duper group. Jacob and Jared have been

    All Deep Ends is the brainchild of Dakota Gilliland, a kind of indie-pop would-be wunderkind from Alabama. Thoughtful, idiosyncratic lyrics elevate his work, I'd argue, beyond even a few of his likely influences. Whether or not he's aware, he's on a bit of a quest. He's reinventing pop(punk) for his bedroom headphones. Here's the rub: In attempting to describe exactly what he does, I'm likely to scare off folks with my own particular tastes. But that's the point. He does it sooooo right. Acoustic folk launches into jangly full-band electric and back with almost-nasally melodies throughout. Modern emo needs this. This is how it should be. If you're familiar with previous works of this band, I think you'll be impressed with the evolution of Dakota's voice. He was a terrific genre singer before. Now he's coming into his own. As for the overall sound of this record, it is all achingly personal. Even the lighter stuff. Even the "dumber

    "Industrial supergroup" Primitive Race is back! And... not quite as industrial as before. The core of Chris Kniker (the very productive producer), Mark Thwaite (Spear of Destiny/The Mission/Peter Murphy/Tricky), and Erie Loch (Wiccid/Luxt/Blownload) return and are joined by Chuck Mosley (Faith No More/Bad Brains/Cement) on vocals and Dale Crover (Melvins/Nirvana/Altamont) on drums. Needless to say, this album is more raw and consistent than their self-titled 2015 full-length debut, which I also highly recommend. The group has aimed in a different direction and is reborn as a full-on rock band to be reckoned with. But there is a surprising side-effect: on Soul Pretender, Primitive Race's killer post-punk skills combine with Crover's legendary pounding and prove to be the perfect backdrop for something of a Chuck Mosley renaissance.     The album opens with "Row House", a peculiar thick alterna-tune that's crunchy and kinda off-kilter, followed by

 That new Queens Of The Stone Age record answers a question everyone is afraid to ask, and for good reason: What if aliens watched a lot of Grindhouse and Russ Meyer flicks, and basically found a spot next to the MST3K crew in the theatre, then went to church, then came home and ate spaghetti and wrote a record, after one more spaghetti western? Thankfully, the human race will never have to broach the subject as a species, because the planetary patriots informally known as “QOTSA”, led by General Josh Homme, have made this theoretical, hypothetical nightmare into a nine-track album equivalent to those fear mongering nuclear war training newsreels. It’s some “Reefer Madness” in an era where we have an Attorney General who sees that piece of cinematic chicanery as an instructional video or that video you have to watch when you take Drivers Ed (where they make sure to get close-ups on all the charred corpses inside the twisted wreckage) rather than “Gone With The Wind”. (See what I did t

    The Go-Go Killers only could've come from one of two places: Huntsville, Alabama or Planet Fuck. Though I've bared witness to their ritualistic sleaze-church shenanigans multiple times in the Rocket City, a reliable source (their new CD) has informed me that they are, in fact, Fuckian immigrants. They've just spent so much time wrecking and rolling through the Southeast, becoming legends in the process, that we've come to adopt them as our own. As one may attempt to adopt a sick wild animal... and inevitably get bitten. Hallucinogenitalia, their double album, is a culmination of all things "wreck 'n' roll". Subversive and nasty and haunted. 13 Alabama Ghost and Jeffrey meets Peoples Temple meets Blood Feast. They nod to past legends like the Cramps but pave their own way as a uniquely southern phenomenon. As musicians, few can hope to come close to the prowess and straight-up experience of this quartet. The band is as tight as a noose, even when