GAD! Zine

    There's been a lot of killer music coming out this year. So much so, in fact, that I'm having a difficult time narrowing down my faves. A "Top 10" list feels impossible to manage. How can one pack so many different sounds and ideas into such an arbitrary number? I very nearly flaked out on writing this article, an assignment that I'd made up for myself in the first place. But then I looked at this idea from a different angle. As much as I moan and fuss over making such a tight list, it's actually easier the smaller the list gets. "Top 4" is waaaay less effort to work out than "Top 10", and not just because it would, in theory, be less than half the writing. It's just so much simpler to figure out my 4 by looking at the 2017 CDs still living in my car. These discs continue to be the soundtrack to my travels and I imagine they will continue to be well into 2018. #4 Trash Cats - Wardcore This is a nasty little band that just seem...

The perfect cover.     Now, this is my kinda Christmas album! Owls & Other Animals and The Trash Cats (the other other animals??) have teamed up to deliver us a perfect soundtrack for shoving the ol' plastic tree into the fireplace and sitting back and inhaling the fumes. These folks send up the seasonal standards in a fragile, vulnerable lo-fi acoustic set. Whisper-crooning classics like "White Xmas" in a tunnel of introspection. Beauty in the shaky basics. Raw. Another kinda raw is the hellbent hollerin' version of "Grandma Got Run Over" that ain't for the kiddies. Or the adults. Chaos. Hilarity. It is rare to find a holiday release so wobbly, stripped down, schizophrenic, and.... honest. This is what real and interesting people have playing in the background when they laugh and cry and spill their drinks and spill their guts. I dunno who's idea it was to put these two groups together, but what they have created is nothing short of a Chri...

    Haven’t had the pleasure to catch this trio live (YET), but they are no doubt a ton of sleazy fun. And maybe a bit of introspection. Alcoholic Appalachian acoustic crust-punk. Not so much cowpunk. More like hillbilly gutterpunk. And kinda um... satanic. Briscoe Darling hocked a loogie on a pet cemetery during a full moon. That snot grew a brain, picked up a guitar, and started singing his heart out. To recap: Mucous grew a brain AND a heart, but the heart is gone, because he sang it out. The bass is deep and sad and as real as an AA meeting. And... Hey, where are the drums? No drums. Washboard. Because fuck you. -Harmless    Trash Cats on Bandcamp Trash Cats on Facebook

    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 ...

    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 ...