Naked Raygun was that rare punk band that dared to wear their hearts on their sleeves, who dared to sing of hopes and dreams, to allude to Dylan Thomas on one song and to glorify snipers on the next.
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Like most GBV records, there is a dichotomy between the wonderful idea snippets that vie for attention and the execrable exercises that should have been left behind on the cutting room floor.
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Fuck Death is a journey down the darkest and most lost of all highways, a road to nowhere hurtling toward an infinite void.
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Pataphysical Graffiti is a collection of rock tunes that borrows the language and instrumentation of the genre but removes the “twee” and “preciousness” that one might expect to hear from a group that does “French indie pop.”
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Melody and “hooks” are definitely not a high priority for The Psychic Paramount – they want their population to operate as one world under a drug-induced groove.
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Portrait is the perfect soundtrack to the end of fall and the beginning of winter, when there’s a chill in the wind and the air bites the lungs. Hopefully there’s a fire in the fireplace, and the firewood simmers, flames and burn down to embers.
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While it’s an intriguing first listen, it’s hard to imagine the average listener sitting through Crazy Clown Time more than once
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Wasting Light, supposedly a new chapter in Foo Fighters’ discography, is really more of the same, and “These Days” provides a perfect example of why their sonic flying saucer attack really crashed and burned years ago, or at least should have.
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With the six lengthy excursions contained in Empros, Chicago’s “instrumetal” auteurs explore a full range of dynamics.
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Wild Flag are more than the sum of their parts, and while it looks like a marriage made in heaven on paper, on record, it’s even better than one might expect.
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The New Division have clearly never met a music trope from the 1980s that they didn’t like.
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The 12 songs here have sprung forth so fully formed and self-assured, one could mistake them for a veteran act lost in the wrinkles of time and tinnitus.
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