Last month, local extraordinaire Sam Allingham, along with a crew of other roustabouts, organized a Valentine’s Day cover show of Magnetic Fields’ entire 69 Love Songs album at Chacharazzi. The best thing about this show — other than its shameless celebration of a 4-hour album about heartbreak — was that it invited anyone and everyone to come onstage and sing along with the band.

Germ and I were happily in attendance. Beer, song, and dance flowed freely; and the performances themselves were remarkably unabashed and heartfelt. True, much of the crowd was friends with the band and with one another, which contributed to the open atmosphere; but there was also a larger sense of campfire community that comes with any good singalong. The line between performer and audience becomes blurred; the event becomes not about watching and consuming, but about participating and creating. It is truly the best kind of show.

Admittedly, I’m a bit of a cover-show junkie. The day after gorging myself on all 69 Love Songs, I went to a riot grrrl cover show in Brooklyn and danced to local incarnations of Sleater-Kinney and Le Tigre. I’ve attended awesomely creepy Glenn-Danzig-based cover shows for the past two Halloweens. What’s more — and this is the kicker — I record my own acoustic covers in my spare time. My computer is full of them. I’ve got renditions of everything from Green Day to Eric Donaldson to Hank Williams, and my productivity — if you can call it that — shows no sign of slowing down.

I love covers because I believe that they gesture toward every song’s potential to achieve immortality. If a two-minute, three-chord punk song lasts as long as its creator’s music career — well, that will be pretty short. If it last as long as the vinyl and polycarbonate that it’s been recorded on — that’s a few decades, but still not a very long time. But if a song can find a new home in the guitars and voices of everyone who listens to it — and if those people go on to share their versions with others — now we’re talking about posterity. It’s a humbling, beautiful thing to think about. And it’s a continually refreshing challenge to discover and learn the songs that I love enough to try to make my own.

[This is the third installment of TO MAKE PUNK ROCK, an ARTNOISE manifesto. The first installment, containing the preface and introduction, was posted on 08/02/09 (available here). The second installment, containing "What is Punk Rock?" and "Nihilism," was posted on 10/03/09 (available here) - germ]

Lemon! Vanilla! Cherry! Mango!
Water ice! Water ice! Water iiiiiice!

-”Water ice,” Rizzo Machine

Punk rock is people art. It’s shit that anybody can make. Punk rock is stupid, raw, loud, noisy, un-tuned, broken down, and totally fucked up. Punk rock is screaming like a lunatic while rolling on the floor. Punk rock is laying bare every idiot thought and impulse, and profoundly asserting them as if they were the most meaningful sage truth. Punk rock is a beautiful practice where kids that never properly learned to make art are convulsed and overtaken by an urgency towards expression that overcomes all their understood limitations. Punk rock is a talent-less, deranged medium that summons forth its existence not from studied, learned technique but from a simple recognition that all human beings are capable of transcendence—into revelation about the essential substance of their existence, into revelation about things larger than themselves, into beauty, creation, love, truth, poetry, the electrical rush of connection, etc.

Democracy—the practice of recognizing everyone’s capacity for creation and the necessity for everyone’s collaboration in order to create—is another means through which punk rock wages war against alienation.(6) Through alienating society, people get told over and over and over again that they are powerless to engage their lives or the world in a way that changes things or allows them to actually manifest their real needs and desires. Folks wake up, go to work, and waste their creative powers doing shit they have little control over, and very little personal stake in. Creativity is regularly pulverized into routine production—a thing done by isolated experts or technicians, repeated infinitely with only minor substantial changes, and carried out in the proper place under the proper conditions. Even though all the elements of society are made possible through people’s work and activity (if one day all the workers called in sick, society would grind to a halt), people in society are simply expected to follow orders and play out their assigned position—whether that position has them making car parts, cappuccinos, babies, or simply making customers happy.

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My Mind
Path Masher 7″
Badmaster Records

Once upon a time in the land of Philadelphia, there was a band called Eat Forever. Eat Forever played a frenzy of loud, melodic, ADD-fueled pop songs with abrupt endings and surrealistic lyrical undertones.

Back in 2005 or 2006, they played a show in my old house’s tiny basement and afterwards, smitten by their deafening awesomeness, I asked Mr. Tim Westberg from the group if he could give our webzine a promotional copy of one of their releases to review. When I was going to shows back then, this was a frequent question I’d ask musicians. The sane answers that I’d get in reply would usually range somewhere between “Yeah, sure” and “No asshole, you need to fucking pay for that!!!” (Fair enough.) Tim’s response was much more illusive. He made it clear he was excited to have us write up a review of Eat Forever’s music, but at the time Eat Forever didn’t actually have any official releases for us to write about. His solution to this apparent quandary was to make me a fucking crazy, rough-as-shit burned cd of songs they were thinking about using for an ep (as a bonus, he also tossed in a handful of his solo experiments on 3″ cds with full artwork).

I was hardly a stranger to thrown together DIY recordings, but this Eat Forever pseudo-promo was a real kick in the butt. The whole thing was comprised of thirty-six rough mixes of only about seven or eight distinct songs played in a different random order over and over again. Some of them were decently recorded, some were totally fuzzed out or taken straight from from practice recordings. I didn’t even have a track list to help me sort out song titles or anything.

For almost any other band, I feel like this kind of confusing, completely unedited vomiting of raw material would be nearly impossible to sit through, let alone review. For Eat Forever, it strangely worked. The shit was just so catchy, so quick, so energetic, so careening from one idea to the next that it didn’t phase me to listen to a distorted third or forth out-take of the same song I’d heard just a few minutes ago. And since Eat Forever songs were inevitably written to leave you wanting more, the extreme repetition proved to be a really satisfying way to listen to the material. All in all, it was a fine introduction to a fine Philly band.

Flash forward to 2010, and much of what was Eat Forever has morphed into My Mind. Now, instead of finding myself trying to intelligently review a sprawling heap of unfinished proto-songs, I’m faced with Path Masher—a totally together, totally tight, ten minute monster of a 7″ that plays like a fucking LP.

It’s pretty clear on Path Masher that Tim and the rest of the EF holdovers in My Mind haven’t given up their old ways. Just like on the Eat Forever recordings, almost all of the eleven songs on this 7″ are well under the one minute mark. Just like before, all the songs start and stop on a dime, pull you in with sweet melodies, rile you up, and cut out just when you feel like the chorus should cut in. The opening song “Be A Fascist To A Fascist” is even straight up Eat Forever-era material—an updated version of a song that had made it onto the original burned promo they gave me years and years ago.

But as conceptually true as My Mind is to much of the old Eat Forever schtick, Path Masher definitely isn’t a simple regurgitation of old formulas. The most impressive part of this 7″ for me isn’t how much it sounds an old band I used to like, it’s how much they are able to break new ground and take the music to the next level. While Eat Forever was more bound up in the spastic gesticulations of their psyche-pop punk oeuvre, My Mind’s pop stylings are somewhat cleaner and more expansive—on Path Masher they seem more willing to slow things down, making it easier to pick out discernible notes of The Zombies or inflections of old Elephant 6 bands in their brief compositions. Despite their self-imposed limitations around length and pacing, My Mind seems to constantly push the envelope to find new ways to bust out razor sharp song-writing that makes its point in less than sixty seconds flat.

Jam-packed with compellingly innovative tunes, Path Masher is about as full a meal as you’re going to get on a 7″ record. It’s a special thing to come across music that is as provocative as it is catchy, and so I absolutely recommend this release as an entry point into the work of a band making important music here in Philly.

While I believe this 7″ may presently be out of print, you can still check it out via this My Mind-related blogspot. (This site also features most of the Eat Forever discography, some of Tim’s solo projects, and a bunch of other really solid music for your downloading pleasure.)

[This is the second installment of TO MAKE PUNK ROCK, an ARTNOISE manifesto. The Preface and Introduction were posted on August 2, and are available here. - germ]

The project of resurrecting a living punk rock movement begins with a game of connect the dots. This is where we gather up all the disjointed pieces that have been left for us from before and start to put together the fucked up form of exactly what it is we are trying to shake to life.

We’re already abundantly versed in the stupidest conceptions of what punk rock is and what it represents. On one side, corporations have literally spent millions hacking images into our brains of moody, self-destructive consumer-kids clad in tight pants, tough-guy leather jackets, and porcupine haircuts. On the other side, we have all the nostalgic ramblings of washed-up scenesters that like to peg punk rock as a thing that happened when they were young that either no longer exists or just exists in some bubble around them and their friends like some mythical city in the mist. Clearly for our purposes, both of these stories are total horse shit, but at least they can give us some insight into how our understanding of punk rock must develop along a radically different line than this junk.
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Leatherface
Minx
Roughneck Records

Why a brand-new review of this 1993 album? Our staff’s late-night plans to form a Leatherface cover band notwithstanding, Minx is one of the smartest, toughest punk records out there. Two decades after it was written, the songs here not have not only withstood their age; they are, in fact, stronger. And, at a time when ARTNOISE—and music-loving folk in general—are working hard to find worthwhile records, it’s inspiring to revisit the albums that draw lines in the sand. Here, then, is the first entry in our Punk Foundations series.

Fundamentally, Minx gets its charisma from Frankie Stubbs. His gritty voice, at once comforting and cutting, ushers us through the album. His vocal style, along with the record’s driving tempo and simple melodic lines, recalls the sonics of Hüsker Dü; but it’s the complex wordplay that distinguishes these songs. The lyrical nuances—by turns clever, silly, and unbearably earnest—can be easy to miss under the wash of distortion that cloaks the band; but it’s well worth the effort to catch all the words.

Many of the songs are intensely personal: in “Do the Right Thing,” the album’s sole single, Stubbs plaintively offers himself up to an indifferent world (“You can have me if you want!”) and stands up for the underdogs (“they can beat the world can come back for more”). Later, he rails against easy political answers in “Don’t Work:” “Pretty slogans and the crimes are meaningless tokens—don’t waste your time!” And my favorite Minx tune, “Fat, Earthy, Flirt,” laments people’s petty tendencies, reflecting on human nature in gloriously speedy two-part harmony:

But even as Stubbs lets his heart bleed, he maintains a verbal playfulness—reminding us that this band is, at the end of the day, a bunch of goofy British punks. “Heaven Sent” mixes up social commentary with colorful puns (“The bricklayer’s arse and his smelly stained vest… as a vested interest to be ignored more or less”). In “Books,” a rumination on mortality, there are lines from nursery rhymes (“If only their cupboards didn’t look like Mother Hubbards”). Leatherface are smart, and they take their music seriously—but sometimes they just can’t keep a straight face.

It is this push and pull—this cycling of bravado and vulnerability—that makes Minx so durable. That, of course, and the rockingness of it all. Throw on Minx when you’re in the mood for a new favorite song. You’ll find one here.

About a year and a half ago, I stopped writing about music. It seemed to make a lot of sense at the time. I knew I had limited resources to put into personal projects and it felt like the more time I put into engaging and supporting the music scene here, the more frustrated I became with it.

Through my work on ARTNOISE, I had been developing this powerful vision of what music and art could be, what punk rock meant, what qualities and characteristics made bands and recordings transcendent or transgressive. But it seemed when I looked out into the punk communities, the experimental communities, the hipster/indie/whatever communities that I was trying to support, this vision I had about art’s transformative potential always appeared to be buried under heaping piles of scene bullshit.

This bullshit took many different forms. There were the corporate and pseudo-corporate forces steadily working to hype meaningful artists into alternative celebrities. There were the cliques, the in-groups, the hierarchies of who-knows-who, who-plays-what, who-books-where that constantly locked people out or put people in their place. There were the pretensions, the expectations for people to constantly prove themselves, and judge others. There were the sometimes disguised, sometimes explicit undercurrents of sexism, racism, classism, transphobia, and homophobia that played out in varying degrees throughout the scene. More than anything though, there was the irrelevance—the feeling that at the end of the day most of the participants in these communities I was attached to were simply content to party, to play, to be seen, heard, and self-congratulated on their gentrified little islands around the city.

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Bats For Lashes
Two Suns
Astralwerks

The sounds of Bat for Lashes on Two Suns are strangely soothing, sultry, mysterious, and simultaneously upbeat. Singer/band-leader Natasha Khan, produces in her sweet, breathy soprano voice a dark, almost frightening undertone. “Like she’s forever in pain,” was a description a friend of mine gave. At perfect intervals through most of the songs are wonderful synth beats, present most likely from the group’s collaboration with Brooklyn-based Yeasayer. The violin solo in the song “Daniel” produces a visual of the singer standing on a cliff overlooking a gray sea with deadly clouds creeping ominously behind her. The four-person group uses wide ranging sounds, with as many ups and downs as a teenager’s emotions. The drums make their statement while hands clap in “Two Planets,” producing a faux-native sounding rhythm. The group also incorporates the eerie sounds of the autoharp and harpsichord. As though acknowledging their otherworldly state of being, the group’s Myspace page lists “UFO’s” under the “Sounds like” category.” Quite fitting indeed.

On their personal webpage, Khan’s biographical section tells us she grew up in Britain, but has spent time in the Big Sur, the Joshue Tree desert and Pakistan. The album’s unique sounds can likely be attributed in part to the personalities and cultural variations present in each of these locations. The group also notes their unique relationship with nature and the environment as influential.

The album’s final product is a brilliant display of what can happen with collaborations between different music styles. From the Yeasayers basses to the husky voice of Scott Walker on the song “The Big Sleep,” there is no strict uniformity on Two Suns. While Bat for Lashes is considered a major record label, the group is not yet, or hopefully ever soon to be, a typically mainstream album. And their sound is so varied, it’s very possible music lovers from every genre can find something to appreciate in this album.

In addition to their sound, Khan—who has already proved herself as a vocalist and multi-instrumentalist—also makes strong contributions as a visual artist. The art present on the album, and within the group’s web page, is as visually stimulating as their music. The photographs only help add to the album’s experience.

Whether intentional or not, my search for a deeper explanation of the album’s purpose was fruitless. I can’t say for sure, but my intuitions lead me to believe Bat for Lashes is simply a group that produces their music based on what they enjoy. From the simplicity of the website, to their overall uniqueness, one can easily believe the group is not out to make it to the next Video Music Awards. Every musician wants to have fans and followers, but the composition of Two Suns is not meant to be mainstream or conforming. This intention, for me, makes this record all the more meaningful. Though unfathomable by some industry standards, this group proves there are still artists who give it all simply for the love of music.

Just a quick note, readers. ARTNOISE continues to move forward. We have new show-listings up for the month of August. The first chapter of a long piece about punk rock is about to go up. Tonight I’m going to post up the first piece of review writing from our new staff writer Angela.

Based on what she had to say about the newish, much hyped Bats For Lashes record, I was stoked to bring her on board. She has an honest approach that’s about as devoid of hipster cynicism and know-it-all hyping as you can get. I know I’ll be excited to keep reading her reviews. I hope you all enjoy her stuff too.

There’s still even more to come. Even though ARTNOISE has been moving at a snail’s pace for the past month, as the summer comes to a close, we’ll be at full speed soon enough. Thanks always for reading!

all love,
germ ross.

Various Artists
We Just Call It Roulette, Vols. 1 & 2
Russian Recording

Russian Recording is not a record label; it is a recording studio in Bloomington, Indiana, where more than a hundred bands, from local heroes (Ghost Mice) to Zimbabwean folk singers (Sheasby Matiure) have made their albums. The Roulette compilations, released in two volumes over two years, present songs from twenty-seven of these bands—a kind of studio sampler for the business and a good dose of publicity for the musicians.

In both form and function, the Roulette comps are no different from their label-released counterparts; but knowing that each of these bands passed through the same studio makes for a very different listening experience than, say, a typical K Records sampler. Roulette creates an audio snapshot of an imaginary day at Russian Recording: we get a sense of what kinds of bands come to the studio, how good they tend to be, how different they sound from one another, and in general who’s making their music in Bloomington.

Most of the bands sound fairly similar. There’s a lot of medium-fast hard rock with dissonant riffs and angsty vocals. The songs all rock hard enough, but there’s a pervasive sterile correctness to these songs: well-executed and—crucially, for the promotional purpose of the project—well-recorded; but short overall on imagination.

Part of this may be the result of the mastering—every track on the compilations was mastered specifically for this project. The studio was going for a uniform sound across the Roulette volumes, and that’s what they got. It’s admirable to aim for a cohesive, album-like listening experience; but Russian Recording may have sold themselves short by not showcasing a greater diversity of sound here.

There are a few standout tracks that are worth checking out: “Jacob’s Hand,” by Nate Jackson, is a classic, vital bluegrass yarn about a man who shoots his family and runs into trouble with the law. Sheasby Matiure’s track throws a bright Shona folk song in the middle of a rock-dominated collection. The irrepressible Coke Dares have three lightning-fast songs on Volume 1, all brattily glorious punk gems. Defiance Ohio brings some name recognition onto Volume 2, and Prizzy Prizzy Please contributes some frenetic noisy fun near the end. Volume 2 is available for free download on soapboxpromotion.com; Volume 1 is being sold directly from the studio.

So we did it, we’re doing it, ARTNOISE has come back to life. There’s still a lot of dumb tech things to sort out. There’s still more new staff members that we need to make this shit more sustainable. There’s still more writing that needs to be written. Shit that needs to be finished. Old stuff that needs to be repaired.

But we’re still back…

And even among all the loose ends, messes, and incomplete thoughts, there’s enough space now for us to stand. There’s enough calm and quiet for us to begin to have a conversation. In many ways, this project has always been a work in progress; ARTNOISE has never been done and has always been forming. I guess that’s a part of our truth… part of the prescription we put forward about how creation actually works or how art should actually function. We’ll keep growing. We’ll keep solving problems and getting shit together, learning new things. And I’d like to think that we’re never going to be done.

Rebirth isn’t a one time fix. It’s basically just an arbitrary signifier we throw out at moments to better appreciate the constant transformation of one moment of life into the next. Life has its ebbs and flows, but it never stops, and so it never stops remaking itself. And so we never stop and we never stop remaking ourselves… our world… our creations. Today, as we celebrate the renewal of this project, I also want to celebrate that kind of cosmic force of renewal that brought us all back here. The truth is that a lot of shit had to happen between then and now to get us back here. On my end, I know I had to go through a lot to want to get back here. But it’s fucking good to be back here now.

On deck, we’ve got new staffers that will officially be coming on board, new reviews that are written or are being written, and some new commentary that’s trying to explore the bigger picture about what punk is and what it could be. We’ve also brought back the PHILLY SHOW LISTING and will work to keep it constantly updated (as always, send your show-dates to phillyshows@artnoise.net.

Also, in the time between now and way-back-then, we’ve lost touch with a lot of the labels and artists who formerly supplied us with materials for review. If you’re interested in having our staff check out/review your stuff, please drop me an email at germ@artnoise.net and I can give you updated mailing instructions (we don’t have a public mailing address at this moment). Philly bands and labels are still a major priority for us.

Thank you all for reading. Thank you all for re-joining us after this long absence.

Trust me, the best is definitely yet to come.

all love,
germ ross.