In risposta all’orribile e disgustoso governo italiano la Spagna si riduce a un infantile e demente ritorsione ,che tristezza. Se ho capito bene ed effettivamente le cose stanno così? poca poca cosa
In memory Kimberly Shattuck, member of the Pandoras, lead vocalist, guitarist, and primary songwriter of the punk rock band the Muffs, born on this day in 1963, Los Angeles
Questo è un party moderno,io non sono per l’hype ma la California insegna,nato sempre nella era e parte sbagliata. Lasciate pure perdere i tanto blasonati festival(ss)
Jon Spencer — Songs of Personal Loss and Protest (Shove)
“Knock ‘Em Out” lurches into view on a bass-led vamp, pit-scarred by punching drums, lurid with Jon Spencer’s inimitable rockabilly yelp and punctuated by all-hands R&B choruses. If you liked Jon Spencer’s Blues Explosion at any point from its early 1990s origins to its 2018 dispersal, the song’s frenetic groove will trip all the right pleasure centers. It’s a different band supporting punk/blues/soul maestro Jon Spencer, but it’s still an explosion, even if you can’t call it that because of copyright issues.
The new crew hails from the Bobby Lees, a Woodstock-based trio known for its raw-boned and riffy take on rock and punk. Spencer has been working with the Bobby Lees’ Kendall Wind (bass) and Spider Bowman (drums) since the 2024 EP Sick of Being Sick, and before that, he produced their album Skin Suit. The Bobby Lees spit more punk and less blues than the old team, Judah Bauer and Russell Simins. On the Spencer-produced Skin Suit, Wind snarls like Amyl (of the Sniffers) and bleats like the Nightingales Robert Lloyd.
But all that hasn’t changed the Jon Spencer experience all that much. Songs like “Step on the Gas” lumber through mighty swathes of guitar, then dance like dragonflies in sticks on rims. Spencer, as always, commands most of the spotlight, beckoning and insinuating and pushing you back with a straight arm. “How can you live with all that hate?” he asks mid-song in his twisted preacher cadence, then rallies the choir for a refrain of “Step on the gas!” “Orange Slice Blues” falls so close to prime 1990s Blues Explosion’s sound that I wonder if it’s a cover, and Wind holds down that pendulum-swinging bassline with disarming aplomb.
Spencer hasn’t done a Heavy Trash record in a while, but he’s still got a taste for demented rockabilly, as demonstrated by the dippy sway of “Mr. Lion.” No one ever accused the Bobby Lees of leaning country, but they do just fine here, kicking up a roadhouse swing and even meowing like cats, as Spencer narrates an unlikely, animal-centered story.
The weird psychedelic side of Jon Spencer, too, is fully accounted for, especially in the closer “No More” where the rocker enumerates modern life’s detritus as it blinks out around him. “No more med checks, no more bed checks, no more birthday checks, no more birthdays,” he intones. “More Yankees, no more Celtics, no more Olympics.” It’s not clear why we’re giving up dress shirts and dress socks and ties—whether Spencer is contemplating his personal end or a broader planetary collapse. It’s also uncertain whether Spencer is happy or sad or just perplexed by it. But the song, and the album, end on an existential note. “All of this stuff, meaningless now, what was it all for? What was it all for? And what are we left?” asks Spencer. Well for one thing, even now when we don’t have a Blues Explosion, we still have Jon Spencer, sounding very much like himself, and that’s something.
The guitar lick stings, low-tuned tom toms pound a rupturing beat, but the melody, when it comes, is full of smoke and mystery, its murmured harmonies and unisons slipping into the murk. This is “Wandering Eyes,” the first track on Lupo Cittá’s excellent second album, and one of the best examples of how it plays with noise and drive and melody within a fuzzy nocturnal ambience. Here you see the partnership between no wave unsung hero Chris Brokaw and ex-MN, now-Boston punks Sarah Black and Jenn Gori, evolving and deepening.
There are more voices and more perspectives at play here than on 2024’s self-titled, and without blindly trying to attribute writing credits (none provided), it’s clear that all three members are contributing.
The diversity of styles —while maintaining certain key elements (brute force drumming, tangled radiance in the guitars, soft singing even in the loud songs) — comes through immediately, in the first three songs, all great, all vastly different from each other. It starts with “Wandering Eyes” which slides the scale between punk and softer indie towards the middle, balancing raw aggression with ambiguity and contemplation. “Something Else” edges closer towards confessional songwriter pop (the guitar lick reminds me of a Clem Snide song, no kidding), and then, somewhat discontinuously, leads into the album’s biggest all-out banger, “Can’t See.” Her, by the way, you get the full dose of Jenn Gori wailing on the kit. Gori is a total force in the live show, she blows things up without crashing out, a source of both chaos and discipline in this band. This song also provides a glimpse the crash and spiral and sheer unpredictability of Brokaw’s guitar. Even here, within strict four-four boundaries, he manages to slip into some unmapped diversions.
The punk songs are more complicated, then, than what you’d expect, while even the softer ones have a bit of snarling distortion in them, and occasionally, the band walks the tightrope beautifully between the two poles. We’ve already touched on “Wandering Eyes,” but how about the simmering, smoldering torch punk single “To the Last Look?” It rocks more like Television than the Ramones, which is to say with intelligence, occasional experiment and not as many rhymes.
It’s a very good sign that is expanding its sound, and not in a “let’s do a dub step song” kind of way, as an organic form of growth driven by the histories and interests of its members. And not just that, their proximity to one another, which allows them to work on things, whenever. Inverno, you might not know, means “winter” in Italian and Lupo Cittá signifies “city of she-wolves.” The winter is, indeed, a hungry wolf in Boston, but these three used those dark, freezing hours to make one of the year’s best guitar rock records.
Quando tutto si apprestava a essere il primo fine settimana quasi sereno a casa dopo sto mese di m. ecco il crash in auto proprio sulla via del ritorno,abbandonatemi,a Cronenberg che un po’ ha rotto i maroni pure lui vi la lascio ai Last Four (4) Digits
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
vaporwave
stormborns
