Aug. 1, 2008 - The Austin Chronicle

PERFECT GREAT GOOD MEDIOCRE COASTERtexas plattersHARLEMFree Drugs (Female Fantasy)Former Tucsonites Harlem are sittingon a pretty crowded bench in Austin,“garage rock” having become the currentnom de guerre for anything thatsounds “lo-fi,” gritty, or as if it wererecorded on “druuuugs, man.” The trio’snot breaking any new lyrical ground onits local debut: The band sings aboutgirls, drugs, and … well, that’s it really.Happily, there’s an anxious, stutteringcharm to Free Drugs, tightly coiled withpunchy, solid songs and memorablehooks. The coulda-been-written-in-1965bomp of “Caroline” and “Irresistable”are insta-catchy under the band’sstripped-down ooh-ahs. “PsychedelicTits” pays lip service to a girl’s magicalmammaries, singer Michael Coomerscalling them “the color of a rainbow”over a witchy guitar riff, while “Think I’mThinkin Bout” goes down like polishedcandy dug from the Cramps’ sweatyarmpit. “I’m on Drugs,” true to its name,is a hit of tempo change and gunkyfuzz in less than two minutes, and the“Red Herring” line, “Tell me girl where’dyou sleep last night, and don’t you lie,”catches efficacy with a buzz-saw menace.In 12 songs, Free Drugs managesretro-replication without Harlem soundingconfined to a two-car you-know-what.– Audra SchroederDVDndsHUGLive at Room 710Yes, Hug at Room 710. Thelocals’ post-peyote musicalspasms certainly sound offensiveon album, but a live performanceis much more entertaining, becauseHug is, if anything, a visual beast (that includesChronicle photographer John Anderson). Thisrecording, from February 2007, looks like somethingcable access would air at 3am, which isthe best way to try to channel and absorb thetrio’s wigged, puerile, WTF-punk humor. Whocould forget such classics as “Shit Sex” and“Pussy Bomb”? And now, you can enjoy themin the comfort of your home. Be warned: Duringone song, there’s a shot of a dancer’s fakealien vagina-looking thing that’s more genuinelyperplexing than Hug’s reggae spoof “SmokeMarijuana.” Yes, the hits are all here, and youwill be mildly unsettled. – Audra SchroederMAMMOTHGRINDERRage and Ruin(Depleted Resource)Changing metallicspeeds with precision,from a Birmingham lumberto a lightning ride, Austin’s Mammoth Grinderbattens down an exacting bellow. Snakingunder the local trio’s rhythm pummel, guitaristChris Ulsh’s moto-metal drag-stripping – classicand modern in the same fluid downstrokeof Brian Boeckman’s demon-fast drum rollsand the splattered basslines of Chris Camp– proves the titanium spine of this thrashingbeast. The exhaling flail of starter pistolwhipping“Two More Classes Until BlackoutWeekend” segues directly into the expulsivefuror of “Iron Pigs” (“You’ve got the bite of alion, but no fucking pride”). “Voice of Rageand Ruin” also shifts smoothly in tone andspeed with Hummer gravitas. Side two ofthis marble-colored vinyl, which also comesin crimson-drenched cassette, dominateswith the no-quarter charge of epic “DeadRednecks,” sandwiching theological quandary“God Is Stuck in a Black Hole” with the closingdoom glower of “Curse Breeder.” Rage andmofo Ruin.– Raoul HernandezTHE DIRTYHEARTSPigs (Socyermom)On this heavy, solid,grittily professional followupto their 2006 eponymousdisc, Austinitesthe Dirty Hearts re-create the sound of thealt-rock salad days of the early 1990s withuncanny precision. With the music divorcedfrom historical context, the appeal of the sortof shackled punk that dominated alternativeradio for half a decade is surprisingly obvious:Songs such as Pigs’ raging title track and thesnotty yet sensitive “Where I Come From”hit hard and square for a quintessential rockpayoff. At the same time, music this humblerock boxFull Service isn’t ashamedto ride the coattails of 311and Snoop Dogg. The localquartet is currently trailing the4:20-enthusisiasts’ joint touracross the country,setting upimpromptu showsin the parkinglot beforehand.That samesort of mentalitypermeates the band’s fifthalbum, The Dig, with decidedlywhite reggae-rock grooves thatwander into frat-rap (“TastelessGravy”) and funk-pop (“BlueberryFarm”). Likewise, Point ofContact’s second album,Human, proves an ample opiatetends to live or die by the quality of its hooks,and here, some are better than others.Probably none is classic. For those with fondmemories of workhorse alternative bands likeNada Surf and the Meices, Pigs is a dose ofwelcome nostalgia. For the rest, it’s nothingmore or less than a pretty good punk album. – Daniel MeeTHE SALES BROS.Hired Guns(Perseverance)Although best knownfor backing Iggy Pop andDavid Bowie, Austinbaseddrummer HuntSales (he of the “Lustfor Life” intro) and his guitarist brother Tonypay tribute to the Stax/Volt renaissanceon this previously unreleased 1979 demo.Recorded in a Beachwood Canyon, Calif.,basement that had once been a swimmingpool, Hired Guns mines a sound right out oftime. The sons of Soupy accent blue-eyedsoul rave-ups such as “Buzz in Your Hive” and“My Baby” with subtle garage rock gnashes,reconciling the Sam & Dave legacy into theheart of L.A.’s late-1970s power-pop explosion.It’s not a perfect fit, but the call-andresponseplayfulness of “Someone’s GonnaLose” and James Brown-style pleadingson “Let Me In” are oddly endearing. Sadly,the Sales Bros.’ soul-revue ambitions werederailed by Tony’s near-fatal car accidentright after their debut engagement at theStarwood, leaving Hired Guns as a fond footnoteto history. – Greg BeetsWATCHINGTHE MOONPerception Is Bent(Universal Warning)The competent debutby these Pennsylvaniaimports nicely splitsthe difference between the raw pop ofNirvana and Girls Against Boys and thefor Tool aficionados, guitarist/vocalist David Cloud channelingthe cryptic croon of MaynardJames Keenan. With 17 songsclocking in at nearly 70 minutes,however, the placebo effectquickly wears off. Ember’s thirdEP, Under Pressure, throbs majorlabel potential, recalling thegeneric drivel of Blue Octoberand Nickelback and having someedge, though not enough to slicean apple. The same goes for thesecond outing from Deejer, DarkSummer Dawn, which adds abit of political angst and moodinessto the equation but littleelse. Rockland Eagles’ firstnew album in six years, OsakaCocka Rocka (Almost There),sounds rocketed straight fromDetroit Rock City circa 1975,stuffing its pants with threeprongguitar pyrotechnics andstadium-sized bombast.Distant Lights is nothingif not ambitious. The quintet’sdebut, Simulacrum, is a conceptalbum that details the internalstruggle of a straggler in a postmodernwasteland, landing in theblack hole between the alt-rockslick, post-hardcore of Rival Schools andthe Constantines. Vocalist Pete Brown doesparticularly well, recalling Trail of Dead’sConrad Keely in his deft shifts from butchscreaming (“Squatter”) to a hoarse emocroon (“Mr. Microphone”). There are goodriffs here, too, but not enough to fill all ofthe available space. Even at a reasonable 44minutes, Perception Is Bent could stand tolose some weight, starting with the two underwritteninstrumentals and crass, silly rap“Browntown.” Homogeneity is part of the problem,though the music seems more monolithicthan it really is, due to a certain sensethat this has all been done before. That said,Watching the Moon looks like a worthwhileband, and with ruthless editing and a bit moreoriginality, they could be an exciting one.– Daniel MeeSUNSETThe Glowing City (Autobus)Bill Baird treads on aslightly different plane, likePeter Sellers in Being There,yet always is aware of theludicrous world around him. His music slipsbetween frustrated flailing at our modern,media-blitzed existence and the comicalembrace of it to both obscure and exposehimself. The Glowing City wrangles the eccentricturns of Baird’s earlier lo-fi cassettes andCD-Rs, serving as an 18-track clearinghouseand statement of Sunset’s finally dawningwith coherent vision. Re-recordings “Your EyesAre Mirrors” and “New York Love” are beautifullytextured arrangements of keys and hornsthat match Baird’s more subtle vocal touch.The pop of “Theme From ‘A Perfect LightAwaits Me’” and “Twenty-Four Karat Soul,”plus dueting female vocals on the cabaret-ish“When Perfect Flames Expire,” are Baird athis best, while the throbbing “Graveyard Dog”and its touches of ambient found sounds andclimaxing bursts retain his experimental playfulnessand collective-styled exuberance.– Doug FreemanCONTINUED ON P.56epics of Coheed & Cambria andMuse. At its best, Goldcure’sdebut, Portuguese Prince (Sorin),finds the local quartet waveringfrom the more guitar-orientedmoments of Coldplay (“NeverAlone,” “Beautiful Disaster”) andArcade Fire’s anguished romanticism(“Too Long”),only without the orchestral swellsor dire sincerity. Their Christianundertones only thicken the positivevibes rippling through theharmonies and earnest lyricism.There’s no telling how far coattailswill take you. – Austin Powell54 T H E A U S T I N C H R O N I C L E AUGUST 1, 2008 a u s t i n c h r o n i c l e . c o m