The Penetrators - Gotta Have Her 7"

(Windian, 2011)

Although I own several thousand albums, singles, EPs, novels, articles, biographies, movies, TV shows, cartoons, and such in every format of physical media imaginable, I ain't never considered myself much of a collector. The message is the most important part, not the medium. "Collectors" are weird people, and record collectors are the most odious of the lot. Paying $50+ dollars for an crackly, scratched-up original pressing of the first Velvet Underground album with an unpeeled banana is MADNESS, especially when you can get an almost-exact replica on immaculate-sounding 180 gram vinyl at a fraction of the cost. I peeled the banana on my VU CD box set and lost it like 15 years ago, but I still listen to its contents all the damn time, and don't feel like it's diminished the experience at all.

The Killed By Death collector-scum craze is by far the worst symptom of the record collector disease. In fact, compilations like Killed By Death and Back From The Grave were made in the early 80s so people didn't HAVE to shell out hundreds of dollars on shitty, flimsy pressings of obscure punk rock released on fly-by-night labels just to hear the music. Absolutely EVERYTHING is digitized and readily available these days, and if you downloaded a new album for free today and disliked it, think about the poor sap who shelled out $150 for Cold Cock's "I Wanna Be Rich" 45 only to find out it was a heaping pile of shit. If I spent that much money on a record, I certainly wouldn't do anything as damaging as taking it out of the sleeve and listening to it, so it totally defeats the purpose of its existence, right?!

So yeah, it's awesome to see the stellar Windian label out of Washington DC reissue the debut 7" from Syracuse's self-styled "Kings Of Basement Rock" The Penetrators, since it was released on their own Fred Records label back in 1979, original copies are presumably as rare as potato chips shaped like Abraham Lincoln, and rock n' roll records made by in the basement by two ugly dudes in Chuck Taylors are way more en vogue now than they were 32 years ago. Spike Kagan and Jack Lipton, the Penetrator Two, make nerdy record-collector kid rock much like Mark Sultan and Ty Segall do now, weaving bits and pieces of a thousand influences into short bits of transcendent, punky fury. A side "Gotta Have Her" sounds like a track from a lost 60s frat-rock live album, complete with a goofy band introduction, and you wouldn't know the difference if the riff from "Raw Power" wasn't repeated a few times during the verses. On the flip, "Baby Dontcha Tell Me" explodes with an exact replica of Stones/Sonics sexual frustration in Vietnam war-time America, and sports some guitar work that sounds incredibly impressive if it really did come from two dudes in a basement hopped up on Genesee Cream Ale and shitty weed.

Sure, Swami Records released a CD back in 2006 that collects these two tracks with everything else the original Penetrators recorded, but that particular disc is out of print now, and who the hell really buys CDs anymore?! Why pay $15.99 plus tax for a flimsy compilation CD when you can get the two songs you really want in an exact replica of the original release in a superior format? Windian plans on releasing the Penetrators' classic follow-up single "Teenage Lifestyle" next, so get that one and this one and the next one, and complete the set. You might be able to spend money on something else, like bills for a change. Perish the thought.

Do The Hammerlock: Halloween 2011

I hadn't planned on making a Halloween mix, since things have been super-crazy-busy around Random Old Records HQ this month (Halloween parties out the ass, plus a killer Davila 666/Jacuzzi Boys/Barreracudas triple bill and a Sebadoh reunion show in the past week), but I found this record, y’ see, and like always, all it takes is a single record or song to get my gears turning. Somewhere along the way, Halloween has become the second-most popular holiday in the US behind Christmas, and as a result, shit like "Monster Mash," "I Walked With A Zombie," and "Human Fly" have become as played out as "Jingle Bells." Couple that with everyone having a blog and fashioning themselves as master DJs and mix-makers, and you're taking an express trip to overkill city.

But yeah, I was trawling through the cheapy bin at Half Price Books, and came across this LP called Flowers Of Evil for two bucks. It's housed in an ultra-creepy hand-drawn cave cover with a surreal drawing slapped awkwardly in the center, and is the work of pioneering female electronic musician Ruth White. The concept here is heavily-treated icy readings of poems by French poet Baudelaire paired with harrowing beds of Moog and tape collage, and the end result is often WAY more fucking terrifying than any horror movie soundtrack you've ever heard. It was a perfect example of music that is scary in tone and mood, without the usual Halloween subject matter, and the springboard for a mix of unconventional choices.

Sure, there's "Fire" by The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown, which is one of my favorite songs of all time, and horror punk classics by The Cramps, TSOL, and the Misfits, but there's also the churning dubbed-out death disco of Public Image Limited and a track from Ruth White's British counterpart Delia Derbyshire and her White Noise project, which packs more harsh scary noise than your average modern avant-garde improv cassette. You'll also hear a sample of Dr. John's classic debut LP Gris-Gris which evokes skin-crawling Cajun voodoo incantations, Italian horror soundtrack icons Goblin and their modern-day acolyte Umberto, and a whole lot more! It's about 45 minutes of creepy sonics that will scare the shit out of some trick-or-treaters, that's for sure. Turn out the lights and enjoy!

Direct Download: HERE.

Stream/Download: HERE.

Do The Hammerlock: Halloween 2011

1. Ruth White - "Mists And Rain"

2. The United States Of America - "The Garden Of Earthly Delights"

3. White Noise - "Love Without Sound"

4. Umberto - "Black Candles"

5. Goblin - "Death Valzer"

6. Black Bug - "Shard Of Glass"

7. The Soft Moon - "Sewer Sickness"

8. Public Image Limited - "Swan Lake"

9. Scientist - "Blood On His Lips"

10. Dr. John - "Danse Kalinda Ba Doom"

11. The Crazy World Of Arthur Brown - "Fire"

12. The Craig - "I Must Be Mad"

13. The Lollipop Shoppe - "You Must Be A Witch"

14. Alice Cooper - "Hallowed Be Thy Name"

15. 45 Grave - "Violent World"

16. TSOL - "Silent Scream"

17. The Misfits - "London Dungeon"

18. The Cramps - "The Crusher"

Jacuzzi Boys - Glazin'

(Hardly Art, 2011)

Man, I sure do love some good old fashioned happy feet rock n' roll. Nothing gets my blood boiling quicker than some sugar-sweet short songs stuffed with sap and sunshine. Say THAT one fast a couple times. Pack in some "oh oh oh"'s and some tasteful keyboards, and I'm happier than a kid in a post-Halloween candy coma. Sure, I've digested and appreciated such monoliths as Metal Box and OK Computer, but most of the time I'd rather listen to the Archies or Tommy James & The Shondells, man. There's just too much shit going on in the world right now, and people are busy occupying things, updating their resumes, working on their bedroom pop projects, and taking their kids to pilates classes. You'd like to think that a few of them are just DYING to put their goddamn phones down for like two minutes and thirty seconds sometimes to FORCE a dopey smile. Maybe just daydream for a bit? Well, if you're part of that undefinable percentage, and you've ever wished for sugar everywhere, melting in your hair in the sunshine, then I might have an album for you.

I can't think of a better title for this particular LP than Glazin'. From the sticky, garish photo and art-deco lettering on the cover to the opulent irony of the band's name to the brightly tinted band photos on the inner sleeve to the warm, candy-coated pop tunes within, this second LP from Miami's Jacuzzi Boys is well and truly glazed over. It's all sun-baked and easy-going and might be the best soundtrack for barrelling towards the beach in a sand-flecked beater that I've heard by a band not ending in "each Boys." Well, let me back up the hyperbole truck a little bit. It's not THAT good, not by a long shot, but it's definitely one of the top three mid-fi/glitter/beach/surf/punk/power-pop albums I've heard since the mighty King Tuff Was Dead record was unleashed back in 2008. Glazin' is one of those albums you throw on the stereo when you just want some HOOKS and don't want to play the connect-the-influences game that has been slowly sucking the fun out of music since we all started downloading shit at will and started throwing our "well, it sounds like this crossed with this" hats in the ring.

Like a cheap trinket bought in the moment at a beach-side tent, Glazin' starts to fall apart under close scrutiny. It's slight and genuine and unassuming, and perhaps it treads too close to the T. Rex bubblegum formula that King Tuff perfected, but this trio of youngins have a real knack for crafting serious hooks, punctuated by frontman Gabriel Alcala's playfully bratty vocals. At times they settle into a steady Modern Lovers-style power chord chug that sends your head into a spontaneous fit of lazy bobbing, best demonstrated by lead-off single "Automatic Jail," where Alcala is shacked up in a womb-like cell, watched over by his lady love's electric eyes, and he knows it's a trap, but it's just too damn safe and secure in there to ever leave. Sure, it's a well-worn lyrical conceit passed down from "Suspicious Minds," but the song connects immediately, and it could have been a college rock staple back in the day, slotted comfortable in between "Just Like Heaven" and "Here Comes Your Man" on a KROQ playlist.

The title track is the cut that references melted-sugar hair, and as it turns out, "Glazin'" is the verbal equivalent of those scenes from old cartoons where hearts sprout from the eyes and thumping bass drums erupt from the chest. You ever get so sprung and head-over-heels that you can't get any words out more than one syllable long? Well, that's glazin'. This record might not have anything deeper to offer beyond that initial heart-stopping infatuation, but sometimes it's nice to have that kinda feeling documented, and it's been quite a long time since a record offered up some tunes that had me singing along by the second listen. Things start to get a bit thick and plodding somewhere in the middle of side two, but album closer "Koo Koo With You" comes closer to that T. Rex feeling even more than Smith Westerns ever did, starting with the line "Well I'm a space cadet headliner, and I can draw my heart in the sand," which had to have come straight out of the Marc Bolan diaries, which remain unpublished for some odd reason. T. Rex were written off as a teenybopper fad and largely ignored in America in their prime, so it's hilariously perfect that they've become the most influential band going, some 40 years later. The Jacuzzi Boys are adrift in a cartoon world, solving mysteries and getting down with Marc Bolan, Jungle Face Jake, Scooby Doo, and Pepe Le Pew, with enough raspberry feelings for all. It's more fun than the alternative, right?! Glazin' is a must-hear for today's jaded and too-busy ears.

If you're in the Cincinnati area, the Jacuzzi Boys are playing at my favorite bar the Comet next Wednesday, the 26th. They're bringing along two great rock n' roll bands, Davila 666 and the Barreracudas. It starts around 9:30 and it's FREE, so no excuses, OK?!

Run DMT - Dreams

(Culture Dealer Media, 2011)

Lord help me, I've actively begun buying cassettes again. Since I got a good job that's provided me a decent amount of disposable income, I've spent literally thousands of dollars on records, including a goodly amount of limited, first-press, pre-ordered, colored, swirly, alternate cover-arted horseshit. If record collector scum culture isn't exclusionary enough, then get a load of the contemporary cassette tape underground. Now that vinyl has become HIP again on a (let's be real here) miniscule scale, these fuckers have upped the ante even further and are pressing their music on an even deader format in runs that are so small that you need the eye of an Ebay sniper and the Googling skills of an Adderall-addled teenager just to find the damn things. Even in my advancing age, I'm still handcuffed by the urges that are unexplainable to anyone that doesn't quest to find every good song ever recorded ever, so now I'm ponying up my dough for tapes and canvasing area Big Lots locations to find tape head cleaners to make my 18 year old decks sing again. Circle of life, wheel of fortune, Elton John, Lion King, etc.

Ya see, cassettes were my musical life's blood when I was a little kid. Records were quickly disappearing and CDs were shiny, distant, and expensive, so tapes were all I had left to feast upon. I distinctly remember cutting up the flimsy cardboard sleeves of my Guns N' Roses cassingles into makeshift J-cards and carefully pasting the song titles onto the outer lip to mimic the full-length albums like Hysteria and Slippery When Wet that I played to death in my ordinary suburban bedroom. Remember when the big deal about the iPod was that you could carry your favorite songs in your pocket?! Cassettes were providing the same fucking service like twenty years earlier. You didn't need some decks and a giant PA to rock a party, just an AC/DC tape and a case of warm beer. Nowadays, cassettes seem obnoxiously elitist, but back in the day, the tapes you stashed in your bookbag were like a badge of coolness, and you could trade them with your friends in between classes and "download" them to a blank tape and "file share" that copy to anyone you pleased. I played my dubbed copy of Screeching Weasel's Boogadaboogadaboogada so many times that I still anticipate the tape drop-outs and the five second gap in "I Love To Hate" when I accidentally recorded over it when I was fourteen, even with the pristine digital copy I downloaded from Amazon a few months ago.

It's not 1995 anymore, it's 2011, and I'm supposedly supposed to be reviewing the debut cassette from the impressively-named Run DMT, and this C30 called Dreams is more immersive and otherworldly than any state-of-the-art MMORPG you've ever played. Pressing "play" on this tape is the gateway to another planet, where feelings and colors and sparkling flashing lights drift without a tether, where showers of syrupy synth muck rain all over your face, and half-remembered shards of sunshine pop, doo wop, northern soul, and post-Motown 60s 45s make you wanna dance listlessly until they fade out in washes of beach waves and clarion calls of lighthouse spotlights and sirens until you just wanna make like Odysseus and crash into the fucking rocks already. Nothing really finishes with satisfaction, and as the sonics bake and bleed and meld into each other, Run DMT mastermind Mike Collins comes off like a bastard son of Ariel Pink and Bob Pollard, patient enough to meld a half-hour symphony of fragments, but not enough of a control freak to really put it all together.

A half-baked unnamed hippie spirit guide narrates the proceedings, reporting lucidly about his DMT trip, and his voice melts and contorts into a distorted grimace as Dreams ambles its way to conclusion. That mysterious creep sees a figure that is free and unbound and unhinged and not afraid to flail around in search of heavy-duty enlightenment, and right before the tape finishes up with that satisfying "kaCHUNK," it tosses in another bit of near-perfect droning Everly Brothers gone mental pop. That babbling hippie burnout just keeps on talking until he gets cut off in mid-sentence, and the kaleidoscope he mentions in the beginning closes up, and somehow it all makes sense. When you're chemically altered, you're gonna take the time to listen to any confident blowhard spew his line of bullshit. That hippie dude speaks of the feminine god inside of him, but you're just waiting for him to shut the fuck up and pass whatever it is he's having to you. Sure, cassettes are elitist and exclusionary and all that, but they also offer murky and expansive sonic possibilities that stretch far beyond a rudimentary Bandcamp page, and seems to be turning into THE medium for bold and experimental music in 2011. Dreams is like a gateway drug into the netherworlds of the cassette underground, and you're never gonna forget your first time, especially when the experience is exhilarating as this.

The Ketamines - Line By Line 7"

(HoZac, 2011)

Ketamine is a drug I ain't never bothered to fuck with, because it doesn't really sound like much FUN, man. Anything that involves hallucinatory psychosis and seeing things through a pinhole isn't really my bag. So, I guess my only recourse is to live vicariously through bands like Alberta, Canada's Ketamines, who wear their dissociative allegiance on their sleeve quite literally. Brooklyn's K-Holes unleashed a debut LP on HoZac back in the spring that sounded like the Birthday Party recast as a sax-splattered surf rock band from the deeper reaches of Hades, but on this pleasantly weird single, the Ketamines present a slightly sunnier depiction of a Special K-influenced night out.

Lead-off track "Line By Line" (haha) rides a nursery-rhyme simple guitar melody punctuated by pick-slide scrapes, and that cheerful riff fights with some snidely whiny vocals, Beach Boys backing "whoos," and subliminal distorto-fuzz farts for play in the mix. It comes off like a sugar-sweet, head-bopping tune from a mutant kids show even more demented than Wonder Showzen, a place where Grover and Big Bird go line by line to get some shine in their world. "New Victims" inhabits more traditional reverb-heavy surf-rock ground, shoehorning Dick Dale western guitar wanderings and 13th Floor Elevators raunch strumming into a slightly out-of-sync and woozy stew that reaches nightmarish nirvana when the crackly fuzz organ injects itself rudely before the song crash lands. It's the best song on the EP, and it wanders close to Jesus & Mary Chain territory, if the brothers Reid had grown up on Malibu beach instead of dreary Scotland.

A trip is all fun and games until somebody loses their goddamn mind, and b-side "Dig" is where things begin to get seriously scary, dank, and interesting. A swirling, mid-tempo freakout dirge that mimics the hazy build-up of "I Had Too Much To Dream Last Night" mixed with Thee Oh Sees lysergic depth charges, this track has a more pronounced pitch battle between the squalling organ and psychotic guitars, taking you on a journey that sputters and lurches until the Ketamines are fused into a single person bashing around a padded cell, squirming to break out of the strait-jacket and screaming to get out. It's a perfect cliffhanger ending that makes you want another hit instantly, and since this record requires $6.95 postage paid instead of your sanity, I'd consider it a very sound investment indeed.

Random Old Records Podcast #36

Holy shit, is it really October already?! Judging by the clock at the bottom right of my computer screen and the flannel shirt wrapped around my torso, it must be. Where the hell has the time gone? It seems like April was only a few minutes ago, and now the year is damn near over. I've been to a bunch of shows, crossed a couple of folks off my live bucket list (New York Dolls, Wanda Jackson), and spent probably a few grand on records, and what do I have to show for it? Slightly more damaged eardrums and a whole buncha shit that will be a real pain in the ass to lift if I ever move into a new place, I reckon. Seriously though, 2011 might have already topped 2010 as one of the best music years since the mid-90s, and it's not over yet!

Random Old Records Podcast #36 is out now, and it's loaded with just over an hour of jams, starting off with the raging opening salvo from Let's Wrestle's new LP, "In Dreams Part II." It sounds so much like the aforementioned mid-90s that you'd swear that 15+ years of godawful over-produced mainstream rock didn't kill good music after all and that the kids really and truly are alright. The kids really ARE alright, even though their space phone zombie walks and Twitter posts suggest otherwise. Forget about the waves of whiny bedroom folk and trendy corporate "garage rock" wannabes, there's real and VITAL rock n' roll still being cranked out by the truckload all over the world. No better example can be found than the second track on this here podcast, a sizzling blast from the brand new 10" LP from smooth punk titans Bare Wires, who continue their unparalleled streak of insta-classic bangers with "Sweet Little Stranger." That nasty fuzz and snarling vocal might just lift you out of your plush computer chair, Mr. Internet cynic!

Elsewhere, you'll hear the lead-off single from the Strange Boys' highly anticipated new LP out in a few weeks, which finds the Austin garage rockers moving even closer to that Exile On Main Street vibe, another perfect 80s pop jam from the new Dum Dum Girls album, some delightfully evil synth punk from Swedish noise terrorists Black Bug, a fuzzed-out Beach Boys homage from Moonhearts mainman Mikal Cronin's debut solo nod on Trouble In Mind, some obnoxious analog oscillations from California's Blasted Canyons, some dusty reverb rock from Texas teenagers Fungi Girls, and a catchy-as-fuck beach-pop latecomer from the former Mika Miko members in Bleached. Random Old Records #36 finished up with 18 or so minutes of classic mid-90s indie rock from Material Issue, Hazel, The Spinanes, and Sebadoh, who I'll be glad to cross off that live show bucket list in a couple weeks. Bakesale was released 17 years ago, and if that's not enough to make a motherfucker feel old, I don't know what does. In between the tracks, you’ll hear a series of spooky inserts from “Death Of A Doll,” an episode of Inner Sanctum Mysteries originally aired October 18th, 1948. Right in time for Halloween, it will send a chill up your back and shit. As always, thanks for listening and reading, and stay tuned for more reviews, more music, and more, more, MORE!

STREAM/SUBSCRIBE/DOWNLOAD: HERE or HERE

DIRECT ZIP DOWNLOAD WITH PLAYLIST: HERE

Random Old Records #36

1. Let's Wrestle - "In Dreams Part II"

(Nursing Home, Merge 2011)

2. Bare Wires - "Sweet Little Stranger"

(Cheap Perfume, Southpaw 2011)

3. Fungi Girls - "Honey Face"

(Some Easy Magic, HoZac 2011)

4. Mikal Cronin - "Get Along"

(Mikal Cronin, Trouble In Mind 2011)

5. The Ketamines - "Line By Line"

(Line By Line 7", HoZac 2011)

6. The Wrong Words - "Summer's Gone"

(The Wrong Words, Trouble In Mind, 2011)

7. XRay Eyeballs - "Big Toe"

(Not Nothing, Kanine 2011)

--Death Of A Doll

8. The Strange Boys - "Me And You"

(Live Music, Rough Trade 2011)

9. Colleen Green - "Green One"

(Green One, Hardly Art 2011)

10. Black Bug - "Shard Of Glass"

(Police Helicopter 7", HoZac 2011)

11. Blasted Canyons - "Death And A Half"

(Blasted Canyons, Castleface 2011)

12. Burning Itch - "Dead End Street"

(Burning Itch, Tic Tac Totally 2011)

13. Wax Museums - "Mosquito Enormo"

(Eye Times, Trouble In Mind 2011)

--Death Of A Doll, Part 2

14. Dum Dum Girls - "Heartbeat"

(Only In Dreams, Sub Pop 2011)

15. The Pretenders - "Wait"

(The Pretenders, Sire 1980)

16. Bleached - "Think Of You"

(Carter 7", Art Fag 2011)

17. The Spinanes - "Noel, Jonah, and Me"

(Manos, Sub Pop 1993)

18. Hazel - "Blank Florida"

(Are You Going To Eat That?, Sub Pop 1995)

--Death Of A Doll, Part 3

19. Material Issue - "A Very Good Thing"

(Freak City Soundtrack, Polygram 1994)

20. The Figgs - "Favorite Shirt"

(Low-Fi At Society High, Imago 1994)

21. Sebadoh - "Rebound"

(Bakesale, Sub Pop 1994)

22. Unrest - "Make Out Club"

(Perfect Teeth, 4AD 1993)

Black Bug - Police Helicopter 7"

(HoZac, 2011)

This is the third straight record I've reviewed in the past week that has absolutely no information about the band or its music presented within on the sleeve, but I'm done bitching about it and am just going to start making shit up instead. Black Bug are an anonymous collective of Martians and child molesters that release morse-code manifestos bi-monthly ranting about low-quality smartphone ROMs, and every once in a while they make claustrophobic, minimal electro-noise that HoZac compares to Cabaret Voltaire and Catatonic Youth. While their self-titled debut LP on FDH Records had way too many songs and occasionally lapsed into bits of monotonous noise for noise's sake and too-cutesy new wave silliness, the three tracks on this 7" possess a more malevolent, singular vibe, channelling criminally underrated late 70s LA sci-fi synth punks the Screamers if they'd formed in like 1985 and were more influenced by New Romantic pop and bad 80s action movie soundtracks than Suicide or the Ramones.

Opening track "Shard Of Glass" sports a choppy rhythm bed and a massive, guttural synth riff that's tougher and more memorable than any guitar-based rock n' roll song I've heard in recent months. Next up is "Machine," which makes the Screamers connection more explicit, but it subtracts KK Barrett's violent punk drumming in favor of proudly phony computerized beats and cheapo Casio plinks and plonks. Flipside "Police Helicopter" weaves a synthetic cowbell pulse into a cold, slightly frightening melody that never stops, and in contrast to the A side, which features strangulated vocals under blankets of effects that bring to mind John Lydon on early Public Image Limited records, the only voice you hear is a disembodied robot moaning "THEY ALL LOOK LIKE RATS FROM UP HERE!" Black Bug might seem scary and unearthly, but these songs are oddly danceable, much like early 90s goth and industrial was danceable, better suited for the kind of moves you'd bust out in a darkened corner far away from the DJ booth.

All in all, this might be the best 7" HoZac has put out all year, and it would sound more at home on the soundtrack of the planned gritty reboot of Suspiria than whatever z-grade nu-metal garbage or hipster pop the producers are probably using. Curiosity got the better of me, and it turns out Black Bug are two guys and a girl from Sweden, not outer space, and haven't been listed on any sex offender registries that I can locate. That's way less interesting than the backstory I invented, so maybe there's something to be said for maintaining the air of mystery. Either way, you kinda need to buy this like yesterday!

Burning Itch - Burning Itch

(Tic Tac Totally, 2011)

I hated this record with the passion of a thousand suns before I'd even bothered to throw it on the turntable, and it has sat in my "to listen to" stack for weeks, with its monumentally stupid "naked dude cradling a blow-up doll" cover leering up at me as I continued to pass it over in favor of, well...just about everything else. Ya see, I ordered this thing back at the end of May, tacked onto a Midheaven purchase as an afterthought to my pre-order of the Go Sailor reissue on Slumberland. My love of mid-90s twee pop is more intense than it probably should be for a heterosexual dude in his early thirties, so I was way pumped. The posted shipping date of June 6th came and went, and still no records. I checked the website, and this goddamn Burning Itch LP that I bought because I like Tic Tac Totally and the description sounded kinda neat ("loud, completely unpretentious punk rock") got pushed back to mid-July, late July, and finally August 16th. Yeah dude, for those playing at home, I waited nearly three months to relive some of my favorite teenage indie pop moments because I took a flier on some band I'd never heard before. Any wonder why I'm kinda bitter?! That's as prototypical of a first world problem as you're gonna get, but such is life for an obsessive music nerd with a decent amount of disposable income.

What a pleasant surprise I had in store when I finally got over my grudge and gave Burning Itch a spin, because this compact, ten track firebomb is, um, one of the loudest, most completely unpretentious punk rock records I've heard since the mighty Winchester Mystery House by the Hex Dispensers, my favorite LP of 2009. Punk rock has been done to death in the last thirty-plus years, but it will never stop being refreshing to hear a bunch of young folks dig into the well of the Ramones and Misfits with a gleeful lack of restraint or respect. Vocalist Ian pulls off the same terrible Joey Ramone impression you let rip in your car when no one's looking, and these kids from Knoxville, Tennessee prove that collecting records is still a favorite pastime for punk rockers in nowhere towns. "Dead End Street" mimics the runaway freight train chug of the Weirdos' epochal "Solitary Confinement" and stops on a dime every fifteen seconds or so, managing to sound even more sloppy, dirty, and obnoxious than the original shit they are trying to imitate.

Much like the bands on Nuggets attempted to sound like the Stones and Beatles and Byrds and Who and ended up with amateurish, pale, but enthusiastic and intriguing results, and Burning Itch does the same damn thing with the titans of punk rock. It's telling that the picture under "influences" on their Myspace page is the cover of Killed By Death, since any of the tracks on this self-titled LP could pass for a forgotten single by some band only fifteen record collecting scumbags across the world have heard about. It's not like you can really hear the words amidst the basement show sludge production, but the songs divide their subjects between post-teen angst and fuck-it-all hedonism in equal measure, and really, this is the kinda music that is best suited for shouting along in a drunken, guttural slur anyway. "Brains Fall Out" even has a faint bit of furious acoustic guitar strumming poking its way up through the mix, much like Jay Reatard did on his more introspective cuts, suggesting that these kids didn't stop listening to music made past 1982, and that they might have more depth hiding behind the noise and murk and the "naked dude waking up next to a blow-up doll with a bunch of whip-it chargers" photo on the back sleeve.

If you're looking for introspection and depth, I would direct you to the closing track, "Me Myself and I." It starts with a pounding, cracked-out post-punk disco beat that evokes "Turning Japanese" more than Burning Itch would care to admit, then keeps hammering those strangely danceable beats into your brain. If I may be so bold, it sounds like a curious cross between Wire, the Heartbreakers, and the Misfits, while referencing the same cracked-out post-punk disco beat that runs through the classic album-ending title track of TSOL's brilliant Dance With Me. If legendary rock writer Chuck Eddy taught me anything, it's that album-ending tracks point the way to the future. TSOL took "Dance With Me" and leapt off the deep end with it, morphing into post-punk disco synth rock on one of the best albums of the 80s, Beneath The Shadows. Time will tell if Burning Itch can make the same kind of stylistic jump, but they certainly have enough talent to make it happen.

This record reminds me of a cheeseburger from McDonalds more than anything. It's familiar and generic to a certain extent, but it always tastes the same and always fills you up in a pinch. Sure, it would be better if the pickles weren't so slimy and the onions weren't so old, but the basic ingredients do their job, even if you have to wait in the drive-thru forever to get in in your hands. Punk rock done even slightly well will always crush anything else out there, like 99 percent of the time.