So far this year has yielded a few highly anticipated releases for us: The Sidekicks’s “Awkward Breeds”, Cheap Girls’s “Giant Orange”, Menzingers’s “On the Impossible Past”. The biggest X in our calendar would be Joyce Manor’s “Of All Things I Will Soon Grow Tired,” they made our favourite album of last year (also voted best album of 2011 on punknews.org).
“Rather be forgotten, than remembered for giving in”
– Summer Holidays vs. Punk Routine (Refused)
The concept of band reunions has always been difficult for me. What purpose could it ever serve other then to bring a false experience to listeners who came too late? Does anyone at this year’s Zeppelin reunion believe the experience holds any relation to the band’s creative period? Reunion shows are like museums, looking at the remains of something that was once great. Yet throughout the normally unforgiving message boards and the blogosphere we hear no critique of Refused reuniting.
A guitar solo in punk rock is a bit of a contradiction. Normally a solo is where a musician can show off. In punk rock there are no musicians, everything is easy, and everyone sucks.
Over the years punk expanded, sub-genres emerged, conventions were challenged, and things changed. Nowadays everything and nothing is punk rock. Kanye West is punk rock; the same way that Jackson Pollock is an artist or Cheez Whiz is a food. Here are the solos we feel stay true to the tradition:
Much to my embarrassment, just a few days ago I discovered Superchunk‘s 2010 album “Majesty Shredding.” I’m quite impressed, particularly with the first 4 songs. What I find most striking is how it layers two cool riffs beneath excellent vocal delivery reminiscent yet preceding the Get Up Kids. Interesting lyrical devices are scattered throughout, yielding new with each listening. The structure of the songs are unpredictable with the transitions feeling comfortable and natural.
I was alone in San Francisco on my way to see the US Bombs for the first time. Confused by the transit system, I walked through the sketchiest streets my triscuit feet have ever stepped upon. The neighbourhood was called the Tenderloin, a “high crime neighbourhood” according to wikipedia. I think Rancid wrote a song about it. I kept my head down and made it to the door.
The Bombs were on stage prepping their gear, a female cocksparrer cover band had already opened up for them. The band begun their set with some of their heavier numbers, and the typical ritual of drunken mohawked bros running in a circle in front of the stage had begun.