FULFILLING MY QUOTA AT THE BOO-HOO FACTORY

In moments when you’ve been slung out on your ass due to your health and mental issues being too much for someone else to handle, the simple wham-bam aggro outburst of a simple Hardcore song sometimes will not suffice. When such a predicament arises, this one rumbling track from New Zealand’s Alien Space Wreck might help. Much like a rudimentary 30-second ‘core blast, what this trio craps out is a timeless racket of condensed roar. Hey, you! Mic up the Hoover and send it through this old Kustom amp with knives stuck in the cones! Now, while they’re doing that, I want YOU to turn on the garbage disposal at random moments, got it? Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna provide some rhythm by throwing Louie Anderson’s corpse down the stairs.

My awareness of Leeds, England’s The Real Losers was nil until I was checking my spam folder out of sheer boredom yesterday and saw an e-mail from Total Punk announcing their reissue of the band’s 2003 LP Time To Lose. Where was in 2003? I think shacked up in a one-bedroom apartment in Harlem with someone I should have stayed away from? Seeing where I am now, it seems I don’t learn from past mistakes. With a fidelity that makes most Rip Off releases sound like Pet Sounds, these three made a snotty racket so lost in its own dense sauce, it gives Target Shoppers – another UK band of noiseniks of this same vintage – a run for their Monopoly money. Despite wanting to rid my mind of ever knowing about the existence of Long Island, their bash ‘n’ trash take on Billy Joel’s “Still Rock ‘N’ Roll To Me” provides me with little PTSD, so I suppose it’s AOK. Where are these folks nowadays? Eating fish and chips with Phil Todd?

After being hounded for five years, I finally read Sam McPheeter’s Mutations and it was certainly worth the hoopla everyone shoveled on to it since that oh-so-sacred time it was launched into the world. You know, that moment where we were promised a global pandemic that would bring the sweet release of death and all we got was the Tiger King? Due to enjoying the book so much, I’ve been absorbing whatever podcasts show up in my feed with Sam as a guest. The latest one has been his appearance on Orange County Hardcore statesman Dan O’Mahony’s Dan O Says So pod and it was a conversation that I wanted to go on forever. The jury is still out on whether it was due to the highly absorbing back-and-forth by these two long-time friends or the need to have background noise going so’s not to dwell on my current situation. Can we just say it was a ‘lil from column A and a ‘lil from column B for now? The discussion on ‘punk damage’ and the way it belches throughout the lives of us more sensitive souls brought a tiny ray of relatability into my day of pondering my future and being ignored by house cats who depend on me for food and water. So, thank you Dan and Sam. In return, I will hype up the episode to the three people who read this thing. Who-rah!

Do I even enjoy writing anymore? Sometimes I wonder if the only reason I continue is because it’s the one thing that’s been constant in my life – like how someone skateboards or collects comic books into their old age. It’s an exercise in familiarity that somehow still manages to cripple me in fear every time I approach it. Sitting in silence waiting for the next word to show up in my head has caused plenty of the anxiety I’ve experienced in my grown-up life. Would the world keep spinning if I decided to stop? Most certainly. Would I feel defeated if I gave into the little voices in my head? Sure. Yet, avoiding the embarrassment and mental fatigue it manifests sounds highly alluring. Am I looking for guidance or sympathy throwing this brain fart into the middle of these reviews? I’m not sure. I guess the mood was getting too light for my tastes and I needed to inject something to bring it back to doomsville.

The music of Barbara Manning has been a soothing balm for most of my adult life. She’s never been too-cool-for-school or afraid to show vulnerability, a trait I always admired, but gains bonus points at this moment in my life. Her release snuck out at the end of 2023, Charm Of Yesterday…Convenience Of Today certainly showed nothing had been lost between the 90s and now, but when a slice of solace is needed the past few weeks, her rendition of Robert Scott’s “B4 We Go Under” is my go-to. The vivid strum and fuzzy-wuzzy air that whips around the comforting track has bestowed some much needed mind easing when the comfort of Family Guy and Law And Order: Organized Crime reruns couldn’t supply it. So thank you BM for your years of service to the intensely fragile. Expect a dumpster-rescued bowling trophy in the mail soon.