Thursday, April 7, 2011

review from MRR column "MINDLESS CONTENTMENT WITH CHUCK BARRELS"


COOL SINGLE DEPT.:  Have you been wondering what Eric from the OBLIVIANS has been up to lately besides releasing records, running one of the best stores in the country, playing reunion shows and being one of the most righteous dudes in the game today?  Well, he's amassed a line-up of some of the heaviest dudes in the Memphis area and started a band called TRUE SONS OF THUNDER and their on one side of this split with a song called "Butt Bong" and it sounds like...wait for it...FLIPPER.  But they really sound like Flipper.  This song is a 3 minute long car crash in slow-motion, with some guy reading the newspaper over it.  Ridiculous.  I heard they break stuff when they play live too.  Hide the children. The other side of this black disc is from Alabama's finest, WiZZARD SLEEVE, and it's titled "Setting Fire To Your Loft".  It has great lyrics (that I think are frighteningly autobiographical) and is teeming with organically grown mushroom-influenced death synth-punk sounds with vocals straight from Sleazeville, USA.  I mean, I really believe him when he says he's going to "take a shit on your bathroom floor".  These synths sound like they were stolen from John Carpenter's non-existent score to Deadbeat at Dawn.  I fucking hate split singles, but...(Jeth-Row Records)

Friday, March 25, 2011

MRR review of WiZZARD SLEEVE / TRUE SONS OF THUNDER split 7"

With WiZZARD SLEEVE, it's so refreshing to hear this druggy, synthy punk delivered by a band that doesn't come off like they're doing you a favor for sharing their "warped genius" with you.  They're legit boneheads having fun, and it shows.  Their tune, "Setting Fire to Your Loft," ranks among their very best. Also, bonus points for the Calvin and Hobbes pissing on Scion label design. TRUE SONS OF THUNDER are wading in similar waste on their side, their first on vinyl.  Featuring a couple high-profile names from Memphis' punk elite.  TSOT's "Butt Bong" is a tongue-in-bung noise plod through a total inebriation haze.  Spoken vocals a la the LEGENDARY STARDUST COWBOY or ROSS JOHNSON, but so fucking absurd you can't help but be impressed.  It's booming on AmRep levels, yet falling apart from the moment it begins.  Drug-punk rampage spread across two sides.  If anything, this record reclaims art-punk from yuppies and brings it back to the punks.  Take your wi-fi hummus hobo art space and shove it up your fucking ass. (Mitch Cardwell)