The Cesarians – Flesh Is Grass/Woman Imprint
Hailing from Hackney, The Cesarians have been packing out gigs for a while now, their frenetic live performances assuring them of a huge cult following (I thought I had a huge cult following once; unfortunately it turned out to be a typo. When he caught up with me he kicked my head in). So it’s interesting to see how their filthy, booze-drenched mayhem translates to record. Interesting, and pretty damn cool, because their Weimar punk sleazefest seems to have worked just as well in the studio, as witness the two tracks on this, their debut single.
The first track, “Flesh Is Grass”, starts off timidly enough, then builds and builds into what sounds like Kurt Weill beating the shit out of
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Crystal Antlers – Crystal Antlers EP Touch and Go
From the Comets on Fire school of sunshine-and-reverb-addicted, everything-and-the-kitchen-sink meltingpot psych come Crystal Antlers, the band with possibly the most unjustly off-putting name of the year. If you’re interested, the contest for the band with the most deservedly off-putting name of the year is currently a dead heat between Does It Offend You, Yeah?, and the Ting Tings. Anyway. Despite sounding like they got their name from some internet random indieband name generator, Crystal Antlers are definitely worth a minute of your time, if this self-titled EP is anything to go by.
Opening track “Until The Sun Dies (part 2)” melds crunchy garage guitar with oh-so-sexy organ riffs and breakneck drumwork, the raspy vocals are given the obligatory reverb treatment and everything is buried
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Monotonix – Body Language EP Drag City
Israeli rock bands – I’ll bet’cha can’t name two. I’ve got a theory that countries with compulsory military service always have rubbish music scenes, because there just aren’t enough bored kids hanging around to start bands and go to gigs and buy records and scare old people and all that. The little buggers are all too busy doing press-ups, being shouted at, scrubbing toilets with toothbrushes, and so on. On the other hand, small out-of-the-way music scenes, with little in the way of overbearing history or entrenched support structures, can sometimes spawn a mutant: a beautiful snarling monster that springs seemingly from nowhere, owes nothing to anyone and follows none of the rules. This is what Tel Aviv has produced in Monotonix.
Their anarchic approach to
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