THE HEADS - UNDER THE STRESS OF A HEADLONG DIVE published September 20, 2006, The Owl Mag

You might not know what The Heads look like since the only band photo in this album's liner notes is from pretty far off into the distance. However, from first listen, you may immediately think back to that stoner band from the movie PCU. This is the kind of music those guys should have played to really stick it to the man: classic, redundant grunge shaken up with spacey distortion and feedback up the wazoo.

The Heads take a punk energy and layer it with psychedelic essence. Songs are drawn out with eerie interludes that only build atmosphere rather than take away from the actual music. Under The Stress of a Headlong Dive is a full bodied experience in the league of other such albums like Floyd's Darkside and Mars Volta's Francis the Mute. Only this album is like the grunge rock interpretation of the big trip out. For those of you that lack the time to burn incense, turn out the lights, lie down and dive into an album: don't worry. There are standard, animated rock songs on this album that prove to be suitable for any activity.

G.G. ALLIN AND THE ANITISEEN - MURDER JUNKIES published September 2006, Zero Magazine

For someone who very well might have been the most un-enjoyable person to ever walk the face of the earth, a shit-terrorist, a violent asshole, a self-mutilator and a sexual assaulter, G.G. Allin made some enjoyable music for anyone whether they lived in the eye of the punk rock hurricane or not.

Murder Junkies will indeed make you sick with its reckless and morally inept lyrics but, goddamnit, will it rock you. If only because it speaks to the darkest crevices of the human soul, this album is still within the spectrum of acceptable. When you think about it, it's the ultimate hypocrisy. G.G. Allin wasn't a plain anarchist like The Sex Pistols. He was a monster without a real desire to gain a following since he had no real message. Anyone stupid enough to pay money to see him play a show was abused in a plethora of fashions. You would think a man so brutal wouldn't show mercy to a listening ear yet his music is melodic and, in terms of sound, law abiding. Allin rightfully should have been a noise artist like Merzbow. Now that's real abuse.

GUTTERMOUTH - SHAVE THE PLANET published September 2006, Zero Magazine

First things first, you have to give a hand to any punk band who is still alive these days. Out of the genre comes bands that are simply born to die and if Guttermouth still draws breath, then they have figured something out.

Shave The Planet is classic Guttermouth but anyone who has been listening thus far would be the least surprised. The band has essentially sounded the same since the first album with the exception of 1999s Gorgeous which seemed a little more versatile with flecks of hardcore found in the predominantly skate-punk mix.

This is almost a complaint until certain songs stick out on the album that really remind you of the sense of humor of the band in not only its lyrics, but style. In the middle of rapid-fire power chords will all of the sudden appear a gut-busting solo. Every now and then, Mark Adkins will strap on a southern twang to his vocals. Small surprises like these keep listeners in the legions and keep a band loyal to their style, not bound to it. You like Guttermouth. You like Shave The Planet. Simple.

DEADSY - PHANTASMAGORE published September 2006, Zero Magazine

Is it or is it not the ultimate "fuck you" when a band you hate and even have good reasons for hating comes out with an album that sticks to you like a thirsty leech? Damn, Deadsy. They found my weakness.

There is a campiness in Phantasmagore that really hasn't been offered to the rock community since Marilyn Manson went glam in a nod to Iggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars with 1999's Mechanical Animals. Even Elijah Blue's voice is the same brand of growling tenor that is Manson's. However, Phantasmagore has a more modern-pop feel to it at its lighter moments.

There is a cover, yeah another one, of The Stones' "Paint It Black" that is done decently enough but could still pose a giggling threat. In fact, the entire album has a silliness to it that mainly stems from a single fact: for a band who's personal manifesto is so artsy and seemingly profound, they really know how to sell the classic, coked out, rock romp. Still, if you consider a synthesizer to be your kryptonite, this could be the album that you hate to love.

FISH KARMA - THE THEORY OF INTELLIGENT DESIGN published September 2006, Zero Magazine

Let me throw this at you and if you tell me it isn't even close to being the coolest thing ever, I hate to break to you that you have no soul. Picture Doug from the classic Nicktoon of the same name in his sweater-vested glory replacing Page Hamilton as front man for Helmet. That's the first impression of Fish Karma in a nutshell. The first song, "Fifty Caliber Christ," is a sublime fix for the grunge addict with a goofy twist. From there is a barrage of country-esque acoustic songs plopped into the mix but there is never a dull moment.

Fish Karma is the pseudonym of comedian turned weirdo rock artist Terry Owen. However, this project is hardly a comedy album, that is, aside from an homage to Ronnie James Dio in the song "Dio Rocks." This album is the first of Owen's to come from the Alt. Tentacles label and it is fully a match made in heaven. Really, anything to come out of that label is choice.

FRANK BLACK @ THE CATALYST published September 2006, The Owl Mag

Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. I never liked The Pixies. If the last sentence hits close to home for you, it still doesn't mean that you can't love Frank Black, aka Black Francis, founder of The Pixies. In fact, loving this man will be your saving grace.

The show at the Catalyst was marked a "sit down show," however, the event calendar didn't specify a couple of important details. No one knew who the opener was, which was unimportant since they canceled. The fill-in was a gray haired guy who started his set playing two toy, electronic guitars, one of which was complete with Sesame Street voice snippets. This was mildly amusing of course until the audience realized that they were watching a comedy, one-man band and not just a soloist with a quirky opening.

The second detail undisclosed to the audience was that Black would be performing sans band and electric guitar - just a legend with his acoustic. This was truly a treat to the flock of aging, art-geeks populating the venue.

Black immediately opened with "Los Angeles" with a flubbed-up ending explaining "I've been playing that song since '92 and I still don't know how it ends." He also graced the patrons with some classic Pixies' songs including "Where Is My Mind?" Keeping the banter to a minimum, Black only paused sparsely throughout the show to joke about how all his songs end in a dramatic minor chord.

His command of the room was unbelievable given that really all people were watching was a tubby little man and a guitar. Yet his energy was ferociously welcoming and casual, his voice a nasally siren's song.

Black alone could be one of the great American songwriters and performers right up there with Neil Young and the show at the Catalyst was perfectly evident of that.

FLESHIES - SCRAPE THE WALLS pubished September 6, 2006, The Owl Mag

There is a shortage of great band names left available for emerging bands. It's fact. You can rack your brain for weeks trying to come up with something cool and as soon as you’ve decided, you figure out it’s taken. So I don't know about you, but when I hear about a band called Fleshies, I really want to like them. Cool name, cool band, right? However, that is pretty much where the cool stops.

Despite an exciting vocal cameo care of Jello Biafra on one track, Scrape The Walls is a cold fish. This display of garage punk is one step below stale. It is almost impossible to detect what it is that is missing from this act. It just screams day jobs and minivans, like not all of the possible energy is plunged into the project. On the other hand, this is not a band that will fuck up your day and not even make you ask for the 45 minutes it took you to listen to this album back. Points for the name, though!

DEAD TO ME - CUBAN BALLERINA published August 30, 2006, The Owl Mag

It's funny because Dead To Me is punk and punk is, in a lot of ways, very dead to me. Yet there is hope to be found in Cuban Ballerina as it takes everything unbearable about pop punk and either transforms it or kicks it out completely. The first thing to go is the token, disgustingly whiny singer replaced by a guy that actually sounds like both testicles have dropped. Big ups to singer Jack Dalrymple for putting his back into it. Finally, a singer that will inspire body rocking: not involuntary twitching.

The improvements lie in the overall tone of the record as it is uplifting and light, yet not sickly peppy and sunny. Truly, the band deserves to be more on the punk side of the spectrum than the pop side. Cuban Ballerina can bring a smile to the face of the most jaded child of punk just out of simple relief. Thank god it's not another pop punk band!