Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Russ Meyer directed this music video.

And it's fuckin' awesome.

Kung Fu Killers
Now More Than Ever/I Want To Go
Raise High The Black Flag/Break Down The Walls
Hippies in Punk Clothing/Welcome To The Prison Planet
Get Used To It/Your Bullshit
Feel My Fists, Feel My Fury/Shock Xpress

set of 7” singles
Zodiac Killer Records

My first thought on receiving this vinyl quintet from Whippany, New Jersey’s Kung Fu Killers: five singles? Why not just release a full-length and save yourself some artwork? But the cartoon instrument-wielding rock ‘n’ roll ninja on the sleeves is pretty great, so, yeah, okay, I get it. (Incidentally, the band did release an LP, Fists of Fury, with the ten songs here and three covers. So if you want to play it in the car, buy the CD; if you feel like flipping a goddamn record after every song, buy the singles. It’s completely up to you. The singles do include stickers, though. And a patch! I doubt the CD comes with a patch. Again, your choice, bucko.)

But it’s not always about the free stuff that comes with the singles, is it? Sometimes it’s about the music…So what we have here are ten songs that sound like they are straight out of the early 80s hardcore punk scene. And if there was ever any doubt as to the band’s influences, you have to look no further than the lyrics to Raise High The Black Flag, which cleverly molds the names of every single one of them into a punk-politico manifesto (ie) “Raise high the Black Flag-Necros all over the world/While Bad Brains politicians-do their Circle Jerks/Give them a Christian Death-like Germs in the Void/It’s a Negative Approach-yes a Negative Trend.” Etcetera. (They do the same thing in Feel My Fists, Feel My Fury with kung fu movie titles. Brilliant lyricists, these guys.) So if you happen to be an angry, disaffected youth, you might want to give these records a spin. Or maybe borrow your dad’s copy of Damaged. Your choice, bucko.

- Holly Engel
CD reviews, Dec. 10

Adam West
ESP: Extra Sexual Perception
People Like You

If it sounds like the amps are buzzing much quieter in the rock universe these days it's probably because the thunder express has made its last stop and The Hellacopters and Adam West both got off and walked away into rock n' roll immortality. Oh, what? You didn't know that Adam West called it quits too? Well, they have, Jack, and even though they may not have the same mainstream cache as The 'Copters, believe me when I tell you that as a 16-year institution of American super powered surf n' garage rawk they were just as important as their Swedish friends and their decision to pack it in is no less significant. So, these DC fuzz mongers, who seamlessly sutured the sounds of the MC5 and The Misfits as if it was their born duty, turn on the afterburners one last time and leave us with ESP (and a slew of splits and singles, natch), a heavy, hot rod testament to bad fun and careless carousing. It's no surprise that Adam West have remained true until the very end, playing the part of ass-grabbin' heroes in a rock n' roll B-movie world filled with bikini babes and motorcycle ghouls to perfection.

-Jeff Warren

Beyond Colossal
Small Stone

Ok, everyone is all excited because the skies over Canada's prairies were lit up last month by a screaming ball of fantastic green fire that barreled its way toward earth as if on a cosmic mission of doom. Now I know all these planetary scientists and professors of astronomy believe that the sonic blast was a meteor, but they still haven't been able to locate the crash site and find any pieces of the galactic object. I can explain that. You see, here's the thing...that whole deal there in the sky was kind of my fault because I played the new Dozer record. I realize it's been a hassle for everyone involved, but c'mon, you gotta admit it was totally awesome, right?

-Jeff Warren

JJ Got Live RaTX
Drag City

Another spackling of weird beard rock action from RTX, fronted by ultimate rock fox Jennifer Herrema, that' too cool for its own good and will make total sense to you if you like to spend your time in a neon-lit motel room sucking back cheap wine and prescription drug cocktails with a working girl who's wearing nothing but a fur coat and bruises. That is to say this album is quite sleazy and desperate and far gone and full of enough squealing and dealing to make your pants tight and your brain turn to tar. Let your freak flag fly, fuckers.

-Jeff Warren
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