Search "dinosaur+jr+i+bet+on+sky" 8 Items

My mates went on holiday to the Isles for this one. Galactic romantic entropy three sheets to the 'Wind. Saxy glimmers, broken sunbeams, oil dancing in a puddle of water in a parking lot somewhere in St. Louis or Birmingham. And just as first-wave yankee punk was decidedly solipsistic, the Poms folded in a more civic bent to explain the zeitgeist of generational disaffection. Is 'Scared To Care' about spikey punks whose apartments are littered with Amazon boxes? Is 'Biggest Sale of The Year' an indictment of late-stage capitalism? Is 'The Milkman' an effective populist who wants you to sink so that he can swim? Is this record more political than those dystopian hardcore records you sold when a nice girl opened your eyes once? Merely conjecture...

It's an album dripping with clandestine musical intelligence, artisanal song-writing, great voices. The illegitimate son of Dinosaurs' bassist isn't in the mix this time, but I can assure you his spirit is there—I can almost hear the glass of side mirrors cascading to Richmond Ave on a drunken bike ride 15 years before Josh Allen and Conway The Machine made The City That Always Sleeps cool! (not recommended... you truly cannot cheat Carma).

What is soul? Soul is finding your own catalytic converter at the thrift store. Soul is trying out for the Harlem Globetrotters on your 37th birthday and it not going so well. Soul is wearing those attractive bygone eras on your sleeve without hesitation or embarrassment. Pentatonic rock didn't exactly bubble from a serious bog, and when adults who partake become artistically conservative, grow egos in a Petri dish somewhere in the well-adjusted hyper-capitalist cityslicker life they've created because they can seemingly play Vibrators riffs better than the actual kids, everything is lost! Class know this, resisting that spiritual deficit of our collective moment with the voice of honest men trying to have fun in this fuckin' wacky world, unafraid to rhyme words like 'narcissist' and 'anarchist'. I mean, how many songs wouldn't have a pinky toe to pirouette on if 'school' and 'fool' didn't rhyme?! Now get your ass to Class."—Brandon Gaffney

The Gordons crashed upon the do-it-yourself scene of early 1980s Christchurch with torrential force, self-releasing two foundational planks of the vibrant New Zealand underground. Future Shock, a three-song 7-inch released in 1980, is a wild-eyed rampage, as staggering as any feedback-addled punk then being recorded at Southern Studios. The Gordons LP, which followed in 1981, matches the abandon with motorik churn and livewire dissonance, evoking New Zealand antecedents as divergent as This Kind Of Punishment and the Dead C. Brought together on this release, they’re a noise-rock landmark anticipating fans such as Sonic Youth. Flying Nun Records, the storied Christchurch label and symbol of the island nation’s rich independent music scene, re-released The Gordons and Future Shock together in 1988 following the formation of Gordons outgrowth Bailter Space, which frontman Alister Parker founded with Clean drummer Hamish Kilgour. Bailter Space, which would also come to include founding Gordons members Brent McLachlan and John Halvorsen, settled on a droning shoegaze sound, drawing comparisons to Dinosaur Jr. and the Pixies. The Gordons and Future Shock, however, represent the trio’s unreformed id, as startling today as upon release.

"To call Remain Intact the work of an auteur might not be the proper usage of the term, but I can think of nothing else to call a piece of art expressing a singular vision with such perfection. GG King is a band first and foremost, but this LP is Greg King’s mind cracked open like a melon for all of us to peer into, from the music, to the lyrics, to the carefully constructed artwork. He’s assembled a crack unit of ATL’s finest players to help him articulate this vision, and under the peerless guidance of Ryan (dinosaur) Bell they have created a record that will appeal to any rocker with a soul, heart and/or mind. Heshers, punkers, hardcores, powerpoppers, garage turkeys, everyone is welcome and should find something to love here. 13 tracks clocking in at around some of the most rewarding 40 minutes of music you’re going to listen to this year, with a companion cassette filled with bonus material that most bands would be releasing as their masterpiece LP.

2010 release from the critically acclaimed Punk trio. Last year, Screaming Females toured relentlessly in support of their critically acclaimed third album Power Move. Their hard work landed them spots opening for Dinosaur Jr., Throwing Muses, and Jay Reatard, plus dates touring with Arctic Monkeys and the Dead Weather. The year brought them to a wider mainstream consciousness, gaining attention for their Punk Rock sensibilities and their raucous live shows driven by front woman Marissa Paternoster’s famed guitar heroics. On Castle Talk, the trio proves their abilities as more than just a pint-sized guitar shredder. Castle Talk showcases their growth together as a unit, as a band, with some of their most complex and confident songwriting to date.

"Too much so-called psych-punk or acid-punk or whatever boils down sonically to some efx added to a familiar punk/rock format. I’m sorry, but that doesn’t qualify to my ears. On the other hand, this SLUMP band from Richmond, Virginia, ranks high. Very high. (And so am I.) They’ve been around for about four years now, with the current lineup of WILL FENNESSEY (bass), TONY NOWOTARSKI (Moog/guitar), NICK YETKA (drums), and SUSPICIOUS SONNY (vocals/guitar). They self-released a single in 2016 that kinda reminds me of the NYC HC band Kaleidoscope, except there are prominent electronics. They also released an excellent split EP (with True Body) that found them expanding the songs into longer chunks that allow for more freedom to move.


And that brings us to their debut LP. Slump has retained the hardcore and sludge, but it would be hard to convince some people that this is punk-rock at all. (It is! And it isn’t!) Let’s mention Hawkwind. The UK space-rock group has become a template for riff-heavy acid-eaters over the past 40 years, and Slump is certainly in that line. It all opens with a riff that resembles the MC5’s “Black to Comm” and quickly descends/ascends into the dirty sky above beneath inside outside us all. Don’t expect an easy ride—this is gonna be a bumpy but very worthwhile trip. “No Utopia”? There’s a sane slogan for modern America. Whatever explicit message (?) may lie here is buried in volume and psychedelic mud. The hardcore urge beats the messenger to death again. I think that’s a good thing myself. Evolve, baby—evolve! Things ROCK on “(Do the) Sonic Sprawl”—conjures up visions of Philip K. Dick and 1980s Sonic Youth and some sorta (r)evolution (no Utopia!). “Throbbing Reverberation” is the shortest track and another rockin’ jam. The title gives a strong clue. Forward-thinking metal fans should dig this. Imagine Voivod with a LOT of noise in the mix.

This is a 24 track Vinyl compilation compiled by J Mascis (DINOSAUR JR) featuring all the recorded material from his first band DEEP WOUND. DEEP WOUND were a hardcore punk band from western Massachusetts formed in 1982 and J Mascis's first band. They released one self-titled EP in 1983. They are often noted as being, along with SIEGE, one of the early inspirations for Grindcore. Members were: J Mascis - drums, Lou Barlow - guitar, Scott Helland - bass guitar, Charlie Nakajima - Vocals.

Limited to 300 black copies. A few weeks ago, the first planetary defense test was successfully carried out: the Dart probe diverted the orbit of the asteroid Dimorphos. With this Nasa operation we know, once again, that when we humans play god we are unstoppable, that we are not going to become extinct like the dinosaurs as long as progress makes us move. However, while this space shock was brewing 11 million kilometers away, here, more specifically in Torelló (Barcelona), a disc was being created that is like the Trojan horse of asteroids. Sin has made a crater or is going to do so; we are talking about Meant to collide of Wud. The second album of the band arrives three years after the debut Okeanos (2019), three are also the nuclear components that currently form it (and not the five before) and, again, three are the letters with which the name of the band remains (wud), previously they were called Wood. It seems that many things have changed in three years and that's right, the group has grown while it has been reduced and this new album testifies to that. The eight songs concisely concentrate the soul of the project. Although what they continue to love is the structured edginess of math-rock, they want the work to have punk-rock and pop constantly on the horizon, which makes the computation more digestible for all kinds of ears that like sharp-guitars music. Behind the songs we find Marc Fernández, Aleix 'Jimmy' Vilarrasa and Rai Costa, three friends of Torelló who for the last, almost, two years have been carrying out the recording. A long and arduous process that has gone through different studios, such as Fontderola by Jordi Casadesús and Jordi Torrents, or Lluerna by Èric Fuentes, but above all it has been hatched in their rehearsal room where they themselves have persevered in the attack to record a good part of the instrumental. The trio's bizarre ideas have been grounded with millimeter precision, faithfully capturing the centennial hyperactivism that accompanies them wherever they go. On the one hand, the songs trot lively and directed with a hardcore soul and rounded pop, on the other, if we look a little, we notice how the details of each cut are infinite, that the structures could be applied to the Sagrada Familia, that, in definitely, there is a lot of hard work. That the process has been laborious is also noticeable in the guitarist's lyrics, words spat out with the impatience of someone who doesn't want to waste another minute in the loop of self-destructive thought. Meant to collide is a fight between the two opposite and complementary parts of oneself, and I say two to simplify. Between the adrenaline side that wants to end everything through romantic escape and the other, the one that wants to reconstruct the fragments of memory to heal from serenity. From this very personal dispute comes a more than possible collision which, deep down, is what makes the group's creative drive advance and, above all, what makes the feeling that the songs are alive because they are lived intensely. Are we talking about emotions? Yes, thank God, because there such of this on the album, all the time, even in the instrumental interludes. The dreamy piano of “Barnum’s Circus”, the spectral autotune of “Lost Stars” or the Queens-of-Stoneagian guitar solo of “Cul-de-Sac” are at the service of the emotional magma of the musicians. The influence of highly emotional groups such as Delta Sleep (the English band performed one of the most memorable concerts for the wud crew at Torelló’s Arundo Fest in 2018), Algernon Cadwallader or Faraquet is noticeable. Over the years we are discovering where exacerbated technological progress is leading us: that's right, to collapse. Meanwhile, but, this band warns us that they have already arrived there and that humanity can be taken in abundance from there, in fact, there is nothing more human than collapsing.

Groundbreaking bands typically don't function as stars hanging in the night sky for all to gaze upon. Rare talent functions more accurately like tectonic plates, mutating their surroundings deep underground by bulldozing the pre existing turf. These kinds of musicians who regenerate and evolve our world by forging new creative languages that future artists will liberally borrow from and build upon. Richmond, Virginia may seem like a surprising location for seismic catalysts, but Hard Copy now joins an elite list of RVA bands moving sound in unexpected and earth shaking directions. Destruction! Invention! Rebirth! Once upon a time there was Honor Role who deconstructed midwest hardcore and carved out a path for what eventually would become mathrock. Combining empathy wrapped in anger, a following generation would use this template to birth post-hardcore and a 2nd wave emotional music. A bit later came Labradford who were atmospheric scientists creating pulsating soundscapes bathed in drone. Their music was so devastatingly unique that Kranky willed themselves into existence to release their debut for which this historic label was built upon and continues to lead the way in experimental music. I can't help but to include Hard Copy among this kind of revelatory innovation. They are subtle shapeshifters of synth driven post-punk. At their core, we find unorthodox art rock for which Talking Heads and Pere Ubu belong, but it is stretched taut like taffy into trance-inducing, long form motorik musings. Singular vocals act as a secondary percussion. Bass lines double as a metronome heartbeat. Guitars zigzag inside a monochromatic prism. Linnear drums hammer the band's abstract narrative into a carefully crafted double-helix staircase spiraling up into ambitious avant-garde territory. Cantankerous poetry minus the Mancunian snarl of Mark E Smith behaves as a modern day deadbeat descendant making good. In short, making very very good. Riyl the kind of bands who have no interest in grabbing a spotlight and are more likely to kick out the bulb to avoid it completely."—Tracy Wilson (Courtesy Desk)