Bunch of scruffy young ‘uns from Memphis bashing out some slithery trash punk hits here. At least, that’s what I think is going on. What’s below no-fi? That’s what this sounds like, like somebody crumpling up a brown paper bag while a band plays half a mile away. I’m sure that’s part of the aesthetic, but under the laundry lint fuzz there’s some slinky riffs and handclaps and a whole lotta teenage rampage war-whooping going on, so I feel like I’m missing out on the action. But hey, besides the fact that I can’t hear it, their name is awesome, and this is on chunky white vinyl, and most 7” collectors don’t even play their precious fuckin’ singles, so maybe they won’t notice.

The Detonations are oddball punks from New Orleans, and this is the sound of their revolution on wax, baby. The A-side reminds me of some late 70’s neo-new wave outfit from New York, like dudes dressed in garbage bags and wrap-around shades doing herky jerk dances. This is remarkable, since the Detonations are not a new wave band at all; they’re more of a stripped-down blues-punk band. It’s like the Fireballs of Freedom doing a Suicide cover, or something. Weird. And speaking of weird, the b-side is cover of “TV as Eyes” by legendary acid-space rockers Chrome, and there is simply no way to tackle that song without really freaking the fuck out. And the Detonations must certainly freak freely on it. A solid, two-barrel slug of noisy punk rot here. ___________________________________________________

Kind of a departure for the death-garage berserkos at Big Neck, as the Virginia based DF’s are more of a blood, guts, n’ pussy obsessed cock rock band, complete with blistering 15 second Johnny Thunders guitar solos and hook-heavy choruses. Obviously, the Dwarves are gonna have to be mentioned here, as the Dirty Fingers resemble those famed and fables ass fuckers in both sound and vision, but the Fingers trump them in sheer weight, as all three tracks (let us not forget the tender b-sides, “She’s a Slut” and “Girl to Fuck”) are as sludge-y and fuzzy and chest-thumping macho as any Swedish stoner-glam rock fest. This is some serious horn-throwing, Satan worshipping, cock-out demon rock, baby. My only complaint is that it’s over in 3 minutes. Somebody sign these sleaze beasts up for a long-player, because it’s hurting my arm, flipping this bitch over and over.

Hear Dirty Fingers on Sleazegrinder Radio! ____________________________________________________

New wave from Minnesota. You heard me right, Jack. The Divebomb Honey are kinda like Blondie, really, only with stabs of ? and the Mysterians keyboards and some jangly garage-rock guitar licks here and there. “Get Up” is bouncy, pogo-ready, and darker than you might expect, and “You Wanna” is probably closer to Human League then the Briefs, which is notable, because most of the retro-nu-wave bands in operation these days try their best NOT to sound like actual new wave bands. So they got that going for them. The awesomely named Divebomb Honey are not gonna rock you like a hurricane, that’s for sure, but if you like stripe-y shirts and Pac Man, yr in luck. ____________________________________________________

How’s this for unique: The Jolly Jumpers are a Finnish band specializing in 60’s tinged Americana. That can’t be easy. I’d like to see, say, Wilco try to specialize in Finlandica. But I digress. Both tracks here are rainy, fuzzy, garage-y roots rockers full of jangle, twang, and charm. A-side “Suki Suki” sounds like it’s desperately trying to cheer itself up; the flip, “Pittsburgh Paranoids”, sounds like the therapy worked. Pretty boss stuff. Apparently, the Jumpers have been the Finnish indie-scene’s best-kept secret for awhile now, but on the strength of “Suki Suki”, I’d say the cat is officially out of the bag.

On the A-side, Washington state destroyers Lopez grace us with two head-slamming tracks of kill-for-thrills speed punk. They both sound like a flurry of razor-sharp fists. It’s Bruce Lee Motherfucker Rock, is what it is. On the flip, the loose n’ lethal Bottles and Skulls lay down a couple rock-solid throttle-punk ass kickers, with tendon-slicing power-riffs, and panicky, bad-lieutenant howls. The second track, “Blockhead”, actually sounds like the White Stripes selling Ajax-laced coke to Cop Shoot Cop, and believe me, you don’t hear shit like that everyday. Intense.

By the way, that's not really the cover. I couldn't find the cover. That's just a picture that comes up when you search on "Lopez".
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Our alimony-dodging pals from Portland return with another dose of triple-speed Satanic redneck beerbeast slop. I think the b-side has something to do with the Addams Family, and the A-side, “The Ass You Kiss May Be Your God” not only has an ungainly title worthy of Halo of Flies, it actually sounds kinda like the garbage rock pioneers – jarring noise piled on top of snaky, villainous rock n’ roll. As the punny single (and pot-bellied Crue cover) suggests, this is the perfect soundtrack for lighting your legs on fire and/or calling people’s mothers from inside teenage girl’s pussies, so pick whichever activity you like better and do it ‘til the cops show up, while this almost completely un-produced slab of trucker trash roars away in the background.
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The band name and title hint of Latin origin, but no cigarillo, senor, as the Raw Gospels are actually from London (they don’t say which one, but I’m assuming England, as neither Connecticut nor Canada is big on primal grease-boogie trash rock), although they do have a Finnish guy in the band, which at least makes ‘em continental. Their sound is as raw as an open wound – in fact, that’s pretty much what this sounds like, like somebody getting their leg sawed off while a Mexican wrestling mask band plays the Batman theme in the background. Very groovy, very ghoulie, this one. The blotchy Xerox cover art is nice touch, too. ____________________________________________________

You know, I didn’t know whether this one ran at 33 or 45. It sounds ok at either speed, it’s just at the slower rpm, they’ve got a dude singing, and at 45, it’s a chick. Since the singer’s name is Kristina, it must be the latter. The Rio Grande sound, then, is poppy rock n’ roll, bright and shiny stuff with chirpy, hook-heavy choruses, and just enough hard rockin’ guitar to keep the Hellacopters kids happy. Unless it really is supposed to be played at 33, in which case the Rio Grande sound is like, uh, Venom. Either way, yr bound to get SOME kinda rock n’ roll kicks out of this. ____________________________________________________

Multi-gendered power trio for Brooklyn. The skirt’s on bass. The dude who sings sounds like glamdelic crooner Michael Rank, which means the S. Cobras are sorta like a nervy, gear-grinding, lo-fi Snatches of Pink. Snatches of Punk, maybe. I dig this band, because they sound like the real deal, like one of those guys on the street who grabs you by the lapels and shakes you, and goes, “Don’t you GET it? The rabbit has KICKED THE BUCKET!” And then you’ll call a cop or whatever, but ten days later, sure enough, you’ll realize he was right the whole time, that the rabbit is deader than a doorknob. The Spitting Cobras have got something to say, brother, and it’s layered in cheap fuzztones and garbage can drums. “Idle Ticklin’” ain’t exactly FUN, but it’s honest, ragged, and totally sexy, in an apocalyptic sort of way. ____________________________________________________