No Honour [7-inch; King of the Monsters]

Venowl’s No Honour 7-inch is just the sort of mangled, self-defacing black-metal maelstrom many of us want at the moment; no shame in delivering the experimentalism commonly promised but rarely brought to fruition. I could rip through 100 7-inches like this and never get bored. Lo-fi twice over, too, probably recorded by a boombox. Much of Side B (a re-imagining of the A-side that’s much heavier, provided by Iron Forest) consists of random drum-flailing and flagrant scene-setting, with a payoff breaking the tension every so often. True dedication to rank, slumlord-level metal serves Venowl well, as does the gray vinyl. From the label that brought you that glow-in-the-dark Servile Sect LP.

Links: Venowl - King of the Monsters

Halasan Bazar

How to Be Ever Happy

[CS; Moon Glyph]

We find out much about American culture when it’s placed in the hands of non-Americans. Thanks to the internet and an infinite flow of data, we’ve now discovered that American-made items provide a solid foundation that can only be dismantled and reassembled stronger and better than it ever was. Don’t you think Hendrix would lose his shit if he heard Group Doueh or BLK JKS? I’m sure acid casualties of the 1960s will be bouncing from sanitarium wall to sanitarium wall when they hear Copenhagen’s Halasan Bazar. It’s a radiant blast from the past that has taken 50 years to traverse time and space. Euro chic is always in style, and this time the electric croon of Fredrik Rollum Eckhoff and casual cool of Halasan Bazar remind us that the motherland does it better, even if we built it first. But How to Be Ever Happy doesn’t tramp down catwalks with couture expense (though it does sashay with confidence, despite its ennui), rather being the product of the neighborhood you wish you were cool enough to find when you backpacked Denmark. You heard American music spilling from the Korova Milk Bar and paid no attention, ignorant that it wasn’t the claptrap you’ve become accustomed to but rather an organic reinvention of the old, tired formula. You missed out on Halasan Bazar, so don’t do it again.

Links: Halasan Bazar - Moon Glyph

Shattered Hymen / Hate Basement / Hadals / Fantasy Island


[CS; Tapes of a Neon God]

Shattered Hymen (jesus-lord jesus) start this filthy four-way split with a blast of jackal-noise that shrieks into the room then explodes like florescent bubbles, a screaming male doubtlessly drowning somewhere in the sonic abyss — though it’s tough to tell exactly what’s happening when a sun-baked, sharpened screwdriver is being jammed into your temples. Wizards should know better. Up next: Hate Basement, much angrier than their sister band Love Attic (oh HAR-dee-FUCKIN’-HAR, I know), ride a wave of core meltdowns into the sky and back, their multi-speaker attack offering more of a multi-layered experience than I usually expect from a tape-ist — that is, before a bulbous throb takes over the set. Do I even need to spell out the rest for you? Hadals play a disturbing, enthralling game of drone-Ouija and summon all manner of dead spirits with their futuristic sound-whippets (perhaps taking the tape), while Fantasy Island, waiting in the wings all this time, banish the listener to a dungeon for noise torture along the lines of Gnarled Forest at a motor speedway. Zum.

Links: Tapes of a Neon God

Fungal Abyss

Bardo Abgrund Temple

[CS; Translinguistic Other]

There’s nothing unintentional by the name of Fungal Abyss’ latest. This is a psychedelic burner shot from the devil’s trident into small-club hellholes to rock a nation in need of musical acid. Swirls of heavy colors slowly drown in mud and blood. Take the brown acid; wash it down with a handful of dug-up mushroom, multiple swigs of rum, and OJ; and gargle that shit to get the taste all over your mouth. Then just sit back and let the music do the rest. There are four long-burns and you have nowhere else to be, not when you enter this plane. “Arc of the Covenant” is straight Pond and Comets; “Year of the Bones” is Dead Jefferson Hendrix slowly conjuring flames to burn down the tie-dye shack. You’ll be homeless before you even know the place is ablaze. These four jams need a lot of kindling, but when they start burning, the heat is intense. It’s a whole new world; time to set adrift in the world of Fungal Abyss.

Links: Fungal Abyss - Translinguistic Other

Slug Guts

Stranglin’ You Too

[7-inch; HoZac]

The title track of Slug Guts’ latest 7-incher starts innocently enough; then the vocals come in and holy Jaggercise-from-hell, these boys have a secret weapon on their hands, coughed up from the bowels of a red hell no one wants to imagine. Iggy Pop, lizard-tongue sliced in half ‘n’ drunk, fronting Pat Smear + Epic Soundtracks + Notekillers, coupled with the Puffy Areolas’ saxophonist, circa 1982. Not trying to oversell you on this one, but LORDY B’GORDY, THIS LAD IS A DEMON on the mic. How can I NOT throw my support behind this one? Kids waiting for the next Smith Westerns album should stop by the Slug Guts ranch and get their fuckin’ gizzards ripped out and splayed across the side of the barn by these four cutz. This wild 7-inch wears its sunglasses indoors, if you know what I mean. (And you do.)

Links: Slug Guts - HoZac

LA Vampires By Octo Octa

Freedom 2K

[12-inch; 100% Silk]

I’m astonished by how familiar “His Love” sounds as this blast-back to 90s house begins. Wait, is this some strange appropriation of Rusted Root’s “Send Me On My Way”? A likely coincidence, but obvious nonetheless. The world has finally bridged apathetic hippy drivel with repetitive dance and turned out a winner. It’s the formula behind Freedom 2K, a mini-marathon of House of Style background rhythms without the sexy mole of Cindy Crawford or the odd homebody tips of Todd Oldham. Ah, how times flies, moves forward, and then steps back. The new dance-tastic version of Amanda Brown is austere, almost untouchable like the supermodel show evoked by this 12-inch. It’s a strange transformation from Pocahaunted’s contemplation to LA Vampires’ ritz, but it’s one that seems rather apropos as the divide grows. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a catwalk to dominate. Youknowwhatheysaybouttheyoung.

Links: 100% Silk

Test House


[12-inch; All Hands Electric]

I remember hearing Supersystem for the first time and, along with missing El Guapo, thinking, “Damn, it’s like it’s the 1980s again, and everyone’s invited!” That was nothing — groups like Test House (and King God, who were much more grandiose about things) pull all the levers on the time machine. Liquid beats, pan-flute synths, “rhythmatronics” (a.k.a. tightly wound, robotic bass rhythms), and the sort of vocals that, if they were being subtitled, would glow florescent. Very fluid arrangements, too; there’s a certain urgency about these guys. They mean it, and that always means something. Bitemarks is about as engrossing as post-coldwave colorwheels get, especially “Cold Void Jiggle” and its lumps of playdough synths that, true to their title, wiggle like jelly. I like squishing them between my ear-fingers. “Island” might be the one track that doesn’t compute, its flat-footed figures doing little to help Test House’s argument, even if its endless coda is well executed. Just a hitch in the road. Seek and crank.

Links: All Hands Electric

Mole House

Mole House

[CS; Night People]

It’saninfectioussortofbuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Onethatwon’tgetoutofmyearzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz AllthewayfromMelbournezzzzzzzzz MoleHousehasdonethistomebeforezzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Ilovekitschylofibuzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz ShowersandRainzzzzzzzzz ShowersandRainzzzzzzzzzz ShowersandRainzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Links: Night People

Trophy Wife

Stella, My Star

[7-inch; Private Leisure Industries]

Trophy Wife hit with a tight-as-fuk debut 7-inch, with Stella, My Star being their attempt to retain that momentum. It’s a bit clumsy, each side reaching for a totally different gravity, but think it works on the whole. Title track “Stella” is where I’d put all my money — it’s got sort of an Erase Errata/Jenny Hoystrom thing going, ominous in all the right places and bolstered by a throbbing bass line. Nice, volcanic guitar work, too. Then “Frankie’s Song” hits and we’re back honking noses in Karate Kid II, confused, disoriented, and likely to lose its footing like, as Odd Future would say, a glutton with diabetes. Love the synths, intrigued by the flow, warmed by the bass breakdown that puts a Sonic Youth tramp-stamp on the whole thing. Folks at Private Leisure Industries said they can’t get anyone to lend their ink to this one, and I just don’t know why that would be. Agree to disagree, general record-buying public?

Links: Trophy Wife - Private Leisure Industries

John Wesley Coleman III

“Alone by the Door” b/w “I Want You to Be Like Everybody Else”

[7-inch; Sophomore Lounge]

I once embraced any folkish voice like it was a dream girl. I was happy to envelop myself in the new skin of the next Tim Buckley or Nick Drake wannabe. Those days have long passed, myself becoming bitter when the beautiful lady turned into a venomous oasis of my powerful imagination. Coleman III makes me sentimental for my own mind tricks while employing a few of his own. “Alone by the Door” may rest on a familiar refrain (“You know it’s funny/We ain’t got money”), but it works with the spooky burst of Theremin near the end of the song’s plucked melody. It’s all warm summers and Scooby Doo mysteries with this one. “I Want You to Be Live Everybody Else” is a bit stranger — not as overboard as Daniel Johnston, but heavily indebted to him. The rhythm section of Rob Halverson and the vocals of Leslie Sisson lend this sweet, effacing ode a bit of heaviness. Coleman III is clearly a new troubadour. Now if I can just escape this synthesized morass to find the beacon.

Links: John Wesley Coleman III - Sophomore Lounge

Cerberus seeks to document the spate of home recorders and backyard labels pressing limited-run LPs, 7-inches, cassettes, and objet d'art with unique packaging and unknown sound. We love everything about the overlooked or unappreciated. If you feel you fit such a category, email us here.