This week’s Rock-a-Ramas were written by Mandy Brownholtz, Dan Morrissey, Grace Scott, Maria Sherman, and Joe Sicilio. Read last week’s reviews, 

In 1988, I was in a high school play called 

 where we reenacted a bunch of Bible stories. I played the part of “Torturer” (of Jesus, natch). This was a far cry from my previous, meatier roles as Baby John in 

, so I was pissed. (My high school acting trajectory was like a miniature version of Jon Hamm’s career, from Don Draper to Angry Guy in 

.) One of my fellow Torturers was Pat Sullivan, a really nice kid who I had no idea would one day become Papa Crazee of Oneida. I went to a beer blast at MoMA PS 1 in summer 2000 and there he was, up on that stage, owning the crowd like no Torturer ever had. He has since left the band, but whenever I hear their name I think of that shitty Bible play. Pat was great, though, he made the whole thing tolerable by torturing Jesus with me.

Remix albums are like cheating. This is a greatest hits album of remixes, so it’s sort of like the greatest hits of things no one really cares about. Did you know Maroon 5 has one of these too? I bet that’s a winner.

Describe a band as “indie shoegaze shit from the South,” as a friend recently did when schooling me on Chattanooga, Tennessee’s Lacing, and I’m all in. This is my catnip; it’s shooting fish in a barrel and I’m the fish. It’s slow, shimmering, bummer bangers for a lethargic (not apathetic, never apathetic) listener. I love it. It’s also emo? Everything is emo.

Ignorant Australian punk is my bread and butter. (

 tours the U.S.! And that says nothing about the bullets I’d take for 

, and most anything Mikey Young has touched.) But, uh, 

 ain’t it for me. This is Aussie punk for people who say Amyl and the Sniffers is their favorite Aussie punk band. Oi! (Note: if this band is made up of literal teenagers I retract everything I’ve typed here.)

Singapore’s Doldrey have put out a full-length of old-school death metal with the best parts of d-beat punk—and a few very satisfying breakdowns, too. Released by Iron Lung Records, this is utilitarian, blackened, thrashing cave music. Straight to the point, catchy, pretty evil. It’s sick.

I had to write this without listening to the record, because their publicist 

 after an email exchange that went something like this:



Hey! Wondering if I could get a stream of the new P!ATD record for coverage in CREEM?


**crickets**

That leads me to believe that our reputation precedes us. For what it’s worth, I was basically going to draft some social commentary on how Panic’s steampunk Hot Topic emo aesthetic is the only early-aughts trend Gen-Z hasn’t appropriated yet. Low rise pants? Indie sleaze? Bimbo chic? Check, check, and check. But I haven’t seen any bright young things stomping around Bushwick, Brooklyn, in checkered-print skinny jeans and swooping bangs yet. Why? Perhaps this record will be the catalyst they need, but I can’t say that with any critical analysis, because I haven’t heard it yet.

I like the blissed out, parrothead-meets-powerpop elements of this record more than the alt-country leaning tracks—which include one song with Wynonna Judd on backup vox. (Cool!) Despite what I just described making it sound like this album is a real patchwork quilt of genres, 

 is in fact ubiquitously subtle and somber throughout. The album feels restrained, from a conceptual standpoint, and also a little emotionally distant. That being said, there’s still plenty of hooks.

Aside from two new tracks, this is basically a covers record. It takes some cojones to cover classics by ZZ Top, Metallica, and Pantera. And luckily the dudes have their own spin but keep it faithful in a tasteful way. Hopefully the new 2020 version of “Pantera” can do the same… then again, everyone knows the answer to that. Smgdh.

Boy Howdy! Plushie

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