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Throw It Away 7" EP
vinyl debut from '06.
record of it's ilk to ooze outta Wisconsin
Tom Lax (Siltbreeze)
|Teen Anal Terrorist -
Warm Blatz For Teenage Runaways LP
It's winter in the Midwest... you took a little too much Robitussin and you're
stuck in the basement of a
funeral home wondering if
that coffin's taken. At
least, them's the circumstances surrounding the recording of this epic
debut from these twisted backwood cyberpunks. Damaged, dystopian
industrial and alien funk reminiscint of Coil or Skinny Puppy.
The Line For The
Men's Room LP
Modra is snaky, dusty and luminous and not really wound up at all. This
outback noir comes from the blues but is as weird in relation to and as
from the blues as Television once was, as the Birthday Party were, as
or Richard Youngs can sometimes be. It is, foremost, guitar music
played by guys
who look like they should be smoking cigarettes. but aren't (it's a
trick of the lip). And those drums must be coming from the land of
Robbie Yeats and Kevin Shea:
England. Each is Jimmy Page on the drums, minus the drumsticks -- it's
Modra: a donkey's tail enshrined in glass.
Ache For You b/w Darken Daze 7" 45
Ten years in and Pink Reason is stronger
than ever releasing what may
be their best
single yet. Morbid, glam-damaged street rock
classic, unknown rural
Wisconsin outsider rock favorites.
Straight from the gutter.
In Republican World #1
(Outsider DIY/Outlaw Punk Journal)
Cut 'n paste zine featuring articles on Soviet-era cinema, Texas punker Bobby Soxx,
Wisconsin HC legends 10-96, controversial Russian underground rapper Babangida,
80's Hungarian protest art group Inconnu, interviews with visionary artist A. Bill Miller
and NYC's Rosenkopf. Plus reviews and more.
Shit In The Garden LP
that the dust is settling and the commercial concerns of a thousand
have vacated the underground for a better life in the
dorm rooms of America, Pink Reason
is still here, using cheap
technology, creating rich, enveloping psychological environments,
giving voice to a restless inner life—manifesting drum-and-bass beats,
Ian MacCulloch’s larynx—and blooming like
sunflowers amid the debris.