“Irreverent monsters in muscle cars” is how Odd Rods describe themselves. A series of trading cards by National Lampoon’s B. K. Taylor depicting various cartoonish creatures in oversized hot rods in the vein of Ed “Big Daddy” Roth’s Rat Fink. #3 in the initial ’69 set is Gee-Tee-O, an über cool green goblin with buck teeth and shades sporting a straggly beard of coarse, rodent-hair, impishly pushing his skull gear stick into full throttle, smirking as he risks death in the chase of the acceleration high.
Cars, racing and speed were initially the sole subject matter for Gee Tee when forming in 2016. A lo-fi scuzzy garage rock project fronted by Aussie Kal Mason as former band Draggs ground to a halt, Mason decamped from his native Gold Coast to dive head-first in the weirdopunk revolution happening in Sydney spearheaded by kindred mutants Research Reactor Corp. and Set-Top Box. After a string of fantastically polluted rock ‘n’ roll releases and side projects with the aforementioned R.R.C. and Drunk Mums, Gee Tee show no sign of slowing down as they drop latest EP Atomic via Italian label Goodbye Boozy Records.
An infectiously corroded little Wurlitzer melody surrounded by strutting indie riffing opens the EP on the buoyant ‘Kombat Kitchen’ a fuzzed-out flaunt of garage murk that touches on the organ-driven sounds of ? and the Mysterians. Second track “Mutant World” shoves a straw up your nose and fills your mind with coke, blood and slug pellets, a feverish and electric synthpunk stomper that Gee-Tee-O would proudly exit this world in a fiery crash to. ‘Atomic’ is a beguiling beast, some no-nonsense pub-rock chug with a scratchy vocal delivery akin to War’s Low Rider. It shouldn’t work, perhaps it doesn’t, but you’re too taken with the warbling theremin to care. Things ends on a note of pure rock ‘n’ roll zest were it soaked in sewage and radiation, a bright and upbeat bopper with a killer chainsaw solo piercing through the noxious film.
Atomic is another gloriously rancid little fucker that further cements Mason’s reputation as one of the leading figures in Aussie scuzzpunk but skilled enough to allow sharp pop-hooks in his lo-fi murk. Messy, greasy, weird, and all the better for it.
‘Sexual freedoms turned into corporate schemes!! Viruses plaguing your thoughts, plaguing your souls!!!’⠀⠀⠀⠀
The acrid, stinging fuzz of Spit ‘n’ Static! corrupted the 1020 Radio studio today, the usual synthpunk splatter we all know and love knotted and twisted with a little alien sleeeeeeze for good measure! Careful…this one bites! ⠀⠀⠀⠀
Bristol’s 1020 Radio got wrecked with the 13th dose of synthpunk sludge that is Spit ‘n’ Static! ‘Catch the wave’ same slime same face for another hour of garbled alien interruptions and slimy dead channel fuzz!! Don’t fight it, you gotta ride it out!!! 👽 👌
If you don’t laugh you’ll cry. Us 20/30 something’s are a stretched, inside-out bunch, pulled apart by unending labour extraction, fascist ascendancy and certain environmental catastrophe, we’ve developed an uncanny ability to have a good time in the face of such nihilism. Throw an unprecedented, global viral pandemic in the mix and our last recourse is to usher in the new wave of weird, warped and slimy egg punk for the topsy-turvy end times.
Comedy Rock! is the second release from Dummy, being one of the many projects of Minnesotan Sean Albert including Belly Jelly, QQQL and Skull Cult. Taking lo-fi DIY to its nth degree, primitive drum machines, atonal keyboards and fuzzy guitars are all handled by Albert himself, all buzzing together in a fizzy bottle rocket of corrupted energy.
Fervent punk vigour is firmly established on first track ‘Personal Panopticon’, riff attacks hack and slice then switch to jerky picking all saturated with a goop of unintelligible vocal gunge. This fungal fusion of punk urgency and psych effects course throughout the tape but Albert’s musical dexterity allows for other flavours to keep things from being one note. ‘Nights’ is a gloriously upbeat number, tinny rock infected with poppy synth melodies sound like a Cars or Cheap Trick song were it desecrated beyond recognition. Alien slacker warbles and squeals on the distorted ‘Insulated’, D.C. hardcore pummels in the fog of loops and trickery straight out of the more aggressive end of Locust Abortion Technician.
Bent, broken, and crooked, Comedy Rock! is the perfect soundtrack to our collective navigation of a world growing more farcical every day, channeling the pervading confusion in its pulverised compositions and offering a streak of cathartic verve deep within the sputtering pulp.