Austin Sound

Hug is sheer novelty - something to amuse and offend listeners with their self-aware, completely ludicrous rock. It’s no surprise that the band pictured on the inside sleeve of their latest LP, Cravings, Lust, and Chaos, has two out of three members in a dress swaying back and forth in a drunk-possessed state, consumed by their own meta-pop about adulterous gay politicians, buying drugs in Mexico, and taking your pants off just for the hell of it.

Chaos plays like a cheap party trick. Stuck somewhere between blissfully unaware of its own tongue-in-cheek tackiness and subliminally insane, the tracks meander through patches of electro kraut-rock, socio-cultural narratives about humanity’s penchant for its own destruction, and a bout or two of actually listenable, tolerable, lucid moments, which unfortunately only work as relief from the rest of the album, and less as compliment.

On their debut album, The Bronze, Woodgrain does something good, possibly even very good. Exactly how to describe what that thing is, though, is nearly impossible. Lying somewhere between metal (this is a band that was chosen to open for The Sword on a half dozen or so tour dates) and a Brian Eno Moog-gasm, Woodgrain is relatively indescribable (other than maybe “repetitive” or “coma inducing” at times). There are times when “indescribable” means “horrible”, “awful” or “waste of sounds waves” – but not in the case of Woodgrain. The Bronze is a genuinely exciting and interesting album; it’s just hard to say what exactly is going on (perhaps the album art featuring a centaur astronaut carrying roses on the moon in front of a basketball hoop should have been an indicator).

It’s tempting to dismiss Black Cock as some sort of novelty or talk about the band – since it’s probably a safe bet that their moniker has nothing to do with obsidian feathered fowls – in purely euphemistic terms. Scratch that, it’s beyond tempting. In fact, this author wrote half a review filled with potentially offensive dick jokes that were potentially completely unfunny. While not quite as fun, it’s a bit more challenging to actually discuss the music on the Cock’s newest album Robot Child With A God Complex (Australian Cattle God Records). The short review is: Upon first listen, Black Cock sound almost exactly as one would expect a band named Black Cock to sound. They are relatively abrasive, edgy enough to be punk, and dark enough to appeal to goth and industrial listeners. But, since that’d be a cop out to just say, “Look at the damned band name. Be honest! You’re either going to love them or hate them…”

Here’s the longer review: Black Cock sound almost exactly as one would expect a band named Black Cock to sound.

Under the glimmering warm florescent glow of Austin Sound 2.0, we’d like to resurrect one of our favorite lost features: Weekend Preview.

Just as before, each week we’ll take a little time to clue you in on the happenings around town. For each day (Friday - Sunday), we’ll give you our top pick of the night, and then sometimes a couple of alternatives (if the evening is just brimming with activities). So sit tight, we’ve got this under control.

Who fingered your grandma? You know someone done the deed. Now you can thank Lick Lick for that stirring reminder. From the lotus of an empty compliment and a mumbo jumbo of uproarious nonsense blossoms the pungent, sweet, flummery flower of Lick Lick. Their self-titled CD is a self-described “prunk” creation - prunk being preppy punk¹ - and decoded that means it’s more about having fun playing and making fun of everything while doing it than doing anything else.

The introduction track, “The Bad Pet,” sets the stage for about half of the album with outlandishly gesticulated progressive rock moves. “Squib,” “Male Pattern Drunkassness,” and “Dirgy” build on unexpected rhythm changes, profuse use of keyboards, and electric guitar poking at you from all different directions. Fluxuating between the McStabby screaming elocutions of Matt Kelly and almost spoken-word rock-woman-raw vocals of Mo Pierce, an opportunist is enticed to transform fully into a hedonist, despite the you-think-this-is-a- bad-idea-check-out-what-I’m-going-to-do-next theme.

Attack Formation has done it again by denying any possibility of definition. They are not a band but an organization of musicians, and their music is anything but passive, its ever-shifting sounds, beats, and interludes pull in the listener and force them to pay attention. Staying true to their Formation in their newest album, We Are Alive In Tune, the band as a whole composed only 5 of the 13 tracks, with the remaining tracks composed and recorded by individual band members including Reaganometry, You and Me Falconry, Butcher Bear, Strong Silent Type, and Horse Rappaport.

With such a mix of artists and tracks one might think the album would have an incoherent sound, but the individual recordings of band members only add more depth and coherence to the group’s collaborations, as well as the album as a whole. Throughout the album, Attack Formation’s sound shifts from punk, to love-sick emo, to noise experimentation, to urban meandering, to audience telemetering, to tinges of pop and rock, all the while producing an album that works as a whole and keeps your attention listen after listen.

This month we are excited to introduce a new feature to Austin Sound, a monthly profile of local labels that have become so integral to shaping, and supporting, Austin’s music scene. Among the most influential has been our inaugural featured label, Australian Cattle God, who continue to push the boundaries of local music with bands such as Gorch Fock, Cat Scientist, The Snake Trap, and Tia Carrera, while also expanding out to ensure that a number of international acts get a stateside release. ACG tri-headed hydra of Lee Brooks, Bryan Nelson and Win Wallace recently answered some questions for us about the label and trials of succeeding in the indie racket. Find out more on their newly revamped websites www.australiancattlegod.com.

For those who haven’t experienced the blitzkrieg of sound that is Gorch Fock, Thrilller, the latest release by the Austin septet, is the best trial-by-fire available. Rather than start with a slow, dawdling intro or a series of highly accessible songs, Thrilller drops the listener straight into a warzone — a fitting approach, considering the origin of the band’s name is a three-masted German naval vessel.

The band’s website labels them as “Rock / Death Metal / Experimental.” If this seems too abstract, it’s only because it is meant to be. Synth-drum intros like that in “One of 5 Sisters” seem to echo the Refused, before slipping into the grinding, titanic riffs reminiscent of Doomriders or Sadaharu. Epic buildups and brooding bass lines hint at influences from Texas’ own Explosions in the Sky, while vocals pay homage to the Minutemen or Neil Young’s talk/sing style. Comparisons could be made to the different parts of the album all day but entirely miss the point of the whole. This is a band that revels in its schizophrenic nature.

“I’m always rubbing my wings together/can’t you hear what I say?,” Cat Scientist ask their listeners on their newest release, Cicada. Sure� sure, we can. We’re just not sure what the heck you mean. Cat Scientist are five whimsy-obsessed, keyboard playing (that’s right, all five of them are on “keys,” and three of those five also play your standard guitar/bass/drums), nature-freak popsters, and I’ve heard their music compared to that of early Talking Heads spinoff combo The Tom Tom Club. There’s some truth to that, of course, as Cat Scientist also trade in funk rhythms and employ similar Bernie Worrell-like whizzing synth textures at times. The first tune on their new release, “I Saved An Airplane,” begins with a propulsive, immensely enveloping bass/keyboard/drum rhythm—the same sort of thing that fills dance-floors on Ibiza year after year. But then the words come in: “I saved an airplane/lowered it down safely with my powers/I am concerned about their safety/I’ve worked on the problem for many hours/using claws, mind, teeth and magic.” What?