The Lacking Permanence

Someone threw a key party for a bunch of musical genres, and Americana, Rock, and Punk left together. On the dashboard radio on the way to the motel, the Old 97’s were playing.

Swerving wildly between sweetly melodic and audibly unhinged, this carousel of buzzsaw-inflected ditties definitely whirls too fast, and you’ll enjoy every minute of its glitchy post-hardcore pop magic.

Hissing steam and spitting fire, the Old 97s chew up the rails and cross-ties by playing country music with a punk attitude.

This is a heady mix of Tin Pan Alley melodies, lonesome cowboy delivery, and ornate arrangements fit for the most dramatic of the theater kids.

The haberdasher heard a light thump and roll, then felt something tap against a shoe. It was a peach pit. Looking up from the stack of brochures, they saw the orthodontist grinning and wiping their mouth with a sleeve, glancing at the gap on the blanket where the fruit was drying in the sun, clearly suggesting that perhaps another one was in order. The tandem moped leaned against the back of the Gate of Hercules, shielded by its bulk from the bright Croatian summer sun. The peaches had hours to go, and they had forgotten to bring a game., having only whatever reading material they had managed to scrape up in the Hotel Pula lobby.

Billy Martin’s drumming makes me think of oxymorons like “precisely sloppy” and “intensely casual” and “red hot chill out”. This album lives within a zone that’s hazily bounded by funk, jazz, and electronic dance music.

Two very political acts, performing each other’s songs. NOFX is archetypically SoCal snot-nose punk, while Frank Turner is from a proud tradition of left-leaning UK strummers, but the songs fare well in any protester’s hands.

Taking their name from Australian slang for something not good, The Chats are here to strike fear in the hearts of parents and guidance counselors across the globe.

The second release in less than a year from this outfit continues along the same path, which is to say meticulously crafted indie guitar mini-symphonies.

You never know what to expect from Deerhoof, even if your list contains “sound art medleys improvised out of musical themes recognizable and unrecognizable”