News

If you’re a 40-year-old millennial like me, the Interstellar soundtrack might hit a little different than most. Hans Zimmer’s score taps into a sound that mirrors our generation’s own journey—one that blends nostalgia with the awe and anxiety of growing up in an age of constant change. As kids, we grew up on the cinematic epics of the 80s and 90s, such as E.T., Star Wars and Back to the Future, just to name a few. And now, as adults, Interstellar speaks to the complexity of the world that we find ourselves in today.

Zimmer’s composition is more than just background music to a sci-fi movie; it’s a rich, emotional landscape that draws from the vastness of space while speaking to the intimacy of human connection. His decision to build the score around the powerful, resonant tones of a church organ was a stroke of genius. It evokes both the grandeur of the cosmos and the spirituality of time and memory, as if reminding us that no matter how far we travel, we’re still bound by the love and the forces that make us human.

Then there’s “Mountains,” a track that takes the listener to the edge of their seat with its ticking, pulsating rhythm, mimicking the relentless march of time, a theme that hits hard for anyone, like me, in their 40s. The passage of time, both in the film and in real life, feels like something both vast and inescapable. Zimmer uses time signatures that feel like they’re stretching and compressing, just like the plot of Interstellar, and it evokes a very real sense of urgency and existential questioning.

One of the most poignant aspects of the score is how it reflects the generational concerns that have been simmering for millennials. We’re a generation that has been both optimistic and burdened by the realities of a rapidly changing world with climate concerns, technological leaps, and economic instability looming large. Just like the film’s characters, we’re asking the big questions here: What will the future hold? What kind of world are we leaving behind? Zimmer’s score echoes those anxieties while offering a bit of catharsis at the same time. What interesting questions to ponder as we go into the election in a few weeks.

In many ways, Interstellar is the perfect soundtrack for a generation that grew up looking to the stars and is now navigating the complicated, grounded realities of adulthood. Whether you’re a cinephile, a vinyl collector, or someone who just loves getting lost in an epic score, this album is a must-have. Zimmer has given us a score that doesn’t just accompany a film—it’s a sonic journey that mirrors the experience of grappling with time, love and what it means to leave a legacy.

What’s up Sorry State readers? Another month has flown by. Halloween is this Thursday and I’ll be driving up to Baltimore for two nights of Billy Strings and company performing the music of O Brother, Where Art Thou?, and to say I’m excited would be an understatement. Not only is it one of my favorite movies, but it also has one of my favorite soundtracks for a movie and ‘ol Billy always puts on a hell of a show for Halloween. My girlfriend and I will be dressing up as Ash and Linda from Evil Dead and I’m excited to see other people’s costumes. Since the month is almost over, I guess this will be my last write up about a movie and this one isn’t even really a horror movie. It’s probably the least Halloween-y one I’ve written about, but I still think it’s worth mentioning. Continuing from last week with the theme of psychological terror, this week I’m writing about the 1971 Australian film Wake in Fright directed by Ted Kotcheff and written by Evan Jones. Like some of the other movies I’ve talked about this month, I caught this one probably a month or two ago here at the Alamo in Raleigh and instantly loved it. I had never heard about it before going to see it, but the description for it sounded very appealing and I trust Raleigh Alamo’s Weird Wednesday picks. This film follows a young Australian school teacher who, because of a financial bond he signed with the government, must teach for two years at a small school in the outback. He plans to go visit his girlfriend in Sydney for the holiday so he heads to the nearby town of Bundanyabba (AKA The Yabba) so he can catch a flight there. When he arrives, he heads to a local pub where he meets a police officer who befriends him over a couple of pints. The officer then takes him somewhere where a room full of people are illegally gambling on a game that’s essentially just flipping a coin. Our main character joins in and happens to find some luck and win a couple games, probably making more in those games than he had all year teaching. He sees his way to financial freedom and paying off his bond in one fell swoop, put in all that money he made and let it ride. He loses it all in two rounds. The ultimate gambling sin: never wager what you can’t afford to lose. Now penniless and stuck in The Yabba, he turns to the people of the town and the bottle. The rest of the movie is watching this seemingly put together man unravel in the heat and exhaustion of this mining town and its wild inhabitants. Drink all day, drink all night. If you’re hungover in the morning, keep drinking. Very similar to The Lighthouse, which I wrote about last week. Maybe it says more about me that movies like these freak me out the most. This story actually seems not that far-fetched.=; maybe it could even happen to YOU! Okay maybe not, but all I’m saying is if I was all alone in the middle of the outback, there may be some overlap (maybe minus the kangaroo hunts.)

Hello and thanks for reading,

I haven’t been spending much time listening to records the last two weeks, unfortunately. I haven’t been home much, and at work I’ve mostly been listening to MISFITS in preparation for a Halloween cover show, and INDIGESTI. For some reason I can’t stop listening to INDIGESTI. I have picked up a handful of records here and there over the last few weeks. When I saw DESTRUCT up in Richmond a few weeks ago, I was very excited to grab their new 12” split with LIFE. Sorry State does not have our copies yet, but hopefully this time next week you will be reading me rave about it, haha. If you missed this one, you can check it out here and get excited for us to get copies in stock. I was wondering what I would write about this week, since I haven’t been playing much stuff at home. I realized this morning I was overlooking a record that I have been jamming the last few months that I can finally write about. And that is ZORN’s brand new 12” on Sorry State, Endless Funeral. No joke, my housemate just walked by room and said damn man you’ve been playing this shit a lot lately…haha.

While Sorry State has many parts of the operation that all of us significantly contribute to, Daniel is the one who decides what’s released on the label. It is his label in the end, of course. There is some stuff we release that I don’t like at all, and then there is some stuff that I think is absolutely killer. This new ZORN is some of that killer shit. I do kinda have a soft spot for these goofy maniacs, since we’ve known each other since like 2017 I think. I feel like I have seen them more times than I can count. If I remember right, SCARECROW’s first outta town show was with ZORN and DARK THOUGHTS in Philly. I remember our demo tape was not even out yet, haha. I feel like ZORN has come really far since their earlier stuff, and live… holy shit. They are so powerful and tight, with just a touch of violence, haha. Anyone that knows me, knows that I am not a fan of metal. While ZORN leans so far into metal, it might be more metal than punk; their roots in hardcore are still present and bring driving force to their songs. They are a bit gimmick-y with the make-up, chains, and coffin; but don’t let that mislead you into thinking the band relies on gimmicks. They write excellent, dynamic songs. I’m not really sure what their influences are. I feel like music is the last thing we ever talk about when hanging out, haha. Surely the vocalist Eric loves MERCYFUL FATE, though, and I know he is a major songwriter in the band. The B side begins with a song entitled Endless Funeral, and it’s my favorite song on the record. The guitar is just so crazy, and it’s even more crazy they incorporate it into hardcore. It took me a minute to figure out what it reminded me of. Maybe I’m nuts, but it sounds like some shit you’d hear on a castle level on Super Mario. I love it.

They just kicked off their Euro tour today. If you live in Europe check out their tour flyer. If you live anywhere close to the cities they are playing, be sure to make the effort to see them cos you will not be disappointed. If you missed it, their debut 12” is now back in print! They will have copies of both 12”s on tour. Alright I think that’s all for this week. Thanks for reading, and thanks for your support.

What’s up Sorry Staters?

I feel like I’m already starting to get the post-October blues over here as I’m writing this. Halloween hasn’t even happened yet and I’m starting to feel the dread! I think myself, and everyone at Sorry State, has just been so busy that it feels like the month has gone by super quickly. In previous years, we’ve even done an extra special “spooky edition” of the newsletter, but it feels like I haven’t felt as much of the Halloween spirit going around as I’d like. Oh well.

On Halloween night, however, we are doing a cover band gig that’s also a benefit to raise money for disaster relief in Western NC. The good cause is killer, but I’m also just stoked to dress up and play some of my favorite Halloween-centric punk tunes. I’m in a 45 Grave and Misfits cover band. The last couple of practices we’ve had, I’m feeling really stoked on how it’s coming together. Also currently, our Swedish buddies Christoffer and Wilhemina are hanging out in Raleigh! It’s so rad that after meeting them in Sweden while Scarecrow was on tour that they decided to make the trip to come visit. The Swedes have invaded Sorry State and it will be rad having them around for the Halloween festivities. Hell yeah! If any locals reading the newsletter wanna know where the location of the gig is going down, please reach out!

Okay, so I ask you all to indulge once more as I talk about horror movies! The other night, I went to a screening of Nightmare on Elm St 3—The Dream Warriors at Alamo Drafthouse. Perhaps the best horror sequel ever? I mean Freddy and Dokken, what else could you want? The theater was sold out, and it was so awesome to see the movie on the big screen and have everyone react and laugh at all the right beats in the flick. Another thing about the Alamo is that they have a pretty killer selection of VHS available for rental! Naturally, I gravitated toward the classiest selections available. I debated writing about one of these movies I rented. Who could resist the strength in advertising on the box art for Ghoul School? “Sex! Babes! Rock and Roll!” All things relevant to my interests haha. This movie started pretty rough, but ended pretty strong. A fun romp with the most rudimentary but ambitious gore special effects. Would recommend. Then again, I also rented Chopper Chicks In Zombie Town. Also pretty killer. Why don’t they make movies like this anymore?

In the end, for this week’s newsletter, I decided to talk about the classic to end all classics, Evil Dead 2. I rewatched my copy at home the other night and I realized I need to remind myself to at least watch this banger once a year. I gotta say, it’s probably my favorite movie of all time. I mean shit, me being the total nerd that I am, I’ve got the fuckin’ chainsaw tattooed on me with “Groovy” above it. I just love it. It’s the perfect blend of absolutely insane violence with goosebump-inducing creepiness, but simultaneously totally hilarious. A perfect balance of insane groundbreaking effects, psychedelic gore, otherworldly atmosphere, all centered around a claustrophobic setting of being stranded in an isolated, dilapidated cabin in the woods. Not really a zombie movie, though some people lump it into that category. Demonic possession is probably closer? Word to the wise: if you read from the Book of the Dead, a creepy ancient book that happens to be bound in human skin, you may find that an unexplainable force takes over your friends and watch them become inhabited by a Kandarian Demon. Just sayin’.

What’s interesting about the Evil Dead franchise is that there are 3 films, each filmed in a different decade—one for the 70s, 80s and 90s. And each film has an element of retelling, or even reimagining the story of the initial film. Evil Dead 2 is basically a remake, but with slightly different characters. For my money, it takes the eeriness of the original and amplifies the visual spectacle. At the heart of the franchise is, of course, the majestic Bruce Campbell, who plays the main character, Ash. His performance comes across as a fairly innocent and brave protagonist in the original Evil Dead. But in this sequel, Campbell’s performance is heightened to a William Shatner-level of exaggerated, fourth-wall breaking absurdity. Just his physical comedy, when his hand becomes possessed and he’s forced to basically give a convincing yet slapstick “fighting with myself” performance… He’s flipping over himself and beating himself up, the whole nine yards. It’s great. Then when he chops off his own hand with a chainsaw? The close up on his face with that glint of his eye of total madness… Then the final gag, when he traps the severed hand and weighs down the bucket with a paperback of “A Farewell to Arms”… I mean, COME ON! It doesn’t much more brilliant than that.

I think that might be as much as my brain can muster for this particular “staff pick”. I highly suggest you make a point to revisit the Evil Dead.

Welp, until our next meeting post-All Hallows’ Eve,

-Jeff

It’s been a super busy week for me and I’ve had virtually no time for recreational music listening. It feels like October is this insanely busy time where we try to squeeze in a ton of activity in between the slower-moving months of the summer and the holidays (the invigorating fall weather helps with this), and consequently there seems to be something going on nearly every night after work. Alongside gigs and other social engagements, I was at the Sorry State warehouse until the wee hours of several mornings packing orders (thanks to everyone who picked up the new Zorn record!), and I’ve been cramming in a ton of practice for the two cover sets I’m playing on Halloween. Scarecrow is doing a full set of Misfits songs, and another group of friends is doing 45 Grave. My wife Jet is singing in the latter group and it’s her first time playing in a band like this. We’ve made a couple of practice recordings and I hear her listening to them all the time. It reminds me of when I first started playing in bands. I would tape every single rehearsal and most every gig—I probably recorded just about every note Cross Laws ever played—and I would listen to these recordings all the time, ostensibly to analyze them and think about ways to improve, but mostly just because I was so excited to be part of making this noise. Playing music with friends is still one of my favorite things to do.

I’ve done a bunch of cover sets over the years, and it’s always both socially and musically rewarding. For some of these, an existing band has learned an entire set of covers, but typically it’s an ad hoc group of people who come together just for one gig. It’s nice to play with different people every once in a while, and I’ve particularly relished the opportunity to play with incredible drummers like Eric Chubb (who played in our Adolescents cover band) and Connor Donnegan (who played in our Descendents cover band). Mostly, though, it’s the songs themselves that teach me the most. I’ve never been one to play along with records, really, and I don’t feel like I have much innate musical talent. What I learned about playing music I learned for the express purpose of being in a band, and I rarely learned more than I had to in order to reach that bar. When I started writing music—which was concurrent with starting to play music—the process was totally intuitive. While I might have had a certain sound in mind, I made songs by pushing notes and chords around until they made a kind of sense, sort of like how a sculptor takes a lump of clay and massages it into a legible shape. A lot of other people I’ve played with come to music from an analytical perspective, hearing things they like, pulling them apart to find out how they work, then tinkering with those plans to reshape them into their own vision. That’s never been me, though… I write music the same way I learned to paint, slopping it onto a canvas until it looked like something.

Playing cover songs, though, makes you realize how many ways there are to write a song. Learning a whole cover set even more so, because you really get an insight into particular songwriters’ processes, quirks, and preferences. Every band I’ve ever been in has composed the instrumental part of songs first and then added vocals and lyrics at the very end, but when you learn songs by bands like Discharge or the Misfits, you realize the vocals are in the drivers seat for much of the time. I remember reading that “Bullet” was a poem Danzig wrote as a teenager, the Misfits setting the words to music years later. Certainly, there’s no other way they would have ended up with the song’s ridiculously long bridge, where the band plays the same simple riff 17 (?!?!?!) times in a row. Playing “Hybrid Moments,” Jeff pointed out that the song is basically all chorus… three of them in a row with a brief connecting part to join them together. There’s so little to the song, but I think most people agree it’s one of the Misfits’ very best. “Halloween” is another one that blows my mind, the way the verses and choruses blend into one another, linked by this A chord so there are parts of the song where I can’t say definitively whether I’m playing the chorus, the verse, both, or neither.

Along with picking up songwriting tricks, playing in cover bands also helps develop your playing chops, and 45 Grave has been the most challenging cover set I’ve ever done from that perspective. That band could play! I remember when we did the Adolescents, I was nervous about all that downpicking, and when we did the Descendents, their melodic bass parts were a stretch for me, as I’ve always been more of a rhythmically focused player. But in both cases, with some homework, help from my more musical peers, and a lot of practice, I could eventually play, more or less note for note, what’s on the records. A lot of 45 Grave’s bass parts, though, are just over my head and beyond my playing ability. I’ve had to dumb them down to make them work for me, but I think (I hope!) I’ve done this in a way that doesn’t take away from the songs. Either way, I feel like I’ve learned a lot from getting deep inside these songs.

I always say I’m going to spend more time learning how to play other people’s songs and learning from them in this way, but I never end up making time for it unless I have the pressure of a show and its deadlines. On a long road trip this summer, I remember listening to the entire Big Boys discography in one go and thinking I should take the time to learn a bunch of their songs, as they’re a group whose bass lines I could learn a lot from. In fact, “learn a bunch of Big Boys songs” is still on my to-do list, un-crossed-off and taunting me. And then, of course, there are bands like Wire or the Fall whose bass parts I love, but whose style of playing and composition are totally different to mine, to where it seems daunting to even begin figuring it out. Taking the time to learn that music thoroughly would surely up my game as a player, but I guess there are too many orders to pack, too many books to read, and too many records to listen to at this point in my life. Maybe one day.

State Manufactured Terror: The US Government Is a Kleptocratic Doomsday Cult 7” (Autsajder Produkcija) The Croatian label Autsajder Produkcija brings us the debut vinyl from this New York metallic / crusty punk band featuring members of Pobreza Mental, Headsplitters and Porvenir Oscuro. While The US Government Is a Kleptocratic Doomsday Cult is bathed in the magical sonic mud that D4MT Labs has such a knack for capturing on record, State Manufactured Terror’s sound is more in line with recent west coast groups like Horrendous 3D and Global Thermonuclear War who draw inspiration from the music happening in the UK in the late 80s. I’m thinking specifically of bands like Extreme Noise Terror, pre-From Enslavement to Obliteration Napalm Death, Deviated Instinct, Hellbastard, and Axegrinder. Much like today, many of the underground’s most interesting bands of that moment were operating at the intersection of punk and metal, drawing from Amebix’s bleak world view, Discharge’s intensity, and the ever-escalating tempos of the emerging death metal and grind scenes. I hear all that in S.M.T.’s music (along with, on tracks like “Biometricks” and “Dead Homie Song Reprise,” the bouncy, Nausea-influenced rhythms their friends Flower use), those influences smashed together to make the most extreme, jagged, and difficult to digest sounds they can conjure. State Manufactured Terror isn’t willing to meet you halfway aesthetically or politically (another revealing song title: “No Compromise With Genocidal Ethnostates”), but unlike most other modern “extreme” music, their sound is warm and organic, and while it’s often difficult to tell what any particular instrument is doing, the entire recording heaves with this unified breath that’s ugly but unmistakably alive. The US Government Is a Kleptocratic Doomsday Cult is some of the rawest music I’ve heard in recent memory, and whether you’re a dyed in the wool “noise not music” person or you just want a soundtrack that reflects the ugliness of the present world, these five tracks are going to move you.

Alright fellow Sorry Staters! It’s finally starting to feel like fall outside and if you’re anything like me, when the world starts to get a little bit darker earlier and the leaves start to fall, you’re probably in the market for something more than just background noise. Something to get completely lost in. Something to match the season changing. And let me tell you, Dummy by Portishead is not just an album; it’s an experience. It’s like stepping into a smoky, dimly lit room where the air is thick and time doesn’t matter. Have you ever found yourself in that space where the world feels surreal, and all you want is to melt into the vibe? This is the soundtrack for that. Trust me.

Now, let’s get real. I wouldn’t recommend putting this record on for just casual listening. No, this is the type of record I recommend for when you’re ready to feel something. When you’ve smoked a little, or let’s be honest, a lot, and you’re in that headspace where every sound feels like it’s crawling into your mind, Dummy will take you there and beyond. Beth Gibbons’ voice? It’s ghostly and seductive, like she’s pulling you into some other dimension, whispering the truths you didn’t know you needed to hear. And the beats? Oh, man. They’re dark, minimal, and just twisted enough to mess with your head in the best way.

Tracks like “Sour Times” have this eerie, seductive pull, perfect for when you’re staring at the ceiling, thinking about every decision you’ve ever made. And “Roads?” That song will have you contemplating the meaning of life, feeling every note as it’s unraveling some deep truth of the universe. The whole album is one trippy ride, where the sounds are as important as the silences in between, and it all washes over you like a dream you don’t want to wake from.

This album has that ‘90s trip-hop aesthetic down, but it still sounds fresh like it exists in its own little bubble of time. It’s the perfect companion for late-night smoking sessions, staring at the stars or just zoning out in your own thoughts. Every track has its own mood, its own atmosphere and if you let it, Dummy will take you on a journey, no questions asked.

So, roll one up, dim the lights and let Portishead guide you through their dark hypnotic world. Trust me, this album will alter your brain chemistry. Don’t just listen—feel it—and you can thank me later.

What’s up Sorry State readers? I hope everyone had a good week. Man, this month is flying by! I can’t believe Halloween is just around the corner. Time waits for no one. Continuing on with the theme of horror movies this month, the film I’m writing about today is probably my favorite genre of horror, psychological horror. While I love watching a good slasher, what really gets my gears going is watching something that really fucks with your head. Often when me and my girlfriend are sitting on the couch trying to figure out what to watch, she’ll say “can we watch something made after 2000?” Fine, we can’t always live in the past. At least this movie is in black and white and takes place in the 1800s, so we got that going for the old time feel. Today I’ll be writing about The Lighthouse (2019) starring Robert Pattinson and William Dafoe. I actually really enjoy Robert Pattinson as an actor. For the longest time I only knew him as the dude from Twilight, so I didn’t think much of him until I saw Good Time (2017) and really loved how he played his role in that. I’ve been a fan since. Pattinson’s character Winslow is set to begin his month long stint of keeper at an isolated lighthouse while under the supervision of Thomas Wake (Dafoe’s character), a former (and drunken) sailor. Basically, this whole movie is just Wake breaking the spirit and psyche of Winslow. You watch these men slowly lose their sanity and descend into madness as they hunker down in a lighthouse getting drunk off kerosene and having visions of sex with mermaids. Or was it a vision? This movie does such a great job of mixing reality with the delusions of a young man and it becomes hard to tell what’s real and what’s not. Who’s telling the truth and who’s already gone so far off the deep end there’s no coming back. Both actors do a fantastic job of displaying the madness of their characters and make you question everything. I think this is easily one of the best films to come out in the last decade. If you haven’t already seen it and are looking for a different kind of horror this season other than bloody violence, definitely give this one a watch.

Hi Sorry Staters. Fall greetings to you. Thanks for clicking on the newsletter this week. Plenty of exciting things that we must tell you about. New releases and upcoming shows keeping us all busy. Don’t even get me started with the state of the world and my own personal life.

We have been busy though, and I’m fighting the deadline to get my submission in for this week’s edition. As I don’t have the time and research done for a deep dive over one record or artist, I thought I would quickly highlight some records that we are stocking that I have been digging this week.

I have always admired the work done by the folks at Numero Group. They have released tons of great records over the past couple of decades. Be it obscure singles and albums, unreleased recordings, reissues of underground classics… you name it, they have done it. I have a good many of their compilations and reissues in my collection. The benchmark of quality is so high that you can pretty much buy any of their releases unheard with satisfaction guaranteed. I know I am sounding like their hype man right now, but I am not getting paid to promote them. I just like what they do. A recent addition of another distributor being used more often and with Daniel’s kind permission I ordered in a few of the Numero titles we hadn’t stocked before. It was a handful of newer and older releases in their catalog. Cool stuff like this soul compilation Beehive Breaks, which I’ll definitely be wanting myself. There are singles on this one that would cost you three figures easily if you could find them for sale. Nice packaging too.

If you are into cool old country, then you should check out Sanford Clark and his album They Call Me Country. Originally a series of singles released during the 60s but collected as an album it’s great. Highlight for John Scott and I is the song It’s Nothing To Me. A tune I had known for years but by another name that was covered by Johnny Winter and now more recently added to Billy Strings’ repertoire.

Lovers of sixties girl groups and sunshine pop might want to check out Margo Guryan and her album Take A Picture. Such a lovely record that begins with Sunday Morning and closes with a cool psych groover called Love at the end. Great stuff.

My main pick of the bunch is one that was recently introduced to me, and which sold out within minutes of me putting it out on the floor. It’s an Afro-Beat Disco record from 1979 by The Lijadu Sisters called Horizon Unlimited. They were twin sisters from Nigeria and released records throughout the 1970s, this being their fourth and final. Original copies or reissues of their records command top dollar, so it’s nice to have this one available at an affordable price. There was a Soul Jazz label compilation from 2012 that collects highlights from their discography, but even that is hard to find and not cheap. Might be time to get that one back in print again, perhaps. We should have this Numero reissue back in stock by the end of the week hopefully, but here is a taste to keep you going: lead off track Orere Elejigbo.

I’m going to try bringing in some other interesting titles like this, so watch the webstore for new additions, and of course if you are shopping in person at our store, just ask us for directions and suggestions.

Okay, that’s going to have to be it for this week. See you next time. Have fun exploring new music.

Cheers - Dom

What’s up Sorry Staters?

Sorry if you all missed me last week. Sometimes life’s too busy for me to coherently recommend records effectively haha. But hey, screw that, I shouldn’t make any excuses. I did want to chime in and mention that the new Yellowcake record is amazing, but it seems like Daniel and Usman already covered that last week.

So, what’s been going on with me? Currently, I’m still fried from the Ejaculators show last night. Even with my lack of attendance in doing a staff pick last week, I’m still trying to throw this thing together last minute. Those dudes stayed up with me drinking beers and jamming records, but then left and went to get gyro at this Greek restaurant that’s open til 4am, and then I was awakened early this morning to the sound of my needle scraping and “Beat My Guest” by Adam and The Ants playing at maximum volume. At least they were getting hyped. As for me, I’m feeling sluggish as hell. I would love a falafel NOW.

Meat House is going on tour in just a few weeks with Bloodstains from LA, and also Sorry State’s household primate Shaved Ape will be along for the ride. Just a few gigs up and down the East Coast. I’m stoked as hell for those shows.

Speaking of package tours (lol), I don’t even think I’ve mentioned that Public Acid is doing a run of dates with Dillinger Four and Paint It Black. Pretty wild. Very appreciative they invited us to play these shows. With our heavy noisy ass guitars, it will be an interesting complement to those bands. Hopefully, the people that are coming specifically to see either D4 or PIB won’t absolutely hate us haha. I’m sure it’ll be killer. I’ll have fun no matter what.

I must admit, after John Scott choosing Maniac Cop for his staff pick last week, I wouldn’t say I was “jealous” exactly, but I thought to myself: “Damn, I coulda been talking about movies this month in the newsletter all along!” Maybe people who come to the newsletter for records (specifically punk and hardcore) don’t care to read about movies. I’m hoping there’s some crossover here, though. As I’m sure is the case for many of you readers, when October rolls around, I start getting really excited. I love this time of year. The weather finally starts getting cooler. I love wholesome activities like going to a pumpkin patch and selecting the perfect gourd for carving. I love all the corniest aspects of the season as Halloween approaches. If any of you have seen my entirely self-driven committed endeavor to transform Sorry State’s storefront into a spooky alternate universe with decorations, you’ll know exactly what I mean. I’m talkin’ “Monster Mash.” I’m talkin’ cheesy old school spooky sound effects records with cartoon Frankenstein and Dracula as cover art. I’m talkin’ Misfits and The Return of The Living Dead soundtrack on repeat. But of course, my favorite thing is to try and binge as many horror movies as possible. I wouldn’t say my VHS habit is quite as concerning as my record collecting, but I have amassed a few tapes over the years.

So all that said, I’m gonna talk about Dead Alive. People who dig horror love this movie, right? If you know those movies from the 00s that were super popular with like hobbits ‘n elves and all that shit, the same guy who became famous for directing those movies also directed Dead Alive. In the late 80s and early 90s, Peter Jackson got his start in New Zealand making some pretty fringe independent flicks. Dead Alive was originally released in New Zealand with the alternate title Braindead. For all intents and purposes, Dead Alive is a zombie movie.

A quick synopsis without too many spoilers: The movie opens with some Indiana Jones looking explorer types in the desolate Skull Island where they have captured a rare Sumatran rat-monkey. Unbeknownst to them, this genetic hybrid is a plague-carrying beast with a vicious temper. Back in the small community of Wellington, we meet our leading man Lionel, who lives with his elderly mother. Lionel meets the lovely Paquita at the local grocery, and these two go on a date to the Wellington Zoo. Lionel’s mother, jealous of his new flame, spies on them at the zoo and gets unexpectedly bitten by the Sumatran rat-monkey, thus infecting her with the plague. As her body begins decomposing, mother effectively becomes the living dead. Lionel, attempting to hide his mother’s newfound condition, tranquilizes her and still arranges a proper funeral. However, with her sedation wearing off, Lionel’s mother arises from her grave, bites the local priest, a nurse, and a local hoodlum grave robber, also infecting them with the plague. Lionel hides the four afflicted zombies in his basement back at his mother’s mansion. However, when his uncle unexpectedly arranges a huge party at the mansion after the funeral, bringing an overwhelming number of guests, the zombies break loose and infect everyone at the party. Thus, a chaotic mess of blood, violence and hilarity ensues.

If you’ve indulged me this far, I’ll just say a few more things about the movie. Over the years, this has become one of my all-time favorites. Peter Jackson’s blend of comedy and over-the-top splatter gore is such an odd sensibility, but truly expertly executed. Really, the acting in the beginning of the movie is so campy that almost feels as if the actors were given direction to ham it up on purpose. It feels almost like a frickin’ soap opera. With so many incredibly corny one-liners, there’s a lot of sorta wink-at-the-camera performances by the actors. But for me, this is brilliant because it settles you into an eye-rolling, corny, but false sense of comfort as the movie unfolds. More sequences jack up the budget for buckets of red corn syrup and pus-like goop, eliciting reactions of disgust, and you realize that Jackson is amping up the intensity scene by scene. It’s a brilliant crescendo, all building to the final sequence. Seriously, when the party inside the mansion transforms from a dance scene out of Grease into a glorious splatter-tastic zombie invasion, it’s such an amazing payoff. A splatter-fest to end all splatter, this sequence must have broken some kind of record for most over-the-top bloody gore special effects in movie history. Bloody disgusting—maybe even difficult to stomach for some, but still somehow not offputtingly dark or gruesome? Clever slapstick comedy levity with laugh-out-loud jokes will keep you along for the ride. For my money, it’s a TON of fun. Or maybe I’m just desensitized at this point? I’ll leave you with this: If you’ve never seen this movie and can make it through to the end… you’ll never look at a lawnmower the same way again.

Welp, that’s all I’ve got for ya this week. As always, thanks for reading. Hope you watch spooky movies before the season’s over.

‘Til next week,

-Jeff

David Stubbs: Future Days (Faber & Faber, 2018)

I’ve had Germany on the brain lately and I’m not sure why. Given the current geopolitical situation, it’s an inconvenient time to be thinking about Germany’s cultural heritage, but my musical curiosity has been leading me in that direction. A few weeks ago I wrote about the band A+P, complaining that Germany’s language and culture remain frustratingly opaque to me, and then, mere days later, I started reading a book about Krautrock that was on my reading list.

I must have added David Stubbs’ Future Days to my reading list nearly a decade ago, when the hardcore edition first came out, but I only just now got a copy in my hands and read it. In retrospect, I’m glad I took a long time to get around to picking up the book, because when I added it to my “to read” list, I was in a stage of rabidly researching Krautrock records and trying to hear everything with that tag I could. Stubbs’ book isn’t geared toward that sort of Krautrock fanatic (a book called The Crack in the Cosmic Egg is much better for that… if you can find a copy). Stubbs isn’t a crate digger. Instead, he argues that the cultural impact and legacy of Krautrock comes down to a handful of seminal bands, the rest of the groups falling under that umbrella being also-rans with limited impact or not fitting the categorical definition precisely enough. The one bone he throws this brand of fanatics is when Stubbs asks Krautrock historian Stefan Morawietz for a deep-cut recommendation. Morawietz responds, “A band called Limbus on Ohr (…) Very, very obscure. Compared to them, even Faust sounds commercial.” Stubbs gives us a couple of pages on Limbus, but other than that, he devotes Future Days to Krautrock’s ten or so biggest names.

(Side note: Stubbs book contains, as you might expect this day and age, a lengthy discussion of the origin and continued use of the term “Krautrock.” The term is, of course, rooted in a slur. After much consideration, he finds that term the best option for labeling this historical phenomenon, and I’ll follow his lead in using it, even if it makes me cringe a bit every time I type it.)

While you might not discover many new bands to check out based on Stubbs’ book, he provides a lot of context for the bands he writes about. Aside from the one large book I read about Can (All Gates Open by Rob Young and Irmin Schmidt), I know little about the personalities behind these bands, and listening to Krautrock is largely a context-free experience for me. This isn’t a problem, really… the music is so rich that there’s plenty to feed my brain with just the sounds. Stubbs provides some insight on why the music is resistant to the usual architecture of criticism that springs up around important rock musicians, the Krautrockers’ anti-rockist ethos and lack of charismatic vocalists shielding these groups from the normal rock critics’ methodologies. Some context can be a good thing, though. For instance, I have a couple of Guru Guru albums (Hinten and Känguru), but having no sense of who the group was or how their discography fits together, I didn’t realize their first album, 1970’s UFO, is a decidedly more abrasive and out-there affair than the other two. On the “to listen” list that one goes…

Beyond discussing the bands, their members, and their music, Stubbs’ book shines as a piece of cultural history. Much of the book is about the overlapping generational and regional tensions the music grew out of. While a couple of Krautrock’s seminal groups had initial stirrings in Berlin, Stubbs’ argument is that Krautrock, as a musical and cultural phenomenon, is a product of the West German state… a state that existed only for a relatively brief and clearly defined historical moment. The anti-rockist ethos I mentioned above was largely a reaction against America and Americanization; even half a generation before, German groups mostly aped the beat and soul music that catered to the taste of American GIs. While the Krautrockers’ parents’ generation were deferential to Americans, grateful as they were for Americans’ huge role in shepherding West Germany from post-war ruin to economic prosperity, the Krautrockers born toward the end of the war and in the immediate post-war period (i.e. those in their twenties in the 1970s) were the first to ask why they couldn’t have an indigenous tradition of rock music of their very own.

Alongside contextualizing the 1970s Germany counter-culture, another area of interest for Stubbs is examining how Krautrock’s influence spread across the world. Here, that Stubbs is an English author writing in English is a strength, because (as both he and the musicians themselves note many times in Future Days), limited though Krautrock’s influence was, its influence in the Anglophone and Francophone worlds dwarfed its impact in Germany. Particularly interesting is how Stubbs charts the changing attitudes toward Krautrock (and Germany in general) in British culture. Much as the Krautrockers’ parents remained stagnant in their embrace of America post-WWII, a robust Germanophobia reigned in Britain in the 70s. Stubbs notes at one point that, in 70s Britain, the mere mention of anything German was liable to prompt mock goose-stepping and sieg heils, and UK media coverage of the Krautrock groups (and there was plenty! Can even appeared on Top of the Pops!) willfully partook. I can’t find the passage, but there’s one headline that calls Can’s music the “final solution” to rock’s stagnation, and there are countless examples to go along with that one. According to Stubbs, though, this all changed with Bowie. For Stubbs, the thread that runs through Bowie and into the post-punk era is “a new pop ice age” when the hippies’ dusty garb and musty odor were shaken off in favor of a new aesthetic that was cold, sleek, intellectual, and mechanical. Berlin was the geographic vortex of this shift, symbolizing as it did for Bowie a move from the Americanized excesses of the Ziggy Stardust and Thin White Duke periods to the artier, more distant, altogether more European flavor of his Berlin period.

At one point, Stubbs says outright that Krautrock is the missing link between the hippies and the punks, and his argument is compelling. In the music of Can, Kraftwerk, Faust, and Ash Ral Tempel, you can hear the dismantling of the hippie dream and the crafting of new building blocks from which, for better or worse, the 80s would be built.

Class: A Healthy Alternative 12” (Feel It Records) Tucson, Arizona’s Class is back with a brand new album and their second Record of the Week nod from Sorry State, though all four of Class’s previous releases have been worthy of said honor. From the jump, Class has sounded to me like a band out of time, a relic from a bygone era where crafting a perfect pop song was way higher on a band’s to-do list than getting their look right or perfectly replicating the guitar tone on whatever collector scum 7” whose sound they’re trying to replicate. This is probably why people have trouble describing Class’s music succinctly, because their sense of style is amorphous and flexible, able to shift to serve the song, which is Class’s true master. Class’s raw, high-energy productions and big guitar sounds mark them as punk, but they’ve always reminded me most of the ’77-era UK bands who were unwilling or unable to fully embrace punk’s year zero mentality. I’m thinking of the Lurkers, the early Stranglers, 999… The “power-pop” tag also gets thrown around, but Class’s songs generally lack the saccharine immediacy of bands like the Exploding Hearts or the Number Ones (though fans of the latter will fall pretty quickly for the magical pre-chorus in “Not an Idiot”). This means it might take you a spin or two longer to sing along, but it also means Class’s songs don’t wear out your ear or grow stale with repetition… I can listen (and have listened) to A Healthy Alternative over and over and its hooks just sink in deeper. If, like me, you’re too old and cranky for straight bubblegum, but can’t fully get rid of your pop sweet tooth, A Healthy Alternative has the perfect balance of sugar and salt.