Summer’s dead. Accept it. Stow away the board shorts. Scrape off the suntan lotion. Make that overdue visit to the dermatologist to laser off all that en-vogue skin cancer. The books are already en route to bury us all.
Luckily, we need not graft away our beloved summer soundtracks. Those nostalgic, sun-soaked albums that scored our enchanted summer loves just might be the only things that get us through the impending winter woes.
Here are the tunes that kept Redux’s music review column, The Drop, slaving away under the summer sun.
And when the heavens crash down, the hypothermia slices in and our brains freeze in fear of finals frenzy, The Drop will be your source for sonic salvation, all grueling school year long.
GallowsOrchestra of WolvesEpitaph RecordsFour out of five stars
Punk rock stopped scaring parents long ago.
No one told Gallows.
Orchestra of Wolves sees London’s youngest bastard sons sneering Sex Pistols-snobbery over 15 tracks — and one Black Flag cover — of early hardcore angst and modern hardcore dissonance.
“Are there any ladies in the crowd?” queried Gallows front man Frank Carter, half-naked in the 100-plus heat of Warped Tour on July 7. Adoring screams arose as Carter smiled and declared, “I hate every single one of you.”
Lock up your daughters. Punk rock is being resurrected.
Bad ReligionNew Maps of HellEpitaph RecordsFour out of five stars
Twenty-seven years after bursting from the genre-defining, L.A. punk scene, Bad Religion is still writing pissed-off punk rock songs, still talking s*** on the “American Dream” and still existing completely against the grain.
New Maps of Hell embodies everything the world has come to expect from the brainy punk-vets: circle-pit-inciting power chords, soaring backing-melodies and sing-along refrains that compete with the catchiest of national anthems in their epic glory.
Unlike those anthems, though, the war cries of New Maps honor only burning flags.
The Icarus LineBlack Lives at the Golden CoastV2 Records/Dim MakFour out of five stars
Some of Black Lives at the Golden Coast rings with the vampire-like post-hardcore gloom of fallen Philly legends Ink & Dagger. Some of Black Lives wallows in the eerie melodies of grunge-era outcasts, The Jesus Lizard. Some sneers with the late ’60s/early ’70s proto-punk angst of The Stooges or MC5. But one thing is clear: The Icarus Line does not cater to the mainstream.
Don’t let the sunset strip stylings fool — Black Lives at the Golden Coast is a refreshing run of rock ‘n’ roll sans the golden, spoon-fed stroke of today’s suburban garage rockers.
Sage Francis Human the Death DanceEpitaph RecordsFour out of five stars
Sage Francis is the Charles Bukowski of hip-hop. Bukowski’s blue-collar swagger stripped poetry of its pompous stigmas, and in similar fashion, Human the Death Dance casts off the rap game’s narcissistic threads.
Left over are 16 open-veined confessionals that wax working class over heartbreak (“Keep Moving”), addiction (“Going Back to Rehab”) and revenge (“Clickety Clack”) while tipping their hat to the bling-free humility of early ’90s hip-hop and grassroots folk.
The NationalBoxer>Beggar’s BanquetFive out of five stars
Boxer> will haunt you for the rest of your life. Brooklyn-via-Cincinnati-transplants The National writes music to make memories to. Boxer blends humble heartland songwriting (think Cohen or Dylan) with an urban aura of ’60s garage (The Velvet Underground) and ’70s post-punk (Joy Division).
“Mistaken for Strangers” exemplifies the band’s soul-meets-soundscape aesthetic as singer Mike Berninger croons part-Morrissey, part-Waits over a melody that will sink deep into memories of suburban sunrises and city lights alike.
The International Noise ConspiracyLive at the Oslo Jazz FestivalAlternative TentaclesFour out of five stars
The International Noise Conspiracy’s poison-tongued garage rock plus Sven-Erik Dahlberg and Jonas Kullhammar’s experimental jazz expertise equals exactly what T(I)NC front man Dennis Lxyzen has been shooting for since the first note of the first Refused record: musical revolution.
Here, Lxyzen and Co. jive out T(I)NC classics “Capitalism Stole my Virginity,” “Smash It Up” and more, complimented by the piano and saxophone work of two of jazz’s finest practitioners.
In the end, Live at the Oslo Jazz Festival proves every bit as sonically revolutionary as it is politically.
Sa-Ra The Hollywood RecordingsBabygrande RecordsFour out of five stars
Most hip-hop experimentalists journey so deep into avant-realms that street credibility is jettisoned before departure.
But when you’re production-trio Sa-Ra and your skills were honed beside the likes of Ice T and Dr. Dre, no matter how many light years you travel, the streets are forever in your blood.
The Hollywood Recordings intoxicates the up-tempo rhythms of old Motown and R&B with a surreal, cough-syrup stupor (“Hey Love,” “So Special”) but is strongest in the company of its street-smart collaborators Capone-n-Norega, Pharoahe Monch and Talib Kweli.
108A New Beat From a Dead HeartDeathwish Inc.Four out of five stars
Hearkening to an era when hardcore had grown out of its circle-pit speeds but not yet donned its corpse paint, A New Beat From a Dead Heart stands as a fitting reminder of the intensity of the mid-’90s hardcore scene.
Returning from a nine-year hiatus, 108 chants 13 anthems of Krishna-conscious, mid-tempo mosh with trademark, discordant guitar leads in tow.
While the post-Y2K explosion of heavy music may dull the macabre appeal that won the hearts of the underground in days past, older fans will undoubtedly be digging out their neck beads for this.
Turn Me On Dead ManTechnicolour MotherAlternative TentaclesThree out of five stars
Turn Me on Dead Man IS rock ‘n’ roll.
Throw Technicolour Mother on, warm up to the welcoming, psychedelic soundscape of “Child In The Sunburst Pyramid,” then turn directly to “Cyclops (Dedicated to the One Eye Love)” and be crushed by a wall of fuzz that’d send even The Melvins running scared.
Top it off with a classic rock howl that hasn’t been reached since permed-out, golden locks and painted-on jeans made front-men more masculine and Technicolour Mother becomes a testament to rock ‘n’ roll’s immortal soul.
Jennifer GentleThe Midnight RoomSub PopFour out of five stars
The Midnight Room is creepy — creepy like the droning organs, archaic accordions and haunting groans that echo through nightmares of getting locked in haunted carnivals and evading killer clowns.
Jennifer Gentle-mastermind Marco Fasolo scores the scariest film never made as his brainchild wanders through psychedelic-rock atmospherics (“Twin Ghosts”), carnie-kitsch (“It’s in Her Eyes”) and “Addams Family”-riffing (“Electric Princess”).
From time to time, apparitions of Fasolo’s Italian heritage shine through The Midnight Room’s dark progressions, causing an unnerving collision of foreign style and supernatural mystique.