Panic! At the Discography: Gasp

There he goes. One of God's own prototypes. A high-powered mutant of some kind never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too rare to die.

Hunter S. Thompson
Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
1971

Gasp
An Earwig's Guide to Traveling: Collected Vinyl and Unreleased Tracks 1996-1999
Avant Garde Farm
2005
Gasp were fuckin' weird. That's the first thing you need to know. Like Melvins-level weird. They had an album called Drome Triler of Puzzle Zoo People and stage names like Professor Cantaloupe, ferfuckssake. You try to tell me what that's even supposed to mean. But their very weirdness was this SoCal "psychedelic power violence" band's greatest asset: an outre attitude that set them far (FAR!) outside the musical boxes erected by their mid-90s contemporaries (bassist Cynthia got more conventional when she went on to Despise You). Unlike the lightspeed hardcore of the day, Gasp brought a more brooding brand of sludgy noise to the power violence plate and they took their goddamned time about getting there. They mixed up Man is the Bastards bass bludgeoning with weird burbling noises, random jazz freakouts, manipulated tape insanity and other oddities. If Swans had been a power violence band then Soundtracks for the Blind probably would have sounded something like this retrospective. The most beautiful part of An Earwig's Guide to Traveling is that it doesn't feel like a discography record. There's a seamlessness and an intention to Gasp's oddity that stitches together all 65 minutes into a single psychedelic trip, making it the rare discography that feels like a unified album experience. Where Man is the Bastard tried to reconcile man and nature through low slung bass and screeching effects, Gasp were on a trip straight to your pineal gland and if their weird samples and soothing tape loops couldn't lull you into a trance, they would break on through to the other side using brute force. It wouldn't surprise me a bit to hear that The Endless Blockade have Gasp records stashed in their collection because the Canadian power violence revivalists see to be operating on the same cosmic wavelength. While An Earwig's Guide to Traveling is a slow starter, those with the patience to synch to its vibe will find themselves transported, as though all of the songs were written and recorded of a piece rather than trickled out as splits and 7-inches over the course of half a decade. Too weird to live at the time, Gasp's power violence excursions have survived the band's death as new generation's connoisseurs turn on, tune in and freak out.

Panic! At the Discography: Agoraphobic Nosebleed

Agoraphobic Nosebleed
Bestial Machinery (ANb Discography vol. 1)
Relapse
2005
Agoraphobic Nosebleed's two part M.O. has been patently obvious from day one: aggressive absurdity delivered with absurd aggression. With no mortal drummer capable of delivering the high velocity BPMs required (though Mjolnir incarnate Dave Witte was briefly in discussions to back up some live shows), band linchpins Scott Hull and J. Randall took a page from future co-conspirator Richard Johnson of Enemy Soil and invested in a good drum machine (since replaced by insanely detailed MIDI sequencing). Their robotic collaborator provided that inhuman jolt that underscored the musical and lyrical ferocity that defines Agoraphobic Nosebleed.
ANb albums -- whatever length -- are an emotional marathon. Even their EPs are designed to be an exhaustive, draining experience. PCP Torpedo is less than 10 minutes long but it will leave you beaten down and wrung out. Even when the band crammed 100 songs onto the landmark 3-inch CD Altered States of America, they managed to do it all in the space of your average sitcom -- sans commercials.
So when the band scraped together all of their early split, comp and EP appearances into a two disc, 136 song, two hour package, the result is probably the most brutalizing musical outing ever compiled. This is weaponized aggression with a reckless disregard for the paying fans who keep them balls deep in pills and glorious Florian Bertmer art. And the title, Bestial Machinery (ANb Discography vol. 1) makes me tired just reading it because it promises yet another installment at some point in the future.
At their very best, discographies are a funhouse mirror that force you to view your favorite artist from new angles. Bestial Machinery pummels you with wave after wave of relentlessly mechanical violence. If 15 minutes of ANb is enough to brutalize your soul, two straight hours (because my OCD demands I listen to both discs straight through) will permanently jaundice your outlook on humanity in general. Bestial Machinery also helps put into perspective the band's sudden leap from microgrind spree killers to digital crossover punks on Agorapocalypse when you listen to the band shred through covers from Corrosion of Conformity and DRI. While I definitely prefer Nosebleed's older material, it's a refreshing experience to realize what you thought was a snap shift in perspective was something lurking there the whole time. Agoraphobic Nosebleed dropped a PCP torpedo on all you reduced honkeys that altered the state of grindocre's frozen corpse; Bestial Machinery helps put the birth of that revolution in perspective.

Panic! at the Discography: Looking for an Answer

"Matthew, Mark. Luke and John are a bunch of practical jokers who meet somewhere and decide to have a contest. They invent a character, agreed on a few basic facts, and then each one's free to take it and run with it. And the end, they'll see who's done the best job. The four stories are picked up by some friends who act as critics: Matthew is fairly realistic, but insists on that Messiah business too much; Mark isn't bad, just a little sloppy; Luke is elegant, no denying that; and John takes the philosophy a little too far. Actually, though, the books have an appeal, they circulate, and when the four realize what's happening, it's too late. Paul has already met Jesus on the road to Damascus, Pliny begins his investigation ordered by the worried emperor, and a legion of apocryphal writers pretends also to know plenty. ... Toi, apocryphe lecteur, mon semblance, mon frere. It all goes to Peter's head; he takes himself seriously. John threatens to tell the truth, Peter and Paul have him chained up on the island of Patmos. Soon the poor man is seeing things: Help, there are locusts all over my bed, make those trumpets stop, where's all this blood coming from? The others say he's drunk, or maybe it's arteriosclerosis. ... Who knows, maybe it really happened that way."

Umberto Eco
Foucault's Pendulum
1988

Looking for an Answer
Split the Suffering Split the Pain
Deep Six
2010
Looking for an Answer may have had the most immaculate conception since Athena bored her way out of Zeus' noggin fully formed. Even when they were just a couple of guys tooling around with a drum machine, the raging Spaniards showed a poise and songcraft that set them apart from their peers as evinced by this early efforts compendium. Once they roped in live drummer Moya (who collaborated with vocalist Inaki in the semi-legendary Denak), Looking for an Answer became truly incendiary. The evolutionary growth from their earliest material, categorized chronologically, through their pre-Extincion offerings is almost operatic in its sweep and only becomes that much more impressive viewed through the hindsight lens of the awesome Eterno Treblinka.
In fact, just about any song at random from Split the Suffering Split the Pain could have been lifted and dropped on to the later albums without arousing too much comment. "Voluntaria Ignorancia's" thrash riffs meet blast beats could be the long lost twin of Extincion's "Ruptura." The (finger picked?) bass garbling of "Invasion" and "Verdadero Enemigo" bring to mind the more lofi, Repulsion Jr. scummery of La Caceria. Driving Looking for an Answer's best work is that slab-sided, grim visaged death inflection that adds a menace that punk alone just can't provide.
This is one of those rare discography records, like 38 Counts of Battery, that works perfectly well on its own as a self-contained album experience. Learning more about Looking for an Answer's past can only make you more excited for their future. Give them 60 seconds and they'll give you an awesome song.

Panic! at the Discography: Pig Destroyer

Pig Destroyer
38 Counts of Battery
Relapse
2000
Pig Destroyer achieved the nigh-unthinkable on early career compilation 38 Counts of Battery: it's a discography record that easily stands on its own as a contained album experience. That's largely because the first 18 of the eponymous 38 tracks come from Pig Destroyer's debut album Explosion in Ward 6. When you tack on an extra 20 songs corralled from the band's various splits and demos it still feels seamless and coherent. Even with all that, 38 Counts of Battery still comes in at a hair under 40 minutes (a tad long maybe), which keeps everything listenably concise. Despite being culled from disparate sources, the production remains largely uniform. Pig Destroyer's trademark heavy and overblown sound feels seamless and coherent.
Scott Hull probably ranks as the single best grindcore songsmith active right now. Every song is anchored in a distinctive hook. Every riff serves a purpose to advance the theme. Pig Destroyer's choice covers of The Melvins, Carcass and Dark Angel are a nice summation of the various influences that have driven Pig Destroyer creatively (add in covers of The Dwarves, Stooges and Helmet from Painter of Dead Girls and everything the band has done suddenly snaps into perfect focus). So 38 Counts is a wonderful peak behind the Great and Powerful Oz's curtain, letting you see how he grew and experimented as a songwriter, leading up to the perfection that is Prowler in the Yard.
38 Counts also represents vocalist J.R. Hayes' larval stage before he'd explode from the cocoon as a venomous, carrion-yellow butterfly on Prowler as one of the most intelligent and evocative lyricists in grindcore. Songs like "Yellow Line Transfer" and "Unwitting Valentine" are early examples of his obsession with obsession, stalking, toxic relationships and aloof, casually violent women. Others, the warped pro-choice savagery of "Treblinka," show Hayes being far more political than maybe we've come to expect from him.
I always enjoy when compilations include explanatory liner notes to fill in a band's history or illuminate where they're coming from musically, and that's lacking here. However, 38 Counts of Battery is so astonishingly coherent despite being Frankensteined together that it's easy to forget it even is a compilation. Instead, it just serves as another great album in Pig Destroyer's legendary career.

Panic! At the Discography: Discordance Axis

Discordance Axis
Perfect Collection: Original Sound Version 1992-1995
Hydra Head
In addition to grasping for grindcore perfection with The Inalienable Dreamless, Discordance Axis also set the bar for fan service with the early efforts compilation Perfect Collection: Original Sound Version 1992-1995. Originally compiled by Devour Records and reissued by Hydra Head the compilation collects first album Ulterior as well as many of their early splits with innovators Hellchild and Capitalist Casualties. The overstuffed 69 track effort even clocks out with the band’s earliest rehearsal recordings, which are probably only of interest to the most die hard of DxAx obsessives (I'm betting the circles would practically overlap in a Venn diagram of "Discordance Axis fans" and "Discordance Axis obsessives"). If Original Sound Version included nothing more than meditative instrumental curveball “My Neighbor Totoro” and guitar scraping screamer “Ruin Trajectory” that would be enough to cement this collection as a mandatory buy. But so much more thought went into every facet of the reissue.
Given the DVD packaging treatment that would become Discordance Axis’ hallmark with The Inalienable Dreamless, the package shines because of the care singer Jon Chang put into his exhaustive liner notes. Where too many bands are content just to dress up discography packages with some rarity photos and maybe a few old show fliers, Chang illuminates each song, offering some unique insight either into its themes, genesis or performance that illustrates the care Discordance Axis put into their craft (something he would add to the reissued Jouhou as well). His self-flagellating assessment of his earliest lyrical efforts is often hilarious and humbling. It’s impressive to watch the continual critical evaluation of the band’s work that propelled them far past their peers. With Jouhou, the discography also includes Chang’s two-part biography of the band, one of the few authoritative sources of information on Discordance Axis, a band that never got their due in their day.
If you had a gun to your head and could only choose on Discordance Axis album, of course you’re going to pick The Inalienable Dreamless. However, anyone interested in the band’s progression or the baby steps of 21st Century grindcore should also boast Original Sound Version and Jouhou in their collection as well. This is exactly what a well conceived discography should be. It serves as the perfect entry point for new fans but includes enough details and rarities that even long time acolytes will have plenty of surprises in store.

Panic! At the Discography: Agathocles

Agathocles
Mincecore History 1985-1990
Mincecore History 1989-1993
Mincecore History 1993-1996
Selfmadegod
2001
The fact that I enjoy Agathcoles as much as I do – which is more than is probably healthy – comes despite – not because – of the fact that I own three of band’s four discography collections courtesy of Selfmadegod. When I said the discography is probably worst blight inflicted upon grindcore, these are exactly the albums I had in mind.
The Belgians are the king of the split, which is great because a little Agathocles can often go a really long way. So being hit upside the head with 40 or 50 poorly produced tracks from the band’s various splits and comp appearances is exhausting, wearying and aggravating. In their original format as one off 7-inches, these songs would pass without comment and quite a few would rule hard. But being bludgeoned relentlessly by – let’s be honest here – interminably identical songs of often questionable quality does not do the band proud.
Packaging-wise, the normally awesome Selfmadegod simply collects the material onto a single disc. There’s no liner notes from band mainstay Jan Frederickx illuminating the band’s various travails, revolving membership or at least highlighting bits and pieces of the songs and spoken word bits. Instead each album treats us to the same career discography that was probably woefully out of date by the time it was sent to the printer. For a band whose back catalog is as deep and varied as Agathocles', context is not a luxury for these kinds of collections; it's a necessity.
This is exactly what bothers me about a lot of discographies. Collecting 75 minutes of material (in triplicate) is enough to test the most ardent grind fan’s patience, so I expect discographies, especially if I’m shelling out for a physical copy, to go the extra step and offer me something that places the music in some sort of perspective. Discographies should be more than a collection of disparate music; they should illuminate either the band or their moment in history. To simply shovel songs onto an album just doesn’t cut it. Discographies done right can often serve as an excellent gateway into a band that maybe you haven’t explored before. But if you are new to Agathocles and interested in the legendary Belgians, I can’t imagine a worse introduction. Go grab pretty much any split or full length at random. These are for the hardcore record collector nerds only.

Panic! At the Discography: Nasum

Grindcore is the petit four of punk and metal. It’s a delicacy best served in small amounts. That’s why when I asked you to name the best band working today, you overwhelmingly went for a group with a penchant for albums shorter than a Harvey Birdman episode. Given that you probably don’t spend as much time woodshopping a song like, say, “You Suffer,” as long as you would something by Atheist or Pestilence or some other technical guitar wanker, that means an average grind band can pretty much poop out a 7-inch’s worth of material a month if quality control isn't a high priority (*cough* Agathocles *cough*). And if your average grind band keeps at it long enough, inevitably somebody is going to step in to collect the far flung singles, splits, and 7-inchers into a massive discography album. But a discography is probably the worst format for grind ever conceived by the diabolical mind of Jesus for a whole host of reasons. So with that in mind, I’m going to periodically dig through my daunting stack of oversized grind compilations to talk about what works well and how they, unfortunately, go tragically wrong more often than not. I could think of no better way to inaugurate the new feature than with probably the gold standard for grindcore discographies.

Nasum
Grind Finale
Relapse
2006
Mieszko Talarczyk’s death during the 2004 Christmas tsunami was the tragic impetus both Relapse and drummer Anders Jakobson needed to get off their asses and finally realize the long simmering Nasum discography, which had been percolating for years under the title Blueprint for Extinction. Two years and a (welcome) name change later and Relapse handed us 152 tracks spread over two discs that spanned Nasum’s amazing career in the form of Grind Finale. Not only was it a tribute to one of the label’s most prolific (and likely most profitable) artists, but Grind Finale was an impressive bit of fan service and an incredible undertaking in its own right. Packaged in a book binding with a forward by metal historian and Decibel EiC Albert Mudrian and featuring extensive liner notes by Jakobson that illuminate all of the band’s non-album releases, Grind Finale is the discography by which every other collection should be judged. The songs, ordered chronologically, begin with the band’s earliest incarnation, before Talarczyk stepped to the mic or manned the mixing board to put his indelible stamp on every facet of Nasum’s identity. Beginning with the sampled secret of the band’s nasal nomenclature straight through the cast off bits that didn’t make their later albums, attentive grindcore archeologists will be able to piece together not only the band’s musical evolution but perhaps psychoanalyze its working methods. Though the non-album and bonus track bits are almost uniformly quality songs in their own right, with enough listens you begin to see why, for instance, the title track for masterwork Helvete got left on the cutting room floor. You sense how the band carefully managed not only the individual songs, but how their albums flowed and the emotional punctuation that delineated them. It’s just one more example of how Talarczyk and Jakobson and their rotating cast of supporting players were master craftsmen whose career was prematurely ended.
Grind Finale is such an impressive package that Relapse’s decision to cough up the slapdash live album Doombringer two years later looks shabby and tacky by comparison, a cheap cash in on a vital band’s legacy. But Grind Finale is a fitting monument to one of the finest grind practitioners to ever grace our stereos and an essential addition to any Nasum fan's collection. Or a great place for n00bs to get introduced to master technicians.

Blast(beat) from the Past: Apartment 213

Apartment 213
Discography
625 Thrashcore
2005
Apartment 213’s “Kill for Christ” is the single most perfect power violence song ever recorded east of the Mississippi. The implacable mid-tempo stomp is like being stalked by Jason Voorhees; the foreboding bass never alters its tempo but you know somehow it’s gaining on you no matter how fast you run. Then the machete-like lead riff comes slicing through your body from a direction you never expected. The sludge menace and audible violence of that song alone perfectly embody everything power violence strove for.
And that’s just the second song on these Cleveland bruisers’ 40 track discography, collecting the early works of one of only two bands to get Eric Wood’s rare imprimatur as genuine power violence (the other being The Endless Blockade). Hell, the entire affair kicks off with one of the most beautifully unhinged phone messages ever captured by recording technology.
Like Macabre before them, Apartment 213 had a fixation with serial killers, especially mid-90s Midwestern freak Jeffrey Dahmer (duh) through the métier of unhinged punk and the kind of gutter psychosis that would have Henry Rollins curled up under his bed with a teddy bear. The awesomely named Steve Makita sounds like a power tool, some steel cased, heavy duty model with a ground plug and frayed wiring.
Being a discography, the sound quality varies wildly, but the rough edges only lend more menace to gut punches like “Dissection” or “Two by Four Crucifixion.” he band have also recorded one full length and a less than satisfying split with Agoraphobic Nosebleed, but the discography shows Apartment 213 at their rawest, a young band raging against the stultifying boredom of the Midwest. It’s enough to make someone go on a killing spree.

Blast(beat) From the Past: Asterisk* (How Swede It Is Part 4)

Asterisk*
Dogma
Three One G
We hold these truths to be self evident: all men are created equal but Discordance Axis has none.
And while The Inalienable Dreamless is an unfuckwithable milestone for grind (see top right) and should be a cultural touchstone anthropologists will reference in a more enlightened age, surprisingly, Discordance Axis are not one of those bands that led to wholesale cloning (though that may finally be changing).
That has probably contributed to the band’s singular stature, and Umea’s Asterisk* were certainly one of the first to nick Chang-san’s signature sound. These three Swedes were one of the few bands to take Discordance Axis’ shtickfor a spin through a graduate philosophy course, giving it a thoroughly postmodern sheen.
Rather than manga and sci fi novels, Asterisk* roared their sleek, slithering grind straight through the world’s weightiest questions, addressing animal rights, Shakespeare, religion and philosophy with a thoughtfulness that belied the band’s brevity.
Dogma, the band’s discography, brings the kind of tunes that would have seared themselves into Johnny Mneumonic’s permanent recollection. Scope the way “An Angel Collapsing’s” insectile skitter hearkens back to Rob Marton’s “Ruin Trajectory” string scrapes. Asterisk* also show they have no fear of blithely traversing grind’s well posted boundaries to dabble in Euro techno dance music on the brief but accurately titled “The Anomly.”
While their DA debt is also self evident, Asterisk* were the plucky clone that could, taking Jersey’s finest export’s signature sound and bending it to their own profound purposes; not so much wholesale copyright infringement as sincere homage.

G&P review: Retaliation (How Swede It Is Part 1)

Retaliation
Exhuming the Past: 14 Years of Nothing
Selfmadegod
Anyone who is functionally literate and wastes about 5 minutes here will figure out that I *heart* Swedish grindcore and punk. Like listening to both discs of Nasum's Grind Finale back to back. Which was good training for Retaliation's 80 minute, 85 track (115 song) discography behemoth.
For much of their existence Retaliation has vacillated between the Carcass copping medical malpractices of Regurgitate (“Nailgun Rectal Entry,” the Acrid Genital Spew demo) and planting one Doc Marten in the festering polipunk demimonde that spawned Nasum (“Things Never Change,” “No Peace”). The combination over the years has produced a hybrid, deep seated misanthropy not unlike Rotten Sound and their ilk.
Unlike other tedious compilations, Retaliation don’t present their songs in a straight chronological/antichronological order, forcing you to either suffer through six EPs of horrible sounding demos up front or alternately despair as a decent sounding album spirals downward into murky unintelligibility. Rather, the songs jump around through their catalogue, while the inconsistent volume may make for a difficult headphones experience, the ordering manages to keep you interested by varying up the sound.
And Retaliation can uncork some doozies, especially when they dissect someone else’s tune. Smack in the middle of the album, like a stray dandelion growing out of a sidewalk crack, Retaliation bust out a savage cover of His Hero is Gone’s “Like Weeds,” sheering away the original’s haunting melody bits and turning it into a savage cudgel before practicing some amateur dentistry on your canines and incisors.
Retaliation struck back again this year with their latest album, The Cost of Redemption, but Selfmadegod’s infuriating international ordering system has so far stymied my efforts to land that disc [Warning from Superego: Don’t even think about making a Polish joke here]. But it’s not for lack of trying because Retaliation has earned a prized place on the Ikea shelf where I keep my Swedish goodies. It’s rare to find a band that will be able to unite the disparate branches of the grind family tree around a common love of blast beats and disdain for humanity.

G&P review: Exit-13

Exit-13
High Life
Relapse
Mixing weed, environmentalism, contempt for humanity and weed, Pennsylvania grinders Exit-13 proved massive marijuana consumption is not the sole provence of bell bottom wearing Black Sabbath clones.
Relapse honcho Bill Yurkiewicz, guitarist Steve O’Donnell and Brutal Truth’s first rhythm section unload 140 minutes of jazz infused deathgrind barely hidden behind wafts of pot smoke and Danny Lilker’s impressive Jewfro on High Life, a quality retrospective of the band's output.
These tree hugging grindcore Loraxes (Loraxi?) expound upon their love of all things green and leafy over the course of 46 tracks spread over two discs. This is the latest in Relapse’s recent string of excellent discographies. (See also: Repulsion, Disembowelment, Agoraphobic Nosebleed, Nasum, Disrupt and Human Remains, whose master blaster Dave Witte guests on a handful of tracks here.)
Environmentalism “Reevaluate Life!”), direct action (“Only Protest Give a Hope of Life”), weed (“Legalize Hemp Now!”), human extinction “Societally Provoked Genocidal Contemplation”, weed (“Facilitate the Emancipation of Your Mummified Mind”) and a mouthful of muff diving (“Oral Fixation”) all get their workouts in this collection.
You know they were serious because nearly every song title had an exclamation point. And that’s just the first disc.
Containing nearly every recorded moment of this often overlooked death/grind/jazz hybrid’s entertaining and socially aware career, High Life is snap shot of the formative years of grind when a new wave of bands and labels were laying the cornerstones of a scene too many of us take for granted.
At a time when any banger who mixes metal with jazz and the kitchen sink (*cough* Cephalic Carnage, *cough* Between the Buried and Me) gets hailed as a musical visionary, it’s good to pay tribute to those who the first to “keep on tokin’ onward through the fog!”