PUS
SNAZ
Odd. It was like the worst
nightmare. A dream I could not
awake from. And stranger still, I
couldn't slap myself to see if I'd wake
up since I had no control over myself.
It had been three weeks and I was
still in the game mode. Stuck inside
a television, lying in some blind
utopia-but not for me. It was always
cold, dark...I had to wait for the
surge of electricity to bring me to life.
I was also very lucky that my brother
was still addicted to this game, other-
wise I'd be locked away in the circuits
on a dusty shelf somewhere. The
game was still engaged in the
machine, though, so my mind was
still functioning. My body was stiff,
rigid as a board. I couldn't feel, I
couldn't see. A thousand thoughts
careened and collided within my
mind-the past, the turmoil, the hap-
py times, being crazy, selfishness,
ruthlessness, sexual fantasies. Fear
was an icy chill I couldn't warm.
Where was my brother? Why wasn't
he playing the game? I couldn't han-
die my thoughts much longer. I was
scared.
The hum zipped through. I was
used to the electrical rushes now.
The music sounded and it was game
time again. I saw my brother, zombie-
like, in front of the tube. I could see
movement behind him. He seemed
to be talking but I couldn't make out
what he was saying. My arms and
legs moved erratically. Sometimes I
would jump, sometimes duck, and
sometimes even throw punches. I felt
no pain, although I saw demons kill
me. Then I was alive again, my power
growing stronger, but feeling no dif-
ferent. Suddenly, I heard a siren; it
was from outside of the game. My
brother heard it too and turned his
head. This was the first time I heard
sounds that weren't associated with
the television. My brother looked
back at the game and reached down
to the machine. Everything went
black. Again, I was locked into this
loneliness, with no way to reach out.
nothing to touch. Why had I heard the
siren? What did it mean?
Again, the hum sounded the alarm.
and my eyes saw light. Two strange
faces looked at me. They watched
with studious intent, but they did not
play. My stomach twisted, sending
bubbles of frustration through my
98
Frantic
Scratchings: A
twisted space
ilusion from
a strange
perspective
by Cliff Green.
chest. In my mind I shouted to them
"Give me life!" Their eyes bugged
open as though they had heard me.
They stared at me, and then it all went
black again. This time something
was wrong. My mind was fading.
Someone must be unplugging the
game. No! I couldn't fight. Darkness
quickly overtook my brain. I fought,
but it wasn't enough. I was gone.
"I'm sorry ma'am, he just didn't
make it out of the coma...the doc-
tor said.
"He's too young to die!" The
mother sobbed loudly.
"We see this everyday. Young peo-
ple on drugs, go overboard, never
look back, become lost and confus-
ed. When they take too much, there's
not really that much we can do. The
potency of today's drugs are just too.
dangerous." The nurse said.
"Why did he scream before he
died?" the brother asked.
"Probably a last attempt at life
before the body ceased to function,"
replied the doctor.
C-GREEN
"Mom, if I would've known he was
on drugs when we were playing the
video game, I would've told you. The
whole time, he kept saying 'white
lightning burns, then he just dropped
toward the TV," the brother said.
"White lightning. That's the slang
term for this new drug that is the
number one killer of young people,"
the nurse reported.
"Gee, Mom, I'm going to miss
him, the brother said as tears rolled
down his face and onto his grey
cotton T-shirt, which was screened
in black to form the word "Puszone."
Ah, yes, the monthly installment of
Puszone once again. Always look-
ing for vinyl, tapes, etc. for review, or
send 3-254 stamps (they raised the
postage!) for sticker, to Pushead PO
Box 701 S.F., CA 94101 U.S.A.
One of the hardest things to
accomplish in the Japanese music
market is putting out a DIY (Do It
Yourself) or an independent release.
It costs so much to release a record
and the retail price is phenomenally
high. (Along with the cost of living.)
Plus, the Japanese hardcore market
is being monopolized, so it is exciting
and rewarding to see an individual
put out an excellent compilation
album, or omnibus, as the Japanese
have labeled it. Zigyaku of Gudon
has released three or four Eps in the
past, all in small press runs, but this
is his first Lp. Entitled My Meat's
Your Poison, this disc features some
of the hottest talent in Japan today
as well as hot tracks by several out-
fits. Six bands from four different
areas of Japan make up the record,
including Lipcream (Tokyo).
Systematic Death (Yokohama),
Outo and S.O.B. (Osaka) and Gudon
and Chicken Bowels (Hiroshima).
Here are twenty-two tracks of
forceful, aggressive hardcore that
whip up a storm, with mostly fast
powerful doses of grinding chaos.
Lipcream is in fine form, and becom-
ing one of Japan's hardest working
bands with their racing speed,
Naoki's gritty guitar sound and Jha
Jha's raspy, throaty vocals. Outo still
captures the senses with their rapid
assault and harmonious chants and
choruses. It's a speedcore barrage
from start to finish as Butcher puts
on a screaming tongue fest. Kat-
sumi's distorted guitar licks whine
loudly with raunchy feedback. Outo
is definitely one of the best in this
genre. SOB. continues to produce
their savage blurr of quickness and
Tottsuan's tongue tied vocal rantings.
These S.O.B.ers launch a full throttle,
no-holds-barred attack with a cover
of the Ramones "Blitzkreig Bop!"
Since this is an independent release,
the press runs are even smaller than
what you'd expect, but the effort is
superior. Despite having such a small
scene, Japan is turning out some of
the best hardcore in the world.
Here we go with egotistical, sar-
castic speedcore run amok. The
band is Spazztic Blurr, the cover is
pathetic and the lyrics are mostly
about themselves. Supposedly the
members are from some band in
Oregon, but Dig flowed heavy cash
to keep that name out of this review.
A wise idea, since this comedy slab
is better than their serious release.
I see tears flowing now. When this
disc arrived in the mail, I took one
look, caught the name and said,
"What is Earache up to? Is this more
snarecore crap?" The stylus
devirginized the vinyl and delivered
a rank, pathetic intro. I'm getting
impatient...Then the real stuff shot
to the forefront and the true Spazz-
tic Blurr appeared. Like a homemade
video, the Spazz's do a little of just
about everything, but as terrible as
the performance may sound, it's still
fun. Could this be the first comedy
speedcore release (or are they all?).
mocking their sound and scene while
still doing it better than some of the
serious bands? Of course, there's a
lot of fast stuff and pretentious leads,
but the other contents-screams,
chants, monologs, inconsistent
musical rhythms and general
stupidity-combine to create a
Butcher, the
founding
member and
still focal
madman
of Outo,
Photo: Pus.
wacky, enjoyable platter. Sort of like
the ultimate thrash party album. Hey,
let's be stupid with Spazztic Blurr
and sing along. It has a tight feel, an
interesting balance, and it's really not
overdone. This isn't fit for the barbe
que or social events, although it
could be that this was thought up at
some crazy pool party. Either way
you look at it, turn up the volume and
crank out the idiotic noise since it's
loads of laughs and not a banging
headache. Anyway, I'm sure Spazz-
tic Blurr will soon follow their idols,
stop wearing spandex and start wear-
ing upturned baseball caps and
shorts, perhaps taking the joke too
seriously just for the cash. Could this
be real? Nah. Spazz out and get
Befo Da Album, the new one by
Spazztic Blurr, the band with the
deceptive name on Earache. PO. Box
144 Nottingham NG3 4GE U.K
In the Chicago vicinity exists a
handful of quality bands with unusual
names pumping out a forceful sound.
Among those ranks is Impulse
Manslaughter, a potent thrash 'n'
bash ensemble whose first Ep paved
some turbulent ground. Now, on their
first Lp. He Who Laughs Last....
Laughs Alone, 1.M. further explore
the hardcore realm, with extreme
results. Lots of creative juices surge
into a hectic round of volleying
thrusts and chactic speed on a
harmonious ground. While these
songs are raw, brutal and abrasive,
the different vocals spread the action
into different parts, which are
sometimes annoying, sometimes
melodic and sometimes too fast for
the song structure. The lyrics blurr
out on the ultra speed tracks, but on
the slower tracks the vocals keep the
pace and the power. The guitar and
bass mix in some pumping energy
with rhythmic exertion, but with a
snare drum mixed too loud, that
feeding frenzy is lost below the bang-
ing. Side A is definitely the highlight
here, except for the humorous part
on side B where the guitarist goes
into a lead solo, the singer says shut
up and the guitarist does. Impulse
Manslaughter strikes with a lot of
force and a bit of adversity. This is
a good platter. On Underdog, PO Box
182, Chicago, IL 60614.
An Italian hardcore band who
decided to keep their roots and run
a bit on the metal edge proves to be
quite the cranium cruncher. Upset
Noise's latest release Nothing More
to Be Said!!! kicks in nine solid cuts
of furious assaults. Really biting hard
on heavy, crude guitar licks, the
songs have an uptempo feel that has
a lot of "chunka chunkas" and thick
whines. Not too fast and not really
heavy metal, Upset Noise's roots
shine through in their abrasive com-
positions and the metal effect shows
the power. This unit quickly catches
the drift bands like the English Dogs
cranked out. The mix really brings
out the guitar, and the vocals echo
loudly above it all in a raging roar. The
structure of each song is an ear grab-
ber, and this unit plays tight with
mean aggression, shoving all that
power right to the forefront. With this
change in direction, Upset Noise has
really taken a step ahead. On
Hageland Records, Diestsestraat 87,
+3270 Scherpenheuvel, Belgium. Also
on TVOR Records, Italy.
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