The following is the September 1987 installment of Puszone
Thanks to Scott Slimm for the article.
I walked into a medium-size room with white walls, high ceilings and
wood floors, scantily filled with rich brown furniture. Two couples sat
face to face on adjacent couches. In reality, I don't think the couples
knew there was anyone else in the room, since they disposed themsleves
to selfish arguments over petty matters that continued in volleys of
retaliation. The echo was loud; the voltage was at a peak. Sad that
they could not see their impulsive reactions and how they fire built
more fire. Ego motivated these four. I spoke; then fell on the floor
acting like a spastic, and smashed my flailing body against the wall,
but they didn't even blink an eye. I felt like a fool to do such things,
but I cared and I just couldn't get them to stop, slow down or see.
Hatred rose. Like the temperature on the dark side of the moon, the mood
was freezing cold and continually dropping. I think these four brains
were too. I had no power and violence is not in my book, but I could be
Darting out of the room, I quickly searched for just the right objects.
I found the first in the pantry area-four medium sized paper grocery bags.
in the bathroom, i found four hand mirrors. Yes, this should do the trick.
The couples were getting louder in the other room. I took some five-minute
epoxy and glued the mirrors to the inside of the bags. While I waited for
the glue to dry, I found some ear muffs, so I attached a pair to the top of
each bag. With everything in place, I took some lipstick and wrote in bright
red letters "LOOK" at the tops of the mirrors. I now hurried to the battle
room. I stood in front of Couple A, who never noticed me, and quickly pushed
the first two bags over each of their heads. I think I confused them,
because they shut up. So I went to Couple B and repeated the process.
Sure enough, they shut up too. The quiet felt good. Now with peace in
the room, I sat down to read the Puszone. You see, I gave it a chance.
If these four individuals just looked at themsleves, they could see who
the real enemy was. I hope they don't realize it was me who did it, or
I might be scraping Puszone off my face. Never can trust those violent
Hahaha Puszoners, your monthly installment is here again with a host of
Fist-crunchers smash down hard as this brutal sonic assault takes form
with its heavy barrage of deep tones and full tilt grinds. For a three
piece Doom melt down the damage in a form similar to Venom but faster
and with a skull crushing stamina. On their first LP release, No More
Pain, this Japanese power threesome belt out eight stamy tracks that
strike with an energetic voltage full of disorderly guitar tracks and a
thick, furiously creative jazz-plucked bass vibration. Bassist K. Morota,
donning a devil lock and white face paint, hits a mean finger thrust as
bass chords flutter with harsh pulsating vigor. An unusual touch for this
speedcore approach. Feedback spraying guitarist, Y. Fujita, spits out raging
emotion in his growling vocals as the strings blaze with havoc. In a year
when bands have become so predictable, Doom have added a uniqueness that bolts
bold with fury, increasing the depth of their already powerful sound. Not a
speed journey, it has its fast parts, but No More Pain relies more on
its ponderous intensity, making this disc boom out of those throbbing speakers.
On Rock House Explosion Records.
Not put the pedal to the metal and zoom up that throttle, for this 1000 mph
split-second rush is keyed up and amped to go. Abrasive thrash blasters,
Ripcord have unleashed the first LP with the spinning effect of full-speed
chaotic splurges. After the success of their self-produced flexi, the gang
followed the path of Manic Ears and came up with a thirteen song
mini-LP entitled Defiance of Power. This record hauls a vicious
load of quick aggressive grinds, explosive whacks and maniac shouting, which
is so frantic that the flailing truns to bulldozing. The punches are cleaving
blows that hook at every turn and blur with each rapid surge of adrenalin.
Disorder is engaged in critical warfare, the topics coverd in the lyrics are
the band's personal and political views thrust out in a graunched-out fashion.
Thrash, over-blown mayhem, yeah, that's Ripcord, squawking and barking and
keeping the fire burning-a force to be reckoned with. It's fun, fast, fierce,
flying exertion that jams radically however the speedy snare/hi-hat combos
become a bit repitious. But, moms, this will truly give you a headache 'cause
your juniors will play this to death. Warned or what? On Manic Ears.
This band has hyped themsleves for years, with a full volley of demos circling
about by a handful of members. Now the album is finally here. The band is
Death, originally from Florida, recently relocated and reformed in the Bay Area.
The new group plays a heavy blend of speed metal in a mold that is somewhat
typical these days. What Death does is good, very strong, tight and aggressive,
to say the least. But then again, it sounds too much like the Possessed. There
are differences, though. Heavy production beefs up this Scream Bloody Gore
LP as totally raspy vocals dominate in screaming passionate fury, and guitar
strings fly in feverish licks, leading the way to speed beyond speed. Snare
whacks drive you up the wall-they're just too much. What have a full drum kit
when most of it is so rarely used? The label claims that this will be big-
they could be right, but the record's not being sold for its originality.
These ten songs sound like they're from a horror movie with a fast-paced
metal push that runs out of steam as it all blends together. "Zombie Ritual"
stands out above the rest. On Combat Records.
Rock and roll heaven could very well be the place that the Stupids want to
visit, but they wouldn't want to relocate there. I guess it's just this casual
sense they have. In their semi-short career, the Stupids have gome from
juvenile pranksters to professional pranksters-I guess maybe popularity has gone
to their heads. Nah! Tommy Stupid? Never. Marty Tuff? Never. It must be that
irritable humor they have; it's disturbing and anarchistic. Just look at the
cover of the new mini LP Van Stupid. Is this sick or what? After the
disgusting doodles on the past two LPs, here's the Stupids trying to be the
Beastie Boys. Oh boys, girls, this is for you. And insideyou'll find classic
Stupids material, not unlike th last three platters-ripping hardcore that maims
and features new member Eddy Shred. There are seven spastic tracks and one
rappin' tune called "Stoope Boys"-is this a parody or what? They hate their
friends, they hate their enemies, does anyone take them seriously? Hopefully
their skateboards do. On Vinyl Solution.
Full force dominance with a compelling appeal abruptly bashes out one speedy,
bombastic barrage of nitro-fused momentum. A crushing delivery of pwer, quickness,
and ambition charges aggressively as this debut LP by Prong proves to be quite
a ferocious platter. Much faster than I expected but still radically tight, Prong
have suddenly arrived with an unexpected brilliance. Their demos were really good,
yet this is definitely Prong at their finest! It's amazing how well this three-piece
can kick in the jams. Full of metallic flavoring and hardcore artillery, Primitive
Origins erupts with seven sonic blasters that grab with full vitality. It's a
total no-holds-barred approach with no sloppy fix'ens. Perhaps Prong is the strongest
outfit to hail from the New York scene of late; the sound is intense, the drive totally
rages and it's mixed up with a multitude of changes and good chord progressions. Top
that all off with the sheer, brutal energy of a hard working outfit and you've got
a winner. Congrats to Mike, Ted and Tommy-this is exceptional. On Mr. Bear Records.
Lobotomia hail from Sao Paulo, Brazil and prove that there is still exciting energy
in the Brazillian hardcore scene. The production on this debut LP has a low tone,
giving Lobotomia a deep, raw sound that is brash, bold and full of savage disorder.
Harsh growling vocals pierce through the compositions that move rapidly but not
hurridly. Rigorous drum beats keep the pace as the guitar roars loudly, with a thick
and chunky sound similar to Brazil's Otho Seco. The lyrics are in Portuguese, but
translated in English. The Lp consists of nine tracks that drive with similar assaults,
all of a high caliber. Interesting voltage from this four piece. On New Face Records.
Remember when Cheech and Chong said they played Black Sabbath at 78 rpm and saw God?
Naturally thousands flipped their Sabbath records onto the turntables and hit the 78 rpm
button. That sound must have influenced a generation for now Macabre have appeared,
and the velocity here is like that 78 rpm Sabbath. Definitely flying through each number,
Macabre could possibly beat all comers to the Fastest Band title. Just listen to the
title track, "Serial Killers". Even the vocals sound like they are at the wrong speed.
The drummer smashes the kick bass so quickly, we're talking leg cramps. This is insanity.
This six-song 12" EP which deals mostly with strange, murderous song themes, is actually
quite fun. It is so split second, mayhemic and fast, you just can't believe they pull it
off. Maniacs is definitely the word here. All you speed thrashers of the cult
underground, this is your genre. Search and try to keep up. On Decomposed Records.
Speed merchants are coming out of the woodwork now. From Indianaplois comes
a vicious onslaught of whacked-out quickness with crude wallops of metallic
punches and a hard thrash drive called Transgression. Vocalist Paul Linhart
ravages his throat with meaty, raw growls of hoarse turbulence. This
twelve-song cassette shows brute strength and packs a mean punch that continues
without hesitation track after track. A lot of new bands are rising-enter Transgression
into the race. The energy is boiling.
Italy has seen a lot of explosive action with some outfits zooming to break
the sound barrier. Though Crash Box is fast, they're not fast to that ultra degree.
Full of metal chunka chunkas, smashed in with a forceful hardcore delivery, Crash Box
mixes it up harmoniously and works up an exciting disc in the process. Guitar
dominates with a steady flow, even as it rasps with a precise, hypnotic, yet vigorous
whine. Vocalist Marco enters at just the right spots, letting the music speak also.
An intriguing cover greets you on this Finale LP, which offers twelve tracks
all with steadfast surges, increasing in power. Not too slow and not too fast, Crash
Box don't just crash in.