The long awaited debut LP from NYC’s FLOWER “Hardly A Dream” is finally set to arrive.
FLOWER’s tedious approach to writing/creating/drawing their debut LP was carefully thought out and the result is a monumental anarcho punk /crust record.
“Hardly A Dream” Takes us on a bleak journey through the dark side of society. As soon as you drop the needle a dark atmosphere is immediately created with a slow intro featuring arpeggio guitar work that builds into pummeling d-beat crust. The albums vocals then leave you with a feeling of being crushed by the ever-present weight of living through our modern world of late stage capitalism that was built on the falsehoods of the so called American dream, religious hypocrisy’s, nationalism, and the greed of humankind.
FLOWER take many cues from predecessors and are most often (and rightfully so) compared to NAUSEA but they also take a heavy influence from ANTISECT, SACRILEGE & other greats. The artwork has a very RUDIMENTARY PENI feel and the record comes with an amazing 24.5 X 34.75 CRASS style poster jacket. All art work was meticulously hand drawn and overseen by the guitarist Willow in true DIY style and spirit. Willow was also cool enough to draw up a special shirt for the record release featuring an alternative PROFANE EXISTENCE backprint!
Dark, heavy, galloping crust from the streets of London. AGNOSY is back to present us with a ferocious beast of an album that can only be forged by the anger and frustration of living in today’s world. “When Daylight Reveals The Torture” aggressively attacks evils such the current rise of fascism and animal abuse. It intelligently and passionately touches on the Afrin invasion and the revolution in Rojava and shows nothing but utter disgust toward the arrogance of humankind’s lust for greed and power that will inevitably lead us down paths of war and environmental devastation.
While lyrically AGNOSY are much more politicly straight forward this time around than on previous releases, musically they have expanded on their sound to create a dark and moody atmosphere while at the same time staying crust as fuck. To say they know what they are doing would be an understatement from this band of vets whose members have played in HIATUS, HEALTH HAZARD, and BEGINNING OF THE END.
Long galloping intros are followed up by traditional d-beat, fierce solo’s are then meet with vicious vocals and pulverizing bass in a brilliant recording captured by Lewis Johns at The Ranch Production House and was mastered by Brad Boatright at Portland’s legendary Audiosiege. We then pressed on deluxe heavyweight 150-gram vinyl, printed on reverse board jackets, and included an 11in x 22in gatefold insert to bring you a high quality and truly epic record.
The legendary crust classic is now available once again!
Authorized and released in cooperation with MISERY, S.D.S., & MCR Japan & Remastered by Jack Butcher at Enormous Door Studio we are beyond proud to make one one the most rare and sought after crust records available once again.
Fuck the scavengers charging punks exuberant amounts of cash on ebay and discogs. We worked meticulously with both bands and with Jack at Enormous door to bring you an updated version that kicks major audio ass while maintaining the original authenticity.
Released on deluxe 150 gram vinyl. With an 11×11 inner sleeve. Black Paper Jacket. Reverse Board Jacket.
Earlier this year we re-issued this legendary LP and sold over 950 copies in just 4 short months. For this second pressing we pressed 490 copies on Krystal Clear & 485 on Grey Vinyl with Black Mist.
Stench crust the way it was meant to be played!
The UK crust scene of the 1980’s inspired band after band but no other band has ever reincarnated the sound of that time as well as SWORDWIELDER. Quite simply if you like crust, then this the album you have waited decades for.
Review by Craig Hayes from “Your Last Rites”… Swordwielder – System Overlord Heavyweight punk fanatics take note: System Overlord is a fucking triumph. The long-awaited sophomore album from Gothenburg stenchcore band Swordwielder is a brooding behemoth, constructed from the filthiest and heftiest strains of punk and metal. System Overlord shimmers with apocalyptic visions, and it’s overflowing with all the grim atmospherics and intimidating intensity that defines consummate crushing crust.
Too much hype? No way… And no apologies, either. Swordwielder deal in definitive stenchcore on System Overlord, and much like their full-length debut, 2013’s Grim Visions of Battle, the band’s latest release is a knockout. Swordwielder’s harsh, gruff and dark sound owes a significant debt to old school icons like Amebix, Axegrinder, Deviated Instinct, and Antisect, and they mix and mangle their influences and leave ’em to rot on the battlefield.
Plenty of hammering rage drives System Overlord tracks like “Violent Revolution,” “Savage Execution” and “Cyborgs,” and thundering epics like “Corrupt Future” and “Northern Lights” exhibit subtler strengths, mixing guttural growls and clean vocals with crashing percussion and dirge-laden riffs. Connoisseurs of corpse-dragging crust will love the brute-force belligerence of “Absolute Fear,” “Nuclear Winter,” and “Second Attack,” which rain down like merciless mortar barrages. As a rule, all of System Overlord‘s mammoth tracks chug and churn with grinding muscle, while reeking of squalor and decay.
Swordwielder exudes tightly coiled aggression from start to finish here—songs rise from the ashes of desolation, and resounding calls for action and resistance ring loud. If you’re a fan of heavy-hitters like Fatum, War//Plague, Carnage, Zygome, Cancer Spreading or (insert your favorite hefty crust crew here), System Overlord‘s trampling tempo and strapping sound are bound to appeal.
WILT combine old school metal and crust in a perfect hybrid that very few others have ever achieved. Prepare for a LP thats equal parts galloping d-beat crust reminiscent of bands like HELLSHOCK, and INSTINCT OF SURVIVAL, meets old school death metal in the vein of BOLT THROWER, MEMORIAM (old) SEPULTURA.
Here is a track from the upcoming LP
“Sermon for the Bootlickers”
Despite the inculcation of helplessness within each there remains great power. Ill at ease with such makes us ill. Learn to see the hand that feeds for what it is. You’ve been fooled if you think you’ve got no power. Refuse to be reduced to a consumer you’re a human being. Define yourself by more than wealth. Define yourself as a human. You don’t need what you’re being sold. Bend your knee to no authority but your own mind. You have the power to avoid the gilded trap. Avarice is what you’re conditioned for. Break the mold discover what’s really valuable to you.
Wed, July 12 Hanover / Germany / Confirmed Thu, July 13 Bremen Fri, July 14 Mulhem / Germany / Confirmed Sat, July 15 Gent, Belgium / CrustPicnic / Confirmed Sun, July 16 Paris / France or Amsterdam / Nederland July 18 North-East France or West Germany July 19 Freiburg / Germany TBC July 20 Winterthur / Switzerland Fri, July 21 Zurich / Switzerland Sat, July 22 Biel / Switzerland July 23 Lausanne or Geneva / Switzerland
July 24 Geneva / Switzerland or Grenoble france
July 25 Treviso (or Milano or Bologna or Verona) / Italy
July 26 Ljubljana Slovenia Confirmed
July 27 No Sanctuary chilling day
Fri, July 28 NoSanctuary Confirmed
Sat, July 29 NoSanctuary Confirmed
July 30 Ilirska Bistrica/Slovenia or Vienna/Austria or Budapest/Hungary.
July 31 Wiena / Austrai or Budapest or / Slovakia
August 1 Brno / Czech Republic.
August 2 Prague / Czech Republic
August 3 Finsterwalde / Germany TBC
Fri, August 4 Leipzig / Germany TBC
Sat, August 5 Berlin / Germany / confirmed
August 6 Dresden
August 7 Wroclaw / Poland
August 8 Warsaw / Poland
August 9 Poznan / Poland
August 10 Szczecin/Poland TBC
Fri, August 11 Rostock / confirmed
Sat, August 12 Hamburg TBC
“Do you remember the good old days before the Ghost Town?” – The Specials
It’s still storming. I woke to the wind howling and the rain falling steadily in the primeval forest. I decide not to push my luck of not being discovered by continuing to stay out here any longer, so I pack my camp quickly and push my bike up and over the hill back toward the campground. I try my hardest to hit a happy medium of “making little noise as possible” and still “looking like I’m supposed to be doing this”. On approaching the back end of my original campsite, I see the older guy in the neighboring plot setting up a fire. He glances at me and quickly turns away, leaving me to infer that he knew what I was up to and wanted to show he didn’t give a shit that I slept out in the woods (G-code). I mentally high five him as as I push my bike through the campground and walk it over to the central bathroom. Feeling confident I’m in the clear, I take my time brushing my teeth and cleaning up before the days ride. I considered showering, but not having a towel on this trip would mean I’d spend the entire day soaking wet from the beginning, and having a forecast for rain all day would also negate any personal hygiene stuff anyway. I scratch that idea and press on, backtracking the 2 miles to the fork I took to get out to this campground from the town of Charleston yesterday.
The fork I return to is a turnoff for a road called “Seven Devils”, which if you think the name sounds ominous you should see the rapid succession of drops and climbs in elevation over this scenic bypass. This is another questionable alternate route my map tells me about, and once again I debate the safety of a less travelled but more hilly road to the busier 101 that has potentially less climbs. I decide to stick with Seven Devils since I already rode out here. As I’m standing on the side of the road looking at my map, I glance up and see a fence at the end of a driveway across the street that has “NO CHRISTINAS!” spray painted in huge bright neon-pink across the front. Baffled and extremely curious about this, I bike across the street to take a photo when I look up and make eye contact with 3 very gruff looking individuals standing on the other side of the fence. They all give me a death stare as I raise my camera phone. Well, maybe it’s not worth taking a photo of, even though I’m tempted to assure these people that my name is in fact NOT Christina and that I’m cool. Moments later I pass a banner that advertises a business as now being open on “Whensdays”, displaying a spelling error that sickens me in a way that only the sound of nails on a chalkboard can do. What is it with this town? How can you pay $100 for a banner and somehow no one stops you to point out that mistake? Fuck this, I’m out.
Seven Devils road is the most irritating section of road I’ve ever had the misfortune of getting to know. I spend a half hour climbing a huge hill, only to be flying down the other side and abruptly climbing another hill of equal size moments later. What’s worse, it’s still storming out, with a debilitating headwind and a fog so thick that I can barely see past the first few rows of trees in the forest. If there is a beautiful view to be seen here it’s lost on me, and that only adds to the frustration. What seems like hours later I finally reach the end of Seven Devils, cursing it’s name and vowing revenge. You just made a new enemy, road.
I roll through the town of Bandon, passing a bike shop on my right while first entering town, and debate stopping to true my back wheel once again. As usual I decide it’s not worth it and press on, in search of tea and wifi. Eventually I land at a place called Brewed Awakenings and order a tea from the stoned-seeming surfer kid at the counter. The owner is also present but she is not very friendly, proving once again that the farther south you go on the Oregon Coast the less people give a shit about you and why you’re passing through. After I take my seat the “Hey, I’m not dead” – “Cool, thanks for letting me know” comes and goes once again; so I finish my tea and head on my way. A side route takes me along the coast in Bandon and I have the pleasure of once again seeing some breathtaking and utterly amazing rock formations. I’ve said this before, but it’s the only way I can describe is like something out of a science fiction movie because it’s difficult to comprehend how nature could create such a dramatic landscape. I then think of Star Trek and in a knee-jerk reaction I blurt out “NERDS!” as I’m taking in this view. My housemate and a few other friends love the tv series “Star Trek”, and I jokingly call them nerds only because I don’t understand the appeal of the show. I’m thankful no one is near by as I blurt this out either, as traveling alone for this many days has kind of numbed my self-awareness and my ability to gauge my social surroundings before I start talking to myself. Well, whatever. I have no one to impress really. P.S. Star Trek is for nerds!
I continue along the rim of the ocean on this side route, seeing a handful of the most luxurious abandoned houses I have ever laid eyes on. One of them was literally on the rim of the cliff with an ocean view, a big “NO TRESPASSING” sign taped to the front door. I make a mental note of it’s location, in case I ever care to open a yuppie-style squat in the near future. A few minutes later I’m back on the 101 and fighting against the headwind once again, giving me, again, the mental image of pedaling through thick mud. As I enter the countryside the light moisture in the air gives way to heavy rains that pound me so hard that I have difficulty seeing my surroundings. It’s unbelievable how hard it’s coming down, so I decide to pull over at a convenience store I spot about a mile up. As I get closer I see a sign advertising something called “Jo-Jos” and “homemade mustard”. Curious about both I pull into the parking lot and set my bike against the ice fridge out front. Upon entering the store I realize “Jo-Jos” are in actuality just potato wedges with a weird name. Excited at the prospect of eating warm vegan food (and only for 99 cents!) I buy a small tray of them and when asked if I want regular mustard or the homemade mustard I of course say “homemade, please”. As I’m enjoying them under an awning out front I get several friendly nods and hellos from the locals who are making their rounds. The potatoes are burnt to perfection and this house-made mustard is packed with sugar and has the consistency of playdough. So all you wealthy fools who brag about eating fresh made pasta at some lavish coastal resort near the Mediterranean, or eating fresh baguettes and drinking wine in some parisian cafe, just remember that I got something pretty rad going on too. I got fried potatoes to eat in the pouring rain in some small, random town in Southern Oregon, so you all can bite me.
A few miles up the road I come across what looks to be an abandoned elementary school. I give it a double take when I realize, and see that the playground is now buried under 6 ft tall weeds and the building itself is shut up with boards. Never missing an opportunity to explore abandoned places I bike over to check it out. The building itself looks empty, minus a sketchy looking mattress leaning precariously against one of the school windows. I snap a few photos and continue on down the road, only to find an abandoned highschool a little more than a mile away. This school had an epic whale mural painted on the outside, which somehow made the whole building look even spookier. The facilities were locked up tighter than the elementary school, and entering the grounds would require me to lock up my bike and scale the fence, a lot more effort than I was willing to exert. I another mental note of the location to return to later and continue on my way.
More wind, more rain, more struggling with massive hill climbs. Every day I consider my “hardest day” always seems to be outdone by the following one. I feel numb, both emotionally and physically, and I just trudge along up the highway because that’s what I’ve always done and what life has seemed to sentence me to always do. This my existence now, I just have to accept it. I take a few breaks at some beautiful rivers and streams along the way, so mentally and physically exhausted that I forget to even take photographs of the things I see. They’ll live in my memory forever, but unfortunately for you you’ll have to go see them for yourself, which maybe isn’t so bad.
I stagger into Port Orford in the late afternoon, my left knee starting to ache a bit. I’ve been fortunate enough to have good knee health for almost all of this trip, due in part to the glucosamine and MSM I routinely take every morning, but eventually the strain catches up with you. I did absolutely no “training” in preparation for this trip and the result is a typical one. I coast through town and stop at a pizza place, the only business that seems to be open at 5:30 pm on a friday evening, oddly enough. At the end of the road I can faintly make out huge letters painted in the road on a slight incline. The 8 foot letters spell out “VIEW OCEAN” with an arrow pointing South into a neighborhood. Instinctively I laugh and say out loud “OKAY.” in a robotic voice, again glad no one was near enough to hear me laughing and talking to myself. I enter the pizza place and once again order tea and routinely request the wifi password for the hundredth time in my life. One thing I love about small towns is you go to cafes that sell nearly every food you can imagine. This place has espresso, burritos, pizza, milkshakes and homemade beef jerky – something for everyone apparently. I ask the cashier how far Humbug Mountain is from here, and like most of the people I’ve met out in the country she relates the distance as how long it takes to drive there in a car. I have to mentally calculate how far a “10 minute drive” would be for me on my bike, and she’s shocked when I tell her I intend to ride out there. She says “it’s probably like, 10 miles or something!” and her distress is only eased when I tell her that I biked down from Portland and she replies “Oh, well, never mind then”. She then adds “it’s also really windy today though”. Well, duh.
As I leave the pizza place I’m tempted to explore this town more thoroughly despite running low on time. As I’m biking across it I see only 3 other people, and all the businesses are shuttered tight for the evening. So bizarre that a town shuts down at this hour on a weekend. I was hoping to find some of the town’s youth to get their perspective on growing up here, as they’re usually the most reliable and honest source of information about what their town is like, but this place is pretty much a ghost town. I eventually find a parking lot with a gorgeous view of “Battle Rock”, a formation just off the coast, and a little placard explaining the history of the town. Apparently, Port Orford is the oldest town on the Oregon Coast, first “discovered” by European colonists in 1851. Amazingly, the history on this placard is pretty honest about the fact that this “discovery” threatened to existence of the Tututni people who originally inhabited the area. The original colonists were attacked and driven out by the Que-to-mah tribe, who pushed them farther North. The colonists then returned later on with more people to “secure” the settlement. The only part of the placard that omitted what some may consider “key” information is that “securing the settlement” meant murdering and driving out the indigenous people in the area, contributing to the genocide of Native Americans already in progress across the continent. But you know, accurate historical accounts are overrated, right?
I continue on and notice that the shoreline is now beginning to get that distinct “Northern California” feel to it and I know then that I’m nearing the end of my trip. Eventually I roll into Humbug Mountain State Park and as usual a wave of relief and satisfaction washes over me. I bike the few miles down the side road, find the check in station (that thankfully allows you to pay with a credit card) and start filling out my camp information. As I’m filling out my card two guys pull up on bikes and I say hello and point in the general direction of the hiker/biker sites since it’s not listed on the map. I immediately like them as one of them points to the “BEER SUCKS XXX DRINK WATER” patch on my hat and says “right on man! I fully agree!”. We strike up a conversation and it turns out that they’re both from Portland, but they both have been living in San Diego for the past several years. They talk like typical so cal surfer guys and it makes me feel a bit homesick. There names are Tanner and Steven, and we walk back up to the hiker/biker area where I see folks who now feel like old friends. Tristan, the Australian guy who’s riding solo, is in the camp across from me, and tells me that he had a hell of a day with 2 flats and a broken bike pump that he had to replace back up in Bandon. A half hour later both Zach and Dan roll into camp as well and it’s good to see them once again also. I meet a Brazilian couple who’s been bike touring for a solid year all over the world, and I’m embarrassed to admit how short my trip is in comparison.
I set up my camp and decide that I needed a fire this evening. I bought a box of minute-rice a few days ago and I’m really, really sick of having to carry it around. It having rained constantly the past 3 days has restricted me from cooking, but I’m not going to let the light rain this evening stop me again. I start collecting the left-behind but very wet firewood across our respective camps, inviting anyone to warm by the fire later, and decide to buy one of the “starters” from the camp host for a dollar. They’re essentially little hockey pucks made out of cedar dust and wax, but they burn intensely hot for a long time and can light pretty much anything. I walk over there and realize I don’t have enough change, so I ask for some from a couple eating sandwiches in a regular camping area and they give me 50 cents. I thank them and head back to my camp after buying the starter, starving and eagerly wanting to eat and end this day. I get the fire going and break out my cookware. Tonight’s dinner is rice, chana masala and bombay potatoes out of my last 2 Tasty Bite packets that I brought along. Tristan comes over to toast a bagel and pretty soon both Steven and Tanner walk over to hang out at the fire as well. We all share stories from our trips and Steven and Tanner both have hilarious ones. They tell me about a day they were at a laundromat in Brookings, OR where a woman in a trenchcoat with a really intense gaze tried to convince both of them to come home with her. These kids are both probably in their early 20’s and were understandably freaked out by this encounter, which they laughed about when they confessed this part of the story. They also told us about a night they spent on the sand in Northern California, which they thought to be legally allowed. They picked a spot hidden between some cliffs on a secluded section of beach, and awoke the next morning to a coastguard helicopter hovering just 50 ft above their camp. Freaking out, they packed up their stuff and managed to run down the sand and off the beach with their bikes as the helicopter landed on the shore! We all howled with laughter at that, and both Tristan and I promised them both that we’d be careful and watch out for the woman in the trenchcoat when we got to Brookings.
The fire begins to die out, normally a signal that the party’s over. I say goodnight to everyone, adding to Steven and Tanner that I hoped to see them around Portland when I got back. I truly meant it, they were both super nice guys. I also said goodnight to Dan and Zach, who had a long night of drying their wet clothes by the fire ahead of them. They bought an entire cart of firewood to do so, and by the size of it it looked as if they were going to be up all night. I laid down in my tent, curled up in my sleeping bag and continued on with my Stephen King book. Even though it’s still raining, life is starting to feel ok again, and my mind drifts to my day in Brookings tomorrow. I originally was going to stop just south of Brookings for the night, rounding out a decent ride, but looking at the map it saddened me to think that I’d be that close to the California border and not continue on. I decided that I was going to go for it tomorrow and try and get to a state park just outside of Crescent City called Jedediah Smith, since that was also on highway 99 which I’ll be transferring to. This would make almost a 100 mile day, which would be my longest since the trip started, but I feel confident that I can make it happen. It will potentially be my last day riding, so even if my knee gives me trouble again I’ll be able to stay off it while I hitch back to Portland. Chances are also that this will be my last night with all the people I’ve come to know on this trip as well, since the state park I’ll be staying at is a few miles off the route that everyone else will be taking farther south. I’m sad, excited and enthusiastic all at once as I think about accomplishing the goal I set for myself tomorrow. Now I must sleep, as tomorrow will be the longest day yet and is filled with unknown pitfalls and challenges. Sleep well my friends, I’ll be seeing you soon.
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