Denizen
Whispering Wild Stories
Self-released

Whispering Wild Stories is the third album from French noisemakers Denizen, who thrive on a rare mix of cowboy freedom and back alley boorishness, meaning they roll out endless amounts of dusty and rowdy stoner riffs but shove ‘em in your face with some hardcore attitude instead of letting you bake in ‘em. While Whispering Wild Stories doesn’t quite contain the brilliant animosity of Cursed, the toothless tomfoolery of Maylene, or the Norwegian death roll of Kvelertak, Denizen are able to harnesses the same kind of bloody-lipped urgency of each of ‘em in some way and throw their own wine-drunk, hot rod funk into it as well. Despite the fact this album is self-released, they still managed to snag Nick Zampiello again to master it at New Alliance East in the good ol’ U.S. of A., which no doubt helped shape its eight-song landscape into the motor-driven sewer-fucker it is. Add some sweet cover art by J. Issac and a cover of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” and you’ve got an album that’s truly très bien!

Listen to “Casino Royale” from Whispering Wild Stories!

Sons of Tonatiuh
Sons of Tonatiuh
Hydro Phonic Records

Real nasty spawn, these Sons of Tonatiuh, born under a bridge in the worst part of Atlanta, left to muckrake a miserable existence from wee hellions with pockets full of coal to teenage pariahs with duffel bags full of stolen goods, now barely alive, toothless and hungry, channeling their anti-social behaviour into a rent-by-the-hour racket. This here self-titled full-length debut is what happens when street urchins demand to be heard; ugly, crusty, disease-ridden doom that’s lost all sense of control and shoved a twisted scrap of sheet metal into your leg just to get at that moldy, half-eaten sandwich in your pocket. Socially morbid, squeegee-bleed, spastic death metal with the rank odor of sewer water, fetching flies and whores, holding dominion over the unseen, chemically ruined, appalling and bloated rot, lecherous companion to all kinds of Black Cobras, Weedeaters, and Scum. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.

Listen to “From Ashes” from Sons of Tonatiuh!

The Dangerous Aces
…Deny All Responsibility
Self-Released

I’ve got a gonzo rock journo friend over in Merry ‘Ol who I wrote with for many years when we were both stalwarts of Sleazegrinder’s legendary jive cotillion. We spent a lot of time in the trenches together doing our part for the Super Rock Revolution. His name is “Medicine” Stu Gibson and he’s the finest, marbled-mouthed, mutton-chopped, pub crawling, rabble rousing psycho cowboy you’ll ever have the fortune of reading. His lust for loose-lipped loquaciousness knows no limits and is matched only by his love for late-night libations, which no doubt leaks into the lackadaisical lyrics of his lordly lamentations. You have to read him to get him, and even then you still might not get him, but that’s okay because Medicine Stu can play a git’ just as well as he can stroke a pen. He’s not afraid to put his pounds where his pucker is, and as such is best known as the soused singer and axe slinger for country punk heroes The Medicine Bow. But when the Bow breaks, the cradle must continue to rock, so Medicine Stu is gutter-bound with his guitar to find stardom among the sewer rats with a rag-tag racket of Manchester mayhem, The Dangerous Aces.

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