Slovenly HHV Records 26 Items

What we don't have here is "Omelette Punk," or "Country-Rawk," or Anything but stripped-down Rock'n'roll from Missouri's Still Animals. The 10 tracks on this eponymous debut are short, and to the point. In a perfect world, real kids everywhere are dancing to it on real radios while ditching real lame study hall, and they Look Kool doin’ it. This is the sound of St. Louis: the city's lead and limestone from a dead era, revitalized, and without a lick of gentrification. A couple of the cats here picked up their axes for the first time for this band, and the others cut their teeth touring with some excellent punk and hardcore combos. "Still Animals" fully represents uncharted territory for this crew, and it sounds to Slovenly like they were born to kill in their simplicity and ineptitude. We demand they don't get any "better" (it's in the contract). Album recorded by Andy Peterson (home & Office, Trauma Harness, Lumpy AND THE Dumpers) in a 130 year old limestone Mound City basement.

After grumbling for 30 years waiting for the first two albums from Atlanta’s Subsonics to appear on our preferred long playing format, we delinquents at Slovenly Recordings have taken the matter into our own leathery clutches and proudly present the first ever vinyl versions of Subsonics (1992) and Good Violence (1993). Criminally overlooked due to being CD only releases at the time—anyone who was anyone in those days was still stuck on *records* during the world’s biggest boom of slick digital coasters - these feculent works of pure derelict attitude are a sorely needed reminder of just how fucking Cool the rock still rolled at the dawn of its death, and prove that Subsonics—if you’ve been paying attention—remain consistent in their execution. A Subsonics mention in the same breath as the era’s most revered luminaries is crucial to the garage-rock conversation due to their unique take and attack on the teenbeat tongue, whether they consider themselves to be a component of the scene, or as outsiders making catchy and clever bang-shang-a-lang for their own inside kicks. Either way, our ATL heroes are playing the same stage, and they aren't particularly concerned if you missed the set… that’s our job. Here they are in 2023, exhumed at their most frantic, and they’ve never been more exalted.

After grumbling for 30 years waiting for the first two albums from Atlanta’s Subsonics to appear on our preferred long playing format, we delinquents at Slovenly Recordings have taken the matter into our own leathery clutches and proudly present the first ever vinyl versions of Subsonics (1992) and Good Violence (1993). Criminally overlooked due to being CD only releases at the time—anyone who was anyone in those days was still stuck on *records* during the world’s biggest boom of slick digital coasters - these feculent works of pure derelict attitude are a sorely needed reminder of just how fucking Cool the rock still rolled at the dawn of its death, and prove that Subsonics—if you’ve been paying attention—remain consistent in their execution. A Subsonics mention in the same breath as the era’s most revered luminaries is crucial to the garage-rock conversation due to their unique take and attack on the teenbeat tongue, whether they consider themselves to be a component of the scene, or as outsiders making catchy and clever bang-shang-a-lang for their own inside kicks. Either way, our ATL heroes are playing the same stage, and they aren't particularly concerned if you missed the set… that’s our job. Here they are in 2023, exhumed at their most frantic, and they’ve never been more exalted.

Only longtime and well-connected west coast punks—and any lucky dirtbags, cowboy hat goths, and broken-down romantics who have passed through the sagebrush hills and smoky casino bars of Reno, Nevada sometime in the last decade—know Spitting Image. Unless you heard them on a few small run cassette tapes or 7" records with cryptic art and far-out distortion, or at a party they ritually summon to any warehouse, parking lot, basement, or Great Basin lake shore they can find, you didn’t. But thanks to Slovenly Recordings, who share a hometown with the band and have sought out the finest and grimiest punk sounds from every corner of the globe, the rest of the world at last receives a report back from these scuzz punk art freaks on their deep trip, deep in the desert: Full Sun. And it’s dark, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad trip. Donovan Williams’ merciless drumbeats drive downstroke rippers like “Devils Bloom” and “Still Thing,” and tracks like “Broadcast” and “Plea Dealer” play up the conversation between Jack Scribner’s beating-heart bass and Julian Jacobs’ alternately schizophrenic and soaring guitar. The 12 poems that make up this record pull together the stranger fringes of the ‘80s wave—Wipers, Gun Club, Sonic Youth, Television, early Siouxsie—with basement hardcore and hints of krautrock, psych, and industrial that show the band’s “fascination with repetition, patterns, transposing things and ideas into new contexts.” These sounds aren’t genre conventions to mash up and reference; they’re tools to express a razor sharp focus on the bliss and insight found in the periphery, the underbelly, the “places of edges,” feelings that are fleeting and serendipitous, but indisputable and eternal once felt. Austin Pratt’s zen lyricism finds unity in opposites: "full sun / humming in wisdom" and "full shade / resting in peace" all at once. The discarded casino chips glowing under faded, disorienting neon lights, and the otherworld fossils disintegrating under the relentless desert sun: now remember they’re the same thing, and you’re getting it. Spitting Image have performed with Iceage, Ceremony, and Spiritual Cramp, and their project will make intuitive sense to fans of bands like The Men, Gun Outfit, and Protomartyr. What separates Spitting Image from their contemporaries, however, is the sound of the desert—spacious, sweltering, and shimmering on their debut LP. When mirrored glasses and a broad hat aren't enough and you squint through the white afternoon dust in the breeze—that's Full Sun. When the wildflower jewels that can't be pawned force their way through the calcified crust to sing their "lust song with the earth"—that's Full Sun. When the fucking riff kicks in, that's Full fucking Sun.

¿Donde estan Ardillas? We hope somebody’s seen ‘em recently. Legend goes that these Puerto Rican rodents (formed ten years prior to Davilla 666 with whom they share members) like to take their time, hitting the studio to record their first album (2011’s self-titled LP on Cha Cho Records) a decade after their inception, and laying down this second, mucho overdue album somewhere on the far side of inbetween. That bygone session produced this tenderly rocking beauty Canciones de Amor, Locura y Muerte, and it’s been worth the wait! "¿Donde estan?" opens the set with a gang vocal driven mid-tempo twist sweeter than a tray of mantecaditos, and the swivel don’t surrender until the reprisal of “Linda Niña”—a loving but pumping island anthem first released as a Slovenly single long ago in sunnier times. If you’ve ever happened across Ardillas on stage, you know well (and you’ll never forget!) that whatever delicate care they’ve serenaded you with is a decoy vehicle for sweaty and swingin’ rock’n’roll licks from the Chuck Berry-cum-Flamin’ Groovies School o’ Truth. Our muchly esteemed greasers even manage to abort balladry and muster sneers for the mean streets on “Entregate a la Perdición,” and the twangy ‘n gallopin’ “La Ruta.” ¿Donde estan Ardillas? How much time has to pass before their next appearance, live or waxed? Chipmunks only come out when they want, but it’s always better late than never.

It’s 1980 in Orange County, California, and Punk Rock has been scorching the ‘burbs for a few years. Eddie Joseph has been on the Southern California scene the entire time, plotting his poisonous rock’n’roll maneuvers since the mid 1960s when he began playing in garage bands. Eddie had been honing his skills on roots music and swinging teenbeat well in advance of his foray into a new, seedy, violent punk blitzkrieg. There’s a master plan at work here, and it involves select players depending on which direction Eddie needs to bleed out of his system. The recruitment of Mike Patton and Matt Simon of OC legends THE Middle Class get Eddie AND THE Subtitles rolling for a slew of shows with comrades Black Flag, Adolescents, Circle Jerks and every other degenerate crew in the radius. A DIY imprint called No Label Records is formed (with literally NO Labels on the vinyl!) and the first single “Fuck You Eddie!” is unleashed. Recorded in Fullerton by JON ST. James at his legendary Casbah studio (The Vandals, Social Distortion, Berlin), these sessions also yielded a handful of tracks that would appear on the exceedingly rare Skeletons In The Closet LP (No Label Records, 1981). “Zombie Drug Killers,” “No Virgins In Hollywood,” and “American Society” (the short fast loud version covered by L7) appear here as the opening trio on this newly re-sequenced reissue. Geza X is also on board to produce a handful of tracks with peripheral Subtitles including Nicky Beat (germs, Weirdos) among the sessions’ players. The results here are another manifestation of Eddie’s one true love. Even as a punk allegiant, songwriting, sound and style are the priority. The dusted and dark goth-pop of “Magic” and “Stream of Consciousness” are crucial to the plot, setting a unique tone that works in a sea of one-dimensional scene releases, taking full advantage of Geza’s synth-mimicking microtonal guitar techniques. A tribute to Dave Dacron, chief miscreant of Dangerhouse Records’ Rhino 39 is also set to tape as consolation to X, as Dacron’s 16 year old life was tragically cut short in an automobile accident in 1980. But the party rocks on with covers of “Louie Louie” (also appearing on the elusive Fuck You Eddie! single) and “We Gotta Get Out of This Place,” as a testament to Eddie’s obsession with the timeless now-sounds of his delinquent adolescence. Friends and fellow freaks JON Blair (of surf cats JON AND THE Nightriders) and Bobby Paine (later of rockabilly hepsters THE Paine Brothers) lend their own song-smithery for four more originals: “Boppin’ Little Bobcat, ”“Treat me Right,” “Gina” (covered in 1984 by Josie Cotton and again in ‘89 by Stray Cats) and “Your Head’s In The Right Place,” respectively. Skeletons In The Closet remains an unusual and rare artifact in the ashtray world of punk, DIY and outsider music, and Slovenly Recordings is blasted to present it to the world one more time.

As the delicate strings wistfully arpeggiate throughout the blissful introduc… get the fuck outta here, man. This is Slovenly territory, and this is THE Anomalys… NOW AND Forever! Crushing boldly into this total wreck of a future and not giving a rat’s ass for politeness, Glitch marks the first full-length from our Dutch decapitators with the current and deadly lineup of skinsman Rémi Lucas, Looch Vibrato (from Magnetix) on guitar number two lending his legendary fuzz and distortion, and our towering disaster of a leader, Bone on guitar and throat. It's no secret that this trio is one of the most ferocious live bands on planet Earth, and Glitch, with its remarkable new superphonic recording technique, captures the chaotic rockabilly-cum-garage punk pummel and twang like never before. Picking up right where they left off with 2019’s Trooper EP, The Anomalys resurrect and regurgitate that 7-inch’s title cut on this new LP, obliterating the OG and rendering it obsolete (nah, you need ‘em both). “One of these days and it won’t be long, you’re gonna dance to a different song!” A sincere threat from Bone right there on “Bleed for Me,” but “different songs” ain’t necessarily what these beasts be about. We come to The Anomalys for one thing and one thing only: Relentless, ass shaking rock’n’roll. 'Cause that's the way we digs it, beer breath and all.

Slovenly’s mother tongue recordings imprint is psyched beyond belief to present to the freaks and creeps of planet Earth, the 8th LP from Switzerland's THE MONSTERS—Du Hesch Cläss Ig Bi Träsch (“You’re Class I’m Trash”)! Scandinavian Bestial Death Metal? Puh-leeze. Japanese Harsh Noise? Gimme A Fuckin Break! This is the true evil that rock’n’rollers do, and you’ll be trembling in your creepers before your asses even get close to bumping to the radical raunch contained on this truly amazing long-player. Even long time rabid fans will be stunned by the sheer magnitude of nastiness and horror here, and if you’re a newcomer, we wish you the best of luck! Yeah, that’s a harpsichord and a choir on the intro. Oops, that’s the outro. We listen to shit backwards and you should too. But so fucking what? Religion rightly scares the piss out of us, and The Monsters make no bones about their just demands of servitude. But you know what the craziest part of this disaster is? It’s not simply that it transcends any trite categories like “GARAGE,” or “PSYCHOBILLY,” or even just (JUST!) “ROCK’n’ROLL,” it’s your perception of maestro BEATMAN's tried and true and fried as fuck vocal throttle that’s damaged even further by him singing in Swiss-German for the first time on any of his vast catalog o’ cool, and it’s for the entirety of this monster swingin’ album! You want the English version? Well take your ass to his legendary Voodoo Rhythm label (Records To Ruin Any Party!) and imbibe as you are wont to do, but we’re gambling that this language, which has no formal written application, is going to screw your brains like his charmingly broken English has never done before. No offense, we love everything the Beatman touches, but this bold and genius move has got our lobes knocked up like a barefoot mormon sister-wife. Mondo Mongo, mofos! Familiar tracks from killer records past, like “I’m a Stranger To Me” reappear as “Frömd vo Mir” (hell, that one is almost a cognate) but everything here promises a hellish trip into the void, and we guarantee your eternal delight, but make no promises for your mental welfare.

It’s been a spell over 20 years since Toronto's Andrew Moszynski sat down and hatched The Deadly Snakes with some pals, enlisting Greg Cartwright (née Oblivian) to oversee the infancy of that slithering unit, producing their first LP on Sftri and becoming a full-time Snake by the second album on In The Red Recordings, adding his raw musical charm and cruising along as a tour van victim in support of it. It was a legendary collaboration to say the least. The Deadly Snakes, never aping anyone’s sound or style, got rubbed the right way and seasoned to perfection by Mr. O, and had quite the career releasing two more albums to global critical acclaim, because garage rock message board geeks are the ultimate critics of gar(b)age rock music. The band dissolved in 2006, and the geek world has been waiting with bated beer breath for more rock’n’roll action of the caliber dat dem Sneks heaped upon us so long ago. Fast forward to NOW, baby, and Mr. Moszynski the skins pumm’ler has assembled a crushing new crew o’ Canucks featuring Ryan Rothwell of Pow Wows (Get Hip Recordings) on guitar, bass and vocals, Chris McCann strumming and tweaking the 2nd git, and Jay Lemak fingering the organ and Fender Rhodes with much finesse. And Slovenly gripped their debut recordings, the “Future’s Almost Over” LP by Strange Colours, and we’ve been rubbing our knuckles and grinding our teeth in crazed anticipation of this glorious album’s release ever since. Ten tracks of Solid, Soulful and Swirling Stomp with four capital S’s. New music presented the old way... the Right way! There’s zero “retro” here. Rock’n’roll is one thing and one thing only. It’s never been broke and can’t be fixed! From the dance floor vitriol of album opener “Get In Line,” to the timeless melody and gallop of “The Phantom,” continuing for the duration, and saying what they want to say at every turn. There’s no compromise here. It just doesn't exist in rock’n’roll.

Thessaloniki Greece’s most psychotic pseudo-pscientists Nomos 751 emerge from their psecret laboratory located kilometers under Earth’s crust with a new 7-inch EP, lyrically dedicated to political and societal injustices, woes and struggles, but with a snappy beat you can sink your dinks into. Title track “M.A.T.” dominates the top deck with a mild warning to Greek riot pigs: “I don't have a name, I don't have a number, I kill you and send you naked back to your mother,” (but sung in Greek, as Mondo Mongo dictates the tongue of the mother). The lunatic vox of Sanja Djordjevic has been enlisted this go-round for a cover of “Mora u Se Boriti,” originally by Serbian new-wavers Boye. Already a brilliant slice of aggro and off-kilter post-punk in its primitive form, now updated with extra venom for demanding punks of exceptional taste.

Welcome to the wild and wooly world of this savage group of strapping, handsome young Spaniards. Slovenly Recordings is proud to present WAU's sopho-moronic long player Viven. This LP is busting at the seams with Back From The Grave worthy garage punk monsters, and they're all lead by a vocalist that out-psychos the vocalist from Los Saicos! Wait til you hear their “96 Tears” on dexedrine dancefloor filler “Copa, Raya, Paliza.” Fueled equally by potent ingestibles and a sincere passion for the big, crude beat of 1966, WAU Y LOS Arrrghs are here to make sure that the party gets started and destroyed. Album produced by Jorge Explosion and Mike Mariconda (Raunch Hands, Devil Dogs).

New Zealand's Stank Beacons Of Irresponsibility The Cavemen Are Back In The Slovenly Saddle With Four New Merciless Hits To The Chin, As If 2020 Hasn't Been Painful Enough! Like, Who Doesn't Wanna Get Euthanized, Right? Seems Like The 'Men Would Have Already Tackled A Tune Titled "Eat Your Heart Out" On One Of Their Hundred Previous Releases, But Cannibalism Is Only The Tip Of The Iceberg Here - These Guys Want To "Eat Your Heart And Wear Your Face." How Disgusting(Ly Romantical). But Don't Flatter Yourself, Baby. They're Fine With Going To See A Shrink To Get "Over You" While You're Twisting With Your New Squeeze. So Enjoy Yourselves, Because As They Say, It's Later Than You Think.

The three obnoxious jack-offs known as PUPPY AND THE HAND JOBS are back with another crude EP of filth ridden, barely listenable / tolerable punk called I Hate Everything, and with 7 songs this time around, that’s only a buck a track in as many inches. WHAT A FUCKIN BARGAIN. Never before in the history of recorded music has it been so cheap and effortless to be insulted and assaulted with a swift kick in the genitals by “songs” with titles like “Cocksucker” and “Rocker Hag.” But even a band of total degenerate creeps like this can still muster a touch of class here and there: enter one-time SUN CITY GIRLS collaborator EDDY DETROIT who penned the shitty little ditty “Plan 9"—a catchy track that will have you singing along like a dope before Puppy threatens your puny, worthless existence with “Predator.” WARNING: the actual record cover for this release isn’t nearly as polite as the digital artwork. You’ll be reaching for the dull pencil it was drawn with and stabbing your eyes out upon first glance.

Jaime Paul Lamb of We’re Loud: 90s Cassette Punk Unknowns fame comes crawling back to the Black Gladiator / Slovenly house of ill repute like a masochist, and as disgusting as ever, with his new Phoenix, AZ unit, Puppy And The Hand Jobs! Puppy’s kink is playing either naked or wearing a diaper on stage (and at private rehearsals) while the Hand Jobs—both male—are decked out to the nines in respectable Ward and June Cleaver garb. Five songs on this EP include the appetizing title track “I Eat Abortions,” and the homoerotic “I Think I’m Gay”.

Slovenly Recordings, in conjunction with Bonsound (CA), is proud to present the latest orb from DUCHESS SAYS, re-entering the Earthen atmosphere to soil your sweet dreams with their third astral opus “Sciences Nouvelles.” Faithfully endorsed by the Church of Budgerigars, this antagonistic workout features chanteuse maniaque Annie-Claude Deschênes and her band of desensitized robot cronies clawing their way through ten tracks of Moog saturated cold / new / dark wave blasters, besmirching your cherished optimism and grinding it into dust. DUCHESS SAYS drops science in a heady amalgam of tracks in English, French and also of the wordless persuasion, with fudgy bass and fuzz propelled by slinky punk beats and fat synth bleeps delaying for eons, projecting a Giorgio Moroder vs. Devo dance-off on space station Italo

Power-pop? Scum-pop! Get ready for a proper ass whoopin' courtesy of Huntsville, Al's Nightmare Boyzzz! These four crusty Buzzcocks / (early) Queers worshipping punks have assembled 11 killer tracks self-destructive swill for what will surely be heralded as the most classic record of it's kind since the legendary Guitar Romatic LP from the gone, but not forgotten, Exploding Hearts. This Bad Patterns album features incredible axe shreddage and thunderous kit-pound throughout. From the opening anthem "Problem Child," to every other god damn self-loathing track on this burner, Nightmare Boyzzz convulse with supersonic beer drenched grime and more hooks than a barbed wire love affair. And if that ain't enough for ya, every inch of this creepy release has been covered in outrageous weirdo art by Sean Aaberg of the incredible Pork Magazine.

Slovenly Recordings selects GOB Psychic from Aarhus, Denmark’s buzzing underground. Inspired by the endless wave of Melbourne punk rock since Melbourne began punk rocking, as well as oddball sounds from the Midwestern U.S.A, the Gob Psychic spin is just as abrasive, aggressive and compelling as anyone’s music that put them on this warpath. Their debut “Rent Payer” 7inch reeks of alienation, and an apathetic stance on having to put their pants on one leg a time to get to earn some green and worthless workplace accolades, but they’ve managed to jump in to this sonic ferocity with both appendages, claws extended. The songs were recorded in a 2-day-session at Sauna Studios with Neil R. Young filling in the roles of producer and recording engineer, with Jeppe Grønbæk Andersen on mixing duties and added instrumentation.

Australia’s THE Cavemen are back with a new long glob for a dirty and dilapidated world, and it’s as grimy as you’ve ever heard from the wretched brethren. Ca$h 4 Scrap scrapes up more than enough degenerate garage-punk trash with unavoidable forays into theme of death, demons, and even amputation, making sure to stop for a kiss on your daughter's lips along the way. Yuck Mouth SAY Muah! “Booze, Ciggies ‘n Drugs” is the first single, and leaves us wondering how many types of cancer these ghouls have among them, and if all four Cavemen share a brain tumor. “Leather Boys” is solid gold junk shop stomp, and the rest… well, you know by now how The Cavemen rock’n’roll—the Only way, because any other way ain’t!

Last House is the third album from Sacramento’s Th’ Losin Streaks. The album was recorded at Louder Studios in Grass Valley, California, with Tim Green behind the board. Green played piano on several tracks, and Anton Barbeau—a friend of the band since the beginning—plays organ on some cuts. All of the band members—Tim Foster, Stan Tindall, Mike Farrell and Brian Machado—contributed to the songwriting, and the album also features a cover of The Weeds classic “It’s Your Time.” The album cover and other photos were shot by their pal (and Bay Area punk legend) Al Sobrante. "This album is about true love and good times. And bad decisions. It’s about breaking down. It’s about coming apart. It’s about sleeping rough. It’s about Dyer Lane. It’s about shaking it til you make it. It’s about EKO, Silvertone and Supro, Vox (Super Continental) and the Hohner Marine Band. It’s about 2” tape. It’s about the plague, and politics, and war or hands of time. It’s about the ice cream man after the apocalypse. It’s a trans-world punk rave up. It’s about Link Wray, The Sonics and the Downliners Sect. It’s about The Rolling Stones covering Sam Cooke. It’s about Folk Rock. It was about time slipping away (but it’s not now). It’s about bullshit. It’s about being too late, always too late. It’s about getting old. It’s about those who never will. It’s about the person you dream about but never get. It’s about nothing in this world. It’s about surviving T-Minus self-destruction. And about the other side."

Slovenly’s first ever split 7-inch is finally here, a mere 250-some releases after kicking shit off back in the stone age of the 20th century, and this nasty platter is geared with an ungodly racket from two of our very favorite purveyors of supersonic catastrophe! From Venice, Italy, our squid ink pasta slurping pal who sometimes goes by the name Wasted Pido when striking out on his own trash rock excursions, rounds up his wee crew Destroy ALL Gondolas for their side “Death By Hamburger,” and we promise you it sounds as dumb as it sounds. Kobe, Japan youth gone mad Gutara KYO —the stars of our 200th release, the self-titled 10” with a big hole that shocked the world stupid in 2017—are back with two tracks in which they attempt to destroy Destroy All Gondolas for the most epic clash of the titans since Godzilla versus Megalon. Which mob will emerge victorious? All we know for certain is without this record on your hi-fi, the only loser is YOU.