WITH GUEST VOCALIST MATT KORVETTE of PISSED JEANS!
They came, they saw, and they conquered — sort of. Never topping the charts, nor possessing a huge following, San Francisco’s Flipper, even in the ’90s alt-rock sweepstakes, would still be considered a fringe act. But, in 1982, they were the toast of rock critics across the country with their post-hardcore punk masterpiece “Sex Bomb.” Clocking in at over seven minutes, possessing one riff played over and over (and sloppier and sloppier), with vocalist Will Shatter screaming rather than singing (total lyrics: “She’s a sex bomb/My baby/yeah”), it was a remarkable record: loud, proud, defiantly obnoxious, and relentlessly dumb. But in it’s own gleeful and intentionally moronic way it was (and remains) a perfect record.
With “Sex Bomb” providing the impetus, Shatter and fellow Flippers, vocalist/bassist Bruce Loose, drummer Steve DePace, and guitarist Ted Falconi, emerged from the fractious muck of the California hardcore punk scene (Shatter and DePace played in the Bay Area hardcore band in the late ’70s) with a crushingly loud, slowed-down sound that resembled at their most drug-addled (see “We Will Fall” from the first Stooges LP). Flipper didn’t care if you loved or loathed them (most everyone loathed them), they simply played until you couldn’t stand it anymore. There was something wonderfully uncomplicated about this attitude, which is probably the reason that Flipper, despite being seen as a one-shot band, had a career that lasted longer than 15 minutes.
Their debut album, Album — Generic Flipper, included “Sex Bomb” along with a handful of good-to-great songs about anonymity and desperation that were not all-bleak, nor without moments of humor. In fact, Flipper may have been the first hardcore/post-hardcore band to essay life-affirming messages on its album (no matter how tongue-in-cheek it might sound). So, although there’s a track called “Life Is Cheap,” there is also “Life” which offers the sentiment: “I too have sung death’s praises/But I’m not gonna sing that song anymore.” Adding the oft-stated sentiment, “Life is the only thing worth living for.” Hmmm. How, uh, un-punk.
With much of the rock press singing their praises (and deservedly so), Flipper went on to demi-celebrity status as the reigning kings of American underground rock, for a few years. They never released anything as mind-blowingly good as Album, but until they split up in 1987, the music was usually very good. Precipitating their breakup was Shatter’s death from a heroin overdose, with the remaining members spending the next half-dozen years stepping in-and-out of music. In 1992, Flipper fan and American Recordings label honcho Rick Rubin encouraged the remaining members to record a new album. The subsequent effort, American Grafishy, only hinted at their greatness. Their comeback attempt notwithstanding, Flipper’s greatness lies in their ability to say “let’s rock our way.” ~ John Dougan
Eye Flys are a quintessentially Philadelphian band whose aggressive brand of noise rock is leading a wave of bands that harken back to classic era AmRep noise rock. Their rage is palpable and their wit is biting. Hailing from a city with a rich history of labor activism, long associated with the hard-working, the underdog, the everyman. The trio’s rounded nature, one of whom is an active trade union member, imbues their music with a distinctive fearlessness and honesty. Their acerbic wit swiftly whittles matters down to their element, often reveling in the perverse humor of our current state of being. Eye Flys are unsparingly heavy, driven by the colossal rhythm section of bassist Kevin Bernsten and drummer Patrick Forrest. Vocalist/guitarist Jake Smith delivers sharp humor with a healthy dose of venom and bile with each bestial growl while his dirty riffs roar at you. Recorded by Bernsten at his own Developing Nations studio (Full of Hell, Integrity, Jarhead Fertilizer) and J Robbins’ The Magpie Cage, the band’s self-titled album features artwork drawn by artist and drummer John Herndon (Tortoise), known for his singular drawings and his band’s iconic TNT cover. Eye Flys wades deeper into the muck and mire of modern living to take an unflinching look at the horrors of late-stage capitalism and offer a caustic remedy for its ravages.
Expanding on their bludgeoning debut Tub of Lard, Eye Flys is lean and aggressive, fast and unforgiving. “Trepanation Summer”’s ferocious riffs bore directly into the skull, mimicking the crude pressure release of the ancient surgical process of the same name, Smith crying to “release the pressure” from within a wall of feedback. “Sleep Forever” throws down a thrashing, infernal groove, demolishing all in its path as Smith’s craggy guitar figures rise like toxic smoke from the devastation. “Draining Pus” revels in septic sludge, while “Bananarchy Zoo” manages to strip things down to an even more lean and incisive realization of the trio’s punishing sonic palette, in an exploration of Smith’s love/hate relationship with his Florida roots.
A wall of rippling noise and distortion run as connecting threads through the album, the band’s acerbic humor and raw emotion capturing the perspective and the frustration of the hardworking everyman. The band grapples with the repercussions of coping strategies with healthy skepticism and an eye on the gallows. Eye Flys offers a reassuring reminder that you haven’t gone mad and you’re not alone – that weird ‘n’ heavy music is still here as a respite from the madness of modern living and an outlet for righteous rage.