WINNIPEG, Manitoba — Political punk thrashers Propagandhi paused a hometown show in the middle of their set to administer a pop quiz which evaluated the audience’s understanding of their lyrical themes, panicked fans reported.
“Propagandhi had just finished melting our faces with the solo at the end of ‘Purina Hall of Fame’ when merch and sound guys started scurrying around the crowd giving out paper and pencils,” recounted a scarred Elaine Motts, who dropped out of high school precisely to avoid situations like this. “Chris Hannah then asked ten questions, while Sulynn walked around the crowd watching for cheating and Todd screamed at people for talking. There were questions about Moby Dick, the FBI’s COINTELPRO program, and Ethiopian emperors. I definitely failed. Fuck, I’m going to have to retake remedial punk at the NOFX farewell tour before I can attempt to pass Propgandhi again.”
Members of the band admitted frustration at their audiences’ ignorance pertaining to the subject matter of their catalog.
“I can only listen to someone butcher the phrase ‘Mate Ka Moris Ukun Rasik An’ before I wonder if our messages are sinking in,” explained drummer Jord Samolesky, who devised the evaluation method. “We’re calling it No Punk Left Behind, and I think it’s really starting to show results. We’ve always been about more than just sick riffs and insane drum fills, we are edutainment à la the Oregon Trail. People complain that the tests are too hard, but we recently added extra credit like listing hosts of Hockey Night in Canada.”
Educators praised the Manitoba band for their insistence on combining education with art.
“It appears to already have an influence on other bands. The Lawrence Arms stopped a show last night to administer a class on taste pairing cigarettes with well whiskeys,” said Dr. Orin Marklard, dean of the Department of Education at The University of Winnipeg. “Propagandhi’s subject matter is astonishingly difficult. I could only answer one or two questions, but admittedly I’m more of a ‘How to Clean Everything’ fan than any of their later work.”
Reports indicate Propagandhi’s sellout show the following night was sparsely attended with the band receiving over 800 emails about the sudden deaths of audience members’ grandmothers.
One of two albums of theirs that clocks in at over 30 minutes, and you know what they say: if a Circle Jerks record lasts longer than a half hour, consult a physician immediately. Though it’s got some fun stuff going on at various points – the Seven Dwarfs-esque whistling on the hook of the title track, and that magnificent country-fried guitar solo on “Mrs. Jones” come to mind – it just isn’t up to the snotty, rabid standard we know these fellas are capable of. At the end of the day, Wönderful is a tad ünderwhelming.
Known as the only major label release from our boys, we’re going to dub this “not the worst” due to the sheer experimentation. After almost a decade of not recording, these fellows could have gone full dad-reunion mode and gone through the motions, but hell, they let Zander Schloss play the sitar on this thing, so who are we to rank it last? They’re throwing everything against the wall, and some of it even sticks (this is the Circle Jerks we’re talking about here, so those walls are pretty sticky to begin with.)
A considerable step up from Wönderful, VI may slow the tempos a tad, but it certainly doesn’t ease up on the energy! A lot of the time, they sound akin to a stimulant-affected Psychedelic Furs, which is pretty cool. The kickoff track “Beat Me Senseless” toggles a “Crazy Train”-like riff into something undeniably sick. Also, they keep their penchant for revving up ‘60s classics alive by snarling through a rendition of “Fortunate Son” that rips pretty hard.
Wild in the Streets doesn’t quite reach the inept catharsis of their debut, but it’s lightyears away from anything approaching a sophomore slump. Tiptoeing deftly across the tightrope strung up over a pit full of “same ol’, same ol’,” Wild in the Streets deserves to be firmly in the top three. Hetson’s guitar work is especially in the spotlight here, elevating songs like “Leave Me Alone” and their cover of “Just Like Me” to total essentials.
The type of album you have to yell “Fire in the hole!” before putting on, so the folks in your general vicinity are aware of what’s about to happen. The Circle Jerks’ debut is brash, bratty and beguilingly brief. It even gives us a “Beverly Hills” song that we actually want to listen to (Sorry, Rivers Cuomo.) Cementing their juvenile sense of humor and flagrant disregard for anything requiring an attention span, “Group Sex” plants the flag for SoCal hardcore…just don’t expect any flowers to grow anywhere near it. Too much beer and urine in that soil.
Speaking of the yellow stuff…Here we have the culmination of everything the Circle Jerks are all about. Blistering chainsaw riffs, croaked-throat vocals from Keith Morris in his prime, and a hefty dose of toilet jokes. From the door-kicking-down “In Your Eyes” to the tongue-in-cheek closing medley of soft-rock radio hits, and everything crammed in between, there’s a reason it’s not called “Silver or Bronze Shower of Hits”…this one takes the gold.
Sophomore albums are always difficult to pull off. Joyce Manor could’ve been the exception to that rule had our fact-checkers not reminded us that “Never Hungover Again” was actually their third album. We didn’t forget about this one entirely — it’s just hard to remember that this is a canonical Joyce Manor album and not just a 13-minute compilation of promising demos. For what it’s worth, there are some great tracks here. They just don’t feel like they’re part of anything bigger than themselves. Even Napalm Death songs make better use of their brief runtimes.
Now this is a great compilation of promising demos. Featuring rough drafts of fan favorites like “Constant Nothing” and “Leather Jacket” alongside fast-paced punk tracks that would have felt out of place on a proper studio album, it’s an insightful look into the band’s early years. Every track radiates charmingly chaotic energy, from frenetic acoustic opener “House Warning Party” to the freshly remastered “Constant Nothing” EP songs that close this out. Most importantly, it reminds fans that Joyce Manor formed in Torrance, California, so you can gently correct anyone who calls them midwest emo.
This is still a good album — a fun album, even — but something holds it back from being a great Joyce Manor album. Maybe it’s the missed opportunity of naming the title track after a Travis Barker quote, knowing damn well your band needs a drummer, and nevertheless getting somebody else for the job. Or maybe the band held back on punkier tracks due to their stance against stage diving. Whatever the deal is, it’s decent enough to replay with a drink or two.
Clocking in at 24 minutes, this is Joyce Manor’s most bloated release to date. Who do these guys think they are? Sleep? It’s technically even longer considering how many times you have to pause tracks when your friends can’t hear the gentle production over your pathetic cries. Luckily, saccharine-sweet melodies and gentle acoustic performances justify every second of this album’s length. Just don’t expect the mellower sound to distract you from your own existential dread.
Opening your first album in four years with two covers is a risky move, but it pays off here thanks to Joyce Manor’s renditions of O.M.D. classic “Souvenir” and obscure Joyce Manor single “NBTSA.” The original material is just as exciting thanks to the anthemic choruses and rapid pacing reminiscent of the band’s first three records. Each track makes the most of its brief runtime with euphoric production and joyful energy. Joyce Manor is back and they still haven’t made a bad song.
This is Joyce Manor’s greatest hits album. It’s not a compilation, but almost all of their most essential songs are here. Play the CD in your car for a friend and they’ll become a fan within 20 minutes. If you’re lucky enough to get stuck in traffic, move on to the other albums and roll the windows down. Or just play this for the whole ride and pretend you’re in a coming-of-age indie film. Either way, you can never go wrong with “Falling In Love Again” or “Catalina Fight Song,” even if you scream the wrong lyrics.
The band’s self-titled debut is an emo masterpiece. It would’ve been a solid legacy on its own had they pulled an Operation Ivy and dipped after one album, but we’re lucky enough to live in a society where Joyce Manor continues blessing everyone with new music every few years — good music, even! That being said, Barry Johnson’s raw vocals and heartwrenching narratives still make this album a cut above the rest. A good debut feels like the beginning of something great. Joyce Manor skipped straight to legendary territory.