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Victim's Family
Apocalicious (Alternative Tentacles)

When guitarist-singer Ralph Spight and bassist Larry Boothroyd decided to bring the Victim's Family moniker out of retirement last year, there was much rejoicing among the Bay Area's left-field punk cognoscenti. Recruiting drummer David Gleza (formerly of Tacoma, Wash.-based band My Name) to fill out the trio, Victim's quickly proved it had lost none of its bile and ferocity with a series of skull-crushing local shows. Apocalicious, the group's fourth release for Alternative Tentacles, continues Victim's tradition of hectic, jazz-inflected hardcore, with a couple of interesting new twists added to the formula. "Moron on Steroids" touches on familiar lyrical territory (Spight delivering a satirical first-person diatribe), but Boothroyd's overdriven bass and Gleza's beefy drums mesh with odd synth doodles to give the song a weird electro-industrial vibe. "Automated" similarly features analog loops and processed guitar feedback dueling over an off-kilter time signature. Spight's growing taste for spacey guitar textures (as heard in the flanged-out opening chords of the album's title song) seems to have reached its logical conclusion with the introduction of avant-electronics to the band's already hefty arsenal of sounds and styles. "Worthy Adversary" (with its rare lead vocal from Boothroyd) and "Fridge" boast the kind of barbed-wire hooks and head-bobbing riffs that have made the group a favorite of adventurous punks the world over. (Dave Pehling)

The Grannies
Taste the Walker (Dead Teenager)

The antics of the Grannies have been followed with great delight at Bay Guardian H.Q. – they're a bit of an enigma, you see. Old punk rockers who dress up as even older broads aren't meant to be taken seriously, right? Well, kinda. It turned out that under the shits-and-giggles exterior – dress-wearing, booze-swilling, fire-starting nitwits – were a band that actually approached the noise-making end of things with a degree of professionalism. And a lot of people got really confused – some folks were outright pissed – that these guys had the nerve not to be a complete joke. So of course we were all for 'em, even if they were never gonna amount to much. Then along came this, their second album, Taste the Walker, and damned if the band didn't push our face in it. Turns out the Grannies actually might matter! If nothing else, they'll have left a darn fine album as their legacy – a rocking and reeling, 12-song slab that mixes up punk attitude, scorching Big Rock guitar, genuinely funny cheap laughs, and obnoxious between-song repartee. Walker is (once you get past the so-so metal riffing on the opening number) a fantastic rock and roll voyage that takes you into the minds of four dopes who, it turns out, are having the last laugh. Like the poster says, "Our Boot. Your Ass. Feel the Magic." Quite right. (John O'Neill)