Poppacool

Yep, back to familiar Sunday territory thanks to the Peacock label and this wonderful one-off 45. It sounds like the Templeaires strutted into the studio carrying fire, cut a record possessed by conviction, and then walked out wrapped in the Holy Spirit, the gospel equivalent of a garage-band 45. A group appears from nowhere, cuts a transcendent record, and then vanishes so c...

I picked this one up earlier this summer. The label probably doesn't mean much to most people, but when I see a 45 like this, it jumps out at me like a glow-in-the-dark voodoo doll in a dark alley.

First, there's the sheer plainness of the label. That's usually my cue to go into full detective mode and do two things: check where it was recorded and check the label numbe...

Monster Soul 45 alert, courtesy of Noize in your head— the kind of Friday‑table heater that makes you forget whatever responsible adult thing you were supposed to be doing today. This one has that energy: the “oh no, I’m about to rearrange my entire wantlist” kind of energy.

So I’m lipping through the stack at the t...

Yesterday I hit that special level of cynicism where even my coffee looked scared of me. Then it dawned on me: dude… it’s your staycation. You’re supposed to be relaxed, not auditioning for the role of Bitter Man #3. So I did what any self‑respecting record hoarder does when the emotional bar...

It sure feels like Matt Johnson was either a prophet in 1989 or simply had the good sense to notice how politics works. The lyrics from The Beat(en) Generation are almost disturbingly appropriate: — “By the greedy hands of politics and half‑truths… reared on a diet of prejudice and misinformation” — hit harder now than they did when The The first sang them. Yo...