Husky Dudes - "1st EP" 7-inch (white) - Bombay Cove Records
Hüsky Düdes – “Destroy My Kind” MP3/download
I went through a long, dreary time where I spent 75 percent of my time following my friends to different blue-collar bars and drinking as much as I could before I puked. And I puked a lot, more than anyone I knew or still know, save the bullemic. Long-term, of course, drinking at pubs was never going to be my life choice, and while I classify the period as “dreary” I wouldn’t change those days for anything. It’s the same with Hüsky Düdes. I dig them, genital wars and all, and wouldn’t tweak a thing because they valiantly hearken back to the punk/hardcore I remember from both the early and late ’80s and ’90s, faintly, and prove it can be done even in the lazer-quest age of indie.
Forgive them for thanking Black Flag on the “1st EP” jacket, as Hüsky Düdes distinguish themselves by actually sounding like Black Flag to some degree. Many attempt this feat and fall prey to the temptations of fidelity and/or melody, both of which instantly snuff out any chance at quality or even feigned authenticity like a cashed Pall Mall on a subway bench. I say if you’re not going to, at the very least, do your research before attempting such a coup you deserve to — and I know I’m going to be the bad guy on this one — DIE.
Düders make no such mistake, and their sooty fingers are jammed into tons of punk-rock pies, from the bands you’d expect to follow Black Flag on a punk runway (Chuck Dukowski Sextet, Circle Jerks, SST affiliates, etc.) to a sped-up Flipper, Bad Brains, a bunch of those Hellcatt bands — the harder ones like Leftover Crack, minus the speed and the ska — DRI (can’t put my finger on why, but it’s there) and newer plug-uglies like White Fang, Can Can Heads, Okie Dokie and White Shit (speaking of which, I fucking LOVE the latter three). They even introduce many of their songs with a quick audio clip aka every hardcore/punk/crust band since the dawn of Flag, Black and Minor Threat (though I associate the practice with Charles Bronson and Dystopia more than anything).
This guy — no use mentioning his first-name only tag — has one of those voices too. It’s totally harsh and grating and that’s nice; that’s the only yell I can stand these days. He also has this way of taking the edge off. He’s yelling, but he’s not quite screaming. Considering how many varieties of yelp, hiccup, screech, howl and yip-yip there are out there, specifics matter. You might have a decent group of fellas backing you but if you sound like that dude from Super-whatever (can’t even remember that band’s fucking name) you might as well be a eunuch trying to penetrate a 30-foot yak woman — you ain’t getting it done, ever.
A question: Why don’t I hear more music like this? I wanna fuckin’ ROCK man; if you don’t let me I might just have to slip even deeper into a synth/noise/experimental coma, living my life in the grooves of an Esoterica Landscapes 7 record and nodding out like a Chelsea Hotel rag-doll junkie in the halls of musical knowledge. NO THANKS, is all I’m saying, so please, don’t be shy; Gumshoe’s gotta eat/hear too, knowhatImean? Bombay Cove can’t supply me with the dredges all by themselves …
