CLONE DEFECTS: Blood on Jupiter: CD

You can tell by the thunderous introductory Japanese drums (Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai sample?) that this album is going to change the status quo – not a mere pretty faux marble finish here, but an all out wrecking balls to the wall deconstruction of all present day conventions in rock’n’roll. The Clone Defects hail from the Detroit scene but enough of the waxing rhetoric on the regional proto-punk influences (everybody’s pimply brother and gay dad has to cite the MC5 and The Stooges as their inspiration these days. Heck it’s just damn good rock’n’roll for misfit punks, not some flowery review composed by some sweater wearing college boy with a vinyl fetish! So, in honor of my homosexual father, I will NOT compare the Clone Defects to the aforementioned bands, thank you.) Clone Defects have done much damage to many ears in the Midwest during the Horizontal Action Blackout shows, where they stole the show with singer Timmy Vulgar’s drunken rock icon-in-the-making antics and the band’s trademark disaster-core art punk. The title song throttles one over to the other side of the room while this writer finds it as inspiring as speedtrap sex on the 134 over the hills of La Canada. There’s a dire urgency in the music along with a frayed and decayed moral sentiment from this band and it lends a perfect disenfranchised aura to an already fucked up world. If you’re a fucked up fucker who’s been fucked with, fucked, and fucked over, fuck this fucking shit and buy the album. You’ll be heartened to find a band that translates all your frustrations into a solid CD full of that vitriol and seething anger encapsulated into a three minute punk rock song. Clone Defects also slow it down a bit so you can reflect on all the shit and piss that’s been shat and pist on you by life. At times, it’s reminiscent of the Gun Club, other times it’s like a Hank Williams 78 played on 33, coming off bad speed. Besides, isn’t that why we are punk rockers anyway? Enough of all the pretty punk shit going around – life sucks, I’m ugly, poor, uneducated and criminally insane, get me this album! P.S. Nods for the Berlin Brats cover. Killed By What?

 –nam (Tom Perkins)