At first, it’s strange to think of certain punk bands as “cult favorites.” Either people know ‘em and like ‘em or don’t. Punk (well, creative, DIY punk) is a small universe. But then, I got to thinking that Radon—who’ve been around for a long time—seemed to implode (as a band) every time they left the state of Florida when they were a full-time band. Much like California’s Crowd: their power lay in their home base, the fanaticism of their fans, and the undeniable quality of songwriting. The first contact I ever had with Radon was in a tiny record/clothing store in L.A. Chris Wollard of Hot Water Music was wearing their T-shirt. The next time I saw Hot Water, I asked him about the band. He couldn’t say enough good things. I eventually ordered their early singles, and slowly, but surely, got hooked. I don’t think I even more than kinda liked them at first—they reminded me of early Replacements with a fixations on penis (balls, length, elastic qualities of the scrote, boner-time, and more)—but they’re spore-like. Radon began to scratch a very specific itch and by the time I raised the flag into full-bore fandom, they’d broken up. Well, apparently, they’re making a “career” of the breakups and reunions. I think they’re on their tenth (?) “last show ever,” and have plans for more. Metric Buttloads of Rock is a bit of a misnomer, though. This outing is the most indie rock Radon so far. It’s not a diss; there’s more singing, less pounding, and more intricacy (the dick fixation is still there). What else is the same? Their ability to make songs that switch from completely absurd, to honest, to serious without the whole affair being a mess. This record has been slow on opening up to me, but I’m sure it eventually will. Every release so far has.
–todd (No Idea)