Music and Recording Reviews

The Saints: (I'm) Stranded
In the Red. ITR1977 (auditioned as LP). 1977/2024. Rod Coe, prod.; Bill Price, Don Bartley, engs.
Performance ****
Sonics ***½

Something was in the air across the globe in 1976. The stirrings of punk weren't occurring just in the UK and the US; they were happening in Australia, too. Take The Saints. The Brisbane band's debut single, "(I'm) Stranded," was an instant bonafide punk classic. It cannot be accused of bandwagon jumping: It came out before any of the Brit bands had released anything. It became an obligatory purchase for UK punks. Following its early success, the band was rushed into a studio with producer Rod Coe; together, they hastily put together an album. It was sonically not much better than a demo, but it was a blast. Their sound was classic buzzsaw. Numbers such as "Demolition Girl" and "No Time" are simple 1-2-3-4 go! What made them special was their intensity and Chris Bailey's wonderful Brisbane drawl. When Bailey kicks off the album with the title track's opening two lines—"Like a snake callin' on the phone/I've got no time to be alone"—he sounds defiant, real, and alienated all at once. It's The Saints against the world. When they were playing full-pelt, few bands could match their energy. But there are glimpses of street-brat blues underneath—for example on their wonderful cover of "Kissin' Cousins" and their own "Story of Love," which approaches being a ballad, almost.

For decades, (I'm) Stranded has been unavailable on vinyl. It has been given the box-set treatment. The set includes the remastered album, demos, a couple of singles, and two 1977 live recordings. One of them is from London; this reviewer was at that gig. The other one is from Sydney. Don Bartley's sterling remastering has tidied up the sound, making it a little less soupy. It's sympathetically done, which is good, because this music does not need a synthetic cleanup. It remains raw, energizing, and thoroughly exciting. It's great to have it back.—Phil Brett

Lambrini Girls: Who Let the Dogs Out
City Slang SLANG5098LP (auditioned as LP). 2025. Lambrini Girls, prods.; Daniel Fox, eng.
Performance ****
Sonics ***½

One thing's for sure, the Lambrini Girls don't pull punches. Their debut album, Who Let the Dogs Out, isn't one you'd play to your grandma, unless she was a member of Bikini Kill. The Lambrini Girls are fast and furious, and obviously influenced by Riot Grrrl and punk bands.

The Lambrini Girls are a British duo, made up of Phoebe Lunny on guitar and vocals and Lilly Macieira-Bosgelmez on bass. They bring in other musicians as needed, including to perform drum duties.

What The Lambrini Girls lack in number, they make up for in power. And attitude. Musically and sonically, this is a full-frontal blast, roaring out of the speakers with righteous fury. Supported by a bedrock of buzzsaw guitar, Lunny's vocal style is predominantly machine-gun, rapid-fire, spoken. Spoken vocals have increased in popularity in recent years; think The Sleaford Mods, Wet Leg, Yard Act, and Dry Cleaning, to name a few. Maybe it's the hip-hop influence. Then again, spoken vocals fit into a tradition that dates back to ancient Greece, where poetry was performed publicly, tackling social and political issues (just like this album), often with musical accompaniment (though not electric guitars!).

Probably not many hearing Who Let the Dogs Out will immediately think of Aeschylus; yet this form perfectly suits Lunny's delivery of scathing, profane, very amusing take-downs of 2025 Britain. The album covers subjects as varied as gentrification and misogyny. You want to listen to what Lunny has to say. She most certainly is not interested in conforming to what people think she should be or think. On "Special Different," she defiantly announces, "I'm a car crash train wreck that nobody can fix." The most obvious single probably couldn't be played on commercial radio. It isn't subtle, the subject matter is serious, but what matters here is that they have fun playing it, so there's fun to be had listening.—Phil Brett

Franz Ferdinand: The Human Fear
Domino Records (auditioned as CD). 2025. Mark Ralph, prod.; Ralph, Gemma Chester, Josh Green, engs.
Performance ***
Sonics ****

Franz Ferdinand long ago moved from their indie-rock dance-punk foundation to more of a Britpop focus. They remain rooted in art rock, but time has toned down the swagger of their earlier work.

The Glaswegian band has just released its sixth album. It's their first in seven years. The new record is dancy and framed with humor, and it retains (or regains) enough swagger to tie things back to their roots. Recorded at AYR Studios in Scotland, it reunites the band with producer Mark Ralph, who worked with them on their 2013 album Right Thoughts, Right Words, Right Action, which reached 24 on the US Billboard 200.

Like that record, this one is upbeat, almost club music. The title refers to deep-set human fears. The album is about how our efforts to overcome and accept them drives and defines our lives. But those themes are often buried inside songs consumed instead by an energy that, like the album opener, is "Audacious"—that's the track title—in every way. The record explodes over the first three tracks with songs that pulsate with glam-rock grandeur and surge with a confidence and electricity. This is the first studio album to feature a new rhythm section of Audrey Tait and Dino Bardot; they give these songs a rich, intricate foundation with playing that is full of character and appropriately complex. They're the source of much of the formidable drive of the first part of this record.

However, midway through, the record loses steam. Those very rhythm parts become repetitive, leading, ironically, to an ending that's distant from where things began. "The Birds," the album closer, is a messy affair with little imagination. They'd have been better off releasing an EP with just the first six songs. Still, the majesty of the record's first half is a reminder of the genius this band can still sometimes locate.—Ray Chelstowski

Being Dead: Eels
Bayonet Records (auditioned as CD). 2024. John Congleton, prod., eng., mix; Heba Kadry, mastering
Performance ****
Sonics ****

Being Dead, which is based in Austin, Texas, applies an experimental blend of indie rock, post-punk, and psych-rock influences but always seems to keep a foot planted in the American West. For this record, they went as far west as you can go, to Los Angeles, and rethought their approach to making records. Working with John Congleton (St. Vincent), the result is a darker, more emotional affair, with music that at times sounds like it could score a David Lynch film.

What remain consistent are their signature vocals, with connections reaching back to the Shangri-Las and The Ronettes, married to gangly guitars to produce a contagious postmodern surfer sound. This is a record with a bit more energy than their previous work. It's freer, with a sense of punk-rock abandon. Think Animal Collective or Dehd.

The space-age sound they have been known for finds its way in and out of songs, but it rarely defines them. This is particularly evident on "Blanket of my Bone," a fast-charging rocker that falls, randomly it seems, into a sleepy dream sequence, then quickly bounces back into sonic frenzy. On this and other tracks, instrumental cameos (especially Mellotron and Casio drums) give the songs a quirky dimension, keeping listeners on their toes.

The record kicks off with "Godzilla Rises," a song of love and the horror film monster. Its goofiness reflects the band's apparent need to go for a laugh, which informs everything they do. "Ballerina" drips something you'd hear on The Jetsons or Josie and the Pussycats. A real sense of theater can be found in these arrangements. Unlike the fish it is named after, the record doesn't slither. Rather, it often hops, from one thing to the next. But something, maybe the ease with which they pull it off, gives the album surprising depth.—Ray Chelstowski