BRUNCH: The Dils

Carlsbad class consciousness. Sweetness and light from the upper registers of that left coast. The downbeat stomp of "You're Not Blank" remains the fittest rival, in the last analysis, to "I'm a Bug"'s troglodytic cadence, except the Kinmans pile on harmonies and some unforgettable unison kicks. Praxis makes perfect.

"I Hate the Rich"
"You're Not Blank"

Ariel Pink's Haunted Graffiti, "Helen"

Washed-out background pop from the hills. Old news by now, but this is what we call a sleeper. Among the less self-referential tracks on House Arrest (cf. "Hardcore Pops Are Fun," built on an identical chorus hook), and a welcome flash of candor from this lilting scion.

"Helen"

Descendents, "Like the Way I Know"

Lost-and-found angstage from the greatest. Cut with SPOT for MGTC but unmixed until 1998, this one trickled from The Last to the Descendents before escaping non-posthumous release. Chainsaw pop at its purest, the thick Navetta tones both prickly and warm, Milo's wounded cords spitting little dissertations on the outcast's episteme. In every sense, a national treasure.

"Like the Way I Know"

BRUNCH: Tiala

Combustible time-sig terrorism. Complex but never hyper-intellectual, grafting tightly wound thrash segments onto the bipolar conservation-of-energy rubric that bubbles under so many records birthed in the wake of emo. Dig the Shaft-hat intro, the walking bass, and finally the screams as the boys lay waste to facile notions of climax and denouement. Tiala pals around with the Malay crew — Fujicolor, Orbit Cinta Benjamin, Kias Fansuri — but is Japanese, and their side so dwarfs splitmates and alleged scene doyens Utarid as to compel some serious soul-searching around Kuala Lumpur.

"Futekisetsu Gendou"
"Public Enemy"
"Tuu Tuu"

Algernon Cadwallader, "Serial Killer Status"

Puberty comes to the Keystone State. The realest Cap'n Jazz clones modern science ever cooked up. The jilted aphorisms live on — "You can't just get off the bus now / So cut off your feet and like it because stubs are better feet" — but wordplay, when it indeed crops up, feels just perfunctory: another track, we regret to inform, on the Some Kind of Cadwallader LP is called "Yo Soy Milk." Boisterous, anyhow, and atavistic in the best way. ¡Qué suerte!

"Serial Killer Status"

Books Lie, "Letter to My Psychiatrist"

Possessed hardcore from pre-onslaught Williamsburg. Vocals by way of End of the Century Party, which spells spite and frustration, but a clear eschewal of the spastic tactics that defined that band, Palatka, or other Floridian comrades. Total refusal, lyrically, underwritten by a furious battery harvesting the fruits of the '90s and spoiling them anew.

"Letter to My Psychiatrist"

BRUNCH: plouf!

Imagist primitives go pop. Toy-chest marauders clock in and dwindle before any heavy lifting — chorus or bridge, say — even seems advisable. No shambles, either — just radical abbreviation. Fleeting larks from the nursery.

"Dirty Plate"
"Lunar Holiday"
"Peko"

The Beets, "My Bones, My Flesh, and Me"

Underage echo-chamber pop from Jackson Heights' own. Pulsating reverb takes hold, etched only by a chorus of exuberant aharmonic yips. Lyrics bespeaking bulimia, or merely self-abnegation, are beyond their years: "But then I will eat again / And I feel like one of them / So I will have to let it out." Watch this space.

"My Bones, My Flesh, and Me"

Surf Nazis Must Die, "I'm Not Anti-Girls, Girls Are Anti-Me"

Berliner raw dogs traffic in renunciation, victimization. The Anti-Everything EP, a Youth Attack joint born of Das Oath's Dutch presence, is littered with chunky, cheeky, grating jams. This comma-splice conniption is the most gratifying of the lot, the coda a permanent breakdown. Sarcastithrash for the EU era.

"I'm Not Anti-Girls, Girls Are Anti-Me"

BRUNCH: Void

Rough, rough cuts from the undisputed kings. Little bouts of rage, tempered by a thick coat of static. Themes persist: "Draft Me Please" supplements the old conscripts "War Hero" and "Time to Die," the latter noticeably (p)rearranged here, hewed by arrhythmic stops. John Weiffenbach's code-red squeals never sounded better, even if his tactics self-contradict: "We're not asking you / We're telling you" segues into "Please give us a chance." His Rules.

Hit and Run

Charles Bronson, "What's Wrong With Me?"

Avowed Voidheads flip the split, cover Faith. Ratcheting up the relatively sedate track — next to Void, anything is — Bronson races for the finish line, radiating an oblique sense of musicianship, or at least coordination, that their patron saints solidly refused to develop. Until V-Day '08, the meanest thing out of DeKalb, Illinois.

"What's Wrong With Me?"

Apathetic Ronald McDonald, "Fuck That, Gimme Wafflez"

Imperial brunch violence from Fontana, CA. Roving power chords, lisped vocals, and an insatiable appetite for that Belgian batter keep AxRxMx (they insist) in their place. Play fast, eat fresh.

"Fuck That, Gimme Wafflez"

BRUNCH: Duke Nukem Forever

Sledgehammer LAPV makes of variety a virtue. Admixing Bronson-caliber samples, the grindstone diligence of a Tragedy, and even the errant Cookie Monster growl, these beginners bode well. Stick to your guns.

"Demo 2007"

All Girl Summer Fun Band, "New in Town"

Impressionistic lovers' rock to take the edge off. With the first chills of fall — and a new, surely inferior album — why not? "New in Town" comes from the 2001 debut, a cuddly conga line of pop whimsy that points to all points Northwest. They're based in Portland, but they get around: "Canadian Boyfriend" said as much; see also "Down South, 10 Hours, I-5." This one tracks a peripatetic crush from the grocery store to the punk-rock show, all anxious and obsessed. But the third verse speaks truth to puppy love: appearances can be deceiving.

"New in Town"

Baskervilles, "Caught in a Crosswalk"

Note-perfect orchestral popcorn. NYC vets pump trumpet and keys into this vaguely Britannic crisper, recalling Brilliant Corners without all the mope. "Caught in a Crosswalk" completed Twilight, a free singles series, fourteen deep, now collected on CD for eager purchase. This is the brightest of the bunch, a studio wonder whose creeping veneer doesn't eviscerate the twee appeal. And maybe they play out once in a while — but get your priorities straight.

"Caught in a Crosswalk"

BRUNCH: Apeshit

Best-in-class Gravity atavism. Brief, quasi-technical spasms strip away the algebraic conceits of an Ampere but lose almost none of the bite. The last five entries on this demo appear, cleaned up, on a split 12" with Tigershark; here, the rhythms blur somewhat, but the blunt vocal mix adds sass. "Scabs & Scars" is probably the best distillation of Apeshit's project, the breather section reduced to seconds and mangled into strange shapes. Serious sounds — almost enough to vitiate the fool exclamation marks that bookend the band's name on official documents.

"Demo 2"

Gorilla Angreb, "Bedre Tider"

Springy Danish punks recall better times. The "punchy" production here sanitizes inchoate rockabilly leanings, and the clarion chorus, which each glorious time still feels clipped, rings true, unmuddied. Bizarre harmonic schemes shroud the thing in a slasher-film aesthetic, but these accoutrements can't allay the X worship that lies at the core. They're desperate: get used to it.

"Bedre Tider"

William Martyr 17, "Blame It Red"

Razorbacks wrench hearts, calculating catharsis with more than boys' poise. Wrecking-ball first-chair bass, alluring unison figures, and that voice all make this slow-churner strangely immediate. Unlike many contemporaries, WM17 songs reach no obvious stopping point: the steady cadence of glides and yowls could extend into the night, unfazed. When four minutes feels stingy, something's right.

"Blame It Red"

BRUNCH: The Bananas

Left-field "Peel Sessions" from Sacramento's finest. All-heart Frogger vocals, sizzling six-stringzz, and some of the best melodies this side of 1959 allow conventional building blocks to recombine into some really unforgettable punk rock. "I Gotta Be Me" most acutely channels the sock hop, but the one-size-fits-all spite propelling the ensuing trio shan't be counted out: "Big Blue Marble" charges that much harder. All this and more on the essential First 10 Years collection — for low, low Plan-It-X prices, to boot. And yes, it's a pun.

"I Gotta Be Me"
"Amy's Birthday"
"My Charmed Life"
"Big Blue Marble"

Assfactor 4, "Attempted Control"

Miscellaneous sedition from Palmetto pranksters. Making the northwest passage to '82 San Francisco, the unclassifiables dig up a Code of Honor tune, ignore the code itself, and carve some flabby seconds off the whole beast. Aerodynamic if nothing else, and better than the thick-headed original. On my honor.

"Attempted Control"