Aerosols

Aerosols can be likened to a stubborn skid mark on your sexiest pair of underwear; they’re guaranteed to ruin your good time, and they refuse to go away. It takes a vigilant ear and a quick wit to unearth, let alone comprehend the aural assault Aerosols heap upon the elite punk public. Unfortunately, discussion of the chaos slathered lavishly over their three waxen slabs to date often takes a backseat to complaints about the pressing practices of sugar daddy Mark McCoy’s Youth Attack! imprint. Each of their three incrementally-increasing-in-intensity EPs has been limited to a scant 200 copies, and painstakingly packaged in hand-made artwork, which renders the price of purchase higher than the average 7” ($9 PPD for four minutes of unrelenting hardcore). But let us lay such controversies aside for the time being.

If you’re in that small margin of folks who can claim a physical copy of an Aerosols release as their own, you know by now that the frantic, non-tough hardcore contained therein is a force to be reckoned with (or rather, cowered before). This may be their magnum opus. The songs, although still steeped in a festering pool of feedback and non-standard time signatures, are easier to get a handle on or pick out hooks from this time around. After the second 7” stayed more to the personal, paranoid, vaguely abstract side of the lyrical line, it’s refreshing to see this slab replete with song titles like “National Tragedy!” and “Culture Warrior.” Even the recording quality trumps that of the earlier EPs.

Musically, Aerosols dish up some technically simple but still disorienting hardcore for the ADD generation. They rarely stick to a single riff for more than a few seconds, but end up coming across more as Void run through the Orchid filter than whatever generic grindcore band you may name. This five-song EP barely passes the four-minute mark, which should give you an idea of their knack for brevity. The only time the tempo dips below 200 bpm is on the anthemic mid-tempo closer “Sick of Jock,” wherein Aerosols disperse the knowledge that “they’re not your friends at all; white house, high school, city hall” and draw parallels between the murdeous cops of today and the politicians of tomorrow. Call it simplistic, but it sure ain’t wrong -- and isn’t that the beauty of a well-done punk record? Elsewhere, they call for punk to set its sights on current problems on "Reagan Was Reagan." Overall, the focus is bitingly political and sprinkled with a liberal dash of the "f" word.

For those sweating the “members of” game, y’all ought to know Aerosols is a veritable who’s who of folks from New England Bush-era hardcore bands. Ever heard of Wasteland or Ampere? It’s called “punk,” try Wikipedia-ing it or something. However, beyond the hype, “members of” tags and message board shit-talk surrounding the aforementioned quantities of records they press, Aerosols remain one of the most interesting post-millenial DIY hardcore bands. The proof is in the pudding, or rather on the vinyl; this band is exciting far beyond toeing the party lines of recycled, irrelevant subgenres. Let's just hope their forthcoming LP has a sane pressing size.