Buzzcocks founder Pete Shelley has always surprised his public. Just think of the overt craziness of “Orgasm Addict,” or the hinted gay innuendoes of “Ever Fallen in Love (with Someone You Shouldn’t’ve)” that exploded later into righteously electronic gay anthems such as the BBC-banned “Homosapien.” Yet even I was floored by the revelations on this Drag City box set, which contains the entire catalog of his short-lived, spaced-out noise, late 70s label Groovy Records—even the name hints at a secret life behind the backs of his punk brethren.

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White Fence’s Tim Presley has been busy, as always! Not only is he releasing an album later this month with Ty Segall, but he ALSO just crafted two whole albums worth of White Fence music for his ravenous fans!

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God, is this band filthy with talented folks. Sometimes I get the feeling that there’s a secret collective going on, with members that rotate between Jail Weddings and Dante vs. Zombies and Raw Geronimo and Swahili Blonde and Johnny O’Donnell and White Murder, and that when “Jail Weddings” plays, it just means it’s Gabe Hart’s turn to conduct the collective.

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As a somewhat hetero, cisgendered male-identifying dude with proven bisexual tendencies, I was hoping to see a larger smorgasbord of folks whose gender identities and inclinations didn’t fall into the rigid guidelines of gay/lesbian, but it did feel inviting and very friendly. I loved the festival, though I fear for its future. I hope they can keep things going, because I want to come back next year! Even the port-o-potties were pink, decorated, and amazing.

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This is a super-group made up of members from some already awesome bands: Jail Weddings, Death Hymn Number 9, the Red Onions, the Commotions, even This Moment in Black History!?! And maybe I’m just a sucker for the simplicity and the dueling female lead singers, but White Murder might just turn out to be better than all of them.

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There’s something both exciting and familiar about this album’s sound, which hearkens to that period in the 80s where George Clinton and Zapp were making way for Prince, albeit with backward-masked sounding guitars and plenty of leftover hair metal vibe. This is the rock of party vans and melted 8-tracks.

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He was a titan in his field, an innovator, and it was a supreme pleasure to interview Mr. Scruggs and his son Gary many years ago, as one of my first assignments for L.A. RECORD. He will be missed.

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But then right when it was about to get sentimental, a sax groove came out from the little guy, an insistent beat like your tongue would do on a woman you really loved: “Bum BUUM bum bum-be-dum, Bum BUUUM bum bum-be-dum!”

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Hello, the deepest recess of my mind, which became all brainstem, as I literally started shaking with a St. Vitus’ Dance fervor, my eyes rolling back into my head, my arms flailing at my sides, and my 5th chakra (or perhaps a genetic parasite lodged in all human DNA but long thought to be dormant) started to leap up and down inside my chest, as though my intellect had stashes away a mistress in my heart and was fucking her. Coxcombs is the Barry White of lizard brain chakra fucking.

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Last night’s show was pretty incredible at Emo’s East. I grabbed Kid Congo Powers for a short interview after his set, when he’d visited the food truck and was at his most compliant. First question, my friend Sue wants to know: why are you gay and so good-looking? KCP: Aren’t all gay men? Why am [...]

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