Various Artists

The Local Anesthetic

(Smooch)

Record Review by Adam McKibbin

Denver punk label Local Anesthetic did such a good job of finding abrasive bands that, decades later, this new compilation saluting founder Duane Davis is still the sort of thing that would terrify parents and drive neighbors insane.  The label got its start with Gluons, featuring Allen Ginsberg on vocals.  They show up shortly after the midway point on this comp, and Ginsberg as a rock vocalist… well, let’s just say he was an important poet.  “Birdbrain” sounds like a ‘70s rock band backing a homeless man on Venice Beach.  It’s probably the most high-profile track on the disc and is probably the worst.

The other acts in the Local Anesthetic orbit don’t have the name recognition, but there is some powerful stuff here – starting with the belligerent, broken-amped “My Dad’s A Fucking Alcoholic” from Frantix.  Its cracked guitar tone is the sort of thing it’s easy to imagine Kurt Cobain discovering and journaling about in his pre-fame days.  And the repetition of the title is either fun to sing if your dad isn’t an alcoholic or possibly highly therapeutic if your dad is an alcoholic.  Frantix get eight tracks here, and with good reason.

Other standouts include Rok Tots’ “Suicide Weekend,” with its Sex Pistols-ish snarl and its reliably offensive glorification of suicide.  Young Weasels take a more New Wave approach on “Happy Feathers,” daring to sing a chorus of “I’m so happy.”  Their accessibility and lack of abrasiveness point to how Local Anesthetic was able to branch beyond a niche and represent a fuller spectrum from the underground.  Jeri Rossi noisily breaks up the boys’ club with the churning “I Left My Heart But I Don’t Know Where,” a squalid rocker in which Rossi repeatedly collects herself only to lose her shit again and again.  When she shrieks “SIX FEET UNDER!” it’s one of the best headbanging moments on the album.  All of this doesn’t necessarily sound fresh today, but it damn sure still sounds provocative and relevant – and, again, like something that would piss off polite company.  Turn it up.