Release Date: Sep 10, 2013
Record label: Slumberland
Genre(s): Pop/Rock, Alternative/Indie Rock, Alternative Pop/Rock, Garage Punk, Noise Pop, Punk-Pop
From the ashes of indie pop quintet Magic Bullets, San Francisco, CA's Terry Malts rose like a peregrine falcon, racing through some incredibly hasty pop punk tunes like time was running out on the world. Their debut album, 2012's Killing Time, was a refreshing merger of the Ramones and the C86 tape: chainsaw-buzzing guitars, throbbing drums and spiky vocal hooks. You know the saying, "if it ain't broke don't fix it," which is exactly what the trio were thinking on second album Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere.
There’s something to be said for garage-rock bands that are able to keep the attention of their audience with each progressing album, and there’s something else to be said for those that can’t. Unfortunately for Terry Malts, they’re cornering themselves into the latter category. The San Francisco trio released their debut, Killing Time, last year and were applauded for the successful mesh of post-punk vocals and raucous, fuzz laden instrumentation (I, for one, couldn’t stop listening to “I Do”).
Let’s just put the fears to rest now: Despite the Neil Young-nicking album title, Terry Malts has not traded in their two-minute Ramones-gone-‘80s-post-punk blasts for loose-limbed, ragged Crazy Horse country rock (in fact, this album isn’t even as long as “Down By The River” and “Cowgirl In The Sand” combined). Rather, the men of Terry Malts pick up right where 2012’s excellent debut Killing Time did: pogoing their way through 21st century ennui, consumerism and individuality. And if it doesn’t quite scale the heights attained by Killing Time, Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere is still an infectious blast of end-of-summer punk ‘n roll.
In certain circles of press surrounding Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere, the second full-length from Bay-area pop punk trio Terry Malts, allusions were made that their first album was released due in part to a bet that the record label lost. This seems facetious given the amount of time, money, and energy put into any album, especially those released on indies like the honorable Slumberland, but the snarky sentiment required to fabricate such a rumor at one's own expense falls in line with the spirit of Terry Malts' music, especially on this tumultuously fuzzy set. The abrasive guitar tones of early demos and 7" recordings earned the band the distinction of "chain saw punk", and while the energy of these songs keeps all that brash momentum, the songwriting goes a little deeper than before.
On Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere, San Fran scuzz-punkers' Terry Malts seem bored. Bored with acting serious, with pretending to be well-adjusted; on "They're Feeding," even the act of chewing and swallowing seems to send them into fits of tedium. Word to Harvey Danger, but "Flagpole Sitta" was wrong-- just because you're bored doesn't necessarily mean you're boring.