K-Holes
(Hozac)
The never-supposed-to-really-be-a-real-band-made-up-of-past-and-present-members-of-Black-Lips-Golden-Triangle-and-Georgiana-Starlington has delivered a real surprise. Like I said, they weren't even supposed to be a real band. They're the first punk band in a million-Âtrillion years (with the exception of local heroes the Stickers) that finally give a saxophone some realized legitimacy. They're doing God's work—helping to erase automatically conjured images of notorious hornblower Kenny G. What's more, this record is a goddamn hot mess. Girls and boys yell, sing, and scream like banshees and drunkards over skuzzy feedback and Cramps-style drumming—just a kick and a single cymbal. Most importantly, though, there's a truckload of unrefined and perfectly brutish energy here. With garage-punk bands breeding (and inbreeding) like rats the last couple of years, K-Holes set themselves apart with unpolished, from-the-hip bravado. 
