The band in question is Shiny Beast, an angry-as-fuck Raleigh, N.C. outfit that pulled their name – we’re guessing here, kiddos – from the title of Captain Beefheart’s 10th LP, Shiny Beast (Bat Chain Puller). The recording is an eponymous EP, which — depending on if you trust Spotify or Discogs — was released by Boner Records, they of Melvins greatness, either in 1989 or 1992. (We’re going with 1992, based on our own Boner Records catalog muscle memory; thanks, Discogs.) And that’s about all we know. The band, years after this EP and their presumed break-up, released a fairly exhaustive collection of their catalog, dubbed, of all things, Stop Looking At Us … We’re Waving Goodbye. And drummer Brian Walsby has surfaced as a merch-table humorist and illustrator extraordinaire on recent Melvins tours. But that’s not what we’re discussing here. We’re talking about the Shiny Beast EP. (For those keeping score at home: the seven-inch vinyl version of the release was titled Distro and had a different tracklist.) And, for the right set of ears, this stuff is, without question, essential listening for those trying to make head or tail of the collision in the early- to mid-90s of noise-rock, math-rock and post-hardcore – three idioms put violently on display on this fabulously under-rated EP.
The EP is positively an eruption, all five mighty songs of it. It starts with “Lodestar,” where Walsby’s punchy drums kind of sway or pitter-patter around explosive strumming on electric guitar, and a guest vocal – and a good one, we might add – from Seam/Bitch Magnet’s Soo Young Park leads the way through the darkness. But the fixture at the center of “Lodestar” is that manic electric guitar solo from David Sullivan, the flicking of notes way up the guitar neck giving way to some non-traditional shredding as the band pounds along. It’s reckless, borderline orgasmic, without being pretentious or overwrought. It just fucking works wonders, like a potent drug or a steel-toed-boot-clad kick to the head.
“Distro,” the EP’s third song and the title sometimes given to the seven-inch vinyl version of the Boner Records release, makes “Lodestar” seem almost limp or flaccid. Walsby, Sullivan and bassist Mike Meadows positively thrash on this one – but it’s no reckless descent into hellfire. The choruses are tight tight tight and sealed shut from air, with each member seeming to pounce on the notes as if their lives depended on it. The fact that the song breaks the two-minute mark is largely due to an insect-oid sample that kicks off things. In short, this beast is fast, aggressive and is not a lover of hindsight – few riffs are repeated and those that are have a kind of wallop to them that belies their necessity.
The rest of the tracks are no stinkers, far from it. “Empath” meanders between Vexed-ian bass plucking and visceral roars – quite literally. The excellent “Glaxo” seems to hint at the grunge of the era but all bets are off when Walsby interjects in the proceedings with a tightly knotted kick-drum and snare roll, and a singer – Sullivan? The liner notes don’t help here – screams “I saved you!” (That’s what we’re left to guess anyway. Pretty hard to transcribe in a firefight.) “Cockroach Near The Janitor” features a distorted and mangy lead vocal over scrappy guitars that only occasionally eek out a power chord. And, on “Cockroach,” Meadows’ sludgy bass is on full display, lending a kind of meaty backbone to Sullivan’s art-damaged guitar leads on the verses.
Thirty or thirty-odd years later, this thing still stands up and, if you were to play it side by side with material of its vintage – say, the early-90s Shellac singles or The Jesus Lizard’s Goat – it would be hard to tell who were the masters and who were the novices. For a band that never had a “hit,” underground or otherwise, and never registered massively outside of its native North Carolina, that’s saying a goddamned lot. This EP is full of the kind of youthful piss and vinegar that makes the best noise-rock today. And Walsby and Sullivan, on drums and guitar, respectively, were years ahead of the curve on this one. The EP is a mighty accomplishment and God bless Boner Records for getting it on streaming services. Now, with any luck, a new generation of noise rock aficionados will discover the Beast and Shiny Beast, an EP whose release date cannot seem to be pinpointed, will get the credit and love it deserves. — Justin Vellucci, Spectrum Culture, Sept. 8, 2022
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