Order of the Underground

Visions, flashbacks, prophecies, divinations of the beyond. Sorcery, art and magic, theatre and poetry—and an elusive line between fantasy and reality—blend together in Madison’s best-kept secret, the Vanishing Kids.       Champions of the Midwest underground, Vanishing Kids are finally on the verge of revealing themselves to the world. And, like any good magicians, Vanishing Kids' spell is immediate, but does not ever truly wear off. Beginning as a progressive and art rock outfit nearly two decades ago, Vanishing Kids have evolved their hypnotic synth-infused sound on countless local stages and beyond, supporting thunderous headliners like Ruby the Hatchet and The Skull. Within the last four years however, the group has taken a heavy twist that is leaving audiences and review communities alike completely stunned. Heavy Dreamer is the heaviest installment from the four-piece psychedelic outfit yet—while still offering the soaring, spacey lucidity of inner flight.

Those who have witnessed the Wood Chickens perform their craft knows duly well that these boys are at the ever-ready to raise some good old fashioned Hell. From humble beginnings tearing apart Mickey’s Tavern, Wood Chickens have advanced their home-brewed western-style skater punk, fused with a bluesy, gritty dirt ‘n roll. Mall Cop , the newest single release from Madison’s rambunctious renegades, is nothing short of pure vitriol—and supplies ample evidence of their evolution. At the onset of Mall Cop , it is apparent from the thick, funky bass grooves that stylishly ripe new directions are in bloom, all at the mastery of Griffin Pett (Dumb Vision). Everything clicks into high gear when the rockabilly guitar, delivered by guitarist Alex Wiley (The Minotaurs, Alex Wiley Coyote) begins to coalesce into a high-octane, vintage punk frenzy. Intense rhythm is brought forth with thunderous glory. What follows the steady, succinct vocals of the verse is a completely unpredicta

     For those who wonder if it is fully possible to have a spiritual experience through music, Milwaukee's budding heavy psychedelic wizards, Shogun, seek to thoroughly disprove the skeptic throughout the course of their first full-length installment, Infinitet. The band then gracefully carry thoughtful-minded listeners to the promised lands of infinite peace. At the heart of Shogun's trance-inducing heaviness is the ancient premise of using repeated segments of music—or riff s—and creating the sense of a mantra , or 'a word or sound repeated to aid concentration in meditation,' by focusing on a pattern (riff) and allowing this awareness of focus to become mindfulness (also used visually with mandalas —see cover art). Infinitet is a concept album—but it is also an experiment in composing evolving music that unfolds prismatically. "Riffs upon riffs, upon more riffs, straight from the cosmic cloud" is the maxim the band uses to describe their sound: and it

Laying down a series of in-your-face, blistering trash-punk riffs and no-holds-barred garage rock, Dumb Vision use their vinyl debut to literally tear it up as they do best. One scorching passage leads to the next, chock full of that vintage-crackling grunge we've come to prize. At first glance, the three songs that comprise the Dumb Vision side created the impression of a Seattle, 1988 Jack Endino Nirvana recording, especially the gritty, lo-fi build-up starting the second track, Creepy Crawler. However, Nirvana is hardly the only wellspring the band draws from: the old-school approach of these songs are also reminiscent of the budding 80s garage-punk scene, more often than not creating a seething, explosive frenzy that simultaneously tips its denim cap to the all-out speedpunk of GG Allin and the bluesy, bass-driven swagger of The Stooges. Also conveniently reflecting its lo-fi approach, the split was recorded in a basement studio in St. Paul, Minnesota by Matt Castore, at

The same infectious spirit that fashioned the height of underground music in Haight Asbhury, Liverpool, Seattle and NYC has cleverly infiltrated Madison, fusing the pop swagger of the British Invasion with the up-tempo punk of the east coast’s Velvet Underground. As soon as the needle drops, the summer of love bursts into view. The self-titled album is complete with top-shelf pop-rock harmonizing: the classic sunny waves of The Beach Boys, The Turtles and The Monkees, with the alt-rock rhythms of indie garage bands (think Sonic Youth meets Edward Sharpe meets Dinosaur Jr.) sweetly blended in a lofty brew that undeniably revives the concept of good vibrations . “Hypnotoad” showcases exactly what to expect from the revamped ‘Parents: rollickin’ clever leads, honey-coated choruses, and catchy interludes all under the rhythmic control of Heather Hussy (drummer/vocals of The Hussy/Heather the Jerk) and bassist Maggie Denman. Rounding out lead guitar duties, Claire Nelson-Lifson and Tyler

I was there, when you lost your mind. With these opening words, Madison's Cave Curse launches an explosive slew of hypnotic, looping, all-encompassing set-to-overdrive layers of synthesizers, coupled with precisely-edged percussive execution in Future Dust, the project’s staggering debut. Hex On You sets the tone for the entire album: experimental, spacey, but nonetheless emotional, gritty, and unrelentingly powerful. Future Dust is centered around the deeper, uncertainty-driven themes of impermanence, existentialism and breaking free—brought to life all the more vibrantly through the energetic medium of electronic darkwave crossed with garage-punk—in the vein of Bauhaus , Lost Sounds , early Nine Inch Nails , Digital Leather and New Order . These often-overlooked genres were previously only alluded to in the songs of already seasoned rock 'n roll musician and synth-wielding frontman Bobby Hussy (Fire Heads, The Hussy, TIT) and pummeling drum aficianado Will Gun

        The luminous haze of the desert horizon's sun-drenched dawn swells. A shimmering wave of hallucinatory colors begin to ebb like a refractive jewel. Soon, a strange, panoramic sea of kaleidoscopic patterns accumulates across the rising expanse. Chapel Perilous is born. These mind-expanding forces collide in the form of a symphonic shamanic ritual by Milwaukee's own Calliope . The vision quest begins with Victor Buell IV's lucid, lysergic guitar tones woven throughout Al Kraemer's vintage Farfisa combo organ, heavily reminiscent of Syd Barret-era Floyd at its trance-inducing roots. The opener even picks up where the Barret-era left off: in a further-down-the-rabbit-hole force, channeling a slower, heavier Astronomy Domine . Chapel Perilous carefully expands its songs until their "peak," with the raw, fuzz-pedal-driven energies once pioneered by space rock godfathers Hawkwind, and continue to mount in a culmination of otherworldly, anti-matter cacoph

    Photo Credit: Waldo Oswaldo, taken at Two-Til Club, San Diego 2017 Tour.    Some bands wear their influences on their sleeves, as the saying goes—but when a band has so many influences and each members' songwriting eclectic inspirations take a life of their own, it takes a keen ear to dissect each style. Music aficionados will have more than enough fillets-of-fuzz stacked on their palettes in a single sitting with the endless helpings offered on this next installment: Madcity Meltdown is the latest installment from Madison, WI underground rock pioneers, Clean Room. Delving into familiar lo-fi rock ‘n roll territory while bringing unexpected, fast-paced psychedelic ingenuity into the carefully-selected mix, Clean Room hearkens back to the heavy-yet-melodic prowess of early-era Alice Cooper—notably on “Way Long Gone.” Rest assured, Thin Lizzy's skillful, metal swagger is not absent. Passages of garage rock-infused skate punk seamlessly permeate through Iron Maid

Delivering an arsenal of high-speed, heavy-octane punk and rock 'n roll riffs, Madison's own iconic Fire Heads manage to capture the sheer intensity of their exhilarating live performance into a fresh, beautiful slice of wax. Over the last few years, underground venues across the nation have been eagerly awaiting this installment throughout their numerous regional tours, acclimating the world to the relentless barrage of psych-rock riffery known as Fire Heads. Every track on the album unfailingly evolves into a cornucopia of psychrock fills, Motörhead-style momentum, and unexpected directions of creativity that provide ample supplies of devilish speed with incendiary fuzz. The production quality undoubtedly triumphs in the garage rock paradigm while continuing to cultivate the gritty lo-fi approach of seasoned punk musicians before them: Jay Reatard, whom the band's original moniker paid tribute to, is a top pool of inspiration drawn from to help execute their own