Gorillaz - 'Plastic Beach'

I’ll start by saying that I respek the heck out of Damon Albarn. Dude’s worked with tons of artists I love – Elastica, The Rentals, and half of The Clash among them. Oh yeah, and he was in Blur. They were awesome. Have you heard “Coffee and TV?” Shit rules. But while I dig Albarn in general, he strikes me as someone that you need to say “no” to every once in a while. As evidence, consider Plastic Beach, the third proper full-length from Albarn’s “fictional” band Gorillaz.

At 57 minutes, Plastic Beach is bit long and boring. Oh sure, there are some stellar electro-world-whatever tunes spread around (more on that later), but man could this album have used some editing. I’d start by cutting the two intro tracks. “Orchestral Intro” is alright enough with its minute or so of fanfare; no one is going to swear by this track, but it’s short enough that it’s not much of a bother. Less middling is intro number two, “Welcome to the World of the Plastic Beach,” featuring Snoop Dogg. Snoop repeats the title an awful lot of times while Albarn lingers in the background. The rapping is superfluous to an already superfluous track.

But then, that could be said of most of the rappers. Gorillaz was partially conceived as an outlet for Albarn’s interest in hip-hop, but the tunes here don’t lend themselves much to partying. Mos Def gets a nice flow late in the disc on “Sweepstakes,” but otherwise the rappers come off underwhelming.

Albarn himself is rarely the vocal focus here, although he gets in a few sleepy turns like on “Rhinestone Eyes.” Oddly enough, the most successful guest star is Lou Reed. Musically, “Some Kind of Nature” is the same as every other song on Plastic Beach: low key with little electronic flourishes. But somehow Reed’s weathered voice provides a welcome contrast to the song’s bleeps, blips, and bloops.

Plastic Beach could have used a little more work. The songs tend to blur together. Like his other side project, The Good, The Bad, and The Queen, Albarn shows a tendency to lock into a midtempo groove and stay there, which gets dull quickly. For every retro-’80s success – “Some Kind of Nature,” “On Melancholy Hill” – there are plenty of dull picks to kill the fun.

Ghost Robot Ninja Bear - 'One Pedal to Another'

It seems like just yesterday I was writing Nakatomi Plaza’s obituary, and now frontman Oscar Albis Rodriguez is back with a pair of releases: Ludlow Lion’s No Stories and single “One Pedal to Another” from Ghost Robot Ninja Bear. Both are/were digitally released for a donation-based price, although No Stories recently saw a physical release. And while Rodriquez is only the bass player for Ludlow Lions – frontman/guitarist Brendan Coon is the star here – my Plaza fandom maintains I celebrate Rodriguez at every turn.

So, uh, hey. I like your music.

But Ludlow Lions doesn’t have much in common with Nakatomi Plaza. Grieving NP fans would be better off checking out Ghost Robot Ninja Bear’s first single. There are plenty of similarities between the two groups – Rodriguez handles the mic with the same gruff delivery. He displays the kind of guitar pyrotechnics heard on Unsettled and Ghosts. Both bands have/had awesome names. But there are slight differences. For example, I’m pretty sure Ghost Robot Ninja Bear is not a Die Hard reference, but it’s been a while since I’ve seen Die Hard Harder Hardest.

“One Pedal to Another” is a hair slower than the average NP tune, with guitar tones that, weirdly enough, recall Smashing Pumpkins. The differences are subtle, though, so fans who liked anything Rodriguez has done in the last decade or so should be on board. “Blood, The Tango” is a little closer to the NP mold – super catchy, kinda punky, totally awesome.

Both tunes are tasty, so click here to contribute to good music. A second single is due out June 15. SPOILER ALERT: It’s good too. A full-length will follow eventually.

Peter Gabriel - 'Scratch My Back'

I can pinpoint the exact moment I knew, without hearing a single note, that I would not like Peter Gabriel’s new covers album Scratch My Back. No, it wasn’t the copious amounts of middling reviews (although Spin seems to have dug it). I’m too stupidly loyal to my favorite artists. Rather, it was while reading the liner notes that I realized I was screwed. In describing the parameters he set for this project, Gabriel writes, “The rules applied in this case were no drums and guitars. I also wanted to make the vocals as personal as possible.” Sweet singer/songwriter self-importance, brah.

As it turns out, while I underestimated some of Gabriel’s string arrangements – piano, viola, bass, etc. – I still pretty much more or less called it with those two sentences. The result: Stripped down covers that suck all of the energy out of the originals. Just because he avoided drums doesn’t mean Gabriel couldn’t have injected some pep into these tunes, but too often he falls back on subdued delivery over plaintive piano. Sometimes it works (“The Boy in the Bubble”), but too often it begs the question, why release these covers? Why not just write original words?

I understand the artistic exchange of the project – a future album will feature artists covering Gabriel’s songs – but given that the music is entirely new, why take lyrics from beloved songs like the David Bowie/Brian Eno classic “Heroes” or the Arcade Fire’s “My Body is a Cage” and then render them completely boring? I’m not against turning pop songs into sad, understated affairs (Iron & Wine’s “Such Great Heights” and Gary Jules’ take on “Mad World” both come to mind), but Gabriel can’t sustain the same trick for nearly an hour.

The biggest offender is “Heroes.” I really could’ve done with a different Bowie song. I can think of three versions I’d rather hear – Bowie, Nico, and TV on the Radio – and I really only want to hear two of them. But then, perhaps my aversion to that song stems from my awareness of the original. My favorite songs on this album are also the ones I’m least familiar with – a swelling orchestra captures the feeling of elation and romance on Elbow’s “Mirrorball,” a tale of a perfect date, to great effect. But when Gabriel dumbs down, say, Regina Spektor’s “Après Moi,” I get annoyed. Gabriel was one of the most brilliant pop purveyors in the ’80s; to hear him come up short here just hurts. That the album offers a few great covers – the Magnetic Fields’ “The Book of Love,” Bon Iver’s “Flume” – makes the album that much more disappointing overall.

Yet I know, when I’ll Scratch Yours drops, I’m going to pick it up, just to hear Bowie take on a Gabriel classic. Maybe he’ll have more success.

Gospel Claws - 'Gospel Claws'

Those who try out Gospel Claws’ self-titled EP shouldn’t be surprised if it bears a resemblance to Arizona indie rockers Dear and the Headlights (not to mention the Walkmen, Rufus Wainwright, and just about any Saddle Creek folk outfit). Former Headlighter Joel Marquard is the central brain trust behind this soul-inflected rock group. Given that he only left his former band because of its intense touring schedule, it’s perhaps natural that Marquard, aided by four other musicians, would pick up where he sonically left off in 2007.

Which is a good thing. Gospel Claws is a promising debut, boasting five earthy, rolling tunes steeped in American rock history. It’s not particularly religious, but it helps if you can tolerate the occasional God reference, at least in a “woe is me” sense. Case in point: The first lyric of the first song is “God keeps me alive / So you can laugh at my life.” Vague Christian assertions aside, these guys sound more like a streamlined Portgual. The Man circa Censored Colors than DC Talk.

Not that these guys ever try to get prog-y like Portugal. Gospel Claws writes pretty straightforward songs that blend a lot of elements. It’s sort of soulful in bits, but it’s also atmospheric and sullen. Closing track “Don’t Let It Die” even goes into bluesy territory. Co-songwriter/co-vocalist Sloan Walters has a voice slightly reminiscent of Isaac Brock without the bite (think “Ocean Breathes Salty” instead of “Teeth Like God’s Shoeshine”), whereas Marquard has more of a froggy, Wainwright/Boz Scaggs thing going on.

While the group could stand to have a little more punch – if at least to justify the second half of its name – Gospel Claws’ debut is filler-free. And it not only continues the Dear and the Headlights sound, but it does so under a vastly superior moniker.

Goodbye Etc. - 'Last Gasp'

Jerking off on the corpses of the Ramones can be totally rad and all, but sometimes it’s fun to spin a pop-punk band that lets Joey, Johnny, and Dee Dee rest in peace. One such act is Philadelphia, Pa.’s Goodbye Etc. On the band’s Last Gasp EP, the trio fires off seven expertly crafted tunes in the vein of ’90s pop punk acts like MxPx, Jughead’s Revenge, and early Green Day.

Though self-released, Last Gasp (which I hope is just hyperbole) has all the sheen and clarity of a SideOneDummy or Fat Wreck release, thanks to production from Dan Malsch (Bigwig, Forever the Sickest Kids) and mixing and mastering from Paul Leavitt (Strike Anywhere, Circa Survive, Senses Fail). This helps the band’s copious hooks shine. Track four, “My Body is a Battleground,” is arguably the strongest track here, stuffed with catchy choruses, a guitar solo, and that punk staple, the “whoa.” The song itself is about drug-induced lethargy (like Green Day’s “Green Day!”). While it doesn’t reinvent punk rock, it’s still a really fun song about being really bored.

“My Body is Battleground” is also representative of Last Gasp as a whole. What listeners get here are seven uncomplicated, easy-to-love pop punk songs about feeling stagnant and kind of, sort of, maybe hating your friends. Which doubles as the EP’s lone drawback. With the exception of the title track, the songs all clock in around three, three-and-a-half minutes, which blurs the tracks’ diatribes together after a while.

But how much that bothers listeners depends on their feelings towards pop punk as a whole. As for me, I could listen to tracks like “All the Rage” and “Happily in Misery” all day. This stuff is my bread ‘n’ butter. Diss tracks always sound better when they’re pop punk, and Goodbye Etc. somehow made a party record out of bile and disaffection.

Gatorface - 'Sick and Stupid'

Things Gatorface Taught Me

1. Like my gran-pappy used to say (or was it Mike Park?), mail order is still fun.

Thanks to a sampler that No Idea Records included with a previous purchase, I got turned on to Gatorface. Along with Virgins, Gatorface is a spin-off from the former Floridian hardcore group New Mexican Disaster Squad by ex-members Alex Goldfarb and Richard Minino. Intrigued by what No Idea sent me, I opted to order the group’s debut EP, Sick and Stupid. Vinyl-only, my baby came on translucent gold wax, one-sided, with a nifty etching of a needle injecting a tentacle during a thunderstorm. It’s very Lovecraftian.

2. If all else fails, you can always play pop punk.

The differences between New Mexican Disaster Squad and Gatorface are ultimately minimal. While NMDS might recall Strike Anywhere or Government Issue’s blistering yet snotty hardcore/punk, Gatorface skews ever so slightly towards punk of the pop variety. This is the sort of lifestyle change that will be a big deal to maybe 0.000001 percent of the world’s population at most. The rest of us can revel in how infectious Sick and Stupid sounds. It recalls Descendents, or maybe even Propagandhi circa How to Clean Everything.

3. Sick and Stupid is jawesome.

Offering six cuts (one of ‘em a DI cover!) in less than 13 minutes, Sick and Stupid blends early ’80s hardcore and early ’90s pop punk, with high quality results. The knock-out of the collection is “Kid in a Candy Store.” Fast drums and a quick guitar strum kick it off, but it’s when the whoas kick off in the pre-chorus that things start to tingle the spider sense. The song builds into this thrilling explosion of pop punk euphoria (in cut time!). Goldfarb sounds remarkably assured throughout, but he really cuts his teeth on the lines “It’s only time, before we end up like the others / The difference now is that the stakes have grown much higher.” Everything gets pounded out for a few bars before the rhythm section drops out. Even with just guitar and a few more whoas, the vocals still come off as anthemic.

“Kid in a Candy Store” follows the pop punk rule of vague lyrics, but listeners won’t be able to build their own meanings quite as easily with songs like “Flak Jacket.” Goldfarb takes to task Americans who, despite all evidence to the contrary, still support military involvement in the Middle East. At 83 seconds in length, the song cuts straight to the point – “Flak jacket / Would you wear it?”

Regardless of how much one likes to read into lyrics, though, there’s no denying Sick and Stupid’s delicious slabs o’ punk. It’s a catchy, rocking romp throughout, and since it’s one-sided, there’s no need to flip the record. Digital fans get some love courtesy of a download code. New Mexican Disaster Squad isn’t really dead; just call ‘em Gatorface now.

Subwaste/Tommy Gustafsson & The Idiots - 'Split'

New-ish record label Warbird Entertainment dropped a double dose of ’77 punk with their Subwaste/Tommy Gustafsson & The Idiots split. Boasting 12 tracks from two Swedish bands, it’s a pretty good collection of retro punk jams.

Subwaste, the lesser of the two groups, takes care of the first six songs up front. They’re adequate and rough and they pass by easily enough, but there’s really nothing much going on. The best compliment I can offer Subwaste is that they’re at least as good as anything on Hellcat Records. Ultimately, though, songs like “Barely Eighteen” and “Final Blackout” never transcend the era they’re influenced by. I’d rather just listen to the real thing than a tribute act.

Tommy Gustafsson & The Idiots, though, make a bigger impact through a synthesis of punk, rockabilly, and general catchiness. Owing as much to The Blasters as he does to Lars Frederickson and The Bastards, Tommy Gustafsson and his stupid friends are a band worth checking out for those of the punk rock persuasion. The highlight of their half is “Love of My Life,” a Rancid-esque tribute to the power of music. It’s frenetic and passionate, and while it’s still not the most original style ever, it’s certainly fun.

While not a perfect split - I’d be just as happy if Subwaste was cut in order to make this a Gustafsson EP – it does offer some gems. At the very least, I’ll be keeping an ear or two trained to whatever comes from The Idiots later in life.

The Gaslight Anthem - 'The '59 Sound'

I’m always wary when I check out a Recommended If You Like description of a band. It sets the bar too high. Sorry, gravelly voiced punk band that writes songs about feeling guilty and getting drunk, but you don’t sound enough like Jawbreaker and/or Hot Water Music. Same goes for you, female-fronted pop punk band that doesn’t really sound that much like Discount. The worst possible thing you can tell me in an attempt to turn me on to a new band, though, is compare them to Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band, and yet that is exactly how I’m going to describe The Gaslight Anthem’s The ’59 Sound.

Formed in 1972, The E Street Band provided the musical muscle needed for frontman Springsteen to concoct his elaborate love letter to rock ‘n’ roll, soul, folk, bluegrass, gospel, jazz, and blues. Music became Bruce’s own church, something he now plays up live with promises of a “rock ‘n’ roll baptism.” As a lyricist, Bruce remains a top tier, highly descriptive narrator of losers and misfits. From Nebraska’s economic fallout to Born to Run’s get-rich-quick desperation to The Rising and Devils & Dust’s more politically minded tales, Springsteen is a master chronicler of failed romances, business schemes, and family ventures. Sometimes all that’s keeping him, and his characters, alive, is hope and a song.

It is with slight hesitation that I apply those same virtues (life is rough, but music is good) to The Gaslight Anthem on what is arguably their finest release to date, The ’59 Sound. Frontman Brian Fallon is one of the finest lyricists in punk rock today, and we’re lucky to have him. While Bruce strove, and continues to strive, to showcase his musical roots instrumentally, Fallon vocalizes his many loves. Miles Davis and Tom Petty get shout outs on “Mile Davis & the Cool” and “Even Cowgirls Get Blues,” respectively, but where Fallon really succeeds at honoring his influences is on his Counting Crows ode, “High Lonesome.”

“High Lonesome,” like a lot of TGA songs, is about girls and trying to get by. “Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand / I always kinda, sorta wished I looked like Elvis,” Fallons says, mimicking Counting Crows’ Adam Duritz from “Round Here.” In “Round Here,” Maria wishes she could meet a boy who looks like Elvis Presley. While I feel it’s kind of lame for Fallon to nick someone else’s lyric for a chorus, I also love this cohesive moment of pop music fandom. Fallon doesn’t rip off Counting Crows; he defines life’s many moments through pop songs. Songs can convey more in three minutes than films can do in three hours or books in 300 pages. Like Fallon says himself in the track, “It’s a pretty good song / Maybe you know the rest.”

But enough with the music history and English class interpretations: Let’s talk about rocking. The ’59 Sound is a massive improvement over debut Sink or Swim, a record that was merely good, and lives up to the promise generated by perfect EP Señor and The Queen. The ’59 Sound is chock full of mournful vocals, bluesy guitar work, and some of the best damn songs this side of Darkness on the Edge of Town. It’s always exciting to catch a band in the middle of their development, and right now, it feels as if The Gaslight Anthem is invincible. Whether they’re kicking out the jams like on the lead single/title track, or getting extra melancholy and mellow on “Here’s Looking at You, Kid,” the band simply cannot fail. RIYL if you like Bruce Springsteen, punk rock, well-told stories, memorable lyrics, and things that are ridiculously awesome.

Goodbye Sluggo - 'Frampton Comes Alive!'

Although they hail from Massachusetts, high school chums Goodbye Sluggo sound like a band that I, a Pennsylvanian, would have loved to have grown up with. See, to me, the band strikes a balance between The Loved Ones and Atom and His Package. Maybe it’s the mix of power chords and synthesizers, or gravelly and nasally vocals. Or maybe it’s because, like The Loved Ones and good ol’ Adam Goren, Goodbye Sluggo is pretty gosh darn good.

The band self-released an EP, Frampton Comes Alive!, back in April, and for the most part, it’s a keeper. As far as recording quality goes, it’s kind of limp, lacking a lo-fi edge or a hi-fi clarity and oomph. Goodbye Sluggo’s tunes, however, are still mighty tasty despite the presentation.

“The Record Song,” arguably one of the top two tunes on this seven-song disc, kicks off Frampton. It’s frontloaded with some trusty punk chords, with a dash of synth over it a la The Low Budgets (yet another in a series of Philly references! Huzzah!). Again, the recording quality is a little weak, but I hear the promise of a much more pounding rendition in a live setting. Lucky for me, GS will be playing my chunk of the East coast in August.

Track two, “Hard to Find,” offers Frampton’s catchiest chorus. Co-vocalists Matt Flynn and Eric Cline attempt to muster up reasons to wake up early, like scoring the leftover Chinese food in the fridge, or generally proving to your roommates that you are, in fact, not dead. But as the chorus states, “It’s getting harder and harder to find reasons to get up in the morning.”

The EP missteps on the next song, “Stranger,” but only because it blatantly bites off of Strike Anywhere’s “Sunspotting.” I keep shouting, “Instigate awake / overcome mistake,” while this is on my car stereo. And I’m always wrong. Also, people look at me funny. “Stranger” is the only derivative tune, though. The rest of the EP, which boasts a love song to Stephen King (the please-let-this-be-literal “Stephen King Rules”) and anti-douchebag anthem “Your Boyfriend’s Nü Emo,” is solid. I hate it when music reviewers say an album shows promise, as it often sounds like a backhanded compliment, but gosh dang if Goodbye Sluggo doesn’t have my attention. Here’s hoping they stick around long enough to melt my face live and maybe even drop a full-length or two.

Githead - 'Art Pop'

Starting with the genre-defining masterpiece Pink Flag, released in December 1977, Wire has gone on to be one of the most influential punk/post-punk bands of all time. Successive albums like Chairs Missing, 154, and even the relatively recent 2003 release Send have all expanded the group’s propulsive sound, and they’re all essential listening for fans of punk in all its forms. But such brilliance comes at a cost, as Wire is well-known for taking long hiatuses every few albums. Send, however, does not mark the beginning of a vacation for Wire frontman Colin Newman. Rather, it marks a segue into his new project Githead, which also features Newman’s wife Malka Spigel (ex-Minimal Compact), Max Franken (also ex-Minimal Compact), and Robin Rimbaud (Scanner). Having already released an EP and a full-length in the four years since Wire’s third break, Githead returns yet again in 2007 with the masterfully made, and literally titled, Art Pop.

Given his legacy, it’s hard not to use Newman’s work with Wire as a lens for interpreting Githead. Luckily, this condition doesn’t really matter, as Githead is every bit as thrilling as Wire while remaining different enough to maintain its own identity. It’s as ambient as 154, but far more lush and supple sounding. It’s got some of the drugged out noise of Send, but it’s never as grinding. Where Send recalls elements of industrial, Art Pop recalls elements of shoegaze and indie rock. Finally, nearly 30 years since Pink Flag, Art Pop retains some nervous post-punk energy on tracks like “Drive By.”

The album opens with “On Your Own,” a track that hearkens back to the fuzz of My Bloody Valentine’s Isn’t Anything, albeit with far more discernible vocals. Wire has always been more about conjuring up moods and textures than linear storytelling, and the same could sort of be said for Githead. The vocals are an instrument for painting a feeling, but not necessarily describing that feeling lyrically. This description is a roundabout way of saying that sometimes Githead’s lyrics suck. So it goes. “On Your Own” is a gorgeously atmospheric starter regardless.

Newman leads most of the tracks on Art Pop, and each one is brilliant. His songwriting has become more fluid and less herky-jerky with age, but credit for that belongs just as much to his bandmates. Everyone in this group is quite essential to the overall sound.

Spigel serves up some tasty concoctions as well. The more acoustically driven “Lifeloops” allows the album to mellow out a bit more as Spigel expounds on the human race's more pathetic elements. “Jet Ear Game” finds her speaking through a digitized voice box. Her vocals are distorted beyond recognition here, but they complement the computer bleep-like guitar work.

Art Pop is arguably one of the best albums of 2007 yet. At times reminiscent of the smart pop of Peter Gabriel and the guitar swirls of My Bloody Valentine (oh yeah, and Wire. It sounds like Wire sometimes too, if you didn’t know), Githead is atmospherically blissful and sonically delicious and/or nutritious.

The Gaslight Anthem - 'The Señor and The Queen'

Gravelly vocals, whiskey-soaked tunes that split the difference between punk rock and blues and songs about girls—these are a few of my favorite things. Less than a year after releasing its first full-length, Sink or Swim, The Gaslight Anthem has dropped an EP that compromises the three lovely qualities listed above. Perfect in conception and execution, The Gaslight Anthem’s The Señor and The Queen’s only flaw is that it’s too darned short.

The Señor and The Queen plays like a concept quick shot about a guy and his desired gal. Calling to mind the dark tales of Bruce Springsteen and The E Street Band circa Darkness on the Edge of Town just as much as it does the punk energy of Hot Water Music and The Loved Ones, The Gaslight Anthem has expertly crafted four tasty tunes.

Each song is arranged just right. The title track kicks off the disc; it’s a great start, but it doesn’t rock as hard or as sweetly as track three, “Say I Won’t (Recognize).” Regardless, when frontman Brian Fallon slips into the role of the señor, it’s classy and fun all the way. Bruce had Rosalita; Fallon has Maria, and she pops up throughout the disc. “Señor and The Queen” and “Say I Won’t” find Fallon trying to woo her out on the dance floor. “Come on out Maria and lose the tragic/Come on out Maria and we”ll show you some magic,” he assures her on “Say I Won’t.” “We’re having a party, everybody’s swinging/Tonight won’t you come down out of your tower/Don’t make me dance all night alone.” “Are you dying to move,” he asks her on the title track, “Or are you dying to be the one moved?” With gnarly guitars and throaty croon, I don’t know how any lady could turn him down.

Tracks two and four take a more somber approach. When not “swinging like the end of the world,” Fallon likes to get down in a different way. On “Wherefore Art Thou, Elvis?” he tells Maria “I never felt right and never fit in.” Yeah, he’s one of those James Dean bad types, but over drummer Benny Horrowitz’s post-punk dance beat, he sounds like an a-OK guy. Throw in a few “bop bop bop-bop-bah-dah-dah-dahs” for seasoning, and you’ve got a mighty fine number for you and your special someone.

The EP closes out with “Blue Jeans & White T-Shirts,” a track more in keeping with the softer indie rock of The Good Life or The Weakerthans. In fact, Fallon has an eye for detail like The Good Life’s mastermind Tim Kasher. Both are equally expressive in their vocals and words. The song’s great reveal is that Fallon calls every girl he meets “Maria,” which makes the EP a lot more depressing. Still, it’s hard not to find hope in this song’s closing lines—“Someday I’ll buy you that house on Cookman/Sleep on the beach if we ain’t got a ride.” Fallon sounds weary and quiet compared to his delivery on the other songs, but that makes it sweeter in its understatement.

I don’t know if Maria is a real person. I don’t know if Fallon’s nickname is “the Señor,” although it should be because that would be awesome. But I do know that, like Kasher or Springsteen, Fallon sings about losers, romantics and misfits quite well. The Gaslight Anthem has a heck of a lot of heart, and at least four delicious new tunes for 2008. A second full-length is in the works for SideOneDummy, and if The Señor and The Queen is any indication, it’s going to rock my soul and my bum to the max.

Holly George-Warren - 'Punk 365'

Depending on whom you ask, punk rock could be a sound, an aesthetic, a dead scene or a fashion. It was instantaneous. It was long-gestating. It was created by The Ramones. It was created by The Sex Pistols. It’s three chords and nothing more. It started with three chords and a couple of hooks and ignited youthful minds and became part of every musical genre ever.

The cop-out answer is that it’s all of these things and a wee bit more. The longer answer has been provided, to some extent, by writer Holly George-Warren. In her new book Punk 365, the latest installment in the 365 series, readers get to see the good, the bad and the new wave about punk. George-Warren has assembled a thorough photographic collection of the genre’s ’70s years, going to great lengths to fit punk into a rock ‘n’ roll context by explaining the genre’s godfathers, bands like Velvet Underground, The Stooges and MC5, as well as its effect on ’80s music. From there, she covers punk’s pandemic spread from New York over to the U.K. and then back to the states in California.

The 365 series is more of a photo collection with captions than a full-on text book, and George-Warren makes the most of the format. Her book is like a shopping list for music fans. Sure, there’s plenty of love for the unholy trinity of The Ramones, The Clash and The Sex Pistols, but where George-Warren truly succeeds is in her celebration of lesser known acts like The Mumps, Steel Tips and Teenage Jesus and The Jerks (best band name ever?). With as little as a single sentence, she puts the reader into the time frame, with some photographic help, of course.

The iconic photos, taken by the likes of Bob Gruen, Stephanie Chernikowski and Jenny Lens, vividly capture punk’s energy and fun. The predominance of black and white may make the reader feel removed from the time, but the subjects could’ve come from today. Leather jackets, hair dye and X-Men T-shirts are still kinda cool. As color saturates the later chapters, the years melt away as well. Either way, you get sweet shots of Patti Smith, Talking Heads, Joy Division and Wire.

Where Punk 365 fails, however, is in its attempt to explain punk’s impact. Post-punk, hardcore, new wave, goth, metal, alternative and hip-hop all took something from punk, and the restrictions of a 744-page book that’s split in half by photos catches up with George-Warren here. Still, she does her darndest to include love for Devo, The Cure, Siouxsie and The Banshees, The Go-Gos, Black Flag and even Madonna. Metal gets the biggest shaft with no photos whatsoever, while hip-hop receives a few pages about Beastie Boys and the bond between hip-hop and punk over urban settings and graffiti art.

On a symbolic level, though, that’s kind of the point. It’s unreasonable to expect Punk 365 to contain within it everything punk, because the thing is too widespread. It’s inextricable from the musical water. Punk 365 is still a great overview of the genre, though, and serves as an excellent visual companion to more specific works like England’s Dreaming, American Hardcore and We Got the Neutron Bomb: The Untold Story of L.A. Punk. And again, on its own, Punk 365 is a killer mix tape.

Time to go check out The Flamin’ Groovies (or is this the best band name ever?) and 13th Floor Elevators. But before I go, some personal favorites from the book: The foreword from Richard Hell of Voidoids/Television fame is the perfect punk intro; every shot of X is awesome; and I’m pretty sure that’s The Bouncing Souls’ Bryan Kienlen wearing a Sticks and Stones T-shirt in the background of the photo on page 363.