Amyl and The Sniffers.
2019, Rough Trade Records. Producer: Ross Orton.
In My Collection: Spotify, 2020.
(Five Minute Read)
IN A NUTSHELL: Amyl and The Sniffers is a loud, fast, short record that offers old-school sounds and throwback themes. These Aussies could’ve been plucked right out of 1977 London. Vocalist Amy Taylor is more of a rhythmic shouter than a singer, but it fits perfectly on top of guitarist Dec Martens’ riffs and crunch. It goes by quickly, but it leaves you happy, and ready to kick the whole world’s ass.
THEORETICAL PLACE IN A FUTURE TOP 100 LIST I’LL NEVER WRITE: Top 80.
~ ~ ~
The very first song that Billboard magazine deemed Number 1 in the USA was “I’ll Never Smile Again,” by Tommy Dorsey and His Orchestra. The song featured a young Frank Sinatra crooning, “I’ll never smile again/ Until I smile at you/ I’ll never laugh again/ What good would it do.” It’s syrupy and wispy, with tinkling bells and a chorus of characterless voices backing up Ol’ Blue Eyes. It was huge, holding down the #1 spot for three months in the summer of 1940. So, when I graduated high school, any peers who didn’t like the contemporary 80s sounds, but instead had a thing for 45-year-old music, might’ve been jamming to this bop.
But let me tell you something about 80s teens: we may have been lame, but we weren’t that lame. Nobody was listening to that crap[ref]Not to say the song is crap.[/ref]. However, I was in the marching band, so I knew many musicians who did listen to, and enjoy, and PLAY 45-year-old music. They liked jazz music by artists like Louie Armstrong, Benny Goodman, and Duke Ellington. This was music that was far afield from the the pop[ref]Short for “popular,” after all.[/ref] hits of the day. Songs like “I’ll Never Smile Again,” or Bing Crosby’s “Only Forever,” which bumped Dorsey off the top spot and held it for over two months, sound primped and frail next to those other muscular, sweaty jazz sounds. The top of the pop chart, generally, has never been where the interesting music is found.
In 1974, Billboard‘s Number One song of the year was “The Way We Were,” by Barbra Streisand. In 1975, it was “Love Will Keep Us Together,” by The Captain and Tennille. Wings held the spot in 1976 with “Silly Love Songs.” However, far beyond the pop charts in the early to mid-70s, something more dangerous was bubbling under. The Stooges, The New York Dolls, and The Ramones were putting out records in the US, and in the UK, The Sex Pistols and The Clash were doing damage. Modern musicians are more likely turn to these acts when pilfering 45-year-old styles than any of the watery, safe sounds from the era’s Top Ten. I offer to you the following evidence: Amyl and The Sniffers.
Amyl and The Sniffers are a mulletted Australian band featuring three men with a woman singer who reminds me of the trailer park girls I knew in high school who I was afraid would kick my ass. They play loud, fast, catchy songs with vocals that are more shouted than sung, equal parts fury and fun blasting straight out of the speakers.
I first heard them over the summer of 2020, in the early part of the Great Lonesome. Spotify randomly played them, and I was hooked on their bouncy, aggressive clamor. The band is named after the street drug amyl nitrate, or “poppers.” Singer/shouter Amy Taylor told the BBC, “In Australia we call poppers Amyl. So you sniff it, it lasts for 30 seconds and then you have a headache – and that’s what we’re like!”
I haven’t done poppers, but I can’t disagree with her assessment of the band – although I like the ensuing headaches. Loud, fast punk rock is fine with me, but I do need some melody and something to interest me beyond speed and volume. Amyl and The Sniffers are melodic and interesting. I also like a variety of sounds and styles, and while they don’t mix up the style much, at least the songs are all about 2 minutes long so it doesn’t get old.
Apart from Taylor’s shouting (which I’ll get to), the most interesting thing about the band is guitarist Dec Martens, who gets to show off his skills right off the bat on “Starfire 500.”
About 0:53, Martens plays a solo that’s bouncy and catchy, and perhaps unusual in a punk song. The band plays through a verse and chorus before Taylor finally joins in about 1:48. She speak-sings lyrics about an attractive sex worker, and her style is somewhere between Corin Tucker, of Sleater-Kinney, and Craig Finn of The Hold Steady. She kind of sings the chorus (2:11) on this song, and Martens gets to play some cool licks about 2:30, and the boys all shout along to the chorus in their Aussie accent. It’s a good song to introduce the band.
In the true spirit of punk, they have songs about life stressors aggravated by the inherent inequities of modern socio-economic systems. Or, more succinctly, being “Gacked on Anger.”
The lyrics are great, and the clicking, crunching guitar is great. This one really is a “30 seconds and a headache” type song. The same can be said for “Cup of Destiny,” in which Taylor breaks out the signature grunt (0:23) – sometimes a squeal – she uses for emphasis. The song’s an update on the grim 70s UK “no future” sentiments. Martens gets to wedge in a brief squawky solo at 1:35. The energy is ramped up even more for “GFY,” propelled by Fergus Romer’s distorted bass guitar. It’s a song about dealing with douchebag people, with the chorus “… go fuck yourself.” Punk rock has no use for subtlety. (Here’s a cool live clip of the song.)
Amyl and The Sniffers have more to them than snotty rage and stomping beat. They have a bit of 70s hard rock and glam in them. For example, “Angel.”
It’s melodic in spite of Taylor’s style, and allows Martens to do more than a Johnny Ramone impression. His riff makes this one of my favorites on the record, and Drummer Bryce Wilson adds nice fills, too. Lyrically, it’s an unrequited love song, although Taylor doesn’t exactly try to sell the emotion of the song. She’s more comfortable yelling about the joys of playing a show in the rain, as in “Monsoon Rock.”
The band speeds up The Doors’ “Waiting for the Sun” riff, and basically runs wild with it. Martens plays a buzzing mosquito solo at 1:35 (after another of Taylor’s grunts), and the band just has the most fun possible in under two minutes. (Another kick ass live clip here.) It’s another favorite of mine. “Control” is a driving, X-ish rave-up about being in charge, and it ends with plenty of grunts and squeals. “Got You,” is a love song, actually, and has a fun, shouty chorus from the band, but gets a bit repetitive.
The track “Punisha” is flat-out speed and power, and drummer Wilson gets quite a workout. His fills are sweet. The song’s about vengeance, I think. “Shake Ya” is a good, old-fashioned, straightforward rock song about fucking that sounds like a pretty direct response to “You Shook Me All Night Long” from fellow Aussies AC/DC.
I really love the entirety of Amyl and The Sniffers, its energy and power, but the album closer is my favorite: “Some Mutts (Can’t Be Muzzled).”
The opening guitar riff is an immediate classic, rising menacingly. Romer’s bass ramps things up, and drummer Wilson crashes in (0:28) and then it’s just a head-banging frenzy! The band pulls back a bit for some more Martens riffage, then plows ahead, Taylor asking the musical question, “You got a new dog/ Do you remember me?” It’s a scorching scorned-woman song with few words (two of which are “Woof! Woof!”) and lots of attitude. Martens lets loose a bunch of punk/hard rock crunch. Check out one more live clip.
There you have it: eleven songs, twenty-nine minutes. A perfect punk morsel. Amyl and The Sniffers are making my old(er)-man heart happy. The musical future is in good hands with terrific throwbacks like this.
TRACK LISTING:
“Starfire 500“
“Gacked on Anger“
“Cup of Destiny“
“GFY“
“Angel“
“Monsoon Rock“
“Control“
“Got You“
“Punisha“
“Shake Ya“
“Some Mutts (Can’t Be Muzzled)“
IN A NUTSHELL: Super-catchy melodies and incomprehensible lyrics sung in screams and whispers and everything in between, backed by loud guitars, and a heavy-yet-melodic rhythm section. Today this record sounds rather tame, but when it was released it sounded like it had the power to change everything. And maybe, in some small way, it helped do so.
I used to be very 
of my past outlook. But I’m not 
relationships were best left undiscussed, or if necessary, discussed with an edge of distaste. I remember 
They were just like everyone else! Some were cool, some were assholes. I eventually moved to San Francisco, and the “gay culture” was more or less just another strand in the tapestry of “
awaken to the fact that gay and lesbian people are NORMAL PEOPLE, as many beloved Americans “came out of the closet.” And, as often happens when a friend or family member does the same, America realized their sexuality had no bearing on its opinions. Comedian Ellen DeGeneres – star of one of the 
But if hand-holding implies sexual contact, well, frankly, I can’t think of any couple – straight or gay – (or group, for that matter) whose sexual contact I want to think about. My parents? My family? My neighbors[ref]Assuming, of course, that I’m not a teen-age boy in an 80s movie who moves in next door to a sorority house whose residents regularly pillow-fight.[/ref]? Ugh. The fact is that two men holding hands doesn’t “flaunt” their sex life any more than any couple’s holding hands, and to ascribe sexual significance to it – again – says more about the person perceiving it than anyone else.
So, it’s true I was homophobic, and I know that I was, but even though it was me holding those ideas, I can’t get my mind to remember what it was like to be homophobic. It makes no sense, even though I know it to be true. In a similar way, I can’t get my mind to remember how crazy Nevermind sounded to me when I first heard it. I know for a fact that it sounded different from anything else I’d heard – Kurt Cobain’s screaming, the crunching guitars and pounding drums, all around catchy, hummable tunes – and I know it sounded like some final destination of rock music, one cul-de-sac of many in the neighborhood first planned by Chuck Berry and Little Richard, but I listen to it now and think, “Really? This was crazy, game-changing music?? It sounds so … pleasant!”
I came to understand that “punk rock” – by the late 80s and early 90s – really just meant making music your own way. It could be 
your grandparents’ house while your parents go out, and you fall asleep there and then wake up on the car ride home. I thought, “That’s the basis for a song? A Punk Rock Song?!? That can’t be right.” He played the song for me, and it was 
a bit of a shrug. But most American music fans, particularly of my generation[ref]Generation X!! We were cool once, too, 
our set, the track played, and the dance floor became a huge mosh pit, and when that build came the entire place jumped along to the song until “With the lights out …” broke and it became utter mayhem, crowd surfing, bodies flying, and bouncers reaching into the pile and pulling out drunks. The thing was, these moshers weren’t punkers or skinheads or metal dudes … they were boring college party people, folks who two years ago were inviting each other to “
some spirit within those collegians that they didn’t know they shared with the DIY kids. It’s probably a mixture of both. All I know is that I loved the sound and was blown away by the energy.
But what I love about the song, and what I believe is the real secret weapon to Nirvana, is the rhythm section of drummer Dave Grohl and bassist Krist Novoselic. Grohl hits the drums HARD, and his fills – as heard in the intro to “In Bloom” – are as catchy as the melodies. (It should be noted, too, that Grohl provides the excellent harmony vocals throughout the album, particularly noticeable on “In Bloom.”) And Novoselic always seems to find the right counter-melody in his bass lines, keeping the songs bouncing along even when Cobain’s guitar is simply feedback and power chords.
The vocal melody for this song is a bit busier than many of the others on the album, but I like it, particularly when paired with Novoselic’s bouncy, wide-ranging bass line. 
excellent support
always pleasing.
Just as I was putting the finishing touches on this post, the 
I know for a fact that people can change. And as people change, the culture will change, and as culture changes maybe violence can decrease. It’s not an accident that in thinking about Nevermind I think about how my attitudes have changed. Cobain and his bandmates were huge advocates of tolerance, going so far as asking in the liner notes to their album 
Nevermind is an album that I listen to nowadays and think, “My goodness, how times have changed.” And despite the pain and sadness that still exists in the world, I think it’s obvious that times have changed for the better. The fact that Nevermind sounds so different to my ears today than it did in 1991 is strong evidence for it. It’s one of many things that sounds different to me now.
IN A NUTSHELL: A record full of energy and fun, even if the lyrics are serious. Strummer/Jones is one of many binary characteristics of the group and their sound, and these create a tension and uniqueness in their sound. It’s a record of quick songs, with different styles, and all of them sound like they could fall apart any second, but it’s hard not to love the chaos.
Within social groups there are few condemnations as malicious as the epithet “Poser.” Attacks on appearance, style, family members, taste, intelligence … all of these can be mean and hurtful. But the term “poser[ref]Or “Poseur,” for those who prefer a Continental panache to their hurtful terminology.[/ref]” assesses all of these characteristics – a person’s total 
a spy, possibly a double-agent; a non-believer simply playing a role among strict disciples of the faith – whether it be punk rock, skateboarding or football team fandom – who is quietly mocking the devotees by constantly sitting on the edge of the conviction pool even though dressed as if ready to take the plunge. To people who have their entire “self” completely invested in an 
Even people apart from a group tend to sneer at The Poser. In mainstream, Wonder-bread, American society for the past fifty years, about the only thing worse than being a real hippy or punk rocker or Wiccan has been to be a PRETEND hippy/punk/witch. Google the words ‘
my fly was down for the entire job interview!!” kind of way, but in a “Do we know his next of kin?” kind of way. In a way in which friends are screaming “Holy shit!! OH MY GOD!!! HANG ON, E!! HERE THEY COME!!” while you – shivering and naked in a cold, dark forest campground at midnight, resting your head against the cool metal of the hood of your friend’s light-duty pickup, hear faint, distant sirens. In a way in which, as your friends’ shouts begin to sound muffled and slow, as if they’re shouting under water in a slo-mo replay, and the darkness you see inside your eyelids turns yellow and bright, you start to feel as if you’re weightless and floating and warm and you know that everything is going to be just all right for the rest of …
You were with your friends – five neighborhood buddies who you’ve played pickup sports with since fourth grade – because one of them invited you to go on their annual early Spring weekend fishing trip out to a secluded campground at 
drink beer, and since both the woods and beer have at times given you asthma attacks like the ones you’ve had since you were a kid, you are sure to pack your trusty inhaler. You never had an inhaler as a kid, but when you first got one in college you were AMAZED at how quickly and thoroughly it knocked out any wheeze of any size. It’s often called a “
a lot more than you probably should have – 
that your doctor has told you is particular to your body’s 
intended to be shouts and let them know they’d better get an ambulance out here to the wilderness pretty damn quick. Emerging groggily from the tents, they’re all a little confused, but when you start disrobing because you’re so fucking hot, and then lean against a truck and defecate because you’ll never make it back to the latrine, well, they start to figure out that it isn’t a prank. And T. – who’s recently graduated from State Trooper school, and so trained in emergencies – takes over the situation and sends D. off to the payphone located way over at the campground’s main building. And you just lean against that cool truck and try to breathe, even though each breath feels like you’re trying to suck a billiard ball through a drinking straw[ref]You also crack a very dark joke or two, which greatly disturbs your buddies. You’ll feel bad for that later, as it was probably weird for them to hear you make jokes about death while you were dying, but you won’t feel sorry: a comic must stay true to his muse.[/ref]. And the next thing you know, you’re shivering in the E.R.
But I felt trapped in my little 
was writing its own songs and playing out regularly, I couldn’t say no. It was the pre-Nirvana era of 
lab at the ripe old age of 23, and despite looking perhaps more like a Romanov than a Ramone, was a soaked-to-the-bone punk rocker. He was intrigued by my band and our music, which I typically described as “pop-punk-alternative” and hearing this he said, “You must be a Clash fan, right?” Now, obviously, I’d heard of The Clash, and I knew such songs as “
The Clash On Broadway, 
It’s 
in something close to a tune, but with an insistence that implies more concern for lyrical content than melody. Then, at about 28 seconds, Jones brings a (relatively) nicely sung melody to the song, and backing vocals, that keep it from being a simple shout-fest. The lyrics are a 
Bassist Paul Simonon and drummers Tory Crimes[ref]Nee Terry Chimes.[/ref] and Nicky “Topper” Headon were the rhythm section, with Crimes leaving the band after recording The Clash[ref]Although it’s a bit more complicated, as Headon re-recorded some drum parts on the US version. It’s like a friggin’ soap opera.[/ref]. The drumming is great throughout the album, and Simonon’s bass is particularly strong on the reggae and reggae-influenced songs, for example “Police & Thieves.” It was written and originally recorded by Jamaican singer 
The left-wing, populist lyrics are a mainstay of The Clash. And as great as they lyrics can be, one of the beauties of the band is that their locution and pronunciation are so poor when singing that even if you’re annoyed by such views, they’re easy to ignore because you can’t understand them most of the time anyway! A song that combines all the characteristics I’ve described is the wonderful “White Man (In Hammersmith Palais),” my other co-favorite song[ref]Although, there are so many greats here it’s hard to pick one.[/ref]. It has intelligible vocals by Strummer, with 
feeling that gives them an immediacy, like hearing your favorite band live playing a song they just wrote. But the production and arrangements make the songs sound complete and finished. It’s one of many dichotomies within The Clash[ref]Poet Strummer/Musician Jones; Great Lyrics/Unheard Lyrics; Punk Rock/Good Production; etc, etc.[/ref], and they create a great tension that elevates the band. Take for example “Jail Guitar Doors,” a song about 
the straight-ahead, safety pin through the lip, 11-inch mohawk songs that also reside on The Clash. They sound powerful and angry, especially when placed alongside the more melodic efforts. I’m talking about songs like “
but that fact didn’t make me interested in what their music sounded like. Then, during the horrible 80s, a horrible song by a horrible singer was released, and like a fart in an elevator or the Ebola virus, there was no escaping it. 1987’s smash hit … “
