Kustomized

At The Vanishing Point (Matador)
by Nik Rainey

Yet again, Kustomized, like the punk prestidigitators they are, manage a slight-of-hand that younger buck-rakers would give up their Manic Panic hair dye for – music that gut-punches with the caustic spite magma of the angriest teen-thrash basement ensemble while constantly pulling art-damaged rabbits of a different hue out of their slouch caps. Where other bands mellow, ripen and rot with age, the thirtywhatevers of Boston’s finest gift to the world keep getting harder, rougher and snarlier with every release. At the Vanishing Point, their third Matador long-player, bursts through new barriers in their battle for space, shredding woofers and trouncing tweeters as they go. Local rawk gawd Peter Prescott’s bellow renders every song anthemic as usual (he’s still got voice enough for two men), Ed Yazijian proves yet again that he’s the soul of the unit with his organ and violin coloring, and new drumboat Malcolm Travis (late of Sugar) provides the Kustomized hot-rod with fresh drive. The dense fog of previous releases (a leftover component from Prescott’s last combo, the Volcano Suns) clears up here, bringing their previously hidden surf influences to the fore on the opener, “Handcuffs,” as well as their covers of the Fireballs’ obscure “Yacky Do” and, shockingly, the jazz standard “Harlem Nocturne.” That doesn’t mean they don’t lay on the bombast as before, however. Their ferocious run through Government Issue’s “Bored to Death” fits right in among the likes of the pounding “Permission” and the psycholoungeabilly growler “The One That Got Away.” Oblivious to fad and fashion, Kustomized keep tearin’ rock a few new holes, and it’s a dumb skeeze indeed that doesn’t jump in with ’em. So come ahn.