Apocalypse Hoboken

House of the Rising Son of a Bitch (Kung Fu)
by Scott Hefflon

Sometimes you forget that punk can take on many forms, especially as there seem to be cloning factories out there somewhere, cranking out replicas which get signed to the major punk labels. But Apocalypse Hoboken toss in some kind of Toy Doll’s vocal inflection you really don’t hear much. Not to say there’s yet another Brit-punk snarling wanna-be to add to the “people I hate” list, I mean Todd Nolastnamegiven not only has a range (think Joey Vindictive or perhaps Sloppy Seconds’ B.A., but don’t think too hard or too literally) but a rock-oriented, um, vibrato. At the extreme, the vocals even bring to mind that “quirky” madness of Jello. And that’s not something one mentions lightly, now is it?

Musically, Apocalypse Hoboken are too hard to peg. Arty post-punk with hints of hard rock chord progression and funkcore or something probably comes closest, mostly ’cause it means nothing. House… has the hooks and the variety to make it worthy of many, many a listen; each time you’ll picking up on a little something you missed previously. Not that they’re going for some arty statement, and they’d probably chuckle at my faltering, they’re just a damn interesting band that deserves thorough and repeated listens.
(PO Box 38009 Hollywood, CA 90038)