Scott Hefflon – Page 309 – Lollipop Magazine

Beats The Hell Out of Me – Rolling Thunder Music – Review

September 1, 1995

Psychedelic, or smooth and groovy, or hard and choppy, or rocking and passionate. Hints of Pearl Jam and Prong, tastily produced by Ross Robinson

Banco de Gaia – Last Train to Lhasa – Review

September 1, 1995

After being deadened by the glut of shallowness and pretentious new age Valium, I’m pleased there are still soulful and spiritual voyages in electronic music.

Punchbuggy – All Nite Christian Rollerskate – Review

September 1, 1995

This is what powerpop is all about. With 19 solid tracks, some punky pop, some kinda just dippy, upbeat pop; there are only good songs and great songs.

NOFX – I Heard They Suck Live! – Review

September 1, 1995

16 of the flab four’s favorites, mindless between-song commentary, wrong notes, flubbed lyrics, and other charming aspects of their notorious live shows.

The Mr. T. Experience – Everybody’s Entitled to their Own Opinion – Review

September 1, 1995

A re-issue of their self-released punkpop classic. Recorded in ’86, Mr. T. Experience were one of the first wave of mid-’80s junk rock.

Man Will Surrender – Instrument – Review

September 1, 1995

Keeping the honesty of the lyrics, yet using harmonies and instrumental interludes, and soft-spoken moments, this isn’t hardcore as the word is usually used.

Malfunkshun – Return To Olympus – Review

September 1, 1995

Mother Love Bone’s Andrew Wood’s first band. An album that has moments of pure beauty and complete shit.

Wizo – Uuaarrgh! – Review

September 1, 1995

Fun punkpop in German! A coupla love songs, a coupla pissed off songs, and a slew of anti-government, anti-religion, anti-fascist songs.

What I Did on My Summer Vacation – Fiction

September 1, 1995

Whoever had been talking to me had stopped. Only a cat sat beside me now. Maybe the cat had been talking to me. Maybe whoever had been talking to me had turned into a cat.

The Real McKenzies – Review

September 1, 1995

Bagpipes, kilts, booze and junk rock. How can you not grab a brew, lock arms with your mates and belt out these drunk rock anthems at the top of your lungs?