by Chris Coplan (@CCoplan)
Great punk is meant to destroy. First that means our sensibilities and even our eardrums, but just as vitally, it’s our systems and structures. It ultimately shows us how precarious things truly are and the power we have to burn it all down for the future. It also creates, though. That means entertaining and amusing us on some distinctly human level. To show us the joys of life and people beyond these nasty systems. To perhaps remind us of some beating heart worth the endless slough. Lots of bands manage to embrace both fronts, but few do it like Pinch Points.
The Melbourne, Australia outfit showed off their with 2018’s Mechanical Injury EP (which was recently released on vinyl for the very first time). At the time of its initial release, J. Edward Keyes of Bandcamp nailed it when he marveled at this profound party punk — calling it "Rock Lobster" if it "were about overthrowing the government." In marrying these worlds with new vigor and intent, the album achieves something equally rocking and thought-provoking.
To begin, there’s a robust simplicity and decidedly direct approach at the core of this record. You could say it’s the beating heart, but it’s also a tad more complicated than that. "Jellybrain," for instance, is this extra jangly, singularly Aussie demonstration of garage rock about how TV rots our brains. It’s sort of like "TV Party" from Black Flag — if you went a little more playful with the satirization and still managed to keep your barbs extra sharp. Same goes with "Pave Me," a new track added for the vinyl release. With at least 40% of the song featuring some version of "pave me!," the band opt for a blunt approach, like a baseball bat to the knuckles. Add in that slick bass line, and there’s a sense of urgency and depth to their pleas against paving up paradise.
From those cuts we get "Ground Up/System Failure," a track that steps up in terms of scope and approach. With beat-poet-esque lines about a lack of humanity and integrating with machines, it’s a little hokier than its predecessors. Still, it really drives home the record’s intellectual core about how bizarre the human condition’s come to be (and hokier often works — it adds a real playful, wholly retro garage rock sheen).
This essential pacing and robust honesty feels like it’s an effective enough speed. Pinch Points manage to capture the tone, intent, and feelings of a lot of politically-minded punk, especially of that bygone heyday of the mid-‘80s (and that’s a solid, often unapproachable canon to enter). There’s clearly a certain wit and intellect here, but some of that’s obfuscated in the name of tackling people head on and distilling their message to the most singable tidbits. It makes for music that you can dance and contemplate in equal measure, but it can feel a little one-note at times, stymying the sentiments of both tentpole ideas.
The album seems to really flourish, then, when the band get a little more abstract in their approach. When they focus less on overt politicization and instead use garage rock-ian joy to augment and contextualize their arguments. "Woomera" hits with a truly nebulous inflection; there's obscured lines about "subjugation" and "hands where they shouldn’t be." Yet that "passive" approach fosters an air of paranoia (played up by the sweaty, almost sensuous garage rock vibes) that capture this deep-seated feeling, as if the world's gone totally askew.
"Liquid Stone" isn't quite as dark and mysterious in its approach; it's clearly about the working class and building a world that will only keep us down. The manic quality, paired with more kicking hooks and overt catchiness (try to deny "liquid stone age," I dare you) does wonders to ground this song in something altogether more wild and gripping beyond its "simple" arguments.
There's an argument that "Teflon" is the most playful of the record's political messages. It feels the most inventive in its satire — hitting on a lack of accountability the powerful and stupid seem to enjoy nowadays. The jangly approach doesn't feel quite as uplifting, but maybe that juxtaposition instead works to create a tension that adds to this record's textured approaches. The most creative approach to the band's political commentary ultimately comes with "Young." This two-minute instrumental jam's entire discourse is in its context. Placed between "Jellybrain" and "Liquid Stone," it somehow bridges the direct-indirect approaches despite saying nothing at all. Just its mere existence — as this looping bit of frenetic garage noise — seems to suggest heaps of ideas, including the very nature of this music as a political vehicle.
If it wasn't clear, I prefer this indirect approach. Does it take a little more time to land over the album's "other half"? Absolutely; these cuts don’t have quite the same thrill and oomph, but they do have a bit more heft in terms of its messaging, and these four tracks reward careful listens with novel dissections over politicized sneering. They drive home the band's greater skill: blurring the music and the message in a way that everything is both more aligned and yet there remains gaps to explore the larger context. It's a way to evolve their garage rock socialism to create more interest and extend the ideas beyond ephemera for groovy songs.
My preference over the indirect versus direct approach shouldn't take away from this tape's true achievement: a celebration of and rededication to great political punk. By embracing both sides — ham-fisted declarations and more savvy commentaries — Mechanical Injury draws people around its core. The politically motivated and the burnouts alike readily coalesce; dichotomous groups seeking different energies and ideas united in celebrating what they need most — immediate music for a truly bonkers era on the cusp of violent change. Is this the spark, or merely a soundtrack for the afterparty? You decide.