This is one of the best Canadian punk singles ever released, but it didn’t see vinyl until over twenty years after it was recorded in 1979.

In 2000, I had just started a label pressing mostly local punk EPs. As anyone who has ever run a small label knows, one of the most awkward aspects of the gig is dealing with well-meaning people who have made bad music and think you’d be the just the guy to release it. Such appeared the case when a slightly older regular at the record store in which I was working, having heard I was doing hardcore records, mentioned that he had been in a ’70s band that had recorded one studio session but had never done anything with the resulting tape. Still, Greg did have excellent taste, and he was a good customer, so I dutifully took home a copy of the tape and eventually threw it on for a perfunctory listen.

Once the tape started rolling, it didn’t take long to realize that I’d just had something truly remarkable almost literally dropped in my lap. This wasn’t just another competent genre exercise, mildly interesting perhaps more for its time than any real musical value, but rather a legitimately killer set of classic punk rock. Like hometown heroes Teenage Head, the Dream Dates were a band very much of their era, but in place of the safety pin posturing so prevalent at the time, they delivered a hard, rough punk rock’n’roll rooted in raw R&B, primal garage and the cream of the ’70s American crop. Over half of the seven songs were covers (albeit inspired and very effective covers!), but the three originals were better yet. Songs like “Moans on the Phone” and “The Mess You’re In” had all the hooks and swagger of the greatest rock’n’roll music, but delivered them with the punch of the new punk rock courtesy of a hammering rhythm section and one shit hot guitarist.

Without delay, we set to work on finally making this long-buried treasure available to the people who needed to hear it, selecting “Moans on the Phone” to top the disc while “Heartattack Rhythm” was chosen as the equally strong flip. Old photos were excavated, early flyers plundered for graphic material, and Forgotten Rebels frontman Mickey De Sadist— who had named the band in 1979— was enlisted to provide liner notes. Only 600 hand-numbered copies of the resulting double-sided monster were pressed, which proceeded to sell out in no time at all.

A second 45 (“The Mess You’re In” b/w a truly worthy take on the Stooges’ immortal “Search and Destroy”) followed in 2004, with both singles released as a 12” EP in Europe soon after. The last single from the session, featuring high-octane, guitar-heavy renditions of the Surfaris’ “Surfer Joe” and Freddie Cannon’s “Tallahassee Lassie”, appeared in a one-time pressing of 500 in March 2012 and is currently available (www.uglypop.bigcartel.com) although only about 100 copies remain.

I was only dimly aware of this Montreal scorcher when I came across a copy in a local shop last year, but the two best dollars it cost me were about the best I spent in 2011. As with so many singles of the era, this is renowned pretty much entirely due to its killer b-side— the nominal main attraction is a very tame and rather forgettable pop song called “Heartaches over my Head”.

Released on Columbia in 1966, and while the small pressing and lack of follow-up indicate that the major clearly didn’t see much potential in them, they did manage a second 45 on Regency a couple years later, halfway through changing their name to EXIT 4. Much more obviously Beatles-inspired, the second single appeared under both names, but there’s nothing on it to rival this two minute blast, which I’ve seen called Canada’s best garage single a few times. I don’t know that I’d quite agree with that claim, but it certainly is a nice one to have in the collection.

Sometime around late 1985 or early ‘86, I went on a short visit to Montreal with my parents. We stayed with family friends, and while they didn’t live downtown, there was a small local record shop (progress? Ha, just try to find a small neighbourhood record shop in 2012 suburbia) nearby. Although I had only just turned 15, the record bug had already bitten hard and this shop was my first priority. At this point, I knew next to nothing about punk rock, and a few UK Subs and Dead Kennedys records were about as deep as my collection got. My chief memory of that Montreal store is of the Black Flag “My War” LP on the wall, its cover making a strong and deep first impression even as its price tag ensured that it would not be coming home with me. I can remember two records that I did leave with, however. The first was a slightly battered copy of the Clash “Combat Rock” LP, a weak effort that had nonetheless changed my life when I had borrowed it and “London Calling” from a classmate over the 1985 March break; checking the shelf now, I’m admittedly a little surprised to see that I still own this same copy, purchased for the teen-friendly price of $1.50 and probably not played since.

Despite my indifference, it’s certainly only right that I should a record with such significance to my life since, but the other record I bought that day was not a memento of the recent past, but rather a window to the imminent future.

Montreco was a Montreal label that specialized in disco and commercial rock before rolling the dice on punk rock in the late ’70s, issuing 12” singles by various licensed acts and compiling a few of them on “Permanent New Wave”, a cheesy but enjoyable 1979 LP. I already knew X-Ray Spex, and most of the bands made as little impression then as their names do now, but a couple of Canadian bands, specifically Ottawa’s The Action and Toronto’s own Viletones, jumped out right away, and the Viletones’ anthem “Screamin’ Fist” was a fast favourite that has endured to this day. I obtained an original of the Viletones record (not really so rare in Toronto, where they were pretty big, and probably the leading local punk band of the ’70s) by the end of the decade, but this ended up going to Japan with so many of my other Canadian punk vinyl in the early ’90s (yeah, as if I was gonna find Zouo and Gauze records here). Lately I’ve been much more focused on regaining my old Canadian stuff, so when I came across a gorgeous stock copy the other day, I couldn’t resist bringing this classic back into the fold.

The a-side’s a great, high-energy moronic punk banger that’s surprisingly tough for 1977; “relentless” is an over-used term in a genre defined by the two-minute-or-less song, but the word certainly fits here. On the flip, “Possibilities” is a raw but engaging mid-tempo punker with its sixties roots showing, while “Rebel” reprises the quick-paced ranting of the first number. Just a killer punk rock single in the purest form— I highly recommend both this and their second EP, 1978’s “Look Back In Anger”, to anyone who digs this stuff but has yet to hear them.

Being a big fan of good 45s, I’ve been known to release a few myself. Now we’ve just dropped three at once, all by Canadian punk bands circa 1979. If this sounds interesting to you, check out the site (uglypop.bigcartel.com) and score some sweet wax. And now we return to regularly scheduled programming…

Maybe the best Toronto single ever, this raw 1966 punker is a definitive example of mid ’60s (North) American garage at its snottiest and most aggressive. Soaking up the tough R&B of seminal British bands like the Yardbirds and the Stones (Jagger once famously telling CHUM AM radio that the Ducklings were the best band they’d played with on tour after a June ‘66 show at Maple Leaf Gardens) and reinforcing it with the extra roughness of this continent, the Ugly Ducklings master the surly sexist teen put-down idiom in 2:28 and back it with a similarly unfriendly flip in the form of “I can tell”.

This is the record’s first pressing with simple black labels, found at a flea market for $5— I scored a Velvets promo 45 from the same dealer that day, also $5, making it a pretty good morning. Later pressings had the iconic colour Yorktown labels. They’re definitely prettier, sure, but I’ll take first press any day. Over the years, “Nothin’” has been repressed, comped and reissued, but it’s currently once again out of print, which is ridiculous.

Since Portland’s mighty POISON IDEA were referenced so prominently in the previous Users post, it only makes sense to shine a little attention on one of their own devastating 7” records. PI started out as an admittedly generic but undeniably great early American hardcore band in the finest tradition, paying unabashed homage to Discharge and the Germs through vicious, high-velocity tantrums that rarely exceeded a minute in length, as documented on such essential artefact’s as 1983’s “Pick Your King” EP.

Over time, the band inevitably progressed and matured, finally producing a punishing but accomplished brand of hardcore-bruised hard rock, but in the late ’80s, this evolution saw them deliver some of the most effective hardcore/metal crossover records ever unleashed. No mere subpar Metallica worship or tepid mosh fodder here, but a massive wall of burly thrash that has less to do with punk “crossing over” to metal than it does with what is still very much a hardcore punk band violently bending a few stock metal conventions to its will. The tempo remains uncompromisingly rapid— although certainly never one-dimensional— while the leads are quick and sharp but never indulgent. First issued in 1988, then, along with the “Getting the Fear” 12”, later reissued on the infamous “Ian McKaye” 12” EP, the four-song “Filthkick” EP is my favourite of the bunch. Poison Idea had a long and troubled history with a succession of labels, and this was self-released through their own Shitfool imprint, as noted by a rather petulant backsleeve message. Limited to 2000 numbered copies, the record features three originals, all of which are instant minor classics of metallic hardcore, including the all-time great “Ballad of a Pre-Op”, and a typically furious cover of the Damned’s “New Rose”, a beautifully executed rampage that was not carried over to the subsequent 12” pressing.

Shortly after this record came out, I saw Poison Idea for the first time, and the gig will remain forever among the five or six best live performances I’ve ever witnessed, culminating in a moment in which I seemed to lose all sense of time and place, buffeted along the top of the crowd, simultaneously trying to avoid being pushed into the ceiling (which was literally on fire until extinguished by quick-acting bar staff) and to not plunge back into the pit, twisting and turning, my head careening into Jerry’s, blood from self-inflicted razor cuts bathing his howling face as the band’s impossibly loud wall of thrash veered further and further from music and into the realm of disorienting jet engine roar.

Needless to say, I bought Filthkick and the “Darby Crash Rides Again” EP at the show, chatting with a remarkably friendly band as Jerry regaled us with stories of debauchery on tour. As is the case with far too many of my old punk records, I somehow let this go along the way, and it was very satisfying to scoop up another one a few years back.

This first-wave English punk 45 is forever guaranteed its place in the canon by the a-side’s inclusion on the first volume of the massively influential Killed By Death series in 1989; it was just a year later that I heard that LP and fell hard for The Users. Early UK dole queue/safety pin ramalama is all well and good, but like Satan’s Rats and very few others, The Users extended their professed appreciation of The Stooges et al beyond badges and namedropping to deliver a heavier, more American-style punk with memorable riffing, competent lead breaks and expertly sneered vocals. Both “Sick Of You” and underside “In Love With Today” mine the same territory to great effect and, despite being rather ignored when released in May 1977, it’s come to be recognized as one of the era’s best in the 35 years since.

I’ve had this record a couple times over the years, the first time when I bought it from a former member of Toronto hardcore notables Youth Youth Youth when he sold his collection in 1994. Somehow I parted with it over the years, no doubt when rent or tuition took precedence, but I was very happy to gain it back last year, and this time the provenance definitely added to the sweetness of the score.

I was at local shop Hits & Misses last year when my friend bought the new LP compiling the various Users material, and owner Pete was telling us how Pig used to say that their first 45 had blown him away real early, and that he’d learned guitar playing along with “Sick of You”. Fast forward a few weeks, and Pete’s put out a few choice items from his own collection, including a copy of the Users single that I snap up right away. I see him a couple weeks later and he mentions what he’d forgotten to earlier but figures to be worth noting— that the 45 came from Pig’s collection and is the very same copy he’d learned to play along with long before he started Poison Idea…and that’s what you’re seeing here.

Two covers on this quintessential 1966 UK beat 45, but The Action make them very much their own. Motown’s Marvelettes had enjoyed an American hit with “I’ll Keep Holding On” just the year before, but The Action reinvent this charming girl group number as a tough slice of mod R&B in the new British style typified by The Who and Small Faces.

On the flipside, The Action again take an established hit in a different style and give it the garage beat treatment to great effect. This time it’s Rochester rocker Mickey Lee Lane’s “Hey Sa-Lo-Ney”, given a quickened pace and a particularly strong vocal performance from Reg King, who echoes Steve Marriott’s approach right down to his repeated “c’mon children!” cries.

This is not an easy record to find nowadays, so I was pretty happy to find a nice copy at a local store some years back. The Parlophone company sleeve was liberated from a contemporary Beatles 45 in my parents’ collection; this is a much better use for it.

Hailing from Leeds along with contemporaries Gang Of Four and Delta 5, THE MEKONS debuted in January 1978 with “Never Been In A Riot”, a shuffling, inept mess of a DIY punk single that epitomised the era’s supposed privileging of commitment and passion over skill and professionalism, and later turned into a rather studied take on American roots music as viewed through the prism of art school Marxism. It was on this second 45, however, that the band made perhaps their most impressive and memorable music.

Although it appeared less than a year after the first single, “Where Were You?” finds the band already considerably more proficient than they had been. While the songs are basic and the playing is far from virtuoso, the performance is competent enough and the playing much more self-assured. Following neither the tradition of cliche rock’n’roll love songs nor the equally predictable new punk expression of disgust and apathy toward romantic matters, The Mekons rather take a different tack completely, voicing uncertainty, vulnerability and a perspective on romantic disappointment that has nothing to do with stock reactionary negativity and everything to do with real human feeling. Its ringing, insistent guitar and poignant vocals create a real classic of the new English post-punk.

Backing the a-side is “I’ll Have To Dance Then (On My Own)”, an astounding punk rock blast with martial drumming, chickenscratch guitar, fat bass and alternately barked and chanted words that comes across like some unholy union of early Crass and Gang Of Four. This song is nowhere near so well known or celebrated as the more famous a-side (and it’s worth noting that the sleeve even specifies “a double A side”), but it prefigures the entire peace punk sound that bands like Crass, Flux and Subhumans would soon make hugely influential. Recorded in late October 1978 and released as Fast Product #7, this is an essential 45 for anyone with an interest in early British punk beyond the posturing of the Clash, Sex Pistols etc, and it shouldn’t be too hard to find with any effort.

New Orleans had a small but remarkably consistent early punk scene, but it obviously never got anything like the attention given to those of larger cities, so it’s not surprising that I didn’t even hear of this great three-song 7” until tremendous b-side “Going Out With The In-Crowd” appeared on volume 3 of the excellent “Back To Front” series in 1993. A German series of LPs compiling exactly the sort of long-forgotten but incredible early punk rock and power-pop 45s that make up this blog’s bread and butter, “Back To Front” was like a European, semi-legitimate Killed By Death, and it turned me on to a good number of records that I now count amongst the all-time greats. This MANIC DEPRESSIVES single is a very good example.

“Going Out…” is the real hit, a blazing burst of energy with a killer chorus, but both of the two topside tracks “Silence On The Radio” and “You Know Where You’re Gonna Go” are excellent too. Released on the crucial local Vinyl Solution label in 1980, the entire record is very much of its time. The sound is pure punk rock’n’roll in the same loose vein as early Teenage Head or Nervous Eaters; it’s amped up to speeds unheard of just a few years earlier, but the affected vocals, strong melodies and trebly, frantic delivery are still much too rooted in ’70s punk rock to suggest any hint of the hardcore that was just about to explode across America’s underground. Not to say that this any kind of new wave nonsense, but perhaps this is just one power pop band that was as serious about the power part of that description as they were about the pop.

I was very fortunate to score an unplayed original copy of this when a friend located the guy behind Vinyl Solution some years ago and scooped up some old stock. Needless to say, those few copies are long gone, but excellent St Louis label Rerun Records has just reissued the EP, along with comp tracks, as a split LP with similar early New Orleans band 30 Second Flash, and it’s a release I strongly recommend. Check here for info: http://home2.rerunrecordsstl.com/