Note: This limited edition, white opaque vinyl has an in-color bloodstain and is available exclusively from the Bad Diet storefront. Only 100 copies exist. Get it before it is legend!
All copies include a double-sided poster. One side is by acclaimed rock artist Shelby Hohl, and the other is by the hedonistic claw of Lumpy from Lumpy and the Dumpers. Be forewarned, the side you display serves as an acid test for the modern age.
“A headfirst dive into fuzzy, physical rock ‘n’ roll.” – STEREOGUM
“‘No Place Else’ is what we’ve come to expect from the four-piece: an unbridled, fuck-it-up garage record.” – TINY MIX TAPES
When we say that No Place Else soars wingtip-to-wingtip alongside the top albums of 2015, we mean it. We mean it like a pocketknife across a palm. We mean it like the ghost of John Peel when he lifted up the severed head of Skrillex before us and cursed a rock-depleted world that overrunneth with skull-sticker punkers and tongue-wagging pop tarts. For members of Generation Z, let us better communicate in marketer speak how we feel about No Place Else and The Brainstems:
The nimble vigor of The Brainstems will lure any jaded soul off Sleepy Street. Tracks like “Keep It Together” (think a peppier Meat Puppets) and “Time to Ride” (an angsty pile-up in Black Lips mode) will have listeners keeping beat upon the threadbare couch of punk/rock posterity.
But it’s the effortless way No Place Else wills the listener out of the House of WiFi before rushing them around the block that makes the album connect. The Brainstems are punk savants at embedding new listeners into the circularity of their lives. Hit play and all-a-sudden you’re in a spartan performance space with them, immersed in the fun, frantic action. Listen further; it’s as if you were present for the innumerable downbeat walks and observant lulls that led to the music’s creation.
This is rock borne of days that are uneventfully eventful; days when a caved-in sidewalk covered in bars of shadow and light seems to mimic the chords of your discontent. Was that last bit too sentimental? Whoops. Eat your heart out, Richard Linklater!