Unlettered is a post-punk studio project spearheaded by multi-instrumentalist Mike Knowlton. Ok, I got that out of the way, but this isn’t the first interaction I’ve had with this musical project. The last album, 2024’s Five Mile Point, harked back to a time when artists were full of the creative spirit and worked their respective instruments with not so delicate precision in order to find something new hidden & buried underneath. Knowlton still captures those ideas with the new Devil’s Bowl, bending strings, allowing lingering alternate-tuned guitars to dance within his hands. Best example is “Control No Eye,” which may sound familiar or may not, depending on your familiarity with bands that used dissonance to their advantage. This isn’t a comparison though; this is the continual evolution of a sound that we haven’t heard in quite some time. It’s gloriously inviting.

BUTTHOLE SURFERS – AFTER THE ASTRONAUT

Is it just me, am I the only one who didn’t know there was a lost Butthole Surfers album lingering out there somewhere? When the Butthole Surfers moved from indie to major label, of course, I didn’t understand how it happened. I understand why it did; labels were searching for the next big artist in the wake of Nirvana and just about any and every other “grunge” band. But the Butthole Surfers were from Texas. The Butthole Surfers were as far from the mainstream as you could get. The fact the band scored a hit with “Pepper” off of Electric Larryland is an anomaly and probably nothing short of a miracle all on its own. And this was long after vocalist/guitarist Gibby Haynes’ cameo on “Jesus Built My Hotrod.” Two labels later, the band released Weird Revolution four years later, which had more to do with what the label wanted than the band did, to little-to-no fanfare, and the reviews the release did receive were far from kind.

Decades later, we find out what happened to the band. The band worked on After The Astronaut (Sunset Blvd.), which was shelved by the label because of their lack of understanding of who they had, and re-imagined it with Weird Revolution. It all makes sense once you discover the album no one ever got a chance to hear, unless you purchased the bootleg cassette. To say there wasn’t a single, would be a misnomer, with songs like “Intelligent Guy” filling the space the band could get away with, moving along within mainstream antics. It didn’t have the catchiness of a “Pepper,” instead, lingering within a much broader musical landscape; a bit more sinister, and would leave listeners proceeding with caution. Even “Jet Fighter” could have probably cut through the airwaves, but no label would probably touch on a song about dropping missiles on Iraq, then dealing with Jesus, Allah & John Wayne. Yes, the album gets weird, as the band became much more comfortable with samples and odd sounds. But this is the epitome of Butthole Surfers. The band’s psychedelia transgressions are put forth as the backdrop to  “Mexico,” where Haynes sings about “God, Zeus, Allah, Buddha / Bob Dylan on a motor scooter” along with “Allah, Buddha, God, Zeus /Gotta get me a red caboose” and “Buddha, God, Zeus, Allah / Mexico in a low Impala.” Yeah, maybe it doesn’t make sense, but it’s the Butthole Surfers, and they were going to do what they always fucking did.

While many of the songs here are found on Weird Revolution, it seems marketing was a problem because there are bangers like “Venus,” which has its moments. Musically, it is sexy with a rhythm that sticks to your hips. This problem wasn’t so much the lack of songs or singles, or even the idea that the Butthole Surfers weren’t weird enough; it was marketing. This track is a banger amongst bangers but listening to the unreleased tracks, we could have had much more from the trio. But the oddness doesn’t escape me in the throbbing psych of “Junkie Jenny In Gaytown,” which has Haynes doing his best Ofra Haza as she would on dance beats. Psych or psycho? It’s wild nonetheless, and no one can claim the band never stepped out of its comfort zone, although there doesn’t seem to be anything the group wasn’t willing to try. There’s also the heavy-handed “They Came In,” with odd guitar/synth notes playing but then colliding all together, moving the dynamics into something much more hard-hitting. This was omitted from the band’s second album and was a misstep for the label.

Man, I don’t know what would have happened to the Butthole Surfers had they been given creative control but when you’re left at the mercy of others, shit happens. After The Astronaut, as a whole, makes sense. It’s what should have been.

TOILET RATS – BLACK CATS

You ever have a moment where you think to yourself, “Is it me or is everything a reflection of the shit around us all?” These are the thoughts that populate on a regular basis the past year and a half as the world seemingly crashes around us. For some reason, independent music seems to be sparse, from my perspective, and the number of artists who should be releasing music has been dwindling. But then this week, it seems a change gonna come.

It’s no secret that I have an affinity for Minneapolis’ Toilet Rats, the “one-person operation conceived, performed, and maintained by Tommy Ratz” project. Why? Well, as far as this elusive character is concerned, no fucks seem to be given. It doesn’t matter what style is delivered – it’s all neatly wrapped in a synth/punk/pop manner – it comes straight from one source, and it comes straight from the heart. With his new Black Cats (Steadfast/Sweet Cheetah), it doesn’t change, and no matter what Ratz is singing about, volleying from a range of emotions, what comes to fruition is something intense. Both as a whole and with each individual track. While much of the release seems to be B-movie themed with song titles like “Vampirella,” “I Was A Teenage Exorcist,” and “Blood Suckers,” Ratz pulls some of the best melodies out for his songs. But nothing seems to hit harder – both physically and emotionally – as “Heart Emoji MPLS,” which is a reflection of what happened in Minneapolis. Here, Ratz literally rocks with a fervor and so intensely to get his distaste for what happened in his own beloved city. He puts to music what many independent artists haven’t, focusing on the darkness here, cutting through it with the light of his music. Dense guitars play against electronics, while the rhythm drives things directly off a cliff. Where it takes us all, that’s where we’re going.

I’m getting ahead of myself here though skipping over things that shouldn’t have been. The opening “Darkness” is smothered in keyboard washes, and pulls melodies from guitar notes. While the track itself may sound completely retrofied, it remains as contemporary as anything else around. At just over the two-minute mark, it’s just a brief look into Ratz’ mind. Then there’s “Crystal Lake (I Don’t Wanna Go To),” with its mechanical rhythm and a slinking melancholy throughout it. It’s brooding, sitting within a timbre of blackened gloom. But he does flip the script on “Shimmy,” which sounds like a bouncy little love song. I’m here for the repetitive rhythm, which was drawn to add colorful guitar and keyboard work on top of it when needed. You could never hate this song; instead, just dance around in your underwear like you’re a 15-year-old kid again in your bedroom.

With Black Cats, Toilet Rats place its collective footing one rung up on its own musical ladder. I say it’s own because there aren’t many that can stand up alongside Toilet Rats or this new album. That’s my word.