One of the great Milwaukee bands of the 2010s was Like Like The The The Death. The group’s 2012 album Ghosts Of Dead Bros landed on our 50 best Milwaukee albums of the 2010s (so far) list in 2014; a few years later, we sang the praises of standout track “Holy Ghosty.” After the group disbanded in 2015, three of its members (Kyle Scheuer, Michael Marchant, Dan Hanke) kept the post-punk party going with Vile Bees. Records from the new group appeared in 2018 and 2021. But what have Vile Bees been up to lately?
Glad you asked! They have a new record, Joy Coughs, and it’s great. Take a listen! (And say the name of the record out loud a few times.)
“Who knows what lurks for the lucky?” Scheuer shouts on opener “Anime Bodies.” From there, it’s one nervy, delightfully verbose gut-punch after another: “Eyes Meet At The Liquor Store” is all stomp and scream; “Marky Moon” is a glistening rocker one minute and a spoken rant the next; “Salt Lick City” bounces and bruises in equal measure; and “Fire To A Kid” adds a splash of grunge-ballad grit to the mix. Finally, “Use Yr Allusion” ends things on a fantastic note with one of the record’s most winding arrangements and enjoyable choruses.
Oh, and as its name suggests, Joy Coughs is darkly funny, too. “Sing your song, unheralded man / Even though your album was panned” Scheuer bellows on “Hot Probs.” The wonderfully titled “Mascot Carries Own Head” opens with a reminder to “Please be aware that the manufacturer / Takes no responsibility.” And in the record’s most revved-up King Missile moment, “No Blues” tells the story of encountering an “unabashedly naked” man in the gym. (“Still, I wondered as I attempted to slink by / Who has that kind of locker room moxie?”)
Recorded and mixed by the indispensable Shane Hochstetler at Howl Street Recordings, Joy Coughs is a big—and big sounding—album stuffed with fantastic performances. Hanke is a beast on the drums; Scheuer possesses a voice both powerful and pissed-off; and Marchant, who handles the bulk of songwriting here, is a razor-sharp post-punk poet. A bunch of jerk offs? Hardly.
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