Drill - Permanent
Egg punk, chain punk, egg punk, chain punk. During the peak of Facebook punk shows with 500 invites and 30 “going”, it seemed impossible to escape these terms. Every show every weekend had at least one or two of each, an endless culture clash between a renewed interest in DEVO and a resuscitation of d-beat (albeit with more showering this time around).
Drill, while a few years late to the party, would fall squarely into the egg punk category. Skronky and artsy without becoming overly self-indulgent, their first (and last) record, Permanent, is as good of an introduction (and send-off) as any. Synths shriek and squeal while a rock steady rhythm section holds down the fort and employs enough cowbell to make Blue Öyster Cult jealous.
Permanent, however, owes more to the work of egg punk pioneers Uranium Club than they do to those Long Island gods of rock. As whimsical as it is technical, songs start and stop on a dime, employing healthy doses of new wave and art rock riffage on top of a punchy punk skeleton. “Within Reason” finds the band lamenting the absurd cruelty of a world abjectly set against them over a beat guys that paint one nail black would dance to. “Shitty Prize”, meanwhile, is a snottier punk number that’s out to take names. A slow churning, thudding bass line (with more cowbell underneath) gives way to a fast-paced pogo sure to whip the room into a frenzy.
“Gavin” goes the way of the Descendents as Drill takes a foray into bubblegum-sweet pop punk. Recounting the fateful night they see a beautiful girl while hanging out and playing shitty pool, Drill layers one of the sweetest punk riffs you’ll hear this year over a squirrels’ nest of wispy synths and pulsating rhythm. Immediately after, the band slows things down to a pseudo country western jaunt. Devo by-the-way of The Gun Club, “Eggs For Now” is a poignant track lamenting the end of a relationship before it's truly ended. Sauntering bass, hyper-active synth, and a slowed shuffle on the drums support the melancholy.
With Philly already fighting a losing war against the endless waves of nugaze bands chugging along on downtuned eighth notes, it feels almost cruel that Drill is one-and-done with Permanent. Alas, such is life. Just as you have heard the sweet serenade of a cowbell finally used well (and, impressively, on almost every single track), it is plucked away from you. In such cases we must remind ourselves that it is better to have heard the cowbell and lost it than to have never heard the cowbell at all. While Drill may not be around forever, Permanent will be; just as the title implies.
