Terry Malts

Terry Malts

I've disconnected the doorbell; the phone is off the hook. The post office has been instructed to return all mail sent c/o Box 489 directly back to sender. These extreme actions have not been made in haste. The past year-plus has plum worn me out.
Ever since Slumberland Records lost a bet and released 2012's Killing Time, it seems that the bored drudges of this outhouse Earth have done nothing but follow that album title's orders, a.k.a. harass me. (Lord knows the everyday "fan" of these "guys" has nothing better to do). Visitors, calls, letters. Look, I know I'm the only known liaison to the men behind the man, but that doesn't mean I have the answer to the burning question on everyone's melon: WHEN IS THE NEXT TERRY MALTS ALBUM COMING OUT?!

Oh, wait, actually I do know the answer to that one! Terry Malts' brand-new platter, Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere, is being released on September 10, 2013, once again on Slumberland Records. The official full-length follow-up to last year's year-end-list-thrashing debut, hot on the heels of two more blistering 7"s in the meantime.

Who are these Nobodies? Where is this Nowhere? The same crack-staff has been employed: Phil Benson (bass, vocals), Corey Cunningham (guitar, throat), and Nathan Sweatt (drums, confusion), recorded by they-damn-selfs in their "San Francisco practice space", and again mixed by Monte Vallier (Weekend, Half Church). Hey, Parrothead: changes in latitudes, changes in attitudes, right? Right! Which is why the Malts tropes you've come to know and love haven't gone anywhere: anger, hatred, exhaustion, delusion, seclusion, consumption, life, death, breathing, eating, and probably some sensitivity or something. It's all right in front of your earballs!

Considering a stiff breeze could blow your web address over, take this "press-release" as a "warning." NRTIN is a punch in the gut, a kick to the teeth, a tickle exactly where you want it (wink, wink). This thing is the toupee of your record collection: throw it on top of that embarrassing stack o' wax by the stereo to instantly transform your reputation.

Look, we can't do everything to help out you and those of your odor, but giving you this news is a step in the right direction. And this is coming straight from the top floor. Terry Malts' Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere shreds. It blasts. It blows (a good thing!). A dynamite record, that'll prolly say "Play It Loud!" or whatever in the liners. But seriously, folks… listen to this thing and leave me alone!

Terry: just like the days of our pathetic weeks, a name that ends in "why…?"

What people have to say about Shark Toys debut LP on Dead Beat:

"This is one bug-eyed full-length, with an overabundance of both anxiety and energy captured by engineer Monty Buckles of the Lamps, and across nine songs it never takes a rest—across the first eight songs, it never even slows down. Instead it's scribble-scribble guitar, boom-boom-boom drums and big sizzling smears of keyboard, and then varying degrees of composure and unhingement from singer (and L.A. RECORD contributor) Danny Clodfelter. Billy Childish if his mind was unwound by Hardcore Devo instead of Kinda Kinks? Well, not completely, but when you hear the keys burn through the song "Library" like a cigarette against a strip of film, you WILL suddenly see a miniature Mark Mothersbaugh doing that "This Moog is electrocuting me!" dance right before your eyes. Otherwise a lotta Urinals in this, lotta Swell Maps, some of the Modern Lovers demos—"She Cracked" with the radio static and the Kim Fowley production credit, if we wanna be accurate—and a lot of the caveman-savant philosophy that lights up Wounded Lion and probably every band Chris Woodhouse produces. "Victorian House" and "Library" are my winners, punk songs smashed to pieces and reassembled with the landing gear pointing in the wrong direction, but there's a song here for anybody who likes DDT for breakfast—and anybody who likes to wing it." - LA RECORD

"Shark Toys have crafted a sound that could be a direct line to the quirkiness of early L.A. weirdos like the Urinals, but their catchy, off-kilter song-writing, zipping toy keyboards and wild guitars could easily be the result of big-city kids having an early exposure to the skronky and unhinged Coachwhips or the wackiness of the New Zealand punks that solidified the Flying Nun scene. Fun as all get-out, their self-titled LP (recorded and mixed by Monty Buckles of The Lamps) is a clanging, rock and roll romp you shouldn't miss." - UNPIANO

"It reminds me of The Fall, Tyvek, G.Green and Parquet Courts, but some how beachier and more Californian, which is appropriate considering these blokes are from sunny LA." - LO-PIE

"...Th[e] sound Shark Toys invokes is a lot like what one would expect to come-about if The Clean and Swell Maps had a lovechild, abandoned it in LA, and thereby led it to grow up, mature, and fend for itself amidst the palm trees and parking tickets all the while snacking on cheap tasty burritos." - PROPER YARN



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