Big Neck Police – Don’t Eat My Friends
11.7.16 by Kat Harding

New York punk band Big Neck Police released “Don’t Eat My Friends” through Ramp Local in August of this year, a perfect scorching record for the brutal summer heat. And thanks to global warming, it’s still hot where I am in November, so nothing is lost in the seasonal listening of this tape. Big Neck Police’s chaotic, clanking sounds sound improvised and organic in the best way, like one jam session with Hugo Stanley on drums, Mac Kelly on bass and Paco Cathcart on guitar divinely spawned the whole cassette.

Described perfectly on their Bandcamp as “noise-punk” with a bent for improvisation, Big Neck Police’s side A crashes open with “Street,” a loud and disjointed tune with shrieking guitars and vocals, giving way to “Guy Named Justice” a noisy cacophony coming in at just under two minutes. My favorite on this side is “Mercury,” an energy-giving alarm with high pitched picking over an ambling bassline and a wailing verses. Rounding out the side is “A Gringo Like Me” and “Old Table Merchandise,” the former a discordant, twitchy jam with vocals that would surely shred the vocal chords of the average person, the latter a short hopeful tune with indecipherable words hovering throughout.

Side B kicks off with one of the more coherent-starting tunes on the tape with “Funicula,” but the feeling doesn’t last long, as tempos and effects change mid-song, bringing in frantic songs like a bell tolling for the gallows. “Morgan and Stag” dissolves into a creepy swing-sounding scene that could easily be in any horror movie. It literally gave me chills. Compared to everything else, “Harrington” could nearly be considered quiet, with an almost consistent beat throughout and a chorus of “Harrington, Harrington” coming in toward the end of the track. The shortest track on the tape is “Standing There With My Parts Out,” a brash moment of pounding drums and buzzing feedback. Clamoring vocals in “Crayon Gets Dull” compete with screaming guitars and clanging cymbals, leaving your ears ringing as the tape ends.

Grab a copy of the cassette from Ramp Local’s Bandcamp.