King of Jeans. The title of Pissed Jeans’ third album and second for Sub Pop conjures their essence perfectly—-masters of the mundane, beasts of the banal, high priests of the humdrum. These four, white, male high school graduates hardly look further than their own appendages for artistic inspiration, content to execute their own brand of brash and heavy punk music in the Joe Carducci-approved standard rock formation of guitar, bass, drums and vocals. From simple minds and simple fabrics comes this King of Jeans, perhaps also a slight nod to the variety of Pissed Jeans-inspired groups that have crawled up since 2007’s Hope for Men. After all, there can be only one. If 2005’s Shallow was Pissed Jeans coping with moving out of their parents’ homes, and 2007’s Hope for Men their initial reaction to the mechanical lifestyle of a wage-earner, King of Jeans is their formal and uneasy acceptance of adulthood. The age gap between the members of Pissed Jeans and high school girls is no longer something to be overlooked—-they hoped for men, and sometimes you get what you wish for. Backs get sore easier and stay sore longer, record collections have reached their breaking point or have been sold entirely, and procreating is becoming a more pressing issue. What are you supposed to do when you are unable to break out of the standard, middle-class American life cycle that you never really wanted but don’t have the energy to subvert? When you are forced to understand that it’s all madness but know fully well that someone will have to take care of our aging parents? Well, Pissed Jeans went ahead and made one hell of a rock record…

Repeatedly touted as Melbourne's best live rock band, Eddy Current Suppression Ring play a brand of punk thick in Australian accents and rife with attitude. Sporting an obvious appreciation for all things basic, and beholding the proud punk tradition of shredding power-chords and fiery commonplace lyrics in the vein of Black Flag and X. Finding fury in the mundane, the band riffs on workingman themes of scrounging savings and indulging in TV and ice cream, while maintaining showmen's bombast on tunes such as the calamitous "Which Way to Go". Formed after a drunken jam session at a Christmas party in 2003, the four motley musicians -- then all laborers at a local vinyl pressing plant -- wear their lack of musical expertise like a badge of honor. Their second ever Philadelphia appearance, and their first in four years! Goner Records.

Pop. 1280 are the post-punky, crust-flicking Booger Dawsons of the new wave of Brooklyn Birthday Party skronkmos -- slow, lurching, tribal, skeletal, slightly unhinged. Similar bands like recent Hardly Art signees Golden Triangle and YIMBY graduates Preacher And The Knife have been turning Death By Audio into their private Nick Cave-flavored Junkyard for a while. But Pop. 1280 is definitely the sickest, the band most likely to spit in their hand before they shake yours. Their music is intentionally grungey, dismal, and icky--a sound that fondly remembers that punk rock is supposed to be gross. Says lead singer Chris Bug, "Before I lived in New York, I was living in Shanghai, China, which is a seriously filthy city. I think this undercurrent of filth and sewage and parasites is the most fascinating part of city life and it is something that inspires all of our music." Their debut 7", Bedbugs, is a self-released frightmare that captures New York's layers of filth perfectly, recorded live in a room with very few overdubs, "Bedbugs" hinges on a disgusting, farty Flipper bassline and vividly discusses a very real, very current problem in New York's itchy underbelly.