Osees – Protean Threat

John Dwyer, extraordinaire-extraordinaire, delivers the first real album from the latest psych-O incarnate: Osees (drop the “H” you dust sucker!) What was previously long and lysergic-dipped jazz ooze (2019’s Face Stabber) is now quick pelts of ice-punk burst. As in the proverbial “WE,” we call it: Protean Threat.

WE just got word back from the Nationale Garde, and it turns out John Dwyer cannot be stopped. The man just keeps on making, goddammit. He’s been at that racket for what seems like decades, and really is. Dwyer revolutionized psych-punk and gave SF a new belt notch separate from shit-smelling open-toed music. His trademark sound has been widely copywritten by the entire Australian scene, and basically any kid with a fuzz/delay pedal born at the turn of the century. For this and that reason I consider him to be the greatest guitarist of my little lifetime.

Protean Threat is the most punk album (The)(e) O(h) Sees have ever made, in that it is reversion to punk in its original perversion. This isn’t the psych-bop punk or the methy twee-punk Dwyer created in his bronze and golden years, it’s fast and ferocious anti-establishment punk that rankled the halls of CBGB and 9:30, only it has the obvious Dwyer-isms flowing within it. I think John is angry at the establishment, enough so to create music directly in spite of it for the first time ever. This is something all the kids can get behind, and the not-quite-but-nearing-geezer geezers can slam in and swim on as well. A very wide release indeed.

I enjoy how (The)(e) O(h) Sees are able to amass such a vast output while each album has a completely unique feel. I attribute this to their Neapolitan ability first but it’s also reliant on the mix, which I believe Dwyer has been doing mostly himself for the last few years. Protean Threat has this climate-controlled, busted-out feeling, like every compartment is existing on the very brink of your ear drums. It reminds me of one of the greatest anti-mixes of all time, White Light/White Heat, with modern professionalism but posterior adoration nonetheless.

And onto the next one for Dwyer! Knowing him we’ll get more music in the nearest future as the man cranks ’em out like sonic hotcakes. He’s an entity we truly take for granted, like roller rinks and HBO. Though John never lets it eat him up like a warm salad. Bet your sweet bippy he’ll be playing sweat seances to little moshing Martians when we’re too old to keep our hips calcified. He’ll have a long grey wispy wizard beard, but he’ll keep the shorts and the tank top. Always changing, never thwarted. For now you can vote your devil, fear your distance, kill your conscience and pat yourself on the ass for being a good fan who listens to Protean Threat.

Tick tock,

Tout a l’heure.

Protean Threat