It’s pretty much impossible to keep up with the landslide of punk related groups that released a few singles and maybe a full length before calling it a day.

The Tyrades are one of these acts.

Initially based out of Buffalo, New Yawk, the band eventually moved to the big city of Chicago subsequent to becoming the adored weirdoes of mags like Maximum Rock ‘n Roll. But regardless of the move and what made it all occur, the quartet - Jenna Tyrade (vocals), Jimmy Ordinary (guitar), Robert Miscellaneous (bass) and Frankie Jensen (drums) – were able to distill some angsty, jittery and coffee inspired, slurred punk.

The band’s music has been referred to in terms of garage as well as having its antecedents located over there in San Francisco during the ‘70s. And while none of that is grossly inaccurate, there’s as much of a perverted no wave thing going on here as anything else. That’s not to say that the Tyrdes truck in completely unintelligible rock stuffs that works with art as its theoretical backdrop, but in some of the band’s music an artsy (yet authentic) guitar work ties the band to a forgotten New Yawk, New Yawk scene.

Of course, it’s hard to figure a group for clutch of disciples from just a single full length – although over a few short years, the Tyrades would record at least five singles. Despite the relatively short life span of the group and what it left behind, the 2003 Broken Rekids released album went a long way to solidify the legacy that these folks created for themselves.

Although the band’s lone long player clocks in at just over twenty minutes, the amount of out of control moments spread over its nine tracks is pretty shocking to take in. Seemingly the day of screaming women singers was passed, but Jenna Tyrade’s performance here is something surpassing inspired.

Tracks with titles as bizarre as “Cut Your Feet Off” arrive with sputtering melodies and rock steady drumming to support the antics that Jenna Tyrade reels off. There’s even a bit of almost scatting here that’s most likely meant to approximate Ramonesy choruses and ohhs and ahhs, but gets rendered in the most ugly (that’s good here) terms.

There’s nothing pop inflected or flowery about anything on this disc. And although it was released via Broken Rekkids, the Tyrades could have easily earned a place next to the Piranhas on In the Red if they’d not given up the ghost.

It’s a noisome punk from “Same Sex Killers” to the album closer, “I Hate Your Wave” with its derisive comment on folks who pick up on fads. And while the scene commentary might not necessarily jive with whatever else is on Tyrades it all comes off white hot and dished up with the right amount of sneering distortion making the disc is a winner.

There might be a lack of lady front-men (if the makes sense), but the Tyrades had one of the better ones in recent memory.