Frankie & The Witch Fingers

On Friday, July 18th the Community Center for the Performing Arts proudly welcomes Frankie & The Witch Fingers, to the WOW Hall.

Los Angeles psych-punk shapeshifters Frankie and the Witch Fingers have spent the last decade mutating their sound into bold, electrifying new forms. Their latest release, Trash Classic (via Greenway Records and The Reverberation Appreciation Society), plunges into a sewer-slick fusion of proto-punk venom, fractured new wave, and industrial grime. Brimming with wiry synths, angular melodies, and grooves that squirm and bite, it’s all delivered with a sly, playful wink. Fueled by relentless global touring and a fierce DIY ethos, the band has shared stages with OFF!, Ty Segall, Oh Sees, Cheap Trick, and ZZ Top, cementing their place as one of the most unforgettable live acts around. Frankie and the Witch Fingers continue to morph, dragging listeners into whatever warped direction their experimental journey takes next.

About the new record, Trash Classic:

Hooks so infectious they rot on impact. Trash Classic marks a feral mutation for Frankie and the Witch Fingers—a record that snarls with proto-punk venom, angular melodies, and electronic textures that cough and sputter like dying neon lights under a poisoned sky.

This record pushes the Witch Fingers’ sound to a razor’s edge. Wiry and twitching, it bends into synth-punk and fractured new wave, with fragments of industrial grime caked under its nails. Guitars detonate and slice like cinder blocks through glass, while gnashing basslines slither through the sludge, alive and seething. Buzzy synths take the forefront, driving relentless rhythms that crack and pop, drenched in a chemically saturated sheen—part bug-eyed speed-freak pogo, part dance-floor delirium. The vocals cut through like static-laced transmissions—balancing both smirk and sneer—layering playful unease over themes of escapism, decay, and overindulgence.

The songs were born in the grime of Vernon, Los Angeles—a wasteland littered with gutted RVs and rusting machinery, where the air tastes like asphalt and dog food. But the real alchemy happened in Oakland, at Tiny Telephone Studio, where producer Maryam Qudus (La Luz, Spacemoth) helped transmute the tracks into their final forms. Unhinged tones, unconventional recording experiments, and wild sonic detours transformed the songs into something alive and unpredictable.

Every day of recording began with cartoons blaring at full volume—a Looney Tunes ritual that turned the madness of the recording process into something child like. Late at night, sugar-fueled candy binges kept the energy spiking, pushing the sessions into a fever dream of jittery, spastic playfulness.

The result is a raw, twisted monument to rot and excess—toxic glamour and nihilistic salvation. Trash Classic isn’t just a record; it’s an auditory dumpster bible—a gutter gospel for those ready to dive into its filth.

Iguana Death Cult

After the pandemic hit, and the people of the world suddenly grew wary and suspicious of one another, Iguana Death Cult, one of Europe’s most exciting rock exports, became more than just a band to its members—it became therapy. “I think for the first ten times we went to jam,” says guitarist/vocalist Tobias Opschoor, speaking about the process of making the new album Echo Palace, “we just drank wine and talked about it, and just kept on talking for hours—and then were like, ‘OK, I have to go because I have to work tomorrow.’”

Taking place at frontman Jeroen Reek’s apartment in the Dutch city of Rotterdam, these gatherings slowly shifted from talking about this surreal chapter of their lives—the days of quiet streets and cramped buildings—to making music about it. “I was living in a really crappy, leaky, ready-for-demolition apartment,” explains Reek, “with just one heat source—like a really old-school, gas stove kind of thing.” Working on cold nights, they had to gather around that heater together—a cozy approach that ultimately got their creative flow going, fast. 

Armed with the talents of Justin Boer on bass and Arjen van Opstal on drums, and tapping the keys work Jimmy de Kok for the first time on album, the band took their trademark melodic garage-rock style and expanded it out to make it vibier and looser, with each member contributing ideas to develop the sound palette in full. “We all get into this sort of blender and then everybody gives a little bit of a flavor to it,” says Opschoor. 

The sounds they started to make tapped into the band’s acerbic bite established on their first two LPs, 2017’s The First Stirrings of Hideous Insect Life and 2019’s Nude Casino—albums that sometimes felt like Parquet Courts colliding with Super Furry Animals. (Paste described Nude Casino as evoking “the colorful mischief of nights out where even a humdrum accountant can feel like a Clint Eastwood desperado.”) Their explosive performances of these records turned them into a cult live act among psych fans, who have thrashed to the band everywhere from Amsterdam to Austin. (It was during a particularly bananas set at SXSW that the band won over Innovative Leisure.) But working on this new album, huddled together as the world split apart, everything began to flutter like Remain in Light. 

Echo Palace may be the Iguana Death Cult music that’s most overtly about the strange cause and effect of groupthink, but the theme has been lurking there since the very beginning, when the band was first formed by childhood friends Reek and Opschoor over ten years ago. The name of Iguana Death Cult is a partial nod to Reek’s fascination with cults in general—and the “Iguana” part is a nod to Iggy Pop, whose first band was the Iguanas.

Watching the pandemic paranoia and conspiracy theories steeping across their country, Reek wrote lyrics reflecting the scene in front of him: “Purple, veiny soccer mommies,” he sings in a deep, foreboding voice on the song “Echo Palace,” “Sharpening their guillotines.” It’s a cut so infectious that it betrays the density of its lyrics, which were adapted from a poem Reek wrote about the repercussions of “shutting yourself off from everyone outside of your own ideology.”

While each song on the record wrestles with these confusing times, Reek is keen not to point fingers. “These songs were written in such a polarizing time – we lost friends to conspiracy theories and ideologies. There are so many conflicting views and opinions. But I also don’t want to sound like I have all the answers,” he explains. “We should continue to talk to each other.”

Echo Palace sees the band push their psych roots further than ever before. With a wide-spanning interest in disco, dance music, New York No Wave and artists such as ESG, Talking Heads, Medium Medium, plus Squid, Pottery and Parquet Courts, the record is a melting pot of energy, groove, and playful experimentation, with only one rule – the audience isn’t going to be able to stand still.

When it came time to record the full set, the band headed to PAF Studio in Rotterdam, and then had the self-produced album subsequently mixed by Joo-Joo Ashworth (Sasami, Dummy) at Studio 22 in Los Angeles and mastered by Dave Cooley (Tame Impala, Yves Tumor). As the instruments swirl and trade solos on “I Just a Want House,” a funky millennial nihilist anthem, you can practically hear the growth of a group that’s been pushing itself further and further with every tour and every Belgian-stove fuelled jam session. The album is a big swing, stretching Iguana Death Cult beyond its garage rock origins and taking them to a new realm.

It’s the type of project that warranted having legendary Dutch jazz saxophonist Benjamin Herman stop by to add to the squall on tracks like “Oh No” and “Sensory Overload,”. “He is a hero of ours”, the band admit. “We’d go and hear him play with our parents when we were kids.” The added sax led these heady thrashers to morph into calculated freakouts, which warranted Reek and Opschoor to scream their guts out on tracks like “Pushermen,” and Boer and van Opstal knowing when to bring the rhythm section to a jazzy simmer on tracks like “Paper Straws.” 

The end result of Echo Palace is an appropriately worldly album from a group breaking past the confines of its home country. That’s not to say that Iguana Death Cult aren’t proudly Dutch; the group takes from the trademark hard work ethic of their Rotterdam base and applies it to their approach with music. But it’s 2022, and we’re less defined by our borders than ever before. “When we play in other countries, for me that gives the same amount of pleasure—or even more—than when we play in the Netherlands,” says Opschoor. 

“We’re not just little countries anymore, everything is global,” adds Reek, speaking about society at large—but he might as well be speaking about Iguana Death Cult itself. “We’re turning into a global thing.”