Fodomat by Ticks: A Raw Slice of 1981’s Underground Rock Scene
If you’re a fan of raw, unfiltered rock with a dash of New Wave quirkiness and Punk grit, Fodomat by Ticks might just be the hidden gem you didn’t know you needed. Released in 1981 on Akashic Records, this US-born album feels like a time capsule from an era when music wasn’t about perfection but about attitude. And trust me, Ticks bring plenty of that.
The opening track, “Tv’s On,” hits you like a caffeine jolt. It’s got this driving rhythm that grabs your attention right away. The guitars are sharp, almost jagged, but in a way that feels intentional—like they’re carving out their own space in your brain. What makes it stick? Probably the chorus. It’s simple yet oddly catchy, the kind of thing you find yourself humming hours later even if you don’t wanna admit it. There’s something refreshingly unpolished about how the vocals cut through the mix, too—no overproduction here, just pure energy.
Then there’s the title track, “Fodomat.” This one leans more into the Punk side of things, with its fast-paced delivery and snarling lyrics. You can almost picture the band crammed into some dimly lit club, sweat dripping off the walls as they tear through this song. The bassline is particularly memorable—it doesn’t just follow the melody; it pushes it forward, giving the whole thing a sense of urgency. Listening to it now, decades later, it still feels rebellious, like flipping the bird to whatever expectations existed back then.
What’s wild about Fodomat is how it blends these two distinct styles without losing its identity. Sure, it’s not perfect—the production could’ve used a bit more polish—but maybe that’s part of its charm. In a world full of slick, overproduced albums, Ticks remind us that sometimes imperfection is what makes art real.
So yeah, while Fodomat may not have been the breakout hit it deserved to be, it holds up surprisingly well today. Honestly? I think Ticks were ahead of their time—or maybe they just didn’t care about fitting in. Either way, it works. Weirdly enough, listening to this album feels like finding an old mixtape at a thrift store. You don’t know where it came from, but once you press play, you can’t stop hitting repeat.
