From the ashes of the Arizona underground, where the sun bakes the pavement and the DIY ethos thrives in the shadows, Okinawa Plane Crash emerges like a sonic wildfire. A four-piece unit bred in the heart of Phoenix’s raw punk and metal scene, they don’t just play music—they detonate it. Their third self-funded album, Wizards of the West Side, is an unapologetic thrill ride through the manic, the absurd, and the downright terrifying. Each track is a portal into a warped reality, packed with chainsaw guitars, primal screams, and rhythms that hit like a sledgehammer to the ribcage. There’s no gloss here, no pretense—just pure, unfiltered mayhem delivered with the energy of a back-alley riot. If you thought Josh Homme’s desert-drenched rock or the unhinged rage of early Slipknot was as chaotic as it could get, Okinawa Plane Crash turns the dial past 11 and rips it off the amp. Breaking Down the Madness: Track by Track.
Right out of the gate, “MACHETE” is a fever dream where pop stardom meets full-throttle anarchy. The concept is brilliantly unhinged: Billie Eilish, suffocated by fame, snaps—and you are now running for your life. The verses are sharp and jagged, with the bass creeping under your skin like a horror score. Then comes the feral breakdown, where distorted guitars screech like sirens, and the drums mimic the erratic heartbeat of someone who knows they won’t escape. The delivery? Terrifyingly convincing.
A sonic punch to the jaw, “SHAQ ATTAQ” is built on massive, crushing riffs that feel like being dunked on by a seven-foot titan. The shouted vocals have a Rage Against The Machine meets The Bronx feel, full of swagger and rebellion. The drumming is an absolute rampage, pummeling the kit like it owes them money. The song’s energy is relentless, a mosh-pit anthem that demands you throw yourself into the chaos.
“MASSACRE ON WALL STREET” takes a deadly serious turn, tapping into the fury of economic collapse and corporate greed. The vocals are practically spit through clenched teeth, delivering lyrics that drip with sarcasm and venom. The dirty, lo-fi production makes every note feel like a Molotov cocktail tossed through a bank window. Guitars screech in protest, and the drums march like an impending riot.
OKINAWA PLANE CRUSH loves their chaotic sense of humor, and “DILDO BAGGINS” taps into a mix of absurdity and brutality. This song leans into galloping punk beats and raucous gang vocals that make it feel like a deranged drinking song. Imagine if NOFX had a bad trip and got trapped in a Middle-earth mosh pit.
Slowing things down just a notch, the fifth track, “THERE’S A QT DOWN ON 28TH…” channels grimy garage rock vibes before erupting into sludgy, stoner-metal heaviness. The way the bassline slithers through the song before the guitars blast through like a wrecking ball is pure Sabbath-worship—but dirtier.
Who else would write a filthy punk anthem with a title like this? With “SPONGEKNOB SQUAREKNUTS” the band veers into early 2000s nu-metal nostalgia with crunchy guitars, dissonant chords, and a vocal performance that swings between deranged spoken-word and guttural screams. The production is just dirty enough to feel like a long-lost demo from a basement show where the walls sweat as much as the crowd.
No frills, no mercy. A thrash-infused punk ripper, “ANTISOCIAL” is the band at their most primal and pissed off. The vocalist barks and howls over a blitzkrieg of hyper-speed drumming and razor-sharp guitar licks. The lyrics resonate with the alienation of modern existence, but instead of self-pity, they opt for pure, unrelenting defiance.
With “PISS WHIZZARD,” the title alone deserves an award, but musically, this is a hardcore-punk gut punch. Clocking in at under two minutes, the track never lets up—a whirlwind of blistering tempos, wailing feedback, and shouted hooks. It’s the kind of song that feels like being tackled through a table, but you get up and beg for another round.
A grimy, desert-punk sludgefest that feels like Kyuss and The Melvins had a bastard child. The riffs drag like a corpse being pulled through the sand, while the vocals are soaked in desperation and grime. The production here is extra raw, and it works—this is ugly music, and it owns it. This song is titled, “LEXACO.”
Distorted beyond recognition, “SQUIDWARD BITE TRUCK” is pure noise-punk bliss. The mix is intentionally chaotic, guitars screeching, vocals yelled through what sounds like a broken megaphone, and the bassline so distorted it feels like it’s growling at you. If early Butthole Surfers had a cage fight with System of a Down, this is what would play over the loudspeakers.
Ending the album on a monstrously bleak note, “HEAT DEATH” is a slow-burning doom-punk dirge. The bass hums like an impending apocalypse, and the vocals are delivered with a drunken, nihilistic drawl that gives way to primal screams. The final moments are pure sonic collapse, as if the album itself is being sucked into the void.
OKINAWA PLANE CRUSH doesn’t just make music; they make sonic warzones. Wizards of the West Side is a fever dream of punk rebellion, nu-metal ferocity, and garage rock disdain for polish. Their vocals are unhinged, their performances reckless in the best way possible, and their production perfectly scuzzy. If you’ve ever longed for the days when punk was dangerous and metal was unapologetically raw, this album will feel like a defibrillator to the chest. And if you’re new to this band, consider this your baptism by fire. Listen loud. Break stuff. Run from Billie Eilish.
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