Steve Lieberman, better known as The Gangsta Rabbi, has built a reputation as one of underground music’s most uncompromising figures, and his latest release Cheap Japanese Bass Opus 236 1st Aria is perhaps his most defiant statement yet. After fifty years of creating and performing, Lieberman has forged his own path through what he calls “militia punk,” a volatile fusion of noise punk, metal, and military music. This album, sprawling across eleven tracks and running nearly eighty minutes, embodies everything that has made his work both challenging and enduring.
From the outset, the sound is abrasive, unfiltered, and unapologetic. Distorted bass drives the record with a grinding intensity, often sitting at the center of the mix as the instrument of both rhythm and melody. Martial drums hammer away with militant precision, sometimes feeling less like a backbeat and more like a march. Layered on top are jagged guitars and bursts of brass, all colliding in chaotic arrangements that constantly shift direction. Rather than smoothing these elements into cohesion, Lieberman lets them clash, creating a soundscape that is unpredictable but strangely hypnotic.
Lyrically, Cheap Japanese Bass Opus 236 1st Aria resists conventional storytelling. Lieberman delivers vocals that are shouted more than sung, carrying a sense of urgency that fits the abrasive instrumentation. The words are less about narrative detail and more about capturing moods of resistance, weariness, and persistence. His delivery is cracked and imperfect, but that imperfection feels deliberate, reinforcing the sense that the album is less a polished product and more a raw declaration of self.
What stands out most is the sense of history embedded in the music. After five decades of playing, Lieberman has no interest in chasing trends or appealing to mainstream sensibilities. Instead, he leans into the abrasive qualities that make his work distinct, turning them into a badge of authenticity. The very title of the album, with its reference to a “cheap Japanese bass,” underscores his ethos: music is not about polish or prestige, but about expression and persistence.
Listening to this record can be disorienting. The walls of sound collapse and rebuild without warning, tempos shift abruptly, and the sheer density of the mix challenges passive listening. Yet, for those willing to sit with it, there is a strange beauty in the chaos. It feels like a sonic march through Lieberman’s life, shaped by his years of experience, his ongoing health struggles, and his refusal to soften either his sound or his vision.
Cheap Japanese Bass Opus 236 1st Aria is not an easy album, nor is it meant to be. It is abrasive, eccentric, and uncompromising, a work that demands attention rather than offering comfort. For fans of outsider punk and experimental noise, it stands as both a continuation of Lieberman’s legacy and a statement of persistence: a reminder that music, at its rawest, can still be an act of survival and defiance.