Labels: Jack to Phono Records
Review by: Andy Malcolm
Isn’t that the kind of band name that you know is going to reduce you to a simpering pile of misery? In addition, they have a faux communist font on their album sleeve. And they even have the face punching indie band lyrics that I have noticed are becoming prevalent of late. The kind which depress you in all the wrong kind of ways:
“Couples is so dirty, is that what sex is like past 30, always talk and no action, his embarrassing erection”
Or something. That is the first few lines of this album. Really. Then there is something about a monkey, and later the mention porn. I think. I was rocking back and forth with my head between my knees. What about the music? Well, I am at a loss to describe the opening track. There is a bit of “funk” in there, a bit of Oasis… Anyway, after that they start to lurk in the realm of downbeat, quirky pop, which is infinitely more preferable. The promo sheet says the collection of songs “veers dangerously close to being unlistenable”. Yes, at times it does, and not for the reasons the band think. Mostly it’s because of the grim vocals and the bizarre tendency to blend together influences that look decent on paper but together fail to produce anything close to good. Actually if it wasn’t for the vocals, this wouldn’t be too bad for the most part, but they are painfully smug sounding, and tend to obliterate the redeeming features of the often decent and intriguing guitar playing and rhythms. The music rolls and nudges around in a pleasing fashion on most songs, to the point where it’s infuriating that I can’t ride as roughshod over this album as I wanted to, given the first few moments of exposure that I had. Then again, I forgot about some hilarious hip hop bits that sound like if Clouddead were students. Wow. On the other hand there is “Song for Hoku”, which starts out like a stoned Built to Spill. So you see, it’s not all bad. Before it morphs into ill judged, soaring grunge-lite. And then “Slow Motion Powerslides” will bust your balls with a dire slice of student indie diabolism. OMG OMG.
So it’s an album of peculiar extremes. When it is bad, it is incomprehensibly awful, but that was polarised against the good bits, which don’t have me reaching for the fast forward button, much to my chagrin. Confusing.