Labels: Jealous Records
Review by: Alex Deller
Riding the current two-man-band wave swagger That Fucking Tank, smart as a pin and twice as sharp. Christ knows what is driving all these musicians to pair-up Noah’s Ark-style and make more noise than they should be able to, but right now I’m starting to feel like a dateless schmuck at the school disco.
Foregoing the frenzied blast of certain other duos, TFT adopt a monstrous, lurching approach to their rock, stealing the slab-heavy mathematics of Shellac and injecting them with an elastic twang reminiscent of the Minutemen, all to rather wonderful effect. Y’see, not only are these chaps rather clever, they never let their poindexter tendencies get in the way of a good solid groove, be it fuzzed-out bass note roars or clanking staccato funk, these five songs are guaranteed to have your puny frame forming unimaginable contortions in vain attempts to keep up with their multi-directional racket. From “Beegee Dinner Sex” right on in you’ll feel your head bobbing erratically, joints grinding, clicking and locking uncomfortably while each toe tries to sneak your feet in a different direction, and granted it’ll hurt like a bastard come morning, but I swear you won’t regret a single aching tendon.