CoCoComa
¬– Things Are Not All Right (Goner)
CoCoComa’s second album is a punchy,
well-recorded set of songs that remind me
of Elvis Costello doing Nuggets. Like that
compilation, it plays more as a collection
of similar singles than an ebb-and-flow album
experience. That is, Things Are Not All Right
rarely strays from its tempo and structure
comfort zone. The tunes are, on their own,
tidy slices of bright-eyed garage-pop. Classic
rock-and-roll songwriting elements (those
“yeah-yeah”s and “ooh-a-ooh”s)
always work here, and show the band’s
clear enthusiasm for the form. Lead singer
Bill Roe catchily belts out his words, anchoring
and elevating the material with his vocal
energy. Unfortunately, these positives don’t
disguise the fact that the songs are all basically
the same. Alternate guitar, bass, or organ
as lead (a cheap way to differentiate); repeat
chorus phrase a bunch of times; build to fade-out
and/or breakdown. I know where all these tracks
are going. The album’s lyrics deal with
mistrust, suspicion, lies, and paranoia (that
is, the theme that Things Are Not All Right),
but CoCoComa don’t seem interested in
giving those topics an appropriately varied
musical palette. That choice makes a difference
in being a strong band capable of a fluid-yet-cohesive
album, or a band only remembered by a few
tracks on a future version of Nuggets.
The
Downer Party ¬– Ego-Driven Lust
Creatures (PopSmear)
According to their liner notes, the Downer
Party formed partially to prove that anybody
could be better than Band of Horses. The mention
sets up an apt contrast: a far-too-earnest
band with too-grand aspirations vs. a fun-seeking
band most interested in amusing themselves
and their friends. The latter is what I hear—and
what I would always choose—on Ego-Driven
Lust Creatures. These are snappy, garagey
new-wave songs that sound like the band enjoyed
making them. Sierra Frost writes and sings
lyrics that don’t seem to be saying
much, but her enthusiasm makes them work.
Sam Bartos (guitar and the other half of the
core songwriting duo) and George Rosenthal
(drums) play sharply and inventively. On “Being
a Teenager (Is Free Palestine),” floating
harmonies make way for charging instrumentation,
a Pixies trick that works in the service of
a silly song (“We’re going to
a party / Everyone’s invited / We’re
going to England and we’re gonna get
knighted”). Unexpected details like
the punctuated alliteration in the chorus
of “Superbowl,” and the closing
bridge on “Gold,” make me excited
to follow these tracks. Overall, this is a
strong debut EP, and I’d like to hear
how this young band develops.
Eddy
Current Suppression Ring – [self-titled]
(Goner)
Eddy Current Suppression Ring sound like
fellow Aussies the Saints, if that great band
had forgotten how to write songs. Their debut
album feels tossed-off: tottering instrumentation,
disinterested vocals, crap lyrics. It opens
with “Get Up Morning,” about waking
up, and Brendan Suppression probably should
have been told; he mumblingly speak-sings
the song, even as it picks up vague steam.
I suppose he shouldn’t be invested in
the lyrics here, though, as they read like
middle-school poetry exercises. “Cool
Ice Cream” is a sex metaphor without
any subtlety: “I deserve my dessert
/ I deserve my cool ice cream / I want to
scream.” “Yo-Yo Man” is
unintentionally funny (“You leave me
hanging in despair”). And then there’s
the treacly “Precious Rose,” which
offers the romantic couplet, “Your body’s
soft just like a feather / Holy cow! Take
a look in the mirror.” The music is
at its best when it offers a simple, declarative
idea: “Insufficient Funds” works
because of its elementary keyboard lead, and
because the band just tells us in the chorus,
“I’m living on insufficient funds.”
It’s a moment when an unadorned lyric
matches an unadorned song, and it’s
the only thing I believe on the album.
The
Headies – Sugar and Spice (And Everything’s
Fucked) (Madison Underground Press)
One of the Headies is wearing a Riverdales
hoodie over a New York Dolls t-shirt on the
cover of this release. That’s about
right: they attempt sleazy guitar-driven garage
rock in a 1-2-3-4 style. Sloppy playing and
the band members’ suspended adolescence
make that otherwise solid combination not
worth bothering with here. I cheated on first
listen and skipped right to “PepsiFuckCheer”
because that’s a stupidly awesome song
title. The song, however, is just stupid:
“I love my girl and she loves my dick
/ Give her a Pepsi or she’s gonna have
a fit.” Throughout the album, I tend
to agree with Wendy, who is mentioned in the
song “Jungle Girl”: “My
last girlfriend was Wendy, she was such a
fucking bitch / Said I couldn’t handle
adult relationships.” These are 30-something
dudes apparently lusting after “Super
Boot[ies]” and “Outer Space Short[ies].”
Randomly placed terrible riffs, throat-hurting
shouts, and falling-apart Beach Boys and Rolling
Stones covers, don’t help their case.
The
Spits – [self-titled] (Recess)
This record makes me mad, because I should
have been following the Spits all along. Weirdo,
damaged, psychodelic garage. Beats are drum-machine
precise, guitars incessantly chug, and some
tracks are awash in echoey keyboards. The
best comparison I have is Suicide, but these
songs are more full, direct, and snap-quick—most
here and gone in about a minute. The listener
almost feels confronted. “Rip Up the
Streets,” for instance, lulls with a
repeated chord for ten seconds, then a nearly
militaristic drum count-off, and what seems
like an onslaught. This band only has three
members, but they channel their collective
force into songs that are like subway trains
blowing you back on the platform. “Rip
up the streets,” they order, and you
want to fucking do it. The hooks are here,
too: “Eyesore City” has earworm
verses, and “School’s Out”
now has the potential to enter my head each
time I walk into a classroom (“We’re
gonna burn the teacher’s car tonight”).
This album is 10 tracks and 15 minutes. Any
more might dilute its unique power. Not sure
if the rest of the band’s records are
as much like this, but I hope so.
Teenage
Bottlerocket – It Came from the Shadows
(Red Scare)
I’ve seen Teenage Bottlerocket five
or six times, and I’ve always enjoyed
them. They have a few great songs that I was
able to learn and sing along with after one
listen, and they’re one of the few bands
that the pogo suits perfectly. But I have
never felt the need to buy one of their albums.
After listening to pop-punk for 15 years,
I understand that it is essentially limited
as a genre. And at this point, I am most interested
in the artists who push at its boundaries,
or who have a unique approach. Teenage Bottlerocket
don’t. So It Came from the Shadows is
pretty much what I expected. While I’m
happy with just my Ramones records, I can
see why this band’s releases are appealing.
There are some total hits (“Skate or
Die,” “Not OK,” “Without
You”), and the whole thing moves briskly;
it’s enjoyable as a loud car record.
Nearly all the songs here are written from
an “outsider” perspective—a
narrator who doesn’t fit in, is tired
of all the jerks around him, is unlucky in
love, etc. That’s a Ramones thing, too,
but the band (especially Kody, the more expressive
and interesting of the songwriters) is believable
in their appropriation of it. Teenage Bottlerocket
are actually the least effective when they
attempt to get out of their usual mold (“Bigger
Than Kiss,” tongue-in-cheek cocky hard
rock; “Fatso Goes Nutzoid,” hardcore
aping), or when they go too far into it (“Call
in Sick,” absurdly generic lyrics).
Their chosen aesthetic, when well delivered,
undeniably works for them. This would probably
be shown best on a concise greatest hits record
someday, but It Came from the Shadows is worthwhile
until then.
