The Prids – Love Zero

The Prids
Love Zero

From the beginning I was prepared to lie to you. Despite the exacting journalistic standards expected of me by my employer and our loyal, beloved readership, I was ready to print outright lies in this review of the Prids’ Love Zero album. This would not be an unusual occurrence, either; several inaccuracies and half-truths have appeared in my writing for Delusions of Adequacy (those boffo raves I gave Oneida? Utter bullshit). Indeed, I have lied consistently and thoroughly in every review I’ve ever written for this site. But for some reason that I do not yet entirely understand, when I sat down to begin this process today, I found myself incapable of insincerity.
I remember, slightly, what it was like to genuinely express my true feelings on a subject, and thus I do not believe I shall have much trouble in writing this review. And though I am not sure what is behind this, I do have a suspicion. The Prids’ music is so earnest and serious that it has mucked up my shit-engine. These 10 songs of anxious, somber rock music, instilled with the passion and fury of punk but without that juvenile music’s joyful noise-mongering (thereby making it perhaps post-punk?), harken back to those halcyon days of yore when my dear, sweet mammy let little toddler me pogo about to the Joy Division and the Magazine and whatnot. Yes, the Prids’ style of rock music, with the dancy rhythms and the emphasis on the bass and the echoy-y, spectre-like guitar and sythesizers, bears a resemblance to the urgent, downcast post-punk of those folks and such latter-day revivalists as Interpol and Lexington, Kentucky’s The Mad Shadows (okay, not really, with that last one).
But so, when the Prid what sings voices those immortal words, “Love wizard / love hero / delirious and cruel / love lizard / love zero / your vintage Jordache jeans with the name ‘Patsy’ written in cursive rhinestone on the ass rule,” in the album’s title track, the overwhelming crushing power of true and genuine emotion (no matter how somber or cynical) shall render you useless, old friend. Oh yes, the Prids, they’re pretty alright, as far as these things go, but really, they’re nothing to go hang yourself to.