Tiger Fernandez – The Final EP

In The Final EP we find an interesting situation: the title is quite literal, as this is Tiger Fernandez’ last release. As a result there is a certain reckless abandon inherent in the EP’s four tracks, an almost schizophrenic adrenaline rush that I quite like. The music is a little more emo than screamo, but the band finds a nice balance between the two and is certainly capable of opening it up when necessary.

The action kicks off with “Bla Bla Weapon,” featuring stuttering, sparking guitars and churning rhythmic shifts peppered over by strangely catchy vocals. There is something particularly alluring about Pi and Sim’s (band members’ names) unique European phrasing of English words. And I can’t overemphasize their intelligent use of vocal dynamics – they are very careful about finding the right placement for their screams.

“Kids and Their Rage” is a full-bore rager complete with dischordant guitars blasting away on fast forward. Clocking in at just over two minutes, it’s a nice setup for the standout track, “Scenic Pastures.” A lot of thought and effort was clearly put into bringing out all the dynamic and melodic peaks and valleys in this song, and it is absolutely beautiful. The clever opening strains begin with a guitar line that then melds seamlessly into a bass line, which is a continuation of the same line. Impressive. And once again the unique vocals carry the hook, singing the words “scenic pastures” in a very choral, almost chanting kind of way that is difficult to describe but incredibly easy to sing along with. Well-positioned guitars bounce off the drums in the breakdown before into another “scenic pastures” refrain, followed by more instrumentals before a gorgeous guitar-led fadeout of beautiful chords and pensive moods. It’s a track you will listen to over and over.

The fragile atmosphere is shattered by “Running Naked,” twice as intense and dischordant as “Kids and Their Rage.” But there is a pleasant dichotomy to this track as the storm retreats into a pleasing calm of melodic guitars intertwining and building as vocal float above. It’s clear from the beginning that the sweetness can’t last, and true to form the track is bookended, blasting back into a paranoid rage that befits the ending of a band.

Volumes of creativity abound in these four tracks, and they portend many promising future projects for the band’s members. In its three years of existence, Tiger Fernandez has carved out a nice niche in the crowded emo category, and that feat alone piques my interest in the evolution taking place across the pond.

Various Artists – Hello, We are the Militia Group, Vol. 1

I cannot believe the stuff that gets passed off as “emo” these days. This sampler for the Militia Group record label is better proof than anything that the genre is either completely dead or almost dead. There is not a single band on here that could pass for quality. Brandtson is the best band here, and that was always my least favorite band on the Deep Elm roster. The band doesn’t even do an original song either, but a poor cover of The Police’s “King of Pain.” The other bands are so terribly generic that it took real patience and tolerance to sit through all of the whiny vocals and boring pop-punk guitar riffs.

The compilation starts off with the worst song first, preparing the listener for the rest of what is to come. Big Collapse’s “Pull out the Guts” was so bad that at first I thought that it must be a joke. After the song was over I was ready to breathe a sigh of relief, but then The Beautiful Mistake’s “Fragile Fingers” started up. The version of this song that is here is an acoustic version, so I would imagine that it is even more watered down than the one that got chosen for the album. Copeland’s “Walking Downtown” does a nice job of ripping off Jimmy Eat World on the album Clarity. Sadly, this is so much better than anything else on this compilation that I wanted to cry and not in an emo way but in a “how did it come to this” way.

The next three songs were so generic that I thought that it was the same band before I looked at the track listing. The Rocket Summer, Anadivine, and The Lyndsay Diaries not only share terrible names in common but terrible music as well. It is completely laughable that there is not one band that stands out on this whole compilation as being worthwhile. Blueprint Car Crash was supposed to be more like The Mars Volta or At the Drive-In, but after listening to the song “What Smiles Behind Her Running Mascara,” it became apparent to me that the guys in that band just didn’t “get” what either of those great bands were about, period. The backward vocals at the beginning of this song are even cheesier than the actual songs by the other bands featured on this disc.

Do I really need to go on? By this point, you the reader, have either decided that you hate me, you agree with me, or you don’t care at all about the fact that people try to pass this crap off on kids with limited amounts of cash to buy records. It is unacceptable that bands like Good Charlotte and Simple Plan are better than any indie bands. Maybe if I were in the seventh grade these lyrics might seem better, but I have seen better and this is just bad. I couldn’t believe that people actually bought into Dashboard Confessional. If that is your idea of a good time then by all means rush out and pick this up. I’ll be using this as a frisbee.

Actionslacks – Full Upright Position

“This Damn Nation” starts off with a galloping drum line and a distant, spacey guitar line. By the time the rest of the band kicks in, the bass has already revealed itself in glory, playing perfectly fitting bass-lines amongst the intertwining drum and guitar pattern. The vocals appear, and the rough yet melodic timbre accents this pop-rock sound perfectly, turning the whole sound into a pointed weapon. I use this metaphor due to the quality of the lyrics: “This Damn Nation” is a biting diatribe about the shallowness of Americans. If it were a poorly written rant, I wouldn’t be interested, but every point he makes is not only legitimate, it rhymes in ABCB form and the syllables fit perfectly. For example: “We’ve got greeting card emotion, cause we can’t express ourselves / I won’t tell you to your face, but I’ll call you on your cell”. The whole song is loaded with quotables like that; I could quote nearly any phrase of the song to display Tim Scanlin’s songwriting prowess. The song is over four minutes long, and yet it feels too short.

In short – “This Damn Nation” is a flawless song. Actionslacks placed it as the second song on the band’s album, Full Upright Position, and from that point on, this album is amazing. (The first track is not bad, but compared to the rest of the album, “33 1/3” is inferior). Yes, those 12 expansive, progressive pop-rock tracks that Actionslacks committed to tape are genuinely inspired. From drums to vocals, from lyrics to art, this album is mind-bending. I’ll bet you’ve never heard ‘mind-bending’ and ‘pop-rock’ in the same thought before, but you better get used to it, ‘cause that’s exactly what this album is.

The most surprising element of Actionslacks’ sound is the lyrics. Tim Scanlin has a unique, enviable perspective on life, and he fleshes it out for the listener. He’s fed up with sex and violence on TV, (“This Damn Nation”), hates men who act like scum towards women (“My Favorite Man”), wishes relationships would try to work things out before instantly breaking up (“Cut Above”), and hopes that future generations will live well (“All You’ll Ever Need to Know”). The last is especially interesting, as it’s written like a letter: “Hello boys and girls, hello posterity / if you can hear my voice, you must still be free.” He goes on to ask them if “Is the place where you stand where you want to be?”, then admonishes them “You’re much too young to be resigned,” then backs up his credibility with “And I’m telling you this now because I know how this life goes.”

When in print, it just doesn’t take on the same effect it does when Scanlin sings it…but isn’t that the mark of good music? The melodies underlie his connotation in these words – they’re not pretentious, lordly decrees but helpful hints from a guy who’s been there and done that. It’s breathtaking to hear “All You’ll Ever Need to Know,” and I hope all of you can hear it someday. The unassuming lines he sings aren’t forced, and they aren’t even loud; it’s like a dialogue between you and Tim Scanlin. It’s simple to imagine him sitting next to me and singing this song – that’s how personal this song is. In fact, many of the songs on this album portray that trait, but this song especially shows it.

The next degree of Actionslacks’ sound is the music itself. This sound is what The Beatles must’ve envisioned the future of rock to be. Guitars lead the sound, but pianos, strings, and other instruments play a significant role in the rocking. It’s not angry-sounding, it’s not screamy, it’s just straight-up rock and roll the way it was envisioned. Semisonic and Third Eye Blind would also be proud of Actionslacks’ rock ideals. The drums are full, and the bass (as explained previously) plays gloriously fitting bass lines. I would explain the sound of the instruments more, but in pop music, it’s not the individual parts that make the sound, it’s the overall feel. Actionslacks are unique and talented on all fronts, which makes the sound unique as a whole.

From spacey rock in “Close to Tears” to all-out pop in “If I’m Not Deceived” to the funky rock of “Simple Life” to even the twangy alt-country of “Keeping Close to You,” Actionslacks conquer your stereo. They have done no wrong on this album (except the first track). This year is shaping up to be an excellent year for power-pop/pop-rock; I hope this trend of brilliant pop albums continues.

Aroah – The Last Laugh

Among Acuarela’s impressive catalogue of melodic indie folk and slow pop in English and Spanish, Aroah strikes listeners as one of the label’s stronger, more direct artists. Irene Tremblay, who is Aroah (with significant contribution from other artists), recently released her second full album but fourth recording overall for Acuarela. She has picked up the pace and recruited comrades to pick up some unexpected and pleasantly appreciated instruments on The Last Laugh. While her style has remained largely unchanged, Tremblay’s melodic approach has certainly grown in diversity and quality.

The Last Laugh opens with the multi-instrumental festival of sound, “An Orchid is a Flower that Thrives on Neglect.” Dominated by strings with Greg Weeks’ refreshing xylophone and a persistent French sensibility, the song moves quickly toward its chorus. Tremblay doesn’t waste time, neither hers nor listeners’. “Vigo” is slower, with an itching buzz through its first minute. Weeks, who produced and recorded the album, wisely raised Tremblay’s vocals while limiting though not eliminating the instruments for the heart of the song: “Who’d have known you’d be forced / To betray the one you adored / It’s not fair how could it be? / When I trusted you more than you trusted me.”

Tremblay’s best songs are also her most innocent, with narratives exposed almost as if they were conceived while she recorded them in the studio. These meditative successes include “Autobiographical Rhyming Song” and “The Lonely Drunk.” The latter is a sad story told with beautiful, inflected singing and which ends with almost two minutes of gentle acoustic guitar strumming and Laura Baird’s nostalgic, bittersweet flute. “Madrid” and “Y La Cinta de ‘Los Bingueros’” are two more unhurried, opinionated folk gems. “Y La Cinta de ‘Los Bingueros’” finds Tremblay reaching her highest and most impressive vocal tones, as she reflects on a destroyed relationship: “I used to think that you would never lie / That I was that kind of girl but you were not that kind of guy / I learned more later, but this should have been a sign / I should have said something but I didn’t even try to say / ‘Just for the record, that record is mine.’”

The few missteps on The Last Laugh, most noticeable on “Sick in the Body, Sick in the Head” and “Too Proud to Try,” generally result from increased volume and feedback replacing Tremblay’s fine melodies. Nonetheless, this is an impressive and enjoyable album with several outstanding songs that will immediately, positively strike many listeners new to Aroah’s frank folk music.

Pleasant Grove – The Art of Leaving

These songs can slip through your fingers pretty easily if you let them. Restrained, slightly countrified instrumentation and somber melodies combine with extended running times (or “extended lengths” if you prefer) to leave pleasant if hazy memories once the tunes have ended. But one rainy morning as I took the scenic route to work, with the swollen, restless Delaware River on my right and banks of brooding trees on my left, I got it. The mood of the moment was right, and slowly the depth that lay behind the familiar downcast sounds revealed itself and proved Pleasant Grove to be especially affecting melancholics.

There is an abundance of bands that are dour and blue, partly because it bestows an automatic sense of gravitas, and who doesn’t want to be taken seriously? There was a time when most bands wanted their fans to have fun, drink, dance, and screw. Later a lot of artists wanted you to read liner notes spread across a gatefold sleeve and dig the bloated concept; still later the coin of the realm was a bands’ violent disregard for bourgeois mores and values, and you had better agree. At some point though, we arrived at an age where every other unit is a sad, moping, inconsolable lot, and honestly, I just can’t take the misery sometimes. Actually the misery I’m okay with, it’s the inertia I can’t take, and though Pleasant Grove appears to fall into that trap on paper, the band transcends it on disc.

These folks do it through deft little shifts in musical tone and some fantastic playing as well. “Cone Equation” is a good example of this, a gently unfolding series of chord changes beneath a hushed vocal. It culminates in a quietly dramatic chorus that adds a little unexpected chordal turn, while an organ creeps in like an uneasy dawn breaking through mist-shrouded trees. Uh oh, now I sound like those art-rock liner notes, but it’s significant that the song evokes a vivid image instead of just provoking a yawn. Even the seven-minute funeral march that is “Commander Whatever” reels you in, dropping bits of engaging melody along the way, not to mention just-right touches of steel guitar and keyboard until you reach the swell of the final chorus and it fades to black. That’s impressive patience and command of dynamic. Check out the slowly billowing echo of guitar in “Impossible Feeling,” which takes three minutes just to work its way to the front of the mix, skulking behind nervous drums and bloopy synth all the while. Headphone alert!

Pleasant Grove definitely takes some sensibility from country music, an earthiness and melodic directness I guess, that does give the band’s songs a kind of gravitas. But the band expands on that with deceptively catchy tunes and stealthy, imaginative performances, by the band as well as the guests. The delicious pedal steel on “Only a Mountain,” for instance, or the ba-ba backing vocals on the more playful “Every Heart is a Meal,” wherein the band gets to show a different side of its compositions. But even when it’s unhurried and down, The Art of Leaving is never lazy.

Wow, what a grower this was. If all it took was one rainy morning and some tenacious listening to crack every record I was on the fence about, the specter of mediocrity would be forever banished from the CD changer. Give Pleasant Grove a chance to work their spell on you, it’s worth the wait.

Lickgoldensky – S/T

Loud, aggressive, and chaotic, Philadelphia-based trio Lickgoldensky plays with fearless abandon, banging out fierce, grating metalcore with enough quirky twists and turns to keep even the most astute listener off-balance. At times, the unpredictability works wonders, but most often the flurry of tempo changes and sudden shifts in mood cause more confusion than elation, resulting in awkward, uneven listening that provides substantially more misses than hits. Still, despite the many inconsistencies, I have to commend the group for pushing the envelope and pursuing unique sounds while working within a genre that is so often stifled by imitation and uniformity. With a spastic style and off-the-wall improvisational songwriting, LGS creates music unlike most anything I’ve ever heard, making touchstones difficult to come by. A more metal-oriented Refused is probably as close as it gets, complete with the unexpected flashes of ambient electronica, gritty noise-core, and scathing punk passages.

Yet, as I have already alluded, original does not always equal listenable, and I don’t think that I am going out on a limb when I say that LGS’ bizarre musings will probably prove to be far too avant-garde and experimental for mainstream metalcore fans. Alexander Lesher’s abrasive vocals range from tried-and-true hardcore screams and growls to nonsensical caterwauling and rapping. For reasons I can’t quite explain, the vocals and the music never seem to congeal and come together, which only increases the unsettling sense of unfocused dissonance and schizophrenia that this album generates. From the very beginning, one gets the sense that this is a musical venture that is meant to be observed rather than enjoyed, a highly personal work that too often fees like a concept album where only the inside players know or understand the plot.

But the truth of the matter is that LGS probably could care less about what you or I think. It’s clear that these guys have some sizable talent and are not afraid to wander off into unexplored territory, critics and listeners be damned. After all, we’re talking about a group that has given us an album with 11 untitled tracks. Songs like the blistering opener with its fervid squall of relentless buzz saw riffs and “Track 3,” which features a propulsive, atmospheric guitar line wrapped around a winding bass line and stuttering drums, prove that these guys are capable of coming up with unique material that is interesting and catchy without being watered down and formulaic. The scathing closer is another bright spot that captures the band’s potent rage with a sinister collage of pulverizing guitars and pounding drums ripping through rapid-fire metalcore sections and into stormy hardcore breakdowns that, depending on your disposition on these things, might induce some serious neck-snapping.

Unfortunately, in choosing the road less traveled, LGS finds itself stepping around a lot of potholes and backtracking through several dead ends. While I have to give the band serious props for its efforts, the end result is much too muddled and mediocre to merit a recommendation. If you’re looking for something brutally hard, heavy, and totally out of the ordinary, you might want to give this one a shot. Otherwise, you may want to search elsewhere.

Marc Gartman – Split CD

For a band that’s so decidedly anti-fashion, so un-Strokes-like, with nary a glossy magazine cover in its storied history, there probably are few bands that have launched as many imitators as slow-core pioneers Low. With a veritable cottage industry of like-minded artists filling out Low’s Chair Kicker’s Union label, the band’s sonic DNA encoded in a whole generation of meditative pop texturalists, its legacy stands on equal par with bands like Pavement and Guided by Voices, though the artists’ genius unravels so subtly that it’s easy to miss altogether. Here, paired together for a split release, are two of Low’s most imminently recognizable musical offspring, and they couldn’t deliver a more fitting study of what makes their mentors so exceptional.

Leading off with five tracks from Low confidants Rivulets, we see songwriter/vocalist Nathan Amundson stripping his muses down to their most distilled form. Largely comprised of just Amundson and an acoustic guitar, with a few layers of atmospherics laid on for good measure, the hushed pastel drone and fingerpicked guitar of “Keep You From Harm” moves Rivulets a half-step toward avant-folk, finding an interesting hybrid between dour chamber pop and bleached-out morphine drip confessions. Even more primal and desolate is “Wind is Howling,” with Amundson’s vocals rising and falling in unison with single guitar notes and downright ugly background groans. Book-ended with two alternate version of “Cutter” – one of the standout tracks from Rivulets’ Debridement – the contemplatively simple strum and somber tones make Amundson’s soft vocals seem even more vulnerable and haunted than the original, echoed by Gartmen’s far-off banjo pluck. Somewhat gratuitous is the second version of “Cutter” included (there are only five tracks, after all), a remix by Aarktica that subsumes and abstracts the structure of the original in cavernously echoing loops and renders Amundon’s whispers almost unintelligible, with the melody rendered even more focused and ethereal in its feel. Ultimately, it’s an interesting deconstruction of the original, but having two versions of the same song so close together somewhat blunts their effect.

In theory, Marc Gartman makes the perfect foil for Rivulets, as he is one of the few songwriters who can provide warm textures and weary melody to counterbalance their burned out majesty. Here, making another appearance as piano balladeer – only the latest of many singer/songwriter personas he has adapted over the years – Gartman seemingly becomes more and more sure of himself with each release, with his music now something distinctively his own. From the vaguely spiritual feel and mysterious lamentable vignette of “The Error of My Ways” to the uneasy chord changes and exhausted anticlimax of “Roswell,” he is quickly becoming one of the most formidable singer/songwriters working today. Given his recent exploration of Russian motifs, at first glance I thought “Luf Kanh Brhak Ur Hrt” was a continuation of that theme, only to find that it was, in fact, a cover of Neil Young’s “Only Love Can Break Your Heart.” Fittingly, the five-song set closes with Gartman’s strongest contribution, the starkly lilting “Grave Mistake,” a song with dark, discordant piano chord changes, moaning pedal steel, and a vocal melody that almost makes it sound like an REM outtake.

All in all, both artists fit well together, reveling in the solemn idiosyncrasies of their craft. It’s hard to say that either artist is making a bold grab for the artistic brass ring, but the album holds together as a pleasant smattering of non-album cuts that could easily have held their own on full-length releases. Put Rivulets and Gartman together, and you get a fine statement on the span of artists that Low has influenced over the years, as well as a powerful testament to the variety of ways in which their aesthetic has been reinterpreted. Somewhere, Alan Sparhawk is smiling.

Like Tigers – Split 7"

Well, for a pair of bands that both subscribe to a guitar-free musical theory, I don’t think it would be possible for Zombie Zombie and Like Tigers to be any farther apart on the genre scale.

Zombie Zombie’s A-side packs in three-and-a-half minutes of surreal, disconnected nu-wave hardcore that substitutes keyboard synth sounds for guitars. The rhythm section is the standout portion of Zombie Zombie, as deep bass rolls drone alongside fierce, machine-gun quick drumming. The vocals on the first song, “12,” are actually recognizable as human (even if they do mostly sound like someone barking), though on the far more driven “21,” the vocal components sound more like ghastly screeches. Admittedly, the synth sounds take a spin to get used to, but as far as hardcore goes, this is entertaining enough for what it is.

The B-side of this 7” takes a drastic 180-degree turn, as Like Tigers shouts out three tracks chock full of upbeat, straight-from-the-garage dance-party grooves. The minute-and-a-half “For Scissor Girls” swirls off like some guitar-less spin off of Sonic Youth and NoMeansNo; the female vocals are quite capable, going from hushed (almost sexy) singing to full-blown yelling very fluidly. The band’s best moment comes on the ridiculous “Tiger Party, Dragon Blood,” which rolls along on a seriously funky bass line. Both female vocalists do the half-yelling, half-singing thing, and the resulting chorus of “Tiger Party” vocals is almost too simple and catchy to believe. All the while, the sound of a Speak and Spell drones along, alternately spelling out “tiger” and “party.” “Toothpicks and Electric Shoelaces” combines the punk and funk elements of the first two tracks to close out the record.

Admittedly, I’ve found myself spinning the Like Tigers side of this 7” far more than the Zombie Zombie tracks. Heck, for the first time in a long time, I found myself dancing around in my socks on the hardwood flooring in my bedroom, gliding around the room and singing along to “Tiger Party” (and even grabbing my kitten to make him dance around with me in the process). To me, that spells “g-o-o-d s-t-u-f-f.” Zombie Zombie’s stuff is listenable to a point, as well, but the Like Tiger side of things is definitely the drawing point to this 7”.

Pan-American – Quiet City

There’s not a single note out of place on Pan-American’s Quiet City, Mark Nelson’s fourth record under said moniker. The most faint murmur of guitar or piano is pristine and plotted and precise, falling into the listener’s ear at just the right moment with just the right intention. Even the phonograph-needle static on “Smallholding,” an early track, is crafted with invigorating and intense awareness of its musicality. The way it carefully shifts and shuffles between distant plucks of an upright bass or a bending, high-pitched drone feels like no mistake or coincidence. Nelson’s craft and delivery is, simply put, incredible, so much so that it feels like its borders on the obsessive. That may be part of the record’s weakness. Everything is so carefully and painstakingly defined that the listener can find few cracks in the wall in which to enter the record’s sentiments or statements. Nelson’s quiet city, it seems, is heavily fortified.

That being said, the city is also a sight to be seen, as the expression goes. Essentially, it’s split into two interwoven segments, one that is based in subtle electronics and exquisitely mapped soundscapes and another that is more organic, more humane and more readily accessible. Both seem to toy with notions of certain musical themes, whether it’s the recurrence of drones or the interjection of like-minded bass scales, but the links between tracks are as phantasmic as the ghosts the music seems to summon. It’s tough to explain just how the occasional compressed air static blasts in “Smallholding” feed into the same static (though cut much lower in the mix) in “Wing,” but there it is and Nelson doesn’t seem to be stringing things together by accident. (Same goes for the drones scattered throughout.) Quiet City makes more than passing allusions to works by composers like Arvo Part — are we meant to listen to this record’s eight tracks as a sequence of variations drafted in a similar vein? Are the record’s largely instrumental tracks — which bear titles that could be linked to urban observations, like “Inside Elevation,” “Hall and Skylight,” and “Lights on Water” — more thematically linked than we might initially suspect? Nelson seems to leave the listener wondering.

For all the academic curiosities Quiet City suggests, there are moments that work more on gut levels, and it’s here that the latest Pan-American outing, in my opinion, hits its stride. We can debate about the weighty implications of crafting subtle variations on musical themes, but the bass swells, hidden rivers of feedback and drones, and spare guitars of “Inside Elevation” or “Christo en Pilsen” work on all sorts of levels. Likewise the tender acoustic introduction to the heart-breaking “Hall and Skylight” or the pre-dawn jazz ruminations of “Retouch” or the buried whispers of “Before,” a spine-chilling album-opener that really sets the tone of the record. With tracks like this, Nelson is no doubt in the running for “Best Dream/Nightmare Soundtrack of 2004.”

On three of the record’s eight tracks, Nelson is assisted by Charles Kim, of Sinister Luck Ensemble but — more of note — formerly of the amazingly underrated Pinetop Seven. Kim lends a tender humanity and sense of reflection to the record, something that can be lost on more pristine and carefully recorded tracks like “Lights on Water.” It’s on the Kim/Nelson tracks — if I’m guessing them correctly — that we get the full-band arrangements: soft hums of guitar, upright bass, the jazzy pitter-patter of percussion, even vocal arrangements that adhere, if only somewhat, to conventional verses and choruses. “Hall and Skylight” and the closing “Christo en Pilsen” are at once bittersweet and devastating, all the more elegiac and substantive for the subtle compositions that surround and nearly engulf them.

Nelson could gain greatly from even further collaboration with Kim. The former’s handle on composition and tone can be frightening in its pursuit of perfection, but the latter seems to know that the best way for a record to sink into your bloodstream and really make a dent in you is by revealing some of the rusty workings of those behind the sheet music.

The Sex Maniacs – Mean as Hell

Mean as Hell is what happens when four British guys who used to play hardcore decide to take a stab at straight-up rock n’ roll. It sounds like the bastard offspring of Motorhead and AC/DC with just a bit more modern punk attitude thrown in for good measure. It’s plenty fast, raunchy, and alcohol infused – just they way rock should be. This is the type of band you expect to find playing your local watering hole on a night you know you won’t remember in the morning.

Like many rock albums, this one isn’t breaking any boundaries or offering up a new twist on an old sound, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Although Mean as Hell is the Sex Maniacs’ debut full-length, the members prove from the very beginning that they have a cool understanding of rock n’ roll that can only be gained by adopting music as your lifestyle. From the gritty vocals of Beautiful Steve to the chugging chords of guitarist Atko, this is an album born and bred in sleazy bars and shady neighborhoods.

Most of the tracks on Mean as Hell put forward a face full of arrogance and plenty of sordid lyrics. Songs like “Four Big Dicks,” “Illegal Libido,” and “Conjugal Blues” are about as tongue-in-cheek as they come. Lines like “I got a record baby, you got homework” are about as deep as you need to go to find the focus of this album.

Clearly only certain types of rock fans will enjoy this album. If the whole point of rock music in your mind is to have fun, then the Sex Maniacs will find a frequent place in your play list. If you tend to take things too seriously, then don’t even bother with this one because I’m sure it will be too much fun for you to handle. Even though just about everything here has been done before, the lack of pretensions on Mean as Hell and the band’s cocky attitude make for one entertaining album.

« Previous Page — Next Page »