KID SHIRT

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

TODD: BIG RIPPER

So, yeah, okay then: Todd...yeah, right: why not. Right on.



The Howl, the Growl, the Power and the Herpes Sores.

Spazzboogie, Ed "Big Daddy" Roth, Punk Rock gone Bad. Sour milk in a superheated food-blender: "It's going too fassst. I...aaggggh! " Face scalded and a-peeling, the apprentice chef staggers backwards, burns his hand in the deep-fat fryer: it's like OJ Simpson in that blinkin' Police Squad film, lurching from one industrial-accident-in-the-workplace movie-moment to the next. Thumbs get sliced open on super-sharp paper; they trip over their colleagues, dropping boxes on their heads, falling down the stairs. Ow-oww-owwwwch! Todd fail their monthly Health & Safety audit. Again.

But we'll all have a laugh about it in the pub afterwards.

Here they sound - for all of 20 seconds - like *eek* The B52s - every orifice open - servicing an outlaw motorcycle gang on the escalator in M&S. The one that goes down into the Hades Food Hall.

And there they sound - for all of 40 seconds - like Bachman-Turner-Overdrive playing a show inside a cement-mixer. "Churn, churn, churn..." No, wait, that's the Byrds.

Listen to this LP and unleash your inner Canuck woodsman. Practice throwing axes. Nail a beaver to a tree. Terrorise an innocent family of out-of-state holiday-makers. Torture Dad and set fire to their winnebago.

It all sounds pretty scary and intense on paper, but it's just make-believe really, a cartoon. Isn't it?

So why does "The (R)wub" sound so wrong?

If the previous tracks sound like they're sung by a flash.mob of troglodytes, then why do the vocals on this sound like, I dunno, David Bowie on a phialful of downers? (do what with an umbrella?) And there's a sort of woozy after-image - a retarded approximation - of what the band foolishly think constitutes 'backing' vocals: a kinda wayward, louche, seasick, downwards-sounding wooooo-aahhhh thing. I think I find this track so unsettling because it's trying so fucking hard to be a 'proper' song - like it's trying to redeem itself for past sins. Past songs.

But, instead it sounds like it's slowly unravelling, unpicking its own stitches.

"French and in France" starts off like Chris Isaak fronting a Heavy Sludge band, but then it opens up into a metalised hoooooowl that slides down into a massive tunnel. Strange little cars speed past us, jockying for position under the endless tunnel lights. An endless curving tunnel. That ends.

Blame it on the Boogie. I do.



Yeah, so goodnight and fuck y'all...you...you clean-shaven squares.

1 Comments:

At 8:13 pm, Blogger cowsarejustfood said...

it may well be uglier and ornier (but not as wrongbrained) as the girls against shit record.

"here they sound - for all of 20 seconds - like *eek* the b52s - every orifice open - servicing an outlaw motorcycle gang on the escalator in m&s."

horribly, horribly true...

 

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