Air Miami – Me. Me. Me. (1995)

I recently realized that I would include this in my list of “favorite albums,” which is weird, because a lot of it is kind of just a joke pop album, but they’re really pretty jokes! Actually, only a handful of the songs actually seem like jokes, so don’t worry; this isn’t a Bloodhound Gang album or anything (god, how I wish it were- all I care about is swearing and tits). Anyway, if you only spend time checking out that sassy lady on the cover and the minimal artwork, you may think that this is a cold, weird, hip mail-order clothing catalog soundtrack, but it’s not that, either. So what does it sound like? Well, you’ll never know, you pathetic, needy Internet person (or most likely Facebook friend that was pressured into clicking on this link for one reason or another- thanks guys).

Oh! So I feel like this is cheating, because Air Miami is literally just Unrest with one person swapped out, and that person is not either of the singers (Mark Robinson and Bridget Cross), so it really does sound exactly like a more keyboard-y version of Perfect Teeth, which I reviewed on here a couple years ago, which is why I feel like it’s cheating and that this sentence has gone on for far too long. I guess it’s not cheating though, because this is different enough. Don’t worry too much about the “more keyboard-y” part if that frightens you, because it’s only minor flourishes, which may initially seem like a lot, considering that Perfect Teeth had zero keyboard content, but they add quite a bit to the fun and not-overly-serious atmosphere of the songs. Also, a lot of the songs have surprise/weird “adult” content or swearing on them that makes their sugary-ness kind of confusing and awesome, for example, the pretty straight-forward opener/pop-rocker “I Hate Milk,” contains a joyous chorus of, “Please, please, someone kill me soon.” Later on, the surprisingly enjoyable and bouncy should-be-throwaway, “Neely,” immediately begins with the extremely non-threateningly-sung repetition of, “Hey, hey/Hey, hey/I’m gonna fuck you up today,” but it sounds soooooooooo fun! You won’t even notice that all of the children in your car now have their minds ruined. There’s even a later part in the song about gettin’ “fucked up.” COOL!

Me. Me. Me. continues on, alternating between good-time, quick pop gems, and slower, prettier slightly-more-serious sounding fare. The first time I heard this album, I thought the slower songs were kind of boring, but then I realized that they all sound like taking a really relaxing, slow plane ride (if that’s a thing) over an ocean. I guess that’s a really specific feeling, but listen to any of the Bridget Cross sung tunes on here, and tell me I’m wrong- I dare ya- and because everyone on Earth clearly shares the same mental associations, I’ll win.

Here’s a bad transition to end things: “Dolphin Expressway” is one of the shimmery-est, prettiest songs I’ve ever heard, and it feels like getting a sunburn. “World Cup Fever” is a silly dance song that RULES! Look at all that lazy writing I just did. Pathetic.

I’m done. Download this. Look how blue that goddamn cover is!

http://www.sendspace.com/file/6zt847

My Dad is Dead – The Taller You Are, The Shorter You Get (1989)

Welcome to America’s longest awaited update! I’m sure that you’ll find the results comparable to the unlocking of Al Capone’s vault or the ending of a movie where you find out that everyone is the same person.

You may have noticed that in addition to rare updates, this blog seems to contain an overwhelming amount of Homestead Records releases. I’ve decided to include yet another one, not because of some sort of plan, but out of sheer sloppiness of choice. I’m treating this blog like I’m its crappy, dead-beat father.

The Taller You Are, The Shorter You Get is pretty much an album for huge losers (dead-beat dads? Sadly, no). Unlike that Thinking Fellers Union album I reviewed (more than a year ago!), this album isn’t very ridiculous and makes a lot of sense- ADULT SENSE. It’s filled with songs about being disappointed, moody, kind of an asshole, and pathetic- feelings that no mere teenager could experience. Man, do I want to make more dead-beat dad jokes, but the more I think about it the less I know what it really means, except that it’s probably a person that gets drunk and has a lot of fun all the time, but, unfortunately, has a dumb child. Joke’s on you- there are no regretful songs about having children on this album.

You can hear a lot of Joy Division influence on this, but with better, nerdier vocals, less reverb, and less kind-of-boring songs that you think you’re supposed to like because you’ve been told to. Part of this is likely due to the (maybe?) use of a drum machine- some of the tracks have murky production that makes it a little hard to tell if there’s a real drummer or not. It’s waaaaaaay more honest than most of that mysterious-ass post-punk stuff too! There’s a song about driving really far away after a failed relationship (“Seven Years”), a song about having more problems than friends (“Too Far Gone”), and a song that’s a mild apology for being grumpy (“The Only One”)! I guess that sounds kind of depressing, and it totally is, but it can rock pretty hard, too- see the middle riffin’ part of “Planes Crashing.” YOU WILL NEVER FEEL THIS GREAT ABOUT BEING BUMMED OUT (you might- there’s got to be some midpoint that exists between the mood swings of a manic depressive. Please comment on this!)

One of the best things about TTYATSYG (that’s what the teens call it these days) is that it’s long as shit! AND it doesn’t seem like it! AND NO TEENS ACTUALLY CALL IT THAT- THEY DON’T EVEN KNOW WHAT IT IS!  The CD version is 72 minutes long, and the double vinyl has an extra song and a pretty neat intro to “World on a String” that puts it at 83 minutes. It’s a worthwhile commitment, like making a really good financial investment or driving really far out of your way to eat at a Golden Corral.

I feel like I just made a long string of crappy jokes (fishing for comments, here) and don’t have much more to say about this. It’s been a while. If you like this, though, they (meaning basically the one guy that the band is, Mark Edwards) also have a really great, less depressing, cleaner 90s album, “For Richer, For Poorer,” that definitely contains real drums. You should check that one out, too. The nice thing about this one though, is that it’s posted on the My Dad is Dead website for free!

To kill your dad, so that he may also be dead, just click this link to the page with the full (CD version) album:

http://www.mydadisdead.com/music/taller/

I’ve been lazy.

I’ve been lazy as shit! I’m going to start doing this again. Just let me get out of this Holiday Inn in New Jersey, and I swear I’ll do it. Thanks in advance to all 3 of you two months from now. On a better and more productive note, that Dicks album, Kill from the Heart, that I reviewed a while back (sort of) is somehow BACK IN PRINT even though the master tapes have been lost. Buy it! http://www.alternativetentacles.com/product.php?product=1998&sd=ghzTnC5TE7aK25fC57g

Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 – Tangle (1989)

I was going to review “The Taller You Are, The Shorter You Get,” by My Dad is Dead for this entry, but I just realized that I have an overwhelming amount of Homestead Records releases on here, so I decided to review a different album this time, instead. HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE IN SECOND PLACE, THINKING FELLERS UNION LOCAL 282?????

Tangle is pretty ridiculous and kind of doesn’t make any sense, much like the other Thinking Fellers releases. They have this weird atmosphere working for them the entire time, where you can’t really tell if they’re creepy/bordering on mentally ill, drunk, or really like cartoons- and sometimes all of these moods happen at once. Also, they opened for Live on tour, one time, which is pretty weird, though it makes sense when you realize all of the fans that helped make “The Dolphin’s Cry” a hit were alcoholic mental patients that watched a lot of cartoons. However, those live fans did NOT like layers and layers of staccato-heavy riffs, but I bet YOU do, which is why you’re reading this page, not listening to Secret Samadhi, and are absolutely craving such riffs, for which the Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 is a veritable bargain outlet! Think of them, at least on this particular effort, as some sort of outsider music version of Sonic Youth- without the sass.

Most of these songs are mid-tempo and lack the limitless 30 second between-song “Feller filler” that their other albums contain, which can be grating, hilariously immature, worthless, or all three at once. Mostly grating and worthless, though. So, yeah, there’s only like THREE of those on here, and they’re barely noticeable, so if you don’t like making decisions, you won’t have to skip ’em, and you’ll never notice. Just sit there, not noticing anything and don’t ever think again. Because of those few joke snippets seeming like intros and outros, however, you get this whole feeling of this album being one big, flowing effort- like I said, a lot of the songs don’t really make any sense, layer a bunch of weird guitar parts on top of each other, and change a lot. Pair this with them all being of similar tempo, and you have that whole, false “THIS IS ONE BIG LONG FLOWING ALBUM OMG YOU GOTTA LISTEN TO THIS ALL AT ONCE OR YOU JUST WON’T GET IT” feeling you got the first time you heard Dark Side of the Moon while getting a handjob from that girl down the hall who you got all high on joints with.

Let’s face it though, in reality, it’s just a bit hard to pull out traits of individual tracks that will really draw your attention, even though there’s tons of stuff going on in each one. Different tracks have notable “that’s weird” qualities- “Sister Hell” introduces some yelling out of nowhere, making me wonder how many singers this band actually has (I have no idea, but it’s either one with about 6 weird voices, or 3 with two weird voices each), occasionally there are some horns that come in and never come back again, and “It Wasn’t Me,” opens with the amazing line, “Who are you?/You look like my dad!” and, contrary to popular belief, is not a Shaggy cover. Oh, and “Change Your Mind” has some weird part where they keep stopping the music and shouting about a flashlight stuck in someone’s chest.

After re-reading all that I’ve just written, I know that this album may seem like some sort of hellish, half-drunk nightmare, but it’s actually quite a bit of fun. But not cutesy fun, it’s still pretty creepy, but goofy. Sort of like a violent drunk making a bunch of hilarious jokes. He only got violent that one time though, a few years ago, and it hasn’t come back again, but you’re still bracing for it.

ENJOY! Also, if you correctly count the number of commas used in this post, I will personally respond to your comment asking if you are, in fact, correct, as I myself am too lazy to count, but there seem to be quite a few.

THANK your feller here, 282 times, for this download:

http://www.mediafire.com/?3pv0c5hhrmftds1

Breaking Circus – The Very Long Fuse (1985)

After insisting that everyone in 1980s Chicago did not, in fact, use the same drum machine, along comes Breaking Circus’s first EP to taint my credibility, yet again. The Roland TR-606 makes another appearance in the Midwest noise rock scene, leading me to believe that either everyone thought it sounded really sweet or was too lazy to find a reasonable drummer. Although I like the sound quite a bit when applied to those bands, it makes it a hell of a lot more difficult to not just say “sounds like Big Black!” immediately upon hearing this record. Well, I’m here to prove to you that Breaking Circus does not sound exactly like Big Black, but brings a much more melodic, yet MANLY SOUNDING (you’re relieved, right?) set of songs on The Very Long Fuse.

I say manly sounding, because this definitely has that sing-speak “I’m a steelworker, I kill what I eat” Chicago thing going on, and I hate anyone with feelings. However, there’s a little bit more than that occurring here, as evident in the second track, “(Knife in the) Marathon,” which seems to be fairly heartfelt, incorporates what seems to be an acoustic guitar, and according to the moderately deceitful Wikipedia, somewhat of a college radio hit. This is immediately followed by the atmospheric, keyboard-heavy “Lady in the Lake,” which stands out mostly due that, because the vocals are still in that manly speakin’ thing! Amazing.

These two tracks are the most extreme departures from what you would expect from an album with cover work by Steve Albini, but that’s not to say some of these mechanics aren’t worked into the other, more (Chicago) punky sounding songs. I’d like to say more, but I think I’ve said “Chicago punk” and “manly” far too many times already, but if you’re into that sort of thing, The Very Long Fuse is very (LOL) worth checking out. Just don’t expect it to BLOW YOUR MIND, unless your mind is blown by something being unexpectedly enjoyable.

SIDE NOTE: I have two full lengths on deck in my mind to review next, so my next two updates (at least) shouldn’t take eight years to be posted like this one.

Break your circus all over the place with this link:

http://www.mediafire.com/?5wlyx4ybzaluo44

The Narrator – All That to the Wall (2007)

Congratulations America, I’m pretty sure this is the most recently recorded album to be reviewed on your favorite blog, Records and Beer.

The Narrator is a band hailing from Chicago, and I’m not going to lie to you- I have no idea what the band members’ names are at this moment in time, nor am I going to take the time to look them up- and the reason I’m not going to look them up is ’cause they just sound like “dudes.” And by “dudes,” I mean that the guy singing sounds like he comes from the Tim Kinsella school of ROCK. Does the fact that they happen to be on Flameshovel Records influence him to sing a bit like Mr. Kinsella? Who knows. What I do know is that this album is totally overlooked, even though it was (shockingly) reviewed on Pitchfork and given a pretty good rating. Oh, and I like this album because it just kind of sounds like 90s rock.

So yeah, I guess because it sounds like “90s rock,” it’s not really anything groundbreaking, but goddamn did I listen to the shit out of this a couple years ago. The mood is definitely “hopeful, yet apathetic,” which is something I (and hopefully YOU) can rock and roll to. Also, I’m pretty sure I stole the part about them being apathetic from a review of this album I read somewhere else once, so please forgive me for the unoriginal thought.  Anyway, back to the whole 90s rock thing. This is pretty much all guitars- bass-drums stuff, with nothing particularly standing out in the mix except some occasional out-of-nowhere vocal hooks.

There are some songs about going nowhere in life, having not really accomplished anything in life, smoking a joint with your sister, a cover of a weird Bob Dylan song from that Self Portrait album no one likes, and “Surf Jew,” which better have been a goddamn single, because it sure sounds like that’s what The Narrator was trying for, and it rules. If there is one song that I can say, “Hey, this may interest you in listening to this album,” then by Jove, that one is it. That up-and-down bass line, palm muting, raspy-vocals-in-the-chorus, “anthemic but not quite as downtrodden as the rest of the album” quality really makes it the focal point of the album. Not that the other songs are shitty, mind you, as that is immediately followed by “Panic at Puppy Beach,” which, despite the chorus sounding blatantly like early Modest Mouse, is quite good as well, and almost touching, until you realize how depressing and occasionally mean-spirited the lyrics are.

And there you have it, I can pound out an incredibly vague review in a small amount of time when I’ve had a few beers feel the need to accomplish something. Honestly, I was just listening to this really loudly while I was driving around a couple of weeks ago and felt the need to put it up here even though I don’t really have anything constructive to say about it. Also, I first heard of it from someone ELSE’S blog! How charming and appropriate. I know, this might not have been up to par, but believe me, I can’t always pump out stuff as engrossing as that “I gave you absolutely no reason to be interested in this” Alice Donut review I did last time.

 

Don’t let THIS unreliable narrator steer you towards a WALL- download the album here (ROFL- books):

http://www.mediafire.com/?zw9f6ra23zwf54v

Alice Donut – Bucketfuls of Sickness and Horror in an Otherwise Meaningless Life (1989)

There is a strong possibility that you will absolutely hate this album. I have several Alice Donut records, and I’m not really sure why- a lot of them aren’t that great, though I enjoy at least a few songs on each of them, and their singer (Tomas Antona) has one of the most irritating voices of all time- he either sounds like he’s made of rubber and the record is playing at 45 instead of 33, or he does this really grating low, creepy, overly fake redneck sort of thing.

However, for some reason, I really like Bucketfuls of  Sickness and Horror in an Otherwise Meaningless Life the whole way through.

Not only does Bucketfuls have a title that’s really fun to say (three albums later, Alice Donut would also release The Untidy Suicides of Your Degenerate Children), but goddamn if the choruses aren’t equally as catchy in a melodic punk rock  sort of way, which is funny, because a lot of the music surrounding them sounds like an ugly (but coordinated) mess. According to numerous (at least two) Allmusic commentaries, Alice Donut was constantly compared to Jane’s Addiction, which makes very little sense to me, annoying voices aside, but maybe you can hear a similarity. What I do know is that the mood of these songs is really goofy and creepy at the same time, with plenty of (again) punk rock influence- this was an Alternative Tentacles release- but a bunch of psychedelic and vaguely (alternative) metal influences thrown in at once.

It’s hard to tell how serious almost all of the songs are- topics include weird fetishes, Southern priests, the singer being pissed off that someone gave birth to him, having your life be a mediocre piece of shit (“My Life is a Mediocre Piece of Shit”),  grocery store lines, and occasional nonsense. A few of the songs have somewhat of a serious message, one of which is a minute and a half complaint about being disappointed in Sinead O’Connor sung by the bass player in a stuffy grunge voice, and one of which, though not without gross humor, is essentially about a woman getting addicted to drugs and having a fascist baby! After typing that out, that one seems like a joke too, but Mr. Antona sounds so damn concerned!

Up to this point, I feel that I have fairly laid out how questionable of a recommendation this album actually is, and it’s not going to stop. I mentioned how “ugly” a lot of the music is, but failed to say why. It’s hard to describe, but I’m pretty sure a lot of it involves several guitars (three, I think), playing chords that don’t quite go together- “Lydia’s Black Lung” opens the album with a riff that sounds like one of the guitar players in a funk-metal band is playing in the wrong key, ruining the whole funk aspect for everyone else (thankfully). That sort of thing happens in quite a few of the songs, though it’s never extreme- none of it sounds like Trout Mask Replica or anything, but it makes it sound like the guitars are covered in mud. In 100% of the cases (except for “Demonologist,” which kind of sucks) this eventually builds to either some incredibly pleasing and creative guitar interplay (done with a drunken slide guitar on “Bucket, Forks, Pock”) or choruses that are simply catchy and sing-alongable (<– not a word) as hell- seriously, the chorus to “Sky of Bones” is “Wake up, you’re next/Silence is death,” and it sounds WAY less stupid than it does on paper (or any other format), just because of the pleasing, a-few-harmonies-short-of-pop-punk melody.

So, there you go, I just spent a bunch of time telling you why you shouldn’t like this album. Try it out though, I swear at least one person who downloads it will find some aspect of it enjoyable, but if not, buy a physical copy- there are a bunch of childish dick-n-boob drawings on the lyrics insert.

Download the non-LP version here, which includes a really tasteless interpretation of a Chick Tract called “Lisa’s Father (Waka Baby)”:

http://www.mediafire.com/?wp4r1wpycy7c04r

Bedhead – The Dark Ages (1996)

I’ve been lazy at keeping this blog up lately, and it’s not gonna stop, because this is merely a 3 SONG EP! That’s right, the returns coming at longer intervals and are still diminishing- this review can’t possibly be that long! It’s a good thing that this is one of the best EPs released in the 90s by anyone ever, except for maybe the OTHER Bedhead EP and Pavement’s “Watery, Domestic.” And with that sentence, I abandon the “blatant subjectivity” portion of my post and forge ahead to the point where I cleverly trick you into thinking you are reading something free of bias, yet I manage to persuade you to take the time to click a download link.

So, as I just said, The Dark Ages is a three song EP that totals up to a very satisfying 15 minutes. Each song, though definitely within the “traditional” Bedhead territory, has a very distinct and different focus from the other ones. The title track is unusually drum-driven and has very clear vocals- two things that didn’t appear much on any Bedhead releases until their final (next) album, Transaction de Novo. This, paired with their usual style of splitting the lead melody between three interlocking guitars, makes for an unusually cathartic experience that occasionally brings a tear to my eye, which,  being as manly as I am, means a lot. This is immediately followed by “Inhume,” a song that functions as a polar opposite- barely any percussion and no vocals for an entirely atmospheric six minute build up that gets LOUDER but never really changes. Yes, that probably sounds awful in writing, but it’s really quite pleasant.  Finally, we have “Any Life,” which is a (slightly) faster paced country-influenced tune, sort of a more melancholic sequel to “To the Ground,” off of their first album. There’s also a really nice slide (steel? I don’t know, I can’t really tell on this particular song) guitar thrown in right towards the end.

So, there you have it. Those last few sentences were a fucking tragedy, as I kept editing them for two weeks and never got ’em to a point with which I was pleased, so now I’m just publishing this thing because  it’s been almost two months since my last one.

REMIND ME NEVER TO REVIEW A THREE SONG EP AGAIN! I hesitate to even “publish” this one, but like I said before, it’s really one of the best EPs around. You’ll thank me later after a period of anger and boredom reading that awful middle paragraph.

*Upon reading that paragraph again, it wasn’t really THAT bad, but I have been looking at it so long that it seems to have totally lost its meaning, SO YOU BE THE JUDGE! Leave me some comments- should I be ashamed? Exuberant? Proud? Indifferent? Aroused? That’s it- send me some arousing comments.

After all of those excuses, here’s the goddamn download link:

http://www.mediafire.com/?ipgbenecfgbjmac

Bastro – Diablo Guapo (1989)

The only decent picture of this album cover I could find included the sticker that is on the front, which is a pain in the ass to remove, anyway (at least on my copy), so it must remain! At least it doesn’t say “Featuring:” and then a stream of turn-of-the-decade noise rock hits- you’ll have to reserve that for all of your Lubricated Goat albums.

Bastro is David Grubbs’ immediate post-Squirrel Bait band, and it’s treble-y as shit! Not that there is non-existent bass, but the guitar parts are all headache-inducing Big Black-inspired type stuff, SO BE PREPARED! The subject matter is a little more tasteful though, so at least you won’t get a headache and think about child-rape rings or dogs trained to bite black people the entire time- unless you like that sort of thing, I know that those subjects occupy at least 80% of my bedtime fantasies. And there you have it. This review is just an excuse for me to show up on Google searches for “child rape” and people looking for information about the film White Dog.

Honestly, the first time I listened to this, I wasn’t really impressed, so I’ll warn you- this is not an unlikely scenario upon your first listen. It’s a bit difficult to sort out differences between each song, initially, because, as I said before, the majority of them are buried in treble, which falsely makes them sound a LOT more like Big Black (as I ALSO mentioned before) than they actually do.  Really, this album is quite different than that. First of all, there’s a real drummer drummin’ around the whole time! Also, Mr. Grubbs’ vocals come from the school of shouty D.C. post-hardcore, and not “snide, angry Midwest guy.” THIRDLY, after listening to the album more than once, none of the songs really sound like Big Black at all! The production just fools you (or maybe just me) into hearing similarities that aren’t there. These songs have much more variety than it appears upon a passive listen, though almost all of them are fast-paced and noisy.

So, how much variety you say? WELL- some of the song structures are pretty interesting, though not necessarily “crazy and unconventional,” there are parts with sudden tempo shifts or instruments dropping out unexpectedly, mostly in a chorus-less format. The majority of these songs just “keep going,” whether that means changing constantly, or repeating the same thing over and over in a sort of verse-verse-verse type deal. The latter songs may seem more boring on paper, but are quite enjoyable, particularly “Flesh Colored House,” which just repeats a driving riff over and over, eventually to be coupled with a noisy guitar effect that sounds like someone scratching the hologram on an amusement park novelty cup. Further examples of things that set the songs apart include: surprise swing beats!, surprise horns!, and titles that don’t really make much sense, or even seem to have anything to do with the song (“Short-Haired Robot”).

I feel like I’ve just spent a couple paragraphs describing why “Diablo Guapo isn’t really that bad even though everyone thinks it is!” which is odd, because I’m pretty sure that’s not a widely believed opinion by people that have heard it. I guess I’m just worried that you’ll download it and think every song sounds the same, because I sure did, as I have said at least three times already, but I know you aren’t me, so you may have a different opinion. We’re all different! AND THAT’S WHAT MAKES AMERICA GREAT!

In short: this album won’t blow you away, but goddamn does it rock if you’re driving fast. It’s odd how the “in short” part contains an element that wasn’t even brought up in the rest of the review, but that’s cutting-edge writing for you.

To download Handsome Devil, follow this illegal link below:

http://www.mediafire.com/?5j4sx957ccf1sk9

Giddy Motors – Make It Pop (2002)

Man oh man, I’ve been lazy. I have no real excuse for taking so long to update (I know you were holding your breath), except for finally and officially getting the internet along with Netflix instant play- I have to catch up on all of these acclaimed original televisions series that I’ve missed out on- mostly Two and a Half Men and Everybody Loves Raymond.

Enough with the excuses. Make It Pop is one of my faaaaaaaaves. Even though it did get reviewed a few big places (this seriously may be the only album that I’ve ever picked up after reading its review on Pitchfork years after the fact), most people I’ve talked to seem to be unfamiliar with it, which is a shame, because anyone I’ve played it for (who is into this particular kind of music) seems to think it’s great.

The Giddy Motors were all British and stuff, so they sounded exactly like the Beatles. Their singer, Gaveric de Vis, had an Andrew Falkous-y Mclusky sort of shout, and the rest of the band sounded like they were doing their best at attempting to create a follow-up Rapeman LP brimming with plentiful out-of-nowhere jazzy breaks and interludes. You may not think that sounds to much like the  Beatles, but take this into consideration- if those four gentlemen had never worked with Phil Spector and hadn’t turned down that offer to time travel to 1991 Chicago, this is basically what Let It Be would have sounded like.

That whole “out-of-nowhere” time shift and/or occasional jazz influence is evident immediately, as the opener, “Magmanic,” turns from a bashing Rapeman/Jesus Lizard/Scratch Acid type thing to a sudden halt and continues at a half-speed dirge when the vocals kick in, only to slowly speed up throughout the course of the song. Unexpectedly, at least to me, after this point, only about half the songs have that expected Albini treble-scrape noise-rock guitar thing going on, but the composition in all of them (except one- I’ll get to that in a bit) is brimming with that crazed/creepy/noise-rock/90s Chicago/”pigfuck”/what-have-you atmosphere.

The highlight of the “not scrape-y” songs is, by far, “Hit Cap,” which happens to be track two! What makes up for the lack of noisy guitar in this one is a really noisy free jazz-style saxophone skronkin’ and blurtin’ all over the whole damn song along with the drums that also seem to frantically be all over the place- including somewhere bongo-ish. All of this paired with some very eccentric vocal delivery make for a crazed (yeah I already said crazed once in this review), nervous-sounding, near-wreck of a song that culminates perfectly in a rather loud blast of squealing noise and yelling towards the end. Best song on the album, IMO. LOL.

Everything else falls somewhere in between, but has its own highlights, whether it be more weird vocal touches, instrumentation, or even an oddly included Fugazi-ish dub influence, as on “Cranium Crux.” The one track that deviates from all of this, which I told you I would talk about at some point, is “Venus Medallist,” which is basically just a really pretty song with strings. By itself, it’s a perfectly fine song, but it really kills the mood of the album as the next-to-last track. Other bands have done this, but managed to make their “break in the madness” song still carry some sort of weird tension in it, as to not totally distract from the mood, but this song does not work in that way. However, as I mentioned earlier, this album is one of my faaaaaaves, so apparently this isn’t that much of a strike to the quality of Make It Pop as I just made it seem. Like I said, the song itself is fine, you just have to be ready for all prior mood and atmosphere to be halted for almost five minutes towards the end of the album.

So, yes, this is pretty sweet and you should give it a shot. The Giddy Motors have one more album after this, Do Easy, that is also highly recommended, though it pretty much dumps the weird jazz thing for more streamlined songs and straight aggressiveness. Anyway, this review is getting to be a little long, and I know what you’re all saying- Make It Stop!

 

Download the album here, as I contemplate suicide over that last joke:

http://www.mediafire.com/?jf85havvddb39iy