(Decided to try something new at work on Tuesday. Wrote a review of each album I listened to, all day, quick-burst, Christgau-style, snark left unbridled. It was fun. Internet was out last night, so here it is now.)
Porn – Wine, Women and Song
Melvins-style sludge that rocks harder and stays more professional than their skuzzy brethren. Band name aside (a classy upgrade from “Men of Porn”), these guys don't fuck around. Riffs out the ass and a purity of attitude and style that overwhelms and sucks you into its being like all good metal should.
The Brian Jonestown Massacre – Their Satanic Majesties' Second Request
Better than the first request, by a good deal. Stones cocksucking aside, there are plenty of great tunes under the experimental touches. One of the more capable Anton treatises, though like all the rest it falls incomplete, a tossed-off masterpiece that could've been. Too much Brian Jones, not enough Keith Richards.
Sleater-Kinney – All Hands On the Bad One
Riot-grrls with the chops to sound like a big-grrl band, the talent to write legitimately great rock songs, and the sense to ditch the fem bravado for the real deal. No need to say “Suck My Left One” here. They demand in as many words what Hannah will beat you across the head with, only it's significant outside of the socio-political context. Who needs that shit anyway. They sure don't.
Les Sexareenos – 14 Frenzied Shakers
Proof the Chuck Berry riffs are still worth ripping off 60 years later. You can call it punk, but it's no more dangerous than the Sonics. At times they're damn near a carbon copy of them and every other early garage rock band, which is kinda the point. Zero originality points, but for 14 tracks rock 'n' roll appears to be alive after all. (Also, putting 16 tracks on the CD is an excellent punk-ironic touch.)
Guided By Voices – Alien Lanes
Not quite Bee Thousand, but few things in life are. Lo-fi, but it really shouldn't be. These guys need not hide behind the fuzz. Can't say that for many other eight-track demi-gods, yet I love Lou Barlow all the same. Probably could've been killer at half the length, but the sprawl gives it it's charm. When he hits, Pollard is as good as any songwriter alive. He just needs to hit more.
The Lemonheads – Lick
Hard not to look down on any Lemonheads album that isn't Ray or Come On Feel. Still a solid enough album though. They're thankfully shedding the last of the Hüsker Dü fanboy issue, but that obnoxious guitar sound is still there, smothering the band's burgeoning songwriting. The Bob Mould impression just isn't that good. It's been done better. So have Evan Dando's songs.
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