I'll probably explain the punch ratings in detail someday when people are actually reading this (OH SHIT IMPOSSIBLE!!!), but suffice to say it is based off how many times I want to punch the band when I'm done listening to the album.
It really is up in the air whether I'll still do this, since it seems a little mean to unknown bands to just be putting their shit down. Besides that, it's way more fun to mock famous bands. Hm.
Goner - Rock 'N' Roll Always Forgets:
You will learn to absolutely hate the little synth they've got going on here. The singer has that faux-aggressive male indie singer sound down to a T-R-A-N-S-G-E-N-D-E-R. The title track plays an aggressively forgettable indie punk sound, like the Sex Pistols drinking half a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon and keying my car when I tell them they are way too fucking old to be playing shit like that, which they fucking are.
It might be because I normally like synthy and punk music, but the less Goner relies on absolutely raping these tropes, the more I like them. "Winter Pagaent" might be a possible exception, as the synth creates a retarded prog vibe that I like despite everything else. Seriously, it's kind of incredible that I like the slower songs better, but Goner fucks up the basic simplicity of the punk sound so badly that their mewling wimpy bitching about things is more punk than their actual punk.
In the end, it's kind of sad that there aren't more songs like "Jersey Boy," which while being a completely derivative acoustic noodling, has a sort of stupid charm to it. Of course, part of that charm is lost in the following track, "An Island's Worth of Avenues," which in addition to making no sense, features some really really bad singing, like the other bandmates secretly recorded the singer's grotesque Bono impression. Of course, the band's myspace page totally features the songs I hated, while leaving "Jersey Boy" and "Winter Pageant" out of the mix. Pft and double pft.
PR: 29, plus like 10 more if their reaction to this review would be "WELL I DON'T SEE YOU STARTING A BAND," because these totally look like the kind of band that would do that.
The Art of Walking - The Art of Walking
Man, this band already had the cards stacked against it when I realized that their name had two options:
1) They stole the title from Pere Ubu's album of the same name.
2) They didn't even bother to check whether their TOTALLY ORGINAL name was taken.
Listening to this, it's pretty obvious that option 2 is correct, as there is no way this band was planning to connect itself to Pere Ubu, unless it was some sort of evil plan. While Pere Ubu played some hell of good experimental post-punk, this band's shit is the equivalent of white bread with a little bit of sugar on it: Edible, but completely fucking worthless in every sense of the word.
Art of Walking is actually a one-man band, which pretty well reveals the problem of one man bands: no one is around to tell you that maybe your dramatic voice swell sounds more like bad early 90's videogame voiceacting than whatever dull little skip of the heart you were looking for.
I might be a little cruel to these guys. After all, I probably couldn't tell the difference between these guys and your typical Jack Johnson slush, and I doubt most fans of the latter could with the proper post-production. But you know what? Fuck you, Art of Walking. Every time I listen to Dub Housing or hipster-dance to Nonalighnment Pact, I'm going to be reminded of why the term "singer-songwriter" fills me with a vague feeling of distress.
PR: 83.
The Mommyheads - You're Not a Dream:
Every single thing I heard about this album could be summarized as "boy it is catchy." And I won't deny this. Maybe it's listening to this after hours of TOTALLY CHALLENGING INDIE POP, but it was pleasing stuff.
Still, there's something sort of mechanical about the sound that was omnipresent in most 90's low-end indie acts. I can't describe it because I don't really care, but it's the same kind of paint-by-numbers hooks that you saw in quasi-underground stuff like Harvey Danger and Nada Surf, but the latter bands were able to more successfully hide the basic formula. As a result, Mommyheads just sort of bleeds out of the headphones, pleasing no doubt, but also pretty indistinguishable, the kind of band no one really will hate, but only because it reminds them of better bands.
The CD is pretty much rearranged 90's material, and holy christ it shows. Still, as long as you're willing to accept the almost-total derivative nature of the band's pop, it's worth a listen. I say almost as "Washing Machine," which the band wisely included on their myspace page, is strangely compelling.
PR: 21, and a box on the ears with a CD version of "Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?"
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