Girlfriends
Our First Cassette
www.myspace.com/girlfriendsus
Their bio describes them as “already-been-chewed bubblegum pop.” Clever! Not quite a chuckle, but maybe good for one of those joke-acknowledging “ehhhhhh!” sounds that kind of trails off into nothing. Also, by the way, that’s goddamn disgusting.
The good news is that these guys have the rare gift of honest-to-god tunesmithsmanship. The bad news is that they’ve buried it under “layers of analogue overdrive and feedback”—in other words, a bullshit lo-fi pose. I say “bullshit” because there’s no technological excuse for producing songs this poorly anymore; everyone has a friend who can competently record tracks for no money. These aren’t the days of Lou Barlow crying in his basement. These are the days of miracles and wonder.
Some of the tracks are more coherently recorded than others, in that they sound like they were recorded through a neighbor’s wall, rather than in a washing machine inside another washing machine.
They’re roughing up their songs for aesthetic effect. It’s not only unnecessary, but it goes way too far. They’re not recalling the sixties with some analogue grain, they’re piling on the shit until there’s no song left. They might as well just record their songs with a guy standing behind them going “aaaaaaaaauuuuuggghhh!” Even the EP’s format betrays the pretense: Cassette? Nothing says “our hipster affectations are more important than our music” than releasing it in an impenetrable format. You might as well put out a 78 pressed on a slice of deli ham.
Girlfriends, [sassy head wobble, if I may] you’re better than this. This kind of crutch is for low-rent indie bands without tunes. You’re a low-rent indie band withtunes. I’m so starved for real melodies that hearing a band that can create them, but that is nonetheless screwing up, is pretty disappointing to me. Sell your bikes and book a fucking studio for half an hour.
Graph
Tracks: Pile, Box in the Basement, The Banquet
www.myspace.com/graphisaband
Hey, these guys have tunes and they’re not beheaded by shit production. Girlfriends, this is the kind of shit that could blow you out of the water if you don’t step your game up.
The mission statement on their MySpace page, however, is a little daunting: “we seek to present an original species of songs & sounds with experimental, post-hardcore, rock and classical constituent parts.” Hardcore and classical, my aunt Fanny! This isn’t a fucking résumé, kids. You don’t have to lie about what you do to sound more qualified than you are, especially if your lie makes you sound like the most insufferable horseshit in the universe. And especially if you’re actually pretty good.
I was going to write you a new bio so you could get rid of the retarded one on your MySpace page, but I’ll do you one better: I’ll write you a press quote, and you can go ahead and use it, free of charge, wherever you want:
“Graph is a good band. Their songs are pretty rad. I like to listen to their songs, and I am a reputable music critic, so I could be listening to whatever the fuck I want, because I have access to all the songs in the world and a detailed understanding of their relative merit.” – David Thorpe, Actual Music Critic Who Has Been Published in Books and Shit
Don’t Mess With Winkie
Tracks: Why Should I Try, World Power Employment
www.myspace.com/dontmesswithwinkie
What? A ska-punk band in this day and age? Ska is a discredited science, like phrenology, and to practice it in the 21st century is downright artistically irresponsible. To make matters worse, these dudes look like they’re about sixteen, which is three years past the age when everyone realizes that ska fucking sucks. So what the hell happened?
My theory is that one or more of them has a shitty older brother who listens to ska. Ordinarily, ska being shit is a no-brainer, but it’s a slightly more difficult conclusion to reach when you’ve got a big brother in a Skankin’ Pickle shirt bringing you beer and bragging about chicks. If you’re a particularly impressionable youth, it may take you years to realize he sucks, and in the meantime you might build up a superhuman ska tolerance that’ll keep a goddamn horn in your mouth well into your pathetic, misguided twenties.
Smarten up, guys. Your big brother sucks, ska sucks, and you’re in serious, mortal danger of sucking well past youthful indiscretion deadline. If you’re over eighteen, it’s a felony.
Not afraid of criticism?
Please email demos to: onesmartnut@gmail.com. Links to MySpace, YouTube or mp3 files are acceptable; email for a physical address.