Wednesday, 17 September 2014

Peeple Watchin' - Somethin' Ta Tell Ya

Ex-Credentials queerpunx pukin' raw-throated and desperate with that Cleveland Bound Death Sentence scratch and kick punk rock, songs of sloppy design, melodic bite leaking out of scrappy tangles. It retains the lyrical sharpness of The Credentials, piercing specifics illuminating larger desolations, like the wasted wasted night of James F. Collins Sq., beaten down but present, "I stare through the chainlink as the trains pass right by me". 1995 opens with a soft dirty guitar line that explodes into a twirling of teenpunk nostalgia "Infomercials about getting ripped, talking about boys we'd want to kiss and we prank called the whole yellow pages, it was kinda mean, kinda contagious." Perfectly skewering/shining on those nasty/naive adolescent giggles.

The personal and the political intermingling as they always do, the places you spend getting drunk and the times you spend getting hurt, Just Like Them railing against queer assimilation, stamping out country licks on the lyrically minimal rebel rocker Riff-Raff, Grow Slow illuminates the daily toll of living as a transwoman, twisting the pain and pressure into a pure steely determination bursting out of the most anthemic chorus on the album, "THE ONLY THING THAT'S PASSING IS MY YOUTH. FORTIFY MY STUBBORNNESS AND SUFFER THE ABUSE. IT'S A LONG ROAD WITH VIOLENCE ALL AROUND/IT'S A HEAVY LOAD BUT I WON'T LET IT DRAG ME DOWN"

"1995 was all sparkle and fade. You're wearin' a suit now but I never changed" goes 1995, enduring punk, in the same mode as Dishpit's Forever Punk, but older, more rueful, harder and scabbier, "Can we still fuck this morning up with sour breath and punk haircuts before leaving behind friendships forged in convenience store parking lots" on the drier VHS. The Ones That You Can't Take Back carrying you away on sweet guitar lines and chopping through

It's nothing so much as the heir to the beautiful sinewy scrambles of Bent Outta Shape's Stray Dog Town, the momentum and the mess, the sugary guitar workings and salty fuck-offs, teased out wirey toughkid punk rock, struggling as it ages, breathless and leathery and ultimately unbowed

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