Rozwell Kid used to be perfect: a little band all about big band moves, all 80's big-hair metal glory, all power chords played in power stances, all aww-shucks grinning leaning into a drumstick flipping kick-in.
But that youthful hope wears off. Maybe weed, in its own small way, is a hell of a drug. Cause now they've sunk into that stoner-punk scene, Wavves on a middling surf day. It's all self doubt, all TV, so much TV. Songs about MadTV, Futons, UHF on DVD, Clue: The Movie, Seaquest reruns, and whatever Michael Keaton's in.
Those choices are telling: not a single topical or recent or good thing among them, strictly the kind of shit you watch because it's familiar at best, because it's what happened to come on and where the fuck's the remote and I guess it's 3:00 and I guess that's basically my day.
And I love that honesty. It's a trap I totally believe these kids fell into -- they used to care, but it's so hard to, and now this is what they know, and they crunch their way through. And that's relatable and enjoyable and I actually really like it. I guess I wish I didn't like it. I liked it better when I liked their shit that felt like rock and roll could pull you out instead of cuddling you back down 3.5/5
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment