|Hottie Jake Snider |
manhandles his guitar
First of all, Neat-As-A-Button is dogmatic and predictable and irons his white cotton underpants. Not that I have anything against Pitchfork darlings like Cults, that last School of Seven Bells record, Rome, or Neutral Milk Hotel*, but their music is unrelenting in its symmetrical perfection. It's like two trendy little chairs perfectly angled by a trendy little sofa.
And attractive as your modern euro-design 3-piece livingroom set may be, I'd prefer to be draped across a night-colored canapé surrounded by vintage taxidermy, a tray of really good tacos and five "over-produced" math rockers from Seattle. Any day of the week. Bring it on, clusterfuck!
Second of all, about this "disinterested outsider" tag-- get a girl on your review team for the love of the gods, Pitchfork! Bad boys don't heave their bosoms or weep, especially when describing driving around drinking vodka out of a lemonade carton. The lyrics are a simple, iniquitous play-by-play uncluttered by any sentimental posturing. It is exactly what it says it is: some debauched dude recounting the libidinous thing that happened last week backed by a gargantuan stack of noise. I'm not saying that a few of the songs aren't mouth-breathers, but the ones that go the whole way easily round all the bases.
*Just in case someone actually get it into their heads to fact check this diatribe, please note that it is subject to the flexible quality standards of the internet.