BANDITAS: Self-Titled: CD

I met all three members of this trio prior to hearing their album. The drummer is also a poet. He and I did a reading together. He’s a pretty good poet (and I don’t often say that about poets). One of the guitarists is a writer, too. She does a zine about being a menstrual anarchist. She taught me how to say “eat my pussy” in French. The other guitarist hit me up to buy him a beer. With a trio of personalities like that, what could you possibly expect from the album? I wasn’t sure. I just wasn’t expecting it to be this good. The first thing you’ll notice when the Banditas start playing is that your head will start bobbing. You can try to fight this, but you won’t be able to stop. The second thing you’ll notice is a sonic fuzz wrapped around melodies. It’s been done before. Hüsker Dü and early Mudhoney did it well, but it would be a mistake to compare the Banditas to either one of those bands. In fact, it’s hard to find any safe comparisons for the Banditas. I guess there’s a bit of Rocket From The Crypt without the horns in there, like the Banditas and RFTC are part of the same species, but not the same genus. When you stop comparing them to bands, the next step is to just get swept away in the songs. There’s a nice balance of power and rhythm, and this trio puts more into the songs than you’d expect from only three people. And maybe, after about twenty or thirty listens, you might notice that there doesn’t seem to be any bass in here—no bass guitar, no bass drum. Not that it’s missing. It’s just not there. And, finally, this album will creep into your top five. At least, it’s one of my top five favorite albums right now. You may also be interested to know that this album is available on vinyl, too. And they sent me a CD. Fuckers.

 –sean (Last Drag)