Considering their name, it’s ironic that the record I got was bent almost like a taco. Some carefully applied heat and pressure, a little patience, and it’s a playable, wavy potato chip. So, this is how the radio works on most people? A band you’ve never heard of before, you instantly like because they simultaneously remind you of ten bands you already like (this time, reshaped and tossed and bruised, holding a delicious burrito), and you want to buy every fucking thing by them as soon as possible. It’s scary how much I liked this when the needle first touched down and I’m happy to say that the satisfaction hasn’t waned in the twenty plays since. Take the infectious train-hopping, ashtray pop punk of Rivethead, the good-smelling fungus and fumes of Toys That Kill, the curly pubes left on the soap by Dick Army, and the indie rock by way of falling down while attempting stupid tricks on your bike sound of the Carrie Nations and that starts getting at what Bent Outta Shape do. Charming as all hell. Comes with a zine.
–todd (Drunk Tank, ($8.50 ppd.)