I’m often guilty of judging books by their cover. And records, for that matter. Take this record, for example. Couple tatted up dudes, one of them in a Rancid T-shirt, on the side of the road next to a beat up old car, with cans of Pabst and an empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the cover. I see that, I think I’ve been here before. I’ve travelled down this musical path before. However, once I put the disc in, I’m surprised to find this is not another ’77 street punk album or coifed rockabilly affair, but some fairly heavy, sludgy rock vaguely akin to Nirvana or Fu Manchu. The vocals are screamed rather than sung and can be a bit much after a while. Additionally, there’s some regrettably wanky guitar work that keeps the album from really taking off and being a keeper. At least they surprised me.
–Jeff Proctor (myspace.com/faithcityfiasco)