GROUCHO MARXISTS: Manifesto: CD

Poppy, sloppy shit that sticks to the roof of your mouth. Kind of annoying and kind of fun at the same time. By the end of the record, you need to go to the dentist because your head hurts and you realize that stomaching the Groucho Marxists is painful but worth the trouble. They do share some similarities to The Ergs! Guitar solos and basslines that walk up and down the walls that have your eyes searching for an invisible bouncing ball you will never find, which may be one of the reasons I actually made it through the entire record. I keep expecting Groucho Marxists to grow on me like pubic hair, but it hasn’t happened yet. The New Jersey bunch leaves me wanting more with a little hope that their lyrics will improve and their next effort will be so catchy it will give me herpes forever, again. And I don’t care who you are, songs about giving or receiving oral sex are almost always never amusing. Unless it’s about pubic hair or sexually transmitted diseases or it ends really, really badly like somebody farts or pees. 

 –Gabe Rock (Wrapped In Plastic, no address)