MAKERS, THE: Strangest Parade: CD

May 27, 2009

The Doors presented the world with their Strange Parade, a cheap poet's pastiche of psychedelic space junk, swirling organ-filled, emotion-tugging melodies and lines upon lines of a soon-to-be-dead man's brain fart stanzas. Meanwhile, into our latter days of numbskull nostalgia-mania, The Makers march forth on their very own Strangest Parade with a surprisingly charming outcome. Hey rocker boy, look around you; the world is swimming with shags and feathers, bell bottoms, hip-hugger, Euro-trash, glam, light imported beer revivalism. The more intelligent of the species will look back upon our times and proclaim only two great and redeeming qualities: The Makers and the way those pants make anybody's ass look J.Lo-cious. While every other band's homage to this particular time frame of music history looms somewhere over deadpan plagiarism of the MC5 and the oft hilarious, self mockery-inducing antics of trying to out-stooge The Stooges (nobody can ever be the Stooges – end of story!), The Makers style themselves after a more genteel mood and a general feeling of "groovy" (if your idea of groovy is dead hippies strewn across the highway... insert your own Morrison-ism here). Why do fat men grow beards? Why do the Makers live in the past? Why? Because both parties can do it so well. Michael Shelley is a majorette of mayhem along with his fellow neo-Romanticists cohorts who dash and sway into a thirteen song journey down the parade route of gypsies, dead rockers, suicidal thoughts, self-inflicted wounds of desire and other such Byronic themes interspersed with a heavy dose of punk rock's untamed spirit. Ah, to be young and dream forever in a day...

 –nam (Sub Pop)

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