MOME RATHS, THE: Vaporized My Brain: CD

So I put this on, and I’m immediately stuck with the task of trying to figure out why a band with enough good sense to go by an obscure word culled from a poem in a Lewis Carroll work would be responsible for such a lackluster quasi-punk record with some pretty lame lyrics. I listen to it again and scrutinize the lyric sheet, looking for some kind of clue. Then I see it, staring out from the “thank you” section: “Daniel thanks: My Lord & Savior Jesus Christ for His gift of grace and allowing me to have fun with the talent He has given me.” Ah, okay: Jesus-philes. Now I get the Carroll reference. True to form, right below Daniel’s name-checking His Hol(e)y-Handedness, Tracy gives her propers to the same, but also interestingly starts off with the following: “Tracy thanks: My wonderful husband, thank you for all your support in everything, for your love & encouragement & for all the talent God has given you” (italics mine). Wha-? Was there no talent left for Jesus to bestow on her after heaping a double helping on her hubby? Is he lending her a little via some sorta talent transubstantiation so that she can play bass? Naturally, with all this talk of “talent,” I started to wonder where all this talent was manifesting itself, ’cause it sure ain’t in evidence here. Maybe he built a sturdy platypus-shaped house out of pretzels, or developed a way to extract turnip atoms to cure that little hole in John Travolta’s chin. Maybe it can be found in the name of the band itself, ’cause now that I know the Late JC is all up in the mix I find myself thinking back to Maddy’s Mormon article a few issues back and I’m wondering if it ain’t a thinly disguised “Mormon Wraths” reference that wasn’t readily apparent before. Yeah, maybe that’s it. Maybe they’re really a buncha Mormons operatives egged on to exact a little revenge on the decent folk of Razorcake because they don’t like their silliness being outed in such a fine, well read periodical. A POX ON YOUR CHEERIOS, MADDY TIGHT PANTS, FOR BRINGING THIS ACCURSED SCOURGE OF LOUSY JESUS-LED PUNK UPON THE HOUSE OF ’CAKE (followed quickly by a heartfelt secret okey-doke hand sign for being such a damned [pun intended] funny writer)!!! Uh, excuse me as I beeline to my room to put on my Brigham Young Underoos, making sure to bury this disc in the basura as I dash past, demand from my wife her own immense talent via the aforementioned talent transubstantiation so that I have a heaping helping of genius to call my own and discover the cure for brain freezes. Let’s hope these little efforts will allay any further attacks headed this way from the backwaters of Utah.

 –jimmy ([email protected])