In recent months, i believe i have stated (or, at bare minimum, implied) that 1. Bands to whom English is not a primary language would be better served howling in their native tongue, as opposed to clumsily verbally waddling thru already beat-within-an-inch-of-their-life Anglophone punk rock clichés; and 2. Italian bands are such a buncha style flunkies that they’ll never amount to anything, ever. It is now my distinct pleasure to inform you that gravity has reversed its field, objects fall upward, the sun orbits the earth, water flows uphill, time is flowing backwards, the sun rises in the west, matter is both created and destroyed, and the Cubs have won the World Series: Mesdames et Monsieurs, voici MORTICIA’S LOVERS!!! (sorry, i don’t know any Italian) ...now, the whole thing is that, at the onset of the album, my previously stated positions appeared to be in no great danger of dethronement: The title track—located Side One, Track One—is a typical Continental excursion into Anglophonic punk clichés: “Smash the Radio.” Yeah. We get it. Smash. Radio. Right. One gets that whole Hatepinks vibe of song titles created by drawing random punk words (plus an article! Hurray for diversity!) out of a hat, and can’t help but feel that this is the work of a band who are crossing their fingers and hope they wind up sounding kinda like the Minds or someone. However, shit begins to ramp up over the duration of Side One, and by the time song #6 rolls around—“How I Hate You”—sort of a Superchargerish raveup a la “Get Outta My Life”/“Hippy Jerk” without actually sounding like Supercharger are performing it, which is all well and gone—this band has suddenly gone from holding on to their ass with both hands and hoping for the best to a band who have got the best sixth-song-on-a-seven-song-side-one since frickin’ “Suzy Is a Headbanger” (“Sheena Is a Punk Rocker” off of Rocket to Russia notwithstanding, because in that case track six is the hit, and track seven is the follow-up, which is an abnormal set-up for a seven-song first side, where song number six is basically seen as a placesetter for song number seven) (or so things are inscribed on the clay tablets of my imagination) (however, it’s certainly the best song-six-on-a-seven-song-side-one on album number two since “Suzy Is a Headbanger,” and if you can prove otherwise, go for it). “How I Hate You,” however, merely primes the punkly pump for the unspeakably and unutterably FANTASTIC “Love Is Just An Hippy’s Thing.” Dude. I mean, DUDE. THINK ABOUT IT: “Love Is Just An Hippy’s Thing.” I mean... dude! Every so often, a song comes along that need only be described using the song’s title, and the word “dude.” This is such a song. Dude, “Love Is Just An Hippy’s Thing.” DUDE! I can go no further with my descriptive parlance. You must either take me at my “Dude!” or discard my opinion utterly. Choose wisely, my son. In any event, it is quite obvious that something like “Love Is Just An Hippy’s Thing” could never come about were the non-English speakers required, as i had suggested, to sing in their native tongue. It is quite apparent to me now that putting non-native English speakers/manglers at the vocal helm of English-Singing Bands opens up an entirely new dimension of accidental genius, that, in my heinous myopia, i had not previously considered. I emerge chastened. Re-driving this point home—as if “Love Is Just An Hippy’s Thing” wasn’t a forceful enough recitation of my shortcomings—is Song Two, Side Two: “Chemical Drugs.” That’s right. His baby’s got to get off those Chemical Drugs. Fucking genius. Album cover of the month, album of the month, band of the month... everybody go nuts now. BEST SONG: “Love Is Just An Hippy’s Thing” BEST SONG TITLE: “Love Is Just An Hippy’s Thing” FANTASTIC AMAZING TRIVIA FACT: “Saturday Night” is not, alas, the Bay City Rollers song—but “Alcoholiday” is, in fact, the KAOS cover.
–norb (Demolition Derby)