One day, years ago, when I working a coffee job, a guy dressed very similarly to me—T-shirt, jeans, sneakers—came in and looked really jumpy. I didn’t ask. He just started talking as I handed him his cup. “I was at the Golden Donut Palace up the street. Two dudes in clown masks came in and held the place up with shotguns. They only took stuff from the men in ties and the rich-looking women. Left all the manual laborers alone.” That’s always stuck with me. If I ever lead a life of crime, neckties will somehow be used as a barometer. Neckties Make Me Nervous follow suit: it feels like they’re holding up rich “picked first in kickball” punk rockers at gunpoint with their stripped-down, gritty DIY punk that’s swollen with smarts and well-placed pride in being a societal fuck up, way past the time in life where it’s fashionable. Fans of Crimpshrine and Cleveland Bound Death Sentence take note. (Features a member of Pelvis Wesley, too.) Very satisfying.
–todd (Geykido Comet)