My only question of note with this record is how the band’s name should be pronounced. Should it be [prais·du·If’·kiz]? (As in price-doo-if-keys, since I’m being so smug and pretentious as to use the IPA.) And on what syllable should the stress fall? The complaint of note with this record is that it’s only eight songs long, including an intro to the record, so it was over far too quickly. Heavy, oppressive disappoint sets in for me every time this record ends because I feel cheated and gypped that such wondrous aural stylings have concluded so quickly. I loved this thing. Evil geniuses, the Priceduifkes are, to keep me slobbering for more tunes like a boozehound who has to stop drinking after the first beer. Their sound is awesome Queers-esque punk, and sounds even more juvenile, which I did not at first think would be possible. Their MySpace page claims Ramones and Nobodys influences—it shows—and they are self-described as “pingpongpornopussypunk.” When subject to overly intense scrutiny, this record may seem to be a bit lyrically clichéd at times, but that did not bother me a bit since it sounded more classic than cliché (thank you, Mr. Spaghetti). This is one of those few slabs that, for me, is fun to listen to every single second that it’s playing. I’m a fan.
–Eric Carlson (Skintight, skintightrecords.com)