Work sucks. The school I work at is having a real tough time. Seismologists told us that nearly half of the campus was built on a fault line. Now that portion of the school, which includes a dozen classrooms, is off-limits. On top of that, the after-school program’s budget got slashed to practically nil. As a result, I’ve been heading home partially deflated, embittered. Today, I slump into my chair and see Ramma Lamma’s Ice Creamon my desk. It beckons me with its garish, crude cover art, like an animation cell from The Nine Lives of Fritz the Cat. I give it a spin and, god almighty, it’s just what I need. I’m talking pure id power pop, mining the brains most impulsive (repulsive?) regions, and kick-starting serotonin production. These are the type of songs that just might make you blush: “Baby I’m a monster, come from outer space. If the girls don’t like it they can sit on my face.” Ramma Lamma is therapeutic. They extinguish my frustrations with whip cream. After a handful of songs, I’m completely decompressed. This is the type of record that reminds you that there’s still stupid fun to be had in the world.
–Sean Arenas (Certified PR, certifiedprrecords.com)