SHANG-A-LANG: Collection: CD

Nov 16, 2010

Bruce Lee weighed 125 pounds. Shang-A-Lang use a four track recorder with one channel busted. Both kick way more ass than some steroid-confused, alpha-male Cobra Kai cheat-to-win bullshit motherfucker. Metallica has all the money in the world and has nothing to say. Shang-a-Lang farms the dirt of New Mexico where the most resilient flowers and the most delicious Hatch chilies grow. They’re hot and spicy with an underlying taste of years of growth in harsh environments. Chris Mason was preached to as a kid about this lady who got fucked by a ghost and everyone in attendance got a halo. Chris now proselytizes that it’s not what you’ve got—money, “fame,” unlimited cheeseburgers— it’s what you bring. Like DIY; like some of the most honest, fun-to-sing-along-to punk. Ever. It falls apart and reassembles right in front of you like in-reverse magic. Part of me wanted to copy and paste all of my previous reviews of the records that were compiled to make this Collection, but that would have taken an entire page and would have been sort of like cheating. And Shang-A-Lang makes me want to be honest. I’ve already started heckling them to play “Summertime” next time I see them live. Please do the same because that song rules, in every season.

 –todd (Facepalm / Silversprocket)