If Jimmy Alvarado didn’t home invasion me, poke me in the eye with a stale chunk of tamale, plop Spontaneous Disgust’s first little bitch of a seven inch, Emo Love Fest, on our record player, and crank it until the neighbors on three sides complained, I’d’ve called him a big, fat, juicy liar. But, manowar, they’re great – it’s pretty much the same feeling that I got listening to the Zero Boys, The Replacements, or Leatherface the first time: the music hits you like a wall, and the more you listen to it, the more you realize that every brick is placed with a bunch of thought and is heavily constructed with blasting hooks. Due to the fact that the address was illegible on the first 7″, we thought they were lost to the world, but, lo, out comes a four-pack of 7″s. Weird. It’s a workout swapping them out and listening to all the tracks – twenty-four in all – but I’m not complaining. The covers are all lo-tech xeroxes of Spam sushi, bums puking what looks like coin change, and some guy in a white leotard and angel wings jumping over a cop car. What’s cool, too, is that they’ve gone beyond their first (?) concept record and go for broke. They attack bands that should give it up (“Punk Rock Hero Reunion Vs. 3-D Old Dude Karaoke Tour”), love (“Punch to the Heart”), politics with a country twang (“Linda Krondstat”), capitalism, (“Shiny Rim[job]”), and sex (“Gimme Some of That Disease.”) That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m still getting more amped about these guys and I’m already rabid. Awesome stuff. The big question now is how the hell I’m going to get Jimmy out of my house. He’s put up a pup tent near the record player. Fuck his back-to-the-land squatter’s rights. He ain’t gettin’ my vinyl four pack.
–todd (Dangling Fury)