Ah, the old trusty Swingin’ Utters back in the game with what I believe is their seventh studio album and their second in two years after an eight-year absence of new material. Just like with every album that succeeded their monumental first and second (The Streets of San Francisco and A Juvenile Product of the Working Class) the Utters are using progression to their advantage by giving two shits to the wind as to what is “popular” or “sells.” The country and Pogues influences are still very much intact, though this time we’re also treated to something I myself had yet to hear in previous recordings by way of the clean toned guitars. Fuck me if this doesn’t work perfectly for a band whose track record consisted of a strict diet of feedback and crunch with the obvious exception of those songs where the amps were intentionally turned off in favor of some steel guitars and mandolins (which are also present on some of the tracks here). This album is sure to please even the most die-hard Utters fan with plenty of fist pumpers (“The Librarians are Hiding Something,” “Pour Beans,” “Dreadlock Dread Reggae”) and whiskey glass relaxers alike (“I’m a Little Bit Country,” “Sevita Sing”). A second full spin of the album is not recommended, it’s mandatory. The day the Swingin’ Utters stop making good music is the day I pack up my bags and move to Zimbabwe.
–Juan Espinosa (Fat, fatwreck.com)