Toys That Kill. What can I say? What band, with Control the Sun, their second LP, can get slower and stranger, but better? What band has the big, sweaty balls to double scoop their originality and still want to pile more on? I mean, it’s punk, but it’s like how the Minutemen and The Big Boys were punk: a reinterpretation of the original meaning, so it remains vital and keeps the ears from getting lazy without it being a complete what-the-fuck?-athon. The guys pull one out of the vaults (looking at the date of recording and all) from The Citizen Abortion sessions, and it’s a smoker. “Angels with Dirty Contracts” starts with a recorded fight, has synchronized whistling, and all the stakes that cordon off their distinctive style. Fleshies: the dirty underwear, microphone lariat brigade continues with a mid-paced crooner, “My Buddy,” reminiscent of The Psychedelic Furs Talk, Talk, Talk, mixed with goat-throwing guitar sexy, and balled up for enjoyment akin to the delayed and pleasant stupefaction of just the right amount of cough medicine mixed into vodka. The new chocolate and peanut butter? Yes, sir, two tastes that go great together.
–todd (Geykido Comet)