With FYP going the way of a used Depends undergarmet, my expectations for what, on paper, looks like a resuscitation or a ghost-ridden bike of a just-departed band were really low. I liked FYP. They were stupid. Fucking stupid. And I say that with love. Part of the sugar shavings of that candy necklace of love was the almost complete ineptitude of the band. And the dick and fart jokes. Because we all know the basic punk rock equation: bad band plays so awfully, it’s good. If they’re that dumb for real, even better. They helped redefine glorified incompetence, like a Taco Bell employee with ADD, a sense of humor, and full access to the guacamole gun, but with instruments. So when the first thing I heard about that Toys That Kill is that they could play, methought “That’s like saying that lady who had that sock puppet Lambchop could really act.” Who gives a fuck about that? I want sock puppets and stained underwear. Joe Satriani plays well. Fuck that guy. Well, it’s time to break out a can of pink, paint polka dots all over me and throw me in the middle of a monster truck rally. TTK are fantastic. Although seemingly incomprehensible – even to myself – they retain the spastic, wet, warm undie feeling of FYP – but they can play the hell out of a song and there’s social commentary that involves no bodily fluids. As a matter of fact, without ever using the words directly, the whole album’s chock full of anti-authoritarianism. We’ll end with a song quote that sums it up nicely: “but what’s a trip without a little danger?” It’s nice when resurrections work out and the phoenix rising from the ash isn’t just the dust settling from someone pissing out the fire.