Cruising in the pipeline of the current surf instrumental revival. There’s no attempt at a new twist, just something to remind you how vital this music is.
One hot minute, it’s incantantory punk and Kate Pierson (or Cindy Wilson) the next, it’s string-mopped U.K. hee-hey with a sickly-sweet Pixie-sticky bassline.
Even after every ‘zine with any taste gushed over #1 Chicken, the banshee bitches didn’t let it go to their heads and, like, learn how to play or anything.
Clean-cut guys in touch with their Rush-listening, feathered-hair days, and apologetic about not having been in hardcore bands since they could draw an X.
Stag documents the moment Melvins decided their Atlantic deal was not worth the trouble. It’s funny, annoying, and, once in a while, downright brilliant.