Bush

Razorblade Suitcase (Trauma/Interscope)
by Skippy Rainey

I never thought I’d have my own column in a respected national music magazine, much less Lollipop, but my older brother told me the response from my first review (the same one that got me my first C+ in Creative Writing) was galvanized or something. I looked up the word in the dictionary and it said “to cover with zinc to protect from moisture.” I don’t know why they’d do that, but I’m happy to see it’s not getting wet. Anyway, my brother came into my room a couple weeks ago, dropped a stack of CDs on my bed, and said “Here. This should keep you busy. Stop calling my house.” I must say, I’m surprised at how easy this rock critic thing is – except for the fact that I had to pay attention to the CDs so I could review them, it’s been simple as pie. I’m not sure what kind of pie. Not pecan, that’s for sure. They hurt my teeth.

Once again, these guys combine a truly original sound with a sense of… hey, wait a second! I just realized something! They’re called Bush! Like, you know, a girl’s whozitthingy? That’s one of those double on tundras my brother keeps telling me about, isn’t it? Bush! That’s so cool!