The singer is actually male, he’s got a little bit of a Dead Milkmen/Jerry Lewis thing going on, but they love it in France, and that’s good enough for me.
I’ve never believed anything The Mooney Suzuki have said or performed. Add to that the fact they called in the same songwriting team as Avril fucking Levine.
Ugly, noisy, and brutal, even when strumming an acoustic, and heavy in that sludgy, painful way, like playing old Slayer riffs with a blanket over the amp.
’80s rock riffs, Beatlesque harmonies, and Dinasaur Jr. dissonance. Travis Shettel inexplicably treats them all with the same vessel-bursting screamatude.
The paces are less suicidal, Dani’s screech is a little labored, and foot-stomp and spooky stalkings don’t make women clutch small children to their breast.