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.
’80s rock riffs, Beatlesque harmonies, and Dinasaur Jr. dissonance. Travis Shettel inexplicably treats them all with the same vessel-bursting screamatude.
With catchy hooks and displays of actual talent, this self-titled album reminds us all of what’s its like to be 16, with only lust and liquor on your mind.
Like the first time you were blown away by Wire, or confounded by Mark E. Smith’s lost-with-a-purpose ranting. The Lights are onto something substantial.
Not my fave fuzzy garage unit. Any NYC hipster oughtta dig into Bad Afro’s roster and realize what posers they are, but ya can’t teach those trendies anything.
Finally, composer of symphonic, cinematic, epic ballads Neil Hannon returns, age and parenthood having had no negative effect on his charm, wit, or craft.