Artie’s shrink oughtta remind him once in a while that he’s a rich fuckin’ rock star and maybe he should please shut the fuck up and get fat or something.
From chant-a-long, scarf-wavin’ oi to somethin’ akin to a punked-out Dexy’s Midnight Runners, to new-wave-punk fusion and back again. A nice one to have.
Music makes the world livable, and good music can make this often metaphorical and occasionally literal garbage heap much more so, ‘cept it’s a bitch to find.
Not an elderly Mississippi bluesman with a bottomless reservoir of righteous anger. Instead, we get four deadend kids who dig drinkin’, drivin’, and gamblin’.