CD Reviews


Airport Life                               

15 tracks

The latest CD from Boston’s singing, songwriting, rock ’n’ soul machine, John Powhida (and his International Airport band), is a standout achievement that was clearly a labor of love.  Featuring 11 engineers and recorded at four studios with about a dozen musicians other than the core band, complete with flute, sax, backing vocals and masterful arrangements, there’s something for everyone here.  Powhida is ever the storyteller and these tunes are a thrill ride through the joys and pains of modern life, from the funky nitty gritty, autobiographical “The Family Situation” (“I was born in Plattsburgh, in 1966”) to the slow burning soul and bluesy piano of the BMA-nominated “Cover Me, I’m Going for Milk,” which ponders America in the wake of Newtown: “Is what they’re sayin’ true/ they’re killing kids in school/ cover me, I’m going for milk”.

   A couple of my favorite tracks: “Airport Life,” a sparkling slice of glam rock inspired by prime Roxy Music, with witty lyrics about a lady who “walked like a fashionista/ like she owned a big piece of the bistro”  and who “spent the season down in Aspen and Vail/ shot for some quail.”  And “Iman Global Chic” (her HSN clothing line) is yacht-rock fit for a supermodel, with a jazzy gem of a guitar solo and an outro long enough to finish your white wine and canapés.  Powhida has a gift for memorable lyrics: “Operators are standing by/ Mogadishu and apple pie/ we got—Iman Global Chic.”

On the more personal side, “Ridgefield Park” is a thoughtful, slightly ominous reflection on the singer’s teenage escapades, bringing back memories of running around with your delinquent friends after dark in the 1970s.  Here the dangers include “the Pine Hills Toucher” and “dogs running wild in the street looking for meat/ ’cuz there are no leash laws.”  “Let’s Make Nice” is a lovely little Fats Waller inspired jazz-standard that references Nash Kato and features a duet with the silky-voiced Amy Correia.  “John Francis Pastorius III” is totally joyous and upbeat with horns and a fancy-free piano solo, yet it tells the sad story of that “best electric bassist in the world” who left us too soon.  Every song on this disc is brimming with catchy melodies and stellar musicianship, which is to say—get one, if you haven’t already.     (Melody Lee)



11 tracks

Recording an album of Jimi Hendrix covers seem like a losing proposition.  How do you possibly improve on or add something new to the work of someone like that?  The short answer is that you don’t.  If you’re lucky, and very obviously talented, you end up with what Butcher and crew have here, which is a loving homage that furthers your appreciation of the genius of Hendrix.  Butcher is a hell of an axe-man, and he does a nice job of channeling Hendrix without resorting to mimicry.  Interestingly, it’s the vocals that suffer the most in comparison.  Butcher is a competent singer, but Jimi’s vocals, simultaneously laid-back and seemingly emanating from a different solar system, have always been underrated.  In the end, though, this album does what any good tribute record does; it makes me want to spend some time with the original.       (Kevin Finn)



12 tracks

Tony Savarino has already lived a lifetime’s worth of rock ’n’ roll adventures and he never even had to leave town to do it. His list of past and present gigs is longer than my arm and your arm put together. It’s ridiculous, really. But a few years back he decided he wanted to create a solo album trilogy. First came Guitaring, then Guitaresque, and now Guitarino. Here’s the thing: how much do you like the guitar? Just the guitar, not dudes pulling shapes or lighting them on fire or blasting them on ten through amps the size of fridges in orgies of wanton sonic destruction. Just one dude and his nimble fingers. If you said “1000 percent!” then holy fuck are you gonna love this record. There is no doubt in my mind that Savarino is one of the best pickers in town and this head-bopping collection of jazz/ country/ roots rock instrumentals zip and zap with such agility that the whole thing feels like it’s floating on a gently lapping ocean wave. The highlight, for me, is the mammoth “Yngwie Van Caravan,” which mashes a country rave-up with dirge-y prog organ and furiously shredding Yngwie J Malmsteen-esque riffery. It’s like a wordless sitcom, Yngwie Joins Lucero And Fucks Everything Up. Goodtimes. The bare-bones acoustic cover of the Stones’ “As Tears Go By” is also gorgeous. I’d still like a little screaming and carrying on in the mix somewhere, but fans of Savarino and his journeyman guitar are sure to eat it up.        (Sleazegrinder)



13 tracks

This album is a tribute to singer/songwriter Bill Morrissey who passed away too young, as many of them do. Mark has interpreted these lovely, sensitive songs in fine voice, with a gently picked guitar, singing lyrics that could speak to anyone. The song “Birches” tells the story of a marriage that’s cooling off like a fireplace needing wood. “Let’s fill the stove with birches and watch as the fire burns bright/ How long has it been?/ I know it’s been quite a while/ Pour yourself half a glass, and stay with me a little while/ But Warren, he shook his head as if she made some kind of joke./ Birches? On a winter night? No we’ll fill the stove with oak/ Oak will burn as long and hot as a July afternoon/ Birch will burn itself out by the rising of the moon/ And you hate a cold house same as me—am I right or not?/ All right, all right she said, it was just a thought.” Oh my God, anyone who has been married a long time could easily key into this insightful, painful song. If you’re prone to tears, you might start right here.

The song “Letter from Heaven” is funny and sweet: “It’s a great life here in heaven/ it’s better than the Bible said/ it’s a great life here in heaven/ it’s a great life when you’re dead/ And me I couldn’t be happier, oh the service here is fine/ They got dinner ready at half past nine and I’m going steady with Patsy Cline/ Just last night in a barroom I bought Robert Johnson a beer/ Yeah I know everyone’s surprised to find him here.”

“Handsome Molly” is a gorgeous tune, makes me think of Townes Van Zandt. “I park my cab on Water St/ Waiting for a fare/ Watching young girls in their first heels/ Step like colts across the square.” This album is elusive and heart-awakening, with wonderful support from all the contributing musicians. I would buy this album, I would go see Mark Erelli, I would buy the albums of Bill Morrisey, and I bless my good fortune to hear this album.            (Kimmy Sophia Brown)


Make it Better                           

11 tracks

Jeremy Lyons is a first-rate story teller with a good voice and a friendly pickin’ style. His songs are a little country, a little bluesy, a little folky. I love the song, “Clouds on Her Face,” an anthem written for the woman who finally takes her kids and leaves the abusive bum: “And there’s a cloud on her face when he calls/He don’t give her no space, it appalls her/to think of the life she could’ve had/If that son-of-a-bitch weren’t her children’s dad.” Sultry singer Eilen Jewell joins him on Greg Schatz’s tune, “Make it Better.” Their voices pour like maple syrup over pancakes: “I was wrong/ I was so wrong/Please come back and I’ll make it better.”  “Lazy Susan” sounds like something Johnny Cash might’ve done: “End of month is here/ And it’s that time of year/People moving in and moving out/ Just think what I’d be making/ If I could pay for all I’m taking/ Man, would I be loaded, There’s no doubt.” His cover of Skip James “Special Rider” reminds me of Dave Crosby’s “Long Time Gone”—haunting and full of passion. “Three Score and Ten” could’ve been in the film, “Inside Llewyn Davis”—a classic folk song about mortals on earth. I love this album, I would happily buy a ticket to see Jeremy in concert.       (Kimmy Sophia Brown)


Studio Recordings                    

9 tracks

Bailin and crew play a brand of bluesy classic rock that at its best recalls The Rolling Stones or, locally, The Dirty Truckers if the latter had never heard The Replacements.  Bailin has a little swagger to his voice, and the Bailouts know how to work a solid groove.  While some songs meander a bit too long, the band generally manages to pull off the difficult trick of letting songs stretch out while also maintaining structure.  These guys get bonus points for having Jen D’Angora sing on a pair of numbers, as there isn’t a song around that isn’t better for her involvement.  The only real misstep is “Roll It!,” an ode to cannabis that comes off as a bit juvenile.          (Kevin Finn)



The Problem With Living in the Moment                                      

11 tracks

I was kinda hoping that opener “My Ride’s Almost Here” was about one of those outer space suicide cults and that it would devolve into fifteen minutes of reverb-drenched feedback and howls of panic. That would’ve really made my morning. It’s not though, it’s about being melancholy about whatever. Here’s the thing: this is an indie-folk record. There’s a cello. The production and performances are great. I want you to like it. They want you to like it. It says so right on their bandcamp page: “This album is a labor of love and we love you dearly.” I believe them. I love them, too. I just don’t wanna listen to this. It’s like if a coffee shop was jail. That’s what it feels like to me. It makes me want to listen to Monster Magnet and break a window. Like every window on the block. But it’s lovely. Just not my kind of lovely. Do you like scones? Walking a dog on a brisk morning? Are you good at math? Do you own an infinity scarf? Then buy this record. If you like drugs and porn, pick something else.      (Sleazegrinder)


The Problem With Living in the Moment                                      

11 tracks

The music of The Grownup Noise is the perfect way to calm the mind and cool down the soul. I don’t think there’s any better way to describe it. Listening to this music, I’m chilled out, and everything that was bothering me gets pushed to the back burner. It’s music therapy at it’s finest.

It’s been a few years since the band released an album, but folks, this is well worth the wait. It’s like all their experience as a band—whether on the road for a tour, playing at venues like the Lizard Lounge, or sitting at home writing new music—has been poured into these songs. Their synergy as a folk band has only grown since I first saw them five years ago at T.T. The Bear’s Place.

Lead vocalist Paul Hansen’s voice is gentle and easy-going, but strong enough to be a presence among the varied instrumentation of Adam Sankowski, Todd Marston, Rachel Barringer, Dave Middleton, Katie Franich, and Kyle Crane. The way the music plays, everyone seems calm, as if they’re in no rush to finish the song. Drummer Aine Fujioka shows her chops by assisting on the vocals, and her drumming is both intense and light, showing her to be a powerhouse in a unique way. With all the growth and change this band has seen over the years, the result is a brand new shape for The Grownup Noise, an entirely new form that you don’t often find.   (Max Bowen)



11 tracks

MGC is a dude from Maine, no doubt about that. He’s got an acoustic guitar and every song is basically about wandering around in the woods thinking about some girl. I’m alright with that.Ellery has a warm, inviting vibe, and Conover’s delivery is comforting and mellow, like a minimalist Joe Purdy with a light Tom Waits hangover. My fave track is the minute-and-change “I Won’t Mess You Up,” a sweet little marriage proposal that I hope worked for him. The rest of it’s good, too. You get it, right? It’s country-folk. You’ve been to Portland. You’ve tasted fucking venison. You know what’s up.      (Sleazegrinder)



8 tracks

I have to say, it was a genuine pleasure checking out this CD. I like nicely done rock/ alt/ electronica, and I was taken away in the best possible way by these songs. The dark, velvet, smooth as satin,sounds of this CD provide plentiful atmosphere to dance to, trance to, make romance to, or whatever else you want or need.

Paul DePasquale delivers some cool vocals, guitar, and keys, joined by Robert Laff on bass, guitar, and keys, Christopher G. Brown on guitar and synths, and Rob Fusco on drums and synths. One tight, and well-polished band laying down some great, sophisticated, slick tracks. A winning combination for this reviewer. I liked all of it, and loved half of it, and that was just on my first listen. No bad tracks on this one.

They had me at “Breaker,”  the  title track, a hard driving electronic piece that I couldn’t help but move with abandon to. “Paperweight” is a soft, lilting track in contrast, which crawls into the ears, goes to the brain, and spreads to the heart, effectively haunting all. I didn’t mind a bit. “Grover” was an instant addiction for me with its hypnotic, Svengali-like groove. Also a standout, was “Dent.” Aural silk to seduce the senses. I’m completely won over by Breaker. I surrender to its spell… and will do so again, and again. Already looking forward to it!           (R.J. Ouellette)


Kite Stripe Records

While This Planet Spins

Beneath Our Feet                     

12 tracks

Maine-based folk singer Heather Styka makes the most of her voice, which is lovely; her song lyrics are imagistic, though dealing with themes generally not unusual for the folk-roots genre: heartbreak; finding joy in the everyday; concern for the planet; the changing seasons; the vagaries of city life. The guitar accompaniment is skillfully varied and the vocals vary also to suit the mode of the song. This diverse collection is sure to find favor among folk music aficionados.        (Francis DiMenno)


Pretty Bird                                

10 tracks

Cosy Sheridan says in the liner notes that this is the story of two years of her life, leaving one partner and finding new love with another. Her voice is like one I’ve heard at my kitchen table, the voice of a friend—wise and poetic and observant. Her lyrics are insightful, funny, and touching. Her songwriting reminds me of Patty Larkin. “The map is flat, the world is round/ some things get lost and some get found/ This is for those who do not know,  the easily lost who still bravely go out there and try/ I said I feel lost, you said, I do too/ I feel pretty found when I’m around you.” Her songwriting feels intimate and honest. “I’m in an unmapped land, but I know where I am when I am following my heart.” Her wit is revealed in the song “Welcome to Boston”: “I returned to the land where I was born/ Where the cautious driver is scorned/ They believe in the hand and in the horn/ And if the social fabric gets torn, well they got places to go and things to do, on the other side of you/ Important people coming through and you’re in their way/ Welcome to Boston. Have a nice day.” This CD is bright and beautiful and kind and sweet. When a songwriter writes their heart on their sleeve the rest of us benefit. I’m so glad I got to hear this, she is wonderful. Pretty Bird is produced by Cosy Sheridan and Charlie Koch, Kent Allyn, and the wonderful Eric Kilburn whom I heard at Swans Island, Maine, this past summer.      (Kimmy Sophia Brown)



4 tracks

I looked up this band to get a preview before I saw them live. The first thing I noticed was that PALS claim their music is a message of hope. Something cynical this way comes! They are also described as alt rock, so I thought I knew what I was in for. This Attleboro- based band pleasantly surprised me. Some of it is reminiscent of the alternative rock scare of 20 years ago, sure, but there are traces of metal and prog rock as well. Some of this album reminds me of the double trio era of King Crimson, but with half the musicians. This CD achieves a good balance of showing off good chops within the framework of a song and telling a story. PALS are not merely showing off for the sake of a round of high fives at a Berklee School of Music Milk and Cookies Spring Social Dance. If anyone wants to use that as a band name, hold the milk and send the cookies.                    (Eric Baylies)


Behind the 8 Ball                       

5 tracks

This cat is/was in the Boston Swindlers, a solid hard rock/blues band with so much grit in their sound you needed to brush your teeth after seeing them. I dunno, maybe they’re dead now, but head-Swindler Dwyer’s gone solo with this collection of burly blues jams. They follow a familiar path, from Muddy Waters to the Stones and maybe CCR, peppered with a little punk ferocity to keep things moving. There’s nothing modern about this, which is cool. It’s like Dwyer was bashing away at his tunes in, say, 1981, fell through a mysterious timewarp sinkhole in his practice space, and ended up in 2015. What’s he supposed to do, add some fucking autotune? No way, man. I already wear a rattlesnake for a necktie so this is not a crucial document for me personally, but if your tastes lean towards delta blues and you dig ZZ Top and barbeques and sweating and girls named Sally, this is probably gonna float your boat.   (Sleazegrinder)


Love Love                                    

6 tracks

Two alumni of the band Fuzzy deliver up a collection that is not your father’s indie-rock. Not with an antic horn section punctuating the singalong pop (“I Like You Weird”). Not with an ominous yet strangely cheerful chantey chronicling evil doings (“Murderpedia”). Not with a rootsy, Can’t-Go-Home-Again ballad (“Maryland”). Not with a reverential, country-inflected harmony vocal showcase (“Wide Open Skies”). Not with an off-kilter oddity of a confessional duet (“Sunday Morning”). Not with a halting folk-rock barn-raiser (“Hey Fella”). This release is truly sui generis. Highly recommended. (Hint: It’s available for free online.)      (Francis DiMenno)


Leaving Boston                        

10 tracks

In her third full-length, Christa Gniadek explores just about every aspect of love and relationships there is. From a hard lesson about not stringing someone along in “It’s Not Right” to the ever-important adage that real love doesn’t need lots of money or fancy doodads in “Love Like Ours,” to the title track, where the singer heads out of Beantown after the love is gone. I’d consider this a masters in matters of the heart, and I give her credit for the creative way she looks at it. It’s clearly something she’s been thinking about a lot.

Vocally, this one’s a keeper. Christa’s voice is weighted down with emotion in each tune, and a real beauty to the ears. The varied instrumentation is a nice touch too, and the production value is top-notch. If you’ve got an ear for a soulful tale that hits on all levels, this is the album for you.            (Max Bowen)


Live at Dusk                               

7 tracks

This does not sound like a live album. Black Oil Incinerator are perfect with every note, every change, every lyric. I don’t think there are overdubs like stadium rock bands did on “live” albums back in the day. I suspect that these guys just practice a lot. Some of the songs are kind of shoegazy, with some catchy hooks. Other songs are more psychedelic in nature, but with a kind of Lou Reed lead guitar style.  I’ve actually seen these guys perform at Dusk in Providence, but have no idea if this is the show I saw. I’m glad this night was captured on tape, or on the computer, or in a bear trap, or however this alleged “technology” the kids are talking about works now. Imagine what damage these guys can do in a regular studio with some time to spare. Like they chant on wrestling: this is awesome!     (Eric Baylies)


Fifty Rounds                              

11 tracks

“Irish Funeral” reminds me of the melody of “I Shall Be Released.” Mercure is an observant songwriter who seems to feel his way through life, and paints his songs with vivid imagery. “Someday they’ll bury me in that garden of monuments/ ivory and rising high/ just like death’s own tenements.”

He’s a singer/ songwriter in the category of Bob Dylan or Leonard Cohen—his strength is his lyrics. “The Ashes (Block Island Ferry):” “Throwing the ashes off of the Block Ferry/ they whip in the wind a bit like they’re married/ marry the secrets they hold/ guess it’s best that they never get told/ the wind and the water are cold/ I’m going back inside/ to try not to get sick for the rest of the ride.” He talks about life and aging in “American Dreams”: “When I hear ‘Ode to Joy’ my eyes get a little bit wet, Shakespeare wrote Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet, and Michelangelo painted that ceiling and cut David out of stone, Da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa what have I ever done?”

Tracie Potochnik adds a lovely dimension to the song “So Far Away From Home” with her strong harmonies. Mercure is a passionate folk voice from Providence, Rhode Island.        (Kimmy Sophia Brown)


Tripping Souls Productions

Don’t Waste Your Life             

11 tracks

With their second release, these Brit-poppers, on their opening track, hit us with a Jam-like declamatory which resolves into a bass-laden guitar-o-rama with a heavy brontosaurus beat, ending with a neat organ fill. “Sunny Afternoon” continues with the heavy guitar-bass-drum attack, and the remaining songs proceed in crisp procession: a ballad; a space-rocker with trippy reverb; a doomy plaint; a Beatlesesque jangler; a serious love song; an excellent hard-charging rocker (“Mary Jane”); a poppy drone-inflected toe-tapper; a Hollies-like love-lorn rocker, and a sock-o-delic reprise. Fans of British invasion pop will find much to like here.       (Francis DiMenno)



12 tracks

This is on wax, which is funny to me. There’s such a huge demand for vinyl at the moment and so few pressing plants that there’s six month waiting lists at some of ’em. So some 62 year old dentist is waiting patiently for his new 180 gram bullshit Pink Floyd reissue because they had to print up a few hundred Bang Bros! LPs, and it’s just some dudes fucking around with a drum machine. I mean, that’s it. Twelve tracks of a drum machine being sped up and slowed down. There are those among us who will take this seriously, of course, who will call it deconstructive art, but they are not people who you will ever love or even have sex with, so ignore them. Here’s what you should do, you should get a copy of this and play it during a dinner party with your friends and/ or family, and when they go, “Is this a joke?” get pissed off and tell them they’re just too fucking stupid to get it. And then throw them out. And then burn the house down, because I’m pretty sure Bang Bros are harbingers of the apocalypse anyway.    (Sleazegrinder)


Black Market Activities

A War of Light Cones               

7 tracks

Boston’s very own Phantom Glue have been around for at least six years but I am a little late to the party. Singer Matt Oates guttural roar reminds me of Venom or Celtic Frost, but the music is a little more modern. The riffs resemble Dillinger Escape Plan or Burnt By the Sun at times, but with less parts and more focus. The strength of this band lies in its diversity. Phantom Glue could fare very well at mosh pit show at the Palladium or blow minds in a dank room in an abandoned warehouse in Providence. This is a must listen for fans of any style of heavy music.              (Eric Baylies)


On the Sea of Suns                   

11 tracks

Imagine a really epic make-out session with a sexy alien in a room full of Chinese lanterns and magic carpets. Sitars float through the air like ghosts and hookahs come to life and blow breezy purple smoke like jazz solos. Funky drummers freak freely in tiny bars in Vietnam while cartoon cowboys gulp cobra whiskey and whistle at Raquel Welch go-go dancing in a golden cage and its 1974 forever. All this groovy shit is happening on this record. Half of it is a band, some of it’s a DJ, probably the rest is either drugs or black magic. There’s a couple vocal tracks that are a little less compelling because they drag you in whatever direction they want you to go in. “Candy on Sunday,” for example, is determined to take you to Funkytown whether you wanna go or not, and “Dimitri’s First Flight” sounds like a nerdy St Etienne, which is the only bad kind of St Etienne. But whatever, most of the album is just a free-flowing groove that sounds like the soundtrack to the best ever Emmanuelle movie. On the Sea of Suns makes turtlenecks and yachts feel like some kind of new religion.                  (Sleazegrinder)


Seizures Within Reason           

7 tracks

This album kicks more ass than Mike Tyson in a donkey factory. Throwing metal and experimental styles in a blender does not always work. Empty Vessels mic that blender, turn it up to ten and crank out what Celtic Frost or Unsane never really achieved. Seizures Within Reason is a hybrid that has a lot of miles left in it. This was recorded at God City Studio in Salem with Kurt Ballou of Converge, and this CD could stand alongside anything in their great canon. This album sounds so big it will jump out of your speakers and wrestle a bear, you know, if you happen to have one in your apartment. Spray some bear be gone and rock out with Empty Vessels, one of the best heavy bands in New England.    (Eric Baylies)



10 tracks

These bro-dudes refer to themselves as “New Hampshire’s premier potty mouth improv jam band fun blast.” Therefore, to put this into words that they would understand, I just returned to my computer from sitting on my potty and blasting out a turd that was more fun than listening to this album.  In my ten or so years of reviewing music for this fine magazine, this is far and away the worst thing I’ve heard.  Musically, they sound like the best they can hope for is a Tuesday night in a crappy suburban bar.  Lyrically, they are too childish for even the most simple-minded of second graders.  Every song is meant as a joke at the expense of transvestites, obese women, hookers, and so forth.  I subscribe to the theory that you can joke about anything and that when done correctly, you can use sophomoric or offensive humor creatively or to drive home a greater point.  Their fellow Granite Stater Sarah Silverman is a perfect example of this.  Hell, so are Beavis and Butt-head, the latter of whom would surely dismiss this record with a trademark “I don’t like stuff that sucks.”        (Kevin Finn)


Reap What You Sow                 

5 tracks

Not everything in rock ’n’ roll has to be about drugs. That being said, this record is about drugs. Leather Lung is a dope-rock band from Boston/Brooklyn. I can only speculate, but I’m guessing drugs has something to do with that, too. Probably some kind of Opium trail type situation. Anyway, this EP is a rip-snorter. It sounds like skeletons riding motorcycles and three-headed dogs that belch fire and naked warrior princesses lopping off heads with a battleaxe. If you flip through Leather Lung’s record collection you’ll probably find some Cathedral and Electric Wizard in there. Sabbath, naturally. Maybe some Steely Dan. Or maybe they don’t even listen to music, they just walk around like this all day. Maybe they learned it all from Jack Kirby comic books and Peter Fonda movies. Anyway, you’ll feel like you know Kung Fu after you listen to this record. I mean you still probably won’t get off the couch, but you’ll be convinced you could snap somebody’s arm if you did. It’s warrior music for dudes way too wasted for war.   (Sleazegrinder)


Intergalactic Love Story   

7 tracks

Now this is one hell of a long-distance relationship. This new concept album with a sharp punk-rock tone follows the story of the disillusioned Kim and space traveler V’Sana, from their first meeting to their battle to keep what they have found going, even when a few parsecs keep them apart. Lines like “Am I your destiny/ or just a destination,” and “I will follow, I will lay down, I will fight,” from the song “Destiny” really stick in my head, probably because those same thoughts have rattled around in my gray matter more than once. Speaking of matter, this album has some serious substance to it. Over the seven tracks the story takes a new turn, and the music that weaves it is a mix, with some fast-paced punk tunes in “Universe” and a more mellow tone in “Destiny.” It’s an old story with a cool new twist. Definitely worth a few listens. (Max Bowen)


The Best of Motern Media    

50 tracks

Full of short songs which are witty (in the most infantile way imaginable), this CD evokes comparison to Wildman Fischer, Jonathan Richman, the B-52s, and even the Brian Wilson of The Beach Boys Love You, except for the preoccupation with defecation, obscure comedians, and super-mundane details of everyday life such as pens, highlighters, and (un)broken freezers. It’s unlikely this collection will ever be anything other than a cult favorite designed to appeal to every guy’s inner 14 year old. (Francis DiMenno)

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