The Songs We Can't Escape
Peppy, wan lil' third-world tourism dispatch can't choose between whimsy and more-Fannon-than-thou haughtiness, settles for teasing pulse rates. Infinitely hummable, like Green Day's song of the same name, but I'd still rather be hyperventilating to M.I.A.
What's that old cliché? Nobody bought Ramones or Velvet Underground records, but everyone who saw the Ramones or the Velvet Underground went out and started a band? Well, N.A.M.B. caught Korn and KMFDM, then kick-started a demonic holocaust that nobody's bothered to crash—yet.
These dudes are lo-fi splendid the way indie-rock used to be: They sound like shit, but boast the gee-whiz hooks to hold onto your attention and squeeze and twist, hard. That they have a song titled "Radio Days" despite the fact that they won't have many is a testament to something. Fittingly, the next song on Warm Love and Cool Dreams Forever mimics the opener in an almost note-perfect imitation of Guided By Voices' "I Am a Tree."
Mood music for those coin-operated massaging chairs one can find in fancier malls, sometimes, with all the languorous connotations that description carries with it.
Daisy-chained, horror-flick synths leech barely perceptible static sprays, imitate busted foghorns, creepy-crawl their way to an arresting tempest. Turn away from this cold fury, and you'll immediately want it back bruising your earlobes.
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