Album: The Dwarves Are Born Again
Genre: Pop Punk
File under “the band with boobs on all their album covers“.
Not much to say about this one. Dwarves have made another unwelcome attempt at prolonging their 25+ year career making immature, irreverent, uninspired pop punk. While earlier albums like “Are Young and Good Looking” and “Blood, Guts and Pussy” had a welcome dose of humor in their irreverent lyrics, “The Dwarves are Born Again” is as stale as it gets. I tried like hell to get into this album, but it left me completely bored. These guys are trying way, way too hard. Their formula worked just fine 20 years ago when it was some young punks singing about getting laid, fighting, and getting high, but when songs like “Your Girl’s Mom”, “I Masturbate Me” and “We Only Came To Get High” are presented by middle aged men, I think more about sad, alcoholic bachelors and less about funny, edgy punks. Did I mention the riffs are boring and recycled?
Rating or Recommendation: 3/10
Artist: Joyce Manor
Album: Joyce Manor
Genre: Pop Punk
It’s funny how the same things you once loved about a person can eventually make you hate them. Last Saturday, after working a twelve hour shift in the pouring rain, I was sitting outside my girlfriend’s house, smoking a cigarette, trying to work up the nerve to dump her. I leaned on my car, watching a duck standing in a storm drain. The duck stared listlessly ahead at the running water. What was the duck thinking? Where were his duck friends and family? Did he know that there was a bonafide lake less than a mile away? Why did he not acknowledge the human staring at him? Was I a witness to the duck version of an existential breakdown?
[quote] I finished my cigarette, went in and began asking my girlfriend the questions that had been occupying my mind, starting with that perennial question: “Do you ever wonder about ducks?”. She had been expecting ‘a talk’, which I had very conspicuously been avoiding for a month, and stared at me incredulously, wondering just what I was trying to say. [/quote]
“What do you mean?” she quizzed me, disbelieving. I wasn’t speaking in metaphors. I was actually wondering about ducks. Maybe I felt like that duck. Maybe I thought she felt like that duck. Maybe no one but that duck ever felt like that duck did that night, standing in the warm March rain, in a graffiti covered sewage ditch in a mid-sized college town, feeling all of that muddy water roll over webbed feet, and staring at the cheap plastic siding of apartment buildings.
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