Only Amy's (no last names) Farfisaful fills would prevent you from strolling
right past this Cincinnati quartet's garage. And only on "Outta
Control"
do they wring out more than 96 tears, working up a pitch of wailing nausea
proper for a song that may be the sick, indie version of "Fill Me
In."
But after 17:16 of extended play, what do we know about singer/guitarist
Mike beyond the fact that parents would find him a much less suitable
suitor than Craig David? Even the very name of the band advertises a
certain dead end and would have defied all biographical investigations
in the days when Altavista was the search engine of choice. Mikey seems
to like it that way too — first song boasts "I'm living in
a disguise." That
explains why he spends seven songs hiding from us behind that infuriating
tin can filter on his voice. Tons of American musicians, from Linkin
Park on down to willfully obscure post-post-punkers like Mike, like to
wear this particular mask because it frees the voice from commitment.
But while that's an appropriate, perhaps even necessary response to a
post-everything universe, it impoverishes the music's affective economy
(unless, of course, that's your ostensible, musically legible subject
as on !!!'s moving "Me and Giuliani…"). In short, barring a
7-inch single
of "Outta Control," this underly modest release simply doesn't
warrant a return investment from anyone who's not an Ohio punk specialist.
Watch out for those specialists, though, Mike. They're gunna try to know
you one way or another. And don’t think withholding a surname is gunna
stop them either. They know where Cincinnati is. They know the address
of
the Shake It record store. They’re coming to get you.
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