10 Songs, 41 Minutes

EDITORS’ NOTES

Lurking amongst the more genteel indie-rockers of the day (Decemberists, Bon Iver, etc.), are a handful of bands that not only refuse to give up the punk-rock ghost but are beating its spirit with a beastly fury. Philadelphia’s Pissed Jeans, moving to the revered Sub Pop label for their second release, Hope For Men, are not for the faint of heart. The sounds here are reserved for those who like guitars caked with sludge and grime, who like a voice yowling with complete abandon and bile, and who appreciate a layer of grit between the swooping guitar melodies (yep, melodies) and the assault of head-cracking snares and floor toms. You can hear the roar of bands from punk days past like Jesus Lizard, Bad Brains and Black Flag, and just as some of those groups spit out darkly humorous lyrics, these boys from PA are raging against the ... um, the addiction of scrap booking ... and, uh, the need for a good hit of ice cream. Whether you find them irritatingly contradictory or brilliantly earnest as far as their lyrics go, it’s hard to get around the fact that the music ... well, to use an old-school term, shreds. And snickering while you shred ain’t a bad way to spend an afternoon.

EDITORS’ NOTES

Lurking amongst the more genteel indie-rockers of the day (Decemberists, Bon Iver, etc.), are a handful of bands that not only refuse to give up the punk-rock ghost but are beating its spirit with a beastly fury. Philadelphia’s Pissed Jeans, moving to the revered Sub Pop label for their second release, Hope For Men, are not for the faint of heart. The sounds here are reserved for those who like guitars caked with sludge and grime, who like a voice yowling with complete abandon and bile, and who appreciate a layer of grit between the swooping guitar melodies (yep, melodies) and the assault of head-cracking snares and floor toms. You can hear the roar of bands from punk days past like Jesus Lizard, Bad Brains and Black Flag, and just as some of those groups spit out darkly humorous lyrics, these boys from PA are raging against the ... um, the addiction of scrap booking ... and, uh, the need for a good hit of ice cream. Whether you find them irritatingly contradictory or brilliantly earnest as far as their lyrics go, it’s hard to get around the fact that the music ... well, to use an old-school term, shreds. And snickering while you shred ain’t a bad way to spend an afternoon.

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