What's Spanish for Circle Jerks? The minute you see the
dodgy pictures of denim-clad chubby dudes with side-burns hunched
over the mike at The Catalyst, you should pretty much know what
you're in for. But amidst the California popcore spewed from empty
stomachs flows steaming chunks of Spanish-language punk. Gruff
and meaty, with acceptable amounts of relationship stuff "Promises
Kept" es para la chicas. Ripping guitar work on "Catastrophe"
is tasteful, with a real nice use of delay and singer Hector
emulating a pissed off Jack White. This starts a great
run through the album's mid-section, followed closely by a highly
repeatable, T.S.O.L. goth flavored "Ya Se Nos Fue."
"Little Runaway" is pretty standard garage punk made
impressive by Flo's meth-head drumming. Amped up anthem
rock on the title track is interspersed with guitar scratching
and a stellar bass line.
Standout track alert! The laser's burning a hole through "Padre
Obrero" which substitutes the country roots we're used to
hearing from Social Distortion knockoffs with a supersonic
Ranchero beat. Initially no more notable than your standard Juanes
tune, it quickly kicks into heel-kicking gear. Hector's expressive
tongue trilling is surprisingly conducive to the loud fast and
snotty punk ethos. When they bust into the culo shakers like "We
Gotta Go" and "Tres Pecados," all bets are off
and the pit is hopping. If Los Dryheavers were on a Mexican
morning talk show broadcast from Miami, that creepy old cougar
would be wiggling her medically enhanced hips not because she
is required by Standards and Practices to boogie every time a
cheap Casio sounds its call like some hoochified Pavlov's dog,
but because the music moves her to bailamo euphorically.
Sexo, drogas y rock n roll!
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