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Pennsylvania's Pissed Jeans
played catchy abrasive garage-rock on
Shallow (Parts Unknown, 2005).
The anguished, frantic and deranged boogie I'm Sick is the ugly sibling
of the
catchy Cramps-ian voodoobilly Boring Girls.
Little Sorrell is just an emphatic, spasmodic rock'n'roll.
The guitar both devastates the already confused shout of Ashamed Of My Cum and soars above it.
The main riff of Closet Marine borders on cacophony.
The guitar elaborates a bit more in I Broke My Own Heart instead of
simply exploding in the listener's face, with the guitarist remembering
Jimi Hendrix's lessons.
The band is less convincing in the slow and grinding
seven-minute Ugly Twin I've Got that packs a lot less energy and does
not adequately replace it with anthemic chords.
On the contrary, the band is brilliant in setting the stage for the galactic
dissonance of Wachovia and the subsequent collective orgy,
a sort of pow-wow for hysterical junkies.
Their quintessential noise-psychobilly blends the destructive and the constructive power of Bradley Fry's guitar, first investing in quasi-abstract noise and then unleashing feverish riffs.
Matt Korvette's screams are often drowned by the torrential current of guitar savagery.
The Pissed Jeans displayed a more nervous mood on
Hope For Men (Sub Pop, 2007), a work devastated
by freer guitar noise despite slightly less psychotic vocals.
People Person is less visceral and less disjointed than the previous
album, but its desperate recitation and steady drumbeat are at the mercy of
hyper-psychedelic guitar effects.
With its frenzied tom-tom, cascanding riff and psychological second half,
I'm Turning Now evokes horror soundtracks.
In a move typical of their art,
the somewhat cleaner sound, however, does not benefit the most demonic rants,
such as A Bad Wind and I've Still Got You Ice Cream.
The eight-minute My Bad lacks the poignancy or the propulsion to
justify its convoluted dynamics.
On the other hand,
giving up the guitar and the drums for a piano has intriguing effects on the
nightmarish chamber drama Scrapbooking. The voice is alone in a
claustrophobic ambience created by sloppy guitar drones in The Jogger.
Streamlined and heavier,
King Of Jeans (Sub Pop, 2009) alternatively increased the doses
of violence and reduced them to the level of amateurish punk-rock.
The peaks are the unstable voodoobilly of False Jesii Part 2, the
visceral and tense Dream Smotherer,
the agonizing hardcore of Dominate Yourself,
and especially the total frenzy of Human Upskirt.
Half Idiot is the rare case of effective non-musical recitation.
Spent is the lengthy song du jour: just like its predecessors,
this plodding doom/stoner creature loses too much before the grand hot finale.
Too many of the songs deviate from their proverbial fury without finding
another viable format.
Honeys (SubPop, 2013) is a very trivial collection. The occasional spikes
of manic voodoobilly (Bathroom Laughter and Romanticize Me) cannot
redeem the amateurish feeling of the
comic psychedelic march Cafeteria Food and of the
Melvins-esque doom-metal Male Gaze.
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