Pissed Jeans – Honeys Pissed Jeans – Honeys

honeysI hate the fucking gym, man. Fucking HATE it. Would rather eat a tin of stale dog dicks than trudge the twenty minutes to that sweat-stained, juice bag, tramp stamp haven for the chance to huff and puff and wheeze for forty-five minutes to an hour divided between an irrational machine the lady and I refer to (fondly) as “The Skinny Bitch” and…I don’t know…free weights, I guess.

But I do it, anyway.

Because if I don’t go to the gym then I will turn into a pattern bald lard. A Dorito stained portrait of American waste Susan Powter’s spent her whole terrifyingly blonde lifetime rallying late night infomercial audiences against. Stinking of bacon, smoke and booze. Impotent. Useless.

I’m not being hyperbolic. This shit’s totally fucking true. You see, I used to be fat. Real fat. Two hundred sixty-five pale whale pounds of nanny, nanny fat fat and the only way I broke loose from that overwhelming waist line was a steady diet of eating disorders (thanks for the two-fingered tip, REDACTED!) and psychotropic drugs. It’s my heritage, man. Most of my family’s fat and if they aren’t now it’s only on account of some unmentionable condition, a timely death, elective surgery or Weight Watchers.

Don’t let my mother tell you any different.

Our bloodline isn’t big-boned. It isn’t stout. It’s fat. And being fat fucking sucks.

So I rally against it every (other or two to three) day(s). I fight every ill-gotten American sloth and get on that vengeful “Bitch” and I curse and I spit and I grunt and I swear and I sweat just like the man-titted piggy I used to be because I’ll be goddamned if I’m ever going back to a size 44. And though I find no pleasure in any piece of the experience (even after, you “runner’s high” LIARS!) I will admit that it’s getting easier.

I have Honeys now.

The fourth LP from black comic pig champions, Pissed Jeans, is exactly the album my white (once) middle class straight male ass needs to get up and grunt through the wholly uninteresting shame of being me (but not, really). It’s blunt, crass and mean. It groans, bucks and fucks with the listener, ebbing and moaning from manic killing sprees (as in the relentlessly perfect blast first scat attack of “Bathroom Laughter”) to loathsome morning pages (the very next track, goddamnit) with the bobbing, babbling, broke bottle stupor of the glassy-eyed middle management man whose time at the bar is about to come to an abrupt and unceremonious end.

But it’s better than itself…far better than the band has ever been. On Honeys, Pissed Jeans allows themselves to dilute on occasion, to relax. Gone are the endless teeth-gnashing screes (see vain opuses “Vain,” “My Bed”), the cover to cover lye throat roaring of Matt Korvette. This is a record made by a band that has, inexplicably, found itself maturing. Yes, it’s pissed. Goddamnit right it is, but there’s a divergence from the plodding noise mania that made their previous endeavors such a delight in a world without The Cows.

I want to believe it’s the influence of ZZ Top (why not?). There’s definitely some good old Black Flag scrumming up in there. Maybe some Samhain. Samhain? Please be Samhain. Glenn Danzig can bench, like, 400 pounds, man.

Honeys Tracklist:

1. Bathroom Laughter
2. Chain Worker
3. Romanticize Me
4. Vain in Costume
5. You’re Different in Person
6. Cafeteria Food
7. Something About Mrs. Johnson
8. Male Gaze
9. Cathouse
10. Loubs
11. Health Plan
12. Teenage Adult

Pissed Jeans - Honeys, reviewed by Charles on 2013-02-19T06:51:04-08:00 rating 3.9 out of 5

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