Terry Malts – Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere Terry Malts – Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere

Terry Malts - Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere (2013)

Terry Malts – Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere (2013)

I just noticed an open wound on my leg.

That’s being dramatic…let me try again.

I have this gash on my leg that I just noticed and which I have no reasonable explanation for. It stings a bit and has that deep wet, sticky red rage look to it like your “sober” uncle on St. Patrick’s day or a dog’s dick, maybe. I don’t know. I’ve been fantasizing over the first few of a few too many well-deserved Ones that I got shanked (shivved? I always forget the difference) by an exceedingly weak midget whose shoebox children I callously trampled in a rush to board the G train this evening or maybe its, like, the start of a long-con gypsy curse or some alien technology escaping, calf-first in a desperate, abortive return to the mothership with news that earth is pretty much a barren wasteland of porn and beer and dogs and porn and bacon and fashion and Facebook and cats and naps and work and beer and porn and maybe some pretzels and this whole experiment was a waste of intergalactic resources, not to mention, six thousand years’ time and some seriously serious higher ups need to get their asses fired nuts first into the nearest event horizon to a paralyzing (the greys being nothing if not, reasonably, merciful) wave of psychic applause (which doesn’t mean they aren’t also dicks) to be spaghettified into the sloppy strings that make up the meat of Terry Malts’ new LP, Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere because clearly the baby mammoth fuzz squall pop punk (I hear they call it “Chainsaw Pop!” and I am fucking furious I didn’t reason that niche out first) at play therein didn’t come from Les Paul (if you know what I’m saying) for green-lighting the goddamn thing.

I’m still being dramatic…shit.

Forget it. Forget it.

Um, okay. How about this? Did you ever listen to the Descendents and wish that, rather than getting all jazzy on the Ramones’ Jan and Dean blitzkrieg, they bought a bunch of busted-ass replicants at a biker meth blowout sale, gave them full reign of the Wienershneitzel primer, fed them Schlitz and codeine and cardboard Hasselhoff cutouts and wild myths about how Greg Allman would reincarnate himself into a sullen Mass. man named Mascis and he’d make ennui sound like awesome and it’d be louder than the goddamn sun and then they threw some love and zombies out there on the table with whatever it is replicants use for sustenance (Rutger Hauer monologues?) because that shit is critical to the promulgation of the one true singularity?

Yeah, you did. And you were right to do so because Terry Malts totally fucking rules in a near and far punk android “Can anyone explain why there are, like fifty fucking Guided by Voices fucking records?” hope/hate/eh party way that doesn’t really tell me if this thing on my leg is infected or not but sure does make me feel a whole letter better about not being currently dead.

Also, “Comfortably Dumb” is better than that entire new My Bloody Valentine record.

Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere Tracklist:

1. Two Faces
2. Human Race
3. Life’s A Dream
4. I Was Not There
5. They’re Feeding
6. Buy Buy Baby
7. No Tomorrow
8. Walking Without You
9. Well Adjusted
10. Comfortably Dumb
11. So Serious

Terry Malts - Nobody Realizes This Is Nowhere, reviewed by Charles on 2013-09-12T03:35:09-07:00 rating 3.6 out of 5

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