The Hate My Day Jobs – Mouth on Fire The Hate My Day Jobs – Mouth on Fire

The Hate My Day Jobs - Mouth on Fire (2015)

The Hate My Day Jobs – Mouth on Fire (2015)

Ms. Mitzi’s been on my ass for MONTHS to talk about this record and she’s been right to ride me ragged because this motherfucker is so good, so tight, so goddamn OUTTASIGHT! it makes me want to punch my dick in the face.

And that’s saying something because anyone who knows me knows I love my dick something fierce but when I pit his (mercifully) nameless weight against the sweaty swank and sweet, sweet swagger of Mouth on Fire his comparative inadequacies just fill me with a surge of bohunk frenzy that can only ever turn inwards or downwards, I guess.

I mean, it’s JUST! SO! GOOD!

And that’s the problem, man. It’s so rare to find a rock and roll record that succeeds at its purpose (that is, being a rock and roll record that rocks for the most part while rolling ever so slightly just here and there to keep the listener from freaking out on ‘too much rock’ which, Kwame informs me, can be a very real problem) that I have no idea how to articulate its merits without feeling like I’m underplaying the unencumbered awesomeness at hand but since I’ve already settled into another night, stagged I’m going to give it a swing.

GG help me!

The Hate My Day Jobs are a New York City band born and bred to make a racket that lifts the heart, shakes the spirit and girds the loins for total war. Once a three piece, the band expanded to four before receding back to their core but with the release of Mouth on Fire they now boast something like six members, three of whom are women and goddamn if those ‘Girls’ haven’t made all the difference.

See, the Day Jobs have always been a decidedly masculine band. Not he-man, woman-hating cockrockers or anything so despicable as that. Just masculine. MALE! and decidedly so and in their earlier incarnations that maleness revealed itself as a kind of jittery post-DC summer staccato groove that was well-worth soundtracking some ill-advised times but held too fast to a bygone adolescence. Now the band sound like men, hardened to cocksure unfuckwithability, shored up and counterweighted by keys and coo whips and it’d be chicken v. egg nonsense to resolve whether the prowess came first (the talent has always been) or the feminine balance but right now, right now, right now who gives a shit because Mouth on Fire kicks out the jams, motherfucker with a smoldering potency I haven’t heard since Hot Charity and as much as I love RFTC, I have to concede that the Day Jobs are a better fit for the flame.

That really hurts me to say, but it’s true.

(pours a cold one out to the tattooed strength of his youth)

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