Dusted Reviews
Artist: Coachwhips Album: Bangers vs. Fuckers Label: Narnack Review date: Jan. 19, 2004 |
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John Dwyer has long been hailed the master of his domain, chartering his musical career past the overpopulated seas of avant-rock and into the crowded arena of garage rock. But Coachwhips isn’t garage rock, in the purest sense of the phrase. Dwyer’s latest act is rock and roll stripped down to its collective underwear, stains and all, deserting pretentious notions for the simple desire to provide a raw, soulful experience.
Variety is not Coachwhips’ spice of choice. Throughout its tenure, very little has changed, and that is a decidedly good thing. Get Yer Body Next Ta Mine, while still a stellar album, suffered from what seemed to be the same song rehashed again and again. Bangers Vs. Fuckers doesn’t struggle in this regard. The songs on this album are innovatively distinct and standout as triumphs on their own. While Coachwhips are in no way jeopardizing their sound, their latest at least acknowledges Dwyer’s varied past. At times you can smell the distinctive odor of Pink and Brown in the songs, a discordant guitar riff here and there; perhaps Dwyer is waxing nostalgic on his days spent in pink body suits.
Dwyer’s guitar is still inundated by treble, and his ubiquitous usage of the power chord is always a welcome guest. His guitar play on this album is more Delta blues than on Get Yer Body Next Ta Mine, and all of it maintains the celebrated lo-fi recording that made the past releases so enjoyable. Thankfully, one of the lesser points from past releases, the keyboard, has developed into a distinguished and important contributor to Coachwhips’ sound. No longer is Val-Tronic, the keyboardist, settling for fiercely simplistic parts; there’s no predicting now how she’ll tickle her ivories.
Dwyer has always provided listeners with a lively vocal attack, and this album is no different. It still sounds as though he’s singing through the receiver of a demolished telephone. Coachwhips’ lo-fi aesthetic fosters a thick and potent atmosphere, similar to that of Le Shok, making up for the album’s less than ideal 20-minute running time.
By Andrew Sadowski
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Get Yer Body Next Ta Mine
