Lazy
American Workers, or more conveniently, LAW, are an Ohioan trio that makes
music much like you and your friends did before you learned how to play
the broken instruments your dad refused to buy for you in the first place…
defiant to a fault, rather than wait and wait and wait
for money and/or lessons, you just slam on the loudest record you got, plug
in, and wail away to make some of the noisiest shit this side of those yet
to be developed Relapse rags and slap on some butt ugly name and gurgle
till you choke and call it music. |
Or whatever…
Yeah, so the point is, who cares? It was fun then and these guys are having
fun now if only an inch beyond audibly. “Surf Lake Erie” is
at the onset, clownish shit by three beer guzzling goofballs including a
guy from GWAR – you’ll notice the tie in somewhere within the
first verse – with a knack for noise and phlegm inducing lyrics about
tattoos, booze, and Bruce (Dickinson). And every now and then there’ll
be a methodical rant about out of control foolishness, having at it with
fake people, gun control, human rights, and responsibility… all delivered
with semi-automatic speed and the utmost sincerity. The album’s in
and done in twenty minutes with most of the fourteen tunes a minute or less,
not including their perplexingly perceptive version of Maiden’s “Trooper”
at the end.So mix the silliness in song titles – provided you might
find something
funny in “The Tattoo Guru,” “Nobody Bags Bruce Dickinson”
or “Hens Are Downtown” – with serious if sarcastic spit-inducing
prose, an offensive production quality, and stew the contents together like
D.R.I., M.O.D., Mucky Pup or Murphy’s back in the days of old school
slam and “Surf Lake Erie” – could be “Lake Algae”
at first glance but then the smoldering
smokestacks kinda give way to what we’re really uncovering here –
anyway, yeah, it’s fun stuff for the fat-assed fire-breathing geezers
among us looking for the one excuse to break the binds of the beer tab and
take a stand. |
