It’s been a long time since I heard a new record that made me say, “Wow–that’s actually something new!” There have been a few really good albums so far this year–The Builders And The Butchers; Kurt Vile; Jenny and Tyler–but there hasn’t been one so far that sounded like nothing I’d heard before. Until now.
The Dirtbombs have, apparently, been around for a long time–in different configurations. I’d never heard of them before now, but they seem pretty well respected. Anyway, “Party Store” is their first album to grace my ears, and holy crap. The record is something like a techno version of a Stooges album. Or like a Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ version of a Clash record. Or like . . . Well, like nothing I’ve ever heard before. Relentless, propulsive beats move each song forward in disco style, borrowing dance beats and rhythms, but the vocals–when they bother to show up–sound like Lou Reed or Iggy Pop or Nick Cave, only more excitable. Slightly more excited, anyway. The music is rough, hypnotic, simmering . . . Like a grease fire about to start, or a lit fuse slowly winding across the floor.
This album is phenomenal.