{8.5}

buy it!

{Under the Needle}

We knew the end was coming. It was only a matter of time before the righteous would transcend our brave plastic world. Only we all thought that those zealous enough would ride Snuffalufagus to the other side. Well, fuck you and fuck that, I will ride with the virtuous on my koala to freedom!

If this is going too fast for you step back, take a deep breath, eat shit and die. If this isn't ringing a bell friend, I pity you — all hope may be lost. I'm talking about Chicken Head Talking Diamonds, fool. This is The New Mexicans' latest release. This recording makes me suspect that these guys smoke Virginia Slims.

Two years ago I saw the New Mexicans and thought very little of the band. They sounded sloppy and dull. Then I happened to catch them at a show they played with +/- and man, could that even have been the same band? It was, and as a result I was very excited to hear their full-length release. I was a bit taken aback to see that it was produced by Phil Ek. He didn't strike me as the right person for a band that can easily be likened to Drive Like Jehu or Harriet the Spy (two of the best post-hardcore bands ever!). I think of guitar-pop when I think of Ek.

Good thing I had nothing to do with this record, because the production is great — everything is precise and urgent. The guitars don't play off or against each other, they fist-fight and roll through the dirt. The opening track, "Ride your Koala to Freedom" is so chuck full of energy and rage at the ridiculous parody that we've all become that it makes me want to run down the street, punching pompous/self-important do-gooders who I think might listen to NPR in the face, and drive an SUV through a mall in the suburbs yelling, "Damn Kids!" at the top off my lungs as the carnage spreads before me like peanut butter.

My early favorite on this record would have to be "Shit Hard, Clownshoes." This song, possibly written for Laura Bush or John Walsh, is a minute and forty-one second blast of driving bass and angular guitars that are sparse at first but swell over the short life of this great song, which teaches us that strangers will make us dig our own graves! These tikes don't fuck around; they rock like they're from the Northeast — with vigor, son!

This twenty-eight minute and ten second full-length comes out of the gate like an escaped zoo tiger with a fat kid in its sights, and never falters. It's one of the most fun records to come my way in ages; the New Mexicans have taken a powerful genre of music and mastered it well, very well. I heartily recommend Chicken Head Talking Diamonds for anyone who 1) grew up on hardcore but now feels too old and silly when they try to listen to their Raw Deal or Gorilla Biscuits records, 2) kids who are having a hard time at school, 3) family get togethers or 4) anybody capable of thinking who wants to rage out for a spell.

Ride your koala to freedom, son!