Sorry, Gnar Tapes. I found out about you. It’s over. You’re done. You were way cooler before I looked at your website. I’ve heard of a couple of your bands (R. Stevie Moore, The Memories, Gap Dream, Snow Wite (sic, like stiff-collared journalistic dicksuckery and sick like my boner for pink-wig transvestitism // Lolita twerkage // disenfranchised castrati pop. Ariel Rosenberg grunted and waved at me one night in front of a liquor store (we talked about his preferred last name at a party earlier – the answer’s Rosenberg, not Pink). But Gnar Tapes. You are gnar-fucked in the cool department. Because I especially like this mystery band Petty Things of Tempe, AZ.
Sure, it might be hard to remember Petty Things’ name (Lovely Bad Things anyone?) but this twee pop murder ballad is worth a few tastes. Is it 5 pies good? Fuck you! I can’t blow my pies on my first review. But their new digital 7” Bored that features the title track (plus two more I’ve yet to hear) only costs $2. That’s 40% the price a slice of pie at Brite Spot (which I like much less than this song—PLEASE COOK MY FUCKING HAMBURGER AND STOP TRYING TO GIVE ME E. COLI.)
See, Gnar Tapes. I got you figured out. You take some classic Brandon Welch Crocodiles (Sleep Forever-era), some JAMC simplicity, some ringing Frank Black guitar riffs, blend it with pseudo-nostalgia for late 2000s indietronica (MGMT’s “Kids” comes up when I hear this song; those I-V-IV-V chord progressions have been earning BJs for thousands of rock and rollers). Then scuzz up the vocal melodies, wring out any leftover machismo, sparkle up those big ol’ bar chords and you got yourself a recipe for sweet headbangin’ lo-fi. If MGMT remixed this three or four years ago, an army of blank-faced, ear-budded phone-scrollers would have download the shit out of it on iTunes. It’s got hooks. It just doesn’t dangle them in your face like a pompous douche and act like humanity is hanging on the verge of your last text message – seriously, fuck you, pop music, fuck you.)
But it’s too late. There’s no real money in this banana stand. Yuppies like me have stumbled onto Gnar Tapes homebase (I mean homepage.) Bands, take note: You can’t copy this shit and resell it to me now. Nope. No can do. This zombie moron is slowly infecting your quaint sub-genre with pseudo-intellectual boredom, predictable breeding patterns, dusted Ikea furniture and overly-insured normalcy. Sorry. You’re done. Gimme all your Gnar Tapes. I’m fiending for your anti-banality, your bedroom harmonies, your re-recycled powerchord progressions, your Calvin Johnson-worshipping fuck you to Ryan Seacrest and Lea Michele…Gimme gimme…Me so hungry for quick gooey delicious songs like this one… *
According to mystery band member, Jordan, expect a full-length cassette from Petty Things this spring (Gnar Tapes.)
* Sorry to everyone making good bedroom noise pop. You’re going to have to conquer new territories of obscurity now.