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Black Lips, Arabia Mountain
Vice Records, June 7

06/09/11
By Eric Saeger news@hippopress.com



I can’t in good conscience pronounce Black Lips the Ramones or Sex Pistols of the new millennium. They’re not subversive enough, to begin with, either politically or musically, and the sounds on their newest LP are a microwave potluck of the above-mentioned oldbies along with New York Dolls, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Iggy, old Stones, that sort. But these Atlanta-born knuckleheads do deserve some sort of designation of “such-and-so for the texting generation” — I mean, they make out with each other on stage (they’re all boys!), barf and take whizzes on the audience, and that’s worth something, because no generation has ever needed a barfing/whizzing-on more than this one. Maybe it’ll make ’em mad, you know, and put down the Tamagotchis, get two-foot Mohawks and get to scaring off all those Sarah Palin church-geek straights once and for all. So here, how’s this, they’re hereby dubbed the Banana Splits of the 20-teens, you know, Fleegle, Drooper, Bingo and the other one. The songs are great this time, too, whether they’re combining the Dropkick Murphys with the Dolls (“Family Tree”) or summoning via Ouija board the Animals (“Noc-A-Homa”) and/or the first Ramones LPs (many places). A —Eric W. Saeger






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