In the continuum of good bands with shitty names, Slutever rank pretty high near the top — just a hair above Mott the Hoople and Dogs Die in Hot Cars. With the release of their latest EP Almost Famous, the Philly-bred, L.A.-based duo thankfully rise above their self-described dumb moniker with wicked chops and snotty vibes to spare. Still only in their mid 20s, Nicole Snyder and Rachel Gagliardi (who share vocals/guitar/drum duties) are DIY wunderkinds; they've got a number of releases and tours to their name, and they also draw and design their hilarious, Beavis and Butthead-inspired album art. Almost Famous maintains Slutever's well-established goofy stoner ethos while also coming across as super polished and assured.
At only six songs, the EP (released in physical form as a tape) has a get-in-and-get-out philosophy that is efficient and super smart — always leave 'em wanting more! Album opener "Smother" smashes through the gate with crunchy riffs and an instantly singable vocal hook, reminding me of a popper version of a Pack A.D. song. The other songs on the EP are equally hooky: "Miss America" segues from dozy, almost stream-of-consciousness vocals into a sprawling chorus, "Maggot" takes a trashbag asshole to task in an addictively tuneful manner and "You Ask For It" is an instrumental grunge ripper that gives Ty Segall a run for his money.
There's a couple of vocal affectations that I could do without — in "Teen Mom," one of the girls sings the word "talk" with a weird Linda Richman-esque twang — and overall I get a sense that Slutever are working really hard at the brat thing, which can sometimes come across as a mite affected. It's not necessary; their natural snottiness comes across in spades, and musically speaking, they are more than capable of communicating their vibe through a deft command of tone and lyrical sensibility. This is a really fun tape that feels like it was gestated in the soupy fluids on the floor of fabled L.A. punk venue The Smell.
(Independent)At only six songs, the EP (released in physical form as a tape) has a get-in-and-get-out philosophy that is efficient and super smart — always leave 'em wanting more! Album opener "Smother" smashes through the gate with crunchy riffs and an instantly singable vocal hook, reminding me of a popper version of a Pack A.D. song. The other songs on the EP are equally hooky: "Miss America" segues from dozy, almost stream-of-consciousness vocals into a sprawling chorus, "Maggot" takes a trashbag asshole to task in an addictively tuneful manner and "You Ask For It" is an instrumental grunge ripper that gives Ty Segall a run for his money.
There's a couple of vocal affectations that I could do without — in "Teen Mom," one of the girls sings the word "talk" with a weird Linda Richman-esque twang — and overall I get a sense that Slutever are working really hard at the brat thing, which can sometimes come across as a mite affected. It's not necessary; their natural snottiness comes across in spades, and musically speaking, they are more than capable of communicating their vibe through a deft command of tone and lyrical sensibility. This is a really fun tape that feels like it was gestated in the soupy fluids on the floor of fabled L.A. punk venue The Smell.