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Joykiller | Ready Sexed Go | review | punk | rock | Lollipop

The Joykiller

Ready Sexed Go (Epitaph)
by Grady Gadbow

In The Man With Two Brains, when Steve Martin finally gets to nail old what's-her-name, he goes, "Wow, that was really... professional." It's a classic line. Now, I'm not saying The Joykiller is a sneaky whore or anything, just that they're real fucking pro. And that's nice. Then again, it's only rock and roll. Does all the good rock have to come from some half-retarded, misunderstood genius channeling space transmissions through a harmonica mic? Yes, it probably does. There's still something to be said for the pro outfit, though. Vocal harmonies and guitar effect drenching in a Concrete Blond sort of way are great... for me to poop on!

There are thirty-two songs on this fucker and while that in itself attests the work ethic of this rock crew, it plays like a greatest hits type deal. If they had scrapped about half of these tracks, I'd like the other half a lot better. The first four songs are pretty clever and good really. The forth is sort of like an old British reggae jam with this rising chorus about "SeventeeEEEn dead!" Which is dark and cool and I don't know who those seventeen dearly departed were, but they're dead forever, man, and it's fucked up, ya know?

Anyway, a lot of people worked on this thing, including what sounds like a full-on orchestra at one point, and how many sound engineers does it take to change a light bulb anyway? The world may never know...
(2798 Sunset Blvd. Los Angeles, CA 90026)  


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