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The Eyeliners | No Apologies | review | punk | Lollipop

The Eyeliners

No Apologies (Blackheart)
by Ewan Wadharmi

No apologies, huh? OK, I'll start. I'd like to apologize to all the bands I've slagged over the years. You see, I just got new speakers, and what do you know, it turns out none of you suck after all! It's not you, it's me. No hard feelings. You're all tops in my book.

The Eyeliners certainly don't suck, that's just their irritating (like burlap boxers) one-note wonder of a front-woman singing sibilantly out of the top of her head. The band is top-notch, rip-snorting, fire-farting punk. Inventive guitar work, nice low-end diddling from the bass and tight-ass drumming that may save a life some day. But by the time they get to the half-decent cover of When In Rome's "The Promise," you don't even care that she can sing pretty. She hasn't bothered to use the skill thus far, so don't bet that it'll last, because brother, it don't. At one point, it sounds as though she's whined so much, she's weary of her own voice. Of course, if you're into high-pitched monotony with that feminine hiss, and think a diaphragm is just birth control, then by all means, knock yourself out. Speaking of knockouts, they're all knockouts to a man, but then punk ain't pretty. The Eyeliners are making quite a buzz in circles that would never include the likes of me, so maybe I'm way off base here. Considering Joan Jett, AFI, and No Use For A Name are staunch supporters, it must just be my speakers again. I apologize.
(www.blackheart.com)

 


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