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The Nipples | Weekend Toys | review | punk | Lollipop

The Nipples

Weekend Toys (Basement Records)
by Ewan Wadharmi

Once it is determined that the singer is actually male, he's got a little bit of a Dead Milkmen/Jerry Lewis thing going on, but they love it in France, and that's good enough for me. The nimble vocal delivery is a cool, aloof nerdiness that makes you believe when he says, "Save the drama for your Mama/ we're The Nipples, we don't care." Even if the brisk vocals had been graciously pushed forward, it's doubtful they'd be any more intelligible. But the carefree attitude expressed in the fast-paced, pit-ready punk negates any need for further explanation. The heavy-hitting instrumentation is powerfully addictive when backed by goofy, but surprisingly intelligent lyrics, "Who classed me as nominal? / who said she was ordinal? / how the hell do I become interval-ratio?" Of course, some reading is required, since you couldn't make this out, even if you could understand it. Rarely these days do you see a band like this that brings back the old days without sounding like a forced digital reproduction of a mimeograph.


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