Review:
Peach Kelli Pop - s/t
Burger/bachelor rekurds
Based on the cover of her album, the track record of her label, Burger Records, and her membership in Ottawa garage faves White Wires, you should be able to make an educated guess about what Peach Kelli Pop sounds like: She plays bubblegum punk, the type of post-Reatard fare that transparently owes its livelihood to The Exploding Hearts. Such assessments are accurate, of course, but let’s get even more specific: PKP sounds like a thrice-dubbed Archies cassette stuck in fast-forward, or, perhaps, the Chipmunks fronting Nobunny.
Yet beneath the surface there’s more to love about PKP (beyond the fact that she’s born to wear light denim vests and is, in all likelihood, the type of person who makes smoking look forever cool). Mostly, it’s in the carelessness of this collection: There’s little continuity between its tracks, the vocals emphasize addictively rudimentary melodies over refined lyricism, and there’s just enough scatterbrained musical ideas — the drum machines on “Society of Enoch” or the simplistic glockenspiel on “Panchito Blues II” — to keep things interesting.
Yet PKP’s carelessness shouldn’t be confused for amateurism; this collection is a startlingly competent sweep of modern garage tropes. The spindly guitar lead of “Original Sin,” paired with PKP’s teeth-rotting vocals, could easily be a Blood Visions B-side; “Julie Oulie” easily references girl groups without touching riot grrl, meaning it’s less squawky that you’d expect; the ukulele-driven “Tucson Song” avoids feeling twee by rounding itself out with classic video game sounds. This type of fun isn’t for everyone, of course, but if you don’t at least crack a smile while listening to this collection, I’ll secretly consider you a fascist pig or a girl-hating misogynist whose over-aggressive homophobia can be attributed to his own repressed homosexuality. Like, just sayin’.
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