Review Summary: A great album ……………………………....................Psych!!
I don’t think anyone could disagree that breaching boundaries is the calling, nay, the duty of every visionary. After all, if boundaries stopped every man and woman, we’d never be able to savor the fruit of the looms of Henry Ford, Walt Disney, Stephanie Meyer, Chevy Chase, Oprah and other famed anti-Semites. However, sometimes boundaries are needed in order to preserve the parts of history that don’t need redacting. Imagine the chaos that would have ensued had we elected an actual ladywoman to lead this glorious nation on its path to global fermentation, or if that CIA-injected AIDS didn’t finally derail Charlie Sheen’s career. And then there are the people in the middle, ones who challenge boundaries that benefit no one and advance no thing. So it goes with Aussie merry men Bing Fizzard and Eddie Izzard and their unique and unreplicable brand of progressivegaragesurfsoulfunkfolkrockRnbmariachime tal.
Since springing suddenly from the untamed outback of Kylie Minogue’s locomotion, the scrappy little group have released 12 albums in five years, making it into the Guinness World Book of records as the most persistent and frequent Meh! in history, dethroning previous champion, the ovaries of Mother Kardashian whateverhernameis. But does that constant recurrence mean the quality of their albums has strayed from one mind-numbingly samey derivative fuzzball after another until you can feel your eyeballs leak marmite and liquid nitrogen?????? Don’t bet it on it, boyo!!
Now look, I didn’t want to not love this. Who knows, in another life I could have been a low-level clerk in a small accounting firm, whiling away my days amid paper towers, and once a year, taking a vacation in the Italian countryside with my boyfriend Lou, a tri-racial pet hair-dresser, righteous pescetarian, and aspiring opera singer…. hair-dresser. And every other night unless it’s the Sabbath, we could take some poppers and make gentle yet insistent love on a shag rug while letting Sting Blizzard and the Cheez Wizard take us away to a land faraway so close. Alas, this is the world we live in.
Now Compost old pal, you might ask, do you regret listening to these blazers of well-trodden trails?
Nah.
But would you have minded terribly if you hadn’t bothered?
For Shizzard, my Nizzard!
To summarize, listening to this album has quickly and effortlessly joined jumping off a cliff into an oil spill and swallowing Chinese fireworks on the list of things I do after screaming “Fuck It!” into the hollow starless night.
