Silly synthpunk and comic critiques of your own corpulence are all fun-n-games til a diabetic diagnosis demands disbandment and excessively puerile punk seems petty in a post-9/11 world. Somewhere between the antiquated candy beats and his constant bug-eyed creaking and gauche goof-ups and Yoda impression it'll likely prompt some cringe, but it's more opt to conjure up delight and guffaws. And he covers alotta ground in his own way: he brainstorms a school where gym class is nonexistent and Assuck plays the prom, boasts about his bad record collection, befriends some black metal dudes, plugs Philly while acknowledging its shitty side, sings one Happy Birthday to his "perverted and weird"/bearded/"fucking disgusting" friend Ralph and another that's applicable to any human, celebrates a friend's fertilization while remaining wary of breeding and baby poop. And at the end he becomes, like, a band. Artists caught while playing What's That Fragment Of A Cover Song: Eddie Money, Pavement, Fugazi, Wu-Tang, Dexy's Midnight Runners.
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