Suicide Squeeze
For a while there Fullerton California’s Audacity would’ve been my first choice if I was hiring a house band to play a kegger. With their unbridled energy knack for crapping out anthems and presumed ability to funnel like champs they would rock my party’s socks off. But after releasing their first two albums on everyone’s favourite cassette dealer Burger Records they’ve graduated to the more established Suicide Squeeze label for Butter Knife and embraced some pesky maturity.
Like most awesome punk bands that have moved on to bigger things Audacity have sent their dirty garage sound to the dry cleaner to steam off the rough edges. If there were any obvious hits you could accuse this of being a major label audition but this album just makes it feel like the party now ends earlier for Audacity — and not because the cops were called.
The fun hasn’t been completely cancelled and some songs deserve “snot-nosed” status (“Pigs”) but they’re beginning to lose their identity. Instead of succeeding the Black Lips as the primo party rockers wimp-ass tunes like “Autumn” and “Red Wine (Anymore)” feel like they’re priming for an NPR desk concert.
If Audacity’s previous releases depicted a beer-bashin’ band riding high then Butter Knife is where they limit themselves to three Smirnoff Ices and one short bong hit.
