10 reasons to hate the new Tunabunny album Minima Moralia
Seems to me that most music reviewing is simply down to taking a stance and then justifying it.
1. It’s pretentious
“Topics considered include the subversive nature of toys, the desolation of the family, the ungenuinness of being genuine, the decay of conversation, the rise of occultism, and the history of tact” – Minima Moralia (a 1951 text in Critical Theory by Theodor W. Adorno)
Who wants to know about that? I have ‘Boxerbeat’ by JoBoxers on my iTunes. That’s good simple, well-crafted music. It ain’t going to confuse shit out of anyone, lest it to be to ask why that meandering piano instrumental section in the middle goes on for so long. It begins, it middles, it ends. It’s slightly above average Joe Jackson. Joe Jackson looked sharp. He knew how to crease his trousers. Not for him the sprawling wailing catatonia of ‘Hurry Up’, the opening track of Athens GA band Tunabunny’s second album Minima Moralia. He knew when to cross the road and when to stay put. He did not simulate breathless orgasm. Cymbals did not crash wantonly in his songs. Guitars did not jar. He did not run out of steam only to take big gasping gulps of air and start all over again. One track did not fall into another, or even want to. Unless it did. He fucking rocked but he did not confuse his rock, no sirree. And what went triple for Joe went quadruple for his cloth-capped soul fans, JoBoxers. Damn straight.
2. It’s not Coldplay
Fuck, what is wrong with these bands not wanting to be Coldplay – or even (better) being Coldplay. Imagine that: being Coldplay. Wouldn’t your life be one heady gig of waiting in departure lounges and never taking off? Tunabunny. Will. Not. Make. Money. They. Are Not. Serious. Artists. Not In. That. Respect. (Of Bring Boring). They cause me to type with too much punctuation. They think that faking it is not good. How is faking it not good? Poor Thom. They make my trauma hair (the hair that is no long there) whirl around and slap the air like a Jammy Dodger in a six-year-old’s mouth. Where are the structures? THE CENTRE WILL IMPLODE. These bands, they need to learn respect. They should not look to feline behaviour. Feline is not structure. They should all be like Coldplay, good solid wet-eyed dogs. Coldplay would never release a song like the following…
3. It’s not from Australia
Not a biggie, I hear you think. Not literally. It is if you’re not not from Australia. Bands from Australia sound like Paul Kelly and they sound like Vampire Weekend and if you’re lucky they sound like The Bats. Good solid dependable bands. Bands that won’t confuse the shit out of you and your car-wash hair. Other types of Australian bands do exist, of course. But they all live in Brisbane.
4. It’s not Wild Flag
I dunno about you, but don’t you get shit fed up with all these noisy new femme-pop and femme-punk bands not paying proper lip-service to 50 years of cock-rock? What the fuck is all that about, I tell you. If you ain’t swaggering like Richards and Perry (Joe, not Linda) then you ain’t swaggering shit. Don’t matter how gleeful you sound, nor how squealing and full of ferocious life. Don’t matter shit if your guitars sound all febrile and sparkling and rampant. If you ain’t got a cock to wrap yr bandana around then at least you could pretend. No? Now I know the complete list of Aerosmith band-members and … fuck man, ain’t nothing compare to that? Space age is all very well, but that metallic ain’t real. Pavement were only good when Malkmus ditched his worrisome imagination and began to realise jazz skronk was never gonna please all those grown-up GbV fans. or maybe it would? I grow so confused. Speaking of which…
5. Jealousy. Plain simple jealousy
Who are these people? Why don’t they live near me, no, not on the same street because then we’d have to fucking listen to them enjoying themselves till 8.30 fucking pm every evening, bastarda. I still wake middle of the night on a cold sweat for the days when Kim Gordon would stand by the Exit sign and make sure my only way out was leaping off the stage: for when Kim Deal would stop her band’s set and berate me for not dancing enough: for when alcohol and delusion and loud sweet music were interchangeable and the only mountains that existed were mountains ringed with promise. There’s a song on the new Tunabunny album, ‘Perfect Time, Every Time’, that reminds me of all that – Patti Smith with all that androgyny and artistic leanings kicked the shit out of her – and more.
If that ain’t a reason to hate, I don’t know. What. Is.
6. It’s on vinyl
See point 5 above. Vinyl equals excitement equals living artifact equals punk rock equals a 12-inch paradise that I will rarely storm again.
7. They invade your subconscious
And they don’t let go. Beware unwary people. Do not go anywhere near this album. Do not listen to it on the bus, the train, in the car, the bath, the playroom, the playground, anywhere near children, adults or adults that behave like children. Do not listen to it riding a bicycle. Do not ride a bicycle. Do not ride. Do not listen to it with headphones, do not listen to it without headphones. Do not squeal like a stuck Oasis fan. Do not wonder alone in the traffic. Do not wander alone in the traffic. Do not touch it with a barge pole, a snake, a child’s ‘gripping hand’, a bivouac. Do not think repeated listens will help. Repeated listens will not help. Do not think of The Raincoats. Do not think of someone from Scotland. Do not think of the natural world. Do not think of the unnatural world. Nothing will help. I cannot state this plainly enough. You listen to Tunabunny once, and you’ll be like Edmund with the White Witch. (Haven’t we all wanted to be like Edmund with the White Witch? I cannot speak for the men among us.)
Y does Y not exist?
8. Bah, humbug
These people are having more fun than me. There’s no getting round the fact. It’s odd I think that because usually when I listen to music when I’m writing about music I think that I’m having way more fun than the people who were making the music when they were making the music. But it’s patently absurd to think that here. Damn. Damn. I think I’m going to dislocate my two middle fingers RIGHT NOW so I have an excuse. ‘Happy Song’ makes me bounce up and down like nothing I’ve heard since ‘Happy Song’. ‘Electric Beach’ makes me chew dirt like nothing makes me chew dirt since ‘Electric Beach’. ‘Cotton Candy Steamroller’ makes me jiggle one bicep to and fro like nothing since … wait, that song isn’t even on the album. The tone! The sound! The texture! The free ice-creams! In the interests of disclosure I should probably admit that I am actually very fond of this album indeed, and it makes me weep fresh droplets of Chai Tea. Apologies to Seattle.
9. It doesn’t know when to stop
Wait. That’s a reason to hate it?! We all should be so lucky.
10. It’s shorter than the new Coldplay album.
Bastarda! (It’s a font type.) It means that if we ever went head-to-head I would need to bludgeon your dull pork-brain into sweet sour mash before we started because I WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO HANDLE THE FINAL FEW MINUTES. This album has already devoured whole sections of Brisbane. It will devour you too if you let it. Let the plaintive gorgeous multi-resonating harmonies begin!
There’s a new Tunabunny album out. If 20 people haven’t gone to their label’s website and bought a copy by the end of today (U.S. time), I’m shutting Collapse Board down. Seriously.