What’s less punk than using a Latin phrase in an album title? I dunno, maybe drawing titular inspiration from an esoteric statistical concept used by power-suited economic boffins in the shiny corridors of Wall Street? But when Lazertits say their record isn’t punk intrinsically, they’re right. Nothing is punk just because it is – because punk isn’t anything, per se.
So what is Lazertits’ debut album, if it’s not punk? It’s a rock’n’roll album. Dirty fuzzed-up ambivalence in ‘Yeah Nah’, pun-happy Bikini Kill melody and social commentary in ‘Foreshore’, a hint of Your Wedding Night in ‘New Friend’, and garage-spiked, barbed criticism in ‘Cherry Flavour’. A shot of weird rhythmic syncopation barely hides the ‘Ironclad’ riff hanging around the back of ‘Bad 4 Bizness’ and ‘Crying at the Tote’ is the logical emotional successor to Digger and the Pussycats’ ‘Pick-up at Pony’.
You can dance your proverbials off to ‘Puddles’, ‘Nice Guys’ won’t come last in any race of straight-up rock tracks taking the piss out of pretentious new age tossers and the grind of ‘M8house’ is almost enough to quell distant memories of mouldy food, unpaid electrical bills and feral housemates.
Lazertits. Res ipsa loquitur.
8/10
