Like an episode of The Ren & Stimpy Show directed by Lars Von Trier, Tyrannamen’s self-titled debut is equal parts slapstick, sexual and surreal. It’s a deliberately off-kilter mess, with a thrilling disregard for the conventions of the album format. Even by the standards of punk and garage rock this is a defiant record.
Choruses appear out of nowhere, and there’s a kind of contrarian cheekiness to the lyrics. The ironically titled Happiness is largely concerned with the shedding of tears, while the romantic implications of Diamond Ring are undone by the twangy perversity of the guitars that carry the song over the threshold.
Everything feels held together with old gum and Band-Aids, and the threat of disintegration hangs heavy over songs like anthemic opener I Can’t Read and album highlight Ice Age. Though the album is unashamedly lo-fi from the get-go, there’s an overstuffed glamour to proceedings that reminds one of glam and cock rock – a swaggering oversaturation that brings the piece ever closer to the point of total collapse.
Like a rusty nail rising to the surface in a jar of baby food, Tyrannamen is an unexpected shock of the most perverse order. But perhaps most surprising is not its perversity or crudity; rather it’s how goddamn lovable the record turns out to be.
BY JOSEPH EARP
