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Red Planet |
 If
there was a Teen Beat-style mag for white indie rock cats in
their 30s, the San Francisco-based quartet Red Planet would be
its perennial cover boys, with their gap-toothed mugs beaming from
posters taped to the bedroom walls of horn-rim-wearing record store
clerk chicks from sea to shining sea. RP sells unflaggingly
upbeat power-pop that snakes and frugs gleefully on waves of
chewy-chunky guitar riffs; the whole thing is so damned sunny and bright
that they should issue We Know How It Goes
to shut-ins in order to prevent seasonal light deprivation. As power-pop
goes, Red Planet comes down more on the side of Cheap Trick
or The Undertones than, say, The Bobbyteens or The Real
Kids; the Beach Boys-ish harmonies from space that open “Changing
Colors” and the woo-ee-woo keyboards on “Raining” might cause
a slight diabetic freakout in those allergic to hardcore pop (though “Raining”
is the most charming drug song I’ve ever heard). But there’s enough tuff
hooks to balance out the sweet, most notably on “Blackout” and “Goth
Girl.” And any record that sings the praise of fucking other guys’
girlfriends, burning yourself with cigarettes and huffing glue can’t be
all bad for you, can it?_____________________________________________________ |
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-Paul Gaita |