Thursday March 28th 2024

The Runouts – “Pet Noises”

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The Runouts – “Pet Noises”

 

“I don’t know what we can do for next week’s items,” Andy Bang says, puffing on his cigar while barging into my office. “We need something spectacular, something with a real zing!”

“Ah,” I say, “I’ll make believe there’s an armadillo on fire… No, make that an accordion…No, make that an armadillo playing an accordion on fire at a death metal concert…And Satan appears causing everyone to flee the show, get in golf carts that start to levitate up to the moon.”

“What a ridiculous, incredulous, asinine proposal that is!” Andy roars, throwing a staple gun that nearly decapitates my head. “It sounds like you’ve run out of any sound ideas.”

“That’s it,” I say, ” The Runouts have a new release. I can make up some type of conversation we had- like I’ve run out of brain cells, like I’ve run out of beer so they’ll be no new items this week, like- run out and buy the latest copy of Thrash N Bang.”

“By Jove, you’ve got it,” Andy leaps in glee, “I knew you could do it. But don’t use any of this conversation. It’ll only make us look bad.”

“Not like anyone would believe it,” I say, and we both have a good laugh.

Let me quote what a respected music website, I think it was from Rolling Stone, said about The Runouts. “The Runouts are exuberant, emotional, earnest, excellent pop/punk- tuneful but gutsy; catchy but faster than the posted speed zone in the popular music world.”

Actually, I think I wrote that, but they played this, so let’s check it out.

A simple but effective, guitar lick reminiscent of The Buzzcocks gets “I Am Void,” working up a sweat and whetting our appetite. A chugging guitar, without a rhythm section, backs a Strummer-like vocal, barreling on towards us. “Did I fabricate the things I know?/ Am I discontent or putting on a show?/ I am void.” With the rush and energy of the spirit of ’77 bursting from the music and the reflective intelligence sprouting from the lyrics- I feel the title, a bit misleading. For what resides in the song is surely worth a lot. “I give up, man. I give it all up and toss myself in and fall into the void.” This song alone, is enough to give one a reason for living, but if falling into the void sounded as good as this, I’d be tempted.

With a lonely, fire truck like intro leading into a more blaring one, “Feculant Creatures” surges forwards with a passion sparked energy. “Feculant creatures/ they walk amongst us…Sliding out of their dark, slimey tunnels/ Loudly spewing waste from their faceholes.” This song races towards a melodic chorus. ” I wish I could laugh/ I wish I was kidding…But I saw one day/ Through my mind’s x-ray/ Much to my dismay/ All these people have shit for brains.” Sounds like someone realizing how stupid most of the people are around him, the only consolation I would say is, it’s more ignorance than maliciousness. And yes, I looked it up- the title means, more or less, “shitty creatures.” But this song is no where near what the title suggests.

After four charging drumbeats, “Flatliner” charges out of the gate with blasting guitars and in your face vocals. “I spilled my blood all over Portland’s streets/ The wrong alleyway at the wrong time/ Sometimes you gotta show your guts/ Sometimes you got to stifle your cries.” This is pure prime-cut pop punk with back up vocals soaring in and melodic guitar licks making an entrance but with enough grit, guts and passion to set the rails nearly skidding off the tracks. It ends with a reference to “White Man In Hammersmith Palais,” by The Clash- “Ha! You think it’s funny.” Actually, I think this song is pretty great.

“I think I’m falling overboard/ I’m not too worried about the tide/ My concrete shoes make a pretty straight forward glide/ Frustrated, annoyed and bored/ Keep it all bottled up inside/ I gotta keep tabs because it never really does subside.” This tune, taken at a less frantic pace, still contains a potent wallop with terrific, thoughtful lyrics. This song is called “Train Wreck” but it’s totally the opposite as a song.

“So whattya think of The Runouts?” I ask my editor/publisher Andy.

“You know,” he says, “This is some really great stuff. At it’s best it reminds me of The Clash, The Jam and Stiff Little Fingers. Basically, it reminds me of great, early British Isle punk.”

“Is this the conversation you want me to use in the review,” I ask him expectantly.

“Naw, this is too dull, too normal,” he says, “Why don’t you use that aphrodisiac, afro-wearing, affluent armadillo stuff you were blabbering about earlier.” As he blows smoke rings towards the ceiling. “You know, we may run out of ideas, someday. But I have the feeling that as long as there’s young people feeling passion, frustration and joy and feeling a discontent with life and society, plus a vision of what can or should be- why, we’ll be having music like this, we’ll be having something to write about forever.”

“That sounds great, boss” I proclaim, “Do you want me to use that to end the item?”

“Naw, we need something spectacular, something with a real zing.”

That would be The Runouts new album, Pet Noises, I believe.

(Slimedog)

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