The Runouts – “The Runouts (2020)”
The Runouts got their name from the great toilet paper catastrophe, or what is now widely recognized as the great Butt Kleenex Drought of 2020. The pandemic that caused people to hoard toilet paper as they feared they would never be able to let their buttocks sneeze, freely again.
(Editor’s note: This is untrue as this band has been around for several years).
The Runouts conceived of their name as a metaphorical comment on how, in our modern society, that is until the great Butt Kleenex Drought of 2020- We normally, never run out of commercial commodities to sell, while the priceless things we value, those of the most worth- such as love, family and friendships and, of course, most likes on our Facebook page, we seem to run out of- out of all that is good- entering into a vast, vacant vacuum of wasteland only inhabited by cactus, small lizards and abandoned seven-elevens.
(Editor’s note: This is mere conjecture on the writer’s part. We welcome any response from any cacti, small lizards or former owners of seven elevens).
Let’s now partake of some musical morsels-
“Castles” starts with a busy, bustling, burbling bass part buoyed by a diligent, dexterous, driving drum beat meeting up with a punchy, powerful, punctuating guitar that sounds delightfully, daringly Devo-esque to me. The verse leads to an, almost as gorgeous as me, chord change that I’d describe as a “chord solo”. “Cold postulation,” (I looked it up, it means a suggestion or assumption), “I played my turn wrong. I missed the mark again.” This song hits the mark perfectly, hits the bullseye, hits me baby one more time, hits me with your best shot. This song is sure to be a hit.
“Spare Change” is a reflective, looking back kind of song tinged with a sense of regret, with a lovely, mandolin-esque mosquito guitar line. “Memory lane when you’re alone, is lined with weeds and grass and concrete under other people’s feet…Potholes and faded lines and cracked concrete and burned down houses…I wanna walk away, I wanna run away.” Carriane Palumbo, also known as C.E. Skidmore, lends her strong vocals on this melancholy, touching song. “I wish I could change,” states the vocalist but there’s nothing I would change about this nearly perfect tune.
On a side note- B flat- there was a magazine called “Spare Change” in Boston a while back. I submitted some short stories to them with homeless characters and received the best rejection I ever got. They said I was, “too harsh and depressive.” And I thought, “Gee, I’m too harsh and depressive for paper dealing with homelessness. That’s pretty impressive!
“The Candiru Fish is a small catfish purported to enter the, ahem, intimate orifices of unfortunate people who urinate into the Amazonian waterways. Supposedly, the fish mistakes urine for water expelled from the gills of marine life…When asked the fish had “No comment.”
“Candiru Stomp” has ambiguous lyrics about a person the writer appears to have a minor distaste for. “Take a long walk off a short, syphilis and glass filled pit. I hope you get covered in legions and get shards up where you shit… I hope a Candiru swims up your huge butthole and chode. And when it expands itself, your dick and ass explode.” This song is chock-full of warm holiday sentiments. “Sit and spin on an auger bit for fun. You’re a fucking asshole so you might as well have one.” I like this song a lot but I’d be wrong if I said I liked it as much as the writer hates the protagonist/villain of this song.
Right now, I suggest you run out and by this new release by The Runouts. Notice my clever word play on their name? And unlike the title of this album, it doesn’t suck like the year it refers to.
So run out to your local big record store like say, Tower or Virgin.
What? There’s hardly any more big record stores?
What? There’s hardly any more big record companies?
So, the sources to rip off musicians are being depleted? Though still, the musicians only get a small slither, a tiny wafer of what their art is worth.
Hey, over a hundred years ago Vincent Van Gogh was cutting off a bit of his ear as a gift to a prostitute. About sixty years ago writer William Burroughs was cutting off a bit of his finger as a gift to a fellow he had a crush on. Then later shot his wife in the head during a drunken game of William Tell.
(Editor’s note: Will you ever get to the point? Will you ever run out of unrelated things to say?)
And the answer is a thousand times No!
As long as I have ink in my pen, I will strive to commend the music I believe in. As long as I have blood in my body, I will champion the music I feel is worthy of such high acclaim. As long as I have breath in my lungs I will scream at the top of my lungs from the tallest mountain to rejoice in my discovery of some great, new punk music- such as exists on this new release by The Runouts.
(Editor’s note: We apologize for any discomfort or confusion that Slimedog has created with this review. We want to assure that it is of our utmost desire of myself and the stockholders of Thrashnbang Ltd, to provide a genial, entertaining discourse on the musical performances and recordings we encounter. I can only hope that in the future, Slimedog becomes more cognizant of our high (and drunk) standards).
(Slimedog)
