Spits, Woven Bones, Mother of Tears | Double Door | Rock, Pop, Etc | Chicago Reader
This is a past event.
When: Sun., Sept. 6, 9 p.m. 2009
Price: $13, $10 in advance
Not only has Kalamazoo, Michigan, given the world a surprising number of abnormally large Dutch people, it’s also produced the best garage-punk band (shit, the best band, period) of the decade: the Spits. Sure, they owe an obvious creative debt to the Ramones, but the sound they’ve evolved—ultracatchy vocals that fall somewhere between a bark and a chant, frantic ticking-time-bomb hi-hat, dystopian robot-queef keyboards, and simple, thrashy guitar and bass parts that belong on the soundtrack to a post-apocalyptic skateboard video—is like nobody else’s. Not since Leave Home has a record stayed in my personal rotation the way every single Spits album has. Brothers and core members Sean and Erin Wood—they play guitar and bass, respectively, and share vocals—present a loutish cave-brah exterior, but they crank out dumb-smart, funny-serious post-juvie punk about hanging out and hanging on, making great music out of bad times as well as good. The brothers relocated to Seattle early in the decade, and then in ’04 Erin moved to LA, which slowed the band down—their fourth and latest self-titled album (released by Recess and Thriftstore, it’s usually called “School’s Out”) is their first in five years. But the winning formula stays the same—ten songs, 15 minutes, and lyrics about blowing up your teacher’s car, living in a van, and ripping up the streets on your skateboard. —Brian Costello



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