Heads
“Cokefloat!,” the debut album from the jittery Glasgow trio PAWS, is a kaleidoscope of “Boregasms,” gleeful “got-your-nose” apathy and junkies with beautiful eyes. In short, it’s a grabbag of the best of ’90s college rock, flush with fuzzed-out guitars, fast-slow song dynamics and furious punk snarls.
Like finding a pog on the sidewalk, “Cokefloat!” is a time machine back to an era where kids were allowed to feel too smart to succeed, thumb their nose at the system from behind coffee shop glass and bash on rich people while playing expensive equipment without repercussion.
The good thing is PAWS pack all these contradictions in tight with a flair that suggests that the songwriting tricks of the time are still as gum-on-the-show catchy as they were more than a decade ago. “Catherine 1956,” perhaps the album’s best track, could have fit well in an alt-radio playlist aside Sponge’s “Plow” or any early Weezer single.
And while the title may seem as jilting as the album’s cover at first, it’s an apt precursor to the music. On “Cokefloat!,” PAWS captures the joyful glee of childhood collaborators coming together to create exclamation-inducing homages. It’s telling that, according to the band’s FatCat bio, lead vocalist Phillip Taylor first and drummer Josh Swinney met in high school, where they bonded over “an immeasurable love of punk rock.”
From somber strummers like “Get Bent,” to pogo-worthy mosh boppers, like “Jellyfish,” the band runs the gamut of ’90s sentiments and styles – railing against rich white girls, bemoaning lovers who don’t remember their favorite foods and generally finding that life outside the music isn’t living up to their expectations.
Lines like “I know you’ll never die, I’ve got your nose,” may catch you as lazy, until you start realizing this may very well be the point. PAWS know what they’re going for, and if you like this brand of rock ‘n’ roll, it’s hard to see you being disappointed.
Tails
It’s 4:30 p.m. on a Friday, and I can’t believe it’s that late already.
It should’ve happened by now. I’ve gone through all the stages of waiting for the reaction – enraptured joy, crushing disappointment and resigned humility. ‘Maybe they’re waiting,’ I think, as I schedule plans to hide in a carton of crab rangoon for the evening. ‘Maybe they want to surprise me for the weekend,’ the romantic in me counters, planning a meeting where “Take This Job and Shove It” plays and I collapse in front of an equally malcontented coworker crying for joy and rolling on the dirty cobblestones of Boston.
I’ve been glancing at my email like it’s a piece of toast that just won’t burn. I’m wondering how long it’s been cooking and waiting for a smell. Somehow hours pass in between with the bread remaining a light shade of beige.
“Cokefloat!” seems to ascribe to this passage of time. “Catherine 1956” is a great lead-off track, signalling that these FatCats may have real promise and that something might really happen this time with this whole revitalize the ’90s thing. The song has that bored, watching-the-clock angst I was born and raised on, and the next tracks – “Jellyfish” and “Homecoming” – are fun blasts of Pavement-inspired ’90s rock. But other than flashes of inspired fun, the album never lives up this initial rush.
“Pony.” is where it all takes a turn for the worse, even though it starts with a catchy call and response with a meandering little melody that captures the kind of protagonist whose “daddy still pays the rent” that it takes aim at.
Even the song is going great until the guitar tone flagrantly rips off Yuck’s signature squelching overdrive. That’s the sound of someone beating you there first, the moment where you look at your inbox and you know this isn’t the day you’re breaking out of the entry-level doldrums.
Verdict: Tails.
Pete Rizzo can be reached at prizzo@thoughtpollution.com.