I reviewed a B-Lines 7-inch a few months back (on Kingfisher Bluez) and whenever I dive into an LP following the short punch of a single there’s a cautious edge to it because I’ve been burned so many times (as in, the 7-inch rules, then the full-length practically betrays the 7-inch with its shittiness). Obviously it’s easier to put one’s qualities across in the former because it’s a brief burst of yr personality rather than a long-ass slog through yr psyche (which may or may not be interesting enough to fill 10-15 trax). Don’t assume the curse affects Opening Band, however. They simply don’t give a flying flipper-fuck about your droopy hipster-dolphin blues, much in the manner Fatal Flying Guilloteens didn’t, and their ambivalence renders them more powerful than the naked eye could ever ascertain. Remember the anger and power jocks at your high school used to have? B-Lines harness that kind of energy and PLUG it into PUNK, and this time it’s not the dude with glasses and a Descendents shirt who’s getting his ass kicked! It’s like old Makers recordings (before they were on Sub Pop; true nit/grit) fronted by a singer who doesn’t realize his mic is on. Oh, it’s on buddy, it’s definitely fucking ON! I want you to hear this record, if you don’t mind.
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