Cut the crust off of your toast and butter that baby liberally. Eat it up you little lollipop you. Though, to be fair, Son of Salami is also asking for that Bacon City on the side. Not just yeasty treats ‘round here. That’s right: a whole town, all salty and crispy and fried. And like some pork on the plate, Bacon City is too short lived and too good. Crud in the eyes wiped clean, all four songs are breakfast jammers, each helping wake those slumbering limbs and sleepy muscles. Personally, “Get Me Out of America” is where it’s at. And yeah maybe it’s because America is so fucking sad and overwhelming right now, but it’s also because the songwriting is as impeccable as you’re likely to find anywhere else, regardless of fidelity/$/taste/etc. And the rest of the album isn’t something to shake a stick at either. It ALL gels. Such harmony is hard to find within this lo-fi racket, so be peaceful, down that toast, cop a cassette, and press play with that outwards intent of infinte playback.
More about: Son Of Salami
