Thee Tsunamis have long haunted parts of the Midwest with a retro B-movie vibe of swamp monsters and haunted hotrods. It seems the trio has gone further back in time with their kitsch without forfeiting the forward movement of their music. Saturday Night Sweetheart may have the sheen of three women in 50’s garb but the gnarly music demystifies the idea that women just want to be treated like dolls. Openers “Female Trouble” and “Trash Talk” do much to transform the old girl-band standard by completely destroying them with a punch to the jaw. Yet Thee Tsunamis never run from those doo-wop love songs that make the band so unique in a scene crowded with garage-tinged bands. It’s a strange dichotomy that a man is in no way positioned to speak about, only to admire. But before that, I’m just going to kick back with a beer and a white sleevless, sitting on the hood of my car and blast this out the windows. Maybe slick the hair back and find a black leather jacket. Cruise the streets and hope to land in a time when Saturday Night Sweetheart wouldn’t be weighed down by semantics but praised for being a ballsy rock and roll record showcasing a band that continues to grow confident with each passing release. I better shut up — I’m just a “Dummy” and shouldn’t be talking.
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