Butt Socrates and R.A. West send out a bass line ripped from Mancini’s book and a lead guitar that runs on maximum wah à la “Haitian Divorce” (thematically, more “Don’t Take Me Alive”). The other wimpier guitar shrinks back and follows the Mancini bass until called forward for a fine string of single notes. Poopy holds down the drums with mid-tempo in-the-pocket punk rock perfection. All the while, Food Fortunata spins a little yarn about disillusionment and spoiled maturity. Food addresses an unidentified “you” — perhaps you — a person caught up in virgin naiveté of bubbly punk ideology. He then proceeds to foretell the listener’s future, playing the Ghost of Christmas Future and painting a picture of a man worn thin from the daily grind, paying bills far removed from the good old CrimestInc. days. Disappointed, disillusioned, and deluded by the idea that modernity is oppression, the man reaches his breaking point and waves the black flag yet again, this time with the “fun” sucked out of it — he wants “To wipe them off the map,” and to do so “With a plane or with a gun/ Now it’s not done for fun/ A minor revolution/ But where’s romance?” Thanks to that constant maximum wah, though, the song never loses its fun. The lyrics? Well, Food Fortunata’s been in the race for a long time, so I guess we’ll call ‘em wisdom?
• 100%zero records: http://www.100zerorecords.com
More about: School of Dicks
