Within 10 seconds of dropping Pissed Jeans new album King of Jeans into my CD player I was pulverized. I’ve never been overpowered and held down by a CD before. I mean the choke hold was placed and I decided my best defense was submission. By the time I got to the end of the album I felt beaten, battered, abused, kick and spent. This album isn’t just good, it’s fucking amazing. Pissed Jeans operate on their own plane of musical battery. It’s poetic in it’s depraved, self inflicted violence. The disgust is turned inward, and pulled from the guts is a pummeling chaos. But Pissed Jeans are probably to sullen to actually give a shit.
Two years ago Pissed Jeans entered the lexicon of punk rock with the stunning drudge filled Hope for Men. Some how these four rust belt rockers wanted to bludgeon their unsuspecting audience, replete with lyrics exacerbating the mundane. But it caught on and created a buzz. I admit that at first I didn’t really get it. It was just so self evasive, but under the reverb toned guitars and slurred, grumbled vocals was an explosion waiting to happen. King of Jeans is that explosion. It forgets none of what made Hope for Men exceptional but turns the loathing into a celebratory party. The music is almost perverted, but not objectifying. It’s the perversion of self. And rather then sulk in their room they’re going out in public, seeing movies, pounding the pavement, and worshiping punk rock fashion. But only from afar. The Pissed Jeans are way too nervous, self aware and awkward to actually talk to anyone.
So where to go when an album does the unthinkable? We embrace the shit out of it. This album is the epitome of a new era, the isolated digitally induced and poorly named “information age”. It marvels in it’s absurdity, but it’s realistic in all the ticks, twitches, and shame. Pissed Jeans may or may not be tongue in cheek in their delivery, but it doesn’t matter because the music is going to hit you over the head. No one is doing that anymore. Maybe they want to bore you to tears. Maybe they want to chase you from the room, but they sure have a hell of great way of going about it.
We could talk day in and day out about their influences and many of those names would pay homage to the record collections of these four goof balls, but really who gives a shit. Music doesn’t come from thin air and if it did, it wouldn’t be that interesting. Most of the time, it isn’t very interesting. Pissed Jeans aren’t trying to engage you on any level but there own. And it may seem like it’s at the bottom but no one’s fucking touching this.