Underculture singer Blair Clark is unapologetic about his big mouth. On their MySpace page he rants about how they’re old enough to be the parents of most other musicians in town (or older), with his attitude heroically summarized by the words “yeah we’re old, so the fuck what.” But in terms of musicianship they rock harder than most of the punk bands half their age, and that’s what counts. An odd fusion of Jello Biafra and Bob Dylan, Blair has an angry bone to pick with the state of the world, and will not mince words to plant his verbal dagger firmly in the listener’s chest.
Their new CD, Ice Cream Socialism, is nowhere near pop-punk, although their rhythms are indeed quite catchy; this is the spirit of the original punk rockers of the late 70’s, whose vitriolic and unapologetic ranting more than made up for any unoriginality in musicianship. This is pure piss and vinegar set to slightly understated guitars, with the vocals loud and clear for a reason.
The disc kicks off with the songs “Methadone” and “Blow”, and it might not be coincidental that they have a few tracks with titles that reference drug habits. “Blood Of My Hands” is an interesting political ditty about a President who wakes up in pool of it and tries to wash it off; they don’t specify if it’s Obama or one of the Bushes, but it probably doesn’t matter to rockers as antagonistic as them. “Trail Of Tears” laments the plight of Native Americans (“the Seminoles they had it right / they stood up to fight”), complete with background chanting. They depart with an acoustic bit entitled “Vote!” that will probably make most listeners contemplate how much theirs may not count.