Time Out Timmy – Jah B-sides
Time Out Timmy is one of my favorite bands I write about.
I reviewed their album, over a year ago and enjoyed their mix of hardcore and punk along with a tiny bit of alternative and even, country in there that I found easy to remove with dental floss and q-tips.
They reminded me of one of my all time bands, X, in a way; with their wild abandon attitude and male and female vocals.
But I was uncertain where their heart (style) lay.
And intrigued enough to ask them to open up for my birthday show, last May, and what I took from that was- 1) This is a band that embodies skate punk and 2) This is a band too wild, too crazy to ever book again as an opening band.
I know that my bland descriptions of their sound wouldn’t cut it. So let’s toss our hats, along with our heads into the air!
There music is like a monkey riding a rocket to the moon with a firecracker up his ass, that explodes when he hits the outer atmosphere. Shattering all his sacred, monkey guts galore!- above the heavens. But they glow and glisten and light up as they slowly descend and fall, blinking on and off like fireworks, to the earth. And each monkey organ that lands here- why, they just symbolizes each song on this recording.
And sure, we all probably have extra monkey butts to spare. But who hasn’t need a spare monkey part in times of need? In times of downtrodden despair and deceptive parts appropriation.
I PROCLAIM THIS TO BE A MONKEY SCROTUM FREE SAFE PLACE!
(Editors note: I strongly suggest you get on with the songs.)
I scrotumly, agree.
“Stormtrooper” starts off all calm like, like sipping chamomile tea on a Sunday afternoon, but that ambiance soon disappears once it lights into the devastating groove, then you’re face to face with unremitting squeals and pleas and puddles of bodily discharges. This is skate punk of the highest caliber. “I am, I am, I am, Stormtrooper.” Yes, this may be an Antiseen cover but T.O.T. has it’s way with it in- Oh, so many lewd and lascivious ways. The desire and feeling in this song is delivered much like someone frantically searching for a place to pee or someone scrambling away from gunfire. If that doesn’t sell you, let’s settle on- this song kicks mighty, mighty, powerful ass.
Roaring forth with four, to the floor, garage chords blazing and barracuding away, “Jah Boi Blues,” regurgitates, vomits, spews upon your nice, neat home entertainment center sounding like a lost b-side from a Iggy & The Stooges outtake 1972. There’s some gargling with razorblades hardcore vocals followed by some high falsetto ooh’s like seventies soul band The Chi-Lites just wandered, stoned, into the proceedings and started crooning away. Then Amelia lends her background vocals and damn, now it’s like X has followed them into the studio, too. (I would give anything if X and The Chi-Lites recorded together!) This song is rough and raw and wild, highly original and follows no preconceived, accepted ideas. The last rush of this song pushes the joy to another level. One of the best songs I’ve heard all year.
“Little Strings” butts out with buzzsaw guitar, beating jungle drums and coarse vocals that make me think of local band The Grubs, which I think is a very good thought to have. This song does not let down in it’s pushing, rushing energy and lights up the rockets in all the bums in all the lands, monkey’s or not, setting them on high alert for detonation. There’s some nifty, scrambling guitar work that could qualify as alternative or noise, that is, if it’s wasn’t so wild and free and forceful. “Pull my strings” the song asks, but this song pulls no punches with it’s chaotic, anarchy inspired monkey butt explosions of guitar strings, beaten to a pulp drum skins, vocals ripped from the throat and slung at a song that blinds with pure manic, genius desire coupled with idiot glee.
The cover of this EP has Emilia, or Emilio as she is known to her Italian friends, chugging a can of beer while perched on the shoulders of her husband, Timmy, while he grimaces in pain or, more likely, delight.
A solitary figure in shades, leather jacket and leather hat with a cigarette protruding between the space between his chin and nose, lingers in the background. I even spy a Jim Morrison black and white portrait there as well.
For me the cover represents the fun, the wildness, the offhandedness, the humor, the dedication and the belief that is synonymous with punk, the true meaning of punk, the best part of it, anyways.
Or this recording could just be an aural representation of a surrealistic, post-modern conceptual art expression of an exploding monkey butt. Butt I think not.
T.O.T., much like B.T.O., is a great band and I don’t think you need any superlatives or genre defining from me, for you to be aware of the fact of how great they are- I’m thinking, just your two ears should suffice.
(Slimedog)
