Fidlar make one want to hot-wire a red sports car and kidnap your grandma for a Hangover style debauched weekend in Branson, MO – oh it can be done BYOB (booze, blow and/or balloons of nitrous), especially since you’re granny, freak that she is, looks all sweet and innocent. More simply, Fidlar’s self-titled debut (released January 22) (pick it up here) may be some of the best cheap thrills since someone figured out No-Doz was more fun chopped up and snorted and chased with a few chugs of NyQuil. Everything on this joyously nihilistic, punky hootenanny yelps with exclamation points, a clarion call to do little else but grab ass, skate and get loaded.
“I just want to get really high/ Smoke weed until I die/ I don’t ever want to get a job/ ‘Cause I’m fucked up today and nothing’s wrong!”
However, it’s all a bit of a faint because there’s actually a decent amount of thought and emerging skill to Fidlar. Sure, judged only by their lyrical content one might come away thinking these Los Angeles youngsters are drunken, potential date-raping pieces of shit – high brow, evolved stuff is not the topic at hand. But, the music is taut, edgy and hook-tastic, and cuts like “Five To Nine,” “No Waves” and “Max Can’t Surf” hint at the same subterranean sturdiness that powered The Jam and The Ramones. Hell, no one thought The Replacements would turn into the guys who made Pleased To Meet Me and Don’t Tell A Soul when Sorry Ma, Forgot to Take Out the Trash came out, and Fidlar carries a similar hints of greatness – snotty and shit-faced but turning a crusty eye towards broader horizons. The pummeling piano interjections and surfy overtones add cool ruffles, and nearly every cut sweeps one up in a giddy, misbehaved wave – high tide indeed.
Having screamed about cheap beer and budget cocaine with Fidlar and a mildly possessed crowd at The Fillmore last November, DI can attest to how much bloody fuckin’ fun this band is live. They really sweat it out in a delightful way and the tunes work even better in the flesh, which is impressive given what a blast the studio version is. If ya like it rowdy and naughty you got a new favorite band, kids.
A note to the makers of Spring Breakers: When the DVD comes out include an option to soundtrack your click-click-pop-pop T&A assault with Fidlar’s eponymous album instead of shitty Skrillex and the other Bomb Squad thieving folks on the theatrical score. These guys just get the mood way more right. ‘Nuff said.