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Fidlar

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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.

In Your Eye

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Fidlar

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This Friday night, November 9, in SF, Impound favorites Delta Spirit will play the first of two shows with Los Angeles-based garage punks Fidlar [the second shared gig is November 12th in Salt Lake City, UT).

DI didn’t know a thing about Fidlar but quickly got schooled with some web investigation, discovering that their name is an acronym for “Fuck It Dog Life’s A Risk” and their music is a fitting soundtrack to that snarling motto, paeans to getting wrecked, skateboarding and generally sucking all the marrow there is to be slurped down in this rough, weird world. We fell in love after just a few songs, smitten with their bite and succinct attack – reminds our old heart of pre-Tim Replacements mixed with the tear-it-up, weed stoked greatness of the Zero Boys and massive party balls of early Joan Jett and the Blackhearts – and the bare bones yet utterly effective video mojo they exhibit.

We’re getting to The Fillmore early enough to catch them this Friday and we’ll report back next week about what went down. Just based on this cursory look, it’s not hard to see how Fidlar is a band worthy of a rowdy ass, mildly possessed cult following that sports prison tattoo quality inscriptions of the band’s name on their bodies. Given the guitar smashing antics of Delta Spirit we caught at High Sierra Music Festival in July, we’re gonna wear clothes we don’t mind getting splashed with booze and blood as we get knocked around by folks half our age. Rock ‘n’ roll really will keep you young…sometimes. And we also thought it fitting to offer this selection of binge debauchery anthems on the last day we know for sure we’re gonna have a president who drinks alcohol come 2013. Chug ‘em while you can, kids!