Monday, September 19, 2005
Institute - Distort Yourself
Institute - Distort Yourself: 3.5 out of 5 Stars
Over the weekend I had the immense pleasure of listening to Institute's Distort Yourself several times over. Well, "immense pleasure" may be somewhat of a stretch, considering that I find the album good more for its comedic qualities than its overall rockability.
That's right, this album is funny; hilarious, in fact. Nevermind that this disc is chock full of rabble rousing guitar riffs and cathartic vocals that made both Bush and Helmet famous. If one only listens to the tunes and melodies, this release comes across as one of rock's greatest.
However, what satirizes this supergroup's legitimate attempt at rockin' the casbah are its lyrics. Yes, it is true that the words to many of the songs on Distort Yourself are juvenile to say the least. Afterall, aren't many an 8th grader capable of lines such as "this boombox needs batteries," "There are only so many ambulances to go around. There are only so many accidents. It's the universe coming down" and "when animals attack you need fire?" The text, itself, may not seem all that unsophisticated, but as soon as you hear Gavin's vocals sing lines such as these you can only mutter, "Is he serious??"---especially after crooning the lines 4 or 5 times in one chorus!
To be fair, the album is not bad, and it has quickly grown on me. Despite this lyrical hilarity I speak of, by no means has Institute committed the faux-paux that Nazarath made with their song 'Hair of the Dog' ("Now you're messing with a son of a bitch!"). Fans of Bush and Helmet will immediately recognize each of those band's influences upon the new amalgamation known as Institute. However, whether or not Distort Yourself will be canonized as one of 2005's finest musical achievements, the answer can easily be determined right now to be "no."
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1 comment:
A well designed review! Chalk might work on a blackboard but when describing quantity "chock-full" is, I believe, the correct verbage, relating to crammed to the limits. I was a proofreader in a previous life so pardon the Monkish comments.
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