The Volcanos

E: Where are we, Bottle? 

B: Interesting question, Skip. If i didn't know better i'd say you're on page 189 of our 4th book, whereas i'm passing through the other direction following the scent of peanut butter. 

E: What? 

B: I've got a feeling our realities are about to bifurcate. Still, probably best to keep you in utero [snap] i mean on your own timeline. 

E: Wha- 

B: Shhhh. We'll do it quick like. We're gonna float around here in the Philoso-sea and banter about Columbus until you pass out and some minion pirates take you back to shore. You'll probably dream of 1990 Meg Ryan and wake up on a Monday feeling like you had Cigarettes for Breakfast. As fun as that was the first time around, this time i'm also going to pass out and wash up on some desert island of questionable virginity Asking Alexandria why i'm Faded Out and it's not getting better. Quick, grab that passing volleyball and paddle 'til you puke.... 

... so much sand in places i don't want sand. Yep, here i are, steaming pile of mountain in the distance. At least i have no idea what to expect. That's not true, some things are immediately apparent. 

First, The Volcanos achieved nowhere near the notoriety of Volcano, Volcano, Volcano, volcano! or even The Volcanoes. According to this last.fm page i'm reading there are at least 8 of the damned things. You got your short lived Meat Puppets/Sublime side project, a Japanese Thrash Metal band, Chicago Noise Rock, Jamaican Reggae, Brazilian Thrash, German Stoner Rock, Euro Dance, South African Bubblegum Disco, and a Beatdown band (whatever the hell subflavor of Metalcore that is) from Ohio. Are any of those volcanos this volcano? I don't think so, i mean not to judge by the cover, this literally says it's 1988 Santa Barbara, California. Once you finally narrow it down by naming band members you get to the discogs page calling it Power Pop, so we're definitely in double-digit disambiguation territory here. 

Mullets and hairspray, what could possibly go wrong? Spin, spin, spin the what appears to be rarely listened to black circle. 

I'm nothing if not a piece of maritime debris, so that's fun, but what the hell is Side A? 3 kind of standard power-pop boy-likes-girl songs, then the aforementioned Rescue Me, then the confusingly agro It All Comes True Tonight, and then we end up really angry about the state of geopolitical tensions and crumbling global democracy. Totally expect that from Looters, but who would have guessed The Volcanos would spontaneously erupt in this fashion? It seems like a lot of people weren't particularly happy to be living through 1988. I was in 3rd grade, so i think my biggest worries were practicing my cursive handwriting in my big chief pad of paper, making a Christmas wreath out of strips of cut up plastic trash bags, and the possibility that the 6th grader in a Freddy Kruger costume might successfully eviscerate me at recess. 

1988... oh yeah, Iran-Contra indictments, the Pan-Am bombing, Soviet Uniony things, Stephen Hawking's A Brief History of Time, upsetting stuff for sure. Ok, what's Side B going to do to us? 

Oof, 80s Reggae Rock about the consumerist stuggle to impress your high-maintenence girlfriend. Not surprising, but blech. Never thought i'd be glad for a track 2 cooldown. It works for Side B, and Man On A Mission has a fascinatingly clairvoyant Fountains of Wayne vibe to it. Cool Scooter Rebel is the good kind of silly. 

There's a lot of great stuff on this album, but all together it's not my thing. As the self-appointed youngest Gen-X ambassador, i feel i must elaborate that my generation is completely bifurcated. You got your Alex B. Keatons, and your Shaggys from Scooby Doo, and never the twain shall meet. You got the Zappa fans and the new breed of businessman Zappa hated. Corporate dronyism (not a typo) vs teenage wasteland. Invisible barricades too high to climb. These guys are not on the same side of the fence i'm standing atop were i to climb back down. Lots of things we can agree on like melodic bass lines, raunchy guitar solos, New Wave inspired chugging and a proper adoration of 60s Pop, but there's just something so fake and contrived about the actual sentiments. I wanna grab Greg Brallier by the suspenders and shake him until the self-victimization oozes out of his ears like tree sap. 

I can't describe it any better than this. It's like the message is that it's a good thing to dwell on the ephemeral trivialities of dating and money under the safety of our narcissist helmets, because we just aren't qualified to run the mundane world of tough decisions and perseverence. Bite me. Can you even begin to contemplate the situational irony of hating the tourist trap that exists at all because it is the only way you will actually justify spending your money into some other local economy? Don't blame your girlfriend or the travel agent for dragging you there when you can just as easily do something more meaningfully adventurous for only a minimal amount of effort on your own part. You're not seriously concerned about your debt to income ratio or your credit score, so stop using that as an excuse to have a miserable time on vacation. 

So what if it was all an elaborate ruse by a billionaire to trick you into jumping into a volcano in exchange for mining rights? You got to spend a few days with pre plastic surgery Meg Ryan and the volcano will just spit you back out anyway, plus you won't be a hypochondriac anymore! As an absurdist comedy i give it 2 thumbs up, but if you're seriously telling me that's how you think reality should actually function, then hand me that barf bag you're carrying all those tacky plastic souvenirs in, i'm about to make them even tackier. You don't have to be duped into a new appreciation for life, you merely have to stop demanding the rest of the world cater to your psychosomatic misery. 

I'll give you a real example. I don't hate my job at all. I do hate the way my coworkers interrupt, complicate, and complain about having to participate while i do it. I'm not up there asking them 30 questions about a sales order, but in the middle of counting they interrupt me to essentially ask if a town is north or south of the highway. Let google maps answer that question as many times as you need to ask it until you have our entire territory memorized, i have floor space to clear before the next semi of freight rolls in. 

Maybe i'm giving you the wrong impression about this album. It's really good in a Bryan Adams meets The Cars at the Tommy Tutone release party kind of way, but it turns me into the crazy guy at the stop light having a full-on heated argument with himself complete with rhetorical arm gestures and conspicuous lack of earpiece to show there's a real-life person, Jenny or otherwise, on the other end of the phone call. I'm fully aware of how bat-shit insane i appear, but sometimes you just gotta get it out of your system before it ulcerates, you know? I can only smile and nod for so long. 

The Volcanos has a real radiation vibe i can certainly groove on in small doses, but i'm personally rarely in the market for 3-eyed fish and glow in the dark deer antlers. It's a VG/VG+ record though, so i'd happily sell it for $8 plus shipping, if you want to take it off my hands.